Strong Enough

Summary: I swallowed numbly, staring at the powdered remnants of a phone scattered across the leafed floor. No. Rosalie was lying. She had to be lying. She couldn't be dead. I never did intend to outlive her for long. Edward. New Moon.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I wish I could write like Stephenie Meyer, but I hope you enjoy this anyway.

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Chapter 1: No.

A big thank you to Warui-Usagi and Quill and Saber for being my betas. You guys were awesome!
Please review! :)

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Love is a symbol of eternity
It wipes out all sense of time,
destroying all memory of a beginning
and all fear of an end.

Anonymous

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No.

No, no, no.

No! She couldn't be dead. She could not be dead.

My eyes started to haze, losing focus; they hadn't lost focus in almost ninety years.

She could not be dead. "No!" I screamed, jumping from the crouched position I had taken on the remote forest floor. "No!" My fist flew forward, moving at an unmatchable speed—a bullet to the tree—moving deeper and with more force than a gun could ever dislodge. It broke with a sickening crack. "No! No! No!"

I fell forward against the snapped tree, my chest heaving for air I didn't need, my head burrowing deeper into arms that would never embrace again. "No," I panted, softer, unbelieving. "She's not dead." My eyes fell shut. "No," I told myself again, "she's not dead…. She can't be dead." Another wave of anguish rolled through my chest, suffocating me. I couldn't live like this anymore. Not without her. But she couldn't be dead. She could not be dead.

My fist tightened as I pushed up roughly against the soft bark of the fallen tree, leaving a deep imprint in the size of my fist. "NO!" My voice tore through the empty forest, leaving it ringing in my own ears. She could not be dead. Not her. No.

No.

I swallowed numbly, staring at the powdered remnants of a phone scattered across the leafed floor. No. Rosalie was lying. She had to be lying. She couldn't be dead. I would call. Yes, call. Talk to Charlie, and then ask for her. I could just be an anonymous call. But… if she picked up? If… if… she picked up, would I have the strength to stay away?

But dead? No. No. I must know. I must know that she's safe. She must be safe. There is no alternative. She must be alive.

The trees around me blurred, the forest floor disappearing quickly as I ran. I just needed to get to a phone. Just one call, I told myself, a lump in my throat. Just to make sure she was okay. But with an ache I also knew I was lying, because I didn't just want to know if she was okay; I wanted to hear her voice. I longed to hear the rise and fall of her voice once again. But she couldn't pick up… because then I wouldn't be able to stay away. I'm not strong enough.

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My finger slid down the smooth plastic of the pay phone in the dark corner of the sprawling city line. What if she was…? No, she could not be dead. I lifted my head, cradling the receiver gently in my left hand, bringing it lightly to my ear so I could hear the buzz of the dial tone. I breathed, inserting a coin with a shaky hand, before dragging a finger down to the metal number pad. Not too hard, I reminded myself, slowly pressing the first digit of the number etched into my mind forever. My arm shook harder, and I pressed faster.

I didn't breathe while the familiar brring echoed into my ear. I couldn't breathe.

"Swan residence," a faintly familiar voice said roughly on the other end. I had heard the voice before, with her: it was the youngest Black, Jacob.

"This is Dr. Carlisle Cullen," speaking as quickly as possible in a plausible imitation of a voice I had known for almost one hundred years. "May I speak with Charlie?" I pressed quickly, my voice controlled, yet still demanding.

"He's not here," he said, his tone stressed in a manner that immediately agreed with my theory that he held us in a unsavory light.

"Where is he?" My voice grew tighter, edgier as each second passed slowly. I flexed the fingers of my free hand out before me.

"He's at the funeral."

My fingers curled into a tight fist, the black plastic of the phone shattering into flying shards. I couldn't breathe, no air would allow itself into my lungs. No. No, no. No!

I ran, slowly, painfully away. I just needed to escape. I could not be here anymore, could not breath anymore. How could I when she wasn't? How could I see the light of day, while she was locked within the dark depths of the earth?

No.

I would never again see the flash of intuition in her eyes…

No, no.

Never see her cheeks flush crimson…

No, no, no…

Never catch her in an ungraceful, fluid fall…

No, please God, no.

Never again, smell her intoxicating freesia catching in my throat…

No. No, no, no, no…

Never wonder laboriously over what she thinks, as she puts her thoughts into actions I can never anticipate.

No… no.

