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The Northern Downpour Sends It's Love

When Edward leaves, Bella is left broken and bleeding. It's been six months since that fateful birthday, and still there has been no word of the Cullens. After perusing a yard sale and purchasing six glass bottles with no idea what to do with them, she returns home and shuts herself into her room. She finds a single loose floorboard and pries it up to find a box of hidden treasures she thought had been lost forever... Takes place mid-New Moon, after Edward leaves.


2. Chapter 2: Message in a Bottle

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1124   Review this Chapter

“If all our life is but a dream,
Fantastic posing greed
Then we should feed our jewelery to the sea.
For diamonds do appear to be
Just like broken glass to me.

And then she said she can't believe
Genius only comes along
In storms of fabled foreign tongues.
Tripping eyes, and flooded lungs,
The Northern downpour sends its love.”

--“The Northern Downpour” by Panic! At the Disco


I stroll along the deserted beach, staring numbly at the waters that crash along the beach and retreat. I’m somewhere in South America, but I didn’t pay attention to country lines, so that they will not come looking for me.

I wallow in my shame as I wander aimlessly down the beach, feeling hollow inside. I feel like my heart has been stolen from my chest – left behind with the one I love the most.

The image of her face bursts into my mind, the face of an angel. I remember her smile, her laugh, her blush. Most vividly of all, I remember the hurt in her eyes when I told her such terrible lies.

I cringe and push the image away, settling on the memory of her smile. She is an angel, and I do not deserve her. I am nothing but a demon, sent to put her in harms way. I never wanted to hurt her, but there was no getting around the whole vampire and human thing.

As I continue down the beach, I don’t notice the glass bottle until my toe hits it, and it shatters upon impact. I look down at the remains of the bottle, and watch the cork that had been jammed in the neck roll uselessly to the side.

Something catches my eye, and I bend over to pick it up, not really interested.

It’s a piece of paper that had been rolled up and stuffed in the bottle.

Was this some kind of joke? People didn’t send messages in bottles anymore – if they ever did before – not unless it was some kind of cheesy movie.

Unrolling the paper, my eyes skim the lines of imperfect, sloppy writing until it’s too late.

Dearest Edward, I read. A note for me? How could it have reached me? Perhaps it was just a coincidence. There were plenty of other Edwards in the world. I skipped to the bottom and realized it’s not a coincidence. The letter was meant for me.

I began again.

Dearest Edward,
I found the box under the loose floorboard in my room. I read your note.

What I cannot comprehend is why you would ever leave if you truly loved me. Why you would stand there and lie, just to get me to believe that you did not love me. Up until that point, I had no doubt in my mind that you really did love me the way I loved you, and that nothing could tear us apart.

When I promised you that I would stay safe for Charlie, I honestly attempted. I tried to be normal for him, to make him dinner every night and make small talk with him. I have stayed safe – I haven’t done anything that would put my life in danger, but it is getting harder and harder as the days progress.

If I told you that the past six months had been easy, it would be a lie.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot stop thinking about you. It’s not that I want to forget you, for I could never allow that. I remember thinking something one day that went something like, “Forbidden to remember; terrified to forget.” Something like that. I can’t remember freely, because if I do it will most assuredly result in overwhelming emotion. If that were to happen at school or at work, someone would want to try to help me. I don’t want to be helped.

But more than anything, I cannot forget. I can’t forget your face or the sound of your voice. Charlie tried to get me to move to Florida with Renee, but I am afraid that if I were to leave Forks, you might not seem real anymore. In a place where the sun shines endlessly, I could never remember how you smelled in the rain, or how your lips tasted combined with soft rain.

In your note, you said something about me moving on and finding someone else. And here I thought you were smart.

I could never find someone else who I love even half as much as I love you. No one even pales in comparison to the love I have for you.

Being away from you is absolute agony. During the days, I am numb. During the nights, I cry myself to sleep and have nightmares where I wake up screaming for you. But you never come.

I do not say these things now to make you feel guilty. I just want you to know how I feel and wonder if maybe you feel the same way. I don’t want you to suffer as I do, as you should be moving on, as you have expected me to do.

I still love you with all of my heart.

All my love,

My hands crinkled the paper, creasing the beautiful writing. I crushed it to my chest and doubled over, allowing the waves of pain to pull me under. I fell to my knees in the sand, choking and sobbing and gasping for air.

I was wrong, I realize. So very wrong to believe that she could ever move on. Such a stubborn little thing, my Bella was. My Bella. Of course she would act this way. How could I have ever doubted it? Just as I had feared, I’d hurt her, when I’d only been trying to spare her.

Hours later, I straighten up, one purpose in my mind. I carefully fold the paper in half twice and put it in my pocket, along with the cork from the bottle. I would’ve taken the shards of glass as well – anything my Bella had touched – if they had not been able to cut through my clothing.

And then I am running along the beach and to the small shack I had passed a day ago.I snuck inside and rummaged around until I found what I needed, an old scrap of paper, a pen that is almost out of ink, and an old beer bottle. This bottle is the best I can do, but I rip the label off and scratch away the adhesive residue.

And then I am scribbling away, preparing a note for my beloved.