Hey guys...another two months, eh? Sorry for the wait, but this is a longer chapter at least. 3,005 words :) A bit depressing, and it falls apart near the second half -in my opinion- but it's up finally. Yay. Now to work on Fading Flames...-hasn't updated in forever-
Funeral scence...be prepared...
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of it's characters.
I wake up in a bed for the first time in weeks. Finally, after nights and nights of cold cramped sleeping outside, the Cullens' offer of a spare, real bed finally wore me down. Yesterday was busy, sending out invitations, coping, trying to put on a strong face and get the funeral plans underway. Leading to today, a day all of us had been dreading. The day of the funeral, the day to put up fronts stronger than those of before and try to persevere, because someone would have to be strong throughout this. Someone would have to carry this through. Today, the date of Bella's funeral. Leave it to the Cullen's to organize something so quickly and efficiently, only four days—enough time for Renée to fly in—after her death. Death. The word still sends painful twinges through my heart.
The sheets are warm and luring, the pillow soft as a cloud underneath my head, and I burrow into it, savoring these last peaceful moments of half-sleep before I must get up and ready myself for a long day and the emotional strain it will without a doubt contain. A smell wafts into the room then, through the ever-present essence of bloodsucker, a smell which, like it or not, I've become very used to over the past days. It still stinks, it still burns, but now I can smell other things through the scent, and it's fading a bit every day, becoming a background to this terrible nightmare.
Reluctantly, I pull myself up and out if bed, running a hand over my face, through my hair, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The curtains are a-glow from the sunlight they're with holding. Briefly, I glance at the small digital clock beside the bed. 8:00. On any other occasion I would still be fast asleep. But this isn't just any occasion, so I pull on a t-shirt over the sweats I had slept in, pull my fingers once more through my dark hair, and sluggishly make my way downstairs.
Esme smiles brightly at me over the eggs she's frying, and I try my best to smile back. The kitchen is empty, a reliving sight. On top of everything, I don't want to deal with Blondie, or the hyper one this early in the morning. But it is odd, the absence of all the other vampires, and so I ask, "Where is everyone?"
My voice sounds odd to my ears, slightly horse and just a bit quavery, though I doubt anyone else would notice. Esme doesn't, or is simply too polite to point it out, as she politely answers my question with a shrug. "Around here somewhere. Seth and Leah went home for the night after you fell asleep. They said something about picking up Charlie. Everyone else is helping with preparations...Carlisle had to go straighten something out quick at work, but he'll be back. And Edward is..." She trails off, but I can complete the sentence on my own. "He's doing better," she adds optimistically, setting a plate down in front of me, before leaving the room. The food looks delicious, as is anything Esme makes, but somehow it still tastes like ash as it passes through my lips. Dull, tasteless. I try not to gag, and finish eating. The orange juice, delicious as always, is acrid as it enters my dry throat. Perhaps this is what it's like eating human food as a vampire. I'd hate it.
It is then that I notice I'm no longer alone. Edward, clad in a too big sweatshirt and non-descript pants, is leaning on the counter, gazing off to the side blankly. His hair is too mussed, the bags under his eyes too dark, but he does look a little better. Just a bit. I think. " 'Sup?" I greet, getting up to put my dishes in the sink. He blinks once, his black irises following my path across the kitchen. I shift uncomfortably, rinsing the plate, before drying my hands off. He still hasn't answered.
Sighing, I walk over to him, waving a hand in front of his face. "Hello? You in there?" Again he blinks, and tracks the movement of my hand, but this time he responds with a slight nod. I can't get a good look at him, but he's still emitting that aura of sadness, despair. Something squirms inside of me. Pity? And then another visitor enters. The little psychic. Alice.
"Edward," she's standing beside him, hand on his arm looking worried. "I'm done decorating. We need to go get you ready now," and she smiles, before adding, "Your face looks terrible." And he only nods, before allowing himself to be lead out of the room. I sit, alone again, for a few minutes, trying to remember what Edward was like before. Calm, composed, content, always smiling. Nothing like how he currently is. Blank, lost, perpetually in nonexistent tears. Frowning to myself, I meander back upstairs, still lost in thought.
I scrutinize my reflection in the mirror. My hair is pulled back in a stub of a ponytail, the dark strands having lengthened just enough to do so, an inch or so above my shoulders. I had been growing it out for her. For Bella. My eyes are tired but not bloodshot, though I'm sure there would be bags underneath them if my skin tone weren't so dark. The suit was bought especially for me, brand new, but even still it reeks of bloodsuckers. It's black, just black, with a matching tie, and a darkish shirt underneath. I don't care enough to guess at the exact color.
