46. REASON
(Edythe's POV)
I waited day in and day out. I waited for him to come back to me.
The first thing we did when we got back home was lay Beau down in our conservatory, where the skylights allowed for air ventilation and ample sunlight to touch every corner of the room as if that could brighten any of our spirits, lest of all his, somehow. It was set up in a way that reminded me of the Forks General Hospital's emergency ward, with electronic heart and vital sign monitors scattered about, looping all the way back without fail to my husband. It let us see as best as we could how he was faring through the transformation because he was so quiet; so still. Nothing at all like anyone who had ever been turned into such creatures as ourselves would have expected his transformation to be. Perhaps it was the morphine, but this was by all accounts completely new to us.
As were many, many other things, I admit. I heard my son's whimpering cries from the other room and rose to fetch him, only to find Jules comforting him before I even had a chance to, being a better mother than I was certainly capable of being at this moment in time. And I was happy for her help, truly. I was slowly beginning to realize this; that it was perfectly alright for me to ask for help even if I was that little boy's mother - I was not made any less of one for it, though I had to remind myself of the very fact on multiple occasions. Carine had run down to the hospital earlier for extra supplies for all of us – more machines for Beau, blood bags for whoever needed it, and some tools and equipment one would usually find in a delivery room to assess the health of a newborn infant with, which she then set up in the living room. Jules saw, and she handed CJ to my mother.
"Would you like to help me, Edythe?" Carine asked, rocking her grandson in her arms. I looked to Beau one last time and kissed the top of his hand, Eleanor and Jules taking over for me as his guardians for now.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world. Let's go." I followed Carine and assisted her with those assessments and screenings as I'd so often done before when I attended different births with her over the years. Of course, I never, ever could have imagined that I'd have my own child to assess one day. It was a privilege beyond any of my wildest dreams, he was my little miracle boy.
We laid him down on the couch as we fussed about with him. Carine had attached a few charts to her clipboard, the first being an APGAR score card. Of course, that test was long overdue and we relied solely on Carine's memory of my son right after his birth to officially fill it out. I let Carine do the blasted heel-stick test for I couldn't bear to think of his soft, delicate skin getting broken by anything and knew I'd be utterly incapable of moving a muscle if I were the one to have to do it no matter how important that test was. His cries of pain when Carine did the pricking tormented me endlessly and I squeezed my eyes shut for my own sake, but it was over in a flash. I had smelled the blood – my son's blood – and was equal parts stunned and relieved that it had not aroused much of a reaction in me even if it was "flavored" with the faintest hints of his father's delectable blood for he was my son, too. I wondered if "Mind Over Matter" truly played a role in this instant or if it was only because I had known this little boy, felt him and his precious heartbeats; kicks, all the way back to when he was growing inside me that it had so little effect on my senses, instincts, now. I was so used to his presence and his scent, after all we had never once been separated from each other for seven months in a row, day and night. And I was so accustomed to knowing him, and having his sweet fragrance coloring every moment of every day of my existence and giving it a new meaning I had never even fathomed was possible before in the story of my life. I kissed his little foot, fully healed all in the span of ten seconds, and pressed my forehead to his, committing those precious heartbeats and the feel of his warm, satin skin on mine to memory. I wiped his tears away; kissed the tip of his nose and he cooed, wrapping his hand tight around my finger. My little one. My perfect little prince.
As soon as I comforted him, my mother and I continued on with the rest of the tests. Of course, there was no way I could assess my baby based on the usual standardized medical scoring for newborn infants because he was no ordinary human child after all. For that, Carine and I completed two copies of each test: one for our own reference at home with the exact, unaltered results we'd found and another in which we falsified all the data to reflect the numbers of a healthy newborn human infant carried to term to be used for CJ's "official" records, which of course meant so little to us given what we were. The practice, illegal though it may be, certainly wasn't new to us.
The next of these tests was a Critical Congenital Heart Disease screening which would determine the amount of oxygen in CJ's blood. In my son's case though, the numbers obviously made no sense but I already expected as much. Still, it was clear CJ was a healthy child in his own right despite these discrepancies, much to my great relief.
One of the last tests we performed on him was an AABR hearing test with equally perplexing – or, alternatively, equally expected – results, depending on how you looked at it. I could already see it all in his head; hear all that which he heard but with this test we'd only received further confirmation that he was no ordinary human child because for even the softest clicks he'd hear, his scans showed a drastically increased sensitivity to them, something that was made even more outwardly obvious in his wide, blinking blue eyes and tighter-clenching fists every time they played in his little ears. Much like myself and other members of my family, CJ clearly had a heightened sense of hearing. I wasn't surprised that the rest of his senses followed in similar fashion.
Lastly, I went to record his height and weight. I wrapped the measuring tape around his head; trailed it down the length of his squirming little body. Then I laid him down on the infant scale to weigh him, admiring the way he kicked his little feet in the air while I went about doing it. Taking my pen from behind my ear, I made record of these measurements in his files. Then I stopped, and I stared in wonder at this incredible little being. How easy it was to get lost in those sky-blue eyes; in that little pink face. He was utterly exquisite. Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes, weighing in at a healthy six pounds and twelve ounces and seventeen inches of perfection from those wisps of his fine baby hair to the tips of his little toes. It was all I could have ever wanted. This little boy… was my dream come true.
But there's always a price to pay, isn't there?
I kissed his little forehead for a long moment, then gave him to my mother as one would a gift. And that was what he was to all of us – a precious gift. From his father, to me, to our family.
His father.
Lying unconscious there in the other room, broken, damaged, from the inside out. And it was all my doing.
Perhaps I should have known.
I ran back to Beau's side and took his cold hand in mine. A guilty conscience and a broken heart compelled me to him instantaneously.
I ached to see him again, awake, conscious, alive… or whatever it is we were, and what he will be soon enough should his transformation prove to be successful. "Beau, if you could hear me," the words got stuck in my throat, and I pressed his knuckles to my lips then tried it again. "Beau, if you could hear me, please… just come back home to me. Come back. Meet your son. Just stay. For him, for me, for us…" I pleaded with the stillness of his body; the unflinching planes of a cold, white face lost in the tumults of its own mind, struggling, fighting to see the light of day once more. I couldn't imagine the agony of his ongoing transformation, how he must be suffering in silence. Although the war was invisible, the strange, uneven rhythm of the warrior's heart so vehemently declared otherwise. I had to believe he was still somewhere in there; that I wouldn't have to lose him again.
