Hello All!
I have much to be thankful for:
1-Your patience as I navigated strep throat for the holidays and worked on this chapter. (Visiting family—I cannot write until each one goes to bed. Of course, they have NO idea.)
2-Your kind support (and votes) for inclusion in The Lemonade Stand's Fic of the Week!
3-Lynn Pepper's review for the story on TLS that blows me away (link on my profile page).
4-Chele's selection of SGMR for one of the best fics of the year on Perv Pack Smut Shack (link also on my profile page). You've supported me from the beginning and I am so very grateful.
It sincerely overwhelms me that you are all still giving this story praise. Thank you so very much!
Thanks to the usual suspects, especially both Sunshine (aka Tess_Underground) and xoEMC for their pre-reads and edits.
Warning: Is sad the same as angst? Hmm… you decide.
This chapter goes out to Lynn and Chele.
From Chapter Thirty-four:
The realization is so clear, it makes me lightheaded. I grip the handles of Alice's chair. The monster inside of me is killing everyone in his path—and any chance of love.
Blood thirsty.
The more I feed him, the stronger he becomes. He must be destroyed.
"Edward, are you okay?"
"Yeah."
I start to wheel the chair again.
"Alice. I'm not ready to call her… I have a lot to think about first. Will you tell her I asked about her, though?"
"Yes, Edward. I will."
.
.
Chapter Thirty-five
To Love
.
.
.
I show up to Sparrow's the next morning twenty minutes early. The moment I enter his office, I start talking… spewing every thought that comes into my mind:
The teenage monster
The night under the bed, watching the shadows under the door
Bella
Bella
Bella…
I don't even realize we've gone two hours when he starts to wrap things up.
"Edward, what do you want more than anything else in this world?"
"Bella's happiness." The answer comes immediately, without thought.
"More so than your own?"
Good question. My initial response is yes…
"Do I have to choose?"
"You tell me."
"I'm… I'm really fucked up, Dr. Sparrow, you know that… I don't want to pull her down this well."
"You've done a pretty good job climbing out of the well today. I have two hours set aside tomorrow, if you are interested."
"Yes, please."
"Let's focus more on your parents tomorrow."
"Sure, anything."
And we do. I detail each second of the horrific night, even moments that now seem blurred by my head cold and exhaustion.
At five-fifty, sharp, I'm outside my condo, ready for Carlisle. I have Christmas presents and an overnight bag. The suit I bought for the funeral three months ago hangs on me, but I still look better than I have in weeks.
Carlisle pulls up and gets out of his car to greet me. It's a warm hug and a sincere, "Thank you, Edward."
"No, Carlisle, thank you."
We drive to the restaurant, picking up Esme along the way.
I get out and open the car door for her.
"Hi, sweetheart." She holds my face in her hands, then tilts my head down so she can kiss my forehead. "I've missed you."
"I've missed you, too." Mom.
We head out for our traditional Christmas Eve: dinner out, church, and back to the house, where I'll build a fire and Esme will make the best hot chocolate in the world, with melted bars of dark chocolate.
As Carlisle pulls away, I ask for reassurance, "Did you get the chocolate?"
Esme turns to me and reaches her hand to the back seat, squeezing my knee. "Of course. What's Christmas without family tradition?"
My family.
Since I have nothing to report from my own life, I spend dinner asking questions and getting caught up on the business and the seminary. Life has gone on as I've lain in bed.
While we walk to the front doors to church, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew this would be the hardest part. It's like I'm going to a party hosted by Carlisle's friend, a former friend of mine—a friend whom I've disregarded as I've been unable or unwilling to trust our bond, and yet, He keeps inviting me to His House.
We enter as a family, making small talk with other friends of the church. Carlisle leads us to a pew towards the front of the church. I get a sense he is happy to be a receiver of The Message tonight, instead of the transmitter. Our friend Benjamin will lead the service.
I sit between Carlisle and Esme. Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply, feeling God's presence in the air. Being here makes ignoring Him impossible.
Throughout the service, I try to hold it together, separating myself and counting the minutes until I can be alone with my conflicting thoughts—or until I can busy myself away from thinking about anything.
Surreptitiously, I glance at Carlisle's watch trying to determine how many minutes remain.
We're almost done.
