Edward Cullen prided himself on being unreadable. Mysterious. A tortured soul in knitwear.
But Annabelle Swan was testing that patience with every glittery cell in her aggressively pink-clad body.
So far:
She smelled wrong. Not bad. Not good. Just like… Axe body spray and cherry chapstick.
She'd bodyslammed a van.
She made him feel flustered. Him. The vampire who watched the Spanish Influenza wipe out humanity and thought TikTok was a government psyop.
Worst of all: her thoughts were not silent.
Not like Bella's. No.
Annabelle's thoughts were like… someone yelling over an action movie while bench pressing a motorcycle and arguing with Gordon Ramsay about how to properly sear steak.
Today – A Totally Normal Spy Session
Edward sat diagonally behind her in English class.
The moment she entered, he tried again. Just a little mind-reading. Nothing invasive. Just a taste. He needed to know what she was.
He opened his mind.
And—
"Chest day is every day if you believe in yourself."
"I could totally snap this pencil in half. But would that be weird? That'd be weird. Don't do it. Don't do it. Oh my God, I really want to do it."
"Why is Edward looking at me like that? Bro, calm down. I'm not a threat. I just look like a Bratz doll that got into creatine."
Edward recoiled.
What—what is this internal monologue? Why is it yelling? Why is it flexing? Why does it sound like Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson doing a TED Talk?
He tried again.
"If anyone touches my sister, I will suplex them into the nearest recycling bin. Respectfully."
"I wonder if you can do squats in a pencil skirt. I bet you could. With heels. If you're brave."
"I miss bacon. Bacon and freedom. Bacon and pickup trucks and the smell of gasoline. I have a Hello Kitty sticker on my phone case. Who am I??"
Edward nearly choked on air.
Meanwhile, Annabelle:
She felt it.
That weird, low-grade tingle in her brain. Like someone trying to peer into the vault of her soul with a soup spoon.
"I KNOW you're in there, you sparkly telepath. Enjoy the mental protein shake."
She smiled to herself and deliberately imagined Edward shirtless, holding a dumbbell, and whispering: "Who's a strong bro? You are."
Back in Edward's Brain:
"No. NO. What IS this? Why is she imagining me doing bicep curls in a crop top?? Is this—am I—IS THIS A CHALLENGE??"
He jerked in his seat. His pen snapped in half. The girl next to him screamed.
Mr. Mason paused mid-lecture. "You alright, Edward?"
"…Fine," Edward growled.
Inside his head, the chaos continued:
"This is your fault, Sparkles. I wanted peace. I wanted quiet. And now I'm having a gender crisis because your jawline makes me feel things I'm not emotionally prepared for."
"Is this what it's like to be bi? Is that what's happening? I blame the vampire."
Edward's Existential Spiral, Part 47
That night, Edward stood shirtless in front of his mirror. Again.
He flexed. Stared. Then sighed.
"Why am I not as confident as a reincarnated gym bro in a teenage girl's body? Why does she walk like a runway model but think like a Navy SEAL on pre-workout?"
"She caught a van."
"I am a 104-year-old vampire. I've read Kant in the original German. I wear turtlenecks. Why do I feel like less of a man than Annabelle Swan?"
Meanwhile, at the Swan House:
Annabelle was doing squats in her bedroom.
With ankle weights.
While humming Britney Spears.
"I am the chaos," she whispered to her reflection, grinning.
Bella opened the door, blinked, and slowly closed it again.
"I don't know what's happening to my sister, but it's either puberty or a government experiment."