HERE WE GO AGAIN.
beware yew might wanna grab some tissues.
OH and SKYPE is probably the fucking coolest thing since my tom-tom. really. That shit is fucking AMAZING.
CLAIRE. I LOVE YOU BB TRÉS TROP. CHRISTINE. WE MUST CHAT. STOP WORKING SO GODDAMMED MUCH!!!! lulz.
and this is for my asshole wall-mate who decided that a fucking rave was in suit this morning at fucking 7:30a. and it's still goin on. did i mention that where my bed is, is where her fucking desk is? yeah. so i get to hear ALL the shit fuck little fun scratches and shit that makes up the horrifically fucking retard music. "hey let's huff some insect repellant and play with glow-sticks like VLAD AND PETER." NOT.
DON'T DO IT. IT MAKES YOU STUPID-- really. it does.
okay. back to the story.
as always. siDEADde is the best beta i could ever ask fer. she's the superman to my clark kent.
smellyia. i love you dearly. and rob sightings will be had.
GO STEELERS.
EPOV
The rest of the week passed in slow immeasurable turmoil. I was haunted by the image of my wife, helplessly sprawled on the ground, while I sat perfectly healthy beside her bed. I parked myself there every morning and bowed my head in shame or disgust or remorse or, the feeling that had taken residence today, guilt.
We were visited by almost all of Oak Falls: some just to get the best gossip, some to truly offer a hand around the house, some just to pass the time.
The only good thing that had come out of this experience was that Renée had come here to stay with us, to help me out. Because I still couldn't do it by myself. Renée was Bella's mother and I believed she still harbored ill feelings for me.
The first time her and I met, Renée wasn't too happy to know that I was dating her daughter. She is French-Canadian, and usually carried on her conversations with Bella in French. I, of course, caught the unmistakenable mention of Eduard, followed by some words that she punctuated with a disdainfully sour face. Bella would never tell me what was said during those conversations, only stating that "she just likes to bring up past issues." When I questioned those issues further, her only retort was a mimicking version of Rafiki, the crazy monkey from Lion King, "doesn't mattah, iz in de past."
Even though she attempted to swath her past with jokes, I still saw the flicker of uncertainty or pain and sometimes disgust that followed that four letter word.
I was excused from work for the next week. I attempted keeping up appearances, but when Seth found me sobbing at my desk, I decided that appearances would be damned. I was called into Harry's office and he said he didn't want my mood to affect the atmosphere of the working environment. I understood, but it was still another low kick in the gut.
After that incident, I grew to realize the signs of my crying. My jaw clenched, cheeks burning, nostrils flared and I squeezed my eyes tight as if to hide the fact that my tear ducts are leaking.
I stayed with her almost every hour of every day, because I go where she goes. Renée was staying at our home taking care of Everett in the afternoons, because I could barely look at him without seeing her. I found myself wanting to wrap him in a strong embrace just to feel the love that she gave to her little child.
My child.
Eight months, 26 days, and 14 hours her dainty body nurtured him. And now, almost 6 and a half years later she still hadn't stopped helping him grow. Granted now, it was at a distance, but she was still there, teaching him not to talk with his mouthful, or sing at the table, to open doors for girls, and to say 'please' and 'thank you' as well as 'yes, ma'am; no ma'am' and 'yes, sir; no sir.'
At least she was. Before I became an imbecile.
He still didn't understand fully, but he knew that mommy was sick. She slept so that her body could heal, but he didn't quite grasp the severity of the looks that the townsfolk give our family. Or why people showed up with casseroles, or the fact that so many people came to visit mommy while she's sleeping. From the colorful 'get well' balloons, flowers and his daily creative art that is scattered around the room, he does know that mommy's room is the best decorated room in the hospital.
He didn't understand why daddy has been emotionally MIA. He didn't understand that it should be daddy in the bed, not mommy. He didn't understand that we may never see mommy smile, or hear mommy laugh, or mommy in her silly "if the cook ain't chubby, the food ain't good" apron.
I wished that I could 've been as ignorant as him. I'm jealous;—I couldn't just brush off the guilt and the appalling self-loathing that I was consumed with every minute that I was around her. And I couldn't leave her side, because if I do, then I might miss one a sigh or a slight smile or any one of those little physical things about her that fell in love with.
I continued to sit in silence, head still bowed in shame. I counted every breath as if it would be her last and the insistent beep of the monitor signaled me that she is still here, somewhere. I tried not to think about where and how to get her back here. I listened to the rushing footfalls of the hospital staff, busy with patients that aren't in a coma because of their selfish husbands.
