la belle dame sans merci | carlisle cullen

59

Minerva had a wicked talent for pissing herself off. She was cruising down the highway, nearing 130 on the speedometer and climbing. Her intention, to be sure, was to cut the four hour drive to Portland in half.

The days were getting longer, June had greeted her cynicism with its warm embrace as they crawled closer to the longest day of the year. Six days stood between her and the solstice. Since March, her seances during the full moon yielded not a word, Hecate was refusing to show her face. There was bit a tingle of power that shot up her vertebrate to let her know the Goddess was listening, she simply had nothing to say.  Minerva could understand her meaning well enough.

The silence meant give me more.

In all her life, Minerva wasn't exactly sure what Hecate got out of the sacrifices beyond the gratification of being fatally worshiped.

Whether or not the goddess would really show her face for the Solstice was up in the air. Even still, Minerva was out to get her attention. Since the end of her bloodthirsty hiatus, she'd been keeping count.

In three months, she'd taken forty five lives. She'd been responsible for forty-five DOA's, forty five funerals, hundreds of bereaved. Days like this, it was easier. Someone should die for her bad mood. It was a totally healthy coping mechanism, surely.

If she thought too hard about Carlisle, it usually ended in one of two ways: the first being the current case: a frustrated drive into the nearest city with the hope that a little bloodshed would cure her ailment. The second, in true Minerva fashion, was drinking herself into a stupor until she couldn't remember her own name. Somehow his always persisted.

It made drinking lose its appeal. Her sentimental side would shine through and she'd grow sad and wistful, contemplating forgiveness a little too hard.
Day to day, she tried to cut him out of her thoughts all together. It didn't tend to work, all the distractions could only take her so far.

Reasonably, she knew she'd hear his explanation sooner or later. Forgiveness felt like breaking a cardinal sin. In her life she'd had a tendency to forget but never did she forgive. There was a constant battle between Carlisle meaning well and betraying her in spite of it.

Minerva was white knuckling the steering wheel, hands locked in at ten and two with a cigarette between her knuckles. Though a song that almost never failed to get her singing along was playing quietly through the speakers, her mouth remained firmly closed, opening only to slot the filter of her cigarette between her lips every now and then. It was ironic, really, to be so furious while Mr Blue Sky filled her little atmosphere.

Why didn't she just call Bella and say Hey, Kid! Totally forgot about deliveries today, if you're not busy would you mind running them out? Why did she have to be so worried? Of course, he was fine. It was a fucking dream. If everyone else in town was still cruising around with two feet and a heart beat, why wouldn't he be? Why would he be an exception? Why did she care?

He lied! He lied through his fucking teeth at every turn. She laid at least half her heart and soul out for him and he couldn't even tell her what he was? He deserved to be burnt to a crisp for it, for Christ's sake! The conflicting convictions only made her angrier.

How dare he be so kind to her? The whole thing would be much easier if he'd taken it upon himself to be an asshole. It'd be so easy to say fuck you and never see him again for as long as she'd live, if he'd just step out of line.

It could be a century from now, I'd still be eagerly awaiting your call.

It kept bouncing around in her head, scattering shrapnel in its wake. It'd been so easy to think their separation meant nothing to him. Functioning under the assumption that their friendship had been virtually meaningless to him made holding her grudge much easier.