WIP: An Infinite Countdown to Light (T) - Edward/Bella
X
Fingertips touching, a caress of dandelions against their snowskins, and draped in a halo of gold. A canopy of bright coloured foliage waves above them, dapples sunlight, filters the breeze scented with tangerines and notes of apple blossom. He glimmers and breathes, autumn-edged lips to her cheek, stumbling with words spoken so rapidly she barely hears.
There's a sudden jolt in the space where her heart resides, fluttering wildly. Blinking diamonds, she shakes her head to rid herself of the prismatic glare while he continues to whisper, a buzzing hum of nocturnes in minor. She reaches out, clasps his hand in hers, and holds on tightly. Nails digging, choking veins, as she attempts to catch her breath.
And, past the haze of sharp euphoria, she can hear his final words with startling clarity.
IX
Her eyes are heavy under the lidded moon, low and a dusky orange, light streaming over the mountains and through the large floor-to-ceiling windows. Patterns dance on his floor, elongated and striking. He's beside her, back straight, arm around her shoulder, and he's counting stars as she measures the gap between them in angles and lines, nudging herself closer until their bodies are parallel and zero degrees from each other.
She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her cheek upon them, staring still until he shifts in his seat and asks her the same question he always has since the beginning. And, as always, she replies with breathtaking honesty that allows him a settling of peace. When they realise the moon is going nowhere, he leans in close to her and kisses her eyelids until she flutters.
Drifts.
VIII
Early sunrise sheds, and she blinks away stars. The room is empty except the morning glow cast across his floor. She sleeps again and thinks about steeples and clock towers, powdered skin, and girls with red ribbons in their hair. Past the haze of a brilliant memory, she awakens, and finds herself staring into wide eyes. Alice tilts her head, rests a cold hand on her forehead, and tells her a story that Jasper has only ever shared once.
A silly story that Jasper is often reluctant to share - about castaways and endless horizons, willow trees and burning fireflies that gather and surround and illuminate. A boy and a girl hold crushed roses in their hands, thorns breaking skin as they share their lives with a simple clasp of their hands.
Jasper, she thinks aloud, might have been a good father in a different life.
Dreamland soon beckons, and she succumbs with one last sideways glimpse of the shadow in the doorway.
VII
They eat smoked salmon together, poking at leftover lemon rinds that find their way onto their plates. Curling, twining. She looks up and asks him a question that leaves his mouth hanging open. She smiles gently and pats her father's hand. Don't worry, she says, I'm perfectly fine. Pitching theoretical scenarios about her death only causes tension, so she changes the subject. About the woods, the game, and the Blacks.
And she regrets asking because her heart lurches at the thought of him, of gold and glimmer, and the eclipse of a waning moon.
She is better off without him.
VI
She leans on a moss-covered rock in the woods near his house, the damp earth beneath her shoes giving in to her weight. It's slippery and wet out, darker here than any other place in Forks. She finds it strange how two places can be so different, thinking of the clearing far away from here. A dewdrop lands on her bare shoulder when she hears nothing.
So she tenses and waits for the long shadow that slides away from the trees, the perfect stillness of him continuing to amaze her. He sneers at her, the petulance of boyhood rising to the surface, and crosses his arms over his chest. The friend she no longer knows - him, burrowed deep within - towers over her. He could be larger than life, and she could almost swear he would still listen to her if she asked. Politely, sweetly, firmly.
Get out of here, he demands sharply.
She stiffens and refuses the urge to scream at him.
He clenches his fists, curls them away from her. There's still human left in him somewhere.
You remember - you remember what I said to you. If you - if he does anything to you -
With a shake, he suddenly tenses and punches a tree next to him; the earth shatters.
Would you hate me? If I did?
Hard lines and creases form on his face before he huffs, transforms, and leaves her.
V
She looks at the tree outside her window, forming shadows in her head in the shape of storytime nightmares. They look perfect and angular in her head, but the faces are blurry, and she realises there are decisions she has to make.
Burying her face into her pillow, she beckons for sleep to take her, the image of an eclipse forming behind her eyelids, so stark and bright. Moons shadowing suns, her heart beats rapidly.
Her dreams mean nothing at all.
IV
Alice weaves flowers through her hair, cold fingers brushing the nape of her neck as she sings a hummingbird tune. Little porcelain doll, she says, like it's supposed to mean something. The lights on the ceiling flicker and dim, and she watches her skin turn sallow.
With a twist, Alice finishes and smiles. It looks cold on her, but it doesn't matter. Alice tilts her head and rests her chin on her shoulder like they've been doing this forever. You look pretty like that.
She doesn't ask whether it's the flowers or the colour of her face that reminds her of immortality.
III
Alice is gone, and he takes her place, materialises from nowhere. He's stiff but relaxed, and he's waiting for her.
Without a word, she takes his hand and allows him to lead.
I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready, she chants to herself.
What are you thinking?
She hesitates and holds his hand tighter.
Nothing.
II
She sits with legs crossed on the dandelion bed, sweeping her hands through the airy flowers. He carefully sits down, plucking one from the ground and twirling it in his hand. It spins twice one way and three times the other, and she wonders what its purpose is until he crushes it by accident. She tilts her head, palms sweaty as she tries to hide them from him.
He mumbles, I'm nervous.
And she nods because it's expected. I won't regret it.
Those who don't know never do.
She has to think that over several times, the anxiety overwhelming, and she only understands after she can catch her breath. By the time she does, she pretends she never heard him and inches closer toward his stiff frame. Hands intertwine, fingers brush, laboured breaths mingling. And she whispers something that she thinks she never said, but he smiles lightly and kisses her forehead.
I know, he says, and moves his lips to the curve her neck.
She closes her eyes and considers the beauty of life.
I
Wake up.