A/N – This story is in a different format and style than any I have ever written. It seems choppy, but that is the style. This is when Edward leaves Bella – from his point of view. It's choppy because he's not together anymore – he's breaking apart. It is based upon an alternate version of the 'now I lay me down to sleep' prayer. I created it. All recognizable characters and related indicia are property of Stephenie Meyer.
I left…I left…I left her…my angel…my Bella…
But it's for the best.
The phone rings. That irritating sound that he has heard for so long. Desperate calls from his family. A worried Alice. He grimaces. Poor girl – seeing the things that he has planned for himself – for his own demise.
His brow creases further. It creases in pain. The pain that has engulfed him for so long…for the past many months. He doesn't know how long it has been.
No, he does. He does know how long it has been.
An eternity. Or rather, a lifetime. A growing feeling inside of him tells him that his lifetime will soon end. He smiles. It will end by his own hand.
The phone rings again. Angrily, he snatches the small silver contraption from out of his jeans' pocket.
"Alice," he whispers. His voice is awful, hoarse. As if he hasn't spoken in months, hasn't had a drink of water for days. In actuality, it has been years. But he hasn't filled his thirst in days, hasn't fed off of yet another animal to prolong his own lifetime.
"Edward," growls the voice of Alice, muted but still threatening. He cringes. "How is it that I see you running off to kill yourself? I-"
"Alice," he interrupts dully. "I won't." There is silence. He reaches into her mind, so far away, but so familiar. A vision.
Of him. Crumpled, shaking. Curled into a ball. Strangled sobs…
The vision fades.
"Oh." Alice is quiet for a moment." "I…Edward? Do you want to talk? About …anything?"
"No." He knows it is harsh, he knows he is being cruel, unjust, but he hangs up the phone, snapping it shut in an attempt to relieve himself of his angst, his self-hatred. But it doesn't work. Nothing does. Nothing will.
Not even death.
He cannot do this to his family. He cannot do this to Alice, to Jasper. Rosalie, Emmett. Carlisle, Esme.
Bella.
He winces; her name is not one that he cares to repeat. To remember, certainly. He clings to the memories of his angel, feeds off of them. The good memories, not the bad ones. Not the ones where he hurt her.
Sometimes, it seems as if the bad memories outweigh the good ones.
He has hurt her so much. But if he is to stop existing, he will not be there to protect her from coming to even more harm. And although he wants her to live normally, he is not willing to force her to adapt to a regular human lifestyle at the expense of her life taken too early.
He sits, resolved, prepared to wait out the rest of eternity in misery.
The phone rings again. Again, he glances at the caller ID. He expects it to be Alice, calling to force him to apologize for his rudeness. He is wrong.
It is Rosalie. She speaks; he scarcely listens. If he is to survive for the rest of eternity, he cannot allow himself to think, to listen. He cannot allow himself to feel. He hears three words which break easily through his mind's barrier.
"She is dead."
He does not speak; he cannot.
"I am so sorry, Edward," Rosalie continues hastily. "Alice didn't see it – too late. She was….a cliff…she jumped…suicide..."
He does not hear. He does not care. He knows that he must see her.
Again, he hangs up on one that is dear to him.
He exits the room, leaving all his belongings. He takes with him only three things. Nay, two. He brings not his heart. His heart rests with his love, six feet beneath the muddy earth of Forks, Washington.
Nay, one. He does not have a soul to bring – he brings but one possession with him.
His pain.
He lies silently by the grave of the girl he left. The girl he loves. Her name is Bella.
It says so on the grave marker.
Isabella Swan
Bella will be
Loved and missed
For eternity
He sighs, lifting his face off of the wet grass, his bronze hair dull; the trees block the moon's light. His hair falls in damp strands in front of his pallid face.
With one hand, he gently strokes the edge of the cold stone. Trailing his long, white fingers down the side of the gravestone, he brings his ochre eyes down to stare at the newly churned soil beneath his body.
He thinks of the body beneath the soil. His expression grows pained. More pained than before, if that is even possible. He fingers a handful of soil, letting it fall through his fingers.
His pale lips part slightly. A shaky breath is let forth; his throat quavers, and a single word trembles on his lips.
"Bella." The word is not spoken with the velvety-smooth voice that is usual for him. It is harsh, cutting, sharp, broken.
Broken. He begins to sing a haunting tune.
"Now I lay thee down to sleep."
He lets the last of the soil fall to the earth.
"I pray the Lord your soul to keep."
He traces the words Isabella Swan engraved intricately into the stone.
"My angel…"
He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, blinking back the tears that would never fall, would never even exist.
"…watch me throughout the night. Bring me to you at morning's light."
He pushes himself up off of the ground, careful not to place any pressure on the grave's topsoil. He strokes the soil. His voice grows in strength with every word, ceasing to break.
"Now I lay thee to thy rest.
I prayed to God, I tried my best.
When you among the angels be
All through the night watch over me."
He slowly gets to his feet, using his arm to support his muscled body. Raising his face towards the moon, now visible between the tops of the trees, he speaks boldly to the sky, almost shouting at the stars. He curses them mentally, for being so bright, so happy. So shining. So full of light and laughter and love.
"Now I lay me to my grave.
If heaven-sent, I'll be your slave.
If not, angel, watch over me.
When I among the demons be.
He kneels once again in front of the grave. Kissing the soil softly, he whispers, "Good-bye my angel, my Bella." He closes his eyes. "My love."
He reaches into his pocket and fingers the one-way ticket to Italy.
(A/N) – I hope you like this part of my Twilight-based poems. Remember, I always love it when ya'll review!
Remember this, too – I take suggestions from reviewers, whether it be on a story or a poem. If you want a section of any of the three books for me to write a poem on, I will. If you want a story with a certain theme, and you have an idea that you want me to write about, I'm always, always, ALWAYS open for suggestions! Thank you guys so much – happy holidays, and Merry Christmas!
