A/N: Thanks so much for the comments so far! I really appreciate all of your positive words about my mom! I'm really glad that her recovering is going well so far!

I wanted to take a moment to thank Sally for editing this for me! You're amazing!

Sea-foam and Sea Witches

2

Already, I had overstayed my welcome. Never had I planned on being in any one place this long. It felt dangerous. At any moment, the past could catch up with me, and I'd pay for my sins. Even if my sins prior to this had been my existence alone. Just breathing had been my undoing, causing me to deserve whatever pain the world could offer me. While children feared monsters—sea witches who spun alluring stories before offering blood contracts—I had known that the only thing to truly fear in life were people.

Why write horror fiction and fantasy cautionary tales when reality was by far enough?

Here, this town that was barely a town, was starting to feel like a sort of home. Even the motel was growing on me as I had started to find things such as broken light fixtures as "quirks" rather than imperfections. Every little thing that would usually cause annoyance didn't feel like an inconvenience. When things were good, everything felt manageable. This was the first time that I've ever been able to look at things like adventures rather than inconveniences.

I had hit the three-month mark in my stay, and once I hit four, I'd force myself to leave. Still, I wasn't far enough way. Would there ever be a place where I could feel comfortable? Or would the past always plague me wherever I went?

Annie made me forget about the past. In the short time I had known the woman, she had become my best friend. She acted like the grandmother I never had, telling me stories of her life and the lives of her children. Some days, she would bring me baked goods or sandwiches for lunch—despite me, of course, working at a job that involves food. She explained one day that "diner food" wouldn't provide me with the nutrients I needed for a "growing body." I hadn't the heart to tell her that I was twenty-four, and my body was basically done growing.

There had been times that I ventured over to the bookshop too although, those were few and far between. I would see the mysterious Edward Cullen in passing and had only spoken a few words to him while purchasing new titles at his shop. As Annie said, he wasn't one for conversation. In all the time I've been here, I've never seen him talk to a single person. When he wasn't in his bookstore working, it seemed like he was either in his apartment or on the roof with the company of his garden.

If anything were to make him happy in this life, it seemed like it was those roses on his apartment's roof. Whenever I was lucky enough to see him on the rooftop, he was entirely engrossed in his flowers. He would touch them, ever so gently, as if saying hello to an old friend.

There were times when I heard music coming from that rooftop. I imagined he had a record player up there—or something to match the beautiful aesthetic of the garden he had created. The songs I heard were soft and melodic. Typically, piano classics that almost sounded too pretty for the town.

This entire town felt like a monochrome of beige. Other than the streetlights, there wasn't color to be found. Everything was one boring blur, feeling forgettable even to those resigned there. Edward's garden gave the town the splash of color it seemed to desperately thrive for. It seemed like a bit of life among the dead.

The music invigorated the town, too, juxtaposing the old rock ballads that trickled out of the town bar. While he was only one man, he managed to give the town beauty. Although he was alone on that roof, it felt as if he were creating something that could enrich everyone's life. Even posed behind the cash register at the diner across the street, I could feel the effects of what he was creating.

There were people in this world who were just beautiful. That beautiful was more than skin deep—it extended to their soul. Whenever they were near, regardless of how short or how long, the space felt better. While I'd only spoken a few words to Edward Cullen, I could tell he was one of those people. He had a purpose in this town. Even if he didn't know it.

Tonight, he played music from the rooftop. The songs were slower and more melancholy. The songs he chose for the evening matched the mood across town. The diner was dead, and I wasn't entirely sure if that was typical or not. This was my first time working a night shift, and the lull with nothing more to watch than the moon outside was strange.

In the corner, there was a man sipping a cup of coffee that had to be cold by now. Regardless of the number of times I had asked if he wanted it refilled, he had said no and continued to mindlessly drink. It seemed like the entire town was under a spell—something that would keep the night quiet.

Of course, I wasn't living in a fantasy, and there wasn't a spell. We were slow whenever the highway was slow, and tonight, traffic must have been nonexistent. Bored, I moved away from the register and front counter and stepped outside of the front door. Most of the staff came here to smoke, and while I had practically given up the habit long ago, every now and then, I pulled a cigarette out and placed it between my lips.

