The next morning, instead of getting up and getting the hell out of the shitty little motel, I lay in bed for a while, contemplating what I was doing. Obviously, Edward had been on my mind ever since he went back up to the mansion. I had loved Edward. I still did. He was a secret part of my life. Sometimes I felt like I was split in two, a B.E. and A.E.

Before Edward and After Edward.

Before Edward, I thought I was happy with everything. Sure, my parents got on my nerves,  Kevin especially. I dreamed of getting married to Jim, I gossiped, was on the cheerleading squad, glided through school. After Edward, I worried about my family, was assaulted by guilt about Jim’s death, worked ungodly hours in order to preoccupy my mind, and kept my past hidden from the friends I made in college and at work. Nobody knew about Edward.

How could I tell them, when they introduced me to friends of theirs, that I really wasn’t interested, and was still in love with a man who had scissors for hands? A man who I didn’t even know was alive or not. Someone not even human.

I can’t explain what attracted me to him. Edward was obviously different. An inventor who lived in a mansion on the mountain overlooking Suburbia created him. He was old, and died before Edward could get his hands. My mother went up there to sell cosmetics (it was a bad year) and found Edward instead. He had been living alone for years on end, with little else to do but trim the bushes there into fantastic shapes. He didn’t know what to do with people. Edward was a sweet thing. I remembered that Jim had once told me Edward would do anything for me, and he was right. We had Edward help us break into Jim’s own house. He agreed to it because I asked.

Seven years later, I wondered if it was my fault that Edward was driven back up to the mansion, to be alone again. Would things have been different if I hadn’t asked him? If he hadn’t loved me enough to do whatever I asked? I flung an arm over my eyes. His pale face swam into my vision, breaking into the smile he had that was his trademark, that showed he was happy, even if he didn’t understand.

I also wondered if he would remember me when I went back up there. I wondered if he would be angry with me, or if he still felt the same way I did. I had spent quite a while debating on whether or not I should go back to Suburbia. I was going under the pretext I was reuniting with my family, but the real reason was for me to try and see Edward. I always felt a little guilty when I thought too hard about it. I hadn’t seen my family for seven years, had no contact with them besides an occasional letter, and when I decide to go back to my childhood home, it was so I could see someone else. Using them as an excuse to return.

It wasn’t my mother’s fault for not seeing the dangers of bringing Edward down with her. She had thought she was doing the right thing. And maybe she was. It was the neighbors that didn’t understand. I just couldn’t stand how nothing was the same after that.

My family wasn’t ostracized, exactly. People acknowledged us, we went to a few parties, some barbeques. We never held another Christmas party, though. Or just parties in general. Kevin lost a few friends. I lost all of mine, but that was really on my part. I moped for the rest of my senior year, and all of summer. Once college rolled around, I threw myself into it and only looked back on Edward.

There were probably some kids I knew that saw me as Jim’s real killer. If I hadn’t chosen Edward over him, he might still be alive today. Jim wouldn’t have followed me to the mansion, he and Edward never would have fought, and Edward wouldn’t have sent Jim flying through a window to his death, bleeding from the stomach. Some of the women whispered behind their hands when we went to the grocery, or when we walked by their house. I think they were suspicious of whether or not I told the truth about Jim and Edward killing each other, but thankfully, no one ever tried to disconfirm this.

Well, as far as I knew, anyway. I sighed, my head spinning from all these conflicting thoughts. It’d be stupid to turn back now, anyway, and you know it. People don’t drive in a car without air-conditioning for two long summer days, change their minds, and then turn around again. You already asked for vacation time, you’ve agonized over it for months, so gather up your crap and keep heading back home. I nodded at this sage bit of advice from myself and sat up, tugging down my T-shirt. I was sure my hair had dried in fascinating kinks and curls, so I swept it up into a ponytail and tamed it with a giant hair clip. Grabbing a pair of jeans, I pulled them on and took off my shirt, replacing it with a tank top. I secretly damned myself for not packing any shorts, not even a skirt. Whatever. I would suffer, a small piece of karma for lying to my family. Someone had once told me I looked better in jeans, anyway.

After glancing around to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything, I perched my glasses on top of my head and set off down the hallway towards the front desk. A bored looking teen was sitting there, chewing gum and staring vacantly off into space. I cleared my throat.

“I’d like to check out,” I said. He jumped and swung around, eyes wide. He cleared his throat, attempting to look like he had been paying attention to his duty.

“Check out? Right.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take the key.” I dropped it in his palm, and he checked the number, then scrolled down his computer screen to make sure I had paid the night before. His fingers clicked out something on the keyboard, and then he returned the key to its spot on the rack behind him.

“Have a nice day.” His gum snapped.

“Thanks. You too.” I snatched my luggage and was off again, out into the baking parking lot to my car.

Only eight thirty and already it was roasting. Great.