Did you really expect anyone to be at the lake?

There's only a limited amount of women in this city, and believe me, I've dealt with all of them at some point.

Sometimes, I think that I'm not going to find anyone, and I'll grow up by myself, being weird, and everything will be the same way it is now.

Only worse.

I'm tired of people feeling sorry for me. I'm tired of people wanting to have sex with me, when they don't even know me. I'm tired of people not understanding.

I just want someone to understand why I am the way I am.

But how can I have that when I don't even understand why I'm like this?

After years of self therapy, and serious psycho evaluation, I've come to the conclusion that it's my mother's fault.

When I was four, I had a cup of frozen yogurt, strawberry if I recall correctly. Esme and Carlisle had this thing about us eating anything that wasn't considered at least mildly healthy in some way shape of form. But anyways, I had this yogurt, and then Emmett being his idiot self, came running up and slammed the yogurt out of my hand. When I started to cry, Esme consoled me by pointing out that the melting yogurt looked like a sleeping cat.

I immediately stopped cry, and started thinking instead.

It was my social death from then on in.

Why did it spread that way? Why did it avoid that rock, but not that one? After that I never stopped asking questions or making stupid observations again.

But I could still see the ugly. I could still feel how bad it made me feel when the cold dairy product flew out of my hands. But behind that, I could still see how beautiful it was.

Life epiphanies at four.

So I've spent the years since then seeing the ugly and the beautiful. Because I'm a completely pessimistic jerk, I try to make the ugly worse and worse until I can't stand to even look at it anymore because the beauty has disappeared.

That usually is only with people.

Like Bella Swan.

She wears too much makeup. She smokes too much. She probably has meaningless sex too much. And she kind of dresses like a slut. And the swearing's kind of out of hand.

I feel like I've listed these things thousands of times before.

It almost seems like people strive to make themselves unpure and unappealing.

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating just a touch. I don't think that Isabella's ugly per se, she's actually quite attractive. Attractive enough to actually make me want to act like a teenager for once.

But so does a young Demi Moore, and she's probably a huge bitch too.

And I don't know why I'm thinking so much about her, I literally just met her. And I didn't even have the chance to speak to her since I was having such a large internal battle.

And by acting like a teenager I of course mean actually accepting a no strings attached... um, fellatio session, behind the only restaurant in town. Instead, this awful scene chose to unfold:

"Hey," she ground out, her voice rumbling out of her throat hoarsely. I looked up from my sitting position on the ground. I had left Esme, Carlisle, Emmett, and Rosalie inside. Esme was practically begging me to go out with Rosalie, and she was touching my hair and smoothing my collar and Emmett was glaring at me (he had always had a soft spot for Rosalie, something deeper than giving her the high tippers), and Carlisle was just randomly smoking a cigar, and he was a doctor for God sakes and.... I just needed some air.

"Hello," I said. I somehow managed to sound awkward and bored in only one word. A word that was literally used millions - billions even- times a day. I have a real talent for that.

"I saw you inside," why are people always watching me? "You looked stressed. I can help relax you." You would have to be like...a deaf, blind, Mormon priest to not get the implications in her voice. I could hear the forced seduction in her tones. I could smell the cheap strong smelling perfume. I could see the badly applied makeup and the hopeful, pathetic expression. I could feel the resentment and revenge coming off of her in waves, the wanting to feel accepted and needed by anyone at all. I could taste the longing and insecurity in the air.

So, I thought about why she was like this. Did her boyfriend just dump her for someone less needy? Did her father ignore her, and not give her what she wants? Did her mother seem absent all the time, staring off into space? Did she want more? Because if this girl did, she was going to down the wrong path. You don't get happy giving rushed fellatio while your parents are meters away. You don't get happy doing what other people expect you to do. You don't get happy settling for something beneath you.

And after all that, it seemed too easy. It seemed to fake, and fleeting.

It was what ugly sounded, smelled, looked, felt, and tasted like. And then I couldn't even bring myself to look at the poor misguided girl. I just frowned and pouted and shook my head without saying anything. She didn't say anything either as I saw her turn on her heel and walk away out of the corner of my eye.

