The hallways of our house are a dark brown. Usually my favorite color, I know brown as deep and rich; brown is life, soil of the earth, but this color is flat and lifeless. My aunt had painted over the once-yellow walls some time ago; it was the year all of the soul had left her eyes, and she seemed to spiral into a depression where no one could reach her, not even Alice, her own daughter.
I live in my dead cousin's bedroom now, since my parents went away to Europe and never returned for me. I don't even glance at the phone hanging on the kitchen wall anymore. They have the number, but I know it will never ring. My fingernails drag and catch on the projections of paint on the wall, reaching out to suck me in, as I trail my hand behind me. Down the staircase, winding and twisting around and around; my feet could barely keep up with me running down these stairs as a child, but I know it well now.
My aunt's door is closed; it is dark under the door, just like all typical days. She isn't asleep, I know that much. When I was younger I used to go outside and throw rocks at her window; I knew she couldn't be asleep because the light never came on no matter how true my aim was. She lives, breathes the dark. Only at night do I see her now, roaming the halls like she's lost something precious, or like she doesn't remember who she is.
Alice, my other cousin, the one that's alive, sits in the kitchen, reading and eating at the same time. A silver locket hangs around her neck, forever tied to her dead twin, a noose around her neck she didn't ask for, but doesn't complain about. She is remarkably good at taking care of herself. She is only twelve years old, however, and I'm sure she could use more of a motherly figure than I. Of course, I am only seventeen years now, and motherly instinct does not come naturally to me.
"Your night was long, I'm guessing." I state, trying to go for nonchalance but secretly worried about the deepening circles under her eyes.
"I had another one." She doesn't glance up at me either, not from her book, but I can feel the disturbance in her tone.
"What was this one about, Alice?" I lean forward onto the counter. Her book looks ancient and the title is in some foreign language; it's a genre that is too old for her, as always. The teachers had warned me there would be nothing suitable for her in the school library to read, since she is so advanced in her studies, and that I should take her to the local library to find her something more challenging.
"I dreamt that my sister came back." I wait for her to elaborate.
"And?"
"She came back and Mom woke up."
I am surprised for a moment. But then there's always something deeper going on in Alice's mind. "That doesn't sound too bad." I suggest cautiously.
"It wasn't." She states but I can see her eyes brimming tears over the top of her thick book.
I decide to leave it. Usually, if Alice wants to talk about it, she doesn't skirt around the topic.
She pedals her bike up and down the street while I watch from the porch, sitting with my legs splayed out in front of me, last rays of the sun stretching over my toes. I watch her with my hand above my eyes as she turns around and rides back, dirt billowing up behind her wheels. It is then that I see him, walking down our dirt road. He's all danger with his dark leather jacket and his eyes piercing through me, even from so far away. He looks out of place against the sunset. Like he shouldn't be here at all. Which he shouldn't.
I'm brimming with something, and I can't tell if the blush on my face is from anger or excitement. I look down at my toes again, just to get away from his stare. When I look back up Alice is stopped in the road and he's talking to her. One hand comes out of his pocket to gesture something to her and she shakes her head. Now I know I'm angry, and I stand up to walk over.
"I thought you came here to talk to me, Masen, not to my niece." I use his surname out of spite as I look straight through him, trying to discern what he is thinking, why he is really here. "Alice, go inside please." She looks at me, doesn't argue just takes her bike into the garage.
"I don't know what you think you're doing with my family, but I'm not going to let you tear it apart." I practically spit fire at him, ready to tackle him to the ground before he's even said anything.
He looks at me, hands in his pockets. He looks all calm but I can see the carton of cigarettes through his coat, and I watch him fidget nervously with it. He only smokes when he is stressed, or is trying to make a decision on something. Finally, he breaks down, and with the first puff he takes I can see the relief plainly on his face. He has been dreading this conversation all day.
He walks over to the porch without invitation, sits down on the steps and takes a long drag. He lets the smoke escape between his lips, drawn into a thin line. He looks back over his shoulder at what he knows is my aunt's room, and seeing it still dark as ever shakes his head.
"I give her a warning that her children could be taken away from her, and nothing changes. You would think that would be a wakeup call." I think he means to mutter only to himself, but I catch it, and I peer into his eyes again, really trying to discern what he came here for. I want to kiss him, but at the same time I want to slap him.
Those lips close around the end of the cigarette again and my breath hitches, but I look away.
"It's inappropriate for you to be here right now. You didn't even call to say you were coming."
He nods but doesn't saying anything, simply looking out into the yard. He's brooding over something; his eyes look lost but determined at the same time. And then he looks up at me again, and I'm lost too. He stands, breaking eye contact with me, and bends to put his cigarette out on in the tall grass, grinding it into the dirt slowly. Slowly, he raises back up, hesitant.
I stop breathing as his lips hover over mine for a moment, his hand on the nape of my neck. I think about pushing him away but I don't. Soft and warm and familiar, we are a collision of want and regrets and forbidden thoughts. Everything has built up to his breakdown, and I can feel the desperation seething beneath his lips as he crushes them to mine, his tobacco-sweet breath mingling with my own. I feel like I am exploding and being put back together all at once, remade. I clutch at his hair, his shoulders, his back.
"Fuck that's so good," he swears, pulling back only to start all over again.
I'm breathing so heavy I feel like I'm about to pass out. And then I let out a soft moan and he pulls away. I hope to god no one is around, and that Alice has lost interest about what's going on outside. I didn't expect Edward, bad boy with an iron will to give into his baser instincts today. His rough fingertips run up my arms, trail over my collarbone.
"What are you doing, Edward?" I try to sound angry but I'm breathless and my tone comes out softer than intended.
He looks into my eyes, evergreen and piercing, and maybe lost for the first time since I met him.
The door opens and I'm surprised by the sight of my aunt standing before me. I feel like I've never seen her before. Her face is gaunt, hollowed, her body too lean—like a starved winter tree. Her once beautiful strawberry-blonde hair is now withering from her head, but I look into her eyes and there is something new there that I haven't seen in months.
"My apologies, Mr. Masen, I didn't know you were to stop by today." Her voice crackles, a hollowed cocoon.
I give her a startled look but he doesn't seem surprised at all. Edward breaks eye contact with me, turning around to face her.
"I need to talk to you. Aro is getting impatient."
"Aro's impatience changes nothing." My aunt snaps.
"He'll take them away from you. Just like the first time. He'll leave you with nothing left, Esme." His voice is calm and steady, a hint of desperation roiling underneath the façade, just barely breaking the surface of his cold eyes. "He just wants to know where they are."
"Take who away? What are you talking about?" I extricate myself from his arms with a twist and a push, and move to stand beside my aunt, looking at her with concern. "Is Aro threatening us again, Esme?" I whisper, but she doesn't answer or even acknowledge my presence.
Edward has that lost look in his eyes again as he looks at me and I feel my eyebrows furrow as I look back at him. Alice is outside again and I feel her wrap her arms around my waist though I do not turn my gaze to her.
"Go inside, girls." The command comes from my aunt, and though I see storm clouds gather inside of Edward's eyes, he does not protest to this.
I start to object, but Alice's arms squeeze even tighter around me, and I stop and turn my head to her.
She appears calm as she glances back and forth between her mother and Edward, but I know better. My aunt Esme's rare appearances usually have a profound effect on her, and it can take her days to go back to her normal routine. I sigh and slip her arms from around me with little effort, and then take her hand as I walk inside with her.
I do not glance back at the pair on the porch, though I wish to.