In Dire Need of Cessation

Thirty-One

Eyes widening, mouth opening, the abrupt happiness shot through me as if it was a firework. Brilliant hot light soared through me, differing from the usual sparkler warmth that had become a resident within me before I had the pleasure of encountering Bella. The scorching heat of color burned its way into my heart, up my throat, piloting around my dysfunctional veins, and making my tongue flutter a string of words to form a sentence.

"What?" I nearly squeaked, not acquiring a breath before I continued. "Seriously?!" A grin began to grow, tugging at my lips at first before I relented into a beam.

"Yes," Carlisle smiled, showing a full display of concern but joy for me as it inundated in his eyes.

With my mouth slightly parted, I searched for any indication of new life. At first, the growth was invisible, with only the quiet buzzing noise of bone marrow beginning to regrow. The sound was similar to a carbonated drink than that of an aggravating insect that was enticed by human blood- it ticked and fizzed too quiet for the human ear to hear, even if they had a sound magnifier.

As the miracle proceeded, I could hear each bacterium began to formulate, the fizzing maintaining its volume.

How magnificent it was to see the foundations of Bella begin, to view the construction of the body she would be a resident in for the rest of eternity. After my siblings had certified the transition and watched in amazement as the neural tube started to form concurrently to the bone marrow finishing its growth, the four of them left the room temporarily, believing Bella needed privacy. Generous of them.

Esme stepped back after my siblings left, searching for the clothes Alice left on the coffee table, which was situated beside the white cotton blanket that was neatly folding for when Bella was at the stage of her transition where she would require privacy. Like parents checking they had the emergency labour bag for when the mother was in the first stages and rushing around to travel to the hospital, which included towels, diapers, blankets, toiletries, and bunch of other equipment that Health and Social deemed appropriate to list for the (lucky) humans who had the opportunity to reproduce (oh the joys of sharing a Health and social class with Rosalie), Esme collected the blanket and clothes and settled them beside Bella on the work bench.

Eyes trained on Bella, I only knew Carlisle had left to check the minute supply of human blood bags from his thoughts. One of the very small similarities between us and the stereotypical vampires was that we actually kept a blood supply. It wasn't exactly an infinitive supply, where a vampire wouldn't think twice about running out, but a small fridge full under Carlisle's desk in the cabinet. The metal container could only hold roughly six beers, the original use, it said, on the box along with a picture to demonstrate, but it was more than enough.

Carlisle had conjured the idea after a...slip up of Jasper's in 1973 (a poor man didn't realize a usually controlled vampire was strolling across the road as he slipped off his ladder and scathed his knee), however, after, Jasper had to begin again the process of conversion from human to animal blood again. Like an alcoholic, it was impossible for Jas to quit the red human booze cold turkey, and therefore, Carlisle maintained a location for a human blood supply for if (Jasper needed a drop to quench the need for a cocktail of the ole AB positive) the event was to ever repeat itself. What better place to keep this source than under his sturdy desk?

Three bags Carlisle had. A mere three bags.

Usually, it was a prevalent fact that the average adult body needed eight pints at least, and here we only had three! We weren't aware of the vital knowledge of what blood type she was, in addition.

"O negative, O negative, and...A positive," Carlisle listed, knocking the fridge door shut with his arm enclosed around the bags.

"That won't be enough, surely," Esme murmured, glancing at Bella as her digestive tract began to swell larger and larger like (the virus of death) a sprained ankle after a foul tackle from the opposition in soccer. While her torso sped forward in the race of transition, her arms had begun to form table tennis balls of muscles, drooping down from the bone like sagging periorbital puffiness under the eyes. The bicep hung from the bone uncharacteristically, looking as if a spider had just wrapped its web around its snack. Yet, this web was dark crimson, like an umbilical cord that had been savored by the parents. Hard as a rock. Dark as the night.