He doesn't have to breathe. He doesn't have any space in his head for anything else (even as the endless pour of always continues to shift and sift and fill, in and out, endless).

The desperate confusion at the edges of his eyes and hands, the nearly stricken too-fastness of his movements, all lend such realism to the countless lies. Rage is so close in a blinding second place.

Edward slipped back into the room, back to Carlisle, placing a hand at outside edge of his shoulder to announce what sight couldn't and sound would have already. "It's done." He took Carlisle's hand, unable to avoid catching his eyes, when he was helping him to stand back up.