A/N: I have always thought of Sam and Emily's relationship as being more complex than it seems. As an extension of this, I also believe that Emily is neither a saint nor a villain. People are not black and white, and whether she is right or wrong is not the point. The point is that, like everyone else, she has a story to tell, and this is just a version of it. Take from it what you will :) Have a nice day! -Chrys
(Edit: The companion pieces to this are now up under the titles 'Shame of the Sinner', which is told from Sam's perspective, and 'Strength of the Fighter' which looks at it from Leah's.)
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to the Stephenie Meyer.
HEART OF THE LOVER
They ask her how she could love him – how she could love a man who would break the heart of another to be hers – and she has no answers. She knows how it looks. They hate him. She hated him too. He was a bastard, she knew that. That was why she resented his advances. That was why fought him with a passion. That was why she thrust daggers into his heart every time he tried to get close to her. They did not see that. They were not there all those times when she pushed him away, forcing him into a corner with his guilt. No one saw that. All they ever saw was the inevitable outcome that was her betrayal.
She hates herself, every day, for what she has done. She hopes for forgiveness, but knows that she deserves none. Every morning, she wakes up with a terrible ache in her chest reminding her that not far away is someone who suffers for her deeds. Sometimes she asks herself what things would be like if her existence had never stood in the way of their happiness. On her darker days, she scours the cupboards for pills, convinced that he would be better off without her. But then she throws them away, because she knows that he wouldn't be. He would lose himself, and she cannot condemn him to such a cruel fate, because she loves him.
She loves him, despite the pain in her heart and the scars on her face. If they were to ever know the truth, they would ask her why, and she cannot rationally justify her love for the man who nearly took her life in a moment of unbridled fury. It sounds horrible, even to her, but love is not rational. Love sees no logic and passes no judgment. Love knows no whys or hows, no rhyme or reason. Love exists in and of itself. This is the love that she knows, a love that comes from the very depths of the soul, a love that fairytales do not speak of because it is a difficult kind of love. She does not deny that it is difficult, but you do not love someone because it is easy.
It is not easy. It is not easy to love a man who is hard and often angry, who is proud and overconfident, cocky and sometimes arrogant. She does not love him because he is perfect. Perfect men do not do what he has done. But he is, above all else, a good man. And she believes that even the best of people come with dark angles, and that is okay. He is not ruled by the darkness in him. She knows this. The greater part of him is good and kind and full of heart, and she sees this every day, wishing that the world could see it too, but they don't. They see only his flaws, but what living man has no flaws? She would rather love a good man with imperfections than a perfect man without a heart.
A man without a heart would not bleed the way he does, every time he looks at her only to see how he has marred her. The world sees her scars, but they are blind to his, and his run far deeper than her own. She knows that he punishes himself for what he believes to be his sins, but an accident is not a sin and he has not hurt her since. During these times when they are alone and he weeps with the desperation of a lost child, she reaches out to hold him close and comfort him, because she knows that he continues to hurt still, long after her own pain has gone. In the warmth of her embrace he sobs his sorrys, but she wants no more of them, because sorrys are for yesterday, and yesterday is over. Yesterday is over, and tomorrow is uncertain, because he risks his life doing what he does. She wants the two of them to live for today and here and now.
It saddens her that others will never understand, that they will always see this as a conscious decision made without the slightest consideration, when it never was. She did not choose to love him. Love is not governed by willpower. The heart has a will of its own that cannot be controlled by the power of thought. While the mind enjoys the freedom of choice, it is disconnected from the heart that is bound by its desires. They will never accept this, but she has. Her heart has found its partner, her soul has found its mate, and though she regrets the circumstances more than anyone, she cannot bring herself to wish that it was anyone else but him. No one else would make her feel the way she does. No one else would matter to her the way he does.
She knows that it seems wrong, but for them, it is right, and she can no longer fight it. She is resigned to the fact that she has to be selfish to keep going, and she will keep going with regrets. The constant guilt will be her punishment, and she will live with this burden on her shoulders, knowing that there is someone who suffers more. Right now, all she knows is that every moment with him is precious, and she cannot waste any more of them trying to turn back time. The damage is done and cannot be undone.
They ask her how she could love him, and she has no answers, but she does not care what they see because she knows how she feels, and she tells them that she loves him anyway. She loves him for him, for all that he does and does not do, for all that he stands for and strives to be, for everything that he is and everything that he is not. She loves him, and that is not a crime. They can question her, as is their right, and she will continue to love him, as is hers.