I never smoked it, and it would always go back into the pack. The feeling of having it there between my lips made me feel weirdly in control. Life was chaos, and the fact that I had given up this one thing made me feel like I was running my own life. While I had an unlit cigarette between my lips, I felt as if I were holding the world instead of vice versa.

A shiver ran up my spine as I tried to acclimate to the cool night breeze. I had been too absentminded to slip on a jacket. All I could think about was the music coming from the rooftop. From where I stood now, I could peer up and see the top of the rose bushes. A song I recognized, "Clair de Lune," trickled down to me, embracing me in its drifting notes.

How could a sad man listen to something so beautiful? He must be up there, right? Listening to this music beneath the stars … Was he thinking of his wife? His child? Did he feel alone among the roses, or did the flowers and memories they provided him with give him a soft sort of company?

I took a step forward toward the sound. The desire to abandon work for the night and join him was overwhelming. I wouldn't bother him—I didn't plan on saying a single word. Instead, I would join him in basking in memories. I'd join him in the sadness that never left me alone for a minute.

Suddenly, I saw the mysterious bookworm Edward Cullen on the roof. At first, I only saw the top of his frame as he made his way toward the roof's ledge. I couldn't make out his features. At least, not well enough to read any sort of expression. After a moment, I realized there wasn't an expression to read. Instead, his face was blank, almost statuesque, as he moved toward the ledge.

Why did he look so determined? Where is he planning on going? Does he believe that he'll just sprout wings and fly?

The closer he came to the edge, the steadier his pace became. When I expected him to pause to peer down at the town below, he did something different. Still looking out and ahead at the air in front of him, he stepped onto the ledge. One foot and then the other joined, until he was standing there, swaying gently as if the wind were moving him.

The lack of expression on his face made my blood run cold. I didn't have much to compare this expression to—he was practically a stranger, after all—but something about it was alarming. It wasn't the thoughtful face that I had imagined him to have. It wasn't one interested in gazing out into the night sky or at the desolate town below. The determination I made out in his features caused me to pull the cigarette from my lips, abandoning it and the pack on the ground before I bolted across the street.

Thankfully, my thighs were strong, and I moved quickly toward the apartment buildings. There wasn't a clear entrance by the shops, all of which had long since closed. There could be an entrance around the back of the building or perhaps there was one inside the bar—something that would lead to the floor of apartments above.

My heart was racing, and if it weren't for the rush of life-saving adrenaline, I would have surely passed out. If Edward Cullen was going to jump, all he would need was a moment. Within seconds, he could be dead on the pavement, and my efforts to save him would be meaningless.

I should have called out his name. Told him to wait and talk about things with me first. I was already inside the bar, bumping shoulder to shoulder with town drunks and truck drivers on their third or fourth beer before my mind was clear enough to think of all of the what ifs.

"Sweetie, let me buy you a—"

I pushed past a sweaty man with a thick mustache and a wicked smile until I made my way to the bar top. The music was overwhelming—all 80s hair bands with no reprieve. The bartender seemed hard of hearing because of it because I had to shout at him a few times before he even turned my way.

When he did, his eyes widened, taking in my appearance with an inappropriate glance.

"How do I get upstairs?" I cried out. When he made a face as if he didn't understand what I was trying to get at, I shouted. "The apartments? How do I get to the apartments?"

"Why? You meeting someone?" He winked.

Prick.

There was too much adrenaline inside of me to waste a moment even rolling my eyes.

"Yes! So, help me!"

Thankfully, when he wasn't being a jackass, he was actually helpful. He pulled a key from his pocket and slid out from behind the bar. With a wave, he gestured for me to follow him. Every step he took was leisurely, making me want to push him forward to hurry the process up. Outside, Edward could already be dead, so this slow pace could lead to my failure.

"Please hurry!" I said, and when he looked annoyed, I added, "Sorry, I'm really horny."

This seemed to be a good enough explanation, and he quickened his pace until he took me into a hallway leading to a set of doors. One was an employee's only space, another looked like a restroom, while the final door was unmarked. He used his key to unlock it, and then stepped aside.

