Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author, Stephenie Meyer. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Rated M (with a big capital M) for language, adult themes and strong sexual content. You've been warned.

Here it is, Chapter One of my new Twilight fanfiction. This is a first for me. I've written another one shot on Twilighted for my dear friend Evenstar and her story Taking Chances, but coming out and crafting a story entirely of my own is new for me. I'm a little nervous. :) Thanks for reading and please be sure to review. I'd love to hear your thoughts. And I promise...this isn't an Edward/Tanya story. I'm totally E/B. Just give it a chance! :)

Wifey - I wuv you berry, berry, berry much. Thank you so much for your constant encouragement, your enthusiasm and your invaluable insight. I can't do this without you holding my hand! I love the banner you made for me, but I love you even more!

Aimee - I couldn't do this without your, either, love. Your guidance, dedication, advice, encouragement, reviewing, and patience have been awesome. I hope this does you proud!

Each chapter has its own playlist. You can find the playlist for Chapter One in my profile.

Chapter One – Impetus

Playlist:

"Pretend You Love Me" Shelby Lynne
"Lost" Annie Lennox
"Citizen Erased" Muse
"There Is So Much More" Brett Dennen
"Stay Away" Josh Hoge

"Passion, it lies in all of us. Sleeping...waiting...and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir...open its jaws, and howl.

It speaks to us...guides us...passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have?

Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love...the clarity of hatred...and the ecstasy of grief.

It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow, empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead."

-Joss Whedon

Saturday, June 7th

The rumbling sounds of angry thunder and the crackling of fiery lightning jolted him from his slumber. The spattering of hard rain against his windows sounded like snare drums in his pounding brain and he propped himself up on his elbows, dazed and confused, staring at the droplets of rain cascading down the large window across from him. The sounds of the storm echoed through the quiet room, and though he wanted to more than just stare, he couldn't; his body was frozen into a statue, his limbs heavy like granite.

The room seemed hazy, the air seeming to ripple like a drop of oil in water, and he found himself squinting in order to focus on the dark, dank room around him. Where the hell was he? And why wouldn't his limbs move? He focused on his calf, tangled into the sheets around him but somehow uncovered from the knee down. His skin was gray, just like the stone limbs that it covered, and the room was cast in a blue-gray hue, the dim light filtering in from somewhere outside of the foreign room.

His eyes, seemingly the only part able to move, scanned the room directly in front of him, falling upon an oak chest of drawers. The mirror on top was angled just enough that he could barely make out his face in the reflection, covered in what looked like dark tears. What the hell? His ears once again focused in on the sheeting rain brutalizing the glass windowpane, and he slowly realized that his face was not covered in streaks of tears; rather, it was bathed in the reflections of the very rain that had awoken him from the weirdest sleep he'd ever experienced.

His gut was churning with an unfamiliar sense of dread. Something was not right but for the life of him he couldn't place the feeling. It was as if all happiness had been sucked from the room into a black hole of nothingness and it chilled his granite skin to the core. He tried to wiggle his big toe, and realized with grim satisfaction that at least it could move. He followed step with the other four digits of his right foot, and cautiously and carefully rolled his ankle in a clockwise direction.

Gingerly, he bent his leg at the knee, drawing it up his body, freeing it from the tangled mess of Egyptian cotton. He rolled his torso up to meet his lower half, so that he was now sitting upright, resting his elbow on his raised knee. Rubbing his whiskered face into his hands and vainly attempting to wake himself out of the disconcerting fog, his eyes fell upon a lace camisole that was discarded haphazardly on the far corner of the enormous bed. Suddenly, images sprung forth out of his foggy brain.

Firm, ivory breasts revealed as the skimpy excuse for an undergarment was thrown over her shoulder, her back arched into him, her lithe body atop him, her strawberry blonde locks falling into her eyes as she expertly rode him.

Tanya.

Yes.

That's where he was. Their bedroom. The faint scent of their sex still lingered in the air and he inhaled greedily, the atmosphere grounding and settling him. He rubbed his temples firmly and smiled slightly, resting his still aching brain on top of his knee as he recalled the night.

