themidnightson | (no subject)

There is only redness then.

One moment he was beside his family.

And then, in a flash of speed and clarity, he was gone.
Knowing they would follow; never losing the sound of them behind.

The only thing left in the jagged shards of his never less than full awareness is one thing.

The mastication of James.
His own obliteration.

Hope is worse. Stillborn in infancy.
A crushing thing, twined into darkness.

He has chosen to love a dove made of glass.
Thrust it into a violent storm it can't comprehend.

There is no human who can win this fight.
And the fight James seeks isn't with Bella.

Still it explodes as one on arrival.

Bella's blood -- Bella's heart beat -- Bella screaming.
The taunting of James's voice. The depravity of his plan for Bella.
The very fault lines of all of Alice's near century of grief and darkness.

Love and Hate, like oil and water, become solvent when he slams into James.

"Enough. Remember yourself."

Carlisle. Golden eyes and blonde hair in darkness.
The voice that rends one foot of foundation in oblivion.

But everything is far from well. Emmett and Jasper rend James to scraps.
The billowing smoke can not overpower the scent of fresh, hot blood everywhere.

No sound can drown out Bella's continued screams. It doesn't make sense.
Until it does suddenly, with her words and Edward is holding her hand.
The ugly, sloppy, crescent bitten into her palm.

Two options. Only two options. He sees them in Carlisle's mind.

He can allow her to change, or suck the venom from her blood. The blood he already only barely manages holding back from the scent of alone in every moment near. But he can't condemn her. Doesn't want her to wake up stuck in this hell he's granted to her, not when he's shown the length and depth of their darkness he'd tried to warn her of.

He lied to both of them. He lied to himself that this could work.
He tells her he's going to make it all better. The lie to himself is even worse.

He prays, in a mixture of pleading and swearing and inability to do less. Desperation and willingness to give all that is left of his existence in exchange for hers.

Nothing could have prepared him for the taste of her blood.