Sequel to Edward's Phone Call.

This chapter is written from Edward's perspective.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, Bella, or Edward. If anything, they own me.

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There was something disturbingly surreal about being here. About feeling this soft wind on my face, about watching this ghostly familiar landscape fly past me. Something about running here—this very route—for the first time in nearly seven months.

The tension building inside of me was staggering. I felt as if I was on the verge of combustion—I knew that my body couldn't contain the amount of energy and adrenaline, of vicious anticipation, that was coursing through my veins.

All was the same, I could see now. Forks had never seemed so unchanging to me—like a ghost town, with some forbidden horror lurking in it's midst. It had lived so vividly in my thoughts and my dreams for the past half a year, that it was frightening to see the houses and trees and dark paved road as it sprawled out before me now. Beckoning me.

My mental capacity was dwindling as the pressure in my body increased. I didn't have to fear this place anymore, I told myself. I didn't have to dread this place anymore—I didn't have to shun myself from it ever again, make it impassable…unreachable…

It was nearly impossible for my mind to process this.

I pushed my legs harder, faster, whizzing by at what must have been invisible to the human eye.

Perhaps what my mind had been trying to convince me of was in fact a reality—I was in a dream. Despite how impossible that sounded, I felt entirely less awake—less aware—than I normally was, and if I had ever been less than human, it was during these past months.

I continued to move across the landscape in a deep trance.

I was so close now...any moment now and…

The colors around me began to blur, the shapes losing their last bit of sharpness as they quickly retreated by me on either side. The sound of a car honking its horn…a bird singing…someone shouting—it all washed away.

I was deafened by the sound of nothing…the eerie emptiness that always emerged when I was faced with no sounds but those that could be conjured only by my own silent form. Where I supposed there should be a thudding pulse, or racing heart, or frantic breathing, perhaps, there was only the tensed, heaving, echoing cry of nothing. A sound so intense—shrieking, raucous—that thudded and ripped like daggers along the inside of my skull.

Nearly there, now…

I assumed that I should feel great remorse for what I was about to do. That incessant part of my mind was still determined to convince me of my faults…convince me for the final time that being with her—breaking my promises—would only hurt her.

But the fierce, jubilant expectancy that flooded through me more forcefully with every step I took, managed somehow to overpower this.

Time was more irrelevant to me now than it ever had been before. I felt no loss at not knowing whether I had been traveling for seconds or hours or days…because time played its own spiteful games. Faster when it's perfect, slower when it's over…when you're alone.

I felt like I was secluded from realism. Enclosed, as if in a bubble that nothing could rupture. Life moved around me continuously, buzzing busily, but all my intuition was blurry. Like I was seeing something different—something stranger—than everyone around me was seeing. A separate sphere.

I'm here.

Her open window—the curtains fringing the edge as the breeze whipped at them, the soft light pouring out—was the most terrifying and beautiful thing that I had ever seen.

I couldn't feel the wood as it brushed smoothly against my fingertips; I couldn't feel my legs as they pushed off of the ground, lifting me up. My body felt disconnected from my mind, and my mind disconnected from my self—and I couldn't find the last piece of sanity anywhere.