Red
by Looney Looney Looney Luna
Adjectives.
Soft, warm, red adjectives.
They possess him, the adjectives do, dripping down his impeccable lips, his flawless chin.
Flawlessness respires in flaws.
My foot itches. My ankle cracks. I scratch my electrically charged hair and make my way into the kitchen for a drink. My socks move without command across wood, and I pause to hold back a sneeze.
Achoo.
I am sick. I am/was/will be sick, torn by winter flu, and no one thinks anything of it. Charlie had presented me with a box of Tylenol before leaving for work, and Edward shrugged and quirked a smile upon my agitation. "If you call this the flu..."
He stayed anyway.
Until this morning, that is. This morning I awoke, frostbittenly cold and hell-fire hot. Alone. Yet even in my fevered state, with my naturally terrible memory, that aloneness reminded me of the night before.
His onyx-black eyes.
His bruised, hungry lips.
His ears closed upon my pleas- if only he would go hunt. He needed it, and I needed it, and he listened to me, and I told myself he would return within an hour.
...and I am where I am now, fending for myself with a dying immune system. My parched throat burns me, and I advance another step.
I advance another step, just one more step.
And I see him. Edward. Standing there.
I am ever so happy to see him.
His back is turned to me at first, his woolen green sweater rippling down his taut, dark-washed jeans. Designer sneakers command the wood beneath his feet, widespread on the dark and lonely planks. His glowing white neck is netted by bronze curls! and his skull is thrown back!
Thrown. Tossed. Hurled. The adjectives begin.
He hears my breath, heavy and uneven, and his sneakers swivel. His blackened-gold eyes widen, those perfect eyebrows arch.
Red.
Red trickles down his lips, curling in a menace about his chin. Red wires down the tensed muscles of his neck, and thickly trickles onto his clothing. Red causes that guilt upon his face, wastes away in futile.
Edward places the can of V8 on the table. "I'm sorry, Bella. I'll buy you more this afternoon."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: IMPORTANT- Yes, I know vampires don't like to eat or drink. The idea here is that V8 tastes and looks so much like blood that Edward attempted to drink it as a substitute.
Tell me if it's valid or not. I wrote this on a whim, and will probably delete it soon.