His wedding band was stained with dried blood, making dark blots appear on that once-glowing halo of white-gold and marring it all. It was the last remnant of a breaking promise. Swallowing hard, I slid it off his finger and went to clean it. The stains disappeared near instantly, each rub with an old toothbrush and dish soap solution taking them off little by little. I'd polished it enough with a soft cloth afterwards to a point where it sparkled like new in the fading light of the sun shining in through the living room window, but the liquid in the little bowl I used was darkened with the blood that was on my hands - his blood - from the effort, like pieces of my heart stripped bare and fallen to pieces in that now-stagnant water. It was his penance for loving someone like me; for promising himself to Death herself to his unending ruin. I returned to Beau's side and my shoulders shook with the invisible tears I could not shed as I pressed the gleaming ring to my lips, kissing it as if it were his lips instead. Oh, Beau…
At that moment, I heard the familiar lull of my brother's thoughts and turned to see Archie in the doorway behind me. "Hey." he greeted, coming to sit beside me in a chair he'd brought in from the dining room.
"Arch." Though I said his name, my eyes continuously lingered over my husband's still form. I slid the ring back on his finger and kissed his hand for a long moment, covering it with mine. "Did you know that this was going to happen?"
"Well…" My brother took a hesitating breath then looked down, pressing his hands together and holding them between his knees. "Do you really want to know? Whenever I had visions about any harm coming to Beau, most times you'd always tell me to keep them to myself."
"In case you haven't noticed, Arch, but harm has already come to him. Brutal harm." My voice came out icy. I did not accuse my brother, but if he somehow knew this was going to happen, why hadn't he intervened earlier? A small, ugly part of me wished to blame him to some degree, to punish him for sitting idly by while my husband's life was so brutally taken from him, first by the Volturi's guards and then by my own hands, what it is I had done to him because I was too selfish to let him go.
Perhaps anticipating my words, Archie tugged on his fingers and picked at his nails, his scattered gaze bouncing around the room. Was his behavior the mark of a guilty conscience?
"So you did?" I whispered, shaking my head.
Archie sighed. "Yes and no."
"Well, that certainly clears everything up." I rolled my eyes. "What do you mean by that, Arch?"
"It's the same thing my visions always mean, Edy. But if you want the specifics, then the first thing you should know is that throughout this whole ordeal, Beau becoming like us never ceased to be an option. I had to make of it what I could and decided the best courses of action as they came to me, which consisted of us all being here, together, alive some way, somehow. No matter the means, that was the only end which I continually sought after. And, in all honesty, the only time I ever clearly saw Beau surviving our confrontation with the Volturi as human was in that tiny little window right after Sulpicia had let us go that first time, and it ended as soon as she touched my shoulder – that was when I got the vision of CJ and Adelaide. It was the literal worst timing in the world. That was when I saw them coming; her sending all those guards in secret after us."
"So, she was truly willing to let us go at the Witnesses' request, then?" I thought back to Michael speaking up for us in the field, and I was grateful to him even now. Archie nodded.
"Yes. And then I had that vision. Sulpicia loved Adelaide too much to let us go free and risk that, but she didn't want to cause a scene, afraid they'd call her some kind of corrupt ruler or the like."
"She is corrupt." I seethed.
"Sure, you can think that all you want but you and I both know, Edythe: she truly was just trying to protect her own family, just as we were. By the time I had that vision, it was game over. This right here-" His gaze fell on Beau's pale face. Arch and I both heard the continuous beat of his heart thrumming in its strange, irregular way; each second of that silent torment bringing him ever so hopefully nearer to us. "This was the only way it could have ended. You were the one who made that path possible, Edythe. You were the one who made the choice."
"But I didn't choose this for him!" I nearly shouted it, furious my brother could dare say such a thing to my face. "I would never choose this for him. Never." He knew that better than anyone else. My throat felt tight and my eyes began to burn with the invisible tears threatening to inundate me.
Archie took my shoulders. Desperation consumed his features, willed me to see myself the way he does. "But you did. You chose to save Beau."
"How could I possibly have saved him? I damned him, Archie. That's what I've really done."
"No, Edythe. You are the reason he even has a chance! You are the reason Beau is going to survive; you are the reason he's going to meet his son. You have to believe that, sis. There was never another option, never another way. This was the best possible thing you could have done for him; for CJ. In time, you will see it. I promise you one day, you will."
But I couldn't. For as long as I live, I know I'll never see it.
"Why, Archie? Why him? Why us?"
"It's because you love each other, Edythe. You chose to be with him and you chose not to live without him. That's all there is to it."
And then he pulled me right to his chest, wrapping his arms tight around my whole body. My shoulders heaved as I sobbed with abandon into his chest.
"I just don't know what to do, Arch."
"The best thing you can do for him now is to just stay by his side and support him in this new life of his. He needs you. They both do." His eyes went first to Beau's face then trailed up the stairs to our room, where my son was fast asleep in the crib my husband and I built for him.
Archie held me tighter still in his arms as if keeping me together and I buried myself deeper into his chest, taking the greatest comfort in it.
He sighed as he let me go. "I'm going to check up on Jess. She's struggling a little bit because she doesn't believe in herself the way I do." A tender smile played up at the corners of his lips.
"I think that's a wonderful idea." I saw it too in his head; in hers. Jessamine was keeping her distance from both my son and my husband, not from any animosity between herself and my family but only because she was so afraid to hurt them despite having already quenched her thirst three times over in the time we've been back in Forks, hunting in the woods behind our house.
My son made quite a few appearances in her head; within those sweet glimpses of him she clung to in memory when she viewed him surreptitiously from her seat in the car rides earlier. Her bright joy at becoming an aunt mingled bitterly with her fear of accidentally bringing harm to my little boy, and so she kept his scent in mind, not nearly as tempting as a full human's but enough to give her pause, the practice of continuous exposure she hoped tempering her mind. Archie would sit by her side, constantly reassuring his wife with rich, evocative descriptions of sweet visions he had of their future together - Jess holding CJ, nuzzling his face. His little hand on her cheek. Her rocking him to sleep on a warm, lazy afternoon in the shade of our backyard. It was how he tried to make her feel better.
Arch gave me one last hug and headed for the stairs. Just when I thought he was about to leave, he paused in the doorway and turned around, his hand on the frame.
"Just so you know, it's the choice he would have made, too." He left before I could even protest. Perhaps deep in my heart, I knew those words to be true. But I was hard-pressed to believe in them today, after everything that happened. After the choices I'd made. After what had been done to my husband.
Because it all came down to this - I was too selfish to live without him.
