Disclaimer: SM owns everything Twilight related. The plot belongs to the gorgeous BB Masen-Cullen. I own nothing but the ramblings in this little story.
Many thanks to the wonderful Caiteexx who has done an amazing job on my banner. Link on my profile. Thanks babe xx
This story is written for my wonderful friend, BB Masen-Cullen. She told me her plot bunny late one night, and it wouldn't leave me... So here it is, for you Bree xx
I've squeezed this one out before I disappear to move house. So a very big thank you to cutestkidsmom, Caiteexx, Rainy79 and CaliGirlMon for prereading for me. Shadowed by passion so kindly beta'd this for me - thank you hon for helping me at such short notice.
I'm with Senna, in a glorious meadow filled with wildflowers. We're laying on a blanket in the clearing; a picnic basket devoured of its contents between us. She has one of those darn Chupa Chups lollipops hanging from her mouth. Whenever we pass a Candy Crate, she always has to stock up on them. I am always picking up wrappers and sticks around the house. Sunlight makes the reddish highlights in her dark hair more pronounced. She looks like an angel; her porcelain skin radiant in the sunshine. I sit upright, and pull a Chupa Chups bouquet from behind my back and present it to her, a sparkling diamond ring sits in the center. A smile so huge it would light up the world graces her face. The candy she is sucking on drops into her lap. She opens her mouth to answer...
"Edward...Edward, wake up, honey," I hear a soft voice calling my name, tearing me away from my dream. Blinking, I try to focus on where I am. The bright overhead fluorescent lights are making it hard for me to open my eyes. A dozen jackhammers are going to town in my head, and my body feels like it's been hit by a truck.
"Mom?" I manage to croak out, my throat dry and scratchy.
She brings a straw in a small cup filled with water to my mouth.
"Small sips, honey," she says in a comforting voice. "I'll go get your father. I'll be back in a minute."
I recline back on the bed, closing my eyes to ease the pressure in my head. The room is silent apart from the continuous beep of a monitor next to my bed; alerting me to the fact I'm in the hospital. Lifting the blankets, I look underneath, trying to assess where my injuries are. So far everything looks intact; I can move my arms and legs without issue. I run my hands over my arms and head, feeling no bandages or restraints, other than the IV running through my left hand.
"Hi, Son, how are you feeling?" Dad enters dressed in scrubs, a stethoscope around his neck and his hospital ID clipped onto his pocket . He grabs the chart from the end of my bed, as I peer at him quizzically. Being the Chief of Surgery at The University of Chicago, he's obviously been doing his rounds.
"Okay, but what I am doing here?" I question, needing to know the reasoning behind my admittance into the hospital. I am not really feeling well, but I need answers before I say anything.
They both take a seat in the chairs placed beside the bed. Mom grasps one of Dad's hands in hers, the other holding mine firmly on the side of the bed. The looks on their faces is one of despair, mixed with fear.
"What do you remember happened, Edward?" Dad asks, almost cautiously.
"Well, I went to see Sen. It was raining, I know I was at the cemetery for a while. I must have fallen asleep on the ground. I woke up and the sun was starting to set. I got to the road—" I stop short with a gasp, the image of Senna's ghost flitting through my head.
I shake it, trying to rid myself of that picture. I'll go back and try to work it out later.
"Do you remember anything after that?" Dad questions, concern marring his face.
"No, nothing at all. What am I doing here? I don't seem to have any injuries."
Mom looks like she's about to cry, but starts talking anyway, "Honey, we went to see you, knowing it was Sen's anniversary and all, but you weren't home. We figured you would be at the cemetery, and when we got there we found you had collapsed on the sidewalk." A sob escapes her throat, as she breaks down.
Dad takes over, "We got you home, but we couldn't get your core body temperature to rise. You were suffering mild to moderate hypothermia, so we called an ambulance. We've had you on heated and humidified oxygen, and the IV is for warmed fluids. You gave us a big scare, Edward. You've been out for the last two of days."
I bow my head, trying to absorb the information Dad's giving me. Two days? A wave of panic washes over me. Two days since I've been to the cemetery. In the year since Senna's been gone, I haven't missed visiting her once. Bile starts to rise in my throat, and a wave of nausea overtakes me. What is she going to think? That I abandoned her, that I don't love her anymore?
