A Twilight Kiss

A Fictitious Entry that Chronicles the Thirst of Robert Pattinson aka Edward Cullen for Kristen Stewart aka Bella Swan

I sharply looked up from the notes I was making on a piece of paper. There was a sound at the door of my Sheraton Hotel room. I carefully sneaked towards the wooden panel and silently lifted the cap that I had put over the peephole to prevent any possible high-tech peeping Tom or the ordinary inquisitive eye from invading my privacy. My shoes stepped on the towel that I had stuffed at the bottom of the door to deter any wayward piece of gadgetry probing its way into the interiors.

I nervously flicked my eye from the center to both sides, searching for intruders, fearful that some Twilight fan had discovered my room number, who would then share that vital piece of information to all and sundry until I wouldn’t know a moment’s peace. I would have to change hotel rooms if that’s the case. Maybe hotels even.

There was no one in the hallway. I released the breath that I had been holding and loped my way back to the couch where our getaway plans await, but, the skies beckoned. It didn’t matter that they were gray. The hint of outdoors was a siren call that I couldn’t resist. Besides, I’ve seen gloomier, much more dreary heavens in London. I pushed the sliding glass doors open and stepped out gratefully under the dreary canopy from my balcony, tilting my face upward like some penitent sinner.

I gulped deep breaths of the cold air, stinging my lungs with its coming winter chill. I resisted the urge to move forward until the very edge of the balcony halted my eager steps. In my paranoia, I was apprehensive that my silhouette would be recognized by the waiting throng thirty-seven stories below. I giggled at my presumption that my mere shadow would be so distinct that the fans would immediately mark it as I, but then, I heard excited screams coming from the streets, which made me scamper back into the safety of my room.

I ran my hand agitatedly through my hair, pulling until the roots protested. I stared down at the papers littering the table, containing information on the fifteen exits from the Sheraton Hotel, and the nearby taxi stands where we could grab a cab, parks we could disappear into, alleys we could slither through… It all seems hopeless now. There was no way we could escape the watchful oppressive throng of the paparazzi and the fans. We just have to stay imprisoned in our hotel rooms like Rapunzel was locked up in her castle. I giggled hysterically. Maybe a Prince will come…

“Rob.”

I started at her voice, and felt embarrassed at the slight censure in her tone. With one look, she had recognized the dither that I had worked myself into, and the cowardly decision that I had made while she got dressed. I turned to look as she made her way from the open connecting doors between our hotel rooms.

When she reached me, she placed her warm hand on my chest and repeated my name, “Rob.” This time it was a comforting sound, meant to bolster my flagging spirits. I brightened.

” Just ten minutes, okay? And maybe we can push it to fifteen.” Kristen looked down at my notes and diagrams. “This one looks good. Hmm… Five minutes to sneak out Exit Number 11?” A teasing glint sparkled in her eye. I waited with anticipation for what she was about to say next. “I bet we can do it in 3:37 seconds. Can they? Ready, Flippy?” I laughed out loud at her nickname for me, an affectionate pet name for my state of non-athleticism. I grabbed her hand and nodded.

Lorna Lopez aka ATwilightKiss Notes

Mostly Based on Harper’s Bazaar

By Laura Brown

Rob Pattinson’s and Kristen Stewart’s rooms sit side by side on the thirtysomethingth floor of the Sheraton hotel in Vancouver (”the Couve,” as Kristen calls it), where they are filming Eclipse, the third installment of the Twilight saga. They spend a lot of time in their rooms in the sky — two Rapunzels of sorts entertaining themselves behind closed doors — because it’s really, really hard to go out. “There are like 15 different exits in this place,” observes Kristen of the tactics she and the rest of the Twilight cast use to avoid the paparazzi. She adds, “Rob is more frustrated with it, but he’s 23 and I’m 19. He had a couple more years to be an adult and to be independent, whereas just as I was getting to the age when it’s normal to go out by yourself …

Rob talks about it too. “Do you mind if we sit outside?” he asks as he stands in his hotel room, looking longingly out the window. “I need some air.” It’s a cold, gray day, but who is to deny him some freedom? (And chivalry is not dead, girls. A young man will still lend you his jacket. Maybe because he is British.)”

Question as to Who Is More Athletic

Kristen: “I’m definitely claiming that one. Rob can barely jump rope. I call him Flippy because when he does his stunt rehearsals, he flips around [makes a gesture like a penguin]. And, God, when he tries to run …”

And A Video from E! Online

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