This is what happens when you listen to Never Think on repeat for about two days…you write some utterly depressing Edward POV like this.
Sorry I kind of fell off the face of the earth for a couple of weeks….had a freakin' ton of schoolwork, papers and tests and such. Argh.
And, one of my best friend's dog is...not doing well at all. we're losing him, and it's breaking my heart. so that definitely helped me channel the darkness in this, but I'd much rather have not been able to. :' (
You'll learn to hate me
Just never call me baby, oh Lord
Just call my by my name
Save your soul
Save your soul
Before it's too far gone
Before nothing can be done
-Never Think, Robert Pattinson
It was fitting, so fitting that I had described my draw to her blood in the form of an addiction. It had been, in truth, only the precursor to another addiction, one infinitely stronger. In the absence of my drug, I was dying. I could feel it, every second it grew worse, with every breath the pain was sharper. I could only hope to keep going as long as she lived. When I had these thoughts I saw a long life for her, of course. 70 years more, perhaps. It was not so long really, not for me. And in those moments I could hardly bear to breathe, I thought of it. Her death was obviously nothing I desired, it was everything I feared, for how could the world exist without Bella? How could anything? But at my darkest I would allow myself to imagine the peace that would come in the ending of my own life. No matter what else I might or might not be able to hope for from God, I could, at least, hope for an end to this agony.
I had never imagined there could be pain like this. I had naively believed that the fire of the change was the worst that I would ever experience, the worst physically possible. But I had been so very wrong. This was beyond torture, beyond endurance. I was going mad with it. Most of the time, I didn't move. I couldn't. There was no way of not thinking of her; I never even tried. It was an impossibility. My skin could remember every detail of her touch, and in the absence of it I ached constantly.
I had gone out hunting, was on my way to slip back up into the attic of the building I was staying in when I happened to take in my surroundings. That was happening less and less, these days. I simply didn't care. In this case, I noticed that the downstairs seemed to be a rather cheap bar, with an old upright piano in the corner. It was late, 2 AM, and there were few customers remaining. My need for her had reached an almost frantic pitch, and though I knew touching the keys could only hurt me more, it would also afford me an infinitely clear memory of the way she looked while she slept in my arms, her head against my chest. I could not go back, but maybe…maybe I could have this one piece of her, for a moment…
Even at the thought, I could feel my silent heart breaking. How was it that now, now that I had left her I felt my heart more than ever? Or, rather, I felt the jagged hole that remained in its absence. I had left my heart with her, sealed under the floorboards beneath her bed, along with our picture and her music, the bits of myself I couldn't bear to take away. Truly she owned everything, every inch of me.
On autopilot I sat down at the piano, my fingers skimming over the keys first before having the strength to press them down. The room faded away and I heard nothing but her song, the lullaby for my precious Bella. I could feel nothing but the intricately woven pain and pleasure, the pleasure a spark so brief I could barely feel it. It came from the memories, the ones far too strong to dilute.
Everything from the moment I had written it until now. Hundreds of memories, moments. Breaths, compared to everything I had lived.
I could see it in my mind as only our kind could, could see it as if it had happened yesterday.
This past summer, the most perfect of my existence…
"It's so hot." She complained softly, her arms wrapping tight around my waist as I lay beside her. "I wish Charlie would get the air conditioner fixed."
I laughed softly at her annoyance, trailed my fingers carefully through her soft, damp hair. "I'm offended. Am I not enough for you?"
"Of course you are." I felt her lips against mine and I sighed, returned the kiss gently, far quicker than I wanted it to be. I could feel heat spread from that point through my cold veins, and I resisted a shudder. It would frighten her, I was certain, if she understood how much I wanted her, how desperately. Her hands slid to my chest, her right resting over my cold heart. "You could do better, though."
Anything, anything to make her more comfortable. "Yes, love?"
She blushed, warmth spreading beautifully across her cheeks. Her fingers moved slowly, paused over the top button of my shirt.
Ah, so that was what she wanted. My breath stopped instantly, body freezing. The thought of what she was about to do, of how her hands would actually feel on my chest… It was all I could do not to groan. How often had I thought of this very thing? As often as I had reprimanded myself for it. If I let her get too close, let her touch me that way, it would be that much harder to resist. Torturous for both of us, but even more so for me. I wanted her, I wanted her hands on every inch of me, wanted it so incredibly deeply. But I could not let her, I never could. Still, this…
She blushed brighter, bit her lip as she unfastened the first button.
"Bella…" I sounded far, far too affected, but I could not help it. It was as restrained as I could possibly make it, all things considered.
She knew me well enough to hear the catch there, the desire. As heedless as she always was of her own safety, she pressed her advantage, leaning forward to kiss me again, the fingers of her right hand coming up to twist in my hair, tugging on it the way she knew usually made her get her way.
