Chapter 15. Normal
Humans can be stubborn creatures.
Isabella, I find, is quite possibly one of the most stubborn of all.
Just this morning, for example, we had a perfectly enjoyable shower together. Aside from being a bit disappointed that her scent was completely washed away from me, I thought we were in a good place here. On the same page and all that.
Apparently not.
"There isn't a job you hold that cannot be replaced by something somewhere else."
She stops, mid inspection of the dress she's found in a touristy shop she thinks is fucking awesome and tilts her head up at me with a teasing scowl upon her face. "I'm going to pretend that wasn't meant to be an insult of some sort."
She goes back to scrutinizing clothing, and although I'm quite smitten by the way she can appear agitated and amused at the same time, I shrug at her declaration. She may think the city holds her there somehow, but if I want to avoid Poseidon, we'll need to move along. Keep him guessing where we are.
"I'm simply stating the obvious, Isabella. Anything you're doing in Los Angeles you can do anywhere. There are plenty of elderly people needing assistance in… Nevada for example."
Another look of shock and awe is awarded to me. "Nevada?"
As though I'm the crazy one. What does she have against Nevada? It's a perfectly good state.
The weather perhaps.
"Texas then?" It's warmer there. But still her face is a frozen sculpture of confusion and irritation. "We could move to the East Coast if you prefer?"
Her hand stops, mid-shuffling of hangars, before she begins again, slower. "We?"
"I mean…"
She inspects one item in particular, quite closely. "Why would you want to leave your businesses anyway?"
Good question.
"Maybe I'm tired of them."
Isabella lets out an abrupt, forced sounding laugh. "Edward, sometimes, I swear, it's like you're a different person all of a sudden."
She trails off, shaking her head.
If she only knew.
"Perhaps I am," I say aloud before thinking it through. She looks up at me, curious, suspicious maybe.
"Since when?"
Isn't it obvious? "Since you."
Crimson rises to her cheeks and I sometimes wish I could make that happen every moment of every day. It's absolutely beautiful.
I follow her to another rack. "Tell me, Isabella, am I the only one to make you blush?"
She hesitates, holding her breath for a moment but then finds her determination despite the blushing glow in her skin. "You're not changing the subject, Edward… ah!" She finds a top she likes. Albeit a bit too large for her frame but still, finally. "Come on, we're going home."
Home.
She says the word as though it's something she yearns for. Something she needs.
"I wasn't changing the subject, you w-"
"Up-bup-bup." She holds a hand up, cutting me off, then strides over to me slowly.
She's close. And once upon a time I might have thought too close, but now she's not nearly close enough. She traps my stare in hers and my breathing catches in the back of my throat, unwilling to let me speak at all.
Those lips. Those beautiful, succulent lips. She wets them with her tongue, and I am but a frozen sculpture for her to mold as she pleases.
Whittle away, Isabella. I am yours to do with what you will.
As she slips a delicate hand into the front pocket of my pants, it surprises me only for a moment. That feeling is forgotten when another one is awoken as her hand grazes an area she only recently ignited into life.
Many times.
I won't say I'm completely against publicly violating Isabella. It obviously would not take much more convincing. When she pulls my car keys out and dangles them in front of me, I'm disappointed to see that's not what she had in mind.
"Either you drive, or I will," she tells me with a sly grin that makes me want to follow through on my initial instinct.
I shut my mouth because I'm only now realizing it's hung open like some sort of prehistoric cave dweller this entire time.
Before I can snatch my keys back, Isabella is on her way to the cash register to pay for her items. As I reluctantly join her to wait for my next opportunity to convince her to stay, the store clerk stares at me. I can feel it. Only every time I try to match her stare, she averts her eyes back down to the clothing she's ringing up.
Even Isabella notices.
"May I help you?" I finally ask, annoyed with this human's rudeness.
The girl chokes on her own nerves like a child might and casts her eyes toward something… anything else. "I'm sorry Mr. Cullen, it's just - I'm surprised to see you here."
