As promised, the story is not finished :).
Thank you endlessly for reading and for the amazing reviews! I am grateful to all of you and I am grateful to these two amazing ladies: CoppertopJ and gabby1017!
This chapter has a trigger warning, so if you are sensitive to certain topics, you can find it in the author's notes at the end of this chapter.
2006
The clock ticked and the clock tocked, as it neared midnight, its hands trembling slightly as they dragged across its smooth surface. I watched it in a trance-like state, focusing on nothing but its sounds and movements. It was a good exercise to keep me distracted, if I had learned anything about distractions. However, I had also learned that they never lasted long - or at least not long enough to chase the phantoms away. When the hour hand readied itself to move further, trembling just a little bit, I knew it was time to say goodbye to my fragile diversion.
The familiar string of thoughts coming from the hallway, accompanied by the sound of a confident stride, was a different kind of distraction, not as effective. Although, to be fair, I was yet to find something that could really numb the memories. Whenever I thought I had found a loophole, the memories only burned brighter, threatening to take me down with them if I didn't let them wreak havoc in my brain as they pleased. I was used to this internal punishment, because it went beyond my capacity to stop it. But I would be damned if I didn't need a night without it.
Hell, a night was asking for too much. But even an hour would have been a blessing right now.
"Don't you ever get bored, darling?"
The silken, almost instinctively-seductive voice reached my ears, but I made no effort to move from the bed. I had been laying unstirred for hours.
"I wish I had that luxury, Tanya."
I didn't have to look at her to know that my words got her to roll her eyes. She was a predictable creature. I always knew what to expect with her. It only served to make me acutely aware of the only woman who could surprise me. I missed being surprised.
"I'm going hunting with Will and Laurent in an hour", she said, not entertaining my response. "Do you want to join us?"
"It's fine, I don't need it."
"So it's rat blood again. Fantastic. At this rate, he'll turn into a rat himself."
I ignored her silent judgement, knowing that it didn't come from a place of meanness - just from utter confusion at my behaviour. She started pacing around the room, trying to get my attention so that I at least looked at her, but there was no energy in my body for that. Her thoughts were anxious, as she tried to come up with a way to express a particular question in her mind - she was mostly afraid I would say 'no'. In the end, she sat down on the other side of the bed, sighing at my complete lack of interest.
"Listen," she began, wishing to just get it over with. "When we return, Will and I plan to go downtown, to a pub. It's… been a while, you know?"
She didn't have to be more explicit for me to know exactly what she meant, but a surge of images of her last night of passion she had shared with a human man reached me regardless.
"Do what you want, I don't care," I said, perhaps too roughly, focusing with all my might to tune out her thoughts.
Thankfully, the explicit figment of her imagination died along with my aggressive voice, but it still haunted me. I knew fantasies weren't exactly something that a person could control, but that didn't make things any better. At least her past impure infatuation with me had withered completely.
"I was wondering if you wanted to join us - and before you say anything, I don't mean to join us for that, since I know your stance on it already," she offered. "But just to get out of the house, you know? I mean… I worry for you. And Will does too."
It was impossible not to huff at such a ridiculous idea
"And what the hell do you want me to do there? Dance?"
"It could be a start."
Once again, ridiculous. The last time I danced I was surrounded by azalea shrubs and drunk on the most narcotic scent on Earth. I remembered feeling somewhat happy then, but I couldn't exactly remember what that felt like, just the concept of it. The memory bubbled dangerously, wanting to get out and have its way with me. Its determination sent shivers down my spine.
"Forget it," I said.
"The offer stands if you change your mind, Mister Stubborn."
"Have fun."
I was moderately aware of her leaving the room, my attention already back on the clock, my only reliable safe haven at the moment.
Tick tock.
I needed the distraction more than anything, now that my mind was still stuck on that same damned image from earlier. It was past midnight. The hands on the clock moved a little too slowly for my liking. Who even decided we needed these arbitrary notions - seconds, minutes, hours? They were all the same to me, none faster than the other.
Tick tock.
