Yeah. So, um, hi. Me here. I know you guys are currently sharpening your weapons to go find me, to see if I fell into the embarrassment of 'sex talks with edward', but that's not the case.

I'm really sorry I haven't updated, but things haven't really been going my way lately, and I didn't wanna ruin the stories with my foul moods. You know how when some authors feel all depressed they write seriously comedic stories?

Well that's not me. I can't do that. When I'm depressed, I'm REALLY DEPRESSED. Which sucks. So I write stories like these. And my fave depressed book: New Moon, since it made me cry so hard.

So enjoy. And plz update? Make me feel better? I won't hold any chapters ransom, but it would speed up the process of getting happy and updating the perky stories.

Oh yeah: I own NOTHING. Stephenie genius Meyer own EVERYTHING. sniffle. Bawl

BTW! Set after Edward left. In New Moon. Like the morning after.

And set to Blue October's 'razorblade'.

I felt tears coursing down my face.

And I was powerless to stop them. I didn't want to stop them.

I would allow myself this. This one day. To remember.

To remember him. Edward. My life. My only love. My true soul's match.

When I woke up, as soon as I opened my eyes, the tears came. My heart knew he wasn't there.

And worse yet, that he'd never return.

"It will be as if I never existed."

Oh Edward. How could I forget you ever existed? I asked myself, the tears coursing down, flowing, quickly, without stop.

I glanced around my room, not really seeing it at all.

I looked at the photo album Renee had sent me, decorated prettily. It was open.

I looked at the blank page where his picture was supposed to have been. I saw only my untidy cursive.

I saw the CD player, open, and empty, his beautiful composition withdrawn from it. Not there anymore.


Like he was.

Like I was.

Without him. My life.

I looked at the razorblade on the rug next to me.

I'd never been much of a masochist.

Quickly, with a jerk, my brain sending the message to my body a little too late, I got up and flipped through my CD case.

Found it.

Phil again, and his weirdo bands.

But they'd helped me before.

I took the Blue October CD and put it into the player and turned it up loud.

It didn't matter. Charlie wasn't here.

Which was why I was allowing myself this. This day to be weak.

To mourn. On the outside.

The rest of the time. For the rest of my life, I would be Bella.

Broken Bella, sure.

But no one would ever see how truly broken I was.

A moon, or satellite, orbiting around an empty space, ignoring the rules of gravity, ignoring other, bigger things' gravitational pull.

A moon, small, insignificant, a distraction.

Something mildly interesting to experiment on for a short period of time in the planet's immortal LIFE.

Because I wasn't good enough, wasn't inhuman enough, wasn't FERAL enough.

For him.


All for him.


The words of the current song, blaring caught my attention.

'I bleed out when the razorblade cuts me. . .' he screamed.

In anger. Anger.

Fury and hurt.

Talking to me like I was a child.

Cold and unfeeling.

A vampire.

A monster.

A monster I loved, who I would sacrifice everything for, who didn't want me.

His eyes, usually liquid gold, molten cold, turned hard and cold, like the stone he was.

A stone.

An immovable, unfeeling stone.

He wasn't even alive.

His stone cold heart didn't beat.

He couldn't love.

I was just a passing fancy, a distraction.

A whim.

That, as he passed, he left destroyed.

"I freaked out thinking people didn't love me. . ."

I took the first thing my numb hand felt: A ceramic something, and threw it with all my force against the wall.

I heard a satisfying crash.

Good. It was broken into a million pieces.

Like me.

The razor blade gleamed dully.

Everything was dull now.

It called to me, and I answered.

I took it.

And cut.

The pain felt good.

The satisfying red line on white skin, the difference, was stark.

And Lovely.

The icy cool clarity after the burning was refreshing, like his skin.

This pain gave me something else to concentrate on.

Not my pain, which was a pulse. In time with my heartbeat, that threw a thin film over everything, separating me from it. From everyone.

No, this was sharp, and refreshing. It left marks on my pale skin, that was always so cold now, so numb. . .

"It is you that I remember in my growing,

It's you that took my first away from me!

It is you I shed my status to, To every walk of life,

I haven't met another you since you were with me."

I got up, suddenly possessed,

It was HIM.

He destroyed me, my whole world.

I ran downstairs, got a garbage bag, ran back upstairs, and wrenched open my closet doors.

I tore out my blue shirt, the one he'd complimented me on, so long ago.

I took out everything, all shades of blue, and shoved them in the bag, which I promptly shoved to the very back of my closet.

I wasn't done.

I ran downstairs, grabbed my keys and opened the truck.

I glared at the inanimate object, the stereo, with such hatred, it seemed to shrink before me.

I clawed it out, using my fingernail, where Emmett had used tools.

It took awhile, but I finally got it out.

I grabbed it, and put it with the other stuff, in the back of my closet.

I finally glanced at my hands.

They were a bloody mess.


In some places, the nail had gone into the flesh and torn it out, with my fevered clawing and scratching.

I washed them, not even feeling the pain.

A single piece of good news.

I was numb to physical pain.

It didn't matter, I wasn't alive.

Not where it counted, anyway.

I was an empty shell.

Too bad the only part of my shell with anything in it caused me this dull, omnipresent, thudding, yet still sharp pain.

I heard the door.

Charlie was here.

My time was over.

Edward Cullen.


I'd never think his name again.

It hurt too much.

I walked into the kitchen, to greet my father.

I put on my fa├žade.

The one that would be on for the rest of my life.