I've tried to focus this story on certain parts of Edward and Bella's personalities. Edwards protectiveness and possessiveness (that's a lot of s:es) but also his intense love for her, and Bella's two weaknesses: her wish to make Edward happy and her "human fragility". This is an all-human story, rated between T and M for some language. (I don't think it will include any lemons, it just feels awkward to write.) Oh, and Edward might appear slightly dominant at times, but nothing too dark. I don't mean for Edward to be superior to Bella at all, and that's why I decided to write from both Bella's and Edward's points of view, to get an insight of both of their minds: Bella's clouded with her love for him, and Edwards with his clear obsession with her. And just face it, Bella would probably agree to anything Edward insisted on, at least after some thorough dazzling.

Excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes. I'm from Sweden, and this is simply a try to improve my English skills.

And I don't own Twilight yada, yada, yada...

So, here goes nothing...


I hated this feeling. I stood with my arms around the girl I loved more than life, and still I hated it. And I was so scared for her. For what she would have to go through. People that wanted to hurt her.

I hated how she felt in my arms. She was too thin. Too fragile. Too small. She was more than a foot shorter than me, whenever I wanted too kiss her, I would have to bend down or lift her up. I constantly tried to feed her more, whenever I got the chance I put chocolate bars in her pockets and took her to all the best restaurants. She looked like a child and I was disgusted with myself. She was younger than me, though the age-difference was more than acceptable. And she bruised easily. Sometimes I would find bruises matching my fingers around her arms or wrists, from when I had handled her too rough. Despite the fact that treating her like a sculpture of the finest glass was second-nature to me now, I still slipped up sometimes. There was a constant worry gnawing in my chest, she could so easily be hurt. By me, herself or someone else outside the sheltered life I had created for her. I never left her alone; she would always find me or someone I trusted in her presence. Some may call it controlling, but I always let her have her secrets and do whatever she wanted, as long as someone was there to protect her. My whole life revolved around her. Everything I did, I did for her. My love bordered towards obsession, and I felt like a caveman for the possessive way I acted around her. My glass sculpture. I would glare and spit and throw a fit with anyone I caught looking at her in a way I thought inappropriate.

I already had our whole future planned out and secured when I finished college and she graduated from high school. I started working for my father's company, telecommunications, in which I would take over the place as the CEO when my father considered me experienced enough. She started college, studying British literature, and I would find her all too often frantically writing on her laptop with a passionate sparkle in her eyes. I would curiously peek over her shoulder while her slender fingers knuckled over the tangents. She would teasingly scold me for it, and then promise to show her work to me when she was done.

I gently released her from the lingering hug and met the adoring stare when I looked down on her. The chocolate brown eyes held nothing but love for me and I sighed contently. I loved this time of day. I had just come home from work and found her shuffling around in the kitchen.

"How was your day?" I asked softly while caressing her cheek with my thumb. It was so soft.

"Fine. I missed you." She answered with a whisper.

I bent down and ever so lightly let my lips meet hers for a brief moment. It felt so right.

Her pale cheeks tinted a light pink after my show of affection.

"I missed you too." I whispered in her ear. Then I spotted something behind her and flinched.

"What happened?" I asked alarmed, when I saw the cutting board sprinkled with blood and the band aid next to it on the kitchen island.

She followed my eyes and sighed, annoyed.

"I just cut myself when I made the salad. No big deal." She made a move towards the island but I grabbed her arm, maybe too tightly, I thought, and yanked her back.

"You should have let me do that, I always do." I accused her. She rolled her eyes.

"Let me see." I lifted her hand and examined the finger with a band aid neatly wrapped around it.

"You know you don't have to do all the cooking all the time." I tried to reassure her. "I'm always here to help." I looked down on her again and to my surprise her deep brown eyes were angry and glistered with unshed tears.

"What's wrong?" I urged while wrapping her into a careful, yet loving, hug. What had I done to upset her?

There was a tense moment before she snapped.

"Why can't you just let me do one thing for you on my own?!" She sniffled quietly.

I tightened my grip while she shook. She had been so sensitive lately.

"It's all you ever do! Giving me things. Doing things for me. Helping me. I wanted to do something for you for once!" The words were slightly muffled against my chest.

Realization dawned for me.

"I'm so sorry." I whispered against her temple. "I'm just worried about you."

I tried to think of a way to make it up to her and gently stroke her hair.

"Let's do like this, I'll go upstairs and take a shower and change clothes, and you can finish the dinner? Okay?" I asked and pulled away from the embrace. I tilted her chin upwards and looked into her eyes framed by still wet, thick lashes. Now they were just sad.

She nodded.

"I love you." I said firmly and then let go of her chin and made it upstairs.

