2005, January 25th
He remembers.
She was sitting on his window.
She. Star. The Tarot Card. Or whatever appellation she approved of. Ideas Made Manifest. As though he cared. He had forced a stand still when he'd hissed at her that she hadn't come for him, obviously. She had stared at him too uncannily still. Not like an animal, but like someone watching over a insignificance with great pity.
It had been on the tip of infuriating, right before her expression changed.
He could remember that, too. The way her eyes looked up.
Her expression drawn inward, contrite. Listening, seeing.
And then she was suddenly gone. Everything was.
_____________________________
Once upon a time . . . .
There was a forest. It was green, lush, fervent. The deep rooted scent, with a not too far ocean, in the height of a northern winter. He doesn't know how he's here, but he knows this place. He would have to be insensible not to know this place.
Nothing makes sense. Everything shivers. Insubstantial.
And none of that even matters when his eyes open.
Because she's there.
The vision of his memory -- he can't dream, can't have nightmares -- and even his perfect memory, perfect imagination, is not as good as this. The blustery red of her cheeks. Her chapped lips and deep brown eyes. The way her hair moves around her face. Her adorable refusal of modern fashion. The scent that tore to his core.
He doesn't even pay attention to the other person when he sees the motorcycle under her. It flares to life under her, like a bright explosion of light, clenching his still insides.
And then he's a breath's worth of inches from her, not knowing how he moved.
"Stop." A panicked command, that only barely stays smoothed out.
But she doesn't. The hesitation of that triumphant look twisting her expression.
As though she can see him. Hear him. No. No hesitation. As though it's coming from far away.
Fueled by that indomitable refusal to listen he'd known so well.
"This is reckless and childish and idiotic, Bella." Edward's voice pitched higher.
An easily too cut to the quick, angry fume, even cast in velvet tone.
The other two words beat like woken birds in his mouth.
You promised. You promised. You promised.
But the bike screamed to life, blew through him, beyond him.
A growl of frustration competing against the inability to move.
He can't feel the wind, but his insides feel like they are pulled outside.
He appears again, somehow before her. She is the entire world before him.
"Do you want to kill yourself, then? Is that what this is about?"
Acceleration continued. And fear, an emotion so unnatural in all else he had now.
Again she was in front of him. Moving forward to where he was. Like a phantom.
Like an endless loop returning her ever to the space he blinked and was at.
"Go home to, Charlie." Was an order. The very real danger to her life seared in him.
She couldn't hear him. The wind flattening her hair against her head, her back
The way she smiled broke open across her face. As though she'd discovered a miracle. A very dangerous, deadly little miracle on a metal machine that could be her detriment. Steady and onward he continued. Ever the loop. Ever before. Ever able to see. Until her hand shifted, and her foot, her gaze sweeping down to them.
Not the road ahead of her.
"No, Bella," insanely urgent, frustrated at the inability to move, charge, intervene. The road was curving up before her and she was still headed straight at it. Too fast. Too Fast. And she was looking down, trying to go faster still. "Watch what you're doing!"
She looked up.
Swerving with realization.
Braking with all the panic of a child.
So that bike and rider went flying through the air.
_____________________________
"Bella!"
The shout is a spasmodic shot into darkness, silence.
Sending the vermin running, waking people beneath him.
His chest contracted in and out, as he looked all around him.
Rio. Rio's slum still throbbing, thrumming, disgusting in his mind, each drag of air in.
And a Card at his window. Standing now inside. Hands on the sill, as she stared upward at the sky.
Edward's hands dug into his face as he turned to one side. So real. It had seemed. He was losing himself again.
She was sitting on his window.
She. Star. The Tarot Card. Or whatever appellation she approved of. Ideas Made Manifest. As though he cared. He had forced a stand still when he'd hissed at her that she hadn't come for him, obviously. She had stared at him too uncannily still. Not like an animal, but like someone watching over a insignificance with great pity.
It had been on the tip of infuriating, right before her expression changed.
He could remember that, too. The way her eyes looked up.
Her expression drawn inward, contrite. Listening, seeing.
And then she was suddenly gone. Everything was.
_____________________________
Once upon a time . . . .
There was a forest. It was green, lush, fervent. The deep rooted scent, with a not too far ocean, in the height of a northern winter. He doesn't know how he's here, but he knows this place. He would have to be insensible not to know this place.
Nothing makes sense. Everything shivers. Insubstantial.
And none of that even matters when his eyes open.
Because she's there.
The vision of his memory -- he can't dream, can't have nightmares -- and even his perfect memory, perfect imagination, is not as good as this. The blustery red of her cheeks. Her chapped lips and deep brown eyes. The way her hair moves around her face. Her adorable refusal of modern fashion. The scent that tore to his core.
He doesn't even pay attention to the other person when he sees the motorcycle under her. It flares to life under her, like a bright explosion of light, clenching his still insides.
And then he's a breath's worth of inches from her, not knowing how he moved.
"Stop." A panicked command, that only barely stays smoothed out.
But she doesn't. The hesitation of that triumphant look twisting her expression.
As though she can see him. Hear him. No. No hesitation. As though it's coming from far away.
Fueled by that indomitable refusal to listen he'd known so well.
"This is reckless and childish and idiotic, Bella." Edward's voice pitched higher.
An easily too cut to the quick, angry fume, even cast in velvet tone.
The other two words beat like woken birds in his mouth.
You promised. You promised. You promised.
But the bike screamed to life, blew through him, beyond him.
A growl of frustration competing against the inability to move.
He can't feel the wind, but his insides feel like they are pulled outside.
He appears again, somehow before her. She is the entire world before him.
"Do you want to kill yourself, then? Is that what this is about?"
Acceleration continued. And fear, an emotion so unnatural in all else he had now.
Again she was in front of him. Moving forward to where he was. Like a phantom.
Like an endless loop returning her ever to the space he blinked and was at.
"Go home to, Charlie." Was an order. The very real danger to her life seared in him.
She couldn't hear him. The wind flattening her hair against her head, her back
The way she smiled broke open across her face. As though she'd discovered a miracle. A very dangerous, deadly little miracle on a metal machine that could be her detriment. Steady and onward he continued. Ever the loop. Ever before. Ever able to see. Until her hand shifted, and her foot, her gaze sweeping down to them.
Not the road ahead of her.
"No, Bella," insanely urgent, frustrated at the inability to move, charge, intervene. The road was curving up before her and she was still headed straight at it. Too fast. Too Fast. And she was looking down, trying to go faster still. "Watch what you're doing!"
She looked up.
Swerving with realization.
Braking with all the panic of a child.
So that bike and rider went flying through the air.
_____________________________
"Bella!"
The shout is a spasmodic shot into darkness, silence.
Sending the vermin running, waking people beneath him.
His chest contracted in and out, as he looked all around him.
Rio. Rio's slum still throbbing, thrumming, disgusting in his mind, each drag of air in.
And a Card at his window. Standing now inside. Hands on the sill, as she stared upward at the sky.
Edward's hands dug into his face as he turned to one side. So real. It had seemed. He was losing himself again.