A/N: Hey, awesome readers! This chapter carries a warning—difficult subject matter and situations ahead.
Thanks and Edward licks to my awesome preaders, Keye, Sandy, and Aleea, for their invaluable feedback and friendship.
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Chapter 17
~Mortal Bonds~
The hardest thing to learn in life is which bridge to cross and which to burn. ~David Russell
It's been five days since Alice and Jasper left to search for and observe the Donovans and Emmett and Rosalie left for Colorado. Things have been rather quiet around here. With our numbers down, the wolves have stepped up patrols around our property in an effort to ensure Isabella's safety.
Recent events seem to have drained Isabella, and she's been sleeping more than normal. I've caught her rubbing her stomach and looking off into the distance a number of times, and I wonder if she's having second thoughts about the child she might be carrying. It's almost as if she senses that she is with child and it's created an inner turmoil she can't reconcile. I've been too much of a coward to question her because I'm not certain what my own feelings are on the matter; I only know that I must do everything possible to protect my mate.
Isabella sleeps while I pace the cottage like a caged animal. I'm restless. Nervous. I'm unused to remaining so still while others are in the midst of the action. There are so many balls in the air right now, and I feel a certain sense of impotence.
"Edward," Carlisle calls softly from out front.
When I join him, I know immediately he's here to impart unpleasant news: his face is tense, his normally kind expression grim.
"What's wrong?" I close the door behind me. As usual, the night is silent around us, but there's an eerie wind tonight that rustles the leaves and moans as it winds its way through the trees.
"It's about Isabella's latest test." Carlisle looks down at the ground, his hands jammed in his pockets. "She's pregnant, Edward."
The words fall on me like heavy stones. Pregnant. Our baby is growing inside her, a baby that will kill her.
"Fuck." I rake a hand roughly through my hair. "How long does she have to decide? Despite what she said, I don't think it's going to be easy for her to . . . to take care of this."
"I suspected as much. A month, but no more. This fetus will quickly suck the remaining life out of her." He clasps my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Son. If there's anything at all I can do, let me know."
"Thanks. I'll talk to her."
Once I'm alone, I fall to my knees in the dirt. Is the universe conspiring against Isabella? Does God want her back so badly that He will stack the deck against her, leaving no chance for her to win? And how am I to tell her that she's carrying my child one moment and in the next breath ask her to abort the fetus?
"Oh, Isabella . . ." I whisper softly.
I want to destroy every tree in the forest, to run fast and far. I want to find a group of the lowliest scum and drink my fill. I want to scream.
I do none of these things.
Most of all, I wish I was human and that the child my mate carries wouldn't someday tear its way out of her womb.
Instead, I smolder and burn. For her, I burn.
I swallow the bitterness and grief, knowing she needs my strength. I dread the conversation ahead but can't seem to stay away; even in her slumber, I'm drawn to her in an almost compulsory way. Gravity.
She sleeps on, blissfully unaware of the heaviness that sits on my chest, of the words that burn like acid on my tongue before they even leave my lips. There are no nightmares tonight. Perhaps the universe is allowing her a modicum of peace before she's forced to face the waking nightmare that awaits. I hate myself for knocking her up, and I hate myself in advance for being the one who will shatter her world by telling her the news. If she hates me for this, it's nothing less than I deserve.
I face the wall with my forehead pressed against the smooth plaster. It's with great difficulty that I don't put my head through it. At this moment, I don't even feel worthy of looking upon her beauty. In my self-flagellation, I miss it when she wakes.
"What's happened?" Isabella's voice is a faint whisper loaded with dread.
I want to remain facing the wall when I tell her, but that wouldn't be fair. My conscience won't allow me to be a coward, and so I turn and go to her. I kneel beside the bed and caress her sweet face in my palm, my other hand bracing on the mattress beside her slight body.
"Isabella . . . you're carrying my child." I close my eyes and lay my head down on her stomach. "I'm so sorry. This is entirely my fault, and there's no excuse for my stupidity."
