Edward torments himself by sneaking visits to Bella.
Written for the No Dialogue challenge, February 14, 2007.
Rating 4.5/5 Word Count 474 Review this Chapter
Those cheeks, hair, eyes, nose, lips – nothing in the whole world could ever be compared to them. Only one word was worthy of describing them – perfect. I wanted very badly to touch her, to trace her perfect features in my hand. But if she woke up and found me here, I’d sure lose all of my self-control and would without a doubt pull her into my arms, relishing in her sweet warmth. But I could not, I knew it. Every second of my mortal existence spent with her would put her in danger – I would not allow that to happen.
She cried herself to sleep again, the tears stains drying on her cheeks. She had changed so much since I left her – nonetheless, she was still the most beautiful person in the world. Her usually bright brown eyes were now dull and ringed with purplish bruises – from the lack of sleep. Her once blushing scarlet cheeks were now sallow and pale. It drove a stake through my heart when I saw her like this – it was all my fault.
My heart ached with a pain I did not understand – I had never felt this way before. It was as if her and I were one, souls bound together to shared joy and sorrow. Was it fate? Destiny?
I wanted so badly to cry, but tears wouldn’t just seem to flow. I was trying to be unselfish here, to make sure she was safe although I would exchange my life – if you could call that living – just to be with her.
She was everything I was not. Together, we were one – whole.
I was the cause of all her tears, all her pain, and all her sorrow. It was I who broke her heart, tore it into shreds and stomped on it. I was the one who ripped her apart so viciously, it was impossible for her to be in one whole piece again. It was I…
My hand reached out of its own accord and gently caressed her cheek. My hand gently brushed away the tears she was crying in her sleep as I relished in the feel of her smooth skin against my hand. One delicate teardrop was caught onto my finger. Impulsively, I brought it to my mouth.
It tasted sweet – it tasted like her.
Ignoring my dead heart’s sudden wrench of pure agony, I cast a last glance at her angelic face and turned away. I leaped out of the window silently, never looking back.
If only I did – if only I had turned back once more, I’d have saw a figure with brown eyes looking at me from the window, eyes shimmering with tears, the anguish distinguishable in her tortured eyes.