Disclaimer- I own nothing associated or affiliated with Twilight. These are the property of Stephenie Meyer and no copyright or offense is intended. You can't sue me for the inner-worst workings of my mind. Honest.



I'm pacing her bedroom frantically, waiting for her. Waiting for IT. I can smell her. Smell IT. I'm running my fingers through my hair, pulling on it. It's maddening. That someone can be so oblivious, not know what they're doing to me. Not know what it's like each time she hurts herself, grazes a knee, pricks her finger...

She's in the bathroom cleaning herself up after her latest accident. I try to tell myself that not even I can be quick enough to stop every single predicament she falls into. That it's not me hesitating over the opportunity to smell her, or...

Dammit! I throw myself on her bed, breathing in the lingering scent of her hair, her skin...

Usually I'm fine, total, utter control. I mean if I could withstand that eighteenth birthday debacle then what could be worse than that?

But lately I don't want to control it...


"Are you ok?" I jumped off her bed and approached her cautiously, just as she was approaching me. She stopped a few feet from me, glancing up at me from beneath her raven tresses. She was holding her arm at an awkward angle, I wasn't sure if it was because of me or because it still hurt. I took her hand in mine to reassure her, bringing it to my lips and kissing it gently.

"I'm fine. I guess." She glanced down at her now bandaged arm, which did me no good, I could smell her from a mile away. I resisted the urge to breathe even deeper than I was. "I must be the only person to ever hurt themselves on their car door." She smiled awkwardly at her own clumsiness. She was so damn cute. I had to smile at that.

"If anyone could it's you, my love." I pulled her close and tried not to breathe too deeply.


I tried so hard but one day one little accident was just one too many...


She was in the kitchen, cutting vegetables for her and Charlie's dinner when it happened. I was sitting at the kitchen table, watching her adoringly, completely off guard. One moment she was chattering idly and the next...


I was on my feet in an instant. I think I saw the blood before she did, I certainly smelt it. She continued to curse as I dragged her to the sink and wrapped her hand in a towel, pressing hard. I could feel the hot blood gushing through, smell it's heavy, coppery scent.

My breathing was ragged, my eyes wild, I could see them reflected in her frightened gaze as comprehension dawned on her porcelain features.


"Sssh..." I pressed a cold finger to her trembling lips. I moved my body closer- backing her against the wall, my eyes never leaving hers, her hand still gripped tightly in mine.

I started to unwrap the towel, my gaze never faltering from her beautiful face, made all the more enticing by her delicious scent assaulting my senses. It was too late now. I brought her wrist up to my lips and paused, she was frozen. From fear or anticipation, I couldn't tell. I opened my mouth and started to tongue along her wrist, following her veins. I could feel her pulse throbbing under my tongue. She was so warm...

"Edward!" Her voice was shrill, panicked. I turned my onyx gaze on her, my voice husky, seductive, predatory.

"Don't you want to taste my world, Bella?" It was cruel, unforgiving to dazzle her like that, but so easy. She fell immediately. Her eyes closed and her lips parted, emitting the softest of moans. I smiled. She was completely and utterly mine.

I bent my head and began to drink.


Afterwards I lay her down on her bed, after redressing her wound, and watched her.

Part of me was ashamed to be there, abhorred at what I'd done. It took everything I had not to fasten myself to her again and drain her until she was dead. But that's not how I wanted her. I loved her. I wanted her alive, rosy cheeked and alive. I didn't want to hurt her, just taste her. Was that so wrong? To want to imbibe the very life force of the woman I loved?

She groaned in her sleep and I was at her side instantly, stroking her cheek as her eyelids fluttered, half afraid she would open her eyes and scream at the sight of me.

I need not have worried. Her beautiful doe eyes looked up at me with nothing but love and adoration as she uttered those fateful words; "I'm yours."

In that moment, I was lost to temptation.


And so it was, she gave herself to me willingly and I took. Every night I climbed into her bedroom she would be waiting for me. Bright eyed and anxious. We talked of it endlessly. We were doing nothing wrong, she wanted me to know her like this before she changed, before the chance was lost forever. And she wanted to feel it. She described the feeling as being that akin to the moment between sleep and waking when I would sing to her and she would dream of me. I once again alluded to her being my brand of heroin. At first the problem of how to continue our newfound bloodlust vexed me. I couldn't bite her without turning her and I had no intention of draining her. When she first produced the small razorblade I recoiled at the thought. What the hell were we doing? I turned on her then, for the first time, snarling before fleeing into the night. I was back before dawn, begging for her forgiveness, her blood. She drew a neat cut just above her breast bone and I fell upon her as the sun rose, spilling it's harsh light into her bedroom. She moaned and writhed in my arms every night after that.