Edwina

I scream. And scream. The pain is all. Everything. I have not experienced anything like this, not since becoming what I am. But it is so much more, so much denser, so concentrated. I cannot understand why I am not dead. I want to be gone. I would willingly allow my life's end for this hurt to be over. The idea of leaving Ben feels almost worth it, if only I can escape the pain.

And then, it ended.

I... I felt so far away. I was lying on the hard ground, the world around me muffled, as though coming to me from down a long tube. Everything was muffled, a faint rushing drowning out the finer sounds, everything running together, indistinguishable, busy and slipping away. I felt twitchy, as though every little motion my body made was amplified, as though my skin was bouncing and shifting most peculiarly. I couldn't make sense of anything, couldn't understand what was happening.

And then, I heard the one thing that could keep and hold my attention.

"Edwina? Oh god, Edwina? Can you hear me?"

Ben. My love. I would come back from the dead for that voice.

I turned slowly towards him, feeling... wrong. My body felt like it was resisting my motions, trying to keep me from moving. It felt shaky and unsure, but it still obeyed my commands.

I found him. He stood over me, but there was something wrong. The light was dull, the face I knew better than my own seemed fragmented in my perception, as though I could only see bits of it at a time. What was more, it wasn't unnatural to me. It was as though I had always seen this way, as though nothing had changed.

"You have green eyes," said Ben.

The significance of that statement took me quite a long time to grasp. It took me even longer to realize that it was slowed, that I was slowed. My mind was imprecise, easily sidetrack, flickering, overwhelmed by what all that I saw, heard, smelled, tasted, and felt.

There was a pounding, a rushing feeling, that wanted me up, that wanted me panicking, that was preparing me to flee, to hide, to fight. I gasped, breath quavering, and then I did it again, and again. My thready, rasping breath came again and again, too quick, too shallow. I couldn't gain satisfaction, my fear renewed, redoubling.

"Breathe," said Ben. "Breathe."

His voice was gentle, and I latched on to that. On to him. His arm slid down and around me, pulling me straighter, holding me, supporting me in a way that felt more than merely physical.

"Here," he said, his hand took mine, pressing it to his chest. He was warm, but it wasn't that seeping heat I had known before. He was dense and firm under my hand, his chest rising and falling with a steady, sure pace.

I took air in and out, slowing to his pace, the grey around the edges of my sight receding. The aches and discomfort in my body went with it, all the myriad of half-remembered sensations retreating to a backward hum, once I had recognized and recounted them each in turn. I slowly relaxed, held in Ben's one arm, his other holding my hand to him. I found his eyes again, his expression... startled? Surprised? Intent, and...? I wasn't sure. I couldn't quite read him as I once did.

All of it, every bit of it, built within me. The strumming I felt throughout me, originating from my chest, the ache easier by breath, the cool air upon my skin, the prickly bite of the dried grass, the trembling in my body, the slowed and gauzy feel of my thoughts, the haze on everything I saw, heard, and felt, all of it, everything, culminated in one, impossible, undeniable truth.

"I'm alive," I said, my voice rough and quavery in my own ears, breaking as a wave, slamming me with fear and realization.

"I'm alive!" I cried, unable to stay still, wanting to rise again, to run. I pulled my legs under me, trying to rise.

"Whoa," said Ben, "easy. Easy!"

He caught me as I over corrected, nearly falling. His arms were sure and kept me from over correcting the over correction. So focused was I, it took me a moment to be aware of where exactly I was.

My hands were upon Ben, my uneven footing keeping me pressed to him. His arms were around the small of my back. His warmth was a nice contrast to the cool air, strangely comforting. He felt so firm against me, no longer some fragile thing I must work to keep from breaking. And as I stood there, breathing gently, I realized the single most profound difference that I had yet encountered.

I no longer wished to kill him. He was there, against me, his very human, less distinguished scent drawing into me, and as pleasant and altogether distracting as it might have been, it did not inspire his untimely death.

