Ruthless and Ivory (Twilight Fan Fiction)

Chapter 16: Want

Chapter 16 - Want

Brown watery spheres stare into hard green ice—honest, confessing eyes. A year in clippings, frames of light in memory runs through my mind. Everything. So much blood. All from his hands. So many people. "You." Him. All him.

"Let...go of me," I hiss. I shove his arms away. Fiercely. With all my strength. His desperate hold is nothing compared. They are weak to my disbelief. They fall to his sides defeated. His eyes shut, exhaling from his flared nostrils. "Don't touch me," venomous. His eyes open and they're dead set. He pulls away.

"Good," his lips curving around sharp teeth. A stab. He's won. This is what he wanted. All this time. Distance...from me. But the smack across his face takes the victory away. It's mine. For the lies. For my reddened neck. For mocking. For this. My palm burns, throbs from the sting. His face snaps to one side from the blow. He steps back with eyes shut. They open and they're different. He doesn't look back at mine. Down, with knitted brows, looking at anything but me. Shame.

Good.

"Bella..." But I'm gone. I turn and walk away. Adrenaline. My feet move to a sprint.

Move. Run. And I do.

"Swan!" I can feel the tension of his deep voice against my retrieving back. My knees almost buckle. The anger. He strains with the scream. The sound traveling far away through trees and my speeding heart. He calls again. This time composed, but I hear the masked desperation. I run faster. Tears freeze against my face, to my temples.

No more. You can only take so much.

—•—•—•—•

Grass and dead leaves crunch under my boots. My skin is crawling. Every follicle on my skin erect. No hand to hold and make it all go away. That hand turned to vines, gripping, growing, infesting and infecting. I shake it off. My palm sweaty. The feel of it still lingers. Just like his lips on my neck. It burns still. Sharp teeth scratched skin that turned red...irritated, like my patience. I dig my nails at the heat from rushing pulse. More pain over the pain he made. I cringe. A new wave of prickling on my skin. Quiver.

He follows me.

I'm leaving. Complete and utter disbelief. I ran away. Far away. Where he isn't. Where none of this is. Numb is not even the word to describe how I feel. Betrayed? Fooled? Cheated?

Hurt.

I trusted him. God, I trusted him. Completely. With every frightened fiber in me. Where are words to describe it? Thoughts scrambled. Only the graphic moments are clear. A lifeless man laying in a crimson puddle. A car parked in the middle of a harbor, encasing another man with a bullet through his skull. A taunting red ribbon in the palm of his hand. Cold. Pale.

I gag.

Purging is acid on my taste buds. Taking out everything I've seen. Out. I reject it. I can't take it. My hair curtains my face as I bend. I know he's watching. I can feel him. The vibes of tension, his steps faltering, because he sees I'm sick of this. He knows. But he keeps away. Yards. A speck of him. He knows better.

It's hard to believe how close i wanted to be. The distance is dense with irony. I feel foolish. For wanting. For even considering the mere thought of proximity. A new gulp of bile crawls up. He's a killer.

I wish he'd go away. I wish my legs were strong enough. For my balance to be steady enough...I'd loose him. But I can't. The blood in me boils and runs cold all at once at the thought.

The one man I feared most. The one who took over my dreams. He was a ghost. Surreal. Yet, he walks behind me, watching every move I make. He follows. He knows who I am, my name, my fears and weakness. He knows my past and where I came from. All along, when I thought I was invisible to a character I wrote in articles, he knew me. He's real.