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Summary
ONE SHOT. AH. Bella is a librarian. Edward has leukemia. M for graphic images
and a touch of lemon. tattward/inkella contest submission
- 4 -
Chapter 1
Tattward & Inkella One-Shot Contest
Title: White Blood
Your pen name: ineedyoursway
Characters: Edward/Bella… with a hint of the other Cullens.
Disclaimer:don't own it
To see other entries in the Tattward & Inkella Contest, please visit the C2
page:
www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/Tattward_and_Inkella_Contest/71624
/
There are three things you should know about me.
One, my name is Isabella Marie Swan.
Two, I live in Portland, Oregon.
Three, I am not prepared, not in the slightest, for a boy named Edward Cullen.
I walk down Broadway near sunset. The Pearl district is littered with the
homeless, aching and clawing at my ankles on the sidewalk. The nearby bar that
houses the city's transsexual population is teeming with life, overflowing glamorous
disguises onto the street. I try to move briskly, uncomfortable with this part of town,
eager to get to the loft I share with my best friend Alice.
Alice and I met in college. I have been friends with her ever since.
She's annoying.
But, unfortunately, I love her.
- 5 -
I duck from awning to awning, dodging the rain. I should have taken the street
car. I should have taken an umbrella. I should have predicted the rain that falls near
every day in this god-forsaken state. But, I didn't.
So now I am stuck fighting a lost cause.
I let the rain soak into my hair, chilly water running droplets down the back of my
neck and underneath my rain jacket. I feel it on my spine.
I reach my building without much hassle. I leave a trail of water from the lobby to
our room, mounting the stairs with the huff and puff of the inactive. I open the door
quietly, as not to disturb Alice, and wring my hair out on the doormat just inside. I'm
just setting my purse on the table when a steady thump, thump, thump emanating
from Alice's bedroom catches my attention.
Jasper's over.
I let out a sigh, attempting to exhale my loneliness, and settle on the couch. I
scold myself for not remembering to buy earplugs. I turn on the TV, attempting to
alert Alice of my presence and inadvertently remind her of some manners.
Alice walks out of her bedroom, disheveled and post-coital.
"Have fun at the library, Bella?" she asks. This is sort of a ritual of ours.
"Oh my god," I reply. "It was even more exciting than yesterday!"
She giggles at my sarcasm, but on my half it is only partial. I do enjoy working at
the library. The smell of books fills my senses, and the locals of Portland Public are
polite and easy to work with. Hushing rowdy teenagers is the only downfall of the
job. That, and being a librarian has turned me into the beginnings of a crazy cat
lady.
I haven't gone on a date in 2 years, 6 months, and 22 days.
Not that I'm counting.
"So, Bella," Alice breaks me from my thoughts. Jasper lumbers into the room in
only his boxers. He nods at me over Alice's shoulder. "Do you want to come to my
house this year for Thanksgiving? I know that you usually go see your Dad, but
- 6 -
maybe he won't mind for just this time."
"Oh, um…" Meeting her family makes me feel uncomfortable.
"You don't have to, of course. But they are dying to meet my best friend." She
gives me her best pleading, my-cat-just-died-how-can-you-possibly-deny-me-anything
face, and I am forced to relent.
"I guess that would be okay," I mumble, throwing a pillow at her. She squeals and
lets it hit her, hopping up and down.
"Ali, calm yourself!" Jasper calls from the kitchen. I snicker. Poor Jasper and I
have suffered far too long.
The end of November comes much too soon.
I am wringing my hands nervously. They are sweaty. The backseat of Alice's car
sticks to my legs. I feel like pulling a 5-year-old and asking 'are we there yet?' over
and over and over again. I have to pee. I have to run. I have to hide. Jasper's hand
clutches Alice's and their arms are draped languidly over the center console. Their
comfort in each other taunts me viciously.
I look out the window, watching trees whoosh by at an uncomfortable rate. We
have passed Seattle, and are now on our way to Forks, Washington. My father,
Charlie, also lives there. I never spent much time with him, save for various holidays
and the occasional summer. Our relationship is awkward at best. I am preparing to
spend some days with him, and some days with Alice's family.
I can't tell which is worse.
"Welcome to Forks!" Alice trills from the front seat. She actually sounds excited. I
fight the urge to vomit.
We drive completely through downtown, the whole two blocks of it, and are
immersed once again in trees. Alice's childhood home is surprisingly rural, contrary
to Charlie's house in Forks' suburban neighborhoods. She takes an almost invisible
dirt road off of the main highway. The branches of huge elms lick our car ominously.
"Home sweet home," she calls, jumping out of the car and turning off the ignition
simultaneously. I walk slowly out of the back, filled with trepidation. Alice and
- 7 -
Jasper turn to me, urging me forward against my will.
Four people stand on the front porch awaiting our arrival. I recognize one as
Alice's brother Emmett. Alice told me, at one point, that he was engaged to a model
named Rosalie. She wasn't exaggerating. I assume the elderly couple beside Emmett
to be Alice's parents, Carlisle and Esme. Their classic beauty is intimidating, and I
find myself trying to hide behind Jasper and Alice.
Alice blows my cover by running up to her parents, gathering them both in one
hug. It is an impressive feat considering how small she is. Emmett engulfs her next,
and then Rosalie hugs her politely. I stand awkwardly at the side, awaiting my turn
with apprehension and doubt.
"You must be Bella," Esme addresses me. I smile and nod. Suddenly all the words
are stuck in my throat.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," Carlisle chimes in.
"Heya, Bella!" Emmett calls. We've met once. I feel like I've known him for years.
We all walk inside their enormous home. From the outside, the structure screams
empty and vacant, but on the inside it is filled with quaint, sleepy rooms and antique
furniture. The family congregates in the living room where everyone claims a spot. I
wind up sandwiched between Rosalie and Esme, causing me to fidget
uncomfortably. I cross my legs. Uncross them. Recross them.
I manage to relax after a couple hours of nonchalant, mindless chatter. I lean back
against the couch and allow my eyes to droop, taking in my company with a new,
calm air.
They are all very similar. Well-manicured, timeless and polite. They age gracefully
and hold contempt only in hidden crevices. They are picturesque and symbolic of the
American Dream. Not a hair out of place. Not a hint of trouble or doubt lines their
skin. And they are beautiful.
In the midst of my marveling all talking ceases. Their eyes look past me, behind
my shoulder, to the rounded staircase. I follow their gaze, and am shocked by what I
behold.
There is a boy. No, a man. He has wide, green eyes that he uses to look at me with
benign interest. His hair is long, auburn, a mane frayed and abused by hands and
beds. He is skinny, too skinny, and he almost cowers in on himself in protection.
- 8 -
Though he wears a long-sleeved shirt, I can see tongues of ink peak out under the
seams, etching the pure white skin of his hands and neck. I bite my lip. He backs up
a step and breaks my gaze.
"Hello, Edward. I wasn't sure if you were up to coming down today," Carlisle says
tentatively.
"I'm fine," he says so softly it is almost impossible to hear. Even so, his voice is
music.
"Bella, this is my younger brother Edward. Edward, this is my friend Bella," Alice
introduces us cautiously and I can tell the family is waiting with bated breath.
"Hello," I say quietly, cursing myself for sounding so timid.
"Hello," he replies in his soft voice. We stare at each other for a moment, and then
his pale face turns a bit green. He opens his mouth as if to say something, and then
spins around, loping up the stairs like a lion. There is a thunder of feet and then a
slam of a door, throwing finality into his departure.
I turn around, a bit awestruck, a bit nervous, and see that everyone is watching
me.
"Edward is feeling a bit sick lately, he just ran to the bathroom," Carlisle explains.
I nod in response, closing my mouth when I realize it has fallen into an 'o' of
surprise. We are uncomfortable after that, and I want to accuse Alice for never
telling me she had another brother. As if reading my mind, Alice meets my eye, her
face apologetic.
We carry stilted conversation for a few more hours, until it is time to go to bed.
Alice leads me to a guest room saved for occurrences such as mine. It is tastefully
decorated, I assume Esme's doing, but I find myself wondering where Edward's
room is. The house is so vast; the probability that we passed it is slim to none. Alice
bids me goodnight, thanks me again for coming to meet her family, and prances off
to the waiting arms of Jasper. I lie awake for hours, ages. The room is black as night.
My eyes adjust. I see nothing.
It must be very early in the morning and I am still awake. I make up my mind and
stumble out of bed. Using the wall to aid me in the darkness, I make my way
downstairs to the kitchen in an attempt to get a glass of water. I round the corner
- 9 -
and am assaulted by light. The source is the refrigerator, though a broad,
heavily-tattooed back obscures part of the luminosity.
"Oh!" I gasp out in surprise. He spins around to face me, peanut butter in one
hand and jelly in the other. He opens his mouth, flustered, but no words come out.
"I like your tattoos," I blurt out. I'm embarrassed, but it's true. I've never had the
balls to get one myself. He raises an eyebrow at me, seeming to obtain his bearings.
He closes the refrigerator door with his foot and sets the condiments down on the
island in the middle of the kitchen. I stand across from him, separated by a measly,
lonely excuse for a counter, my hands sweaty and smacked firmly on the marble.
"You like them," he repeats, skeptical. I nod my head fervently in response, trying
to portray the truth of my statement. Mostly, I just really, really don't want him to
leave. "That's funny, because I use them to keep people away." His voice sounds
louder in the silence of the house.
"Why?" I ask, intrigued.
"Want a sandwich?" He ignores my question.
"Sure," I say, not willing to call him out on it. I watch him make two sandwiches.
In reality, I'm watching the way his muscles change shape, and the way it
transforms the tattoos that encase both of his arms. I see that they trail down his
back, too, but his chest is completely clear. When he is finished he reaches over the
island to hand me one, and I read strength on the inside of his left wrist.
"Why strength?" I ask.
"Because I want to be a body builder, can't you tell," he replies, rolling his eyes.
Okay, Edward doesn't answer questions. That's okay. He takes two bites of his
sandwich and then throws it down, his face turning green again. "Excuse me," he
forces out, brushing past me so that I am only left with his scent. He is back a few
minutes later, wiping his hand arm across his mouth. He returns to his sandwich,
but eyes it like a foreign object.
"Are you sick?" I question him even though Carlisle already said he was. I don't
expect him to answer, but I ask anyway.
"Yep," he pops the 'p', completely carefree. "Don't worry, you won't catch it," he
winks and takes another hesitant bite of his sandwich. I try to stop the flurry in my
stomach that occurs after his wink. I watch him eat for a few moments, and then I
- 10 -
am forced to stifle a yawn with the back of my hand. He notices. "Go to sleep, Bella,"
he chides. My heart thumps erratically at the sound of my name on his lips.
I debate whether to protest, but another yawn building inside me forces me to
acknowledge my body's needs.
"I'll see you in the morning?" It comes out as a question.
"Maybe. But happy Thanksgiving, just incase," he says.
"Happy Thanksgiving," I reply halfheartedly, turning back to my room. He doesn't
stop me.
Thanksgiving comes and goes. I don't see Edward. I spend a day with Charlie. It is
boring. I try to find something to do. I try to act civil around Alice's family. I try to
not think about Edward. I fail on all three counts.
I finally confront Alice.
"So… Alice…" I attempt carefree. "Where has Edward been? How come he doesn't
eat with the family or anything?"
Alice practically chokes on the leftover turkey sandwich she is eating.
"Oh, Bella, I thought you knew," she places her hand over mine protectively.
"Edward's at the hospital. Esme took him early Thanksgiving morning. You were still
asleep."
"What?" I exclaim, dropping my lunch with a clatter. "Why is he in the hospital?"
Alice looks like she is in pain.
"I was afraid this would happen…" she murmurs, almost inaudibly. I am about to
throttle her throat. "Edward has leukemia, Bella." My heart pounds unsteadily. I
want to throw up. Every part of me tingles like I'm on fire. I swallow heavily, my
throat is dry. Alice's presence feels overbearing. Yet, I speak with a completely calm,
rational voice.
"Okay, let's go to the hospital."
- 11 -
The drive is silent. Only Alice's voice echoes in my mind.
We approach the hospital, a small branch of Seattle's main center. The lobby
smells like the dying and the dead. I hate hospitals. Alice grasps my hand tightly just
as someone rolls by on a wheelchair, their head lolling to the side unresponsively.
The receptionist, a plump woman with rosy cheeks and flat eyes, directs us to a
room. I'm scared. I can't deny that. I pull closer to Alice as we walk down the hall,
feet clacking against the linoleum.
We turn into the room and I see it now.
Edward is sick. He is thin and gaunt and attached to wires and tubes. His head is
held disjointedly on the pillow, eyes clenched tight, angled to the partially open
window. His tattoos peek out underneath his hospital garb, trailing along the arm
that lies on top of the blanket. I approach silently, looking at the thin excuse for a
limb. Colors and patterns are what cover the arm primarily, but I see hidden
pictures and Chinese symbols etched between the chaos. There is a witty little line
right above the crease in his elbow that reads 'needle goes here' with an arrow
pointing to where a needle is currently lodged.