Something shifted. I was suddenly focused on him, in a singular, familiar way, the predator I was entirely absent. All that remained was the woman, focused on the man. Her man. My Benjamin. I knew this feeling, this desire of wanted him with every facet of my being, but this was also so completely different. I felt the flush of blood in me, the hammering of my heart, my heart!, it's pounding so marked if only because of its long absence. My breathing became rougher, and I felt myself wanting to touch his skin, wanting to know his body felt to this body, wanting to push limits and boundaries.

"You're beautiful," he said.

My gaze found his eyes again, no longer distracted by my desires. His look was gentle, his eyes tracing my face. He brought up a hand, carefully fitting it to my cheek.

"You're warm," he said, astonished.

My skin gave, dimpling and fitting to his touch.

"And soft," he said, the word drawn and making me feel as though I was trembling, my knees weak.

"I..." I said. But his thumb brushed my lips, pliant and deforming under his hand, sensation sparking through me.

A look crossed his face, one I knew well. He got it every time he was going to kiss me.

I shivered against him, feeling my breath catch and my heart start to race in a new and wholly unknown way, one I could never remember having in my human life. His hands found my hips, and he gripped me firmly, holding me securely to him. It sparked a heat in me, something just as foreign to me as my heartbeat.

"Kiss me," I said, unable to wait anymore, wanting to rightly and truly jump him.

He needed no further invitation. Stepping in, his lips found mine, soft yet resilient, pushing and pulling in a way that was in some ways the same, in some ways less, but in other ways so, so much more. I didn't want to hold back, to be reserved, but I didn't want to hurt him.

In a transcendent moment, I realized that I couldn't. I was mortal. I was human! It would take effort to cause more than just discomfort. It would take purpose and know-how. I was now just a fragile as he was, but, what was more, he was not just as resilient as I was.

I leaped into his arms, wrapping my legs about him, clinging to him, a sound escaped me of poignant desire mixed with overwhelmed emotions. He caught me, and actually held me, easily. This only served to spike my desire, and clutched at his clothing, pulling at it, my hands no long able to simply shred the cloth from his body. He groaned, a guttural sound of frustration and lust. It pushed me towards the tipping point, words like control and restraint losing all meaning.

He started walking, and I was confused until I felt him sort of jerk and heard the clatter of the picnic basket. Kneeling, still holding me, one of his hands and then the other worked behind me, and he laid me down upon the blanket, gently.

"Slow me down," he whispered.

I jarred me, slowed me in turn.

"What?" I asked in my rough, mortal voice.

"It's too..." he said, his voice dropping away.

He drew back, looking at me, his face intent but also compassionate. He saw me and I realized just how caught up I had been in sensation, the beating of my heart, the blood in my veins, the renewed vitality that was my own. I was here, with him, and all the desire between us had led me to forget who he was and who I was. He wanted to savor me, this moment of us together, and even now, when I gladly would have let myself make love to him without a backward glance, he wanted me here, not lost to pleasure. He wanted me, not just my body. He wanted me to experience this with him. He cared about me, genuinely and beyond the care I showed for myself, beyond what I expected anyone would every show me. He, truly, deeply, loved me.

A look of wonder came onto his face. I couldn't understand, until he brushed my face, wiping away my tears.

"I love you," I gasped. His arms came about me, holding me to him, and I could feel his heart, feel it against my own, the double beat that was us, together.

"I love you," I cried, tears falling in earnest.

He held me, his arms strong, his hands gently. It was many minutes before I noticed that he was crying too. I pulled back, looking into his face. Tears were in his eyes, and mine two. I smiled, touching his face, as he stroked mine.

"I love you," I said again, my heart starting to hammer again, this time in unrepentant joy! Enthusiasm I had never known bubbled up in me, and I understood the squealing, discombobulating, effusive wordless delight I had felt in the minds of teenage girls, girls like me now. It was everything, being with him, having him to hand. It was so strong, so vibrant in me, it was beyond containment, restraint, and concern. He was all, my entire world, beyond everything I could know and conceive, the best and great of all men, and he loved me too. I'd be crying, if I wasn't already, so fierce was my fierce joy.

