Okay, okay, I hate to jump on the fan-fic bandwagon, specially for Twilight, but I found this in an old notebook so... I'm indulging. Expand it if you like, I thought maybe from the other character's points of view?
I looked in the gilded mirror that hung in the hallway of the apartment that I shared with my father and friend, Carlisle. This would presumably be the last time that I stood in this place that I had once called home, and I was savouring it.
I flinched away from my reflection- after a decade I still hadn’t grown used to my looks. I stared only at my face, forcing myself to keep looking. It was so beautiful, like a carving of some long-forgotten Greek god- but I hated it. My secret was hidden in this face, just barely concealing itself inside my head, yet there were obvious signs of it on the outside- to those who were familiar with such things. My skin was bone white and so clear it was almost translucent, and there were harsh, purple circles ringing my eyes and not even humans with the sharpest eyesight could discern my pupil from my jet-black iris. That was what I was. What I am. A vampire.
I remember little of what happened before my transformation, and during it. My human memories are fuzzy, like a dream. Still there, but not as vivid as they should be. The only memories I have of the actual transformation are of the excruciating, unrelenting pain. It was a burning pain, searing through my whole body for days. Then it stopped, and I woke.
Everything was sharper, clearer. Of course, I had absolutely no idea what had happened. I was dying of Spanish influenza when Carlisle changed me, so I was delirious with pain before the transformation anyway. I thought that I was going to die- I would have, were it not for Carlisle. I usually wind up wishing that he had, but apparently my mother asked Carlisle- who was a doctor at the hospital we were in- to keep me alive at any costs. Somehow I don’t think that turning me into a bloodsucking leech was exactly what she had in mind.
Actually, Carlisle doesn’t drink human blood. Ever. He has never killed one single human being. No, he lives off animal blood. Well, survives, really, as no vampire can truly live. We have no blood of our own, our heart doesn’t beat and we consequently don’t need to breathe- most of us do, though, simply out of habit. Animal blood- preferably that of predators- is what I had lived on up to that point. Not any more, however. I could not keep denying my insatiable thirst, and I was sure that only human blood could quench it.
That was the reason that I was standing in the hallway of our small suburban apartment, ready to leave and never go back. The lure of human blood is much stronger for a newborn vampire and I had been involved in far too many close calls already; the last time Carlisle hadn’t managed to restrain me, and I had killed. I thought that if I fed regularly, with careful restraint, I could control myself. I didn’t want to expose our kind- what the Volturi would do...
And so I had decided to go my own way, and that my aching thirst would be satisfied. I would not become a complete monster, however. My one blessing in this cursed existence is my ability to read minds, human and vampire alike. I had resolved to drink the blood of only corrupt individuals- the sort which were rife in all levels of the Chicago pecking order. Ironically.
I looked in the mirror one last time, straightened my tie and adjusted the belt on my grey overcoat. Grey coat, grey trousers, black tie, black shoes, bronze hair parted neatly and slicked back. A perfectly normal middle-class man- but I would never look normal. I didn’t even succeed in looking middle-class. I stuck out like a rose in a garden of thorn bushes. My thorns were hidden behind the beauty, the petals. You wouldn’t see them until too late. Ah well. God help anyone who tried to rob me. If there even is a God...
I turned and raised a hand to Carlisle; he did the same. Then I opened the door, ran down the stairs and sped into the night.
It took me one minute and forty-two seconds to reach the inner city. It took me even less time to find a man whose intentions were less that holy. He had emptied the till of his brother’s shop and was pleased with how smoothly the whole operation had gone. And let’s just say... The money was not going to be put to good use.
It was over very soon. I sprung from the shadows, surprising the filthy swine. He was dead in exactly nine sixteenths of a second- then I was on him. I was surprised at how exquisite the blood tasted; I could feel it running down my throat, beginning to soothe the burning thirst there. I had finished within seconds, the body drains but just the tip shorn off the iceberg that was my hunger.
I killed many people that night, each one as deserving as the last of their fate. They would not be missed, I was sure, and finally I was no longer thirsty. My thirst was replaced by a dull, cold ache where my still heart rested. I sought to move on; going through city after city, but the ache never went away.
Then one day I realised. It was a matter of morals. Fuzzy as they were, my childhood morals and ideals were ingrained into me, as much a part of me as my inhuman speed and strength.
I couldn’t go on killing people in this way, no matter how deserving of death they may have been. So it was, and just months after walking away, I returned to Carlisle. To my home.