Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer.


After coming to my decision yesterday, I felt slightly more confident as I got ready to leave my room for my morning lecture on Tuesday. I was even a little excited to see the back of his head – I mean him – again today. That is, until I passed the mirror. My anxious reflection held me paralyzed as my heart plummeted. It felt as if the entire building was crashing down around me while I stood there, staring at myself in the mirror.

All I could think about was that time when I was younger and I had made myself sit in front of the mirror for as long as it took to decide once and for all whether I was pretty or not. I don't know where I had gotten the idea to do it – probably from a book or movie. I'm not that creative. I was, however, naïve enough to think that I could be the one to make the final decision on the matter. And I was stupid enough to think that I would only have to make the decision once. Of course, that's not how it works. I don't even remember what I decided that day so many years ago but I know it doesn't really matter.

People aren't just pretty or kind or anything forever. It changes. At least the good qualities do (the bad ones always seem to loiter). You have to make the decision every day over and over. Even if I was pretty back then … what was I now? What had I let myself become and was it too late to turn back?

I tried to decide again, right now. Was I pretty?

It was obvious that I had not been taking very good care of myself. It was obvious that I had stopped trying.

My skin looked splotchy. I had purple shadows weighing down my eyes and it made me look even paler than I really was. You could tell I wasn't wearing make up. There were still bits of me I liked though. My lips weren't pink and shiny with lip gloss but they were a nice shape, full.

My eyes were brown today. A few years ago, my mother had been filling out some form and she asked me what color my eyes were. I didn't take it well. "You don't even know what colormy eyes are?" I blurted out – my mother didn't know?! "No, honey, I do it's just they change sometimes." Faced with my blank expression, she had explained that sometimes they looked almost hazel. Weird. She had laughed and said it was just further evidence of her theory. She thinks I'm really two people. One of them is talkative and interested in other people and what's going on around her. The other is quiet and detached and likes to stay in her room. I guess it's pretty obvious which one had become more dominant over the years.

My hair was brown and wavy. Well it was sort of wavy. Some of the strands were much curlier, others were straighter. It didn't have that consistent shiny look achievable with an appliance. It looked exactly as it should when you leave it to dry on its own. Oh well, at least I could walk in the rain and worry about protecting my books rather than my hair.

And it hung loose over my shoulders. I never even considered putting it up in a ponytail. It was far too convenient a hiding mechanism to give up. I really should cut it a little though and soon. I was just dreading sitting in that chair with the hairdresser awkwardly trying to make conversation with me. They always asked what college I went to. At the beginning I had told them the truth but now I lied every time. I was sick of admitting I went to an Ivy League college, sick of sitting there helplessly watching their demeanor change. Sometimes they would appear impressed and then – ugh – then they would look at me expectantly. Was I supposed to say something smart and witty now? Sometimes they would tell me stories of friends or siblings of theirs that had applied and been rejected. Great, what the hell am I supposed to do with that information? Did they want me to talk trash about my college or say something to prove I was just as normal and stupid as the rest of them and that getting in had been a fluke?

Maybe I just always read too much into it. I'm sure they didn't really care. They were probably just trying to make the time fly by faster. Still, the people getting their hair cut next to me always seemed to be having a wonderful time, chatting away and joking around. I couldn't help but think: my hairdresser doesn't like me. In my eyes they always looked at me expectantly – just waiting and expecting things from me - and I couldn't bear to see it. I was not good at dealing with people's expectations, let's just leave it at that. I know it's deranged. Most people are afraid of going to the doctor or the dentist and me? Well I'm afraid of going there too…

I used to have dreams about my entire family dying and a part of me would rejoice that I was free. Free from their expectations, free from their hopes for me. I could go about my life and the only person to disappoint would be me. Did that make me a horrible person? At the very least, it proved just how selfish I am. Disgusting.

I sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers. This trail of thought was not helping me today. Just make up your damn mind already! Should I try to make myself look slightly more presentable? Or just walk out right now?

Did Edward expect me to make an effort to improve my appearance? If I was suddenly wearing make up would he think I had done it just for him? I'm sure he was used to gorgeous confident women claiming his attention. The truth was that even if I spent weeks getting "pretty" I could never look anything like that blonde girl I had seen him talking to on the first day. It would just be pointless and humiliating. He would know I was trying, and that thought was terrifying.