I sat down defeated on our bed with my head in my hands. I'd made her cry. I'd hurt her that much. I should be killed for that. What horrible person makes the love of his life cry? I felt my own eyes water at the thought. She was so loving and caring, and still I hurt her. Why couldn't I just understand what she needed, and then give it to her? I had noticed that she had become a bit distant with me, even though I thought it was mostly because of how little time I had spent with her the past weeks due to the strange threats and attempts to black-mailing at my company. I didn't deserve her and she should leave me. I clutched my heart at the sudden pain that thought delivered. I couldn't imagine life without her, and I briefly wondered if she could survive without me, protecting and taking care of her. I needed to be what she needed me to be. I would do anything for her. I craved her, and I would never survive letting her go. No, I would do anything to keep her safe with me. I stood up, content with my decision, and headed for the shower.

When I came down the stairs and entered the kitchen, the lights had been turned off and the room was only lit with a few candles. The dinner was placed on the kitchen island. She sat on one of the bar stools and looked like an angel in the dim light. With the wavy, dark brown long hair and pale complex, she looked god-sent. I slowly walked forward and relished in every step that brought me closer to her. I silently sat on the stool next to her, and pulled her onto my lap, holding her close, with her back against my chest. I whispered loving words to her while feeding her the pieces of the meal. This had become a habit after I noticed that her waist was a bit too thin for my liking, and she never really ate enough on her own. After half of the portion she started to squirm, but I held her firmly against my chest.

"Come on, angel, a few more pieces." I whispered in her ear.

She reluctantly obliged. I let her slid off my lap while I ate my own portion.

"That was delicious." I continued to whisper. I always spoke softly to her, as if one word too loud would shatter her.

She looked at me for a long while and at last climbed onto my lap again. She rested her forehead against my shoulder and sighed.

"I miss you."

I felt a stab in my heart at her barley audible words.

"I'll take some time off from work, and then we can go somewhere, alone..." I suggested, knowing that it would happen sooner than she expected. I had to keep her with me.

"You don't have to; I know you're busy..."

I interrupted.

"I want to. It feels like I'm loosing you." I breathed into her hair, thinking about how upset she's been with me a few times the last weeks.

She stiffened at my words and turned her head up to face me.

"You're not. But you're not talking to me, and it hurts." Her eyes were once again wet and tears started to fall down her face. I used the tips of my fingers to catch them and exhaled loudly. I didn't like to talk with her about the threats we'd been receiving at work. One of them against her. And it was all about money.

"You're too fragile, it scares me." I admitted and clenched my fists behind her back. "I'm worried sick when I'm away from you, but at the same time I'm so afraid of hurting you when I'm with you. It's happened before." I closed my eyes.

I knew I was moody and had a temper, which only got worse with all the stress in my work and the constant worry about her safety and happiness. I had never intentionally hurt her, only been too rough in my movements. But that didn't change the fact that I had hurt her.

She interrupted my inner ramblings with a soft peck. I felt my lips curve upwards in an involunteered smile.

"That bruise was probably the tiniest I'll ever see." She teased soothingly.

I groaned.

"Don't downplay it. It was still a bruise, proof of how I hurt you."

It was her turn to groan, but I stood up and carried her small form into the library and gently put her down on the couch. I went to retrieve a book and came back just to pull her down on the couch with her head resting on my chest.

"I'll read for you tonight, I'll carry you up to bed when you've fallen asleep."

She nodded contently and yawned.

I read Jane Eyre to her for half an hour, and before her eyelids closed she mumbled "I love you."

I waited a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of her tiny, but oh, so soft body so close to mine. I carried her effortlessly up to bed and helped her out of her jeans before tucking her in. She stirred slightly and I offered her her toothbrush, which she groggily put in her mouth. She was simply adorable. I kissed her forehead and walked quietly out of our bedroom. After I closed the door I leaned my head against it and sighed heavily. Then I flipped my cell open and called work.

A man answered on first signal.

"Cullen? What the fuck's going on? Have you even seen your office?! It's a mess" The man, Felix, our security director, growled.

I took a deep breath.

"I know, damn it. That's not my biggest concern though."

He was silent.

"They took her photo from my desk."



I inhaled and exhaled a few times and pinched the bridge of my nose, frustrated.

"Man, you've got to get her out of there" The man whispered.

"I know. Prepare the jet and make sure the safe house in Alaska is secured and ready."

"Got it."

The man ended the call immediately.

One single tear fell down my cheek at the thought of what I would have to put her through. Snatch her away from her life, just because of my work. I couldn't be more selfish. I tiredly rubbed my eyes before getting the suitcases and clothes appropriate for the climate in Alaska. I carried them out to the waiting SUV, and went back to the house to get Isabella, but not before picking up the two false ID's and passports for us. At last I found the one thing I dreaded the most. The needle. I knew I would have to put her under, so she wouldn't be stressed or scared when we fled. Isabella was sound asleep and I admired her peaceful face while stroking her hair. She mumbled something incoherent and sighed.

"I'm so sorry, angel." I whispered in her ear, before sticking the needle in her arm. I pulled on some sweats on her and carried her to the car.

I was ready to save her.

Now I feel ridiculous...