I heard Everett's quick- paced, cowboy-booted feet and my mother's hurried-kitten heels before I see them, so I mustered up enough energy to put a false smile on my face. My mother knew better.
"DAAAADDDY!" Everett screeched before he launched himself into my open arms.
"Hey dude! How was school? Got a lot of homework?" I questioned half-heartedly.
"Gah, yes. That stupid Mrs. Whitlock gave us soooooooo much math homework. Now I have to do all this work. Ugh." He dramatically opened his folder and gestured with his hand to show me two worksheets on double-number addition. I coudln't help but chuckle at my son's theatrics.
"This is no big deal! It's alright. We can work this out. This stuff is so easy, even Uncle Emmett can do it." I smiled at him, for the first time in a week. I snuck a peek at Esme, and she was beaming. She was such a proud mother and grandmother.
I looked over my son's shoulder and fixed my eyes on his mother and wondered if she would gaze with pride too. If I hadn't put her in the bed three feet away from me. She would look at him in adoration, and whole-hearted love. Her eyes would shine every emotion, just beneath the surface rolling around in chocolate waves and swirls. She was so easy to read. I love that about her.
"Alright Ev, let's get you situated so you can get all your homework done before you go home with Gram- E all weekend!" I peered at my mother and asked her silently if that would be fine with her. Of course, she smiled with understanding and scooped Everett up in her arms and went to sit on the aqua- green vinyl chair. I wheeled the tray, most often used for food delivery, over to where they sat, to ensure a good workspace for my mother and son. I brought my chair over to their side of Bella's bed to continue our conversation.
"Edward." Esme spoke.
"Yeah, mom?"
"How are you doing?" she prodded.
"I'm alright."
"Edward. . ."
"I. . .I just feel so helpless. I can't do anything. Dad used to be able to do something. He had all the connections in the hospital and. . . I just can't do anything." Esme nodded with understanding.
"What do you feel like you should be able to do?"
"I want to be able to wake her up. I want to be the one to be able to get out of this funk. I want be able to see her smile. I want to hear her say my name. I want to. . ." At the mention of Everett's name he snapped his head up and showed us his progress. I shot Esme an apologetic face, as I attempted to compensate for my horrible father behavior for the last week.
"Is this right Daddy?" He asked as he shoved the paper in my face.
"Which number, Ev?" I asked to buy time for my eyes to adjust to the close proximity of the white paper.
"Number two. I think that I added right, but I still get confused with the 'carrying the one' thingy." He explained.
Doing the simple math in my head, and I answered him.
"That's right Ev, good job. Now what do you think we can do with the next one?" I shot another apologetic glance at Esme, and leaned forward to assist him throughout the rest of the worksheet.
"Ev, why don't you see what you can do with the next worksheet and if you need any help, I'll be right here. I'm just going to talk to Gram-E for a little bit. Okay, dude?" Everett nodded, as I stood up and regained feeling in my legs, first the tingling, then the burning, quickly followed by the prickling of needles. The feeling subsided, leaving me with weird balance problems. I stretched and decided coffee was needed.
"Esme, I'm going to get a cup of coffee? Would you like a cup?"
"Yes, Edward, please." She sent me a pointed look meaning 'we're going to talk about this later.'
I slightly nodded, acknowledging her request before walking out the door and into the brighter fluorescent lights and the quick-paced staff of Oak Falls Memorial.
As I walked down the hall, I faced many sympathetic looks, some from those who don't know me very well, but must have been cued in by some of the other staff.
I grumbled my way back to Bella's room, with two cups of coffee in hand. I had almost steeled myself for 'Story time with Emse.'
But when I saw her leaning against the wall outside Bella's door, I knew that this was more than a story time. This was going to be a God-damned psychology lesson. I reached out and handed her the coffee, two sugars one crème, just how she liked it.
"Thank you, Edward." She replied automatically, not meeting my eyes.
I took the space next to her on the wall, and took a sip of the half-rate, too-hot black liquid. Just like that horrible Usher song, Let It Burn. I needed some sort of barrier to numb me for this onslaught of emotions that Esme is about to throw my way.
"Edward, I know that you are hurting and I know that you feel helpless, but, son, this is not healthy." Esme chided.
"I know, but I just don't know what to do anymore. I mean, Mom, that's my world in there. That's who I am, completely embodied in two people. If I lose one, I don't know how I can stay whole for the other. I just sit in there, waiting to hear her voice, or see her finger twitch, and thinking that if I move, or take my eyes off her for one second, that I'll lose the chance to see her one more time." I finally confessed part of what was wrong with me, and I felt marginally better. I couldn't tell Esme that it was my fault that she was in there because that's just more hatred that I simply couldn't bear.
