Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Lyrics belong to the amazing Johnny Cash. No copyright infringement is intended.
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All right, I've been having some fun with these two... Very curious to hear your thoughts about it!
I pulled away, feeling triumphant, my eyes on her lips. I had kissed those lips, those soft, warm, wonderful lips not a mere minute ago, and they had kissed me back. Although it had become clear to me throughout the day that I had destroyed almost everything we had had together, this was something that had apparently remained unscathed.
But I looked into her eyes, and saw the raw, raging hurt and anger in them, and realised that this, too, we had lost. I saw her fist coming, so slow as it entered the corner of my vision, and looked at her sadly, knowing what she was about to do. Her ire surprised me, but I stood still, waiting, and watched her hand come closer. Her knuckles were white beneath her skin, and touched mine in so gentle a way that it could have been a caress.
But the tender delusion vanished when a bone inside her hand snapped. It was a sickening sound, and it took a few moments before she cried out in pain.
"Oh, for the love of..." she winced, and ended in a string of profanities. I cursed myself for the second time that day; I should have stopped her as soon as I saw her intent, as soon as I knew she was going to hit me and only hurt herself. She was clutching her hand to her chest, and I reached out to examine it, to see the damage she'd done. But as soon as I'd released my grip on her shoulders, she wrenched herself away from me and stormed out of the kitchen, up the stairs.
"Bella!"
I followed her up the stairs, my heart quenching when I saw her stumble yet again and flowing with relief as she reached her room safely and slammed the door behind her. I could hear her rummaging.
"Bella, please be careful. Your hand is broken."
"Don't tell me what to do!" she yelled through the door. "You come back here after leaving me without a moment's notice, taking my family away from me. You've been gone for seven months without a word, left me alone to fend for myself, and then you storm back into my life and tell me what I've been doing wrong while you were away!"
I shook my head. She was finally telling me what she was thinking, giving me some glance at her point of view, and this came out. I hadn't meant to do any of this. I tried to tell her that, but she was on a roll, pulling on shoes by the sound it.
"You tell me you lied when you left, but that I should believe you when you say now that you love me! How does that add up, Edward? You're a bloody liar! Then to prove your point, you dazzle me, knowing what you can do to anyone you stand too close to, and make me kiss you back!"
No. No no no no... I never had a clue that this was the way she interpreted my behaviour. Seeing it her way, kissing her had been the worst mistake I had made today. By her terms, I'd taken advantage of her.
She opened the door, wearing her boots.
"Bella, I'm so - "
"Shut up."
She strode past me, down the stairs again. Panic settled in my gut. I was going to lose her again. She was running away from me, and I would lose her. She picked up her coat and began to pull it on, wincing as she tried to put her broken hand through one of the sleeves. Years of ingrained civility made me move towards her, trying to help her into her coat against my better judgment, but she held up her good hand.
"Don't touch me," she hissed.
"Bella, please, let me take a look at your hand." I reached out again.
"Don't touch me!" She forced her hand through the sleeve with her other hand, wincing, and stormed out the front door.
"Where are you going?"
"Away."
It was raining. A thick black drizzle poured down, drenching the earth and falling like a heavy cloak around her receding figure. I followed her as she started walking up the street, and pulled my phone out of my pocket, calling Carlisle. I could not allow her to get away from me like this. It was too soon, much too soon. He picked up, and promised he would meet us along the way to take a look at her hand. He could stop her... I snapped my phone shut.
"Bella!" I yelled, willing her to stop. Really, what was she doing? She's leaving you...
"Would you for the love of God just stop following me?"
"Where are you going?"
"Go away!"
"I'm not going anywhere."
She had already passed the next house but didn't stop walking. Her shoulders were hunched, her hand cradled near her chest. A car passed by, and she traversed to the side of the road, drudging through the mud.
"Bella, stop this."