Oh, Beau. I thought of our son, his last beautiful gift to me. Saw those same eyes, heard that precious little heartbeat I loved more than my own life… and I repay him for that gift with the unequivocal murder of his body and soul. All I've ever done was hurt him. Put his life in danger. It seemed to be all that I was capable of doing.
I stayed like that, with him, for the longest time. Stuck, in the tumults; throes, of a guilt that burned. Consumed.
…
Before I knew it, it was morning again. I hadn't registered the fact immediately; the hours had passed by in a dizzying blur.
I felt someone's gaze on me and turned around, meeting the clear brown of my new friend's eyes.
Jules.
She walked in, taking Beau's other hand in hers.
She sighed; took a breath. "I know you probably already know, but I'm heading back home." It was true of course, I'd seen it all in her head – she was going to meet with her ex-pack members, discuss the uncertain fates of both my husband and our child. And she was dreading it just as much as I was. I swallowed hard, nodding once. "Drive safe, Jules. And please don't let them hurt my family."
"You got it." Jules nodded emphatically, her eyes strong; unwavering. It reassured me to see as much. "I'll see you guys soon."
She disappeared through the front door, and then I could hear the engine of the motorbike she'd left here come to life with an electric snarl.
"Weh… weh… weh…"
"Oh, CJ," As soon as Jules left, my son awoke and started to cry. Giving his father's hand one last squeeze, I rose to fetch him. Royal had beaten me, though - there he was coming down the stairs, rocking CJ in his arms, giving him cuddles and kisses. In his head I saw that he longed for the warmth of Jules' arms but was contented some with my brother's constant fussing over him.
"He's getting hungry." I murmured, the basic need ringing clear in his thoughts.
Roy nodded. "I figured. Come on bubba, let's get you to Mommy."
I couldn't help but smile at that – even in this darkness, there was a certain degree of joy to be had in hearing my brother calling his infant nephew "bubba". As someone who has long been accustomed to the hearing of Royal's thoughts and introspections, I knew my brother had always wanted to be a father, and he delighted in having my son to help raise now – it sparked in him the greatest sense of jubilance he'd long thought was lost to him. He handed CJ to me, and I wrapped the blue and white star-patterned blanket tighter around his bottom and dropped a kiss on his forehead, the warmth of his little hands grazing my ice-cold cheeks. Even if I felt at times that my world had been so completely shattered; had come to so complete a standstill, my son was always there to remind me otherwise. He made everything worth it. And I knew one could not simply stop being a parent when life desists its peaceful or expected course, and so I showed my son, this little light in my life, a smile. Despite the pain, and the grief, and the guilt; the toll which it all took on me in body and mind, I needed to be there for my baby boy. It was all for him.
"Oh, sweetheart." I held him tighter to me and rose, making my way up the stairs. He too made me strong.
The vintage rocking chair that once stood in the corner of Beau's old room at Charlie's house creaked under me as I lowered myself into it. Undoing the rest of my dress placket, I brought CJ to my chest and felt him latch on immediately, the sensation of his warmth so foreign yet so familiar to me all at the same time. Like I'd known him my whole life instead of just this infinitesimal portion of it – those seven short months he grew inside me, and the two days I at long last had him in my arms. He drank contentedly for a change and I was grateful to be able to provide for him in this way. I knew it wasn't going to last long, which made this one quiet moment all the more special to me.
I looked at him and wondered to myself, how could so cursed a body as mine have given life to this perfect little being? This tiny little soul, this brightest spark of light? He was everything to me. I took his hand in mine - his palm was just barely the size of my thumb. I took in the fine glass orbs that were his tiny varnished nails, the soft, supple curve of his chubby cheeks and the button that was his nose, making certain those gorgeous images had imprinted themselves directly in my memory bank for time eternal. I pulled him closer to my chest, nearest to my heart, inhaling the scent of his wispy baby hair and showered him with as many kisses as I was able to. My son. My beautiful son. Whenever I held him in my arms just like this, for the tiniest fraction of a moment all in my fragile, quick-to-collapse world was set right.
Not five minutes after I burped him, he was fast asleep. I took in his peaceful face, so at ease, and felt my heart triple in size at the sight when it was already so full of him to begin with. I kissed his baby hand and stroked the gentle ridges of his little knuckles; willed my silent words to somehow reach him: Hello, nice to meet you. I'm your Mommy, and I'll always love you. I'll always protect you. I'll always want you. I waited so long for you, and you came to me like the Spring. I wanted to show him everything good in the world, to see his eyes open wide in wonder, to feel the warmest sun on his face, to feel the purest joy filling up his heart at something unknown or unexpected. I didn't want to miss a thing.
I kissed his hands and his feet, the tip of his nose and the top of his head. He was mine. All mine.
Very gently, I laid him down in his crib. His eyelids fluttered and I knew he was dreaming. Leaning over the side of the railing, I took his warm, dimpled hand and laid it against the cool of my cheek, closing my eyes so we can dream together. Dazzling images of all the faces he's known in his short life played through his mind while recollections of his time growing inside me took up the other half of the runtime – my voice singing to him, the beat of his father's heart beside me, those whimsical conversations he had with him. The muffled sounds of the outside world making their way to him through me, in the little world he had all to himself nestled safely in my womb. I stroked his sleeping face. I have never seen a brighter world than in the mind's eye of my son's dreams. He is Light. He is everything beautiful in the world to me.
"You'll live forever, my love." I whispered down into his crib. And he would. For the first time, I realized that immortality wouldn't be such a bad thing if it were applied to him. In fact, I thought it suited him entirely. Because he was, unlike me, so good, and so pure, he deserved to live forever. He deserved the world, which would be all the better place with him in it. My little boy. The entire universe, fitting into the embrace of my arms. That is what it was to love him.
I left the room, thinking of him all the while. My reason. My purpose.
…
Motherhood gave me something different every moment. I recognized now the differences in CJ's cries, the best ways he liked to be held and cuddled. The adorable little sounds he made to indicate his state of mind, which I was blessed enough to be able to see in full shape and form with my gift. But babies were rather fickle creatures as I've realized through knowing my son, his preferences shifted so mercurially. I was constantly learning new things about him, there was no rhyme or reason to his whims.
But that didn't even begin to cover the changes which I myself was going through in this newest chapter of my life. Among those changes, his feeding habits and my ability to satisfy them was one of the biggest hurdles I unfortunately kept coming across. Frequency was the biggest challenge for the limitations my body had on itself as CJ fed nearly hourly sometimes, every two to three hours at others. I quickly realized how much trouble I was having now keeping up and swallowed hard, feeling the toils of inadequacy broiling its way through my psyche. It was a dark place to be in, and I was struggling to stay afloat. Still trying to resist against the negativity that my mind was subjecting itself to, I sat down on the edge of the sofa cushion, patting CJ's back. I unbuttoned my dress and, almost as if in defiance; to resist against what I was and those said limitations, offered my breast to my son's hungry lips expecting – hoping – for the same outcome as before. "There we go, love." He latched on immediately.