The same chimera hunted my conscience, almost mocking my fruitless attempt to ignore it. I suddenly felt compelled to destroy all existing watches on Earth.
Tick tock.
The azaleas were bright and pink and smelled like lemons that night.
Tick tock.
She had never danced with me until then - just as she never would after.
Tick tock. Stop.
Her body had felt so soft in my arms, as she allowed me to lead her. Still trusting me.
Tick tock. Fuck. Too late.
It didn't matter how many times this happened before. It caught me unprepared regardless.
The synesthesia of it all enveloped me and kept me locked, unable to go anywhere else. I was no longer in this room, no longer in Denali, no longer myself. In front of my eyes, there was one single face. Big eyes, full of questions. Full lips, ready to shatter me if they moved. It was the same damned hallucination that had haunted me in the past six months relentlessly, which meant that I knew precisely what came next.
I stood up, trying to escape my own weakness and get a hold of reality, but my mind was still far away.
Everywhere I looked, I saw her. On the walls, on the ceiling, in the window, carved into the tissue of my retina. She wasn't angry, she wasn't even sad. She was simply confused, and, as always, the same question came out of her mouth when she finally spoke: 'Why did you do this to us, Edward?'.
Go away, go away, go away.
I grunted, grabbing the first object that was within reach and smashing it forcefully into the wall. Hundreds of shards rippled through the air and back at me, crumbling further upon contact with my impenetrable exterior. There was no more light in the room now that I had broken the only source of illumination - just like my ghost prefered. She thrived in the darkness.
My hands reached instinctively into the void, grabbing once again - it didn't matter what, I just needed to break something, if only to chase away the overwhelming panic that was playing with my nerve cells, stretching them thin and waiting for them to snap. More shards flew my way, this time followed by something wet and a gush of wind. And in the middle of this storm, the beautiful spectre persisted, disoriented: 'Why did you do this to us?'
"I don't fucking know!" I shouted at it, even if it did nothing to scare her away. I really should have known better.
My knees were failing me and I was ready to let them drag me down to the floor, on the fresh rug of broken glass, when I felt two pairs of arms surrounding me. They kept me steady, even if my mental state was anything but. I had no strength left - so instead of riposting, I accepted them, saying nothing as they guided me back on the bed. The mirage started to shatter in front of my eyes, until the only trace that it had ever been here was the faint lavender cloud that lingered in my nostrils.
I looked at my hands, the scars right above my knuckles visible even in the dark. The silvery ribbons forming a small little network at the base of each finger could be so easily missed from a distance. Tanya and William were both in front of me now, kneeling by the bed and each of them holding me in some way - Tanya's hand remained on my knee, while William's rested on my shoulder.
"It's all good, Edward," she whispered soothingly.
"Your mind is playing tricks on you again," he added, as if it was a novelty. "Damn, it gets worse. It shouldn't get worse."
I said nothing. What was there to say? It was hardly the first time this was happening - or the last. I only wanted to be able to have some semblance of control over it. For a moment, the possibility of never reaching such a stage left me feeling helpless.
"That's it," Tanya said matter-of-factly, a mere second after catching a quick glimpse of my hand. "You're not staying here tonight. You're coming with us. And I will drag you myself if I have to."
I got my first scar on New Year's Eve, a little over a month after leaving Granite Falls behind.
I had been on the run for weeks at that point, never staying in one place longer than one night at a time. My existence was a constant string of running and drinking the blood of the rats I found on the streets, feeling numb to the point in which I wasn't even sure I was alive anymore. Alice kept calling and texting, but I never found the strength to respond. I only read one of her texts - the first one, which she sent a week after my departure:
'I told her everything, Edward, but she is a mess. She takes your letter with her everywhere. She keeps asking me why you left and begs me to let her contact you, but I know your plea. Please, just answer your phone and at least talk to me.'
After that text, I found it impossible to even consider opening the rest. The greatest downfall of my decision to leave was knowing that she had to suffer once again at my hands. But she was also not alone - she had a family and plenty of shoulders to cry on while she grieved for the monster that had changed her life for the worst. It was a temporary pain, it had to be.
