RL's a bitch. That's all I'll say.
*NOTE: This chapter is only partially beta'd. I will add the necessary edits once they return to me. So just a fair warning to you all. Stuff may get switched around or changed or added in. Not a lot. It will still be the same chapter, just slightly modified.
RECAP: Tony and Reni walk home and he starts becoming unhinged enough to contemplate draining a human. Part of Reni's ability is revealed when they both walk past the scene of a past homicide. Later Tony and Bella talk while Reni sleeps. Bella opens up about her relationship with Edward and her plans, which only serves to fan the flames. In the end, Tony storms out of the apartment, but not before Bella tells him that she did not take Edward back.
Hours prior
E
"Why?"
One word, so commonly used and taken for granted in everyday speech…and yet her utterance is enough to nearly bring me to my knees. I open my eyes, only to be met with her distressed gaze.
"You wouldn't have truly been able to let go, if I hadn't. All it would have taken was a single drop of hope."
Her face drains of all emotion, until I'm all but staring at stone. She backs away from me. The distance between us instantly causes new cracks to form in my heart. Minutes pass, each second of silence increasingly agonizing.
"So that's it," she says, finally. "I would forget you, just like that. Blow you off as some high school fling, go to college, get married and settle down with the white picket fence, the golden retriever, and the doting husband…"
"I—"
"Yes or no Edward." I flinch at the venom her tone suddenly embodies.
"Yes," I say quietly.
"And if I didn't move on? If I never forgot you? If I spent the rest of my life drifting like a zombie because of what you did? Did you even consider a scenario where your leaving didn't result in a happily ever after?"
I have nothing to say. Not because I don't know the answer…but because I do.
And it is "no."
I did not consider my leaving to be anything BUT the best possible choice for her. I can't bear to say it aloud, to hear the admission fall from my own lips, the seemingly charged words that with its utterance confirms this nightmare I've created as reality. But it's out of my hands. As time goes on, I realize too late that my silence, my cowardice, is exactly the answer she expects. Like a dying plant she wilts, her petite frame seemingly shrinking into herself as the devastation she undoubtedly feels takes its toll.
"How could you think that?" she mumbles, pain lacing her every word. "How could you even consider, after everything we've been through together, after everything I'VE been through for you, that I could just wipe you from my memory?"
"Bella—" I try, desperately.
"That I would even want to?" she bursts. Faster than she could ever have been as a human, she appears before me, grabbing the collar of my shirt. She stares at me, as though I'm something she can't even comprehend. More minutes pass; it could have been hours and I wouldn't have known the difference.
"I loved you." My gut clenches. Her words are an anguished whisper, a secret that she expects me to know. "I told you I loved you. Wasn't that enough? Weren't my words enough?"
"They were," I try to tell her vehemently, but she's not even looking up at me anymore, not listening. Still uncomprehending, her eyes are glued to our feet, head shaking in disbelief and increasing distress.
"Wasn't what we did that night enough?"
My heart finally cracks in two. My jaw locks, teeth clenching as the urge to cry out in denial of this moment, this reality, threatens to erupt from my throat. Tremors form in my hands as the need to embrace her distraught form, to do something, anything to bring her out of her pain overwhelms me. When I can't take it anymore, my hands go to cradle her face, thumbs under each eye, prepared to wipe away tears that in the back of my mind I know will never be shed.
"Please…Bella, look at me," I beg her. The tone of my voice seems to finally catch her attention.
"H-how could you…do it?" she asks brokenly, and to my increasing distress, she tries to escape me, slender fingers curling around my wrists, trying to rip herself away.
"Because…you were capable of change."
"W-what?" She looks at me now with confusion, hands stalling. Guilt over everything translates into blistering, heart-wrenching pain. I swallow hard.
"You were human…You had the capacity to grow, to mature beyond what you already were. Emotions…memories…they fade, but not for us. The bonds we form can never be broken, no matter what we experience or how long ago it was—"
"You assumed that what I felt for you, what I felt for all of you…wouldn't withstand the test of time."
I cringe, struggling to keep my fingers from curling convulsively and digging into her skin, though a part of me knows I'm incapable of hurting her physically now.
