Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. If I did, I'd be stinking rich.

AN: Just a short reminder that this is not, in any way, a form of plagiarism. I own the right to this fanfiction story. I am jangoo.

There's a time in your life when you realise how much of a sick, twisted bastard God must be to allow such horrible things happen to you. I'd finally reached that point– I was completely baffled at how generous He had been, yet how entirely sadistic He'd been, too. To give so much, and to follow through by taking even more away...it was unjust. How could I possibly bear to face each day knowing that our lives were in such cruel hands? I couldn't. It was simple, really. I just couldn't. I'd once been a fairly religious person. Honestly. Mother and father used to drag me along to church on Sundays, and I would occasionally listen and absorb the faith spilling out from the priest's mouth. I had no problem with God, and he seemingly had no problem with me.

However, any ounce of hope or faith I once held was now completely gone. I found it strange to be pondering religion whilst I was staring down at a dead body. Of all the things to be thinking of, I was focused on the age-old debate of whether God was factual or not. Pathetic, yes, but not unusual of me. I was an odd case to say the very least. To further send my situation down the path of utter peculiarity, the dead body beneath me was that of my recently passed mother. Upon that realisation in my mind, a pain that I'd never experienced seized my heart with an agonizing grip. I gasped, bringing a shaky hand up to my chest, and began to weep. She looked so wonderfully peaceful, and I couldn't help but be overcome with jealousy. In death, she would never have to experience this pain. I found myself wanting to join her with an unyielding passion.

Beyond my despair was still some lingering denial. I'd spent my few days ignoring the paperwork and arrangements for her funeral simply because I refused to believe that my mother was gone. She had been my reason, my life for such a long time. I lived for her. Accepting her death would ultimately mean the destruction of my own.

I couldn't recall how long I'd been standing at her casket for, staring at her pale features. Nobody asked me to move. I think they might have been too afraid to. I certainly would be. To the outsider's vision, I must have looked a mess. Surely a son experiencing the death of his mother would cause him to become distraught, yes. But I was...well, I looked fucking psychotic, frankly. My shaking limbs were forever present and my mind often wandered into a fantasy world, where my family was whole again. I barely paid attention to reality these days, because it was plainly too difficult to face.

Another slip into that world, and I completely ruined my mother's funeral. It happened quite suddenly, like a crucial piece of my mind broke away, and I became unhinged.

"Mom" I said loudly, causing the murmur of talk in the crowd to completely disappear, "Why?" Her face did not change; her body remained stiff and cold. I placed an unsteady hand on her heart and felt nothing but ice. "You bitch" I snarled, suddenly taken by the crazed, grieving son inside of me, "You fucking bitch."

"Dear boy, keep your voice down!" remarked the priest with wide eyes. I looked up at his horrified expression and discovered that instead of regretful, I was hysterical with laughter. It started off as nervous chuckles but soon developed into hoarse, loud chokes of unstoppable mirth. "Dear boy, I suggest you cease this behaviour, or you will be escorted from this funeral!"

As quickly as the turn had occurred, it vanished, leaving me confused and downright embarrassed. I gasped, placing a hand over my mouth in utter shock. The priest before me was eyeing me with concern and disapproval, and all I could muster was a weak "sorry" as I stumbled back to my seat. As the service continued, I could feel the many glares from the mourners burning a hole through the back of my neck. Amid all of my embarrassment and regret, I felt anger. They had no right to be judging me; they had not just lost their only reason for living. They had not come home to find their mother dead on the floor in a pool of vomit and blood. Their mothers had not killed themselves because of their deadbeat son.

Greif commanded every inch of my body as I began to weep. I dropped my head into my rough hands and did not surface until the service had ended. Once it had, warm hands took each side of my face and pulled it up. Though my eyes were strained and cloudy, I could easily see the owner of the warm, soft hands. Bella Swan.

I abruptly became regretful of my behaviour, more-so now than I had before. It almost overcame the anguish I was feeling. Bella had been here for me all along; my mother was not the only reason for my existence. I'd considered suicide momentarily without even considering Bella. I was a wretched, awful human being. I did not deserve such an amazing girl to call my own.

"Edward, everything will be alright" she said softly, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. Her stare was so intense that I had to look away briefly- her eyes were filled with several emotions I could not yet deal with. Pity was the outstanding feeling in her deep brown eyes; something I had never been able to comprehend or handle very well. But it was Bella and not I who was the one to be pitied in this situation. She had an unstable boyfriend who was completely self-destructive and unpredictably insane, and she had also lost somebody today. She had, of course, lost a friend in Elizabeth Masen- my mother. But she'd also lost Edward Masen, for I was no longer the person she loved and cared for. I was void of feeling or care. Granted, though, I did still care for her. I loved her irrevocably, but that was not enough to keep me from the path that would eventually lead to my demise.

Every day I was travelling faster down that path.