Friday, June 6th

A loud crash rang behind him as he lithely dodged a random plate, more than likely from Pottery Barn, being hurled straight at him. He smirked at her, his smugness only igniting her already fiery temper more, and he swore he could see her usually ivory skin turn scarlet red in her current fit of rage.

"YOU ARE SUCH A FUCKING ASSHOLE!" She hurled insult after insult towards him, and he continued to smirk at her, unaffected by her spiteful words. He took a careful step towards her, his arms turned towards her, palms up, peaceful but not in surrender.

"Careful, love, or we're not going to have any fine china left." He took another step in her direction and made a move to touch her, but she jerked herself back in disgust at his effort, moving gracefully out of his grasp with her nimble dancer's legs.

"Don't you DARE touch me! Don't you fucking dare!" Her words were like ice, though her body was aflame with hatred for him.

Their evenings ended like this regularly, though this one had started off pleasantly enough. They'd dined at Rover's, one of their regular date night spots. It wasn't exactly his favorite, as it was a little too romantic for his tastes and he wasn't very fond of the menu. It also tended to be one of those "see and be seen places" by some of Seattle's social elite, and that circle bored him to tears. Tanya thoroughly enjoyed it, though, so he usually indulged her with dinner there at least once a month or so. If anything, it shut her up, which was fine by him.

Tonight, however, something had been amiss. Even though dinner was, in fact, pleasant, it still had an uneasy chill to it, and Tanya was not her usual chatty buoyant self. Rather, she was almost reserved – pensive at best – and that mood settled like a rock into Edward's gut. He knew this disposition well by now, even though she rarely revealed it to him during their four years together. She wanted to talk. About them. About their future. About marriage.

He had expertly avoided the topic throughout dinner, trying instead to divert her attention elsewhere. She outright declined both wine and champagne, even her favorite overpriced glass of Brut Rosé, and that's what had alerted him to the depths of her sour mood. When she refused dessert, he could almost hear the storm brew beneath the surface. His hair had stood at attention on his forearms, but it wasn't fear that propelled the reaction. It was anticipation.

The pressure cooker erupted no sooner than they had stepped over the threshold of his home in Queen Anne. He hadn't even had time to remove his jacket before the first piece of bone china smashed into the wall dangerously close to his head, even closer to the row of windows that lined the kitchen, but not close enough to make him fearful for either his head or the ridiculously expensive glass panes. It had only heightened his excitement more. This was going to be good.

He ignored the broken glass at first, slowly removing his jacket sleeve by sleeve, inch by inch, delighting in the coming confrontation. He casually draped his blazer over one of the nearby dining table chairs and turned to face her, tapping his foot on the mahogany hardwood floor, a devilish smirk plastered on his usually alabaster face.

"And to what do I owe this charming greeting? Was the rabbit confit not to your liking? Should you have chosen the halibut instead?"

"The rabbit confit was fine." She stood there, her arms lodged in a defensive stance on her slim ballerina hips. "You. Us. We are not."

Yes. This was definitely the marriage talk.

"We were fine last night. We were fine this morning when you accosted me in my office, requesting some one-on-one study time with the professor. I'm amazed that a relationship can change so drastically over the course of just a few hours."

"That was sex. Fucking. What we do best. It's what we always do. But that's not a relationship! How many times do we have to have this talk?"

"So what exactly is a relationship, Tanya? Can you please fucking enlighten me? You've got the nice house with the great, million-dollar view of Seattle. You've got your nice little Audi coupe. You've got the trips to Paris, Milan, Greece, St. Maarten. You've got the famous boyfriend with the deep pockets and several turns in the Seattle social circle. What else is it that you want?"

"I'm not a whore."

"You're not? I seem to recall someone wrapping their legs around my waist in the bathroom of the University of Washington library for a little extra credit."

"Fuck you."

"You already did." He winked cruelly at her as another unidentified flying object went sailing past him. Tanya stared him down, taking several deep breaths, opening and shutting her mouth in frustration before finally choosing the words she wanted.

"Look. Insult me all you want. I know it's your defense mechanism. That is what YOU do best. I may have the fucking down pat, but you sure as hell have the corner on the asshole market."

He breathed in, his pants suddenly tighter, his body automatically responding when she fought back.

"You love me." He said it as a statement, not as a question.