But, as I so feared, it was different this time - I truly had nothing more to give him.
As a last arsenal in my line of defense, I tried massaging my chest as I'd learnt to do from the nursing chapter in my book; tried holding him a little differently one moment then shifting positions the next. Letting him try the other breast and alternating between both. But all it did was hurt, and make me feel sore.
"It's not working." I shook my head, trying to think of something else I could do. Perhaps I needed to drink some more blood; nourish myself first. Yes, that was it. After putting CJ in the bassinet, I swung the refrigerator door open and peered inside, eyeing the fresh bags of blood Carine had brought in yesterday with those other medical supplies and equipment. Taking one off the top of the stack, I immediately prepared myself a glass. I downed it in less than a minute and felt the immediate, familiar alleviation of any pang of hunger I'd felt and went to get my son, bringing him to my chest while a tiny flicker of hope tried desperately to combat the pessimism I had in me. He latched on…
And immediately let out a frustrated cry. No, it didn't work.
Defeat pulled down my shoulders; made my heart feel as if it fell into the pit of my stomach.
I tried it again, with much the same results - CJ whimpered and furrowed his little brow every time he tried to drink but nothing came out. He was getting immensely frustrated, and hungry - very, very hungry. And I could no longer provide him relief. I should've known with a body like mine that this would happen. Monsters weren't meant to be mothers. Just thinking those brutal words - my words - hurt so much it was like I'd dealt myself a physical blow. My breath caught in my throat as I let it sink in. I knew I was being terribly cruel to myself, but one simply could not argue with the truth.
"I'm so sorry, love." I felt my voice shake as it left my lips. I had to try something else. I reached for one of the angled bottles we'd bought in Croatia and some newborn Similac formula, putting CJ down in the bassinet while I prepared his meal. I took the bottle warming device gifted to us by the Volturi and plugged it in. While a part of me detested the idea of using anything given to us by them at this moment in time; the horrors of that meeting, that battle, still fresh in mind, the other part of me was grateful for the furniture and the appliances. I took my son into my arms again – I could so rarely be parted from him long – and walked around the room, trying to soothe him. "I know you're hungry, love. Mommy's sorry." And I truly was.
The three minutes it would take to heat his bottle were spent on my end of things lost in a flurried frenzy of inescapable thoughts; of the degree to which Love and Loss had so intimately been intertwined in the freshest portion of my memory. How I had only just gotten used to the term "Wife" as I now add "Mother" to my repertoire, and what that all meant to me. Where I was at this particular moment in time, home at last but knowing all the while there were only echoes here of "once was", for my world and everything in it had changed so abruptly and so completely for better – and for worse.
My free hand fell to my stomach - flat, empty, to what it had been for a hundred years before everything changed. Because I had my son in my arms now. But at what cost? And his father, so still in that other room, a casualty of that most impossible wish, the choice I'd made to see it through… My eyes stung with the tears I could not shed. How I had failed them both time and time again…!
I nearly jumped a mile in the air when the built-in timer went off. I was a vampire for heaven's sake, and yet somehow this little device managed to scare the living daylights out of me. It would have been almost laughable if the thoughts had not been so dizzying; so heavy in demeanor and spirit. CJ stirred in my arms and reached for his bottle, the little furrow between his brows deepening with every hungry little whimper he uttered. I wondered how he would take to the formula; prayed it would be enough to satisfy him. It worried me to think of the alternatives. This was our one chance. "Come on, sweetheart." I went in to nuzzle his satin-soft face then took the bottle with us, settling down on the couch. I cradled his head in the crook of my elbow and held him at an angle, just like my book had said to do. He still wasn't taking the bottle, though.
"Come now, love… can you say "ah" for Mommy?" I coaxed, parting his pink lips ever so slightly with the tip of my little finger to help him take to the bottle's nipple with more ease.
"Mmn… mmn…" he noised, exhaling two little puffs of warm breath out his nose after each sound.
And then he began sucking on the tip of my little finger as if it were the bottle instead. His hands, so warm to the touch, fluttered upwards and held me there with a strength I would not have expected in someone as tiny as him even if he was part me after all.
"What's this-?" I tried seeing into his head; what it was that could possibly be going through that precious mind of his.
Thirst. Need. Want. Desire.
Blood.
"Blood?" The word horrified me to say. Gasping, I yanked my hand away from him and he immediately burst into tears.
That was when I saw the red stain on my finger.
I got up and ran to the kitchen. Dashing the empty glass I'd drank from up to my face, I realized one lone drop of blood had streamlined down the outside of the cup. It had blended in with the streaks of red staining the inside of the cup, the only discrepancy being a smudged, sticky mark which I could physically feel under my fingertips on the otherwise smooth, clean surface on the outside of the glass.
So CJ had tasted the blood – faint, minuscule traces of it, but taste it he did nonetheless – from when I'd gotten some on my finger earlier.
And one taste was all it took.
No. No, no, no. It was exactly as I'd feared.
I put CJ in the bassinet and washed my hands as thoroughly as I could, frantically seeking out the bottle of baby formula I'd prepared for him earlier. I reached for it as one would the last pill in a medicine cabinet to treat a malady that had just resurfaced and, after cleaning the outside with a sanitizing wipe, carefully set it down on the glass table. I took CJ, still in tears, into my arms again and tried to soothe him on the couch.
"Hey, what's up with you? Looks like you've seen a ghost." Jules' voice pulled me momentarily from my task. I hadn't noticed her there earlier. She strode over, taking a seat beside me. I knew she came back some hours prior, carrying around that old school notebook of hers with a pencil tucked in behind her ear. I also already knew why, and it frightened me. Would she have to report this to Sam?
"Jules." I showed her a smile, but it was forced. She noticed.
"Everything alright?" she asked, leaning in.
"I'm afraid not." I shook my head. "It's CJ."
"Oh no! Is he sick?" Immediately she dove, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.
"No, but he's just shown me, in mind at least, an intense craving for human blood." My voice was bleak.
"That's not good." Jules bit her lip, shaking her head. Warily, she opened her notebook to a blank page, but wrote nothing on it.
"No, it's not." CJ fussed in my arms, his little fists pushing against my wrist as I held the bottle of baby formula to him. "Come on, love. Please." I begged, bringing the nipple to his lips. He let out an irritated cry.