She gasps, her stomach rippling beneath me as her heart begins an irregular staccato. But underneath the cacophony of her harsh breaths and the beats of her heart, I hear another heartbeat, faint and fast. Dear God. To hear the sound of my child living inside her is almost too much to bear.
The only sound she makes is a keening whimper. The fingers of one hand claw at my hair and the other joins my hand on the bed. Sorrow pours off her in torrents, and I try to absorb it all in the hope it will somehow lessen her pain. I join her on the bed, and we lay together: Isabella cries bitter tears while I listen to the faint beat of our child's heart and wish I could cry, too.
After a time, her tears slow, and her breathing evens out after several hiccuping sobs. "Edward? How long do I have?"
Fear jolts through me, and I lift my head so our eyes can meet. "What are you asking me?" Surely she wouldn't try to go through with this pregnancy knowing what it would do to her already ravaged body.
"I'm asking you how long I have to decide. This is so much h-harder than I thought it would be."
Relieved, I press a kiss to her lips. There I taste salt and bitterness and pain. "No more than a month. The pregnancy will be accelerated, but you do have some time to decide." I rest my forehead against hers, thankful when she doesn't reject me.
"I knew," she whispers, reaching between us to caress her abdomen.
"You did?"
"A woman can feel these things. I knew right away with Hannah. I felt different then, and I feel different now. The first time, I was s-so happy—" More tears fall, but she holds herself together. "Edward . . . it hurts so much more knowing this baby is yours."
"I know, baby. It's killing me, too."
"It is?"
I suppose I deserve that after the way I initially handled the issue. Isabella thinks I don't care about our child, but she's wrong. Daggers are twisting in my gut at the thought of killing a being made up of the sum of our parts.
"Yes, Isabella. I acted like such a bastard when we first found out, and for that, I'm sorrier than I can express. This baby is part you and part me—how could I not die inside when participating in deciding his or her fate?"
"I love you so much." She winds her arms around my neck and twists her body to press her chest against mine. "Somehow we'll do this—together."
"I love you, Isabella. More than anything that ever has or will exist. I love you beyond reason."
We grieve over our child together.
~*RK*~
The vomiting is an act of violence against her. Isabella's frail body quivers, shakes, and convulses as the contents of her stomach is emptied over and over until there is nothing left. Even still, the heaving continues, and all I can do is hold her hair back, rub her back, and whisper worthless platitudes in her ear.
By the time Carlisle arrives, the worst of it's over, but she's reduced to a weak mass of gangly limbs on the bathroom floor. She's lost more weight; the ribs standing out in sharp relief and the jutting bones of her shoulders say so.
Carlisle stands in the hall outside the bathroom looking aggrieved. He hates that he can do nothing for her. Isabella has three more weeks to decide, and so far she hasn't been able to bring herself to say the words that will end the life of our child. I don't begrudge her that, except when she's in a heap on the bathroom floor. At these moments, I want to decide for her. I want to knock her out, let Carlisle perform the procedure, and deal with her wrath later. I would never, but the temptation is there.
"She's too weak, Edward. We'll have to do another IV." He speaks quietly so she won't hear. "And you both need to consider stepping things up as far as making a decision."
"I know. I'll bring her into the bedroom. Why don't you set things up?"
What he doesn't need to say is that our choices are limited to two: death or abortion. Isabella won't make it through this pregnancy, and that means it's likely the baby won't, either. Continuing in this vein could mean losing them both.
"Isabella, I'm going to lift you up, okay?"
"Mm-mm . . ." She nods her head.
I prop her by the sink with my arms around her torso so she can brush her teeth and splash water on her face. If I let go, her legs will give out right now. Her eyes are glazed and listless, and there's a waxy pallor to her clammy skin.
When she finishes, I scoop her in my arms and enter the bedroom, placing her on the bed gently. Her fingers claw weakly at my shirt.
"Edward, please stay with me." Her eyes are frightened, which in turn frightens me.
I always stay with her. I haven't been hunting again and have given her no reason to think I wouldn't be right here beside her, so this insecurity causes me to glance over at Carlisle. His eyes are sad.
"Yes, of course. Don't worry about anything but getting well, okay?"