"In a way that defies all sense of earthly reason. Yes. But I can't just fuck you forever. I need you. I want you. Why won't you marry me?" The anger in her gray eyes was now replaced with an earnest longing, willing him to simply love her.

It was that look that usually unhinged him. The one that made the adrenaline rush into his veins, the fight or flight reaction taking hold of every one of his senses. He didn't understand where the fear came from, or even the anger, but he wasn't in the mood for psychoanalysis, either. Instead, he opted for his usual asshole tactic.

"Because I don't want you."

Her almost dormant anger once again surged to the surface at his cold words and she grabbed an empty wineglass from the single basin stainless steel sink and hurled it at him, missing him by inches.

"You are a lying sack of shit!"

He simply stared at her, his face a calm mask of control. "And why is that, love? You can't handle the truth? You can't understand that I simply don't want you...like that?"

"You want me. I know you do. Did you know that you talk in your sleep? That you fucking whimper in your sleep?" Her words shocked him, but his face never gave away his reaction. "Why the hell else do you think I've put up with your bullshit for four fucking years? Because you're that good in bed? Hardly. I've had better."

He took two steps towards her and she instinctively took a step back, almost crouching in defense.

"Does that bother you, Eddie? That I've had better? That you're not the best fuck I've had? You're actually kind of boring sometimes. I swear to God. If I have to fuck you missionary one more time, I might fucking run away on my own accord."

Now she was hitting him where it hurt.

"So you want to marry me," he spat the words out with venom, "so you can have horrible sex for the rest of your life? Are Manolo Blahniks really worth the trouble?"

"I want to marry you," she said, mimicking his exact tone, "because I love you. Against all sense of earthly reason, just as I said a few moments ago. Just like I've been saying for the past three years. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"I highly doubt that." He scoffed at her admission and she rushed to him, angrily.

"Don't you EVER tell me what I feel! You may be the one with a fucking doctorate, but I'm the one with the goddamned heart. You wouldn't know love if it spit you in the face," she sputtered, emphasizing her last words with exactly that.

He grabbed her jaw in his hand, his green eyes staring angrily into her blue-gray ones. "Didn't your mother teach you that it was rude to spit? Where are your manners?" She angrily brushed his hand away from her face and stared him down.

"Marry me, Edward."

"No."

"Marry me, Edward. Or I will leave you. For good this time. I'm not wasting any more time on you and your selfishness."

"You won't leave. You wouldn't. I'd have to take back that Audi. You sucked a lot of dick to get it. Wouldn't want it to go to waste."

"You don't fucking get it, do you? I don't care about a fucking car. Or a trip to Fiji. Or Antigua. I could give two shits about a designer pair of heels. It's all nice, but it's not necessary. You spend the money on ME, because that's what you know. That's all you know. But as far as me? That's not what I want."

"Bullshit."

"Fine, Edward. It's your fucking loss." She turned on her heel and stomped upstairs to their second-story loft master bedroom. He could hear her jerking open the closet door to her walk-in closet angrily and pulling out all she could grasp in one handful. Edward listened to her for several long moments, determining when he should make his grand entrance into their bedroom. It was always like this. He slowly trudged up the stairs and quietly watched as she grabbed a suitcase from the top shelf of her enormous closet and flung it onto the bed, stuffing as many clothes as she could into the luggage. He leaned against the doorframe, dangling her car keys on the tip of his finger, taunting her.

"I have your keys."

"I'll call a taxi."

"You have no money."

"I have a fucking job, asshole." She never paused once in her mission. She walked over to the lingerie drawer in the top of the chest of drawers and yanked it open, retrieving several undergarments.

"You're not leaving."

"Yes, I am." She gave him one long hard look before sauntering back towards the bed and throwing the lingerie on top. For some reason this angered him to no end. He found himself behind her in an instant, bellowing at her.

"I said you're NOT. FUCKING. LEAVING." He grabbed her shoulders fiercely.

"Get off of me, Edward." She tried to shrug him away, but he gripped her tighter, pulling her against him.

"I said YOU. ARE. NOT. LEAVING." He gave her shoulders a quick jerk and she turned to face him.

"And what exactly are you going to do to stop me, Edward? Are you going to hit me? You're a fucking coward, but you're not that fucking much of a coward." She snarled at him and he snarled in return.

