M'KAY. this is chapter deux.
Things start to get a little bit interesting.
YOU GET THA MEAT. GOOD FOOT LONG HOT DOGS FROM THOSE HOT DOG STANDS IN CENTRAL PARK.
It has also come to my attention that I, myself, am rated NC17, so were as my content isn't vulgar or whatev's my AN's are.
AS ALWAYS. YO. siDEADde, makes me seem smarter than a fart, and smellyia inflates my ego. and He likes it. (yes my fucking ego is a man and he LOVES amelia.)
Always this goes to yew readers who fucking APPRECIATE fanfiction.
CLAIRE AND CHRISTINE. I LOVE YOU BOTH CON MUCHO. TRES BIEN. ROAD TRIP.
And from here on out, i'm gonna HOPEFULLY be able to post every sunday. HOPEFULLY. it's all contingent upon my school work and what my professors want me to learn.
OKAY.
AND WE'RE OFF.
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EPOV
I plopped down at my dining room table with all of my blueprints, memos and printouts of the city to try and figure out how I could change the zoning lines for this year's Christmas light celebration. In three weeks the city has held its annual Christmas light festival where all the townsfolk exhaust themselves by decorating their homes and yards with lights, Santa decorations, Nativity scenes, and reindeer landing strips. The city sells tickets to "Ride in Santa's Sleigh"— three old buses matted with hay and heated blankets to tour the county to 'ooh' and 'aww,' then eventually, vote for the best Christmas display.
A quite monotonous event, but Bella and Everett loved to do it, so every year I forked over the thirty dollars for us to 'ride in Santa's sleigh.'
However, this year, the county commissioner had asked me to find new zoning areas for parking. Because I'm a pushover, I agreed.
"EDWARD! COME OUT HERE AND HELP ME DECORATE THE HOUSE!" My wife yelled from the front yard, successfully making me jump and scatter the papers I was holding in my hand.
"I CAN'T, LOVE. I'M WORKING ON THE ZONING STUFF FOR HARRY," I replied, hoping the information was relayed via the high decibel.
She peeked her cute little head and bright brown eyes inside the door to speak at a more comfortable level.
"Edward, put it down and come out here. I need help." I heard her stomp her foot in impatience. I smiled in spite of her annoyance. Cute little kitty cat.
"Bella, I can't. I have to get this to Harry by Monday morning, and I'm barely half-way through." I whined half-heartedly.
"Please Edward; you know that ladders scare me." She started to plead. I couldn't help her, and I bet she'd use that damn lip. Don't look up at her, Cullen. Don't do it. That cannot happen. I don't want to waste my Sunday afternoon sweating over this crap.
Growing agitated at her infantile arguing, I answered snidely. "No, Bella. I can't, I have work to do."
"Fine. I'll just do it by myself." She huffed at me and walked back outside.
"You were gonna end up doing it by yourself anyway." I muttered, obviously too loud.
"WHAT WAS THAT EDWARD ANTHONY MASEN CULLEN?!" Oh no, all four names. I slumped in my seat a little further. This was going to be bad. "Did you just mumble something under your breath? Because it sounded pretty close to 'you were gonna end up doing it by yourself anyway.' That's right, slump farther in your seat, 'cause this is not something that I am backing down from. This is a tradition for us, Cullen. Did you plan to help me this year? Ya know what, you're right. I am going to do it this year ALL BY MYSELF." She stopped and began to huff in anger. Then, with renewed vigor and wide-eyed realization, she started again. "Oh, you know what, I might just call Mike. He is always willing to help me with anything. ANYTHING that I need." She used her sweet voice when was charming the crotchety old Mrs. Williams and walked toward the phone and began to dial.
OH, FUCK NO.
She got me so riled up; she knew yelling at me wasn't going to assist in solving our problem. If anything it only escalated it. Bella knew I hated that fucking Mike guy. The stupidest bar-owning, stoner-loving, creeper-walking mongrel that has EVER lived here in this damn town. Plus he basically eye-raped my wife every time we saw him. Like hell she was going to ask him to come over and help with our Christmas decorations.
"Bella put the damn phone down. Now." I spouted vehemently at her.
"NO!" she shouted back, "Oh, hey Mike. What are you up to today?"
I began to make my way over to her.
"Um, well I was wondering if you would come over here. . ." I ripped the phone off her ear and out of her grasp and started my rampage.
"SO I COULD RIP YOUR HEAD OFF AND SHIT DOWN YOUR NECK! FUCK. OFF. MIKE." Then I proceeded to throw the phone across the room where it busted into three thousand little pieces against the mantle of the fireplace.
"What the fuck was that for, Edward?" Bella spat.
"You will never, ever call him ever again. Do you understand me?!" I yelled back, inches from her face.
