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Two Wrongs Don't Equal a Right

Summary:
Despite her efforts to keep the visions of Bella at bay, one slips through and then they assault her with a fury. So when she decides to act, it's just for self-protection, because a few more of these and she may go crazy... At least that's what she'll tell Edward in her defense. I CHANGED SOMETHINGS RECENTLY PLEASE RE-READ CHAPTERS 6&7 AND NOTE THAT THEY HAVE SWITCHED; ALONG WITH THE ADDITION TO CHPTER 7!!


Notes:


3. A Vivid Nightmare and a Window

Rating 4.5/5   Word Count 868   Review this Chapter

I had made a spur of the moment decision to get away. As though a trip to Paris would help clear the air of the melancholy and sorrow that seemed to float in it, so thick it was almost a visible fog. Bella's eyes had been haunting me, staring in that blank way they did, with tears blossoming out of the corners. They pained me, unsettled me, horrified me, worried me. It was impossible to forget, even for a moment, the protruding cheekbones and lank hair, when those eyes were watching you. If watching was the correct word for what they did, they seemed more to look through me, to stare blankly at some object in the distance. So she remained constantly in my mind, my every thought was tainted by the two glimpses I had suffered of her ashen skin and gaunt form.

It was a near impossible feat to block the visions of her now, though I had managed to do so since her trip to our house through pure persistence and effort. I clung to Edward's decree like a dying man to a lifeboat, using it as an excuse separate myself from Bella's suffering. It left guilt deep in my long empty stomach, attempting to ignore Bella in her time of need, but there was nothing I could do, not without Edward's permission. Or so I told myself. I attempted to reason with my conscience, coaxing it into believing that I had simply seen Bella on an off day, that something had triggered the blank mask, the silent tears. I didn't believe myself.

The plane seats were soft, their fawn colored leather gave just the right amount. Notes on a Scandal, some movie about a teacher who has certain relations with one of her students started twenty minutes after take off and I watched the small people moving around. Bella was prancing from lobe to lobe in my brain like she owned the place. It was, as if now that the top layer of my thoughts was devoted to the insipid movie, and not towards not thinking about Bella, she invaded.

It all started from something rather silly and unpreventable, it was a reflex by this point, when the actress entered from outside wearing a cerulean blue dress my first thought was, that would look great on Bella. This was followed, in natural sequence by I should get it for her while I'm in France, I wonder whether they'll have it, but they should then I'll have to give her an occasion to wear it! Maybe the Cullens could throw a party... There would be no party, no presenting Bella with the cerulean dress. And that moment of weakness was all the vision needed.

Bella was thrashing in her bed, her arms and legs flailing. She was screaming, a scream so fraught with longing and pain it made the hairs on my arms, and on the back of my neck stand straight up. She was crying, the tears coursing down her hollow cheeks in streams, flowing over her trembling jaw and down her quivering neck to her heaving chest. Where individual droplets parted ways, some to roll over her bony shoulders and into the coverlet, others to come to a rest on her in the hollow of her collarbone. She was starting to talk, first the softest murmurs of where? As though it was more of a question of herself than of anyone else.

The feeling behind the vision changed, as I became acclimated to the horror and more attuned to the misery and it’s nuances. There was longing, dejection, agony. But above all there was hopelessness. It filled the room, pressing against the walls, straining against the windows.

Bella’s breath was ragged, her voice rasped with pain. “ He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.” I drew in my own ragged breath, shocked for some reason by her words. I was unsure as to what I had thought had caused this agony, but this simple phrase, directly relating it to Edward shocked me.

She shot up in bed, her pallid forehead covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Her eyes shone with tears, wide with fear that had come into the real world from her dream, or maybe just fear that had come from her nightmare into the real world.
She swung her legs around to the edge of the bed then stood up slowly, tentatively, as though they could, at any moment collapse. She walked over to the window and leaned her forehead against the cool glass, her breathing still labored.

A soft sigh slid from her lips, filled with desperation, fogging up the glass. She reached down to open the window, her fingers curling around the twist of metal and went utterly still.

I was, to say the least perplexed. What about opening a window could make that big of a difference? My eyes eased open slowly, to take in the movie, still playing on the screen in front of me. I sighed and with a click turned it off, I had enough problems caused by forbidden love