Edward's POV…
"I don't want you here," she said again. "I wish you'd never come back! I hate -"
Faster than sound she was in my arms, my fingers pressed to her mouth.
It was her commitment to saying it, when I could hear the word teetering on her lips, a sheer millisecond from being spoken aloud. And suddenly knew I couldn't bear it, couldn't allow her to say it. For however much her scream and her rage had spelled it out to me, I could not live with those words in my ears.
To do so might make it real.
Oh god her scent…
I felt myself shudder, tightening my grip on her.
"Don't, " I said to her. "Don't ever say that."
And I meant it, could feel the compulsion to stop her saying it, stop her thinking it, to do whatever I could, whatever I had to.
I felt it with such urgency, such desperation that I didn't notice her change, didn't register the way her lips relaxed and parted beneath my fingers, the way her heart began hammering in her chest. Didn't notice until the almost imperceptible shift of her body, the way it seemed to melt - as though her bones had dissolved inside her - to fit with aching perfection to mine.
And suddenly, ridiculously, I wanted to kiss her; more than that, I wanted to kiss her hard, to shred her clothes beneath my fingers, to make love to her…
Drink her.
The urge was so powerful I trembled. This after I had left her; this after what I had done to her.
This… despite what I deserved.
I was a monster.
I didn't think, just hurled myself away from her, my mind aching with images of her naked body, white and wet in the moonlight.
It wasn't right. I deserved so much worse than what she had dealt. I deserved to be tortured for what I'd done; tortured for coming back, for being so utterly selfish, for allowing my obsession with her, my need to be with her, to come ahead of her chance for a normal life.
I deserved a lifetime of begging, of re-earning her trust, of working every second of every day to make her love me again. I didn't deserve this: this complete, mindless… surrender.
She hadn't moved, her eyes heavy-lidded, her soft lips still parted as though yet beneath my fingers, though no longer on the cusp of words.
She didn't have a choice, my mind screamed. It was trickery, the worst kind of manipulation.
You're a vampire – a monster!
Her anger, even her hate, if that's what it really was, deserved to run its course. It was her right to say what she needed to and to hear what I had come to say; to hear it or not hear it as she chose, but to be completely in her right mind with the decision, not seduced by what I knew was my power.
Not the false decision of someone under a vampire's spell.
"Oh god Bella…"
Everything I wanted to say roiled in my stomach, a glut of half-formed sentences, of explanation – of declaration. But nothing seemed right; no words could convey how I felt: that I was sorry for what I'd done, that I loved her beyond imagining, that I couldn't be away from her despite what I had done, and despite what I might yet do.
If she let me stay.
But then something happened to her, I saw it even before the strange laugh that filtered from her lips like smoke.
The laugh that was somehow not a laugh.
Her whole body seemed to tense, then relax, her face clearing of all expression as though all the angst, all the hurt, had been but strands from a stray cobweb – easily wiped away.
And suddenly I knew I had to speak – say something, anything before whatever was happening to her finished. Because I knew it - even if I couldn't read her mind - knew that it was catastrophic, knew that I had to try, even if it was beyond me.
"Bella – oh god please – Bella I need you to forgive me." As I pleaded I sank forward, my hands falling heavily onto the damp earth.
She looked at me and no pain could have been greater, could have delivered a more crushing blow, than the nothing I saw on her face.
If anything she seemed quietly bemused, slightly perplexed. I watched her look down and back up to a point just past me. Her eyebrows raised slightly and I saw her mouth curve in a faint O, as though something had occurred to her – but something of only vague interest, like the way you'd remember the name of the man who drove the school bus when you were eight.
I felt myself fading, struggling to piece myself together. Images flashed before my eyes, memories made painfully vivid…
That awful day in the woods; forcing myself to say things I didn't mean – could never mean – so that she might have a chance for a normal life. The look on her face as I'd told her she wasn't good for me, that I didn't want her, that she would forget me.
The slow crumbling of her, like scree on a cliff face.
To walk away with that image in my mind. To have it forever on my mind – I'd thought that was the worst.
The memory jumped, being in Alaska, images of her face, her skin, the smooth curve of her waist, her hips, her neck, rotting me from the inside. How I'd done nothing but think of her, crave her, long to be with her. How I'd warred with myself, how I'd punished myself, how I'd thrown myself into feeding until my eyes had shone white-gold like the sun.
It jumped again. Coming back for her. The weeks of skulking outside her house, balanced on a see-saw of longing and self-disgust. Reading Charlie's thoughts, stealing his worry and his pain as he watched Bella's decline – a decline that had shocked me, even though I was seeing it through someone else's eyes.
To find her that way: thin, skin so pale it was nearly transparent - like she was fading from life - sent me into a spiral. She was supposed to be better off, I had raged. What I had done was supposed to save her life, not destroy her!