"Friends, I'd like to end our Christmas Eve service with a somewhat unconventional prayer for the season," Benjamin says. "It is easy to lose sight of the purpose of Christmas when our economic times are so very difficult. When we feel like we've let down our loved ones, our children, because we haven't been able to fulfill their wishes in the way we think they might want. That expensive new video game, that promise to replace a broken appliance… or the request to come home from the office earlier, the gift of time."
Carlisle stretches his arm past my back and holds onto Esme's shoulder. She takes my hand in hers and tilts her head to me.
"I hope our departing prayer reminds us to move our attention from our own needs and guilt, our inadequacies—and that our greatest gifts can not be measured in dollars or minutes. The Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi."
I drop my head and listen to him say the prayer I know by heart. Each word is like a droplet of water breaking down the last of my walls.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Dear Lord, I hear your message. Please hear my prayer. Save me from myself.
It is Esme's hand on my shoulder that breaks me out of contemplation.
Late in the evening, back at the house, Carlisle puts out the fire as I wash the small pools of melted chocolate in the bottom of the mugs.
"Everyone to bed," Esme says, "we can't be awake when Santa comes."
I find some stationary in the desk drawer of my bedroom. I scribe a few lines on a card and place it in the envelope, hoping to better my Christmas offerings.
A large gulp of Nyquil and I crawl into bed.
Good night, Bella.
Before I turn off the lights, I hear a tap at my door.
"Edward, are you decent?" Esme asks, which makes me smile.
"Come on in."
I scoot over to the edge of the bed, giving her space to sit.
"I heard you coughing, so I figured you weren't asleep yet."
"Yeah. My cold has moved to my chest. Hope I don't keep you up."
"Hm. Nyquil," she says picking up the bottle, "good stuff." She tilts her head, with a motherly sympathy in her eyes. "Have you heard from Bella?"
"No. She's been in Forks a lot. Jasper and Alice are there now."
"Have you called her?"
I press my lips together, feeling ashamed, and shake my head.
"Esme… I feel like… I have this idea. Maybe I need to go away for a while."
"You've been away, Edward."
"I know, but… I need to… transform. You know, go away for a year, maybe Chicago, and really turn into some other form of myself. I'll come back stronger, mind, body, and spirit. I'll be able to take care of everyone… take care of Bella."
"Mmm." Esme lifts my bangs from my eyes. "And it's your job to take care of everybody?"
I think about her words before I respond.
"I don't bring much to the table." I want to curl into a ball and disappear into the bed.
"Oh, but you do, sweet boy." She shakes her head and continues to stroke my hair. "Edward, your transformation isn't about taking care of everyone, it's about taking care of yourself… Do you know what I mean?"
"I think so."
"You'll have to figure out how to transform while you're still here, Edward."
I nod my head and pull the sheets up higher to my chest, to protect my heart. "I've tried not to think about Bella, but it's… impossible."
"Hmm… Edward, love isn't always gentle or kind—it can be a wrecking ball, tearing down our walls."
"I haven't called Bella, but she hasn't called me either. What if she doesn't want me anymore?"
"You want her and you didn't call. Maybe Bella's learning to take care of herself. Give her the benefit of the doubt and we'll hope she does the same. Okay?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Mom."
Her brows shoot up.
"I'm sorry, Esme. It was a slip… I…"
"Oh, no. It's fine. I understand." There is a trace of hurt in her face.
"Truthfully, I call you Mom in my mind all the time, but I…"
"Edward, you have a mother, no one else can take that name."
"Okay, Esme, this is going to sound ridiculous… and I don't know what you'll think… " I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, "but sometimes, in my head, I call you…" I cringe as I say it, "Esmom."
"Esmom?" She laughs softly and I peek over to her.
"I'm sorry… it's…"
"It's lovely. Thank you, Edward… As your Esmom, I have to tell you…" Her expression turns firm, in a way that makes me laugh. She slides her fingers into the front of my hair and pulls it straight up.
"I know. It's long. I need a hair cut and a shave."
She lets my hair fall. "I'm more concerned about getting food in you, skinny boy."
"I know. I'm looking forward to your cooking tomorrow."
She smiles and heads to the door.
"Get some sleep, Edward."
"You too, Esmom."
With a wink and an uncontrollable smile, she pulls my door closed.
Christmas morning is long and lazy—as it should be. We lounge in pajamas with coffee, scones and a crackling fire until it approaches noon. Carlisle stretches out on the floor next to the couch Esme is seated on and I sit across from them on the loveseat. The food lies heavily in my stomach as we take our time unwrapping presents.
