Fic: Twilight: you know it kills me (to see such a pretty girl so tired) Bella/Carlisle, R
Umm, yeah, I wrote Twilight fic. Sorry. But I really like this one :D
you know it kills me (to see such a pretty girl so tired)
twilight saga movie!verse bella/carlisle 737 words r
wayoffbase
ii.forget all those places that you’ve never really been. and all those situations you somehow found yourself in.
Alice isn’t the only Cullen to visit her that year.
“He’s in South America.”
A pause. “It doesn’t rain there.”
“It isn’t raining here”
“It was. The grass is wet.” She rolls over, under him. He looks down at her, and there’s grass in her hair.
“This is his favourite meadow?”
She laughs, throws her head back. The sunlight catches her skin, and the raindrops make her sparkle. “And mine.”
Her clothes are blue today - jeans and a v neck blouse. They go nicely with the wildflowers at the edge of the clearing.
She isn’t happy. But she’s wanted, and it’s the next best thing.
When Alice arrives in Carlisle’s car, she hides the disappointment. And she doesn’t wear blue, as she wonders whether Alice could know.
vi. suck on my fingertips until you kill all my prints.
Her mother would have killed her, had she known. It seems, for all her mistakes, that Renee believes in sex only within marriage, and only with your husband.
But Bella’s dead now. And she’s got a ring on her finger. There’s nothing her mother can do.
She’s got all eternity.
i.you know it kills me to see such a pretty girl so tired. you’ve got your mother’s cheekbones and your father’s crooked smile.
She’s a pretty girl, but not a good girl.
The dress Alice has picked is beautiful. Dark green, probably straight off the catwalk. She knows Alice saw her wearing it, saw the party. She doesn’t resist Alice anymore.
She wonders if Alice saw this, if she could have.
Bella doesn’t like blood, but she likes this. It could be the sharphurtache of the glass shards, being pulled out one by one, or the shiver in her spine from the spurtsplitsplatter of the blood after. It isn’t the smell - a faint antiseptic tinge mixed with salt and iron - no freesias here. Maybe it’s the swipeslideslip of his fingers as he pulls the stitches closed. Maybe it’s just being touched. Edward doesn’t touch her, not like this.
He flicks a match, burns the blood. The smell is stronger now, and the flames are mesmerising. Something in the antiseptic has turned them almost gold, and in between there are flashes of red, until the blood burns away. She grabs his hand. He could pull away. He could do what Edward did, and throw her through glass. Cuts everywhere - she’ll need more stitches. Or maybe she’ll be too far gone, and he’ll bite her. She’s heard a rumour she tastes good.
He doesn’t pull away. He does move, though, lightning swift. On his knees. She leans back, braces herself, shifts.
She’s heard a rumour she tastes good.
iii.let your body sink into me like your favourite memory. like a line of poetry or a fucking fit of honesty.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, she thinks, and she wonders what it would be like to let them tear him apart.
v.i’ll do my best to keep you, keep you sleepy as the south. with my old watch on your wrist and my thumbs inside your mouth.
The irony nearly chokes her.
It’s called Isle Esme, he tells her, it was a gift.
How romantic, she tells him.
And then later, days gone by, bruises from their first night still apparent: it’s called Isle Esme, he tells her, it was all I ever gave her.
When Edward calls home, panicked, she is silent.
This is Renesmee, she says, weeks later, it was all I ever gave him.
iv.so your boyfriend has no clue of how much i’ve been touching you.
It’s late, although it’s not as though it matters. She doesn’t sleep, and she doesn’t miss it. Dreams when she was human meant nightmares, shock therapy for breakfast - besides, night time is interesting. She likes drawing as a hobby, too, and the moonlight makes for interesting shadows and sharp angles.
It’s a sick sort of feeling, the double vision she gets, when something she’s seen superimposes itself onto something she’s seeing. Sort of as if the whole world had tipped on its axis.
At first she thinks it’s normal, just like when she first saw it. It’s Bella, and she’s in Edward’s room. She’s perched on someone’s lap, and they’re kissing. It’s nothing Alice hasn’t seen a thousand times before (and by seen she means with her eyes, in real time).
She hears the screech of a zipper, loud enough in the quiet house but deafening to her vampire ears. Hands reach up, pull Bella closer, lift her up slightly. A gasp. Bella’s dress (her birthday dress, Alice would know that green anywhere) slip-slides up around her hips. She shouldn’t stay. She’s seen enough of the future to be happy Bella finally got her way. Edward won’t hurt her (and if he does, she’ll only like it). They are entitled to do what they like.
