Title: No Sunlight
Characters: Edward, bit of Rose and Bella
Rating: M
Word Count: 2,215 (including song lyrics)
Disclaimer: I don't own twilight, just the twisted mind that gets a kick from writing this stuff
Summary: She was perfect. Too perfect. A love so strong can only burn out. AU/AH
WARNING: do not read if sensitive to mental illness of any kind or suicide. Swearing and allusion to lemons, drinking and drugs also.
"With every year
That came to pass
More clouds appeared
'Til the sky went black, and there was
No sunlight
No sunlight
And there was
No sunlight
No sunlight
Anymore
And it disappeared at the same speed
As the idealistic things I believed
The optimist died inside of me"
~ Death Cab For Cutie, No Sunlight
The first time I saw her was in elementary school. The memory was still as crystal clear, not tarred or touched by time.
I watched her for weeks before I worked up the nerve to talk to her. Even then she was lovely and yet intimidating. I remember being lost for words as she waited impatiently for me to stutter out a greeting. She was still the first one to speak, and the last. She always did like having the last word. So stubborn.
For the years to follow I had been her shadow, watching, waiting, physically unable to not be near her. She drew me in somewhat like the sensation of gravity. She seemed content to let me pursue her. I never second-guessed my unconditional affection for her.
The first time she publicly acknowledged me was in sixth grade. I had stopped being so obvious in my blatant stalking, but I still harbored that same hope, same affection as that young boy had when he was first bewitched by her mischievous smile.
She had dropped her humongous tote bag – I never did understand her fixation with oversized accessories – on the chair beside mine and became a permanent fixture at my side. In the way that I had followed her, she now followed me. It was a bizarre turn of events, but I didn't mind, had never minded her slight obsession with all things Edward Cullen. I could understand it; and at the start I was the same with her.
The first time she had tried to kiss me was on my fourteenth birthday. She had lightly touched her lips to mine before pulling away and whispering 'happy birthday'. I had sat rigid and shocked for what seemed like hours afterwards but in reality couldn't have been any longer than a few moments.
I vaguely remember our 'study sessions' during elementary school, which we spent studying – each other's bodies. She would always initiate it though; I was never bold enough to ask her, to stand up to her when I was not in the mood or really did want to study. No; she owned me, almost as much as I owned her, though I hadn't realized it at the time.
I puzzled over what to buy her for her sweet sixteenth for months. I ended up giving her what she wanted; to have her virginity taken. It was full of awkward touches and knowing smiles. She waited patiently for her release after I came all over her purple bedspread. To be fair; I did apologize and bought her a necklace the next day.
By our senior year she had grown into her curvy body and was the star of every boy in Forks High's wet dreams. It made me slightly worried, but more smug than anything. I had thought at the time we had a boy gets the girl romance, but I was wrong and naive.
She took up cheerleading; I took up chess. We were an odd couple, and the source of many vivid gossip topics. I was never really one for the attention, though she basked in it. I was happy as long as she was, I didn't care what she did, as long as she was with me.
And she was. And we were happy. We got drunk for the first time together, experimented with drugs together, breathed together, ate together, slept together. I had a hard time separating where she finished and I began. We became emotionally attached to the point of not being able to be separated for more than one night. One couldn't exist without the other.
We went to the same university, doing anything else was simply not an option. We even shared an apartment off campus.
I loved her, she loved me. It was a win-win situation, right?
And then things started turning rotten, as all things that good have to eventually. She got incredibly paranoid and started accusing me of sleeping with other girls, sometimes even guys, when she knew I only had eyes for her. She was suddenly everywhere, watching me – even more than before – as soon as I came home after class, she would harass me, try and pry every single detail out of my mouth and check me for lies.
She didn't trust me, she didn't trust anyone to the point where she had socially isolated herself and I couldn't talk to anyone for fear of her screaming at me.
Those were the memories I played on loop when I was feeling particularly masochistic. The screaming matches, the alienation, the bitterness and finally the breaking point.
She had been particularly frustrated and moody the past couple of weeks, I hadn't thought anything of it. I resented her for taking away my privacy; she was half-mad with distrust and suspicion. I no longer had the will to talk to her, to check she was alright. Fighting with her was so draining, after a love so strong the only thing that could happen was to burn out.
It wasn't natural, it wasn't healthy. It was too much, too soon, too fast and now neither of us could handle it. Taking time to talk to the girl whose words I once hung on to like lifeboats now seemed like a chore, the body I once found beautiful and flawless was now merely common. Our love had died as quickly as it had started.
But she was all I had; we had made it that way. We were young and gullible and believed that only good things could come out of loving someone so hard. We never even imagined not loving each other anymore. The young believe the world will stop for them if they will it hard enough.
It stops for no one.
I came back home after a normal day of school to an utterly wrecked apartment; It looked like the place had been torn through with a tornado. Ruined furniture lay scattered in piles and on the floor, my precious books were ripped and the spines broken as they sat atop what once was my study desk.
But her things were gone. Not a single thing left to remind me.
