I didn’t marry Edward Cullen until I was 32.
Married at 18? Are you fucking kidding me? Edward said we needed to be married to have sex, which was a crock of shit—not to mention a terrible reason for getting married young. We broke up when he proposed. It was hard on both of us, but instead of sitting in my room moping the year away, I decided to take some agency and find independence outside of my vampire ex-boyfriend. I told him that once I’d developed a stronger sense of self, I’d consider giving the whole dating thing another shot. (I wanted to play the field. Can you blame me?)
I hung out with Jacob for a while. We weren’t together in my mind, but he seemed to think so, and it was all way too intense. Yeah, the sex was awesome, but I’d had my fill of clingy, controlling men. Besides, he smelled like wet dog after a shower.
What I needed was to get out of Forks. As much as I liked dating, I knew that focusing on my education and career would be more beneficial in the long run. Wasn’t that what I’d told Edward? Aside from a few flings, I kept my hormones in check (read: masturbated A LOT) while attending Sarah Lawrence. After graduating, I decided to pursue my MA in psychology. I did so much personal growth away from Edward I was finally able to see how unhealthy our union had been. Maybe that’s why so many of my patients now are women who have been in abusive relationships.
But sometimes we make mistakes. When Edward and I reconnected, I was 30, very much a changed woman. And he seemed like a changed—er, vampire. He was mellower to be around, more able to control his instincts. Oh, and he was down to fuck. Yeah, we still had to do some serious talking about traditional values and all that, but he eventually came to see it my way. The sex was—well, OK, it wasn’t Jacob-level great, but it was close. And I really did love the Edward he had become. He respected all of my rules, including the “no watching me sleep” thing.
When he asked me to marry him, I said yes. Things had been great for so long: I truly believed we could make it work. But then came the wedding night, when all the intense cries of “I want to be with you forever” suddenly felt a lot more threatening. Yeah, I’d wanted to be a vampire back when I was an idiot teenager, but by this point, I knew there was more to life than eternal youth. And I hadn’t even hit my sexual peak!
The sex was where things really took a turn. Whatever self-control Edward had managed to teach himself went out the window. He was an animal: without the “sin” of premarital sex, he could really let go, and it wasn’t passionate or sexy. It was violent and awful. He broke the bed, tore pillows into feathers. All the trust he’d earned from me vanished, and when I woke up the next morning covered in bruises, I knew it was over. No matter how much he apologized, I couldn’t let it go. Violence was in his nature as a vampire, but that didn’t mean I had to stick around and see how it played out.
When I found out I was pregnant, I freaked, naturally. Who knew that was even a possibility? I wanted a kid—still do, in fact—but it was clear early on that this was no normal pregnancy. I gave it a couple weeks, waited to see how my body would react, and even in that short period of time I became weaker than I’d ever been. I could feel the fetus inside me, and as much as I wanted to bring it into the world, I couldn’t do it at the risk of my life. I told Edward about my decision—over the phone, because I couldn’t gauge what his reaction would be. He was surprisingly understanding, but I knew it was still wise to keep my distance.
I had Carlisle perform the abortion. It felt a little weird going to him—OK, a lot weird—but I couldn’t chance seeing a non-vampire doctor. I had no idea how the fetus was going to look, and I didn’t want to raise a lot of uncomfortable questions. Luckily, Carlisle was a total professional. He respected me in a way Edward never had, and he knew I was making the right choice for my future. I would have a kid when the time was right.
That’s why I’m writing this, actually. I guess that time is now. I’m living with someone now. Max. He’s not a vampire or a werewolf—turns out both of those are dealbreakers. He’s never treated me like his property or made decisions on my behalf. He’s never left me sore or broken. My vampire abortion left my uterus a little worse for wear, so we’re adopting just to be safe. And we’re naming our daughter Renée, after my mother. Max suggested “Rendrea,” a combination of Renée and Andrea, his mother’s name. I told him that was fucking stupid, and once he said it again out loud, he was inclined to agree. We had a good laugh.