A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts!
Here's one more chapter tonight to get the ball rolling. ;)
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belongs to me. All mistakes are mine.
Chapter One – The Dream
Forks, Washington - Present Day
28 October 2022
She sleeps as I write this, but last night, her shrill screams pierced the evening silence.
"No!"
She sprang up in our bed, her back almost preternaturally straight, and tipped her head so sharply to the shadowy ceiling that the ebony silk that is her hair undulated like wild vines swinging in a summer tempest. Bare branches outside the window cast dark, claw-like illusions on our bedroom walls. I can only imagine what her nebulous thoughts made of them.
"I be no witch, nor do I commune with a demon!"
Reaching for her, I spoke in gentle, soothing tones despite the alarm welling inside me – an alarm that reflected the panic in her features.
"Baby-"
She swiped at my outstretched hand, shouting at the top of her lungs, seeing something that wasn't there.
"Do not touch me! I be no witch!"
I tried to reassure her. "It's me, my love."
"He lies! I did not afflict him! I cast no specter! Stay away!" she shrieked, backing up with such forceful desperation that her spine banged against our ornate wooden bedframe, though she didn't seem to feel it. "Come no nearer! He shall destroy ye if thou touches me!"
The cloud cover outside our windows shifted just then, sending a sliver of moonlight streaming in at just the angle to highlight her gaze, frozen in terror.
"Bella-"
"Come no nearer!"
She swung her arms to ward off whatever evil her mind's eye conjured. That was when her knuckles caught my jaw, then knocked into the ceramic white pumpkin resting on her nightstand. The pumpkin tipped over and shattered with a melodious peal that belied its destruction.
The pumpkin's monetary value was negligible. That's not why I felt for its loss. It's because I can still see her at that craft fair yesterday morning – the brilliant smile that lit up her face when she caught sight of it lost among a bunch of junk on one of the vendor's tables. A happier sort of shriek than the one emitted earlier tonight escaped her.
"Oh, my God, Edward, look at this!"
I'd moved ahead, with my hoodie over my head and my hands dug into its kangaroo pockets, bored with the tedium of table after table of similar wares. She's the curious one, not me. But the wonder in her voice, that's what had me quickly retracing my steps….and smirking at the sight.
"It's rusted and tarnished, love. Come on." I jerked my head. "I'll buy you a new one."
She shook her head, that mane undulating in wave after wave. Regardless of the town's constant mist, she doesn't cover her hair, and I can't blame her. Why conceal such beauty? Likewise, unlike the dark color I tend to gravitate to in my clothing choices, she favors bright shades and attention-calling pieces. In turn, I deny her nothing.
"I don't want a new one. Look at this." A well-polished and ring-stacked finger traced the ceramic's indentations. "Look at how the artist created grooves and outlined imperfections to provide it a weathered, natural appearance."
She held that cheap ceramic aloft in the space between us as if it were a Mesopotamian artifact, as if she'd uncovered a long-lost treasure here, in the scrappy town of Forks, Washington. All the while, her expression was an incandescent ray brighter than any ray an inanimate object such as the sun could ever emit.
"I want this one. The imperfect diamond in the rough."
Sighing, I offered her a nod of surrender, brushing my lips against her forehead before turning to the old, gray-haired woman standing behind the table, peddling her bits and pieces of uselessness and cast-offs.
"Ma'am," I said with a grin, "my wife would like to purchase one of your treasures. Specifically, this precious gourd here, which will serve as a reminder between us that beauty…beauty is definitely in the eye of the beholder."
All the while, my Bella laughed and laughed until I caught her mouth with mine, tasting her sweet lips and swallowing her breath along with the rest of her mirth. When I pulled back, I caught the old woman gazing at us. She wore one of those wistful expressions individuals in their twilight years tend to give the younger generations: part nostalgia for days gone by, comingled with amusement for our youthful naivete – stupidly, as per them, believing ourselves more in love than anyone has ever been or ever will be, and sure that our love will never end – and all of it sprinkled with a generous amount of envy for our youthful innocence.
