As you guessed, I'm going to have flashbacks in a lot of these chapters. So, I hope you enjoy. Also, some of the stuff you have and WILL read will be sickly sweet. But I've read plenty of novels that were written in the nineteenth century. It's just how they do, and I'm trying to create the image of Jasper's mindset during that era.
I brushed my hand over the swell of her belly, as she was pregnant. We hadn't expected it to happen so quickly into the first year of our marriage together, but happiness overcame us as the news became pronounced with the growing of her abdomen, only four months after our honeymoon night. Isabella was unfortunate enough though to be granted with morning sickness, light headedness, weariness, and aching of the limbs. But as she told me, it was no cursing as long as it promised the welcoming of our fresh babe complete with healthiness and common humor. (She said she would never be able to take to a child very much if he was nothing but slow talk. Though she added in quickly, she would love him none the less, as long as it was my child she was carrying.) (a/n: they're not positive it's a boy, it's just that in those times, they called mostly everything a him.)
Yes, making love had become a casual daily thing for us, as any newly wedded; completely in love couple such as ourselves would say. But we could not deny the fact that the conceiving had to have happened on our first night. We wished so dearly that that was how it had happened, convincing ourselves that it was an act of God, blessing and glorifying our love. We believed that such luck and fortune like this was granted to us only because we had treated life with the utmost respect, that now he was only trying to give back to us in time; giving us the proud news that Isabella was bearing a child.
It was not common to hear of newly wedded couples to be carrying a babe so early on; it was almost hard to ever believe. But I believed that we just deserved it. It was ours, and we were his. For so many years of our lives, having to strive and fight, we were handed something that would make our family finally complete. And I swore I would not be like my father; I would not leave my child a bastard, and my wife a divorcee, never, as long as I loved them, and I knew I would till the end of my days.
I rested my ear lightly on the small swell of her stomach, and closed my eyes. I felt Bella's hand come up to my head and pull her fingers threw my hair repetitively, stopping every few seconds to pat where the soft spot once was. I listened to the light sounds that reminded me of putting your ear next to a seashell, hearing every type of sound that you're wild imagination could think of. I felt the… my… our child move suddenly but subtly, kicking his feet up to make a wave. I smiled softly as both of my hands spread out next to my face on her belly protectively. I sighed contently, imagining what they would turn out like. Would they have dark beautiful hair like my dear wife, with even darker eyes? Or would they have blonde, almost honey colored hair like their father, with oceanic blue eyes? The imagined results could be endless.
"That was the child's bottom," Bella chuckled softly, running her hand threw my hair yet again after she stopped to pat the top of my head. I felt my eyes open slowly, as I chanced a look up at her, to see if she was watching. Her eyes were soft and tired. Her smile was gentle and inviting. I lifted my head up from her growing womb, placing each of my hands on either side of her. I moved my way up, crawling on hands and knees, to place a soft kiss upon her lips. Never was she more beautiful then she was now.
I thought I had seen heaven on our wedding day, but that was nothing compared to something quite like this. To see your lover carrying your own babe was a sight that could top no other. To see her pet and protect the swell of her own belly, to see her face become plump and flushed, to see her walking slowly and gradually turn into a wobble, almost like a penguin (which was humorous, along with delightful), was something that could do nothing else but enhance an already proud man to be yet a little more smug.
Her skin seemed to glow daily now, and her breath seemed to turn even sweeter with the ripening of the child. She was nothing shy of gorgeous with her legs and arms along with her face growing plump, and her stomach stretching out far before her, while her breast swelled with readying milk. She astonished me each passing day, as she only seemed to grow more in hers and our child's beauty. Yes, I talk much of my own sweetheart's beauty quite often, but ah, put yourself in my place, with an angel such as this, and see what you have to say.
She hummed lightly as I set her lips free, "You should not be doing that dear husband," she closed her eyes and licked her lips before pressing them into a tight line.
I was just a bit amused, "Oh and why not?" I smirked before leaning forwards again and pressed my lips to hers even harder. (I refuse to say passionately. It just bothers me for some reason.) I parted her lips gentle with my tongue, before flicking it in for a quick second.
