Hello, and welcome back. I've never written an 'Emmett' before, so I really enjoyed bringing him into the story. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters. I own some Twilight band-aids. I only use the ones with the wolf pack symbol, though. I don't mind if they get covered in blood. No copyright infringement intended.
I want to laugh at Bella's question, but since she really doesn't remember, I don't want to hurt her feelings by doing so. I think the last time Emmett kept a secret was when he was in third grade and his best friend wet himself when he was accosted by a very large girl who wanted to use the swing he was on. However, the fact that I know this tidbit of information means that Emmett's secret keeping skills were crap even back then.
It won't be long before my family finds out about Emmett's impromptu trip here today. Hopefully, I'll have a couple hours of peace before the phone calls from my mother and sister start.
"Horrible—," I answer,"—absolutely horrible. It's a shame you don't remember high school and the crazy made-u-u-ddp rumors we used to tell him that would make him look like an idiot when he spread them around. Those were some good times."
Bella's eyes light up at the information, just like they have at most everything else I've told her today.
"Really?" she asks with a giggle. "Like what? Tell me," she demands, wanting to be let in on the joke.
We're again interrupted by another round of adamant pounding on the door.
"Edward, I swear I'm going to rip this door off its hinges! You can't leave a message like that and leave me standing out here. You're freaking me out! I have my phone out, and I'm pulling up Mom's number…" Emmett says, trailing off.
My wide-e-eyed expression alerts Bella to the severity of Emmett's threat. "I'll hide," she states quickly, and is gone. My eyes dart everywhere in panic—she can't leave. Please, God, don't let her leave.
"It's ok—I'm still here," Bella says softly from somewhere in the apartment.
Her statement sobers me enough to run to the door and throw it open. Emmett is on the other side holding some bags with one hand, while holding his cell phone in the other—his thumb hovering over the call button.
"What the hell are you doing? Don't call Mom," I say, chastising him.
"Well, you weren't answering the door," Emmett complains as he barges in, and I close the door behind him. "What was I supposed to think after you left a message like you did?" He asks the question with his eyes cast down to the floor and his voice in a lower register than his normal volume of loud.
Neither of us has to say the words that he was thinking.
"Sorry. I choke out. It's not the first time that I have to apologize to one of my family members for scaring them into thinking that I was going to take my own life. None of us want to revisit those times in my existence.
Emmett nods and changes the subject as he sets his bags on the table. "I brought food. I just assumed, 'cause, you know…" He pauses and opens my refrigerator door, inspecting the contents. "…your limited inventory. Let's see, we have Sam Adams, Guinness, Corona, and what the hell is this imported shit?" he asks, holding the offending bottle, reading the label.
"I don't know. I thought I would try it."
"And?"
"It's piss."
I'm met with a disapproving sigh as Emmett shakes his head at me. I roll my eyes, and Emmett goes back to the fridge, pulling out a container of lime wedges.
"Hey look, fruit! And here I thought you'd given up sustenance," he says, patronizing me.
"It's for the Corona, dip shit," I retort.
"No kidding? Who the hell taught you that? Shouldn't be calling me a dip shit," he mumbles as he puts the container back. "Seriously, there's like no food in here except for a half eaten sub, a bottle of ranch dressing, and this box of take-o-out from none other than Bella Italia." I know where he's going with this.
"You know there are other restaurants in Port Angeles, right?" he asks.
"Shut up." I don't want to hear this again.
"If there is mushroom ravioli in there, I'm giving you a noogie," Emmett threatens.
"Shut up—and don't." I then remember that Bella is actually here in my apartment. Bella is here in my apartment! She can probably hear everything that is going on. I don't want her hear all of it this way—I should be the one to tell her about how messed up I was. Who am I kidding? I'm still pretty messed up, but not as bad as I used to be. I am getting better—at least, I think I am.
"Seriously, I'm looking in the box," he says like a child, his hand perched on the opening.
"Stop it." I warn, but I'm too late—the box is open, revealing its contents.
"Aw man, come on. Why do you even get this? Their mushroom ravioli is crap."
I don't answer him, but I do agree. The entrée isn't the best, but Bella always seemed to like it, unless she always got it for sentimental reasons. That would make more sense, given the flavor.
Emmett closes the fridge door and approaches me. "All right, let's go, time to pay up."
"What? No. You're insane," I tell him, but I'm ignored. He lunges for me and tries to grab me in a headlock, but I duck out of the attack and try to get away from him. My evasion is useless when he grabs me around my waist and pulls me back to him. He keeps one arm around my middle while the other makes its way around my neck.