"Make love to me," I said.

He didn't say a word, though there was some rather exuberant nodding.

Our first time was everything I wanted it to be. We revealed ourselves carefully, slowly, marking new expanses of skin with little kisses. He playfully nibbled my neck, and I couldn't but laugh and swat him. And he did touch me, as I so desperately wanted, as he did in his room, that first day, the day he named me his girlfriend, intently, his attention on me, letting me feel everything, confident, and intent and present, letting go doubt and holding nothing back. When I drifted too far, riding waves of sensation, he whispered to me, imploring me to return to him, which I did with heartfelt sighs at his thoughtful concern. I knew him now, all of him, but I didn't know everything. This mind was slower, weaker, everything fading. It would take many trials, many returns to this activity, for me to know him as I wanted. And that was just fine with me.

And he was right; it was animalistic. We let go, being in the moment, escaping the confines of our minds, being together, all heart and body and selves. And when I brought him to his release, he dropped to me, heavily, his head to rest upon my breast. As uncomfortable though it was, in a human body and in under the weight of him, there wasn't a thing I would have changed about that moment, not a single thing in the whole world.

Finally, we rolled, and I was able to lay upon his chest, him using his bunched clothing as a pillow, me unafraid of hurting him or that he might be uncomfortable with my coldness or hardness. And to my amazement, my utter satisfaction, I began to drift, right up until his hand traced down my spine, after which I was quite certain I might jump him again.

"I love you," he said.

I made a pleased yet exasperated sound and turned, lightly biting his chest.

"Ow," he laughed, "no biting!"

"I was about to fulfill one of my deepest and most desperate fantasies until someone had to go and start touching me..." I chided him.

"What fantasy?" he asked, interest warring with confusion.

"Falling asleep beside the man I love," I said.

He just looked at me.

"What?" I asked. Finally, he nodded.

"Edwina Elizabeth Cullen," he said, his voice deeper somehow, making the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and my eyes widen.

"Whether mortal or immortal, you are the most beautiful creature in my known universe," he said. "And that fact holds not a candle to the wonder I find in the contents of your character, the depths of your heart, and the goodness of who you are. I want to spend the rest of my existence with you, in whatever form that should take. I love you beyond measure and reason and description, and if there are two things in this world I am entirely sure of, it is how I feel about you, and that you feel the same."

I couldn't breathe. I didn't know why, but I sincerely couldn't figure out how to inhale.

He turned fully towards me, starting to withdraw from me, starting to get up. Almost instinctively, I clutched at him, and he held me to him, setting me on my feet, his hands upon my waist, though he stood kneeling before me. I didn't know how or why, but for some reason, the dream of falling asleep beside him seemed more likely than this moment, one so outside the realm of what I considered feasible that I had never really thought to consider it; but when he reached into his discarded pants' pocket and brought forth the small white box, I finally understand his posture, his words, and couldn't understand why, why I hadn't thought this was possible. And, as with every time before it, I couldn't but relish the inexplicable happiness that was Ben, choosing me, again.

"Will you marry me?" he asked.

He opened the box.

My mother's ring. As though this day could be any more impossible.

Tears coursed down my face. I couldn't even get the word out, my hand pressed over my mouth, my vision blurring. I nodded.

"Is that a yes?" he asked, and I somehow laughed that he sounded unsure.

I nodded again, "Yes. I will marry you."

I dove into his arms, and there was an issue with getting the ring on my finger, mostly because I was too excited to hold still and kept kissing him and making much of him. Finally, he held me down, which I delighted in on various levels, and finally, it slipped onto my finger.

Finally, we came back to rest again, me so completely and utterly spent by our day's activities. This time, when he touched my back gently, it settled me, much as I always imagined doing for him before when it was him doing the sleeping. But, just before going, I moaned.

"I understand it now," I said. "That first day, our first day here, and that night; I don't want it to end."

He chuckled and kissed my hair, bringing the blanket to half settle upon us, and I began melting back into myself again.

"I'll be here when you wake up," he said. "Sleep, my soon-to-be wife."

And I did.