I Write Sins, Not Tragedies [An Emmett Cullen Love Story]

Chapter Twenty-One

I Write Sins, Not Tragedies 

Chapter Twenty-One: Decision 

"Mary?" The voice could barely be heard through my ears. I was standing there, frozen and still. This man was young, innocent. Dead. I had killed him and it was his blood that had covered my ivory shirt and painted my pale skin. 

"Oh, Mary." The voice was a sigh, echoing my emotions. I could barely recognize Edward's soothing tone. I slowly turned around, my eyes filled with remorse and terror. I hadn't even realized I had done it before it had been too late. 

If I could have cried, I would have been sobbing. 

Edward looked terrified too, probably at my appearance. I had been sloppy in my actions. Little flashes of the event were coming into my mind, he had fought back, he had wanted to live. I had felt a sick lump growing in my throat. I had taken my first life. 

Edward approached me slowly, looking at the corpse that littered the ground. 

My breath hitched with the tears that wouldn't spill. 

I saw as Emmett appeared in the distance, his eyes wide with fear and sorrow as he looked at the pain that filled my bright crimson eyes. Slowly he walked towards me and enclosed me in his arms cautiously. The only reason he didn't speak was because he didn't know the words to say. 

"I-I-I" My words were lost and hysterical.  

"Shhhh, it's okay." Emmett quieted me softly. "It will be okay." 

"I didn't mean to..." My voice was shrill and distant. 

"Shhh, I know, I know." 

Edward interrupted him, "Emmett, get her back home. I have to deal with this." 

I was out of myself as Emmett led me away, holding me upwards in his arms. I wasn't seeing anything or hearing anything. I was numb, unbelieving of what I have just done. My only notice that I had arrived back home was the sheets and soft bed underneath me. 

Emmett had laid himself next to me, but I rolled over and faced away from him, unable to look him in the eyes. The guilt and that terrible remorse were unbearable. 

Emmett sighed after a moment or so had passed, placing a kiss on my head. "I'll leave you alone for a moment, Mary; if that's what you'd like." 

I feebly found the strength to nod, and willingly he left, closing the door behind him. 

I believe a day or so had passed and no one bothered to disturb me. I had heard them mention me below, but my mind couldn't fit the words into sentences that would stick into my mind. I never wanted to leave the house, I never wanted to risk being around people. 

I hadn't realized Jasper had entered the room until he was seated in the leather armchair in front of me, thinking of what to say. If anyone would be able to make me feel even a sliver bit better, it would have been him. 

"I know how hard it is, Mary." Jasper finally spoke, finding the words, "I didn't have quite the same . . . upbringing as my adopted siblings here. My beginning was something else entirely." His voice turned hard as he finished. 

"Before I tell you my story," Jasper said, "you must understand that there are places in our world, Mary, where the life span of the never-aging is measured in weeks, and not centuries." 

"To really understand why, you have to look at the world from a different perspective. You have to imagine the way it looks to the powerful, the greedy . . . the perpetually thirsty.