A/N: Hello all! Thank you so much for your reviews last chapter. I was a little disappointed because I only received half as many for the second chapter as I did for the first, but I got over that quickly. I'm too in love with writing Edward to be too upset. Sorry if there are any grammatical errors in this, I didn't have time to do a good once-over. Still contemplating some titles… Don't judge, but I'm actually considering "Bad Medicine" as inspired by the Bon Jovi song. Also looking at… "Of Curses and Cures." Any other suggestions?
Best Medicine
Chapter Three
November 23rd, 2008
A rocking chair, old and weathered, sits in the corner of her room. It is there he makes his perch each night, appearing only after her breathing evens out in sleep, and disappearing just as silently in the early hours of the morning before she wakes.
It makes him feel sick, entirely fitting of the word, "Monster." But he can't stop. It's actually much easier this way. By seeing her every night, he finds himself able to stay away from her during her daytime visits to the hospital. It is one thing for him to obsess over her daily without her knowledge, but it would be entirely different if he were to inject himself into her life, her waking hours at least. Then there is her rather peculiar behavior to consider, also; her habit of moving closer to the very thing she should run from, which is made all the worse by his inability to read her mind, to know when it's coming.
He is careful to check-in on Angela only when Bella is absent. He is both relieved and pained to learn that Angela is returning home today, meaning the end of Bella's visits. He will pass from her mind, soon to be forgotten altogether. He knows that he is unable to forget, his interest having become interweaved with obsession. Perhaps with time, this addiction will fade, but for now he sits and waits, memorizing the steady beat of her heart.
November 29th, 2008
He doesn't go to her room tonight. He forces himself to stay away, refusing to spend his time lurking wickedly in her room, like a monster under her bed, or more correctly, in her rocking chair.
And when he arrives at work the next morning, his skin seems even more lifeless, the spots under his eyes a more unforgiving black, and his soul feels just as absent as the beat of his heart.
December 1st, 2008
It's his first day off in weeks, and he doesn't even think as he parks his Volvo, and his feet carry him down the familiar path to her small duplex. He stands underneath the shadow of a tree to avoid the rain, debating on whether to just watch or to actually summon the courage to knock on the door. He is saved from the agony of determining an answer, when she stumbles out of the house towards her dilapidated truck. He runs to the end of the street where his vehicle is parked, and follows several blocks behind her. He knows he should end this ridiculous pattern of his, but his body pulses with a strange anxiety, an abnormal pull towards her. He wants nothing more than to keep her safe from everything, including himself. And it's the closest thing he's felt to a purpose in nearly ninety years.
He observes her as she runs errands and shops for groceries, noting the way she scowls darkly each time she has to exit out into the rain. She returns to her home only to deposit the fruits of her shopping, and then she's off again. He follows her, watching as her light brown hair becomes darker from moisture, and sees her heading to the pier and onto one of the smaller ferry boats. The boat is practically empty, especially the deck. The few people on board are seated inside, away from the rain. He expects her to follow, but she doesn't.
He watches from a level above as she leans on the railing, her pale skin caressed by the cold Pacific breeze. A peculiar expression crosses her face and before he can classify it, she steps up on the railing and swings one leg onto the other side. He glances around, checking for onlookers, before speeding down the stairs at vampire speed. He rounds the corner as she swings her other leg over, perched precariously on the unsteady railing. The rain assaults her back and her long brown hair is now soaked.
He watches her, poised to run if she decides to jump. But she doesn't. She only sits there, quiet and still, swayed only by the wind. He sighs in relief. Almost as though she heard, her head whips around quickly. She gasps when she sees him, wobbling slightly. He steps forward, alarmed, but she steadies herself. He is wondering whether or not he should go to her when the boat hits a wave and rocks forcefully.
Her eyes widen and her feet slip. He watches on in horror as she tips forward. He blinks and then is gone in a flash, his fingers missing her and barely brushing the ends of her hair as she falls. She doesn't scream as she tumbles downward, but her mouth stays open in shock. He hears the splash and vaults over the railing, diving headfirst into the black, tumultuous waters.
It's hard to see in the water, even for him, so he listens for her heartbeat, hearing it faintly further below to his right. He speeds in that direction, waves rippling in his wake. Her heartbeat is incredibly faint when he reaches her, and shock runs through him when his hand closes around her wrist, not because of the contact, but because of her surprisingly cold skin.
Unaffected by the cold, he'd forgotten that it was December, and the water would be freezing. He pulls her to his chest, propelling them upwards with as much force as possible. Her eyes are closes, her face pale, and her heartbeat stuttering poorly when he breaks the surface.
He considers trying to get back on the ferry, but decides it will be better to get her on land. He covers nearly a mile in under a minute, immediately laying her flat on the shore.
There is a twisting pain in his chest when he realizes she isn't breathing. He opens her mouth and tips her head backward, thankful that he'd been subjected to CPR lessons in high school health classes for years now.
He leans down slowly, anxious and worried to touch his lips to hers, but knowing that other help is too far away. If he gets too close, can he still stay in control?