I give Esme a cashmere sweater. It's expensive, beautiful, and uninspired.
I hand Carlisle a box holding two heavy linen oxfords and an assortment of Robert Talbott hand sewn ties. He acts like they are the best gifts in the world, but I know they fail to communicate what I really feel.
Relieved for my last minute inspiration, I pass the card I wrote last night to Esme, who relays the message to Carlisle.
"A second honeymoon?"
"Anywhere you two want to go. You've mentioned Rio before."
"Edward, I don't know what to say," Carlisle says looking to Esme with an expression I hope to have again someday.
"You two never travel and I know it's because you're so busy. I can cover for both of you while you're gone. Esme, I can handle your accounts, and Carlisle, I can take care anything you need at the seminary."
Carlisle reaches over to Esme, grabbing her hand, and looks over to me. "Thank you, Edward."
"One more present," Carlisle says, and walks to the tree, retrieving a small box hidden in the back.
The pile of presents next to me reaches my hip, what more can there be? I look to Esme, who shrugs and playfully looks away.
Carlisle hands me the box and sits on the couch with Esme. He looks nervous, but she's quite content.
I unwrap the small, heavy box and pull open the lid. It's a pocket watch—pewter, I think. It's beautiful.
"Turn it over, Edward," Esme tells me.
On the back, it is inscribed:
Sons are a heritage from the Lord,
children a reward from him.
"Psalm - Chapter 127:3," I say looking up at them. I'm speechless.
"It was my father's," Carlisle says, his eyes glistening with tears. "He had it engraved and passed it to me. And now I'm passing it on to you, son."
There is no stopping the tears I've held back for the past week. The best I can do is to quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand.
"Thank you. I'll treasure it always."
Carlisle and Esme come to sit on either side of me, as I continue to try to laugh off my display, and try to joke about throwing away my wristwatch, which I am sure makes no sense to Esme and Carlisle.
I twist first to hug Carlisle, who tells me I'm going to be alright. "You're coming through a hard time right now, Edward, but things are turning around."
I nod and thank him before turning to Esme. She hugs me then holds my face and presses her lips to my forehead. "Edward, sweetheart, you're so warm."
"I am?" I pull away and wipe the last of my tears.
"Yes." She pulls my head down and presses her lips again.
"You don't feel well, do you?" Her voice drips with sympathy, like she's talking to a sick little boy.
I shake my head and almost start to cry again.
"Edward, you have a fever. You need sleep… and food… we'll take care of you."
In this moment, I think it's the best thing anyone has ever said to me.
"Why don't you go back up to bed?" she says.
I nod and pull myself from the couch, feeling lightheaded as I stand. I bend over to pick up my boxes, and nearly fall over.
Carlisle stands, and steadies me. "Don't worry about the presents. Go sleep, we'll check in on you in a bit."
"Okay."
I don't know how long I've been asleep when I hear Esme knock on the door, but it is dark outside and the house smells of rich food.
"Hi, Edward," she comes in and places a cool glass of water and two aspirin on the bedside table.
"Morning," I say before breaking into a coughing fit that makes me feel like my skull is shattering.
"Morning…? I wish we could find a doctor on Christmas."
"Nah. It's just the flu. It will pass soon."
"You're still warm," she says as she feels my head with the back of her cool hand. "Don't suppose beef wellington sounds too appetizing."
I smile up at her. "Sorry."
"Okay. Close your eyes. I'm going to bring you some soup."
"Don't go to any trouble."
"No trouble at all."
I must fall back to sleep because she's back immediately with a bowl of chicken soup and a cold washcloth for my head. I'm grateful that she keeps the lights low.
The next thing I know, it is daylight. I'm covered in sweat soaked sheets, and feeling like myself again.
The fever broke.
I make my way downstairs and scarf down a leftover scone. There's a note on the kitchen table; they went to church and didn't want to wake me.
I look at the clock and realize I have time for a shower, to straighten up, and build a fire.
When they return, I try to recapture what I missed of Christmas. I play Esme's favorite carols on the piano. We reheat the leftovers and they tell me stories of things I said to them when they checked on me.
"Carlisle, I don't even remember you in my room."
"Really? How about Elvis?"
"Elvis…? Okay, now you're just making this up."
