"Bella!" Edward called out in acute relief. We’d caught him in the middle of pacing back and forth across the little open space. He flashed to my side, sort of blurring as he moved so swiftly. Jacob cringed, and then set me on my feet. Edward ignored his reaction and caught me in a tight hug.
“I stared into her eyes, wide under the thick fringe of lashes, and yearned for sleep. Not for oblivion, as I had before, not to escape boredom, but because I wanted to dream. Maybe, if I could be unconscious, if I could dream, I could live for a few hours in a world where she and I could be together. She dreamed of me. I wanted to dream of her.”
Scenes that should have been in the movie:The Flight home from Italy
But, perversely, I bit my tongue against the flood of questions. My reasoning was probably flawed by exhaustion, but I hoped that by postponing the discussion, I could buy a few more hours with him at some later time – spin this out for another night, Scheherazade-style.
So I kept drinking soda, and resisting even the urge to blink. Edward seemed perfectly content to hold me in his arms, his finger tracing my face again and again. I touched his face, too. I couldn’t stop myself, though I was afraid it would hurt me later, when I was alone again. He continued to kiss my hair, my forehead, my wrists…
I thought of that night in Port Angeles when I’d had my first delusion. I’d come up with two options. Insanity or wish fulfillment. I’d seen no third option. But what if… What if you sincerely believed something was true, but you were dead wrong? What if you were so stubbornly sure that you were right, that you wouldn’t even consider the truth? Would the truth be silenced, or would it try to break through?