I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. I had tried, and failed at living happily, and now I couldn't even track down a single vampire. I heard soft guitar music in the background, and the mixed thoughts of several Brazilians. I could make out a word here, and there: something about love or money. It's funny how the world is categorized into two groups: the lovers and the greedy.
My cell phone, meanwhile, was ringing off the hook. My family had no idea where I was, and kept trying to reach me. It pained me to think how much Esme or Carlisle were worrying, but I couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone. It had been three days, and I haven't moved an inch. I was beyond paralyzed, and if I didn't move soon I fear I never will.
It took almost an hour of concentration, but I managed to stand up out of fetal position. My body felt stiff and achy, but I could manage. I tried to block out all thoughts of…no, I couldn't even think her name the pain was too great. I slowly walked downstairs, and the guitar got louder. It was a small bar on the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro, but crowded now. I wondered dully what time it was.
I took a seat at the bar, and the bartender eyed me skeptically. I was out of place, a pale foreigner, a tourist, ruining the fun for all the locals, or that's what he thought. I could be off; my Portuguese is more than a little rusty.
"Você quer uma bebida?" He asked, while cleaning out a rather dingy glass.
"Não" I replied curtly, and the bartender huffed to the other side of the bar. I didn't know what to do, the false track meant going back to her, but I couldn't bring myself to ruin it. What if she was happy? I was torn with that image, partly happy for her, but a greater part of me wishing she wasn't happy. I shook my head, and tried to concentrate on the music.
It was a lover's lament, how appropriate. It seemed I could never escape, even thousands of miles away. I closed my eyes to listen: The heart will never sing again…my Raquel will be gone…heart will never sing again. The guitarist was quite good, really. An elderly man, he was thinking about his daughter, whom he hadn't seen in a while.
Suddenly, my mind went into a sort of flashback, or flash-forward. There was a bright light, and a pair of green eyes, I was running through a forest, I heard laughing, saw a fire, and then…darkness. I opened my eyes again, and in the doorway was a girl, a beautiful girl.
I've never had a vision before, and wasn't about to call Alice to ask. Maybe it was from lack of food, I reasoned. Yet the girl in the doorway, she looked…amazing. My eyes slowly looked her over. She was tall, probably 5"9' with tanned skin. She had dark brown hair, and a bright smile, and…green eyes. She must've been a native, because the bartender recognized her.
"Alexandra! Como é a vida?" He asked, his mood considerably better.
The girl walked over, and sat next to me. She turned to greet the bartender, but paused. Instead, she looked me in the eyes, and gave me a confused look. It lasted but a moment, and she replied quickly, "Não assim bom, como sempre meu amigo. O curso foi mau." (Not so good, like always my friend. Travel has been bad.) Her voice sounded familiar, but her accent was strange, not like the other people in Rio.
She ordered some local drink, and turned to me. Her eyes were scrutinizing me, and I felt guilty almost. "Are you American?" She asked, her accent was still unfamiliar, although I caught a tinge of Caribbean to it.
"Oh, uh…yes. And you?" I asked. I should've known small talk would occur. Everyone in Brazil was talkative, almost to the point of annoyance.
"Belize mostly, but really everywhere, my name is Alexandra by the way. Are you here for Carnival or something?" She seemed friendly enough, but something told me she wanted to know why I was HERE, specifically. This wouldn't be easy to lie myself out of…
"Uh, no, I'm not Christian, not really. I'm just traveling, and I'm Edward, Edward…Smith." I thought up, lying only for the convenience, but she looked at me funny again.
"Hmm, you don't really fit in here, if you know what I mean. You kind of…stand out." She was being polite; I stood out like a sore thumb, being so pale and melancholy. "Where are you staying?"
"Nowhere." I shrugged.
"Not anymore, I say we walk outside, hm?" I was taken aback by her attitude; I was used to intimidating people. She shook off the bartenders drink and stood up.
"I don't think that is a good idea…" I muttered, reluctant to move.
Her voice replied, so low that only I could hear, I was sure of it, "Well I think you and I both deserve to know the truth. You're not really Edward Smith." She looked happy, but her tone was serious. She seemed non-relenting, and I wasn't in the mood to argue all night.
"Alright then, fine." I got up slowly, and together we walked out of the bar, "but for the record, I'm don't think you're Alexandra from Belize anyway."
She smiled devilishly, "That's the point, isn't it?" As we walked out of the bar, and the guitarist strung up a faster song, the lights of Rio straight ahead of us, in the darkness of night.