Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Cullen Contest

Pen name: Oxygen. and .Cucumber

Title: Soulless

Word Count: 5,118

Rating: M

Summary: Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Cullen contest - "If I kill you, it's not intentional. I promise." One part of him wanted to love her. The other darker, muderous, more lustful side of him wanted her life. AH/AU

Not that I dreamed of resuscitating him; the bare idea of that would startle me to frenzy: no, it was in my own person that I was once more tempted to trifle with my conscience; and it was as an ordinary secret sinner that I at last fell before the assaults of temptation.

Henry Jekyll's Full Statement of the Case, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

His face was completely shrouded in darkness, the single, grey hood falling past his eyes, and his footsteps continued to beat rhythmically against the pavement, breaking the once undisturbed silence.

A cigarette wouldn't have looked out of place between his lips, but if one was brave enough to glance at him, they would have noticed there was nothing there. His cracked mouth was empty, breath being the only thing to pass from it, and for him, speech was a rarity.

The smoke billowing out of the nearby bar twisted and turned in the night sky, and he changed his intentions almost immediately, instead, making a start towards the open door of the building. Passing under the doorway, his expression hardened, his eyes becoming even colder; if that was possible.

Drinks littered the top of the bar, but he ignored them, his mind focused on just one place in the building; the room at the back.

A tall, burly man was standing at the doorway; one that he had recognised on countless occasions as McCarty. Upon seeing him, his hand reached into the inside of his jacket, and he pulled out a handful of notes – before pressing them into McCarty's open palms.

The man's eyebrows raised in appreciation, before he pushed the door ajar in response.

No words had to be exchanged between the two men. Both knew what they wanted – him the cash, and easy money, the other the release.

As the door swung shut behind him, the man slowly pushed his hood down. The room was dark, and the lack of light acted as the cause of the man's ease; he didn't have the fear of being recognised here. His eyes scanned the room briefly, adjusting to the dimness.

He didn't have to speak to know that he wasn't alone.

The man could hear her laboured breathing with the constant rising and falling of her chest, and as his eyes flickered towards the mattress in the middle of the floor, a low and almost inaudible hum of contentment sounded at the back of his throat.

The rest of his clothing shed easily, and he crawled his way towards her, his cold hands ghosting across her bare skin. As his cold fingers met her calf, she whimpered quietly in reply. Her response, combined with fear and an irrational desire that she couldn't repress, fuelled his actions, and he reached roughly for the back of her neck.

He brushed his lips across hers, his eyes becoming dark with hunger.

"If I kill you, it's not intentional. I promise."

Anthony Masen cracked the lid of the can open, and passed it towards his friend, Jasper Whitlock. The thin scar cut into the right side of his face meant nothing to Jasper – and having known Anthony since university – the scar, which had at first made him apprehensive of Anthony's character, was now something he barley even noticed.

The television was flashing through the adverts in the living room, and as the two, with drinks in their hand, moved towards the sofas, Anthony searched around for the remote.

"Today a woman was found dead in East London, her body identified as Rosalie Hale. She was found in a dustbin, concealed in a black bin liner. Police at the scene say this could be the work of a man behind the cause of the death in Scotland only three weeks ago. They are currently searching for the suspect and although..."

Jasper frowned, before suggesting casually. "Turn it off?" He took a sip out of his drink to distract himself. "I'm not sure about you, but I'd prefer not to listen to all the gory details."

Anthony quickly pressed the off button on the remote, his eyes sincere. "It's horrible to think someone would do that."

Jasper's face paused, the can hesitating against his lips as a black screen appeared on the television. His face was full of uncertainty, and slowly, he turned to face Anthony. Two overheard words from the newsflash had caught him off guard.

"Didn't we know Rosalie Hale?"

He pursed his lips in response. "The name doesn't ring a bell."

Jasper stared at the door for a short moment, collecting his thoughts as he struggled to remember where he recognised her from.

Then suddenly, it clicked.

"She was the girl that turned you down in fourth grade."

Anthony pulled a face. "Leave it up to you to bring that topic up again." He too took a sip out of the can in his hands. "Besides, let's hope for her sake it's a different person."

