Second Chance at Forever | C. Cullen

021

"In 1776, we married two months after you changed me, and it was difficult because I wanted to drink the priest, but your touch grounded me. I remember every kiss you bestowed upon me, every moment of making love to you." She paused again and sniffed. "And in 1955, I remember being killed by a nomad in an alley in Minneapolis. I remember your face, I remember burning—"

"Stop!" he begged through a hoarse moan and he stood, turning away from her and she saw his shoulders trembling and knew that if he could cry, he would be. She slowly sat up, feeling her body more at ease and stronger than she ever had before. Only a tug and a sharp pain on her arm made her hiss and pause, looking down to see an IV in her vein. Carlisle was there in an instant as soon as he heard her pain and made a quick work of the needle before his anguished eyes found hers.

"You needed fluids," he murmured as way of explanation. She frowned and he looked down. "You were asleep so long, we thought we were going to lose you."

"How long?" she whispered.

He sighed raggedly and reached up to tug at his unruly hair, and she moved his hand to replace it with hers. Immediately his body relaxed.

"A week."

Her eyes widened and she paused, stunned. "A week?" she squeaked, causing him to look up at her. She shook her head. "Couldn't be. I was just in your study—"

"A week ago." His face became pained again. "You fainted after you saw the painting. But everything was normal, your vitals... Everything. I knew the hospital couldn't help, so I kept you here with me." He growled softly. "Safe."

Her fingers moved in his hair again. She glanced down and saw she had on some pajamas she definitely didn't remember being in, and went a little red as she realized someone changed her, and she could only hope it was Carlisle or Alice. Not that he would've let anyone see her like that, of course.

"I know I'm safe," she whispered. "I'm with you."

"I let you die." His face fell and he pressed against her shoulder where she continued to stroke his hair soothingly, but it didn't seem to do the trick as he whimpered. "I watched that nomad tear your head off and burn you. I didn't save you."

"You tried," she whispered. "I remember you begging." She paused. "I remember thinking that I hoped the nomad didn't give in. The world needed you, not me."

He moaned in agony. "Please don't say that, Abigail. If you know what that did to me..."

"I do," she whispered. "I can feel it." And she did, the sharp pain that she felt everywhere in her body, infecting her to her soul. It twisted and gnawed and choked her until she could barely breathe and she felt like she wanted to die a hundred times over. He felt this for fifty years, she thought sadly.

"It's me who should be apologizing." His head snapped up and his eyes blazed, fully ready to argue to his fullest extent, but her finger fell over his lips. "Hush, love. I promised that you would never lose me. But you did, and I'm so sorry that I broke my promise."

"Don't you dare apologize for that," he growled around her finger. He stood and for a horrible moment she thought he was going to walk out, but instead he climbed into bed with her and she eagerly clambered onto his lap where she snuggled into his chest, clutching at the cotton of his shirt. "That will never be your fault. I don't want to ever hear another apology from you."

Her lips parted, but she slowly nodded and pressed against him again. She would always blame herself, but if he didn't want to hear her words, she wouldn't say them.

"I love you," she murmured. She heard him sigh shakily.

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

They stayed like that for another hour, neither talking, but just content with being there together. But then the humanness of her current situation made itself known as she realized she had to use the bathroom, and her stomach growled in hunger. She peaked up at him sheepishly and he was simply smiling at her. She realized then that hint of something in his eyes, the glimmer she had seen before, was gone. Perhaps it was the ghosts haunting him from keeping this a secret. Part of her knew she should be angry—it was a huge secret to keep—but she couldn't bring herself to it. She was starved for him. She ached in growing agony as she was feeling every one of those fifty years they were apart. And she never planned on letting him go again.