Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or characters from it. They belong to the wonderfully brilliant Stephanie Meyer.
I was sitting in the small living room staring out the window of the new home my mother had just bought, watching little rays of heat come off the ground in the ridiculously hot weather. I had just moved to Tennessee from Chicago. We had lived there my whole life, all fourteen years of it. I knew I would miss the city lights. I knew I would miss the sound of the traffic racing by our apartment. I knew I would miss the invigorating cold. But I couldn't think about those things now. I was too busy thinking about the one thing I would miss most: my best friend, Edward Cullen.
His father was in the military and he had moved to Chicago only a year earlier. I remember the first time I saw him, standing in Mrs. Scott's room with disheveled bronze hair and nervous, but still brilliant, green eyes. We were best friends from the first moment we talked to each other. We did everything together, literally. We even slept over at each other's house. Other kids thought it was weird, but it was never like that with us. We were like two halves of a whole. We liked the same music, sports, and even food. He was and amazing pianist and played for me every time I came over. He would always tell me what a brilliant artist I was, even though I knew I was just an amateur, and ask me to draw for him. It lasted for one amazing year, then everything fell apart. My mother and father got divorced, and my mother decided to drag me off to Tennessee. Hence my current predicament.
"Bella?" My mother's voice brought me out of my reverie.
"Yea, Mom?" I said turning around to face her.
"Could you get dinner going while I go start the wash?"
"Yea, sure." I got up and walked into the kitchen.
That's when it hit me; the weak dizziness, the sickening clenching of my stomach, the heat rising up my neck causing a sheet of sweat to form. I tried to calm myself down. 'This has happened before,' I told myself. 'Nothing to worry about. It's probably just a bout of hypoglycemia or something like that.'
I don't know how long I stood there, but it must have been quite a while because my mother was soon bounding around the corner into the kitchen.
"Bella, I thought I asked you to get dinner going," she said scolding.
I slowly turned my head toward her, startled by how heavy it felt, and tried to register what she was saying.
"Bella, are you okay?" she nearly yelled, a look of deep concern now on her face.
"I …I don't…" I tried to answer her. Then I suddenly found myself falling. I felt the cold floor beneath my burning cheek before I finally succumbed to the darkness.