Heeeeeyyyy guys.
Please don't hurt me. I've been busy with that annoying little twit called real life and that other equally annoying writer's block.
But my square walls have been broken down and I am now residing in the circle of awesomeness again!
Wings wouldn't help you
Wings wouldn't help you down
Down fills the ground
Gravity's proud
-Roslyn, Bon Iver and St. Vincent
He is dead.
Physically, emotionally dead. No feeling, no heart, no pulse, nothing; and yet, he moves. He stands and stares at the deadened trees, reaching with their brushstroke fingers towards a sky too perfect and too far away. He is reaching also, but he reaches for something broken. Something he wants to fix.
Isabella.
Her name is bitter and tangled with lust, adoration, awe, shame, disgust, and pain. So much pain, packed into four syllables. The letters of her name might as well be written in his blood. She is- no, was his angel.
Bella.
Hers is only two syllables of pain, only five letters in blood. An uneven scratch on paper; a name meaning beauty and a body personifying the term. The sound rolls off his tongue and brings forth pain, brings forth disgust, brings forth awe, and sadness, and lust, and adoration. But her name is also laced with something more powerful.
Hope.
Bella, Bella, Bella; his dark, fallen angel. She is still too good for him; he is still unworthy. But she has descended from the far away clouds of ninety years ago, and he can almost reach her. He is like the trees, pulling her down and closer. He can smell her without wanting to mar her body in any way. The devil's temptation is now a temptation in body and mind only.
The absence of her blood, of her pulse, is both a blessing and a curse.
It is now only a reminder of what used to be, of transgressions past. Its absence pulls back the layers of his carefully constructed façade, peels away the tape holding him together, and examines him curiously as he lays in pieces.
But it also provides hope. Hope for something more than tape to hold him together. Hope for that elusive feeling of being whole.
He doesn't know how long he's been lying there, cold and guilty. But the dark velvet of the night is turning more of a satiny blue, and the once small, white moon is now large, yellow, and looming on the horizon. He takes a second to count the stars, regulating his unnecessary breaths with each number.
One. He stirs.
Two, he rolls to his feet.
Three, he cranes his neck and closes his eyes.
Four, he sends up a prayer.
Five, he turns to the forest and runs.
Her scent wraps around the trees and sends him in a southern direction. His mind goes faster than his feet, spitting out ideas like a tennis ball launcher.
Tell her she's beautiful…
Tell her you're sorry…
Tell her you couldn't resist… still can't…
Tell her anything. Just don't let her leave.
He feels himself go faster as her scent gets stronger. The night taunts him with images of her glistening skin, ivory and cinnamon. His veins cry out for blood. His heart cries out for a pulse. He feels human again.
The last time he felt this way was when he realized that he really was evil.
"Oh," she gasped. She looked up at him with glazed eyes, warm cheeks, and sinfully parted lips. It took every ounce of his self control to not reach down and pull her to his cold, yearning body.
He swallowed down the pool of venom, just barely keeping himself from drooling.
She shook her head, the glassy eyes took on a more curious tilt. Her hair shone, her eyes shone; the sun crawled behind a cloud, probably hiding from the monster he was and his dreadful intentions.
She shifted and stood unsteadily. He grinned at the flaming cheeks and the wobbly gait.
The top of her head was level with his chest, her eyes were wide and honest as she looked into his damnable conscience. So beautiful, so pure…
So undeserving of his corruption.
"Did the servants let you in? Do I know you?" She regarded him closely, gazing unflinchingly into his stone black eyes.
He told her that no, indeed. They hadn't. That he'd climbed the wall. He didn't say that she should have run. Would she have? If she had the chance?
"I'm Isabella Swan." She held out her soft, dainty, fragile hand. He held it like it was spun glass and felt a tingle of electricity run up and down his spine. Her hand was so, so warm and so, so small, and so, so, so perfect in his own. He didn't ever want to let go.
Instead, he brought it to his lips, if only to taste her skin.
Her eyes widened as the taste of strawberries infiltrated his mind. Her cheeks bloomed, two roses hiding beneath the skin.
The monster screamed in hunger.
He stepped closer. She smelled better than anything else in the world. He wanted to bottle her up, paint a portrait of her innocent seduction, replicate her blood, and lick the soft looking skin behind her ear. She looked up at him and he felt the venom come back with a vengeance at the sight of her tender throat. The sun peeked out at him. She gasped as he shone in the sunlight.
Her sweet breath on his face was his breaking point.
He reached up with one hand and caressed her flaming cheek gently; it was warmer than her hand even.
The monster broke open his cage.
He tilted back her head, exposing her long, soft, tender, juicy neck to his starving gaze. He leaned down and his eager lips caressed the tantalizing skin, causing her to shiver. She was so soft and warm in his arms. Pliant, willing. His fangs slid into position.
He'd never wanted anyone so badly.
