Setting: Takes place right after Edward leaves Bella in "New Moon."
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the words. Only the order in which they were placed. That said, the ideas are mine - please do not post this anywhere else without my permission. Everything else belongs to Stephenie Meyer, and no money is being made from this.
Author's Notes: Um...not really sure where this one came from. I got the idea, figured it would be a little drabble, but Edward's inner masochist just would not shut up! In the end it turned out quite different from what I thought it would be, but still managed to stay within the basic idea of what I started with.
Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.
Detach
It was for her. To keep her safe. For her own good. Everything I have done, I have done for her.
I had to keep repeating that to myself, forcing the mantra to drown out all the other voices screaming in my head, demanding that I race back. Back to her, to beg and to plead and to pray for forgiveness. If I allowed myself to turn around I knew that I would willingly give her anything and everything if only I could take back those last words, those last lies, the ones that had caused such agony to contort her beautiful face.
I would give her the one and only thing she had ever asked of me, that one and only thing I had ever refused to bestow. And I would bestow it oh-so-willingly.
Everything I have done, I have done for her.
A loud cracking pierced the silence that had enveloped me and my mantra. I moved my hands down the steering wheel and saw the cracks and indentations that now marred the "10 and 2" positions. I watched, as if outside of my own body, as my hands moved back and my fingers slowly wrapped around the wheel, fitting perfectly into those deep grooves. I had barely squeezed, my grip having twitched ever so slightly as I fought the desperate urge to spin the car around, and yet the damage was formidable. The steering wheel was not especially strong, but it was not simply cheap plastic – it had a durability akin to softwood.
A durability akin to bone.
Everything I have done, I have done for her.
Forests and fields rolled past in a blur as I pushed the car faster than I had ever dared, desperate to escape the forces that would have me return to her and destroy everything – I was terrified that if I so much as lifted my foot off the gas pedal a fraction of an inch, my resolve would crumble as spectacularly as my dead heart.
The engine groaned in response, but miraculously persevered through my abuse...I wasn't sure if that was God answering my prayers, or condemning me to hell.
An eternity passed before I felt the strength – a more apt description would be resignation – to pull myself out of the mantra, to take in my surroundings. I had no idea where I was – out in the middle of nowhere, on some stretch of country highway, not another car in sight. But my location did not matter, here was as good a place as any. After all, if everything I did was for her, then without her I had no purpose.
No, that was wrong. I had a purpose, and that was to stay away from her. The most difficult challenge of my existence...and yet, it was no challenge at all, because it was simply something that must be done.
Everything I have done, I have done for her.
Gradually the desperation to turn around faded and was replaced by the resigned despair that I had made my choice, and that I would not go back on it. I could not honestly say which lancing pain was worse – the fact that I had made the decision, or the fact that I would abide by it.
As I allowed myself to realize the true weight of this resignation, I permitted my foot to lift of the gas pedal and the car gradually came to a stop on the side of the road – the road that I could no longer see. Some vestige of a survival instinct must still reside within my body, recognizing that my superior mind – the mind that could multitask in a dozen different directions before concentration was even a requirement – was so utterly and complete focused on one realization: I had severed all ties with the sole justification for my existence.
I could not remember turning off the ignition, nor resting my forehead against the steering wheel. My fingers were locked back into the perfect molds they had made in the dense material. It could have been seconds or it could have been hours, but I had no need for time.
I heard them in my head long before they approached my window – I could not have tuned them out had I cared to, I had no control over my mental faculties beyond the acknowledgement of my resignation.
A rapping of knuckles on the window sounded, but I did not react. The knock repeated, and was followed by a voice asking, "Hey buddy, you okay in there?" Slowly, I lifted my head and turned to look at the two men who had come up behind me, checking to see why I had pulled off the highway next to an abandoned field.
I saw myself through their eyes, but I could not recognize the sight. My face was beyond blank, my predatory eyes had never once been this flat and dull. For once I truly looked like the stone being that I was.
No, wrong again, another lie. Statues held much more expression – more life – than I did in that moment.
The man nearest the window took a step back in surprise. I drew in a deep, unnecessary breath, a force of habit to try and clear the haze from my thoughts. I had not taken a breath for the longest time, unable to devote even the smallest of mental resources to the task.
As soon as the air hit my lungs, something in my mind snapped and with inhuman speed I had wrenched the car door open and slipped out, slamming it shut with more force that was necessary. I spun around and folded my arms on the roof of the car and smashed my forehead down upon them, hyperventilating to clear my lungs with fresh air.