I heard her breath shutter before she stuttered, "Be-because a pregnant woman i-is at her…" she paused for a moment catching her breath, "sexual peak, especially when she is rounding her sixth month, which by the way dear boy, I am," she let her eyes slid open. As she took in the amused expression of my face, she seemed to become cross. "And what may I inquire is so humorous about my situation?"
"You are just too much for me when you talk like that. You are pregnant with a child, but still you talk as if you adorn virgin ears," I chuckled as I watched her face become flushed. "My dear," I slowly looked from her face to the swell of her stomach, and up again, taking everything in along the way, "I am afraid those years must be over," I laughed lightly, burying my head in the space between her breasts. (not in the dirty way.)
She gasped suddenly, taking my action in as a sexual drive. She quickly planted her hands to the sides of my head pulling my face free, "Oh dear boy," she scorned, "you mustn't do a thing to get me excited it such a way!" Her eyes were ablaze.
I chortled, closing my eyes again; I laid my head on her chest, keeping my hands wrapped protectively around the child. Around her child. Around my child. Around our child.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
We thought it would be a boy, due to how her stomach stood so high, almost as broad as a shelf. We settled on the name Lawrence. Lawrence Benjamin Jonathan Whitlock. I whispered it to him each night as I soothed his restless body, rubbing and massaging the growing lump. I would sing some old children's tales. Bella told me of how much she enjoyed my voice. Told of how my presence could sooth anyone, or anything. Told me that my mood could be projected, and that's what I tried as I felt the young boy kick some more, causing Bella to wince in the slightest.
"That was my rib, dear boy," she had grown accustom to calling both of us by the old nickname, as she looked down warningly. She rubbed right under the growth, letting her eyes that puckered from the impact, slowly reform shape.
I heard a sudden rapping at our cottage's door (yes, they have a cottage, buahaha). Suddenly alert, I stood as fast as I could, my heart pounding as I expected something of bad news. I swallowed the bile that worked its way up. Yes, you might conclude an over reaction, but for the past month or so, my mother had been expected to pass away, bedridden, as liver decease attacked her restlessly. Death loomed closely, I know, for every time I walked a foot in her room, I felt the darkness become overwhelming; felt the spirits' disturbances.
"Stay here, love," I rubbed her womb one last time. I rushed down the old wooden steps, taking two at a time. My hand sliding down the polished rail so fast I could feel it begin to splinter. Air rushed past my lips as I tried to steady my breath. I opened the door to see a solemn faced Ms. McMenamin. I gasped suddenly, my hand almost flying to my mouth as I expected the worse.
"Please, please come in," I led her in with my arm wrapped around her shoulder. I offered to take her green satin cloak.
"No, no," her Irish accent soft, waving me off. She slid the hood from her head, folding her hands in front of her.
"Well, what news do you have for me?" I took a deep breath trying to straighten myself out, and waited for her response, but as it was delayed I took a step closer. "You must answer me, Ms., you must." as I became impatient I took hold of her shoulders, and shook her once to allow her to look up at me.
"Yo-your mother wanted me to come and give you the news. She has been recovering, though the physicians do not know how long this strike of good health will last," the fear apparent in her eyes as my grip became tighter.
"And you would worry me half to death just to tell me-" I was suddenly cut short as I heart a great tumble come from the steps, along with a sickening crack. I looked over slowly, too horrified to take in what I knew was there.
Bella was now trying to sit up to lean against the wall, as she gripped her belly. "Ohhhh," she crowed, her eyes pinched and her mouth a disgusted O.
I rushed over to her as fast as I could. I took her arm, and looked quickly to Mrs. McMenamin, "Well what are you waiting for you dunce! Help me!" I heard my own voice become a roar; a sickly sound that reminded me of only a sound a demon could make.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It was a girl we found out. She had dirty blond hair, the perfect mix between mine and Isabella's hair; brilliant blue eyes with a dark green ring around the iris. The palest, most milk white skin, the smallest feet and hands; a sign that she was truly meant for royalty; never to lift a finger, never to move a foot.