She shrank back, and clenched her jaw. She looked at me with those damn big-ass eyes of hers, and deadpanned, "Yes, I understand that you are so far stuck up your own ass that you couldn't stand to have a little bit of competition and that your duties to Harry are more important than your duties to your family. I'll be outside hanging the lights that you don't have the time to do." She began to walk out the door but turned at the jamb and said "I'm sorry that I interrupted you."
With that she flew out the doorway and left me feeling more like shit than I ever had. I couldn't go look at her, and tell her that I was sorry. I had to finish these zoning routes for Harry. I turned and sat down, fully aware that my tail was firmly tucked between my legs.
I tried to tune out all that had happened, but I still was hurt. I felt horrid for what I said and how I acted. I begin to work on the routes and listened as Bella warned Everett to be careful, when Everett squealed in delight while playing with Connor, Emmett and Rosalie's son.
Emmett had been and was still my best friend since junior high. He and I were quick friends. With his brawn and unalarming boisterous personality it was always incredibly difficult to not like him. Rosalie was his long time college girlfriend. She still could silence him with one look or a single word. Not even Emmett's mother was able to do that; and that woman knows how to make a man cry.
After about an hour of losing myself in elevations and bisecting circumference intervals, I heard a blood curdling scream that generated from my front lawn. A scream that sent my heart into overdrive and my brain into hyper-active.
I jumped up and rushed out to the front lawn not knowing what awaited me. I mentally braced myself for whatever may come.
Nothing could have prepared me for the scene, nothing. No breathing, no amount of anticipatory training. Not watching Everett fall and break his arm last spring, not watching my mother break down after finding out she lost her child, not even losing Aro, my grandfather. Absolutely nothing would have had me practiced enough to breach this amount of uncertain dry, raw aching that stole my breath.
When I saw Everett standing over his mommy, frantically waving his hand in front of her face asking her if she's okay, my stomach rolled, eyes blurred, my throat tightened and I began to feel light-headed. I surveyed the grounds and realized that the ladder had fallen haphazardly on the ground, a string of lights half-hung from the roof, and Bella lay deathly still beside the debris.
I ran with all the strength that I possessed, to my crumpled wife, still unresponsive on the ground. With each passing step, my stomach was sent further to the ground from dread or guilt, I knew not which.
"Connor, go home, tell your Dad to get here." I sent the little boy running to his house.
"Everett, get Daddy's cell phone and call 911. You remember how to do that right?" I frantically implored wide-eyed. He nodded at me.
"Bella." I murmured. I so desperately wished that I could hold her, but I knew that if I moved her, it could mean the difference between her living and dying; walking or being in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. The accumulating itch in my hands and upper body called to me to pull her to my chest and rock her back into consciousness. It was so overwhelming that I began to rock myself to suppress the urge.
I checked her pulse, and prayed that it was strong like her will. I looked over her body for any type of broken bones or missing pieces and concluded that she had a broken leg, evidenced by the bone sticking out of her over-alls, and a broken arm.
After my amateur assessment, Emmett came running over to the house asking me what had happened. I looked up and, I couldn't see anything but a blurred version of my best friend. I swiped at my eyes and noticed the moisture there. I don't deserve this release of emotion. It's your fault. I sucked it up and told him that she fell off the ladder.
"What in the fuck was she doing up on the ladder?" he bellowed.
"I had to finish something. She couldn't wait to hang the lights." I breathed, completely defeated.
The sirens broke into my wallowing and I decided to get Everett out of the way. Dad duties came into play.
"Daddy," my little guy looked up at me with wide eyes, "Daddy, what's wrong with Mommy?" He asked.
"I don't know dude, I don't know. I do know that she fell and hit her head, so she might be sleeping. The doctors at the hospital will know what's going on." And then out of my periphery, I saw as Emmett got into the ambulance and spoke to his colleagues.
"Hey, Em!" I hollered. "Em, can Ev ride in the ambulance?" I looked down at my son, and saw him look at me with complete excitement, and I gave him a forged half lipped smile. He really was the only reason why I wasn't a crumpled mess.
"Yeah, little man. Hop on up!" he reached for him and Everett had that smile that made me want to give him the entire world.
"Uncle Emmett, I get to sit on your lap!?" he wondered aloud, "THIS IS SO COOL!"
"Ev, be a good boy and listen to everything that Uncle Emmett says. Okay dude?"
He nods enthusiastically. I turn to jump in the back with the other EMTs and my wife. The eight minute ride to the hospital was the longest that I'd ever experienced.
The entire ride, I only paid attention to her. Her brow, slightly furrowed, her delicate nose, the supple lips, her cute little chin, the curve of her neck, the rise and fall of her chest. The one place where she held my heart, I could hear the gentle thrum of it almost two feet away. I continued the descent to her arms, the way they tapered down into delicate hands that at the moment were limp, the flair of her hips, and down to the worn Vans that housed her equally delicate feet.
I made the trip back up her entire being noticing that her hands had unclenched, and I saw the single physical thing that tied us together. My ring, the one I gave her almost seven years ago. Engraved with my promise to her: "Always."