There was a black set of stairs leading to a floor that was too dark to make out. The lights were dim, making the staircase seem as if it could be leading to anywhere. Why was I trusting this man so much? What if he wasn't trying to help me out after all?

Fuck it. If I needed someone, I'd hope they'd do the same for me. All of my life, I had felt meaningless, wandering through the world without a clear purpose. Maybe this was my purpose: saving the life of someone else. As this thought settled, I wasted no more time and sprinted up the steps, yelling out a "thank you" as I made it to the top step and moved onto the floor.

I had stepped into a long hallway lined with doors with brass numbers in their centers. Immediately, it was clear that this was, indeed, a floor of apartments and nothing devious. As I stepped toward the right, seeing there was a sign for stairs, I heard the door below shut. I said "thank you" to the bartender again—although, I knew he couldn't hear it—before taking off toward the stairway.

Thankfully, the door swung right open, and I stepped inside, nearly barreling into the wall before I regained my footing and made my way up the two flights of stairs leading to another floor of apartments. I passed the third-floor door and moved toward the one labeled "rooftop."

My breathing was ragged and intense as I sprinted up the final few flights of stairs and burst through the rooftop door. Then, I went from a bleak apartment building above a bar to a paradise. The smell was overwhelming, more beautiful than the most expensive perfume. Flowers had their potent smells, and together, they created something as gorgeous as the music.

The colors were overwhelming, making me feel as if I had fallen down some sort of rabbit hole into another dimension. Something this heavenly surely couldn't be found on Earth. The music was still entrancing, truly giving this small splice of paradise an otherworldly feel. Almost in a trance now—a transcendent state of mind caused by too much beauty all at once—I jogged toward him. Thankfully, Edward Cullen was still standing there on the ledge.

When I moved closer to him, I grew afraid. What if I scared him and caused him to fall? What if I made one wrong move or said one wrong word and sent him tumbling to his end? I extended my hand, wanting to reach out and grab him while fearing to do just that.

Unsure of what to do in a life-or-death situation like this, I found myself uttering, "Hello? Are you all right, Edward?" When he didn't show any signs of hearing me, I continued. "It's me … from across the street." I paused, and again, he did nothing. Without a single word or movement, he stood there on the ledge, looking as if he were about to soar into the sea of stars. "Edward?"

Finally, after hearing his name again, he seemed to snap out of it. Slowly, he turned his head to peer back at me. He looked at me as if we were meeting on the street and not under vastly unusual circumstances.

Again, not knowing what to do, I held out my hand, letting it waver in the air as I waited for him to grab ahold of it. "Edward … come down from there."

"Why?" he asked, surprising me.

He spoke like a child. As if he really didn't understand why that it was indeed dangerous to be standing on the ledge of a building.

"Because … it's dangerous, Mr. Cullen," I said, becoming oddly formal suddenly.

I supposed this is one way I would react to pressure—losing my words.

"Dangerous …" He seemed to mull it over without moving down from the ledge.

"Yes. Dangerous," I reiterated. "Come down, and I'll explain it to you."

I strengthened my outstretched arm, imploring him to take hold of it. While I wasn't strong by any means, and Edward wasn't exactly petite, I felt that all of the adrenaline would make it possible to pull him to safety. There had been so many stories of women lifting cars away from their endangered child. Perhaps it'd be possible for me to do something similar.

If I were able to save him, maybe, one day, I'd be able to save myself too. If only I could pull myself away from the ledge that I always felt I was standing on.

"Please. Come here and talk to me. There's something I want to tell you."

He looked at me for a moment as if he were genuinely curious. His eyes were wide and guileless, making him look very young despite the graying hair around his temples. Reckless like this, he looked like something out of a dream—a fallen angel coming down to Earth to atone for their sins.

"There's nothing to talk about," he finally said. "I've done enough talking. More than enough talking."

"We haven't spoken, though. I want to talk to you. There's so many things I want to say."

While I didn't know where these words were coming from, they felt honest as I had said them. There were many topics to discuss, and I found myself wanting to discuss all of them to him. Edward Cullen, practically a stranger and yet a man I wanted to pour my entire heart out to.

