Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the luminescent Jessica1971
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!
Chapter 8: Echo
It had been 8 days, 14 hours, and 32 minutes since Edward had written the letter that sealed him off from Bella. Since then, he had tried. Tried to move on, tried NOT to think of her every second, wondering about all the things he had missed, all the things he would never know - the exact color of her eyes, the smell of her hair, the feel of her hands on him anywhere.
He and Victoria fell back into the familiar pattern to which he was well accustomed, sharing dinners and lunches, picking party favors and china sets, but none of it felt comfortable to him anymore. The more he tried to pull his thoughts from Bella, the more they ran in her direction.
During breakfast one morning, Edward was dismayed to find that he had begun counting his days in letters, as in I went grocery shopping 1 week before Bella's last letter to me or That exam was due 2 days before my last letter to Bella. Afterwards, he'd tried to stop this train of thought, even as it became clearer with each passing day that Bella would always be a part of him.
Victoria noticed his distraction, but quickly dismissed it as a general disdain for wedding planning. "The typical male emerges," she'd muttered, rolling her eyes.
Edward had never realized before how little Victoria needed him to complete them as a couple. It seemed as long as he was physically present, Victoria could carry on whole conversations and make decisions for the both of them, with only the slightest pretense of needing or even wanting his input. He wondered if she could truly be satisfied with so little of him. Edward hoped so, because there seemed to be less and less of him every day. It was as if he had given the best parts of himself away with every letter he wrote to Bella, so that now, in this time, there was barely anything left. He had never felt so alone in his life.
Not making love to Victoria had been tricky, but again fate had stepped in to save him just as his late night excuses began to wear thin. The "no sex" rule that Victoria put into effect during her cycle, which Edward had once dismissed as "ridiculous", was now like a buoy in the storm, buying him time.
Sometimes, Edward could convince himself that he just needed time to reach a new equilibrium. But every theory he came up with during his sleepless nights never seemed to last the full light of day.
By the 8th day, the need to connect to Bella in some way, any way, became overwhelming. He canceled his afternoon classes, resolving to just take a drive to clear his head. It wasn't until he took the 225 exit that he knew where he was going. He was driving to Bella's house in Willoughby. He'd gotten her address from the store owner the day after he'd read her first letter, telling the antique dealer and himself that he was "just curious".
Edward had put this drive off as long as he could. He knew that going to her house would make him feel the full weight of her absence. While they were writing to each other, it was easy; he had the real thing, a real connection. Now, he just needed something, anything to help him hold onto the knowledge that she was real, had existed, no matter how sad it made him.
Pulling up to the property, Edward realized he had no plan. What if someone lived in the house? The store owner had said he'd gotten the desk at an estate sale held by some overanxious distant relatives of the original owner. What if the house was occupied now? Would he knock on the front door? How would he explain his presence?
Staring at the stately white and blue colonial, he realized he didn't care. He just needed to be here, be near where she had been. If whoever was in the house thought that he was crazy, he would deal with it then.
As he strode up to the door, Edward came up with a half-formulated story about doing research for the University on Civil War generals. The fact that Bella's father was never a Civil War general was beside the point. After 5 minutes of knocking and trying to peer through the tightly shuttered windows, Edward finally accepted that no one was home.
"What did you expect?" Edward berated himself. "Bella to come rushing out?" Sadly, he knew that he had hoped for, if not expected, just that. He made his way around the front of the house to a pathway that opened up to a slightly unkempt garden with wildflowers, peonies, and tea rose bushes.
Edward's face broke into a smile, knowing from the descriptions in her letters that this was Bella's garden. He wondered how different it looked now, compared to when she had last seen it. If she had walked along the same lime stones that he did now. Edward followed the path as it wove through the garden, grazing the flowers he knew she had planted. Edward remembered Bella writing about how much she loved to sit on a bench in the center of this garden and read, surrounded by the scent of flowers. He looked around for the bench eagerly, hoping to sit where she sat, but could only find the bolts indicating where it had been removed. We can't even touch the same things, he thought, feeling his mood turn black once more.
The end of the path led to a wooded area that surrounded the edge of the garden. He remembered this, too, from her letters. He could imagine that this was a place she would have wandered many a day, seeking solitude. Wanting to connect with her in any way he could, Edward passed from the garden into the woods. He traveled slowly through the cluster of trees and shrubs before noticing a huge elm tree directly in his path. Its roots buckled then extended out from the tree's large base, resembling an outstretched hand.
