(A/N: I'm sorry if this idea offends you, or is just really out of character for Bella, but I just really like the idea of a suicidal Bella. So I've decided to alter the events of New Moon. I just wanted to see how it turned out, to be honest.
DISCLAIMER: Actually, I do own Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn. I even went to the midnight release of BD! So obviously, I do own the books. They sit on my bookshelf.)
Pain. The pain was a release, despite the heart-stopping anxiety. It helped to clear my head.
Other people coped with loss by turning to drugs, or alcohol; Self-harming was my illegal substance. But was it more or less dangerous? I didn't know, and to be honest, I didn't really care.
I grasped the knife with damp palms, feeling the rough familiarity of the handle chafe my skin. I lifted the blade with trembling fingers, and pressed it against the delicate, scarred skin of my forearm, drawing it across, hard enough to penetrate the skin. Crimson liquid welled up, and a single drop fell. It was always easier after the first cut. With more confidence and conviction, I repeated the action again and again, revelling in the pain that this caused me. I was addicted.
I had only once fainted from blood loss—I had gotten carried away, and cut too many times. That had been the first time, just after he left me. Charlie had found me, and panicked, calling an ambulance. I had been taken to the local hospital, and treated by someone who was not Dr. Cullen. I hadn't realised how much that would mean to me.
Charlie had made me promise never to cut my wrists again, and I had fulfilled that promise. I had just cut my arms, instead. Or my legs, or my shoulders, or my ankles… everywhere I could reach, save my wrists. I never wore skirts any more or short sleeves. He didn't know.
On the surface, I supposed that I probably seemed to be coping. I had always been a terrible liar, but this came horribly easily. The pain controlled me, I knew that. I went about my life as normal, cooking for Charlie, answering questions blankly in school, going to work… But at night, I came home, and embraced the pain. I was suicidal, I knew that. I had even considered taking my own life. It would be so easy… I already had my knife. Or I could throw myself off that cliff in La Push. Or I could find the right herb… and then, what? Did I deserve heaven, after all this?
The only heaven I ever wanted was gone now, anyway. I would take hell. It had to be better than this meaningless existence. Because it really was so horribly meaningless. I had lost the will to live long ago. It was only a matter of time, now, before I pushed my body's capabilities too far and killed myself. I welcomed the idea. It was very tempting.
I hardly ever slept, any more. I could never bring myself to. I had actually started recently looking scarily like a vampire—with dark shadows under my eyes from little sleep, and white skin from staying in my room all the time. I knew that I had changed a lot in these last few months. My exterior was tougher, impenetrable. But I was unexpectedly vulnerable, underneath it all. Even I knew that.
The blade moved again, and I cut almost unconsciously, although the slash was as intense as ever.
I imagined a velvet voice, whispering in my ear. It sounded angry, and I smirked at the words. I cut slowly now, defying him. It was clearly causing him pain, and I revelled in that. He deserved it. I took the knife, pressing it against my chest, which was protected only by a thin layer of cotton. It would
be so, so easy… just to take my own life. I felt the blade rip my shirt, piercing my skin, and I felt the blade slip, only a scratch visible against my white skin. To end all of my misery, my pain… all I had to do was press…
Cold hands, a skin temperature that I'd never expected to feel again, wrapped themselves around my wrists. Their coolness was soothing, but I wrenched my arms away, shaking. These hallucinations seemed to be getting clearer. That couldn't be a good sign. I stood up, too quickly, and staggered away, dropping the bloodstained knife in the process.
My gaze flickered automatically to the window that was always left open for him. It was closed. I looked away, towards the bed I had abruptly vacated. He was there, his golden eyes staring at me with an intensity that I realised I had missed. But I couldn't go near him—my shredded arms made sure of that. His gaze was troubled as he took in the cuts, the knife.
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
"Why are you here?" My voice was dead, emotionless. Like I didn't care.
He frowned, his eyes seemingly unable to meet mine. "Bella, why are you doing this to yourself?"
"Answer my question."