"Edward, honey, I can see your mind running a million miles an hour. You need to listen to me carefully," she grasps my head between both of her warm, soft hands. The hands that comforted me as a child, stroked my hair when I was sad or hurt, and clapped in excitement at all the achievements I've made.
"She will not be upset, or angry or think that you love her any less, because you haven't been to the cemetery for a couple of days. You do not need to physically be there, for her to know how much you miss her; how much you love her and care. It's just a headstone, sweetheart. She will always be here," she says, tapping my forehead, "and here." Her hand covers my heart. "You can talk to her any time, you don't need to go there to do that. I know you've come to a routine being there everyday, but it's time to know it's okay if you're not. Right now, your health is the most important thing. We nearly lost you, baby, and if we did, your father and I would have been gutted. We can't lose you, too."
I look up, not only feeling tears streaming down my own face, but see a path trailing down Mom and Dad's faces too. The pain and sadness I've brought them almost breaks my heart all over again.
"Son, we've always been open and honest with each other. What I'm going to tell you, you're not going to like, but it needs to be said." He leans forward, wiping the tear tracks with the back of his hand, his elbows resting on his knees. All of a sudden, he looks much older than his fifty-two years. It's like I was looking at him, really looking at him, for the first time in two years. The stress and despair has not only affected me, but my parents as well.
"We're extremely concerned about you, this self-destructive behaviour. I know it was Sen's anniversary, and she was like a daughter to us, but we nearly lost you." He let out a sigh, and from the expression on his face, he was trying to find a way to say what he was thinking. My father is a man of great wisdom, and always thought before he spoke.
"Edward, the mental health team have been here. They wanted to admit you, but we've refused. You're mother and I are taking some time off, and you're coming home with us, when you're discharged. It's the only way the hospital will release you."
"No. Definitely not. I can't infringe upon you and Mom any more. You took time off when I needed you before, you can't do that again. You both have jobs. Dad they need you here," I tell them adamantly.
"All of that is inconsequential, Edward. You need us. You're our child and we'll be here for you, no matter how long for. Your mother and I...well, we're quite angry with ourselves. We didn't realise how lonely and depressed you are. I guess we just assumed that if you needed anything, you would come to us. The last few months we've got so tied up in work and other commitments, that we thought you were doing okay. That's obviously not the case, from not only what happened a couple of days ago, but your health in general."
An abashed look covers Dad's face. I don't think I've ever seen this confident, successful man look so unsure of himself.
"Edward, have you been eating? When's the last time you had a decent meal? Or shaved for that matter? You look like Grizzly Adams," he adds with a nervous laugh. I can tell he's getting the point across that he's worried, but trying to lighten the mood at the same time.
He waves a hand in the air, then continues, "Anyway, none of that matters. As we said, you're coming home with us and we'll all take some time off. Just to get you back healthy and our priorities straightened out."
I nod in agreement, knowing that arguing is pointless. I can only hope I'm not under house arrest for too long. Being an only child, I've always been close to my parents, but in the last year I've become somewhat of a hermit. Only taking calls when someone checked to see how I was doing, and leaving the house only when needed. All of the things I'd enjoyed previously had fallen by the wayside as I'd retreated into my own little bubble, hoping it would never pop. Now it seems like the edges of that bubble are being tested, poked and prodded waiting to burst.
A wave of nausea and uncontrollable shivers pass through my body once again, even though I feel hot and sweaty. Dad notices this time. "Es, call a nurse to get some more warmed blankets. I'll get his Doctor. I think pneumonia is setting in."
I rub the center of my chest with a closed fist, where pain has settled after another coughing fit. The crackling in my chest is getting worse, along with it, getting harder to breath. I try to focus on what Dad is saying, but I can't concentrate. I make out the words swabs and chest x-ray, before an oxygen mask is placed over my face and I drift off into a short, fitful sleep.
"Hi, Edward, it's nice to see you back with us. You gave us quite a scare. My name's Doctor Young, and I'm a respiratory specialist here at the hospital. We think you may have developed pneumonia, so as a precaution we're going to send you for some tests, okay?" A young woman with striking features is leaning down to speak to me. I blink a few times, trying to pull myself out of the restless slumber I'd just been in. A lot of talking is passed between my parents, the specialist and my Doctor here in the hospital. I'm lost at to what's going on, although I'm sure my father will fill me in when he can, so I close my eyes to rest. Exhaustion takes over once again and I couldn't keep my eyes open if I wanted to.
