As always, a warm thank you to pippapear for her dedication. I don't deserve her ;)

Enjoy!

Two years ago

The night was humid, but it was nice out; there was too much light, too much life, it seemed, to be stuffed away in some hotel room.

High on the sights of Paris, I strolled around the beautifully kept houses, just outside the city, holding Sebastien's hand.

He was telling me of funny episodes past at the little coffee shop he worked at – our laughter piercing the air the only interruption to his accounts – when, suddenly, he stopped walking.

"What is it?" I asked.

He was already perching himself up on the outside walls of a large mansion, peeking over the walls. There were no lights on, but that wasn't saying much, that late at night.

"Ah, they have a pool. Come on, let's take a look inside."

Like a limber black cat, he jumped onto the top of the walls, using the branches as leverage.

"Are you mad?!" I hissed, looking up and down the street in panic. "That's private property!"

"Come on, ma Belle! There's no one there, it's hardly a crime to walk around for a couple of minutes!"

The toothy grin he flashed me only served to deepen my scowl.

"No! Absolutely not! And it is a crime, I should know, I'm the chief of police's daughter!"

He just clacked his tongue, insolent, and moved to swing one leg over the wall.

"I'm going in. Are you really letting me go in alone?"

"Tu es un fou," I muttered, searching for his hand in front of me and using the rough finishing of the walls to get me up.

Ten seconds and a couple of scratches later, we were inside.

The garden occupied only the eastern side of the property; the pool was to the right and out the back were neatly stacked chairs and a table, an empty children's pool beside it. Little flowers, colorful even in the dim light that allowed our clandestine visit, sprung from stony circles cut on the grass.

But the eye was instantly drawn to the fountain, set right in the middle of the sizeable piece of land.

It was unlit, reflecting only the moon and the street lamps, and I found it all the more beautiful for it.

The statue at its center, dipping its toes in the water, was a large cherub-like boy, with puffy cheeks and curly hair. In both his hands was the bowl from which the water sprang.

"I told you it would be fine," Sebastien reinforced, even if only after he took his time to make sure we were alone.

Apparently, he'd spoken too soon.

Not far away, I heard rustling metal, like the clattering of chains.

"Sebastien?"

"Oui?"

"Do you know if they have any pets?"

No sooner had I whispered my question, two massive dogs came running from the back of the house, barking madly.

To this day, I have not a clue as to their breeds. My brain was otherwise engaged, calculating my odds of surviving the meeting unscathed.

"Ah, merde!"

The situation was beyond the need for translation.

A true athlete, he reached the hedges first, stretching down a hand for me to grab.

I wasn't able to.

My shriek cut through the air as I felt the canine teeth tearing through the skin of my left hand.

Sebastien yelled expletives to the dogs, trying to chase them away as he jumped back down to act as a shield, giving me a chance to escape.

I was too shell shocked to introduce the two animals to some American adjectives.

When I finally fell, completely ungracefully and very relieved, onto the deserted street, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Sebastien was right behind me, holding his own bitten hand; we ran for a couple of blocks before the adrenaline wore off, wearing stupid grins over our small victory.

I gave him a thankful, remorseful smile, and moved to assess the damage under a street lamp, the scent hitting me and making my stomach churn. I kept it together.

"Ah, it's nothing…" he insisted, between gritted teeth.

I disagreed.

"Yours look deeper. If only I'd been faster…"

"You American girls eat too many hamburgers!" he stated, shaking his head, and my aggravation boiled over.

"Had it not been for your French criminal tendencies, Monsieur, we wouldn't have had to face those two hell hounds!"

"But you have to admit it was fun," he countered. "The thrill of the chase!"

I cackled.

"I really don't think that applies if you're the one being chased."

We walked back to the coffee shop, where we could clean the wounds and use the first aid kit. Ignoring the majestic wood paneled walls and chic patrons, we took turns bandaging each other and joked around about being blood siblings from then on.

He ordered our drinks, as every woman present in that shop turned to take a look at him. I couldn't blame them.