After Isabella took the tumble down the steps, I ordered for the housemaid and Mrs. McMenamin to run as fast as they could to get the nearest physician; I took Bella in my arms and tried to make it anywhere that would help, but her blood was everywhere; our child's blood was everywhere. I shamelessly sobbed hugging her to my chest out front of the small cottage we considered our families palace. I screamed and cried for help from anyone; from everyone.
They weren't fast enough; there was no saving the baby girl; though I knew in the back of my mind, that I did not reveal to myself till years later, while drinking a child dry, that our child had no chance at life; not after that fall. It was too late to cut her out, it would endanger Isabella's life, as she was only left with a few scratches and bruises with one broken rib that they were easily able to set back in place.
We gave her the name Vanessa Emily Theresa Whitlock. Bella pushed her out after we were told that there was still a chance at saving her. She would be a month and a half early, but we would take that chance. It didn't take very long, beings as the child was already turning head first into the cervix, as Bella's body rejected the already dead baby. But we still had hopes, though we knew there was no chance.
As the doctor cut the umbilical cord, he rushed her over to a nurse to slap her bottom. No nose was emitted. Bella didn't need to hear it, she already knew. I heard her breathless delusional sobs. I felt my jaw go slack as I stared, my eyes already becoming moist. The doctor poised as sympathetic, though I knew he went through this day after day. He washed her off gently, and asked if we would like to hold her before an autopsy was preformed, and then taken off to be buried.
Bella accepted. Most people would find it too heart breaking or disturbing, but it was a part of us, joined into one. The only thing- person we could love more then one another. The physician placed Vanessa in Bella's arms, and instantly maternal instinct took over. She instantly cradled her, making sure the poor dear's head was propped in the crock of her arm. She brushed her already thick golden hair back from her forehead as I could see her plead with herself not to cry.
She offered the fetus to me, but I wasn't able to bare it. I just watched her rock her back and forth minute upon minute; when the physician informed us that he would have to take our dear daughter away, Bella let out a long mournful sigh. As she sat up and got ready to hand Vanessa over, her tiny chest suddenly convulsed, as her body rejected any liquid out of her system. Anything that Bella had given her; her food, her life, her love. It was all rejected.
And suddenly, I was angry with God for taking our daughter away. I was angry with Isabella for even attempting to make it down the steps on her own. I was angry with the physician, I was just angry at the world. I muffled a scream as the doctor grabbed our baby from Bella's arms, handing it with less care then ever thought possible.
"Be careful!" I heard myself cry reaching an arm out.
From that day on, I never saw the same fire in Isabella's eyes. Never the same spark, the same wit, the same sarcasm. Not until the day she last whispered her forever living love for me before God also took her. And my mother lived long enough to know of my daughter. But she did not live long enough for Vanessa's funeral that was held three days after.
So I felt like much was stripped from me. My daughter. My mother. My lover. The three that were only ever made to love me. Forever their names are stained on my lips; Isabella Katherine Patricia Swan. Vanessa Emily Theresa Whitlock. Francis Jessica Whitlock. (I'm sorry, I don't know Jasper's mother's actual name. Oh, and if you haven't noticed, he's so close to her because his father left while Jasper was at a very young age.)
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
I told them I was going out to clear my head, and maybe feed. They believed me, Alice asked me if I wished for her to join me, but I only declined as I turned away. I felt the pain roll off of her as I expected, though it still stung in a way. She knew that I wasn't quite right today. I didn't want to hurt the woman that excepted me for my many flaws, the one that loved me with nothing but true adoration. But I felt myself repelling all of whom that loved me for the simple fact that I wasn't able to get this new Isabella Swan out of my thoughts.
Earlier in the day Edward had taken off, claiming that her blood was too much for him to handle. In the car ride to the house, I felt his disgust and humiliation; feelings that mirrored the ones I felt each day, trapped in the confines of each class room with humans, ones of which that I only used to ever view as supper. For a brief moment, that I would not like to admit, I felt a bit smug, but yet offended.
The great Edward Masen who for so many years turned off of human blood, finally found the sweet scent of blood that called to his inner animal; his inner beast; his inner demon. The thing that for so long it felt now, that I had been trying to tame and put under heavy enough chains. I would not be lying if I did not say it didn't delight me in the bit, though after his departure left a heavy cloud of disappointment on mine and his part as well.