"I didn't want to have to do this, but you gave me no choice," he teases.
Damn him and his ridiculously strong arms. His upper arms are probably the same size as my thighs. This moment makes me vow to spend more time at the gym.
Not wanting to let him win this little scuffle, I turn my head just enough to give my jaw access to his arm, and bite down as hard as I can before he releases me.
"Ow! You fucking bit me!" Emmett screeches in a high-p-itched voice while cradling his bitten arm.
I point at him authoritatively. "I am twenty-three years old, and you will not give me noogies. Are we clear?"
"I'm your older brother, and I will give you a noogie whenever I feel it is necessary!" he argues back.
At that we both crack smiles, unable to hold our angry banter any longer. This moment proves to me why I always call Emmett when I'm feeling like I can't handle my own mind any longer. He knows me better than anyone else in my family, and always says or does just the thing I need to feel 'normal' again.
Don't get me wrong. I love everyone in my family more than my own life, but when it comes to needing someone to balance the insanity that sometimes still takes place in my head, Emmett is the only person who can be successful.
If my sister, Alice, had been the one to come over today, she would have looked in my fridge and given me a look of despair and pity. She would have admonished me like a child, and would probably had shed a dramatic tear just to show me what kind of pain my behavior causes the family.
My mother would have observed the contents of the refrigerator with her hand flying to her mouth to cover her gasp of shock. She would have hugged me, told me how much she's worried about me, begged me to come live back at home, and used some sickly-s-weet term of endearment like honey, sweetie, sweetheart, or my least favorite—little bear. I really hate that one.
My father would have sighed at the sight of the desolate refrigerator. He would have gently closed the door, approached me, placing his hand on my shoulder and said "Son,"—he always starts with 'son'—"You need to take care of yourself. You can't be healthy here, if you are not healthy here." He would point to my head and then my abdomen. I always get very sound advice from the good doctor. He would then, most likely, grab one of the beers himself and go sit pensively on my couch, staring at all the unused medical text books, while mentally beating himself up for not being able to 'fix' me well enough after one of my mental breakdowns. He blames himself for my failed attempt at medical school.
I overheard him and Mom talking about it before. He thinks that if he could have found the right doctors for me, I could have been helped, but the problem wasn't the doctors. What good is going to a therapist if you can't be honest with them? I had to lie to each and every doctor he sent me to. All of them knew that I wasn't giving my all with the sessions. After a couple months they would go to Dad and tell him that I refused to open up and was unresponsive to treatments. My father would get angry at their lack of effort and drag me to someone else who would give him the same diagnosis.
This went on for a couple years until I couldn't take any more disappointing doctor visits, and I told my parents I was ready to try college. So off I went to NYU, who decided to hold my acceptance until I was ready due to my graduating with high honors and impressive recommendation letters from a few of Dad's friends. It didn't turn out well, though. Within the year I was forcibly returned home, institutionalized, and put on suicide watch. I was released after only two months; the doctors there deemed me not 'crazy' enough for twenty-four hour care, so back home I went to be a burden on my family.
It was only a month ago that I was able to convince my parents to let me move out on my own. They needed to stop coddling me, and until I was out of their care I wouldn't be free enough to deal with my own issues. They didn't know the truth about what happened, so turning to them for help was useless.
Still chuckling at my brother, I retrieve the 'piss beer' from the fridge, unscrew the top and take a swig. I slosh the liquid around my mouth a few times before spitting it in the sink.
"What are you doing?" Emmett asks.
"Washing the taste of ogre out of my mouth," I answer.
"With the piss beer?"
"It tastes better than you do."
"Ooh, burn," he teases again as he removes his hand from the bite wound. We're both surprised to see the amount of blood that has come out of it.
"Holy shit, look what you did!" he exclaims with accusation.
"I couldn't have bitten you that hard." Did I really?
"Apparently you did, genius." He pushes me out of the way of the sink and turns the water on to wash himself off. At the same time, I hear what sounds like a window opening in the hallway leading to my bedroom and bathroom. Bella.
"I'll be right back," I quickly tell my brother. I'm met with a grunt of acknowledgment.
I run to the hallway, praying that she is still here. I see her standing at the window, leaning out, taking large breaths. After a deep inhale, she turns to me.
"Edward, I can't do this. I'm too thirsty. First your nose bleed and now Emmett…I can't. I have to go," she whispers.
No, no, no. Stay; I need you to stay. She must notice the pathetic look of desperation on my face, because she is quick to reassure me.