The next few days continue in the same routine. Tests, procedures, sleeping and watching TV. I fucking hate hospitals and I can't wait to get out of here, even if it's to go home with my parents. I've practically lived in these places over the last couple of years, from the moment Senna was diagnosed. I hate the smell, the atmosphere, the hustle and bustle of the wards and treatment rooms. It reminds me too much of what we went through; of what I've lost.
After Dad's comments on my appearance, Mom organises to have a hairdresser come cut my mop of hair. I shower and shave, noticing for the first time how gaunt I look; the bags under my eyes and the washed out pallor of my skin. I look and feel much older than twenty-five. My clothes are hanging from my body making it very obvious that I haven't been looking after myself. I'm not looking forward to the pampering that my parents will be bestowing on me, I need my own space. I've become used to the solitude, but I'm obviously not taking care of myself very well on my own.
My parents are waiting for me in the room, eager eyes falling on my neatened appearance. "Ready to get out of here?" Dad asks, hoisting my light bag over his shoulder. I didn't need much while in the hospital, and Mom's been taking my dirty clothes home and replacing with clean ones.
Mom grasps my hand tightly and we head toward the hospital entrance. Staff are staring at us as we pass the large reception area. I overhear a young woman announce in a voice loud enough for me to hear, "That's Edward, Carlisle Cullen's son. Currently THE most eligible bachelor. I wouldn't mind helping him get over his dead wife." My lack of strength doesn't stop me from pulling my hand from my Mother's, and turning on my heel to face the heartless bitch.
"That's Edward Cullen, widower to you. And lucky for me, I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole, even if you were the last woman on earth." I pivot back toward my parents and continue walking, head down, ignoring the multitude of stares we've garnered.
Once we're outside standing beside Dad's Lexus, I grasp his arm, "Dad, I'm so sorry what I said back there. I wasn't thinking about the repercussions it would have on you. I just—"
"Edward, don't apologise. She was way out of line. And...well, I have to say, your response was pretty darn funny," he replies, a smirk growing on his face.
The drive to Mom and Dad's takes no longer than ten minutes. I watch the scenery go by with my head pressed against the cool glass of the air conditioned car window. The weather is starting to shift, the days are getting warmer, but the night air is still crisp and refreshing.
We pull into the garage of my parents multi-storey brownstone. I scoff to myself of the irony of the building. When I went to college, Mom and Dad downgraded, not needing a large house for myself and multitude of friends that would come traipsing in and out the doors. When Sen and I decided we wanted a large family, we told my parents and they immediately sold their condo and bought this architect designed mansion in Kenwood. It's a beautiful three story home, built in the late 1800's. With six bedrooms and five bathrooms, there is ample room for their grandkids to play. So they thought—now that is simply a pipe dream. There will never be anyone else for me, and the reality of grandchildren is no longer. Even when Senna was diagnosed, expanding our family was still at the forefront of our minds. We researched the options of harvesting her eggs, in the event that the chemo did damage her fertility. But once the secondary cancer was discovered, we knew that was no longer a choice.
Reaching the front door, I remove my shoes and socks as my parents open the house up. Even though I've been here since Sen died, I look at it with refreshed eyes. For all the darkness of the woodwork, exposed beams and the double oak doors, the entryway is surprisingly light filled. For all the times I've been here, I've never really noticed before. Probably because this time there's no hurry, there's nowhere I need to be.
"Edward, I've set your room up for you, honey. Do you need anything?" Mom questions, taking in my position still in the doorway.
"Umm...Mom, I'm sorry. I...I just can't stay in that room. Too many memories, you know?" I mumble, looking down at the polished wooden floors. I feel the comforting arms of my Mother embrace me.
"Oh my baby, don't be sorry. I didn't think, I'm the one that should apologise, I'll go change you over into another room. Head on up when you're ready, okay?" With a quick kiss on my cheek, she's gone. I feel awful putting my parents out like this, but I know they would do anything for me.
I make my way up the winding staircase, past the bay window on the landing overlooking the garden. I can see myself down there at the outdoor seating, eating pastries with Sen on a Sunday morning. I kiss her fingers, telling her how much I love her. Shaking myself from the memory, I continue up the stairs. I find Mom in another light, airy room, placing my bag on the bed.
