Date: 2010-10-11 02:18 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (Pleading or Admissions)
He wonders if that, too, counts as a lie.





He asked about them when Carlisle said he couldn't talk. Said he was afraid. Said one of the two completely true things said in this whole conversation.

Does he think of them?

Does he ever not?




Does any of it matter?

It had to, didn't it? He pushed the button. Made himself.
Not that it changed anything. Made it worse?

(For Carlisle. On Christmas.)




Edward grimmaced into the heel of his hand, without even thinking about having moved it. Made himself go back to Carlisle's last word. His jaw locked. Unlocked. And he made it through two words -- "Thank you." -- that sounded absolutely unlike those two should sound, like there was gratitude behind at all.

They sounded quite like two other words.
That weren't said. Weren't allowed.
To be said. Heard. To escape him.



(Were.)


Which is why even as his shoulders, hand, jaw tremored, he pushed the end call button the second after he'd said it. Even eyes clenched, against his hand, he was only listening. To the last second of silence touching him. Connecting them. Before the click.






The one sounded perfectly in time to a different click and shift.
And Edward turned, pushing upward with a sudden, sharp snarl.
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