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No matter how many times I had told myself I wasn't going to go back, I couldn't help myself. I was sitting in her tree, the one right outside the window I had climbed in so many times. All I wanted to do was go in the window. Sit on her bed and wait for her to open the door. I would open my arms, just like I did that first morning, before she asked for a "human minute". She would come to me and sit down in my lap, and everything would be all right for the first time in three months. My foot had left the branch, and it was on the windowsill by the time I realized what was happening. I felt a ball in the pit of my stomach. A yearning to open the window and inhale her scent, imagine that she was next to me. That's exactly what I did. I opened the window, and climbed in.
The scent hit me immediately. The same smell that had hit me like a battering ram the first day in biology. But it was a little different. Much less strong, like she had only spent a few minutes in her room. It was like it was just lingering, just staying here because that was what was expected of it. Just out of habit. The truck thundered into the driveway. She was just outside the house. Closer than she had been since the day that destroyed me completely. I was frozen. I couldn't move. No, I could've if I had really wanted to. I just didn't want to. I wouldn't move.
She was trudging up the stairs. Her feet heavy, her hand gripping the rail. Her feet hit the top landing. She was unzipping her coat. My body leapt into action. She couldn't see me. I dashed through the window, onto the tree, hiding myself in the branches. Her hand was on the doorknob. And then she opened the door.
She was so pale. Her skin was translucent, and I could see the blood pulsing through her veins. Slowly. Slower than usual, as if her heart were only doing this because it didn't have a choice. Because there was no other option.
I waited for her smell of freesia to waft through the open window. But it didn't. The scent in her room was only intensified a little bit. I leaned closer, and inhaled deeply. No different. I looked at her.
There were purple circles under her eyes, like she only slept for an hour a night. And she never slept well. Her chocolate brown eyes were flat, dead. There was no sparkle of life, no twinkle of intuition. The twinkle that had always shown up when I lied. Except for the last time. The most important time.
She had lost weight. There was no fat on her at all, and I could see her collarbone protruding from under her green turtleneck. She set down her backpack on the floor next to the computer desk.
I saw her unzip her bag and pull out her literature book. She turned to The Tell Tale Heart, and pulled out a paper. She had to write an essay. She pulled out a pencil and began writing. I could see her hand shaking as she wrote down a few words. After she finished with that, she pulled back her comforter and lied down. She covered her head with her pillow and stopped moving.
Oh, God. I hadn't done this to her. I didn't take the sparkle from her eyes; I didn't make her heart slow down, beating only because there was no other choice. I couldn't have. She had to be happier. There was no other possibility. That was the reason I left.
Oh, God. I had done this to her.
I couldn't live with myself. I leapt down from the tree, landing soundlessly on the ground. I flew away, away from the misery I had caused, not caring where I was going or how I was getting there, only hoping that whatever happened to me, whether it was in combat with Victoria or otherwise, that it hurt. That it hurt like hell, because that was what I deserved for causing my sweet Bella so much pain.