I roll my eyes and sigh. More of this.
"Day tripping it, Cullen?" one man comments with a salute of some sort from out on the sidewalk.
I shake my head and grab Isabella's bag before leaving the store. I do not like being in the dark with whatever the Hell is going on here. But I will find out. Eventually.
There are other side eyes as we make our way to the car. Incoherent whispers float around us as I toss her shopping bag into the trunk along with the many towels we purchased yesterday. If it were not for Isabella being with me, I might be so inclined to smite every human in the vicinity.
As it is, however, she is here, with me. The rest of them don't matter at all.
Before I'm at the driver's side, Isabella pushes me aside and slips into the vehicle, behind the steering wheel.
"You relax, I'm driving," she advises, and then shoots a confused look at the console. She cannot find the key slot.
"It's push button, Isabella." I point to it.
"Ah!" She presses the engine power switch and the car roars to life. When her foot thrusts against the gas pedal, I am, admittedly, turned on a bit. But this is apparently not the time to undress Isabella - with all the pedestrians blatantly staring.
The ride home is much more… everything, than the ride here was.
The goddess beside me is not afraid when I very nonchalantly reach over and take her hand in mine. She doesn't flinch when I choose to trail a finger up and down her arm, while pondering what will happen upon our return to Los Angeles and how things went with Emmett and Poseidon. How I will handle the conversation with Emmett in the aftermath. Or how I'm planning on avoiding my brother for the infinite future.
That's not to say she doesn't notice.
"You look awfully deep in thought over there, Edward." By the time I register that's she expects a response, she adds, "Regretting anything?"
How could she possibly think this way? "I am considering the consequences of some recent actions, Isabella, however I could never regret anything that happened this weekend."
"Good. Because I don't either."
I glance over at her and I know the elation she brings to me must show. "Good."
"Now-" she reaches for her cell phone and holds it out to me. "Hook your Bluetooth up to my phone for me. We need road trip music."
Um. She wants me to do what with my what?
"Mmm? Sorry?"
"Bluetooth."
I panic a bit. I have no idea what she's talking about. Or what it has to do with her phone.
She reads me instantly and pulls the phone back. "Right. I forgot you're the last of the anti-technologicals." Then she sniggers at her own made up word then opens up the middle console of the vehicle and sorts through some cases until she finds one and smiles.
"This'll do."
She slides the silver disc into a slot on the dashboard. When the music begins to play, Isabella's entire body relaxes into the driver's seat and the remainder of our drive is spent in idle chitchat, silent appreciation of the song choices she's made, and staring out at a world I have yet to discover beyond Los Angeles, California.
xXxXx
"This is not Los Angeles, Isabella," I tell her as we pull into an empty parking lot. She grins over at me and I am, for once in my lifetime, feeling as though I'm not the only evil entity in this world.
"Come on." She flies out of the car and I find I have to quicken my pace to catch up to her.
A scrawny human with disheveled blonde hair and a pimpled face opens the door to the building for us with excitement at first and then a depressed, practically manic, "Oh," when he sees me.
Feeling's mutual, insignificant human.
"Isabella?"
"Mike, this is my -"
"Boyfriend," I finish for her. Him. For both of them. Just so we're clear. Because the expression on this younger being's face tells me he was expecting her to be alone.
Never going to happen, I'm afraid.
Isabella's laughter flits through the air, and I cannot help but to shoot a warning look in the direction of the boy who thinks he has a place in her life.
As he leads us down a plain hallway with not much to consider, I watch as the man-child's eyes glaze over while talking with Isabella. Every so often, his hand reaches to offer her assistance with stairs as though she doesn't know how to walk on her own.
She's a fully grown woman, for the love of Satan.
If he touches her I will incinerate every bone in his body.
Finally, when he's gone and I am once again alone with Isabella, I'm about to ask what this side trip is all about when twinkling lights ignite all around us.