"Is anything the matter?" Carine drifted in. She'd just been checking on my husband in my absence and a look of concern flashed across her face as she came and sat beside us.
"He doesn't want formula."
Carine didn't need to ask what the implication of my statement meant.
"So, you no longer can-?"
I shook my head. "And he's thirsty, Carine." It was in his nature after all because of me. And he was surely too young to resist it.
Carine was silent for a moment, looking from the unconsumed bottle of formula I was holding then up to my face again, putting a hand on her chin in thought. Soundlessly, she rose and took another bottle down from the cupboard, filling it with half a bag of O Negative from the fridge and brought it over. CJ's arms reached out, his hungry cries ever increasing in volume with his desire for that sweet blood.
I looked at my mother with a hard expression on my face. "Carine, I said I don't-"
"We very well can't let him go hungry, Edy." she answered, her voice tinged with regret. Still, I refused to take the now-crimson bottle, the contents clashing entirely with the innocence of the little lambs printed on it. I gave the formula-filled bottle a shake and offered the nipple to my son again as my own version of defiance.
He refused it, only letting out another irritated cry.
"Here, honey. Let me try." Comprehending my conviction, the stubbornness and the blind hope with which I clung to for this one thing I so desperately wanted for him, Carine put the bottle of blood down and held her arms out to me in an offer of assistance. Gingerly, I eased my son into the crook of her elbow. "Shh, shh." She rocked him and stroked at the pink of his flushed cheek with the outside of her finger then used it to gently part his lips. He whimpered some and let out two tiny squeaks, his soft, warm arms fluttering against Carine's wrist like butterfly wings.
"There we go." She brought the bottle of formula to his hungry mouth and he began to drink. But when I peered into his perfect little face and heard the familiar lull of his thoughts, I knew he disliked it immensely and he spit it up. I looked to the other blood-filled bottle with eyes that wished not to see it in the first place and held it out to Carine. "He wants this." I said in a voice barely above a whisper which did little to mask the profundity of the hopelessness and that wrenching sadness - a searing devastation - I felt seeing him like that, the worst part of myself manifesting in the best part of myself as if it were infecting him; hurting him for what I had done. To know just how badly that thirst made his throat burn. He couldn't help who - what - his mother was. I had thought - no, perhaps hoped or prayed is more accurate a sentiment - that it wouldn't be like this. Carine's brow furrowed in questioning concern - no doubt in response to my petulant outburst not a minute ago - but eventually conceded to taking the bottle she'd prepared earlier. He reached for it with clenching then unclenching fists and let out a sound - a loud, hungry wail - and latched on immediately, his little feet kicking at the air in rapture as he drank and drank. I had to look away.
Beside me, Jules grit her teeth, wincing. In her eyes was a troubled look which mirrored my own. She bit her lip, tapping her pen on the notebook paper, deliberating, it seemed, whether to write down and report what it was we were both sadly observing.
Not good, she'd thought in her head. So did I. We had every reason to withhold this information from her pack. I ran a hand over CJ's cheek, warm, flushed pink, with every indication of glorious humanity even when it was made so abundantly clear in this instant that he was anything but.
"He has no inclination - nor capability - to hunt, but he still wants blood. Human blood." I sighed, feeling the dry burn of his thirst; his desire, as if it were my own. It sent strains right through my heart.
"At least that's something, right? He won't be going around draining the good people of Forks, then." Jules tried almost hopefully, the uncertainty betraying itself momentarily in her intonation. I understood her hesitation completely. As CJ grows up, how will those desires, and capabilities, change? And what exactly did Sulpicia mean earlier by "intervening" in her talks of assessing my son? Did that original deal still hold any weight now, or had we truly been let off, free of any conditions? Lord knows we deserved as much after the horrors she'd put our family through.
"We mustn't lose hope." Carine tried, touching my face. She eased CJ back into my arms and took his hand. "I'm sure everything will work out fine in the end; just you wait."
First it was Archie, now it was my mother. Not even someone who possessed all the patience in the world could ever wait as long as I apparently had to in order to even remotely understand why this all happened to my family in the first place.
I didn't answer her and only held my son tighter to me. My one good thing.
…
I'd sent Eleanor out to buy some different brands of formula, hopeful we may have better luck with those instead.
She came home before the late-winter sun had set, two paper bags balanced steadily in each arm. "I'm home! Man, you won't believe how many types are out there – different kinds of Similac, Enfamil, Gerber, Earth's Best… you name it, I got it." she proudly declared, lining the containers up in a color-coded promenade line on the counter like a consummate saleswoman.
"Thank you, El." I showed my sister a smile.
"No problem. Anything for this little dude over here, am I right?" El leaned forward and planted a big kiss on CJ's forehead, making funny faces at him in my arms and kneading his chubby cheeks like dough. "Gosh, what a cutie-patootie pie!"
Naturally, I was wholeheartedly in agreement with her. CJ cooed up at his aunt, his tiny pink tongue sticking out as if he were teasing her, too.
"Ugh, that face! Adorable." El enthused then turned back to her lineup of formula. "So, what'll be today, sis?"
"Let's try that purple one, I like the sound of the "easy-to-digest" protein thing they're advertising on the front." I went to put the paper bags away for reuse but stopped when I realized there was still something inside one of them. I reached in with one hand and gasped. "Oh, my goodness. Are you kidding me?" From the bottom of the second bag, I unearthed a fluffy, hooded long-sleeve cream onesie with bear ears on top, a collection of four more under it in differing infant sizes. And, despite everything that had happened these past few frightful days, I laughed with mirth. "I can't believe you, El."
"Oh come on, sis! You couldn't have seriously expected me to have left the store without them, could you?" she pouted, taking the Newborn-sized fluffy suit from me and hugging it tight. The little outfit truly was adorable to an exorbitant extent, and a rush of excitement burst through me as I anticipated dressing my son up in it like a small child and their most cherished doll whom they wished to lavish the finest clothing upon.
"No, I suppose not." I chuckled, taking the rest of the little suits out of the bag to put away in our room upstairs. "These are absolutely precious, thank you." Even if I was a little miffed that I'd be allowing my son to literally be dressed as his aunt's favorite meal, I couldn't argue against how cute they were, and how adorable they'll look on my son. He'd be my little baby bear. But just as I took the last one out of the bag, I discovered something else hiding at the bottom of it. And my mouth fell open at the sight.
"Oh yeah, I also got you some stuff." El snapped her fingers as if she'd just remembered the fact, enunciating the "stuff" as if it were a double-entendre. And what do you know? It was.
