themidnightson: ([New Moon] Time Passes)
[personal profile] themidnightson
There's a Star on his window, shuffling.

And the phone in his pocket keeps vibrating. Twenty five times in twenty-four hours now. He considered moving to open it, to at least see who was being so insistent. It might be Carlisle. He might be needed. What was today? Was it important?

He thought about it but didn't move. Listened to the rats and spiders that gave him wide berth in the dark attic space he'd ended up in not too long ago. The rancid, rickety tenement for stories creeks and screams below him. Refuse and pollution so thick it's almost solid in the air. But the sounds and the sights and the thoughts bounced off of him.

Meaningless. None of it meant anything. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered.

Even as it made him dig his forehead hard into his knees.

Flip, flip, flip, went the cards in hands off to his side. How much longer would he be able to stand this. Hopelessness. Torture. And the near dizzying sensation that flooded him at the simple consideration of going to check on her. The idea of her, more than the her behind his eye lids, always either smiling, how she would be in the life where she could be hurt, wasn't in danger, or at the edge of danger, pushing toward it.

He'd promised he wouldn't go back, wouldn't bring his black demons into her life again.
She deserved better. In this life. In the places she would go after it.

But to see her, the thought was like lightening through him. To see her move, breathe, laugh, with her friends or her father. Not in his head. Not memories or phantoms. It opened up his chest as though he actually could breathe, even when he clutched his legs tighter. No. Damn it. No. He swore he would not give in. He had to do this right by her at least. No matter how hard it was.

The phone vibrated again. Twenty-six. And Edward yanked it out, swearing at the all but empty attic as he did so, desperately needing the distraction from the sudden flight of insane fancy his mind was fighting against him to give into. He flipped the phone open, and even with perfect vision he'd had to focus confusedly. Feel a twinge of the kind of shock he hadn't felt in over six months now.

Why would Rosalie be calling him?

She was the one person he was sure enjoyed his absence.

Twenty-six calls. Maybe something was wrong. If Esme or Carlisle --

Suddenly worried, he hit the send button and managed tersely, "What?"
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themidnightson: (Default)

March 2012

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