Dedicated to Daddy's Little Cannibal. I did not know her personally, but she was an amazing writer and had a lot of talent. She will be missed.

Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all Twilight characters. I do not. Also, all words italicized words at the beginning are hers from New Moon, pages 359 -- 362.

I smiled and raised my arms straight out, as if I were going to dive, lifting my face into the rain. But it was too ingrained from years of swimming at the public pool -- feet first, first time. I leaned forward, crouching to get more spring…

And I flung myself off the cliff.

I screamed as I dropped through the open air like a meteor, but it was a scream of exhilaration and not fear. The wind resisted, trying vainly to fight the unconquerable gravity, pushing against me and twirling me in spirals like a rocket crashing to the earth. Yes! The word echoed through my head as I sliced through the surface of the water. It was icy, colder than I'd feared, and yet the chill only added to the high.

I was proud of myself as I plunged deeper into the freezing black water. I hadn't had one moment of terror -- just pure adrenaline. Really, the fall wasn't scary at all. Where was the challenge?

That was when the current caught me.

It didn't occur to me that the water was what I should truly have feared. The waves seemed to be fighting over me, trying to tear me in half. Disoriented, I try to swim. I kick and drag my arms through the water; to where, I don't know. There are no reference points, just angry blackness in every direction; not even a film of lighter gray in the direction of the surface.

"Keep swimming!" Edward begged urgently in my head.

Where? There was nothing but darkness. There was no place to swim to.

"Stop that!" he ordered. "Don't you dare give up!"

The cold water was numbing my arms and legs. I didn't feel the buffeting so much as before. It was more of just a dizziness now, a helpless swimming in the water.

But I listened to him. I forced my arms to continue reaching, my legs to kick harder, though every second I was facing a new direction. It couldn't be doing any good. What was the point?

"Fight!" he yelled. "Damn it, Bella, keep fighting."

Why?

I didn't want to fight anymore. And it wasn't the lightheadedness, or the cold, or the failure of my arms as the muscles gave out in exhaustion, that made me content to stay where I was. I was almost happy that it was over. This was an easier death than others I'd faced. Oddly peaceful.

I saw him, and I had no will to fight. It was so clear, so much more defined than any memory. My subconscious had stored Edward away in flawless detail, saving him for this final moment. I could see his perfect face as if he were really there; the exact shade of his icy skin, the shape of his lips, the line of his jaw, the gold glinting in his furious eyes. He was angry, naturally, that I was giving up. His teeth were clenched and his nostrils flared with rage.

"No! Bella, no!"

My ears were flooded with the freezing water, but his voice was clearer than ever. I ignored his words and concentrated on the sound of his voice. Why would I fight when I was so happy where I was? Even as my lungs burned for more air and my legs cramped in the icy cold, I was content. I'd forgotten what real happiness felt like.

Happiness. It made the whole dying thing pretty bearable.

Goodbye, I love you, was my last thought.

Blackness enveloped me.

cold

darkness

pain

happiness

safety

contentment

numbness

nothing

Light filters through my closed eyelids. I try to take inventory of my body before opening my eyes to this world of light. My whole body hurts, as if I was one giant bruise. My lungs burn as I try to take in air, making my body protest. Better to not breathe. There was still a slight whooshing in my ears, the sound of waves, muffling all of the noises surrounding me. My arms and legs feel like I have Charlie horses in them, an impossible body cramp.

"Wake up, Bella, wake up." A soft musical voice whispers next to me from a thousand miles away. The voice is familiar, but my brain fights against connecting it to who it should be.

I decide to open my eyes and face the world around me. I blink furiously, my eyes burn and itch. The ceiling that I am staring at is bland and nondescript. It must be a hospital ceiling; I've seen enough of them to be able to identify them.

I turn my head to the side, towards where the voice came from, the fluid in my ears shifting and making me dizzy, even though I am lying down. A small dark haired girl sits next to me, her topaz eyes looking at me with concern. Alice. Why is Alice here?

Why are you here? I try to ask, but my lips and throat burn so much that only a rough sound of air comes out.

She shushes me, "Don't try to speak. You've swallowed so much salt water that you probably won't be able to speak for a while." She hands me a Styrofoam hospital cup with a straw coming out of the top. "Here, drink some water. They've been pumping fluids into you, but this should make your throat feel a little better."

I take a sip from the cup, attempting to swallow. Instead, I cough it back out. My throat burns and my body rejects it. I try to suck in air, but it instead makes my nose and throat burn even more. I cough and cough, my body trying to get rid of that which is making it hurt, my mind fighting against the blackness of unconsciousness that threatens. Finally, I draw in a breath and my body doesn't try coughing the air back out.

Alice hands me a tissue from the nightstand and gestures to my nose, which seems to have started running during my coughing fit. I blow my nose, getting mainly salt water streaming out from it.

I look at it wide-eyed then show it to Alice, who just shrugs, "Carlisle said that might happen." I toss the tissue into the trashcan next to the bed, not worried.

As if he heard us, which he probably did, Carlisle comes into the room, pulling a portable computer stand behind him. "How's my favorite patient doing?"

I shrug at him. My throat hurts. My eyes hurt. My nose hurts. I was prepared to die. How do you think I feel, Carlisle?

As if sensing my struggle, he pats my hand. "I understand that you jumped off the cliff on purpose. May I ask why?" He hands me a piece of paper and a pen.

I take them from him and stare at them as if I've never seen one before. What should I tell him? I will my hand to hold the pen with enough strength to write.

It's called cliff diving. I scrawl across the page. Jacob was supposed to take me, but he was called away by the pack.

Carlisle reads the page then looks at me, "So you decided to go on your own?"

I nod.