She finally succeeds in prying my hands away from her face. I let them fall to my sides lifelessly. Panic and trepidation begins to build in me. I try to read her face, the open book she had joked to be her condemning tell to her friends and family, only to find it closed. Unreadable. Blank.
"I'm sorry—"
"Edward." The disappointment and dejection in her tone turns my insides to ice. "You are a fool."
Present time
A gust of wind pushes away the dead leaves at my feet. Carlisle continues to approach me, until finally I can see my figure through his gaze. He crosses the tree line and joins me in the small clearing. I don't turn around.
Edward.
His mind is full with assurances to give, theories to discuss, plans to formulate. Ever the objective patriarch. I try to ignore his incessant ramblings. I want to be alone…I should be alone. He tries to tell me it's a tremendous amount to take in, sympathy lacing his accompanying thoughts. He tries to get me to say something.
I can't.
We were the only immediate danger. We were pieces of a puzzle trying to fit into a frame in which we did not belong—the only conceivable solution was to leave, to retreat back into our own world, the box we had built for ourselves.
And she would mourn.
She would rage. She would grieve…and then she would move on. She would resume her original plan and leave Forks, go to college, and fulfill the dreams she had before terrible luck threw her into our path. She would meet someone worthy to hold her heart, someone human, no matter how agonizing it would be for me, and she would be happy. I'd become nothing more than an unpleasant memory, something she could tell her children, and perhaps grandchildren, as the years passed. Like a flower she would blossom while we remained diamonds— flawless, dazzling, indestructible. The same, for all eternity: unnatural, inhuman and abhorrent. In my leaving, she would not be condemned to this half life forced upon all of us. In my leaving, she would remain whole.
I was wrong. In my leaving, I broke her.
My heart twists, mind still reeling at the knowledge that everything I have done has been for naught. No, not just for naught…my plan has backfired in every possible way. Ibrought her into the forest. I recited those awful words, the script I had written in my mind, meant to protect her in the only way I thought I could. My performance was flawless.
Too flawless.
She believed me. Every single blasphemous lie that I forced out of my throat, she believed, one hundred percent; I saw what it did to her, I watched her face crumble in devastation… but I did nothing. I allowed her to feel used, inadequate, less than nothing, and so my plan worked… in ways that I could not begin to imagine. What I planted took root, festered into something wicked. Poisonous. So toxic and potent that not even the burn of the transformation could eradicate it. And that wasn't even the worst of it.
"Anthony. For his eyes," she says quietly. My eyes pop open. I stare at her numbly as she peeks at me through her curtain of hair. "Charles, for my father."
Tony. Short for Anthony…I swallow hard.
"And Reni?"
I long pause. "I couldn't decide between Renee or Esme…at first."
A boy and a girl. I picture them in my mind—the young man who is neither what he seems nor what he aspires to be, and the little girl that resembles me so. My eyes close tight in remorse. She was already carrying them when I said those things to her. They had no protection. She had to take matters into her own hands…
And it should have been me.
I should have ripped Victoria to pieces. I should have comforted her when she was frightened. My venom should be running through her veins…not my son's.
"Alice and the others are back home."
He's behind me. The guilt that permeates his mind fills me with shame and outrage. He blames himself for what I've done. I let out a frustrated groan, spinning around to glare at him. He stares back, watching me carefully, knowingly. I feel my face twist in anger.
"Don't. All of this stems from my choice."
"A choice that I needn't have followed." He surveys me through solemn eyes as he moves closer, unfazed by my agitated stance. "She was my daughter…Our daughter…and your siblings' sister, just as much as she was your mate..."
I shake my head. "I'm the one that convinced you to uproot everyone else—"
"She trusted me...to be on her side when the time came to change her," he cuts in. His mind paints a deeper picture of his remorse, his disappointment and regret in himself, his judgment. He remembers the night of her birthday, their conversation as he was sewing up her arm, conveying his dissonance with my belief in our lack of souls, and in turn, revealing to her his support of our relationship.
You both knew of my disagreement with you about the nature of our souls, he silently reminds me, but when challenged by your reasoning and your pleas, I buckled. I abandoned my convictions, convictions in which I had faith in for centuries. He sighs, running his hand through his blond locks, gaze hardening.
