The fire was so hot, it was almost cold again. She squirmed, writhed, screamed and pulled at her hair. The next thing she knew, her shirt was ripped and her fingernails scratched at it fruitlessly. Tears ran down her face, leaving cool trails that were soon engulfed in flames again. The more she rolled around, the more she felt each of the million knives stabbing deeper and deeper in to her skin. She heard a deep voice.

"Die."

She shook her head and swore she could feel her brains rattle around inside. Her lungs hurt from breathing, the weight and pressure upon them almost too much to take. She began to beat my chest, trying to get my heart beating again, back to the rhythm she knew so well. This wasn't that rhythm. This was different – slower, erratic. She tried lying completely still, hoping that maybe it was the movement that brought forth the pain, that if she could stop moving she could stop the pain. That wasn't the case. Lying still stopped the knives, but only seemed to make the heat hundreds of times worse. She began to cry even harder, sobs shaking her body, the pain unbearable with each movement. She heard the voice again.

"Die."

She opened her eyes, trying to see who it was that was calling to her, giving her a commandment she wished whole-heartedly to fill. Her eyes swam with color, but nothing was as it was supposed to be. Colors were wrong, and everything was seen with haze, as though the room was filled with smoke and she was desperately trying to see through it. The strain of opening her eyes made her head hurt. As if it didn't already hurt.

"Die."

"I'm trying."

"Die."

"Please. I'm trying. Help me. Help me die."

"Die."

The conversation raged on inside her head, herself calling, begging for help to end her existence. And the voice commanding, commanding, commanding. Requiring her to end the suffering that was consuming her body. She tried to call out, to tell him to stop and to be quite or help her or get out or…just to stop. But her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, cemented there by the fire that raged throughout her body. Robbed of every possible outlet of communication, she lay silent and shook. Shook with pain, with fear, with desperation for it all to end.

"Die."

It was then she realized that the voice which so emphatically required my demise was her voice. It wasn't a command, not to her. It was a command to him. A command to help her, to finish what he had started – what she had begged him to start, begged him to start without knowing better. He had always told her what it would be like, what the pain would entail. She had thrown his warnings away, had brushed them off with the desire to be with him. Forever. And now she was getting all of that, but at a cost more grave than she ever could have imagined. So it was my voice calling out. He had begun something, and she longed for him to finish. At this realization, she felt the heat in her body spike, and her heart stop. She was dead.

"Dead."

She called to him, and he wanted to do what he could. He pressed his hands on to her cheeks, and even he could feel the fire that raged inside her. The feeling brought back horrible memories, memories of the pain he endured in that dingy, dirty hospital all those years ago, when Carlisle had welcomed him in to this world. He hadn't had a choice, so he endured the pain deftly, with a bravery he hadn't known he possessed. He hadn't had a choice. But her, to do this to her…he had to look away. He pressed his hands over his eyes, feeling the residual heat from her body sink in to his. He hadn't wanted to do it. She had begged, pleaded, reminded him of promises he never should have made. She had married him. She had graduated. She had let Alice plan things for her. He wasn't left with a choice.

She opened and shut her eyes, but he could tell that she never really saw him. Her eyes would wander left and right, up and down, the look on her face as blank as the piece of paper in front of him. He knew it was stupid to keep a diary, but he couldn't help it. He needed to remember. 150 years of memories could grow pretty dim after a while. Besides, he needed to remind himself of this, of this moment – the moment he had caused the greatest Earthly pain to the woman he had waited 150 years of his life to love. The woman who had given herself to him even before she knew she was doing it. He couldn't read her mind, but between Alice and Jasper, he had known she loved him long before she told him. If only he had been able to tell her as early. He was always so afraid for her. He was still afraid for her. He crossed to her bedside and took her hand in his. It was so warm and shaking so violently that he was afraid he wouldn't be able to hold it. The thought of having to letter go, however, cemented his resolve.

"Bella…" he was at a loss for words. He just didn't know what to say. He wanted to apologize – knew he should apologize for what he had done to her, what he was making her go through. But he couldn't. Not completely. Because he was also thankful. Thankful that he wouldn't have to worry about her as much anymore, thankful that now she would truly be one of the family, thankful that now they could finally have sex. He may have been 150 years old, but he was still a guy! He rubbed her hand, his thumb making what he hoped were cooling circles on the back of her palm. He kissed is, pressing his cold lips to her fiery skin. She whimpered and turned to him, her eyes open and, for once, focused.

"Edward…"

"Shh…." He put his finger to her lips and she nodded, although slightly. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He rested his cheek upon hers. She moaned again, this time as though his touch provided her comfort. "I love you so much, my darling. So, so much," all he could do was repeat the words over and over in her ear. They weren't enough. Words had never been enough, never would be enough. The only thing to make her understand how much he loved her was to do what he had done. To cause her indescribable pain and then spend the rest of his life trying to bring her indescribable pleasure. He would take her to see the greatest cities in the world, would show her art and books and music. She would get a college education – ten college educations! They would have babies and houses and see all the things in the world that people waited lifetimes to see. Because that was what they had together. Lifetimes.

"Dead." He lifted his head to look at her, surprised to have heard her speak. He knew how difficult that was for her. He wasn't sure he'd heard her right, but he couldn't ask her to repeat herself. He dropped his head to her chest and pressed his ear hard against her breast. The only sounds were the shaking of her body against the bed and the tick of a clock in the corner of his bedroom.

"That's right, my love. Dead. You're dead." The words sounded strange to him. Strange but lovely. He knew what this meant. Soon, she would be with him again. Soon this would all be over, for her and for him. He turned back towards his diary and kicked it towards the floor, pulling himself from sitting to laying. He left his head on her chest and closed his eyes, the closest thing he could manage to sleep, as she shook and burned beneath him.