Chapter Text
Raven's twimom wanted to see an Edward POV. I should add, I realize in the books that Alice never laid down an ultimatum about Jasper's feeding choices, but I can't respect someone who's all, "Oh, go ahead and eat people; I'll love you forever!" (The occasional slip-up is a different matter.) So, I changed that a bit. It's AU, baby, AU.
Disclaimer: Twilight and all its recognizable situations belong to Stephenie Meyer.
I am a monster.
I told her, over and over again, the truth about me. I told her about the way I could attract and hold her in my orbit, a solitary satellite around a lonely planet. How, should I grow old, even for one of my kind, and calcify into near-immobility like the Romanians, my scent and my sound and the skimming of my finger across her throat would still be enough to capture my prey.
I told her about the strength, and the speed. I told her about the burn in my throat when I scented her blood.
I didn't tell her everything.
We don't sleep. We don't dream, not the way she does, not the subconscious bringing to the forefront all of the worries and pleasures of an everyday human life in literal and symbolic form. I've witnessed those relivings over and over again, until I can predict the direction they'll take regardless whose mind is throwing the images at me.
(The reason I listened to her dreams was because of their mystery, her brief whispers and moans allowing me to create imaginary scenarios beyond the realm of human existence. Her secretive thoughts permitted me to pretend to myself that her mind was not so dissimilar to my own. That it was not so similar to every other human's.)
There are times, though, when we are caught up in our natural immobility—natural, as if anything about this existence is natural, what an abomination—and our minds' play becomes the sum total of our awareness. Alice is the worst for this; her foresight casts a progressively wider net, outward and onward, following the trails of futures like the threads of a spider's web until she has spun a lovely wagon wheel of probabilities, bedewed with possibility and choice. If I would let myself, I could spend days, weeks, in voyeuristic enjoyment.
Jasper is far simpler. Blood. He tries not to imagine it, but he lived for so long on our true sustenance that he never, ever feels full. If he allows his mind to wander even for a millisecond, blood gushes into the confines of his imaginary mouth, rushing past his teeth and down his throat in an orgasmic flood, soothing the burn for the first time in… how many decades has he held out, now? He doesn't think about it; he thinks of Alice, and how this is her condition for their unity. At some point he is bound to ignore the victims' pain long enough to really feed. Once, I vaguely despised his weakness while respecting his commitment. Now, I merely close my eyes and relive the river of coppery warmth along with him. If only my self-loathing stemmed from such a simple source.
Carlisle remembers his transformation. It is the only thing to which his mind returns. The worst three days of his life, not because of the physical agony but because he had finally, finally proved that he was unworthy of his father's love.
Esmé gazes at the dead face of her baby boy and remembers what it was like to be able to shed tears.
Emmett is not a deep thinker. He's intelligent but primarily kinetic; if he can do something, anything, he's happy, and we can do so much that he's happy almost all the time. He was a human, now he is a vampire. His refusal to dwell upon this reality might be deliberate. I've never been able to determine whether or not he has made a choice not to think about… anything, really, except for the immediate.
Rosalie.
For almost eighty years she had me convinced that her mind was a shallow puddle. I am so pretty. Look at my hair. Look at this body; it's amazing. Look at me look at me look at me. Look at me with Emmett. Look at us. I look so good with him. Look at me. I ignored the evidence of depth, the talent for auto mechanics, the frequently-quashed hunger for a child, the willpower that kept her altogether pure of human blood, the sideways smile she'd reluctantly allow to slide across her lips when Emmett clowned to pull her out of an emotional valley.
(When I told Bella why I didn't mind being with Rosalie and Emmett, because their minds were so undemanding, she lowered her lashes to hide her thoughts even more, and murmured, "Even the coldest woman has mysteries." I disagreed, but she was right. She is always right, except when she chose me.)
I could hear Rosalie's recitation of her history, straining my power to its limit for just another glimpse of that heart-shaped face through the eyes of my sister. I'd never heard her go into the sordid tale, although while she burned I witnessed it on a constant loop through her awareness. I saw Bella's features flatten in shock, and then crumple into silent tears. At first I was struck by her empathy, but then I was struck by my lack thereof. For the first time, I prodded a little into Rosalie's mind and it hit me, a Mack truck smacking into me with furious pain, rage and bitterness coiled around and through every moment. Her friend's little boy was the only image untainted by the cocktail of shame and anger. I saw the way she'd used the shallow musings to disguise her true thoughts from all of us, even upon occasion from herself; everyone except for Esmé, who saw the truth and loved her in the middle of it.