"Tanya -"

"What? Are you warning me? Just like a good sugar Daddy. Want me to get on my knees for you now, baby? Make me earn those keys?" She shoved him away from her and he growled. When she tried to turn away from him again to zip up her suitcase, he pushed her aside, swiping the suitcase forcefully to the ground, its contents spilling onto the hardwood floor. She whipped around to face him, seething. "Oh, that was good, Edward. So...fucking...mature."

Edward didn't know why she got to him so easily, but she did. He imagined it was love. He figured that his angry and possessive reaction to her impending departure from his life was due to some kind of deep feeling for her that he couldn't quite confess. Not right now. Perhaps not ever. He didn't know why, but he did know that she was his, and she was not going anywhere.

"You'll miss this." It was all he could think to say.

"Miss what? Your cock? Please." She rolled her eyes in dismissal and he grabbed her closely, pulling her to him so roughly that it hurt.

"You'll miss my cock, yes." He ground himself into her for emphasis, already rock hard and straining against his charcoal colored dress pants. "You'll miss my cock fucking you and making you scream." He crushed his hips into hers again and he felt her legs give way involuntarily, her body always responsive to him, no matter how flared her temper. Angrily, he grabbed her leg and hoisted it over his hip, feeling her nearly bare heat radiating out from the barely there shelter of her expensive La Perla panties. His hands kneaded her ass and pushed her into him so that she could feel him fully. She moaned against her will and it drove him crazy. It didn't matter how heated the fight, how loud their voices. All of their fights only served to ignite the passion that kept them inexplicably drawn to one another. He ground into her again and she moaned before trying to free herself from his grasp.

"I'm not fucking you."

"No , you're not. I'm fucking you." With that, he pushed her onto the bed, hiking her skirt above her hips and pinning her to the mattress with the weight of his body. His hands ran quickly up and down the length of one of her long legs before wrapping it around his waist. He forced her hands above her head, pinning them as well, letting her know that she was indeed his. The primal instinct fueled her desire involuntarily and she pushed her hips up off the mattress for much needed friction. He growled in response, hitching her other leg around his other hip and her ankles automatically locked around him, claiming him as her own. The possessive exchange pushed him onward and he shamelessly ripped the panties aside, unzipping his pants and pushing them past his hips. He didn't bother removing anything else, zeroed in on only his need to have her. Now.

With that thought he pushed into her in one thrust and she cried out in tortured ecstasy, loving the feeling of him. He set a quick rhythm, intent only in claiming her. She was on her own tonight.

"This. Feel this? This is what you're going to miss." She only groaned in response, and he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth, pushing into her harder. Her frantic hands traveled up his torso to his hair and she grabbed a fistful, pulling his head back, the mix of pleasure and pain shooting straight to his loins.

"I hate you. God. God...how I hate you." He could only grin wickedly at her obvious lie before pulling out of her quickly, flipping her over and lifting her to all fours. In an instant he was inside her again, holding her hips steady as he pounded into her from behind. She arched her back in pleasure and let out a guttural moan of satisfaction.

"That's okay, baby. Hate me. I fucking hate you, too. I love you so much sometimes that I fucking hate you for it." His words served their purpose and she pushed back into him, mewling in pleasure at his fucked up but rare admission of his feelings for her. It's the only way he knew how to tell her, but she took it like a champ as always, deciphering the sentiment hidden behind his cruel words. He barely registered her begging him for something and he bent over her, pulling her head up by the nape of her neck.

"I want to see you."

"What's the magic word, Tanya?" He thrust into her a few more times.

"Please." He groaned loudly. He could never understand how such a simple word was always his undoing.

"Since you asked so nicely..." He pulled out of her and pulled her up to her knees. He crawled onto the bed and rested his back against the headboard. She straddled his calves, watching him. He unbuttoned his shirt quickly and she gasped in pleasure when the planes of his rock hard chest were revealed to her. He could almost hear her purring in contentment. Smiling devilishly at him, she pulled his pants and boxers off in one swift movement. She sat up slightly, letting her dress fall into a pool on the bed and throwing it onto the floor beside them, leaving her only in a skimpy camisole. She perched above him them, teasing him slightly. He tried to push her down on him, but she scolded him, biting his lip.