Alone in the night like this, surrounded by the smell of flowers and the sound of music, it felt as if I had known this man before. Of course, it was impossible. I would remember a face like his if we had ever crossed paths. Maybe I had dreamt of him. Now, as I looked at him, it felt as though I were experiencing a sort of tunnel vision. The rest of the world faded away as he came into a crystalized view.

"I don't feel like speaking anymore," he said solemnly. "I don't feel like doing anything. Can't you leave me alone? Leave me alone to do nothing."

"I can't." I can't let you die, I wanted to say but didn't. "I can't leave you alone, Edward. Take my hand." I took a step toward him, moving slowly as if I were approaching an unpredictable wild animal. "Take my hand and let's talk and listen to music tonight. Give me this."

His gaze dropped to my extended arm before looking at my hand, which was wavering in the air. For a moment, I sincerely thought he was going to grasp my hand and let me pull him from the roof. I almost let go of the breath I was holding, preparing to sigh in relief.

A previous song faded into the air of the night almost as if it were consumed by the wind before another began. I recognized this one too. Gymnopédie no. 1, a melody that immediately filled the air with a softness that felt like leaves slowly drifting in the air toward grass below. Something about the song made Edward's stature change, and for a moment, his features softened with the notes filling the night.

Then, out of nowhere, something unreadable covered his features before he looked more determined than ever. He turned away from me before his spine became stiff.

He's going to jump. Right here in front of me, he was going to jump and end his life. Surrounded by beauty, he wanted his world to end.

Acting on instinct, knowing I couldn't spare another moment, I leapt forward and grabbed his wrist just as he was beginning to lean forward. He groaned out of shock, and I used the moment of uncertainty for him to grab ahold of his thigh too.

There wasn't a plan I had in mind. I hadn't exactly strategized in case this odd situation would ever happen to me. So, when he still tried to lean forward, wanting to fall, I felt the heels of my feet lift off the rooftop.

I choked on a breath as I felt a bit of air beneath my feet. Would I go tumbling down to the ground with him? Would I even mind? Tears burned the backs of my eyes, gathering in the corners and threatening to spill as the wind kissed my cheeks.

After wrapping one arm around his thigh, I dropped my other hand from his wrist and wrapped it around his thighs as well. As soon as my hold was quite strong around him, I attempted again to pull him back. Still, he was leaning forward, trying to free fall as I tried to tether him here with my grasp.

Now, I was on my tiptoes, feeling a scream bubbling behind my closed lips. Should I continue to prevent him from the thing he seemed to want most, or should I let him go? Letting him go would mean saving myself, wouldn't it? He was taking me with him … Did I want to die among the flowers too?

I let the scream out, listening as it filled the night. The scream seemed to take him off guard for a moment, and when his body was loose enough, I yanked him back hard and let go of another scream as I tumbled backward, taking him with me.

I fell with an umph escaping my lips as my butt hit the concrete, and he fell right on top of me. Only then did I smell the alcohol on his breath. He reeked of it. No wonder he sounded so childlike moments ago—he was drunk.

He rolled off of me in a daze, moving until he was supine. After letting go of another breath, I rose onto my elbows and peered over at him. Now, he was looking up at the sky, slowly blinking as if he had awoken from a coma.

"Edward?" I asked as I moved toward him. On my knees at his side, I pushed my hair back and away from my face and asked, "Are you all right?"

He seemed to be looking at me without truly seeing me. It almost felt like I was watching him dream. The alcohol must have been potent. Did he get drunk first, and then think of suicide? Or did he drink with suicide already in mind? Would intoxication make the fall more frightening or less?

"Gabriella?" he asked before his brows knitted together in confusion. "Wait … you're not Gabriella … Who … Who are you?"

I smiled down at him as it finally resonated that he was okay. Somehow, I had saved him, and maybe now, everything would be all right.

Ignoring his question, wanting to focus on him right now instead, I asked, "Are you all right? Is there anything I can do for you?"

