Stephenie Meyer might own these characters, but Edward in My Head is all mine.
Many thanks to my wise and wonderful pre-reader, Miaokuancha, who's taught me that less is often more. I'm indeed lucky to know her.
Playlist Pick:
The Scientist - Coldplay
MEA CULPA
From "Lovelorn"...
Bella stepped from the shadows, eyes rubbed red-raw like she'd been crying all night. Indeed, she still was.
"I'm so sorry, Edward! I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "Can you ever forgive me?"
Forgive her? What on earth for?
There was no time to ask for she'd already flung herself at me. Latched onto me like a limpet. I couldn't dislodge her if I wanted to.
And I didn't want to.
I felt her heart crash in her chest—the pounding of that most vital organ assuring me this was no waking dream. She was safe and she was very much here, and I was so, so grateful.
Bella . . . my Bella.
Had it only been a few hours? I swallowed her scent greedily, riding the shock wave as her sudden proximity give way to the delicious afterburn I'd come to crave.
Mine . . . my only . . .
This was completely unexpected.
Then again, when had she ever done what I'd expected?
No! This was wrong! I should be the one begging her forgiveness right now and she had to know that. I tried to loosen her grasp—to look her in the eyes and tell her I was the one who'd been foolish and stubborn and cruel.
And of course she thought I was pushing her away. "Oh, please, Edward!" she wailed, burying her face in my chest. So I just held her, on the stoop, as she was wracked with misery. I didn't know what else to do. I felt the world contract until it was only her and me. And then it just was her. Her warmth and her salt-sweet tears. Fragrant blood rising to her cheeks. To the tips of her ears.
My prurience made me all the more wretched.
"Perhaps you two should come inside?"
Esme knew what to do. She took me by the hand; stepping between us, she wrapped her other arm around Bella and drew us over the threshold together. The momentary separation hurt almost as much the unanticipated closeness had just moments ago, and I found myself stifling a growl. Bella didn't hear it but Esme did: she shot me a look that well and truly put me in my place.
"There, there, dear." Esme plucked a handkerchief from her pocket and gave it to Bella. Pulling away at the foot of the stairs, she draped my arm back over her shoulder and that was better. Much better.
It'll be all right, Esme promised, the warmth in her eyes assuring me she'd forgiven my misstep as well. Just talk it out. And thenshe was gone, slipping around the corner, swift as a sunbeam.
Bella's sobbing had sapped her strength and she couldn't seem to catch her breath. Frightened she might faint, I scooped her into my arms. I took it as a good sign that she didn't protest when I did—just leaned into my cold chest with a sigh.
I heard my siblings' whispers as I sped upstairs. They were trying to give us privacy but I knew what they were thinking. Some were sympathetic, some bemused. I could practically see Rosalie's disapproving eye roll, but I didn't care. Bella was here and nothing else mattered. We needed to be alone. As alone as it was possible to be in this house.
She curled up on my couch like a dried leaf and I sat down at the other end, hugging my knees to my chest like she did. Aching to hold her again but not daring to. Waiting for her to speak but afraid of what she would say.
Long moments passed before she cleared her throat and raised her head to look at me, and if ever I needed proof that I was no good for her it was plain in her lovely eyes.
"I am so very, very sorry Edward," she repeated, jaggedly.
Why did she keep saying that? She'd done nothing wrong. I reached out to touch her cheek only to watch my hand hover and withdraw ineffectually. What could I ever offer but cold comfort, anyway?
If that bothered her, she didn't say; she was trying to find an unused corner of Esme's silken handkerchief to dab her eyes but it was soaked. Before long she gave up, crumpling it into a ball.
"I think it's ruined," she said miserably.
I knew it just needed washing but this was my chance to do some good. I reached into my pocket. "Here: take mine." Her fingertips lingered briefly when she did and those little points of fire felt good to me. I hoped the contact gave her comfort too.
"Are you all right?" I asked, after she'd been quiet for a while.
Her brow furrowed, and I wondered, for the hundred-thousandth time, what she could be thinking. I deserved to hear the worst: I braced myself for it. But there was no reproach in those doe-eyes—only dogged curiosity, which somehow frightened me more. She responded with a question seemingly so out of left field, it felt like it came from a different ballpark entirely.
"Why do you have hankies, anyway, when you can't cry?"