I kneel down beside his bed and place my hand in his. Alice is gone and it is just
us, however unaware he may be. Right now we are the only people in the universe.
Even in this hospital room, sterile and white and disgusting in its cleanliness, it is
only us two. I pull up a chair to his bedside. It is hard plastic, but resting my hand in
Edward's allows me to find sleep quickly.
I wake slowly to the feeling of fingers running through my hair. I am disoriented,
and squint a couple times before completely opening my eyes. I lift my head to see
Edward staring back at me, his head tilted and his mouth parted slightly. He
removes his hand quickly as if shocked.
"What are you doing here?" His voice is scratchy.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I answer his question with a question.
He glares at me. I glare back. And then he surprises me by chuckling. His chest
rises and falls with the motion and it makes him look so fragile. He looks at me and
stops chuckling.
"Don't do that," he snaps, harsh.
"Don't do what?"
- 12 -
"Don't look at me with that pity. Glare at me because I'm treating you like a piece
of shit, please. I hate the pity." His statement is futile. It only makes me feel worse,
because I can imagine all of the pity he has received. He sighs and looks away,
towards the window, done with me.
"Tell me about the tattoos." He looks back to me and I feel secret victory. We
spend hours outlining his ink. The Chinese symbols are translated into faith, trust,
love, and family. He pushes himself up, much to my protest, to explain the ones
trailing down his back. I laugh at the fork. I almost cry over a lily on his shoulder, a
4-year-old he met when he was younger who passed away from leukemia two
months after their introduction. I grin at the pixie wings, a perfect symbol of Alice.
The words Carlisle and Esme are etched near the base of his spine, surrounded by
dove and peace symbols. I run my finger along the olive branch and he shudders.
There are sharp, pointed vines surrounding his upper arms, a modicum of defense.
They are contrary to his other tattoos.
There are more but I can hardly discern them all from each other. A nurse comes
in and checks Edward over. She looks at me, surprise blatant on her features, and
informs me that visiting times are over.
"I'll be back tomorrow," I tell him.
"You don't have to do that." He looks uncomfortable. He turns green, leans over,
and vomits noisily into a basin at the side of his bed. Beads of sweat appear on his
forehead, and when he looks at me all I see is his own self-disgust.
"I don't have to do anything. I want to," I assure him, giving him a light kiss just
over the prominent line of his jaw. He catches my wrist before I can turn and I am
right there, right up by his face.
"I'm no good for you, Bella. All I do is hurt people." He is broken, forcing me to
leave. It brings tears to my eyes and he huffs in annoyance, proving his own point.
"Your tattoos aren't enough to keep me away, Edward. The illness isn't enough,
either." I force him to believe me, placing two palms on either side of his clammy
face. He squints his eyes slightly and I glare back, causing him to release a beautiful
crooked smile.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I say. And then the nurse is forcing me out and I am gone,
greeting Alice in the hallway.
"Why is he in the hospital?" It is the first thing I ask. Edward wouldn't tell me.
- 13 -
"He just has the flu at the moment. The leukemia makes his immune system weak,
and they don't want the flu to progress into pneumonia. He is also awaiting another
bone marrow transplant." She explains it to me as if reading it out of a book.
"But he'll be okay, right?" I am desperate. Completely desperate.
"Oh, Bella." Her tone says it all. She holds me and we cry together.
Edward is doing great. He isn't healthy, but he isn't sick either. He is well-fed,
beautiful, and completely mine. He moves down to Portland for me. The first thing
he does is register with the hospital. The next thing he does is move in his stuff to
the loft that was formerly mine and Alice's. Alice moves out to live with Jasper. We
both feel bad, as moving in separate ways often causes friendships to dissolve, but
we keep in touch.
I watch as Edward lounges on our couch, feet dangling off the edge. His is much
too tall. I love it.
"Bella, love, come here," he calls me to him. I snuggle into his side, a magnet
drawn by unstoppable force. The couch is too small for us.
"I want you on me," I say softly. He moans quietly and his lips are in my hair and
on my forehead, my arms and neck and scalp. "Your name, I want your name on
me," I clarify. Though I want both. How I want both.
"Tattooed? Isn't that a relationship-killer?" he jokes, running his finger down the
slope of my nose. We both know relationships like ours aren't ever broken. Not even
in death.
"I want it. Plus, I'm too clean compared to you." I have been complaining about
this often. Edward and I don't look like we belong together.
"Then your name has to be on me," he decides.
We walk to the tattoo parlor, hand in hand, giddy as teenagers and triumphant in
first love. Edward walks in first. I am nervous, and eye the place skeptically. The
tattoo artists have more tattoos than Edward does, and to me that is infinity.
"What can I get for you two?" he asks us patiently.
- 14 -
"Our names on each other," Edward tells him, clutching my hand because he feels
my panic. I spot a huge needle and cower. The tattoo artist looks at us with dubious
amusement. I am sure he has seen this mistake many times before.
"All right…" he drawls. "Ladies first." He beckons me over to the chair. I sit down
tentatively, throwing mayday glances at Edward. The needle is big and I'm second
guessing my spontaneous decisions. He smiles his crooked smile at me, and I begin
to calm.
"O-on my shoulder," I stutter out. I lie on my back and feel him prepare the
needle. It buzzes and I look away.
"Name?" he asks Edward.
"Fred."
"Edward!" I hiss out. Edward is laughing hysterically, clutching his sides. I,
personally, am fuming. The man could have put the wrong name on me!
"Edward, my name is Edward," he corrects himself, chuckling. "I like it when I
make you angry," he whispers in my ear, just for me. I glare, but only for a moment.
I can never stay angry at him when he's smiling like that. I feel the needle touch my
back and I am distracted. It hurts, but isn't painful. I still clutch Edward's hand in
fear.
All in all it takes about a half an hour. When the man announces he is done, I am
ecstatic. I jump up to look in the mirror, elated to see Edward's name across my
formerly-untouched skin. I beam at Edward and he is grinning at me, his expression
unfathomable. The artist puts a bandage over the fresh tattoo and then it is
Edward's turn.
"Where do you want it?" he asks Edward. To my surprise, Edward peels off his
short-sleeved shirt. He points to his clean, completely bare chest. Right above his
heart. And then I am crying. I throw myself at him; wrap my arms around his neck in
love and want and everything. Because that is what he is to me. He wraps his arms
around my waist, carefully steering clear of the tattoo, holding me tight.
"I love you," he whispers into my ear, so quiet, so Edward.
"I love you, too," I whisper back and it's a whimper. The tattoo artist clears his
throat awkwardly, and I reluctantly free Edward's neck. I feel his touch burning into
the skin where my shirt doesn't quite reach my pants.
- 15 -
When the needle touches Edward's skin, he smiles.
I buck my hips into his hand, unable to contain myself. He is smiling, sweaty,
hovering over me, doing everything he can to make me whimper and call out his
name. I grasp at his skin, trace my fingers over his sleeves of tattoos and over my
name specifically. He bites my ear and that is the last straw. I am there for him,
coming for him, calling and living and dying and screaming and everythingfor him.
I pant, trying to calm myself down as I slump deeper into the pillows. There are
days when we don't leave this bed. Those are the best days. He strokes the sides of
my face, his chest heaving, and it doesn't look sickly anymore. It is easy to pretend
that he's not sick, that he's perfectly normal, when we're together completely.
He hisses when I reach down to stroke him. He ducks his head into the spot over
my shoulder, licking, sucking, biting. I tremble, gripping him harder, feeling him
shift underneath me.
"Edward," I moan his name, aching to have him inside me.
He strokes his hands down the sides of my face and down to my stomach, pausing
to cup my breasts and knead them. I arch up, up into him as he whispers kisses
along my face. I taste the salty sweat on his skin, run my tongue over the pointed
barbs of his forearm, clutch his neck and tug his hair.
Finally, oh finally, he thrusts inside me. I trace my hand over the muscles at the
pit of his stomach, the deep 'v' coming between us, meeting my own skin, slapping
hard. He kisses me passionately, biting and pulling at my lower lip as he hovers
above me, resting on his forearms. I press the lines of my body into his, marveling in
the way we match like puzzle pieces, perfectly designed for each other.
"Bella… you're so tight," he moans as we rough each other up, climbing the
mountain to the brink.
We stumble over, falling hard, rushing into each other, collapsing in a tangle of
limbs and exhaustion.
He runs his fingers across the length of my spine, up and down, as we curve into
each other. It is late and the moonlight leaks into our window, casting wayward
beams of light across our naked bodies. I pull the blankets up and over us, listening
as a gentle patter of rain begins to fall against the glass. The white noise lulls me,
- 16 -
gentle and soothing, into a deep sleep.
Two weeks later I come home to a silent house.
I thunder around loudly, taking off my soaked rain boots and coat, slamming my
purse on the counter, opening and shutting the door, creating a storm of an
entrance. Usually, Edward greets me at the door. He's not here. My intuition is
screaming that something is not right. I try to write it off, telling myself that he just
went to the drug store, or paid a visit to Alice. I glance around the entryway to see if
there are any notes left from him. Nothing.
"Edward?" I call out tentatively. No answer.
I walk down the hallway to our bedroom, finding nothing except the remnants of
our morning in bed. My heart is pounding erratically as I make my way to the
kitchen, the only unchecked room in our small loft. I am not prepared for this.
There is a trickle of ominous blood lurking out from behind the island in the
center of our kitchen. Its small amount is deceiving, for when I turn the corner there
is blood. So much blood.
Edward holds a dishtowel, completely soaked through, to his head. He lies on the
floor, skirting along the line of unconsciousness. I see his eyes roll back, attempt to
refocus, and roll back again. The blood isn't clotting. I am panicking, frozen,
shocked, afraid. The breath comes fast in and out of my lungs and I will myself not
to join him on the floor. I know better than to move him.
I manage to get my fingers to respond to my brain, and I open up my cell phone to
dial 911. They assure me they are on their way, and then I dial Alice. I can barely
get the words out by the time she answers, and I realize it is because I am sobbing.
"What's going on? Bella? What's happening?" She is panicking now. She knows
that this reaction is only elicited by something going terribly wrong with her
brother.
"Alice… come q-quick, I need help." I am crying into the phone.
"I'm on my way."
I crouch down beside Edward, grabbing as many dishtowels as we own, pressing
- 17 -
them into his head. I can't even see the cut. There is too much blood. His eyes are
flickering unnervingly.
"Edward, come on, look at me, stay with me, Edward, please," I beg him. I am
pleading. I see him try to focus on my face. I am rocking back and forth on my heels,
blood soaking into my socks and the cuffs of my jeans. I am swimming, drowning.
I hear sirens in the distance. "They're almost here, baby, it's okay. It'll be okay."
My voice is shaking and I know I don't sound confident at all. Suddenly I hear my
name and he is looking at me for just a moment. It is all I need. "That's right,
Edward, stay with me. It'll be okay. Everything will be okay." The paramedics are
rushing in and they find us, lying in the Red Sea. They start asking me questions
that I can barely comprehend, and then I am pulled away into the waiting arms of
Alice. We are both in shock, watching as they lift Edward onto a gurney, wrapping
his head in tight cloth that is quickly tainted red. We follow the ambulance to the
hospital, but we are ordered to stay in the waiting room.
Alice provides me with a change of clothes, considering I look like a murder
witness. We are silent for hours. The ambiance of St. Vincent's hospital is stifling.
"What happened?" Alice asks, deathly quiet.
"I don't know. I wasn't there. I should have been there…" I am rocking, my knees
to my chest, the hard plastic waiting room chair vibrating.
We are silent for a few more hours, until a doctor comes out and calls Alice's name
only. She stands up and I walk with her, approaching the doctor.
"Edward is okay," he says. I feel all the air whoosh from my lungs. Alice's step
falters. We were prepared for the worst. "It looks as though he fainted and hit his
head on a counter. Because of his leukemia, as you both know, the clotting was slim
to none. We got it under control, and he received a few transfusions. We ask that he
stays in the hospital for a few more days, just to monitor him. And then he is free to
go home." We both hug the doctor, clutching him tight, thanking him for his hard
work.
"Can we see him?" I ask, wringing my hands together, anxious.
"Are you family?" he asks me cautiously.
"No… not technically… but I'm his girlfriend. We live together," I answer, willing
him to understand.
- 18 -
"I'm sorry, only family member at this time." Finality.
Alice gives me a one-armed hug, moves to meet Edward, and leaves me sitting
alone in the waiting room.
I am allowed to see him two days later.
I thunder down the hallway, dodging doctors and nurses, patients and
psychiatrists, to find him sleeping. His head is wrapped with layer upon layer of
white gauze, shielding his auburn mane except for a few strands that have managed
to leak out. His hair is always untamable. I pull up a chair and run my fingers over
his jaw lightly. He looks at peace. He doesn't look sick, just hurt. Bruised.
He wakes up a few hours later with a tranquil smile on his face.
"Oh, hello," he greets me like any other day.
