Chapter 26 - Disconnect

It takes over a half hour to work my way down the grain elevator's ladder. In addition to a stiff, frozen body, I suffer a debilitating case of vertigo that nearly causes me to lose my grip several times. My vision blurs and my stomach churns as I struggle to keep from blacking out. About six feet from the bottom, I just can't hold on any longer and go limp, falling the rest of the way down. The bone-jarring collision with the ground is painful, as expected. At the expense of a severely bruised hip and thigh, however, it does serve to clear my mind of cobwebs.

I'm not in any shape to drive home, but good sense is no match for my overwhelming need to call Edward. It's nothing short of dumb luck that I make the lengthy journey back without falling asleep at the wheel or causing an accident in the increasingly busy early morning traffic.

The weak winter dawn is just making its appearance when I stumble into my apartment and over to my home phone. Since I don't have an international plan on this line like I do on my cell, I dig a calling card out of my bag. It takes several tries for my trembling finger to punch in the correct code.

Finally, I achieve success and the call goes through. Sinking down onto the carpet, I lie on my uninjured side and curl into ball, the phone pressed tightly to my ear. But my high hopes diminish with each ring until the familiar voicemail greeting sounds.

"This is Lieutenant Commander Edward Cullen, Navy Reserve J7. Please leave a message, and I'll return your call as soon as circumstances permit. Thank you."

I hear the soft beep, but disappointment renders me brain-dead and mute. If there was an ounce of energy left in my body, I'd break down into sobs. Instead, I end the call, close my eyes, and succumb to my severe need for sleep.

o-0-O-0-o

I dream a collage of hazy, disjointed memories that slip away as soon as I bolt upright from the floor. Sometime during the fitful attempt at rest, my subconscious brought to light a very important fact. In my previous state of exhaustion, I'd forgotten all about the messages from Edward that are still waiting for me to retrieve. Using the coffee table for support, I pull myself onto unsteady legs and then teeter into the bedroom for my laptop. Between it and the home phone, I'm able to listen, read, and then put the two message formats in chronological order.

Voicemail, 4:30 a.m. EST: (loud background engine noise, patchy connection) "Hey, it's me. I r—…email, but for some reason I'm n—…it…"

Voicemail, 4:31 a.m. EST: "Sorry, the call dropped. I'm not sure how much of th—…got…"

Text, 4:35 a.m. EST: Dammit, I keep losing connection for some reason. I've only got a few minutes to write (I'm on a transport to the airfield), but I don't want to leave without letting you know I got your email. I was able to read the message text about you wanting to explain everything. My phone's having problems downloading the attachment, though, so maybe you could try sending it again? Thanks, E

Text, 4:39 a.m. EST: Just checked a few more of my emails and saw one from Rose confessing what she did earlier today. I'm sorry she got involved. It's none of her business, and I'll make sure everyone else knows not to bother you, either.

Text, 4:42 a.m. EST: Forgot to mention I'm not sure when I'll be able to get in touch with you again. I volunteered to go on another UN relief mission along with a group of Afghan forces, and there's no set date on when I'll be returning to base. I don't know how much of a signal I'll have where we're going. Hopefully, I'll be able to use my phone to respond after I've read what you sent—if you even want me to, that is.

Text, 4:45 a.m. EST: We're sitting outside the helo waiting for the pilots to finish their checks. Hurry up and wait. Gotta love the military. Anyway, you always said I didn't share my thoughts with you enough, so here's what's going through my mind right now. I'm wondering about what you wrote and if explains why you insisted that we couldn't be in a relationship. You said that you loved me but didn't want to see me again. I've wracked my brain for the past two weeks trying to figure out why. I don't know how everything went so wrong, so fast, and I'm hoping the doc you sent will finally give me the answers I'm desperate to have.

Voicemail, 4:50 a.m. EST: "My signal strength just went up, and I had to try one more time. I know I'm probably annoying the hell out of you right now, but…shit! I wasn't even thinking about what time it is over there. This is the last call, I promise. I just need to say that, whatever your reasons for not wanting to be with me, I still love you and will never stop hoping that you change your mind. I'd do almost anything for us to have another chance. Well, we're boarding the helo now, so…take care, and I'll try to get back to you as soon as I can."

Text, 4:51 a.m. EST: p.s. – I really do love you, Bella.

Text, 4:51 a.m EST: p.p.s – Always.