Note: Edward Cullen is a highly complex, deeply psychological character. The raging conflict and duality of his existence is a constant theme throughout all of the books, but is particularly noticeable when he is dealing with stressful emotions (the examples are endless). He is also supernatural, so I have truly attempted to capture the vast ranging emotions and feelings that would logically have tormented him, particularly because there is so much at stake.

Please review and provide any suggestions for improvement.

I do not own Twilight, but, Twilight could possibly own me.For the thirtieth time the wind howled causing the sides of the tent to shake violently, Bella shivered, and the outside temperature dropped just another fraction of a degree. It was now a fact, and no longer a figure of my wild imagination, that these three repetitive events were now working in concert with each other. Perhaps a conspiracy to drive me mad.

Of course, Bella was unwitting, but the universe was not. This tent was my personal hell and these demons worked in unison to complete my torturous trifecta of misery.

I closed my eyes and looked away from Bella's pale figure, staring aimlessly at the opening of the tent. I'd already tried to lie to myself in an attempt to rationalize that her pallor was due to the contrast of her skin against the dark sleeping bag, but I knew it wasn't true. Bella was freezing to death and there as not a damn thing I could do about it. The position was impossible. No. There was solution. She could hold on for another three hours, I could escape this tent, scent trail be damned, and get her to safety…just a few hours…

Hours…Hours…Hours…Hours…

I scoffed. What a ridiculous word! Surely, more words were needed to summarize this increment of time, which for me, was becoming an institution of carefully measured torture?

Time…Time…Time…Time…another ridiculously inadequate word. It was true. Some words were just not enough.

We’d been here for nearly seven total hours. Four-hundred and twenty minutes of agony.

Twenty-five thousand and two-hundred seconds of torture.

I suppressed a sigh. Outward expressions of anxiety would do nothing to improve my situation.

I was going mad and I was completely aware of it. I would have to stop this at some point, but when? It was complete and absolute self-denial to even pretend that I had any control over this situation. That resolution had been reached five hours or three hundred minutes ago when the temperature had finally plummeted to below freezing for a human. The fact of the matter now was that Bella was freezing and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it, but hope…and pray to whatever force was responsible for situations like this, for some leniency. A few hours…some time…I growled and readjusted my position against the pole of the tent.