A/N: This is not by any means a complete story. It's not even a complete idea! The general concept is that an OC has been taken in by the Cullen family post Breaking Dawn and it would seem that her power is unbelievable self control when it comes to feeding. It takes her just months to achieve what takes other "vegetarians" years. Having experienced an emotionally volatile human life, she finds herself inevitably drawn to Jasper, who suffers in his current life.

I would very much appreciate any and all constructive criticism and reviews.

I found him perched frozen at the end of the dock. I bit my lip and crept silently up behind him. He didn't shift a muscle as I sat wordlessly beside him, folding my legs in front of me. It was almost an hour before he chose to acknowledge me; the horizon glowed a delicate gray behind the trees.

"What do you want?" he mumbled. I shrugged; what did I want? "What do you want?" he repeated. He was obviously impatient with my lack of response.

"I don't know!" I hissed. I let my irritance flow, letting him feel it. As annoying as his talent usually was, it could also be extraordinarily useful when the eloquence escaped me. He rolled his eyes and turned away from me. I took a deep breath and started again. "I- I guess I just wanted to, to talk."

"About what?" he groused. I growled.

"You don't have to be so gruff," I snapped. "I'm just trying to apologize, though we both know damn well that I didn't do a thing!" Jasper snarled venomously. Vampire or not, it took a good deal of will power not to flinch at his outburst. It hurt to be despised by someone I so admired. I did my best to muffle my hurt; his talent was back to being annoying.

"Well," I demanded. "Say something!"

"You want me to say something?" he yelled. "Fine, I'll say something! I am so sick of you mooning after me like a lovestruck puppy! It's sickening! You seem to forget that I feel everything you feel! And thanks to Edward, I know half of what you know! I'd know all of it if Edward weren't so damn noble! I don't know what's more annoying: you or your damn super self control! I spend decades hoaning my self control, and still I spend every minute of every day in utter agony! It takes every fiber of my being not to murder every human I walk past! Then you come along! You're a vampire six months, and already you're perfect! It took just weeks for your eyes to completely lighten! It took me months to get my eyes this color, and I still stain them at least every decade! Because apparently, eight or nine decades isn't enough to give for my sanity!" My jaw was agape as he stalked off the pier, his fists balled in front of his face. He wrenched a bough from a nearby pine and flung it across the river, where it shattered against a large boulder. He stood sillhouetted at the river bank, chest heaving. He turned and scowled at me before sprinting off downriver, leaving me alone in the dawn.

The sky had turned a delicate pink when he returned. He lowered himself gingerly onto the wooden planks; his arm close enough to mine for me to feel the infinitesmal heat under his skin. I peeked up at him from under my hair; his irises were glowing rose gold, the sunrise reflecting in them brightly. His skin was sparkling faintly, as if embedded with rose-colored diamonds. He was rubbing his thumb back and forth over a cresent-shaped scar on his palm; the scar was jagged, and somewhat stretched; whomever marred him had torn the flesh.

"Jasper..." I said slowly. "What happened to you?" He laughed bitterly. I guessed that I wasn't the first to pose such a question. I quickly back-tracked. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked, I didn't mean to impose; it just kind of slipped out I guess-"

"No, no," he interrupted. "It's... It's fine. You deserve an explanation.

"When I was human, I was Jasper Whitlock. I was a soldier in the Confederate Army. I lied about my age to get in, and it didn't take long for me to get promoted to major. I was out by myself one night when I came across three women. They were wearing white dresses, and they were barefoot..." He trailed off, apparently lost in the memory. It was surprising how sharply most of us remembered the night we were changed, while the rest of our human memories were swaddled in fog.

"They were the ones who changed you, weren't they?" He nodded soberly. He swallowed and forged on. He spun tales of vampire armies, and the Volturi. How he had helped to raise the newborns, only to kill them twelve months later. His face twisted in anger as he told of his role in the killings, how he'd taken them aside, one by one, slaughtering them like cattle. He recounted countless battles, each one leaving him more scarred than the last.

"Then," he said. "I left."

"You left?" I echoed. "Just like that?"

"I'd been thinking about it for a while," he clarified. "I was sick of the death, and the distruction. I grew depressed. Every time I killed a newborn, I felt I was killing myself. Over and over, night after night... It was enough to drive anyone mad. I'd grown close to another vampire who had made it past the year mark, Peter. He and his mate, Charlotte, wanted to leave; so, I left with them. I ended up in Pennsylvania, where Alice found me. She told me about the Cullens, about their humanity. It sounded absurd, the thought of a whole clan of vampires going against their nature like that. But I couldn't help but believe her. There was something about her; the emotions coming off her were amazing..."

"You were in love," I said, somewhat bitterly. True love was something neither life, eternal or otherwise, had yet to grant me. "You couldn't have left her if you wanted to."

"No," he agreed, smiling wryly. "I couldn't have."

By now the sunrise was blazing bright fuschia, and everything looked strangely two-dimensional. The air felt weighted, pregnant, as if veiled by an invisible fog. Already, though, the sun was unusually warm; it was sure to be a beautiful day. Maybe I could talk the others into going swimming later.

I sighed heavily and lay back, stretching my arms above my head. After a spell, Jasper lay gingerly beside me. It took a long moment for me to register that is ever-present sleeves were absent; he was wearing only his undershirt, his navy button-down tossed aside. I immediately understood why he wore it. His whole upper body seemed to be covered in cresent-shaped scars, a few of them encroaching on his throat. I recoiled at the thought of the pain that I knew had gone into each wound; hundreds of internal fires, speeding through his veins. I pushed myself back into a sitting position and edged ever closer to his prostrate form. His scars glowed brighter than the rest of his skin, bright white against fair pink.

"Oh, Jasper," I whispered, lightly brushing his arm with my fingertips. The scars were rigid under my touch, like flawed marble. "They're beautiful."