Carlisle
"Would you have left Alice, if Edward ordered you to? Rosalie?"
No.
The question and the answer shake me to my core. I have had centuries to face myself, to come to the understanding that immortality forces honesty. I had thought there was no dark corner of myself I had not explored, not one ugly truth I had not taken out and examined from every angle.
There are reasons I could offer up. Bella is human, and therefore she deserves the kind of life we can never give her. Or that I have never believed it to be my place to come between mates. Or that Edward has always asked for so little, and yet is so ready to give when the rest of us require a move, a clean-up, a cover story.
These reasons that seemed so solid, so worth the sacrifice Edward demanded in his calm, logical way - they are ashes in the face of Bella's question.
And my answer.
I knew Bella was watching me when I got into my car. I had no intention of leaving, not when she had just been rescued from diving off a cliff. But I didn't think Charlie would be much impressed with my presence, and as his best friend had just died, I didn't feel it was wise to announce myself just yet. I parked the car at the old Forks house, feeling a pang of remorse as I noted the forest's subtle reclaiming of it, and was back at Bella's within the hour.
She and Charlie are both sound asleep, exhausted, I presume, from the events of the day. Slipping into Bella's room, I seat myself in the rocking chair in the corner, trying to determine how much of a danger she is to herself - if any. I don't want to intrude on her privacy. I have no rights to the inner workings of her life, have never had any right to invade her personal space like this. But something in her eyes gave me pause. Something uneasy is stirring in me, and I have learned from long experience to listen.
She whispers in her sleep about satin butterflies, and in spite of myself, I smile. When she stayed at the house, before, she would often mutter about nonsense, captivated by whatever dreams followed her into sleep. How foolish we all were, to take that wonderful life for granted. How enormously arrogant I myself was, to banish a member of my family to a half-life, followed always by memories of what was.
"I'll look for you," she says, so clearly I start, wondering if she's suddenly awakened. "I won't mean to, but I will."
Her face crumples and I smell the salty whisper of her tears, so close to the surface.
In the next breath, her back arches and she screams. The sound is so inhuman, so completely shattered, that I'm crouching defensively near the window before it dies completely away. I've barely realized there is no enemy, that it is a nightmare, before she screams again.
Footsteps down the hall, heavy and exhausted. Charlie is coming.
On the roof, hidden away, I listen to him shake her awake, handing her a glass of water before shuffling back to his bed. It feels like a routine they're both used to, that requires no extra words or touches because each of them knows it will not help. I can tell from Bella's breathing that she hasn't fallen back to sleep yet, and I'm suddenly reluctant to reveal my presence. I don't know if she would welcome me right now, or if she will ever welcoming me again. Instead, I keep a silent watch on the roof, and when she finally slips into troubled sleep, I rest my head on my knees.
"I am here, dear one," I murmur, my voice too low for any mortal ears. "I am here, I am with you."