Jasper nodded in agreement, a silence quickly falling between the two friends. Anthony pursed his lips, before taking a sip from the can.

Something was bothering him... something that had been jogged by Jasper's subtle reminder about the girl on the television.

Moments like this didn't happen often, but when they did, they didn't just subside. Fear would form from the lingering doubt, and the most frightening part of the fear, was his ignorance. He was afraid, partly because of the brutality behind the young girl's fate... but more pressingly, he was afraid because he had absolutely no recognition of what he'd done last night, or where he'd been.

"Who's the woman I saw next door this morning?" Jasper asked quietly, his voice diverting Anthony from the thoughts that refused to disappear easily. At his words, Jasper glanced out of the window, searching the garden next door to see if she was there – but she must have left.

"Mr Harrison moved out two weeks ago," Anthony explained quietly, his eyes subdued and cautious. "I'd assume that she's my new neighbour."

The corners of Jasper's lips twitched, almost as if he were preventing a smile from appearing there. "Did you think of going over and introducing yourself?" he suggested, his voice smug.

Anthony threw Jasper a dark look. "You are just as bad as Alice."

"And by that you mean..."

"You know all too well what I mean," Anthony stated assuredly. "You both have the strange belief that I'm unable to find a woman on my own, and thus you've taken the task upon yourself." He glanced towards his friend, daring him to disagree. "I'll have you know I was planning on visiting her later on."

"Well then, that's good."

Anthony shook his head, and laughed quietly to himself. His sister and his friend couldn't have been a better match for each other.

Just as Anthony was about to take a sip out of his drink, the pager strapped to his waist began beeping. He sighed in frustration, and sent Jasper an apologetic look as he flipped the lid of the pager up.

"Jasper-"

"Don't worry about it," he cut Anthony off quickly. Life working at a hospital wasn't the easiest of careers, and he'd remembered the stress Anthony went through at university with his degree. But it was what he'd wanted to do, and only a stupid man would have tried to stop him. "Alice wanted me back by three anyway."

"If you're sure..."

"I'm positive," Jasper said firmly as he set his can down on the table. "Now go save some lives, and I'll give you a call this evening about the camping trip."

Anthony grabbed his coat from the peg behind the door, attempting to apologize one last time to Jasper before they parted. Unfortunately for him it didn't work, and Jasper jumped into his car, reminding him again that he'd call this evening.

Anthony sighed, shaking his head as he fought back a grin that was threatening to spread across his face. He missed having the time to spend with friends, or just the chance to sit down for a good hour without being disturbed.

It wasn't that he disliked his job in anyway. On the contrary, it was what made him get up in the morning, knowing that today; someone's life would be better off because of him.

But physically, he was weak because of it.

He felt constantly tired, almost as if he hadn't slept at all – and over the past few weeks, he was beginning to have more and more doubts that it wasn't the long hours at the hospital to blame. The dark circles under his eyes that never seemed to disappear – even at the weekends – confused him even further. At the weekends he slept as much as was possible, and every morning, the purple marks hadn't faded away over night.

"Dr. Masen," a woman approached him, a clean white file in her hands. "Dr. Cheney wanted your help in room 27." She passed the file towards him, her speech clear and precise.

He nodded once, dismissing her as he opened the file, his eyes scanning over the information.

Isabella Swan, 24 years old, appears to have fractured both tibia and fibula in the right leg, knee cap shattered, ankle also looks damaged – awaiting x-ray for news.

After the diagnosis of her condition, there was a clearly typed address, the house number being just one after his own.

"Thank God you're here," Dr. Cheney burst out of the hallway before Anthony could make it to the correct room. "I have two patients on floor six that need surgery and I really don't have time for this. I'm sorry to bother you, but-"

"It's no problem," Anthony cut him off quickly, sending him a brief smile before continuing towards room 27. Besides, it would give him a chance to get to know his neighbour a little better.

He pushed open the door, his eyes immediately narrowing as he entered the room. It was dark; the only light a small bulb lamp on the table.

Had they had a power cut?

He turned back towards the door, his eyes glancing across the wall for the light switch. Then, the noise of someone breathing reached his ears.