"I can see that." I put the baby clothes down and held the little blue package up. This was most definitely bought for me.
"It was your book that had that big ol' section on the whole postpartum period, y'know. There's a lot of things going on there, and with just your whole body in general. At least that's how it is for the humans. I'm just trying to help, so don't shoot the messenger, little-big sis!" El pointed out, throwing her hands up.
I sighed. "I hadn't had use for these… products… since they were called sanitary belts." I mused out loud, knowing my face would be red with indignation, and embarrassment, at this very moment if I were still in those long-gone days as human. Unfortunately, it was how I was raised. "And if you had to know, they were never very regular in the least anyhow." It was true – perhaps I might never have been able to have children even if I was still human, and I wondered, truly wondered if there was anything that Change; Immortality, had to do with the fulfilling of my impossible wish. But how could something so horrid do me such a benevolent mercy? How could a curse so terrible give me this most precious gift; this baby boy in my arms?
"I do think I'm quite alright in that department but I appreciate the thought, El. Thank you." I said very quietly when I realized I hadn't acknowledged my sister's courtesy just yet. And I truly was grateful to her, no doubt. What this strange body of mine had been through was so rare, I could never be quite sure what the recovery period would look like. I certainly didn't feel the same anymore in any case, so perhaps I may eventually have use for those items after all.
I put the paper bag away in the kitchen and the sanitary pads under the bathroom sink upstairs, returning to my sister's side in a matter of seconds. CJ didn't seem to mind the speed at which I traveled; speeds I'm sure he'll be capable of reaching himself one day if Nahuel's and Adelaide's abilities were any indication. And Adelaide, the poor girl…
"How do you feel, Edy?" Eleanor's voice broke through my concentration.
The question took me by surprise but I answered automatically, as was so ingrained in me through all these years: "I'm fine."
Eleanor shook her head, narrowing her eyes. She'd seen through me in an instant. "No, sis – how do you really feel?"
I knew there was no use in hiding now. El's eyes were pure and kind, not one hint of her usual joking and unseriousness in them. "I know we're all about CJ, and Beau of course, but how are you? I know you've kind of been through a lot."
Although I was loathe to admit it, she was right in that. I suppose a small part of me was grateful she asked. I bit my lip, unable to immediately answer. Physically, I was completely exhausted – in the entire duration which I'd been an Immortal, I'd never felt this way before, not once. It was so utterly foreign to me, like I didn't even know my own body anymore. Most of the time, I felt sorely like a wrung-out towel. I wasn't healing as quickly as I was used to, and it manifested in aches radiating all over my body – my chest, my stomach, my hips, my legs. None of me felt quite right yet. But the worst pain wasn't physical at all. Instead, it was knowing how I had cursed the ones I most loved. How it all ended, how I had failed in protecting my husband and son in different ways…
"I'm exhausted." I at last answered in truth. "I feel so tired, and it hurts everywhere."
"Guess giving birth can do that to ya, huh?" El gave my shoulders a squeeze.
"I suppose." I sighed, putting my hand over hers. I took a breath and tread back upon my offending thoughts. "But it hurts in a different sense too, El – what I've done to my baby boy, his father…" My voice faltered, a painful silence overtaking it in stride. All my physical ailments were nothing compared to the crushing, horrid guilt I felt for my role in all this misfortune. I was far more consumed by my own shortcomings as a mother, for having my poor husband lying unconscious there, in that other room, and in the worst imaginable pain no doubt where he did not - could not - even make a sound. And I had unwittingly cursed my baby boy with that same terrible thirst which plagued his mother, the creature that I was. As I've said – it was the worst part of myself manifesting in the best part of myself. I looked to all the formula boxes again – What if it still didn't work? What if it was all just a lost cause? Was I simply doing more harm than good in suppressing that part of him? In not fully acquiescing to the nature of his most innate instincts, horrible though they were, which I myself had passed on to him? This was one of those times I wished his kind was not so rare; that there was some wealth of information somewhere out there on raising this child, this half mortal, half immortal little boy, where I wouldn't be so alone in this. Was I already bound to fail as his mother? And now he knew the burn of thirst no matter how hard I tried to protect him from it. It was no use. No use, because he was like me. I had made him this way. It was all my fault. Everything was. "I'm so sorry, my love." I whispered down at my son in a broken voice. I looked to the little bottle I'd set aside earlier, still smelling the blood leftover in it even from here.
Then Eleanor turned me towards her, immediately pulling me out of my drowning thoughts. "You know what? Cut the crap, Edythe. Just stop with your apologies."
I was too stunned to either speak or read her mind, and so I'd drawn a blank. Immediately, she seized my shoulders and delivered her words instantly afterwards, a strange expression of pain – on my behalf? – flashing over her kind features.
"I love you, sis, but you've got to stop doing this to yourself. Seriously! It's because of what you are that Beau is going to get to meet his son. It's because of what you are that your son is alive right now. If you were both human, you and him might not have even made it to day one, he was born so early. It's because he's part you that he survived. Please don't do this to yourself, Edy. Just don't. You are the best possible thing that could have ever happened to Beau and this little guy over here, they're so lucky to have you. We all are." Her voice cut me through with a tender desperation so deep I could already feel my throat tightening with the tears I could not shed. Her strong arms were around me in an instant, and I let myself be held by her.
…
As hours stretched into days, I grew more and more anxious, for Beau was still. So still, it was as if his life had already left him. But I believed in him. I believed that he would come back to me.
To cope with the slow ache of time as it crept by me in the murmurs of my husband's changing heart, I found a sense of solace in tending to the needs of our son and spending those hours with him. I'd just put him down for a nap, and crept down the stairs as quietly as I possibly could so I wouldn't disturb his slumber.
A far-off, echoing clatter. Imperceptible to any human ears from the distance which separated my house and whence the sound came from, but loud and clear to ours if we hadn't taken to tuning it out.
A rustle of the sheets, the faintest brush of one tiny lip over the other and then a whimper. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, waiting to see if he'd soon fall back asleep himself.
"Weh… weh…" But his gentle cries only grew more urgent, his disturbed slumber agitating him more and more the longer he thought to be concerned by it. The offending noise had been a stack of metal beams at a construction site tumbling off a steel table some three miles away. It was amazing that he could hear it just as we did, but it pained me endlessly that he hadn't the time to get used to such things yet; was not able to tune them out as my family and I, and Jules as well, naturally did, and it'd caused even more suffering which I could not shield him from.
