Imperfectly Illuminated: the Confessions of Edward (with apologies to Stephanie Meyers)
My name is Edward and this is not a love story. This is a story of loss, survival, necessity and destruction. This is a story where the lion stays true to his nature and destroys the lamb. This is a story of how darkness creeps into light, over taking her, to create the path to escaping eternity. My name is Edward and this is not a love story.
Before we go much further, let's get one thing straight: I am NOT responsible for her or the child. I didn't ask for this life and I damn sure will not be held accountable for taking the only escape route available to me. Romanticize it if you must, but I harbor no tender, passionate feelings for that doe-eyed teenager or the child created to ensure my success. I was not bound by some moral code of the heart. I acted selfishly, without pause, and damned them both to pay for my freedom.
There?s a fine line between love and obsession, and it was a line I pushed that girl to without care or concern. I didn't love her. She didn't complete me or what other clichéd phrase best suits our so-called love affair. But her love for me was the key to my freedom. That dark-haired beauty whose name has long been forgotten was my get out of jail free card.
It wasn't easy making her love me. Contrary to popular belief, the whole vampire thing isn't all that romantic. It's actually rather gruesome when you think about it; damned, soul-less, blood-sucking creatures, usually male, seeking some innocent, usually beautiful, victim to sustain his existence and his carnal desires. Maybe women like to be sufferers or to think their tormentors are just broken souls in need of salvation. All I know is that in the end, she did save me through her neurotic love. However, seeing as how it was my plan all along, I was my own salvation. She was the pawn this sparkly vamp had been patiently awaiting for years.
I?m getting ahead of the story, but I?m a bit rushed for time. I have a few mere hours before I crumble into glittery ash and float away on the wind as nothing but a fast fading memory.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning. It wasn't long after the doctor turned me that I uncovered The Book in his study. It was locked in a desk drawer. I was bored and the drawer provided a brief moment's excitement. The mystery surrounding the drawer and what it might contain made me almost feel like a real boy again. Inside was a thin leather bound book. When I first cracked its spine, a cloud of red dust escaped, dying my fingers and settling on my hair and lips. It tasted like blood, only sweeter, and it made me a little afraid. I still had some of my humanness at that point and nearly fled the room in fear. Instead, I slipped off with what had to be a forbidden text, uncertain of what to expect hidden within its pages.
It wasn't in English. It wasn't even in Latin, which I could read at an elementary level back then. The Book was written in some vampiric language that took me years to learn. The Book contained the stories of at least five once-upon-a-time vampires who had successfully paid their debts and ceased to be. As there was not a sixth vampire to detail the sparkling ash cloud of the last vampire, there is some speculation as to if he ever achieved his freedom. The account ends with him 'feeling mortal.' The entire book was written in blood, vampire blood, which explains its sweetness and the taste of forever in the early sections.
When I was able to translate the book and I realized what I held, I confronted the doctor.
'It's not true,' he patted my arm. 'If it were true, don?t you think I would have told you?' He laughed. 'They're just vampire fairy tales.'
'If it's not true, then why do you have it? If it's not true, why was it locked up?' I crossed my arms and stared him down - the defiant gaze of a stubborn teenager he was responsible for.
The doctor had no answer. He begged me to forget it all and made me burn the book while he watched. Together we inhaled the sweet smell of the ancients and I would have cried if there were any feeling left in me. What the doctor didn't know, what he didn't find out until it was too late, was that I had copied the book, carefully outlining the instructions, in my own blood before watching the success stories of those wretched beasts made angelic go up in a blue blaze.
Those who came before me had left their accounts of escaping the clutches of eternity and becoming sheer sparkling nothing for someone else to find. For me to find. The key requirement for this reversal was the complete adoration and selflessness of a mortal for a vampire. Additionally, that mortal had to desire not only the vampire physically, but to prostrate herself at his feet and beg that he turn her, that he make her the same as him. It took vampire number three nearly one hundred years. Vampire number four learned from this account and created a checklist of sorts to assist in a more timely exchange of souls. It was his list that helped me choose that girl - she was new to the area, she didn't have any friends, and her home life was questionable at best. She was a loner. She was the definition of the perfect pawn.
That damn werewolf nearly foiled my attempts. I lost my last potential salvation to the hairy beasts, and I wasn't about to lose this one. So I made a deal with him because us damned sorts tend to stick together. What was the deal, you ask? The baby. Let him do with her what he must.
The good doctor was furious. 'How could you do this? Have you no heart?'
I just looked at him and laughed. 'No. You did away with that when made me your bastard vampire child.'
He tried to stop me, but I went to Italy and received the blessing and blood of the ancients who govern these dark arts in the vampire world. After that, the rest was easy. The lamb laid bare her throat to the lion and so the lion had his last meal. I've left her the accounts, written in my hand in my blood, but I have a feeling the dolt will merely think them love notes encouraging her of my return. In time, she will learn to read the words - her obsession will make the translation a speedy process as she will be eager for what she expects to be my love musings and sweet apologies. And heaven help the world when she realizes the true nature of this story.
My face is wet. Tears drip unto the pages where I still write with blood. Tears. This feels real.
My name is Edward and this was never a love story.