When I wasn't actively running or feeding, I simply laid - in abandoned attics, on mountain peaks, in caves, wherever my feet took me - and waited for a sign that I wasn't completely dead. But the sign never came.
Back then, I didn't appreciate the numbness. I saw it as an insult to everything I had lost. I wanted to suffer. I wanted the pain - the most poignant reminder that what I almost had had not been a mirage. And I sought it, hoping to find it, so that I could let it destroy me fully, like I deserved. However, it seemed that my anaesthetized conscience didn't want anything - not suffering, nor happiness. So I did the only thing that made sense: I went back to where it all started.
Port Angeles was a different beast during the holiday season. Covered in snow and adorned with Christmas lights, it barely matched what it looked like on the most fatidic night of my life. Most people were inside, loudly celebrating the end of yet another year. I paced back and forth around the city for hours, trying to awaken my senses. But between getting lost in the thoughts of all the strangers and getting weird looks from people who spotted me from their windows, I didn't accomplish much.
As midnight grew closer, my steps guided me closer and closer to the single most dangerous place in this city. The pier was empty when I stepped on it, not a single soul daring to come so close to the chilling winter breeze of the Salish Sea on the last day of the year. I looked at the lonely boats that were dangling above the freezing waters, hoping to find one in particular. But it wasn't there, its absence almost taunting me to accept my paralyzed emotional state.
For minutes on end, I waited, looking at the waves, praying that they could finally bring back my awareness. It felt as if they were calling to me to jump in - some misplaced call of the void. I knew that responding to it would be harmless, so a few moments later, I was diving inside the frosty torrents. I swam for a while, until the thoughts coming from the city lowered their volume, and then until they disappeared altogether. The water felt cold, to some extent, but not unpleasant, since my body wasn't much warmer.
I floated in silence, expecting the surge of emotions to hit. Alas, they seemed to be far away from my grasp, awfully unreachable. At this point, even physical ache would have been welcome, to serve as proof that I had not turned completely to stone. I cursed the body I was living in, despising its impervious design, its immortal form. Frustrated, I submerged myself underneath the icy waves, and inhaled deeply, allowing my lungs to get filled with water. A weird pressure started building in my airways, but I could barely feel any real discomfort, other than the one caused by the invincibility of my lungs.
Back to the surface, I could see the fireworks starting in the distance, their booming noise mingling with the eerie whir of the breeze. I checked my watch passingly, not truly surprised to discover that there were another ten minutes until midnight rolled in. Humans could be so impatient. The sight of my hand, illuminated under the rain of light that poured over the city, made me realize that there was one thing I had not tried. It went beyond all instincts of self-preservation. It transcended any survival instincts. Because deep down, I was aware that survival was not an option for me, but a given. I might as well play around the limits.
Without thinking further, I grabbed my index and middle fingers of my left hand and pulled as hard as I could.
My own roar resounded in the night, blending with the blast of the fireworks into a blasphemous marriage. Pain coursed through me, strong and throbbing, a definite proof that I could still feel something, anything, so I allowed it to take me prisoner. When I gazed down to assess the damage, the fact that two of my fingers were no longer attached to my hand was not the first thing that caught my attention.
Because in the background of the burning dolour, I saw the most beautiful eyes: the same uncertain shade as the day I left them, packed with unanswered questions.
The burning in my hand only made the illusion shine brighter under the dome of fireworks, and I bit down on my tongue, to stifle my wailing, and looked at my bewildered angel. For one perfect moment, her face remained serene - and then she opened her mouth to talk, a single question dangling in the air, as glacial as the waves crashing against me: 'Why did you do this to us?'.
She didn't sound mad - no, that would have been a good thing. Worse, she sounded hurt, and that was enough to undo me. I screamed in her wake, begging for her forgiveness, forgetting everything else. Consequently, my hibernating guilt broke free and unleashed a plethora of emotions that had been resting along with it: love, grief, hopelessness, frustration, agony, rage, contempt - each of them hollering like wild animals upon being set free. I cried out with them, submerging once again under the water, where my misery could not be heard.
