Author's Note: Thank you to anyone who veiwed/ follwed/ liked so far. It is greatly appreciated. Also, feel free to comment.
Edward
My daytime hours are usually spent the same way as my nightly. Tucked away in the shadows of some wooded area, hiding from the noise of it all.
But today is different.
I shuffle my feet nervously as I stand in line at a patrol station, wallet in hand. The man behind the counter gives me a hard stare.
My appearance is unsettling enough as is, but after months of roughing it with only a few changes of clothes, I look disheveled and unkempt. My eyes dark, black, and lifeless. My sharp, lean features closer to the appearance of the actual corpse that I am. I see myself in his mind's eye. A hollow shell of myself reflects back at me. His assumption isn't far off, although my drug of choice is much more sinister than what he's thinking of. Due to a lack of feeding this past week, I have a mind-numbing headache, and his thoughts are no help.
Sensory overload has overtaken me, ever since I decided to roam Seattle on this opaque morning. The heightened senses used to be a blessing, a sign that not everything about this life was so terrible. Now, I know for sure they're a curse.
Ugh, broke a heel again.
Her thoughts flicker across my mind before I catch her scent— sweet and distinct. I feel the pull before I can stop it, my eyes locking on the woman across the street. She's hurrying through the parking lot, heel in hand, her pulse hammering in her chest; nervous abut a meeting she needs to get to. My throat burns, a low fire that spreads through me as my thoughts spiral. Lure her away, find somewhere secluded, and—
No.
I squeeze my eyes shut, stop breathing, cut off the scent before it overwhelms me.
Focus.
"Can I get a pack of Marlboro 100s?" My voice comes out rough, and I clear my throat. The cashier gives me a long, assessing look, his thoughts as plain as his expression.
You need help, buddy.
If only he knew how right he was.
My hand trembles as I swipe my card, give him a quick nod, and leave, moving faster than I should in daylight—but no one's paying attention.
Even the cashier's already eyeing the hulking man in the aisles, cruising him.
Now that's my type.
By the time I light the cigarette, the woman is gone. Lucky her.
The burn in my throat eases, though the guilt lingers. I can't take pride in the way I feed, but the small comfort of sparing the innocent never fades.
I inhale deeply, the smoke curling around me. It doesn't fill the void, but it helps. The burning in my throat finds a new cause, one less destructive.
Another crisis averted.
My phone rings once, and I ignore it. Twice, I roll my eyes. Then minutes pass as l lean against the brick wall, dreading the voicemail I've yet to hear.
Three times—
"What, Alice?" I bite out, stepping on the cigarette butt, boots squelching against wet concrete.
"I am concerned about you, Edward. Very, very concerned." she says in the least compassionate tone imaginable.
"Heard." I reply nonchalantly, as I get in my truck— well, a truck. Borrowed from a man whose name I've forgotten.
He won't miss it.
"You're so . . ." she sighs, her voice breaking. I can hear her take a minute to compose herself, the ruffling sound of her rubbing her hand over her dress, soothingly.
"You're so lost right now, Edward. You need a support system. Your lifestyle is your own, I'm not asking you to change that . . ."
There's a shuffling sound from the other end of the line.
"—but please, come home for more than jus—"
I alrady know where she's going with this, my jaw clenches involuntarily.
"I can't." I snap. It was bad enough that she had roped me into visiting for a whole week.
"Let. Me. Finish." She breathes out a long, impatient sigh.
There's a brief pause, and I lean back in the seat, close my eyes and stop breathing.
"We love you. Do you get that? We love you. The good, the bad. The easy and the complicated. Just come visit so you can forget about how alone and miserable you've felt since . . ."
She can't bring herself to say it.
"Just a few weeks more, then?"
Her voice is pleading, sad, lonely. A loneliness only the two of us know. I rub my hand over my eyes, closing them tighter. I feel the only thing I have felt in my heart for the past few years drudge itself to the surface; that tight squeezing of guilt and sorrow.
"I miss you, Edward."
Her voice, so vulnerable and raw that I can't help but feel a lump in my throat and tears that will never come.
"I miss you, too . . . I guess I can stay two weeks."
I hang up, not wanting to hear the impending squeal that would undoubtedly come. I curse myself for being weak, for not keeping my word.
I start up the truck in all my resentment, light another cigarette, and pretend not to smell the smoke of the forest fire I just started.
When I pass the Welcome to Forks sign, I almost break down. My hands grow shaky, my body tense, the vice around my heart clenches.
