Thank you addicttwilight2. Standard disclaimers apply.
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Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low,
As long ago, my love, how long ago.
"Echo", Christina Rossetti
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Chapter Six: Echo
It had happened so easily, so quietly. One minute, she was staring blankly at her pale reflection in the mirror of yet another anonymous airplane bathroom. The next, she became aware of her hair sticking sweatily between her collarbones, and irritably yanked on it. The fragile gold chain that had somehow made its way out from its unobtrusive place under her bulky sweater and wound itself in her hair snapped, and seconds later she was listening in horror to the delicate tinkling of gold on tile.
She fell to her hands and knees in a panic, desperately searching. Her engagement ring was located easily enough – its cluster of diamonds waved merrily at her from a dark corner – but her wedding band was another story. Her breath escaping from her lungs in sobs, she searched the tiled floor like a blind creature, her hands patting and patting until she finally discovered it hidden under a bunch of damp tissue paper.
She grasped it feverishly in her hot hand and just like that, her fingers were holding the rings, ramming them back into position. For a moment she clutched at the cool clasps of gold, twiddling the bands around her finger in a long-forgotten habit, before staring down at her hand in dumb realisation.
Sick to her stomach, she tugged and tugged at the now meaningless rings. The skin below her knuckle had become dough-like, pasty and engorged from the absence of jewellery. She hurt herself in her efforts to get the damn things off, but stubbornly they clung to her flesh.
Soap, she thought, I need soap, and staggered to the sink. Vigorously she scrubbed at her hand under a stream of water, fighting with the symbols of her marriage until finally they succumbed to the laws of physics and slid smoothly from her hand. They clattered onto the cold marble of the sink, the tinny sound much too small to contain the gravity of that moment.
She stared at it, feeling bile rise in the back of her throat. The last time this had happened... the last time she'd taken those rings off...
Angrily she tried to force the memory back into the recesses of her brain, but it poked and prodded at her until she was forced to let it go.
She'd needed soap then, too. Standing in their ridiculously large bathroom, she'd stared down at these exact rings and reflected that before that day, they had not left her finger since Edward had placed them there.
She'd crumbled where she stood. The bright lies she'd built so carefully around herself – it won't hurt for long, he'll be okay, you'll get over it – had tumbled down around her and she'd folded into herself like a ragdoll, her arms clenched around her stomach. Somehow she'd staggered into the shower, feeling scalding pinpricks of water assault her tender body, and her grief had emerged from her throat in great, gulping howls.
Even now, two months and two continents away, she had to choke back a sob at the memory of that pain.
"Bella?" His voice was pained. "Bella, can I come in?"
She banged her head softly off the cool sink, hoping to shoot the memory out of her head on a wave of physical pain. It was no use. Still she heard the gentle creak of the door as if it were still actually happening, felt the gush of cold air as he opened the shower, shuddered in relief as his cool body wrapped around her back, enfolding her in a tight embrace.
Her eyes closed tightly as she remembered how she'd tried to struggle, tried to fight against this achingly sweet gesture. She'd wondered how it was that after all of her rebuttals, all of her lies and reprimands and outright screaming accusations, he still cared this much. Somehow his utter devotion to her had made her hate and love him in equal measures –maybe hate him because moments like this made her fall in love with him all over again – and she had fought like a wildcat, biting, scratching, kicking every inch of skin she could reach.
She'd shrieked at him, she remembered with a wince, calling him every name she could think of, the shrew-like shrilling of her voice amplified in the enclosed space. Still he had held grimly on and eventually her movements had turned feeble, her insults somewhat less than venomous. Finally she'd tilted her head back to find his shoulder and sob agonisingly into his neck.
She heard his voice whispering into her ear, telling her sweet little lies. "It's all right, it's all right. We can work this out, love. It'll be okay. This is just... just a rough patch, everything will be fine, we'll be happy... I promise you, I am going to make you so happy..."
It had worked, too. Her tears had ebbed, she had relaxed. She'd slumped back against him, weary of trying to deny her connection to him, her head lolling back on his shoulder, her breaths hiccupping weakly into her lungs.
He'd kissed her forehead. "I was wondering when that was going to happen."
She had opened her eyes and found his. She could see individual droplets of water clinging to his lashes, warm gold moving over her face like another embrace. She'd realised then that this was the closest they'd been since the day after their honeymoon...