"What's the magic word, baby?" He groaned again. She sat there, an inch away from his straining body, waiting for his answer.

"Goddamn. Please. Please." She sank onto him instantly and worked into a frenzied rhythm, needing release as much as he did. He wanted...no, he needed...to see her, too, so he lifted the camisole over her head, tossing it to the end of the bed and watching as her perfect C-cup breasts arched into his face. He bent forward slightly, kissing them before resting his head back on the headboard and watching her ride him into oblivion. It didn't take long before she was writhing above him, crying out in pleasure with him following quickly behind. Slowly they disentangled themselves and Tanya dropped to the bed beside him, laying there, watching him.

"I love you."

Edward nodded at her and smiled. He couldn't say it back in that manner, but he knew she understood.

"I'll be right back. I need a drink of water." He got up and padded down the hallway to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water off of the slab granite counter and taking a huge gulp. He didn't remember leaving a bottle of water on the counter, but then again, he didn't really pay attention to anything once plates were being chucked at him like stones tossed at the adulterous woman in Biblical times. He laughed briefly and headed back to the bedroom, flopping onto the bed beside Tanya, who laid there like the cat that ate the canary.

"What?" He arched an eyebrow at her, still a little dubious. Surely she wouldn't want to broach that topic again.

"Nothing. Put your gun away, Sheriff. I just thought that maybe...we could do it again."

"You're insatiable when you're angry." He quickly kissed her forehead before rolling on top of her. "Now, where were we?"

A rude clap of thunder jerked Edward out of his memory and he grinned crookedly. He and Tanya had a pretty fucked up relationship, to be certain. To anyone else it would seem like a waste of time, but to them it was a meeting of two polarized forces, drawn inexplicably together by the magnetic strength of passion. They'd spent the past four years locked into perhaps the most passionate pairing either of them had ever known. Their explosive rows were well-known amongst their circle of friends and when Tanya had first move d into Edward's house on Harvard Avenue, the cops had been called on at least a couple of occasions until the neighbors realized it was only foreplay and never anything serious. Eventually they learned to just drown out the noise and leave the couple be. Things were always better in the morning.

Edward's head pounded in his temples and he pressed his fingers into them in a vain attempt to quell the throbbing ache. What the hell was wrong with his head?

Careful not to disturb Tanya in the early morning hours, Edward crept out of the large bed and padded softly to the master bathroom. He shivered as the heated granite floors made a marked contrast to the damp air penetrating the house from outside. Those floors had been Tanya's idea. Although she was originally from Alaska, she never could quite adjust to the dank Washington weather, so she insisted on having something warm in the otherwise starkly decorated bathroom. Edward closed the door to the bathroom and flipped on the light. He leaned onto the marble double vanity and examined himself closely in the mirror. He looked like absolute shit. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in years. His naturally untidy copper hair was even more askew, jutting out in more directions than he could count. Nearly translucent red scratch marks decorated his shoulders, upper arms and torso and he grinned. Tanya loved to scratch and mark him, almost feline in her seduction techniques. Not that he ever complained.

Deciding a shower would ease his sore muscles, Edward turned on the dual head shower and climbed in. He leaned his head back into the relaxing stream of water as it cascaded down onto his back and he could feel himself relax. The luxury showerhead was yet another one of Tanya's great ideas, and he realized he should probably thank her. They'd had a lot of fun times in that bathroom, in that very shower as well as the double-jetted oversized tub on the opposite wall. Their relationship had never been boring, that was for damn sure. Case in point, last night.

Their fight had long been forgotten as they made love again and again, their libidos amped up from their earlier altercation. Makeup sex always was the best anyway. He had taken her everywhere. Her breasts pressed against the large window overlooking the beautiful Seattle skyline. It always turned him on in the extreme fucking her there and knowing that at any second, someone could walk down the street and see her beautiful breasts splayed against the glass, and see his fingers claiming their rightful place inside her. She loved it, too...the thrill of the possibility of being caught.

He felt himself harden at the very thought and stroked himself lingeringly. He was always ready for another round, his seemingly 17-year old libido belying his almost-33 years of age. He had fucked her on the balcony overlooking the living room before taking her on the chaise lounge across from the window in the bedroom, pushing her down on all fours and pounding into her. Tanya's years of training as a ballerina always added interesting positioning and flexibility and she had wrapped her ankles around his ass from behind her, allowing him to get about as deep as he possibly could. He had come hard inside of her then, and she had screamed out like a feral animal as she responded to his climax with her own resounding one.

