A/N: So, I've finally been writing. This block was chronic, I tell you, but fingers crossed this purge, or whatever the hell it is, lasts. Ugh.
Thanks to Kim, who edited, and Melinda and Leigh for pre-reading. Love yas.
Black Swan
Chapter 27
Just as Carlisle predicted, two days after I stopped feeding Edward my blood he slept. Actually, to say he simply slept is a gross under-exaggeration. He was practically comatose, and he almost didn't make it home from school. I was forced to practically carry him from the car, and when I got to my room I was confronted by a very masculine-looking king-sized bed front and center, opposite where my chaise once sat.
I could only shake my head at my parents' lack of consideration for everything when it comes to me, as Edward, dead on his feet and barely lucid, proceeded to strip clumsily down to his underwear, and crawled beneath the covers. He was out the instant his head hit the pillow.
He slept for seventy-eight consecutive hours, and during that time I realized several things, but two more prominently. The first, it's insane how adorable he is while asleep, and the second, the anxiety I had that he wouldn't wake up again only solidified the fact that this human is indeed my mate.
While Edward wasn't at school, I point blank refused to go without him. For once, Esme didn't fight me on it, and Carlisle actually called in to report all four of us, Rose and Emmett included, had been struck down by a virus.
I stayed by his side with every one of my senses trained on the soft rhythmic sound of his breathing and the body of muscles in his back steadily rising and falling.
Around midday on the third day—the day his parents are due to return home—he started to stir, but it took another couple of hours before he fully woke; only then could I breathe a sigh of relief.
Until I realized something wasn't quite right with him.
. . .
"You feeling okay?" I ask after he stumbles from the bathroom, sitting himself on the edge of the bed and dropping his head heavily into his hands. He's unusually pale, and despite the longevity of sleep he's just had, dark circles lay conspicuously beneath his eyes.
"Yeah..." he mumbles, his voice hopelessly cracked from obvious lack of use. "Just strung out."
"Hungry?" I add softly, placing my palm to his bare back.
His skin is warm, a little too warm, and he immediately jolts as though I shocked him.
"Your hands are cold," he explains.
"Are they?" I say lightly, returning the rueful smile he flashes me, but I'm beginning to feel plagued by concern. "Come downstairs. Mommy Dearest is waiting to feed you."
He shakes his head grimacing. "I'm not hungry."
"Okay, what's the matter with you?" I demand, placing my hand to his brow this time, and that's when I realize he isn't just warm, he's hot. "Jesus—back in bed!" I order him.
He doesn't argue. It's one more red flag in a long line of them, and to make matters worse, Carlisle won't be home until much later tonight.
I call Esme. She takes one look at him and immediately frowns. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asks in a soothing voice after taking his temperature; it's just over 102.
"Hung-over," Edward answers with a half moan before rolling to his back and draping a forearm over his face. "The light's...hurting my eyes."
"Would you like some Tylenol?" She places the back of her fingers against his forehead, as hers knots deeply.
Edward only shakes his head and groans again, more audibly this time.
"How about some juice?" she continues to press. "It's very likely you're dehydrated."
"Sure," he whispers, though, it's obvious he has no intention of drinking anything.
By the time Esme returns, orange juice in hand as well as a plate of cookies, Edward's fallen back to sleep.
"I'd say his blood sugar is low," she attempts to assure me, even as concern continues to mar her expression.
I nod, distracted. The very same concern lingering at the back of my mind refuses to budge. What makes it worse is I have absolutely nothing to compare him to. Vampires tend to kill their singers on sight, not feed them their blood.
He sleeps for another hour, but it's fitful and he tosses and turns so much he eventually wakes himself back up.
"I'm going to have to get you back home soon," I admit reluctantly.
"Bella..." he begins, but abandoning it behind a rustic-sounding moan, he slowly drags himself from the bed. "I still feel drunk," he mutters as he awkwardly pulls his legs through his jeans.
He's stiff and uncoordinated, and on impulse, my hands spring out to steady him. He's noticeably cooler I realize with an inward sigh of relief. "I'd say you're hung-over from too much sleep."
He laughs once and without humor. "Yeah."
"You should probably eat something," I echo my mother's sentiments after he yanks his sweater over his head.
"I'll be fine," he mumbles, flashing me a small smile and running his hand over his forehead and through his hair, making it even more chaotic. "What time is it?"
"Almost three-thirty in the afternoon."
He groans again semi-beneath his breath. "I should get going. The house is probably covered in dust."
