Chapter Text
"I wasn’t sure if I was awake or dreaming."
— Stephenie Meyer Chapter 20 – Volterra, New Moon, (Edward Cullen)
Thursday March 23th, 2006
Forks, WA
I had Bella. I was back with her. She saved me from myself in Italy a few days ago. The family had voted to let her join our ranks. Life was perfect.
Well, almost perfect.
Anya was here.
She had followed my brother Jasper across the country last September, refused to speak to me for the three days while she hid until he whisked her away. I later learned they were holed up in the Catskills. From reading through Emmett's thoughts, and Alice's, I knew the two of them were happy. Irritatingly, blissfully happy. And I hated that. Hated that Jasper, of all people, had found someone to heal his wounds while I was wallowing in mine. He should have suffered as I had. It would have been more bearable if I wasn’t alone in my misery. He was the one who lost control at the birthday party. He was the one who almost killed Bella.
But then, yesterday, Anya hugged me.
When I shared that Aro did not see her in my memories or Alice's when he read us in Volterra last week, she embraced me. It was as if she were a ghost, untraceable to the most powerful mind-reader in existence. I stood there, stunned, while she offered me... thanks? Affection? I didn’t know how to react, and perhaps that’s what made me pause—made me think. Because now, with the time and silence to truly ponder it, I realized that her presence left me distinctly uneasy.
Anya's mere existence is a reminder that she is, as she calls herself, the passive reader of this world. She knows exactly what I said to Bella last September in the woods, every word and every hesitation. And what’s worse, she knows I never shared that moment with my family, not fully. She also knows how Bella survived the long months I was away; the pain I inflicted on her with mine and the family’s absence.
I hadn’t been prepared for the way Anya’s arms felt around me, the warmth of her touch, or the sincerity in her voice when she whispered, “Thank you, Edward.” It wasn’t like when Bella collided with me in Volterra, all frantic, desperate energy, clutching at me like I was her last tether to life. No, this was different. Anya’s embrace was soft, steady, unhurried. She wasn’t trying to pull me back from the edge or drown out her fear. She simply held me, as though I were worth holding, and in that moment, I felt… real.
I hesitantly raised my hand, my fingers brushing against the fabric of her shirt as I awkwardly patted her back. It was a gesture I’d seen humans do countless times, something I had mimicked without ever truly understanding the comfort it was supposed to convey. But as I touched her, I felt something shift inside me, something I couldn’t quite name. Desire, maybe. Need. It startled me so much that I almost pulled away, but she held on, just a second longer, as if anchoring me to this moment.
For the first time in months, someone’s touch didn’t feel like an act of desperation or obligation. There was no frantic need, no urgency. Just a quiet, unspoken offering of comfort. And I hated how much I wanted it. How much I wanted to lean into that warmth, to forget, if only for a second, the weight of everything I’d done. But it wasn’t just the embrace that haunted me; it was what it represented—the countless secrets she carried, the ones she kept hidden behind that calm, composed exterior. I’ve scanned my family’s thoughts obsessively, searching for any hint that she might have shared something about me. That she might have revealed the things I’ve never told anyone.
But there was nothing. Not even a whisper. Anya holds these truths like cards in her hands, and I can’t help but wonder if, someday, she’ll choose to lay them bare. And if she does, will she burn me to ash with them? She told me last spring that she is the butterfly, and she cannot cause any ripples, but really, being with Jasper? Isn’t that a ripple?
I watched her yesterday, standing beside Jasper as if she had always belonged there, her hand nestled in his, wearing one of his button-down shirts with the ends tied casually at her waist. It was such an effortless gesture of intimacy, one that spoke of the comfort and closeness they shared. And for a split second—just one absurd, fleeting moment—I imagined her wearing one of my shirts instead, the fabric draped over her shoulders, the scent of it mingling with her own.
The thought hit me like a blow, so sudden and unwelcome that I almost flinched. I forced myself to push it aside, to bury it beneath the weight of all the reasons it was wrong, all the reasons it shouldn’t matter. Bella is my future, I reminded myself fiercely. But the image lingered, gnawing at the edges of my mind, a reminder of what I could never have.
But then she stepped back, and the world snapped back into focus. I was left standing there, her warmth already fading, my body cold and empty in her absence. Whereas Bella’s touch in Volterra, had been frantic, chaotic, Anya’s touch had been anchoring and calming It unsettled me in ways I couldn’t quite name.
It made me think about Jasper—about the way he looks at her, the way his mind shifts when she’s near. The darkness that usually clouds his thoughts softens, fades, replaced by something lighter, something hopeful. They’ve found something with each other that I can’t begin to understand. And it wasn’t until I saw Anya’s smile yesterday, bright and unguarded as she turned back to him, that I realized just how connected they were.
I spent the last twenty-four hours scanning my family’s thoughts, obsessively picking apart every detail, every stray memory that could explain this change in Jasper. And it wasn’t until I brushed against Emmett’s mind that I caught a glimmer of something more. A flicker of amusement as he remembered Jasper’s “medic alert” bracelet, the one Anya had given him for Valentine’s Day.
“Anemic,” Emmett had chuckled when he first saw it. “Ain’t that the understatement of the century?”
Jasper hadn’t even bothered to respond, simply brushing his thumb over the band in a way that spoke volumes. It wasn’t just a joke or a keepsake. It was a promise. A reminder that, somehow, Anya had found a way to embrace all of him—the darkness, the thirst, the centuries of guilt and pain—and still see him as someone worth saving.
Had they exchanged vows, bound themselves to each other in some way while I was too lost in my own misery to notice? While I was drowning in my regrets, had Jasper found the one thing I’d spent my entire existence searching for—a sense of belonging, of peace?
I clenched my jaw, pushing the thought away, but it lingered, festering like a wound that refused to heal. Because in that moment, I couldn’t deny it anymore: Anya’s hug had made me feel something that Bella’s touch never did. It had made me feel... whole. And the thought terrified me.