Raum

Carnelian and Ice

Darlingtonia

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As Edward enters her apartment, Bella closes the door and leans against it for a moment.

He can't know that, from now on, she could keep him at her place with very little effort, should she be so inclined. She fantasizes about taking care of him and imagines herself making him happy.

With a sigh, she moves away from the door. Who could ever be happy with a monster? Who could be happy with her? Bella moves toward the living room, but when she sees what Edward is doing, she tenses. This side of her was never meant to be revealed.

Edward seems hypnotized by the paintings before his eyes. No one but their creator has ever seen them. Moving silently, Bella goes to stand beside him and stares at his perfect profile as he examines every detail of her works. She recalls the day she made her first painting. It's the one she decided to hang up in the foyer.

"It's amazing," he murmurs, without averting his eyes from it. "It seems real, so alive."

Bella chuckles softly. If you only knew that you're the only one alive here.

"What's its name?" he asks.

"Darlingtonia."

He quirks an eyebrow at her. "Is it the title of the painting or the name of the flower?"

"Both."

"I've never heard of it."

"It's a carnivorous flower," she explains. He gives the work of art another quick glance, as if he can't believe that such a delicate flower is a predator in its world. That's the reason why she chose to draw it: as a vampire, she's physically attractive to her prey, just like a carnivorous flower.

"Not so beautiful anymore?" she guesses.

A light smile makes his eyes shine. "Why not?"

"Because its beauty is nothing but a way to lure its prey," she seethes, her voice devoid of any tenderness. "Because it's even more dangerous than attractive. Because...it can't help but harm whoever finds her fascinating." Her. She's not talking about the flower anymore, and the pronoun has just given the truth away.

Edward doesn't say a word when her bitter little rant is over and doesn't avert his eyes from her. She looks at him in disbelief, ready for a question about her red eyes or for a sign of discomfort. She braces herself for what he's going to say.

"Your eyes are..." His voice is warm and low. She thinks it's a pity that such a musical tone is about to point out her abnormality. He hesitates. She wonders what word he'll choose. Red. Horrible. Inhuman.

"...sad," he continues in a whisper, talking as if her sadness were his own.

Bella bows her head. No one has ever noticed anything like that about her. She's unfamiliar with the territory they've crossed into, and she stiffens.

Edward is the first to break the silence. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No, no," she replies quickly and goes to hang her coat, putting some distance between them. He's still looking at her – she can feel it. When she turns toward him, she doesn't notice anything but awe, and it surprises her because she's used to seeing hunger in the eyes of men, as if their gaze could mirror her thirst. Sometimes it's like they're stripping her of her clothes, to the point that more than once she had the urge to run away. With Edward, she feels a pull instead, as if his embrace would be a refuge waiting for her.

"Maybe you could use a cup of coffee, but I'm afraid I don't have any in the house at the moment."

"I've already drunk far too much for tonight," he admits. The note of whiskey mingled with the rich aroma of his blood confirms that he isn't referring to just the coffee.

Bella switches on a dim light and motions to a couch in the living room. Edward is the first person she's invited into her house, but she feels at ease with him.

They move toward the couch, but he stops himself before sitting down and points to his clothes. "My trousers are wet and dirty. I don't want to soil your furniture." He takes his cell phone and fidgets with the keys. "I should call a taxi."

Bella bites on her lower lip – a nervous habit she's kept from her human past – before speaking. "Would you stay for the night?"

Edward seems taken aback.

"There's a guest room," she adds softly. "I can lend you a t-shirt and sweat pants, and if I put your clothes in the washing machine, they'll be ready in the morning."

"You're very kind, Isabella. But...do you feel comfortable with that? I mean...I'm a stranger, in your house..."

She understands how unguarded her behavior must appear to him. The thought that, after all, even a strong human would be no match for her strength has often made her brave. None of the few men she's gone out with has ever seemed concerned for her like Edward. No one has ever looked at anything but her appealing body and the chance to get some easy pleasure without further worries.

"Are you going to hurt me?" she challenges.

Edward recoils, horrified by the mere thought. "Never."

Bella smiles at him, touched by his promise. "So I trust you," she tells him quietly. "On the bridge, you offered to help me, and I'd just like to do the same. You can use the bathroom down the corridor, and I'll fetch you some dry clothes."

He runs a hand through his hair, making the strands stick out in an even more unruly manner than before. "Thank you."

