Breaking Dawn

believe Rosalie’s words and keep my mouth shut. Because I knew that every scream that escaped my lips would torment Edward.

Now it seemed like a hideous joke that I was getting my wish fulfilled.

If I couldn’t scream, how could I tell them to kill me?

All I wanted was to die. To never have been born. The whole of my existence did not outweigh this pain. Wasn’t worth living through it for one more heartbeat.

Let me die, let me die, let me die.

And, for a never-ending space, that was all there was. Just the fiery torture, and my soundless shrieks, pleading for death to come. Nothing else, not even time. So that made it infinite, with no beginning and no end. One infinite moment of pain.

The only change came when suddenly, impossibly, my pain was doubled. The lower half of my body, deadened since before the morphine, was suddenly on fire, too. Some broken connection had been healed—knitted together by the scorching fingers of the flame.

The endless burn raged on.

It could have been seconds or days, weeks or years, but, eventually, time came to mean something again.

Three things happened together, grew from each other so that I didn’t know which came first: time restarted, the morphine’s weight faded, and I got stronger.

I could feel the control of my body come back to me in increments, and those increments were my first markers of the time passing. I knew it when I was able to twitch my toes and twist my fingers into fists. I knew it, but I did not act on it.

Though the fire did not decrease one tiny degree—in fact, I began to develop a new capacity for experiencing it, a new sensitivity to appreciate, separately, each blistering tongue of flame that licked through my veins—I discovered that I could think around it.

I could remember why I shouldn’t scream. I could remember the reason why I’d committed to enduring this unendurable agony. I could remember that, though it felt impossible now, there was something that might be worth the torture.

This happened just in time for me to hold on when the weights left my body. To anyone watching me, there would be no change. But for me, as I struggled to keep the screams and thrashing locked up inside my body, where they couldn’t hurt anyone else, it felt like I’d gone from being tied to the stake as I burned, to gripping that stake to hold myself in the fire.

I had just enough strength to lie there unmoving while I was charred alive.

My hearing got clearer and clearer, and I could count the frantic, pounding beats of my heart to mark the time.

I could count the shallow breaths that gasped through my teeth.

I could count the low, even breaths that came from somewhere close beside me. These moved slowest, so I concentrated on them. They meant the most time passing. More even than a clock’s pendulum, those breaths pulled me through the burning seconds toward the end.

I continued to get stronger, my thoughts clearer. When new noises came, I could listen.

There were light footsteps, the whisper of air stirred by an opening door. The footsteps got closer, and I felt pressure against the inside of my wrist. I couldn’t feel the coolness of the fingers. The fire blistered away every memory of cool.

“Still no change?”

“None.”

The lightest pressure, breath against my scorched skin.

“There’s no scent of the morphine left.”

“I know.”

“Bella? Can you hear me?”

I knew, beyond all doubt, that if I unlocked my teeth I would lose it—I would shriek and screech and writhe and thrash. If I opened my eyes, if I so much as twitched a finger—any change at all would be the end of my control.

“Bella? Bella, love? Can you open your eyes? Can you squeeze my hand?”

Pressure on my fingers. It was harder not to answer this voice, but I stayed paralyzed. I knew that the pain in his voice now was nothing compared to what it could be. Right now he only feared that I was suffering.

“Maybe… Carlisle, maybe I was too late.” His voice was muffled; it broke on the word late.

My resolve wavered for a second.

“Listen to her heart, Edward. It’s stronger than even Emmett’s was. I’ve never heard anything so vital. She’ll be perfect.”

Yes, I was right to keep quiet. Carlisle would reassure him. He didn’t need to suffer with me.

“And her—her spine?”

“Her injuries weren’t so much worse than Esme’s. The venom will heal her as it did Esme.”

“But she’s so still. I must have done something wrong.”

“Or something right, Edward. Son, you did everything I could have and more. I’m not sure I would have had the persistence, the faith it took to save her. Stop berating yourself. Bella is going to be fine.”

A broken whisper. “She must be in agony.”

“We don’t know that. She had so much morphine in her system. We don’t know the effect that will have on her experience.”

Faint pressure inside the crease of my elbow. Another whisper. “Bella, I love you. Bella, I’m sorry.”

I wanted so much to answer him, but I wouldn’t make his pain worse. Not while I had the strength to hold myself still.

Through all this, the racking fire went right on burning me. But there was so much space in my head now. Room to ponder their conversation, room to remember what had happened, room to look ahead to the future, with still endless room left over to suffer in.

Also room to worry.

Where was my baby? Why wasn’t she here? Why weren’t they talking about her?

“No, I’m staying right here,” Edward whispered, answering an unspoken thought. “They’ll sort it out.”

“An interesting situation,” Carlisle responded. “And I’d thought I’d seen just about everything.”

“I’ll deal with it later. We’ll deal with it.” Something pressed softly to my blistering palm.

“I’m sure, between the five of us, we can keep it from turning into bloodshed.”

Edward sighed. “I don’t know which side to take. I’d love to flog them both. Well, later.”

“I wonder what Bella will think—whose side she’ll take,” Carlisle mused.

One low, strained chuckle. “I’m sure she’ll surprise me. She always does.”

Carlisle’s footsteps faded away again, and I was frustrated that there was no further explanation. Were they talking so mysteriously just to annoy me?

I went back to counting Edward’s breaths to mark the time.

Ten thousand, nine hundred forty-three breaths later, a different set of footsteps whispered into the room. Lighter. More… rhythmic.

Strange that I could distinguish the minute differences between footsteps that I’d never been able to hear at all before today.

“How much longer?” Edward asked.

“It won’t be long now,” Alice told him. “See how clear she’s becoming? I can see her so much better.” She sighed.

“Still feeling a little bitter?”

“Yes, thanks so much for bringing it up,” she grumbled. “You would be mortified, too, if you realized that you were handcuffed by your own nature. I see vampires best, because I am one; I see humans okay, because I was one. But I can’t see these odd half-breeds at all because they’re nothing I’ve experienced. Bah!”