"Alice saw you…" he choked. This was clearly causing him pain. "Alice saw you killing… I was going to be here, sooner or later, anyway. Bella, I—"
"You really thought I'd just welcome you back?" My tone was politely incredulous. The pain was obvious, to me, anyway.
"Listen to me. You… you left me. You said you didn't want me. Why are you here?! What do you want!?" I was suddenly unaware of the silent tears that were coursing down my cheeks. Angrily, I reached up a hand to dash away the tears. But more replaced them. Stupid, bloody mortality…
In a moment, he was in front of me, his beautiful eyes agonised. For a moment, my resolve faded. But then it hardened once more. He deserved this. He deserved whatever my words were doing to him. I hoped they were causing him as much pain as he had caused me. My thoughts were malicious, and clearly this was reflected on my face.
He took an involuntary step backwards, frowning. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting this sort of response. Tears, maybe. But happy tears and kisses… well, I would not give him what he wanted.
I continued to defy my instincts. I wanted to reach out my bloodstained arms and pull him closer, hold him tightly. Forever. But I glared up at him with red, swollen eyes.
"Bella, I'm so sorry… Let me explain, please…"
I folded my arms across my chest, uncaring of the red marks that were certainly staining my white shirt.
"It was… it was for your own good. I mean, I wasn't thinking straight. Jasper—"
"Jasper made a MISTAKE, EDWARD. HE MADE A MISTAKE, AND IT WASN'T HIS FAULT. WHAT YOU DID--" I broke off, choked by sudden, unexpected sobs.
His expression was tortured. He was clearly suffering, but I couldn't understand why. "What I did was inexcusable, Bella… I understand if you never want to see me again. But Bella… please, you can't hurt yourself like this. I can't stand it. But I can't live without you, Bella… I love you."
"No, you don't! You don't love me, that's what you said…" My voice broke at the end, and the sentence didn't sound nearly as harsh as I'd intended.
"I'm a good liar. I have to be… I shouldn't have lied to you. I thought it would be for your own good, and I was wrong. I shouldn't have lied to you. I'm so, so sorry…I love you, Bella. I always have. Nothing can ever change that…"
My heart seemed to stop, in that moment. Could I believe him? The walls of scepticism that I had carefully maintained over the last few months seemed to be crumbling. I wondered how long they could stand—not long, at this rate.
One, icy smooth hand caught my stained wrist, pulling it towards him. He stared at the cuts with a horrified expression on his angelic face. I tore my arm away, trying to hide the scars from him. When he spoke again, it was an anguished whisper.
"I've hurt you Bella, and I'm so sorry…"
Without thinking, I took his palm and pressed it to my pale lips, inhaling his enticing scent for the first time in what seemed like forever. It still smelled as wonderful as ever.
At least he was fed, though. My blood didn't seem to be bothering him nearly as much as it usually did. For that, I was grateful.
I wanted to exclaim his name, and throw myself at him, as I often had in the past. The precious, glorious past. Those had been perfect months. I wanted to go straight back to him, to go straight back that happiness, but my wounded pride would somehow not let me…
Something in my eyes must have frightened him—perhaps it was the battle that occupied my mind, because he rocked back on his heels.
And then I couldn't help myself any more. I didn't care about the promise I'd made myself. I didn't care about the suicidal turn my behaviour had recently taken. I didn't even care that I was covered in blood. I pulled his wonderful face to mine and kissed him firmly. He had saved me once again.
I pulled away, gasping for breath, and his forehead rested against mine. The degree of love in his eyes frightened me as much as it warmed me. He took my hand and kissed it, careful to avoid the numerous cuts, and my blood.
"I'm sorry, Edward… I didn't mean to… I mean…" I gestured helplessly at the discarded knife, but he pressed a finger against my lips.
"Don't apologise, my love… You haven't done anything…"
"I have! I cut… I tried to kill…"
He silenced me again with a kiss, and I knew that, in that brief moment, all was forgiven.
(A/N: Was anyone else truly disgusted by that ending? Gah. I hated it. I just can't think of anything better. If anyone has any beta-style suggestions, they'd be appreciated. Please, drop a review! They mean loads, I promise...)