"What is this place?"
"You seemed so sad when you said you missed them back home. In LA."
Sad is not the word for it. And LA is not my home. But that's neither here nor there. She's brought me the Heavens. An act no one has ever done, nor would they ever do for me.
And now I'm going to bring them to her.
I nudge Isabella toward the closest object for stability and I rid her of the dress she's only purchased just today. I caress her body with the gentlest of touches until I can no longer take the waiting. I lift her, I kiss her, and I show her my gratitude for such a thoughtful gift.
xXxXx
"Tell me what we're looking at?"
Isabella's hand slides into its home around my waist as we lay back in one of the chairs provided by this monument of sorts. She rests her head against my chest, and I trail a finger along her arm.
I know it well, of course, although I've never seen it for myself. Not in person, that is. I was simply brought into this world with the knowledge. As I look up at the familiar stars, I connect each one the way I know they should fit together and feel a tinge of resentment growing that is as old as my existence.
Ego. That's what we're looking at. Pure, unadulterated ego.
"They're stars," I tell her, in hopes that we can move on to more interesting conversations.
"Please?" she begs and teases and stares up at me with that innocence of wonder in her eyes. It compels me to tell her the stories I've spent thousands of years trying to forget.
I acquiesce. Because this is the power she holds over me.
As she lays her head back down to listen, I clear my throat a bit. "Ancient people of earth came up with constellations to make sense of their world."
"It doesn't seem like you believe that?" she notices.
I shrug. "What greater evidence is there of divine power than the universe all around this planet?"
"God?" she asks. And I feel a frown tugging at my mouth.
"God. Gods. Divinity. Call it what you will." She calls it space, apparently.
I look for the set of dots that I know the best and I point. "Do you see that one?"
"Where?"
With my hand over hers, I show her and she nods. "That was the very first constellation," I tell her. "Just after Zeus was given dominion over the skies." I see a smile play at her lips as I add, "It's an ode to his nanny."
He would hate that I called her that.
I could care less.
"His nanny was a -"
"Goat." I smirk. I can't help myself. She was no one to him. In fact, he hated her, if I recall correctly. And yet, because he's Zeus and everything must revolve around him, he put her there to make himself seem the most important god of all the gods.
Blech.
I tell her about a few more. I skip over Orion, son of Poseidon. The child was an abomination in any definition of the word and a buffoon. One day, he trips over his own feet and accidentally kills a perfectly law abiding centaur. The next, he's in the skies, written as a warrior. A hero. Simply because of who his father is.
And because it's written in the stars it must true, right?
When I get to Cassiopeia, Isabella wants to know the story.
I push down the ache inside my chest and begin.
"He has brothers?" I'm not surprised she's unfamiliar with the tales of gods as old as I am. Most humans prefer the more modern idols to worship. Buddha for one. The grinning bastard has more fans than Isabella's Jonas Brothers.
"Two," I tell her with hopefully only a hint of despair hidden in my tone. "Cassiopeia offended his brother Poseidon."
"How?"
I push. "She was confident, beautiful."
"Like Rose."
Like you.
Isabella does not believe herself to be the beauty that she is. I decide to prove it to her by pulling her limbs from me and posing her to mimic the way Cassiopeia's stars align.
Her breasts glow against the twinkling lights. Her legs squirm but not much. She is the epitome of perfection. Celestial.
"That's not the comparison I was making." I tell her quietly in her ear. "You put her beauty to shame."
Isabella's cheeks turn pink and it is transcendent. If it were up to me, she would have the utmost prominent cluster of stars representing her for all time.
Blush colored stars just north of Andromeda.
She twists and turns and slides her hands around my neck as I ponder making that happen somehow. She utters, "What's the rest of her story?"
My voice is lower now, longing to end this conversation, but she wants to know. And what Isabella requests, I give her.
"She offended Poseidon… and Zeus because she was willing to challenge them. She wouldn't back down from them. So they hung her upside down and chained her to the stars where she hangs to this day."
