Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. I think Stephenie Meyer does, sadly. sigh
A/N: OME! Longest chapter as of yet! Yes! That's totally an accomplishment for me, hitting almost 1390 words! lol.
I would like to thank my amazing beta iDazzle, aka Yeshi. She's doing a wonderful job of keeping me in check, and telling me when I should or shouldn't do something, and giving words of encouragement. Also, AliceCullen08, aka Lauren, who is another who helped me out in the beginning. And let's just throw in the rest of my SCKATHERS, for good measure, cause they're amazing. :) SL
The previous THREE chapters have been re-edited, and some stuff added in, and words to make it flow better, thanks to a couple of comments from onedimplesmilelizzie. Thank you so much for your encouraging comments! And on that note: ENJOY!
Living in the Cullen house was difficult, but after a while my mind got used to the constant pain of reminder that everything brought. It all was just so familiar to me, and I accepted the memories that came with that familiarity. I continued to hunt regularly and keep my presence unknown to the town of Forks. The news programs kept me informed as to where the town was searching for my lost body, and I was careful to avoid those spots, and anywhere there would be humans, just in case. I even occasionally avoided hunting, if I thought I would accidentally run into someone.
The news programs also told me when Charlie's funeral was. It happened about five days into my stay at the house, and I had to convince myself I couldn't handle it. I had to tell myself that these were people I knew. They were friends, and people close enough to almost be family. I couldn't show up and end up accidentally drinking someone's blood just because they smelled good! 'But it was my father's funeral!' the other half of my brain argued. The latter side lost that battle, thankfully.
--
I had been in their house for seven days and been avoiding a certain section of said home, fearful of the pain it would bring back. My much abused brain finally decided it was time to visit the room, his room. My feet dragged their way up the stairs to the third floor, daring me to go any faster. I approached his room as I had approached the house a week earlier: cautiously.
"My room," he informed me, opening it and pulling me through.
His room faced south, with a wall-sized window like the great room below. The whole back side of the house must be glass. His view looked down on the winding Sol Duc River, across the untouched forest to the Olympic Mountain range. The mountains were much closer than I would have believed.
The western wall was completely covered with shelf after shelf of CDs. His room was better stocked than a music store. In the corner was a sophisticated-looking sound system, the kind I was afraid to touch because I'd be sure to break something. There was no bed, only a wide and inviting black leather sofa. The floor was covered with a thick golden carpet, and the walls were hung with heavy fabric in a slightly darker shade.
Everything was still in it's place, furniture wise, but now there were empty holes on the shelves where his humongous CD collection used to be, and his stereo system gone. The only thing him in his room was his scent, months old, but still there. It lingered around the room, consuming me and pulling me towards the large black leather sofa.
I didn't see him leap at me — it was much too fast. I only found myself suddenly airborne, and then we crashed onto the sofa, knocking it into the wall. All the while, his arms formed an iron cage of protection around me — I was barely jostled. But I still was gasping as I tried to right myself.
He wasn't having that. He curled me into a ball against his chest, holding me more securely than iron chains. I glared at him in alarm, but he seemed well in control, his jaw relaxed as he grinned, his eyes bright only with humor.
"You were saying?" he growled playfully.
"That you are a very, very terrifying monster," I said, my sarcasm marred a bit by my breathless voice.
"Much better," he approved.
I curled up on his sofa and stayed there, comforted by his scent. I clutched at my stomach, glad that I had these memories and his scent to remind me that there actually was a boy named Edward Cullen. That there actually was a family of vampires that used to live here; I could smell their scents, all through the large house. It was a comfort to know that I wasn't fully alone, even though I knew that in reality I was. My mind rejected all of this, but I had my memories. I could live in those, gladly, for the rest of my existence if I cared to.
--
I had been staying in the Cullen house for over a month now, growing more and more bored with this life by the hour. I would find myself suddenly lost in my memories and realize a full day had passed in my absence. The days went by, with not a soul to talk to, only my memories to keep me company, and my mind slowly becoming immune and eventually numb to all things related to the lost love of my life and his family. It wasn't a good way to live. Though, I found that when I pulled out a memory of him, I could live a little in those, if not submerge myself completely in them.
I was out hunting again, like I did everyday, not caring to build up endurance quite yet, when I ended up in the meadow. Our meadow. Some of the magic had been lost since the last time I was there because of the return of a certain vampire, but it was still the most beautiful place I'd ever encountered. My previous visit had been interrupted by the nomad Laurent, and I had almost been killed. The pack of wolves had come to my rescue that time, though they probably lost their life by going after him. Now, I kind of wished I had been killed by Laurent, than be turned by the vicious vampire Victoria.
But the magic was still there. His scent was there, like it was only a day old. Obviously I'd been living too much in my memories, because my mind was conjuring up his scent so fresh. I shook my head to disperse the scent, but it still lingered, as before.
I spent my whole day in the bright meadow, pretending to dream of the fantasy boy that was here no more. Just because he didn't want me anymore, didn't mean I couldn't think about our time together when he did. I thought about the first time I saw him in the lunch room, my first fearful meeting in Biology class, and our time spent in the sacred meadow.
He raised his free hand and placed it gently on the side of my neck. I sat very still, the chill of his touch a natural warning — a warning telling me to be terrified. But there was no feeling of fear in me. There were, however, other feelings…
"You see," he said. "Perfectly fine."
My blood was racing, and I wished I could slow it, sensing that this must make everything so much more difficult — the thudding of my pulse in my veins. Surely he could hear it.
"The blush on your cheeks is lovely," he murmured. He gently freed his other hand. My hands fell limply into my lap. Softly he brushed my cheek, then held my face between his marble hands.
"Be very still," he whispered, as if I wasn't already frozen.
Slowly, never moving his eyes from mine, he leaned toward me. Then abruptly, but very gently, he rested his cold cheek against the hollow at the base of my throat. I was quite unable to move, even if I'd wanted to. I listened to the sound of his even breathing, watching the sun and wind play in his bronze hair, more human than any other part of him.
With deliberate slowness, his hands slid down the sides of my neck. I shivered, and I heard him catch his breath. But his hands didn't pause as they softly moved to my shoulders, and then stopped.
His face drifted to the side, his nose skimming across my collarbone. He came to rest with the side of his face pressed tenderly against my chest.
Listening to my heart.
--
I returned to the house later that night, only to be hit by his unexpected scent again the moment I entered the house. Why was my mind still making me hallucinate his scent? I seriously must be the first crazy vampire.
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