I'm going to try and update every even month on the 25th...that will work out well, I think. Short-ish chapter =[ Sorry guys. I tried, but nothing longer happened, and I really wanted to get this to you today. Made it with an hour to spare. I'm too sleepy to think of excuses...
Everyone feels rather out of character to me, and I didnt' get around to proofreading, but I'm tired. Most of this has been sitting around for a couple weeks, anyway, so that part should be good. Currently, I doubt I'd find much so I'll check it over tomorrow or something. Maybe.
Anyway, I'll let you get to reading now. Enjoy (hopefully)
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, or any of the characters...if I did...the books would have taken decades to come out...so be thankful.
The funeral seems to drag on endlessly. Person after person walks up to me, to Edward, to everyone in the family, offering condolences, more often than not with tears in their eyes, and sobs fracturing their sentences. At first it's touching, that so many people knew and loved Bella, enough to not only attend her final ceremony, but to cry earnestly afterwards, broken, like the rest of us.
Yet as the minutes stretch into an hour, it becomes unbearable. I just want them to go home, go home and leave so that we can break down too, and no longer be forced to stand here, wet-eyed, but painfully composed, forced to hold back for just a bit longer, because people are still here, and they need some pillar of strength among this tragic chaos.
I'm sure everyone else feels likewise. Jasper looks ready to vomit from the profound sadness prevailing the assembly, and I don't blame him. Edward looks on the verge of a relapse. His limbs are beginning to shake, trembling like a small child after prolonged exposure to the elements. He looks so weak now, an adjective I had never before thought to describe him with, but it fits. Bella had integrated herself so fully into his being, his wall, the force holding him together, that when she suddenly died, disappeared, vanished, it crumbled to pieces, tiny little fragments, that were broken, and even if reformed, had lost so much they could never work quite the same again. Never.
Again, extreme pity overcomes me, pain so tangible it might as well be my own. While by no means cold or detached, I can't remember ever being this sympathetic of a person. But I'd never been in contact with someone in such great pain that I could relate so deeply with. I want to ask them to leave, ask all the mourners to just go and leave him, leave all of us, alone, because I know they're hurting, I can see it, but we don't need a share in anymore grief. We're already full to the brim, and anymore is just torture.
And finally, as if in response to my mental plea, the people begin to leave. Slowly, oh so slowly at first, they mumble and sob their adieus, before filing out the front door, a sluggish trickle, that despite my silent urging, will not move faster.
One of the female vampires, strawberry blonde, and beautiful like the rest, comes over to Edward as the last dregs are filing out. Only the rest of her coven is waiting patiently off to the side, and Charlie and Renée, along with the Clearwater's, are sitting in the living room, shell-shocked and numb.
The blonde latches onto Edward, latching onto him so tightly, that I almost fear he might break in his weakened state, although I know the notion is ridiculous. Still, he doesn't seem comfortable in her embrace, looking awkward of all things, as she buries her face into his chest momentarily. What she does next catches me off guard. She goes to kiss him, not just a friendly, soothing kiss on the cheek, but full on the mouth, wet and sloppy…or it would've been, but he turns away, face slightly, though unmistakably, disgusted.
Revulsion of my own flares up inside me. Who does she think she is? Kissing him like that, during the funeral of his wife, whom he had loved so much, beyond all words, and whom he had only married weeksbeforehand? I vaguely remember her from the wedding now, a nameless blonde glowering in a vaguely disguised manner at Bella, obviously jealous. What a bitch, I think to myself, wanting to hit her for such utter disregard to Bella, just trying to replace her like that.
Edward stiffens as she runs a hand along his jaw line, before pushing her away, a look of something akin to horror mixing into his expression. "I'm sorry, Tanya, but I can't think of you that way, especially not now…don't. Please leave." A long silence.
"I'm sorry too, Edward, I shouldn't have," looking thoroughly affronted, though remorse is not entirely absent, she returns to her coven, and they make their final goodbyes, before leaving. I don't miss the reprimanding look one of the other females (another blonde) sends her way.
Charlie and the rest stay a bit longer, chatting with the Cullens in subdued tones. Renée's eyes are red rimmed, and her face looks pale and plain in the absence of the ruined make-up she had washed off. We're all in the living room, those who knew Bella best. Leah excused herself after the Denali coven, muttering something about the bloodsucker stench making her more nauseous than she already felt.
Edward's composure is failing rapidly. He's sitting on the couch, legs tucked under him, arms tightly over his chest, as if trying to hold himself together, but he's failing miserably. We can all see it.
"Edward, honey," Esme whispers from beside him, smoothing his hair placatingly. "You're welcome to leave if you want. You need to take it easy…" She sounds as if she's talking to a physically ill person. But perhaps he is. Grief has been known to kill people, and although vampires are immortal, it must have some effect. Can vampires get sick?
Wordlessly, he gets up, and walks out of the room, upstairs no doubt. To do what? Sit alone in grieving solitude? Wallow in a puddle of his own depression? That can't be healthy…
"You're the only one who can even begin to understand…"
Would he want to talk now? Why would he want to talk to me, of all people? He has his whole family to talk to, Alice, Esme, Carlisle, Jasper, Emmett…even Rosalie. He's been with them for years and years. Don't they know him best; know how to cheer him up…?