"Okay."
She winces at the sting of the needle Carlisle slides into her arm, but closes her eyes and quickly drifts into an exhausted sleep. Her skin, which was heated and sweaty from the vomiting, is now nearly as cold as mine. I tug the comforter up and tuck it under her chin before lying down beside her. My fingers trail lightly over her forehead into her limp hair which is rapidly losing its new found luster.
"Edward, I want you to hang another bag when this one's done."
"This is bad, isn't it?"
"You already know the answer to that. The baby is using up the scant resources her body can scare up with my Neupogen substitute. Even if we do end the pregnancy . . . this is a major setback. I'm working hard on a cure, but there's a missing element I just haven't been able to figure out." The frustration is evident in his voice.
Once Carlisle is gone, my mind wanders to conversations I've had with Alice over the past several days. Harry and Margaret Donovan are indeed taking good care of Hannah, but their private conversations have been of some concern. They no longer trust James and feel he may have hired them under false pretenses. His assertions that he's protecting the child from her criminally negligent mother have fallen flat. They're unimpressed that James rarely calls to check on his daughter, although money continues to be deposited into their bank account like clockwork. It's begun to feel like hush money, and they've been discussing tying up all their loose ends and running with Hannah.
Alice said Jasper's calming influence has slowed them down, but she's pretty sure once the report of Isabella's "death" hits the news, the Donovans will run like hell. I asked her to hold off removing Hannah from their care for now because Isabella is in no condition to deal with anything else. Part of me feels guilty for making that decision, but Hannah is safe, cared for, and being watched over by two caring people who are being watched over by two vampires prepared to pull the plug at a moment's notice if things get dicey.
My sister agreed with my assessment, and her voice was so forlorn when she asked after Isabella. "I just can't see what's going to happen, Edward. I wish I could."
"I know. Me, too."
The vibration of my cell phone draws me out of the memories, and I slip to the other side of the room to answer it.
"Hey, Em."
"Hey, bro! How goes it?"
If I wasn't so despondent over Isabella's condition, the sound of my jovial brother would lift my spirits. "Not that good. How are things on your end?"
"Like clockwork. The cabin is in cinders, and Demetri 'discovered' Isabella's remains. He's on his way to keep an eye on Senator Douchebag as we speak. Reports of her death should be hitting the wires tonight."
"Excellent."
"We're going to tail Demetri for a while, make sure he does what he promised. Unless you need us at home . . ." Emmett trails off uncertainly.
"No, that sounds perfect. The wolves have been doing extra patrols of our property, so we're good. Besides, with you on Demetri's tail, him on Hunter's tail, and Alice on Hannah, we're covered six ways to Sunday."
"Yup. Rosie says hello to you and Izzy-B." When I snort, he says, "Okay, mostly to Isabella, but she's warmed to you significantly since you mated."
"Thank you both for doing this."
"That's what family's for. So, uh, you wanna talk about it?"
"Not really."
"That bad, huh?" Emmett's voice is hushed, which is a rarity with my boisterous brother.
"We're doing all we can. I just have to pray it's enough."
Rustling sounds come over the line, and I hear Emmett battling Rosalie to keep the phone. There's a solid thwack! which must be Rose smacking him on the back of the head.
"Edward, what's going on?"
"Hello, Rose."
"Fuck the pleasantries. What are you hiding?"
I sigh. She'll find out sooner or later, and then I'll just catch a rash of shit for hiding it. "Isabella's pregnant."
"What? How the hell could that happen?" Rosalie explodes. "I mean, I know how it happens, but I thought Carlisle said it couldn't."
I explain what I know. It hurts all over again to say the words, and I glance over at Isabella, who still sleeps peacefully.
"What does Carlisle say?"
"She won't survive it."
"She's having a hard time about aborting the baby." Rosalie wasn't asking, she was stating a fact.
"Yes. Frankly, Rose, so am I." She makes a surprised sound, but I continue on. "This baby means a great deal to me, but I can't lose Isabella. The way things are going, we may lose them both."
