Thank you addicttwilight2. Standard disclaimers apply – I own neither Twilight nor the Sara Teasdale poem below nor the song "I've Got You Under My Skin" which is referenced later in the chapter.
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Shall we, too, rise forgetful from our sleep,
And shall my soul that lies within your hand
Remember nothing, as the blowing sand
Forgets the palm where long blue shadows creep
When winds along the darkened desert sweep?
"Love and Death", Sara Teasdale.
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Chapter Nine: Shadow
Nothing else existed.
Though he was beginning to realise that that could happen in lots of ways. For example, in the days right after Bella's departure, he had gone to their meadow and lain on his back in the grass, and he had only discovered that a full week had gone by when his family had come looking. On that occasion his mind had been utterly blank, devoid of any thought or emotion. The days had crept stealthily past him and he quite literally had been completely ignorant of the world around him.
Now, he was fully aware, alert and alive in a way he hadn't been in months. He could feel every cell in his body singing, could hear the grass under his feet inching its way towards the sun, could distinguish the multiple layers of his family members' each individual thought. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered.
Bella stood in front of him, her arm outstretched, her hand extended, her eyes as wide and innocent as a child's. He could see her chest move up and down, could sense every particle of air as it flowed over her skin towards him, could recognise what his life had been once and might possibly be again...
His fingers trembled, reached towards hers, and then he was clasping her hand hungrily and moving it to his cheek. He could sense that any further gesture of affection on his part would have scared her to death – could sense that even this small touch was scaring her to death – and so he didn't do what he most wanted, which was to grab her in a crushing embrace and run for miles.
Aro clapped him heavily on the shoulder, near his neck. He barely registered the older man's thumb brushing lightly against his skin, or the triumphant, smug air permeating his thoughts. He could hear his voice booming in the air around him, could sense his posturing in front of the family, could pinpoint every arrogant thought and word, but – he didn't care. He. Didn't. Care.
His eyes still searched her face. And then his mouth was opening and words were spilling out.
"You came back," he croaked, and watched her smile and nod tremulously in response.
"I was told that this is where I belong," she said, and her little voice was so hopeful that the statement came out as a question.
Aro stepped away – Carlisle stepped forward. Probably to make some appropriately paternal gesture. Frankly, Carlisle could have waltzed naked around him beating a drum for all Edward cared.
Belatedly he realised that Bella's hand was trembling on his cheek, that her eyes had gone from innocently bewildered to frightened and uncertain, and that his fingers were gripping hers even more tightly in response.
Horrified, he dropped her hand like a hot potato. "I'm sorry," he blurted, stunned at his lack of self-control.
He took a moment to recover, and realised that the long dark car that had brought Bella home was peeling out of the driveway. Aro had left.
Esme appeared in front of him, holding a hand out to Bella, taking her inside the house. His eyes followed her every movement, his body straining to follow, but Emmett and Jasper stepped forward to block his path.
"Edward." Jasper's voice was low and urgent. "Edward, this could be a..."
His attention snapped to his brother. "A what?"
Jasper paused, regarding him carefully.
"A trap," he said quietly. Emmett nodded his acquiescence.
Edward scoffed.
"You can't be serious. This is Bella we're talking about. You do remember Bella, don't you? Blushes a lot, trips over her own feet, incapable of lying or any kind of subterfuge for that matter?"
He was grinning now, high on this feeling, this my-wife-is-nearby elation. In the silence that followed, his jubilation fell a notch, other, more uncomfortable emotions making themselves known.
"Well?" he demanded, his eyes fierce on his brother's.
It was Emmett who replied. "We remember Bella, Edward," he said quietly. "We're just not sure you do."
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This felt right.
She knew it deep in her bones, like she hadn't known anything since she'd woken up in that strange room with the light bouncing its brilliance into her tender eyes and the most godawful stench she could imagine assaulting her nostrils.
She had no background, no reference point upon which to judge her feelings, and so was spinning and spinning in this strange world where nothing made sense – but the emotion engulfing her now felt almost exactly like what the hot bath she'd taken before she'd left the castle had felt like. Except that had warmed her bones from the outside, and this warmed them from the inside.