He'd never been more guilty.
"I am so sorry," he whispered, knowing the apology would change nothing. He bit down.
Heaven and hell and the warm summer's breeze.
The devil smiled.
He cringes at the memory. The taste of her blood, still somewhere on the back of his tongue; his perfect memory can recall the taste of every perfect drop, and he hates himself for it.
He focuses on the here and now, refusing to get pulled back into that dreadful past which taunts and taints him. The trees start to thin out, he can see what looks like a small pond surrounded by rock slabs. Not something uncommon in a state like Washington. He is suddenly bombarded with Bella's scent. It is strong, heady, wonderful, mesmerizing…
He clears the trees and watches as her feet skim the water with her toes, a ballerina's point playfully drawing pictures in air.
He is silent and still, but she knows he is there. How couldn't she? She is a vampire. And he made her that way.
Her feet still.
He takes a step closer.
"What do you want?" her voice slithers through the almost morn.
You.
~Bella~
She feels him before she smells him, hears him, or sees him. Rivulets of shocking electricity curl around her body and make her hum. It's like she has a pulse; each footstep is a new tingle running up and around her body.
The tendrils wrap and tangle until they are one long cord, connecting her to him. She can't stop it, can't acknowledge it either. But she can acknowledge him.
The water glides between her toes. Silk and satin, warm compared to the temperature of her skin.
"What do you want?" She stares out onto the glittering pond and lets her fingers caress the slab of stone offering her a seat. She loves water, always did. Even as a human. She is tempted to jump in the water, to feel it hug her skin and massage her stone frame until she is soft. Water washes away, digs to the deep. Pulls away the dirt and the grime.
Physically, she is pristine. The water she needs is not available or existent. Baptism would burn since God has abandoned her.
He is silent, stoic. She breathes deeply, visualizing ashes and fires. She almost had them, almost filled that empty space hanging from the string around her neck. But she couldn't. Her body had screamed a chorus of no's and her hands had refused to listen to what her mind had craved. Her fangs even slid out of place, pulling back into the roof of her mouth without her permission. It was maddening.
She imagines ripping and shredding his lovely skin. Her toe twitches spastically.
She growls at her body, the one thing she should be able to have complete control over.
Why?
"Well?" He says nothing, just steps closer. She can't hear it, but she feels a vibration in her bones.
Yeah, this doesn't make sense.
She turns her head to glance at him. Her chest does an odd clenching thing; the muscles, stiff from misuse, cause her to grimace in irritation.
He seems even more gorgeous now, as if every second of time increases his inimitable beauty. He is the sun and the moon and the stars combined. He is heaven on the out, and hell on the in. Large, golden eyes implore her. She refuses to be pulled into them.
Remember the black.
"What. Do. You. Want?" She is annoyed, angry, confused. Why is she still sitting there? Why isn't he burning already? What is wrong with her?
This is what she has wanted for nearly a century. This superb chance at revenge. But she can't bring herself to do it. She can't destroy him yet.
And even if she could, what would she live for after the deed was done? His existence is what has driven her and kept her from diving into flames. What happens when he's gone?
Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I probably can't even wave a lighter in front of his face threateningly at the moment.
She thinks about backing him into a tree with the supposed lighter and then setting the tree, and him, aflame.
Two toes twitch in dismay.
Sigh. I'll take that as a no.
"Fine, if we're done here, I'll just go until whatever sickness you carry around with you has faded and I can kill you efficiently." She's only half kidding. The serious half is the sane one and is currently being smothered by the deficient side of her already messed up brain.
She starts to stand.
"No!" He sounds desperate. She is glad. Desperation, quite the familiar emotion. She smiles, knowing he can't see it. Not that it's a happy smile, but still. He shouldn't see anything in her face but murder.
"Alright then. You've got…ten seconds. Then I'm gone, and the next time you see me we won't be talking much." She whirls around and looks him right in the freaky eyes. No point in delaying the inevitable.
He gapes at her.
"Ten… Nine…" She holds down a gleeful grin at his sudden expression of exasperation/trepidation.
Oh, are you having a bad day? Join the club.
"Okay, okay. I… just, I need to apologize. Explain? I don't know what to say. I'm a monster. Wait, no… Well, yeah, I am. But I don't want to be." His expression is colored in violent, red, aggravation. But his voice holds firm with certainty and the littlest bit of what sounds like hope. Hope that she understands.
She does, but she is adamant in not agreeing to any words out of his mouth.
"Oh, you're a monster alright."
Well, except for maybe that.
"I know. How couldn't I? I remember that day. I remember everything that-"
"Don't." She hisses, but he ignores her and keeps plowing through, attempting to 'apologize'.
"- happened and I just wish you could understand. You were my singer. My la tua cantante; it is impossible to resist. And I tried, I tried so hard. You have no idea how much it killed me to know what I-" He stops, this time of his own violation. He is staring at her, fear showing clearly in his eyes. Fear and a spark of defeat.
