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.
4. Chapter 4: A Last Message
Rating 0/5 Word Count 1568 Review this Chapter
“Now you wait…
Like the drug,
Like the change in the pain,
It goes on…
For so long.
How it hurts in the worst way
Now that you’re gone.
It’s so wrong…
It’s so wrong.”
--“Cellar Door” by Escape the Fate
“Let me through,” I growled through my teeth. Victoria stood before me, triumphant to have gotten in my way. Beside her is Riley, a newborn that she had recently created. He was under the impression that she loved him, even thought she was still grieving over James.
“No,” she hissed, smiling an evil grin.
I know that I cannot overpower them, due to several factors. One, I had not hunted in weeks, and was weak. Two, I was outnumbered. Three, she had a newborn on her side, and newborns were always stronger than old vampires. There was nothing I cold do.
I heaved a sigh of frustration and sit down on the ground. I didn’t take my eyes off of the two, knowing that, the moment I did, they would overpower me, and I would never be able to get back to Bella.
I wasn’t going to be able to keep my promise. I told her a week – if she even got it, which I didn’t quite doubt – and it had been six days since I’d sent the message. She’d think I was lying to her. She would never forgive me.
I ran my fingers through my hair anxiously, still never taking my eyes off them.
“Really, I’d love to stay and chat,” I began with heavy sarcasm, “but I have to be somewhere.”
Victoria just threw her head up and laughed a cruel cackle. “You think I would let you go just because you have business to attend to?”
“Maybe,” I replied under my breath, though it was just sarcasm again.
“Just hang tight, Edward. Once the others return, we will get to our business.”
The last comment she threw in did not send dread through me. It only made me angry that she was keeping me from where I belonged.
I waited in silence for the perfect moment to escape. Riley’s eyes flickered back and forth between Victoria and me. However, Victoria’s eyes stayed locked on my face, never wavering. I watched the two of them as well.
Something in the woods caught their attention. The trees rustled, and something stepped on a twig, snapping it beneath its foot. Victoria’s head swiveled around to peer into the brush, Riley’s head following.
I took my opportunity and ran before either of them could comprehend what was going on. Not long after, I heard them pursuing closely behind me, and turned to the left, the back to the right, and looped around to throw them off.
It worked like a charm – pretty soon they were miles behind, to the point where I couldn’t hear their thoughts anymore. They were off the trail, and I was speeding through the forest. Not too long after, I was entering the United States.
It’s been two weeks since I got his message. I’ve been waiting and waiting, going to the beach every day and waiting for hours and hours, just to see if he sent another one. But he never did – not to tell me he would be longer, or to tell me he wasn’t coming at all.
I slammed the door of my truck behind me as I nearly ran to the shore. For hours I walked up and down the beach, searching for another bottle. But I haven’t seen one in two weeks, so why should I have seen one today? I’m about to give up hope.
I can’t keep waiting for him like this. Getting my hopes up every day, just to have them shattered worse than before. Each day it’s worse, for my hopes raise higher and higher as the days pass, and when I turn back to my truck empty handed, my hopes drop like lead.
I entered the house and hurried up the stairs, avoiding Charlie again. He sighs in frustration, then picks up the phone. I don’t even realize that it’s my mother he’s calling, and that he’s making arrangements to send me to Florida.
Ripping a page of paper out of a notebook, I sit on the floor and pull out a fresh bottle. I write for an hour before I conclude my last letter and roll it up, stuffing it in the bottle.
I have no idea where I am. I’d been running across the country for days now, and I ended up somewhere along the East coast. I realized then that I had absolutely no sense of direction.
I tried calling Alice from one of the few remaining pay phones. It just rang and rang until a robotic voice concluded, “The number you are trying reach is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again.” In frustration, I slammed the phone back on the hook, and ended up breaking it. No one had noticed – for it was the middle of the night and no one was around – so I slunk off to the West, hoping to find my way.
Now I found myself on another coast, somewhere in Mexico. I was beginning to get aggravated, and would have bought myself a compass if not for the fact that I had no money.
I was about to turn and run in another direction when something washed up on the shore. I half turned to watch as the waves pulled it out and pushed it back on again. Over and over, until the sand wrapped around it and held it in place as the waves tried in vain to take it again.
I deliberated between decisions. I could ignore it and continue on my aimless searching, or I could stop and waste my time looking at it. My curiosity won over, and I bent over to pick it up. There was a cork stuffed in the mouth of the bottle, and through the clear glass I could see a rolled up piece of paper.
I let the paper fall out, and unrolled it. It took me a minute to make out the writing, but then I realized it was familiar. I pulled the note out of my pocket and compared the two.
I’m not sure why I deluded myself into thinking that you were coming back. After all, you let me down once – why not again? I’m not even sure it was even you – though your handwriting is unmistakable – because the Edward I know (or knew) kept his promises a little better (aside from one moment of weakness).
It’s been nearly two weeks since I received your note. I’m not sure what’s taking you so long, if you said one week. I’m beginning to give up hope. Correction: I have given up hope.
I’ve begun to realize that you’re not coming back. I’ve realized that I will never move on, never get over you. Even though it’s only been six months – though it feels like forever – I know that it will never get better.
I’m tired of dealing with the pain. I’m tired of hoping you’ll come back. I’m tired of knowing that you won’t.
As I write this, Charlie is on the phone with my mom, arranging to fly me to Florida . But I don’t want to live there. It won’t get better if I do, nor will it improve if I stay in Forks. I don’t want to live there – I don’t want to live anywhere anymore.
I guess you could call this a suicide note. But it’s not suicide so much as relief. I’m not doing it to end my life; I’m doing it to get it over with. To finish off what you’ve already started. You can’t call it suicide if there’s no life to end.
If you receive this – which I’m sure you invariably will – I’m asking you not to try anything. You once told me something about how you envied Romeo for the ease of his suicide. You told me something about a family that lived in Italy , whom you would go to, asking them to end your life if anything were to happen to me. I’m asking you not to do this.
I want you to promise that you won’t harm yourself when I’m gone. I want you to go back to your family and tell them what happened – though Alice will already know. I want you to go back to Forks and make sure Charlie is okay. Then I want you to move on, as you have asked me to do.
I’m asking you, as my last wish, to do these things. Please. For me.
I haven’t decided how I will do it at this time, but I’ll let you find out for yourself.
Don’t blame yourself for this, because it is not your fault. It’s my own fault, for being so stubborn. Perhaps, if I wasn’t so stubborn, I’d be able to move on like you told me to. But I can’t – I won’t.
Take note that the following is the last sentence I will ever write, because it is the entire truth, and it is all I can prove to you at this time – when there is nothing left to prove.
I love you.
1 2 3 4 5
- 17 Aug 08
- 21 Aug 08
- In Progress