He wasn't alone.

Finally he found the light switch, and he flicked it on, his eyes wincing at the intensity of the light switch. And there, directly opposite him, was a woman lying on the bed, her eyes closed from the light.

"Was there a reason why you were sitting in the dark?" he joked lightly as he made his way towards her. He pulled up a chair, before sitting down next to her as he waited patiently for her to eventually meet his gaze.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, and Anthony couldn't help but be struck by the fear deep within them. Was she afraid of him?

"The man before turned it off accidentally as he left," she explained cautiously, a pale blush lining her cheekbones. As she reached up to push her hair back behind her ear, Anthony couldn't help but be struck by how beautiful the woman really was. And she just happened to be lying on the bed, immobile, helpless and completely in his power .

Did he usually think like this?

"I tried to get up and turn it back on, but-"

"No," Anthony said firmly. "Dr. Cheney thinks you've fractured two bones in your leg, so I need you to stay as still as possible. Moving isn't really an option at the moment."

"Right," she stated, annoyance lacing her voice. "No movement."

He bit back a smile as he turned towards her leg. Tentatively, he reached out and ran a hand slowly along her calf. She flinched at the gesture.

Were his hands cold?

He began probing along the outside of her leg, and around her ankles. Some parts were tender, some were as hard as marble, and as he hit one point near her ankle, she whimpered quietly in reply.

"Did that hurt?" he asked her carefully, his voice concerned.

She didn't have the words to speak. Instead, she bit down on her lip and nodded quickly.

Anthony's eyes flashed towards her lips, blood red and glistening against the fierce hospital light, and he gulped, forcing himself to stare back at her leg. It was pale and smooth, and unintentionally and almost instinctively, he ran his hand back along her calf again.

He didn't mean to do that.

"I'm going to get some plaster for it," he forced himself to say the words, and to make a reason for him to get out of the room as quickly as possible. "I'll be back in a minute."

Then, pushing himself away from the bed she was lying across, her chest rising at a quicker pace as he stood up, he half-ran out of the room.

Whatever the fuck was going on with him, he needed to sort it out. He'd been working as a doctor for the past five years – ever since he'd graduated – and never once had he felt this... uncontrollable longing towards a patient. Never once had he wanted to touch them more than medically... and it frightened him.

His hands fumbled against the plastic covering the plaster, and he cursed quietly under his breath. A small line of sweat fell down the side of his face, and he cursed once more, wiping it away with a hurried gesture.

He needed to get a grip.

He needed to forget about the beautiful woman lying in the room next door and the all-too-disturbing thoughts suddenly coursing through his mind. He had two fractured bones to put in a splint.

With the plaster in his hands, Anthony made his way back to the room, his face now set in the exact same calm, and relaxed state that it had been earlier on today. His composure wavered as she offered him a tentative smile across the room.

"I'm going to put your leg into a plaster splint," he spoke towards her leg, not having the courage to meet her gaze. "Then, I'm going to arrange an appointment for you with an orthopaedic doctor, and they'll make sure your bones heal properly."

"An orthope.. what?"

"A bone specialist," he clarified, hesitantly glancing towards her curious, brown eyes. His gaze travelled from her eyes to the light pink shading across her cheek, and then down to the slender, fragile neck, and-

Her gasp distracted him.

As he looked back up towards her face, quickly hiding his guilt at looking far lower than he should have done, he saw that her own eyes were staring directly at the scar on his right cheek.

They weren't far away from each other, and very slowly, she closed the distance, pressing her fingers gently against the crescent shaped mark on his face.

"How..."

He was frozen in his seat, his hand tightening around the plaster – simply because of the basic fact that she was touching his face. Her fingers were so close to his lips, and it would have taken just one movement for him to pull them into his mouth, his lips closing gently around them.

He jerked his face back away from her fingers, fear rising in the pit of his stomach.

A year ago, he was in control of his own thoughts. He could have sat in the same room as her, perhaps he would have noticed the smooth wave of her brown hair, or the deep raw beauty behind her brown eyes – but nothing more. He would have been struck by her innocence, and after tending to her leg, he'd have chatted casually to her, before subtly asking her out for dinner.