"Esme had it cleaned yesterday," I inform him.
He pauses and glances up at me, his expression softening. "She didn't have to do that."
"She didn't clean it herself," I say lightly, but I'm still worried; he's discernibly off.
"I know," he mumbles, a slight blush covering his cheeks as he sits himself on the edge of the bed and bends down to tie his shoe laces.
"You really need to eat something," I insist, placing myself beside him.
He shakes his head. "My stomach's...not great."
I only sigh but don't offer anything in response. I absolutely detest feeling like this. Worrying about a human...
. . .
I have Edward back at "his folk's home" by five, and by that time his health has notably declined. Not only is his fever back, but his color is awful and he's descended into trembling.
The instant he reaches his bedroom, he ditches his clothes and pulls on a pair of sweats, before dragging himself awkwardly onto his neatly made bed. His entire room is in order, I quickly note, but that doesn't surprise me where Esme's concerned. She no doubt took one look at it and broke into hives.
He groans again, loudly this time, and pushes his face into his pillow. This time though, I almost echo him.
"Edward, something's wrong," I voice my concerns as I sit myself beside him. My hand, as though on auto-pilot, reaches out for him before catching myself, I withdraw it. "Try eating something and see if it makes you feel better."
"You're always telling me if I puke over you, you'll kill me," he points out as a hint of a smirk tugs on his lips, despite the fact that he's really beginning to look like death.
"I'm sure I'll forgive you," I reply a little too softly, but at the same time, I'm beginning to wrestle with serious anxiety.
It's obviously something Edward picks up on, too, and glancing over his shoulder, that smirk of his almost reappears. "Worried about me, are you?"
"Of course I am, you little shit!" I say a little too defensively. "Even think about dying on me, and I'll help you to it."
His smile this time is genuine. "I'm fine. Just..." Frowning, his eyes sever from mine.
"Just...?"
"Give me your blood?" he asks, his entire expression morphing with hope.
I open my mouth to respond, but closing it quickly, I shake my head. "I can't. It was beginning to...transform you."
He sighs audibly this time, before again planting his face flush to his pillow.
"What do you think you could stomach? Soup?" I ask, after a moment of watching him quiver into his mattress even as he made a concerted effort to prevent it.
"Are you going to make it?" he asks, turning sluggishly on his back.
"I'm sure I could manage it," I assure him wryly.
"You know how to use a microwave?" he puts to me, unconvinced.
"A...what?" I'm genuinely stumped, and in response, he chuckles, but his waning energy is heavily reflected in it.
"You don't know what a microwave is?"
"Evidently not." I arch a brow in silent warning. I have no tolerance for any human mocking me, especially Edward. Even now.
"Okay, I get that you don't eat, but do you watch...TV?"
"Sitcoms about humans eating? Sounds riveting," I say dryly.
He flashes me a sarcastic grin, then closes his eyes and turns away from me. "I'll be okay. Once I sleep this shit off..." he mumbles, but he's continuing to tremble, and it's beginning to vibrate his entire bed.
"Edward..." I begin when the sound of a car pulling into the drive immediately distracts me. I pull myself from his bed and walk with resigned steps to his window. As expected his parents are home. "I should go," I say over my shoulder.
"No," he protests weakly. "Please don't."
"You need to sleep this shit off," I remind him lightly, but my concern for him simmering skin deep is only increasing.
"Just, don't go. Even if I'm asleep. I-I...I don't know..." He expels his breath as though in frustration. "When you're not around, I can't think straight."
"What am I supposed to do?—hide in your closet?" I fold my arms across my chest and tilt my head, and for a fleeting moment, he almost grins.
"My folks rarely come in my—"
"Edward?" His sentence is cut short by the sounds of his mother's voice on the stairs.
He groans again. "Yeah?" He barely has the strength to raise his voice, and in response my heart falters. I'm beginning to think he's addicted to my blood and is going through withdrawal.
His doorknob turns and in an instant I leave, perching myself on the roof directly above his bedroom.
"What's the matter with you?" his mother demands in accusation. "Are you drunk? Is that what you've been doing the entire time we were away?"
"I have a virus—we all caught it," Edward complains, his voice taking on a jaded edge.
"Who is we?" she asks with notable suspicion behind her voice.
"Bella, Emmett, and Rose." He expels a resigned-sounding breath.
"The orphans the Cullens foster?" his mother surmises in blatant disapproval. "Didn't we discuss that?"
"Mom..." he mutters with a huff this time. "Bella's my girlfriend..."
