Author: BlindingFirefly PM
Bella made a promise to Edward that she would stay safe. But how could she protect herself from the pain his leaving brought her? There was only way; Bella took it, and it's landed her in an asylum. Can someone so broken ever be fixed again? AU ExBRated: Fiction T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Drama - Bella & Edward - Chapters: 17 - Words: 53,894 - Reviews: 609 - Favs: 227 - Follows: 255 - Updated: 07-30-09 - Published: 02-25-09 - id: 4885415
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: If I owned the Twilight-verse, I could consider myself my own little goddess with more money than God. But I don't and I don't, so logically, I must not own any of it. Duh.
A/N: Welcome to Ivy Tree! I'm so glad to be able to start posting this! As I've said on some other places, this is the story that's basically the result of every epiphany and brilliant thought my sister, hopeisabluebird, and I have ever had about Twilight. We have put a ton of love and time into this story—literally. I think all Bluebird's boyfriend heard about for about three months was Ivy Tree. I guess it's lucky, then, that I don't have a boyfriend! Yet. Note my supreme confidence!
But I digress.
I will be updating this story twice a week, most likely on Tuesday/Wednesdays and Friday/Saturdays. Sixteen chapters of it are already written, so hopefully I can keep ahead of you greedy little readers! If I miss one posting, I apologize, but I am a college student, which means two things: I eat far too much boxed macaroni and cheese and my time really isn't my own.
Please, by all that is holy, understand that I am far more likely to update if I'm getting reviews. I love being put on alerts and favorites and stuff, but reviews are like…like…a juicy little human to Jasper and no Alice watching to mess it all up!
I will not, however, do that incredibly mean thing and refuse to update unless I get a certain number of reviews. I think that's punishing your faithful readers, and it falls under the category of negative reinforcement. So the most I will do is beg shamelessly for feedback—the more reviewing, the less whining you'll get from me! Ye be warned.
Oh, and be sure to check out hopeisabluebird's pieces. They're brilliant, and I'd say that even if she wasn't my sister and therefore all too aware of where I sleep.
Bluebird and I have even developed a playlist to go with this story. I told you, we've lived and breathed this thing. The title and the feeling of this piece were inspired by Mary Chapin Carpenter's 10,000 Miles. If you haven't heard it, please clock yourself on the head for me and head to youtube or itunes. Anyway, that's the song for the preface.
All right, enough waffling on my end. Please enjoy Ivy Tree!
"I cannot find my way: there is no star
In all the shrouded heavens anywhere;
And there is not a whisper in the air
Of any living voice but one so far
That I can hear it only as a bar
Of lost, imperial music, played when fair
And angel fingers wove, and unaware,
Dead leaves to garlands where no roses are.
"No, there is not a glimmer, nor a call,
For one that welcomes, welcomes when he fears,
The black and awful chaos of the night;
For through it all—above, beyond it all—
I know the far-sent message of the years,
I feel the coming glory of the Light."
—Edwin Arlington Robinson, "Credo"
What had it all come to? What did it all mean, now when the world was dying? No matter how hard they'd work to save me, I could not be saved. Not from myself.
I looked at my life in the seconds I had left before Death came for me. For the first time in a long time, I was able to truly examine everything without fearing the pain of remembrance. There would be no pain, after all, in far too short a while. I could remember the good times, the bad times. Hitting my head on the diving board back home in Phoenix. Watching my mother say "I do" and feeling distaste at ever doing the same. Learning to ride my bike, which had taken me much longer to learn than it had other kids. After all, I didn't have the best of balance. It happened in Forks, actually, with Charlie looking as if no other eight year old had ever before accomplished the same milestone.
Meeting Edward…that was the most beautiful memory of all. I reviewed every moment that we had spent together, some memories more colorful than others, even though they were all vivid. In the sensory deprivation in which I now lived, many things could not be experienced this clearly. I savored every moment of it.
But now there is nothing else to be done. The fight was over, and I'd lost. We all had lost, but at least I'd had love. I had experienced the fullness of life. Even though I was greedy—please, let me experience more!—I knew that that wasn't likely. I'd run out of time.
There was only time enough now for one thing.
There was just enough time to die.