"How much?" I asked.
The old woman pulled a price out of the air, and I paid her quadruple.
Bella and I then resumed our stroll, my finger linked with that well-polished, ring-stacked finger she used to highlight the pumpkin's worth, while she cradled the pumpkin under her other arm.
"You're a good man," she breathed.
I side-eyed her, then faced forward, constantly aware of what went on around us, watchful for inherent dangers that exist anywhere…at any time, regardless of a town's relative security. No one knows better than me that every town has its monsters.
"I threw a few extra bucks her way. Not sure if that buys me entry into heaven." I shrugged. "But if it makes you happy, it was money well spent on that worthless eyesore."
"Exactly," she grinned.
"Exactly," I agreed.
"And it's not an eyesore."
And that…is my Bella. She exists to uncover beauty, to experience life in its most significant and smallest glories. While I…well, I've never made a secret of what I exist for.
But I've digressed.
The pumpkin lasted less than twenty-four hours, and there was nothing beautiful about her palpable fear a short while ago. As she cursed and screamed at unseen entities, I carefully yet firmly wrapped my hands around her wrists.
"Bella, stop."
"I be no witch! They all lie! I be innocent, and ye shall all burn in hell for this!"
She put up a good fight. She always does. The woman is no weakling in either mind or body; her strength is one of the many things I've always adored about her. But, in these moments, when unseen fears consume her…
I pulled her toward me, grunting through the elbow she dug into my ribs and the hand that escaped my grip long enough to form a left hook that sent my head reeling sideways before I managed to carefully recapture it.
"Oof! Bella, baby, it's me. It's Edward."
"He shall come for me, and when he sees what ye have all done-!"
"Bella, stop." I dipped my head to her eye level, swallowed hard against her gaze's wide open, terrorized depth. "Focus, baby. Focus. It's me. It's Edward."
"He shall tear ye all limb from limb!"
I sighed. "Bella."
"He shall-"
When I pressed my mouth to hers, she struggled and writhed away from me, but only for a fraction of a second. She stiffened for another fraction before sighing into my mouth. I don't exaggerate when I say that her recognition pulled me from the brink of certain madness. Had she not recognized me, I may have said things I'd likely regret and pulled her from her visions with truths neither of us need to recall.
But yeah, she recognized me. In the next moment, she drew my bottom lip between hers, then my top lip, alternating until I coaxed more from her in a gentle whisper.
"Open for me."
She responded by granting me access to her warm tongue, which I tangled with mine. When I released her no longer flaying arms, she wrapped them around my shoulders, using them as anchors as I eased her back onto the mattress. Pulling back slightly, I met her gaze, and she offered me a smile. For an immeasurable moment, we remained mutually lost - in thoughts of gratitude, I imagine. For a split second, the wistful and envious old lady at the craft fair came to mind.
Look at us, you old hag. Unlike your tarnished fucking pumpkin, some love stories, regardless of how fractured, do last forever.
When our mouths met again, true hunger sparked. It was palpable, this sense of want; almost like a living, breathing creature next to us. As it's always been.
From the beginning.
"Edward…" she breathed, her inflection a plea as she tipped back her head, no longer seeing darkness in the shadows but rather asking for my mouth on the perfect curve of her neck.
"I'm here, my love. I'm here," I whispered, acquiescing as I always have, as I always will, lips ghosting against the valley between her breasts.
"Edward…"
Impatient this evening, she gripped my hair between her fist and led me lower, parting her legs, then arching her back when I buried my tongue between them. She guided me with one hand, and I allowed it, even if, by now, her wants and needs are my instincts. She fisted the sheets with her other hand, and when the sounds that escaped her assured me those earlier, dark thoughts had to be long forgotten, my mouth retraced its path, moving upward. My kisses were tender, all while I hovered, barely clinging to self-control. But it's one of the many games we play – the teasing; not meant to taunt but to increase our anticipation, to drive us to the brink of insanity. So that when I finally drove into her, our mutual frenzy was unbearable. Delectable.