I am a monster.
Bella told me about the hole in her chest, but I didn't believe it. I thought it was a metaphor, that no human could love with the depth and intensity of one of the immortals. I thought that my suffering trumped hers; after all, she'd moved on. She'd gotten over me, at least enough to throw me out of her room, just as I'd hoped and dreaded. She hadn't curled into a corner, a ball of angst and longing, as I had.
That was what I thought, until she told me about the cliff dive. Well, until she told me about her attempts to hallucinate my voice and then the cliff dive, which I had witnessed through Alice's mind on multiple occasions. The issue with not being able to sleep is that it means all of your nightmares occur during the waking hours, and Alice couldn't get the image out of her head—the girl she loved as a sister, trying to remove herself from this world, or so Alice had thought. I had seen it, but until Bella told me, I had not felt it. I could barely make myself travel home after I left her. I could barely move from the car to my room, and now I am here, and here I have stayed.
Alice is still furious with me for… so many things regarding Bella. But she loves me without interruption. I know she loves me, because I can feel her slender arm pressed around my shoulders now, hear the chiming tones of her voice as she subvocalizes the futures she sees for all of us, the future in which I can move again, the future in which I smile for the first time in two years when Emmett rips a door from its hinges and skips it ten times across the surface of Lake Michigan during one of his and Rosalie's fights. The future in which I become an obstetrician for a good forty years, moving from one hospital to the next, delivering the new life that I cannot create. The future in which Jasper and Alice live in the Middle East for over a decade because they can venture out in burqas during the daylight hours. The future in which Esmé and Carlisle live on Isle Esmé for—a while, Alice can't be sure how long—because Esmé discovers an affinity for sharks and wants to study them.
The future without Bella.
I know I'm worrying them all. I can hear their thoughts, clear and focused as human thoughts could never be—
And then we'll all be heading to Antarctica, the orcas are amazing—
Like a damn pussy, babe, I said it before and I'll say it again—
The way my hair catches this light is so (if he doesn't pull out of this soon I may be forced to take drastic measures and I'm starting to like her, proximity is lowering my standards, like talking to a parrot and thinking it understands) lovely, this sweater really enhances my bosom—
It's not that, it's the despair, it reminds me too much of when I—
My son, listen to me, my son, this isn't the end, this won't be the end—
Even if she can't love him—why can't she love him, why can't she forgive him—but she did, she does, this is not her responsibility either—
—So clear. Like a moonless night. The six stars that allow me to navigate the darkness of this hour.
And finally, the voice. Low-pitched for a girl and imperfect, originating from caverns of tissue and bone rather than stone, breathing too fast, too hard—that's another thing I did to her, she never used to struggle to take in the air she needs—and trying so hard to sound calm that it hurts.
Don't move. Don't move. Don't go after her she doesn't want me to go after her I'm done we're done—
I tighten my grip on my knees, or I would, but I can sense that they are about to develop fractures.
Alice's voice continues, as do her thoughts, but I can no longer hear. My ears are possessed by the gradually slowing heartbeats sounding beneath us. The sloshing of her blood rushing in her veins.
Don't move don't move
Don't scent her out it'll be too
Don't
But her steps are heavy upon the stairs. I wait for my doom. I wait for my salvation.
Fire, burning my throat. Embers, resting upon my knees.
"Edward."
Don't move don't cling don't keep
The glowing coals drift across my skin. "Edward, it's me. It's Bella."
As if I could mistake
Don't move
My hands are... No, my shoulders, they're radiant with—
"Edward. Edward. Come back."
I can't come back if I do I'll keep
Can't keep
Don't move
I remember trying a cigar, just before the influenza struck, it was like becoming a chimney, all that sharp-edged heat, one of my few human memories to come with me into eternity—
This is a little like that. Curling in knife-lengths through where my lungs used to be (I've never seen a vampire autopsy so I don't know what's in there now)—
Bella's breath, as she whispers, "Come back to me."