"We have to get married," I cry. "They wouldn't let me in here. We have to." At
first, he is shocked. Then one corner of his mouth turns up mischievously.
"Are you proposing to me?"
"Edward." I start to bawl. He furrows his brow and he reaches up to rub the tears
away from my cheeks.
"Bella, I was just joking. Of course I'll marry you," his voice is soothing, but the
comfort is misplaced.
"No, Edward, I thought you were going to die," I say, clutching his forearm, right
over the Chinese symbol of 'trust.'
"I am going to die. If not now, later. I'm so sorry," he strokes the side of my face
and I can see that he has accepted this. He may have, but I have not. He was
diagnosed when he was 12, and if he has survived as long as 24, he can keep going.
"Come here," he whispers. I climb on the bed and wrap myself around him, carefully
avoiding the wires and tubes.
Alice hires a priest to marry us on the hospital bed. She witnesses. It doesn't
matter that I don't have a huge wedding, with all of my family and friends. It doesn't
matter that I don't have an elaborate dress, party favors and catered dishes. The
only thing that matters is that Edward is here, now, and that this is the time we have
together. That is the only thing that matters.
- 19 -
Our son Jude is conceived the night Edward is released from the hospital.
After birth, the first thing he is tested for is leukemia.
I have this thing where I have to document everything. It's a sense of immediacy
that comes from Edward's condition. For example, I probably have over one hundred
pictures of Edward holding baby Jude. I have a hundred more of Edward attempting
to teach toddler Jude to walk (he fails miserably, Jude doesn't walk on his own until
18 months). There are pictures from family trips to the zoo, Jude sitting on Edward's
hospital bed after he has a bone marrow transplant, eating lunch at the grey Oregon
coast.
One day, after Jude's first day of kindergarten, we bring him to the tattoo parlor
and taunt him with a needle. He runs and hides behind Edward's legs, just like his
mother. The tattoo artist, the same man from ages ago, commends our relationship.
I am surprised he remembers us.
Edward goes first this time, getting the name 'Jude' scripted elegantly underneath
my name. I get 'Jude' and 'hope' written together on my hip. This time the needle
doesn't hurt so badly. It almost seems surreal. After we are all patched up and ready
to go, Jude forces us to take him to Ben and Jerry's. He is utterly split when he sees
Saint Cupcake and the ice cream shop side by side.
"Momma! Let's get a cupcake." His little hand, still chubby with the baby fat of
childhood, pulls me to the right.
"Jude, I thought you wanted ice cream," Edward says, raising his eyebrows. Jude
runs right and left. Other couples look at him, passively amused. The sun is shining,
a rare commodity in Portland, and the sidewalk glitters the sparkles of a former
rain. Edward's skin, unusually pale, is almost translucent in the light. I pull him to
me with the desperate need to kiss him. He laughs and wraps his arms around me,
while Jude pushes apart our PDA.
"Ice cream. I decided," Jude says confidently.
"Are you sure?" I ask him playfully. He looks undecided for a moment, and then
stares at Ben and Jerry's again.
"Yessssss," he whines, pulling our hands into the shop.
- 20 -
We feed each other ice cream in blissful virtual reality.
Edward gets sick again. I worry about him, but he assures me that he is fine. It is
just like all the other times, and he'll get better in a few weeks. At least that is what
he says. I take Jude to get tested again, just incase. He is still all clear. While I am at
work and Jude is at school, I worry constantly. Ever since the time Edward hit his
head, my patience for leaving him home alone is almost nonexistent. The doctors
assure me that Edward is strong. That he is well past his original life expectancy, at
29, and he doesn't show any signs of getting worse.
It is practically remission, except that it isn't.
That's what the doctors say.
I come home to find Edward curled over the toilet, one with the porcelain, similar
to our first meeting. Jude is watching cartoons in the living room. Spongebob echoes
loudly. He looks up at me, winces, vomits. I rub his back up and down soothingly. I
hum the theme to Yesterday, by the Beatles, his favorite song. I hold him for hours
until I am forced to put Jude to bed.
"I'll be right back," I whisper into his ear. Jude is asleep on the couch. I pick him
up and take him to his small bedroom, a child's epitome encased in Jimmy Neutron,
Spongebob, and Danny Phantom. I lay him down on his bed, and he is still sleeping.
He curls his arms under the pillow, one hand tucked under his chin, breathing
heavily. I kiss his forehead and return to Edward, his back resting against the edge
of the bathtub.
I feel his forehead. It is too hot. He quakes under my touch.
"We need to go to the hospital," I tell him. He shakes his head vehemently in
response.
"I'll be fine, it'll go away." Suddenly he is begging me, yearning for me to join his
denial.
"I'm going to call Alice, ask her to watch Jude for tonight."
"Bella, please." He grips my hand and his touch is clammy.
"Come on." I help him stand and he relents, resting heavily on me just to walk. I
- 21 -
have never seen it this bad before. I call Alice on the way out to the car, and she
says she'll be over right away. I thank her repeatedly and help Edward into the car.
We sit in the emergency room with the other sick families. There is a father with a
huge gash in his forehead, easily fixed with a few stitches and a band-aid. There is a
young girl with a penny up her nose, easily fixed with a pair of tweezers and some
pain medication. There is a drug addict suffering from an overdose, easily fixed with
a stomach pump and some nutrients. And then there is Edward, fighting for his life
with hardly an immune system to fight with him, no fix in sight.
We are called before everyone else, and receive dirty looks. I am jealous of their
ignorance. Edward is rushed ahead of me, and I am not allowed to follow. Still. I
want to scream.
A few hours later the doctor comes out, hanging his head heavily.
"He has pneumonia," he says softly. "It doesn't look like his body can fight it
anymore."
I am silent, and then I am screaming.
"And this is a hospital! There is nothing you can do? Are you kidding me!" Angry
tears are spouting from my eyes. I am restrained by hospital staff, but not moved.
"This is a joke. You know he has a 5-year-old child at home? Do you know that?"
"Would you like to see him?" he asks, beckoning the staff to let me go. He has
seen this many times. I nod, still furious, and follow him down the hall.
The sight of Edward completely evaporates my anger. He is sick. He looks so sick.
I run over to him, kneel by his side, and cradle his face in my hands. He smiles at
me.
"You can't let this get to you, okay?" When he speaks his breathing is labored.
"You have to take care of Jude, and be a good Mom to him. And make sure he gets
tested so that if he has it, you can eliminate it early. Don't break down, okay? You're
stronger than that."
"But, Edward." My voice is already broken and I am crying. I don't like this tone of
speaking, this finality, this means to an end. He is too young. He is only 29. He has a
whole life ahead of him. And the doctors said he was doing so well…
"No, none of that. Not that pity. Know that I'll love you always. And I'll see you
- 22 -
again someday," he whispers his last phrase out.
Edward lasts a week after he stops speaking. His family flies down from
Washington, crowds around his hospital bed, mourns and takes turns watching Jude.
He is to be buried in Forks, along with the rest of his ancestor's graves. The funeral
is brief. I can't help but hate the decrepit rock that represents Edward's life.
This boy, he filled me with such doubt, such fear, and such overwhelming love,
that I can't even regret a single second.
Jude and I visit his grave every year at Thanksgiving. We put flowers on his grave,
give him updates on Jude's school life and my exciting library life. Alice helps me a
lot. She is my saving grace. She helps me to get back on my feet, continue my life.
She arranges photo albums, hundreds of pages filled with picture after picture.
Edward and Jude on the swings. Edward feeding Jude. Edward and Jude visiting me
at the library.
There comes a day when I finally, finally, know what I have to do.
I print a picture off of the computer and bring it to the tattoo parlor, a symbol. A
promise.
The tattoo artist, the same man from all those times ago, recognizes the orange
ribbon, the leukemia symbol. I want it right above my heart.
"Your husband, he had leukemia?" he asks cautiously.
"Yes," I answer sadly, running my fingers over his name. The pain may ebb and
flow, but I know I will never stop hurting.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
When the needle touches my skin, I smile.
Yesterday love was such an easy game to play
Now I need a place to hide away
Oh, I believe in yesterday
- 23 -
-The Beatles
Dedicated to: cancer patients, cancer survivors, cancer families, cancer
lovers, cancer fighters.
Thanks for reading. (by the way, I'm not a doctor. I'm a professional
Wikipedia reader. So if the leukemia stuff is off in any way, I apologize
profusely.)
- 24 -
contest info
Oh hey darlings
White Blood placed 7th out of 26 in public vote, and 3rd out of 5 in judge's choice!
Woo hooooo!!
I love all of your reviews. They leave me speechless in their sincerity.
I am unworthy.
Lots of love,
EDWARD'S POV ---- CHAPTER 3
- 25 -
Chapter 3
Edward's POV
There are two things you should know about me.
One, I am sick.
Two, I would give anything, anything, to be normal for Bella Swan.
All I want is for people to treat me like nothing is wrong. I want my mother to hug
me just to say 'good morning'. I want my father to pat my back, proud of my
achievements. I want my brother and sister to call to say 'hi' versus the inevitable
'how are you feeling'. I want to be able to throw this measly Nerf ball a few times,
and not feel winded afterwards. I chuck it at the wall. It bounces off and rolls under
my bed. I feel nauseous. I sigh and walk to the bathroom. Rinse and repeat.
I'm still clutching the toilet when I hear a light rap on the bathroom door.
"Sweetie, are you okay in there?" Esme asks me. I grimace at the pet name.
"Fine," I call back. It's a lie but I don't really give a shit.
"Your sister just called. She's almost here," she informs me through the door. I
nod and then realize she can't see me.
"Okay," I reply.
"You don't have to come down, you know. If you aren't feeling up to it."
She is always giving me an out. I hate the out. I wish she would just force me to
greet my sister, and forgive me when I vomit all over her new shoes. I hear the light
clank of her feet as she walks down the hall, descending the stairs. I heave myself
up and trudge back to my bedroom, shutting the door and locking it. I feel like a
teenager, trapped in my own house with no means of escape. It's ridiculous, really. I
have just accepted the fact that I will die here. After all, I have no friends. No lovers.
No roommates or pets. I have family, clinical in their caring. I figure this life is just
some cruel, tedious pit stop on the way to something better. Or I'll be sent to
- 26 -
purgatory due to the fact that I hurt everyone who cares about me. Catholic or not.
I hear a car pull up, tires crunching the gravel. The slamming of the car doors
echoes in my brain, round and round. I can't remember the last time I ate.
The voices are muted and dull, but they still manage to leak through the window. I
pull myself to my perch, the large pane of glass that overlooks the front side of the
house, and watch.
I see Alice, tiny and petite, yet inversely loud and obnoxious, run towards the
family congregated on the porch. Jasper shadows Alice, attempting to dispel as
much of her emotion as he can, while playing with the bottom of her dress. I am
about to turn away when someone else, someone completely and totally unexpected,
appears from behind the car.
And, oh.
The air leaves my chest in one huge gust and I am awestruck and staring,
suddenly grateful for my hiding spot behind the blinds. Her hair is a deep brown,
thick and tumbling down her delicate frame. I ache to run my fingers through it. She
looks nervous, biting her lip, downcast eyes, clutching the hood of the car as if to
keep herself from floating away. I wish she would look up at me, right to this very
window, just so I can see her eyes. I wish she could sense this feeling, this blatant
electricity that seems to be emanating from every part of me, penetrating the house
and sky and earth as if nothing solid is in existance. She steps forward onto the
roofed porch and I can no longer see her. I am empty, and I realize that I have been
suppressing violent nausea. I race to the bathroom and make it in the nick of time,
flushing right before the front door opens. I return to my dwelling but leave the door
cracked open so I can eavesdrop on conversation that will hopefully drift up from
downstairs.
I relax by the door, leaning my back against the wall and listening to the constant
hum of human voices. Every now and then boisterous laughter erupts from the
group, and I find myself wondering what the joke was. Or maybe if she told the joke.
Or maybe if she laughed, smiling and carefree, right along with them.
My body hums, itching to walk downstairs just for a moment, wanting desperately
just to see her eyes, maybe even a smile. I obviously can't stay. She probably has a
boyfriend, a family, a life, anything that is infinitely better than being friends with a
perpetual hospital patient. But she is so beautiful, I just can't help myself.
- 27 -
I descend the stairs slowly, eyes on my feet, hand clutching the railing. I know
exactly when I turn the corner, for everyone turns silent. I freeze and lift my head
just in time to see her face me. I can't look at anyone else. I'm staring blatantly and
it's obvious. There is a piece of hair stuck to the lip gloss on her lips and if I were
normal and good, I would reach over and brush it away, caressing the ivory soft skin
of her cheek in turn. Her eyes are brown. Not brown. Deep endless honey chocolate
that I would dive into if I could. They hold hidden secrets that lurk just underneath
the surface. I want her to tell me everything, but I am also feeling sick. I take a step
back.
"Hello, Edward. I wasn't sure if you were up to coming down today," Carlisle
mercifully breaks the silence.
My eyes don't leave hers. She looks curious, her brow furrowed, trying to figure
me out. She doesn't know. She doesn't know.