Your mistakes are your own, and you are entitled to your guilt…just as I am to mine.
"If I had just trusted her…had not been so arrogant to believe that what she felt for me was but a shadow of what I felt for her… none of this would have happened," I say quietly, the familiar shame filling me and overriding everything else. "You can't deny that. Look what I've done to her…look what I've done to them."
He says nothing. I don't know whether to feel grateful or upset by his silence, mental and verbal. I decide to change the subject.
"How much did they hear?" I ask, referring to others.
"The majority," he says apologetically. Alice suggested we leave when you two began discussing your relationship. More sorrow and sympathy emanating from his mind. I nearly shudder in revulsion. I don't want his or their pity. Not when I deserve everything she has said to me. You couldn't hear them during Bella's initial explanations?
"No." This intrigues him. He starts to pace, humming thoughtfully. We'll have to contact the Denali's. Eleazar may be able to shed some light on Bella's gift, and upon what exactly Tony and Reni are capable of. It's nothing short of astounding…I've never seen anything like it. The gifts we bring into this life are incapable of change. They can be developed, yes, but only to a pre-determined extent. What she and her brother are doing…It's unheard of.
"Do you think we can trust them?" Despite Eleazar's renunciation of his past, a part of me is still wary of him. It's a primal instinct—to protect what is precious to me, the urge now extended to my children. Irrational and iron-clad, but something I can understand and have already experienced with their mother.
If they are harmed, so am I.
"I think so. The truth is impossible to miss after close examination. It's just a matter of properly explaining…and preparing." This goes beyond everything the Volturi has considered. We must all stick together. Now, more than ever.
I sigh. "I know...trust me, right now, there's nothing more that I want…" No, I realize suddenly. There is something more that I want. Effortlessly, their faces come back to me, happy and whole. My longing reaches new heights…but it's never that simple, and I'm not delusional. Not anymore.
"…you saw him in the hallway," I continue on, "you heard what Bella said of his intentions for when he comes of age…"
"That's two years away. There's still time…" Carlisle mutters, but even without reading his mind, I can hear the worry lurking in his tone. He's young. Practically still a child. I can't help but give him a scathing look.
"He hates me. As he should. I highly doubt his opinion would have softened if we'd met when he was already fully grown."
That's not what I was implying.
"Than what was it?" I snarl. "That he would forgive me? For abandoning them? For mutilating his mother's heart after she had so willingly given it to me?" He growls at me in warning, but I stalk away in response, agitatedly pacing back and forth, frustration forcing me to breathe in more air than I need.
I meant what I said; he's still young, he thinks patiently. Even if he truly were the age he seemed we would still be having this conversation. The fact that he has seen and experienced hardship, no matter how traumatizing, does not make him an adult…It doesn't exempt him from needing guidance, nor from making his own mistakes.
Tony's enraged face as he put the strange, invisible weapon to my throat returns to the forefront of my mind. My mouth settles into a hard line. "He's not going to accept me, let alone listen…"
"And that will stop you from being his father?"
Outrage ignites in me at the suggestion in his tone and thoughts. I appear before him in the blink of an eye, hands clenched tight.
"That. Is. Not. What. I. Meant." Does he not understand what I have been saying this whole time? My human memories are faded, muddled, but I can remember.
My father always provided for us, my mother and I. He made sure I received an education, had a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs. For all of his emotional misgivings, he fulfilled the duties expected of him in my what have I accomplished?What duties have I fulfilled?
They have grown up in squalor, with only a broken-hearted mother, my absence, and the constant threat of destruction for company, while I aimlessly attempted to track what I believed to be the last supernatural threat left to her existence…I didn't know that I was too little too late…that the deed had already been done. Five years of drowning in my self-loathing and regret, wandering the globe, chasing a ghost.
Five years wasted.
"I am not going anywhere," I growl at him. "I'm being realistic—"
"As am I," he replies wryly, standing his ground as he fixes me with a cool stare. "Mourning the choices you have made, the choices we have made, is no longer a luxury we can afford."
"You expect me to just disregard their suffering? Sweep it under the rug as though nothing more than dust?" I spit.