Without his permission, acting entirely on instinct, I reached out and pushed back his hair from his face. His features were striking as usual, but now, they were even more so as so much emotion filled them. His face displayed anger, sadness, wistfulness, and even a hint of mysticism. Edward was staring into me as if he were being faced with the universe. His eyes moved over every one of my features as if he were deciding where to look and couldn't pinpoint a spot.

He seemed to be thinking rather seriously about my question. It took him a few moments to answer. When he did, his answer surprised me.

"Sing for me? Gabriella sang … will you sing for me too?"

Every time that he said his deceased wife's name, I wanted to cry for him. Within seconds, I did just that, almost as if tears had been uniquely reserved for him. The tears slipped onto my cheeks, trailing down until they fell from my face and onto his. Edward didn't wipe them away. Too lost in whatever he was feeling, he laid there without another word or movement. His gaze filled with expectation as he waited for me to begin.

I didn't know where to begin really. It had been ages since I sang. Despite the compliments surrounding my voice and its sweetness, my "singing career" both began and ended in middle school choir. Should I sing him one of those old songs? Would a tune commonly performed by twelve-year-old kids appease him? Doubting it, I racked my mind for other options. Finally, when an option felt right, I began to sing.

"Have I found you?

Flightless bird, jealous, weeping.

Or lost you?

American mouth.

Big bill looming.

Now I'm a fat house cat

Cursing my sore blunt tongue

Watching the warm poison rats

Curl through the wide fence cracks.

His eyes were intense as he watched me. It seemed as if he were observing every movement I made as if he were trying to commit the moment to memory. Would he think of this while he was alone? Remember the woman who saved his life one evening after he had drunk too much and contemplated jumping?

"Pissing on magazine photos

Those fishing lures thrown in the cold and clean

Blood of Christ mountain stream

With his eyes still intense on me, he reached out and pushed the hair away from my face, smiling as locks continued to fall out from behind my ears, hanging around my features as I sang. How did I look to him now? Wild against the backdrop of the night? I moved up here so fiercely, so, I must appear to him as something completely crazed.

"Have I found you?

Flightless, brown hair bleeding

or lost you?

American mouth

Big bill, stuck going down."

Slowly, he began to blink, drifting in and out of consciousness. He was slipping into a dream and reached his hand out as if he wanted to grasp onto me, taking me into the dream with him. I wished I could go. A dream may be divine compared to this reality.

At least, a dream would be better than the reality outside of this rooftop. As I gazed around, once again taking in the flowers and melodic music and the strong naturally beautiful scent that filled the air, I doubted Heaven could ever look this beautiful. A place like this could rival the afterlife.

I finished off the song as he drifted to a slumber. His features softened, and suddenly, he looked like a young man instead of a man who had been through hell and back, seeing far more in life than any individual should. Unable to help myself, I reached out and ran my fingers gently along his features.

Lost in this moment, it was just the two of us. All of our baggage was left resting in the world below. On this rooftop, there was only the present moment. While he was intoxicated from liquor and I was intoxicated by the scenery, all of our trauma seemed long gone. I hadn't been abused, and his family hadn't been violently taken from him. He was Edward. I was Bella. Nothing else mattered besides that.

Even now, I knew I would always remember this space in time. This would be the sort of memory I could carry to my old age—if I ever made it that far. Would he remember this moment in a similar sense? Drunk as he was now, would he remember this moment at all? Or would it be faded by the time the sun rose?

Silently, I prayed he would remember these moments too as I rose to my feet and reached down to help him stand. He was significantly heavier than me, but as dead weight, he seemed even heavier, making it nearly impossible to lift him up. After a few tries, I huffed and made sure he was comfortable on the ground before stepping away.

Surely, the bartender who helped me before could help me again. I bet he'd be confused seeing me so soon, but once he saw Edward's state, everything would make sense. I rushed back to the staircase, giving the flowers and Edward one final glance before jogging back down the third floor and the second until reaching the door leading to the bar. Apparently, there were ways to access the apartments from every shop, meaning many of the shop owners and workers, as few as these were, lived above their places of business. It seemed as if there was another general entrance coming from the back of the building too. While I could venture back onto the street to look for help, returning to the bar felt like my best bet.

