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Today, a boy is turning into a monster. When he wakes up and looks down at his hands, there will be no veins, no heartbeat thrumming through his palms, no sensation of blood. Being saved comes with the cost of being human again.
The cot underneath him is hard, a sheet draped over his chest. A loud ringing purrs in his ears; the sickness is spreading through his body, down to his toes. He wiggles them through his socks and, just barely, his lips form a smile no one else can see.
Every hour, Carlisle checks on him. There are no nurses allowed to see him—that mistake was made with Edward’s mother and father.
It must be me, Carlisle told them, before politely dismissing the nurses from the ward. As if he had a duty to save Edward, a calling from within. Despite his weak body and his numbing head, Edward hears the entire conversation out in the hall. It’s not Carlisle’s tone during such chaos, or the quickness of the nurses to move out of his way, but the words uttered under his breath that stay with Edward until his final breath: He deserves to be saved.
The teeth are sharp and steady against his neck. It’s pure agony. He screams and shrieks underneath Carlisle until he feels his voice gives out, his vocal chords splitting into pieces.
Edward’s first swallow as a monster is rough as sandpaper. Instead of water, Carlisle gives him a nursed bag of blood and sits Edward up in his apartment. It must be so lonely, living like this.
He feeds, he watches the city on the roof. He still can’t find his voice, but if he could speak, Edward would say: Help me, father. I am saved, but I am a monster now.