"No. I expect you to be a man." His firm declaration stuns me into silence. He walks away from me, hands behind his back, allowing a generous distance to form between us. He breathes carefully through his nose, almost methodically, and if I were not a mind reader, I would have no idea of the anger he feels towards me in this moment.
"What they went through was terrible," he continues softly, after a while. "Unacceptable. However, you cannot change what has already happened. Only what will happen, and you will not even be able to do that, if you keep allowing yourself to wallow in your shame and regret."
They need you.
I stare at him numbly, his words sending shivers down my spine. I feel my knees give away as I finally crumble to the floor. The more I analyze, the more I see what I have done, why I did it, what I'm doing now…and he is right. It's as though I'm seeing everything through new lenses, every sentiment, every detail of perfectly preserved memory magnified to an even greater extent, transcending the haze and muck of my guilt, until it's all but forgotten. The knowledge of what I am finally hits me in that moment, the magnitude of its meaning felt more clearly than when Bella had confirmed it.
I'm a father.
Carlisle chooses that moment to return and sit beside me, his timing impeccable. Creeping doubt and fear rears from within me, turning my veins to ice. Nothing in my ninety two years as an immortal has prepared me for this. So much has already changed since I was but a foolish young man, yearning for military glory, oblivious to what bloodshed truly entailed…
"Carlisle…" I cannot control the surge of dread and despair I feel asking him this. "What do I do? I was never…I could never fathom…How do I fix this? Can I even fix this?"
He squeezes my shoulder reassuringly.
"Just be there for them…I wish it were as simple as reciting a speech…but we both know that's not how it works…This is going to take time." I'm sorry son. I honestly can't determine whether or not your relationship with her can resume its original course.
"It can't," I say softly. "Things…can never go back to how they once were. I made sure of that…"
"We're immortal." I feel his gaze on me, one that I don't care to return. "Eternity is a long time for someone to remain unforgiving." She still loves you. I don't need Jasper's gift to see it, and neither does anyone else.
I shake my head. "Even if she does, it doesn't change anything."
I get up off the floor, turning away from him. My pain, my sorrow, is insignificant. I have been of no use to them for the last five years, and that can no longer be. Whether they reject me or not, I will never leave them again. With that in mind, the information Bella has allowed me to know returns to the surface, reminding me of what still needs to be done.
"They're venomous. In their own way."
She leans against the tree trunk, arms folded protectively over her chest. She keeps her eyes on the ground, deep in thought.
"The males are capable of turning a human like any other full vampire, but for the females…" She sighs, closing her eyes tight in her stress.
"I don't know the science behind it all. Nahuel was always vague, but I think that was more because it was new information for him as well. His sister, Jennifer, was the real expert on it. All I know for sure is that if Reni bites anyone, they won't turn."
"Earlier you were considering running tests on Reni," I state, without looking at him. That garners his attention. He rises from the floor. I can see from the tenor of his thoughts that her ability both excites and worries him greatly.
"With yours and Bella's permission. The seizures she's been experiencing are troubling." Just to make sure she's alright. Perhaps an MRI and some blood work as well… I nod once, letting out a steady breath.
We're all behind you on this. They're our family now, too.
The space between us is suddenly filled with the ring of his cell phone. He answers it regrettably, until he hears who is on the other end.
"Is he there with you?" Alice's anxious tone puts us on alert.
"I'm here," I say, as I join Carlisle at his side. She sighs in relief before starting.
"It's like the natural flow of what I can usually see has been disrupted. At some points, I can't see at all, but if I focus on things that are farther along the line, on things that are major…I can get vague glimpses," she trails off. "It's almost like how the wolves affect me, except—."
"You can see them," I finish. "Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know. Carlisle?" I turn to him, his mind already at work listing the common factors between the two.
"Both are warm blooded," he begins, "temperatures ranging well above human level, have similar metabolisms despite their differences in diet, and…are both technically alive."
"But not human," I add. "At least, not completely."
"Hmm." He recalls Tony's rapid growth rate. "The wolves cease aging when they first phase. And in some cases, the change hastens their physical growth...There are just as many similarities… as there are differences."
"Like how Tony and Reni are venomous while they aren't," Alice concludes.
"Precisely."
