A/N: Many thanks for your reviews and many apologies for how long this chapter took! Next chapter will post faster. Promise. Thanks to mariahajile.
Chapter Nine
There was no stopping it once it started.
Edward was transported to the desert. He was running. His legs burned hot fire, and his chest pulsated with adrenaline. Those beside him were falling and never getting up again. Their bodies were rocked by gunfire and explosives. Parts of them severed. Blood. The smell of it; the never ending flow.
Horror.
Edward had seen it all.
When he was living it, it had no effect. It couldn't. He didn't let it sink into his mind. His heart was locked. A piece of coal in his chest. No emotion.
Survive.
That was all Vivian had asked of him
Survive.
He hadn't experienced an attack in a few months. He kept moving, so it wouldn't. No ties to anyone or anything. No investments. No emotions.
He had mastered it. He had made some small attempt at peace with his tragedies. There was nothing he could do. He was alive, and they weren't.
But when the anniversary came, he travelled back to Kingsbridge and found that he couldn't leave. There were many reasons for this.
The graves.
Visiting them had become a ritual, and he felt like he couldn't stop. He had spent so much time neglecting them that now his soul felt bound, obligated to be there, every single day. Making up for the time he had missed.
And then there was Bella.
The darkest day of his life was the day he returned from Afghanistan. The second darkest day had been the day the tree fell.
The only light on that day had been her face. He thought she was an angel. He thought he recognized her, but when he got closer, he realized she only held shadows of Vivian.
It wasn't her.
Still, he couldn't stay away from her. He followed Bella everyday, haunted by her face, but her beauty was no longer the sole reason he was drawn to her. After speaking to her only a few brief times, he knew what was happening to him.
He wanted her.
He never thought he could want anyone ever again.
Now, here he was on an attempted date with her, and he was smothering, choking. The sound of the gunshot was choking him. He couldn't breathe.
He was dying. He would die right here in front of this coffee shop like a coward. There were so many other days he could have died. Days that would have made him a hero and days that no one would have blamed him for it.
No one would miss him.
He could have died a million ways, but instead, he was going to die on this sidewalk in front of a coffee shop beside a beautiful girl who had no idea how fucked up he was.
"Edward!"
She was shouting. She was sacred, and that made him even more helpless. There was nothing he could do to stop what was happening. He had no control. He surrendered to the dark.
When he awoke, he was in a bed. He felt stiff and heard beeping. The smell of antiseptic and the sound of feet shuffling on linoleum let him know where he was before he even opened his eyes.
"Edward?"
Bella sat beside his hospital bed. His hand was warm because she held it, and when he looked at her, he felt like crying.
She was completely terrified.
"I'm okay. I'm okay," he said.
He didn't mean it.
"What happened to you? The doctor said it was a 'vasovagal syncope'. I didn't know if I should call anyone. I called the shop and told Mr. Silva."
"What did he say?"
"He said he was glad I was there with you — and he said you should tell me. What should you tell me? What did he mean?"
Edward sat up and sighed. He looked down at her hand in his, and for the first time in a long time, he felt safe. He looked in her eyes, and in his heart, he knew he wanted to tell her so many things. But he would start with the easy part.
"Bella, I told you that I was a Marine. I fought in Afghanistan. I left the Corps with honorable discharge, because I was no longer able to fill my duties as a soldier..."
He stopped speaking, and Bella squeezed his hand. Edward fought back the lump that rose in his throat every time he thought of that day.
"Edward… What happened to you?"
He leaned closer to her. "It was just a few days before my leave. My platoon was sent on a mission in heavy ground combat and — we were attacked and — and…" He struggled to finish his sentence. "I was the only member of my platoon that survived."