"Edward, I understand, but suffering in silence won't be doing you or her any justice. Talk. Talk to her, think and relive the good times, and IF, and that's a BIG if, this is the last that you get to see of her, then you will know that it was spent well. Living and remembering the best parts. Not wallowing in pain. I am speaking from experience here." Emse placed one finger under my chin to lift it from my chest and drilled her point home. "You look like shit. You need to eat something. You're not going to waste away like your father almost did. Don't you want your wife to recognize you when she wakes up?"
I remembered the story of how Esme was in a coma, and when she woke up she didn't recognize Carlisle, he was so down-trodden. His eyes were sunken in with dark circles surrounding them, his clothes swallowed him whole. He'd probably lost 10 pounds in the two weeks that she had been in the hospital. His hair had been dull and dirty, and his normal intense sapphire eyes had been dreary.
I wondered if I looked bad enough, that she felt the need to cuss and tell me about it all in the same breath. I looked up at her and settled for the last of the lecture.
"TALK. DON'T WALLOW. REMEMBER. Otherwise, I'll beat you like I did when you were 12 and I caught you and Emmett messing up my flower beds." She grinned at me.
She turned and went inside to get my son and take him to her house for the evening. The chuckling nursing staff down the hall must have heard his squeal of excitement when Esme mentioned "Rocky Road." I was just thankful that I didn't have to deal with a sugar-fired six-year old.
After I tightly hugged my son and my mother goodbye, I walked back into the cocoon that held her. I started to think about what Esme said.
If I spoke, I would show her that I was weak, that I can't do anything without her. If I talked to her, how will I know what memories to tell? What could I do or say that would trigger any kind of movement or recognition? What could I do to help her come out of this?
If I talked to her and rekindled all our memories, would they still be there for another time? I got up from my chair, and walked to the only place I knew to give answers.
The Chapel.
God.
He's supposed to help someone out when they need guidance. Well, I was here for my lantern. I needed some sort of lighted direction that didn't lead me down a white sterile corridor and into a room with a bed.
I walked through the heavy oak door and started the walk down in the aisle, and with each step I began to get more anxious. I took in the chapel itself, a classic stained glass mosaic with the virginal Mary holding a baby Jesus. The window was located on the west wall filtering a rainbow of color into the chapel.
Nervousness now began to seep into my system. And I was hit with the same question: what do I say? It's been years since I've even set foot inside a place of worship. I didn't know what I was doing.
I mean, I knew how to speak to someone verbally when they are in front of you, but to a being that you couldn't see? What was I going to do? Say "Oh hey, it's Edward. I'm curious if you would bring my wife back into consciousness with your supernatural powers?" Yeah,because that's kosher.
Next thing I knew, I was kneeling down in front of the red, plush altar, bowing my head, and clasping my hands in front of me.
Then I just started talking.
"I know that I haven't done this in a while, but I just don't know what else to do. . . you see, my wife, my absolute cornerstone for living is only a few feet away, and she's…" My hands automatically tightened until I could feel every indention of my bone underneath the skin ". . . away. She's in a coma, and I don't know what to do." I could feel the searing tears that ran down my cheeks, and my chest clenched in pain. " We took a vow in front of you and I plan to stick by it like I said I would, but I just can't do this alone." A quiet whimper escaped my open lips, now coated with shed tears.
"I need her. I just. . . need her." I exhaled and took in a stuttering breath. "I need her more than the moon needs the earth, more than the air that I breathe."
The image of me holding Everett without his mother beside me invaded my mind, and I couldn't hold my shoulders up any longer. I curled inward to suppress the ripping motion that was currently surging through my body. "I just can't. I can't do this by myself." I suddenly was viciously angry at myself and God for putting me through this. My voice was louder than my previous hushed whisper. "And you said you would always be here for me, and well I need your stability and comfort."
I punched the floor which did nothing but made me feel more remorseful for my actions. "God, I just need to be able to wake up and feel her in my arms," I crossed my arms around my torso looking for her comfort that I knew wasn't there. "I need to hear her hum while she's cooking and I need to hear her yell at me." I was openly sobbing, and I'm sure that nurses could hear me all the way down the hall. "I need it all. And I'm being such a selfish cad right now, but…" I tried to think of something to prove my point, but all I could come up with was "…she's all I need."
Edward sobbing? in a church. confessing to Jesus?
le sigh.
yeah. it got me too.