I inhale, just to hold a part of her essence within my body, and then squander the slightest bit to whisper her name. "Bella."
She is still all of my heaven, in a form that inflicts the torments of hell.
"Edward." Sunshine moving through my hair. "Edward, I'm here. I'm here. Don't do this anymore, okay? Come back, just for a little bit." Heat wraps around my torso, holds me to the softness and all that breakable humanity. "Just for a little while, okay? You need to take care of yourself."
Myself
You are my self
You made me a better self
Alice is speaking, but I pay no attention. My world is embracing me.
"Do you hear that?" Hot breath wafting through my ear. "Your family is worried about you. They love you. I love you, too." Not enough, not anymore, I've destroyed— "Edward, seeing you like this hurts us all. Please don't hurt me."
I can't hurt her again. Not again. I've hurt her almost more than her delicate mortal frame and psyche could bear—I almost robbed her of life by trying to save it from me. I try to tell her this, but all I can say is, "Bella." Isn't that enough?
"Yes, it's me. I'm really here; you're not imagining it. I came upstairs to see you."
She came to see me. She does still love me.
Not enough
Not anymore
I've destroyed
I've destroyed myself
Her warmth has returned some of my flexibility. Her concern forces me to move. Carefully, afraid they will shatter, I release my legs from my grip. I should stop myself, but my self-control has always been pathetic around this singular girl. I turn my head and bury my face in the multi-faceted chestnut of her hair. I can feel the blessed gentleness of her hands pull me against her.
(She still smells lovely, underneath the now-constant odor of wet dog. Perhaps I should thank Jacob Black for diluting the power of her scent. Perhaps I should kill him, for marring it.)
Please don't be the last time
"You came. To see me?" My voice sounds faded because I'm doing what I can to keep her breath with me.
"I didn't mean to come to the house, but I'm glad it happened—"
She didn't mean to come? How could she arrive here accidentally?
"I was with Rosalie and Emmett and they brought me here."
I listen.
If I chose the blue ribbon to thread through my curls it would really make that shade of (thank goodness for frail human bodies, at least her bizarre connection with the mutt is good for something, I had no notion how to go about persuading her to deal with this) violet pop from the floral-print dress.
Oh, Rosalie.
"She used it as an excuse. The panic attack. She was trying to figure out a way to bring you regardless."
Bella nods against me. "I'm not surprised." She pulls away to look into my eyes. "She's your sister, Edward. She wants you to be all right. We all do. You're not doing well right now; your eyes are almost pure black. Why don't you go hunting with Emmett? You'll feel better when you've eaten."
I know I should reply, but all my energy goes to looking at her. This moment may have to be enough to sustain the rest of my time on this earth. Humans are so fragile… Every occasion we meet may be our last…
"Edward? Will you please go hunting so I won't worry about you? Can you do that for me, if you won't do it for you?"
I mustn't worry her further. I mustn't make her life even worse.
"All right. I can do that," I manage to reply. I stand, never removing my eyes from her face.
Please let me look—
It can't last, of course. Nothing human does. She murmurs, "Emmett?" even though he's downstairs. She's always adjusted to our capabilities so easily.
My brother's by my side almost instantly. "Hey, man. Let's get out there. See if you can kick a bear's ass before I get to it, huh?" Hell, yeah, that son-of-a-bitch is going down, buddy.
We go to the window, but my feet refuse to move farther. Every step is another bit of distance from her, and I can't—I can't—
Please don't let this be the last time—
Emmett's arm is around my waist. Jump, bro. We've gotta get out of here. "Come on, Ed. Let's go."
He pulls me from the room. I begin running almost before my feet hit the ground.
No one ever told me that a satellite has its own pull, that if it spins away from its center to find another orbit, what's left behind is off-balance for eternity, searching for what changed the arc of its journey. It seems likely that no one knew.
This is the sort of knowledge I would have been content to leave undiscovered.
I can hear the catch in her throat that means she is trying not to weep as I rip through the forest, away from my life. I've brought her to tears again, just by being in the same room, just by allowing her to see the havoc her absence wreaks upon me.
I am a monster.