Edward – Chapter Four
I sat in the armchair by the window and watched as Carlisle set up the IV. Hydration. That's all we could do right now—help her recover from the heat that had ravaged her body for hours. She said it helped, so we kept it ready.
"How long did it last?" Carlisle asked gently as he checked her vitals.
"Seven hours," I said, my voice low, barely hanging together. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, burying my face in my hands.
Seven hours. Too long.
Seven hours of agony tearing through her like something wild and merciless had claimed her. I could still hear her screams, echoing inside my head like they were burned into the walls. I could still feel the way her skin scorched beneath my hands as I held her under the water, both of us shaking from the effort of surviving it.
Carlisle placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "We'll figure this out, Edward."
I nodded into my palms. I didn't need to believe it. I just needed to keep going.
Anna had seen Bella happy. Whole. But I had to wonder—were they just moments? Just flickers of laughter she caught glimpses of in a blur of pain?
Even this morning—Bella had smiled, made jokes. She looked alive. And then it was all gone.
"Have you thought more about the other option?" Carlisle asked, scribbling in his notebook without looking up.
"It's all I think about," I whispered, dragging my hands down my face.
"Have you talked to Bella about it?"
I shook my head.
No, I hadn't asked her if she wanted me to end her life—or change it into something unrecognizable. I hadn't asked if she wanted me to kill whatever lived inside her, even if it meant becoming a monster like me.
"I don't want to ask her," I said, cutting him off before the thought could form. "Not unless we know it'll help. If it doesn't—if it makes her worse—then…"
He nodded. "We'll keep researching."
Carlisle didn't stay long. He never did. He was always moving, always reaching for something that might lead us closer to understanding. I knew part of that drive was for Bella. But another part—I was certain—was fear. Fear of what would happen to me if we lost her.
When he left, I returned to the desk. Piles of books surrounded me. Scrolls, articles, ancient translations. I was learning languages I hadn't touched in centuries just to crack the smallest code, to decipher fragments that might be nothing. The pride that once came with understanding was gone. Now, every new skill was just another reminder that it wasn't enough.
The sun was rising when I finally gave up. I slipped into bed beside her, curling around her as gently as I could. She stirred, letting out a quiet hum that always surfaced when I pulled her close.
Her head pressed into my chest. Her hand moved instinctively, reaching for me.
I caught it before she could wrap it around me, careful not to disrupt the IV. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, and dropped to the tubing. Understanding settled over her features, and she relaxed against me again.
"Is he still here?" she mumbled.
"No. He left last night."
She nodded, but something shifted in her body. Her stillness turned stiff, the warmth of sleep draining out of her. A tremor ran through her limbs—familiar, but not quite right.
I gently cupped her cheek, tilting her face toward mine.
"What is it?" I asked, letting the fear into my voice. No point hiding it. She could see right through me anyway.
"Last night… what time is it now?" she whispered.
"Just after six."
Her eyes darted to the window, registering the light. She must've thought it was dusk, not dawn.
She went quiet.
"Hey," I said softly, brushing my lips against her temple. "You're okay."
Tears gathered fast, glistening before she could blink them away.
"I'm fine," she said, voice shredded raw—not from lying, but from screaming.
I hated how she looked at me then. Like she expected me to leave. Like I was the one she needed to be protected from.
I reached across her and gently removed the IV. She didn't flinch. Just watched, silent, as I placed the bandage over her arm. When I moved back to my side of the bed, her eyes followed mine. And I couldn't let her sit there, stewing in whatever guilt she'd convinced herself to carry.
I reached for her. Shifted her gently into my lap. Her body curled into mine without hesitation.
"I ruined it," she whispered, staring down at the rip she'd torn in my shirt yesterday.
"It's just a shirt."
"I'm not talking about the shirt."
Her voice broke.
I touched her face, wiped the tears away with my thumb. "You didn't ruin anything."
But I knew she wouldn't believe it.