"I just need to feed. I'll come back as soon as I'm done—I promise. I'll definitely hurt one of you if I stay. I won't be able to control it."
I try to take in the meaning of her words. She will hurt either me or my brother. Her eyes show me exactly what she is trying to explain. They are black as night and filled with a tortured longing. Through them, I can see both pain and desire. I see her throat bob with a swallow—the action appearing to cause her some kind of discomfort. In that moment, she looks nothing like the Bella that I know. I've never seen her look so…so…dangerous.
My heart rate picks up—along with my breaths. I'm filled with a nervousness that is making the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention while chills course up and down my spine. Something in the back of my mind tells me to run. I instinctively take a quivering step back, and her eyes focus about six inches below mine. She swallows again, and a strange rumbling sound accompanies the action. I'm convinced she can sense the changes that just took place in my body.
Her face is quickly drawn into a look of resolve, and some of her features soften slightly. She gently reaches her hand to my cheek and fingers the hair at my temple. I flinch slightly.
"I'm sorry. I'll be back," she promises again.
And then she is gone. I barely see the movement she takes to jump out of the window. I look down to the ground below and spot her running away just before she turns to disappear behind the corner of the building.
I lean against the wall to take a moment to calm the fear that overtook my body seconds ago, making me feel like I was being hunted. I also use the moment to try to understand what just happened.
Ever since Bella and I started talking, I have allowed myself to be wrapped in the idea that I had her back and she was finally mine again. Even after learning that she was a vampire, I just assumed that it wouldn't be a problem. Everything is right as long as I have my Bella.
But now, after experiencing Bella induce that kind of fear in me, I see just how different we really are as a species. I remember the things Jake and the others told me about vampires; she's not like me and I'm not like her.
I start to panic at the revelation. Does that mean we can't be together?
No. I will make it work—whatever I have to do. I won't let her get away from me again. I won't throw this opportunity away.
I hear Emmett unloading the grocery bags he's brought and make my way back to the kitchen. He looks at me warily as I unsteadily make my way into the room.
"Everything all right?" he asks with a look of concern.
"Yeah," I mutter.
"You sure?"
"Uh huh."
"Okay," he says disbelievingly. He knows I'm lying.
Emmett pulls some bread and a plastic container out of one of the bag and starts to put them in fridge.
"Mom had a lot of leftover turkey for sandwiches. She made it on Sunday," he tells me.
"Yeah, I remember. I was there."
"Ooh yeah, you were the guy sitting quietly in the corner ignoring everyone."
I'm actually a bit hurt by his judgment. I expect him to understand me better than that.
"It was her birthday. You're lucky I came at all," I say quietly with a note of anger in my tone.
Mom always makes sure she can keep a close eye on me every time the thirteenth of September rolls around. Since this was the first year I wasn't living at home after my attempt at college, she made sure that I was at the house by using an irrefutable family dinner invitation. I didn't want to go, but no one can guilt me into doing something like my mother can.
"I see," Emmett replies curtly—still throwing groceries into the refrigerator and cabinets. Even though he is the best at helping to turn my foul moods, he's still not immune to them. I have surely hurt him more than enough.
The last item on the table is a tall, skinny paper bag—that would be the liquor. Holding my gaze, Emmett pulls out the bottle and roughly places it on the table, the sound of the bottle hitting the wood loud in the room. The quiet, condescending 'you're welcome' doesn't need to be said.
"I'm sorry," I mutter to him for the second time today.
"It's fine. I know it's still hard for you."
I take a deep breath and eye the bottle Emmett has brought with him.
"Southern Comfort?" I ask with shock.
"Well, yeah. You never left a message like that before. I assumed wine, or rum and coke, wouldn't quite cut it.
I cringe, r, remembering the last time Emmett got me Southern Comfort. "I said I wanted to talk, not pass out on the couch in my underwear singing Bon Jovi songs."
Emmett tries very gallantly to stifle his laugh with his hand, but his attempt ends in a barrage of spitting noises.
"I can't believe you can even remember that," he says between chuckles.
"I don't. I remember the video Jasper took on his phone," I say with my eyes narrowed at my brother.
That statement has Emmett laughing unabashedly now. I try to hold my scowl, but I eventually break, shaking my head in humorous disapproval of the actions of my sister's boyfriend.
Emmett grabs two glasses and pours out the whiskey. He fills one glass more generously than the other, and hands me the glass with the smaller amount.
