This story will officially be co-written by the beautiful, Silly Sad Sarah Twilighted. Thank you for giving Edward a voice. You, my love, are amazeballs!

I want to give a MONUMENTAL thanks to my fantastical beta, Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy. Thank you for allowing me to pop your beta cherry. Snoochie boochies, babe! And thank you to my awesome pre-reader, JM, for keeping all music related topics on point. You, girl, are the bomb-diggity!

I am already SUPER encouraged from the outpouring of support from my summary and teaser, posted on Facebook. Thank you so very much to all those who have had an encouraging word or two for me. You all are fan-freakin-tastic, the real bee's knees!

Warning: This story is rated M for a reason. It will have some dark topics, full of angst. At different points, there will be graphic scenes containing violence, adult language, and rape. There will also be some citrus-y goodness later on. I will give warning before those chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Twilight characters, those are all property of the super fabulous, Stephanie Meyer. I do, however, own the angst driven world that they are all residing in throughout this story.


CHAPTER ONE

BPOV

I stare out at the dark alley, listening to the disturbing sounds of the street. Henry is drunkenly yelling at the fire; at least I assume he's yelling at the fire since everyone else around here is scared to even speak to the old man. Somewhere a little further down the alley, there's a woman screaming, but I try to filter out the shrill sound. I hate to think of the reason for her cry.

I hear the honking cabs as they drive by the surrounding streets. A gunshot blasts far off in the distance, sending a chill up my spine. There's the mindless chatter of people walking the streets without a clue, or just not caring about what's lurking in these alleyways that I call home most nights.

I try to focus on the sounds of the rain hitting the top of my box, otherwise known as home, for now. Hey, whatever keeps me dry, don't judge. The tapping of the raindrops hitting my roof calms and soothes me. As much as I hate the cold and wet, I always love when it rains because it gives me something beautiful to focus on. The sound reminds me of the symphonies and orchestral pieces that my mom used to listen to when I was younger. It relaxes me when I can push all other sounds out and just focus on the delicacy of the rainfall.

I close my eyes and try to get a little shut eye. As I drift off, I start reliving my younger years. Dreams can be so peaceful and painful all at the same time.

My mom is smiling at me with love in her eyes leaving me breathless for a few seconds. She's sitting at her vintage Concert Grand Steinway, playing and watching me with nothing but affection in her eyes.

Renee Romine was a child prodigy. She began composing music at the ripe old age of 8 and by the time she was twelve, Mariss Jansons, the chief conductor of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra in Amsterdam was trying to recruit her. When she was fourteen, she finally obliged and began her work with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra where she went on to compose many of their famous pieces. She also was an on-staff pianist for the Orchestra until she became pregnant with me at 21, at which time she decided to step down from the spotlight. Music ran through her veins though, so she never stopped playing and writing. Some of my very first memories are of me sitting next to her on her piano bench while she played through some of the most stunning pieces I have ever heard.

I walk over to her as she finishes her most recent composition, a piece dedicated to me. "Come here, baby girl." She pats the seat next to her on the bench and opens her arms for me. As I find myself wrapped in her loving embrace, I look up at her and see the tears in her eyes. "I love you, Bella."

I smile at her warmth and tell her I love her, too.

I'm startled awake by a deafening crash of thunder. Unfortunately, the rain that I love so much is usually accompanied by thunder and lightning, both of which petrify me. Alright Mother Nature, I'm awake! Thanks!

It's colder now than it was when I fell asleep. In this late hour of the night, it's quieter. It's kinda eerie to be honest.

I burrow further under my putrid smelling blanket, which has really seen better days. It's the same blanket that I was given by a volunteer at a shelter 4 years ago. I've been carrying it around with me in my knapsack ever since. I've definitely been due for a new one for quite some time. With winter well on its way, I need to see what I can do to make that happen sooner rather than later.

Maybe I'll panhandle and see if I can get enough money to get something that will help keep me warm. Unfortunately, a lot of my childlike features have diminished over the last couple years so people aren't really as drawn to me as they used to be. When I first found myself out on the streets, I noticed people would give me the obligatory dollar or more. It's almost funny how much that has changed in the past year or two.

Maybe I can check out some of the shelters in this area later today. I might get lucky and score another blanket. Maybe even some winter clothes. God knows I could use some warmer duds. As soon as the sun comes up, I'll get my stuff together and start my search.

I've been lying here for a few hours now and daybreak is finally here. I quietly pack up my bag and start out on my adventure for the day, but not before I grab the apple at the bottom of my bag that I snatched from a local Farmer's Market the other day. I begin my trek and slowly eat my breakfast.

I decide to go a little out of my way so I can pass by Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts. It's always one of my favorite places to stroll around. I'm always hoping that I may overhear a performance.

Today, I seem to be in luck. I hear the faint tinkling of the ivories and decide to get a better listen. I walk around to one of the stage entrances and sneak in. As I get closer, I hear the most melodic sound of Prelude No. 4 in F Major. My steps falter and I am breathless. That composition. It was one of the last pieces my mom ever played for me, knowing it was one of my favorites. I haven't heard that arrangement since.

I'm snapped out of my reverie when the music abruptly stops. Other than my mother, I have not heard that piece played so flawlessly. I'm stunned. I want to go investigate. To go see who could be playing that piece so exquisitely. But I also want to run and hide. I want to go somewhere that I can allow myself to lose it and cry without prying eyes.

Before I can make that decision, I'm brought to a standstill once again as I find myself completely entranced. Eyes that resemble green lasers stare directly at me. They're piercing through to my soul. I feel so exposed and defenseless yet I can't look away. These eyes appear to have seen a lifetime.

I finally draw my eyes away from the emerald pools and appraise the owner. He's tall, at least 6 feet, and lithe but lean. He takes care of his body, that's for sure. Copper colored locks are all over the place. It looks as though he's been running his delightfully slender fingers through his hair for days. Jaw so chiseled, it could cut granite. Sensually plump lips form a grimace as he eyes me.

The expression he's giving me is full of distaste and repugnance. He looks as though he is about to speak.

And I run.


End notes:

TwiWifeLife: I know it's not very long, but are you intrigued yet?

We will be posting every other Friday or Saturday from here on out, which means bi-weekly. Please be sure to review and let us know what you think.

Until next time…

SSST: You can't just end it there, begging for reviews! This is how you get a review….. Guess what folks Edward is getting his rocks off in the next chap!

TwiWifeLife: Well, That's a little vulgar, if you ask me, but I guess it works.

SSST: Who doesn't wanna see Edward get some?!

TwiWifeLife: See y'all in a couple weeks!