I DO NOT OWN THE TWILIGHT SAGA

So…I chicken out. I swear I don't know what's wrong with me. I was so ready to meet my father. I had dreamt of this moment for a hundred years. Always wondered what he was like. What are his hobbies? What kind of music does he like? What about his family? What were they like when they were alive? I thought that when the time came I'd be ready to meet him and talk with him and spend time with him. But as I drove closer and closer to his apparent address, my heart started beating rapidly and my stomach started doing somersaults and everything bad that could happen started going through my mind.

What if he didn't believe me? What if he rejected me? What if he thinks I'm an abomination? I imagined every bad situation over and over in my head. So, I found myself driving past the road that he lives on; and now I'm sitting in the parking lot of a motel calling myself a stupid bitch for allowing my anxiety to get the better of me. I can always try again tomorrow, right? I mean…it's not like they're going anywhere—at least I hope not. But I know that I won't be able to get this out of my head anytime soon. It's weird. Sometimes I'm so confident and outgoing. But a lot of the time my anxiety is so bad that I find it hard to get out of bed in the morning because I'm just overcome with a great wave of worry and fear. Everything embarrassing or wrong I've done since birth crosses my mind and I just sit there and worry about if people (if they're still alive) remember it. If they think about it and think badly of me or something.

I dig into my bag and pop two of my anxiety pills and chase it down with water. A normal human would only need one, but the vampire part of me washes medication of any kind out of my system so fast that if I don't take two, I wouldn't feel any of the desired effects. I then go to the bathroom, turn the water on as hot as it can go, strip my clothes off, and step into the boiling water. Since my body temperature runs at about one-oh-eight degrees Fahrenheit, I'm able to endure more heat than a normal human would. But that also means that literally everyone feels cool to me.

I think of my mother, who probably lost her mind when she came back from a hunting trip to find my room empty. Her skin has always been ice cold to me. And I know that my skin was always burning hot to her. I love her. I do. But she's smothered me for my entire life. I was getting tired of going to high school over and over again just so that we could stay in one place longer. And I just needed to get away before I went insane. I need to find my own way. I'll go back to her when I'm ready.

I stand in the shower for what feels like forever, until the effects of the meds kick in. When I feel like I'm relaxed enough, I turn the water off, step out of the shower, and dry off in front of the mirror. Then I just stare at myself. At my face and naked body. Mom always told me that I had my dad's hair. At first glance it's brown, but in direct sunlight it has a reddish tint to it. I also have his strong jawline and a mouth that looks too big for my face. My nose comes from him too, and Mom says that I have his smile. The only thing I got from her are my brown eyes and short stature. I only stand at five-foot-one, and I consider myself very petite. Not to mention that my boobs are almost non-existent, and my ass isn't much better. All I would need to do is wear a pretty little dress, wear my hair up, and not wear any makeup, and I look like I'm twelve. I tend to dress younger when I've first moved to a new town. Then, as I "get older" I'll dress older. If I really wanted to, I could pass myself off to be in my mid-twenties.

I get dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt and decide to let my hair air dry. I really want to sleep, and I need it. But I find myself laying on the stiff bed, unable to shut my mind off. Thinking about tomorrow and my mom and that guy that I met today. Jacob is good-looking, you'd have to be blind not to see it. Tall with bronze colored skin, full lips, and a strong jawline. He fits the standard definition of handsome. But the way his dark eyes looked at me took away from his handsome features. Sure, there was a second where he looked at me like I was the sun and he was a guy badly in need of some vitamin D, but after that he made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with me. Who knows why, though? And why do I care? I spoke with the guy for fifteen minutes at most. He should not be invading my mind like this. But, as I finally fall asleep, I find that I can't stop thinking about him. About that sincere way he looked at me for those few precious seconds. And it honestly worries me that he already has some sort of hold on my thoughts.


A/N: I know it's a short chapter, but I wanted to get something up while I had the inspiration, since it's something I haven't had a lot of these days. Please review!

~Gina