A/N: I was in that sort of mood again, plus I was listening to Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap. I hope you enjoy the outcome of my...well...thoughtful period. Read on...

Summary: To leave her was never enough. He only had to go ahead and cause her death too. "Because, love never really did save me from anything." Edward's thoughts after receiving the phone call from Rosalie—New Moon.

Title: Our Shakespeare Ending

Rating: T

Authors: Breathless Tomb

One-Shot

Edward's POV

Sometimes...the ones you leave never really escape you.

Sometimes...the inevitable becomes unavoidable, and you just have to roll with the punches.

This was not one of those times.

Before my mind could fully comprehend what I was doing, my hand contracted around the phone, squeezing the plastic and metal into a clump of nothing. There was...nothing. Nothing in me. Nothing around me. My vision swirled, the room disappearing until I was alone in the darkness. I couldn't...move...couldn't...think. Gradually, my grip on the destroyed mobile loosened, and it tumbled to the floor with a clatter.

No. No. No. No.

Lies. All lies. It couldn't be true, couldn't be real. Had my heart been beating, I was sure it would've imploded by now. My knees buckled under the pain, and I fell to the floor. There was still nothing. No comprehensible thought in my mind. Nothing except the one, repeating memory of barely two minutes ago.

"I'm sorry. She's gone. She...killed herself."

Lifeless words. That's what they were. NO! She couldn't be dead! No, no, no, no! She promised. She promised me. Her word. My one request and she'd agreed. But...then why would Rosalie lie? She has to be lying, my thoughts now hissed, the conniving little snake. She just wants to see you in pain. The wench. It was the demon speaking, but I wasn't exactly refuting his words.

But, in the distance, there was that little glimmer of hope. It floated there, beckoning me to it. I almost laughed with the joy—though that was quite impossible at the present moment. Of course Rosalie had been lying to me. She merely wanted to see Carlisle and Esme happy again; she wanted her full family back. She really does want everything for herself.

Noticing the mangled cell phone on the floor, I quickly crossed the room, picking up the hotel phone. I punched in the all-too familiar number, focussing my mind on the here-and-now. Distress clawed at my stomach. It took only three rings before the phone was answered. Sweet relief flooded through me. If someone was at home, then it meant...she would be fine.

"Swan residence," came a low voice through the faulty phone line. Truthfully, I'd never heard the voice before. The relief dimmed a little, but the hope was still lit in my own personal world. The darkness had faded away now, and I composed myself. The voice was husky and intense, with an edge to it.

"Hello, this is Dr Carlisle Cullen," I said, mimicking my father's voice to perfection, "Is...Charlie there?" I decided to play it safe. There was no reason to alert this man-child of my frail lie. There was a beat of silence on the other end.

"He's not here."

I almost choked out my next words, "Do you know where he is then?"

"He's at the funeral."

The phone cracked in my hand before I placed it back down gently on the receiver. Something in me...snapped. Broke. Shattered from its fundamental—useless—existence. I broke where I stood, dry sobs erupting from my throat.

My beautiful...Bella...dead. Her warm heart still. Her chocolate eyes unseeing. Her porcelain skin cool. Her plush lips tinged blue. Her gorgeous eyes would never see daylight again. They would never sparkle with mischief or scrunch up in happiness. Never would her hair grey and never would her delicate skin wrinkle with age. Eternal slumber...

The agony ripped through me. I snarled, a deep burning in my throat. It ripped from me, piercing through the walls and echoing out for miles. There was NOTHING without her! And there never would be anything! Ever. Again. What had I DONE?

She'd thrown herself from a cliff! I'd killed her! Though not with my bare hands—or teeth—, I'd withered her very soul away to nothing. My lovely little daisy, so innocent and full of life. Now...gone. Lying in an open casket, her flowing hair fanned around her. More sobs slipped past my parted lips, the snarl choking to a halt. I'd thought...she'd promised.

You're a monster.