I gawped stupidly. It took me a moment to realize that she fully expected an answer and I had none to give her. I just knew that Esme never let any of us leave home without clean handkerchiefs in our pockets. Why did we keep these customs from days long gone?
"I don't know, really." Maybe we couldn't shed tears but we could certainly weep.
She chuckled at my expression, wiping a tear away with the heel of her hand.
She'd managed to distract me again.
She uncurled from her fetal position, allowing her feet to slide into the middle of the couch. Encouraged by her timid smile, I did the same until our toes touched.
"You're not angry with me?" she asked.
"My love, why would I be?" I could still call her that, couldn't I? For she was the one and only true love my heart would ever know.
It seemed I could; the endearment made her blush. And it gave her courage. "You were angry when you left."
"Not with you. I could never be angry with you." How could I be—brave, trusting . . . warm as she was? She'd only been speaking from her heart; I knew that, now.
"What, then?"
I realized that it was Fate I'd been angry with, for as long as I could remember. It was Fate that let me die in 1918, before I'd really lived—that chanced my meeting with the vampire who made me his companion. It was Fate that let me live a hundred years of solitude, until I met a girl who was wrong for me in every single way. A girl I could never truly be with unless I sucked the life out of her. Killed everything that was good about her. And here she was, ready and willing to put her life in my hands and ask me to snuff it out.
I met her expectant gaze, forcing a smile. "Life just isn't fair, I guess." Nor, it seemed, was the afterlife.
She chuckled. "We've had this conversation a few times, haven't we?"
I conceded that we certainly had.
And there it was. A look of sympathy and forgiveness shared between us that somehow made last night's breach much less insurmountable.
"I'm glad you're not angry," she whispered, stroking the back of my hand. "I was afraid you'd turn me away."
Never: I would never do that. "I went looking for you."
"I know. Esme told me."
"But you were gone. And then you didn't answer your phone. I-I thought something might've happened."
That obviously hadn't occurred to her. Oh no, she mouthed, reaching out to cup my cheek. "Oh, Edward," she said gently. "You know I never turn that thing on."
Why, exactly, was that suddenly so funny? I couldn't figure it out.
She took a deep breath, tucking an unruly curl behind her ear. "I couldn't stay in my room any more. I was up all night, worrying. Wishing I hadn't told you to leave, because I didn't want you to. I didn't!"
How like her to shoulder the blame. If I'd really wanted to stay, she couldn't have budged me. I tried to tell her what a coward I was, but she wouldn't let me get a word in edgeways.
"I had to find you. Tell you I need"—she took a centering breath—"I mean, I need you to know"—and this was obviously difficult for her to say—"that I'm not ready. Yet."
Maybe I startled her when I sat bolt upright, or maybe she regretted what she'd just said, because she recoiled like a spring, putting me back at arms' length.
"To be like you," she clarified unnecessarily. Eyes wary.
I couldn't believe I was hearing this. She was full of surprises. "Go on."
Her mind was racing, but it was pointless trying to guess her thoughts from her nimble expressions. I was inevitably wrong. Besides, I knew that if there was one thing she had no difficulty doing, it was articulating herself. That didn't take her long, and for once, it seemed my assumptions weren't so far off the mark.
"I mean, I do want to, but . . ." She faltered, biting her lip. "Well, I'd never be able to see my dad again, would I?"
Such a good daughter: of course she'd put him first. I found it hard to look her in the eyes at that moment, but she deserved to know the truth.
"It would be difficult," I acknowledged.
It would be suicide if he met her as a newborn. Or homicide—either way, my family would be culpable. Even if it was possible one day, he'd realize that she wasn't his little girl any more. The Bella he knew would be dead. I'd been told that losing a child was the worst pain anyone could ever experience: Chief Swan had only ever been a friend to us, so how could we, in good conscience, do that to him?
And if his friends, the Quileutes, found out that she'd been changed, the treaty would be over. And if the Volturi got wind of that . . . well, it didn't bear thinking about. Bella wasn't thinking about supernatural politics, though—and frankly, I don't know how much she really understood about them at that point. She continued her train of thought aloud.
"But I can't just up and leave, not while he still needs me. My mom, too—how would I explain . . . ?" She swept her hand into space, indicating the unexplainable. "They deserve to know."
"It would be better if they didn't." I kept my voice cold.
