Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns everything in the Twiverse.
Note: Rosalie's thoughts are 'Enclosed like this' to distinguish them from Edward's thoughts.
Black Ice, Chapter 3
Edward's POV
'Make it stop.'
Her words are a breath, three tones so soft that had I blinked I would have missed them.
Their whisper halts me in mid-motion, paralyzing me with their delicacy.
'Make it stop.'
A puff of air.
This one longer than the first.
My hand releases the doorknob as the gentle wind blows me back.
I collapse against the wall, unnerved.
'Please...make it stop.'
I know she is in pain.
A pain so real that it is a palpable, living thing.
A pain so wrong that it defies reason and rightness.
Her cries should pierce my ears with their volume.
And yet...
'Somebody, please...'
Another whisper.
The flutter of a butterfly's wing.
Has she surrendered to death's embrace?
Is she unaware of what is happening?
Am I really asking these questions?
'Please...'
I close my eyes, attempting to ignore her sighs.
But it is too late.
I am caught.
'Please...'
Her voice...
'Make it stop.'
Its conflicting textures and contours...
'Please...make it stop.'
It fills me with wonder.
'Please...'
And fear.
"It is beginning," the doctor says in the room below. "Hear how her heart trembles in her chest."
His wife does not understand how he can discuss the situation so calmly, but she admires his tolerance. "Is she in pain?"
"You remember your change," he whispers.
She winces. "Is there anything we can do?"
"We can bear witness." He studies his patient's face. "And we can pray."
'Please...someone please...'
"Why does she not cry out?" she asks.
"She is likely too weak to speak," he laments. "But she feels it all too acutely."
The doctor wants to do something.
To ease her suffering however he might.
He lays a gentle hand against her forehead.
'No!'
She instantly recoils, shrinking.
'No more.'
A fresh torment envelops her.
Blanketing her with the desire to flee.
'Please... stop!'
The doctor caresses her hair.
His wife smiles her approval.
But the girl is afraid.
'No!'
Her cries intensify.
'Don't!'
Filling me with anguish.
'Stop!'
"Stop!"
Dr. Cullen's hand stills against her curls.
"Was that Edward?" Mrs. Cullen asks.
What?
"Was he talking to me?" her husband asks.
Did I just say that aloud?
"Edward?" he calls.
I curse myself, swallowing my anger. "Don't... don't do that."
"What?" the doctor asks.
I growl. "Don't touch her."
His healing hands release her as if her skin was aflame.
The young girl sighs. 'Thank you, God.'
Her sweet relief makes me sigh.
And curse myself again.
"Edward?" the doctor calls out. "What's wrong?"
"She's just..." I barely suppress a groan. "It frightens her when you do that."
They nod, simmering with sympathy.
In the silence, I reach for the doorknob again, looking for my indifference.
"But before..." the doctor's wife says. "I touched her leg..."
I know she is talking to me.
I also know I do not have to respond.
"Yes, well..."
Yet I am still talking.
"...I don't know about that." I clear my throat. "But that, just now...she didn't like that."
"Okay," she says warmly. "Thank you, Edward."
I grunt my reply, but she does not notice.
They have moved on and taken my future with them.
"He protects her so fiercely already!" Mrs. Cullen whispers, forgetting my audial abilities. "Darling, you were right!"
"The circumstances of their beginning could be better," her husband muses with slightly more caution. "But I think they can overcome them in time." He divides his smile between his patient and his wife. "Yes, I believe they can."
I grab the knob and nearly rip the door from its hinges as I stalk into my room. The door swings shut, rattling the frame, and the commotion prompts the Cullens to cease their celebrating. But their minds are decidedly hopeful as they discuss intangible ways to help their newest daughter.
I hate them both.
I crash into my leather chair and retrieve my book from the floor, determined to lose myself in Agamemnon's angst.
'When will it stop?'
Damn her.
'Someone make it stop.'
Damn her to the depths of the pit.
I close the book without reading a word, furious at every creature in this house.
Furious at the doctor for bringing her here.
Furious at his wife for supporting his insanity.
And furious at Miss Hale for involving me in this.
'Someone help me.'
I sympathize with her plight.
Any sane man would.
But this is not my problem.
She is not my problem.
'Anybody?'
I did not make this decision for her.
I was dead-set against it and still am.
So her suffering is not my problem.
And I refuse to let her behave as if it were.
'Please...'
Leave me alone, I growl.
'Please,' she calls as if she can hear me. 'I'll do anything you want. Just don't hurt me.'
My back stiffens.
My nostrils flare.
And a discomforting pressure builds in my chest.
'Please don't hurt me.'
The words...
Their shift in tenor...
She is not talking to me.
"Did you see anyone?" Mrs. Cullen asks as she covers the unconscious girl with a blanket.
"Not a soul," her husband replies. "And there were no footprints to track."
"The poor thing," she tsks. "What kind of animals could do this?"
His voice darkens. "The kind that don't deserve the air they breathe."
'Royce...'
In spite of her fear, her voice curls around the name.
And my revulsion rises.
'Royce, don't!'
New pain laps at her insides, dragging the memories through her mind:
Tailored gray suit.
Groomed mustache.
A wide smile that never reaches the eyes.
'Royce... please!'
Her fear is mounting.
Tripled by the knowledge that she has misplaced her trust, sullied her pearls in the hands of swine.
'Don't do this!'
Four more faces come into view, each as menacing at the first.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as they cloak me in dread.
Her perfect recall is superfluous.
I know what happens next.
'No!'
Five men become beasts at the expense of her innocence.
Their rakish groans override her pleas as she begs for a mercy that never comes.
'But, Royce...'
The breathiness is back, jolting me from the seedy scene.
'You said you loved me...'
My hands rake the arm of my chair, leaving malevolent tracks in the buttery fabric.
My eyes snap open as I return to myself.
And I am downstairs and out the front door before the doctor has time to blink.
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