"What does this have to do with you needing to know if I'm here?" I finally ask her. I'm tired of this—tip toeing around the real issue. A long pause. The wait grates on my nerves. Something is wrong. I can feel it.
"Alice?" Carlisle asks for my benefit.
"I can't see anything right now. At all."
Our forms immediately tense at her words. Before I can get angry at her for not telling us sooner, Carlisle sets into action, asking her sharply, "Have they contacted you?"
"They left a message on the home phone. I just checked it a couple of minutes ago. They're demanding a meeting. Same time and place as before. They want all of us there."
"No," I snap, thinking of Bella, Reni, and Tony. "They've done nothing wrong. The original treaty hasn't even been violated—"
"It doesn't matter," she says grimly. "You know how…defensive they've become, after everything that's happened to them. They're not taking any chances. It's either all of us, or Sam calls off the truce."
T
Jeffrey Reinhardt. DOB: May 8th, 1964. Weight: 190 ibs. Height: 5'9. Date of expiration: August 20th, 2014
I flip the imitation leather wallet closed, throwing it aside, sighing in discontent. The alley is dark, decrepit. A few feet away from me lays an upturned trashcan, its contents rotten and sour. I hold my breath. I should go, get out of here while I still can and the pigs haven't arrived, but I don't. I can't. Instead I lean back against the wall, ignoring the sounds of the night, the sirens…and the sight before me. My hands clench to stop them from shaking.
You promised her. My back slides down the wall, until I'm balancing on my toes. My head starts to pound, the gnawing hunger burning in the pit of my stomach.
You're in control.
The words repeat in a never ending loop. A pathetic mantra meant to comfort me, to bring me into some sort of calm, clarity-filled state. I don't take a breath, no matter what, I won't allow myself to. I'm in control.
But for how long?
I slipped up. This wasn't supposed to happen, none of it—Mom, Reni, Brent, Him, now. So much beneath the surface: the familiar anger, the confusion, despair, fear. The lies. It's still there. Nothing's changed. I'm still a mess, I'm still fucked up and it's never going to end, it's never going to stop. Everything is happening just the way he said it would. She was wrong. Mom was wrong.
I pound my head with my fists, as though the action can rid the memory of them from my mind—his family. She said she was doing it to protect us…that they would be able to protect us…Like I haven't heard that before. I'm tired of being protected, of being treated like I'm sort of helpless lamb. I'm not. I'm a shield. I can protect us…but she doesn't think so. We're stuck here, where I can only watch as it all plays out. Just like before…
A wet, injured gurgle reminds me of where I am and who I'm with. My anger melts away. I should be feeling revitalized…stable….like that for once I've done something right. I should be feeling validation, but right now…I don't know what to feel. My eyes flicker up to the strangely clear sky.
I want to scream. Yell. Until the burn of the thirst is lost amidst the searing pain of my throat tearing. It would fit, my mind is already torn anyway. Do's and don'ts, can'ts and won'ts. Choices discarded because either my conscience or my animalistic side keeps getting in the way…She said things would get better, she said it wouldn't be like this always. That was less than a year ago and it's already getting worse. How can it be happening like this already? Why is this happening now?
Why are you mocking us? I ask to the sky. Why are you mocking me?
No answer, of course. My eyes flicker back down to the ground, disheartened.
I'm about to haul myself up to leave when I see something among the garbage in front of me—a flash of gold. Blinking, I crawl towards it, my jeans soaking up the rain water and grime that coats the alley-way floor.
It hangs from the neck—A chain. Heavy. My index finger hooks around it and pulls. The clasp breaks. The small piece of jewelry coils on the floor. I pick it up, letting the shiny metal snake through my fingers. Despite the muck and blood that coats it I can still distinguish its iridescent shine. My heart starts to slow as the despair all but disappears, vision fading as I remember:
When I wake, it's not warm anymore.
In the sky, the clouds are covering the yellow circle. I turn my head. Reni's asleep, mouth open as she breathes in an out. I sit up, pushing off my side of the blanket. A breeze passes by, raising the bumps on my skin and messing up my shirt. I'm scared. The tall things that surround us, that starts off brown then become green, the trees…I feel like they're watching me.