She opened her eyes, startled by the potency of her memory. Artificial light stabbed her retinas. She gritted her teeth, manoeuvred her foot out of her sandal, and kicked the side of the ceramic sink. Hard.
Biting back a moan, she felt momentarily victorious. The physicality of the action had successfully distracted her from what had happened next on that particular occasion. How she'd given up trying to hate him, how she'd thrown caution to the wind, how she'd kissed him, held him, made love to him, told him how much he meant to her... how she'd gotten up the next morning to find a rose on the pillow, how she'd left that afternoon as he was out hunting.
She kicked the sink again, and again, tears beading in her eyes as blood throbbed in her toes.
A soft, accented voice behind her. "Excusez-moi?"
She gasped and spun around, her hand flying to her chest. There in front of her stood an old lady, regarding Bella with fear in her eyes. The woman's hands were held out – she was obviously en route to the sink Bella had been abusing.
"I'm so sorry." Her voice was husky from lack of use. She cleared her throat awkwardly, slipping her foot back into her sandal. Desperately she scrabbled for the French she'd learned in evening classes with Renee, light years ago. "Je m'excuse. Je suis tres desolée."
The lady nodded cautiously, moving past Bella to immerse her hands in the still-running water. Bella turned on her heel to exit the bathroom.
"Attendez, mademoiselle," the woman croaked.
Bella swung back to find a wrinkled hand held out to her. There in the centre of the wizened palm sat her engagement and wedding rings.
She sucked in a breath, her fingers lightly grazing papery-thin skin as she retrieved the jewellery. She looked into the woman's watery blue eyes and tried her best to give a genuine smile.
"Merci beaucoup," she said quietly, jamming the rings into her jean pocket.
Seconds later she was out in the dimly-lit corridor, leaning against the grubby wall, her eyes closed and her head tilted back as she tried to regain some hint of dignity. Her hand was coiled in a fist around the rings in her pocket.
Tendrils of warmth reached out and embraced her. She knew, without looking, that Jacob was standing in front of her, his eyes scanning her face worriedly.
His voice was sympathetic. "Stressed, Bells?"
She nodded curtly once, not bothering to open her eyes.
"I know the feeling. Pardon me for being an uncultured slob, but this language barrier crap is freaking me out. I keep thinking everybody we pass is talking about us."
"They're not. We're unobtrusive." She hated that her paranoia had rubbed off so obviously on him.
"I guess." His hand squeezed her shoulder lightly. "I hate to ask, but are you ready to go? We're kind of on a schedule here, after all."
Like she needed reminding.
They were halfway through the arrivals terminal when she remembered something. There were perks to being friends with a mechanic, she reflected as she turned to the man in question. They always carried way too much crap on their person.
"Jake, what do you have in your pockets right now?" she asked.
His eyes were confused, but he reached into his pockets, emptying the contents into his large palms and showing them to her. His wallet, his passport, a handful of foreign change, a few screws, a small pocket knife, and...
She plucked the piece of twine out of his hand. "Mind if I steal this from you?"
"Course not. Your shoelace break?"
She shook her head absently, taking her rings out of her pocket. With painstaking care, she threaded the coarse string through the delicate gold loops, knotting it securely before slipping it over her head and underneath her sweater.
She was sure Edward thought she'd sold them or thrown them out, but in her own sick, twisted way, keeping them there – right above her heart – was a constant reminder of what it had taken to get them, and what it had meant to give them up. The sacrifice and the struggle she was enduring, and the errant hopeful thought that maybe someday they would regain their rightful place on her finger.
Once this was over, she promised herself, then...
"Any preference for the car?" Jacob's voice interrupted her inner monologue.
She shook her head. "Anything with two seats and an engine. Need my mediocre French skills?"
He shook his head confidently, and she was struck again by the realisation that this man beside her was only eighteen. "It's an airport, Bells. I might not be bilingual but I'm sure someone at the rental desk is."
She nodded, hanging back to watch him lope away from her, needing these few minutes to get her head together. Unthinkingly her arms wrapped around her torso, her eyes darting back and forth through the crowd of people.
She felt a stab of fear at Jacob's distance, thinking of Alice and the momentary window this would allow her. Then she sighed and shook her head. It wouldn't matter. Her sister-in-law probably, rightfully hated her. Any brief flash of Bella in an airport wouldn't cause enough concern, or clue anybody in to her plan. How many airports were there in America? There was no reason for Alice to even suspect she had left the continent.
