I hated her.
With every living breath and motion and sound that ripped through my body, that managed to tear through the pain. I hated her in every step that was like the world ending. And when I couldn't walk any more? I hated her with every claw I used to crawl along. My hatred of her forced the breath back into my lungs, broke my ribs and shocked the life into my heart. The hatred pumped through my veins, blood no longer. Just this pain, and the hatred.
I didn't know where I was; each motion I was clawing my way a little closer to him, a little farther from myself. I hated her.
I hated her because he loved her.
Another claw, dragging myself through dirt. It was so defined, seeing with loathing instead of eyes. Each bit of grit, each twig, each tiny clump, was magnified a hundred times; I could see, so perfectly, but yet... I could see nothing at all. Hatred gave me eyes.
I hated her because she would never love him.
The fire was pulsing through me; rage and frustration and this vast, incomprehensible misery. It was all encompassing. That was my universe; the depth less, endless sadness. And the hatred. The hatred that let me struggle through the misery, through the shards of glass impaled through my body, through the venom, through the unfairness of it all.
I hated her because I loved him.
Loved him so completely that even now, I was fighting. Fighting to see him, fighting to make it.
The snow started, but the snowflakes against my ruined skin stung, dancing like razor-edged ballerinas. I saw the snow. He had loved it, loved the snow, loved to run through it, golden and glorious and unstoppable.
But the snow couldn't quench the fire, couldn't kill it now. It was hotter than him, more fierce than his kisses, more demanding than any touch or burn or passion. It was hotter than coals, more corrosive than acid. I felt it, ten fold. It was more powerful than anything I could remember feeling.
Except her. Except how much I hated her.
Hated her. Loathed her. The girl I had never even met.
I'd seen her so many times through his eyes, his words that stung like a swarm of hornets. Smiling and comforting through my own bitter wounds; I hated her for that, too. I hated her for every smile I was forced to fake while he tore me apart. I hated her for every word of comfort I had to offer him on her account. I hated her for every wound she'd ever given him, for every scar she'd left.
But more than that. I hated her for every time he'd kissed me and imagined it was her. I hated her for every moment she'd stolen from me, every time he'd accidently moaned her name, while it was me, my body, my heart, my entire being that he was consuming. I hated her for every time I'd had to forgive him for loving her more than me.
Such a cold burning could not be ignored. It iced under the burning pain, but it brought stabs of it's own. But it was a pain I could focus on, channel, live through.
I struggled. I struggled until every tendon had snapped, every ligament had ripped, every bone was broken and every cell had exploded. I struggled until my veins had dried and shriveled like string beans on the shelf. For him, always for him, and for my hatred of her.
But suddenly I couldn't move any more. The pain should have been paralyzing from the beginning, but I refused. I refused to let her take this last thing from me. This last struggle.
Would she have struggled this way, fought, for him? Never. Never. But he would have died for her, ten thousands times, and then gone crawling back, begging, 'Please, please, hurt me some more. Again, please.' In the most besotted way. Like a puppy that's been kicked.
She made me sick. The pain shot through me, and I thrashed, somewhere between heaven and hell, in an icy grove of trees, my limbs snapping like branches. Nothing was connected any more. I thrashed and tossed and screamed to my own deaf ears. I writhed, chest pulled toward the sky. I strained, my empty eyes seeing nothing, but I could tell that the sky was beautiful, and the snow was beautiful, and he was beautiful.
I screamed his name, as loud as I could, so that my vocal chords shattered into a million separate notes. I screamed his name, and the scream slowly became a cry, and the cry faded into a call, and the call lulled into a whimper. And then a murmur, that no one heard.
I fell back to the ground, compacting with the snow that lay there already. It made my bed, a bed of pure, white cotton. I fell onto clouds, pure and pristine. And I pictured his beautiful face, and I hated her.
Tears fell from my sightless eyes, fell onto the ground beside me. The pain had subsided, and instead of pain I felt empty, useless. There was slowly just a dull throbbing of my limbs. And then that, too, faded into nothing. I was left with the night, and the beautiful stars. And his face, his beautiful face.
And the words, the thought...
'He never loved you.'
I cried as best I could, reaching out a numb arm to catch the fading dream he had been.
I reached against hope for him, for the fragment of the dream, for the empty, cold night's sky.
Before that, too, faded into nothingness. And I was left alone. Utterly, entirely alone.
OOC: There it is. My first Twilight ficlet. It's written from the POV of my made-up character, about Bella. But I love to leave it open-ended; interperet it as you will. I may write more about her; please leave a review if you'd like to hear more about her. It's not me being a review whore; I honestly want to know if people think she's interesting enough to continue on with. Thanks! 333