"You know I'm a realist, Edward. As much as I'm against abortion, I know in this case it's necessary. I'm sorry for you, truly. We don't always see eye to eye, but . . . well, you know."
"I love you, too, Rose." I smirk.
"Whoa! Who said anything about love?" Rosalie snorts. "Just take care of her—and yourself. Okay?"
"Will do."
After hanging up with Rose, I recline on the bed next to Isabella as she sleeps peacefully for the rest of the night.
The morning dawns bright and clear, the sun making a rare appearance. Isabella's mood is slightly better, and she even plays a game of chess with me in the sun-room. The sky, visible through the domed glass, is blue with puffs of cottony clouds floating here and there.
She looks better today, the fluids Carlisle administered plumping her skin, and her eyes are clearer. It seems since I confessed how much our child means to me, her outlook is brighter.
"Check." Isabella smirks at me.
She's about to beat me again, and I smile. Before she can deliver the coup d'état, there's a knock on the door.
"Saved by the bell." I lean over to kiss her cheek. "I'll be right back."
As I head toward the living room, I hear Esme talking quietly with a woman I've never seen before and yet feel I have.
I join them outside, and Esme introduces the woman as Sue Clearwater. Now it makes sense to me. I appraise Isabella's birth mother. Looking beyond the russet skin, exotic cheekbones, and thick black hair, I can see little resemblances here and there: the curve of her jaw, the slope of her nose, the arch of her eyebrows, and the shape of their earlobes. Sue bites her bottom lip, and I almost laugh out loud as I recognize one of Isabella's habits which tends to drive me to distraction.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sue." I stand awkwardly, unsure if she would be repelled by shaking my hand.
Sue smiles graciously, saving me from the concern by sticking her own hand out and taking mine. She goes up on tiptoe to place a kiss on my cheek. "Thank you, Edward, for taking care of my daughter. Billy told me all that you're doing for her."
A rare and genuine smile stretches across my lips. "You're quite welcome. There's no limit to what I would do for her."
I hear Isabella's feet padding down the hall and into the living room, and I excuse myself. I'm not sure if she's ready to see her birth mother yet and want it to be her choice.
When I join her in the living room, her eyes are wide, her heart racing. "Isabella, Sue Clearwater is here with Esme. Is it all right if they come in?"
"Oh . . . y-yes." She leans into me for support as Esme opens the door.
Mother and daughter regard each other silently for a few moments until, almost as one, they come together and wrap their arms around each another. Isabella melts into Sue Clearwater in a way I've only seen her do with me. Surprisingly enough, I'm not the least bit jealous. I'm so happy for my mate—that she's anchored to this world by someone who can know the whole truth and still offer support.
"I never thought you'd find out. I'm sorry about the way it happened . . . but I'm so glad you know."
"Me, too . . . M-Mom."
Isabella leads Sue into the sun room, and they sit together on the wicker loveseat with their fingers linked. The more they move, the more I see them together, it's obvious they're related. One dusky, one pale, but they move alike and have many of the same mannerisms.
Esme makes some tea, and for the first time in a while, Isabella doesn't seem to need me.
"Isabella, would you be all right with Sue and Esme for a short while?" I kneel beside her and caress her cheek.
"I think so. Why?"
"I thought perhaps I should hunt. And I'm sure the two of you would like some privacy."
"Yes, this does seem like a good time to hunt. I don't mind you being here, though—I have no secrets from you." Isabella smiles at me, and her eyes are brighter than I've seen them in the past few weeks.
"I'll see you soon then." I lean in and kiss her sweet lips, reveling in the warmth of her hand on my face. "Sue." I nod.
"Thank you for everything, Edward." Sue smiles, and I can see where Isabella inherited her natural grace and acceptance.
Once I'm away from the cottage, I realize how much I need this, too. I've been there for Isabella to such an extent that I forgot about myself and my own needs. My teeth ache to sink into the warm flesh of a human, to taste the velvet wine of human blood as it streams over my tongue, but I can't stray far enough to indulge. Instead, I'm left with the animal kingdom again. Resentment sits like bitter bile on the back of my tongue when I think of the treaty that keeps me from having a proper meal.