She feels the fury racing along her spine and fizzing in her brain. Her fists are curled, her teeth bared, her fangs are even showing a little bit.
She is beyond livid.
"I have no idea? ME?" Her voice is deadly and dripping in poison. She wants him to burn in hell, where he belongs.
"Do you know how much it killed me? Little, old, dead me? When I woke up on my own, with only the memory of agony and blood and a sharpened smile, do you know what I did? I panicked. I felt for a heartbeat; and when there was none, I ripped my heart out of my own chest. Do you know how it feels to hold your dead, lifeless heart in your palm and know that you are still breathing? Do you know what it feels like to have that heart crawl back into you and reconnect itself to useless veins? To hold your breath for five minutes, and realize for the first time that you're still 'alive'? Huh, do you? DO YOU?"
She is panting, dripping in white hot satisfaction as she registers his look of horror, of remorse, of self hatred.
You can't possibly hate yourself more than I do.
"And do you know what it's like to feel that fire, not knowing what the fuck is going on? Right. There." She grips her throat, digs her nails in to the skin till the flesh gives. He flinches.
"Yeah, this hurts nothing like that did. And to relieve this pain, all I do is let go," she lets her hand fall away, "but the cure for that pain… why, you do know the answer to that one, don't you? Don't you? Of course you do. Hah, you may drink deer now, but you still know. Leopards never change their spots. Hah! Unless they're eaten by a fucking vampire!" She starts giggling madly, her eyes and her mouth betraying the lingering rage she still holds. She calms down.
He watches, wide eyed and sorrowful. Worried.
As if.
"The cure for that pain was the loss of my soul. And I lost it. Hell, I sent it packing to Armageddon, dead-set on being a failure on Judgment Day. God looked down on me and said to himself 'Let's see, let's watch. Oh look, she failed. Too bad, so sad. Eternal damnation for you, dear Bella.'"
She grimaces and shakes her head, willing away the pointless tightening behind her blood soaked eyes.
"Yeah, the fire in my throat was gone, but the real agony began when I saw what I'd done. His name was Carter. And after that was Susan. Then Mitchell, then Mary, and Frank, and Paolo, and Tom, Barry, Dina, Yvonne, Sally, Nora, Melanie, Jack…" Her voice gets softer and softer with each name. His eyes are locked on hers, and, for once, they share the same expression.
Total, unadulterated pain.
"Some of them were nameless; some were fathers, sisters, brothers, mothers, daughters, sons, friends, lovers, wives, and husbands. Some were this and that and everything in the world to someone else. All were human. I started preying on the bad ones, but they were still better than me. They still mattered to someone, somewhere. And that someone would never see them again because of me. Because of what you made me." Her eyes drift out of the past and snap onto his like missiles. He is still in one piece.
She can't kill him yet. But she can still make him hurt.
"For some goddamn reason," she snarls, "I can't kill you." She crouches and pounces at him; her body flies through the air before she is on him, and he is down. She pulls back a fist and lets it slam into his face with a satisfying thud.
He does nothing but stare up at her.
It makes her angrier for some reason. All she can see is red; his golden eyes turn amber in her fury, and she begins to pummel him with both fists.
Slam. "That one's for Patrick."
Punch. "For every drop of blood."
Kick. "For every night without sleep."
Smack. "For stealing my redemption."
He is resilient in his silence, still in his beauty, and unaffected by her punches. She growls at the sympathy in his eyes and pulls his hair, hard. She bares his neck and leans down, biting hard with her half sheathed fangs. She breaks skin.
He groans in pain.
She freezes. Her body and some ghostly spot in her mind beg her to stop.
No more! Not him! Not him!
Before she knows what she's doing, she's off him and standing about twenty feet away, scared and confused.
Closer. Closer but calmer. Hold him, don't bite him.
Don't hurt him! Not him!
She collapses and begins to sob.
No tears run down her face. She doesn't need them. The sound of her choked screams is more than capable enough of displaying just how she feels.
Arms wrap around her and hold her close to another body. A body crackling in the strange connection, the ridiculous voice in her mind purrs contentedly while the rest of her screams harder.
Die!
No, not him!
What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me?
She is afraid of the answer, so, instead, she asks that other question. The one that has been bothering her for quite a long time.
"Why did you leave me?" Her eyes are closed tightly, her words garbled. But he hears her, he understands.
He answers.
"I thought I had killed you, Isabella." His voice is soft, regretful.
"You did." Her answer is that of a small, scared child asking the parent why they locked her in the basement with the lights off.
He sighs and grips her tightly.
"I didn't know that I had left Bella behind."
The sun begins to rise.
Love goes both ways. I gave you a chappie and y'all can give me a review, if it so pleases you!
(Reviewers get a sneak peek of the next chapter!)