My appearance is decent and I'm glad for that because I'll need all the help I can get to make it through this. I wonder how he's holding up. Him, the bloodsucker. Edward.
The whole house emanates sadness, somberness. Tangible despair. No one wants to go through with these painful formalities, but it's necessary. We have to. Sighing to myself, I needlessly straighten my clothes, my hands just looking for something to do. Here we go. Time to role. Time to put on a happy face and pretend like I'm not dying on the inside.
Downstairs, the bloodsuckers are already waiting. Blondie looks snobbishly beautiful, as usual, though perhaps her usual disdain has been toned down a few notches for the occasion. How thoughtful. Carlisle looks composed and in control but with just enough pain showing through to betray its presence, hidden underneath, churning and waiting to be unleashed. Alice and Esme look stunning in their dark dresses, though the latter appears close to tears, and the former is disturbingly subdued. Emmet and Jasper look almost normal, almost, but there is still a hint of gloom to both of them, and I can see the pained look on Jasper's face. How depressing it must be for him, burdened with the magnitude of all this grief. Especially Edward's.
He's among the gathering, standing up straight, decked out in a black, elegant yet simplistic suit. His clothing itself is meticulously in place and free of wrinkles, perhaps too much so, making it almost unnerving, too neat. Inhuman. As usual his copper hair is mussed and disheveled in that skillful way he has, messy but looking almost purposefully so. His eyes are so dark—dark, dark, dark—and the bags underneath them are still visible, despite the make-up Alice seems to have applied to cover the bruise-like blotches.
How long has it been since he hunted last? Weeks, no doubt. Isn't that dangerous? But thinking of him as dangerous at the moment is nearly laughable. He looks like a mess, not in regards to his appearance, but his mentality, rather. No make-up or contacts in the world could hide the distraught quality of his gaze, the incessant nonexistent tears flowing down his cheeks. It hurts to look at him, pinches something deep inside me, the way he looks so utterly lost and broken, just beneath the thin glass surface, so breakable and translucent a cover.
Just months ago, feeling sympathy for the vampire would have sickened me, but things have changed.
I have changed.
The casket is still present in the center of the room, as it has been since Bella's death, but now it is decorated for the impending funeral. Black, black cloth, the color of nightmare backgrounds and the deepest reaches of the sea, where no light ever shines, and even the most peculiar of deep sea creatures cease to exist, is draped over the coffin and splayed artfully onto the floor surrounding it. Roses of a deep, deep coal color, too dark to be natural, litter the wood floor around the receptacle, which itself is a pure white, whiter than a new snowfall, marked with silver(gold? It's hard to say) metallic designs, beautifully, though remarkably abstract in design.
The rest of the room is decorated in a similar manner, wonderfully so, ethereal in appearance, a better job than the most professional of designers could have done. But the only thing that truly registers is the blackness, so out of place in the usually bright and airy home. Death, entering and destroying the breath-taking, amazing person that Bella had been, stamping upon and destroying all these hearts that had been so happy, so light and carefree and content with the world. Why, why did she have to die? She had done nothing to deserve such a terrible fate, nothing. It wasn't fair. But then again, was life ever fair?
A knock on the door startles me out of my pessimistic turn of thoughts, and I fumble to regain my composure. Will it be Charlie? My stomach churns with anxiety and anticipation. The knob turns, and in walks Seth, clad in a dark suit like every other male present, followed by Leah in a loose dark top and mid-thigh length skirt, her inky black hair pulled back into a loose half ponytail at the back of her head. Next, Sue enters with—and I flinch involuntarily in apprehension of what I'll see—Charlie at her side.
He looks ill. Not in a going-to-barf-nauseous kind of way, but in a hasn't-eaten-or-slept-in-too-long-and-filled-with-enough-upset-and-loss-to-poison-his-system kind of way. Of course, I had expected as much, but it doesn't take away from the pity that overwhelms me on the spot. When, I wonder, will I become numb to this agony? Will I ever? After long enough, one becomes numb to the burn of a fire, or the sear of a broken limb, so shouldn't this eventually dull in the same way? But this is mental, not physical, pain. Perhaps the concept doesn't apply.
But I cut my pondering off, turning to Charlie who is standing a couple of feet into the house, frozen by the room's centerpiece. His face morphs into such a desolate expression, that I don't see how it is that there are no tears streaming down his roughly shaven cheeks. He should be sobbing, broken, torn apart, distraught. Yet then again, Charlie was always a strong man. Perhaps he's holding back the pain and the suffering, just as Edward and myself are, and if he's strong enough to accomplish that, the tears would not be a problem. But she, Bella, must have meant so much to him. His only daughter, perhaps the closest person in the world to him after Renée took off and left him alone here in Forks.
