INTRODUCTION: This is a story inspired by the song Saint Veronika by Billy Talent. The song is about a woman who overdoses to kill herself. Of course, in this story, the saint is Saint Isabella. This is a one-shot, but if I feel kind I might consider continuing. I wouldn't hold my breath.
DESCRIPTION: Bella just got told by Edward that he and his family were leaving. Now she is Saint Isabella, and she wants to die. *Based on Billy Talent's Saint Veronika* One-shot.
THE STORY (IN BELLA'S POINT OF VIEW):
I had to get out of here. I can't do this anymore. Why should I? Edward didn't want me, and this forfeited any reason for me to live. To hell with what he said – when he left, he had no right to expect me to be fine. He had no right to expect me to keep from doing anything 'reckless or stupid'. Either way, this was neither – this was more. Was it really stupid to stop this pain? No. It was stupid of Edward to expect me to get on with my life without him. It was stupid of Edward to think me capable of that.
So there I sat, with a bottle of oxycotton in my hand. "Set me free …" I murmured to the bottle. Please, please, set me free … I shouldn't hesitate. I should just down the entire bottle, right now. No, you shouldn't … think of Edward … So I did. I thought of Edward. I thought of how much I love him, of how that was all over. I thought about how I felt when he told me he loved me more than he wanted to kill me. I thought of that first, tender, loving kiss.
I went to the kitchen and grabbed a cup of water. "STOP!" I froze in place. I didn't freeze because I was afraid someone would stop me. I didn't freeze because I was shocked that someone was here. I froze because it was Edward's voice, clear as a bell and smooth as velvet. Looking around, I saw no Edward, but I heard him. "Bella, my dear Isabella, please don't do this. Think of Charlie … Think of Renee …" Yes, Edward, think of them. Think of how much better off they'll be without a broken wreck as a daughter …
Rushing, as if I expected the voice to stop me, I grabbed water, and I took them. I took them all, and I felt fine. I didn't feel dizzy, I didn't feel tired. I didn't even feel numb. I just felt like that moron who took a bunch of sugar pills. Only I didn't even have the placebo effect. I ran into the wine cellar and took a bottle. Rushing, still rushing, I poured it into a glass. After a few glasses in a few minutes, I felt dizzy. Could I be drunk? This wasn't supposed to happen …
Then I lay down on the couch, thinking. The damage was done. In just a little while, I would die. I would no longer be a burden to society. I would no longer be a deadweight zombie. I would be nothing. I would be rot. I would be ashes. Who knew if Charlie would burry me or cremate me? I didn't care. I would be dead. I wouldn't be able to feel anything. I almost smiled at the prospect, but my lips felt like lead.
In my head, Edward sobbed. "Isabella, Saint Isabella, You can't leave this world behind. So be strong enough to hold onto us. We're still right here by your side …" But they weren't right here. They weren't by my side. They were gone. But I would always hold onto the Cullens – they would forever be a part of me, dead or alive. Only I would no longer have to suffer from that memory.
I could see the black and white spots flashing across my vision. I should get up. I should write a note to Charlie, to Renee. To tell them that I'm sorry, that this is the way things are better off. But I couldn't. I couldn't move. My mind was going at such a rapid pace, but my body was numb. It was lead. I couldn't move it.
"Saint Isabella, it's just not your time to die …" Yes, Edward, it is. When you left me, it became my time. And, just as I said this, my mind slowed down. I could feel nothing but the wet, the cold, on my cheeks. It will all be over soon. "Saint Isabella, it's just not your time to die …" Wrong. And then everything went black.
* Some people spell the name "Veronica" instead of "Veronika".
