Fandom: TwiW

Pairing: Bella/Paul, Embry, Jacob

Genre: angst, suspense, grief

Rating: M, for one little language blip—mentions of character death

Word Count: 500

Prompt: "Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost

A/N: I've had this one particular picture for probably close to a year now and I knew it was this pairing and this scenario (empty spaces/dysfunctional grief), but I didn't realize I was waiting for this week's prompt poem to spark whatever was needed to get it out on paper. You can check out the original picture that prompted this flash on my Twitter/ChrissiHR. Generally speaking, angst and feels are not my forte, so thanks for putting up with my experiments while I play with old, unfinished ideas. ;)

Sleepless Walking

She can't sleep. It's not that she doesn't try, but it's not the same alone. It's not the same in the cold bed with the wrong scenery. It's not the same without his long, warm length pressed against her back, his breath curling over that tender spot at the back of her neck where he kissed her for every reason and no reason at all.

So she walks, the stiff webbing of nylon clutched in her cold hand as Misty trots by her side.

Jacob's gift—Misty—the fluffy golden lab meant to keep her company, meant to give her a reason to get out of bed each morning.

A reason to live, when all she wants to do is follow him.

Jacob knows this. The others, too. She can't see him, but she knows one of them is always out there, watching her, making sure this walk is just a walk and ends at her house as it should.

But the woods are lovely; the dark invites her in. She longs to leave the path and disappear into the fog, enveloped, lost to the lovely darkness of his beloved woods.

To go where he went and remain. More than anything, that spot calls to her. To wander off the path and find that spot. To lay there, where he lain and be as close to his warmth as she will ever be again.

Not today. She looks over her shoulder as golden eyes return her gaze.

Not today, but soon.

He doesn't sleep. Knowing she's out there before dawn, sleep eludes him again. Her silent contemplation unnerves. The wistful way she stares into the woods; it terrifies him.

Bone deep terror.

Because one day he won't be there and that'll be the day she gives in and follows the emptiness, trying to fill it with that patch of fucking dirt.

He's not even there!

He wishes they'd never talked her into leaving the house, but it hurt to see her wandering the rooms aimlessly and staring at the empty bed.

All the empty places.

Empty spaces she couldn't place herself in anymore because she didn't fit in them, not without Paul. The empty spaces haunted her; the spaces kept her from sleeping in their bed.

She never slept in it again.

Embry didn't know if the others knew, but he noticed the bed remained unmade, the covers thrown back.

Untouched.

Unbearable.

Every glance into that room riddled with pain.

But worse, so much worse than simple grief. Like her body and mind forgot how to feel and muscle memory alone wrenched her attention back to the same point again and again to look with unseeing eyes on a spot she had no place in.

Because it was theirs and there was no "theirs" anymore.

Just "hers".

She'd rather lay on the cold dirt and torn moss where he breathed his last than in the warm bed that still smelled of his scent.

Dark and deep and silent, the woods are theirs.

E/N: Sad? I can never tell if it's as sad as I think when I write these angsty/griefy bits.