She was getting drenched. I started walking faster to catch up with her, get her out the rain and end this insanity, but I'd started too late. I saw her feet slipping in the mud and started running, but she'd already lost her footing and was falling sideways.
"BELLA!"
I shouted her name, but she couldn't use her hands to catch herself. While the rest of her body had already come to rest in the soft earth, her head hit the asphalt.
My hands missed her by inches. I closed my eyes and felt the thud reverberating in my eardrums. I smelled her blood, and my eyes shot open again, dread curling in the pit of my stomach. Her heart was beating, rather quicker than usual, but it was beating, and air was wheezing in and out of her lungs. I sank to my knees at her side.
"Bella."
She lay on her side. Her eyes were open, clear, focused, and they found mine as she looked up.
"Can you move your head?"
She stretched her neck slightly, and nodded.
"Please, let me see," I murmured. Thankfully, she didn't protest, and I gingerly turned her head sideways. There was a gash on the right side of her forehead, shallow but bleeding profusely. She must have smelled it too, because her breathing suddenly hitched and her skin turned even paler.
"Take deep breaths," I urged, staring in her eyes again. "It's all right, nothing serious, okay?"
She nodded again. I tore off a piece of my shirt and pressed it against the gash on her forehead. She winced, breathing laboriously.
"I'm sorry," I said apologetically, but didn't let up on the pressure, hunching over her, trying to shield her from the rain. Her hand lay limply at her side, looking rather blue, while she looked up at the sky, or at the edge of the forest above her. I stroked her cheek with my thumb, then fitted my hand around the side of her neck, her pulse beating steadily beneath my fingers. Her eyes found mine.
"Carlisle's coming."
"Okay," she whispered. All the fight seemed to have seeped out of her, like the blood that had trickled out of the cut on her head and was washed away by the downpour. She was cold again, all the progress of today obliterated.
She tried to flex the fingers of her hand, but gasped.
"It's broken," I murmured. A small drop of blood had escaped my improvised bandage and was trickling down her face. She squirmed in discomfort, and I wiped it away with my fingers. Only then did I realise that I didn't thirst for her blood anymore, didn't even notice how good it smelled or how it clung wetly to my fingertips. I found I couldn't think about that when she was hurt, and wondered how I ever could have done so in the past.
Her eyes had lost the hostility they'd had during the day, and they stared up at me full of wonder. They were beautiful. She was beautiful, even when she was broken like this. I took her uninjured hand in mine and squeezed it softly. Then Carlisle's Mercedes came round the corner and stopped a few metres away from us. The door opened and my father stepped out of the car, looking calm as ever. He greeted Bella quietly, kneeled down next to her stared at her eyes, tested her reflexes. Then he peeked beneath the make-shift bandage, lifting it up gingerly.
"That doesn't look so bad, Bella. Just a scratch." He glanced briefly at her hand. "And a brace for your hand, I should think."
She nodded at him.
"Well, let's get you in the car, then." He supported her broken hand and kept the make-shift bandage in place while I cautiously lifted her in my arms. Her head rested against my shoulder and I felt her warm breath on my chest. I carefully sat her down in the backseat and slid next to her, replacing Carlisle's fingers on the bandage with my own.
"Are you okay?"
She looked up at me, her pale face illuminated by the lights on the dashboard.
"Yes."
"We're going to my house, if that's all right. Carlisle has his things there."
"All right." She closed her eyes and rested her head against my chest.
"Are you in pain?"
"Just a headache," she murmured. The car's engine rumbled softly in the background. It was wonderful to hold her like this, to feel her in my arms again, to keep her safe somehow.
"You came back," she whispered, so softly I barely heard it.
"Yes, I did," I muttered, not knowing what else to say. Her uninjured hand fisted my shirt.
"I'm glad you did."
My eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Are you? I asked bleakly. She leaned back slightly and looked at me for a minute.
"Yes." Her voice was low. "I'm sorry I hit you."