At first I thought we had been robbed. I explained everything to the authorities, waiting for her to come home.
She never did.
They day turned into weeks, the weeks into months. I still believed she was coming back. The notion of her leaving, of giving up on us seemed simply ludicrous. I even filed a missing person report. The officers looked at me with sympathy. But I knew better. She was mine. She wouldn't, couldn't do that to me.
She wasn't that cruel. To leave me without her. Sure, we were going through a rough patch, but things would be okay. Things had to be okay.
We were Edward and Rose. One didn't exist without the other.
It was like Romeo and Juliet, which I had always thought a stupid concept, up till now.
If one dies, the other one follows.
What was the point left in living? She was my life. I had no life outside of her, every single memory I could recall had her in it, my firsts, my lasts, my in-betweens. Everything I did reminded me of her.
After a year, my parents stepped in. They were trying to be supportive, I know, but I wished at the time they'd just leave me alone. She was coming back.
We would survive. Together.
It took a long time to get my head around the fact that she had just deserted me like that.
To do her justice; I had built her up into something she was clearly not. The Rose Hale living in my head never even considered backing out on me.
But she had. And as I went over all the memories, pulled out all the albums, read the journals like the sick, twisted pain-loving creep I was.
I had talked to old friends, and they confirmed my suspicions; I didn't know Rosalie Hale at all. The girl they talked of was a different person to the girl I thought I had known so well throughout my childhood.
I had idolized her, immortalized her even. Even as a child, before I had talked to her I had preconceived notions about what she would be like.
I had been living one big glutinous mass of potential disaster. And now it wasn't just potential; it was a disaster.
I hadn't thought with my head, not my sexual reproduction organ either; but with my heart. What a joke.
Ever the optimist, I had sat around and hoped for the best. Best was out on vacation, obviously.
So I packed my stuff and left. I travelled everywhere, trying to distract myself, trying to forget the mess I'd made for myself and a girl who I probably should have examined more closely. It didn't work.
So I drank myself into oblivion and probably made some underground drug dealer a fortune. I spent my days avoiding people, holed up in the cheapest place I could find, nursing hangovers, causing hangovers or taking narcotics. I had probably just about ruined my body for life when I got caught. I overdosed. End of story.
I should have died that day, but God wasn't feeling kind enough. If I ever get to heaven I'm going to give that guy a punch in the nuts. Hard.
And then while I was lying on my ass in rehab, I thought. For the first time in a long time my body was free from alcohol or drugs, which brought about an alarming bout of clarity.
It was so, so, so easy to just brush the surface and convince yourself you know someone. But you don't. Not really, not ever. When you don't know someone they become to you like that stupid clay-stuff that kids play with nowadays … Playdough. You can mold them anyway you please.
But it's not who they are. And who they really are might surprise you.
I went to talk to Rosalie's parents.
Rosalie Hale, the girl I knew better than the back of my hand, was bipolar. She was also schizophrenic.
She had written me a letter.
She had loved me after all. She was scared I'd discover who she really was and leave her. She still thought about me often. She'd gone off her medication when our relationship started getting rocky.
The sunny persona she had projected was a ruse, some of the time. She had hid her depression and low bouts so well she had convinced herself she was cured. So she stopped listening to the doctor and flushed the pills down the toilet. And went mad.
At least I had an explanation, right? Wrong. I didn't want to hear how badly I'd fucked up, how much I'd ruined both of our lives, what a failure I was when it came to the one thing I thought I had blitzed.
Rosalie hadn't broken my heart. I did that all on my own. I made a perfect person for myself to love and forced her onto Rosalie. I became dependant on that perfect person. Who didn't exist.
So, here I was. I was so sick of it all. The drugs, the drinking, everything, life in general.
The ominous black sky swirled and rumbled overhead, threatening rain. I wasn't afraid.
The water was now a menacing grey colour, the waves crashing violently against the cliffs edge.
I looked down at the jump that would surely kill me, finish me. If best and God weren't listening, I'd have to take matters into my own hands.
Still raw from the much overdue trip down memory lane, I stood at the edge for an immeasurable matter of time. Immeasurable because soon time wouldn't matter.
I felt the adrenaline course through my system as I prepared to jump.
A feather-light hand came to rest on my shoulder. I whipped around so fast I almost tripped.
The girl pulled back her hand and took a few steps back.
I blatantly stared at her. She was the opposite of the girl that had broken my heart. Long brown tresses where blonde one were, warm brown eyes replaced icy blue ones.
'You mightn't want to jump right now,' she advised. 'If the jump doesn't kill you, the cold will.'
I gave a tense nod in her direction. Had it not entered her mind that maybe that was my intention?
The girl held out her hand. I had almost forgotten how to interact with other beings of the same species.
'I'm Bella, by the way,' she raised an eyebrow as I stared at her petite hand.
Would I really allow myself to fuck up somebody else's life? And possibly mine? Do I want to do this whole tragedy all over again?
This time I'll do it right. As they say, second time lucky …
I took her hand.