Disclaimer: This is an entry in the Bella's Insane contest. So as you can imagine, this one shot may contain disturbing content. It was really interesting to write something so off the wall and I really enjoyed working on it so I hope you enjoy it too!

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They call it a compulsion. Something you can't quite control. An impulse. An inkling. Something in your bones that's rooted so deep inside of you that it becomes a part of you. It's irresistible. No matter how hard you fight it, no matter how hard you just want it to stop. No matter how much you hate yourself for what you've done, what you know you're going to do. You do it. Compulsion. Like a rubber band pulled so tight that it finally snaps. Everything snaps. People snap. I snap.

I pick up my paintbrush and look out onto the street below me. People pass by on the sidewalk, completely oblivious. Happy. Content. They don't feel the itch. Don't know what it's like to just...need to do something. I feel it. And every now and then I can't fight the urge to scratch.

"Hey pretty girl, I'm over here..." Mike calls, waving at me from the bed. He smiles. I should feel it. I should feel his smile. I don't. I feel nothing.

"Don't move," I say, swirling the colors around on my palette. I started out with colors. I know they were there. I read the names. Magenta. Custard. Bark. Onyx. I don't see them. I see gray. Just gray. No life, no vibrancy. Just dull gray. I used to love the colors.

I stopped seeing them when I was fifteen and it nearly killed me. I used to love to paint. Almost more than I loved anything in this world. Almost more than I loved him. Him. I used to paint him like this all the time, sitting near the window, laid back in his favorite chair. I thought we were the happy couple, the one every one is jealous of. I couldn't have been more wrong. He wasn't the person I painted in my pictures. He didn't love me the way I loved him. When he left me, he broke me so deep in the place that I thought was unbreakable.

The colors started to fade. They began to blur and mix together on the canvas each time I tried to paint. He broke my heart and now the one thing I could use to put it back together was ruined. The colors were gone. I would have done anything to see the colors again. Magenta. Custard. Bark. Onyx. All of them.

The first time it happened, I found myself standing over the body with a pair of scissors in my hand. His blood was red. Bright red. Blush. Brick. Burgundy. A rose so loud and beautiful that I was completely fascinated. I saw the color.

My paintbrush had dipped into his blood as easily as it had done with the paint. As I smoothed it over the canvas, a slight smile found its way to my lips. I saw the color.

"Color," I whispered to myself, splashing his paint across the pale surface.

His portrait, the first, still hangs in my studio. As do the others. Each one a desperate attempt to find it again. Each one a small chance to see what I long for with every fiber of my body.

"What's your name again?" The man asks, cocking his eyebrow. I don't know his name. He told it to me when we first met this morning, but I don't care. His name is nothing to me. I just want his color.

"Bella," I mumble. "My name's Bella." I look down at the palette and see the blobs of gray. My hand clenches around the paintbrush as I close my eyes and fight it. The compulsion. I know its wrong. I know there's something wrong with me. But I can't control it. I have to see it.

"This is a pretty nice place you have here." His gaze turns back to the window. "Do you offer up free portraits often?" He laughs, thinking that he's found his way in.

I see the way men look at me. It's hard to miss. The stares. The gawking. I'd never been conceited about my looks growing up, in fact I found myself to be fairly plain. But they don't. The men. They watch me like he used to watch me, eyes dark and mischievous just thinking about the ways they want to violate me. Break me. Take me. So I let them think it.

It's easy to captivate them with a look or a small smile. It's all it takes. Hooked. I tell them about my art and offer a taste. It's impossible to resist.

My fingers release the paintbrush and instantly find their way to the small knife sitting at my station. I stalk towards him, silent and sleek as my feet move gracefully over the floor.

Stop, Bella. I shake my head. I have to see it. It's wrong. Just one more.

I hold my breath and raise the small knife to his neck. He turns as I force it into his skin, slicing along the crease in his neck. His eyes widen as it begins to fall from the wound. Red. Waterfall. Color.

"Color..." I whisper.

He grasps at his neck, but its too late. His fingers fall limp a moment before his body collapses to the floor. His paint spills out, rolling towards me like a breathtaking wave in the ocean.

I grin and drop the knife, exchanging it for my paintbrush. I lean over, humming a little to myself and dip it in the blood before I start on my painting.

Hours later, with my new piece finished and hanging on the wall, the panic sets in.

