*Stephanie Meyer owns everything*
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I cry sometimes when I think of him, because the aching hole where my heart and lungs used to be hurts so much. Not as much as I used to, though. Months ago, when the wound was bleeding and raw, I used to cry all the time. I cried, until I became numb. There was no feeling, just an emptiness that enveloped everything. I was no longer Bella Swan. I was just an empty shell of what I used to be. I went through the motions of normality, to try and save my family and friends the worry. But I don't think I fooled them for one second.
I thought about dying a lot through those empty months. That was what occupied my thoughts, besides the image of him walking away, my hand stretched out towards him, tears in my eyes, a cruel stare in his. He told me he never loved me. I was just a game.
There are times when I seriously consider ending the emptiness. I guess, considering I haven't done anything horrible, I belong in heaven- or some twisted form of it. But I don't know if being in heaven or hell would have him. I don't know if the pain overrides the love I still feel for him.
My friends tried to help, but after a while they gave up. My father begged me to eat and go to school and even talk. When they were around me, everyone acted as though I was going to shatter at any moment. I didn't want to talk, though. I just wanted to sit there, and let death take me, because if he didn't want me, then living would be worse than the deepest pits of hell. But really, the only reason that I didn't kill myself was because of Charlie. I could never hurt him like that.
That only lasted for the first week and a half. Then came the crying, then the numbness. I don't really know which one scared my family more. I regret that, hurting my family, and you have to understand that that was never my intention at all. I was just in an insurmountable amount of pain, and I didn't know what to do.
My father suggested therapy. I refused, I didn't want to tell them my secrets, so I would have to lie, and what good would that do? And in reality, the pain has become an aching memory, though I cling to it with all my might. No amount of therapy will help me, because I don't want to get better. And my human memories will fade with time. My memory is not as good as his. I forget things, events, they all just slip away with time. I'm trying so hard not to let that happen.
They all think I'm trying to get better, though. They think the pain is like a disease that I can fight off if I try hard enough. They think I'm trying.
But if given the choice between the pain and having him for the time I did, or never having him at all, I would still have taken the pain. I probably would have said the other if he had never come into my life. I wouldn't know what I was missing.
Love kills. Everything love touches dies, and eventually, whether in a decade, a month or an entire lifetime, love will destroy us all.
This was my heart broken fairy tale. This was the life I embraced, the life I treasured, the life I never knew I wasn't living, until he came. And he showed me how to love, and how to truly live.
And then he tore my heart out of my chest. It was not a clean tear, mind you. It was a jagged hole, rimmed with shattered glass and porcupine quills. And every time I moved, every second I clung to the memory or the agony, I reveled in it, in my strength at being able to handle those individual seconds. And I guess you could say that over time it has gotten better, I welcome the pain, I enjoy it even. Because I means he is still there, albeit in spirit, but there none the less. And I have to hold the fragments of me together, so I don't completely fall apart. This is what love brought me to.
I actually told myself I hated him. I thought it over and over again, thinking that that would save me from the aching. It didn't, and after about a hour I gave up, and acknowledged the undeniable truth.
I love Edward Cullen, even now. And although he had broken me, probably beyond repair, I am still irreversibly in love with him.
I wish he would come home. I wish morphine worked for emotional pain. I wish a lot of things, really. Though I really doubt any of them will come true. There is no time for wishes to come true now. Except the wish that I will see my Edward again, when I die. Which can't be too far away, now.
The cold water is filling up my lungs, though I am at complete peace. I have given up. The salty water stings my throat, but it is freezing, and it numbs me, and I can barely feel anything anymore. Dying doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. This is the end, and I will see him again. I know it. I will wait for him until he dies, and then we can truly spend eternity together.
Goodbye, my love.