Suddenly I hear a noise—footsteps. My heart starts beating really really fast. My eyes go to the trees in front of us. Something's moving inside…I focus hard, on finding the green things again. I need them right now. Mama said not to use them, but I'm not, I just want to see them, that's all. It'll make me feel better just to see them…But after a few more seconds I quit. I don't need them after all. I can see her now.
I get off the blanket and try to run to her, even though my legs are still wobbly and not used to it yet. I stumble a bit, and almost fall, but I always catch myself right before it happens. Mama crouches down and watches me, eyes wide, a small smile on her face. Kind of scared too, but I don't mind, I'll be fine. I don't know why she looks so worried.
She calls my name in that sweet way as she holds her arms out. When I make it to her, a weird sort of laugh comes out of her mouth, like she's pushing it out of the pit of her stomach, and she hugs me tight, covering the back of my head with her hand. I hug her back, quickly smelling her hair, enjoying the scent.
Picking me up, she walks with me in her arms to the blanket and sits down, shifting me so I'm sitting in her lap, facing forward.
"Were you a good boy?" she asks me in pretend-seriousness when she's done checking on Reni. I smile in return and nod my head, cuddling closer to her. Even if she's cold, it still feels nice, and her skin is soft, like mine.
She takes off her back pack and sets it in front of us, taking out our bottles and the big red jug. My tummy grumbles in response. Once she pours some red stuff into my bottle, she gives it to me. I lie back against Mama as I drink. She wraps one arm around me while the other goes to pick up Reni and sit her on the other side of her lap. That's when she wakes up. She blinks up at Mama before gurgling something I can't understand, sucking on her fists. Mama starts humming a strange tune as she gets the other bottle for Reni and helps her drink, since she can't hold it on her own yet. I sigh, happy.
Soon it's warm again. I close my eyes, the brightness hurting them. When I open them, I look up; the clouds aren't covering the circle anymore. I turn around to point it out to Mama, but as soon as I do I forget all about it.
All her skin is sparkly. Like rocks when you hold them up to the circle. Shiny. I can't speak. I let go of my straw with a pop, and reach up to touch her face. That catches her attention. She was thinking hard again. She smiles down at me and covers my hand with hers.
"Put your hands up where I can see them!"
The officer's commanding demand shatters the memory. I let out my held breath, the resulting inhale of everyone's mixed-scents torching the walls of my throat all over again.I listen to the commotion behind me, flipping my hood over my face as I stand, the chain still laced around my fingers as I raise my hands: one cop car, three humans. The piece of garbage at my feet groans, his action finally forcing me to look directly at him.
Blood still dribbles out of his nostrils and over his busted-open lips. Black and blue bruises, in differing stages of healing mar his face, one of his eyes already reduced to a swollen, dark violet balloon. A shallow gash near the crown of his head is peppered with tiny grains of grey cement brick from the building wall. Midst the dented, damaged flesh, the familiar crimson still leaks out. I follow the trail of dark-red as it snakes through the bristle of his crew-cut, down the smooth crevice between his hairline and ear before disappearing under the collar of his navy blue button-down.
More voices. Radio sounds. I let out an involuntary hiss, my back stiffening as I try to ascertain exactly how much time I have. My eyes are still locked on the body lying in fetal position on the oil-coated asphalt. Another wave of hunger erupts in the pit of my stomach. I turn my back on all of them. My eyes spot the criss-cross wiring of the metal fence further down the alley. I prepare to run.
This isn't what you want, the beast hisses. My knees lock in place. You know it, he knows it, and I know it. Live a little… It's different now, not like before. Can you believe the luck? Maybe there is a god. Out of the damn blue he drops you this motherfucker right here…You'd be doing society a favor.
"Put your hands on your head, now!
There are three of them right now. You've already demonstrated that you have the control, just knock them out and take the meat sack to go…they won't know what hit 'em.
"No, officer wait—"
The woman's voice makes my blood run cold. I was mistaken. Two policemen, one civilian, one lowlife.