Instead of going to a forest where the hunt was most easy, I sat in the branches of the tree that hung right out front of the newly discovered Isabella Swan's bedroom window. Maybe Alice had seen it already; discovered my lowly lie, maybe she had not, only looking for the future to where I would lower myself yet again to attacking an innocent bystander. But I knew that if she did see me now, stalking the window of a new girl, that she would find some reason in her to understand, knowing I would make no advancements to harm her. Even if she was not able to fully wrap her mind around it.
I watched through her dark window; angry at her; angry at myself. What power did this girl hold over me? I knew she was not my once lost love, for I watch Isabella slowly die, I stood at her grave, I watched her casket be lowered into the six foot ditch that she would reside in until the end of time; a lonely after life to live, most likely still guessing I would soon follow, and join her. Or perhaps she had already seen me; watched over me, knowing that I had already died, yet though I still lived.
I crept my way over the branch, closing the distance between me and the window. I gripped my hands around the windowsill, still keeping my footing on the tree. I heard her heavy breathing, marking sleep had loomed. What time of the night had it been? I watched her gently turn to face me, causing me to startle only a bit before I continued to listen intently to her intakes of air.
The moon that hardly ever graced Forks' skies made an unexpected appearance, lighting this unfamiliar girl's face. She was nothing out of the ordinary; same as any human girl. A small nose, wide forehead, spaced eyes, a pointed chin, and an uncommon widows peek. But if she was so much close to the ordinary, then why did she resemble my Isabella so? If I were to see her today, would I think the same?
No, couldn't be. My Isabella was nothing of the ordinary. She was witty and sarcastic. Calm and beautiful. Nothing like this girl presented before me now; but yet I asked the same question; what power does this girl hold over me? I marked all the different features, trying to prove my thoughts wrong.
Isabella Whitlock did not have a widow's peek, her forehead was perfect proportion for the rest of her face, her upper lip was perfect size for her bottom, and her body was never so lanky. But what if you saw her today, would she still be so beautiful? My mind betrayed me and asked suck a question to prove my sudden doubts that I had been denying to be real.
Had love truly blinded me? No, of course not; Isabella was a blessing to the eyes. Different from human beauty, along with vampire's. I still kept a photo that I had taken with her the year that she died. It was when camera's first became public, having to stand in one particular position for half of an hour at a time. I still gazed at it when alone, reveling in her distanced unique beauty. It was nothing of a joke of lover's eye.
I peered closer into the window as I heard her mumble softly. What in dear God's name could she be saying? It was even too low and too indistinct for my ears to make out. I watched her fuss again, rolling over, pushing the cover that contained her frail human body off with her feet. The moon light illuminated her skin, turning her usual pale skin to a magnificent glowing blue. But I didn't find myself yearning for her like I once had done for my Isabella. I just found myself with an unhealthy obsession for the girl.
Suddenly something clear passed her lips; so subtle that no human even laying right next to those full lips would be able to hear. "Edward," her voice was breathy, filled with sleep. The voice sounded so longing for the name that it took me a moment to understand truly who she meant.
I felt something inside my chest suddenly combust, and I felt like a raving lunatic. I jumped from the tree, slamming my fists into my forehead repetitively. How could she want Edward? Why couldn't she want me? And suddenly I felt more selfish then before. I felt like such a fool. I had Alice. She was waiting at home for me, more concerned then anyone ever could be about another living… well, moving being.
I heard the name being uttered again, and I felt like it would drive me absolutely mad if I didn't get away from there fast and soon. I took off with no exact direction. I wouldn't be returning to the house yet. Not tonight. Not yet. I would be heading off to school in a few hours, there had to be something to possess my attention before then.
And before the sun would rise, marking the beginning of the day, I would find myself peering through her window yet again, more then once, raking my brain, and trying to figure out what relations this common human girl had with my dear, sweet, loving, passionate Isabella. My late wife. My late love. My deceased.
I didn't feel like I liked this chapter so much. Well, leave your opinions, and please do tell. But don't worry. It's going to get better. I promise. And I hope this kind of explains to you why my reason for his emotions are.