Rated Teen for dark themes.

Disclaimer: All credit for these lovely characters goes to the brilliant Mrs. Stephenie Meyer. I'm just messing around with them.

"Declare this since of emergency
Come one and spread the since of urgency
And pull us through
And this is the end of the world"
Apocalypse Please—MUSE


Written by Adrianne Moore

I wasn't crazy—right?

Just because I was standing in front of my father's electric stove while he was at the station—the coil on one of the burners heating slowly to that glorious red—didn't mean I was crazy. No, I was pretty sure I wasn't crazy. But how could I tell, if I was? Weren't crazy people always the ones who denied it?

I'd already made this choice—I wasn't going back on it. I still needed to hear his voice. The motorcycles were out, seeing Jacob was an even worse option. I still didn't know why Jacob had said we couldn't be friends. I winced at the thought.

Finally, that hot metal coil was the perfect, marbled red. I could see the heat waves rising there, as if I was staring out into a flat plain of a desert on a day where there was no clouds to block that scorching sun. But there was no desert, just me and this blistering coil. I'd have my own blisters after I was done with this.

I stretched my hand over the burner, at least ten inches away from the twisting, angry coil, palm side down. I could feel the heat now, beating against my ivory skin in steady waves. I lowered my hand—inch by inch towards the coil—until I heard what I wanted.

A furious snarl ripped through my head—his snarl. "Bella, don't." He warned, pleadingly angry.

I smiled, closing my eyes and halting the movement of my hand. Relief washed over me. I wasn't alone.

"Edward," I breathed. It didn't ache to say or think his name when the perfect illusion was with me. Speaking to me.

I was crazy.

My smile dropped when he didn't reply—didn't so much as breathe in my ear. I lowered my hand, two inches.


I smiled, lowering my hand another inch.

"Isabella Marie Swan!" he hissed. I could almost feel his icy hand fist around my wrist and wrench me away from the hissing burner. My eyes remained closed. I soared.

I tilted my head, playing along with this façade. "What, Edward?"

"Don't," he was pleading now, begging me to leave this idiotic act and continue on with my boring Saturday afternoon. I couldn't though; it felt too good to hear him again. I had gone long enough without hearing him—two weeks was too long. "Bella!"

The sizzling-crackle hit my ears before his shriek of horror. Like the sound of an egg frying on a stove, the salt bouncing in time with the popping grease. My eyes slowly opened, peering down. I'd really done it! How? I wasn't sure. I gagged on the smell of my flesh burning.

It didn't hurt, not yet. I was numb. Somehow the screen I had been able to film over my mind had seeped into the physical me. I couldn't even tell I had an angry, red-hot coil under my palm and fingers.

The heat dipped through my skin. I counted. One Mississippi, Two Missi-ssi-ppi, Three Mis-si-ssi-ppi-i-i. I got slower with each second. My skin was melting around the twisting coil, becoming putty around the metal. Fifteen Mi-ss-i-ss-i-pp-i-i-i.

At Thirty-two, I felt it. And screamed. The heat had bitten through my skin, licking at my tendons and muscles. The veins there were sizzling as the blood boiled. I wasn't going to make it to sixty like I wanted to. Why would I want this pain!?

"Bella, listen to me!"

I bit my lip, tasting blood almost instantly. I wanted to hear him out; he might calm the pain gnawing at my right hand. "Help," I squeaked, not wanting to look at the glob of skin and bone that my hand had become.

I was crazy!

"Bella, don't turn off the burner."

What!? He wanted me to suffer like this?

"No, Bella, if you turn it off and it cools with your hand around it you'll loose your hand. Now, listen to me."

I waited, breathing through my mouth to avoid the foul smell of my blood and hand melting around that dreaded coil. I was crazy. I was stupid. I wanted to die.

"You need to rip your hand off,"


"Do you want to keep what's left of your hand, or not, Isabella!?" He roared, sending chills down my spine. I nodded helplessly. "Just rip your hand up. Think of it like a Band-Aid."

I whimpered, but wrap my left hand around my right forearm. I took a deep breath, blew it out my mouth and pulled up quickly.


I scream at the sound of it alone, but the pain was much worse. My skin had wrapped itself around the heated coil, hugging tight to its new home. I didn't look at the crisp hand as I clicked the burner off. I couldn't avoid the sight of drops of my melted skin at the bottom of the burner, looking like burnt cheese. I gagged again, resisting the urge to retch.

"Get to the hospital, Bella. You'll be able to drive with only your left hand," he said. There was no emotion there.

I snatched up my keys quickly, along with a roll of toilet paper from under the counter. I ran out through the rain, not caring that I was getting soaked. As I drove, using my knee to steer me down the slippery, dangerous road, I bundled my poor piece of bacon of a hand in the toiler paper. I wouldn't let myself actually look at all the damage I had caused myself. I'd burned myself enough that you couldn't see the lines of coil, though.

What was I going to tell the doctor? Who cares, I probably was going to loose this hand, anyway.

"That was utterly idiotic, Isabella Swan." Edward's voice said to me as I pulled into the hospital drive.

I replied with my cheeks wet with pained tears. "I know," I choked.