Bella is face down on the sleeping bag. Edward enters and surveys her, then crouches beside her, concerned.
"Are you alright?"
She curls into a tight fetal ball. Burying her face from his view as best she could.
"No, I want to die."
Edward runs his hand over her hair, and she cringes from his touch as if it hurts. "I'm sorry, Bella," he intones, "I can't allow it."
"You may rethink that." She sits up, on her knees, but keeps her face away from his eyes. "I did something, and I hurt you." She put her hand to her cover her eyes as if she were rubbing her temples.
"I don't appear to be the one hurt, Bella."
"Then you don't know."
"I believe I've had a very comprehensive look. I wasn't necessarily surprised."
"Then you don't know. . . ." she stopped for a moment. Could she say it out loud, knowing what would be carried on these words? ". . . that I wanted it."
And that was it. Without a sound, in the quiet of Edward's comprehension, she knelt forward, her face just inches from the dirt.
"Please hate me."
He put his hand on her shoulder. "Never."
He was aware of the shudders running up her through her chest. She could barely whisper through it. But he heard anyway. "Make me……beg. Please."
"Never."
"Call me every filthy name you know, in every language."
"Never."
"Say something, anything," she wimpered. She bent further forward, pressing her cheek to the ground, her palms flat on the earth. "Hate me, Edward. I deserve it. Just hurt me back, please."
"You won't get any hate from me, Bella. Quite the opposite."
He sat back and looked at her prone in front of him. Ashamed of himself. Disgusted. She is a queen, not a beggar. And he created this. "Bella, please sit up." She did so and wiped her face with her sleeve.
Edward turned away to allow Bella to compose herself. He spoke, softly, almost to himself.
"Ott ut tagen hof, felliea ut vanda . . . . Alaska, ott ut tagen shtogan uf un sky, ie ut tagen o yesta."
"ag shtannus . . . vander shtannus han ag hommun nuta mae vitas oe, vas agos . . . shone . . . uf yestas ey. Ott tonnus es evas tagenas. Orr, tilda ut yesta talla taes?"
"Yesta qummor nutamore."
"Ut vasse tannas . . . . Williamson. O ma, ott vasse nuta salla. Yesta oe. A melas I lannas yesta las no teneronus. Ott vonnum, ott nuta talla I modosof."
"Osus or kerra, Bella, so yesta aless an oe?"
When I first saw you, and I went . . . . to Alaska, and when I looked at the stars in the sky, all I saw was you.
These suns, these . . . wandering suns, these heavens, had no life for me, until they shone in your eyes. And now that is all I see. How can I make you know this?
You betrayed no one.
I wish you hadn't asked Jacob. But more, I wish you hadn't needed it. But you do. It hurts in ways you will not ever comprehend. I promise, I will not make it necessary again.
We are almost there Bella; please, will you wait for me?
She got to her feet and wiped her face with her sleeve. A certain resignation in her face. "That's okay, that's to be expected, I guess. I have no place to say," she said, and taking a deep breath, "She is interesting and can't be hurt."
"Who?" he asked, genuinely and very perplexed.
"Nevermind"
"Well then," he said shifting subject, "we need to be on alert for the events in the field."
"I would like a moment."
"Certainly." He took a quick appraising glance at her before he walked out of the tent and headed toward Seth, who was curled around the trunk of a spruce, his head on his paws.
Bella was alone with her thoughts. They unfolded themselves like a long lifetime of fate. When you can live forever, the effects of time are different. If you are always assured of a future, then the future loses it's value. As your memories fade over the long expanse of life, the past ceases it's hold on you. All that is left is the now. And in the now she decided she would not allow shame. If there is only now then restraint falls away, and need and desire and love remain. There are no bindings from the small opinions of others. She felt resolved, resolved to get her happiness. And she was now content in this. What would be of value in fifty years? A hundred? He had said he was that boy. And she loved that boy. Done.
She walked out the tent into the snow that had fallen overnight.
"Edward?"
He turned to see Bella in the snow. Ankle deep, against the backdrop of the whiteness, she looked radiant. The growing sun brought out the shining crimson streaks that only his vision could due justice. She was bundled against the cold. The wind was mild, but it blew the soft powder around her. Flakes landed in her hair, on her cheeks, her hands, her eyelids, and as the sun hit her just right, for his eyes alone, she sparkled.
Just then, in a crushing moment of intuition Edward grasped it – Alaska-Tanya
"Oh, Bella, no, no, no-that's not what I said…" he went back for her.
"I don't care, Edward. Please be quiet."
He stopped in his approach.
Seth's ears pricked up. He turned an expectant eye toward Bella.
Edward turned back to her.
She looked at him; a thin relaxed smile lay across her lips. She didn't take her eyes off his when she dropped to her knees in the snow. She felt a release, a calling to destiny, a supplication, a servitude to her bare heart.
She knew right then and there that her soul will be glorified in it's nakedness, naked and wanting the freedom of love. That glory will be hers.
"Edward?"
"Yes, Bella," he said, stepping back toward her to take her hand.
"Will you marry me? Will you be my husband?"
He kneeled in the snow and replied . . . .