A/N at the bottom.

Please forgive any errors. It's 4:00 in the morning, and I'm afraid if I don't post this now, I never will. This is sort of a transitional chapter, and transitions have never been my strong point. So if it sucks, that's my excuse.

All the usual warnings apply. I own nothing.


I'm not always strong

And sometimes, I'm even wrong

But I win when I choose

And I can't stand to lose

But I can't always be

The rock that you see…

The woman in me (Shania Twain)

"Damn it!"

The twisted and mangled remains of what had once been a brush flew across the room, hitting the far wall with a bang and raising a cloud of white dust as it broke through. Great.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm the frustration, I stared in the mirror for a few seconds as my hands clenched and unclenched at my sides. Then, with a final long exhalation, I began picking the little plastic shards out of my hair.

I didn't stop when I heard a door open nearby, or when light footsteps drew near. I kept my focus pinned to my own reflection, doggedly working to clean up the aftermath of my latest mishap.

When another set of hands gently pushed mine away and took over the task, I felt a bit more of the tension leave my body. Closing my eyes, I pushed everything away but the fingers moving through my hair, gently removing the snarls and dropping bits of plastic onto the counter.

"I thought you had things you needed to take care of?" I opened my eyes as I spoke, finding him in the mirror and watching as he removed yet another piece of the brush from a particularly nasty tangle.

"It sounded as if you may have been having some trouble." He didn't look up, but one fingertip brushed softly down my neck as he continued to detangle and smooth, sliding his fingers through each section to make sure all the knots were gone before moving on to the next.

"Hmm." I watched him as he worked, studying his face as I tried to gauge his mood. He didn't look irritated or upset, but something felt just the slightest bit off. I had learned to read the signs of an easy and relaxed Edward, and this wasn't him. It was something in the way he held himself, in the occasional twitch of that little muscle in his jaw, a slight tightness around the eyes.

"Is everything all right?"

He glanced up, catching my gaze in the mirror for the first time since entering the room as a small frown pulled his brows together. "Everything's fine. Why would you ask?"

"I don't know, you just seem a little…" I shrugged a bit, suddenly unsure. "I thought you might be irritated with me, you know, for the wall?" I tilted my head toward the far end of the room, and the hole that marked my most recent fit of temper. "I am sorry, it was just so unexpected, and then I was upset with myself because I should have known it would break, and I lost my temper for a moment. I didn't mean to start destroying another room."

Edward shook his head as he returned his attention to detangling the heavy fall of hair that tumbled down my back. "I'm not upset with you, Love. You haven't done anything wrong." His eyes flicked back up to mine for just a fraction of a second, as one corner of his mouth curled up in a brief smirk. "At least, not today."

He worked in silence for a while longer while I once more watched him, trying to decide if I should push the issue. He obviously didn't want to talk about whatever was bothering him…if there even was anything and I wasn't completely off base. Deciding to let it go for now, I let my eyes slip closed once again and just enjoyed his touch. It was so very pathetic how much I missed having him near me, considering he had only been gone for a few hours. Especially since "gone" consisted of a room less than 50 feet away from here. In my defense, he had closed the door behind him when he entered said room…just down the hallway.

"Just out of curiosity—if my hair is so strong that it breaks the brush, how am I supposed to cut it?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that I already knew the answer to my own question. "I can't, can I?"

"No. Just like everything else about us, it's practically indestructible. It's frozen at whatever length it was when we changed; it doesn't grow, and it can't be cut."

Without thinking, I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head. "Thank God I shaved my legs that morning." Then, realizing what I had just said, I squeezed my eyes even more tightly shut and grimaced. "Oh, God, tell me I didn't just say that."

A light chuckle greeted my words, and my eyes flew back open to find a hint of a smile playing around the edges of Edward's mouth. Mortification…smile. Fair trade.

"So, what's the point of having a brush, if I can't use it? Was it just there to tease me?"

His smile grew a bit larger, and another piece of plastic hit the counter with a light 'plink.'

"No, it wasn't there to tease you. You just need to use your fingers to get all the tangles out first, so there's nothing for it to catch on. Otherwise…well, you saw what happens."

Something about that struck me as odd, and I frowned a tiny bit as I took in his perpetually tousled head—that didn't look like it had ever come within an arms length of a hairbrush. Glancing up, the last remnants of his smile faded and his hands stilled as he took in my expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I shook my head and forced a smile that felt far from convincing, and from Edward's reaction I could tell that it looked as wrong as it felt. "I was just thinking…I mean wondering…you just seem to know a lot about…never mind."

Unable to hold his gaze, I looked down at the counter instead, studying the little bits of debris that littered its surface. I could feel his eyes on me, and I fought to keep my expression neutral, unwilling to show how bothered I was by the train of thought my mind had taken off on. I knew from a few comments he had made that Edward had been around for close to a hundred years, and it was really none of my business what he had done during that time. Of course he knew a lot about things like that; it was laughable to think that someone so insanely beautiful wouldn't have had plenty of opportunities to witness the grooming rituals of the females of his species up close and personal. Witness…participate in…

But knowing how ridiculous it was to be jealous of those who had come before me did nothing to dispel the sick feeling twisting around in my gut. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

A sharp jerk on my hair had my head snapping up, wide eyes meeting narrow ones through the silver glass. "Do you have any idea how frustrating it is when you do that? If you have something to say, then just say it." He followed his words with another, less forceful, tug on the back of my head, and I scowled at him in response.