Her scent had seeped into every crevice of the car's interior.
After a minute, the last vestiges of her essence were purged from my lungs, and I despaired all over again at the loss.
"DAMN IT!" The roar of my voice would have startled even me, if I were capable of experiencing anything other than my absolute anguish. My fist slammed through the driver's window. There was not enough resistance in the shattering glass to satisfy me.
The two men had already been unnerved by my behaviour and the inexplicable speed with which I had emerged from my car, and now they were downright terrified. And yet they had not driven off, merely backed up several feet...I could still hear the genuine concern for my well-being in their minds. They were good people.
I pushed away from the car and stumbled a few paces forward out into the tall grass off the side of the road. In the eyes of the men I walked slowly as if on autopilot, a robot. I stopped about ten feet from the front of my car, facing out at the field but seeing nothing, and sank to my knees. I hung my head, and my hands clawed into the hard dirt like anchors.
Without warning, a sob wrenched itself out of my chest, and I wished I were capable of tears.
While the men debated whether to call for help, another car pulled up. I had been expecting it – there was no way he could have stayed away.
The men attempted to explain what they knew as he approached, but his velvet voice cut them off.
"It's okay, he's my son."
They stared at him with stunned expressions as he continued towards my crumpled form without hesitation, softly calling out to me. "Edward...."
I saw myself in his thoughts then, heard what he was thinking, and immediately allowed my mind to devote enough resources from the all-consuming torment to shut him out. I could permit seeing myself in the eyes of a complete stranger, but I could not handle being the stranger in the eyes of my father. I could not handle the overwhelming pain he felt when he saw me, when he thought about why I was in this state...when he thought about her.
I could not handle his thoughts of disapproval at my actions. It was done, and I was resigned to my fate.
Everything I have done, I have done for her.
I continued to watch through the eyes of strangers as he kneeled in front of me and placed his hand on my shoulder. My own eyes were screwed up so tightly – trying to shut out not only the world, but him – that I wasn't sure I would ever be able to open them again.
Another strangled cry escaped me and forced my head to fling back, the sound that emanated from my chest not even remotely human. The men flinched and stepped back further, but still they could not look away. I had become the train wreck.
And I wholeheartedly deserved it.
"Edward," Carlisle whispered again, and brought his other hand to gently grip the side of my jaw, forcing my head level with his own. I watched as he leaned forward and touched his forehead to mine.
My eyes slowly relaxed and opened of their own accord. My father's angelic face came into focus. The pain in his eyes magnified tenfold as our gazes locked and he saw my hopelessness. Despite my efforts, his reaction in that instant was too strong for me to completely block him out.
I had not been alive for nearly ninety years, but never until that moment had he thought of me as dead.
"Son..." his voice cracked.
My lifeless expression suddenly contorted, eyes snapping shut once again, as the indescribable agony finally broke to the surface. He pulled me to him and my arms instantly wrapped around his back, my hands fisting into his jacket, fingers ripping holes in the thick fabric, and I clung as if for my very existence. My head fell to his shoulder, and my body convulsed in sob after sob. I held on so tightly that even his own stone body could not possibly come through this unscathed.
My eyes pricked, desperate for tears that could not fall. It was another reminder of what I was, and what I was not.
I was not like her, and I could never allow her to be like me.
Everything I have done, I have done for her.
The two men watched as I disintegrated on the side of the highway and allowed my father to cradle me like a child as grief and sorrow took over. They silently backed up to their vehicle, not wanting to intrude any further on the breakdown in progress.
I continued to observe the scene from outside of myself despite the absence of their eyes. I was no longer connected to my body, no longer a part of that existence.
When I died the first time, when my human life ended, I remembered nothing but the agony. I had no recollection of what occurred within my mind, of whether the adage of one's life flashing before their eyes had held true or not.
In my second death, I had my answer.
But the proverb was inaccurate, wrong. A lie, again. There was no flashing, no quick summary that ran past in the blink of an eye. No, the images swam slowly, percolating, allowing no detail to be missed. They seared themselves to my mind. A whole lifetime in the span of eight months, for my life had begun – and now would end – with her.
Carlisle held me in his unyielding embrace until my wrenching sobs subsided, and continued for long after that. I watched, detached from my body – an intangible mass of raw pain and torment – as we kneeled in the growing darkness, as still as only our kind could be. I was a shell of my former self, because I simply could not be anything more – my first death had stopped my heart, and my second death had destroyed it.
It was my fault, my decision, my resignation, and my destruction.
And if I had to, I would do it all over again.
Everything I have done, I have done for her.