With a tall frame and narrow waist, he towered over most of the standing patrons, his jet black hair and dark blue eyes only adding charm to his infectious smile.

Quite the loss to womankind.

Sitting back down, he told me the story of how he left school and decided to come to Paris, trying his luck in the big city. He had the gift of a true storyteller, so I was pleased to sit back and enjoy – were it through laughs, pity or horror – his account.

"You're definitely a creature of the city," I agreed.

He just bobbed his head.

Another garçon, probably not much older, with brown hair and pleasant features, served our decaf. Sebastien made sure to thank him for the courtesy, and kept on eyeing him for a while after.

I smiled.

"I thought you said you came to Paris looking for a future and a love to last you a lifetime."

He smiled back, conspiratorially.

"I am."

"That," I gestured, tipping my head in the general direction of his attractive co-worker, "won't last you a lifetime."

"Ah, ma Belle," he grinned, his white teeth gleaming. "One must enjoy the pleasures of lust like a lion, but love once and forever like a parrot."

"That's probably where the problem lies," I replied, and my friend turned to me, his attention piqued. "Parrots are much harder to come across."

"But it's fitting. You can enjoy the company of many lions… But parrots, you need but one."

We toasted with our drinks to another night in the City of Lights.

~*~

I was curious.

That was probably the only reason why I stayed, and I knew just how random and illogical that was.

The night before, I'd taken a long, hard look into my routine, and saw it for what it was.

Empty.

Charlie always told me life needed a purpose besides just living it.

But what could I possibly want to do? Where could I possibly want to go?

I thought that, maybe, Forks held the magic key to some door left unopened, that just by coming back I'd feel at home.

But something was missing. Something I couldn't replace, something I couldn't even name – that I didn't dare name.

Yet, I decided to stay.

I stayed because I promised my father I'd go through, at least, one year of High School before going to college.

That was the reason I wanted to admit to.

But, if I was going to be honest, I could leave Forks and go to High School in any American state - any English speaking country, at that. I just didn't want to turn my back on the big question mark Edward Cullen represented.

I was just as appalled as the next person at the fact that I was staying because I was intrigued by a boy I didn't even know. I wasn't even sure he wanted to know me.

I was staying because I was fascinated by his mannerisms, his peculiar shade of skin, his chameleon eyes, the beautiful script that flowed from his wrist. I was staying because I hadn't been that captivated by anyone or anything in what seemed like a lifetime.

Anyways, I was staying.

I called my landlord and gave notice. I was giving up my old London apartment. No safety net; Forks was permanent, so I'd better start acting like it.

Boxes filled with belongings left behind, broken pieces of my past, were shipped to a nameless storage facility. A sad ending for so few, but such wonderful years.

As I thought it over, Newton touched my shoulder.

"Bella? You there? I was talking."

He seemed nervous and out of place when addressing me, a stark contrast with the confidence shown around others. He was an athlete, an average student, above average looks. High school could be nothing but a sweet experience to him, and yet, here he was, shifting, about to break into a sweat.

Aren't humans gluttons for punishment?

"I'm sorry, Mike, I wasn't. Haven't been sleeping decently, I guess. What were you saying?"

He grinned, and I tried to keep my grimace tucked away in the shadows. We'd never cross the line beyond friendly territory, but he didn't know it yet.

"A bunch of us are taking a trip down to the beach, next weekend. It's supposed to be sunny."

I smiled, snippets of childhood memories coming back to me in a flood.

"La Push… I remember it."

Mike looked confused.

"You've been down there already?"

My slip-up didn't go unnoticed, but he was gullible enough to take my words for their worth:

"I went for a walk there when I first moved in. I'll tell you what, if the weather holds up, I'll join."

"That's great!" he relied, excitedly. "Biology is about to start, I'll walk you in."

"You go ahead, I'm sitting this one out."

He looked confused.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am. Don't worry."

He turned to leave, and peeked over his shoulder, still a bit shell shocked. Even I was aware I was giving out mixed messages. Maybe during the beach excursion I'd break it to him.