"Just save some for me this time and you should be fine," he teases, and takes a sip of his drink. "Oh hey, there's something I need tell you." I'm grateful for the subject change.
"Shoot," I encourage while taking a sip of my own.
"I heard Dad talking privately with the Chief the other day," Emmett starts, quickly gaining my attention. Chief Swan, Bella's father, was never very fond of me. No one was good enough for his little girl. He enjoyed intimidating me as much as possible while I was dating his daughter. He had no qualms about keeping his gun on him whenever I was in the house. I'm also pretty sure that he blames me for his daughter's death. He never said it to me, but something in his eyes told me that he thought it often.
Emmett continues. "They didn't know I was at the house and that could hear their conversation."
"What about?" I ask warily.
"It's about Port Angeles. Dad's not allowed to talk about it with anyone. He won't even tell Mom, but only because she'll worry about you more than she already does and force you back home."
"I don't understand. What's wrong with Port Angeles?"
"There's been an ongoing string of murders for the past two years."
"In Port Angeles?" I ask in disbelief. "That can't be right, Emmett. I think you misheard," I say as I take another sip of my drink.
"No it's true!" he exclaims, defending himself. "It all started two years ago when Lauren Mallory was found in the dumpster behind Bella Italia. I know you remember that."
I cough violently on the whiskey when a gasp takes it down my trachea instead of my esophagus. Bella. Her look of fear when she recognized Lauren in the yearbook, afraid that she was a friend, now makes sense to me. She never did offer the reason for her interest in the photo or the story of what happened to her. She didn't want to admit to me that she was the one who killed her.
"The burn a little too much for ya, there?" Emmett asks with a smirk.
"Uh, yeah."
"So anyway, since then, there have been like forty more murders. The police have been investigating this whole time and can't come up with a single clue."
"Why was Chief Swan talking to Dad about it?"
"Because they asked Dad to help with some of the most recent autopsies. They're bringing in different doctors and detectives now to get a fresh look at the case. I guess Charlie was recently put in charge of it. Dad's not supposed to talk about it because they want to keep everything hush-hush since no one can find any leads whatsoever. I guess they don't want to cause mass panic, so they stopped reporting the murders on the news sometime last year."
"Shit," I say pensively. I don't know how else to respond, especially when I know that Port Angeles' next murder is taking place just as we speak.
"So, is Charlie spending more time here, then?" I inquire.
"Yeah, some," Emmett answers. "Are you afraid you're going to run into him?"
It's not me that I'm afraid he'll run into. Just thinking about Bella running into her father almost sends me into a panic. How would she deal with that interaction? Would she run, or maybe pretend not to know who he is? She did, after all, recognize him in photos. I wonder if she would tell him the truth, hoping to regain back a part of her life that she has lost. One thing I know for certain, he would definitely come after me, accusing me that I had something to do with his daughter still being alive and him not knowing it.
"Edward, relax," Emmett encourages, mistaking the look on my face as fear of running into the Chief. "He would never start anything with you. And if he did, I would beat his ass."
"That wouldn't get you thrown in jail," I patronize.
"I don't care. I wouldn't let him mess with you like that—it wasn't your fault."
His words bring me back to the time when I was blaming myself—for having Bella alone in the woods, for not being more observant, and for not trying harder to save her. Jacob had to convince me multiple times that there was nothing I could have done. If a vampire is after someone, that person has no hope of survival. He said I was incredibly lucky to make it out alive—I didn't agree with him.
"Anyway, just be careful around here," Emmett says, bringing me out of my tortured thoughts. "They said most of the murders take place at night and are completely random, so try to stay in. I'm glad you had your door locked. Who knows how this person, or people, operates."
If only he knew that the 'murderer' was already on the wrong side of the locked door.
"I'll be careful." I promise him.
"""""You better be. Now, have you removed the plastic from your furniture, or do we have to stand in the kitchen all day?"
"No, the plastic is off the couch," I answer, remembering how Bella was able to fluidly remove the thick material with ease, claiming she only needed to find the weak spot. Ha! Weak spot in the plastic, my ass. She just needed to be a creature that had the strength of twenty men.
I lead the way to the living room, Emmett following behind me with the bottle of whiskey. I move the picture, yearbook, and photo album away from the couch, making room for the two of us.
"Taking a walk down memory lane, huh?" Emmett asks as we sit down.