The V between her brow forms and she jerks her head back a bit. "They're evil."
I let out a small, silent laugh. "They're gods."
Bella shudders. "What about the other brother? Was he any better?"
What smile I might have been wearing fades because no, he's not. "Most would say far worse."
She looks up. "Well where is he?"
I follow her stare even though I know there's no place in the stars for me. "He's doesn't belong there."
Her eyes are back on me now, and I meet them when she asks, "What's his name?"
My heart stops. My breathing hitches. Because I want to say it. I want to tell her my name and hear her say it over and over as I lay her down on the carpet to claim her body once again.
Instead, I gather her dress from the floor and hold it out for her.
"We should pull ourselves together. That boy will be back soon."
xXxXx
The second half of our drive back to Los Angeles is a bit quieter than the first. As I keep to the speed limit, Isabella tells me a little more about her mother and how there are things that weren't said when she left Arizona. I tell her I know how she feels on some level, and although this isn't the course I would take, I suggest she face the things she feels she needs to say. In person. Otherwise they may haunt her forever, and that is not acceptable.
Isabella should not be preyed upon by the dead.
There's a special glimmer in her eyes, however, as she tells me a story about her father and how he owned a bookstore, once upon a time. She was incredibly happy then. Not that she needed to tell me, I can see it in her expression as she describes the endless shelves of books and countless nights she spent reading a new story while he closed up for the evening.
I recall that same look when she was in my office, letting her fingers trace book spines, reading their titles to see where my interests lie.
And how she picked up one in particular, opened it quite carefully, placed it up against her nose, closed her eyes - and inhaled.
It was provocative in ways I hadn't expected.
I realized two things during that conversation. One, not all fathers are heartless pricks who only wish to torture their offspring. And two, I am buying that bookstore back for her.
xXxXx
As I hold Isabella in my arms outside her apartment building back in Los Angeles, I lean in and kiss her one more time, reluctant to leave.
And I hum.
"Are you sure I can't drop you at my penthouse? The view is-"
"Amazing, I'm sure," she responds quietly. "But I really need to be in my own place, get into my own clothes, and follow up on all the things your bouncer took care of for me this weekend, Edward."
I nod. "I see." I let her go a little resentfully, with a wistful grin and a sense of loss, then slide into the car to leave. Before I can close the door, Isabella stops me.
"Hey." I look up at her and that smile. It's tempting to stay with her, here, always, but I have things to take care of as well, I suppose. "Can I cook you a late dinner after?" she asks.
I glance at the building she lives in. "Here?"
She laughs. "Yeah, Edward, here. It's an apartment building, not a local jail. The bars on the windows are for protection from what's on the outside, not to keep us in."
"I don't understand." I search the streets for threats but see absolutely none. It's quite nice, actually, with its tree lined road and manicured grass filled park across the street. "Why would you need to keep anyone out in this neighborhood?"
Isabella's mouth twists a little. "You just never know, Edward. That's all."
I nod, curious, and cannot help feeling as though somehow, on some level, she's referring to me. Even if she doesn't know it yet.
"Understood," I tell her. Before she closes my door, Isabella leans in through the window and places a kiss against my lips that makes me want to forget about my to-do list for the day altogether. And hers.
"And um-" she tucks some hair behind her ear. "Bring an overnight bag?" Then she smiles with only a hint of the shy girl I met not too long ago. "Bye," she whispers and then simply walks away, as though she hasn't a care in the world. Like the universe didn't just come together over our weekend together in the most perfectly exquisite way possible.
I still swim in the memory of the passion that filled me from being with her. Even when the bumbling blonde she calls "Mike" interfered.
Fervor is immediately followed by guilt that eats away at every fiber within me, for letting her believe she's been intimate with Edward Cullen, successful businessman of LA. As opposed to Hades, ruler of the underworld.
The one thing I have going for me is that at least I'm not a vampire.
