It should not be this difficult. What are a few hours in the face of immortality? I cringe at the answers to this seemingly simple question.
She could. be in danger
She could be hurt.
She could be trapped, alone, and I could be unable to find her. Would Charlie come to me if she were missing? If she were alone, how would I ever find her? I don't know the answer! Can I dismiss this apprehension and anguish?
She could be killed by werewolves.
No. I fear I can't trust those around Bella to take the extraordinary measures necessary to keep her alive, safe, and well. They can never know the love I feel, the intense desire and longing. The tortures of Italy would be a pleasant memory compared to the overwhelming grief if something should happen to my heart, my love, my life…
And now, as wolves enter the picture, the balance of Bella's life and longevity are even more severely at odds. She thinks too little of the danger, too highly of the dogs. She doesn't recognize the depth of my love and need for her. Has she ever truly recognized that?
How does a man, inhuman as I, express the geography of his love to a frail, innocent and overwhelmingly alluring young woman? There is no precedent for this confusion, no history to study, no course to follow. I am freed by my love for her as I am bound: These tethers of love twist me to the earth and lash the fear of losing her into my stone flesh.
I must find a way to manage myself during these short separations or I will go mad. Jasper paces outside my door, my anxiety eats away at him like a cancer. Alice's visions fly so fast, a flipbook of action founded in fear, she's left confounded and dizzy. Am I of no use to anyone during this time?
I cannot measure how this worry grinds into my mind.
I love Bella.
I need Bella.
I cannot lose Bella.
Bella. Bella. Bella.
In the past during times of worry and stress, my pen has set me free and lent me the solace and direction I need. Words and music, musings and song – these have been the salve of my restless soul. But even as I write, I review and see the scratching of a man obsessed; my musical voice seems to ring with worry, turning each song to dirge.
Carlisle has suggested quiet contemplation; an internal gaze upon feelings left behind. My recall is perfect, it's true, but how sharp is my focus. Perhaps this free-form gazing will become a mirror to my mind to help me find release.
Charlie's loosened hold of her brings me no solace, His "compromise" for her invites the danger in, a metaphorical and actual wolf at the door! Bella's heart is big, but it beats too erratically for her own good. My little danger magnet… Her care for the pup can't be allowed to jeopardize her life. It's not that I don't trust her character judgment – she seems unerringly strong in her assessments – but her experience is so limited, she can't know the peril she places in her path. And she clearly does not understand how easily her life could be shattered. My stone heart will break. I can't let that happen.
I won't let that happen.
Tomorrow, these hours away will be filled with the hunt, the run; the days following will be my mediation. I will keep her safe to preserve our love; I will cherish her to preserve our unity; I will shelter her to preserve her life.