Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight, I Hate This Song is sung by Secondhand Serenade

Hate This

Standing alone, hidden in the shadowy corner of the bar, I watched her, mesmerized, ensnared by both my own thoughts merging with her sweet voice. I watched her as I always had, day after day for the long years since I had left her. I watched as she stood off center on the stage, microphone in hand, beginning once again the song that always deepened the wounds inflicted upon my heart. The song she always sang as she cried, the song that always made her remember.

Speak with your tongue tied,
I know that you're tired
But I just want to know,
Where you want to go,
I may be sad, But I'm not weak,
This situation is bleak
And your puffy eyes never lie,
Your tears come from inside.

And, for the first time in so many long years spent waiting for eternity's end, I wished I could cry. I wished, wished so hard I could cry along with her, feel the sadness and pain plaguing her ever breaking heart. The pain that I had caused.

Until Sunday I'll be waiting for an answer
I guess that yesterday's not good enough for you,
You know that I hate this song,
You know that I hate this song
Because it was written for you

Her skin was pale, paler than it had been when she still believed I loved her, and her dark hair clung limply, strand to strand. The deep brown of her eyes, the eyes I loved so much, missed so much, echoed her inner torment, told the story of her pain to all those daring enough to meet the gaze of the singer that stood onstage night after night, searching for an outlet.

Drown your fears with me
I'm feeling real sorry
Your glossy eyes don't need
The sadness they have seen
But you're way too deep to swim
Back up again
But somehow I can't find
The moment you said goodbye



Every word she sung cut me deeper and deeper. At first, I had managed to convince myself that leaving was for her own good, for her own protection. And yet I had spent the previous years perched on her windowsill, watching in sheer agony as the blade met her scarred skin, unable to help her, unable to comfort her without reopening old wounds that were better left alone. Spent the years at the meadows edge as she lay still in the center, clutching her chest as if holding herself together, having to dart away from view whenever she felt the eyes on her.

I now realized my mistake.

Until Sunday I'll be waiting for an answer
I guess that yesterday's not good enough for you,
You know that I hate this song,
You know that I hate this song
Because it was written for you

If only I had known. Known that my leaving would do her more harm than good, sending her into a spiralling depression. If only I had known that by staying I could have prevented the self mutilation she inflicted upon herself, night after night, while I watched from the windowsill, all the while wishing for the tears that wouldn't fall, the death that wouldn't come.

This is becoming a problem I'm hurting it's unfair
But somehow your words,
The way that I heard are haunting me,
You're under my skin
You're breaking in,
And the tasteless fights that filled our nights
Are starting to cave in,
You're under my skin
You're breaking in
And if Sundays what it takes to prove
I have nothing else to loose

Dry sobs began to shake me again and again. I wanted to return to her side, wanted it so badly. I wanted her back, wanted to dry her tears and make her know that everything was okay again, that I loved her more than the world itself, that I would never again leave her side.

I wanted so desperately for everything to be okay.

But it wasn't okay, and it never would be until I was able once again to be at the side of the one I loved, until I could rejoin her without constant fear for her life.

Until Sunday I'll be waiting for an answer
I guess that yesterday's not good enough for you,
You know that I hate this song,


You know that I hate this song
Because it was written for you

The song ended with tears streaming freely down her sallow cheeks, and I knew that it would never be okay.

AN:
That was a rather depressing one shot. Its in Edwards point of view, watching Bella sing at a bar years after he left, just thinking. I was listening to the song and this popped into my mind, and it was sad enough that I wanted to write it. I don't think I did the topic justice, but I tried.