The Twilight Twenty-Five
Pen name: mopstyle
Pairing: Edward and Bella
SMeyer owns any and all things Twilight.
I swore I'd never come, but my stubbornness must have tapered a bit in my "old age". Relying on such a fickle and disliked trait can really get tired and I guess I was close to accepting my fate. Carlisle liked to rub it in that I was turning thirty this year. I'd laugh, har-har, telling him that you're only as old as you feel—something he should have been telling me. I refused to be bothered by it... outwardly. On the inside, I was dying.
I almost laughed as I pulled into the parking spot. That small amusement didn't stop me from wishing I was Russian or something and that my English skills weren't really up for this. There were no funny words left in any language. Cringing, I watched them file in the front door and thought of a million other places I could be.
I didn't want to see her or talk to them. She was my lover, best friend. I remembered waking up next to her every day, her hand lightly encased in mine. The world would fall away around us and we would float, revolving together where no one else could see. We were secret from the very start. No one knew we were together until we were apart.
I walked into the room and the hushed voices dried up. I closed my eyes, wanting nothing more than to run—run away and run to her. She was my heart, my life, my blood. The floor swayed and I knew how this would end. I would see her skin, feel her here, and I would die.
She would always say, "Edward, the piece that fits with you is the piece I have with me," and it was words like that that I wanted tattooed on my skin. I could hear her voice on the wind and the tears that fell were ice fucking cold on my cheeks. I batted at them, walking up to where she lay.
She stole it, took it away. And was I to follow her to keep that piece? Because there was now a huge fucking hole in me and I choked when I felt the empty air blow right through it. Her soft hair, soft breast, was where I wanted to bury myself. Fuck digging her a grave. What about me? Our love was a day that was never supposed to end.
I wanted it back, the way it was, the way we were. Two days ago that blood pumped. Two days ago that body lived and breathed for and around me, and two days ago was the last of her I would ever see. They tried to get me to move closer, to witness her there, to touch her face and feel her hair.
But it wasn't her anymore—it wasn't life. There was no Bella left to love. She had left me, left us. She'd grown cold and tired of the world. THIS IS NOT HOW IT ENDS.
I fucking SWORE I would never love her. I swore she wouldn't be what I needed, what would mock me and complete all the things that you never think can be. She did. And there was never a fucking mistake. From the very first minute we met, she was inside me and we were soaring.
One step forward. "Edward, shh. Come here, the stars are bright. It's time. When you see one, close your eyes and make a wish." Her voice, like wind, like snow, is so light and then it's gone.
One step back. "You won't fall. Don't worry." Bright smile, pink tongue. Fingers dancing down along my arms. She held on so tightly and then I spun. She squealed in delight. I laughed.
"You make it easier. I would fall all day long, if your arms would soften the landing."
This is not how it ends.
Stuck, rooted where I was, I tried to breathe in but her memory assaulted me. Fuck memories. She couldn't be one. She was my reality. The idea of closing that box and never seeing her again was splitting me in two, in three. Pieces were surely falling away; my skin had to be peeling off right in front of everyone.
My mother? I couldn't tell. Hands around my elbows. Turn. Walk. Sit. Someone else was speaking.
I heard Bella.
"Kiss me, Edward. Kiss me like you'll never get the chance again."
I did and I did and I did. Every time I had her I made sure that she would leave with only me on her mind and only the memory of my skin on hers. Did we know? How? Was it possible that we felt our time would be short? No. There was no way. I wouldn't be dripping and dying and puking this pain up if I had known that she would be gone from me so soon.
I had her.
She wanted me.
But she didn't want it badly enough? Why would she want to die? It was all too much. Someone picked me up the way they set me down and pushed my gumby body toward the casket—coffin—death box. I wanted to climb inside.
Then I was on my hands and knees, retching and spitting onto the carpet. I tried to say that I wanted to go, too. "I want to go with you."
I opened my eyes. Her tiny, shadowed face smiled back at me. I collapsed onto her. Her silky legs wrapped around my waist and I split her with my body. She cried and clawed and I held her like I never would again. Whispers and love and warmth and wet.
Her fragility was overwhelming and I trembled as I held her. "There is no one, Edward—no one on this earth but you." She was so close, yet she seemed to flicker in and out of focus and suddenly she was my ghost.
"Ask me, Bella."
"You're mine. I'll never leave."
"But it will end."
Yes. It did. No one knew us and now, instead of smiles and hugs I got sharp eyes and coughs. Maybe we knew, maybe we always knew. That was why we kept it secret, why we devoured when we could.
She waved and opened her hand slowly through the dirty, sunlit air. "Nothing's really here, Edward." Her eyes were dark and distant. "Nothing holds us up but this little bit of dust."
Thank you to nattydread, detochkina, and fngrcufs for pre-reads and beta. Hearts forever.