The need to come clean with Isabella looms like an angry storm in the back of my mind.
Spending time with her, listening to her stories and wanting to tell her all of mine is too much to bear at times. But how do I tell her? How do I risk losing what I've only just acquired?
I watch her until she's in the building and I can no longer see her. Then I head off to the Brick and Mortar, where I need to plot out a way to make Poseidon go away for good.
xXxXx
If I had given any thought, even a passing speculation on leaving Poseidon for Emmett to deal with, I would have never taken Isabella to that beach town. I'm barely one foot into the Brick and Mortar when he's hopping down off of a countertop and striding toward me with malice in his expression.
"Dude. Why have you NOT been answering your fucking phone?"
My defenses are set and I attempt to diffuse Emmett. "I'm here now," I begin to tell him, when I notice… "What happened to your face?"
"Exactly. Jackhole."
"That doesn't answer my question, Emmett."
It does not escape my notice that Jasper is lurking in the corner of the room in his booth, however, he doesn't seem at all interested in taking part in this conversation. He simply plays his music softly and pretends he doesn't see us.
I mean really, if anyone is the stalker, it's this guy.
"The big guy?" Emmett interrupts my thoughts. "Who you wanted me to distract?" He's using air quotes again. This can't end well. "Wasn't having that shit."
"So you distracted him with your face?"
"I dis- No. Dickwad. I didn't distract him at all. The minute I approached him, he made this annoying fucking face like he was bored and then... he flicked me."
I do try to subdue the snigger. I'm not certain I'm completely successful though. "Flicked you."
"Yeah, he fucking… flicked me." Emmett does a demonstration. "With his tiny pinky fucking finger. I hit the back wall like a ton of bricks. Literally."
Oh, Poseidon. Always showing off.
"I mean, the good news is I heal pretty fucking fast, right? The bad news - and I haven't decided whether you knew this already or not, because, Ed. Seriously. If you did, that's fucked up."
"Knew what?"
"Helloooo, what's stronger than a vampire, dude?"
I'm not sure how to answer this question. Does he already know the answer, and he's just testing me? Or is he legitimately asking me a question, here?
"Um."
"Exactly," he says. "You're dealing with someone, or, something. Shit. I don't even know what the hell this is, Edward."
I breathe a slight sigh of relief that he hasn't done too much homework on the matter, at least. But there's still a matter of where Poseidon is.
"If you didn't take care of him, then who-?"
"Rose."
I lift an eyebrow.
"Someone calling my name?" And speak of the damned devil.
Not me. Her.
I turn to greet Isabella's roommate with a smile that hopefully covers up my shock to see her here, when I notice she has a much scarier angry face than the vampire, Emmett.
Yikes.
"Rose, where did you-"
"Don't Rose me," she says, stampeding her way through the open room. "You wanna fess up to what in the hell you're involved with, or should I spell it out for everyone?"
"I-"
"Is it gambling or the mob, Edward? Because the way that guy was acting the other night, he could have easily been here to collect on a debt you ran up over in Vegas, or someone sent to kill your stupid face."
"How did you-"
"I do not want Bella involved with someone who's got ugly ass people like that after him."
I turn to Emmett for some help with this conversation. He simply shrugs.
Leaving me to the wolves, I see.
I hadn't quite figured out what I'd tell Emmett about any of this yet, but I have a long-standing rule of thumb. When in doubt, choose the lesser of the two evils that have been laid before you.
It's a loose rule.
More of a guideline, actually.
It depends on the circumstances.
"Gambling," I blurt out. "Yes. I have a very, very long standing gambling problem."
No big deal. Money is nothing.
"Motherfucker."
"Dude, since when-"
"But-" I interrupt both of them. "I haven't been that person in a long time. And I'm still trying to clean up the messes I created. That isn't me anymore, I promise you both."
A partial truth. I'm okay with partial truths. With these two, at least.