"I'm fine," I reply, hoping to death Carlisle doesn't blow my cover right there.
"Bella, this is my younger brother Edward. Edward, this is my friend Bella," Alice
breaks our silence but I can tell she doesn't want to. I'm really feeling sick but she's
opening her mouth to speak and God help me if I leave before I hear her voice.
"Hello." That's all she wrote. Cordial and lovely and music to my ears.
"Hello," I reply, and she smiles because she doesn't know. I hold out as long as I
can, but I am unable to suppress my needs. I turn around before I can completely
humiliate myself, and run upstairs. I lock the door to the bathroom and allow myself
to let out frustrated tears. The toilet mocks me through an invisible chain that
connects us, never allowing me freedom. Bella's shock, rendered from my immediate
departure, floats behind my eyes. Bella. Beautiful Bella. I would not allow my
troubles to mar her perfection. I drift into uneasy sleep and wake sometime later,
the bathroom completely black due to lack of windows. I rub my eyes and my
stomach growls for food that I know won't stay down. I walk to the kitchen in a hazy
dream, my path memorized from years of practice.
The light from the refrigerator wakes me up slightly, but I still jump when a
surprised "Oh!" suddenly resounds in the darkness. I whip around, wielding
sandwich ingredients like weapons.
Bella stands before me, awash from the glow of the refrigerator, casting
unintentional lovely rays. I watch her plump lips that are in the perfect shape of a
round circle, change shape. All I want to do is catapult over the counter, attack her,
- 28 -
and make love to her at the same time. I am also waiting for her to back away from
me. And then I remember she doesn't know.
"I like your tattoos," she says. I have to remind myself how to breathe. How to
speak to people outside of my family. My voice is quiet and cracks easily from
disuse.
"You like them," I repeat. She nods her head in response, though I am doubtful.
While these tattoos are currently the highlight of my existence, my wild attempts to
free myself from the confines of my humanity, they are intimidating at best. I
distinctly remember every hijack of Carlisle's car, every drive to Seattle, every
sensation of the wind rushing through my hair as I kept the window open, speeding
even though I didn't even have a license.
The needle is a caress, contrary to the hospital pokes and sticks of tests, it
whispers upon my skin like a fairy, lightly sprinkling its ink and art, branding me for
my short forever.
And then I remember Carlisle and Esme's faces upon my return. The dread. The
fear. The early signs of grey and wrinkles that I have caused throughout the years...
I suddenly remember where I am and who I am talking to. "That's funny, because I
use them to keep people away."
To keep you away.
To keep you from me.
To keep you from getting hurt.
"Why?" she asks. She doesn't know.
"Want a sandwich?" I attempt to redirect the conversation and commend myself
on my own nonchalance, though the rapid beating of my heart attempts to betray
me.
"Sure," she says. I focus on the peanut butter and jelly, versus the ideal view of
her pale white skin.
"Why strength?" she asks. At first I am confused, and then I remember I put it on
my wrist. My first tattoo ever. Figures.
"Because I want to be a body builder, can't you tell?" In a freaky, perverse sort of
- 29 -
way I want to get Bella mad. Angry. I want her to glare at me and say mean things
and be completely spiteful. I also want it to be my fault. I have a feeling that it is
near impossible for her to be vindictive, but I make the attempt regardless.
Everyone is always too afraid, too sad, to show proper response to my rude
behavior. She doesn't say anything. And... oh. "Excuse me," I manage to say before
bolting to the bathroom. Up comes the sandwich. My attempt to return with any
shred of dignity is futile when I see the pity on her face.
"Are you sick?" she asks. I fight a grimace. I know she is referring to the fact that I
am constantly running to the bathroom, but that question never ceases to make me
wince.
"Yep," I say with a lie of a smile on my face. "Don't worry, you won't catch it." She
looks at me with wide eyes and I feel awful. Really bad. Not just sick physically, but
emotionally. Lying to Bella makes me feel sick, even if it is a lie of omission. I force
down as much sandwich as possible, and look up in time to see her yawn.
"Go to sleep, Bella," I say. I love saying her name. Bella, Bella, Bella. She hesitates
and then nods, turning around. Suddenly, she is back, as if from second thought.
"I'll see you in the morning?" she asks. I want to scream out 'yes', promise her that
I'll be there, yet I know I can't. But, she doesn't know.
"Maybe. But Happy Thanksgiving, just in case," I reply.
"Happy Thanksgiving," she mumbles. And then she is gone.
I follow her path a few minutes later with heavy limbs and heart. I pause in the
hall and watch as the light is turned off from the slit underneath the door. Barely
satisfied, I turn the corner and head to my own room. I fall on top of the blankets,
suddenly feeling much worse. But I want to stay for Thanksgiving. Bella will be
leaving after that and I'll never see her again. I need Thanksgiving.
I lay on my bed, chest up, back down, and ponder my magnetic pull to her. Her
sweetness; I am pretty sure that is my main draw. I can feel her selflessness, her
stability, her silence. She is neutral ground, forever pure, ivory silk of the rarest
kind. And as I shake, tremors racking my body, all I can think about is how soft her
skin would feel under mine, and the number of variations I could discover in her
smile. I am heating rapidly and my breath is coming quickly. I know these signs well,
but I want to stay for Thanksgiving.
It must be early morning, for I hear birds and coffee and footsteps padding lazily
- 30 -
down the hall. I lay in a haze of freesia and sweat, unblinking and immovable.
My door cracks open.
"Edward?" It is Esme. Her voice is muted. "Oh my... Carlisle..."
I just want to stay for Thanksgiving.
I just want to see Bella, the epitome of everything I want but will never have.
And then I am gone.
I wake up several times, but only for moments. The ones that are so vividly
unclear that they hardly exist. I manage to convince Carlisle and Esme to leave, to
enjoy Thanksgiving with the family. At earlier dates they would have protested
vehemently, but they are now passive to my antics. It is no longer worth the
struggle.
I feel Bella before I open my eyes. I know it is her, and I am disgusted. I am
disgusted because she has to see me like this. I am disgusted because she knows.
My eyes flicker open, and I see that she is asleep. Her face is relaxed and carefree,
resting against the starched hospital blanket, facing me. She breathes deeply, her
body resting awkwardly in a plastic chair as she leans forward. Her hair, chocolate
brown and draping her face, looks soft. It tempts me. I reach over, stretching so I
can run my fingers through it. I hesitate after that first touch, but she stays asleep. I
sift through it again, feeling the sensations of her hair sliding through my fingers.
And then she is awake. I pull back.
"What are you doing here?" I don't want you to see me like this.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I don't want you to look at me like they do.
She's glaring at me, and, thank God, she's still my Bella. My Bella? And her glare
is so cute that I laugh.
Oh, there's the pity. Damn it.
"Don't do that."
"Don't do what?" She is innocent because it is her first experience with knowing.
- 31 -
"Don't look at me with that pity. Glare me because I'm treating you like a piece of
shit, please. I hate the pity." Yet, her face drops farther. It is peculiar and cruel,
seeing her perfect features shaped into dismay, especially knowing that I have
caused it. Ashamed, I bow my head and look away from her. She is quiet for a few
moments and I expect her to leave. It isn't like I have anything with which to bind
her to me. I want her to stay and leave at exactly the same time.
Who am I kidding? I want her to stay. I need her to stay.
"Tell me about your tattoos," she says suddenly. I glance back, surprised by the
line of conversation. Rarely anyone asks about my ink, for obvious reasons. We
spend the rest of the visiting hours outlining them, though I steer clear of any of the
more brutally symbolic ones, save for the Lily. She is here, therefore she needs to
know what she is getting into. The nurse cuts our time short, impeding by making
everything I am trying to 'hide' so blatantly obvious. She checks the wires and
machines, administers some mystery cocktail of drugs into my IV, and tells Bella, in
no uncertain terms, to leave.
Bella looks at me, expression unreadable.
Goodbye, Bella.
"I'll be back tomorrow." What?
"You don't have to do that." Now? Really? Can I not just have one normal
goodbye? I turn my body away from Bella's and heave. When I turn around I see the
pity again, like a broken record.
"I don't have to do anything. I want to." She leans over to me and doesn't stop. I
hold my breath and close my eyes, feeling her lips on my cheek. It happens too fast,
it is too brief, and my skin is tingling. Before I lose myself, I catch her, needing to
give her an out.
"I'm no good for you, Bella. All I do is hurt people," I say. Her hand trembles and I
see tears spout at the corners of her eyes. I decide then that I never want to see her
cry ever again.
"Your tattoos aren't enough to keep me away, Edward. The illness isn't enough,
either." Her voice is shaking and she's touching me again, a desperate salve to
parched skin. I glare at her because she is stubborn, and I am feeling too tired to
hold her to me and never let go. She glares back, much to my amusement.
- 32 -
"I'll see you tomorrow," she whispers and the nurse ushers her out.
I watch her until she leaves my sight, and then I dream of happy endings.
"I don't know if I like the idea of you moving to Portland," Esme says, resting a
hand on my shoulder. She has been saying this for the past 48 hours, at least.
Carlisle sighs and wraps his arm around Esme's waist, pulling her towards him and
away from me. I have just finished loading the last of my belongings into a truck
Bella rented just to take my stuff to the airport. She is meeting me at the airport in
Portland, PDX, for I refused to let her buy a ticket just to fly me down with her.
When Bella left after Thanksgiving it was... hard. I don't really know how we
managed a long distance relationship, as we barely knew each other, but we
somehow succeeded. I told, tell, her everything.
I know I love her.
So much.
"We sent the hospital all of your information." Leave it to Carlisle. "Still, check and
make sure they've received it."
"I will, I promise," I respond, hovering anxiously near the car door. I have been
waiting for this day, unconsciously, for 22 years. I never actually thought that,
realistically, I would leave. In fact, realistically, I probably wouldn't have. Either I
wouldn't have made it or I would've lived out my days in my bedroom, barren of
most human contact. Until I met Bella, of course. My Bella.
My parents, my whole universe up until my fateful meeting, stand timidly by the
door, as if afraid of to say goodbye. They have done so much for me, and still do.
And I am eternally thankful, though I find it hard to voice. They both approach me
together, a united force, surrounding me in a paternal love of affection. I hold them
close, attempting to prove my feelings through touch.
"Thank you," I whisper, my voice starched and emotional.
"Don't hesitate to call," Carlisle says, clapping me on the back. Esme wraps her
arms around me, pulling herself into my chest. After a few moments Carlisle helps
me extricate myself. This is as normal as a student going off to college for the first
time, except I'm not normal.
- 33 -
"I won't," I vow while meandering back towards the car. I have a long drive to the
closest major airport in Vancouver, BC. With one last half-grimace half-smile, I hop
into the car and start the engine. Carlisle and Esme wave to me from the porch
awning as I back down the drive. I watch them in my rear-view mirror until the
house is hidden behind trees.
I hate airports. I hate airports almost as much as I hate hospitals. There are too
many people, too many crying babies, too many annoyed travelers and uptight
businessmen. I am shoved three times just trying to get through the revolving door,
and eventually I lose count. Going through security is nightmarish and waiting at the
gate makes me itch with impatience. I sit in the middle of two people that are
entirely too big for their seats, and I am afraid to get up and pee, as it would require
one of them to move.
Yet, I can't stop beaming. I am grinning as the plane descends, as I wait
impatiently for the passengers to get their carry-ons, as I trek to baggage claim
through the sea of people. I get strange looks. Young children point blatantly at my
ink. But I don't care because I'm positively exultant. I turn on my phone and hit
Bella's speed dial number. It is number one. I am such a dork.
"Edward?" She answers on the first ring. I chuckle because it is always a question,
like it is possible that someone has stolen my cell phone and dialed her number
instead of it actually being me.
"Bella, I'm at baggage claim," I reply with a smile, staring at the awful 70s-era
carpeting.
"Good! I'm pulling up right now, hold on, damn it -- get out of the road dumb ass!"
I let out a guffaw at Bella's measly attempt at road rage, and cart my luggage
outside. I spot her decrepit old truck immediately; the clunky red automobile sticks
out like a sore thumb amidst the varying array of Prius. She throws it in park and
runs out, almost slamming her door into a passing car. We jog to each other and she
trips on the curb, stumbling. I catch her just in time to see her blush a deep red
because of her fumble. I grin, cupping her face in my hands as she clutches the
fabric of my shirt.
"Hello," we both whisper at the same time, breathless and grinning like idiots. I
brush her hair back from her face and then we are kissing.
There aren't words to describe how I feel when I am kissing Bella. There is simply
a tumult of emotions, causing the blood to pump feverishly through my veins, and
- 34 -
my hands to crush her to me as close as possible. She smells of freesia and
strawberries and summer days and love and Bella. And I want it all.
"I missed you," she breathes once we break apart. I am startled by her perfection
and her closeness, the gold flecks in her eyes glinting in the hazy sunlight.
I love you."I missed you, too," I reply instead, running my hand down her slender
neck, curved upward to meet my eye.
