Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.
It’s not the face, but the expressions on it. It’s not the voice, but what you say. It’s not how you look in that body, but the thing you do with it. You are beautiful.
In the dead silence, all the details suddenly fell into place for me with a burst of intuition. Something Edward didn’t want me to know. Something that Jacob wouldn’t have kept from me, It was never going to end, was it?
So what you’re saying is, I’m your brand of heroin? I teased, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled swiftly, seeming to appreciate my effort. Yes, you are exactly my brand of heroin.
