Author's Note: Okay, I know you all want updates on Moonlight Sonata, or Solar Flares or maybe even Rain on Me. But... too bad. Because I've got writer's block currently, so I'm writing oneshots. Albeit, bad ones too. But please review it anyway. Who knows, maybe your review could inspire an update on the long stories! :)

I've never given much thought to the act of breathing before. It's supposed to be effortless, something your brain controls subconsciously.

In. Out. In. Out.

There's rhythm to it, like blinking your eyes, or the beating of your heart. It's steady, and controlled. It's naturally beautiful, the simple act of being alive.

Except when every breath you take is permeated with pain.

It isn't supposed to be like this. This princess doesn't end up alone at the end of her fairy tale. She doesn't end up gasping for air, fighting to restore some form of normality to her life.

She rides off into the sunset with her soul mate and they live happily ever after.

There isn't a happily ever after waiting for me.

It's somewhat disconcerting to realize that, and it hurts to admit it aloud. Though, not as much as it does to realize, that, essentially, my life is over. Climaxed at eighteen.

It's what I wanted, but not as I'd imagined it.

But, then again, nothing in life ever is.

And yet, it goes on. Well, time moves forward anyway. But where it used to move in the tune of an upbeat song, it now marches forward in movements reminiscent of a funeral dirge. And even meaningless tasks take everything out of me. I brush my hair, timing the strokes with my breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

I accomplish two things this way. Though, I can't look at myself in the mirror while I do it. I'm afraid of what I'll see. Will my pale face be even whiter? Will my eyes still be brown? Or red from the countless tears I've shed? I don't know.

And it should probably bother me that I don't care.

Instead of thinking about what I've become, I wage the internal debate over pajamas. The holey sweats are familiar, they're comfortable, and I've missed them greatly. But if I pick them I admit to myself something I already know.

Edward isn't coming back.

So, the Victoria's Secret silk set wins again, and I set my brush aside to pull them on. My body aches, it hurts to bend over. I'm sore, like I've spent a whole day at the gym. But that pain is different still. It's a rewarding hurt, something to revel in, and remind you that you've accomplished something.

And that pain will fade.

The aching makes me long for sleep, wish to lie down. But my bed, with its horrid purple comforter, is not the source of refuge I desire. I move to it anyway, resting my head upon the pillows I swear still smell like him. But not before I take the time to ensure my window is wide open.

Just in case.

The memories are so much stronger when I lay in my bed. They're like a bad pop song you can't stop singing. You hate it, but you can't help it. I wonder if they're so strong because we spent so much time there. So many minutes wasted while I slept. If I could go back in time, I'd shake myself awake, remind myself that there's only so much time life with Edward, and yell at myself not to squander any of the moments.

Because, when he leaves, you end.

I try not to think about it, because if I do, surely I will cry. And I can't possibly have any tears left in me. So I concentrate on breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

It's all I have left.