"Miss, please, get back in the car—"
"No! You don't understand— "
Without listening to another word, I bolt. Shouts of protest, panicked and outraged, erupt behind me, followed by the scrape of leather on cement as its owners give chase. I hop the fence Olympic style, earning yelps of surprise, falling hard on my feet on the other side. I stuff the chain into my jean pocket before pushing back on my heels to let loose, racing through the rest of the passage.
Turn after turns. Ladders up until I'm on the roof of buildings, open sky, the night air whipping through my face; a welcoming respite after what I've just done. The scrunch of gravel, ladders down. More darkness…until I can't hear the sirens anymore. I lean back against another crumbling brick wall.
What the hell did you just do?
I hit the back of my head against the wall in frustration. Gulp after gulp of clean air does nothing to get the memory of his scent out of my mind—the onion twinge of sweaty, unwashed skin, his sweet smelling blood. I swallow hard, to keep myself from gagging. The reality of what I've just done finally begins to sink in.
Why do you feel bad? It's what you're designed to do…the beast whispers. I fish around frantically in my pocket for my lighter and cigarettes.
You're an idiot.
My hands shake as I light up.
I stuff the small, cardboard box and plastic lighter into my jean pocket. As I do so, my wrist brushes against the protruding bulge in my jacket. My hand digs inside, pulling out the black spray can. I stare at it, the cap bound in plastic, still waiting to be twisted open. My shoulders slump against the brick, lips dry as I let the smoke escape through the corner of my mouth.
….
My eyes search the shelves hungrily as I stride down the aisle, ignoring the whispers of the girls at the front desk, the giggles. Halloween masks, baskets of candy, decorations, knickknacks…I pause over the knickknack area, where a small wooden box of bagged marbles reside. A particular one catches my eye: a boulder. Deep blue. My fingers twitch, and less than a second passes before I rip open the netting, swipe the shiny round ball and stuff it safely in my back pocket. Knots in my shoulder that I hadn't known existed loosen. A small gush of relief washes over me. I continue on.
I finally find what I'm looking for: spray paint cans. In varying colors: red, blue, yellow, green, purple, black…Black's good. I can work with black. It feels right. Moving at lightning speed, I swipe the can off the shelf, scrape off the bar code, and stuff it into my jacket. Like with the marble, I've done it so fast that not even the security cameras will have caught it. I head back to the front of the store. The girls are still talking, but I ignore them. I'm about to pass through the purchase detectors.
"Umm, did you find everything alright?"
I stop. My heart's beating so hard and fast. The urge to run is almost overwhelming…but instead, I turn around. She and her two companions—girls her age— are trying very very hard not to ogle me. I manage to give her a passable answer.
I'm out the door before she can strike up a conversation. My hands shake. I breathe in and out as I stride down the sidewalk, trying to calm myself. I'd forgotten how strong the rush was.
…..
I turn the hand holding the can around, revealing my knuckles…and the blood. My stomach twists. I let the cigarette drop from my lips. The beast's words from before echo mockingly in my mind, his gleeful encouragement increasing in volume.
Won't be long now… I kick off the wall to pace in the narrow space, one hand going to my already-rumpled hair, the other gripping the can until my nails are buried in the metal.
You're not in control. No matter how much you delude yourself by reducing their faces to pulp-
Cool, strong-smelling paint dribbles over my fingers, the droplets plopping to the floor.
-instead of drinking from them.
I chuck the paint can at the opposite wall with a roar. It explodes on impact, contents splattering everywhere, the mess an all-encompassing blob of black on the rust-colored brick. I don't see the black, though. I see blood. The clawing ache in my stomach sharpens. Bile builds in the back of my throat. My knees feel weak, but I force myself to start walking towards the street lamps, leaving the alleyway and entering the sidewalk. I look around: old buildings. Boarded up. Abandoned. The air still smells damp, with a hint of wood. There's no one here. I must be in the old part of town. I sigh, relieved.
You can't keep doing this forever.
I don't intend to.
Bullshit. You've already had a taste...
My eyes lock on the grainy floor. I block out the rest as I continue walking, passing more buildings and a few vacant lots…I never killed them. I never hurt the ones they were going to kill…or rob…or maim….or rape.
You weren't doing it for them.
I grind my teeth, fighting the urge to pulverize the derelict buildings I pass.
Deny my existence however you want to, but don't deny what you already know. They were easy targets. So you could sleep at night.