"Uh, something like that." How am I going to explain myself now? I told him in the phone message that I was seeing an image of Bella everywhere. I can't tell him that it was actually her and she was here with me. I take a long sip of my drink to give myself some time to think about it. When I feel the intense burn of the amber liquid in my throat, I realize that the whiskey is probably a mistake. Liquor loosens up my mouth more than I'm comfortable with, and the situation that today has brought is not a good incident to use in testing my tolerance. I decide to just hold the glass and pretend to sip from it, not wanting myself to be allowed under its influence.
"Did you look through all that before or after you saw her all over Port Angeles?" Emmett asks carefully. He knows what mentioning her can do to me.
"After," I answer coolly, surprising him.
As Emmett starts to form his next question, I see his eyes dart to a spot on the floor near the fireplace—his brow knitting in confusion. I follow his line of sight when I see the offending object. Shit.
"New bag?" Emmett asks skeptically. I eye the messenger bag that Bella left in her haste to escape. It's gray with black and light gray tribal-l-ike designs flowing over it. Swirls of light blue join the disarray of shapes, softening their tone.
"Uh…" I swallow nervously. "Yeah."
Emmett raises an eyebrow at me. "It's kind of girly," he accuses.
"It's…I…," I stutter uncertainly. Emmett can always tell when I'm not being truthful. Add that to the fact that I'm a horrible liar, and we have a situation that has me dumbfounded and sweaty.
Emmett takes a swig of his drink and encourages me to do the same. Despite my earlier decision, I take a generous mouthful of the whiskey, relishing in the burn and the warmth it provides. The feeling is much more welcome than the nervousness.
Emmett takes my glass from me and sets it, along with his, on the floor.
"What's going on, Edward?" he asks seriously. He won't skirt around the issue anymore.
"Nothing." I have no clue why I lie again, but I also have no idea what else to say.
"Cut the crap. You called me for a reason. Now, what is it?"
I try to think of feasible answers but come up blank. I opt for silence, and Emmett sighs.
"I think I know what's happening." He offers. My eyes widen slightly, and my heart beats a bit faster. I don't know why—it's not like he could actually guess the truth.
"You have a girl here."
"What? No I don't," I counter defensively.
"It would explain why it took you so long to answer the door—give her enough time to hide."
"Emmett, I swear, I don't have a girl here."
"Well, then you did. You would never buy that. Ever," he says, pointing to Bella's bag. "Was there a girl here?"
Again, I answer in silence. His accusation is a bit too close to the truth. I have no clue what I'm going to say. How can I keep this a secret without cracking first?
"That's what I thought," he states arrogantly.
I start to sweat under his gaze—words completely eluding me.
The stress of the day takes its toll and I feel like I'm going to break. First having to deal with thinking that I'm a whole new level of insane with seeing Bella's image in multiple places, and then finding out that she was real the whole time, and still alive. I don't understand why Jacob told me that she was dead. If what he had told me about vampires was true, she couldn't have been dead if she was turned. Why would he lie to me about that?
I finally have her back, although she can't remember me at all, but I can work with that. She loved me once; she can learn to love me again. But if she's an undead creature of the night, what kind of relationship can we realistically have? Then Emmett comes, making Bella flee after almost attacking me. Dad and Charlie are investigating a killing spree that is being caused by my no-longer-dead girlfriend, and Emmett is berating me about Bella's bag, which I have no clue how to explain. And all of this information I have to keep completely to myself, and try to appear that everything is fine and normal before Emmett sees me crack under the weight of it all.
My hands fly to my hair in my signature act of anxiety. I groan, letting my hands slide to cover my face; I want to hide from everything that is suffocating me right now.
"Edward, you called me to come over and talk. Tell me what's wrong," Emmett demands.
"I don't wanna talk," I mumble behind my hands.
"Then why did you call me?" he asks with frustration.
"I thought something was wrong, but it isn't. I'm fine," I explain feebly.
"Yeah, you look fine. You know, this is all getting really old, Edward," Emmett says harshly as he gets up from the couch. His annoyance surprises me; he's never lost his composure with me.
"I don't know how much longer I can just let you slide like this," he continues. "I've been there for you whenever you've needed me, and I never gave you crap for taking your time dealing with everything. But it's been five years and you still won't let me in. You've been carrying this chip on your shoulders all on your own, when all of us wanted to help you. You never let us help you; all you do is shut us out!"
"That's because no one can help me! You don't understand!" I reciprocate Emmett's anger. He's never yelled at me about this.
"Then help me understand! I've been trying to understand this whole time, and you won't let me! I know you better than anyone does, and I know that you've been keeping something to yourself ever since the incident happened. I want to know what it is. Tell me."