"Mommy's coming, my love. Mommy's coming." I rushed back up the stairs, my empty arms rearing to soothe and comfort him. It was pure instinct on my part.
When I got to our room, there Jules was with him up in her arms. "Shh, shh." she tried, patting his chest. "He just woke up screaming. Darn construction site." She clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"Thank you, Jules." I took CJ from her. "I can take it from here, you can go back to studying for that upcoming precalculus test of yours if you'd like."
"Thanks. I owe you one." Jules stroked CJ's head then saluted me with two fingers on her way to the room we'd given her months ago – she hadn't wanted to use it, though, until now. Of course, she owed me absolutely nothing - CJ was my son after all, and she'd already gotten up with him more times than I can count. She was truly a great help. In any case, I could easily see that academic performance was secondary in her mind, and that she'd only left as a courtesy to my son and I; to give me some more time with him. Her consideration did not go unappreciated.
"Now what shall we do with you, my love?" I stroked CJ's flushed cheek and rocked him – it was all he wanted me to do. But he continued to cry, his little feet kicking in fretful cycles under the blanket. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" I asked, giving his back some more pats and pacing around the room. I looked to the open door. Not wanting to distract Jules from her studies, I moved down the hall and walked down the stairs, the living room reclaiming its former luster. Perhaps a change of scenery was what he needed.
But he only continued to wail.
"CJ? What's the matter?" I asked once more, first feeling his forehead to try and detect a difference in his temperature, then checking his diaper to see if he needed a new one and verifying whether he was still hungry or not by peering into his little mind. But nothing seemed amiss at all. I tried rocking him again. Patting his chest. Rubbing his back. Nothing brought him even a moment's peace. My horrible inadequacy as his mother, and my awareness of it, slowly began to rise from the ashes I thought I'd banished hours ago and rained down on me in rapid bursts as if they were incoming blows. It was easy to lose sight of my sister's words as if in some dark forest when my complete ineptitude as a mother so declared otherwise. And just when I thought I had gotten even an ounce better at this!
I paced the living room floor, my son's inconsolable wails making me feel like crying, too.
"What's wrong, Edy?" Earnest, sensing my deepest struggles, manifested as if from thin air and immediately put his arms around me, his kind, worried eyes fixed intently on both my son and I.
"Oh, this is what he wants but I just might not be doing it right." I muttered, frustrated with my painful incompetence as his mother. Everything - from being a straight-A student, to composing music, to creating art, to learning new languages among other pastimes and glories - had been so easy for me before, but with him it seemed I'd be a permanent novice. If I could just see a little more, see exactly how he wanted me to rock him, exactly what it was he wanted me to do for him…
Earnest took CJ from me, his hand moving gently over CJ's bottom to support him. He kissed his forehead. "Try this, sweetheart." He rocked him, patting his chest and humming very softly. It was to the tune of one of our most favorite songs, somewhat new to us in the sense it debuted some four decades into our new lives together at that point, "What A Wonderful World" by the extraordinary Louis Armstrong. I joined in with the words from where I was standing, and my father joined me soon after so we were singing it together now:
I see trees of green
Red roses too
I see them bloom
For me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world.
Immediately, CJ's cries grew softer and softer, his mind - that beautiful mind of his - calming down every passing second and he was asleep within minutes. I felt the wonder, then the surprise on my face before I had the chance to vocalize any of it at all. "Oh Earnest, how on earth did you do that?" I came up to the both of them and put one hand on my father's shoulder and stroked my son's perfect little face with the other, feeling the satin of his skin on mine.
"I did this all the time for my Grace, too. Our song was "Moonlight Bay" by the great American Quartet. It just takes a little bit of practice, honey." he added in a whisper so as not to wake his grandson. Earnest was truly meant to be a father, and I was lucky enough for all these years to have called him mine. And I knew my son, too, was incredibly fortunate to have such a wonderful grandfather. He was the best of men. There was the deepest sense of pure love, and fervent adoration, which I had seen in Earnest's glistening eyes and the light of his thoughts when he looked at my son. His mind was practically bursting with that exuberant glow of pride and joy, sweetened with a golden luminescence like something akin to honey. He felt… blessed. And incredibly so.
As if sensing what I saw when I looked at them both, Earnest turned in my direction, his kind eyes reassuring me with just one glance. He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and stroked my face with that same familiar fatherly affection I'd known from him for so long. "Of course, it certainly helps that his mother has a beautiful voice."
"Oh, Earnest. You're too kind, truly." Surely, I would've blushed if I could.
"I'm only telling the truth." He chuckled, giving me a squeeze. He sighed then smiled, taking CJ's hand and stroking it. In a whisper, he added, "You'll get the hang of it in no time, sweetheart." and leaned his head on mine.
"You're absolutely amazing, Earnest."
"And so are you, Edy. So are you." He kissed my cheek then went to put CJ down in the bassinet by the couch, still humming softly all the while. I watched them, my heart overflowing with my love for them both. The sight, combined with the words my sister had said earlier, so struck me, because it made me realize then just how incredibly lucky I was to witness this moment with my own eyes: that little life I'd created with this strange body of mine, held fast in the arms of the best father I've ever known in the past hundred years. And I was truly happy.
A hand came to rest on my shoulder. It was Carine, and I turned on instinct to face her. She said nothing, but I saw it all so clearly in her mind. She showed me a smile which spoke of all the tenderness in the world and pulled me into a tight embrace – the embrace, as I knew, of a mother. I thought I could understand that kind of love a little deeper now, what all these years shared between us have meant. Those little moments, words, glances… it all played so vividly through her mind. Through mine.
"I don't think I ever properly thanked you, Carine. For this incredible life, and the family you've given us all." I whispered the words in earnest and, for that one fleeting moment, I truly meant them. I initiated the hug this time, my mother holding me even tighter to her.
…
CJ had drifted off immediately – it certainly helped that he had the best grandfather in the world, no doubt. I so wished the same sentiment could be said for the remainder of my husband's transformation. We'd since unplugged all the heart monitors; they'd beeped so much and in such strange patterns we thought they were malfunctioning at first. Beau's once cold hand felt feverishly warm now, and I had no sound theory in mind to explain away such a change. If anything, I thought his temperature would've dropped instead. I don't remember anyone in my house feeling this warm at any point during our transformations. "Is it supposed to do that?" Jules had asked me earlier. All I could tell her was "I don't know." Carine had proposed that it was the morphine causing all these abnormalities and I desperately wanted to believe her of course, but never before had I seen someone so quiet, so motionless, throughout the entirety of this horrid process. It was becoming more and more difficult for me to believe, to have hope. Was he truly gone, forever? Would I never again hear his voice call my name; never again see his eyes open, staring into mine with all the love in the world?