She stood there, lost in bitter memories for what felt like hours. She was so detached from her body that she almost jumped out of her skin when Jacob's warm arm wrapped itself around her waist.
"Everything sorted," he mumbled into her ear. "You ready to go?"
She rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, feeling the weight of hours of travelling and jet lag. Stifling a yawn, she nodded firmly.
"Let's do this."
He was pacing. Back, forth, back, forth across the wooden floorboards of the tiny white room. His hands grasped at the roots of his hair, flexing as he pulled it painfully, and his eyes were dark and fierce.
Watching him, she felt like she was trapped in a cage with a tiger. His body was tense and trembling, a coiled spring ready to detonate.
"Jake," she said quietly, reaching out a hand in supplication.
He ignored her utterly, his eyes skittering around the room. She watched as they darted from the door to the window and back again, knowing that he was desperately searching for any way out of this mess.
"You know I have to do this," she whispered, dread rising in her throat like bile. "You know this is the only way."
He looked at her for a split second, and then turned away and punched the wall. A chunk of plaster fell off and disintegrated on the floor. She looked at him in disbelief.
He swallowed thickly. "I really thought that would make me feel better."
A knot of tension tangled tightly in her lower back.
"I am so sorry for putting you through this." Tears beaded in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "You are... Jake, you are family, and I hate that..."
He held up a large hand to her. "Stop," he said blackly. "This isn't going to change anything between us. You're not the one I'm mad at."
A reluctant smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "You're mad at someone?"
He nodded, pacing again. "Vampires. Werewolves. Life in general."
She nodded solemnly. "I understand."
He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, then sighed.
"Didn't you say you wanted to do something?"
She swallowed and looked down at the knife clutched so tightly in her hand.
"Yeah."
They stepped together, into the tiny, cobwebby bathroom. Sitting on the toilet seat, before the mirror, she grabbed a chunk of her hair and sliced through it, wincing as it fell to the floor.
She cut what she could reach, then handed him the knife. She only realised that she was crying again when his thumb collected a drop of moisture from her cheek. She stared at him fiercely, willing him not to say anything, and sighed in relief as he took over.
She wasn't sure what this gesture really meant. Maybe it was partly because of her routine nightmares of a white claw reaching for her as she ran, catching her by the ends of her hair and yanking her back. Maybe it was some kind of ancient sacrifice she felt she had to make to undo what she'd done to Edward – she'd denied her femininity for so long, now she removed another symbol of it. Whatever the reason, she remained quiet as Jacob hacked her hair to just above her shoulder line.
Afterwards, he left to resume pacing and she remained where she was, staring at the strands of dark brown on the floor. The hair Edward used to tangle his hands in.
She had no tears left in her. She rose shakily and moved to stand in the frame of the door, brushing her hand against the coarse ends of her chopped hair.
"He's late," she said quietly. Jacob halted and spun on his heel to face her.
"Of course he is," he spat viciously. "This whole process is more fun if you're on edge."
She swallowed, feeling dizzy. Her heart pounded away in her ears, painfully loud.
Jake halted suddenly at the window, the muscles in his back rigid, his jaw fixed. She knew that this was to be the very hardest part of their journey for him – that with every breath he took, he was battling fiercely against his most natural instincts to never let this happen – and yet she couldn't think about him, could not spare him even an ounce of empathy. All of her concentration was currently fixed towards keeping her hands in two tight fists at her sides, her body stiff and controlled.
She stared down at the simple white linen of the bed where she would die, her eyes moving over the threads of fabric, counting. Anything but this interminable silence.
It seemed like ages, but it was probably only a few minutes later when a knock stirred the air of the tiny room. She sprang to her feet. Jacob was already moving, but somehow she slithered past him and was first to the door. She noticed that her hand as it reached out to grasp the knob was steady and was ridiculously pleased at that fact.
She opened the door. She might have noticed that Jacob's body was curved protectively over her, or that he was trembling harder than ever, if her entire concentration hadn't been taken up by the vampire in front of her.
His long black hair streamed down his back, his red eyes beaming merrily at her as he reached out and grasped her hand, raising it to his papery mouth for a kiss. She shuddered imperceptibly.
"Mrs. Cullen," he said, his tone warm, his expression genial, "how lovely to see you again."
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