I try not to think of the past. Of that day.
It's hard to forget when everything, so sensory and vibrant, is the exact same as it was then.
It even tastes the same. Dewy, cold, crisp. The evergreens to the mountains, the unseen sun, the smooth gradient of the road.
"It's okay, son." Carlisle said, eyes wild, hands held out in surrender.
I gripped tighter, my head shaking rapidly, life draining out all over me.
"No. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" It came from somewhere, but it couldn't be my mouth.
My mouth was full of blood, still baring down on an animalistic snarl. My mind; chaos in the aftermath.
It was Esme, so hurt, so consumed by grief that she was on her knees before me, just as Carlise was. Her eyes wide with shock and grief. She looked towards me, unseeing. And I looked back, likewise.
If she could see me, I wondered, would she recognize me?
Would she see the little shred of life left inside? Or just the monster who had taken someone she loved more than herself . . .
A horn sounding breaks through my meandering. I moved the steering wheel just in time; steering away from the oncoming logging truck that I was close to drifting into.
I ought not think of the past, I know that; but God help me. How could I forget when everything reminded me of my transgression?
Of my pseudo-mother . . . who I was not sure I could call mother anymore.
I let my eyes focus on the road, blocking my mind of everything else. It's an easy task once I'm a few miles into Forks. It's mostly long stretches of road and misty green.
I lose myself in it, focus on the now.
I follow the winded path to my family's home. What used to be an old McMansion, now upscaled to something more modern.
I've lived in it at so many different time periods that the modern effects added usually don't phase me. But I catch this one. The windows have a ceramic tint now, just dark enough that no one can see in.
When I enter the house, I don't bother speaking. They knew I was here the moment I turned onto the secluded road.
Alice greets me with open arms, and Carlisle with a tentative nod and beaming smile.
"Edward." He declares, and as he speaks my eyes roam the foyer.
Everything is bright and the air smells clear, earthy. The only clutter in sight being a monumental amount of flora. Plants line the walls, windows, and floors. Shelves have even been set in place to accommodate different species of succulents.
I spotted rosemary at the door as soon as I entered.
Esme enters the room, marching up to me with a blank expression. I see it in Alice and Carlise's minds. I look down
Esme notices what I'm doing, pulls my chin up so I can't hide from her. She looks into my eyes, searching. When she first sees them, so dark red that they could be black to the human eye.
"Don't ever hide from me. I'm glad to see you, truly. . ."
And she is glad to see me, but I can see the disappointment in her golden-hued eyes, she smiles, nevertheless.
She kisses my cheek, but pulls away quicky. Quick enough for me to know she will need distance during my visit.
I understand why, but something buried deep in my chest lurches.
"It's always good to see you . . . Esme." I say, restrained and soft. I place my hands in my pockets out of habit.
The air between us is thick with unspoken things. Guilt, worry, maybe even pity—all of it swirling around us, and yet no one says a word.
I can tell any conversation is over before it starts, with the way Carlisle and Esme stare at each other, silently communicating.
Something deep inside me twists, a cold reminder that their world of quiet, wordless connection is one I've never truly been part of. Never could be.
The guilt flares, briefly, before I push it back down. It always does. Especially when Esme smiles at me the way she did—as if I haven't failed her. Failed both of them.
Carlisle's gaze flickers toward me, the warmth in his eyes unchanging, but I can sense the unease beneath it.
You're always welcome here, son.
Carlisle's internal voice is steady, but there's a weight in it—an invitation I feel more than hear.
I force a small, tight smile, but it doesn't quite reach my eyes. I see this in Alice's mind, and I feel her impatience growing.
I glance at Esme again, waiting for anything more, but her gaze has fallen to the floor.
"Come on." Alice's impatience is quickly turned into energy, she grabs my arm, goading me to run with her.
Let's race to the summit, she thinks.
I know exactly which one she's talking about.
I don't look back at Esme or Carlisle. There are no hard feelings, vampires hold little human formality away from society.
We're out of the house in a flash.
I'm grateful for the escape. Running through the bushes and bramble, past the tree line, up the moss-covered hillside. Alice giggles the whole way, daring me to run faster without word or thought. We race to the top of the cliff. By the time we reach the peak I'm laughing alongside her.
Welcome back. She thinks to me.
Her mind is bright and warm, and I half-smile, grateful for her—for this. For a brief moment, everything feels lighter.