The Crash: Book Two - Heart on Fire

Chapter Three: The Birthday Girl

Bella

"Cease to resist, giving my goodbye. Drive my car into the ocean. You'll think I'm dead, but I sail away. On a wave of mutilation." - Wave of Mutilation (Pixies)

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

When I was running through the forest with Edward, it was the most exhilarating thing I had ever experienced. The sights and sounds were amazing, and the detail of every tree and branch within my eyesight was breathtaking. I could hear the bugs skittering in the earth and the birds overhead flapping against the breeze. The soft beats of our footfalls echoed off the tree canopy overhead and in the far distance I could make out a waterfall cascading down a cliff face of jagged rock outcroppings. Even further away were the sounds of people talking, and as I focused on a singular voice I could hear the words being spoken. Then there was a knock from the inside of a nearby tree, and I suddenly wanted to press my ear to every surface I could see to find hidden worlds.

But it wasn't just the sights and sounds that made me feel alive in a way I never could have imagined, it was the sensations of the air against my skin, or the taste of the molds and microscopic droplets of water that made me want to open my mouth and drink in the air around me. My sense of smell had increased to the point where I could almost see trails of the animals surrounding me. The line of a squirrel dancing among the trees, or a deer following too far behind the herd. There were no words to express the feeling of overwhelming satisfaction I was feeling. I stopped in the middle of our hunt, overwhelmed, and scared a rabbit who took off for its life. I watched it run, and I tried to mentally describe the scent of the adrenaline coursing through its veins and the pounding of its little heart. There were more things surrounding me then I had ever realized before, and none of them were what I thought they would be.

This existence wasn't a gift; it was a revelation. Nothing about the change so far had been for the worse, my body no longer hurt. I could move in ways I never would have dreamt of doing before, everything was more intense, and I was loving every second of it.

Then he confessed, and I felt angry and alone. It had been awkward with him showing me how to hunt. I wanted it to be Rosalie or Esme, but he stepped up and for a moment I thought I might be able to find those feelings I had started to feel for him.

The confession felt like a brutal punch to the gut. I felt raw, vulnerable, and a new emotional pain began to tear into me like a jackhammer. I felt this great surge of anger, and I had to do something. But there was nothing around except rabbits and deer and trees. I wanted to chase him down and tear him apart. I wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt me. I screamed, my new voice bouncing off of every surface and echoing back towards me like a deranged parrot.

Then I was on my feet, punching the closest tree. My fist embedded into the trunk five inches, causing a split down the center. It didn't stop my rage, it only made it worse. An example of my new status as something else, other, monstrous. I was a creature of violence now, and I could feel the stirrings of that violence just below every thought and action. I pulled my arm out with ease, and hit it again, effectively cutting the tree in half. It began to fall in slow motion, and I let out a guttural shout of rage, before moving on to the next. I wasn't picturing him when I hit bark and wood, I was hitting something elusive, like I was working through something. Less than two minutes later, six trees in all were destroyed in my anger. In the end I felt defeated, unable to understand anything about my situation. Not my new existence, no that felt oddly right. Even the new capacity and appetite for violence didn't bother me so much. It was the catalyst for that violence. I couldn't make sense of what he had done to me.

Edward had let me be crushed by a van.

He was the reason my spine was damaged so severely I would never recover. Why I could barely breathe on my own at night, without an oxygen tank next to my bed. Why I had to switch from being a right handed person, to using my left exclusively. Why every waking second I was in agony or so out of my mind with painkillers that I couldn't think straight. Yet despite all that, I knew my rage was selfish, a reaction to my own guilt for moving past him and the desire to cheat on him with his sister. It was tawdry and wrong, and I worried things would never be right with Rosalie. But I knew a part of it was the fact they let me into this world, all of them aware of his inaction and they didn't tell me.