"Okay, I've been to your place and cleaned up for you. I've taken the trash out and cleaned out your fridge. I did your washing and changed your sheets for you—" I interrupt with a clearly audible gasp. "Edward, it's okay. I know what you're worried about, and it's here." She hands me Senna's tank that she used to sleep in. I keep it under my pillow, and sleep with it in my arms every night.
Mom sits on the bed beside me, gently wiping the tears that are making tracks down my cheeks. She pulls my head down to her shoulder, whispering quiet soothing words, as she rubs comforting circles on my back. "You'll be okay, Edward. Just do whatever you have to do, to get through this. No one is going to judge you, or question how you cope. Everyone is different, and there's no timeframe to these things. If you need to sleep with her shirt for the next five years, so be it."
Once she's satisfied that I'm all right, she leaves the room, telling me to rest. I lay on my back, staring at the intricately carved ceiling. Thoughts filter through my head, a mixture of past and present, but I never really settle on any one thing. A hacking cough rips through my chest, a reminder of the fact that even though I'm out of hospital, I've still not recovered fully. I roll onto my side, trying to ease the weight in my chest a little, when I finally drift off to sleep.
It's dusk when I awaken, the room is bathed in the afterglow of the day. I scrub at my face, knowing that it's pointless trying to delay the inevitable. I need to go downstairs, before my parents come looking for me. As much as I would love to, and have been doing for quite some time, I can't avoid contact with them any longer. They're going to want to make small talk, know what I've been doing and such. Thing is, there's nothing I can tell them. Life has stopped for me, other than my daily trips to the cemetery.
I make my way downstairs, to find Mom chopping vegetables while Dad sits at the counter, chatting away about something. They both look up, smiles on their faces as I enter. Dad grabs another stool and pulls it up beside him.
"Take a seat, your mother is making your favourite for dinner. I don't know why, she never makes it for me," he says with a pout on his face.
"Oh, stop it you. I'm always making your favourites too, so don't complain," she tells him, pointing the spatula in his direction. "I'm making chicken pot pie, is that okay?"
"Perfect. Just what I feel like." I smile slightly, trying to seem enthusiastic.
Dinner goes by just as I knew it would; I only add to the conversation when asked. Once dishes are done, I excuse myself back to my bedroom under the guise of still being tired. Sometime later, both parents enter my room to say goodnight, also to tell me they have something for me in the morning. I don't dwell on it, as it could be anything, and I'm just too tired to care. An unsettled sleep takes over, and I toss and turn frequently. I hug Senna's tank closer to my chest, but it's not doing much in the way of calming me. This is the first night since she's been gone, outside of the hospital, that I haven't slept in our bed, and it feels very wrong.
I squint, the early morning rays peeking through my bedroom curtains. The gritty feeling in my eyes lets me know it's not been a peaceful slumber. There's no point going back to sleep, I'll just feel worse when I wake again. Padding my way barefoot down the stairs; coffee is the only thing on my mind right now. Mom and Dad are seated at the breakfast table, papers in hand reading the daily news.
"There's a plate in the warming oven for you, a cooked breakfast. Coffee's in the pot, grab some and come join us," Mom says, before taking another bite of her toast.
I sit at the table, coffee in hand, when Mom starts talking again. "Edward, I have something for you. We were going to give this to you on Senna's anniversary, but once we found you at the cemetery, in the condition you were in, we had to leave it. Your father and I have talked about it and we feel that you're now well enough to handle it. Take your time, finish your breakfast, then why don't you head up to the sunroom and read it." A knowing smile crosses her face, a slight twinkle back in her eyes that I haven't seen for some time.
She passes me a cream envelope, simply marked with my name across the front. Senna's elegant handwriting across the front. A small gasp escapes my lips, before I shovel my food in as quickly as I can, without making myself sick.
"Scoot, Edward. I can see you're itching to open it. Don't worry about the dishes." A giggle escapes Mom's lips.