And just like that, the phantasm shattered and the physical pain returned with doubled force. Instinctively, I made my way back to the top. In a weak impulse to make the burning stop, I grazed my tongue along the open wounds, covering them in a sheen of venom, and placed my ripped digits right back where they had been before. The tissues started to sew themselves back together, until the only sign that I had ever hurt myself laid in the fresh silver crack adorning my knuckles. Although the ache was still rippling softly through my hand, I could not care one bit - because I had finally felt again. It was exactly what I had been chasing for weeks. Exactly what I needed.
And exactly what convinced me that the physical torture was worth it if it could bring my love back to me in the only way that was possible: in my imagination.
By the time I arrived in Denali, the ashen scars had extended to cover my knuckles completely. Hurting myself became a habit easily - one that I didn't want to let go of, too scared that letting go would have brought back the daunting nothingness. Alice kept bugging me with phone calls I had no energy for, so I did the only thing I could - I ignored them. But then one night I started wondering how much worse it would hurt if I tried to detach my hand from my wrist altogether, and a strange sense of reason washed over me, warning me that maybe I was going too far.
But that curiosity kept returning regardless, day after day, night after night. Not knowing how to ignore it without going completely insane, I did the most shameful thing: I started seeking company. Before I knew it, my feet were dragging me through the Alaskan wilderness, to the place where all happiness died. I wasn't entirely sure why I had chosen to return there, but I was way past the point of questioning my judgement.
The Denalis had no reason to welcome me with open arms, but they did so anyway. I only found out afterwards that Alice had given them a gracious heads-up, so as not to take them by surprise. They didn't ask an awful lot of questions, they simply told me they had a spare room they could share if I needed it. At the time, I didn't think I was going to linger for longer than a few days. Yet days passed, then weeks passed, then months passed, and I still remained in the red cedar wood house in Denali. Something about it - or rather about its inhabitants - kept the need for self-harm at bay.
Tanya was the first to notice my scars, and also the first to pull me aside to talk about it. My reluctance to offer a direct answer to her questions made her come to the right conclusion on her own. After that, she had made it her life mission to make sure that my limbs stayed where they were supposed to. The ghost seemed to like Tanya's solicitude too, for it decided that it no longer needed to see me suffer in order to make an appearance; so it began to show up out of the blue, uninvited, whenever it pleased.
I rarely talked to anyone in the Denali coven, and maybe it was for the best. Kate didn't know how to handle my arrival without getting defensive. Laurent and Irina were cautious to the extreme, afraid that the newcomer could shatter their little corner of paradise. Then there were Carmen and Eleazar, the two vampires I had not got to meet when I first set foot in Denali; completely in love with each other and overly compassionate, they reminded me too much of my parents for comfort, so I actively avoided them. They didn't hold it against me - Eleazar's power allowed him to sense the gifts of others, and when he discovered that I was a mind reader, he quickly gathered that my own ability had left me fed up with social interactions. He was not entirely wrong.
The most unexpected surprise had been William. I was aware we had not exactly parted on good terms, so when one week after my arrival he offered to have a chat with me, concerned about my lasting quietness, I felt a little taken aback - although not fully, considering the fact that I had heard his internal conflicts before he finally decided to ignore them. I did not go into much detail about myself when we did talk. I appreciated the way he did not press for details. We sat in silence for the most part, and the crazy thing was that I had not felt uncomfortable doing so.
Choosing to overstay my welcome in Denali had not been a conscious decision - at least not at first. But as time went by, I began to appreciate the diversion brought by having company. It was a meek diversion, of course, but it was at least enough to keep my thoughts of self-inflicted violence locked in a box. However, Tanya always had her fears that I could slip again. I didn't tell her that there was no use in slipping anymore, since the spectre was always with me anyway; I already seemed crazy enough in her eyes, no need to entertain that particular fire further.
