...Mind the genre, please.

Edit 09.02.2010: I wrote this because of my opinion that Edward's control was sometime too unbelievable to let it pass. It's a dark fic, so beware.

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Disclaimer: Not mine, yadda, yadda....

"I'm Sorry, I Missed"


He is scared, and he feels no shame in admitting it.

But he shouldn't be afraid; it's their wedding night, he should be happy, not afraid.

He is, though, so very much he can't even handle it.

There are so many questions, so many insecurities… so many 'what if' for this special night, too many… and the outcome is so unknown… Sure, Alice assured him Bella would be fine, that he would not bite her but a pillow instead, dammit he saw himself biting the damn pillow, so why can't he stop worrying?

Because the future is not set in stone, and Alice's vision could —can— change.

What if he hurts her, hugs her too tight and breaks her, quite literally? What if he tore one of her limbs off in a moment of passion? What if the sweet smell of her blood is too much a temptation and… and—?

Oh, and her blood… he could smell, hear, feel it running through her veins excitedly as she waited for their night to begin, and it's taking his whole god-damn control to not suck her dry right now.

He hears her walking towards him, her blood still pumping excitedly through her veins, and he prays…

He prays for Alice's vision to come true.


"Why am I covered in feathers?"

"I bit a pillow."

Edward saw his vision-self turn away from vision-Bella as she inspected herself, his vision-self was obviously upset about something (Bella's bruises most likely, he thought viciously) and refused to look at the girl, but that did not matter to him.

Bella was alive, and that was the important thing. Bella was alive, he didn't kill her, he could resist her blood. It was what mattered. They made love, and she survived.

"See, Edward?" Alice said, breaking through his reverie, "It's going to be okay."


He has to control everything about himself and his actions. The pressure he puts on his hold as he grabs her hips, the amount of strength of his thrust as he enters her, even the way he kisses her. All about this moment is torturous to him, as he can't enjoy it properly, but she's enjoying it and that's enough. He goes extremely slow to his standards, but as long as she feels it alright, as longs as she feels his tenderness, it's okay.

Edward wills himself to stop thinking about the glorious sounds of her blood rushing through her veins as she pants and moans and reaches for her climax. He grits his teeth when she throws her head back, exposing her deliciously shaped neck to him, sending obscene amounts of her sweet smell in his direction… And suddenly, he can't take it any longer and, bending his neck, he bites as hard as he can in a vain attempt to satisfy some of his need.

Pulling back, he shakes his head savagely from side to side, tearing apart the victim of his bite, and soon he saw thousands of feathers falling around them. Bella stiffens, and then relaxes with a shuddering moan that sounds more like a suppressed gasp.

And he lets himself loose, just to enjoy this brief moment. The sweet smell of her blood reaches his nose stronger than before, but it does not matter, he is enjoying this moment. Turning his head to the side, he kisses her, tenderly, savoring her taste and—

Oh, God…


Bella hasn't admitted it to anyone, but in her darkest moments after Edward leaves her, after she finds out Victoria is chasing her, she imagines her death.

In each and every vision of her death, there is always blood. Lots of blood. On the walls, on the floor, on her bed, on the stairs, on the windows, on the ground, on the woods' trees, on her classroom, on her truck… On her clothes, on Edward's memories—everywhere… But first and foremost, on Victoria.

The redheaded vampire is always covered in her blood, from head to toe. She doesn't suck it, as everyone expects her to do, she lets it run… she lets her die slowly, she lets her feel the way her life slips away…

It's kind of masochistic on her part to be thinking of her own death, but you never know how does the brain works when someone is too deep into oblivion… She sometimes thinks she's sick to think that way, and many times thinks of going to Charlie for help. It shouldn't be —it's not— normal for a teenager girl to think that way, think of her death, and in so many details as well. But then Alice comes back, and she finds herself on a plane to Italy to save Edward and all thoughts of bloody deaths are gone.

Until now.


Not even the normal sounds of nature can break the silence that falls over the house. Every member of the family awaits his arrival as still as they can be. Really, he doesn't think he's seen them so still in… well, never, as they always must be moving to keep their façade. The only thing moving is their thoughts, jumping from one question to another, one speculation to another… and neither of these thoughts are directed to him, as if afraid of asking them.

He climbs the stairs to the front door slowly, at normal speed, after all there's no need to rush. Opening the door, he steps into the house and closes the door calmly. He stays in the foyer, not moving, looking at the floor as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world, and watches as the water drips into the carpet. He's wet. He's dripping wet actually, it's pouring outside, and he's come walking all the way here, so he's dripping wet and that's fine… He can break the news slowly that way, since there is no trace of—


It's Carlisle the one who speaks and he stiffens but doesn't look up at his father figure and suddenly, he's glad he's the only mind-reading vampire in the house at the moment. Something falls to the floor with a loud thud and Edward is surprised to see it laying at his feet, an odd looking bag… was he carrying it all this time? The contents —or rather, content, as it's only one thing— spread through the wet carpet and there's a collective gasp around him.

Edward stares motionless at those beautiful brown eyes that he adores so much, looking straight at him, unblinking and dull and devoid of life, and he finally reacts. He snorts, and looks up to his family, who are looking back at him with horrified expressions on their faces.

Blood-red eyes meet golden ones, and everything seems to click.

"I'm sorry," Edward says, smiling maniacally, "I missed."


By the time he realized what happened, it was too late, the sweet taste of her blood was burned into his brain… and he kept sucking…

Bella had bitten her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, right before he kissed her, and she hadn't let him pull away fast enough. He had turned his head, searching for another pillow to bite, but when he found it, Bella had pushed her neck into his face and… and that was it.

That was it. Because he was draining her of her life right now and… and he could have avoided this, but he missed, in a moment of weakness, he missed, and bit her neck, and not the pillow and sucked her blood, and he couldn't —couldn'tcouldn'tcouldn't— stop.

So he killed her.


He missed, he says, and his family believes him, and it's a good thing he's the only mind-reading vampire around or else they'd know… or else they'd know

They'd know he missed on purpose.



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