Truly, she was going to be the death of me. I caught her wrist, pulled away from the kiss. My breath came shaky, uneven. Would she ever understand what she did to me? How, at that very moment, I wanted her more than I would have ever dreamed I could desire anyone? "Bella, you shouldn't…" She shouldn't what, Edward? Touch you? I could not say it. I was, as I had been far too many other times, disgustingly selfish when I was with her. I craved her hands against my chest far too much to deny her this, though I was able to control myself enough to know that I could not let her be the one to remove my shirt. The blush in her cheeks and the endearing innocence in her eyes would certainly have been my undoing. I sighed, shook my head once. "Let me." I flicked the buttons off, my movements so much faster than her own that I knew she would be unable to see that my hands had trembled. She had seen me like this before, and I had felt her touch, but always in the sun, in the open. Here, in the dark, in her bed together…the significance, the intensity was far different. Slowly, I slid the fabric from my shoulders, pushed it back and onto the floor. I smiled the way she loved, opened my arms to invite her in.
She snuggled close against me, her head fitting into the crook of my shoulder, her palm pressed flat over my heart. "Mmm. Much better. Thank you, Edward."
For a moment, I couldn't speak. I felt as if my heart should have been beating, as if the presence of her hand on the skin covering it should have jolted it to life. Her touch was indeed in some way electric, for I could feel the current of it passing into me, more than pure heat. My eyes closed, my jaw clenched tight. Oh, Bella… This was so wrong, all of it. I should have been able to tell her how her touch felt, should have been able to respond to it in a way that would show her just how deeply she effected me. I could do neither without risking her safety, and I hated it. I hated myself for the limitations. I took a deep breath, tried to use the burn in my throat to counter the immeasurable pleasure of her touch, the raging desire I could not allow myself to feel. I kissed the top of her head, smiled when I felt her sigh against my skin. "You are more comfortable now, love?'
"Mmhm. I like this idea."
I chuckled, softly, a little more strained than I wanted her to hear. "Yes, so do I." I could not resist pressing one last kiss to her hair, breathing her in. I no longer cared how much it hurt. Her scent meant she was here, in my arms. She was still saying yes to me. "Bella?"
"Mm?" Every moment, her voice grew heavier with sleep. I smiled even wider, glad that she couldn't see. She would have thought I was making fun of her, but nothing could be farther from the truth. She was so perfectly adorable when she was like this.
"I love you."
"Love you, Edward."
My chest contracted, stopping my breath before letting it resume. I could count every time she had told me she loved me. Every single time. At no point did the wonder, the absolute incandescent beauty of it ever diminish. She loved me. Her, the most beautiful creature in body and soul in all the world, and she loved me. I was soaring, every time. I could have listened to her say it for an eternity and never hear it enough.
Very gently, I pulled her closer against my chest, rolling onto my back. Yes, this felt even better. Her hand on my skin, her light weight against me…
Taking a deep breath, I began to hum her lullaby, fingers gently trailing through her soft hair. She was asleep within minutes.
It was all ready, now. I had written the note that afternoon while I pretended to take notes. Now, I had the plane tickets, the photographs from the album, and the CD from her player, the only things I needed. Truly, in all of our time together were these the only two physical marks of my presence? For a moment my heart ached with the force of a small explosion and I had the urge to press my hand against my ribs, could not escape the feeling that if I didn't, my chest would crack open. Was there nothing of me with her, then? Nothing at all? Had I followed her damn rules about gifts too well, so well that she had nothing of me that could not be collected in mere seconds? I had heard far too many thoughts, heard far too many women with full closets of their lovers things. Yet here in my hands was all she had had, all from the last week.
My eyes scanned her room wildly, irrationally. My scent would fade, soon. No visitor would be able to smell my presence here every day for the past months, my scent on her pillow, her sheets from the way I had held her while she slept. In so many ways I almost lived here, with her, and already it looked as if I had never been here at all.
I had not done this properly, not at all. Though I had never left her side, I should have written her letters. I should have, at the least, sent her flowers. So many women dried them, kept them. I had failed her, it seemed, in more ways than I had realized. Still, perhaps it was best. This way, it was far easier to keep my promise. No one would have been able to see me in this room, now. Not in anything.
No, there was nothing of me here, and it was killing me. She owned it all, everything down to my very core. Leaving her without a mark of that ownership seemed so very wrong, unbearable. For my own sanity, I needed to know that there was something of me, with her. Something of myself in this place where I had been the happiest I would ever be, happier than I had ever dreamed of becoming.
Quickly, I shifted her bed out of the way, felt around on the planks under the center. There was one where the nails felt already loose, and I lifted it as easily as turning the page of a book, slid the photographs, the tickets, and the CD inside and shut it again, pressing the nails into the support below. Her bed slid easily back into place without marking the floor, and now there truly was no sign of me anywhere, no sign of disturbance at all. Still, I was there. Under her bed, near where she slept. Fitting. Unable to stop myself I pulled into my hands the sweatshirt from the end of her bed, the one she had worn the day before.
Freesia, lavender. Bella. My own scent, as well. God, this was madness. I had to get out before I lost my nerve. I looked around her room one last time before I shut the door and walked away. I taped the note to the front door, and I broke into a run. Somehow, I didn't look back.
I ran without stopping, without pausing. Past the house, out of town, no focused direction. I should have been heading toward Seattle, toward the airport but I couldn't manage it. I ran until the pain became debilitating, the flashes of her face too frequent and too clear.