Ever since then, a year ago, I always thought that any sexual encounter of any kind had to feel the way that felt. Awkward, and pathetic, and rushed, and as if you were trying to prove something.

I'm not saying I was never... aroused ever again, just saying that I never followed through on anything.

That's right. I, Edward Cullen, 17 years old. High school guy, has never masturbated.

And yes, that means no orgasms. Ever.

Shocking. This I know.

But why waste what's supposed to be one of the best feelings ever on something that you're going to regret five seconds later?

So yeah, I'm basically virginal and virtuous in every way.

I've never even kissed anyone.

I'm not one to brag (see above), but I've had ample opportunities to go "all the way", but I never can.

I don't want that. I want more. I want everything there is in life and love.

But the outlook isn't so rosy.

I realized that I had walked past my house in my reminiscing, and now I had to turn around like an awkward idiot.

When I walked the extra five minutes home, I walked through the door and was greeted by Rosalie. Sometimes I wondered if she secretly lived her, I was seeing her too much for my liking.

She looked at my wet hair and shirt stuck to my chest. She bit her lip and rolled her eyes at the exact same time.

"Where do you go? Emmett said you just ran off." Her voice was always quiet, always cam and cool. It could be intimidating if you didn't actually know how insecure and selfish she really was.

"How do you get here?" I asked, completely ignoring her question, "Emmett just dropped you off." I didn't meet her gaze as I brushed past her, her English Rose and Lavender perfume swirling around my head. I instantly thought ugly thoughts. Not the dirty kind of thoughts, just the like, 'I don't want you so stop bugging me' kind of thoughts.

"You didn't answer my question." She almost whispered, following behind me quietly and gracefully.

"Where's Emmett anyway?" I asked, again ignoring her.

"On a job. Lauren had an itching for well... you know." I could hear Rosalie condescending smirk in her soft voice.

"Lovely," I almost grunted as I grabbed a perfectly green and circular apple from the fridge and went to the sink to wash it. I was so entranced by the bright green tinted water droplets running down the smooth skin that I didn't even notice that Rosalie was running the tips of her fingers through my hair.

I turned around and she ran that perfectly painted red nail in a line straight down my chest, stopping above the button to my jeans. It literally made me shiver, just a bit. I refused to look at her, and she started leaning in and I could feel her breath on my neck, and I was going to do it. I was going to kiss her.

And then I ruined it.

I looked up.

And all I could see was the meaningless fakeness. It was like I could see the hand prints of anyone that had ever touched her. And just as quickly as it came, the longing was gone.

She was ugly. She wasn't hard to look at. Her perfect soft looking tan skin was almost caressing the bone structure underneath, her blue eyes clear and all seeing. Her eyelashes stuck together with mascara. Her lips tinted red.

She was pretty, but not beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful that you don't have to try for.

I gently grabbed her cashmere covered shoulders, with the wet apple still in hand, probably ruining her sweater and stepped around her toward the fridge.

Suddenly I wasn't hungry anymore.

I heard her sigh, not sadly. Just out of frustration and defeat.

"I'll get you someday Edward. And I won't be charging." Her words kind of reminded me of Emmett's earlier I'll try you again later. Why was everyone trying to desperately to try and change me?

I sighed, this one not like Rosalie's but full of sadness and just all together bad tidings.

I took a shower. As long and hot as I could stand without like, I don't know, fainting. Then I went to "bed".

After laying in my bed for 3 hours staring at my perfectly white ceiling, I went on the computer and looked at ink blots on some Psychology website.

Apparently I'm at least mildly sane.

That killed about an hour, so I drew diagrams of where everyone sat in everyone of my classes, as well as coloured each of their desks with the colour they most frequently wore to school.


I think I wouldn't have such a problem with this whole insomnia thing if it played out like it did in Fight Club. Like, if I got to live a different, while my regular lame self was sleeping, that I would fall asleep much quicker.

And I would get to like... touch Helena Bonham Carter.


I pondered the meaning of life.

Decided it wasn't worth it.