A mental bomb of silent astonished thoughts exploded in the front of the car. Carlisle's eyes briefly met mine in the mirror. I looked back at Bella.
"It's all right. You hurt yourself, that's worse."
She laid her head back against my chest and closed her eyes. I tentatively lifted my free hand and stroked her hair. She didn't object, and I let out the breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. For now, she allowed me to touch her. I could touch her. I pulled her closer to me.
We reached the house much too soon. It looked rather ominous in the dark; dreary and grey, the scene of those last, tormented days I had spent in this town. Carlisle got out of the car and opened the door for us, then took hold of the bandage for me. I slid out of the car and carried her up the porch, through the front door and into the house. Somehow, we were here together again, and that thought pushed the dreadful memories away. Carlisle led us to the kitchen and I carefully set her down in one of the chairs. He took the shirt away from her head and looked at the wound. It had stopped bleeding.
"I'll get my bag," Carlisle announced, and disappeared. I sat down as well.
Her eyes were wide as they took in her surroundings. For the hundredth time that day, I wondered what she was thinking. Was she thinking of pleasant things, happy memories connected to this place? Or were her memories darker than that, riddled with fear?
She looked back at me, and the only emotion I was able to discern was doubt.
"Are you staying here?" Whispered words, hesitant and soft.
"Yes. I'm not leaving." I tried to sound as sincere as possible, desperately wanting her to trust me, to believe I wasn't going anywhere, but I had a creeping feeling that it would take a lot more than that. She bit her lip.
Carlisle entered the kitchen again, putting his bag on the table and getting everything he needed out of it. She closed her eyes, and we all stayed silent while he cleaned the wound, disinfected it and put a dressing on it.
"There," he said, and she opened her eyes again, "that's the worst of it."
She smiled faintly.
"Let's take a look at your hand then." He carefully took her hand in his and examined the break. He didn't need an X-ray.
"Just a fissure, I believe," he said softly. "You'll only need a brace, if you promise not to take it off." He looked at her. She nodded.
"All right then." He went about it in silence, and I got up and washed my hands at the sink. The blood seeped away swiftly, leaving a strong smell behind. Carlisle chuckled.
"You hit this son of mine, then, Bella?" he asked her, his voice full of mirth. She seemed a bit ashamed as she answered him.
"Yes, I did. I'm so sorry."
"Oh, it's quite all right," he grinned at her. "I'm sure he deserved it."
"I don't know..." she frowned at him, and glanced at me.
"I did," I told her. "He's right. I did - I do - deserve it."
She looked down again, and shook her head.
"No..."
Carlisle's thoughts oozed with curiosity, with the desire to know what had happened, but - as always - he controlled his feelings perfectly. He was done fitting the brace and leaned back.
"How's that?" he asked her. She stared at it for a moment.
"It's fine."
"Right then. You'll have to promise not to take it off, all right?"
"All right," she said quietly. "Thank you."
He smiled at her.
"You're very welcome. Do you need any painkillers now?"
She shook her head.
"Tell Edward if you do, okay? I'll see you tomorrow Bella." Carlisle stood up, gathered his things and left the kitchen.
We stared at each other for a minute, then she looked around her again. She was so pale...
"Are you cold?" Her brown eyes came to rest on me.
"Yes."
I flitted to the living room and was back before she had the chance to blink.
"Here." I held out a blanket.
She frowned, glancing down at her muddied jeans.
"It'll get dirty."
"That's all right. I'll put it with the laundry."
She took it and after a moment's hesitation unfolded it and wrapped it around herself. She looked even smaller that way... thinner, somehow.
"Would you like something to eat?" She hadn't eaten a single thing since I'd turned up, and she already had become so slim.
"No, thanks."
"Are you sure? Carlisle's already shopped for groceries.
"No, no, it's fine."
"Or we could order some take-out? Really, it's no bother at all." My voice was pleading by the end of the question.