Tonight, her fears were doubled. As I stepped inside the pub, her worry felt much louder than the actual music. It was hard to ignore, even if she was trying to keep her cool on the surface. She and William had this unspoken agreement of taking turns when it came to not letting me out of their sight - which was mildly ridiculous, but I could not blame them, considering how not too long ago I destroyed the guest room in the midst of my panic attack.
William had easily found a willing woman to cuddle on his lap, while he and I sat side by side at a table and Tanya worked her magic on a helpless human male on the dance floor. She was taunting the human, as if he wasn't already bewitched by her succubus-like charm without her making an effort. I observed the scene blankly, pleased by the fact that this seemed to keep my mind occupied.
"I'm getting bored," the woman - Stacy? Tracy? I could not remember her name - William held in his arms complained. "I just want him to fuck me already. He knows I'm down. And his friend could definitely get it too, damn..."
"Am I boring you, baby?" he teased, his arms flying to effortlessly wrap around her waist.
"Not at all, I just wish we could get out of here soon. I have a big bed at home..."
"Mmmmm, how big?"
I cringed upon hearing him, and tried my best to ignore the way he was basically grinding himself against the woman's buttocks now. Being in such close proximity to something so intimate made me feel uneasy. It wasn't just the fact that it put me in the position of being an unwilling voyeur, but it also… reminded me of her, in a way that I had not anticipated.
It had been a long while since I last reminisced about the two of us in that way - the all consuming desire took a back seat long ago, allowing my other emotions to govern my being. I wasn't entirely sure I could handle it if it returned. In fact, it was safe to say I did not even want it to return.
But hell, I needed it to.
"Big enough… for all three of us," the no-name woman responded, taking him by surprise.
"I am not interested," I retorted, without looking at her.
"Why? Girlfriend waiting for you at home? We can invite her too."
My brain almost froze.
"No... no girlfriend," I said.
I heard William's mental apologies, but I didn't respond to them. In fact, I quickly came to the conclusion that fleeing the scene was the most logical thing to do. I stood up and turned around the table, ignoring their pleas to return. Although I tried to eschew the dance floor, Tanya still caught a glimpse of me as I quickly moved through the crowd.
"William, you idiot, what did you do?"
She excused herself mid-dance and followed me through the mass of moving people, calling after me to stop. I ignored her, stopping only when I was outside, with my back pressed against the brick exterior of the pub, with my eyes closed. The June air was mildly warm - as warm as it could get for Alaska - and slightly humid, foreshadowing an upcoming storm.
"What happened there?" she demanded. "Did my brother do something dumb?"
"No, it's not him," I sighed.
"Maybe it was not the smartest plan to bring you here. I should have stayed home with you."
I shook my head, trying very hard to find my words without breaking down mid-sentence. I felt the ghost's eyes taunting me, blinking at the very edge of my conscience.
"Then what is it, darling?"
Here goes nothing. Here goes everything.
"I just… fucking miss her," I said, only to realize immediately that 'miss' was too weak of a word to describe what I felt. "There's not a single moment she's not on my mind, and it feels as if so many things will simply remain unsaid."
Even if my eyes were closed and I could not see her face, Tanya's thoughts were descriptive enough for me to understand that she felt overwhelmed with compassion. She wanted to hug me, but she also knew I was averse to that.
"You know damn well she misses you too," she replied. "You would know it firsthand if you answered Alice's phone calls like I do."
"I won't open those wounds for her."
"Open them? It's not like they even healed."
"They will heal," I snarled, opening my eyes to glare at her. "In a few years maybe, but they will. Alice saw her being happy with the rest of the Cullens."
Her golden eyes stared me down in return and there it was again, the look that screamed 'you are crazy'. But instead of arguing, she chose a different route - the one of unsolicited advice.
"You could talk to her at one point."
I inhaled deeply, trying to calm myself, before responding.
"I told her to never contact me again, so she could move on. What kind of moron would I be if I broke that rule and contacted her?