"No, no. You called me The King and told me to get out of your house."
"The King? You're kidding. I'm sorry, Carlisle."
"Don't be. We were worried last night, but now it's quite humorous."
"Did we tell you about the Rolls Royce?" Esme asks.
I roll my eyes, wondering what other nonsense I hallucinated. "What did I say?"
"Well, you had a lot to say about a Rolls Royce, but we couldn't figure out a single word. You were mumbling, completely out of it."
"A Rolls Royce?" I ask. "That's not like me. I'd never get a…" I stop talking when a violent feeling of déjà vu smacks me in the chest.
"What is it, Edward?" Carlisle asks.
I shake my head, lost in thought as I try to piece together the memory. I thought I had it… but it's gone. "Nothing… I… it's familiar. Maybe I remember you in my room."
"Edward, are you sure you won't stay another night? We don't want you to relapse."
Though Esme tries to convince me to stay another night, I decide to go back to the condo. I have an appointment with Sparrow in the morning, and there is a great deal to consider. They send me home with a grocery bag full of food, and on the way home, I stop to pick up of a few bottles of Pedialyte.
The condo is quiet.
It's good to have the place clean and painted, but now that it looks they way it did Her absence is more obvious.
I put away the groceries and open a bottle of Pedialyte. I glance at the wine glasses, remembering the first time Bella came to the condo, and choose a regular tumbler instead.
I take my drink with me and walk to the large window in the living room. As I look at my reflection, I remember the one I prefer—my arms around Bella as we looked out onto the water.
It is as if I can see her now, wine glass of Pedialyte in her hand—to appease me, I'm sure—her eyes dancing over the reflection staring back at us. Neither of us looked at the water that night; we were the vision to behold. I wanted that picture to last forever, but it all got confused along the way.
What the fuck happened?
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be loved as to love.
I miss you, Bella. I miss you so much. Please come back.
Lord, guide me.
Lying in bed, I close my eyes and play out the Christmas I hope she had. It is a joyful vision—Bella in her flannel pajamas opening presents with Charlie, Sue, Alice and Jasper.
I hope she ate a huge Christmas dinner.
I wonder if she cooked; what she cooked. Lasagna? Whatever it was, I'm sure it was from scratch.
I hope she was happy.
I hope she thought of me, fondly.
"Good night, my love," I whisper as I roll over and fall off to sleep.
.
"I want Bella back," are the first words I say to Sparrow as I walk into his office.
"And if she's moved on?" He asks before I sit down.
"Well… I've thought about that. If she's happy, then she's happy. But I'll never know if she wants me unless I ask, right?"
"You're making sense, Edward."
Because of Bella's need to process things on her own and my defensiveness, Sparrow and I decide on a letter.
I'm sent home with the task of putting my feelings on paper.
The irony isn't lost on me; now my therapist is giving me homework.
As I turn the key in the ignition, I'm already feeling anxious about the daunting task. I stop at the library and take out several books of poetry—Keats, Byron, Dickinson—and some anthologies of 'love poems.' If I can't find my own words, maybe I can borrow them from the greats.
Feeling too queasy for coffee, I grab a Pedialyte from the fridge and go to my office. On a pad of paper, I write:
Dear Bella,
I scratch it out.
Dear Isabella,
And then again…
Dear Bella,
I miss you.
I stare at the page for a long time.
Really, I'm not sure what else to write.
The books of poetry do me no good. I flip through page after page to find clichés or poems that I fear I'm misinterpreting.
The words begin to blur.
I push away from my desk and stand, immediately needing to sit back down.
Oh, no.
I grab the Pedialyte and slowly lift myself from the chair again.
A quick nap—that's all I need. Don't want to push it too soon. No relapses.
It takes great effort to walk up the stairs.
I crawl into bed and pull the covers over me, trying to thaw my chilled bones.
Just a little nap…
…I wake… I think…
and fall back to sleep.
Where am I?
Between heaven and hell, but much closer to hell.
I open one eye to bright daylight and see the bedside table is covered in half-filled glasses of water. I don't remember getting a single one.
The cold medicine is downstairs, but I cannot move. It hurts to lift my head, to roll on my stomach… to breathe.
My cough makes my eyes tear. I reach for a wad of toilet paper on the bedside table—it holds the contents of my lungs.
Please, God, let me sleep some more.
I fall again…
Thank you, Jesus...
