Sometimes There Is No Brightside [Edward Masen-Cullen]

Chapter Four

One year later

My last customer had just closed the door behind him, and I remained in bed, when Edward’s face came to my mind.

I thought of all the confidence I had felt when with him, how I always felt protected by him and believed that he, my big brother, could make everything alright. That nothing could happen to me at his side.

Memories overwhelmed me, the two of us sitting on the bed and drinking hot chocolate, or taking a walk in the park and laughing about the stuck-up society people passing by... And as all these memories came back for no apparent reason, so did the tears.

They rolled off my cheeks and onto the silken pillows silently.

I had gotten over the death of my parents quickly. But I had never recovered from Edward’s loss - maybe because I was so young when he died that losing him had ripped a deeper hole into my little heart than losing my parents had at a time when I was already strong enough to take care of myself.

Angrily, I wiped my cheeks dry and jumped up, rushing into the bathroom to take a hot bath. There was no place for tears in my life anymore.

Still, as I scrubbed my skin with my favourite soap, lavender-scented, I involuntarily drifted off into a dream world where Edward hadn’t died.

On the last day I had seen him, he had assured me that he would take care I could go to school and that I would learn how to dance and sing; in short, he would secure me a place in the upper society.

Ha, I thought bitterly, that thoroughly failed. I did end up associating with the upper society, only not in a way Edward had intended for me.

Oh, how I missed him. Still.

The next morning, I slept longer than usual, but I had rarely felt so exhausted. My night had been haunted with memories of happier days.

"You better do something about those rings underneath your eyes, Joyce." Sally hissed as we prepared for another evening.

Wordlessly, I reached for the puff and did my best to cover up the dark circles. If only fixing my inner self was as easy. With a sigh, I reached for my opium box. Drugs made it so much easier, so much more bearable.

Tonight, I wore a red dress that clung to my body like a second skin and reached a little above my knees. My shoes matched the colour perfectly, as did my lipstick.

"You look gorgeous, Joyce."

I did. Yet tonight I sensed a strange feeling that had never been there before: I wanted to rip off the jewellery, wipe away all that make-up and burn those scandalous clothes. I wanted to be myself again, the girl I used to be.

That moment passed quicker than it had come, though. I sighed and stepped into another night of my monotonous, shameful life.

I was just serving three gentlemen their drink when Sally rushed to my side. "Joyce, a gentleman wants you. He asked for you to get up to your room and wait for him there."

That wasn’t an unusual request, so I willingly obeyed and went to my flat.

I kicked off my shoes and changed into a silken robe that revealed more than it concealed. I lolled onto the couch, my back to the door, and lit a cigarette, crossed my legs in a way that made the robe slide down so low it showed most of my thigh.

I didn’t react when the door opened and closed again, I just blew the smoke into the air, provocatively taking another draw.

"How did this happen, Beatrice?"

My eyes, dulled from drugs and cigarettes, flew wide open, yet I did not dare turn around. It must have been the opium, I thought, the dose today might have been a bit too much, otherwise I would not have these hallucinations.

Nobody knew my real name, nobody except my parents, who were dead, and Edward... who was dead also.

Or so I thought.