"Let them think I'm dead." Hers wavered.
I took her hand, willing her to understand. "You see why I'd never ask you to make that choice?"
She scowled, looking away so I wouldn't see the tears threatening to well over. "Damn it. Why do you have to be so noble?"
"I'm not. Believe me, I'm as selfish as the day is long."
She rolled her eyes—wiped them impatiently. She needed a moment to collect herself. "I thought about other things, too. Stupid things . . . Like, how I should probably finish high school first." She scoffed. "I mean, if I was like you, I wouldn't need high school. I could go and get any degree. Be whatever I want."
"You can do that now," I pointed out, much to her dislike.
"What's the point if you won't be here?"
All right, now she'd jumped the tracks. I had no idea what she was getting at. "Bella, I'm not going anywhere."
"Maybe not now," she said. "But what about in a few years, when people start to notice you're not aging? You'll have to leave then, right?"
So it had been her fears speaking last night. I should've realized that. "Why are you thinking about this now?"
I thought I'd spoken gently but a tear still trickled down her cheek. "I can't help it," she murmured. "I worry about things . . . Sometimes I feel like all this is a dream. That one day, you're just going to fade away."
"You see, this is exactly why I'm no good for you"—so much for trying to be gentle—"You can't live your life for me. Or die for me—whatever it is you're thinking about. Not when all I bring you is-"
"Stop!" Only she could put a hand over a vampire's mouth without thinking about it. "Let me explain!
"Okay, this is how I see it," she said, when she was certain I'd stay quiet. "It's like all my life I've been looking for you, but I didn't even know it. And now that I've found you, I don't ever want to let you go."
I knew exactly how she felt. Jasper had said the same whenever he spoke about meeting Alice for the first time. Even Emmett had expressed it, in his own way. Was this true of all lovers? I had so little experience with matters of the heart.
"I feel bound to you," she continued, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. My god, what compelled her to use that word?
"Please don't say that," I begged.
"But it's true."
I took her other hand, cradling both of them in mine. They were so soft and warm and alive that for a moment I was quite distracted. But I had to focus: I had to make her understand.
"You can't just say things like that," I began, but instantly regretted it. How could I explain without lecturing—without being hurtful? The only way was to go forward honestly. She could appreciate that.
I took a deep breath. "If either of us has been bound, it's me. I've told you how it is, when vampires experience change. It's irreversible." I kissed her fingers. "You, on the other hand, are free to choose. To live." Free to live a long and happy life is what I meant, and I thought I was getting through to her.
She nodded thoughtfully. "I choose you."
Stubborn, obstinate girl! So eager to sacrifice her immortal soul! She really didn't understand at all. It was hard for me to breathe—it felt like my stone heart was breaking in two. When I finally found my voice, it was a whisper.
"That's it though, Bella. If I could, I'd choose a mortal life. So I could grow old with you."
She was horrified. "But then you'd die."
"That's the way it's supposed to be." And truly, my death would be sweet if it were to happen in her arms.
"You'd give all of this up—for me?" she challenged. "Why?"
"I could ask you the same question."
"I'm not worth it."
I raised an eyebrow and she blanched, realizing what she'd just said. But there was no point arguing over what was and what could never be. Besides, her agile mind had made another next leap.
"So, if I stay human and you've been bound to me like you said, then when I die, you'll be alone and sad forever. How, exactly, is that a good thing?"
The memories of our time together would never fade, but would they sustain me for eternity? Maybe, if I could bear to face it, but I knew I didn't have the courage. I hadn't told anyone—never could tell anyone—what I'd been planning in the event of her death.
"If I stay human, we both lose," she decided. "Ugh! If I wasn't such a chicken, I'd get it over and done with, right now."
Over and done with? As if ending her life was a medical procedure, like an inoculation. Or an amputation.
"Caring about your parents doesn't make you a chicken. Nor does wanting to live your life."
"It hurts, right? A lot?"
"It's unimaginable." She looked askance at me; and I suddenly had a cunning thought. "You know I wouldn't be able to do it, right? Once I tasted your blood, I could never stop."
"I know it," she sighed, and it didn't seem to bother her very much. Perhaps, she was weighing the consequences at last. She peered over my shoulder, out the window and into the forest.
"High school . . . " she grumbled at last. "I don't know if I can go through with it." Then, obviously remembering the many times I'd willingly repeated high school, muttered, "Sorry."
