CHAPTER 6
His words played through my head, over and over, on a continuous loop. A cruel, heartless mantra, slowly destroying me from the inside out.
The worst part of it, the absolute worst, was knowing all along this was how it would end. My story always ends the same way and I am completely powerless to stop it. I see myself hurtling towards the precipice, nothing but darkness ahead of me, and yet I gladly embrace my own death. I crash and I put myself back together and then it starts all over again.
I was ready to leave last night. Take the few possessions I came here with and run away to anywhere Edward Cullen is not. But there are worse things lurking in these dark woods and I'm not nearly as reckless with my body as I am with my emotions.
When I awoke, after a few hours of restless sleep, he was gone again. As I knew he would be. I packed my bags, my laptop, untouched for weeks. I cleaned my room thoroughly, putting everything back exactly as I had found it when I arrived six weeks ago. After I am gone, there will be no trace of my existence, no reminder that I was ever here.
In spite of everything that happened last night, I will miss this beautiful cabin in the woods. High up in this mountain aerie, away and isolated from civilization, and yet I never felt that familiar ache of loneliness that I had grown accustomed to.
I step out on the front porch for the last time. I hold his keys in my hand. I'm not sure if I should take them back to Esme or if Edward would want me to leave them. I realize that I'm doing it again. Worrying about what Edward would want. After the way he treated me last night, he doesn't deserve any respect or courtesy from me.
No. He doesn't get to dictate the terms. I'm not just going to disappear. That would be too easy. I open the door and walk back in, dropping my bags inside. I walk to the kitchen and find the set of spare keys he keeps in a drawer, before stepping outside again. His truck is gone, but I have a feeling he hasn't gone very far. Edward's workshop is walkable, only about two miles from the cabin.
He's going to be pissed but I'm beyond caring. I don't know exactly what I'm going to say to Edward Cullen. I'm not fool enough to think I will get any sort if remorse or apology from him. I just want him to know its not right. He can't treat me like that and then think he can throw me away like a piece of garbage when he's done with me. I am leaving, that much is certain, but I'm not going without a fight.
The rusted red truck is parked exactly where I thought it would be. From the outside, it's eerily quiet. I can't hear Edward moving around the shop or the whirr of his electric tools. Just silence. Before I lose my nerve, I fit the key in the lock and turn.
It's dark inside. Empty. I flip the light switch by the door. I move through the space, peeking around a half-finished highboy. No sign of Edward.
I have no clue where he could be. He couldn't have gone far on foot. And as far as I know, Edward Cullen has no friends so he probably hasn't hitched a ride with a buddy. I feel an inkling of concern for Edward's safety but quickly squash the emotion when I realize what I'm doing.
The storage room is pitch black when I push the heavy metal door open. I keep it propped ajar with an empty whiskey bottle I find conveniently lying by the door. Edward has vanished into thin air again. Who knows when he will be back. I don't even have the luxury of making an angry exit on my own terms. I fumble along the wall, until I find the switch.
The room is pretty much exactly the way it was when I saw it last, pretty sparse with empty liquor bottles littering the floor. The only new addition is a completely naked, passed out Edward Cullen on the floor, his clothes tossed haphazardly in a pile in the corner.
"Edward. Wake up."
I nudge him with my foot but he is out cold, hands wrapped possessively around an empty bottle. It's only four in the afternoon but it is evident that he's been going at it pretty hard for a while now. I wonder if he stripped naked before hitting the bottle, or if the nudity was an afterthought. How very bizarre. I don't think I will ever understand this man.
I kick him, a little harder this time, but he does not stir. His cock lays flaccid and unassuming along his thigh. I'm very tempted to kick him in the balls, but decide it will be much more satisfying when he is awake to feel it.
"Sleep it off asshole. I'll see you at home."
I check his pulse and roll him on to his side so he does not drown in his own vomit. I don't bother turning off the lights or shutting the doors. I want Edward to know that I was here. That I witnessed him at his lowest, most pathetic state. I go back to the house and I wait.
He's not back for dinner. I eat in silence, mentally berating myself for making Edward a plate. When it's clear he will not show, I wrap it in foil and place it in the refrigerator. Real pathetic Swan. Fair is fair though. Even when he didn't seem to like me very much, Edward always fed me well.
I suppose I'm feeling a tiny bit guilty about leaving his workshop open like that. Any crazed lunatic could just stumble in and have their way with Edward's finely muscled form. Or at this very moment, he could be eaten alive by a pack of hyenas. Okay, probably not hyenas. Mountain lions, or bears, or wolves, but not hyenas. Whatever. I shrug it off. This isn't Chicago. This is Edward's remote mountaintop. The most dangerous thing around for miles is probably Edward Cullen himself.
After dinner, I wait for him by the fire, nursing a glass of Edward's favorite whiskey. I don't get it. He has sex with me, then freaks out, says some hateful things and then goes on a nude drinking binge. It doesn't make any sense. When the embers have died down and my eyes become heavy with sleep, I climb up the stairs and back to my old bedroom.