As it's always been.
Her hips bucked, already releasing as she yanked my hair, dug her soles into my backside, and scratched her manicured nails down my back, the diamond on her wedding ring gouged into my skin. But she wasn't done. She flipped us over, and I happily ceded control so she could ride me and chase her next orgasm with an animalistic wildness that knew neither restraint nor inhibition. When she ground her pelvis against my pelvis and just…held there, I gripped her hips and roared – likely woke the heavens and gave them another reason to hate me.
Afterward, sated and tangled in the crumpled bed sheets, we kissed and talked, canvassing subjects as we do afterward. And beforehand. The coupling has always been explosive. But it's never been just that. I held her spooned against my chest, our hands entwined like ivy over her bare, smooth stomach. When I asked her how her back felt, she laughed. All in all, I remained convinced her dark thoughts were as forgotten as the damnable pumpkin.
"I was dreaming," she then murmured.
There was a beat of silence.
"Of?"
"I dreamed of…people, of a mob of people dressed in extremely old-fashioned clothing – stuff you'd see on pilgrims. Or Puritans. Yeah, that's it. Puritans. They were yelling and shouting and literally holding pitchforks out at me." She snorted.
I skimmed my lips from shoulder to shoulder. Back and forth. And back again.
"What were they shouting?"
"They were shouting and calling me…a witch. They were calling for me to be burned at the stake. I could feel the fire's heat." When she shuddered, I tightened my hold.
"That sounds…horrendous, love. And pretty much impossible. As far as the history books go, Puritans hanged, not burned, those accused of witchcraft."
She turned her head sideways and quirked the brow nearest me. "That's what you got from what I just told you? The historical inaccuracy of my dream? I was terrified, Edward! It felt…real. I could feel the fucking flames' heat!"
"I'm sorry," I assured her, chuckling and feigning a lightness I didn't feel, brushing my mouth against her temple, "I'm sorry. I pointed out the historical inaccuracy so that you could see that it…"
Flipping her around so that she faced me, I cradled her beautiful face between my hands, my thumbs tracing soothingly around her jaw, around her lips. As always, my mind was amazed by the love shining in the eyes that gazed back at me. It's almost physical, the beautiful pain of witnessing her love, and it's proof that love is truly a masochist's folly.
"So that you could see it wasn't real. You and I…making love in our bed, living our lives in our home, sharing all our thoughts with one another while tangled in each other, this," I stressed, holding her tighter, "this is real."
For a long moment, she held my gaze, searching my eyes, placing her trust in my verbal and physical acts of reassurance. Then she smiled. Because love is truly stronger than fear.
Because love can convince the strongest of minds of the biggest of lies.
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. It was a stupid dream. And there's no point in allowing it to keep me awake."
Once again, she turned in my arms, settling herself in and fitting us together like the two halves we are of a whole.
"Good night, Edward. Sleep well. Love you."
"Love you too, Bella."
For a long while, as her breathing evened out into a rhythm that indicated that she was actually…sleeping, I stared up at the ceiling. The late fall branches, stripped of all leaves, swayed in the breeze and once again cast their shadows on our walls. In them, I saw all the darkness Bella saw earlier. When I carefully untangled myself and stood from our bed, she didn't stir.
Even as I sit here and write, she sleeps.
A/N: Thoughts?
Facebook: Stories by PattyRose
Twitter: PattyRosa817
Chapter Song Rec: Our Time by Hidden Citizens
We'll be the last one standing
You're the light in the dark
Feel so alone on this journey
Yeah we've come so far
This is our moment
We told all our lies
Yeah we've been chosen
We will rise…
The next chapter will have one of our short, little history lessons. :)
"See" you soon!
