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"Far Away" version 2. He made a mistake. Now he has to fix it.

This is my rewrite of my horrible story "Far Away"

1. Chapter 1

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1049   Review this Chapter

My legs flew, flew faster than they ever had before. I was going as fast as I possibly could, but it wasn’t fast enough; she could jump at any time, or – the idea that chilled me and tore my still heart out – she could have already jumped. I ran, the trees flying past me, the face of an angel coating my thoughts. She was everywhere; my mind never once ventured away from the image of her. And thanks to me, she was jumping to her death. I had to get there before she jumped; I hated to think of what would happen were she to plummet to the dark, icy waters of the Pacific Ocean. I could only hope that I wouldn’t be too late.

Guilt was enveloping me, plaguing me, suffocating me. Bella was on the edge of a cliff, getting ready to jump into the stormy waters of a hurricane*, getting ready to jump to her death and it was my fault. I knew Alice had been right since the beginning, but I just couldn’t believe it; at least, not until it was actually happening. I’d been told numerous times that she couldn’t live without me; she wouldn’t live without me, but I gave into what I thought were my better angels, really my demons in disguise. The woman I loved was about to die willingly and I’d be responsible. If I didn’t get to her in time, I’d stay on Quilette land, wait for the wolves to come for me. I was breaking the treaty as it was, and there was sure to be some kind of punishment, but Bella was much more important. I was only a few miles from the cliff, in the heart of La Push. It would be close; it was a good distance to go in only a minute. I hoped I could make it.

The painfully sweet scent of freesia was attempting to perforate the simply painful guilt that surrounded me. It was getting stronger, starting to break through the guilt, the scent drawing me forward. It was so sweet.

My mind froze, though my body kept on going. I couldn’t think about that, hard as it may be. I was supposed to save her, not put her in further danger; though both threats to her were ultimately my fault.

The guilt was tangible, both weighing me down and fueling me as it flowed through my dry veins. I pushed, pushed, pushed, going faster, faster, faster. There was only a mile left and through the trees, I could see a silhouette of her petite form and merely from a distance, she seemed scrawny, boney, weak. Like someone who would be jumping off a cliff … to commit suicide.

The possibility had crossed my mind before, many times before, but never once had I really considered it. Many times it hadn’t even been me thinking it — my family members, well, except Rosalie, had thought of it and warned me of it repeatedly. But it just didn’t seem like Bella; she wasn’t dramatic, she wouldn’t knowingly harm her family, her friends.

Unless maybe she wasn’t trying, or at least not consciously. Her subconscious, her intuition, too powerful for her own good. And that it was about to kill her, were I not to run faster. I was close; I could see the shadow beneath her heel as she curled up onto the balls of her feet; see each raindrop on her hands as she raised them in the air and joined them together to make a perfect point.

I ran faster. I wasn’t sure how, but I ran faster. She rose slightly higher, sighed and bent slightly…

She jumped.

I pressed on, determination blazing through my veins.

She screamed and just as I reached the edge, she submerged beneath the water.

The waves shook her small form violently, throwing her, tossing her. Her chocolate hair flew all over, covering her face one moment, flowing out behind her the next.

She was fading out of consciousness; she was drowning.

I jumped.

She was sinking fast; I raced to get to her. I wouldn’t let her drown; she had to live.

She wasn’t breathing; her heartbeat was slowing.

I reached out to grab her arm but I couldn’t quite reach.

I gave one hard kick and tried again.

Got her.

I pulled her close to me, her body small and weak and colder than mine. I needed to get her to the shore quickly; her heartbeat weakened with every second. But that wasn’t what mattered — I had her in my arms again.

My head broke the surface right at that moment; hers followed immediately after. The rocky, sandy beach was closer than I’d thought—fifty feet at the most. I swam the minute distance in a matter of seconds, not struggling at all to knock back the waves and protect the saintly woman lying in my arms. She still wasn’t breathing, though considering how long she’d been underwater, it wasn’t surprising. Her lungs were likely filled with water. Her body was weak, so beating the water out would be risky.

Her heartbeat continued to slow. My mind raced.

I wasn’t sure about CPR — I didn’t think it would actually get the water out.

Her heartbeat was barely there, a dull thud.

I needed to take the risk — beating it out would be the only way to get rid of the water. I braced myself, and took a deep breathe. I needed to be gentle. I laid her out on her back on a large rock, and proceeded in whacking her chest. It took several wails to get anywhere, but eventually she started choking up large quantities of water. Her breathing was irregular and she was fading in and out of consciousness, but she was okay. She was alive. Her eyes didn’t open, not for several minutes, but that was okay. I gazed at her, meticulously rememorizing every detail of her form. Her full lips, her heart shaped face, her large, almond-shaped eyes, all of it.

Something was different, still. I couldn’t put a finger on what. She seemed empty, lacking excitement, light. I contemplated this, but that thought process was cut short.

She opened her eyes.