That gave me hope, though. If I could get her to finish high school, then maybe I could draw her out for a few more years. "You could go to college. You'll love college."
She smirked. "And bring my high school boyfriend with me?"
"Of course."
"You're crazy," she said, smiling nevertheless. We'd let go of each other's hands while we'd been talking but she reached for mine again; we were sitting so closely that she could put them in her lap. She stared down at our intertwined fingers for a very long time.
"What are you thinking?" I finally dared ask.
She said nothing for another moment then abruptly blew the air between her teeth. "OK, maybe I can wait a year or two. But any more than that is just weird."
I would take a year or two. It was a start. "You know, technically, Esme's four years older than Carlisle. It doesn't make any difference to them."
"Yeah, but that's never going to change. What about when I'm ten years older? Twenty? Fifty!" The volume of her voice grew incrementally louder the more stubbornly I shook my head.
"You're not going to want me when I'm an old lady."
"I've told you, that's not how it works."
"I know how it works with boys," she said.
"I'm not like other boys."
And I smelled her salt-sweet tears again, though they didn't quite flow over. "No," she whispered, freeing a hand so she could smooth my cowlick down. "You're not."
"I will stay with you, "I promised. "For as long as you want me to. We'll find a way."
"Even when I'm old and grey?" Her nose wrinkled.
I kissed the top of her head. "Where else am I going to go?"
I hoped she'd be content with that but when I pulled back to look her in the eyes, they were darkened by worry once more.
"You say that now. I know you mean it now. But . . ."
"Believe me. Please." What more could I say? I had nothing to offer.
"I can't change the way I feel."
I don't want you to change. Too late, I realized I'd said that out loud.
"And that's always going to be our problem, isn't it?" Suddenly, she looked very tired. Oh, Edward, I don't want to fight anymore. Can't we just pretend last night never happened?"
How can we, I wanted to ask, but her anguished fatigue caught me up short. I wanted to make it go away. "A clean slate?" I traced her jawline with my finger. "I would like nothing better."
"If only you didn't have a perfect memory," she sighed.
"If only you weren't so tenacious."
The kiss happened without either of us meaning it to. It was deep and bittersweet. Full of regret and forgiveness. We both knew our argument remained unresolved. But we could pretend that it was, at least for a little while.
"Where does that leave us, then?" she asked me later.
The clouds had thinned as the morning aged, letting the forest light in, soft and golden-green. I was absorbed with the way that light played off her curls. I caught one of them between my fingers.
"I'm not sure. Can we go back to the start?"
"That seems like a good place," she said.
The start—the beginning –was a safe place. Comfortable, but waiting to be re-discovered. I liked the idea of going back there.
"Well, maybe not all the way," she amended, after another kiss. "We were fighting then, too, remember?"
"As if I could forget."
"I love you," she declared, taking my hand and pressing it to her cheek. "Now, and forever."
Now happened to be the moment that her stomach chose to growl loudly. "Way to kill the mood," she grumbled, making both of us laugh.
"How'd you get here, anyway?" I asked, apropos of nothing. "Where's your truck?"
"It broke down on the highway. Emmett's got it in the garage."
"What happened?" I catalogued all the mechanical failures for that particular make and model that I could think of.
"The engine started smoking, about five miles down the road. Then it just died. Lots of cars passed but nobody stopped to see if I needed help." I felt badly for her. "I was afraid you wouldn't want to talk to me, so I called Carlisle. He and Emmett towed me here. That's a mighty big Jeep Emmett's got, by the way."
I hadn't paid much attention to the location of Emmett's thoughts earlier on, but I realized that they had indeed been coming from direction of the garage. I listened again.
"He's finished now," I told her.
"Success?" she asked.
"You're good to go."
"Awesome. I owe him one."
And as if adding its own approval, her stomach growled again, even louder than before. She placed an embarrassed hand over her abdomen. "Sorry."
"Didn't you have any breakfast?"
"I can't eat when I'm upset."
This wouldn't do. She looked pale; she needed to keep her strength up.
"Come on. I'll take you to the diner." It went without saying that it would be my treat. She'd protest and insist on paying, but I'd never take her money.
"Sounds great." She shot me a wicked look. "I could murder an omelette."
Thank you for reading. As always, I welcome your comments.
Until next time,
~W