Wordlessly, he takes my hand and shakes it firmly. I smile the best I can, though it feels as if my face might split. Briefly, he returns the effort, before moving onto Carlisle, giving him a similar greeting. But he pauses before Edward, and merely looks at his gloomy face for a minute stretch. Perhaps there's just some characteristic to the broken vampire that makes Charlie feel obligated to loosely pull the other into a awkward one-armed hug, but he does so, and Edward accepts it, returning the half-hug warmly, or as warmly as he can in his current state of mind. Yet still no words are exchanged. I feel like we're in one of those old black and white soundless movies, minus the piano music in the background. If there were a tune it would be a dirge.
The rest of the guests arrive shortly after, but I can't attach names to the majority. Vaguely I remember the blond guy that Bella and I had once gone to the movies with. His pale eyes are red-rimmed. Everyone cycles past the casket, lay their hands upon it, saying their last goodbyes. Much tears are in evidence.
The Denali coven—as Carlisle calls them—arrives eventually, and I tense. More bloodsuckers, just what I need. But now is not the time for arguments, so I let it go. Last, but not least, Renée arrives, flushed and frantic, heavy make-up in evidence. "Sorry I'm late!" she exclaims, breaking the morbid silence that has settled over the house. Eyes turn to look at her, and there are reassuring mumbles in response to her comment. She embraces Charlie first, hugging any familiar faces within minutes. When she comes to Edward, she wraps her arms around him as much as she can. "Poor dear," she whispers, as she she holds him firmly, patting his back consolingly. Her eyes are wet when she pulls away.
Now that everyone is here, the funeral rights begin. There isn't an actual priest, but Carlisle gives a nice speech, beautiful and eloquent from the crowd's reaction, but I can't focus enough to hear the exact words. Charlie doesn't say anything, as he was never much of a speaker, and Renée doesn't because she's full-blown crying now, the mascara running down her cheeks. One would think she'd have had the foresight to have worn the water-proof kind. I guess not. Esme is offered the chance and she gives a few words, something along the lines of, "Bella was a wonderful, sweet, daughter-in-law for the short time I knew her, and she died far before her time. We will all miss her deeply." Simple and to the point.
Edward opts to speak next. His voice is more collected and even than I would have given him credit for. "Bella was the love of my life. I loved her, and still do love her, with every fiber of my being. She was a beautiful person, both inside and out. An angel, who didn't deserve such a tragic, premature death. If there were any possible way, I would give my life up in exchange for hers, so that she could come back to us. I treasure the short time that I had with her, and I don't think I'll ever again be as happy as I was with her. She was my world and now..." His voice cracks then, but he continues on, persevering , "...I thank all of you for coming here today. It means a lot to my family and I. Though I'm sure Bella would not have liked such a fuss being made over her. She never did, never wanted anything in return for all her kindness. Giving without taking anything in return, and then going to far as to think herself selfish," he shakes his head and smiles weakly. "An extraordinary person...truly one in a million. Thank you." My lips curve upwards slightly. I couldn't have said it better myself.
The rest of the funeral is a blur. It was decided to cremate Bella's remains, though I'm not sure who came up with the idea. But the coffin is of metal, able to contain fire, so a flame is simply placed inside. The sight is gruesome, the flames, untamed, wild, licking at the too pale flesh, turning it charcoal, the bloody stains becoming monotonous ash. Only the bones resist, pure white fragments among the blaze. The lid is then shut to cut off the oxygen supply, and the funeral is concluded. Everyone is a given a chance to pass by the coffin again if they wish. Refreshments are served in the kitchen, wonderful and delicious, but no one is hungry.
I join Edward's who's sitting off to the side, staring into space. "Hey..." I greet, raising an arm in a half-wave, "Nice speech."
He looks up, dark eyes looking surprised, as if I have somehow snuck up on him.
"It was nothing," he mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall slightly. I join him, a foot or so to his left, looking forward, arms by my sides. An awkward silence ensues. The only sound is the garbled whispers of the other guests. I feel like I should say something but the words won't come, and smooth-talking, poetic Edward is likewise speechless. We simply stand together and know that, despite the lack of communication, we understand. We understand what the other is going through, word for word, supernatural powers aside. It's both awkward and comforting, more profoundly consoling than should be possible. The hard road ahead of us is forgotten for a moment, and there is silence, peace of mind. But eventually, guests come over, to give their condolences, and the brief peace is broken.
Should things ever be right again, the day will be long and hard in coming.