I do not own Twilight.
The metal chair is just as cold as I remembered.
The table is the same size, the room just as plain and windowless, the lighting just as fragmented and fluorescent as it had been the last time I was here.
The chill to the air remains, the feeling of stagnancy, of undeniable stillness. It's like the world in here is inert; time doesn't pass, it stops.
The only thing different is the man sitting across from me.
He's no longer desperate like the first time I visited, or argumentative like the last time I visited. He's not even numb anymore because that would be something.
Instead, he sits here like he's been forced, like he's lost all sense of himself, like he's never even met himself.
He's frozen in this prison, departed from his own mind.
I stare because I'm not believing this is the man I fell in love with.
Physically he is, of course he is. He's just as gorgeous, just as haunted, just as striking as always, but the fire in his emerald eyes is gone. They don't even look like his eyes anymore.
But I wouldn't know, because he won't look at me.
Alone in this room, I'm beginning to think Emmett is wrong. Maybe I can't get him to talk; maybe this is it for us.
I don't know what to do with my hands, or my eyes, or my voice, so I sit still for a few more seconds before rearranging my position on the hard chair. His hands are under the table, mine are glued to each other.
I glance up towards the one-way mirror, seeing nothing but a reflection of myself, of the room, but I can feel Emmett watching me from his side and I know he's praying this works.
I clear my throat and sit up straighter, then lean my elbows on the table in between us. Edward doesn't move, or react to my movement.
"You don't want to talk to me, that's fine," I say eventually, keeping a close eye on his face for any sign of…something. There's nothing.
I wonder what he's looking at. His shoes, perhaps. The cement floor beneath his feet.
"But you shouldn't do this to Emmett."
I wait, but still, nothing.
"He's trying his hardest, Edward," I say.
He moves his head to the side slightly, still not looking at me, still indifferent, but my heart jumps because I don't know the extent of his unresponsiveness. Was that a response? Or was that normal? Would Emmett think nothing of that movement? I wish I had told him to come in with me so I could see his reaction.
"Is there anyone you would talk to?" I ask, grasping at straws. "Jake? Jasper? Your dad? Your mom?"
I'm guessing Emmett's already asked, because he doesn't even blink at the last two.
"I talked to Alice," I say, because I don't know what else to say. Maybe I'll just talk at him; he always seemed to be amused when I would talk without thinking. He always seemed to like when I put my foot in my mouth.
"She forgave me for what happened." I wince, because I don't know if I should bring this back up, but I don't know what else to bring up, because bringing up Mike is out of the question. "I think we're friends again."
No response.
I take a breath and glance down at the table myself, drawing a finger over an invisible pattern. "And she told me what Jasper said to you."
I've said it to pull a reaction, but I'm suddenly too nervous to look up at him even though, from my periphery, I can see his copper-haired head lift.
"And I can't stop thinking about it," I say, still staring at the table. It blurs beneath my vision.
I glance up at him and he's watching me silently, his green eyes slightly vacant like he's trying not to care, but I know him too well and I know that he does. He had fought me tooth and nail anytime I tried to get him to tell me what Jasper said. I don't think he wants to hear me say it.
"You told me that he was right, Edward." I have to blink a few times to focus on his face; the tears have only surfaced, not fallen.
"You said the only reason you hit him was because he was right." I shake my head, because I know he's not going to say a word.
"Did you honestly think that?" I ask. "Did you honestly think you were ruining my life?"
I bite my lip, irrationally angry with his silence, but his eyes are roaming my face and even though they are still emotionless, I think that maybe he's actually listening.
"Did you think that from the start?" I ask, wanting some sort of leeway to understanding. I can't help him if I don't understand, and I can't understand if he doesn't talk.
"When we first met, when we first started dating, did you think you were going to ruin my life?"
He blinks and then looks away from me dismissively and I can't take the silence anymore. I can't stand the sound of my own voice, my own questions, the heated pause between each one. I can't stand seeing him like this, because this isn't him.
He's passionate and angry and fiery and intense and he's none of that right now.
My shoulders slump forward and I feel like I'm falling in on myself because there's one more question that is swimming around in my head. The same question the guidance counselor had brought up, the same question I could feel in everyone's eyes after that summer day that I ended things with Edward.
"You didn't ruin my life," I say quietly, so quietly that I'm not even sure he can hear me.
"But," I finish, "I think I ruined yours."