I race up the stairs to the first floor sunroom, ungracefully dropping myself into the chaise lounge that sits beneath the picture window. I can't do anything but stare at the envelope held within my sweaty hands. What's in there, what could she have possibly written on the piece of parchment encased in the matching envelope? Very carefully so as not to rip the pocket, I run my finger along the seam. The very thought that this is from Senna, it's been in her possession, written by her very own hand has my heart pounding in excitement. I gently pull the paper from its enclosure, unfolding it until her handwriting becomes visible.
Pulling my legs up underneath myself, I shuffle so I'm comfortable enough to read without fidgeting.
In her delicate script, I pore over her words...
Hey Gorgeous,
Yeah, there's that smile that everyone's been missing. And all it took was a little letter from me to do it. Now please don't be mad at your Mom for holding out on you with this letter. I thought you may turn into a hermit after I left, so I gave your Mom instructions to hold onto it for me, and if after a year you were still missing me, to give this to you.
Now you are probably wondering, why the letter? Remember that time, Junior year in college, I made you sit down and watch PS I Love You with me? I bawled the whole way through, but my loving boyfriend held my hand, passed me tissues and let me snot all over his shirt. I'll never forget the way you held me in your arms, telling me it would be okay and she would eventually move on, and be happy. I remember thinking at the time how wonderful it was that he left her these notes, encouraging her to go on with her life. So, I've decided to do the same for you. Now your Mom is in possession of these letters, and she knows when to give each one to you. Don't you go trying to force her to give them to you now, Edward Anthony Cullen. I know you all too well, how much you hate surprises. But for these, you'll have to wait. Also, I'm not telling you how many there are. You'll find out eventually.
Now, I bet you've been sitting on that fat ass doing nothing, since I've been gone. Am I right? Hang on, I take that back. I bet you've turned into a stick thin pubescent teen. I know what happens to you when you don't eat enough protein and stop going to the gym. So that's the first thing you're going to do for me. Start eating properly again, and working out. I've also written a letter to Em, who will be there first thing in the morning to take you to the gym. Yeah, he's in on this too. I know how much you enjoy the gym, and how important it is to your overall health.
Please baby, do this for me?
All my love, Always,
Your Senna xoxo
The droplets falling on my hands alert me to the fact I'm crying. Not wanting to get the letter wet in case the ink runs, I quickly shake my hands of the moisture, then wipe my face on the threadbare T-shirt I'm wearing. A warmth spreads through my body, not only from the heat filtering through the curtains, but also the notion that she knows what I would be going through, and thought ahead enough to write the letters. It's almost like she's here with me, wrapping her slender arms around my frame, her heat seeping into my body. A sense of peace has enveloped me as I get lost in my past.
I remember clearly the day we sat down to watch the movie. We hadn't been together long, and I really wanted to impress her. She begged to see it, and it was her pick, so I went along with her choice. I couldn't understand why she wanted to watch something so morbid. Why would you want to carry around and sleep with your husbands ashes? Or wear their clothes, or lock yourself away for that matter and live like a pig. How could you not want to shower, put trash in the can and clean up around you?
I told her that day that I liked the movie, for a chick flick, but couldn't understand why anyone would go to those lengths to make someone feel loved and cherished enough to allow them to move on. If the love of your life was terminally ill, how could you not pick up the pieces and continue on once they were gone? At the time I didn't fully comprehend the intensity of true love, how it consumes your every thought, every fiber within your body. How that person is the other half of you, and you will never be a whole again without them around.
But it all makes sense now, because that is how I've been living. I couldn't see it myself, but I see that's how others would view it.
Daily trips to the cemetery have been what's allowed me to feel close to Senna, but with just a few lines on a page, some direction and a simple 'Please baby, do this for me?', it's like she's in the room, begging me to pick up my life and carry on. She knows me better than I know myself, and she knew that she would have to do this for me.
Now, I understand.
I recline on the chaise lounge, re-reading the contents of the letter. Even though gym will be out of the question until I'm cleared of having Pneumonia, the idea of reconnecting with Emmett is something that I can do, and even look forward to a little. I've missed my best friend, and the pastimes I used to enjoy.
There you have it, chapter two. Now if you've donated to F4LLS, you'll find a surprise in there. I've contributed with a o/s called Into The Light. It's Bella's POV of Through The Darkness, and when I can it will be posted as a companion piece. Once again the awesome banner is done by Caiteexx. Keep an eye out for it!
I'll see you all as soon as I can with the next update :)
Sonia xx