She opens her mouth and then closes it, grinning a sly smile.
"What?" I ask suspiciously, one corner of my mouth pulling up reflexively.
"Nothing," she says quickly. "I'm just happy, is all."
"Well, I'm happy too."
I love you.
Alice, Jasper, Bella and I window shop. We walk down NW 23rd at dusk, people
watching and making fun of each other. I clutch Bella's hand tightly in my own as
she whispers something into Alice's ear, causing them both to giggle. Suddenly she
turns to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and looking up through her
eyelashes. She flutters them innocently and coos my name. I have fallen for this
many times; she wants something. Jasper looks at me and smirks.
"Alice and I reallywant to get some cheesecake," she says, smiling sweetly and
holding me.
"Okay...?" I reply, failing to see the catch.
"At Papa Haydn," she clarifies, nodding her head to a small shop the street up. It
is filled with people; the line has to be at least a block long. "But the thing is, Alice
really has to pee. Like, right now. So could you wait in the line for us? With Jasper?"
"Hey!" Jasper calls out in protest, but is ignored.
I look at her and sigh, rolling my eyes. I can never deny her anything.
"Whatever Bella wants..." I trail off as she squeals, hooking arms with Alice and
- 35 -
leaving Jasper and I in the dust. I see my name just under the strap of her dress.
Jasper looks at me sideways and glares.
"We are so whipped, man," he mutters as we find our place in the back of the long
line. I simply shrug.
Watching Bella eat cheesecake makes the half hour wait very worth it. Her lips
wrap delicately around the knife, and pull, pull. She licks her lips after each bite,
closes her eyes slightly, looks slyly at me.
"Have a taste," she whispers, leaning over the table and kissing me, her tongue
wrapping languidly around my own. She tastes like cheesecake, delicious and sweet.
"Bella..." I whisper when we break apart, my voice husky and low. She just smiles
an evil half smile at me, and goes back to eating her dessert. I look over to see Alice
and Jasper snickering at us like school children, sharing bites of chocolate mousse.
We take the bus back to our apartment, and barely make it through the front door.
I push her against the door and she wraps her legs around my waist. I slide my
hand up her thigh as her dress rides up, higher and higher to her hips. I run my
tongue up her neck, tasting her skin mingling with salty sweat. She grasps
desperately at my shirt, unbuttoning the buttons as I push up into her, separated by
a thin layer of clothing. I run my hands down her arms and we sink to the floor,
swimming in heated breaths and moans and desperate pleas of love and adoration.
She slides out of her dress, sweet and slow, white on white and soft as Egyptian
cotton. She whimpers as I lick my way up her leg, tasting every beloved part of her.
"Edward, I need you," she breathes but I can't unbutton my pants and touch the
expanse of her at the same time. My angel, she reaches down and pulls off my pants,
stroking my length with her delicate fingers. I moan and thrust into her touch, my
forearms surrounding her face in an attempt to dispel some of my weight. She is wet
for me; I feel it with my fingertips and taste it on my tongue. A feverish ecstasy
surrounds me as I enter her, pulling her as close to me as possible. She cries out
and I silence her with my mouth, reaching behind her to touch my inked name, now
as habitual as breathing. Mine. I dig my fingernails into the hardwood floor as I
come, falling with her, everything with her.
I am sitting on the couch watching some Nova program that is boring as fuck. I try
to stifle the feeling of being left behind when Bella goes off to work, but it isn't easy.
I feel uncomfortable about it; I wish I could retain a job myself. But I can't. Because
- 36 -
I'm not normal. Plus, no reasonable corporation would want me on their health
insurance plan. I turn off the TV in a huff and stare at the blank, black box for
awhile. It taunts me and I fight the urge to roll my eyes at an inanimate object.
Because that would make me a lunatic.
When I stand I feel slightly woozy, and I use the hall to get to the bathroom. The
toilet accepts my dry heave and I stand, thinking that perhaps it is because I have
not eaten. I stop in the bedroom that is home to Bella and me, and feel the indents
from where her body slept the previous night. Her pillow smells like her, and I find
myself using it whenever she leaves for work early. After my slightly creepy
reminisce I walk to the kitchen to find something to eat.
But something happens and I can't feel my toes and I am falling.
My head smacks against the counter and I am gone, and when I return there is
blood.
I grasp aimlessly for anything and my hands land on a dirty dish towel, slamming
it to my head. I try to stand, to call Bella, to call an ambulance, to call anyone but my
arms aren't working and my eyesight is fading. My jaw trembles and I breathe
slowly, counting the seconds down from one hundred. At zero I am panicking again
so I think about the first time I met Bella. And then more Bella, Bella, Bella. I am
almost completely gone but I swear I hear footsteps, and then my name, and then
crying, and then Bella.
But I can't see her. Please, let me see her.
"They're almost here, baby, it's okay. It'll be okay."
I try to say please don't leave me, and help me, and I love you, and everything I'm
supposed to say, but all that comes out is a small, choked, "Bella."
"That's right, Edward, stay with me. It'll be okay. Everything will be okay."
I see her face for brief moments, but it is framed in a halo of blurry red. I am
being pulled farther away from her. I don't want to die. Not yet. I want to reach out
for her but every part of me is unresponsive and it's making me crazy. It's making
me crazy.
When I wake up I reach to the side where Bella usually sleeps, but she isn't there.
"Bella," I call, thinking maybe she's in the bathroom across the hall. I want her
- 37 -
next to me and in my arms where I can feel her. There's no response but a distant,
almost silent, beeping. It isn't normal and my eyes flutter open, blinding white light
penetrating my vision, causing me to squint and close the shutters of my eyes once
more. I try to sit up but gentle pressure on my shoulders pushes me back down.
"Easy there, Edward. It's me, Alice."
I open my eyes again and the pixie is floating before me, black hair spiked up in
all directions.
"Where's Bella?"
I don't hear her answer. She is stroking my jaw in an all-too-familiar way, and I am
out quickly.
When I wake up again I know she is with me. I can feel her, and I'm grinning like
a fool. She is awake.
"Oh, hello," I smile, reaching out to touch her cheek with my fingers. Her
expression, upset and shocked, beaten and run-down, stops me immediately.
"We have to get married," she whispers like a plea. I am completely taken
off-guard. I have my mother's engagement ring sitting inside the bedside table at
home, waiting for the right moment. "They wouldn't let me in here. We have to." I
feel as though she has stolen my proposal, in a quirked sort of way.
"Are you proposing to me?" I ask, expecting a laugh, her laugh that brightens any
room.
"Edward." Instead she is crying and I feel like shit. Worse than lying on a floor,
bleeding. Worse.
"Bella, I was joking. Of course I'll marry you." It is everything I've ever wanted.
Everything."No, Edward, I thought you were going to die." Oh. Oh. This is what
happens when people know.
"Iam going to die. If not now, later. I am so sorry," I whisper. And then I need her
close to me, I need to comfort her. "Come here."
The priest Alice hires to marry us looks at me with pity.
I cannot help but dwell on the fact that her promise of forever and my promise are
- 38 -
forever, are two completely different things.
Some things are scary. Heights. Heights are scary. Spiders. Mice. Falling. Planes.
Long words.
For some people, these things are scary.
The only thing that's ever scared me - and I mean, really scared me - is losing
Bella.
And now as I pace back and forth, back and forth, I'm frightened to all hell.
"Calm down," Bella whispers even though she was grimacing in pain just a few
seconds ago. I walk over to her bed, her swollen belly unearthed from the blankets,
and take her small hand in both of mine. She just looks at me; calm and soothing
and everything I need. I stroke her hair, a bit sweaty from the exertion of labor, and
tell myself to calm, at least for her sake. She touches my face with her palm and
sighs, smiling slightly. "It'll be okay," she says.
How can she know that? She can't know that.
"I know it will be okay," she smirks and I glare at her because she shouldn't be
able to read my mind.
I want to be in this hospital bed instead of her.
This is blasphemy. Treason. Betrayal.
She moans a bit and bites her lip through another contraction and I can't do
anything about it.
"Does it hurt?" I ask quietly. She shakes her head 'no' in response, but I know she
is lying. I know that lie very well.
The doctor walks in and his stature is cool and familiar. Not all doctors are like
this. Some of them are tedious and careful, others wired and exuberant, others calm
and collected. He is older, his hair is greying in places and balding in others, and his
stethoscope dangles haphazardly from his neck like a lazy reptile. He gives me a
polite smile, for he doesn't know, and then he turns to Bella.
- 39 -
"How are you feeling?" he asks, checking over her monitors.
"I'm okay," she says while glancing at me.
"You already had your epidural..." he mumbles, mostly to himself. "Looks like we'll
be ready for action in the next hour or so," he says with a grin. Bella looks beyond
relieved and lets out a real smile.
Approximately two hours of hell later, the announcement is made.
"It's a boy."
I am attempting to feed Jude mashed up nasty green beans when Bella approaches
over my shoulder.
"Edward?" Her voice cracks and I turn around to see she has been crying. I stand
up immediately, to Jude's squealing protest.
"What's wrong?" I ask to her flushed, tear-stained cheeks.
She pauses for a moment, and then speaks.
"Do you ever feel like... we've already been through the best of life? And there's
nothing left?"
I hold her until she falls asleep.
Bella giggles and crouches down in front of Jude with her camera. He has
successfully buried himself in the muddy sand on the coast of Seaside. I think his
attempt began with building a sandcastle, but it has gone terribly awry. Bella's shirt
rides up and I see the small tattoo of Jude's name on her hip, though my own name
is covered by her jacket. She turns around and snaps a picture of me on the sly,
grinning ear-to-ear like a master of disguise. I lean down and scoop her up, cradle
her to me as she shrieks. Jude watches us with eyes wide as saucers, absorbing like
us a sponge. She presses her lips to mine and they meld intimately, and all I can
think about is her beauty and her perfection, her brilliant vibrancy a bright beacon
in the grey. I want her now, but Jude is shrieking and playing in the sand, so I
suppose I'll have to wait until just a little bit later.
- 40 -
This time feels different. This time feels final. This time, it's the end.
I trail Bella's sleeping form with my fingers; the rise of her shoulders, the dip of
her waist, another crescendo at her hips, a slight downward slope trailing her legs. I
am determined to memorize her. Every part of her. Every hidden crevice and stolen
glance will be permanent in my memory, somehow. She has stolen the blanket and it
is wrapped around her legs, falling off of the bed. I am shivering, but it is not
because of her thievery. The moon shines bright and full through the cracks in the
blinds, striping us like zebras, longer and longer still. I kiss the bare skin of her neck
and shoulder, and then back up, worried that my chill will wake her. I curl up into a
ball and force myself to stop trembling. It doesn't work. Instead, I get up and walk to
the bathroom, doom and gloom.
After I finish heaving I walk past Jude's room. His little body rises and falls
underneath the blankets. I walk over to his bed and pull up a chair from his play
table, sitting close to him.
"Jude," I whisper, rubbing my hand through his auburn hair, a near exact replica
of my own. He stirs, but does not wake. "You're asleep right now, but, I just want to
say that I love you. And you're going to be the man of the house now so you need to
take care of your Mom. Take good care of her, she loves you so much. And... and get
good grades in school, and grow up well, and... I'm sorry I won't be there, and..." My
voice breaks and I look down at my hands. They shake as I lean over and cup his
cheek, kissing his forehead softly. I am just turning to leave the room when I hear
him call my name.
"Can you make pancakes in the morning?" he asks, soft and child-like in innocence
and expectation. He is blinking, eyelids heavy and unfocused.
I return to my spot behind his bed.
"Your momma makes them much better than me," I whisper.
"Yeah, she does..." he murmurs and I chuckle, pulling his blanket up to his chin.
"Goodnight, buddy," I say, and smile when he yawns, showing all of his baby teeth.
I close the door gently and rush to the bathroom.
There's blood.
This isn't good.
- 41 -
I slide back into bed just as Bella begins to wake. I act as though I have slept
through the night, but I am careful not to touch her. She leans over and cups my
cheek, smiling down at me. I keep up my careful charade until she has left the house
with Jude, dropping him off at school on her way to work. From there I stumble to
the bathroom, glancing at my watch every half hour or so. I need to pick up Jude
from school today. Twenty minutes prior to my expected arrival at his Elementary,
my body is wracking with both heat and cold. My fingers hardly respond when I dial
Alice's number.
"Edward? What's wrong?" She answers on the first ring.
"Nothing," I lie. "Can you pick up Jude for me today?" My voice sounds muffled,
but I am not sure if she can tell through the phone. "I'm feeling a bit sick."
"Do you need me to take you to the hospital?" She asks.
"No," I snap. It is too harsh, too quick.
"Okay, well call me if you need anything..." she trails off. I feel the hesitancy in the
goodbye.
"Thanks," I sigh, hanging up and sinking to the floor. Not good. Not good.
Alice drops Jude off at some point.
Bella arrives some point after that.
Time is muddled in a strange and inconsistent way.
When she finds me she doesn't say a word. She simply hums, beauty and peace
and home.