But now, everything was different... and he had no idea why.

He forced his fingers to relax on the plaster, and he shook himself, quickly regaining the composure he'd lost. "Isabella, if I could ask you to move back slightly so I-"

"My name's Bella." She interrupted him.

"Bella," he breathed in confirmation, and he stared at the plaster in his hands as she consented to what he'd ask. Once her back was straight against the raised bed, he took a step towards her leg, and lifted it gently off the pillows that it had been elevated on.

Her skin was as smooth as velvet under the pads of his fingers, and as he tentatively began to wrap the plaster around her leg, he could feel the Goosebumps slowly forming on her leg.

"So Bella," he took a deep breath, shaking out his nerves from his voice. "What made you move in next door?"

"Next door?" she raised an eyebrow curiously towards him.

Finding the small amount of confidence still lingering in the pit of his stomach, he sent her a warm, friendly smile. "I'm your new neighbour. I live at number 17."

Recognition suddenly dawned on her face, and she returned his smile almost instantly. "It'll be good to know a face on the street," her voice sounded grateful. "The family living on the other side of me didn't look too welcoming."

"That's the Newton's," he explained, finding that the more he tried to hold a conversation with her and keep his eyes directly focused on the work at hand; plastering up her leg – the easier it was for him to pretend that he had just one frightening thought dominating his mind. "As soon as they realise that you aren't out to steal their garden furniture, they'll back down."

She laughed quietly, the sound vibrating against her throat. His smile tightened at the sound, his teeth gritting at the effort of controlling his own actions.

"I have to say their garden gnome did look rather appealing."

He laughed tentatively with her, grateful that she didn't notice the uneasiness lingering behind the sound. "I wouldn't mention that to Jessica. Every morning before work, Mike kicks it over. When Jessica goes out to get the post she puts it right again."

"They sound like quite a pair."

He laughed again, his fingers slowly pulling the last of the plaster over her leg. "I'd also suggest making sure that you're out of town when they're arranging a dinner party."

"That bad?"

"That bad," he confirmed jokingly as he moved towards the cupboard opposite the room. Turning away from her, he was thankful for the minute amount of space to collect his thoughts – even if she was still sitting metres away from him.

He pulled out a pair of crutches from the cupboard. "I trust you know how to use these?"

"I grew up using them," she said with a slight roll of her eyes. Cautiously, he passed the crutches towards her, taking care not to let his fingers brush against hers.

For a moment she fumbled with them, slotting her hands hastily into the circular arm holes. Then, she placed the crutches on the ground, and attempted to lift herself off the bed.

Her body began to fall backwards, and instinctively he reached out and caught her.

"Sorry, I-"

"My fault."

They spoke at the same time, their faces barely inches away from each other. It would have taken just one inch further for his lips to touch hers, his hands to run through her hair, his body to press against hers...

He pulled her up into a standing position, his hands fisting around her shirt in an attempt to control himself. Her breathing hitched at the gesture, and the more her chest rose, before suddenly falling, the more her shirt began to open.

"Obviously you're out of practice," he breathed hurriedly, taking a step back from her as soon as her foot and crutches were safely on the ground. Behind his back, he flexed his fingers – now aching from how tightly he'd been gripping the thin material of her shirt.

Out of practice. He cursed inside his head, the double entendre behind his words hardly subtle. Before, he could hide the looks, the rare glances he stole towards her... but now, his thoughts were turning into his speech.

She still hadn't reacted to his words.

Her body was frozen in the same place it had last been, her eyes trained directly on his. The way she stared at him made him feel like she could hear the pounding of his heart inside of him.

"You need to rest as much as possible," he stated, his voice subdued as he took his gaze away from hers. "Put an ice pack around it if it gets bad, and keep it elevated with pillows." He willed the doctor inside of him to take over. "Do you have someone at home that could pick you up?"

Her eyes wavered. "No. My boyfriend's out of town."

Boyfriend. "Right," he replied almost immediately. She had someone else. "Well, I'll just see if I'm needed at all." Earlier, he'd mistaken the glances he gave her. She didn't want him. "Then if you want, I can take you back home."