She curled against my side on the couch as Casablanca flickered across the TV. Second time this week.
I wasn't sure if she even liked the movie—until I saw the way she was watching it. Not bored. Not distracted. Just deeply unimpressed.
"Do you even like this?" I asked.
"Not really."
The phone rang. She didn't move.
Only one person ever called this house.
Renee's bright voice spilled from the answering machine, asking Bella to call her back. Bella didn't even blink. But her jaw tightened. Her shoulders tensed. She didn't acknowledge the message, or me, or anything.
She only called her mother on Sunday nights. Twenty minutes. Never more. Always an excuse to get off the line.
I didn't push. Not about Renee. Not about Anna. Not about the crash.
There were parts of her she wasn't ready to unpack, just like the boxes that still cluttered the hallway. I left them alone.
Later, she sat on my lap as I worked through another translation—this one in Aramaic.
"You know Aramaic?" she asked, surprised.
I nodded, trying to hide the way my stomach twisted. Because I hadn't known it yesterday. And now I did.
Another language. Another dead end.
Her fingers combed through my hair, settled at the back of my neck. "You okay?"
I folded my arms around her. "Don't worry about me."
She didn't believe me. I could see it.
Then suddenly, she stood.
"We should go out."
My brows lifted. "Out?"
"Yeah. Let's get out of here."
"You're still recovering, we should wait—"
"I'm fine," she laughed. Too quickly. Too loudly.
I didn't understand it, but I followed her.
Port Angeles
I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she rolled the window down, wind pulling her hair into chaos. She looked… happy. At peace. A tiny smile played on her lips as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back into the breeze.
And then she turned to me.
"So… this thing go any faster?"
I smiled. "You tell me."
⸻
She kissed me in the alley behind the bookstore.
It was different this time—slower, deeper. I lost the thread of everything. All that existed was her mouth on mine, her hands in my hair, my palms sliding under her shirt, desperate to feel every inch of her skin.
A couple passed, laughing.
"So cute," the woman said as they walked by.
Bella pressed her face into my chest, laughing. Embarrassed, glowing. She looked up at me and shook her head, cheeks flushing red.
God, I loved her.
⸻
Later, she sat on the floor of the bookstore, surrounded by books she couldn't choose between.
"I don't know which one to get," she said, frustrated.
"Get them all," I said simply.
She started to protest, but I kissed her cheek before she could.
While she browsed, I slipped away to the counter and scribbled down a list. It felt stupid. Desperate.
But I had to check every angle—even the darkest ones.
•The Lesser Key of Solomon
•Ars Goetia
•Dictionnaire Infernal
•Demonic Possession, Exorcism, & Witchcraft
The clerk gave me a look, but said nothing.
Back at her side, I helped her carry her books to the register and kept my secrets in another bag that i held by my side.
Sunday night.
She watched Citizen Kane with blank eyes. Every time the phone rang, she stiffened.
Twenty minutes, like always.
But this time, something changed.
Her eyes found mine after she hung up. Quiet. Scared.
"She's coming here," she said.
I turned off the movie and moved closer.
"That's good, right? You haven't seen her in months."
She didn't answer. Just stared at her hands.
"If you want… I can go while she's here."
"Why would I want that?" she snapped, hurt flashing through her.
"I know you haven't told her about us."
"You'll see why," she said bitterly.
"You think she won't approve?"
"No," she said. "She just won't get it."
"What do you mean?"
She looked away.
"She's nice. People like her. But they can't hear her thoughts when she looks at me."
There it was.
She didn't care about Renee's opinion. She feared her mind—feared what I might hear in it.
I reached for her, but she stepped away.
"I'm tired. Let's just go to bed."
That night, she lay across my chest like always.
Still. Warm. Safe.
Until the light behind her eyes dimmed.
"What time is it?" she whispered.
"Just after three."
She was quiet.
Then she looked up at me. Something fragile and sharp in her expression.
"Will you do something for me?"
"Anything."