And then Bella groans, twitches, moans. A name. A litany. And then she really does feel sick.
It’s not Edward.
you know it kills me (to see such a pretty girl so tired)
twilight saga movie!verse bella/carlisle 737 words r
wayoffbase
ii.forget all those places that you’ve never really been. and all those situations you somehow found yourself in.
Alice isn’t the only Cullen to visit her that year.
“He’s in South America.”
A pause. “It doesn’t rain there.”
“It isn’t raining here”
“It was. The grass is wet.” She rolls over, under him. He looks down at her, and there’s grass in her hair.
“This is his favourite meadow?”
She laughs, throws her head back. The sunlight catches her skin, and the raindrops make her sparkle. “And mine.”
Her clothes are blue today - jeans and a v neck blouse. They go nicely with the wildflowers at the edge of the clearing.
She isn’t happy. But she’s wanted, and it’s the next best thing.
When Alice arrives in Carlisle’s car, she hides the disappointment. And she doesn’t wear blue, as she wonders whether Alice could know.
vi. suck on my fingertips until you kill all my prints.
Her mother would have killed her, had she known. It seems, for all her mistakes, that Renee believes in sex only within marriage, and only with your husband.
But Bella’s dead now. And she’s got a ring on her finger. There’s nothing her mother can do.
She’s got all eternity.
i.you know it kills me to see such a pretty girl so tired. you’ve got your mother’s cheekbones and your father’s crooked smile.
She’s a pretty girl, but not a good girl.
The dress Alice has picked is beautiful. Dark green, probably straight off the catwalk. She knows Alice saw her wearing it, saw the party. She doesn’t resist Alice anymore.
She wonders if Alice saw this, if she could have.
Bella doesn’t like blood, but she likes this. It could be the sharphurtache of the glass shards, being pulled out one by one, or the shiver in her spine from the spurtsplitsplatter of the blood after. It isn’t the smell - a faint antiseptic tinge mixed with salt and iron - no freesias here. Maybe it’s the swipeslideslip of his fingers as he pulls the stitches closed. Maybe it’s just being touched. Edward doesn’t touch her, not like this.
He flicks a match, burns the blood. The smell is stronger now, and the flames are mesmerising. Something in the antiseptic has turned them almost gold, and in between there are flashes of red, until the blood burns away. She grabs his hand. He could pull away. He could do what Edward did, and throw her through glass. Cuts everywhere - she’ll need more stitches. Or maybe she’ll be too far gone, and he’ll bite her. She’s heard a rumour she tastes good.
He doesn’t pull away. He does move, though, lightning swift. On his knees. She leans back, braces herself, shifts.
She’s heard a rumour she tastes good.
iii.let your body sink into me like your favourite memory. like a line of poetry or a fucking fit of honesty.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, she thinks, and she wonders what it would be like to let them tear him apart.
v.i’ll do my best to keep you, keep you sleepy as the south. with my old watch on your wrist and my thumbs inside your mouth.
The irony nearly chokes her.
It’s called Isle Esme, he tells her, it was a gift.
How romantic, she tells him.
And then later, days gone by, bruises from their first night still apparent: it’s called Isle Esme, he tells her, it was all I ever gave her.
When Edward calls home, panicked, she is silent.
This is Renesmee, she says, weeks later, it was all I ever gave him.
iv.so your boyfriend has no clue of how much i’ve been touching you.
It’s late, although it’s not as though it matters. She doesn’t sleep, and she doesn’t miss it. Dreams when she was human meant nightmares, shock therapy for breakfast - besides, night time is interesting. She likes drawing as a hobby, too, and the moonlight makes for interesting shadows and sharp angles.
It’s a sick sort of feeling, the double vision she gets, when something she’s seen superimposes itself onto something she’s seeing. Sort of as if the whole world had tipped on its axis.
At first she thinks it’s normal, just like when she first saw it. It’s Bella, and she’s in Edward’s room. She’s perched on someone’s lap, and they’re kissing. It’s nothing Alice hasn’t seen a thousand times before (and by seen she means with her eyes, in real time).
She hears the screech of a zipper, loud enough in the quiet house but deafening to her vampire ears. Hands reach up, pull Bella closer, lift her up slightly. A gasp. Bella’s dress (her birthday dress, Alice would know that green anywhere) slip-slides up around her hips. She shouldn’t stay. She’s seen enough of the future to be happy Bella finally got her way. Edward won’t hurt her (and if he does, she’ll only like it). They are entitled to do what they like.
And then Bella groans, twitches, moans. A name. A litany. And then she really does feel sick.
It’s not Edward.