I saw Eclipse a little while ago and for some reason really wanted to write a one-off drabble for this pairing.
Disclaimer: The world of Twilight does not belong to me.
They say that you can feel it fraying – the fragile gossamer-thin thread.
As I lie there on the rocks, I don't know whether I can sense it but I can picture it – each infinitesimally tiny snap.
The blood drips steadily but it is not even a trickle now, instead a rare quiet plop. I have a feeling it won't be too long but I'm not counting the seconds, especially as there's curiously little pain.
"Bella," her voice comes to me on a tendril of a fog: a quiet melodious smooth sound.
My eyelids are so heavy I can barely stop their flutter but for her I am always willing to try. For love – anything once, at least that's how the saying goes. And then again, I don't think anyone is willing to die twice.
She smoothes my hair back gently and I struggle, fight lethargy with every shallow breath, dredge up a smile. It's pitiful; I see it, myself, reflected in her eyes and yet again I wonder what she's always seen in me, how different I seem when I am looking in the mirror. Is it the rich gold of her eyes which softens me unlike all else or is it merely the prism of her love?
I wonder…
…mostly about how she sees herself.
Or how she looks through me for I cannot observe her in my own eyes and maybe I don't want to. In love, one usually loves more, one less. I do not want to be the one that loves too little though my present state would seem to indicate that I should not be worried.
But then, of course, I am.
What if she doesn't love enough and chooses not to do it. What if –
But there is always a 'what if'.
What if I hadn't met Edward first, what if the wolf was not too busy snapping at the vampire, what if Victoria had not arrived here first.
"I'll b-be o-okay, r-right, Alice?" I whisper almost soundlessly, hating the tremble in my voice.
"You doubt me?"
"N-no," It's getting harder to speak but I will not allow her to believe that I don't have the confidence in her, that I do not think she'll fulfil my wishes.
Alice has always respected every choice I make.
It's why we meet sufficiently away where they will never come upon us. It's why we've never done anything but… talk.
But how we talk...
Ironically, there aren't the words to possibly describe it. Well, one comes closest...
… love.
But it is still not right.
I am certain there is not the right word: in the human world nor theirs; an explanation for this 'love' does not exist. Perhaps this bond we share is even more inexplicable than all I've learned over these many months. That thought exhausts my limited supply of meagre energy; brings forth one last amused and tender look.
"It's time," her own wobbles; shimmers…
…holds.
I see the certainty, the agony – the loss already clouding her eyes.
How could I ever question whether she's the one that loves the deepest?
Forgive my weakness, I attempt to tell her.
But instead I die.