Disclaimer- Stephenie Meyer unfortunately published Twilight before I could so Edward Cullen (and all of the others) belong to her… *sigh*
A/N: Well, a new story. Be warned now, this is not a comedy like THWTLAL. It's angsty. And possibly a little insane, maybe even psychotic, but the idea came to me and I just kind of HAD to write the prologue to see where it went. And yes this is ALL HUMAN.
Full Summary: "Mr Cullen, your new task is as simple as it is difficult." There was a pause and then the photo came down in front of me. "I want you to murder Miss Isabella Swan." Bella Swan is a world-wide teenage superstar. She can sing, she can dance and she can act. Edward is just one of the thousand teenage nobodies who crushes on her. But a chance encounter on a dark night means that Edward is hired as Bella's bodyguard. But little does Bella know that Edward can't be trusted; he's not just a teenage nobody. He has a task that needs to be fulfilled: the termination of one Miss Isabella Swan.
Victim of a Teenage Nobody
"See you in hell, Bella," he spat, slamming the door.
I cringed into the carpet, my body's automatic response to escape pain. I tried desperately to work up a scream, but I was too weak to even do that now. Well, his plan had worked. Whenever someone found me, it would be too late. It was strange how calmly I accepted that I was dying. Actually, it was strange how I knew that I was dying at all; I had been so well-protected that I had never experienced real physical pain, but somehow I just knew that death was coming. It was like I could see it, though it was silent and invisible.
It was ironic, really, how I was getting what I wanted. Death was coming painfully and slowly, and I knew what was happening. I writhed at the impossible pain inside, but on the outside, I merely twitched, my muscles shutting down, refusing to do what my brain told them to. With great difficulty I clutched my hand to my chest and felt the blood seep over my hand. I pushed, trying to get it back in but of course I knew that it wouldn't work. I also knew that the deep stab wound in my chest was the most deadly, and that it had been my fault. If I hadn't fought, he would have killed me nicely, like he said. If I had believed that he had been serious, then I would have let him take me back to his office and drug me painlessly. But instead I got the knife in the heart. Well, I would've sworn that his knife had cut my heart in half, if it had still been intact. But it wasn't. My heart had been played with, stepped on and crushed so much in the last few months that there was no way that it could be injured any further. For the first time ever, I was glad. Because if the emotional pain of having my heart broken had already lessened (but not gone completely; it could never be gone), then it made the physical pain that much better, that much more bearable.
I shut my eyes and the only thing I could see beyond the red film of the pain was a pair of glittering green eyes and a messy mop of bronze hair. Even now, he was all I could think about. I was still in love with him. Even now that I knew that he had been planning this – my death, that was inching closer and closer with every second that passed – for months, I couldn't dislike him. I couldn't even stop loving him. He was going to be my dying thought and I didn't mind. I did love him, and that was a feeling that would never disappear. The emotional pain I felt from the betrayal hurt more than the physical pain of approaching death. Not that I hadn't had my suspicions about Edward, but to have them confirmed was agonising. And to have him actually go from my protector to turn round and stab me in the back, almost literally, was worse. The man I loved had pretty much killed me. I was seconds away from death, because of the man I loved, and he was all I could think about.
I remembered the way his gorgeous green eyes would light up when he laughed, the way one corner of his mouth would pull up into an adorable crooked grin, the way he'd run his hands through his permanently messy bronze bouffant when he was worried, the way he'd stare at me as if I was the only thing in the world, the way his lips moved against mine, moulding together as if we were made for each other; the way he would whisper how much he loved me against my swollen lips; the way he would hold me; and the way he would be permanently on the lookout for someone about to swoop down and shoot me. At first I had believed that he was just taking his job seriously (perhaps a little too seriously), almost crossing that thin line into paranoia. Of course, the real reasons behind this were glaringly obvious to me now. He only knew of his own motives, so how could he be sure that no one else was about to try the same thing? He didn't want anyone to hurt me so that he could do it himself.
I felt the pieces of my heart throb painfully as that thought crossed my mind. He hadn't loved me at all; he had just wanted to get close to me so that he could do away with me without my feeling the need to get revenge. So that I'd love him enough to forgive him. Well, it had worked flawlessly. I was heartbroken but still utterly, hopelessly in love. He couldn't do anything now that would stop my unconditional love from ringing true in every cell in my body. He had committed the worst crime against me and here I was still wishing that he would come and stay by my side while I died. I wondered briefly how many times a heart could be mangled before it finally gave up. I wondered how long it would take for mine to realise that he didn't truly love me. I wondered how I had ever fallen for his trick in the first place. I wondered why I loved him.
But the pain was overwhelming then. It burned at me and tortured my body, even though, logically, I knew that I should be numb by now. I willed death to come quicker so that the indescribable… not just pain, but absolute agony would go away. I could feel my consciousness slipping away and I was glad. Glad to be going, to leave this hell behind me.
Hell. Abruptly, the small portion of fear I had about dying vanished. Because there was no way hell could be ahead of me now; hell was in my past. Fame is a funny thing. It was glorified, made to look better than it was. Having photos taken and getting bags of money. No one mentioned the hard work, the drive you had to have, the way you had to give your job your all, your everything. No one mentioned that fans would mob you wherever you went and the opposite of fans would jeer at you when you walked by. No one mentioned that people in the show business were all cold-hearted devils in designer clothes that were put off by nothing.
No, I corrected myself. Not all of them. Alice wasn't. Rose wasn't. Jasper and Emmett definitely weren't. And I had tried pretty damn hard to make sure that I wasn't too. I had tried to make sure that I was a nice medium of a normal down-to-Earth girl with a famous job. If only I had figured out earlier that two different personas were hard to switch between, they weren't just like clothes. If only I had figured out that fame would be my undoing; one of the causes of my murder.
My thoughts were beginning to spiral out of control as the darkness overwhelmed me. I couldn't see anymore, but I could still hear the laboured breathing that gradually got slower and slower so I knew I was still alive. But my thoughts were everywhere. Flashes of my life came and went, as did things I wanted to see. Things like Edward's eyes, Edward's face, Edward's hair, Edward's body… And then there were the things that I didn't want to see. Things like my expression in the mirror across the hotel room as realisation dawned on me and I knew that I really was going to die, Edward's torn face as he had left me earlier, the penned envelope addressed to a 'Miss Isabella Swan'…
And then, abruptly, I stopped thinking. The end of the thoughts, the end of the pain, the end of my life. Death. Finally, finally, pain-free death. Darkness and nothingness. The end I had been longing and waiting for. The pain flared one last time and then was gone completely.
My hectic schedule was at long last over. My gruelling life was gone. The show was over and the curtains closed on an empty stage.
Gone. Gone. Gone.
OMC angsty or what? Thanks so much for reading it. I promise that, if I carry on, the other chapters will not be this doom & gloom and depressing. Or short. I know it's really short. The real chapters would get longer. Also, there would probably be more EPOV than BPOV, though this chapter doesn't suggest that.
I know this chapter possibly covered some sensitive issues and I'd like to apologise if it offended you at all-- it's not intended to do that. Hopefully it hasn't, but I'd prefer to put that in sooner rather than later.
This IS all human so (before anyone asks) where it says that the pain is burning her body, it's strictly metaphorical.
I don't know if I'll carry on; I feel like I should probably stick to funny fluffy stuff rather than angst with a plot… :S PLEASE give me your honest opinion on this!!! Hit or miss? Good or bad? Amazing or psychotic? Maybe even both? If you're scared of hurting my feelings just say something like 'stick to comedy' because seriously, I won't be offended. I'll wholeheartedly agree with you.
Honestly, I'm begging here.