The woman – Esme, she remembered, her name was Esme – had led her to a big, open room where a grand piano sat in a shaft of light from a large window. She had been led as far as the couch and now sat neatly down, observing all around her in fascination.
Esme sat next to her, and Bella could see a stiffness lining her shoulders – unnatural in one so soft and maternal. The tiny one with the dark hair was still looking at her with trepidation – as if she was a snake about to strike – and the blonde was simply inscrutable, leaning against the far wall and inspecting her nails.
"Would you like something to drink?" The dark-haired woman spoke suddenly, uncertainly. "We have... we have some Coke somewhere, I think... or I could make you some tea..."
Bella shook her head, bewildered, but feeling her throat close and her stomach contract at the thought. Was this what normal vampires did? Was she somehow flawed, that all she wanted was... was...
"No, of course not," the woman muttered, shaking her head. "Stupid of me, to think..."
Alice! That was the name. She'd remembered, suddenly. Well, that counted for something, right?
She cleared her throat, proud of herself. "Thank you anyway, Alice."
Her simple words somehow drew a gasp from the room. Now all three were looking at her as though she were a hissing cobra, and she felt cold panic grip her entrails. What? What had she done...?
Esme exhaled sharply, and there was a look in her eyes that Bella somehow knew, instinctively, didn't belong there. "You know her name?" she asked quietly.
She was clueless for another second, and then inspiration struck. "Oh! Oh of course, Aro told you... I'm sorry. Bits and pieces come back to me every so often... I didn't even know my name when I woke up, but then I remembered it, and I remembered I was once human and married and..." She faltered at the look on their faces. "...and... that I needed to come back," she finished lamely.
Alice's face was like stone. She turned to Esme.
"We're about to have a problem," she murmured, and jerked her head towards the door.
Bella followed her gaze and instantly the warm feeling blazed in her chest, lighting her up again. The man called Edward was standing at the doorframe.
Instantly she felt her cheeks stretch, a smile stuttering out. God, she thought, I haven't done that since... I can't quite...
But he looked somehow different, she thought, stiffer, more contained. Her face froze as her eyes met his and she saw...
An old feeling welled up, one buried deep between layers of other emotions, all mixed up and tangled together in her head. Her brow furrowed.
Fear, she thought. She was definitely afraid. But why?
She looked again, met his eyes. Oh, she thought.
Black fire blazed at her from across the room. She felt as though she were stripped bare, her secrets exposed for his pleasure, her every imperfection there for him to see.
She flinched reflexively, her breath hitching in her throat. One fluid movement had her back to the corner, rounded, her every limb trembling with the need to protect herself from the threat evident in Edward's gaze.
The other blond was back, crouching in front of her, baring his teeth and hissing at her, and she shrank back submissively. And then he was gone, soaring through the air as Edward appeared behind him, caught him by the scruff of the neck and threw him bodily from the house, straight through the plate-glass window she'd so admired earlier.
Glass falling, slicing through flesh, sending searing darts of pain through her body... looking up to meet Jasper's wild gaze, his teeth snapping together audibly...
She curled into a ball and rocked as the house descended into chaos around her. Dimly she heard Rosalie – Rosalie, that was it – snarling, Esme and Alice's voices shrieking for calm, Jasper – Jasper! – cursing at Edward. And Edward's body stood in front of hers, his back turned towards her, his fists clenched and his shoulders squared.
His voice bellowed above the rest. "Goddammit, she is part of this family and you will treat her as such until I say otherwise! Do you understand me?"
The racket rose another decibel, indignant voices clamouring to be heard, and finally she couldn't take it anymore. Spying an out, she slipped inside another room and closed the door firmly, leaning her back to it and rubbing her temples firmly.
She was in the kitchen, she realised. Implements that surely must never have been used for cooking gleamed from every surface, and somehow she could hear soft, crooning music, even over the din that was only slightly reduced by the thick wooden door.
In fact, if she really thought about it, she could hear crickets chirping in the wood five miles away and trucks downshifting on the highway, but then again, she didn't really want to think about it too much.
