Edward's view
He did not know why he was there, why he did this to himself night after night. It was bad enough during the day. When she was awake and watching him with that wary fascination that had him so desperate to know what she was thinking, and when they were surrounded by people, the distraction allowed him a finger hold on sanity. Now, in the middle of the night when she lay sleeping, utterly vulnerable, there was nothing to hold him back but his own willpower. It terrified him. He was obsessed, he knew that without a doubt. It was embarrassing, foolish, inevitably doomed, and yet he could not stop himself.
He had tried. He reminded himself constantly of his vow, of his family, of all that his behavior jeopardized. He reminded himself furiously of her loved ones, of her life only just beginning. No-one deserved to die that young. She did not deserve to die because he could not control his baser urges. He had spent decades learning and refining that control. Was it all for nothing? Could he really throw away all that he believed in and had fought for for a moment's satisfaction? Standing there in the dark, surrounded by her things, her scent, he honestly did not know. Every moment he made the decision not to give in, and every moment he hovered on a knife edge, wondering if this time he would. He had not been this afraid since he had been turned. He watched her in the dark, wrestling with the demon again and again, and despaired.
She was dreaming. Momentarily distracted, he watched with fascination as she turned her head as though searching, murmuring under her breath. No words, just sounds, and he found himself wishing for the hundredth time that he could glance at her thoughts and know what it was that she searched for. Dreams were chaotic, confusing, and he usually avoided sleeping human minds assiduously, but not having the choice in her case made him desperate even for that. What was it about her that kept him from knowing her thoughts? He knew part of his fascination stemmed from that one unanswered question.
How strange to think that this state of confusion and mystery about the motivations of others was the normal state of being for most humans; for most of his kind too for that matter. It compounded his despair because a large part of his decision to take the vow, to live as he did now, had stemmed from his unwilling knowledge of the panic and terror his prey suffered. He had tried to shut it out and failed miserably. He had taken to choosing prey that inflicted similar panic and terror on their own victims, trying to justify his hunting in that way. For a time that worked, but he had never been one to take enjoyment in the hunt as he knew others of his kind did. He gained no satisfaction from the kill, only relief from their fear and his hunger, and the hunger always came back. It always would. Once he accepted that there was no way he could appease the demon within, only control it, and that there would be no relief from the suffering of his victims, the decision to take the vow had been easy. Easier than the alternative, that is, until he met Bella.
He had taken a couple of steps closer to her bed, the better to observe her sleep, he told himself. She had kicked down her blankets so that they tangled about her waist, her skin flawless, smooth, and almost the same color as his own in the fleeting moonlight that penetrated through the clouds and into her room. Her hair was spread out, black as ink against the white sheets, although he knew in daylight it was a rich, dark brown.
He wanted to touch her hair, her skin, feel its warmth in contrast to his own. Maybe if he did, and if he could remain in control, then he would break this spell she seemed to hold over him. Then, perhaps, he could walk away. The thought had occurred to him some days ago and he had been mentally preparing himself to act upon it since then. There would be no better time than now, while she slept. Then, if he failed, her fear and pain would be that much briefer for not knowing what was happening. That was the theory at least. It was ridiculous for a mere girl to hold him so enthralled, he told himself. Idiotic that he allowed himself to be enthralled to the extent that he would endanger all those he loved. He could not allow it to continue indefinitely, that would be inviting disaster.
The demon within him raged and tore against his hold. God, she smelled so good! He swallowed reflexively and stopped breathing. Even denying himself her scent was a struggle with his tattered self control. Daring himself, he took another step closer. She slept restlessly now, frowning in her sleep. Did she sense him? Did some part of her know a predator crouched here, at the foot of her bed, debating whether she would live or die this night? Some people did sense the eyes of the hunter upon them, he knew. He felt a stab of irrational anger at the thought – how dare she sense anything of him when he could sense nothing of her!
"Edward."
He froze, eyes fixed on her, every muscle tensed.
"Edward?" She said again, her voice soft and slightly questioning, but her eyes remained closed. She stirred restlessly once more, sighed, and settled into a deeper sleep.
The most peculiar sensation settled over him. Later he would try to describe it to Carlisle as though somewhere distantly he had heard a deep, calm tone, like the ringing of a gong. It felt as though his still heart had beaten again, just once, and then fallen silent, although the echoes would course through his blood for hours. At that moment, all he could do was stand there, shaken to the core. He would realize, as he tried to describe it, that what he felt was peace. For the first time since he had caught Bella's scent, the demon that had fought him to taste her blood lay curled at his feet, docile and silent. It was as though that was what he had been waiting for all this time – to hear her say his name, to know that she lay dreaming of him.
He carefully drew in a breath of air, and the sweetness of her filled his lungs again. The demon remained silent. In the stillness within him, hope stirred. His eyes lingered on her sleeping form, so relaxed and trusting, and he knew then that something fundamental had changed within him. In his unchanging world it was disorienting, and he felt an instinctive need to retreat and assess what these changes might mean. But time was easy to come by when you were immortal and such moments as these were not, so he allowed himself to linger, drifting in this strange, new inner landscape.
What he knew was that the needs of the demon, although still there, were subsumed by something infinitely more powerful, and yet at the same time fragile in its infancy. It was strange soil for it to have rooted in, and what it might become he could not guess. He also knew without doubt that he did not need to be afraid of Bella's mere presence anymore. The fear was gone, and with it the despair. He could control himself. He could keep his family safe – he could keep her safe – for now.
Tomorrow would dawn, and what that day would bring he could not guess. It was exhilarating. For the first time in nearly one hundred years, Edward found himself looking forward to the future.