The bartender from before was thankfully still behind the bar. The place was still busy, and the 80s hair band playlist was still filling the room in full force. How they listened to this music for hours on end, I couldn't fathom. Especially after hearing the beautiful interludes pouring from the rooftop, which were much more my speed.

The mood slightly shifted as Pat Benatar's voice filled the room. Pushing past the crowd of middle-aged, rough-looking men, I found myself at the bar top, which I leaned over, looking for attention. Neon beer signs fought against the darkness of the room, giving the liquor bottles blue and green hues. Walls were covered in various beer ads and liquor bottle art as well as band posters and old lineups. It took a moment to notice the stage protruding from the back wall of the room. There was a lone microphone and no people—not even an instrument to make the space look less lonely.

Maybe this bar had been something back in the day. The band posters could be hinting at old lineups, after all. Now, it seemed more of a skeleton of what it had been, missing the meat that had been live music. In high school, I had snuck into bars to watch live music and loved the thrill of doing something forbidden and secretive mixed with the way my body pumped as the sounds from the bass coursed through me. Was this once a place like that? Was this tiny town once very different?

"Can you help me again?" I shouted out as soon as the old bartender looked my way.

His brows rose as he asked, "You're back already? I thought you had plans to … you know …" He rolled his eyes, going back to polishing the glass in his hand. "Well, whatever you ladies like to call it."

"Um, we did already."

His brows rose again. "And … what could you possibly need help with now?"

While he was acting annoyed, it didn't come across as genuine. In a way, it seemed like he enjoyed being bothered. Or at least, I perceived it that way in order to make myself feel a bit better.

Hell. Why should I feel so guilty about bothering someone? I had just saved a man's life, after all. Why am I even lying anyway? To protect Edward? Would it be better for people to think he lost his wits after we hooked up? I doubted he would want people to know he was suicidal … Or, at least, had been suicidal tonight.

"Do you know Edward Cullen? The man who owns that bookstore next to you?"

Now, he looked really shocked. "That's who you hooked up with?"

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. "He needs your help. He's …" How should I phrase this? "He's passed out on the roof and … well … I can't lift him up by myself. And I have no clue where he lives anyway, honestly."

"You two? On the roof?"

"Will you focus?" I snapped. "Or is your mind always in the gutter?"

As soon as I spoke the words, I slammed my mouth shut and covered it with my hand. Throughout my entire life, I had never, I mean never, snapped back at anyone. I had always been afraid to. I had always known what the consequences would be. Feeling empowered for a moment was not worth being smacked in the face.

To my surprise, the man threw his head back and bellowed out a laugh. "Okay, okay. Hold your horses. Let me get someone to cover the bar, and then I'll come help you. How does that sound?"

"Th—thank you," I stuttered out, still in total disbelief regarding what I had just done.

Have I already changed so much since my arrival here? If I had changed so drastically—chasing after strangers and saving them from suicide, ditching my work without a warning, and mouthing off to men—what was next? Would the version of me that arrived here be the same as the version that will eventually leave? Which version would be more correct? When was I being my authentic self? When I was meek or when I was mouthy?

In truth, at twenty-four-years-old, I had no clue who I was. My identity had always been wrapped up in other people. Now that I was alone, I felt like I could be anyone. Was that the answer to this? Become everyone until one of the versions felt like the correct one? How do people figure this stuff out anyway? Do they ever find out who they are?

Was there a defining moment that people experienced? Was that how they began to know themselves? I had hundreds of questions and no answers. Honestly, maybe I just didn't have time for questions right now. I needed to save myself, after all, not search for life's answers.

Here I was wanting to run when I didn't even know how to walk.

A/N: -Rooftop Playlist-

"Une Barque Sur L'océan – Maurice Ravel

"Arabesque No. 1" – Debussy

"Clair de Lune" – Debussy

"Gymnopédie No. 1" – Erik Satie

"Ylang Ylang" – FKJ

"Clouds" – FUGA

"Equus" – S.A. Karl

"Dreamy" – Megan Wofford

"Symphony No. 6 in B Minor, Op. 74, 'Pathétique': I. Adagio – Allegro non troppo" – Tchaikovsky