"I'll be right back," she says. Please don't go.
When she returns she is feeling my forehead, murmuring phrases that I try my
hardest to comprehend.
"...go to the hospital." No. They can't help me there. Only you can help me. There
is no magical myriad of drugs that can help me. There is just you. Only you."I'll be
fine. It'll go away," I choke out, hating my voice. Hating it.
"...call Alice, ask her to watch Jude..." I feel like I can't get enough air inside of
- 42 -
me. I feel like everything is crumbling and I can't help but fall down, too.
"Bella, please." And then she is lifting me and I am leaning on her.
There is dark, and there is light.
Push and pull.
Emptiness and fulfillment.
Evil and pure.
And there's the grey in between.
And while I grasp hold for as long as I can, eager to rid these doctors and their
helpless squandering, I remind myself of how much of my life was pure light.
Part figment, part reality, Bella is before me, my angel, my good.
"You can't let this get to you, okay? You have to take care of Jude, and be a good
Mom to him. And make sure he gets tested so that if he has it, you can eliminate it
early. Don't break down, okay? You're stronger than that."
"But, Edward." My angel is crying. Don't cry. She is looking at me like she feels
sorry for me, when in reality, she has given me so much more than most people ever
receive.
"No, none of that. Not that pity. Know that I'll love you always. And I'll see you…
someday."
I don't only remember the bad times. The pain and the suffering, the hurt and
constant stress. I remember the hardships mixed with the rewards, and how fruitful
and brilliant they are. I remember the feeling of my parents comforting me. I
remember seeing Bella that first time. I remember poker nights with Alice and
Jasper. I remember playing with Jude in the park. I remember pushing them both on
the swings. I remember...
And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me
Shine until tomorrow
- 43 -
Let it be
-The Beatles
Sorry to put you through that again. It was sort of rude and cruel. Haha.
But Edward really wanted his say, so forgive me?
Thanks to revrag for the uber betaing and putting up with me
Thanks to my readers cause you're all fuckawesome and super sweet to
boot
And thanks to Henry DeTamble for being the best time-traveling muse out
there.
Dedicated to: cancer patients, cancer survivors, cancer families, cancer
lovers, cancer fighters.
- 44 -
happily ever after
ALTERNATE HEA TO THE ORIGINAL WHITE BLOOD
Well I have been quietly standing in the shade
All of my days
Watch the sky breaking on the promise that we made
All of this rain
And I've been trying to find
Whats been in my mind
As the days keep turning into night
-alexi murdoch; all my days
Edward
"Are you sick?" she asks. I fight a grimace. I know she is referring to the fact that I
am constantly running to the bathroom, but that question never ceases to make me
wince.
"Yep," I say with a lie of a smile on my face. "Don't worry, you won't catch it." She
looks at me with wide eyes and I feel awful. Really bad. Not just sick physically, but
emotionally. Lying to Bella makes me feel sick, even if it is a lie of omission. I force
down as much sandwich as possible, and look up just in time to see her yawn.
"Go to sleep, Bella," I say. I love saying her name. Bella, Bella, Bella. She hesitates
and then nods, turning around. Suddenly, she is back, as if from second thought.
"I'll see you in the morning?" she asks. I want to scream out 'yes', promise her that
I'll be there, but I know I can't. But, she doesn't know.
"Maybe. But Happy Thanksgiving, just in case," I reply.
- 45 -
"Happy Thanksgiving," she mumbles. And then she is gone.
I follow her path a few minutes later with heavy limbs and heart. I pause in the
hall and watch as the light is turned off from the slit underneath the door. Barely
satisfied, I turn the corner and head to my own room. I fall on top of the blankets,
suddenly feeling much worse. But I want to stay for Thanksgiving. Bella will be
leaving after that and I'll never see her again. I need Thanksgiving.
I lay on my bed, chest up, back down, and ponder my magnetic pull to her. Her
sweetness, I am pretty sure that is my main draw. I can feel her selflessness, her
stability, her silence. She is neutral ground, forever pure, ivory silk of the rarest
kind. And as I shake, tremors racking my body, all I can think about is how soft her
skin would feel under mine, and the number of variations I could discover in her
smile. I am heating rapidly and my breath is coming quickly. I know these signs well,
but I want to stay for Thanksgiving.
It must be early morning, for I hear birds and coffee and footsteps padding lazily
down the hall. I lay in a haze of freesia and sweat, unblinking and immovable.
My door cracks open.
"Edward?" It is Esme. My mother. Her voice is muted. "Oh my... Carlisle..."
I just want to stay for Thanksgiving.
I just want to see Bella, the epitome of everything I want but will never have.
And then I am gone.
Bella
"Are you sick?" I question him even though Carlisle already said he was. I don't
expect him to answer, but I ask anyway.
"Yep," he pops the 'p', completely carefree. "Don't worry, you won't catch it," he
winks and takes another hesitant bite of his sandwich. I try to stop the flurry in my
stomach that occurs after his wink. I watch him eat for a few moments, and then I
am forced to stifle a yawn with the back of my hand. He notices. "Go to sleep, Bella,"
he chides. My heart thumps erratically at the sound of my name on his lips.
- 46 -
I debate whether to protest, but another yawn building inside me forces me to
acknowledge my body's needs.
"I'll see you in the morning?" It comes out as a question.
"Maybe. But happy Thanksgiving, just in case," he says.
"Happy Thanksgiving," I reply halfheartedly, turning back to my room. He doesn't
stop me.
EdwardThe second time I see Bella is in the hospital, begrudgingly of course. It
isn't until later, much later, when I have time to look back on everything that
happened, that I realize it was quite possibly one of the best days of my life. It is
only a short stint in the hospital. Minor, really. She sees the worst of it, which is
once again upsetting to me. Yet she comes back. Persistently, she returns. Even as I
protest vehemently, objecting to her stay, she comes to visit me. Right up until the
day that she has to go back to Portland, she comes to visit.
I sit up when she enters that room the last time, her cheeks flushed and splotchy.
I watch Alice's black tuft of hair flash by the window to the door, but it disappears
too quickly for me to discern it as her. Besides, I only have eyes for Bella.
She crosses the room quickly which causes the machine monitoring my heartbeat
to obnoxiously increase the frequency of its beeping. She doesn't notice. At least, I
assume she doesn't, for her eyes dart everywhere but my face and her teeth bite
down on her lip, turning it an aching white. I touch her cheek to make her face me,
and though she does, it seems almost reluctant. I tilt my head to the side,
questioning, for seeing Bella this frazzled is a first. My life with Bella is filled with
many firsts; passionate, beautiful, angry, wonderful firsts. I treasure them and they
scare me shitless at exactly the same time.
"What's wrong?" I ask tentatively. Her fingers reach out to stroke my own, and
even though she is haphazardly perched on the edge of my bed, I want to pull her
closer.
"I don't have to go today," she speaks in the rush of a confessional.
"Yes you do." I smile a calm façade. She has tickets; she will go back to Portland.
That is the end of that. "You have to go to work and live your life, and other things
like that." All of a sudden her eyes flash, angry. I gulp.
- 47 -
"That's not important to me anymore. You know that's not important to me
anymore. You know what I've chosen."
Yes, I know. It is me. She chooses me.
"Yes," I say aloud, stroking her cheek from eye to the tip of her chin. She sighs
briefly and closes her eyes, fluttering lids delicate as a moth's wing.
"Stop distracting me," she murmurs quietly.
"Sorry," I acquiesce, dropping my hand. Her eyes open.
"Well, wait, don't be sorry." Her eyes, wide as saucers now, are trained on me. I
snort in response.
"Are you saying you like it when I touch you?" She blushes fervently, the red
spreading slowly from her nose, along her cheekbones, neck, collarbones, mystery.
Instead of responding to my question, she returns to our original debate.
"I'll be back soon. As soon as I can, I'll book another plane to come back up here.
Okay?" She grips my forearm tightly. I know better than to contest her. I know that
she is on her wits end, and if I were to say anything at all she would probably freak
out. Bella on full freak out mode is rare, few and far between, but when she is
panicking - duck and cover. So instead I smile with a slight nod, reaching up to
stroke her cheek again. She relaxes into my touch, finally. I pull her towards me
until she is resting on my chest, my arm draped around her shoulder blades. I feel
her breath, heavy and slow, rush across my neck. I wonder how long our perfection
would last.
Not long, it seems, for Alice comes in but half an hour later with one finger
pointedly tapping the watch strapped on her wrist. I watch Bella glare followed by
Alice's retreating figure, and then we are alone for just a bit longer. We are silent
for a moment, until Bella speaks.
"Please don't forget me," she says, her voice in a rush again. I am shocked by her
words, but carefully transform my face to neutrality. She often jumps to crazy
conclusions, and that is what I am trying to prevent.
"I could never," I reply. "Even if I had my brain extracted through my nose like an
ancient Egyptian, I couldn't."
- 48 -
She snorts a laugh.
"Romantic."
She leaves shortly thereafter. Moments after her departure, I scold myself for not
kissing her goodbye. What kind of a fool am I? Not even sure when she could return
to Forks, yet I still don't tell her how I feel. I still don't kiss her. I do nothing. I
scrunch the sheets of my hospital bed in my fists, ball them up and turn them fitted
and unfold-able. My family meets me later that night, only a few hours, because I am
finally allowed to be discharged. After a quick goodbye to the hospital staff that I am
regulars with, we are out the door and into the cold night.
The air is crisp and dry and aching for snow, early December at its finest.
Rosalie and Emmett are outside of the hospital, which is unexpected.
"We're on our way to the airport," Emmett says. His tone is still exactly the same
as when he used to live with me - childish, carefree. Rosalie stands idly aside.
"Wanted to say goodbye. Sorry we couldn't spend more time with you, Bud."
"It's fine," I reply, thinking of times spent with Bella like the hopeless fuck I am.
"I'm sure it was fine," Emmett winks, always knowing exactly where my mind is at
all times. He claps me on the back, ignoring Esme's protesting cry of 'Emmett!', and
pulls me into an awkward man hug. Rosalie scoffs and looks away, but when she
turns to Alice I see that they share a grin. "You should go home." He waggles his
eyebrows obnoxiously. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I lose the fight.
"Let's get out of this cold!" Esme calls after both her and Carlisle exchange
parting sentiments with Emmett and Rosalie. In the car, we talk of mindless things.
We talk of Thanksgiving (the parts I was present for, of course), and of Alice, Jasper
and Bella's departure back to Portland, though only briefly. Carlisle and Esme sit in
the front two seats and I feel like a small child again, sitting in the back after a long
day of school, being asked a series of questions that I always did not want to answer.
I feel reminiscent towards the childhood naïveté.
When we pull up to the drive something is off. Carlisle and Esme don't get out of
the car. Instead, they sit still with the car running.
"You guys?" I question, sticking my head in between their seats. Esme looks at me,
smiles.
- 49 -
"Go on inside, we'll meet you in there."
My mind immediately darts to a disturbing porno scene with my parents as the
stars in the trunk of our car, and I leave without a second glance. I walk eagerly into
the house, the cold nipping at the bare skin of my arms, neck, and face. I throw open
the door and turn on the light, only to be assaulted by something heavy and
heavenly.
I hold her up in my arms and she wraps her arms around my neck. I want to kiss
her.
"I couldn't leave," Bella exhales. "I got all the way to the airport. Alice, Jasper and
I were standing in line to pick up our boarding passes and the line was so freaking
long! I was waiting there for ages and I kept looking out into the rain, wondering
what you were doing and when I could get a ticket back, which probably wouldn't
have been soon. And there was this crying baby and it was staring at me. I tried to
not make eye contact but it just kept staring. And then it dropped its milk and
started to cry again -"
I hold my finger to her lips to quell her rambling. I feel her slide slowly down to
where her feet touch the floor. I tilt her head up and kiss her, finally, finally.
BellaIt is so utterly Titanic. My life is the part where Leo Dicaprio tries to put
Kate Winslet in the boat (I can't, for the life of me, remember their movie names)
and he's watching her descend lower and lower to safety. That is what I feel like,
leaving the hospital. I descend farther and farther into the airport, and the security
is like the water. The freezing-ass cold water that Leo dies in, in the end. That is
security. That is the point of no return. So, with hardly a goodbye to Alice and
Jasper, I pull a Kate and jump right on back into the sinking boat.
I hail one of the taxis waiting in the long line, relieved that I am now back on my
destined path. When I return to the Cullens without the aid of their daughter and my
best friend, it would be an understatement to describe Carlisle and Esme as
anything less than shocked. Emmett, though, welcomes me like he is surprised I
ever left. He laughs and Rosalie smiles quietly, but politely, as I explain to Esme,
primarily, my predicament. She nods her complete understanding as anyone with
her extreme level of compassion would do, and she informs me that she would be
picking up Edward in two hours time anyway.
It is Carlisle's brilliant idea to have me wait at the house. Otherwise I'd have been
- 50 -
at the hospital the second I informed the Cullens of my extended stay.