"What have I done?" I ask myself. I close my eyes and curse, wondering how I got myself into this mess again.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare down at the lifeless body at my feet. A moment later, I turn and stumble out of the room. As I leave my apartment and flutter down the stairs, I pray for forgiveness. Just like I do every time. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't change me. I wish something could change me. I want to see the colors.

I tumble out onto the street and stuff my hands into my pockets to hide the stains. I turn the corner and head down the alley to where I found her the last time.

I see her perched against the wall, folded in on herself to become as small as possible.

"Hello, Bella," she asks, not bothering to look up.

"It happened again."

"I know," she says. She stands without another word and follows me back to my apartment. We wait until nightfall before we take out the body. We travel thirty miles and dump him in a deserted field. On the way back, I offer her some money for her help, just like I always do. She refuses.

"Alice, why do you help me?" I stutter. "You know...you know I'm bad. You know I'm crazy. Why?"

She stares off into the distance, her eyes unfocused and glassy. "We're all a little crazy, Bella."

I drop her back off in the alley. I ask her if she wants to sleep in my apartment for the night, but she just shakes her head and ambles into the darkness.

I return to my apartment and grab the bleach to clean my studio. I spend the rest of the night on my knees until they're raw, cleaning the color off the floor. I don't want to. But they can't know. No one can know except for Alice. No one else would understand. It has to be this way. It's a compromise in a way. A man took away my life and I take his to get it back.

I don't leave my apartment the next day. Or the next. I sit in my studio admiring my new piece and comparing it to the others. Three weeks later, I eventually venture out and head to the store down the street to pick up some groceries.

I browse through the aisles, absentmindedly throwing things into my cart. When I reach the checkout, there's a group of men standing in line ahead of me. They're carrying three packs of beer and are obnoxiously loud. They glance back and me and whisper amongst themselves. I clear my throat and debate a smile. No. I know what happens after that. It's too soon. I don't want to do it again. But I have to see the color.

Someone steps behind me and leans in.

"Don't mind them. They must be a Darwin Anomaly," a voice says.

"A what?" I spin around and find myself face to face with a young man, probably around my age. He smiles and somewhere deep down inside, I feel it.

"A Darwin Anomaly." He shifts his weight and nods to the men again. "See Darwin had the whole theory about survival of the fittest. Meant that the strongest, the smartest...the most well adapted species are the ones that survive. Clearly, they squeaked through."

A sound escapes me. A small laugh filtering between my lips. "It's okay. I can handle it," I say.

"You shouldn't have to. Really. As a guy, I apologize for their behavior."

"How very kind of you." I smile, but catch myself. I feel confused, disoriented. I shouldn't feel at all.

"I'm Edward, by the way." He holds out his hand and I shake it.

"Bella."

I tip my head to the side as I watch him. He seems at ease, comfortable in his own skin. Completely confident without the arrogance. I bet he has a beautiful color. I shake my head. "No," I murmur to myself.

"Are you okay?" Edward asks.

"Yeah I'm fine." I offer a smile and turn forward. The group of men pays for their beer and leaves the store, which gives me something else to focus on. It's my turn.

I pay for my things and quickly leave the store. As soon as I'm outside, a loud alarm buzzes behind me and I whip around. Edward runs out of the store, still holding his items.

"Young man! Come back here!" The clerk shouts, running out after him.

"I'll be right in," he calls over his shoulder. "I promise."

"What are you doing?" I ask, staring wide eyed in panic.

"I'm asking you to dinner."

"What?" I ask. I look up and see his eyes. I wonder what color they are really. Right now, they're a deep, dark slate gray. I see a tinge of green flicker in them and step back, surprised. "What?" I ask again.

"Dinner." He shrugs. "I'm asking you to dinner. In an attempt to prove I'm more than a Darwin Anomaly." He smiles. I feel it.

"Okay," my mouth stutters before my brain can stop it.

"Do you know Hannigan's?" He asks. I nod. "Tomorrow at 7:30?"

"Okay," I say again, feeling a little more confident. Maybe this time it will be different. For the first time in a long time, he gives me hope.

"See you tomorrow, Bella." He turns back and heads back into the store. I smile to myself and walk home.

I'm excited to see him again. I bounce around my apartment the next day, avoiding my studio. I wasn't avoiding painting. I was avoiding them. All of them on my wall. For today, I can pretend that I'm normal. For today, I can pretend that he didn't turn me into this unstable, unforgivable mess of a person I am. For today, I can be Edward's instead. Flash of green Edward.