No. I can't think like this. I won't.
So instead, my mind wandered on to things I did allow myself to think on. A question as simple as what I should wear to greet Beau not if, but when he woke up for the first and last time as an Immortal allowed me momentary reprieve from the impatience of uncertainty. Framing it that way in mind allowed me a frivolous kind of freedom from the drowning pain of the possibility of Loss. And I took myself up on it, perhaps through sheer desperation, rather easily.
With my son still asleep, I had some time to restock my wardrobe, bring back the outfits I'd worn until I couldn't anymore due to my pregnancy. I took some of those boxes from our large attic space and brought them to my room, a feat which took me all of five seconds. Upon unearthing the contents, a rush of memories from the past two-and-a-half years flooded me: the gray leather jacket and charcoal jeans I'd worn on Beau and I's first date, my white graduation dress with the lace panels down the tiered skirt, all the floral dresses I'd worn on our honeymoon, even the yellow dress my mother lent me when I first started outgrowing my wardrobe which I still had yet to return to her made an appearance.
And in the bottom of the very last box was that singular white eyelet dress with the tie straps that made my throat tighten when I recalled the last time I'd worn it. That cold September afternoon, in the forest behind Beau's house where even the sun could not chase the shadows away.
I remembered his eyes, the way they looked at me, trembling, breaking apart inside, holding himself together by mere threads as I delivered the final blow; the one that did him in, the one where I saw the tears fall and fall. "I don't want you." It was the blackest lie, the worst blasphemy I'd ever committed. To remember those eyes, even at this moment, burned me. And yet, he forgave me, in due time, just like that. I broke his heart - never mind I had broken mine over him in that same parting as well! - and in the end, he made me his wife. The mother of his child. A child, which by turns I did not deserve, but whom I wanted - needed - with everything in me. He was always far too good for a creature, a monster, such as myself. They both were.
I took a steadying breath and pulled up the zip.
It fit a little tighter now, somehow - I never used to need the elastic there in the back. So pregnancy had changed me, at least a little bit. I looked hard in the mirror, tracing the otherwise-same lace-edged neckline and swept my hands down either side of my hips, the familiar eyelet fabric soft from so many washes beneath them. A border of swirling filigree patterns circled round the ruffled hem which fell right above my knees, just as I remembered it to. But the woman in the mirror looking back at me now was someone I could barely recognize. She was not that naïve, lovesick young girl who broke the heart of the only boy she ever truly loved. She was not the girl who loved that boy so selfishly when she thought she was being selfless. No.
She was a wife. And she was a mother.
I realized why the image felt so foreign to me now. Physically, I hadn't aged a day and yet, I felt leaps and bounds older somehow. Because of what I had gone through, because I knew so intimately now the crippling fear, and sense, of tremendous loss, not only in regards to my husband but our child too; the uncertainty of it all. Everything had come pouring down on me through that changed image. I realized now, too, a strength I didn't know I had in me through all the heartache, and the pain, mental as well as physical, which had the power to bring me to my knees and leave marks, scars; those everlasting traces in the shape of the one and the other, my two deepest loves, on my heavy heart which can only come with a deep, all-consuming love of the most infinite proportions. It was the devotion of a wife who so fiercely wanted to protect her husband to the end, the strength of a mother who would give her life endlessly for her child, and the terrifying, tormenting woe, irreparable damage, of the thought of losing them both.
This woman in the mirror had taught me, through intense pain, through the most exultant joy, what it was to love so deeply, so passionately, so unadulteratedly, that she had forever altered the girl who'd once stood in her place, in that dress, in those far-off days and nights.
It was decided, then. I slid out of the dress which sheathed me in those memories and thought to iron it - make it like new - but stopped when I'd caught another glimpse of myself in that cool looking glass.
Pregnancy had changed me in other ways, too. I traced my fingers over the fading lines of the small scars on my stomach, ran my hand over the slightly pockmarked surface of my skin from my mother's first attempt at delivering my son. Either I was still healing, or my body never will be the same again. And quite frankly, I couldn't find it in myself to mind in the slightest - it was a welcome reminder that I'd done the impossible; that my dream had come true. And I wore those scars like the badges of honor they were. This painful, heartbreaking, beautiful journey had changed me in every way, shape and form a body, a person, could ever possibly change in the whole course of their lifetime. I had changed. And I owed it all to Beau and our son.
It's happening. I heard Archie's thoughts before I heard the rapid, whooshing sound of Beau's now-frantic heart and my breath caught in my throat.
I slid the dress back on; pulled up the zip. And I flew down the stairs at the speed of light.
Not one word, not one sound. I walked into the conservatory, moving gently past the members of my family who stood there - almost everyone, except Royal and Jules who were keeping watch over my son upstairs, something I knew was for the best at this particular moment in time - with slow, heavy steps and stood by Beau's bedside. His eyes were still closed. My hand hovered over his frame, but I was too afraid for it to land; afraid how different his once warm, soft skin would feel against mine now, afraid to know what it is I had done to him.
But I was also relieved, in a way. Relieved that after everything, he had finally come back to me. That he was going to live.
Yes. This was it.
Beau, rejoining this world, in that liminal space between life and death – reborn, as it was, something perhaps not better, but different. The promise we'd made to each other all those months ago sparked to life in my mind and lit it up like fireworks. If my heart could still beat, I knew it would be doing somersaults right now.
As long as we both shall live.
It took another moment for me to fully contemplate the wonder of those words in my head and in my heart. For eternity, by my side.
Beau.
His heart stuttered twice, then thudded quietly again once more.
And then it stopped.
I waited with no breath; watched from afar as he awoke for the first and last time as an Immortal.
And then, he rose.
My love had come back to me at last.
Hi everyone!
It's been a while, I hope everyone is doing well! I apologize for another super late update, a looot has been going on - there's been nonstop construction at our place and then most of my fam and I caught Covid for the first time, which was probably one of the worst things we'd ever experienced lol. (I'm very happy to say that we're all feeling fine now though! :)) Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Edythe's POV is definitely the hardest to write for me, but I needed one last chapter from her perspective to wrap up her character arc as this was all about Edythe coming into her own as a mom and continually learning and realizing things about herself and this life she's been leading as she raises her son and how, with the support of her family and friends, she can slowly begin to forgive herself after years of self-loathing. The rest of the chapters in this book are all going to be back in (now vampire!) Beau's POV, so I'm excited for that! As always, thank you for reading and for all your support and patience, it means the world to me! Until next time :)