The corners of her mouth rose. "Thank you."

With a slight nod of his head, he turned back towards the door and pushed his way out into the open corridor. The long empty hallway gave him a strange sense of freedom, and he took a deep breath, his constricted chest suddenly filling with air.

She had a boyfriend.

But the thought refused to leave his mind.

He couldn't imagine someone else's hands touching her, someone else kissing her. The image of another man standing over her, telling her he loved her, worshipping her with everything she deserved...

The craving he felt towards her was becoming almost ridiculous.

"Dr. Cheney?" Anthony saw the man about to enter into another room, his expression harried and agitated. Dr. Cheney stopped as he saw Anthony. "I just looked after the lady in room 27, and I was wondering if it would be alright for me to disappear back home now. Unless there's anything else you need."

"Not that I know of," Dr. Cheney smiled towards him. "Crowley took care of the last lot, so you're free to go."

"Thank you sir," Anthony smiled back, trying not to think of the twenty minute car journey alone with her.

"No, thank you. We needed the help." Dr. Cheney through him one last smile before entering the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

Anthony's footsteps were unhurried as he made his way back towards Bella. He needed to focus on the fact that she was his patient, and he was her doctor. Nothing more. All he was doing was ensuring that she got home safely, and that her leg healed the way it should do.

"Are you ready?" he asked as he pushed open the door of the room. She was still standing in the position he'd left her in, transferring her weight occasionally from her good leg to the crutches.

She paused, her face looking curiously up to his. "Just so that I can't say I got into a car with a stranger, do I get to know your name?"

"I'm Anthony," he said towards her, amusement lacing his tone as he held the door open for her. She swung through onto the hallway, her crutches clicking in the same beat with his footsteps.

"If you take out the fact that my leg's broken, this is actually kind of fun."

"Have you got any painkillers at home?" he asked quickly. "Because I can pretty much guarantee that waking up tomorrow won't be fun."

She shook her head, fighting off a smile as they passed under the final door of the building. Out in the open air, she sent a subtle glance towards the sky, her eyes dancing as she took in the clouds appearing overhead.

"You like bad weather." Anthony noted, diverting himself from image in front of him. He'd learnt from his mistakes in the room with her. As long as he kept conversation going, he couldn't merely stare at her; his eyes blinded by her beauty.

"I like rain," she corrected as he opened the car door for her.

Once they were both seated, and Bella's crutches were safely in the back, he pushed the keys into the ignition and gestured towards the radio.

"You've got free reign over the music," he said teasingly, his exuberance mainly to do with the fact that he had barely had to help her into the car. It sounded unkind – but if he had to touch her once more, his control would have been pushed to the point of breaking.

She paused on one radio station, and he groaned quietly at her choice in music.

"You have a problem with Phil Collins?" she replied, her voice equally as teasing as his had been. She pushed her hair away from her eyes, the gesture making his hands unnaturally tight against the steering wheel.

Ever part of him was hypersensitive, and just the single gesture like a quiet sigh or the falling of her shoulders as she breathed had the power to almost hypnotize him.

Driving wasn't the best situation to be in at the time.

"My mother had an obsession with him," he said, his voice restrained at the casual thought of her. Anthony then forced himself back to thinking about Bella – considering that it was the safer of the two options.

With explaining why he'd jumped her or explaining why he had tears pouring down his face... the one he'd rather tell her was obvious.

"You should see my bedroom," she joked, and he almost choked at how casually she said it. "Actually, you probably shouldn't. The amount of posters and CDs I have is ridiculous."

You should see my bedroom. "I can't say that I empathize."

She threw him a doubtful glance. "I'll find a way to convert you," she stated confidently. "There's only so long you can deny Phil Collins."

His eyes were tight as he answered her confidence with a sigh. His smile forced and strained. "You really do have a way with words," he put lightly, unable to cover the truth with a lie. Perhaps she'd assume that he was teasing her, and she wouldn't notice what he really meant by it. Or perhaps, she'd understand what he meant.

