AN: This fic is getting me back into writing. I'm aiming for short, daily updates. Because the updates are short and quick, I'm not using a beta or a prereader. I hope that doesn't deter you. Even though it won't be perfect, I promise it won't be littered with errors. I'm an English major who is obsessed with grammar.
This story will be the foundation for the OF story I'm working on for my creative writing class, so your constructive comments will help me greatly.
Thanks to the supporters who have followed over from Strawberry Wine.
This is my disclaimer that fits for the entire fic (I won't post it every chapter): I don't own Twilight. This fic will be nothing like Twilight. I don't own Twilight, and I won't make any money from this story, hopefully just an A in my class.
Edward's hands had the slightest shake to them as he exerted more pressure than necessary to open the glass door, hearing the chime of the bells ring above his head as he made his rapid exit. The sun was hidden behind the blessing of the clouds, making the normal excruciating temperatures of southern Florida in mid-June just bearable. His feet, lighter today than most others, sprung off of the dirt scattered concrete, his speed his friend as he dove from casual passerbys.
The blood in his veins flowed faster, the result of his rapidly beating heart. His vision was heightened by the adrenaline, allowing him to keep his swift pace around the corners of the brick buildings, up the stairs, and through the alley ways of the streets he had become all too familiar with. To Edward, the rush was what made it worth it-the feel of the steel against his palm, the trigger teasing his finger. The look in the man's eyes as he stole every dollar he kept in the cash register. Combined, it gave him the high he needed; it made the air that went into his lungs worth breathing. It wasn't just a hobby anymore—it was a lifestyle.
His lungs began to burn, his chest feeling tight, as Edward finished his sixth block, hiding behind a dumpster just long enough to check for his chasers. Not seeing another soul in the beaten alley, he leaned against the wall of worn bricks. His head hit the rusty brown hardness as if it were a feather filled pillow, happy with anything to take a break against. Shutting his eyes for these few moments, he tried to calm his raging heart, as one-by-one he relaxed each muscle in his body. The normal green eyes were blocked by his lids, making his vision almost black since the sun wasn't present for today's activities.
Edward was only three days shy of his twenty-second birthday, but he had seen more than most who lay on their death bed at eighty. The few people in his life were used to the hard look and lines of his face, the jade of piercing stare. His hair was just barely long enough to be pulled back by an elastic band, which he kept on his right, tattooed wrist whenever he wasn't "working." Without the black band, his dark hair stood in every which direction, the thick strands falling like silk around his once beautiful face in chaos.
Popping his eyes open, he knew he needed to keep going. He needed to move. He needed to hide. Riley's apartment was up the next block, and he knew the back door would be unlocked for his arrival. The cash was buried in the deep holes of his jean pockets. He could count it later. It was time to go.
Slipping off his gray hoodie that he had bought at the K-Mart on 72nd street just an hour before, he tossed the six dollar clearance item into the dumpster, making sure that he couldn't be identified from it. He also pulled the elastic band from his hair, running the mess through his fingers to further disguise his appearance from the cops that would surely be looking for him.
Most men in their twenties wore suits to work, carried briefcases. But growing up in the wrong end of the deteriorating city forced Edward into a lifestyle where his work attire was his trusted white Nikes, dark jeans with pockets large enough to fit at least a grand, and t-shirts that showed off what all the running had done to his slender body. It wasn't the most glorifying job in the world, but as Edward undid the belt of his jeans, sliding them down his legs so he was left in his blue basketball shorts, and hung the jeans over his shoulders in a way the money was tucked in safe, he knew this job was better than any fast food place or janitor shift.
Satisfied in his new appearance, he started walking, a little faster than a casual stroll but slow enough as to not give him away, and made his way out of the shaded cover of the buildings and into the populated Florida sidewalks.
Remember, short, daily updates. And if your reviews just happen to encourage me to write more, I might even update twice a day.
Thanks for reading.