I stroll into the restaurant a little before 7:30 and spot him in the bar. He waves and jogs over to me.

"You look great," he says.

"Thank you." I blush as he leads me to our table.

We quickly order drinks and food, and then we're left alone. And I can't stop looking at him. I want to find the color again. I search his eyes over and over and am disappointed when it doesn't show. I only see gray.

"So I'm going to skip the whole tell me about yourself bullshit and skip to the good stuff if that's okay?" Edward asks.

"Okay." I nod. "What's the good stuff?" I place my napkin in my lap.

"Chocolate or vanilla?"

I laugh. "Vanilla."

"Mountains or beach?"

"Mountains." I smile. "I like this game."

An hour later, we've finished a few drinks each and our plates sit empty at the edge of the table.

He cocks his eyebrow and takes a slow sip of his drink. "If you could have any super power, what would it be?"

I bite my lip, unsure. I know my answer. It came to me as soon as he asked. But I don't know if I can say it out loud. "Self control," I mumble.

"Interesting..." He sticks a toothpick in his mouth and smiles.

The waiter brings the check and Edward immediately pays. I whisper a soft "thank you" and we leave the restaurant.

"Can I walk you home?" He asks, raising his hands in defense. "I promise I'm not a crazy murderer."

My breath hitches. I am.

"Okay."

"Lead the way." He gestures ahead and follows me.

We steal glances at each other the entire way. It's almost like I feel like I felt before. Before everything was bad. When I still believed in love and still believed things could be good. I believed in me.

I stop in front of my building and sway back and forth. "Thank you for dinner."

"You're welcome." He smiles. "I like you, Bella." He glances up. "Would it be too forward of me to ask to come up?" He leans toward me. "I promise to behave myself, I'm just not ready for it to be over yet."

I could show him my studio. "No!" I gasp. And then I close my eyes. "I mean yes. I'm sorry."

"There you go with your superhero powers." He smirks and steps back. "Self control." He shoves his hands in his pockets and laughs as he slowly walks away. "Just wait, Bella Swan. One day you'll invite me up." He waves and disappears into the night.

"I hope so," I whisper to myself.

Before I go to sleep that night, I say a prayer. I pray for strength. I pray for hope. I pray for love. And above all, I pray for forgiveness for what I've done.

Edward shows up the next night just after sundown with flowers and an invitation for a walk. He lingers by the door, since I haven't officially invited him up yet, and waits for me to place the flowers in a vase.

"You stayed outside?" I ask.

"I did push the envelope a little. I stepped inside your doorway for just a second."

"Rebel," I joke.

We spend every day together for the next week, even if it's just a quick walk around the block. I feel better. He makes me feel better. That other version of me...that horrible version of me seems a million miles away. And I start to believe that I can get past it.

I contemplate turning myself in, telling Edward everything. But I don't. I want to be better. For him.

"It's starting to get cold outside," I say, shivering as we step up to my door.

"I like the cold," Edward says, putting his arm around my waist. I shiver and I'm not sure if it's from the weather or his touch.

My fingers linger on my doorknob, but something stops me from going inside. I turn back and find him smiling at me.

"I'm not inviting you in yet," I tease.

"I know." He takes a step towards me and brushes my hair away from my face.

I glance from his lips to his eyes, searching for something. I see it. The flicker of green in his eyes. Only for a moment. Then it's gone again.

"Color," I murmur, reaching out for his face. My thumb runs along his cheek as my breath quickens.

He leans in closer and smiles a moment before he presses his lips to mine. I haven't been kissed, not like this anyway, in a long time. Maybe ever. And I like it.

I close my eyes and imagine his, flickering all different shades of green. I can only hold onto the image for so long before it fades.

I pull back and lay my hand flat against his chest. "Thank you..."

"For the walk or the kiss?" He asks.

"For everything." I smile to myself and head into my apartment.

I'm still euphoric when I go to bed, thinking about the endless possibilities, thinking of him. For once, not thinking about all the bad stuff. Like I could finally be alive. And then I hear them. The voices.

He'd be beautiful on the wall, Bella. "No," I whisper. You'd love to see his paint on the canvas. "No," I say again, shaking my head. He'd make a wonderful addition, Bella.

I turn my head towards the door that leads to my studio and hold my breath. "I don't want it," I scream. I roll out of bed and stomp across the floor, slamming the door shut. I listen. The voices are quiet. They're gone.