What will I come across today? Will another family of deer lose their protector? Will more babes lose their mother? At least with the human populace I can read their minds to find the vilest specimens, but with animals, all are innocent. I need to feed, though. And so I must make a choice.
In the end, I take down a large bear—Emmett's favorite—because its sheer size will keep me better fed, thereby extending the amount of time between feedings. I picture Isabella's sweet face as I drink, almost able to completely block out the bear's thoughts as he dies. Thankfully, his memories don't include a family.
I'm never completely sated by animal blood, and although the taste was viler than the buck from a few weeks ago, I feel more satisfied.
I call Esme to make sure everything is all right with Isabella. Once she assures me that it is, I decide to let off some steam. Racing through the woods, I rush up the hill to the cliffs where I took Isabella. Falling to my knees, I let out an agonized bray as I allow my own feelings to surface. The pain of knowing my child growing inside Isabella will kill her. The pain of making the decision to end our child's life in an attempt to save her. Anger over my own stupidity because this entire scenario was preventable.
Standing up and putting my cell phone on a boulder, I dive off the edge of the cliff, arms at my sides, and head for the rocks below like a speeding bullet. It takes me 4.7 seconds to slam into the jagged rocks, which shatter into thousands of pieces.
I feel nothing on the outside. Inside, the turmoil lets loose like a tempest, and I yell and flail and break more rocks. I dive beneath the surface of the brackish water, heading out into the deep, and dive down to break apart more rock that won't be visible from ashore
I breathe in through my nose and open my mouth, taking water inside me in an attempt to punish myself—even though I know it can't harm me. I've been inside the mind of someone who nearly drowned, and I long to feel the burning pain and struggle as lungs threaten to burst. I want to hurt because she hurts. My Isabella.
In the end, I kneel on the beach sicking up saltwater in mighty heaves. It's uncomfortable, but it doesn't hurt, and I'm left dissatisfied.
What the fuck is he doing? Thoughts filter into my mind, and I glance up to see Jacob Black standing on the Quileute side of the treaty line with his arms crossed over his pumped up chest. He's vaguely amused to see me on my knees, and immature images run through his head.
In less than a second, I'm on my feet and in his face. "Do you mind?"
"Oh, no—not at all. Please continue." He gestures toward the beach. When he smiles, his teeth are almost unnaturally white against his russet skin.
"I'm having a private moment."
Jacob snorts. "Moment? More like a tantrum. Or a vampire breakdown. Is that it? Are you losing your fucking mind?" He points his index finger at his temple and swirls it.
My fists clench, and I seriously consider making a grab for him. As if sensing this, Jacob draws a line in the sand with the toe of his sneaker. "Uh, uh . . . you wouldn't want to break the treaty, now would you?" Again, he offers up his toothpaste commercial smile. Someday I might make him swallow some of those big white teeth.
"Don't bait me, Jacob. I'm not nearly as nice or peacekeeping as the rest of my family."
"Yeah, I got that impression." Jacob nods his head. "Just so we're clear: I don't like you, Edward. And I don't trust you. My father says you're good for her, that you're trying to save her. That better be true because if she dies, I'm coming for your cold, undead ass." He jabs his finger at my chest, and I grab it in my iron grip.
"The feelings are mutual." I bare my teeth at him. "But if you get in my face again, you won't have long to wait for that fight—treaty or not."
"Whoa! Don't get your knickers all in a twist, huh?" Jacob pulls his hand out of mine, but only because I choose to let go. He grits his big white teeth and tries not to show how much it hurt.
But I know it hurt like hell, and I get a sense of satisfaction from it. Very mature, Masen.
~*RK*~
A/N: Tough subject matter, I know. I didn't intend to go this route when this story started, but my characters led me in this direction. Comments are always welcome and encouraged. I love to know what you're thinking, even if you don't like the way it's going.
See you next Tuesday!
Just a note for readers of my other stories. I apologize, but until June rolls around, updates will continue to be slow. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, and I adore all of you for your patience and support. The next chapter of IWIPB is in progress, and I'll have it out as soon as possible.
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