o
There is blood, so much blood.
"Can you identify this person, Mr. Cullen?"
"Yes."
His voice is stifled with tears.
"Yes, I can."
He looks at her face, which is strangely unmarred but for a cut on her cheek.
"She is Irina Denali. My wife."
o
Edward was bent over the toilet bowl, puking his brains out.
It had only been a dream, but it didn't seem like a dream. Everything had felt so real.
Edward dry-heaved. There was nothing but bile left.
He flushed the toilet and stood on wobbly legs. He brushed his teeth.
He'd had two glasses of wine once he'd been home from his beautiful date with Bella. He'd watched a rerun of Strictly Come Dancing and had gone to bed at about one a.m.
He had been feeling fine, and the dream had been so uncalled for.
Edward shuffled back into his bedroom. It was just after six, but he doubted he'd be able to go back to sleep. He pulled on an old woollen jumper and went to his studio.
Work on his latest painting was the only thing that would bring him peace of mind now.
.
He worked until noon, only stopping to make coffee and have a slice of toast. He decided to go for a run – something he'd been doing regularly in earlier days, but only now and then over the past five years.
The air was surprisingly mild for November, the pale sunlight caressing his face. Edward's breath painted little white clouds as he ran, his feet crunching rhythmically on the gravel. He took the route he had mostly taken with Milo, and smiled wistfully as he remembered how the dog loved to retrieve his favourite toy, a rubber chicken.
Edward was completely drained when he returned home, taking a long, very hot shower. His phone beeped when he exited the bathroom. It was a message from Bella, making his heart jump.
"I'm still at my parents', but I could come over at around five? B"
"That would be lovely. Looking forward to seeing you. E"
Had that been too curt?
Edward groaned and rubbed his eyes. He clearly had no idea how to do this.
He still didn't know what "this" was.
He was attracted to Bella, overwhelmingly so, and hoped that she felt the same way.
It was nothing he had experienced before. With Irina, things had been different. They'd been closer in age, and she had been an artist as well. Then, there had been the conflict with her family, so there'd always been this sense of two against the rest of the world.
With Bella, things were just warm, and easy. She didn't look up to him because she admired him as an artist. She didn't expect him to produce great paintings, or to live up to some public image. She seemed to like him for himself alone, with all his flaws and quirks.
Edward towelled off and slipped into boxers, jeans, and a black knitted pullover. He tried to tame his messy hair, but gave up after a minute.
He looked at his image in the bathroom mirror.
And he smiled at himself.
oOo
Thank you for reading!