"What happened to Lauren?" She's aghast, and on impulse I stiffen. It's probably prudent that I leave now. I really don't want a reason to kill this horrid, bigoted woman.
"I was never serious about her," Edward answers in a quiet, uneasy voice; he knows I can hear every word of this conversation. "Mom...can we talk about it later?"
"There's really nothing to say," she replies dismissively. "You know my feelings on the matter. In any sense, get some sleep." With that said, her footsteps retreat and the loud click of his door latching closed signals her leave.
"Bella?" Edward calls to me softly.
I don't reply; not until I'm sure his father isn't going to check up on his son in a similar manner do I re-enter his room. He remains lying on his back, one arm folded beneath his head.
"I'm sorry," he appeals to me softly, holding his free hand out to me.
I take it and sit on the edge of his bed again. "It's okay. I'm not exactly an ideal daughter-in-law," I tease him gently, but I'm more bothered by his mother's reaction than I'm prepared to admit.
"I'm still sorry. She's just a..." he abandons it with a heavy sigh. "They think they can tell me who to marry, along with everything else about my life," he mumbles.
"Stop worrying. I'm not that easily chased off," I assure him with a wink.
A smile ghosts over his lips before it inevitably falls. "Please don't kill her."
I almost laugh, needing to smother it through my nose. I can't help it; he seemed so sincere and earnest. "I won't."
He does smile this time, but all it does is impress upon me how unwell he is. "Good, now don't go anywhere."
"I'll come back when your parents have gone to bed."
He closes his eyes and groans to himself. "At least stay until I fall asleep."
I take a deliberate breath and relent; it's inevitable though, and something I'm constantly doing. "Okay." Reaching out, I run my fingers along his creased forehead and into the front of his hair. His skin is pallid, clammy and still hot to the touch. I immediately frown.
He notices, but there isn't much he doesn't nowadays. "What?"
I shake my head, and glance away, biting down on my lower lip as my thoughts brim over. "Nothing."
"I probably should eat," he mumbles, and I know it's to placate me.
I immediately break into a warm smile. "I'll get Esme to microwave you some soup."
His grin almost turns sunny and he tugs me closer to him; something I allow. "You really don't know what a microwave is?"
"That thing that cooks that other thing?" I joke, imitating his Clark Gable faux pas.
"Ha-ha," he says dryly, but the smile doesn't wane from his lips. Altogether it's pathetic. And adorable.
"I should go," I say abruptly after realizing I'd descended into smiling idiotically at him again.
"I'm not asleep yet," he complains, tightening his grip on my hand as though he can somehow prevent me from leaving.
"Well, close your eyes and shut up."
With yet another groan, he complies, and not five minutes later he dozes off, even as his body continues to quiver and flush with fever.
Not until I'm positive he's in the deepest phase of sleep do I rise to leave, but not before bending down to plant my lips gently to his brow. "I'll be back," I promise in a whisper.
When I leave to return to the house, I do so in human speed. I'm in no hurry to surround myself with my family with the way my mind is fermenting with so much uncertainty. I need to properly comprehend everything; to process it, if it's even possible at the moment.
I know one thing, though: I'm in turmoil over that damn handsome boy, and it's becoming more familiar than I have ever tolerated – even when I was a human.
Rose believes I'm in love with him, and for the first time since I've known him, I'm beginning to suspect she may be right. I barely know myself, and even now I want to shy away from it, whether it's true or not.
"How's he feeling?" Esme meets me at the entrance.
"He's..." With a small shake of my head I abandon it.
"I'm sure he'll be fine, sweetheart." She lays a consoling hand on my shoulder, but I don't share her confidence.
"When will Carlisle be home?" I ask, my eyes beyond her to Alice. My shield is lowered, and judging by the small nod Alice directs at me, she's aware of my motives. I need her to keep her senses sharply in tune to him right now.
"Around ten or eleven. Would you like me to ask him to leave early?" she suggests.
I look at her properly for the first time; she has a dish cloth draped over her shoulder as though she'd just done the dishes. Knowing my mother, she probably has, and by hand. She never could rid herself of that domestic streak that followed her into immortality. "No. I might...call him," I mumble, moving past her to head to my room. I dial Carlisle as I do. He usually picks up all calls. The Olympic Medical Center doesn't exactly keep him busy, and it's no different tonight.
"Bella," he states in that ever-sedate, patient tone of his.
"Carlisle—can you talk freely?" I say a little too abruptly.
"Yes. What is it?"
