Drabble: After the Stitches
Name: After the Stitches Fandom: Twilight Words: 199 Pairing: Bella/Carlisle I wrote this for the T wilight Uncanon Drabble-a-thon over at karmicsunshine. It's set just after Bella leaves her birthday party. Here goes...
She is gone. The air clears a little, and he is finally able to unclench his fist. The tiny scrap of gauze concealed there slides down to his fingertips. He had meant to burn it, really he had. But his hand would not let go.
“I barely notice the smell anymore.” He’s amazed at how easily the lie had slipped past his lips. It had been the truth, once. Before her. Before her long awkward limbs and her doe eyes, full of trust. Before her blood.
When he was a boy, his father led him to pray for hours in cold churches, his knees aching until the pain became a kind of prayer in itself. That’s how he feels now, hearing the soft rev of Edward’s volvo in the driveway. Holy and hurt.
Suddenly he is sitting, his back against the table and the red-flecked gauze pressed against his lips. She trusts me. They all do. I can’t. I can’t. But his mouth opens anyway.
It’s heavy as a communion wafer on his tongue. The car’s taillights bathe him in red. His eyes take on a little of the color, keeping her close even as she’s drawn away.
She is gone. The air clears a little, and he is finally able to unclench his fist. The tiny scrap of gauze concealed there slides down to his fingertips. He had meant to burn it, really he had. But his hand would not let go.
“I barely notice the smell anymore.” He’s amazed at how easily the lie had slipped past his lips. It had been the truth, once. Before her. Before her long awkward limbs and her doe eyes, full of trust. Before her blood.
When he was a boy, his father led him to pray for hours in cold churches, his knees aching until the pain became a kind of prayer in itself. That’s how he feels now, hearing the soft rev of Edward’s volvo in the driveway. Holy and hurt.
Suddenly he is sitting, his back against the table and the red-flecked gauze pressed against his lips. She trusts me. They all do. I can’t. I can’t. But his mouth opens anyway.
It’s heavy as a communion wafer on his tongue. The car’s taillights bathe him in red. His eyes take on a little of the color, keeping her close even as she’s drawn away.