"It'll be perfect," Carlisle smiles, his blond tresses shadowed deep gold in the
muted light of their kitchen. "I promise. I know my son. He doesn't like you seeing
him in the hospital, anyway."
"I know that," I protest, not wanting to wait any longer.
"Trust me, my dear. Patience is a virtue."
"A virtue I don't have," I mutter, to which Emmett booms his laughter of approval.
"McSassypants," he howls, when I'm really just acting bitchy.
After they leave to pick up Edward I pace the house anxiously. And I mean, really,
really anxiously. I am surprised I did not leave a permanent worn groove in their
hardwood. It is only when I hear their car crunch the gravel that lines their driveway
that I feel like I can really breathe. A quick peek out the window ensures that I can
see nothing but headlights, but a car is definitely there. I grin and hold perch right
inside the door, my teeth planted firmly on my lower lip. Why it takes him ages to
enter the house, I'm not sure. Perhaps it is just my mind playing tricks on me. Either
way, it feels like an eternity before I see the knob turn.
When I finally see him, my nonexistent patience has officially run out. I throw
myself on him, in no uncertain terms, and am grateful when he keeps me from
falling on my ass. My eyes and lips land on the curtain of tattoos that creep
elegantly up his neck, intricate patterns interwoven and falling away. He turns to
face me and they twist shape. Yet I am distracted by his face. His perfect, clean face,
and I find myself rambling impossibly. He shuts me up with his finger, a delicious
smirk caressing his lips, pulling them upward to one corner, mischievous.
He kisses me.
I can use thousands upon thousands of adjectives to describe it, but I find none
that truly fit. None that truly, exactly, fantastically fit.
Yet after only a brief moment, he pulls away.
"I can't believe you wasted a perfectly good plane ticket." His lips brush against
mine again. "That you already paid for."
"It wasn't perfectly good..." I can't even get out the rest of my sentence, for his
- 51 -
tongue is begging for entrance to my mouth, and his hands are laced in the bottom
of my shirt. "Mmm," I end up sighing when I feel the tips of his fingers brush naked,
untouched skin. I sense us walking slowly, but it is almost dream-like, for I have no
perceptions except for how good Edward feels against me. So it takes me by
complete surprise when Carlisle and Esme attempt to discreetly interrupt us, sidling
through the front door. The cold wind of the outside air betrays them, for both
Edward and I are jolted from our situation when freezing wind hits our bodies
simultaneously. I jump and Edward glares at the wind as if it were an offender.
He then sees his parents and looks almost impish, taking a half step away from me
and rubbing the back of his neck. If it the room wasn't so dark I bet I could have
seen his blush.
"Don't even bother," Carlisle scoffs. "We are no longer horrified by the idea of our
children… you know. I mean, have you met Emmett?"
I laugh and Edward chuckles, though it seems fake as he still looks a bit
embarrassed. We all stand awkwardly in the foyer, each of us trying to anticipate
the other's next move.
"Well, um, we're just going to go... now," Edward finally rattles off, grabbing my
hand and making for a quick exit. I only manage a small wave before Edward is
pulling us up the stairs. It is our abrupt turn in the hallway that leaves me stuck to
my spot. Edward loses his grip on my hand. Surprised, he turns around with a
questioning glance. I twist my hands together.
"I've never been to this part of the house," I confess, forcing myself not to ramble.
Edward stops, thinks for a moment.
"It doesn't bite?" he offers, sort of like a question. I suppose he doesn't
understand. I take a deep breath, drawing out my explanation.
"I don't know if I'm ready to go to your room yet," I spout off quickly, all in one
breath. I watch as Edward's eyes change color, the former ebony green
transforming into its lighter, brighter counterpart. I let him breath heavy breaths for
a moment while I stay rooted to the spot.
"Of course," he grins, and I can't find disappointment in it. "Well, we don't have
to... how about... do you want to just look around?" He reaches out for my hand, an
invitation I cannot possibly deny. His smile returns to an easy set when I take his
gesture, and he pulls me down the hall. Our gait is leisurely, the former rush all but
- 52 -
completely gone. We stop in various parts of the house and Edward explains a
picture, a book, a certain mark on the wall, along with a story from his childhood. I
greedily drink up the knowledge, happy to know a bit more about him. While the
tales would seem superfluous to most passerby, to me they are literary genius, just a
bit more of Edward, and for that I am eternally grateful. "And this is my room."
We have finally made it. I swallow, filled with trepidation that I shouldn't be
feeling. Edward seems to sense my anxiety, for he turns away.
"Or we can look later. It's no big deal," he says, and moves to the stairs.
"No, I want to see," I protest. I trust Edward. I do. I feel as though I can trust him
with my life, even in such a short time. There is no reason for me to be afraid of this.
No reason at all.
I push the door inward, listening as the wood lightly scraped across the carpeting.
His room is primarily muted colors, and the blinds are drawn carelessly over the
window behind his bed. The curtains themselves are a dark, deep blue that keep out
the offending light, and instead cast an ocean-like hue to the room, igniting all of its
contents like if I were to deep sea dive. I step into the room and inhale deeply as if I
expected not to be able to breathe. Edward follows behind, an omniscient presence.
He explains things that I touch - various books that look well worn, the lamp on the
side of his bed, a smattering of drugs (prescription, thanks) that litter a table in the
corner. Alas, once we have seen about everything visible to me, we sit down on the
bed.
Moments like this, in the beginning of the relationship between Edward and me,
are infinitely awkward.
He albeit refuses to look at me, as if even meeting eye-contact would be some sort
of pressure. While I, on the other hand, try to meet his eye. It isn't until I stroke the
top of his hand that he finally looks over. His eyes darken slightly, from what I don't
know. I trail my fingers up his arm, tracing various patterns in his tattoos, a
winding, winding web. When I reach his shoulder I move the cuff of his shirt out of
the way, eager to follow more trails to his back. I know, from when he showed me at
the hospital, that he has no tattoos on his chest. There is nothing there but pale,
pale skin. I know what to expect, yet it is as if every pass my fingers make ignites a
new fire, discovers a new mystery, creates new life. I push his shirt up in the back,
and by now it is getting simply tedious.
"Take it off?" I whisper in his ear, his response only being a moan. It is then that I
look at his face, raw with lust and fierce desire. He does not hesitate to pull it over
- 53 -
his head, mussing up his already abused hair. I move him so that he lay on his
stomach, sprawled across the bed. I sit beside him, cross-legged, marveling. His
muscles are long and lean, and they tense when my fingers press hard enough. I
trace faces drawn and inked by talented tattoo-artists, black and white portraits of
people I did not know, nor would I ever. I assume them to be cancer patients
Edward knew at some point, but he never tells me. Not ever. I use my fingernail to
outline nose and eye, chin and chest. At one point my fingernail accidentally
scratches, causing Edward's spine to visibly shake and shiver.
"You have no idea how that feels," he says suddenly. His eyes are closed,
bluish-purple lids stretched tight. Long, dark lashes mesh together, stick together. I
feel the breath escape his nose.
"You are beautiful," I reply, to which he opens his eyes immediately. He sits up,
cross-legged, knees touched, abs flexed.
"You are an angel."
He leans forward and our foreheads touch, resting together, synchrony.
Edward"Edward, come on, it'll be fine!"
The hell it'll be fine.
It'll not be fine.
It'll so not be fine.
"Remember, point your legs inward! Like an arrow! A pizza slice!"
The fuck?
"You can do it, just a bit farther now. I promise it'll be fine!"
Yeah, she makes it look so easy. Skiing down a mountain is not my idea of fun. I
mean, think about it. Here I am hugging a tree for dear life because the two greased
up sticks of wood attached to my feet make me whiz down hard-packed asphalt-like
snow at a million miles per hour. Sure, we are on the bunny hill, whatever the hell
that means. I mean, does that mean it is a hill for bunnies? I don't feel like a bunny. I
feel like a dumb ass stuck to a tree with a bunch of 6-year-olds who are skiing circles
- 54 -
around me. Like, literally. They ski around me in circles. And then they point and
laugh.
Bella stands at the bottom, her skis perpendicular to the hill, just like she taught
me earlier. It isn't like I want to make her trudge all the way back up the hill to save
me, but it isn't like I want to lose a limb tumbling down on my ass either. And it is
fucking freezing. I swear my lips are going to fall off any moment. Bella has this
unique thing called a turtle, which is basically a tube of fabric that covers her
cheeks and lips from the stinging wind. I remember scoffing when she offered me
one. Once again, dumb ass. I pull my hat farther around my ears. Did I mention
mountains are freezing?
I see Bella begin to stomp back up the hill, her skis picking up and dropping snow
beneath her. I stare at the distance between us. It isn't much. I can do it. Right?
Shit.
Before I can think about the injuries I will definitely sustain from my actions, I
push myself away from the tree. My poles dangle awkwardly at my wrists because I
can't figure out how to use them, and I begin my slow and steady
straight-as-an-arrow drift down the hill. Gradually, I pick up speed. I find myself
wanting to close my eyes, yet keep them open at the same time. People dodge me. I
watch snowboarders on their butts swivel their heads and push themselves out of
the way, just in time. I am coming up on Bella. Fast.
"Move!" I cry, but of course she doesn't. She instead makes an arrow motion with
her hands. Turn your legs inward. I actually listen to my brain and do something.
It's not like I stop once I have the massive epiphany to turn in my skis. Rather, I
hardly slow down at all.
"Move!" I try again, but it is too late and we're tumbling on hard-packed snow.
Snow looks like it should be a cushion. Yeah, it isn't. At all.
I end up on top of Bella. Of course. I quickly move to push myself off, but the skis
are making me awkward and slow. They swing haphazardly until they land on stable
surface, where I manage to roll to the side of her.
"Oh my," she whispers, and her eyes are wide.
And then she's doubled over, and tears are falling from her eyes at an alarmingly
rapid rate.
- 55 -
"Bella? Bella, are you okay? Bella?" My gloved, icy hands try and move the frosted
hair away from her cheeks. She looks up at me through watery eyes. Shit.
"Your face! You should've seen your face!" she cries, pushing at my chest. "You
were - and then... the little kids, you're all, 'move!'" She can barely get the words
out, and I am still alarmed until she snorts. That is when I realize she is laughing.
"Oh my," she says again, wiping stray tears from her cheeks. It begins to snow
again, though online it said no precipitation on Mt. Hood at all today. She turns to
face me suddenly, a mischievous grin on her face. I am still pissed that she is
laughing at me, my arms crossed over my chest, my skis resting limply to the side.
"You realize you were going like, 1 mile per hour, right? The only reason we fell at
all was because you put your ski in the middle of mine."
"You're a bad teacher," I scowl, embarrassed. It really did feel as though I was
going fast.
"Edward, I don't think skiing is your forte," she giggles again, and I quickly come
to realize that it is impossible to stay mad when she is happy. "Don't be mad," she
coos.
I roll my eyes and pull down her turtle, pressing my frozen lips to hers. She
shrieks at the cold and pulls away quickly, stuffing her turtle back over her mouth.
"You're freezing!" she cries. "Let's go back to the car."
I refuse to ski any farther so I take them off, clunking awkwardly in my boots
through the snow as Bella glides gracefully beside me. I swear, the girl can't walk on
her own two feet, but give her skis and apparently she's fine. We walk the long trek
through the parking lot, and by the time we get to my car we are both shivering and
tired from the cold. We take off a few layers, struggling in the confines of the car.
The heater blasts cold air at first, but quickly warms. We toast our hands to it and
allow the car to heat before I carefully pull out onto the icy road. Bella hums along
with some song on the radio, and when I glance over to her I find myself thinking
that she looks almost ethereal. Back-dropped by the fogged passenger-side window,
her hair is wild from the hat, slightly dripping from melting ice. Her cheeks are
flushed a healthy pink and her eyes are closed, face tilted upwards as she listens to
the music.
Someone honks behind me, breaking the both of us from our reverie. Apparently, I
hadn't noticed the light turn green. Oops.
She looks at me through the corner of her eye and grins slyly. I refuse to
- 56 -
acknowledge the reason behind my blatant distraction, though I am completely
positive she already knows.
It's her. It's always her.
A few hours later we return to Portland, opting to leave our snow stuff inside the
car to retrieve later. Much later, in my opinion.
Bella, already tired from nodding off in the car, climbs the stairs to our apartment
slowly. I follow close behind her steady tread, listening as a light bout of rain hits
the various windows on the stairwell. We are on the 5th floor, and though there is an
elevator, we often opt to walk. On the fifth and final descent Bella turns abruptly
around just before the door. She quirks her eyebrow, and I still see remnants of icy
snow on the tips of her hair.
"What?" I mouth, but no sound comes out for she abruptly grabs my dick through
my pants. I inhale and pull her to me, cold layers but hot underneath.
"Have you ever thought about it?" she asks.
Yes.
"About what?"
"Every time we're in the stairs..."
Yes.
"Uh huh?"
"And I just think, maybe next time."
Damn.
"Oh."
"Or maybe this time."
Yes.
She grins and wraps her arms around my neck, sweet and unstoppable pressure.