Worse still, I would be admitting to myself that I wanted things to change. Hope had tortured me before. I was not eager to go there again. Maybe I could keep thinking about him and talking to him occasionally and as long as I didn't change my routine or my appearance, then it wouldn't really be trying or hoping. It would just be going with the flow. That's what I had decided to do yesterday wasn't it? Yes.

So I walked out.

Trying to make myself pretty for him would feel too much like a lie anyway. I was a mess inside. The way I looked should reflect that. It was only polite, only fair. A public disclaimer, a warning for all to see: approach at your own risk.

As a result of my indecision this morning, I arrived late and tried to inconspicuously take my seat. I stubbornly kept my head down for the first 10 minutes. I didn't want to find out whether Edward had turned around at my entrance. My plan was to act normally at the end, to slowly pack up my things and head out as I always did. But as the lecture drew to a close I got more and more anxious. So, coward that I am, when it was time to leave, I practically shoved my head into my bag pretending to look for something. It was ostrich thinking – if I can't see them, they can't see me. Idiot. By the time I had scraped enough courage together to look around me, everyone was gone and unfamiliar students were filing in for the next lecture. I quickly gathered my belongings and went to sulk in my room. I had probably come off really rude today. Only if he was actually paying enough attention to notice, that voice in my head reminded me.

Then I spent the rest of the day and much of the night beating myself up over the way I had behaved. I couldn't believe how weak I had become. By Wednesday morning, I couldn't even talk myself into getting out of bed, let alone going to the lecture.

I told myself I needed a day off. I was sure he wouldn't even notice. Just a few weeks of looking at the back of his head, and I was back to the way I had been a few years ago – a bundle of nerves and constant anxiety, worrying over what people thought of me. Sure it was only one person's opinion that kept me up at night this time, but the feelings were all the same. Sickeningly familiar – that helplessness and dread. One step forward, two steps back. Ugh. I needed some time to relearn how to detach myself. Only then could I follow through with my earlier plan of indifference.

Feeling determined and sure about something for once, I spent the entire day in the library using my studies to distract me from thinking too much about Edward. It wasn't a total success. I found myself sitting in the same seat I had been in on Friday and glancing up at the empty chair in front of me, fantasizing about Edward walking in. When the work got especially difficult I would even pretend we were discussing it, working through it together. It was nice having some help last Friday with the information about that article. It was nice not having to do everything alone.

But he never did walk in. I sat there by myself at that big table all day. Eventually it was just me in the library. Whatever I was reading had long ago stopped making sense, so I quietly packed up my stuff and made my way out of the building. I wanted to slam those big heavy doors shut. Just make some damn noise – anything - and let out some of my frustration. But of course, I didn't, even though there was no one around to hear me. I closed the door timidly and walked back to my room. Even my shoes weren't making any noise as they hit the pavement.

Thursday was more of the same. Working in the library after classes, at the same table and in the same seat. And trying not to stare at the empty chair across from me or think about Edward and how his ink-stained fingers had gently gripped the pen as he made notes.

On Friday I really didn't feel like spending most of the day in the library again, but I told myself this was the new routine. I needed the routine to feel like I had some control over myself. So I went again and sat in the same seat again. Each night I would have one or two missed calls or text messages. Mostly from my parents, sometimes from the few friends I still had. I generally ignored them or gave them excuses about how all my homework was keeping me busy. I wasn't in the mood to lie and say I was "fine" when they asked. I just wanted a break – from everything, from everyone. I wanted to retreat into myself like I always did and I wanted it to feel right and safe like it always did. I was still waiting on that second part.

By Saturday I was so bored of working in the library that I took my Ipod with me. At least that way I could take a few breaks from the work and listen to some music quietly. At about 11 am I decided to take my first break. Twenty minutes later I was still listening to my Ipod and my gaze had not once left Edward's empty seat across from me. I had left my Ipod on shuffle. Big mistake. "My skin" by Natalie Merchant started playing and the combination of that song and Edward's empty chair was too much for me. Untouchable. That's what I had become. And like everything else, it was good and bad. It was safe and scary. What I wanted and what I dreaded the most.

A warm hand on my shoulder caused me to jump in my seat and whip my head around, looking for the cause of the intrusion.

It was Edward. His hand was still floating in the air, above where my shoulder had been a few seconds ago and his lips were moving but I couldn't hear him.

"What?" I said, tugging my headphones out of my ears and putting my Ipod on pause. It sounded much harsher out loud than in my head.

