A/N: Yesterday was heinous. Sorry for not posting!
I completely forgot to say… this story was born in the Fic Lab group on Facebook. Join us for some word play!
Outside, the storm raged. Elsewhere in the city, water, wind, and lightning wreaked havoc on other lives. Trees ripped from their roots crushed cars beneath them. Rain turned roads into rivers churning with mud and bits and pieces of people's lives.
Amidst the chaos, Edward and Bella sat together, their backs pressed against opposite sides of the window seat, their legs tangled in the middle, and their fingers entwined. They simply sat; the silence between them a stark contrast to the chaos of the rain and wind on the window.
He wanted to run his fingertips over her skin, to caress her even in this small way, but he knew he didn't have that right. Her eyes were closed, her features twisted as though she was in turmoil. But she didn't pull away from him—if anything, her grip on his fingers only tightened—and so, he waited and watched.
A tear slipped from beneath her closed eyelid and she took a shuddering breath, beginning to speak without opening her eyes. "I believe mental health is health. I should have… Esme told me about her struggles with depression and a suicidal ideation. Your sister was institutionalized when we were young. Of course, your episodes of sadness, the self-deprecation, were mental health related. Of course they were.
"I keep asking myself… If you'd had cancer, if you said those things to me while you were in a hospital bed in pain that I could see and understand, would they have cut as deep? If you were a soldier with PTSD who hit me because you had a flashback, would that have been understandable?"
Edward scoffed lightly; his stomach clenched at the mere idea hitting her could ever be understandable. "You're trying to take this on yourself."
She shook her head. "I'm really not. I'm trying to process; reorient truth and reality."
He bowed his head, squeezing her hands. "The reality is: if I were a soldier who hit you in a moment of madness and delusion, you would still be a wife who had been beaten by her husband. Knowing why, knowing I would never hurt you if I were in my right mind, wouldn't stop you from flinching if I moved too fast. Even if I could promise it would never happen again…" His voice cracked, his words thick. "It will never happen again. Even if I could promise that, how long would it take for you to let your guard down, not to expect another hit? You would know I was capable of it. That's not something you could forget."
"It becomes part of you—that knowledge," she mused, voice sad. She sniffed. "Those words changed the shape of how I love you." Her eyes finally opened, shining bright with tears in the darkness. "I do love you, Edward. Still. Always, I think. I'm doomed to it.
"And I can still feel all the things we were. I can still see the beautiful life we had. But everything I feel has sharp edges. I'm full of cuts. I'm so angry."
He didn't say anything. He couldn't—his throat was too tight to speak. He didn't know how he could still breathe.
Bella sighed. She pulled her hand ever so gently from his. He had to stop himself from tightening his grip, from begging her not to let go. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I'm so tired."
Edward swallowed several times, but his voice was still hoarse with emotion when he spoke. "Stay." He licked his lips and tried again. "It's too dangerous out there right now, and it's late. You can take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch."
She hesitated. The rain seemed to roar, picking up an even more violent tempo against the window. She sighed again. "Okay," she whispered.
Cell phone flashlights brandished, Edward led the way down the hall to his room.
Words shouted in his head. Some were words of bitter rage. He had told her the truth a million times—all the million ways he loved her and how she was worth everything. He'd lied once; one lie to a million truths. He'd fought so hard to convince her wounded psyche she could be loved so deeply; why couldn't she fight for him?
Some were words of desperation. He wanted to fall to his knees, beg her to take him back. He would do anything. Promise anything.
But he knew better.
Of course, she'd fought for him. She'd said it herself. She tried so hard to slay his demons.
And he wouldn't add to her emotional trauma by making her have to tell him to fuck off.
So he told her where to find the things she might need for bed, and to bother him for anything else—the perfunctory words of anyone with a houseguest.
Such an absurd thought; that she was a simple houseguest in his home. Not really his wife but still…
"Bella." He leaned, one hand braced against the doorjamb and his head tilted down. When she didn't tell him just to go away, he spoke. "You were never, not for a second, a burden. It was always the opposite. You made my life so much lighter, better in every way. What I felt for you was so strong, for a long time, it overpowered everything else.
"None of what I did had anything to do with you. It was me, and, fuck, Bella. I know you don't believe in Hell, but I do. And the way I feel about what I did? How it feels to live without you? Believe me. When I get there, Hell will be a mercy."
His breath shuttered, and he reached up, quickly wiping away an errant tear. "I wanted you to know that. It was never you, and I won't ever forgive myself. You're certainly under no obligation to."
He waited a moment after these words just in case she wanted to speak. When she didn't, he let the door close behind him with a quiet snick.
On the couch, Edward tossed and turned, writhing under the weight of broken memories. Reality was unbearable. To have her in his bed when he couldn't go to her, when all he had were the memories of the ecstasy they shared. To know that he'd been the one to make his beautiful, vibrant, happy wife this angry, sad woman.
Unbearable.
But he must have fallen asleep at some point. When he opened his eyes, the apartment was filled with light. He sat up, blinking and disoriented.
When the fog cleared from his brain, he cocked his head, listening. He heard the ambient noise that meant the power was back on but nothing else.
On wooden legs, he stood and walked down the hallway. His bedroom door was slightly ajar. He knocked as he poked his head in, though he had no real hope.
Sure enough, the room was empty. His bed was neatly made; no trace Bella had been there at all besides a few pieces of folded paper with his name scrawled on the front of one. He walked into the room with an old man's shuffle and sat.
Edward,
I never liked to think that love was a fairy-tale. When we met, I'd never dreamed of handsome princes or castles in the clouds. There was the rest of my life to think about, and I didn't know much I wanted except that I wanted to be sensible.
And then, there you were. My plot twist, then and ever since.
It was a fairy-tale. We burned so brilliant and bright when we should have burned slow and steady. What did we think we were doing?
And then…plot twist.
When leaving you was the hardest thing I'd ever done, I was horrified to find how much of myself I lost to us.
That girl who thought that maybe, just maybe, love really does conquer all.
That shattered woman with jagged shards missing from the whole.
I am somehow neither of these people and both at once.
My mind spins futures where I walk out of this room and into your arms again, back to the beautiful life we built together. We did make a good team. We did make sense once.
And yet, there's still that voice that doesn't let me forget those words.
I do forgive you. I don't need to forget to forgive. And whether or not you think you need to, I hope you can forgive me. You shouldn't have had to fight alone.
In the end, though, I have to think about the woman I'm becoming. I don't know her well enough to know what she wants out of love.
I love you. I know I always will.
But for me, right now, love is not all I need.
Bella
Edward let his hand drop to the bed, the pages held loosely.
Outside the last of the clouds thinned and broke. Birds chirped. The sun shone through the window, bright against the brilliant blue.
He sat still, heart too empty to ache, and hoped this sky was for her.
A/N: Take a breath. There are two chapters left!