Memoirs of Her Scent

Ch6: Irony of Ironies

Previously;

My pale fingers clawed deeper into the clay-like earth, clenching at it for support as my knees gave in and kissed the damped earth with the force of a lover's passion as my fears succumbed me into woe's depths. My screaming grew louder as my throat gave way to the rawness that accompanied such actions and the earth and I shook violently, threatening to break, like climaxing lovers.

I breathed heavily and raggedly as if I had run a marathon in a dash –my chest searing, causing me to feel suffocated and claustrophobic. One thought intruded and soared through my numbed thoughts, I needed to see the surface. With this one thought in mind I began to dig my way up the twelve feet, in the same exuberant fashion I had dug my way down the same twelve feet. My clawing became prominent as I escalated, feeling better as I clawed the last few inches.

As my face met the surface, and I howled myself out the hole I had dug, the cold-warm rain fell with enveloping wet caresses upon my cool skin –finally, I looked like I was crying. The skies seemed to care enough to cry for and with me, yet, I hated the rain –it was too calming for my taste. Irony yet again, sticking it to me.

The rain gave life, while I only managed to take lives away, and it also healed. Something that I was never capable of doing, and never would be. Unlike me, the rain was embraced with welcoming open arms by the earth as it descended and was always comforted by lover and friends alike with a closure that I have never acquired.

I hate the rain for it is everything that I am not, but desperately wish to be and yet, never will be. I would never manage to be as gentle and welcoming, I would never be able to bring the rays of the sun in my wake, nor could I show the promise of a rainbow, when only darkness and bloodshed could rein in my wake.

Unbelievably pathetic, I am envious of the rain, I shook my head at the thought and a grimace twisted my already twisted lips. As I stood there, under the pouring rain, I let the rain I hated caress me with its many crawling, thread-like, fingers that warmly enveloped me in a cool and comforting embrace. I too was welcoming the rain that I clamed to hate, ironic in my opinion.

The rumble of thunder kept a hypnotic rhyme within the background, playing harmoniously along with rain's eccentric cords to form a unique almost quiescent lullaby that soothed my nonexistent soul, to the very core of me, like a heartbeat. My cloths were muddied; my appearance disheveled, and still none of it mattered as I listened to the soothing, ethereal, symphony that the skies had composed just for me.

Thank you, I thought.

As I glanced at the grey skies above I began to purposely level my, still, ragged breaths and attempted to still my face into a mask of peacefulness, or that of a sleeping man. Knowing that I would be unsuccessful at conjuring such calm over my frenzied features, I simply concentrated on my breathing, trying to halt it to a calm rhythmic continuity.

Just as my breathing leveled, my eyes unclouded, and the feel of the warm rain registered, filtering through my consciousness, I realized that there was something wrong. All right, maybe not wrong, in that sense of the word, but clearly, peculiarly abnormal. The rain was not ascool as it should have felt against my cold granite skin; on the contrary, it felt, almost, impeccably warm. Like the touch of delicate fingertips, warmed by the passionate whirls of life…

I threw my head back, closing my eyes against the falling rain that smoldered my golden strands of hair to my forehead, and relished the feeling of rain's warm caressing fingertips against my skin and senses. My facial features finally at peace as they found their medium.

For some senseless inexplicable reason this feeling was familiar, and unfamiliar altogether. Though, I could not quite put my finger as to where or when I had felt like this before. And then, just like that, my mind put it together and I remembered the smell of memory. It was the memory of her, the memory that was she, her scent, Bella's.

My breathing became erratic and my nostrils flared as I let the sense of smell overpower my other senses. With my lids still shut taut over my eyes, I searched for the source that had brought her scented memory to my undivided attention. It was driving me insane!

My senses must be failing me. They were expecting me to believe that if I were to open my eyes she would be right in front of me… standing before me, her proximity too close for comfort. I barely dared open my eyes, not knowing what I would find if I did. There was the possibility that I would snap at Bella for being so stubborn as to search for me. That is, if she was truly standing before me.

But what if she was not standing before me, would I be disappointed?

Slowly, almost with cowardice, I opened my eyes. My head bowed, as if in prayer, to where the scent seemed to source from and there, twisted and trapped on one of my shirt buttons, was a single strand of Bella's brown locks. Just as the single strand of hair was about to detangle itself and caught in the swirling torment of wind and rain I trapped it, yet again, within my fingertips, with a delicacy I never thought myself capable of and brought it close.

As I examined the offending lock, I inhaled and closed my eyes as they rolled to the back of my head, courtesy of the intoxicating mouthwatering scent that emanated from the single damp lock of Bella's hair. Thirst. I drew up to a blank. Where had the familiar burning of thirst at the back of my throat gone? In truth, it was still there, but why was I not feeling it as scorching as before?

What had changed?

A shiver ran down my spine involuntarily as thoughts of this afternoon's events flashed behind my lids. Making me relieve the one shameful moment I had tried running from by coming here. Ah, there, so that's where you had gone to, I thought bitterly as the familiar scorching resurfaced as more images flashed, accompanied by their scent.

The last few before coming here flashed by…

The girl, no –woman, sure had mettle beyond imagination, comprehension.

I had almost killed her and then, after, she was out of harms way, she actually came to look for her own personal almost killer and his personal demon, me, looking genuinely worried. I could not help but think the morbid thought that possibly –just maybe– she was begging to be killed.

I mean, who in their right mind just goes after a ravenous vampire, just minutes after they have looked death in the eye, courtesy of mentioned vampire? Only Isabella Swan would, that is who, is your answer. She is above the norm; the norm just does not seem to apply to her, even though she seems to be in her right mind…

Then, I remembered her embrace, her warmth, and the feel of her breakable body, trapped within my steel arms, trying to comfort me. My breathing quickened as I revisited the scene, yet again, and the warm fingertips of rain instantly matched the warmth of Bella's touch as I remembered every detail, scent, touch, and emotion.

And just as sudden as the warm memories had come they stopped. I stood frozen, looking more like a Greek statue by the hour as the moments, minutes, seconds, and milliseconds passed me by, and I tried to rid myself of the warmth that surged so uncharacteristically through my entire body.

Why was it that every thought that began with my Alice would momentarily be drawn and pulled, in the most desperate of ways, to the thought of–?

My train of thought stopped abruptly as the sound of a twig being snapped somewhere to my left captured my attention and my body instantly shifted toward the sound instinctively. Ready.

A low but definite growl ripped from deep within my chest as the intruder made his appearance, stepping out of the woods and revealing himself.