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When I Could Dream

Summary:
Edward's POV


Notes:


3. Last Dream

Rating 5/5   Word Count 748   Review this Chapter

The Spanish Influenza was like a fiery Hades. The fever, how it burned. And every part of my body was sore. It ached to breathe, so I slowed down my breaths remarkably, breathing only when it was extremely necessary. I was always sweating, but the time passed as I slept.

Dr. Cullen was kind to my mother and I, always gently scolding her when she took care of me from her bed. New people came, and old people were wheeled to the morgue. As I watched the bodies wheeled past, I couldn't help but think, 'I only talked to her yesterday,' or, 'He was in here after I was.'

The patients around us were constantly changing, only one thing remained the same, and kept both my mother, and me in touch with some sense of familiarity. Dr. Cullen.

A striking, gorgeous young blonde man, who had seen to us the first day. Nurses came and went, but the patients did more than anybody. Dr. Cullen always stayed.

Sometimes, I talked with Dr. Cullen, almost not having to have him speak. I felt like my comprehension had blossomed to the point where I could tell the mood of someone as if they were in a cartoon, with a thought bubble drawn over their head. But I had to try.

I was very sensitive to Dr. Cullen, because he was the only one whose thoughts I wanted. I wanted to see him confident my mother would get better. I could tell, she was weakening, trying to care for me.

"Edward," she murmured quietly, pressing a cloth to my face. It was so nice and cool, to my blistering skin, but I resisted.

"Mother, I will not have to be weakened trying to care for me!" I snapped at her. I saw Dr. Cullen stiffen across the long hall of beds. It was not possible, he had heard me?

She sighed, but didn't fight. This worried me immensely.

Dr. Cullen's shift ended, and he regretfully left the room, but not before turning to stare straight at me. 'Take care,' he mouthed, and I nodded grimly. 'I'll be back soon,' he added and I nodded again, not entirely surprised no one saw our exchange. This room full of dying people wouldn't care, even if they had. Most of them spent their time sleeping anyways, and that's what I did as my eyes drifted closed. After, that, I was almost barely awake anymore.

Now, I lived in a different world, while the flu plagued my real one.

In my dreams, there was always Bella. Always. I fell in love with a simple figment of my imagination, and often caught myself recounting each individual dream.

I would open my eyes, and Dr. Cullen would smile at me. One day, he asked, "Are you fond of a lady, Edward?"

"No," I would retort, "Are you?" He would smile and shake his head and smile, eyes twinkling. I think I was the only one who talked with him, besides the nurses.

I dreamed again...but this one wasn't happy. I didn't understand what was happening...

"Goodbye, Bella."

"Wait!" She reached her arms out to me, but I pinned her wrists to her side. I pressed my lips gently to her forehead, for the last time.

"Take care of yourself," I breathed, allowing her to smell my breath one last time.

Then I was gone in the wind.

I sobbed tearless sobs as I wrote the note in her handwriting.

I gently gathered the things that showed my existence, the CD, the pictures, and the tickets, and placed them under her floorboards, knowing it was a vain hope that they would be found, and took a last whiff of her beautiful scent.

I turned and fled, leaving the charred ashes that were left of the bridge I had burned.

The dream made me terrified and heartbroken. How could I leave her when I still loved her? I wanted to dream about her again, I wanted to let her world distract me from what was coming...my death.

That was the last time I ever dreamed of Bella Swan.

That was the last time I dreamed.....ever.

Something slowly trickled into my system, burning like twisted, evil fire.

As soon as I felt that pain, I MISSED the Spanish Influenza. It had only been a illness, but what overwhelmed me now was so much more than that. I felt as the pyromaniac slowly set every little nerve on fire, occasionally prodding with white-hot metal.

I roared in pain, and screamed for mercy.