Perhaps she'd tell him to stop the car, and then, she'd reach over the gearstick towards him, her hands finding the buttons of his shirt as she popped them one by one. Then she'd fall onto his lap, her legs tightening around his sides – the cast no longer an issue, and she'd lean back against the steering wheel, and...

"Anthony?" she cut in. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Sorry, I spaced out for a bit there," he replied hurriedly, his fingers whitening against the same steering wheel that barely seconds ago he had imagined Bella lying on.

"Don't worry," she said with a shrug, as he turned the car onto the familiar street he'd lived on for years. She cast her eyes up to the darkening sky once more. "I hope it rains tonight."

He couldn't help but feel guilty.

His thoughts kept returning to the same dark fantasies that he thought he was above – and hers remained so completely innocent and ignorant of the shameful, uncontrollable desire he felt towards her.

"You'll be alright in the house by yourself?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. He'd meant to make it sound concerned, but instead, it sounded more of a request for her to stay at his.

Not that he'd be complaining.

"I'm a grown woman," she said dryly. "I'm sure I can handle a bit of rain."

"I just thought, because you said your boyfriend was away, and I wanted to check–" He needed to stop talking; now. Despite the fact that he only had good intentions behind asking her.

She leaned across the gearstick and laid a hand gently against his arm. "Thank you for asking, and if I find a leak in the ceiling at two in the morning, you'll be the first to know."

He couldn't even find a retort for her words, because she'd leaned across the gearstick. She'd closed the distance between them, and her hand was on his arm.

She pushed the door of the car open, before twisting around to grab the crutches from the back seats. He didn't even realise they'd stopped.

"Thank you for the ride back home," she turned towards him before she got out, her expression grateful. "And for fixing up my leg."

"You're welcome," he replied quickly, "and I'll let you know when I've got the details about the appointment with the orthopaedic doctor."

She smiled again, her blood red lips pulling back slowly over her teeth. She fixed her brown eyes on his, then she closed the distance once more across the gearstick, and kissed him gently on his cheek.

He didn't see her get out, nor did he acknowledge the noise of his car door shutting. He didn't raise his eyes to watch her walk unsteadily towards her front door, or listen to hear for her keys dropping as she missed the lock.

She hadn't just kissed his cheek.

She'd kissed his scar.

When he finally found the strength to pull the car into his drive next door to hers, he realised his hands were shaking.

He stumbled out of the car, his hand catching on the door frame as the corner sliced into his palm. But the numbness coursing through him was so strong that he barely even felt it as the blood began appearing from the cut.

The door of his house was already open. He didn't recall leaving it unlocked... or perhaps, and a more frightening thought was that he didn't even recall unlocking it just a second ago.

His thoughts were too muddled to even begin to work out when the door had been opened. He shut the door loudly behind him, before tripping on the welcome mat, sending himself lurching into the wall. His hand reached out to steady himself, pushing against the plaster as it left a large blood red stain on the white walls.

Was it because she'd kissed him?

Impulsively, his feet pulled him upstairs, and just at the mere reminder of Bella – the brown eyed, pale faced woman with the smooth legs – his teeth grit in determination.

He wanted to fuck her.

Did he usually think like-

His inner thoughts were cut off as he smashed into the door of his bedroom, his movements clumsy and disorientated. He saw his bed opposite him, and the desire to simply collapse into the mattress would have consumed him – had it been an option.

A part of his brain, one that he had long lost control of, pulled him towards a cupboard near the darkened lampshade, and he fell to his knees in front of it.

Then, with trembling, blood-stained hands, he reached into the draw and pulled out a grey hooded jacket.

AN - Out of all the oneshots that I write for contests, I have decided that I'm definitely continuing this one. I have evil, evil plans for this story, and sexual tension is just way too much to write. Therefore, this story isn't finished. Not sure yet whether it will turn into a twoshot, or something more, but it isn't a oneshot. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and good luck to everyone in the UK who's got exams this week! I know I should have been revising instead of writing, but hey... we all need a break. XD.

Also, the Vampire Author Auction starts on January 15th, so head over to the site there then. I'm one of the authors up this year, so if anyone wants to bid on me, *crosses fingers, I would love you forever and ever and try to write you an awesome fic. *crosses fingers again*.

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