His Best Friend
What if, during (human) life, Edward had had a best friend? A girl best friend, never more than a sister, but still there. What if he had thought that she was dead for almost 90 years? And what if he found her just when he needed her the most? Chapter 3 is up!!
This is told from two points of view, "His POV" and "Her POV". It's about Edward after he left Bella in Forks, and before he went to Rio (later Italy). None of these characters (except one) are mine. They belong to Stephenie Meyer, and no copyright infringement was intended. I'm just a normal addicted teenage girl.
2. Chapter 2
Rating 4.5/5 Word Count 509 Review this Chapter
She was vaguely familiar. The shape of her face, the shade of her hair. But her eyes were what startled me. They were gold, like mine and my family’s. We didn’t know that there were any others like us besides Tanya’s family in Denali. But they were also strange, seemingly studded with sapphires. Flecked with their original blue.If she was a bit plainer and had brown eyes... Damn it, Edward! She’s better off without you. You left for her. This pain is for her.
Edward. Of course.... Her mind wandered back to the picture. The photo was of me. But there were two other people in it with me. It was Mary-Anne Walker and.... Don’t think about her either.She’s been dead for almost 90 years, but you don’t need another depressant in your life, I reprimanded myself.
Don’t be an idiot, she told herself.You know he’s dead. He died back in 1918 with Edward and Elizabeth and dad. But then again, he’s not buried with them.... Because they burned him, along with everyone else who caught it.... But Dr. Cullen.... Wouldn’t do that to him.... Just GO!!The female approached me carefully.
"Edward?’ she said hesitantly. I couldn’t believe it.
"Cornelia?" I asked back, afraid that she was hallucination, that I had gone crazy without Bella. I just couldn’t believe it.
"Oh!" she gasped, running toward me, only a bit too fast. She hugged me, sobbing dryly. I held her tightly to my chest, and for a brief moment, I could afford to be stoic.
It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t. He was dead. Or so I thought for 88 years. I had flashbacks of human life. I remembered a few obscure things, some not so obscure. Like the time Edward and I played tag in the front yard of Edward’s house, and the time we went to go get sodas and got stuck under an awning. But also the time my family and I were in a boating accident when I was five in 1908 and we were on Lusitania in 1915 (I was almost 12). I had a knack for getting into accidents. Life without Edward had been, well, empty. He was my best friend, nothing more. No, not best friend, more than my best friend. My brother. My family and I had moved to Chicago from Denver in 1915, next door to my father’s coworker, Edward Masen, his wife, Elizabeth, and their son, Edward Jr. Edward was two years older than me. We went to one of the first co-ed schools in Illinois and became fast friends.
I argued with myself over whether or not this was Edward. I finally decided to see.
"Edward?" I asked, cocking my head.
"Cornelia?" He looked incredulous.
"Oh!" I gasped, running forward, maybe a little too fast, and hugged him. I cried dryly and he held me against his chest. And for the first time since, well, a different he had died 25 years ago, I was happy. Sometimes there really are lights in dark places, places where all other lights go out.