When I open my eyes again, it is still dark outside. I make a halfhearted attempt to go back to sleep but my body is restless. Wrapping myself in a thick wool blanket, I step out. The door to Edward's room is open, but he is not in his bed. It looks untouched. The downstairs is as I left it a few hours ago. He didn't come home last night.
It isn't too cold tonight, so I curl up in one of the adirondack chairs on the back porch. The sun will be up soon. This is probably the last time I will see stars in the sky. Strangely enough, I kind of forgot they existed. You can't see them in Chicago, the lights are too bright. But here, night is a perfect inky black.
I can't wait much longer for him to come back. He was right. I can't stay here forever. But I'm not ready to go back to what I was. I don't want to be that weak spineless girl who let guys make her decisions for her anymore.
Sleep is an impossibility, so I walk back inside to make myself a pot of coffee. The sound of the electric coffee grinder is oddly jarring this early in the morning. When the kettle whistles, I take it off the flame and pour the boiling water into the french press. I'm pouring cream into my coffee when I hear the wooden floorboards creak behind me. All the hair on the back of my neck stands straight up. Edward. He's here. Control yourself Bella. You're not going to cry. Don't let him see you cry. I take a deep breath, attempting to compose my face, before I slowly turn around to look at him.
Its not Edward.
It takes me a few seconds to register the sight in front of me. And then instinct kicks in and my reptilian brain starts screaming "Danger Bella! Get the hell out!" The grey wolf is enormous, much larger than any I'd seen on tv. His teeth are terrifyingly sharp, vicious looking. Of all the ways I had imagined myself dying, being ripped apart by an angry wolf was not a possibility I had considered.
I scan the room, looking for an exit. He stands between me and the open door to the back porch. I spot a shotgun hanging over the front door, the very same one Edward used to try and scare me off that first day we met. I rush to the front door, pulling down the gun, praying silently for the gun to be loaded. I thank Charlie for being an overprotective father and insisting that his little girl know how to fire a gun. The wolf is crouched down low, eyeing me dangerously, a menacing growl coming from his lips.
I clutch the gun, aiming it straight at him. There's fresh blood on his mouth, what looks like a torn piece of flannel stuck in his teeth. It looks familiar, it looks like... Oh God. I realize with sudden horrific clarity that this wolf has killed Edward. He got in because I left his shop wide open and exposed. I got Edward Cullen killed. Its all my fault. I killed Edward. Oh my God. Oh my God.
He doesn't care about my remorse. The wolf springs at me. I squeeze my eyes shut tight before letting go of the trigger. I wait for it, razor sharp teeth sinking deep into my neck. After a few minutes, I open my eyes. The wolf is on the ground, whimpering. My ears are ringing and there's blood everywhere. I can still smell the gunpowder in the air. I drop the gun, sinking to the floor.
He's not dead yet but he can't hurt me anymore. None of this matters because Edward is dead and I killed him.
Edward is dead.
Edward is dead.
I stare straight ahead. The sky is beginning to lighten, midnight black giving way to the milky gray light of morning. The wolf is silent now, his fur becoming dark and matted from the blood seeping from his wound. His head is turned toward me, golden brown eyes trained on my own. I pick up the gun lying down by my side and reload.
I stand, walking the few feet to where he is. I raise the gun to his head.
Before I can kill the beast, something very strange happens. The wolf shudders, eyes rolling into the back of his head until I see only white. As if there was something alien burrowed beneath his skin, the fur begins to ripple, shifting and moving unnaturally, like waves on the ocean.
I back away slowly, not understanding what it is I am witnessing. I hear the sickening crunch crunch of bones breaking, the wolf screams, a terrible howl of pain. It is painful to watch but I can't tear my eyes away. I watch rapt with horror as this animal's body appears to be imploding in on itself, crushing flesh and bone.
The wolf is silent now, either dead or unable to make another sound. His fur has thinned, it seems to be reverting back inside the skin. Only pale pink flesh remains in some areas, damp with perspiration. He continues to move, the muscles shifting about disturbingly until he gives a final shudder and collapses against the floor once more.
This is not real. This can't be happening. I'm dreaming still. But it feels real, the cool metal of the rifle in my hand, the scent of freshly spilled blood. There was an enormous gray wolf on the floor only minute ago. He was trying to kill me and I shot him. And now there is a naked man where the wolf should be.
He is alive. I can see him moving, his chest rising with every breath. He's covered in blood, from the gunshot wound in his shoulder. I approach him cautiously. He turns his head toward me.
I gasp. He doesn't see me yet, his green eyes unfocused. His breathing is heavy, he closes his eyes, lifting his right arm and then wincing in pain. Then he lifts those heavy eyelids and finally looks at me. He looks down at his naked body, the blood on his chest, and then back to my face, with increasing panic.
"Is this real? Are you real?" he demands, his voice hoarse. Edward doesn't sound like Edward. He sounds choked up and he looks like he may be on the verge of tears.
I nod. "I think so," I say in a small voice.
I don't believe it though. I am losing my mind. I must be dreaming.
This can't be real.