"Ha!" Emmett and I both jump back at Rose's sudden outburst of… humor? "Promise," she says. "What's a promise worth to a liar?"
Her words are sharp, and I will admit, true.
Emmett's brow raises and my chest caves. "Wow. Harsh and deep," my so-called friend and bouncer says. Then he nods his approval and I am left scowling at the one person who's supposed to have my back here.
"I-"
Rose takes a fearless step forward, quite frankly stunning me into silence, and points to me. "I came here to tell you," she huffs out, "And I'm only going to say it once, Edward." She leans in so we're practically nose to nose, and holds my stare. "Do. Not. Fucking. Hurt. My girl. You feel me?" She narrows her eyes. "Mister Cullen?"
I clench my jaw. I swallow down the urge to show her exactly who she's dealing with.
Because I know she's in the right with this particular subject.
So I nod, instead.
"Excellent." She looks over to Emmett, who is as speechless as I am. "Later."
As she stalks out of the bar, the tension in my body leaves and I lean up against a bar stool. I need to figure out how to make this existence the right existence before that woman finds a way to turn Isabella against me.
Only a few moments go by when I realize Emmett hasn't left the room. I look up at him. With his arms crossed and his face contorted into a disapproving glare like this, he reminds me very much of Poseidon.
Apart from the fact that I like him.
Some.
"Since when are you a gambler?"
I wave a hand and push myself up off of the stool. "It was ages ago. Secret addiction, blah blah blah. This man is a leftover means to a very old end."
"He gonna be a regular means? Because if he is, I'm gonna need to figure some shit out with regards to dealing with him."
"No." I hope.
"No? You absolutely sure about that, Ed?"
Best case scenario, I find a way to make my Poseidon problem go away completely. Worst case, he destroys this place and everything in it.
"I'm sure," I tell the vampire.
"Good because, second order of business… why did I spend my weekend evenings with a bunch of fucking old people? You know it's like the ultimate insult to a vampire to be faced with that kind of humanity."
"So you took care of-"
"I took care of everything you asked me to. I mean, I got some strange looks from the dog owners when I showed up at nine pm to walk their animals… and it took some convincing for the retirement home to let me in after hours but-"
"Good." I'm satisfied that Isabella at least will know I keep my promises, despite what Rose might tell her.
I make my way back toward the office. It's the only place in this satan-forsaken place that's quiet.
"Hold up, that's it? Good? No explanation? No… hey Emmett, I know I was a complete douchenozzle laying all that shit on you but-"
"I am a complete douchenozzle, Emmett," I tell him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good friend."
"Fucking A I'm a good friend," he says before I disappear down the hallway. Then hollers after me, "I'm your only friend jackass!"
He's probably correct.
Which makes me feel a bit sad for the vampire.
For both of us.
After I close the door to my office behind me, I fall into the chair behind my desk and tap my fingers against the armrests, unsure of what to do next. I need a plan. Preferably before dinner with Isabella.
I pull the desk's top drawer open and rifle through it, looking for a pen and some paper. Instead I find a wrinkled parchment with extremely proper writing on it.
Bahia Marina, California.
Odd. I believe that's quite near where Isabella and I just spent our weekend.
I scan the document to see what it's about and I find what looks like they want money from me for a boat slip.
One month's charge to keep "The Luna Clair" at one of their docks.
I grin, triumphant that once again I can rest assured that I am not a womanizer because apparently this is the "woman" people were inquiring about while I was gallivanting with Isabella the past two days.
I own a boat. A sailboat to be exact. And I've named it.
I wonder, momentarily, if this might be why I drove all the way to the beach. And how I knew where those islands were. And how the stars would guide me there.
Another will directed from the vampire? Perhaps he has her best interests at heart as well.
It may drive me to insanity figuring out this bonded tie between the two of us.
As I contemplate the need for a discussion on the matter with the vampire, a plastic case in the drawer to my desk catches my attention. I pick it up as I drop the paper bill down onto the desk. It looks like the "CD" Isabella played in the car, and it's got the same person on the front of it that she forced me to listen to practically the entire way home.
