"Why am I here?"
The girl walked into the small classroom completely unnoticed—the residents of Forks had long learned to ignore her. She didn’t look right; her long brown hair was straggly—not from going unwashed but from the rain outside. Her hood remained unused. Her glazed over eyes were sunken into her chalky looking face. The invisible girl was silently screaming for help. No emotion whatsoever on her whole form added to the effect.
I was in the shower when this babble came to me--go figure *shruggs*
3. Chapter 3
Rating 5/5 Word Count 853 Review this Chapter
“Edward, you...don’t be silly….let me have…get away from…you know better…ouch!...not you’re…Alice would have…my foot…love you ,still...” The low, beautiful voice, the sound of music to the curled up man, faded in and out; each syllable, each sound, every word, ripped and snapped at the broken vampire’s heart.
The second the voice, the sweet lullaby, was gone, the immortal howled. His indestructible hands clawed at the floor until there was a gaping hole in the attic he was in. Just like his heart; both had lost the main purpose of them. What good were they now?
Snarling, enraged by the pointless connection, the Mr. Mason leapt through the ravaged, gaping hole. He landed with a booming impact, his rock hard feet making a neat imprint on the wood floor. Someone screamed. His thirst ripped up the inside of his throat as a woman and her small, screaming child fled the room, praying in mumbled Spanish.
The deranged brother snarled, wanting the voice back that he needed to simply live. “Come back, Bella!” He roared, bashing his fist through something that shattered around him; he didn’t feel any of it. His foot kicked a small chair that sat in the middle of the tattered room. It went spiraling through a window and into the dark street—it must’ve been night, some small, very unstable part of the broken man’s mind recognized.
The lanky, bronze-haired man ripped his hand through the thin dry wall and ripped out a old, rusted pipe; his arm whipped out and the pole vibrated loudly as it stuck into another mirror. This time, only the bottom half of the mirror shatter; the top half cracked but remained in the frame.
Black eyes bright, chest moving quickly, the once-lover stepped forward slowly—even for human eyes—and rose his hand ever so little, enough to meet the warm mirror’s broken surface.
“…I decided…doesn’t matter…don’t care…” Big, brown doe eyes swam across the apparent youth’s eyes. He could no longer see his own twisted, lined features in the mirror, but much, much more angelic eyes, hair, lips—everything. He saw Her smile, the way her eyes glowed whenever She was around Edward Anthony Mason.
Fingers trembling—whole body trembling—Edward lifted his fingers to brush across her cheek. “Bella,” He whimpered, head turned slightly to the side, as if maybe he could see her better, “I’m—” His voice cracked and his eyes prickled fervently, “—I’m so, so sorry,” He tried to press his fingers to her hair, to feel it maybe, but it didn’t feel right; no delicious smell or warmth vibrated from it.
Anger flashed through him.
The woman only stood, smiling, mouthing words now but no sound coming. The vampire wanted to hear her words! Why wouldn’t she talk to him?! Frustration quickly blasted through the man. “Talk to me, please.”
No apparent response, only frequent smiles and her body vibrated, like she might’ve been laughing.
“Talk to me!” He screamed, inches away from the mirror, trying to get a response out of his imagination. His breathing was ragged again, coming in quick, panting movements. “…please…” He moaned, and, unable to maintain his weight from the immensity of his pain, fell to his knees. His head rested on the shattered remnants of the glass; he could only see the knees of his beloved.
His mind was trembling with the speed at which it worked. This man—however inhuman he might’ve been—needed that woman, needed her touch, her laugh, her smell, her trustworthiness, her warmth. How was Edward expected to survive without life? Because she was his essence of life.
Edward Anthony Mason Cullen would be giving in, of course, if he allowed his heart his deepest, darkest wish, but he couldn’t do this anymore. He just couldn’t continue without Isabella Swan in his life, his eternity.
He didn’t realize he was doing it before it was too late. He rose to his feet. To his grief, the girl was gone from the mirror, yet her laughter was echoing in his mind. He smiled grimly, enjoying it a second before blurring out the door and into the dark, floating through the shadows in quick, lethal movements. He body was more eager than anything else he’d ever felt before. His mind was suddenly rejoicing at what he knew he was doing: he was going to beg. He’d beg her to come back, to love him again, to talk to him, to let him drink in her glorious voice, and let him feel her warmth—and even if Ms. Swan refused, he’d continue to beg for her love as long as there was no other already there.
Mr. Edward wasn’t sure where he was or what the date was or what town he was residing in, but he would, forever more of eternity, hate it for once sol reason: his phone rang in that town.
He skidded to a stop on an empty street, glancing agitatedly down at his phone as he yanked it out. It was probably Alice, ready to gloat—
—Rosalie’s name flashed atop his sleek, black phone. For some reason, Mr. Cullen’s stomach plummeted into the depths of him and his heart ached uncontrollably.
He flipped it open anyways. “Hello?”