Started reading Catcher in the Rye again. Some loser drew all over the pages with a pencil. Found it distracting, so I skipped an entire three chapters.


I could hear Esme yelling at Emmett to get up one floor down. I decided that then was as good as a time as any to wake up. I practically jogged to my bathroom, knowing that Esme would be up any second to talk to me.

"Edward?" Like clockwork I could hear her muffled voice through my door. She opened it without knocking and without asking me if she could come in.

She knew the routine. She leaned against the door that led to my washroom.

"Hey honey." She said, smoothing her brownish blond hair away from her face. I could see the little shocks of white and grey starting to shoot from her temples and widows peak. Like little hair lightning bolts. I noticed the right temple had more silver that the left. I reminded myself to look that up tonight. I realized I was staring.

"Um... did you sleep well?" She asked awkwardly, moving her hair to cover her face again.

"Yes." I was a man of many words this morning.

"Well... that's good. So, Rosalie," It was like this was a routine for her,"seemed kind of upset when she left yesterday... Were you mean to her? Also, Emmett told me that there's football tryouts tonight! You could make the team! You're so tall Edward, you could use it to your advantage! And-" I cut her off with a quick kiss, mostly to shut her up and gently moved her so I could walk towards my closet. It reminded me of Rosalie last night, and it wasn't welcomed.

She didn't take notice of my shudder of disgust.

"Well, I'll see you when you come downstairs then," she sounded thoroughly dazed, lightly touching her cheek.

It was then that I realized I hadn't even touched her in at least six months.

Is that messed up? Yes, it most definitely is.

I threw on a gray long sleeved shirt, and some way too expensive jeans that Emmett's other friend Alice had bought for me for like no reason. I was sure to be harassed about it by today. That little one could spot a quality piece of clothing from clear across the cafeteria.

I looked at my hair in the mirror in passing. A lost cause.

Life was bursting in the kitchen, Esme was scurrying around in her bath robe, and Carlisle nodded at me from behind his black coffee and news paper, and Rosalie was already there.

I shot a bewildered look at her and sat as far away from all of them as possible on the small island in the middle of the kitchen.

Rosalie was eating an apple, probably the one I had put in the fridge last night. Well, at least she didn't have to waist her time washing it again.

Then, she ran her finger in a straight line down it, and then licked it.

It was then that Emmett cleared his throat loudly.

"Looking for new business Rosalie?" He said loudly, I couldn't tell if he was actually mad or just joking.

"That's no way to talk to a girl. My apologies for my idiot simple minded son Rosalie," Carlisle said, still not looking over the newspaper.

"My apologies as well." Esme came up and smoothed down Rosalie's hair.

Why couldn't she just leave?

"Well, I've had about enough of this... children, should we be on our way?" Emmett asked, not even waiting, just randomly walking out of the house.

"Why are we leaving so early?" I took a bad chance even talking to Rosalie willingly, but she was surprisingly calm about the whole thing.

"We need to pick up the new girl. We wouldn't want her to be tardy." Rosalie for once sounded more than calm and indifferent. She almost sounded angry, and was that jealousy I detected? And then I actually listened to what she said.

We were going to pick up Bella?

It kind of made sense, I mean the group I've previously listed (Rose, Em, Alice, and Jasper... sometimes me, I was like 'y' in the list of vowels, always inconsistent), was kind of like the good looking and popular elite of the school. It would only make sense that dangerous, smoking, swearing, good looking Bella would be included.

And then I realized that there wouldn't be enough seats. And then I further realized that she would have to sit on someone's lap. And then deep, deep, deep down I hoped it was me that got that privilege.

Of course, it wasn't. She was currently wiggling around on Jasper's lap to the beat of whatever the hell song was on the stupid radio and I suddenly found the car stifling. She was supposed to be the one that I didn't like, but still got forced with.

Jasper looked happy, and I could have swore I saw his eyes roll back a little.

Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly.

I did however notice that Bella at least gave me some form of recognition, it was a glare, but it at least showed that she remembered me, and that she didn't want me.

Which, was you know... good. Because I did. Not. Want. Her.

AN: Give me some loooooove, review if you would like :)