The only thought that occupied my mind was the first time she said those words to me, 'Always. I will be here always.'
******
I sat and stared. I sat because there was nothing else to do. I could no longer feel. I could no longer think. All I could do is sit here and stare. There was nothing here of interest to me. Except her.
She was here. Therefore I was here. I went where she was. People have often said that your spouse is the "reason for their existence" Well, she isn't the reason for my existence, she is my existence. When she feels, I feel. It's almost as if I were her own personal empath. She cries, I cry. She laughs, I laugh. She gets angry, I get angry. She lusts, I desire.
We were completely in tune with one another and that was why we loved so hard and fully.
The real "reason" for my existence was sitting in the chair playing with his Transformer. Full of innocence and blessed ignorance, and now harbor for a portion of my jealousy. The one thing that she would willingly gave her body for. Him. My son.
I dropped my head to look at my feet since they didn't return my stare with guilt, worry or anguish.
How could I let this happen? I questioned. I felt the bile and the tears well up in my throat, and I pushed them back. I should be allowed a sign of weakness, but I was obligated to remain strong for Esme, Carlisle, and Everett.
I was furious at myself for failing to do my only solitary job as a husband. Protect. To be the shield, the safeguard. To protect my family from harm and militant attitudes and people. To protect my wife from sickness and danger, and protect myself from selfishness. I broke my vow. To her.
"Mr. Cullen?" the young, seemingly pompous doctor asked. I glanced down at his name tag and it said Dr. Gerandy.
"Yes?" I responded, prodding his face for any sort of hope.
"May I speak to you for a minute?" He asked with a steel mask in place. I nodded. "Please follow me." He turned.
I chanced a glance to my father, a physician himself, and he looked confused.
I followed the young doctor down the hall and into a secluded corner where he turned and looked at me with sad eyes.
"Mr. Cullen, your wife came out of surgery beautifully. She had suffered much damage to her occipital lobe but we were able to contain the swelling. However, she is in a coma. The swelling has put a lot of pressure on her brain and the part that keeps her long term memory. If she wakes up, she will retain some memory loss. We don't know how much, but that is all we can tell you right now. Mrs. Cullen also has a broken arm, her ulna, and a broken femur. She will require much physical therapy and patience. But overall, she is in great shape."
His whole speech brought me closer and closer to tears, so that, by the end of the last sentence, I was completely weeping and grasping his coat for stability.
"Thank you doctor, for everything." I gasped out, silently pleading for him to hold me steady.
"You're welcome, Mr. Cullen. I suggest that you go and tell everyone the news. If you need anything I'll be here until midnight."
"Can we see her?"
"Only one person at a time is all we ask, so only your son may accompany you into her room. We'll keep her in ICU overnight and if things continue on their path, she will be moved to a less restricted private room."
"Thank you again, doctor. Thank you." I said, grasping the man's hand and trying to convey all the gratitude that I could through the one gesture.
We waited for Bella to come out from under the anesthesia, and it felt like when we had stayed up all night waiting for the new millennium: anticipating something monumentous only for it to be a killjoy. With every step that I took towards the recovery area, I got more nauseated, and broke out into a clammy sweat.
I rounded the corner and I fell to my knees for the second time today. There lay my wife, my whole world, bruised and beaten, hooked up to all kinds of medical tubes and machines, essentially monitoring my life to determine how much I felt.
All I could do was stare at her, and silently beseech God to bring her back to me.
Being me back to myself.
As ICU visiting hours were coming to a close I knew that I needed to get Everett out of the hospital. Today's been a long day and he's been here awhile, probably bored out of his mind.
Now, I was becoming a shit father all because I couldn't be strong enough without her here to help me.
"You ready to head out, Ev?" I asked.
"Finally." He muttered. Another kick in the gut.
I bent down to kiss her goodbye, telling her that we were heading home to eat dinner and get bathed. But I noticed that she was crying. As I tried to soothe her, and tell her that there was no reason to cry, I noticed that the tears seemed to cease.
"Much better, love." I spoke in my most reassuring tone. Whether it was me or her that I was comforting would forever be a mystery. I reached up to smooth her hair out of her face, reveling in the fact that it was still silky- soft and beautiful even though it still had remnants of sweat and iodine left in.
I, again, leaned up to kiss her on the forehead, and I watched as tears dropped from my face to hers. I was the one causing the beautiful deity to cry. She wasn't crying. I was. I gazed and fell captive to the journey that the droplets of water had taken, dropped from my eyes, onto her cheek, along the surface of her pale skin, and back toward her ears. It seemed as if they carried a "come home" message for me.
Upon leaving her I said the one word that she had once told me would bring her through anything, and then we left.
"Always."
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SEE! meat. like steak or hot dogs but not chicken.
Yeah, i know a little heartbreak.
What will Edward do now???