Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate
Bella and Alec is my fave just Twilight pairing. As some of you may know from my other story, my OTP is Dean/Bella. But writing that has been a challenge, and this idea popped into my head. So I wrote it. :)
I hope you guys enjoy it! Btw, I'm using quotes in this story for the heck of it. XD
Oh yeah, the Italian quote up there^ means "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."
At least I think it does. *crosses fingers*
Summary: Aro can be described as…spontaneous.
Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night… ~Edna St. Vincent Millay
The house loomed ahead of me, but as I drove on and on, it just seemed to shrink back, fading into the gray landscape. I felt like even the abandoned beauty of the mansion was now out of my reach. When I finally made it to a close enough distance, I parked my truck and got out without shutting off the engine. I feared the silent solemnity of the scene before me might have eaten a hole through my heart if I didn't have the familiar roar to accompany me.
I treaded lightly on the damp, eager grass, advancing on the white house like a wild dog might for a scrap of meat. I picked my way over thorns, ivy vines, and random rocks, avoiding falling and hurting myself. I made it to the bottom step of the porch before I actually looked at the house.
The previously tamed ivy—now running rampant up the edges of the house, crisscrossing over itself, and the blank windows with the shades drawn within were the only things that were different. Still a vibrant white, elegant, beautiful. But so empty. Painful.
My eyes began to water, the house blurring before me. I tried to decide if I should continue with my venture, to see if I could hear him after all, or if I should just turn back. I didn't know if my fragile, frazzled psyche could take the abuse, but my mind may not be able to take the what-ifs. I had the strange, heavy feeling of finality buried deep in my chest, weighing me down, making this one decision feel as if it had a lot more importance than it actually did. I got the strange sense that this was it—I could stay, explore my feelings, or leave—and never come back. I wondered why I felt like I would never have access to this place again.
I wavered, as if I was stuck in tar—I couldn't move either way. I didn't know what to do with myself. My truck hummed nearby, a reminder of the choice that, on passing thoughts, seemed extremely appealing—to leave, to not look back once, to try and forget on my own. But then the wind would blow, and for a moment it would seem like the trees were pointing to the obvious choice of the two—to go into the house, to try and cope, to not give up on this part of my life, this all too important part of my life.
I stayed in that position. I couldn't decide. The wind continued to blow, becoming harsh, whipping dirt, rocks, and various other organic things into my face. The inevitable rain began to pour, pattering down lightly, seeming to weigh down the already heavy air, making every breath hang with some sort of unseen finality; I shivered, closing my eyes. I couldn't do this.
Turning around, I came face to face with a silent figure. It was tall, broad, and dressed in black. I looked up—his face was beautiful, made of sharp angles and perfect, too pale skin—his eyes were a startling red, revealing a hint of curiosity. His brows were up.
He spoke, his voice rich and deep, in a language I felt that I should have recognized. I realized that it was Italian as another voice, approaching, just as beautiful, responded. Another, equally as large figure came up behind the first, pulling down a hood. Their clothes were equally as dark and simple, their skin equally as pale, and their eyes equally as red, equally as curious. I found fear deep inside myself, but something else. Something odd. I had the sense something was missing from the scene before me.
The first man sounded what I could only decipher as a question. I recognized one word—what. In that moment, with their eyes still curious—the only menacing thing about them being their size, and my knowledge of what they were, of what they ate—I realized that my life was most likely over. I did not feel sad, or angry. Just remorseful. So many loose ends.
But, if given the chance, would I have tied them anyway?
The second of the two men, blonde, was just about to answer. But he was interrupted—a sweet lull came from behind me, just as rich, not as deep. It rang with something that made the two vampires before me fall silent, become still, and look just above my shoulder. I realized that it would be a normal reaction to turn—but was it safe? I decided to, but before I could, he was before me.
Only just barely taller than I was, his skin was pale, his narrowed eyes a vibrant red, maybe just a shade lighter than the others. He, too, spoke in Italian. There was a pause after he spoke, and I felt awkward, like I was being examined—and I shivered, blushing, trying to decide what to do, how to react. I held my breath as they held theirs.
Finally, the boy before me—for that was how he could be described; I felt pity twinge in my stomach. He must have been just young when he was changed, and yet here he was, a killer—said something else, a confirmation. Before I had realized, there was pain blooming in my abdomen, my teeth cracked together, and I balled my fists. I had only the view of the ground, and the back of one of the robes. I didn't know who had grabbed me, but before I could take the time to find out, I was on a seat and we were driving.
The interior of the car was dark. The two larger men chattered in Italian in front of me, while the boy on my right simply stared at me. I tried not to look at him, to act as if I didn't notice, but I had the feeling he knew I knew what he was doing. He didn't care.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, so fast I hoped that he didn't notice, though I knew he did. His beauty was a tragic one—his face smoother, curvier than the others, if only just slightly. His eyes held emotions, but I didn't look long enough to see them. I just knew he looked sad. Something else…too much. I closed my eyes as the speed of the car got to me, slumping against the door. Briefly, I wondered if I should jump from the car, end my life now, but I doubted that would go well.
The voices blended together, a beautiful melody coming from the front. I listened to it, and a pain built in my chest as I imagined topaz eyes before me, speaking that beautiful language, possessing that extraordinary voice. I felt the familiar stinging in my nose, the prickling of my eyes, the tickle of water rolling down my cheeks. Hastily, I wiped the tears away, trying to act as if I'd gotten something into my eyes, though I knew it was pointless. Fooling myself was my new way of coping, it seemed—though unhealthy, it worked for short-term purposes. And I knew that short-term was all I had.
For a moment, I had the sudden feeling that I could work my way out of this. It occurred to me that I was reacting as someone who knew what they were—normal people would ask questions. Wouldn't they?
I spoke before I had a chance to dissuade myself, "Who are you?"
The Italian chattering up front stopped, and the boy's eyes swept over me, sizing me up. His eyebrow rose. His English was perfect, his accent gone. "We know you know what we are."
My heart stopped, a wave of ice rocking me to my core. I tried to cover up the fact that I was reeling. "What?"
"Your dearest Edward has informed us of your existence." His admission was not one of contempt, of disgust, just fact. He did not seem aware of how terribly his words effected me, how the name made me tear up, scratching my insides with blades of ice.
"Oh," was all I could respond with. I knew, in my mind, that I should have pushed further, tried for obliviousness, but the name obliterated any control I had, and my acting skills were near none. I was unable to cover up the pain, the hollowness that I felt growing inside me. Instead, I stared at the black leather before me, curling my knees closer to my body, trying to hide my shudders. The wave of pain was rolling upward, growing, engulfing me.
"Oh?" he asked, nonchalantly. He glanced out of the window again. I looked at him, examined his profile, and tried to keep the pain away. The incredulity that his beauty instilled within me forced it back, taming it just enough for me to focus on what he actually said.
"I…I…" at a loss for words, I stopped myself.
"Admitting defeat so easily?"
I didn't respond.