"I said, are you all right?"

That was unexpected. Why would he think I wasn't all right? Oh my god, did he know? How the hell did he know? I could feel the panic taking over. Run, run, run.

"You're crying, Bella," he whispered softly, his extended hand once again reaching towards me. I hadn't even considered what his ink-stained fingers would feel like against my face. Even in my fantasies, I had kept him at a distance. The fear welled up inside me with that thought and my own hand jerked up to my face before his could. Sure enough, there they were – traitor tears. And in the library, out in the open. I really had lost all control over myself.

I rushed to wipe my face clean, looking anywhere but at Edward. "Yeah, yeah. Absolutely. I didn't even realize… I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" He didn't look convinced, but there was no way I was going to vent and unload all my crap on him. The poor guy had come to the library to study, he didn't need to feel obligated to console some blubbering girl that got in his way.

"Yep. Absolutely sure. I just got lost in my thoughts – sad song you know? Just embarrassed really." Girls get emotional over songs and movies, right? This was sort of believable and not technically a lie.

"Ok." He still looked uncertain but he didn't say anything more as he sat down opposite me and took out his books.

I tried not to stare. It was really weird seeing him sitting exactly where I had imagined him to be for the last 3 days. The only difference was that the real Edward looked much more uncomfortable than the one in my fantasies. Of course. I was making him feel that way. I quickly looked down at my textbook and started making notes again, trying to show him I wouldn't bother him anymore and that he could study in peace.

I think we had been studying silently for about an hour (well it was less for me because it took a while for me to be able to focus enough for the words to start looking like English again) when he broke the silence. I hoped it wasn't because the silence had felt awkward to him. This had been my fantasy for a while now, just studying with him, having him around. I knew it didn't mean the same thing for him but to think he didn't enjoy it all, felt tense and anxious around me even …

"So I aced that essay. I thought Banner was even going to hug me, he looked so relieved that someone hadn't failed it." He wasn't whispering anymore – the library was practically empty on Saturdays. He still sounded a little unsure though and he was talking slowly and in a soft tone. He was probably trying to keep the mental patient calm.

"That's good. Me too." Was he getting annoyed with my nothing responses? Did he want to have a proper conversation or was he just trying to be a nice guy after seeing me upset?

We were quiet again for another seventeen minutes. I know because I couldn't focus at all this time. Maybe I should say something. I looked up at him, trying to think of something safe to say. He lifted his head and met my eyes. For a second he looked just like everybody else – my parents, my friends, my damn hairdresser. He was expecting something from me. He was waiting for me to say something. The urge to run and hide was overwhelming. I almost didn't care how rude I seemed. But then he smiled at me and looked back down at his book. I'm sure he was oblivious to what was going on in my head but that gesture was comforting. It felt like he was saying "whenever you're ready, no pressure" and I actually felt like I could believe him one day.

After that, I tried even harder to think of something to say. It was just so hard to think straight with the fear and panic swirling around in my stomach. But how many opportunities had I let pass me by because I was too afraid? I wasn't stupid. I knew the odds of things turning out the way I wanted them to were slim to none. But Edward felt like he might be different. There were glimpses. Little things about him that gave me a little confidence. I stared at his hands as he lazily made notes and spoke directly to his ink-stained fingers. "I still can't figure out why Banner didn't put that article on the reading list. Doesn't he want us to pass his course?"

"I don't know. I guess he doesn't want to spoon-feed us. I can't decide whether I want to be spoon-fed. College shouldn't feel like high-school where if you read what they tell you to read and you can regurgitate it on request, you pass. But then again, my opinion is radically different when finals come around." He put his pen down and leaned back into his chair. We must have made an odd pair – him the picture of relaxation and me completely rigid, gripping my pen for dear life.

"Um."

Several long seconds went by while I tried to come up with a response. It's odd how similar fear and anxiety is to sleep deprivation or being intoxicated. Your brain is on a time-delay of some sort while everything else goes by at double speed.

"I don't want to be spoon-fed. But I do think I need to be sometimes. I'm not sure I'm any smarter now than I was in high-school."

He didn't reply immediately and for some reason I couldn't stop. After a short pause, I started rambling again.

"I wish there were fewer tests than in high-school though. Sometimes I feel like they spend more time testing us than teaching us. And – for example with that Banner article incident – half the time they don't even tell us what their criteria are. There is no way he thought we could do that essay without the article. He probably wanted to see if we were doing extra reading or something."