Our mouths only touch briefly, for she has other ideas. She runs her lips over my
- 57 -
cheek and jaw to my ear, ending with a startling bite. I grunt and push her up
against the worn door of the stairwell, her back pushed against the chipped paint of
the number '5'. She sighs and I feel it on my neck and on my skin, eager to continue,
to go faster. The thrill of being discovered by our dear neighbors increases the
rapidity of our act, and I feel her hands, hot like fire, push against my shirt. I pull it
quickly over my head and she sighs, her fingers tracing the familiar patterns on my
skin.
Closing her eyes, she leans in close and traces her tongue along her name.
Rounded 'b' and looping l's cause me to strain against my jeans and lift her higher
until she is wrapped around my waist. We cry out simultaneously upon impact of
clothed skin and I feel her hands frantically attempt to unbuckle my belt. My eyes
only give one quick dart to the side to check for lurkers before my face is in her neck
- sucking, licking, biting. I wish that she is wearing a skirt instead of jeans. I need to
go quickly. Now.
I release her enough to pull her pants off. She giggles when I struggle at her
shoes. I end up growling and chucking them down at least two flights.
When I stand back up Bella is smiling peacefully. She runs her fingers through my
hair and pulls me closer, immediately turning our ferocity to calm. She wraps her
arms around my neck, head on my shoulder, waists aligned as I push up into her. I
feel immediate, gratifying relief that never dulls or lessens, only somehow gets
stronger every single time. I feel Bella's lips at my ear. She presses into me every
time I thrust in, shielding her back from the cold metal door with my palm. I feel the
calm die inside of me. I am unraveling quickly and I know I have to take us there. I
feel Bella's muscles tighten with every pass, and by the time she comes my jaw is
locked in restraint. I feel.
I follow soon after, one or two moments at best, all gasping and shuddering
breaths, moans and tranquil sighs.
"Edward," Bella whispers after a few minutes of silence.
"Mm," I barely respond.
"You are a horrible skier."
BellaEdward is anxiously jiggling his leg up and down. Still.
- 58 -
I roll my eyes and place one hand on his knee, stifling it. He shoots me a look that
screams 'help me', which I politely ignore. Of course. I look out the window instead.
"Bella," he snaps to get my attention.
"What?" I ask, for the thousandth time.
"I don't know about this," he answers, for the thousandth time.
I sigh slowly. "Let's just wait to hear what the doctor has to say, okay?"
As if on cue the doctor enters. He takes a seat across from us, resting his forearms
on his heavy wooden desk. Edward's leg starts right back up again, and I see one
hand slide into his mouth, biting away worn fingernails. The doctor, Dr. Scott, looks
through the folder that I assume contains information on Edward and me. Once he is
done he looks up, smiling politely. I can see that he immediately recognizes the
trepidation in Edward's stature.
"Mr. and Mrs. Cullen, it's a pleasure," he starts. I hear a soft snort from Edward,
obviously in disagreement. Dr. Scott ignores him, while I shoot him a glare.
'Behave', I mouth angrily. His lips set in a hard line. "So you were curious about
donating stem cells to your husband?" I see that he addresses me and me only.
Smart man.
"Right," I reply.
"Fantastic."
As he talks us through the specifics, I see Edward gradually begin to loosen up.
Dr. Scott says that the stem cells have a real shot at helping him, and that, after
extensive chemotherapy, the umbilical cord blood can be given just like a blood
transfusion. No surgery.
"The great thing about it," Dr. Scott says, an enigmatic smile on his face, "is that
the stem cells in the umbilical cord blood should make new white blood cells in the
body, replacing the cancerous cells killed off by the chemo before the treatment." I
can tell that Dr. Scott is passionate about his work. He leans forward, excited for us
just as I am excited for Edward. Now he has a chance, one I never thought he could
have. "It is often successful in younger patients like yourself, as well. You would be
in isolation after the treatment, but if all goes well it should be less than a month."
We are silent for a moment. I am grinning ear to ear.
- 59 -
Suddenly, Edward speaks.
"And this experimental, correct?"
"Correct," Dr. Scott replies.
"We'll have to check with our insurance," Edward sighs, his fingers on his temples.
Insurance. I know from my online research that stem cell transplants can cause
upwards of $100,000, and if our insurance does not cover it, there would be
absolutely no way to pay for it. Even with the help from our families, paying for that
plus the hospital bills for when the baby comes will be an impossibility. Dr. Scott
sees it, too. His forlorn expression, his far-away eyes. He has seen many patients
turned away under the inability to pay. He doesn't like being the one to turn them,
he feels it gives him a God complex. He finds it an almost impossibility to turn away
the sick. All of this is clear just in the deep set of his eyes.
"We'll figure it out," I whisper, only for Edward. He allows me to place a hand in
his palm. We both stand. "Thank you so much for your help, Dr. Scott."
"Of course. I wish you both the best," he replies, shaking our hands.
We sit in the hospital parking lot, ignition off and stoic. I watch Edward, whose
eyes stare out the windshield, empty.
"It'll be fine," I say quietly.
"You don't know that," he replies, though his tone is much sharper than I
anticipate. He pinches the bridge of his nose in the wake of my silence. "I'm sorry. I
just don't like seeing you get your hopes up when I know... it probably won't work
out."
"Hey!" It is my turn to be angry. "Don't you dare say that. Don't you dare give up. I
swear, Edward. If I'm not giving up on you, you better not give up on yourself. Or
I'll... I'll..." I trail off when I realize there's absolutely nothing I would do to hurt him,
even if he did give up. He looks toward me, his eyes softened, the creases in the
edges no longer defined. He cups my face in his hands, warm yet calloused.
"I don't deserve you," he smiles sadly.
"Yes you do, I love you," I reply.
- 60 -
"I love you, too."
It is later that night when the insurance company calls, telling us they've denied
our claim.
Edward
It is Carlisle's idea to start a fund raiser. He decides to begin with all of the people
in Forks, concentrating on the hospital that he works at. He then pages friends and
colleagues, years of connections built up and used. He asks for favors, puts ads in
the newspaper, and does all of it without Bella or me knowing. Carlisle then goes
and makes a donation to our bank account under the guise of anonymous. $87,000,
he put in there. From donations. From good will. From the simple, true, pure good
will of people knowing that others need help, and are willing to spend money to
contribute.
I find it the day after Jude is born, taking money out to pay for the various
expenses surrounding the labor. I come home to Bella passed out, exhausted and in
bed, and Alice cradling Jude to her chest. She sits on the couch, allowing my son (my
son) a bottle with some milk. She looks up when I enter the room.
"Edward, what's wrong? You look like you saw a ghost."
I hold up the bank statement.
"You finally checked your bank account. Yay!"
"I-um, yes," I manage, still staring with blank amazement at the inoffensive piece
of paper.
"Great. Dr. Scott's number is still on the fridge from a few months ago. Go call,"
she says, speaking as though this entire conversation is one formerly rehearsed. I
stare at her blankly. She smiles and stands, walking slowly to me as not to disturb
Jude.
"Glad we decided to save Jude's stem cells, or what?" she smirks, to which I can
only nod dumbly. She moves her free hand to pluck the statement from my hand.
"All right. I call, you hold Jude. Can you handle it?" I once again nod. She hands Jude
to me, the small little life, feather-light in my arms. The second Alice leaves the
room, Jude immediately starts to cry. I jump up, snapping out of my stupor, and
- 61 -
attempt to push the bottle into his mouth. Jude cries harder. I don't know what to
do. I start rambling through all of the curse words I know in my head.
"Burp him!" Alice calls from the kitchen.
I get baby upchuck all over the back of my shirt.
Bella
Edward loses his hair. All of it, gone. I tell myself that it is just the chemotherapy,
and that it will grow back, but for some reason the loss is monumental. I know that
after the chemo, (after the side affects of the chemo, that is) that it will be better. All
he has to do is receive Jude's stem cells, and then we cross our fingers. Dr. Scott
begins early, too. Only 2 months after Jude's birth Edward starts chemo, scheduled
dates until that of the transplant. The weeks fall away. Edward gets sick, gets
better, gets sick again. Jude grows older. Alice and Jasper are frequent visitors, and
I keep hearing Alice talk of having a child with Jasper as well.
Edward has to stay in the hospital because his white blood cell count is too low to
risk the infections of the outside world. In the later weeks I am no longer allowed to
visit, but I know by the overly-circled date on the calendar that it is finally the day
for the stem cell transplant. I hold Jude and point it out to him in the over-inflection
of baby-talk. He coos when I tell him that it is he who will save his dad's life. I figure
the coo may be coincidence.
Alice watches Jude when I drive to the hospital. I hope to be ensured that
everything occurred smoothly.
Dr. Scott greets me in the waiting room after only a few moments, a small smile
on his face. This is nothing like when Edward fell, greeting a relieved doctor covered
in a loved one's blood. This is calm happiness, pleasant finality, crossed fingers.
"It all went well. We're going to monitor Edward's cell count, and we'll call you
when it reaches the proper amount," Dr. Scott smiles. What I like about Dr. Scott is
that he never uses the word 'if', he only ever says 'when'. I leave the hospital aching
for Edward, but I do my best to put selfishness aside. Upon the return to my
apartment I find Jude sleeping and Alice watching reruns of Full House on ABC
Family. I smile and sit beside her. She doesn't ask me how it went. She knows my
tells better than to ask. She will always be one of my best friends.
- 62 -
It is over a month before I see Edward again. I am patient, I am frantic. His white
blood cell count is rising. They are healthy. I am happy. But, I miss him. I miss him
intensely.
When I finally get the call that allows me to visit, I am out the door only moments
after Alice arrives to take care of Jude. I say goodbye to him, a quick kiss on his
forehead. I break a few (more than a few) traffic laws on the way to the hospital, but
I find it hard to feel remorse. Waiting to see him is nerve-wracking, as always. Every
time I am in this hospital I feel putrid and wrong, out of place.
But this time feels different.
This time feels different.
But it doesn't feel like the end. It feels like the beginning. A new beginning.
Dr. Scott greets me in the waiting room with an affectionate hug. I know I will
miss him, but not enough to ever want to come back again. I will never want come
back because Dr. Scott says the magic word. Remission.
Edward is awake and sitting up. Oddly enough, the first thing I notice is that the
majority of his hair has grown back to a bit longer than a crew-cut. It isn't as long as
it usually is by any means, and I can see the lines of ink that snake up to his hairline
that are usually covered. But the fact that it is growing and normal makes me feel so
much better than any doctor who tells me he's fixed. He smiles when I drop my
purse by the door and run to his side. I think back on how he had to spend the
majority of his time in the hospital alone, through his childhood and through the last
few weeks.
"I'm so proud of you," I say. Our lips brush gently, softly. He rests his forehead on
my own, his eyes closed.
"I'm normal for you, Bella."
I breathe out a sigh of sweet, sweet relief.
"I love you."
AliceI hold Jude while Jasper and I walk with Edward and Bella to the tattoo
parlor. They are holding hands, and I am positive that I have never seen my brother
- 63 -
healthier. They decide, once Edward returns from the hospital and our whole family
meets up to see him, that they want to get a tattoo at the same time. They choose
the word 'survivor', after a tallied vote from the whole family. They work it out so
that it can be simultaneous, two artists working side by side.
Jasper and I watch stoically as they set themselves up, keeping Jude pacified.
Jasper dangles a small toy in front of Jude's face, and smiles when he does. Jasper
wants a son, too. I want to give him win.
I watch as Edward and Bella hold hands, and am glad that I brought her to
Thanksgiving. I know in my heart that my true intent was to see them together. I
know it my heart that I was confident in the fact that Bella would be the one to fix
him, to make him healthy for the world. I know in my heart that it was the right
decision.
The needles buzz simultaneous and they lock eyes.
When the needles touch their skin, they smile.
Now I see clearly
It's you I'm looking for
All of my days
Soon I'll smile
I know I'll feel this loneliness no more
All of my days
For I look around me
And it seems He found me
And it's coming into sight
As the days keep turning into night
As the days keep turning into night
- 64 -
And even breathing feels all right
-alexi murdoch; all my days
A huge-ass AN
So much thanks needs to be given to The Fandom Gives Back, and
everyone who contributed to it. Thanks to the generous people of the
Twilight fandom, approximately 87,000 dollars was raised for Alex's
Lemonade Stand. The money helps so many people in so many ways, and I
am so very proud.
I don't know the names of all of the ladies that make up that weird little
'cancerwardHEA' group, but you guys are all wusspervs ;). This was
incredibly nerve-wracking to write due the fact that real money was spent on
it! Gah! But I am very glad that this contributed to Alex's Lemonade Stand.
I hope I didn't disappoint. Thanks to my beta revrag. Antiaol is a freak.
I probably forgot a million thinks that I wanted to put in here. Crap.
Um, thank you everyone so much. Live on, Edward! –fistpump-
- 65 -
Document Outline
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Table of Contents
- Summary
- 1. Chapter 1
- 2. contest info
- 3. Chapter 3
- 4. happily ever after
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