"Don't bother, please. I'm not hungry."
I felt myself deflate before her.
"Right," I muttered, then raised my eyebrows. "Something to drink, perhaps?" The hopeful voice was back.
She bit her lip.
"Okay..."
I nodded. Good. Good, good... I could do something for her. And keep her here, with me. I opened the fridge.
"What would you like?" She stood up as well and joined me in front of the fridge, staring at the contents.
"We've got juice. Apple, orange?" She looked doubtful. "Coke, water? Tea, or coffee?"
"I'd like a beer, if that's all right?" She peeked up at me. I stared at her in surprise for a beat, then forced my voice to sound natural.
"Of course." I took a bottle, opened it for her, poured some of the disgusting-smelling liquid into a glass and handed it to her.
"Thank you," she muttered, and took a small sip, then another.
I gazed at her in amazement.
"Is it any good?"
She shrugged, and looked around her again, occasionally taking a sip from the glass she held in her uninjured hand. She'd hurt herself when she hit me... but with everything else that had happened to her it was just another part of her that was broken. She looked relatively calm, and I decided to try again, to apologise, to explain.
"I am truly, really very sorry for everything that has happened," I told her quietly. Her eyes came back to rest on me. "For today, for the way I behaved today, but also earlier. I really thought it would be best for you if I wasn't part of your life. You were in the hospital because you were with me. Carlisle had to stitch your arm back together because you were with me. I had to do something, try to keep you safe, so I left, hoping that you would have a normal life that wouldn't be put at risk every single day. I see now that I was completely, disastrously wrong, but at the time I thought it was the only thing left to do."
She drew a shaky breath and swallowed another sip. I kept my distance, not wanting to repeat what had happened in her kitchen.
"I'm so sorry I told you I didn't love you. I wanted you to move on, to forget about me, to be happy with someone normal, even though the thought of you being with any other man was, and is, unbearable. I'm sorry it didn't work, I'm sorry it was all in vain, and I'm sorry that saying sorry isn't enough to make you trust me again. I understand that, but I will try every single day to regain your trust, to make you sure of me again. I love you. Until the day the earth stops moving, I will love you. My heart is yours, even though it does not beat. I am here, and I will not leave before you tell me to. I am here. And I love you."
She stood there, looking at me, wrapped in her blanket, her hair cascading over its edges, looking older than her years.
"You really were wrong, weren't you?" she muttered cynically.
"Yes, I was. It made me the world's biggest fool, leaving you."
"I need some time."
I nodded.
"I understand."
But that didn't make the dread go away. I needed to know.
"Am I too late?"
She looked at me sadly, then emptied her glass and shuddered as she swallowed, scrunching up her eyes.
"What do you mean?" she grouched, though I got the feeling she already knew perfectly well what I meant. The dread intensified.
"Do you love somebody else?"
I stood on a precipice, balancing between the future and the past, between love and life. Her eyes slowly opened.
"Watch it please," she muttered, while pouring the remaining contents of the bottle in her glass. Then she looked me straight in the eyes, waving her glass in the air. "I do need this other hand, you see..."
I gazed at her.
"Right," I mumbled, more to myself than to her. Right.
She let out a sigh.
"Edward, did you use your brains at all while you were away?"
Her question brought me back to the empty, dreary days spent in the dark, having no purpose but to lament what I'd lost. She arched an eyebrow.
"Well, no, actually. No, I didn't."
It tried to hide it, but my voice unmistakeably spoke of sadness, of happiness thrown away. The sadness was reflected in her eyes, in everything she did. She took a slug.
"Then I suggest you reboot that immense brain of yours."
I blinked at her. Did she actually smirk at me after saying something like that? Bella on alcohol, a tiny bit of it but on an empty stomach, mind you... I'd never seen her like this before.