He kept looking at me thoughtfully and he still hadn't said anything. The seconds passed by and I was convinced I had said something wrong. Should I have stuck with a more generic response?

Finally he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I think I know what you mean."

I didn't push him for more and thankfully he didn't push me. After that, the conversation stayed within Banner's actual subject. Academic discussion was something I could do and I did. We talked through the latest homework, then would go quiet for a while as we carried on making notes. Then one of us would ask another question, and the cycle would start up again. He was definitely smart. Certainly smarter than me. He had interesting opinions on most of the issues, but even when he wasn't saying anything particularly insightful, it was still really pleasant just sitting there discussing the work with him. It was exactly what I had been fantasizing about for the last three days.

My fantasy-come-to-life was rudely interrupted by my stomach grumbling.

"Hungry?" It was that same amused tone from last Friday. God, he looked so cocky when he smirked like that.

"I guess I am." I tried not to get embarrassed. Being hungry was perfectly natural. It was 2 pm after all.

"Let's take a break and get something to eat." It wasn't a question. He got up and started packing away his things.

I hesitated. What if I couldn't keep the conversation away from personal questions? I really didn't want to lie to him. It felt like it would kill me to pretend with him. I was also not very keen to let him watch me eat. That always made me feel self-conscious for some reason.

"Come on, Bella. I'm starving." He started closing my books and arranging them in neat piles, ready to pack into my bag.

I couldn't see a way out so I stood up and obediently followed him out of the library.

Thirty minutes later Edward and I were sitting on the front steps of the library, eating Chinese take out. Luckily, Edward had taken control of the whole situation when the only responses I offered to his questions about where we should go were "I don't mind" and "Wherever you prefer". I was incredibly relieved he hadn't taken us to a sit-down place. I don't think I would've coped very well with the waitresses staring at us, wondering why Edward was allowing himself to be seen in public with me. And I really didn't want to sit opposite Edward and have him watch me eat. I didn't know if Edward knew that would make me uncomfortable or if it was all just a lucky coincidence, but his choices made things much easier on me. He was sitting next to me (a fairly safe distance away) and we were both looking forward, at the green field in front of the library instead of at each other. This was probably the most comfortable I could've been in this type of situation and I was unbelievably grateful. He didn't even laugh when I went to take a sip from my bottle of water, but lost my grip on the straw and it bounced back off the edge of the bottle, flicking drops of water in my face. Nice. Real cool, Bella.

He also seemed to sense my discomfort at discussing anything too personal. Then again maybe he just wasn't interested in getting to know me. We mostly talked about the two classes we had in common, the teachers, the amount of work we had or we sat quietly and ate our lunch. The silent parts even felt almost comfortable for me. I know this sounds insane, but eating Chinese take out on the steps of the library would probably have been my ideal fantasy date if I had ever thought about it. The only disappointment came just before we ate when Edward decided to wash his hands. They were ink-free when he returned. But what was I going to do? I couldn't very well say "No, please don't. I prefer your hands when they are dirty." Well, that and the fact that it wasn't actually a date.

After lunch, we went back to studying for a few more hours. At about 6 pm, we decided to call it a day and set off towards our respective dorm rooms.

"Do you study in the library a lot?" This was probably the closest he had come to asking about anything personal.

"Um, yes actually. It's easier to work there than in my room. Gives me a sense of structure I guess." Did he think I was a geek? Well… I am a geek. No point in hiding something so obvious. I was only able to appear semi-confident in the academic arena anyway so as far as I was concerned, being a geek was my best quality.

"I agree. This day has been really productive. I think I'm going to start coming more often."

What should I respond to that? "Thank you, thank you, thank you" just didn't seem appropriate. Mercifully, we had reached his dorm building.

"Anyway, this is me. Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight, Edward." Just like last time, I didn't linger. I just turned around and walked away, not looking back even once. I think I had finally learned that when it came to Edward, one day at a time – hell one moment at a time – was my best and only strategy.


A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed or put this story on alert/favourite. If you have a moment, I'd really appreciate some feedback – is Bella believable?

Also, I mentioned "My skin" by Natalie Merchant in this chapter. I might start a playlist in my profile, but for now the most fitting song for the first couple of chapters is "Strange and Beautiful" by Aqualung. I'm open to other song recommendations though. :)