They had finally made it back to the bed, Edward sheathed inside of her, her legs strewn upon his shoulders, her hands grabbing the headboard for support. Every now and again, she would claw at his chest and sink her long fingernails into his biceps, knowing her catlike behavior made him even harder. He leaned back against the tiled wall of the shower and stroked himself with more force, needing release once again. He had fucked her enough for the night and didn't want to wake her, but knew he couldn't quite ignore the raging erection he was now sporting. He was surprised he could even get it up for a fifth round, but his cock was eternally seventeen it seemed. He squeezed his engorged head and moaned loudly. Tanya slept like a rock, and even if she did hear him beating off in the shower, she'd probably just come in and blow him anyway. So he didn't care to stifle his moans of pleasure. Let her hear how crazy she fucking made him.

He stroked harder and faster and he recalled how hard and fast he had pounded into her, just hours ago. How was it even possible that even after 4 years together, their sex life still hadn't cooled down one iota? He hoped it never did. It had been built on sex, and it surely had been saved by sex time and again. He almost came right then as he remembered pinning her torso to the bed with his strong thighs and fucking her mouth. Tanya was adventurous to say the least and she usually begged him to assume naughtier more dominating positions like this. In this position, she was able to take him all the way in, so he found he didn't really mind. He couldn't, when he could feel the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat. He yelped out at the sensation in his mind and felt his balls tighten in response. He was going to explode.

He struggled to recall what had happened after he fucked her mouth, as somehow the details became fuzzier and fuzzier. Maybe his brain had just turned into post-coital mush by that time. He had spread her legs as wide as they could go and plummeted inside her depths once more to finish himself off and give her a little help as well. At one point, she grabbed one of the hands that supported his weight above her and placed it on her throat, encouraging him with wide, lust-filled eyes. He had never understood why she liked it rough like that, but indeed she did. He only acquiesced to that request every once and awhile, but given the pure ecstasy of the fuck she was giving him tonight, he decided to indulge her. His long fingers wrapped around her slender throat and he squeezed her gently. Her eyes bulged instinctively at the pressure and her shoulders tensed, as well as all her other muscles, squeezing him further inside her.

God.

He picked up his rhythm, feeling his climax hit the final turn. The end was in sight and he just had to drive it home. Spots danced in his eyes and he registered the wet sounds of their bodies frantically coming together. He furrowed his brow in concentration and fucked her harder, feeling his arousal harden even further when he heard her gag. Amusement danced in her eyes. She was getting off on this. He closed his eyes and focused only on his orgasm, knowing full well that Tanya was already taken care of. He could feel her spasming like a hummingbird around him, though her orgasmic cries were muffled by the pressure of his fingers wrapped around her throat.

His release splattered on the opposite wall of the shower as he came deep inside of her, the bed threatening to splinter beneath his frantic ministrations. God, he could come inside of her forever and still not get enough. He slouched against the shower wall and caught his breath.

Goddamn.

He shivered when he felt the once-hot water rapidly turning cooler, and turned the shower off, quickly grabbing a towel and wrapping it around slender hips. He grabbed another towel and quickly dried his hair; shutting off the light and walking quietly back into their bedroom. His eyes could barely adjust to the change in lighting and he could barely make out Tanya's sleeping form on the opposite side of the bed. Throwing his towel to the floor, he swiftly climbed underneath the covers and decided to cuddle with Tanya. He may not be able to exactly tell her he loved her, but he could show her in other ways. Her head was turned opposite him, though her shoulders were flat against the mattress. He pulled her to him, but when she didn't give easily, he sat up and leaned over her to whisper in her ear.

"Come here, baby." He shook her slightly when she didn't budge again. What the hell? He leaned over her and screamed as a flash of lightning illuminated the dark room and highlighted her cold, dead eyes staring lifelessly out the window.

*phew* That's the first one. Please tell me what you think!

To see pictures of Edward's house, please visit the link in my profile. :)

UPDATE 4/19/10 - The translation for the Latin title, "Impetus," is "passion." Fitting, yeah?