"I...think... I mean, I think Edward is chemically addicted...to my blood," I finish in a small voice, the shame seeping heavily behind every word.
He releases a wearied-sounding breath. "Your mother informed me he woke feeling unwell. It's very possible he's dehydrated and—"
"It's more than that, Carlisle!" I insist, cutting him off.
"What are his symptoms?" he asks behind yet another sigh.
"Nausea, shaking, fever..."
"I see," he murmurs, clearly becoming lost in thought.
"Is there any knowledge...?" I abandon it, letting my mind stray. I'm fairly certain Edward and I are the exception to the rule in our world, and it gives me no comfort.
"Let me look into it," he promises. "I'll call when I know more."
"Thanks," I mumble, running my hand through my hair. It's something Edward often does, but it's a mannerism I'm not usually prone to.
"Are you with him now?"
"No. His parents don't exactly approve of me," I answer ruefully, and in response, Carlisle snorts softly to himself, alluding to his amusement. "Yes, it's hilarious."
"I can't say I'm surprised," he says lightly.
"It has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the fact that his mother is an elitist old troll," I add, my voice darkening dangerously as I recall his mother's blatant prejudice toward not only me, but Rose and Emmett.
"She's still his mother," he points out, because like Edward, he fully assumes I plan on killing her. Though, in all honestly, I'm not confident I still won't.
"I realize that," I speak in monotone. "I already promised him I wouldn't harm her."
"That's good, and you might want to return to him. There's no precedent that I know of when it comes to Edward, and I'd feel more at ease if I knew he wasn't alone."
"Okay—"
The word is barely passed my lips when Alice bursts into my room, a look of sheer panic overrunning her expression. "Bella, it's Edward! Get over there. Now!"
"What?—what's wrong with him?!" I demand, as my heart reacts to the very idea of it.
"He's"—she shakes her head erratically, her brow knotting with it as though whatever she's seen is confusing her—"he's sick—just go. Take Emmett, but go now!"
Jane was right about me; as a human I wasn't very dexterous, and as an immortal, while I'm strong, I'm by no means the fastest. That's Alice. But with the thought of Edward being in real danger, I push myself to my limits until I'm choking on my own breath. By the time I reach Edward, he's in a similar state.
I find him on his bathroom floor curled up in pain and tremoring violently, and while he's completely drenched through with sweat, he's deathly pale.
"Hey!" My voice all but fails as I throw myself to the floor beside him. I place my palm to his cheek and almost immediately withdraw it; his skin is burning.
"Bel...la," he strangles out, grabbing hold of my shirt with his fist and practically pulling me on top of him, "I'm...I'm..." He takes a gulping breath and groans, his limbs twitching in a way that suggests he's seizing.
"Edward—Jesus, what is it?" I demand frantically, and a little too loudly. "Tell me!"
"Bella, we better get him out of here and back to Carlisle."
Emmett breaks my focus, and whipping my head around, I stare at him at a complete and utter loss.
He's standing just inside the room, his arms folded tersely across his broad chest and his expression openly afflicted. And without waiting for me to answer, he steps forward and lifts Edward up in his arms.
Edward immediately jolts, and as he cries out in pain, Emmett clamps his palm over his mouth to muffle him. "Let's go," he says, and I'm fairly certain I have never seen my brother look as serious as he does right now in all of my sixty-seven years.
Just like the first time, the moment Emmett lays Edward down on the table in Carlisle's makeshift surgery, Esme attempts to usher me out of the room.
This time I'm having none of it, though. "I'm not going anywhere!" I stubbornly insist, grabbing Edward's hand that he outstretches toward me.
"B-B-Bel-la," he stammers behind the force his body is continuing to shake, "y-you h-have t-t-to ch-change m-me."
Shaking my head, I reach out with my free hand and run my fingers over his clammy brow and into his damp hair. "Carlisle will fix you, Edward. Just...hang on, okay?"
Squeezing his eyes closed, he shakes his head in a disjointed movement. "N-No, B-Bella, I-I'm d-dying."
"You're not dying," I assure him vehemently, leaning in so close to him my lips almost come into contact with his. "I promise you."
"B-Bella, p-please g-g-give m-me y-your bl-blood," he begs me with so much desperation that I very nearly do.
Instead, I shake my head, closing my eyes as tears silently spill beneath my lashes. "You still say my name entirely too much."
"Bella, please wait outside."
