Forever

20. Doesn't Matter

Even in the warmth of the comforter, the thick chaotic wall of pillows surrounding her head, and the hard, solid expanse of Emmett's chest pressed against her front. Her hand laid restless; against her breast, clenching and relaxing in unbidden intervals of time, a representation of her anxiety. What would've usually made her feel comfort did little to dampen the tightness around her neck, the heaviness which lingered over her in the aftermath of the past events. She tried to make her mind blank, not allowing the images to flash behind her eyes, the high pitched ringing which sang in her ear and out the next.

She had never truly encountered Vampire strength, never fully understood it, the superiority of it, the helplessness. Its one of those things you don't truly grasp until you've experienced it yourself. For the first time since she had discovered the existence of Vampires, she felt fear. Real, base terror, the kind that kept you rooted to the ground at the sight of a shadow, the kind that kept you beneath the covers at the slight sound against your window, a fear which made you wish you weren't breathing, that death would save you from the torment that kept you rooted in the darkness.

She had always heard those stories on the news, about young girls who were raped or molested in alleyways or parks, in vans or even in their own homes, and had always wondered at how stupid and naive they could be; to find themselves in a position where they could be that vulnerable. She had been ignorant, she now saw how stupid her thoughts had been, to think herself safe in the comfort of a place she called home, how easy it was to be cornered by those she had once trusted, those who but a week before had sworn to protect her from all harm.

Her head ached, and she wanted so badly to fall back into her slumber, go back to sleep, back into the warm darkness. Her limbs felt heavy, but her skin burned from the trails of cold fingers which weren't there, and her mind flashed with images, a shudder running through her body as she remembered her reactions to each cold touch, the sounds she had made, the pleasure she had gained in her ignorance, and even though there was no way for her to possibly know, the disgust was overwhelming, as was the anger, the need to tear her skin from her bones. She wanted to scream out the pain.

She jumped as a hand ran along her back, cold, but the temperature didn't have the same negative effect as the night before, maybe because it wasn't the same hand. His palm running beneath the back of her shirt as he crushed her against his chest. It was a solid, consistent, familiar feeling, one she welcomed. Her eyes felt heavy and damp, and her muscles ached with a hopeless tiredness, the last thing she wanted to do right now was talk, she didn't want to speak, because she knew her voice would break. Talking wouldn't fix this, talking wouldn't take away the feeling which clung to her skin, it wouldn't wipe away the disgust she felt. She wanted to forget.

His hand ran along her spine, and he seemed content with her silence. Her fist curled into his shirt, and she pushed herself up to her knees, her hands shaking as steadied herself on his chest. His mouth opened, ready to call her out on her actions, perhaps offer words of comfort which would serve no use other than to shatter her further from healing. There some things which words would never be able to solve, some things which could only be fixed through actions.

She leaned forward, her mouth fitting heatedly against his lips, catching him off guard with a kiss, her hands twisting in his shirt and dragging him forward. His hands hovered over her back awkwardly, unsure as to what was expected of him. The expectations in his relationship with Bella were different, where gifts and adoring words would've worked fine with Rose, they would've been the perfect fix to build her self esteem, they didn't work with Bella. She hated gifts, and words have always been meaningless to her, sliding from her skin like water. He felt completely out of his game with her, like a schoolboy in his first relationship, nothing worked the way he expected, but despite the lack of experience he felt, it did nothing to quell the emotion behind each touch. He leaned up, hesitantly at first; which felt out of character for someone like him, but as her hands slid beneath his shirt, her nails dragging over skin, and her tongue sliding softly over his bottom lip, begging for attention, his hesitancy to touch her, scared she might get the wrong idea, it all fled from his mind, recognizing the urgency of her actions.