I fell to my knees, my mind replaying those last moments with perfect clarity.
The look in her eyes when she had asked if I didn't want her… The acceptance when I had said that I didn't. God, had I done such a poor job of loving her that it was so easy to believe that I didn't? It hardly mattered now, but where had I gone wrong? I told her at least every night before she fell asleep, and always more than that, at some point during the day, some moment when the compulsion to tell her again became too strong. When else should I have said it, to make her understand? Could she not see it in my eyes when I looked at her, feel it in my arms when I held her? Where had I failed to make her see that she was my life? Not just my love, but my mate, my eternal center of gravity…everything.
She had been destined to be my only purpose in life from the moment I was born, and from the moment I knew the truth of that, loving her had been my priority. And yet I had still failed miserably, not only at keeping her safe, but apparently at loving her as well. I should have been, I knew, glad that she believed it. I should have been happy, should have been grateful for anything that would help her move on sooner.
I wanted to scream, to run back to her, to kneel before her and tell her how very wrong she was, how ludicrous the idea should have seemed. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, needed her. I wanted to beg her forgiveness, to plead with her to allow me even to be in her presence after all I had done.
But I could not, and the weight of it forced me to the ground, my body curling in on itself against the pain. My arms wrapped around my chest, fighting the agony. If I had not known it was impossible, I would have sworn my heart had been violently torn from my chest. I could feel the ragged edges of the gaping hole, the way they throbbed with each breath I took.
Suddenly, I felt familiar hands on me, strong arms pulling me up, holding on tight. I followed you, Edward. I'm sorry if you don't want me here, if you'd rather be alone but in case you needed me, I thought…
I shuddered, pressed my forehead against Carlisle's shoulder and closed my eyes. "I can't come with you, wherever you're going."
His hands tightened on my back. "I know." And I will miss you. Every moment. I love you, Edward. Your mother loves you, she's worried sick-
"Please." And of course, he stopped. He was a better father than I could have ever deserved.
He pulled me closer, squeezed my shoulders gently. Edward, I promise that I will only say this once and then I won't mention it again tonight, but you don't need to do this. You can go home, go back to your mate. She loves you, son. I know she does. Everything will be alright.
Yes, for her it would. So long as I could be strong enough to stay away, so long as I could love her enough to be better than I wanted to be. As long as I could stay away from her, yes, she would be alright. And I would be burning on the inside for the rest of my existence. But I could do that, if it was what was best for her. I would have to.
I said nothing, and he let it go. The grief, the agony was beyond words, beyond tears, beyond all forms of expression. Nothing eased the pain, but something in his embrace did seem to make it a little more unfocused, and I did not move an inch until I could feel the first rays of sun against my skin. I shuddered, pulled away from him. "I'll call you, now and then. Tell Esme I love her. And the others."
He nodded, very slowly let his hands slide from my shoulders. "Goodbye, Edward."
I could not bear the pain in his eyes, in his thoughts. Not in addition to what I already carried. Without another look, I turned and ran.
I was staring in a very unfocused way at the keys, unsure of how long it had been since I had stopped playing. One memory had led to another, the pleasure of the first giving way easily under the crushing force of the pain. I was becoming used to that, now. There was not a moment that I did not hurt.
"Eso era hermoso."
The soft, Spanish voice came from just behind me and I took a deep breath, let my hands slide from the keys. Beautiful? No, not hardly. Not when compared to the girl it was describing. No, the girl it tried in vain to describe. No music was magnificent enough to paint a picture of my Bella.
My Bella. Could I call her mine, now? Was it right, when I was so certain that she would, someday soon perhaps, belong to someone else, to a real man? Yes, I could. I could not bear anything less. No matter what else she became, she was my mate. My Bella. Always.
I pushed away from the piano, unable to thank him for his compliment. My manners had become atrocious, but I honestly just didn't care. I heard him call after me, offer me a job but I shook my head, disappeared out the front door and into the shadows in the streets.
55 days, that was how long it had been. 55 days. A blink I would have said, before. 55 days, and already I was wishing for death. That was wrong of me, unfair, because no matter what else I couldn't be, I still needed to be her protector. It was the only part of my role as her mate that I could fulfill, now. Still, the pain interfered with my work. The agony was crippling, often kept my on the floor staring at walls for days at a time. But for now, I was on my feet, and I could work until I collapsed again.
Wandering aimlessly, I tried to make myself remember the last place I had caught Victoria's scent. If I was lucky, if I was very strong, I could walk for maybe a day before my will left me once again.
Cause without me
You've got it all
So hold on
Without me you've got it all
-Never Think, Robert Pattinson
I wasn't sure exactly where to end this, but that seemed as good a place as any.
Wow, that was some seriously painful writing…getting into his head while he was at his darkest…I was definitely crying for parts of that, so I hope it comes out as well as it seemed to when I was working on it.
Oh, and though I took Spanish in high school I've largely forgotten in, so I used babel fish and I THINK that's right, but anyone wanting to correct my Spanish is more than welcome.