Scent

Today, the quiet moment I try to find within myself just will not come. No matter the posture I take, I cannot shape my mind to a point of relaxation that will allow my interior self to emerge.

I begin to understand the plague Alice controls with each glimpse of tomorrow. The weight of the future is a heavy thing hefted on the backs of reporters, journalists and photographers. But for Alice, each of those weighted snippets of the destinies ahead is personalized, focused, bearing down with so much force they transform from what lies ahead to become what lies in wait.

So it is with my visions for Bella. The imbalance of circumstance that encircles our love throws our everyday, little lives out of kilter, careening wildly into infinity. This newborn menace is rising, gaining traction and number. Compound this with the Volturi commination… The explosion awaits. Danger seeks her out! And even now, she is in the clutches of the werewolves who could, with the faintest slight or change in disposition, completely destroy her, and so destroy us.

I wonder what she thinks. Her mind is so profoundly observant on so many levels; surely she sees the threats that taint and befoul our future. Each element of peril adds another malodorous cloud over our sky. As if the werewolf aroma alone were not repugnant enough…

I've known few times when the happenstance of my lack of blood played to my benefit, but in the garage today, I was grateful for the inability to blush. Bella thinks I am so careful and sure-footed. If she knew the depths of my mortification, she would know that appearance is only a façade, and a poorly constructed one at that.

I thought it was the speed, the air pocketed around you as the bike sliced through the day; I thought it was the motion and the heightened sense of exhilaration. I thought we would ride together, she would lead the way, her scent carried on the air surrounding me, a taste in the chase. I thought this was an experience that, though perceived in our states as human and vampire, we could nonetheless enjoy simultaneously, separately, jointly. She could show me the joyful side of humanity; I could show her the exhilaration of my world.

Love has made me the fool. Her hesitancy shouted my error, and I saw the nuances that bespeak her discomfort as she took in the bike. It was wrong of me; I see that now. Another instance of the crushing love I feel for her. Of course she must have friendships that are unique and specific to her, a part of her that is private, separate. I must let her breathe. I will miss that experience with her.

It's such a lovely machine, and I was right: Jasper and Alice are out riding now as I write. At least I was able to turn my stupidity into a gift that brought delight to my brother and his wife.

Someday, I hope to bring that delight to my wife. She could be my wife, if she would have me. I believe she loves me.

Mrs. Edward Cullen.

Bella Cullen.

It fits.

I can hear Carlisle's immersion in his study, Esme's concentration on her plans. Were they ever lovesick, star-crossed, foolish in their need for each other? I don't remember those thoughts unfolding for them; it was always as predestined and unavoidable. Their love was not hesitant or shy, but steady from the first, like a clear, sustained peal of a chime that never faded, never lost its constancy, always strong and vibrant. I wish I were of stronger stuff, wiser. All I know is that I love her, I will always love her and she loves me.

Waiting without purpose is not wise. There is a small bloom of a song that promises a bouquet. I will play to track the trail of that perfume.