My mind lurched forward again, to the forest, to the scream, to her face as she seemed to detonate on the inside. To the silence of the aftermath, the wretched trembling of her, the way she'd tried to turn from me, only to stumble, to fall.
And oh god to touch her. To touch her again – as though for the first time. My throat had burned with her sweet, haunting scent and my whole body - my mind, my heart, everything - was suddenly, intensely aware. My lungs wanted to inhale great gusts of her, to stay alive by breathing her.
To be brought back to life.
Knowing once again, irretrievably, that she was my life.
And now…I was dying.
I was a fool. I thought to myself. This is what I deserve…
"Will you let me take you inside? I won't… touch you." The words were sour on my tongue, somehow bare, insufficient.
At first I thought she would stay there, her lovely face, her terrible indifference, framed by moonlight. But then she got to her feet, turned and started walking back through the woods towards the house.
I followed her, forcing my feet to move slowly, my eyes on her small frame – grown so insubstantial in the months since I'd seen her, like she was held together by threads.
God…
She reached the fence and I couldn't help myself, reached out to her, my fingers keening to touch her, to lift her over – to hold her in my arms for just a few precious seconds.
She shrugged me off and climbed over. I followed, unable to lose sight of her for a second, across the yard and into the light of the kitchen.
"I'm going to change."
I watched her walk away, aching to go with her, but letting her go.
Only so far, I told myself, aware that my inner voice had taken on a tremulous edge.
Through the sounds of the muffled storm I could hear the kitchen clock ticking quietly. I thought about sitting, but couldn't; my limbs were rigid with nervous energy, I wanted to run, run faster and harder than I ever had, slough off some of the pain that pulsed through me.
But I needed to be here – with her.
What have I done…?
This - It was all so different to what I had imagined. To think at one time I had wanted her to forget me, wanted her to stop loving me. Thought it would be easier for me knowing she wasn't in pain, knowing she'd sleep soundly at night. It's what had haunted me, carved deep grooves in my guts, in my heart, as I'd lurked in Charlie's mind and watched her through his eyes. But as she came back downstairs and I looked at her, at her small pale face, at the sweet heart-line of her jaw grown sharp beneath her skin, at her thick fall of chestnut hair almost blackened by water, at her wide eyes that regarded me cautiously from behind soft, black lashes, the distance I saw there cut me.
And kept cutting.
And yet despite the wounds that bloomed beneath my skin, the unbearable beauty of her almost floored me.
"You can sit down if you want." She spoke quietly, without inflection, her freshly socked feet moving softly to the other side of the kitchen.
"Bella…" Her name came out as a whisper, flimsy as membrane.
I watched her as she boiled the kettle, made her tea and moved around to the table. I couldn't speak – all that wanted to come out was the pained repetition of her name. Just standing there and watching her - there in that familiar kitchen - added a new brace of knives to the weapons in my gut.
"Alice didn't see anything did she."
My churning thoughts paused, momentarily confused by her words.
"What do you mean…?"
"Alice – I thought that's why you were back – because she saw something."
Is that it? She thinks I came back because of a vision?
I was horrified. I thought – no, more than thought, I was so sure that she would have known - the minute she saw me - exactly why I had come back. My love for her was so intense I felt ablaze with it, like it would be visible from space.
"No, I…"
Had I been that convincing? Was it possible she'd believed it – believed it so deeply that my love looked like a lie?
Her face – her face that day in the woods…
"You don't need to…explain, that is."
Her voice. The nothingness of it. As if no matter what I said, she was unreachable.
Untouchable.
I sat, the nervous energy seemed to be pooling in my legs, making them jitter uncomfortably.
Say something – for gods sake, SAY something!
"Are you…ok?" So much more I wanted to say, so many questions –
Do you still love me? Can you ever still love me?
- I was dying to ask but the see-saw was narrower now, more precarious. The words, pathetically weak lingered on my tongue.
She looked at me with that peculiar un-Bella-like gaze.
The first layer of true panic joined the knives inside me.
"That depends on your definition." She gave a small smile, her eyes naked of even a hint of it.
"Bella…"
Say SOMETHING!
"What is it you thought Alice would have seen?"
Not that, you idiot – tell her how you feel, make her hear you – make her EYES hear you!
She shook her head, averting her gaze once more. Part of me was glad.
"Maybe something about me screwing things up for you guys – trying to find you and telling the wrong person."
My long-silent heart gave a phantom thu-thump in my chest.
"You were coming to find me?"
She shrugged again. "I don't know. I thought about it – but then I thought about a lot of things…"
Hope rippled through me, flowing over the panic, the open wounds, like a cold salve. I lifted my hand, my fingers already tingling with the thought of hers, then hesitated, poised to reach out, to enfold her warmth into the cool of my palm. But then her hands were gone, snatched below the table to the shelter of her lap.