"Get out." I command as I stand to face my brother. How dare he demand answers from me? What I tell anyone about what happened to Bella and me is my business. If I could've told him, I would have.
"No way. I'm not leaving until we finish this. You're telling me," Emmett says, challenging me.
I push him away from me and grab the two glasses and bottle of whiskey off the floor, taking them to the kitchen.
"I mean it, Edward. I'm not leaving here until you tell me what it is you're hiding," he warns as he follows me.
I roughly put the glasses in the sink and the bottle in the cabinet, and then turn to Emmett.
"If I'm such a burden, then don't visit me," I say, trying to deter him from his line of questioning.
"Not falling for it. Tell me."
I look away, shaking my head. He isn't going to let this go.
"If you want to know why it's so hard for me to get over, then we can take Rosalie and have her brutally killed in front of you—then would you understand?" I hope bringing his new wife into it will get him to shut his mouth.
Emmett's face contorts into a look of hatred. I've hit a nerve; no one messes with his wife.
"How?" he asks, trying to reign his anger in.
"How what?" I ask, confused by the question.
"Brutally killed how?" He still isn't letting me off the hook.
"Why are you pressing this? You already know what happened."
"No. I know what you told Dad and the authorities, but I want to know what you didn't tell them."
"Get out." I command again. The argument is getting way out of hand, and I can't bring myself to deal with it anymore. My head pounds and my body sags. I've had enough for one day.
"I already told you that I'm not leaving until I get some answers," Emmett reminds me.
Giving up, I flip him the bird and start to walk back into the living room. I'll lock myself in my bedroom if I have to.
Apparently my actions are the final straw for Emmett's anger because before I make it past him, I'm shoved against a wall with him holding me tightly by my arms.
"You're not getting out of this," he seeths. "I've had it with your behavior—we all have—and you're going to tell me the truth even if I have to beat it out of you."
I'm put in a state of shock by my brother's threat. Never once has he treated me like this, and I find myself actually scared of him in the moment—staring at him like a frightened boy.
"Now talk!" he demands.
Before I have time to respond, the feeling of Emmett's strong grip is replaced by a light breeze, and then nothing. I hear a loud bang and see Emmett slumped on the floor across the room. Bella is standing protectively in front of me with sounds emitting from her like inhuman growls. Just like before, instinct is telling me to run and get away from her. I don't like seeing this new side of her.
Emmett looks up from the floor, his expression confused. He looks in my direction, but instead of seeing me he sees Bella stalking toward him. His face pales as he completely freezes; he looks like he's about to be sick.
"Who the hell do you think you are talking to him like that?" Bella asks, sounding deadly. Emmett blinks a few times, his mouth hanging open. He slaps himself across the face, I assume to check to see if he's hallucinating. If I wasn't scared out of my mind, I would laugh at the comical display.
"Wha…how…I…," Emmett chokes out between stuttering breaths. He looks between Bella and me. "Are…are you seeing this, too?" He barely manages to ask me. I nod in response.
"Oh shit…holy shit…how the fuck?" Emmett quietly chants as Bella approaches him. As she gets closer, he starts to scurry away until his back is up against a wall. Bella crouches down, making herself eye-level with him.
"Do you think it's fun for Edward to live with the memories he has of my death?" she asks him. If I didn't know any better, I would say that she was having fun making Emmett think she's a ghost of some kind. The Bella I know would certainly love to do that to Emmett.
Emmett just continues to stare with a disbelieving, frightened expression.
"You're not going to answer? A moment ago you threatened to beat answers out of your brother. Should I beat you until you answer my questions?"
"Bella!" I exclaim, finally finding my voice. She turns her head to look back at me. "Please stop." I plead quietly.
Her face turns to one of remorse, and she stands and walks over to me.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't going to hurt him. He just pissed me off," she explains. A smile tugs at my lips with her admission. "I didn't mean to scare you again. I'm sorry about before, too."
I hear everything she's telling me, but looking into her bright red eyes brings back the image of the vampire that took her from me. It's hard to reconcile those same wicked eyes with my Bella.
"Do you want me to leave?" she asks, misreading the look on my face for annoyance at her.
"No, of course not—it's all just a lot to get used to," I reassure her. She seems to understand.
Emmett is still on the floor, watching our exchange with the same slack-j-awed expression. If I didn't know what to say to him before, I really have no clue now. I guess I have to tell him the truth and hope he keeps his mouth shut.
I walk over to him and offer my hand to help him up. It takes him a few seconds to finally accept my help and stand to his feet.
"Come back in the living room; I'll explain everything."