My feet finally reach the end of the sidewalk. I look up, tall, spindly grey trunks greeting me—the end of town and the beginning of the forest. I take in a deep breath, dirt, dead leaves, water and wood hitting the back of my nose, and without another wasted second, dive into the darkness.
The world flies behind me, my feet hitting the ground so fast that the resounding scrunch of my shoes is lost in the whip of wind my speeding body creates. Harder I push my legs, everything becoming a blur of dark as I let my senses truly kick in. I take another deep whiff of the air, and I suddenly wonder why I didn't do this before, why I didn't head for the forest immediately after leaving the elevator. The errant thought almost distracts me from the sudden scent of elk in the air. I veer left then come to a stop, listening harder at my surroundings. A snap of a twig there, a rustle in the bushes here…a thick thumping heartbeat several feet to my right…
Silently, I creep closer, hearing it now—the steady drum of the elk's beating heart. A bush is in my way. I part the leaves a fraction…and there it is, limbs frozen, neck elongated as it tries to find a potential threat in the darkness. I take a step closer.
Suddenly it scurries away in the opposite direction, and with a curse I run after it. It zigzags through the brush, effortlessly navigating through the maze of identical trees, but I easily surpass it and circle back.
I end up charging at it head on, knocking it off its feet. Before it can get up I have its flailing, bleating body in my arms. I end up on my knees as it desperately tries to escape, dragging the animal into my lap.
Once I find its neck, I bite down, ignoring the bristle of fur against my tongue and teeth as it bucks against me in protest, still trying to wriggle free. Warm blood gushes into my mouth as my teeth clamp down harder, slicing deeper into the artery. I let the taste and heat fill my senses.
I start to drink, gulping mouthful after mouthful, feeling the smooth, rich liquid run down my throat and settle into my empty stomach. The elk's body gradually stops moving, its fierce bucks reduced now to feeble twitching, and as it does so, my mind starts to race with images of the day—the school hallways, the sneering faces, his resigned gaze as I put the shard to his throat. I clutch the animal closer to me. My eyes close. The wet snapping of bone fills the air.
I ignore the cold, the outside world, everything that has happened today, everything that has happened in the last year…and instead focus on the absence of the burn, the absence of the sharp, clenching pain in the pit of my stomach…the bliss in that absence; the bliss in the taste, not in the difference, the knowledge that there's something missing. The memory of what real blood tastes like…
When there's no more, when only congealed dregs remain in its veins, my lips part from the matted, blood-coated fur with a gasp. I tilt my head towards the moon-lit sky, panting in ecstasy, licking my lips, tasting the blood still smeared there and feeling it slowly dribble down my chin and neck and into my shirt. I let the elk's carcass slide from my arms and plop ominously onto the dirt. Meanwhile, the shards blink back into existence in the air around me, a weak, half-hearted greeting that serves to demonstrate that I'm not done yet. Far from done.
Exhaustion hits me at that moment. I lie down on the earthen floor, watching the icy breaths leaving my mouth fade into the air. I turn my head to look at the elk, its eyes orbs of glassy, dull black.
It's just an animal, I tell myself. Humans eat animals. What makes what I did any different?I shift to my side, wiping my mouth with my sleeve.
What makes what you did any similar?
I let out a growl, resting my cheek in the dirt. This is stupid. I'm wondering whether or not something I have to do is acceptable.
If it's so acceptable, than why don't you go all the way? the familiar voice asks venomously. It's what you have to do, just like you said…
"I don't have to kill people," I whisper to myself.
No. Just maim. Injure, the beast says sarcastically.
I look down at my shirt and jacket, now liberally stained with copious amounts of the elk's blood. My eyes follow a glistening streak down my shoulder, continuing on to my wrist and hand, then to my knuckles, where his blood still remains. I turn my hand over to look at the black paint on my palm instead.
In the moonlight, both stains look the same.
E-POV always worries me. Like I was telling my pre-reader and beta, too much angst, it becomes unreadable melodramamtic vomit, but too little angst, Edward becomes ooc, and with that in mind...
*hides behind makeshift shield/garbage can lid.*
Okay. Hit me with what you've got.