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The Dedication

Summary:
Edward never came back. A year later, Bella is the singer in the band Werewolf. Every song has the same dedication. “To the vampire who broke my heart and left me for dead.” What happens when Edward comes across a CD?


Notes:


5. Chapter 5: My Immortal BPOV

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1392   Review this Chapter

My Immortal

Evanescence

I had just thought of lyrics for a new song. I walked across the room, grabbing my notebook and the closest pen I could find, scribbling down the lyrics in my still unbelievably messy scrawl. I looked over it for a moment, before writing the title on top of it. Then I carelessly tossed the notebook onto the ground, not able to deal with the lyrics for one more second.

The sound that the notebook made when it hit the ground was not the normal thud that was made all the other times I had written my songs and been too cowardly to keep looking at the song anymore. This time, it was more of a hollow sound.

I stood up from my bed, walking over to the notebook. I kneeled carefully and picked up the notebook, dropping it again in the same spot. Again, no thud, just that mysterious hollow sound. I dropped the notebook in another spot. Thud. I dropped it over the mysterious spot. No thud.

Something was definitely under those floorboards.

I tried prying the floorboards open with my fingers. The floorboards wouldn’t budge. I sighed. Maybe I was wrong, maybe there wasn’t anything under there. I stood up, shaking my head. I really was going insane.

As I walked over the mysterious floorboards in attempt to get to my window, they broke. I screamed in surprise as my foot sank through the floor. I flailed wildly for a moment, before falling backwards onto the wooden floor. My heartbeat pounding wildly, I pulled my foot out, inspecting the scratches along my ankles. Nothing too bad.

I couldn’t resist the urge to look into those floorboards. It’s just so I can prove myself wrong, I told myself. It’s not like I actually expect to find anything there…

But there was something there, under my floorboards. A square white box, its lid now squished from my foot. Curious, I pulled out the box, setting it on the ground next to me. I debated for a moment with myself over whether or not to open it, and then my curiosity got the better of me; I slowly took the dented lid off of the box.

I shouldn’t have opened it.

Inside, were all the things that he took. My CD with his songs, my pictures of him, everything. The tears welled up instantly, flowing silently down my cheeks, creating small, dark spots on my shirt. I picked up two of the pictures I had of him, the first, of when he was happy. Or at least pretending to be. I compared it to the second picture. Angelic perfection compared to uncaring monotony. I brought both hands to the pictures, fully prepared to rip them to shreds.

My hands didn’t move.

I shook my head, in disbelief of my own unwillingness to destroy the only real evidence of his existence. I put the pictures back into the box, picking up the dusty jewel CD case next. The CD was clear, plain, just as I remembered it.

I stood up, walking over to my CD player, and deliberated. Part of me screamed to throw the CD out of my window, and never have to see, or hear, it again. But the other part of me whispered to keep it, to listen to it.

I can’t listen to it! the larger part of me screamed. It has to do with him, and, therefore, is off limits.

But it’s also music, the smaller part of me argued. And singing music so far has been something that helps. Couldn’t the same concept apply tothis music?

It’s different. He wrote it.

And my music is about him. It’s the same thing.

And what about the nightmares? I asked, feeling insane for arguing with myself.

You’ve had nightmares every single day since he left. One more day isn’t going to make any difference at all.

I placed the CD in the player, taking a slow, even breath before hitting the play button. The music swirled around me, haunting and comforting at the same time. I didn’t know whether to smile or cry. My body seemed to compromise, shaking with silent sobs as the small smile remained in place on my tear-stained face. I listened to my song, and that was the worst. Esme’s favorite was easier to listen to; it didn’t have such wonderful, dangerous memories attached to it. I listened to the entire CD, and, by the last song, I only cried a little bit.

I was adapting. If not to his absence, then at least the way his absence made me feel. Some small part of me had accepted that this was the way that life would be, the way that my life would stay now thathe wasn’t a part of it anymore.

I reached over to turn off the CD player, before lying back on my bed. The day was half over, and I hadn’t even left the house. I sighed, and then remembered the song I had written earlier that morning, the melody that I had created to go with it. I needed to think of music to go along with it, so that I could show it to the boys. I sat up, picking up the notebook again, tapping it against my knee. After a minute, I figured out what the perfect instrument would be.

The piano.

Instantly, I was hit with flashback after flashback of when he played the piano. Painful, horrible memories.

There was no way that I would, could, play the piano.

It was then that I remembered my promise from the performance during the tour, which had just ended. I had promised myself that I would not let him destroy my life, that I would live.

Living meant doing painful things, because I could, would… had to… keep going on with my life, whether or not he was here with me.

Which meant I had to go back to the piano.

When I told him that I couldn’t play the piano, that was true… sort of… When Renee forced me through lessons, before I whined for her to let me quit, I did manage to learn to play somewhat decently. I could play a few songs.

Or in this case, write a few.

I ran out to my truck, grabbing the keys from the hook by the door as I went. An hour later, I was in the music studio. I headed into the room I knew had a piano in it. I hesitated outside the door, taking slow, even breaths.

I can do this, I chanted. I can do this.

I opened the door, and let out my breath. There, in the middle of the room, was the piano. It took several more deep breaths before I was able to make my way over to it, slowly bringing back the cover for the keys and taking a seat.

I can do this. I can do this.

I closed my eyes, my fingers slowly splaying out over the black and white keys. I took a deep breath, and started to play a slow, dark melody. As hard as I tried, though, I couldn’t stop the tears. Nor could I stop playing.

And then I started to sing.

I’m so tired of being here,

Suppressed by all my childish fears.

And if you have to leave,

I wish that you would just leave,

Cause your presence still lingers here,

And it won’t leave me alone.

These wounds won’t seem to heal.

This pain is just too real.

There’s just too much that time cannot erase.

When you’d cry, I’d wipe away all of your tears.

When you’d scream, I’d fight away all of your fears,

And I held your hand for all of these years,

But you still held all of me.

You used to captivate me

By your resonating lie.

Now I’m bound by the life you left behind.

Your face, it haunts my once pleasant dreams.

Your voice, it chased away all the sanity in me.

These wounds won’t seem to heal.

This pain is just too real.

There’s just too much that time cannot erase.

When you’d cry, I’d wipe away all of your tears.

When you’d scream, I’d fight away all of your fears,

And I held your hand for all of these years,

But you still held all of me.

I tried so hard to tell myself that you’re gone.

But though you’re still with me, I’ve been alone all along.

When you’d cry, I’d wipe away all of your tears.

When you’d scream, I’d fight away all of your fears,

And I held your hand for all of these years,

But you still held all of me.

I did it. I could do this, had just proven it to myself. I could keep living, keep existing, without his presence. Nightmares or not, tears or not, I would go on with my life, piece by piece. I would survive.