"Right," I said again, disappointed. I'd hoped for an answer, but I obviously wasn't going to get one anytime soon.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," she grumbled at me. "Why did I jump off that damn cliff, Edward? I told you why I did that, and if you listened perhaps you'll remember it wasn't because I've fallen in love with somebody else. Open your eyes, for once, and stop asking me such stupid questions. "
"You could have just told me that, and I wouldn't have had to ask," I retorted.
"No I couldn't." She emptied her glass.
"Can I get you anything else?" I queried automatically, just hoping that she wouldn't ask for another beer. After everything that had happened, that I'd seen that had happened to her while I'd been away, she couldn't have been getting drunk as well.
"Some Tylenol perhaps?"
"Your head?"
"No, my hand."
"We've got some upstairs. Come with me?"
I held out my hand. She hesitated.
"Please. It won't happen again, I promise."
"What won't?"
"What happened today, in your kitchen. I was wrong to do that."
"Oh." She looked baffled, but put her glass on the table and placed her hand in mine.
"Thank you."
We went upstairs, slowly, careful not to make her fall again, relishing the touch of her hand in mine, so small and even more breakable than before. Another flight of stairs and we were on the third floor. She halted abruptly, her eyes transfixed on the door straight down the hall. My door, the door to my room. It was open. She let go of my hand.
I looked at her.
"I'll go get the Tylenol," I muttered, and headed into the bathroom.
When I came back, she stood in the middle of my room, looking lonely, looking lost. I walked over to her, handing her the pills together with a glass of water. She swallowed them and returned the glass.
When I'd put it back, she'd moved and was looking at my CDs.
"Charlie loves this."
I looked at the CD in her hand. The Legend of Johnny Cash.
"He's got good taste then," I commented.
She shrugged.
"I don't know. Probably."
I took the CD from her and put it in my player. First time I'd done this in seven months... I switched to the twentieth number and put up the volume.
"Well, I'm sure you'll see some merit in this one," I muttered.
I looked back at her. The guitar started playing, and he started singing, recognition flitting across her face, dread flooding in her eyes.
"Oh, please don't," she pleaded. I frowned, not understanding her distress. But then he sang the fifth line of the song, and I remembered what was still coming, and understood, and shared her fear as he sang on.
You said one love, one life
When it's one need in the night
One love, we get to share it
It leaves you baby if you don't care for it
She raised her hands in defeat and resignation, turned away from me, and started walking towards the door.
"Bella, please don't go." She halted.
Did I disappoint you
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without
"Bella." Don't turn away from me... I walked towards her.
Well, it's too late, tonight,
To drag the past out into the light
Her arms were wrapped around her waist. Look at me.
"Bella."
She turned to me, but she looked down. I reached for her, and she stumbled a bit as she let me pull her into my arms, her body full of tension.
Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
My hand fit around her waist. I took her uninjured hand in mine. She realised what I was about to do and looked at me, startled, and tried to draw back.
"Please," I asked.
I didn't tighten my grip on her, like I'd done before, but stared into her eyes. They spoke of the seven months past.
Did I ask too much, more than a lot?
You gave me nothing, now it's all I got
We're one, but we're not the same
Well we hurt each other, and we're doing it again
I started to move, cautiously, shuffling slowly, but she followed, her body relaxing.
You said love is a temple
Love the higher law
Love is a temple
Love the higher law
I felt her give in. Her hand, packed in the brace, moved up to my shoulder hesitantly. It rested there. I turned us around.
You ask me to enter
But then you make me crawl
And I can't be holding on to what you've got
When all you've got is hurt
I drew her to me, a bit tighter, burying my face in her hair. She smelled wonderful, and I never wanted to pull away.
One love,
One blood, one life
You've got to do what you should
I stroked her back, felt her grow calmer. We shuffled on. There was nothing but us now, and the way we touched each other.
One life, but we're not the same
We get to carry each other, carry each other
One.
The song ended, but we didn't stop. The next one started, and we shuffled haltingly on.