"…you loved her, did you not?"
True, I did love Bella, and still do, even if death has taken her away form me, from both of us. Even though it must be worse for him—as he actually had her, wasn't just chasing after her like some lovesick fool—I can fathom how deeply he's hurting, but…
"…you remind me of Bella."
Wouldn't my presence just be a reminder of her, the one person in the world he had ever loved in such a way, and the fact that she's dead? Still...there must be something I can do.
Sighing, I get to my feet, following Edward's path out of the room to the accompaniment of bemused glances.
"What?" I hear from the other side of the door. It isn't the snide, rude tone one would expect but something softer, somehow kinder, and weary, very weary. I sigh, lowering my hand from its raised position.
"It's me, Jacob, do you want to talk?" Silence. I'm just about to make my way back downstairs—I guess he didn't want to talk after all—when I hear a rustle of cloth and soft, light footsteps from inside the room. Another pause, and then the lock clicks open, wood pulled aside to reveal a pale face, the eyes dark, very dark, with deep shadows underneath.
"Hey," I greet lamely, at a sudden loss for words. He smiles weakly and moves aside, opening the door wider. I take it as an invitation and enter, looking around. It's spacious, clearly so, just like the rest of the house. One whole wall is covered in CDs, their cases making a multi-colored collage against the black shelving. There is no bed, something I find rather odd until I remember that vampires don't sleep.
Most of the available seating is covered with various books, splayed about near haphazardly, though I get the feel that to him it is a messy organization. Spotting the desk chair, clear of clutter, I make my way over to it, sitting down, looking over at him expectantly. He's gazing out the gigantic windows blankly, with that lost look he seems to be favoring lately clearly saturating his features. The last rays of sunlight catch his skin, giving it the false appearance of color in its glimmer, a pale orange-rose. As he stands there, still, very still, surveying the dying sunlight and the darkness creeping into the trees and over the grass, he looks almost...beautiful. Sad, very sad, but...
He moves, flicking on a light switch to chase out the gathering shadows, before walking over to a small couch of some sort. Pushing aside some books, he perches on the arm, crossing his arms on top of his knees, and resting his head on them. His eyes are strangely curious as they look up at me.
"So…what is it you want to talk about?" His voice is quiet, very quiet, but not as broken as I had anticipated. What should I say? I hadn't come up here with an idea, something to talk to him about. I had expected him to provide a topic…but...
"You said that I remind you of her…right?" A nod. Running a hand through my hair—or at least the bits that had escaped the elastic, the rest was still stubbornly in place—I look up at him, watching his expression. "Why did you say that like it was a good thing? Doesn't it…bother you?"
Silence. A deep breath and then, "Yes, and no. It hurts, but…it also helps me remember how happy I was with her, before all this..." He trails off, glancing away from me. "Yet then I think of how I'll never see her again and…I-" His voice becomes oddly choked, and he buries his head in his arms, shaking again, as he had before. It takes me a minute to realize he is crying. Crying without tears, the only way vampires can.
Hesitantly, I get up, walking over to him, placing my hand on his shoulder, trying to present comfort. But it doesn't feel like enough. Awkwardly, I place my arms around his shaking form, pushing aside the assorted junk as best I can, taking a seat beside him. It's strange, very strange, much stranger than last time in the forest. In my human form, it feels oddly more intimate—ugh. I try not to pull away at the thought.
Yet, there is one positive thing. Whether from over exposure, or a worse sense of smell than my wolf counterpart, the stench is no where near as bad as it was before. I must be getting used to it. Ugh…getting used to the bloodsucker…to comforting the bloodsucker.
He's stilling now, the shaking subduing, his breath—unnecessary, mind you—evening out. Absently, I let him pull away as he straightens up, not looking at me, wrists moving across his eyes, scrubbing away nonexistent tears.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, still refusing to meet my eyes. "I keep doing this…I wish I could stop. And you, Jacob…you must be as upset as I am. To act like I'm the only one torn up, it's selfish…" His fist is curled, and if he were human I'm the knuckles would be "white" with the tension, though as he is a vampire, they are already bloodless.
"Edward," I hear myself saying his name, before I can think properly, and it sounds odd, even to my own ears. But it gets him to look at me, allowing me to see the self-hate flooding his irises, dark irises, so dark, they can no longer be distinguished from the pupil. He really needs blood...
"It's fine, alright? It's ok. Really." I feel like I should say something more, but have no clue what. "Don't keep beating yourself up about this…you have enough problems as is, stupid vamp..."
My last comment earns a laugh, much to my surprise. He smiles, just slightly, just enough to show his teeth—sharp, feral, protruding slightly over his pale lip. "The smell must be terrible though, right? Yuck, bloodsucker."
"I needed a shower anyway," I reply, and it strikes me then just how odd it is that we're joking now, after that whole episode.
But then it's silent, very silent, though not a sad, haunting silence as so many of them have been recently. It's full, and calm and almost…content. Happy.
And then he's back in his own little world, his personal cloud of misery. Staring vacantly at nothing in particular, his expression neutrally cheerless once more. Sighing, I get to my feet, clapping him once on the shoulder, and bidding him goodnight.
Once outside, I sniff my shirt, wincing slightly at the odor. Maybe I should take that shower.