Finality
I took observant note that house was silent and empty as the front door clicked close behind me. Charlie, its only other inhabitant, was making preparations for Harry's funeral according to Jake, so hopefully I would have the rest of the evening to myself. I would certainly need it. More from routine than conscious thought I shuffled through the house, flicking switches to illuminate the vacant rooms, sudden bursts of light casting shadows into perspective and blinding me with their luminosity. I scoured the back of my hand across my dark orbs to clear the pinpoints of light that stung my irises as I dragged my drenched, hunched form up the staircase, feet catching the edge of every step with weariness.
Hovering between my bedroom and the bathroom, I considered my next thoughts with extreme deliberation. Deciding after a minute that I needed to get out of these sopping garments before anything else, and thus trudged off to the bathroom, letting the door swing closed behind me, the lock unnecessary. The bathroom that Charlie and I shared was 'cozy', to say the least, leaving not three steps in either direction for me to pace as I peeled off Jakes jacket and my sweatshirt that clung to me like a second skin, my frustration building as the hem caught and I wrenched it over my head, tearing the side seam in the process. Flinging the wet mass aside, I ran a claw shaped hand through my matted locks, as I paused to survey myself in the small rectangle of glass that served at the doors of the medicine cabinet.
I was a mess. My dripping tresses hung about my shoulders in unruly tangles, my skin had surpassed its transparent chill and was tinged an odd violet, and my teeth chattered loudly, the sound ricocheting off the bathroom tiles to reverb back upon me, reminding me off the awful chill that stiffened my bruised body. My reflection portrayed my jerky movement as the hand clawing at my snarled hair lingered towards my inner left temple, gently pressing upon the fragile skin as my bloodshot eyes glazed slick with hot tears. I was a shadow of the girl I was half a year ago. I was bruised, I was broken, I was beat. What had he reduced me to?
I barely knew my fist was hurtling towards the rectangular glass until the sharp smash of broken glass ripped through the small bathroom, thin slivers glittering as they appeared to explode around my fist and shatter across the vanity and tiles. I seemed to be moving from the urge of realization, so detached from myself, so torn from his Bella and the Bella he had left behind that there was no longer a sense of control; only the instinct to put an end to the pain that raked my entire body, to fill the void in my chest where the heart he stole used to beat.
I seemed to watch from above as I reached out to seize a shard that sparkled a beacon against the white vanity; its very glittering reminding me of him in a stab of pain so dull it barely registered through the stout recognition of what was to come. The glass sliced my palm as I gripped it roughly, a dash of crimson dotting the counter top like warm tears as I extended my forearm and placed the shard against my chilled skin. I barely knew the stinging drag as my wrist puckered behind the glass, only feeling the warm relief that crashed over me as the angry line split to spill crimson across the tiles, splattering my bare feet. I inhaled sharply the metallic tang of my own blood as I raised the shard to strike again in time with his roaring cry:
"Bella!"
The cold, stony hand of death grasped my unharmed wrist as my knees buckled, the scent of my own lifeblood overcoming what little resolution remained. The dizzying plummet of the tiles rushing up to meet me was stopped abruptly, however, by the clasp of arms around my waist, lowering me to the tiles in a slumped, but upright position.
"Bella? Bella!"
In my barely aware state, my brow creased and I swallowed hard; the voice, it was wrong now, not the smooth velvet that could ease my suffering, but a shrill chime, much like that of bells. It pealed again;
"Bella! No, Bella, what were you thinking!"
Through my ebbing numbness, I could feel cold, marble hands prising open my fist, a small tinkle echoing, the sound of my implement of destruction behind hurled across the bathroom to shatter on the opposite wall. I urged my eyes to open, but to no avail. I was much too warm, much too content, and much too numb to do so; I merely wanted to sleep, restfully, without nightmare, in blissful unconsciousness. I could feel my body slouching further down towards the cool tiles as a pressure was applied to my slashed arm, I wanted to protest but my head swam and a mere garble of nonsense passed my bluish lips, the sound silenced to a hush as I finally succumb to the darkness.
