I do not own Twilight.

We were vanilla.

He slept on his side of the bed, and I kept to mine. The moans that were heard, echoed, were just sounds. There was no spark to light the room on fire, there never was.

But it was different with her.

Her petite hands lit me with passion, inside out. Her mere smile brought on a whole different meaning to the way my chest filled with hope.

The contrast between them was vast, endless. He was stable, sensible. She was want, raw at heart.

She and I were not vanilla. We were sweet, yes, but never vanilla.

Thank you for reading.