It's Carlisle this time; he passes me, rolling his sleeves as he does, his focus solely on Edward. I knew he was leaving the hospital early, but if the time it took him to arrive isn't proof enough that he ran home, the state he's in is. He's wet and mud splattered with insects and various debris from the woods caught in his flaxen blond hair. It only impresses further on me how serious he believes the situation is.
"Can I stay?" I ask meekly, causing him to pause for a moment to study me. I almost cower beneath the uncharacteristic hardness of his expression.
"No. Emmett?" He signals him to remove me.
"Carlisle—"
"It's not up for debate, Bella. Emmett!" he cuts me off sharply, and behind his normally stoic gold eyes a fire is brewing.
"C'mon, sis," Emmett says, moving to my side and wrapping a steady arm around me.
"Get your hands off me," I threaten, shoving him from me. "I'm staying!" I stand firm.
"Bella..." he appeals to me, his voice softening. "Please."
I shake my head, but it's not in answer to him. I'm pretty sure it's to stop myself from succumbing to tears. Before me, Edward continues to violently shake, his long fingers remaining tangled around my shirt, stretching the material so much it exposes my bra underneath.
"B-Bel-l-l-la..." he struggles to articulate my name, "s-stay w-with..."
I cup my palm to his burning cheek and come infinitely close to resting my forehead to his. "I'll be right outside," I assure him, fighting to keep my tone even.
He doesn't let me go, and I'm not sure I have it in me right now to forcibly remove him.
I don't have to. As Carlisle tears his shirt from his back, the force of it pulls him from me, and sensing that I'm about to well and truly lose it, Rose materializes beside me. Placing a consoling arm around my shoulders, she swiftly leads me from the room.
Esme closes the door on the two us, and expelling a jaded breath, I lean myself against it and fold my arms over my chest. "What the hell have I done?" I lament in a murmur to no one in particular.
"You fell in love with a human," Rose says simply.
I look up at her and scoff; if only it were that simple. "You might as well tell me what Alice saw to start all this."
She gauges me closely for a moment, no doubt making sure I won't murder her. "She said you would find your mate and it would fundamentally transform you.
I snort derisively. "Has it?"
"Fundamentally, no, but has he changed you? Without a doubt."
I jerk an irritated shoulder, much like Edward does. "What else?"
"She said he'd be in high school, though he'd be a few years older than you, and we couldn't tell you because you'd kill him."
I snort again, ironically this time. I couldn't kill Edward if I tried. Something I have attempted more than once. "Did you know who he was before I did?"
"No." She shakes her head to further reiterate it. "Alice only said he'd be roughly the same height as Jasper. I suspected he was the one when you realized he was your singer, but when you not only let him live, but brought him back here, I knew you were aware of it, as well."
"What does that mean?" I demand unsure I want the answer. At that point in time, all I wanted was to feed from him. At least, that's what I presumed I wanted.
She raises an emphatic brow. "You need me to spell it out? Humans do not tend to survive a close encounter with Isabella Swan. Especially ones his age. Your little red canary in there"—she tilts her head toward the surgery—"has survived several."
I sigh heavily and hang my head. "Regardless..." I don't finish, I can't. I don't have words for any of this, whether or not I ever did.
"He'll be fine," she feels the need to reassure me.
"Until the next time..." I mutter to myself.
"You need to change him, Bella. It's the only thing that will make all this stop. While he's still human, you'll never be fully comfortable around him."
I jerk another irritable shoulder just as Jasper arrives. He doesn't need to ask me to lower my shield, I've kept it down waiting for him. And to allow Edward to see into my mind; it's all I can really offer him right now.
Without a word, he unleashes his bewitching calm upon me, and closing my eyes, I allow it to fully encase me.
"Thank you," I whisper without raising my eyes from the hardwood floor.
"You still think you haven't changed?" he challenges me, though, his tone is gentle and responsive.
"Of course I have," I admit. Even I'm aware of that.
"Alice wanted me to tell you he's going to be alright," he says after a moment of silence.
"Why doesn't she tell me herself?" I ask, my eyes remaining fixed to my feet.
"She's scared of you," he answers with a tinge of humor behind his voice.
"Plus she feels guilty for keeping everything from you," Rose adds, smirking when I raise my gaze to hers.
"She should," I mumble. I shrug again, surprised by how easily I'm mirroring his quirks. "God..."
"Hmm?" Rose speaks up.
I look up, shaking my head to myself as I do, because even now I can barely comprehend it. "He's infected me."
A/N: thanks for reading, and a spoiler: the next chapter Bella tells Edward how she died.