I imagined the kicked puppy eyes he'd give me and winced.

Slowly, the loud teenagers flowed into their classrooms and the quarter was left empty and silent.

I considered going home, but it was still bright out, and the wind was scarce – such a rare combination in Forks. The little wooden bench was actually nice to sit on. I closed my eyes and I could hear echoes of lectures, the scraping of chairs being pulled around, not very far away.

But all around me, it was silent.

I searched my backpack for a pencil and a clean sheet of paper and sighed, leaning back. It had been so long.

I started doodling aimlessly, just enjoying the strain on my wrist, the light scraping sound. I became totally absorbed and crossed my legs, Indian style, using my knees as support for my elbows and resting a folder on my legs, atop which I could draw.

The shapes started coming together, and I ultimately felt sorry for the drawing I'd be leaving unfinished.

A lonely parrot.

"Skipping Biology?"

The unmistakable voice reached my ears and I looked up, stunned at not having heard his approach, even immersed in virtual silence.

In front of me, Edward Cullen smiled, benevolently, carefully, artfully.

Devastatingly.

Stop being silly and answer the question.

"Yes; they're blood-typing today."

For a second, something dark flitted through his eyes. It reminded me of that first encounter in the cafeteria.

"Why wouldn't you go?" he asked, his voice tortured.

"I already know my blood type. The smell would make me sick, regardless," I explained.

"Humans can't smell blood," he frowned, coming to sit beside me.

I pursed my lips, stowing away my things to buy some time.

He was toying with me.

Every single school day, he sat beside me during Biology, looking like he'd rather be shoveling manure at the nearest farm. We talked very little – usually, just the polite comment and necessary conversation between two lab partners.

And here he was, actually making conversation when he could have just walked past me.

Suddenly, it became painfully clear.

Mike Newton was, even if not by my choice, my puppy to kick. I was Edward's.

Only it wasn't the same. The interest I had in him wasn't the same. My eyes didn't shift colors with my moods. I didn't hate people for no apparent reason, and then decide to be civil.

I was curious. And I had all the time in the world to see just how much he'd let me find out.

"I can smell it," I countered, finally answering him. "It's rust and salt, warm and viscous, dense and complex."

When I turned to see his reaction, he looked a little dreamy. I expected some sort of snarky rebuttal, but it didn't come.

"Won't your parents scold you for it?" he asked, after quietly clearing his throat.

My face hardened. I could feel it, and did nothing to stop it, because it would be futile. Still, he didn't deserve, at this point, to be the target of my wrath. So I just breathed my response.

"That's the beauty of living alone."

That rattled him.

"How can you… You shouldn't say that to someone who is practically a stranger, you know?" he scolded, immediately fulfilling the role of parent.

He was concerned, and yet he was patronizing. It was always one step forward, one step back. The man was infuriating.

And, if I wanted to admit it, he was right. He was practically a stranger.

"Don't worry, I'm not that reckless," I assured him, just for the sake of seeing him calm down. "How about you? What's your excuse?"

"My sister took the car to do some shopping, so I'm stranded. I thought I'd leave early and walk home."

And here you are, talking to me instead.

I felt tempted to level the field and ask him if his parents wouldn't mind; but, if there was any degree of truth to the rumors going around about his family, I guessed he'd appreciate the privacy.

So I went for small talk instead.

"Let me guess; the tall, blonde one?"

I took a guess because she seemed the type. He smiled.

"The short, spiky-haired one."

"Alice."

He nodded. Silence fell between us, not a void; we surrendered to our thoughts.

My mind was going a mile a minute, trying to collect all the bits and pieces, but I truly didn't want to analyze it. Enjoying the company was so much better.

Maybe that's where the idea came from.

"I could give you a ride home."

My proposal hung in the damp air.

I wasn't used to putting myself out there, taking risks.

But there was some unknown joy in it, in the mere act of taking the gamble.

Of setting myself up to be bitten.