Hope departed. And in its wake was a pain I had never thought could exist. And yet I didn't know what was worse: the pain or the panic that was suddenly everywhere, scorching me.
Words inched their way up, vowels and consonants, words and phrases hooking, wrenching and clawing their way up my throat.
"Bella…" My voice staggered, and fell. With effort, ignoring the vague surprise on her face –
Don't look at her, just say it, SAY IT!
- I hauled it up.
"Bella, I'm so sorry. So sorry I - I should never have left you – never wanted to leave you – god – I thought I could…" Panic, regret and horror, a great violent mass of it, was crashing relentlessly into me.
If only she would listen to me, I thought in agony. If only I could make a dent.
"…But I couldn't. I can't. I love you! I can't exist without you. I don't know how – I just – I have to be with you. I have to be with you!"
"Edward."
Please, please, please…
"Bella…?" But this time the hope, when it came, was false. It felt cheap, like a car boot handbag; too bright and tacky.
I could see it in her eyes. Knew exactly what was coming.
"I'm sorry…" She paused and my imitation hope lurched forward with an eagerness that horrified me.
"I'm sorry Edward… It's too late."
For a moment, or maybe it was longer, I felt nothing. Inside me, everything had gone still and silent – the way I'd always imagined a movie theatre must feel, once the lights are turned off and the audience has long gone home. I realised I'd lost my hearing. Though she still lived – was clearly breathing in front of me – her heartbeat was lost to me. Not only that but the rain on the roof; the clock that ticked a plasticky beat behind its plasticky face – all gone.
"Edward?" I saw her mouth the word, watched my name bloom on her lips, on her tongue. I couldn't speak – not one word – could only stare at her, stare at her and wonder how the hell I was supposed to live without her.
Then don't…
The thought was so quiet I almost missed it, a tiny whisper in the corner of my mind. In front of me, but more than miles away, Bella took another sip of her tea, a small frown tipping the edges of her mouth.
I tried to imagine never seeing her again – not the way it had been in Alaska, knowing that it had been me who had ended it, me who had left, me who could return, despite my reasons for leaving. I tried to imagine not having that choice, no escape route should I weaken and crack. Tried to imagine how I would occupy my eternity, knowing that the greatest love I could ever know had left me behind.
My life without her swelled dark with debris in my mind.
Don't let her go…
This time I heard it immediately and, accompanying it, the first flicker of movement - in my stomach, in my chest.
"Are you ok…?"
Her beautiful mouth moved carefully around the words, mirroring my earlier question without meaning to.
The flicker spread, hot like the panic had been, but with no fear attached to it. There was doubt still, yes, but suddenly I wasn't afraid.
Don't let her go…
Bella jumped slightly, as though startled, then got up and moved across the room, to the phone. I watched her, feeling the flicker gaining power, watched her speak soundlessly into the handset. I watched her lips, watched their smooth shape, their dusky rose tint, the hint of her white teeth.
I started to shake.
Don't. Let. Her. Go.
She put the phone down, walked back to the table, sat down. She looked… apologetic, sorry that she had interrupted, even though I hadn't said a word.
You've waited a lifetime for her…
And suddenly I was erupting. Though I didn't move, there was a wrecking ball inside me, laying waste to me. My eyes shimmered as though trying to fix on the skyline through the open window of a fast-moving car.
"That was Charlie." She ran a hand through her hair, nervously. Heat fizzed in my ears, her grave-eyed look making my heart and my mouth water at the same time.
The thought of the fishing trip flickered through my mind. And suddenly I knew, though he was too far away for me to read him, though the words were yet to pass her lips. It was as though I had a letter from him in front of me, as though I were reading the words off the page.
Charlie's trip was extended.
And suddenly I knew what I was going to do.
Don't. Let. Her. Go.
I watched her beautiful mouth form the words I already knew, then pause, as though something in my eyes had scared her.
I wasn't surprised, was too far beyond the point where her reactions registered, where I might feel shame at causing her fear. The wrecking ball inside me had done its work, destroyed what it didn't want, smashed through my civility, my selflessness, my logic, my calm - anything that didn't suit its purpose - leaving only the shards of me to rise from the rubble.
Don't. Let. Her. Go!
Maybe I wouldn't have done it, maybe I would have come to my senses if he hadn't called, if I hadn't lost myself, if I had walked away – even for a minute – to calm myself down.
If she hadn't been so beautiful, so fragile, so… mine.
I stopped thinking, had no need to. Unlike before there was no struggle between my morals – my desire to put her needs first – and my longing, my craving to be with her. The opposition was gone, removed from me – perhaps as dead as her feelings. And unlike before when my love had sought to shield her, to protect her, to sacrifice anything for her, in that moment it was made up of nothing but its own need.
I won't let you go.
I moved so fast she never saw me coming; one minute sitting uncertainly at the table, the next in my arms as I propelled us out the door and back, into the night…