He touches her cheek, just barely warmer than his own icy skin, and it spurs him into action. Ignoring the thrilling shock of her touch, he presses his mouth to hers, blowing deeply.
He puts his hands together, laying them on her sternum, his long fingertips stretching nearly the entire expanse of her chest. He tries not to focus on what is underneath his fingers, instead concentrating on pushing the heel of his hand down lightly. He pushes three times, careful to keep his vampire strength in check, but still firm. He hears her heartbeat respond slightly.
He moves to her mouth again, blowing once, then twice, watching her chest rise and fall with his action. He makes the circuit twice more, his movement becoming slightly desperate.
"Please, Bella." He whispers, "Breathe for me."
He switches to her mouth again, a slight edge to his movements now. He pushes all his unneeded air into her lungs, hoping for a response, but none comes.
His eyes flicker to her neck and he finds himself leaning down and pressing his lips to her throat. He closes his eyes tight, and bares his teeth. He prepares himself to bite down when coughs and a takes her first gulp of air.
She breathes again, and he retreats from her neck at inhuman speed. She's coughing forcefully, but she's breathing all the same. Relief flares in his chest, followed immediately by crippling guilt. He'd almost extended to her the same curse that plagues his thoughts day and night.
"Edward?" She breathes, relief and gratitude evident in her voice.
She's starting to breathe easier, but her eyes flutter, and her lips are nearly blue.
"I've got you, Bella. You're safe." He assures her, knowing with confidence that he means it. She's safe with him.
Her eyes close and she sighs. He gathers her into his arms and races as fast as he can, careful to avoid people, until he reaches her duplex. Balancing her on one arm, he retrieves the key he's seen her use from underneath the welcome mat, opening the door quickly. He is relieved that Angela is not home, moving almost instantly to Bella's bedroom.
He lays her into the rocking chair—his rocking chair as he's come to think of it—knowing what needs to be done, but unsure.
He begins removing her soaked jeans, careful to keep his eyes diverted. He tries not to touch her skin, knowing that his touch is even colder than the ocean's icy grasp. He removes everything but her undergarments, and lowers her into a warm bath. He hopes he hasn't made it too hot, his own sense of temperature not exactly reliable. She continues to pass in and out of consciousness, but sighing when the water touches her skin. He wets a washcloth and dabs it across Bella's face, lingering on her frozen cheeks and blue-tinged lips. While she leans against the back of the tub, he towel dries her hair, and then brushes it carefully.
When the water begins to cool, he picks her up, holding her away from his body. He is thankful that she is not awake, knowing that if he were still human his face would have been stained a brilliant red, meaning hers would have been nearly double. He places her on her feet, leaning her against his side and holding her steady with one hand. He dries her limbs first, then her shoulders, moving gradually down her chest and midsection.
He grabs her large, fluffy robe and drapes it across her shoulders. He then places another towel between them, effectively covering both sides of her body.
He steadies himself, before reaching around the towel and removing her still soaked undergarments as quickly as possible. He immediately wraps the robe completely around her, tying it tightly. He breathes a sigh of relief to know that she is fully covered. He takes a moment to calm himself, then scoops her up, and lays her in her bed. He retrieves several more blankets and wraps her up tightly.
Her face looks peaceful, and her breathing is steady. He can't stop himself from leaning forward and pressing a small kiss to her temple.
Her scent washes over him strongly, and he realizes for the first time that he'd been breathing normally this entire time (well, almost the entire time. He'd had a bit of difficulty breathing period when he'd removed her last articles of clothing). Her scent is still just as staggeringly delicious, but it pales in relation to Bella herself.
He smiles then, thankful for whatever it is about this girl that intrigues him so—the same thing that kept him in check the very first day he met her.
Her eyes flutter open, and he grins at her.
"Everything is okay now, Bella. Are you feeling warmer?" He ask.
She nods her head sleepily, and he moves to take up his normal post in the rocking chair.
Her pale hand shoots out, wrapping around his wrist. He is happy to note that her skin seems wonderfully warm again.
"Stay with me?" She whispers.
He hesitates.
"Stay here with me?" She asks, scooting over on the bed to make room. He pauses for a moment, worried about the temptation that being beside her will cause, but her chocolate eyes remind him that he's come this far, much further than he could have expected.
She tugs lightly on his wrist and before he can change his mind, he settles down beside her, staying outside the covers in order to keep her warm. He wraps his arms around her, and she leans into his chest, sighing contently. He breathes in deeply, her floral scent spreading through him.
As she falls asleep, he whispers, "Easier all the time."
A/N: Well, a third chapter down, all written during the course of my Art History class, yay! This is definitely my favorite chapter so far.
Now, it's time for your job, ladies and gents. Review and let me know if it was your favorite chapter so far. And also let me know which title you like best.
•Best Medicine
•Bad Medicine (for you Bon Jovi fans out there)
•Of Curses and Cures ( I personally, am leaning towards this one)
•A new suggestion by YOU!
Thanks darlings!