Author: Cherished Dreams PM
Part I - 'Seize the Night'. Its been two months since his departure. This is how Bella Swan deals with goodbye.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Romance - Bella & Edward - Words: 1,354 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 2 - Published: 06-30-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4360006
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Part I – Carpe Noctem – Seize the Night
By ani aka Cherished Dreams
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.
She's lying on her bed, away from the window she's covered over. She doesn't want to know what the day or its opposite will bring. She doesn't like saying or think that word. She's found that she's scared of it. She doesn't want to know it, a formed conscious decision. Charlie doesn't say the word anymore. He doesn't say much to her anymore. Her body is sluggish, yet she feels wound up tight, like a spring waiting to be let loose.
She faintly registers the small sounds that seem to be echoing louder and louder, it seems, around her. She wonders why it sounds so erratic, and she realizes it's the short gasps of air she's taking in. She doesn't like hearing the sound, they're painful to listen to, more so than actually breathing. She tries to reach up to cover her mouth, but her arms feel stiff and her hands are screaming for her to stop trying to move them, clutched close to her hurting chest, but she fiercely insists on it from her body and soon enough the sounds are gone.
It's replaced with the harsh throbs carousing within her. She wants that one to stop too, but she's scared of that too. The absence of the heartbeat. A muffled sob reaches her ears. Her wide eyes flicker to the neon green lights beside her. She's made it to three hours, five minutes. Her eyes are leaking, she thinks, recognizing the ache in her swollen eyes. Three hours of not thinking of him. Its painful but its there. She's a masochist too.
She turns over to that side and buries her face in the linen. If she breathes in deep enough just on that little spot, she can faintly make his scent out. It's been two months, three days, five hours, twenty-two minutes (but who's counting) since he left her, and yet it's still faintly there. It's a light musky scent, with a hint of pine. As she breathes it in, she chokes up with a sob and before she knows it, it's gone from her. Just like him. Just like him.
She doesn't have anything. He left her with nothing, not a photo, (not the model who detested her) or a strand of hair... not even her own heart. He took them all. Away from her. Sob.
She suddenly lets out the heart piercing wail she didn't know she was keeping back. She wants him. She wants them all back. She doesn't care if he hates her, avoids her in the halls, or misses their biology class anymore. She needs him, his very presence. She needs something. Anything, she furiously thinks. This isn't the clean break he promised her. It hurts, more than anything she's ever felt (worse than a broken rib or leg or both).
Her fingernails sink into the fabric under them and she distinctly hears a ripping. Unreasonable anger shreds through her, bringing hot liquid again and she furiously brings her hand up and wipes them away. No. No, no, no, no, NO. No more, she thinks (though it hasn't been the first time). She swings her legs over the edge of her bed and reaches for her keys. It doesn't matter that its night. She winces involuntarily. It lost its meaning, and she lost her happiness for it, when she found what it failed to bring. She berates herself for that uncensored thought, as she moves her aching legs and out the front door. She drives.
Soon she finds herself standing in the beating rain, in front of a three-story house. She doesn't remember how she's gotten herself there, but she lets herself in. It feels familiar to her somehow, the way her hand quivers as it reaches for the brass handle, how the air escapes as she plunges herself forward, opening the door. She gasps in brokenly, her eyes wide and she goes into her own world.
She remembers a perpetually cheerful little girl skipping down the stairs, an amused blond male trailing behind her. Her face tightens. She moves her eyes to the dinning room on her right, and they close slightly on their own accord as they land on a covered table, remembering the sting as the youthful doctor pulled glass out of her arm. A shaking hand runs over the arm but the bandages are gone, scars are all that's left. She misses that soreness; it was nicer than the constant ache her breast was filled with.
Her vision blurs and she's moving again. His door is open, inviting her in. She's shivering violently, and she curls herself up on the big black couch in the center of the room. It smells stronger than the one at her house and she can't help but break down in broken sobs, as his words come rushing back to her, in the sweet velvet voice she loved most.
'I'll always love you...'
He loves her still, she thinks, eyes closing. She doesn't hear the other words he said and she blares them out with her own thoughts. He loves her still. Always. Always. She just has to wait. He'll come back. He will, she knows it. She'd bleed herself just to bring him back. She'll see him again. Be in his arms once more. Feel his gentle marble lips on hers.
She jerks at the last thought and at the same time her mind says the couch has deflated and she calls back to it that couches don't deflate. Her movement must've shifted her hair she thinks, her nose catching a particularly strong whiff of his scent just in front of her. She's drifting into sleep, her mind getting fuzzier. She welcomes the calming cold surrounding her. Like him. Her lips move, her throat contracts.
"Ed...ward." She whispers.
And she slips away.
Creeeeeak. Only her door makes that sound. The sound when it's pushed or pulled further than ninety degrees into the room. Her eyes won't open, they feel like they've moulded together. It closes again after a moment and it's quiet again. Its morning. She clutches her head in a hand, blood throbbing to her brain, as she sits up and pulls her legs to her chest.
She smells rain (a scent only Forks' rains bring), but she can't remember where it's from. Her mind is slipping away, she thinks. She can barely remember what she cooked for Charlie the evening before. No ni--bad dreams, the ones she was sure she would have. She's never had one since... (None that she can remember)
She sighs pulling out of her train of thought and switches her body into autopilot. Clothes, towel, toiletries bag, window. She blinks and pauses breaking out of it, a first ever in her newly created routine. Window? She frowns slightly, looking down at her thin fingers reaching out towards the windows washed out wooden frame. It's open only a tiny bit, she doubts her pinkie can pass even through. Ah, rain. This is where it's come in from. (Probably Charlie letting in some fresh air once in a while)
She pushes it shut, dwelling on it no longer and continues her day, on autopilot, a hand clutching at her chest.
Author's Note: There are numerous hints throughout, let me know if you 'got' the meanings! :) I'm not good with subtle. Please let me know how I went. The link to my LJ where the full explanation is held captive is on my author's profile. (Because the editor doesn't let it be copied and pasted right in here)
Go on to Part II - Lapsus Memoriae - Memory Lapse. (All parts (so far) can be read alone)