Blankets twisted around me pull me awake.
I kick them away with achy legs.
Must pee.
Rolling to my side, my feet find the floor, and I make it to the bathroom.
The worst is over. Get downstairs—medicine, some food.
Dragging the duvet behind me, I go downstairs.
It's dark outside.
I need to eat something.
I guzzle down a glass of cold water and grab a bottle of Pedialyte. From the kitchen cabinet, I take a sleeve of saltines.
The saltines, Pedialyte, paper towels, and duvet come with me to the living room.
I can't help to smile at my predicament, laughing would hurt my head.
No couch, no handkerchiefs. Two reminders gone and now I blow my nose with paper towels and curl up on a chair, and yet She is all I think about.
Good thing you can't see me like this, Bella. I'm a fucking mess.
I just need a little more sleep and I'll be fine…
"Edward…? Edward, baby. Wake up."
"Bella?"
I open my eyes and see the shadowy figure of Bella, in a bra and underwear, standing in front of the fireplace.
"Bella, you're here?" I'm not sure if I speak out loud or just think it, but she responds.
"You never got to see this pair of panties. I wanted to wear them for you."
"Thank you. That's very considerate."
"They have a skirt."
"I know. I really liked that pair. They're red."
I wish I could see her better, but now there is a fire roaring—so bright, so hot—I can't see her face.
"Do you want me to dance for you, Edward?"
"Yes. Please."
Bella turns and turns. The skirt flares up and the material shines in the light of the flames. Her skin glows.
"So pretty."
"Thank you."
"Come here, Bella. I want to kiss you." I reach out my arm to her and she walks to me.
"Edward, you need to do something for me." Her voice is suddenly deep and urgent.
"What's wrong, love?"
"Edward, you have to call Esme. Do it now."
I still can't see her face.
"I don't have a phone."
"You are very sick. You must call her. You need a doctor. Go downstairs and use the phone."
She sounds almost angry. It's so hot in here. I'm burning up.
"Edward… do you hear me?" She starts to pull at my hands, but she can't budge me. I'm so confused. "Call Esme. Do it now!"
"Stay with me."
"Edward… Edward…"
This can't be real… but it feels so real.
"Edward, Edward… I know you are in there. At least, I think you are. No one has seen you in days…"
Her voice is real.
Holy shit!
My eyes snap open and I look around. It's day, bright. I no longer ache…
"So, if you are in there and you don't want to open the door…"
Dear Jesus, Bella is here.
Sometime during the night, I stripped down to my boxers.
What day is this?
I pull the duvet around me and go to the door...
Fuck, I can't open it. Not like this.
FUCKFUCKFUCK!
I open my mouth in a silent scream. The duvet drops to the floor and I dig my hands in my hair.
"I know we're going to be in each other's lives for a long time…"
I hang on each tentative word.
"…after all, I think our best friends are in love."
She laughs in that forced way she does to mask her sadness.
"So, I think we need to get together to talk… about us… about anything… because I really l-love talking to you."
Bella sniffles and my heart contracts.
I reach for the doorknob, but stop myself.
"Are you in there?" It's a whisper.
I'm here.
I stand frozen for what feel like an eternity, then a folded slip of paper slides under the door and under the doormat.
So tempted to reach for it, but I wait until I hear the ping of the elevator.
I drop to my knees and pull back the doormat to see not only the note Bella left, but two more.
I read the note she just wrote first:
Please, please, please, please, please,
please, please, please, please, please,
please, please, please, please, please
call me.
I miss you,
Bella
It's what I left her when she stayed in Forks after the accident.
The second note is from Jasper:
Did you leave town again?
Please call me.
New Year's Eve, me you and some pizza?
-Jasper
And then the last note:
I've waited too long.
There's so much we need to talk about.
Please call me,
Bella
How long have these been here?
Oh, God.
I jump to my feet and run for the stairs.
-Shower
-Dress
-Go after her
My feet trip up the stairs, and I slip down four steps. I'm dizzy and tired, but it doesn't matter; I get into the shower as quickly as I can.
God, are you with me? Are we good? Can you help? I need your help.
.
.
.
.
Do you see the light? Do you?
Fingers crossed I can post again on New Year's.
An enormous Thank You to those who donated to the Tammi fundraiser. You will see The Scientist outtake in your inbox tomorrow morning.
Much love and a Happy Holidays,
Liz x