Maybe she sat there? he thought and imagined a small brown haired girl tucked between the tree roots, reading a book by the dappled light of the sun peeking through the leaves. He was lost in thought as he felt something press against his chest, a hovering sensation just below his heart. It was tentative and lingering like a touch. He remained still while looking up to see if leaves were falling on him. The pressure against his chest increased slightly, allowing him to register the pressure as organized in the shape of a hand. His body froze in place just as he began to feel its warmth penetrate the thin cotton of his shirt.
He exhaled in a gust of disbelief. The hand pressed flat against him and he could feel his heartbeat vibrate though the hand that pressed there, the suddenly solid invisible thing in front of him.
It can't be, he thought, trying to shut down any speculation into the impossible.
No, you're imagining this because you want it so bad.
As if to prove his point, his hand came up over the force he felt. His breath stopped when his hand could not press unobstructed against his shirt. It was blocked by a hand, a small, delicate, feminine hand that trembled slightly under his touch.
He blinked his eyes rapidly and looked around, afraid to move any other part of his body but his head. The scene before him was clear. There was nothing in front of him but the old elm, less than 2 feet away, except it wasn't true. He could feel it as his heart beat right through her hand.
"Oh, God. Oh, God. Please."
Just….stay, he thought, trying to hold himself still while he inched his way down her wrist to her forearm. He closed his eyes then to give into his insanity fully.
"It doesn't matter," he murmured as he felt her body for the first time. He didn't know how long it would last or if it was really happening. He decided not to care. "It doesn't matter."
Her skin was warm and creamy, silky, but firm to the touch.
Here…she is here… he thought as he finally trailed over her elbow.
The thought made him lean into her just as he felt a puff of warm air across his face. His eyes snapped open as he tightened his grip on her arm.
"You're here," Edward heard himself say.
As if finally given permission, his body took over, no longer tentative. His right hand sought out to find her other arm, to understand her parameters and hold her for as long as time and space allowed. Pressing her body against the tree, he was able to understand what he was feeling instantly. He was delirious with the need to feel every inch of her before the moment was gone. Edward closed his eyes again to block out any other sense but touch.
Once he did this, he knew she was real. No longer distracted by what should have been reality, Edward could feel the woman beneath him breathing, moving, and pressing into him. It was too much and more than he ever knew to hope for. The knowledge that it could not last, could not be, made him sob as his frantic touches became kisses on her hair, forehead, cheeks, and shoulders.
Now. Be here now, he told himself. He didn't want to feel sadness while God had seen fit to grant him a second miracle in his life.
Just then he felt a succession of breaths against his neck and realized that she must have said something to him. Her voice, he thought with a slow, dazed smile. I can feel her voice. With his eyes closed, Edward trailed his hand up her arm to her face. Carefully, his thumb found the shape of her mouth and hovered there to feel her short, quick breaths pass through the softness of her lips.
He reached down to bring her hand to his mouth, knowing what he needed to say in this moment, what was more important than any other truth he had.
He said the words over and over with his body pressed against her and her right hand over his heart until he was sure she understood. He could feel her body relax as understanding found her and her lips began to move in time with his, echoing the love he professed, the love they shared.
"I said…..what the hell are you doing?"
Edward had shut down his other senses so thoroughly that he only heard what the man said as his shoulder was being yanked backwards, making him stumble away from the tree, away from her.
He reached out to her immediately, but he could already tell that whatever spell had brought them together was broken.
Edward recovered quickly. He needed to get back to her. He needed to tell her again what he felt here in her woods, in her space. His sense of urgency dampened the fury he had first felt towards the wizened old man who had dragged him from their stolen moment. Instead, Edward pushed past him and his muted threats of police and private property. As he ran to his car, Edward was already constructing the letter he would write and all the things he would finally say.
A/N: At first, I had planned to beg for reviews by quoting a Rod Stewart song, but then I got almost 30 reviews for this story in the past 2 days!!!!! After doing my own version of the funky chicken dance and calling Jessica1971, we decided that you lovelies deserved a special treat. So we will be updating Ch.9 tomorrow AND giving you Ch.10 on Friday. How do you like them apples? It just goes to show..when you give love, you get love in return and I love each and every one of you! Smooches! xoxoxoxox
p.s. Rod Stewart's song has been rescheduled for next week's review begging. Stay tuned....