When he comes out from the bathroom, his muscles seem less tense. The large white t-shirt Bella managed to find in her closet hugs Edward's well-defined chest, and her loose, gray sweatpants are too short for him.

Finally, he gives her a relaxed smile. She can see how his eyes become even lighter when he smiles, their hue reminding her of the blue-green sea she's admired in a painting by Monet – Fisherman's Cottage on the Cliffs at Varengeville. She saw it at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, on a work trip. Paintings, photographs, movies...those are the only ways left for her to enjoy the sun, since she can't walk freely in the bright light anymore, like she used to do.

Edward comes to sit beside Bella on the couch, where she's carefully positioned herself against the lamp. This way she can see him well, while the red hue of her eyes won't stand out too much...or so she hopes. She's put on a new pair of contact lenses for good measure, but they won't last long.

"May I ask you how it is that you got fired?"

Edward's expression darkens, but he nods. "I work as an engineer in Anchorage, but recently I've been working on a new project in Fairbanks, and I came here for an inspection. Today, out of the blue, it turned out that the sponsors had withdrawn their funding." His jaw clenches as he apparently recalls what happened a few hours ago. "My boss was the one who told me the news...we've known each other for years. I can't believe he didn't know anything about it until today, and yet he didn't give anything away. He and his partners know my skills, and I'm sure that, had I begged hard enough, I could have gotten another assignment. But I didn't. I don't want to be that person anymore. I made a scene, and...I ended up on the bridge where you found me, jobless and angry, throwing coffee around."

"What could you have done, if they had warned you?"

He grimaces. "I got a job offer less than a month ago. The salary wasn't as good as the one I had, but they wouldn't have asked me to work nonstop, like I have in the past. My boss and I weren't friends, but he had been my mentor and I thought I could trust him. So I talked with him about the new offer, since I knew that the sponsors had already called the funding into question. He assured me that the project would go on. In retrospect, I guess he was aware that, because I trusted him, I would turn the other opportunity down." His fists curl in a tight ball. "And all that time, I was going to lose my job in his firm, leaving me with nothing."

Bella absorbs Edward's words, thinking of the web of lies his boss has fed him. Though he seems to be trying to keep his voice calm, she can sense the hurt behind his revelation. "Why did he stab you in the back?" she asks, and wonders if her words have been too direct.

"It was my punishment."

"Punishment?"

Edward closes his eyes, his brows furrowed, a mask of pain marring his beautiful features. She feels rage toward whomever hurt him, but then she considers how little she knows about him. What if he's not the good guy she's imagined? Bella recalls his gaze from the ice park, and then the way he acted on the bridge. She trusts him.

He shakes his head, as if he's trying to clear his mind. Before Bella can give in to the temptation to ask more, he goes on. "When my boss and I were still working on a project in Anchorage, I fought with him," he reveals. "It was an important assignment, and I conducted the feasibility study with great care. Some calculations didn't sound right to me, so I suggested some changes that seemed safer. They would slow down the work and would cost more, but I didn't want to take any risk. My boss had the last word on the subject and dismissed my concerns. When I continued to voice my misgivings, he assured me that he was going to check, but he told me that one day I would regret being so stubborn. Actually, my only regret is that I didn't protest more."

"I'm sorry you're hurting," she confesses, her voice as delicate as a wisp of breeze. Not even when she was a human has she felt this kind of connection with another person.

He looks at her, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Talking with you feels so natural. Usually I don't open up like this..." He attempts a small laugh. "Truth be told, I don't open up at all. I don't recognize myself anymore. I'm annoying you with my troubles, and I can't find a way out from the turmoil of the last couple of days. It really seems that a chain has been broken, and now everything it held prisoner is coming out."

She leans closer to him, intrigued by the mention of the chain. He's seen her ice sculpture, and she wonders if what he's just said has any connection with the broken chain of her creation.

"Have you been to the ice park?" he asks. His abrupt change of topic makes her blink a couple of times before answering.

"I've been there often."

He acknowledges her words with a nod. "I was there yesterday evening and a carving..." he stops mid-sentence. "I know, it seems absurd, but well...a sculpture changed everything. I got fired because of it."

Thank you for reading! Reviewers get a poem.

The ice sculpture plays an important role in this story, right? Would you tell me your guess? The next chapter is due to be posted next Monday.

Thank you! to my friends SatinCoveredSteel, Marlena580, and Jmolly, and a special hug to Camilla10.

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Carnelian and Ice's extras (different pics for each chapter, as well as the story banner and blinkie) are posted on MyReadingLounge: h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/