The Truth In Goodbye
Moderated severely. I do not own Twilight, sadly. I wish I had those skills. Set in New Moon, where "he" {Edward} leaves Bella in the woods. In this chapter, as far as you know nothing had changed just being Bella. Very short.
The look on his face was enough to make me want to flat out cry. He didn't even care! "Edward! I love you! Please, don't go!" but the face in my vision didn't respond. It took my numbed mind a minute to realize I was seeing things.
I staggered forward, reaching for the apparition, hoping I was so gone that I could actually feel him. No luck, but my foot did touch a rock. The ground was soft, surprisingly. I didn't want to get up, but the desire to touch, to see, to hold my Edward was so strong that I pushed up and almost crawled in the direction I think he went in.
A voice, almost comical in its hoarseness, seemed to appear from nowhere. Another second to realize it was mine. His name, again and again. This was some sort of sick joke, he can't leave. He said he wouldn't hurt me.
Seconds, minutes, hours melted together. It didn't matter, I couldn't tell. The forest was always dark, so oppressive. The night things where always out, an everlasting nighttime here. The plants grow fast, maybe nobody will find my body.
I shook my head. How could I think that? But I couldn't make myself regret it. If Edward didn't want me, then life didn't matter. Nothing would, could or should matter. Charlie is fine by himself, he has been for a long time. Renee has Phil, she'll be fine. And Jacob… he'll be fine. My palms should sting, my jeans should be tearing at the knees. Nobody could find me here.
Holy crow, I must be getting tired, and the ground it cool. I collapse on my back and stare at the green canopy. Green. Edward's eyes used to be green. Gold. His eyes. Black. His eyes when he's thirsty. White. His skin. Bronze. His hair. Red. His lips. The simple, rough colors painted a picture in my mind.
I started dumbly at the canopy, painting on it like a canvass by Monee, DaVinci, Donatello. But more perfectly, every pane of his face molded, every curve of his body. An angels face, the angel I loved. Too bad things never go my way. Too bad he doesn't love me back. Not like I love him, anyway.
And that's all I remember before there where hands on me. They were too warm to be the hands I wanted, and a part of me struggled against the touch. I didn't say anything, didn't fight, but let myself fall. The face above me, creased with worry, was familiar in a dreamlike way. I guess I stared, because the face looked away.
The air was silent except for the crushingly slow progression of human footsteps. I swallowed dryly, my throat making a clicking sound. Then voices. Low voices, all male. I suppose if I was sane I would recognize them, but I couldn't discern anything in the jumble. I did know that I was laying on something soft, and the muted blue light above was putting me out. And so I slept.