Prince. His name, apparently. Only he's not royalty. He's a musician.
It takes a few minutes to find a contraption that might be able to play this circular disk and then another ten or fifteen to figure out how it works.
I figure it out. I'm the god of Hell, after all.
The first song plays. "Hmmm, no." I hit the "forward" button. "Nope." Again. "Ew. No." And again.
"Yes. This one."
I lean back in the chair as far as I can go and I close my eyes. I'm frustrated. Anxious. Exhausted. And yet, blissful listening to this Prince sing about doves crying. The lyrics make me feel as though I'm back in the hotel room with Isabella. Then they make me imagine her leaving me in Hell. Alone.
I don't like this song, I decide.
Slowly, I allow my eyes to open and when I do, I'm awarded a view of the most intricate interpretations of the sky above me. Such a familiar sight, only I'm no longer on the beach with a beautiful woman in my arms, or in a planetarium that has been modified to resemble the night sky. I'm gazing up at the ceiling of my office and I'm in awe of what appears to be an entire galaxy of grace and artistry.
It's more alluring than the live version. More fantastic than the built in, light up version I saw with Isabella.
Its colors are bright and moving. Its detail depicts such knowledge that one would have to assume the creator has seen the skies at their most vulnerable.
I have never been one to be jealous of Zeus and his command over the skies.
Until now.
No, not now. It was in the small room, just a short while ago, with Isabella staring up at the vastness above us and being able to witness such wonder in her eyes. How the stars made her feel. How the stories affected her. I finally understood why people worship my brother.
I will never make her feel that way.
She deserves more.
Could the vampire have done this? Created such elegance? Because, if so, there's much, much more to him than I had originally thought. The talent it would take to bring such a view to life like this would take years, decades maybe, to perfect. I might even be able to ignore the fact that he's quite perfectly replicated a few of my least favorite of the constellations in his painting.
He must have. Emmett couldn't possibly and Jasper… well.
My head falls, thinking all of it over in my mind and something catches my attention. Another disc sits inside the desk, only this one has no cover. It's simple, clear, and scratched on the outside. Worn. Only one word is scrawled across the plastic, shiny CD itself. Coachella. As curiosity fills me with what that means, exactly, I replace the CD in the music box with this one, and hit play.
The music begins and it sets a tone for me that seems appropriate - somber and contemplative.
When the singer begins finally, I find that it's the same musician but he sounds a bit different here. Otherworldly, perhaps. As though he's on another plane of existence. And I follow him there, letting my eyes close again.
I hear sounds in the background, as though he's outside somewhere. His voice is strained and, dare I say, remorseful in a way that hits quite close to home.
I sit, listening to the pain in his voice, imagining the vampire listening to this song, in this same spot, over and over. So many evenings spent, letting the guilt of sins past and the decisions for his future fill him up until the pain he feels cannot bear another thought.
I'm beginning to feel the same when the cell phone inside my pocket begins to buzz to life.
At first I smile when I see Isabella's name pop up on the screen, but then her words jolt me upright in my chair.
Edward, We need to talk
I'm not accustomed to many human sayings, but this one I've heard many times in stories from the dead.
And it's never good.
PSA: Belladonnacullen makes me believe this guy really exists. (he does though, right?) - and that her Bella (Isabella) was made for him. Make sure you check out how this half of the trip went down from Bella's point of view in "Friend of the Devil".
THANKS to the bottom of Tartarus to the usual suspects this week: Sue for her beta-expertise, Chrisann for her all powerful wisdom and YOU ALL - so much - for continuing to read this ridiculousness and feeling the urge to leave your thoughts. It means the universe.
Songs in case you're wondering: When Doves Cry by Prince, and then the 2nd song he plays is Prince's version of "Creep" by Radiohead live from Coachella, 2008. *kill me now*