I avoid Edward for the next few days, scared that the voices will come back. I want to save him. I don't want them to hurt him.

"Bella, it's Edward. Not sure why you've been avoiding my calls. Is everything okay?"...I press "3" to delete the message and throw my phone down on my bed. I pull my shirt off and throw it in the corner as he calls again. I send him to voicemail and flop down on my bed.

"Bella!"

My eyes widen.

"Bella!" Edward calls again. I glance towards my open window.

"Edward?"

"Bella, please!"

I scramble out of bed and tumble towards the window. I peek outside and spot him standing on the street below.

"What are you doing?" I call.

"You wouldn't answer your phone." He holds up his phone and shrugs.

"I don't want to talk to you, Edward."

"Why?"

"I can't." I shake my head. This is too much. Seeing him again. It's overwhelming, realizing how much I've come to care about him. He's everything I'm not and everything I want to be. I'll contaminate him. He has to stay away from me.

He springs forward and grabs the ladder to the fire escape before quickly climbing up to my window. I back away, shaking in terror as he steps inside.

"I always wanted to do that." His smile fades when he sees my distress. "What's wrong?"

"I can't...I can't...You have to leave. Please." The tears fall down my cheeks as he starts towards me.

It's time, Bella.

"I don't want to," I tell them.

Such a pretty color.

"No!" I scream.

Edward looks confused. He takes my face in his hands and kisses my cheeks. "Calm down, Bella. Everything's okay."

"It's not okay." I sniffle.

Bring him in.

I wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his shoulder. My eyes are trained on the closed door, the door leading to my studio, the door that's calling to me right now. My crying suddenly stops.

They call it a compulsion. Something you can't quite control. And tonight...I can't control it.

"I want to show you something," I say. I grab his hand and pull him towards my studio.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"I'm fine."

I open the door to my studio and turn on the light. There they are, up on the wall. So lonely.

"Whoa," he gasps. He slows and looks around. "Did you do these?"

"Yeah." I smile.

"They're amazing. Do you do everything in red?"

"I like the color," I mumble.

"It's beautiful. How they're all slightly different shades. How do you do that?"

"Natural talent, I suppose." I grab a paintbrush. "Would you like a free portrait session?"

"I'd be honored. Where do you want me?"

"On the chair. By the window." I nod to the chair and he sits.

I think the good Bella is gone now, buried deep inside. But she's not. I can feel her fighting, digging to the surface. She wants to spare him. She'll fight to save him.

I squeeze out some paint on my palette and swirl my brush around.

"I can't believe you never told me you were an artist." He looks around the room again. "You could sell these, Bella. Really. People would buy these."

"I really just paint for me." I shrug. "Turn your head towards the window." He does as I say and I feel the tears starting to well in my eyes. I don't want this, but I can't stop.

Color.

My fingers tremble as I drop the paintbrush and grab the small knife beside my canvas. I close my eyes and shake my head as the tears fall silently.

"I can't do this anymore," I whisper. He doesn't hear me.

I grip the knife so hard that it hurts. As I stalk towards him, I don't know who has won. The good or the bad.

He turns toward me just as I reach him. He glances down at the knife and his smile falls.

"What's going on?" He asks.

"I'm so sorry," I stutter. "I have to do this."

"Bella?"

Before he can react, I raise the knife and plunge it down into my stomach. I don't feel the pain. Not really. The only thing I feel is happy. The good won. And now the bad can't hurt anyone anymore. She can't hurt Edward. He can get out.

"Bella!" Edward screams. He doesn't understand what's happening. He doesn't understand that I did it to save his life. That he gave me more hope than I've had in a long time. He made me believe in love again.

He takes me in his arms and starts to cry. My blood seeps out. Onto him. Onto the chair. Onto the floor. It's a deep red, a lot darker than the others.

I watch as it drips down onto the tile. Edward reaches for his phone to call an ambulance, but I know it's too late. I'm losing too much blood. It'll be over soon.

I close my eyes and turn my face towards his. When I open my eyes, I'm completely mesmerized by the world around me. The bronze in his hair. The tan in his skin. His deep blue shirt. A silver chain around his neck.

"Color," I mumble as I reach for his face. I save the best for last because I know it's the end. They're going to be the last thing I see. When I look into his eyes, I smile. They're emerald green.

A/N: Thank you for reading. I look forward to hearing what you think and I hope you take a moment to read the other entries!

M