Victoria changed Bella. She now lives with a new coven 389 years later. She can tell if someone has a broken heart. She only truly has Taylor,from her coven, who can relate to her due to her heart being broken. What will happen if their past lovers came back? Ending changed!
6. Chapter 6
Rating 5/5 Word Count 483 Review this Chapter
And so I laid my head on Emily’s shoulder.
Desperately hoping they wouldn’t be there . . .
That they wouldn’t see me.
That they wouldn’t care.
No, no, wait.
I do want them to care.
I just don’t want me to care.
Too bad we don’t always get what we want.
I began doodling in my notebook during Biology.
Emily and Destiny sat next to me, actually paying attention to the teacher.
Then, Emily passed me a note.Hey, Coco. Watcha doing?
I responded back quickly.Doodling. Weren’t you paying attention, though?
Emily gave me another note fast.Nah, when you go to school for years after years, you learn how to look like you’re paying attention when you’re not.
I held in a giggle.Ah. I know how you feel.
Emily’s eyes widened, as if she heard something interesting.
Really? I thought you only knew if someone had a broken heart! As far as I know, I don’t have a broken heart.
*Rolls eyes* I meant I know what you mean. And I can only tell if someone has a broken heart. It’s a term, Em.
Emily raised her eyebrows.Oh.
Yah, that’s what I thought.
Suddenly the bell rang.
“My, my, time flies.” I muttered, walking into the hall way.
Emily nodded, walking next to me.
I sighed and tucked my hair behind my ear when my books fell to the ground.
As I was picking them up, I a saw two pale, white hands helping me.
One was perfectly manicured with vibrant pink nail polish.
The other was muscular and boyish.
My eyes followed the muscular hand up, up, up until I reached his eyes.
As I noticed the golden color, I froze.
And with that, my very heart, mind, and soul broke into tiny little pieces.
Why oh why, God?
Do you get satisfaction from torturing me?
Is it really true vampires don’t have souls?
Because if it is, how come I could feel it breaking?
Like my heart?
Like my arms and legs and feet and mind and my very soul?
Why must you torture me?
What did I ever do to you?
I don’t remember doing anything.
Have I? J
ust seeing those golden eyes. . . .
That bronze hair. . . .
That perfect body. . . .
Was true, pure, terrible, wonderful. . . .
I know you have been tortured plenty of times, too.
That you, too, have gone through a lot of pain.
But tell me God; was it really that fun to see me die (figuratively) right before your eyes?
To see my very heart and soul ripped to tiny pieces?
To nearly see tears running down my face?
To see a small smile turn into a full out frown?
To see my somewhat peaceful life ripped, and ripped, and ripped again?
They had always said you were merciful, God.
But I have a question.
Why aren’t you merciful to me?
Or because you enjoy seeing people in pain?
I think it’s the latter.
I had a perfectly fine life before you interfered, God.
I always believed in you, God.
I always went to church, prayed every night
. So I’m asking you one simple, simple thing, God.
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