"NO!" I roared from my dead heart, as it ripped blindly, roughly in half, in quarters, in eighths... in pieces. "No," I sobbed, falling to the ground. I hadn't tripped in almost ninety years. "No…" I cried in release, in collapse. "B-Be…" But I couldn't bring her name to my lips. It would only hurt further. It already hurt too much. Bella, my precious, incredible Bella, was dead. I roared again. Dead. How could she be dead? I was right, I have no soul, and I had no right to covet her. This was punishment before death. Nothing was more painful than knowing she was… It hurt more than the burning venom. More than telling her goodbye as she fell to her knees, begging me in a way that I know I could have only refused to keep her safe. Too much. Too, too much, because there was nothing left to live for. I wasn't not strong enough to live without her.

My breaths came in heavy gasps I didn't need, and I stiffened, leaning forward on my palms, my head bowed forward. There was nothing left to live for. But everything to die for.

I never did intend to outlive her for long.

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I sat stiffly upright against one of the hard-backed chairs lining the airport corridors as people waited for their flights.

I can't wait to get home...

I missed her so much...

There were too many thoughts. I clutched my head, shifting slightly in my seat. I was never going home. Never going home to her. There wasn't even a chance anymore, to see her happy.

Business as usual...

Yes, this was business. Personal business.

I couldn't stand the pain. Another second passed— another second too many. I was ready now. I had been ready since Jacob Black told me words I had eventually expected, but words I was never ready for.

Time to call in the passengers for boarding...

I rose stiffly, making my way quickly to the gate faster then I should have. But it made no difference to me anymore. Soon, I would be gone.

"Flight to Florence, Italy," called the loudspeakers. "Will all first class passengers please board now," the voice stated pleasantly.

Brusquely, I handed the female attendant my ticket, nodding to her grimly as she gazed at me longingly.

He's so handsome... Stop it, Joan! He's too young.

No. Too old, and ready to die.

"Have a nice flight, sir," she told me with her best smile. I didn't really take much notice as I rushed through the gate, wandering blankly, but determined.

I sat down tenderly, not really sitting on the plush first class seats, rather, gingerly balancing myself on the balls of my feet, as if sitting. Mundane, and easy, but it was something, anything, to help me take my mind off of her. To make time move faster.

"Excuse me," a man said crossly, looking dour.

Damn kids these days... what's he doing here?

"Excuse me, sir?" I murmured politely, but flatly, devoid of any emotion. There wasn't much left to give anyone else, anyway. "Am I in your seat?" I wasn't. I was sure.

"No," he said, frowning, "I'm in the one next to you."

"Of course." I rose quickly, shuffling back with hard steps.

"Thanks," he said curtly, plopping down onto the seat with a sigh, his eyes flickering shut.

I looked away, jealously consuming me, and my fingers squeezed into a fist, rubbing the leg of my pants roughly. I wanted lose myself to sleep. To not think anymore. It hurt so much to think.

My breath caught in my throat, my chest heaving silently. At least I couldn't cry. No one would know... if I could stop trembling.

I screwed my eyes shut, tightly, holding my breath, counting numbers. I couldn't think anymore; couldn't hear anyone think anymore. If I thought I would... no. I couldn't think. Count doubles, triples... No, squares. One. Four. Nine. Sixteen. Twenty-five... One thousand, two hundred, twenty-five. One thousand, two hundred, ninety-six.

"Sir?"

My throat tightened as the numbers lost me and thought caught up once again. "Yes?" I choked out, my eyes anguished, angry, wild, deranged.

"Would you like a pillow, sir? Or blanket?" She drew back slightly, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I regretted scaring her.

"No, thank you," I said, a bit more kindly, though my voice wavered.

"Then would you like anything before take-off?"

To be there, in Italy. Or to have her back. Yes, all I wanted was to have her back. But she was gone, and wasn't coming back. No, I just wanted to be there, so I could be gone too.

"No," I started, with an aching pause, "nothing I can get here."

"Have a pleasant flight, sir."

I nodded before collapsing backward into myself, trying to numb out the world by remembering this would be the very last time I would have to deal with it.

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Initially, this was going to be a one-shot, however, as I continued writing, I came to the conclusion that where I had initially ended it, wasn't really an ending. So, I'm continuing this, hopefully to the dismay of no one. (I should update soon after this. The second chapter is already written, just in the finishing stages of editing, and the third and final chapter is already being written.) Sorry for the long author's note, but I hope you enjoyed the story. Review please!