She would do something normal, she decided, something so mundane and human that it must have been second nature to her, once. Eventually everyone would shut up and things would start to make sense again. She was almost sure of it.
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He was sure that Carlisle and Esme would share some strong words with him later about how he had essentially kicked them out of their own home. He was also sure that Jasper was fit to tear him limb from limb for his stupidity and that Rosalie's veneer of disdain had grown another couple of inches thick.
He didn't care. Did not care.
He took a deep breath through his nostrils, his entire being rejoicing as he detected freesia. The quiet both enfolded him in the satisfaction that he was alone with his wife and scared him slightly. Somehow in the fracas she had slipped away. Where was she?
He listened intently for a moment, searching for the family double-thud of her heartbeat, before catching himself and realising that... that...
Cutting off his train of thought, he detected the soft padding of her feet on tile.
Quietly, he opened the door leading to the kitchen. And stopped, his heart leaping in his throat.
She had discarded the long robe he so detested, thrown it carelessly over the back of a chair. Underneath it she'd worn cutoff jeans and a tank top. Her legs were bare, her scraped-back hair enhancing the curve of her neck, her shoulders rounded and gleaming in the soft light. The scent of her poured around him, wrapping him up, drugging him into complete stupidity so that all he could do was lean against the door frame and do his best to keep breathing.
She turned to look at him, cocking her head like a small bird.
"Sorry about that," he said quietly, his throat dry. "Some... family matters needed to be taken care of."
She paused, and then nodded very solemnly. He swallowed.
"What are you doing?" he asked, seeing for the first time the mountain of spotless dishes stacked in piles everywhere.
She opened her mouth uncertainly. "I'm... cleaning dishes."
He was honestly puzzled. "Why?"
She paused again, looking at him apprehensively. "I... don't really know," she said in confusion.
He nodded slowly. He knew he had scared her before and so he kept his movements easy as he manoeuvred his body so he was perched on the edge of a countertop, and smiled at her.
"Don't let me stop you," he said gently.
She watched him for a few seconds more, then nodded jerkily, turning back to the sink.
He watched as her hands, gloved in suds, lifted and scrubbed at a plate. Her movements were stiff and erratic, every line in her body speaking of her tension.
He thanked god for whomever had been working in the kitchen before this – for whomever had put the soft jazzy music on to play. Softly he began to hum along with the song and watched in disbelief as his wife began to relax. As her hips began to sway gently, her shoulders becoming fluid, her whole body reflecting the crooning music.
And he realised something he'd forgotten in the long months without her. That there was beauty everywhere, even in this mundane household task. That the curve of a woman's waist could be a place for his hand to sit and that the crook of a neck could shelter and absorb any pain. As always, she brought out a simple awe in him, a gladness to be alive that he'd never known before her.
All he could see was light and hope in this moment, all was Bella Swan in the kitchen cleaning, like so many times before.
A new song began, and he watched in joy as carefully his wife set down the plate she'd been holding and walked towards him, her movements somehow both shy and sure, her hand outstretched for his. There was a look in her eyes that both scared and exhilarated him at once.
He was resolved not to touch her unless she specifically requested it, whether with words or with her body, and so his hand lay limp in hers till she squeezed his fingers, his other arm lying uselessly by his side till she brought it up to wrap it around her waist. And then they were somehow cheek to cheek and his eyes were closing and her soft body was moving against him, so soft how was she still so soft, and before he knew it they were whirling around the kitchen.
I would sacrifice everything, come what might, for the sake of having you near...
She sang into his ear. He couldn't ever remember hearing her sing in his presence before.
They whirled past a blue teapot that had once belonged to Esme's mother. He was happier than he could ever remember being. What did that colour remind him of, he wondered absently. That bright, robin's-egg blue...
Her eyes, pleading, so different from his wife's. Hands in his hair. A dying voice in his head, pleasedon'tdothisI'lldoanything...
He froze in position, his hand falling limply from Bella's waist. Desperately he tried to fight it, but it would not be stopped.
He was a murderer. A monster.
He stared into his wife's ruby-red eyes. Calmly, he stepped back and walked away and out of the house, hearing the dying remnants of Sinatra echo like a tolling bell.
Wake up to reality...
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