He looks at me with concern, "Why?"

Again, I look at the paper, trying to decide what I should tell him. "Bella, I'm only here to help you."

I breathe out, an attempt at a sigh. Just tell him the truth.

After you left, whenever I did something dangerous, I would hear his voice. When I drove my motorcycle for the first time, I could hear him yelling at me. I saw the kids from La Push jumping off the cliffs. It looked like fun, so I asked Jacob to take me. He agreed. When we went to meet, Billy told me that Jake was doing business from the pack, so I went to the beach by myself. I went up to the cliff and couldn't find another way down, so I decided to just jump. I could hear him. He didn't want me to do it. When I got into the water, the current pulled me under and I gave up. I realized that I was happy down there.

The words came pouring out of me and I couldn't stop the pen from moving across the page. Carlisle takes the paper from me and reads it, his eyes going wide with concern.

Guess I'm being transferred to the psych floor with all the other suicide risks.

He looks at me with pity in his eyes. I close my eyes to block out that look; I cannot stand to have him look at me like that.

"Bella, please look at me."

I shake my head no. I do not want to look at him. Not him, not any of them. I can feel tears threatening to well up behind my closed eyelids. I breathe in one shaky breath, my nose and throat burning, my lungs threatening to explode.

I hear movement in the room, people coming and going, soft voices. I choose to ignore them, trying to wish them out of existence. I let my mind float in its own world of fuzzy blackness. The sounds in the room around me nag at my brain, something familiar that my mind is still not ready to face.

Someone sits down on my hospital bed and takes my hand. The other hand is a familiar cold. I do not want to know who it is, to admit it to myself, but my eyes open against my will. I see him sitting on my bed with me. Only it's not him. He seems ragged, tired, sad. The dark circles around his eyes are darker; his eyes are coal black; his hair is matted and dusty; his clothing is dirty, torn, and stained. Yet underneath this dirt and pain, my Greek god still exists; he is still beautiful.

"Why?" my god asks me. I want to ask the same thing. "Bella, why did you jump? Why did you stop trying? You promised me. You told me you'd keep yourself safe. Why?" He pleads with me, the look on his face breaks my heart.

Then my anger sets in. He was the one who left. He was the one who broke the promise to be with me. He was the one who was just messing with my heart.

I reach for the pen and paper and scrawl my answer on paper.

You were the one who left me. I owe you nothing.

The words jump out at me, their meaning accusing me of something that I know I should not feel guilt over. It was him, it was his fault. I shouldn't feel guilt. I shouldn't feel the pain that is shooting through my heart. But I do. I do feel it. Even through the pain, the anguish he has caused me, I still love him.

He reaches for my hair, playing with one of the damp curls that hangs around my face, then tucks it behind my ear. He never makes eye contact with me, looking at everything but my eyes. "I never meant to hurt you. I wish I never left. I should never have left you." He puts his head in his hands, his body heaving with dry sobs, trying to shed tears he does not have. "I still love you, Bella. I love you. I never stopped loving you. I left to protect you. You were almost killed and I couldn't live with myself if I caused that. I only wanted to protect you. I'm sorry…."

My heart breaks at his words. Tears slide down the sides of my cheeks, dampening the pillow underneath my head. I reach my hand up and take one of his, pulling him down beside me. He curls up next to me, putting his arms around me.

Something within me shifts. I wrap my arms around him, curling into him like I used to do at night. His cold hard arms wrap around me, giving me comfort where I know they shouldn't. My mind is struggling to accept this, fighting against the possibility that they would be back; that he would be back. I draw in a shaky breath and the coughing takes over again. My body is wrapped in pain, my lungs burning with every quick intake of breath. The cold arms around me wrap tighter, almost painfully.

"Shhhh, Bella. Don't be afraid. I'm right here. Nothing will hurt you again." He whispers into my hair.

I fight against the blackness that is pushing into my mind, but I have no more energy to struggle. I float backwards into the darkness, my body slowly going numb.

I open my eyes one last time, only this time I see the dark water that still surrounds me instead of the hospital room that my mind wished me to see. Instead of Edward's arms around me, I feel only the cold grip of the current pulling me along, deeper into its embrace. I draw in my last suicidal breath, letting the cold salty water fill my lungs one last time. This time I close my eyes and let my mind go into the darkness once more. Only this time, there will be no hospital room when I open my eyes. Only nothingness.

A/N:

This idea came from a discussion I had with my dad a few days ago. A year before I was born, my parents were flying in the middle of winter from Detroit, MI to Milwaukee, WI. The plane actually shut down 5 times on the run way and had to be de-iced many, many times. Finally, after being delayed for hours, the captain came on the intercom and said that the copilot would be walking back to check on the wings and then they'd be on their way. My dad was sitting a few aisles back from the wings and could see that they were covered with roughly a foot and a half of snow. The copilot comes back, briefly glances out the winder then walks back towards the cockpit. Then, they were on their way across Lake Michigan to Milwaukee. My dad was very worried that day that they would crash into the Lake and that would be the end, but luckily, they did not and I'm here today. So, being the weird-o that I am, I suggested that he really did crash into the lake and everything in the past 20 years was just his mind slowly shutting down from exposure to the cold water. So we decided that the arthritis he feels in his shoulders is from them being dislocated in the accident and the pain he used to feel in his knee from a car accident he was in 15 years ago is going away, not because it's healing, but because the cold is numbing his legs. Yes, we are strange ones. :)

And the sequel to "In Love with your Ghost" is in the works. I have an outline of what I'm going to be doing with it. I do not have much time, as I am taking a summer class for the next few weeks and then I will be visiting Jer, but it should start being posted in July. Please be patient with me. Thanks.