Chapter summary: Edward wakes.
A/N: It's taken a while to write this, but I have to say this style of writing is amazingly pressure free. Hopefully you guys like this, I think I'll continue writing anyway, but all feedback/comments are appreciated.
When Edward wakes, he gasps in a lungful of air. And then wonders at the reflex that had long been dampened. Breathing, as far back as he remembers has been something he did to keep up the human facade. Panic flooded him, and as it swallowed him he heard his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. The black recedes after only a few minutes, long dead reflexes forcing air into his lungs again when the lack of oxygen makes him pass out.
Edward's eyes flutter and he groans; the thudding in his ears hasn't gone away.
It's an old man, sitting on his back porch, who first notices the stranger. Covered in dirt, with twigs and leaves matted into his hair and clothes. The old man would be afraid; but the lost, desperate look in the young man's eyes makes him think of a starved kitten. Vicious when cornered, yet sweet if well taken care of.
He offers the young man a cup of tea, and the use of his shower.
Edward leaves before first light the next morning. He hadn't meant to pass out on the well loved sofa in the living room while he was waiting for his clothes to dry. But the tea had been sweet and the blanket soft and warm. He takes the coat and the small packages of food left on the small table by his head.
Edward resolutely doesn't think about the organ beating a tattoo against his ribs.
The old man merely smiles at the curled up ball under the blanket. Very much like a kitten he murmurs softly into the twilight. He pulls an old coat that no longer has an owner, but is still thick and warm, out of his closet. It had once been his son's, but this young man needs it more than he does the memories. He puts into paper and twine packages the sorts of things he knows will keep. The old man hums softly, remembering teaching his son how to do this, before one of their many hiking trips.
He is sure the young man curled up asleep on his sofa has a long way to travel.
Edward treks through the woods. He doesn't want to see any people. He eats the food the old man gave him; when he gets so hungry he nearly passes out. So determined to not think about the heart beating in his chest, the lungs that push at his ribcage as they suck in air like bellows. It's only later that he realises his vision didn't go hazy red around the edges; and that the jerky tasted really quite nice.
Edward only barely remembers what human food is supposed to taste like.
A young girl runs into Edward near the top of the mountain. All giggles and sunny smiles and twin tails tied with ribbons. So very human, so fragile. He stares blankly, he doesn't know anymore how to react. The words of apology catch in his throat as he stares at hers. It should spark something terrible in him. He hasn't drunk anything for at least two weeks, maybe more.
It doesn't, and Edward no longer knows what to think about that.
The girl's name is Felli. She was racing her brother up the trail, he'd gotten distracted by something, a bug maybe, halfway there. But she loved getting to the summit first, having the top of the world to herself for a while. The man she runs into is a surprise. But the lost look in his eyes makes her want to hug him, her mother says hugs make everything better. Instead, she gives him a flower she'd found at the base of the trail. A pretty red and white thing that's dwarfed in his large hands.
She tells him that she'll see him again, they climb this mountain all the time after all, they'll both be there again someday.
Edward stares that the flower in his hands for a long time. He'd slipped off into the woods that border the trail. Not wanting to be found by the girl's family. She'd been a tiny slip of a thing, and the flower is just as delicate. Tiny spines that are so small they are merely soft to touch covering the undersides of the leaves.
The petals look like they're dripping blood; a widening trail from base to tip and over the curling points at the end.
That night, in the sheltered lee of the hill, Edward twirls the flower between his fingers. Staring into the whorls of colour that flash and flicker. It reminds him of the past. Of blood and ashen skin, of diamonds in the sunlight and immeasurable strength. Slowly, over these past days, something in Edward has come to realise and accept what has happened.
That he has been intimately, irrevocably changed.
To Edward, it seems that the flower is his turning point. He wakes early the next morning, with the blossom cradled delicately between his palms. Looking at it, he allows himself to feel the heartbeat thudding in his ears. To hear the rush of air into and out of his lungs. All the things he had resolutely not been thinking about.
As if this had opened the floodgates, his stomach growls.
Edward jumps, eyes automatically flicking over his surroundings. There is nothing there, no animals or humans to disturb the pre-dawn stillness. Another gurgle sounds and his stomach twinges. Blinking in surprise, he looks down, past the flower still held in his hands. Staring as if he could see straight through the coat and shirt and into his very skin. Mindful to keep the flower from falling, he presses on hand questioningly under his ribs.
So this is what hunger feels like for humans.
The packages the old man gave him are almost empty. He will have to venture back into human civilisation. Edward feels a pang of anxiety, what if the Volturi are still looking for him. But he soon dismisses it, he does not know how much time has passed. It could have been years, he doesn't know what happened to him, he could have lain 'dead' for a long time.
Resolve set, Edward tucks the flower behind his ear, and makes his way back to the trail the girl had come racing up.