Text Size Large SizeMedium SizeSmall Size    Color Scheme Black SchemeWhite SchemeGrey SchemePaper Scheme        

If I Could See You Again

Edward is in a meadow, alone with his thoughts, when someone appears. He can't believe what he's seeing. If he could only, truly, see her again . . . . Create your own banner at mybannermaker.com!

Hope you like it! I got inspiration from Yiruma's "If I could see you again". Check it out! I own the Twilight soundtract. I own the Twilight Movie Companion. I do NOT own the Twilight Saga. This wonderful obsession of mine belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

1. Figment of my imagination

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1138   Review this Chapter

. . . If I could see you again . . . .

His thought trailed off, leaving his mind quiet. Another meadow. Another meaningless meadow, in the middle of nowhere. He picked a blade of grass between his thumb and fore-finger. It shimmered, covered in tiny droplets of moisture. As was he. The rain had soaked him.

He shook out his hair, spraying water everywhere. She used to love his hair. It was a brownish red. A lion's mane.

“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.”

The voice he heard was sweet and gentle, quoting him. The voice of an angel, his angel.

No! This time it was his own thought that echoed through his mind. She was not his anymore. He had given his happiness away. He had lied, said that he didn't love her. Such a lie! And, yet, she had believed him instantly. Yes, he had seen it in her eyes. She had truly believed that he didn't love her. He hurt tremendously over that.

Where had he gone wrong? Where did his voice show unsureness when he told her that he loved her? Never! For he had never been unsure. It pained him even more to know that she was out there thinking that she wasn't the most important thing in his world. His extremely large, extremely dangerous world. He wanted so much to prove his love to her once more.

Then come back to me, Edward, the angel's voice reasoned. He turned his head.

And there she was. Leaning against a tree, not ten feet from him. She was in her worn jeans and tee shirt. Her gorgeous hair rested against her shoulders and her eyes showed that she cared for him.

Come with me, she begged. She held out her hand, as if she was going to lead the way back to her house. He was so far away from her house, though.

Her voice was coming from no particular direction. It seemed to fill his ears, though he knew his mind was only providing what he truly wanted. He wanted his Bella back.

Wait. This was his Bella. The one in front of him, this hallucination, was fully his and his alone. She wasn't the Bella he could hold, kiss, touch, smell, but she was a memory of that Bella. That Bella would move on, find another – he winced – but his memory would always be with him. A curse and a blessing.

“Bella,” he breathed. She walked forward and he held her – in his mind – and twirled her around. She didn't trip or protest, another way to tell that this wasn't the Bella he needed. He dropped her hand and stepped away. Suddenly his memory became sad.

“You . . . don't . . . want me?” Her quote tore right through him and he crumbled to the ground, sobbing.

“Yes, yes! Of course I want you! How could I not?!” He screamed in agony. All was lost at these times. Times where he didn't have his tracking and hunting to keep him on his feet. They were not distractions – nothing could distract him from the pain – but they kept him going, working to keep his love safe.

He opened his eyes to see her reaction. He gaped when he saw his memory Bella lying on the ground. At her neck was a deep wound with blood flowing from it. Her eyes were unseeing and emotionless. Her cheeks were colorless, there was no heartbeat to hear.

“No!” he cried. He knelt over her 'body'. He didn't care that the motion must have been crazy. The memory looked like his Bella. The vision he was now seeing of her was lying under him, dead. And somehow he knew it was from his doing, his fault. It was he who killed her.

But that was impossible. At the moment Bella was probably in bed, judging by the hour it was there. In her bed, where he had lain with her so many times, watching her while she slept.

He shook the thought from his head. He blinked, and the Bella that was under him was suddenly gone. He looked up and around him. When he saw her, it was a different sort of Bella he was staring at.

That Bella had the same shiny brown hair, but it was in even more contrast with her skin than before. Her skin was a milky white, as pale as his own. Every freckle had been removed from her skin. Her clothes were bloody and torn, and her burning red eyes looked at him with hatred.

She ran off, leaving him alone – though, truly, he knew that he had been all along.

You left, Edward, the voice came again. He stood and spun around, looking for her. He found her human again, but once again looking at him as if she disliked him greatly. Behind her was a blurry vision of a boy – or man – that he couldn't make out. He was just an outline.

Edward's head tilted to the side;he was confused.

I'm sorry, I can't take you back. Did he see pity in her eyes as well? He watched as she walked away from him and right into the arms of the man he couldn't quite see.

But it didn't matter. She still chose that man over him. Part of his mind told him it was for the better, it was what he left for, but the rest of him didn't listen. He broke down into sobs again.

When he had calmed down slightly he saw her again. This time a tear was running down her face. But this was a different kind of tear.

This tear was blood.

She knelt in front of him and kissed him. Edward moved his lips along with hers. The lips he couldn't physically feel, but could imagine with all of his strength that he could.

He finally finished that thought as the vision of his love faded away;blown away with the wind.

If I could see you again . . . I would kiss you every day.

If I could see you again . . . I would whisper that I love you in your ear.

If I could see you again . . . I would protect you from even yourself.

If I could see you again . . . I would never take my eyes off of you.

If I could see you again . . .

. . . I would marry you, Isabella.