Chapter Twenty Four
“You bit me.”
Edward is seated beside the bed, elbows on his knees, gaze between his feet and furrow in his brow, looking guilty enough to have just murdered a schoolhouse of children. Remorseful and angry with himself. I feel like I’ve been asleep for an achy million years, a thousand painful decades, and I miss him so bad it’s all I can do not to fling myself into his arms.
Still, the first thing out of my mouth is an accusation.
Edward looks sheepish and glances away, mumbling under his breath. “Yeah. In a way.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? In a way?” My ears are ringing because every single bumblebee and double decker airplane and falling star that has ever existed in the history of time are all flying by at this very moment. My vision is warping so far I can see dust floating in a courtyard in Paris. My hands feel as hot as the seventh circle of hell. I’m freezing and dizzy, and I’m pretty sure my lungs are carved out of stone. They’re not working at all.
This must be what shock feels like.
“I didn’t just bite you.”
“Sure feels like you did.” I put a hand to my neck, and even though it’s not raw or open or even bleeding, it’s still painful in a strangely numb way. It’s cold and suspiciously still, no thump below the skin, no swish beneath the surface. I smash my fingers against place where I should have a hole at least the size of that blood-red mouth of his, where I should feel warm and sticky.
Where I should have a pulse.
“You would have died anyway, regardless of what I did.”
“I died?” I screech.
“Not exactly,” he mutters glumly.
“I died,” I say again, my voice sounding oddly monotone. I can’t pry my fingers away from my neck, and I can’t get air into my lungs. I feel dizzy-sick, like I just stepped off a roller coaster I wasn’t strapped into tightly enough.
“No, you didn’t.” Edward is shaking his head, but he’s still not looking directly at me.
“But I’m not alive. I have no pulse,” I wheeze.
“True. But this isn’t death.”
“You’re sugarcoating something.”
“Yes.” He nods deliberately.
“For me? Or for you?” I ask. I still feel sick. Still feel like I could burst out of my skin or suddenly shrink down too small to see with the bare eye. I still feel like the sun is too strong and the moon is too far away and like the ground is softer than it had ever been before.
“For us both. Though, probably more for myself. I gave you the worst gift I could have ever given you.” His eyes fall to my mouth, and the tip of his tongue finds the tip of his fang. He pokes at it thoughtfully at it as he stares off at the trees.
Oh.
It’s not shock, this thing that I’m feeling. It’s not the creep of death or the panicked struggle to live.
It’s being a vampire.
“Fuck!” I scream. “Edward!” I’m on my feet before I even think of doing it, trembling and seasick on hard, dry land. “You turned me into a vampire!”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Fuck you!” My voice rips through my throat in a way that’s almost painful.
“Well, fuck you too!” He yells back, and that nasty word sounds so wrong in his prim and proper mouth, even he seems to recoil at the sound. He closes his eyes and lets out a ragged growl before he’s right up in my face. Finger to my chest. Nose brushing the very tip of my own. Eyes blazing like a million fires of the molten lava hell just below my feet.
“Fuck you too, Bella,” he hisses. “What was that shit? Kiss me; I taste delicious?” He spits another curse word, and I’m half-stuck on how sexy he sounds when he’s mad before I realize he’s mad at me. “That kiss had you—I had you all up in my head. Your scent. Your taste. And then, Alice… and you were bleeding and… I mean…” He pauses and seems to deflate, shoulders slumping and his chin landing on his chest. “What was supposed to happen there?”
“You weren’t supposed to bite me.”
“What was I supposed to do, then?”
“Kiss me. Like a normal, boring kiss.”
“Kissing should never be boring,” he grumbles.
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