It's what you are.

You indulged yourself on life's sweetest pleasure.

Then, once you'd had your fill...

You discarded it away.

Sick. For the first time in my endless, black existence, I wanted to be sick. I wanted to cry. I wanted to hurt myself. I wanted to subject myself to the most horrible, cruellest form of death. Die. To die, after being dead for so long. A sweet escape to whatever waited for me later.

The sobs stopped. The world stopped spinning. Time held no meaning. I got up, making my way to and out the door. I didn't even bother to close the door behind me. I was hollow now, my inside ripped free. The threads that held me to this life had been snipped away.

"I was afraid...because, for, well, obvious reasons, I can't stay with you. And I'm afraid that I'd like to stay with you, much more than I should."

The gentle rose, it blooms in the ever bright spring. It blooms in serendipity.

"Well, aside from the obvious, sometimes...I can't be sure—I don't know how to read minds—but sometimes it seems like you're trying to say goodbye when you're saying something else."

Its petals of blood red, warm from the sun.

"Sure. Brown is warm. I miss brown. Everything that's supposed to be brown—tree trunks, rocks, dirt—is all covered up with squashy green stuff here."

Its thorns—a barrier to protect itself, though easily plucked.

"You already know how I feel, of course. I'm here...which, roughly translated, means I would rather die than stay away from you...I'm an idiot."

So beautiful, with so much life, but so easily ripped from the earth.

"Some things don't have to end."

And as the winter vast approaches, the rose withers, giving way to the others who begin to blossom.

"Is it later?"

My face was blank—dead—as I left the hotel. Roger—one of the doormen—noticed my expression, his thoughts a flurry of incoherencies. But I paid them no heed. With a wave of my hand, I summoned the nearest taxi cab. Noticing my hinted-at-designer clothes, greed filled the driver's eyes, and he pulled over.

"Aeroporto de Altamira," I said tonelessly, getting into the back of the cab. His brows furrowed a little at my obviously lifeless words, but he disregarded it, as it meant little to him. The taxi pulled away from the hotel.

I'm sorry, my love.

I've failed you.

I glanced out the window, up into the dark sky. Night-time had settled now. I looked towards the Heavens, searching for any sign of...her. Would she be there—in Heaven, or whatever waited after this, not Hell certainly? Would she still accept me? Still love me? Hate me?

I'm sorry I have to do this, love. I know how much you never wanted anyone to die because of you.

But I'm coming for you.

Because I can't live in a world where you don't exist.

I was filthy. Disgusting. Sitting there, breathing in the precious air that my love would never inhale again. I was able to see the sky and the clouds, while her eyes reached dead ends. Dead. What kind of a monster killed the one it loved? Drove them to commit...suicide? Such a dark, sinful, blasphemous word. It should never have been tagged onto my love. She merely...

Ended her suffering.

Truly, the highlight of my never-ending, undead life had been my darling Bella. My eternal sweetheart. My heart. The key to my sanity. But...in the end...what had it cost me? I'd tried to pursue something with her—something far deeper and more complex than a simple relationship—and it had failed. But...maybe it just hadn't been fated.

Liar. You left before your destiny could be set.

My fault. My worst mistake. The only mistake that ever counted. Such a selfish, unthinkable decision. I deserved to be tortured until the brink of death, then brought back. But, only brought back to be torture all over again. Only pure pain would save me from death.

Because, love never really did save me from anything. Not even myself.

It really was poetic—in a twisted way.

Like Romeo and Juliet.

My sweet Juliet.

My sweet Bella.

Don't worry, my love...

Because this is only...

Our Shakespeare ending.

A/N: I thought the title was a stroke of genius. It tied the whole thing together. By the way, I realize that in the book Alice said that he left his phone in Rio. I altered it to suit my own whims. This is not like the movie or the book. This is my mind, trying to somehow comprehend how Edward would've felt.

I don't think I even came close.

-Breathless Tomb-