"You wouldn't be a moron just because you didn't want to suffer anymore. Even writing would be a good idea. Anything to get those unsaid things out of your system."
I rolled my eyes, not surprised that she didn't understand. This was exactly why I preferred to keep to myself. There was, however, one thing that got my attention.
Writing.
At one point, I thought that my goodbye letter was going to be enough - for me and for her. But time proved me wrong, because it seemed that I still had so much left to say. And, if what Alice told Tanya over the phone was true, then… my love felt very much the same way. But I could not break my own promise out of selfishness. If I wanted her to ever find sanity, I had to remain as detached from her life as possible.
But then again, the idea of writing to her was not entirely irrational, if I kept the letter to myself. I didn't have to send it. I didn't even have to put it in a nice envelope. I could destroy it as soon as I got all the words down on paper. Writing it had the potential of ripping me away from my routine for a few minutes.
"I'm going home," I decided out loud.
"But it's been less than an hour..."
"You don't have to follow me there, I won't break anything this time."
"That is a dangerous promise, if I know anything about you. At least wait for me to get my bag."
Maybe in other circumstances I wouldn't have waited. But this time I did, if only out of gratitude for the way she had planted the most reasonable idea in my head.
"My love,
It has been exactly seven months and three days since I left. Six months since I first saw your ghost. Five months since I realized I didn't have to hurt myself anymore in order to hallucinate. Three hours since my last panic attack and God knows how many until my next.
I told Tanya that there are many things left unsaid between me and you, yet now that I am writing down these words, I realize I don't even know what I want to tell you. You know I love you already. You know I am sorry for everything. Repeating the obvious is moot. I only wish I could tell you about New Year's Eve and the Denalis and all the broken furniture. Maybe you would understand these things better than I ever could - although assuming you would be interested to listen to everything I have to say might be a bit of a ridiculous stretch on my part.
But perhaps the most ridiculous thing is writing anything at all to you, knowing that this letter will never reach you. Because at the end of the day you're nothing more than a fantasy - far away and intangible, just a frail figment of my imagination. Sometimes I wonder if you even existed at all.
I don't know why I ever thought this would be a good idea. I'm sorry.
I love you.
Yours forever,
Edward"
The urge to rip the paper in half was strong, but ripping it would not have been enough. I wanted to burn it, to watch it go up in flames and forget it ever existed. I looked around the room, hoping to find a lighter in the chaotic mess. There were still glass shards, pieces of the broken lamp and scattered objects everywhere, serving as a testament of my outburst from a few hours earlier. I promised myself I would clean it all up once I finished the letter.
I picked up the books I had thrown on the floor, disappointed to see the light scraping caused by the broken glass on their covers. I read their titles in passing, as I put them back on the desk, not giving them much thought, until one title caught my eye: 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame'. A little wilted blue petal peeked from its insides, and just like that, I was no longer looking for a lighter.
Instead, I folded the letter in half, careful not to make any irregular dents, and opened the book. I placed the paper under the flattened nest of flowers, making sure that they all fit together snuggly. After closing the book and putting it back with the rest, I waited. I could feel in my bones that whatever piece of solace I found seconds ago was about to be shattered. And sure enough, I was about to be proven right when I saw the familiar pair of disoriented eyes gleaming close to me.
I knew the question that followed. I braced myself for it, praying that it wouldn't bring me to my knees again.
But, for the first time ever, the ghost didn't ask me anything. It just sat quietly by my side and remained there, while the night melted away all around us.
When the first rays of the morning painted the walls a shade lighter, she was no longer there.
I don't know about you, but my heart is in ruins after this chapter :(.
What were your thoughts on Edward's hallucinations of Bella?
What about the time he spent New Year's Eve on his own in Port Angeles, where it all started?
Did you expect Tanya and William to offer him a shoulder to cry on?
I am curious (and yet again anxious) to find out what you thought of this chapter. I know it may not be the most pleasant read, considering all the suffering that is going on at the moment, but I absolutely love writing it.
Until next time, stay safe and happy!
TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains graphic depictions of self harm. Proceed with care.