"No," I snapped, annoyed. "I can't imagine why that would be frustrating at all—just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to drive you insane wondering what they could possibly mean…now, why would that be frustrating?"

After a few moments of silence, during which we stared each other down through the reflective surface of the mirror, one eyebrow cocked up quizzically. "Are you finished?"

Argh! "Yes."

With a sigh, he diverted his attention back to my hair and once again began working on smoothing out the tangled mess. "Pity. I was almost looking forward to punishing you again. Although I suppose it's just as well—we don't really have the time for that right now."

"You...you..." I sputtered, at a complete loss.

"Now, Isabella, we've been through this already. You know that I can't read your mind. If you want me to understand you, then you're going to need to use your words. Do you think you can do that for me, Love?" If his words hadn't been enough to push me fully over the edge into outright fury, then the faintly condescending tone of voice that he uttered them in was more than enough to do the trick.

Before I even realized what was happening, I had spun around and shoved a finger into his breastbone, pushing him backwards across the room as I advanced. "Now you listen to me Edward Cullen, and you listen good! I am not a child, and you're not my father, and you do not get to talk to me like that! Maybe all your other girls have let you get away with treating them like children, but if you think I'm going to stand for it, then you can just think again. Punish me? Punish me? Are you serious? This is the twenty-first century, in case you didn't notice, and women don't put up with that kind of behavior anymore. So you can just…you can just…

My words trailed off as my eyes locked onto my index finger still pushing into Edward's chest, common sense and self-preservation making a belated reappearance and slowly overtaking the righteous indignation that had fueled my outburst. What did I…I had just…oh, crap.

I was in so much trouble.

Slowly dropping my hand back down to my side, I risked a quick glance up to gauge just how furious he was with me. I was bewildered, however, at what I didn't see. No anger. No rage. Not even mild irritation. Instead, one corner of his mouth was slightly curled up into what was almost a…smile?

He looked positively…

Smug.

Swimming in confusion, I barely registered the feel of hands on my shoulders turning me around and pushing me back up to the counter. I watched as he calmly resumed running his fingers through my hair, trying to make sense of this sudden change in attitude. Why wasn't he angry? He goes from talking about punishing me, to—when I do exactly what he threatened to punish me for—getting all smug and smirky?

Realization dawned when I replayed my little tirade in my head, and remembered exactly what I had let slip. My mouth fell open in shock, and Edward's smirk grew even larger.

"You did that on purpose!"

"Did what?"

"You know what!"

His smile then was wide and brilliant, and I knew I should be angry at the way he had just manipulated me, but all I could be was dazzled. He was just so damn beautiful. Did I mention that I was pathetic?

"I may not be able to read your mind, but I am a fast learner. Experience has shown that you are much more liable to say what is on your mind when you become angry." Why that manipulative little...okay, maybe I could still be angry with him.

"You can't just go around provoking me every time you want to know what I'm thinking, Edward. They're my thoughts, and I'm allowed to keep them private if I want to."

"No." What?

"No? What do you mean, no?"

"Exactly what I said. No. If something is troubling you, then I need to know what it is. And if you won't tell me willingly, then I will get it out of you by whatever means are necessary." The smile was long gone now, his face once more frustratingly unreadable.

"That's…do you have any idea how insane you sound right now?"

"Insane? Really?" His laugh was dark, sending a chill down my spine even as his hands grasped tightly around my waist, spinning me around before lifting me up to sit on the counter. Stepping in between my knees, invading my space as he pushed up against me.

"You have no idea, Isabella. Do you know what it was like, watching you stand there screaming, and not knowing why? Not being able to understand what was hurting you, or how to make it stop? You think this is insane? Insane is spending three days watching you stare out of a window, completely unresponsive to anything and everything around you. Wondering if it was possible for a vampire to become catatonic, because that was certainly what all the signs seemed to be pointing to. And how long…how long did you have the idea in your head to kill yourself? How many days, Isabella? How many times did you kiss me, touch me, give...all the while intending to…"

I was silent, shocked, as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I didn't know what to say, couldn't even begin to comprehend…I remembered the way he looked sinking in on himself, letting me go. Thought back to the way I felt every time his eyes turned cold, the way it gutted me to the very core whenever he walked away from me. Had he experienced that same agony? Felt the same crippling desolation as I turned to leave?

Pain lanced through my chest at the thought, revulsion choking me at the very idea that I could have caused that level of pain. It wasn't possible. No. I was a newborn, and therefore prone to wild mood swings and overwrought emotional reactions. That was all. If I could dissolve into hysterics at the mere inability to don a shirt without destroying it, then wasn't it only reasonable that I would respond even more dramatically to something that actually posed a serious problem? Of course it was. And it was absurd to even entertain the idea that Edward, with all his years and experience, would feel anything close to that level of instability.

A loud growl filling the air, followed by an earsplitting crack.

Thrown back against a tree, cowering from the look of absolute rage that consumed his face.

"You will not take yourself from me!"

Looking sick as he backs away from me.

The forest reverberating with the sounds of tree after tree being destroyed.

On his knees before me

Hands on my face

Hell in his eyes

No, no, no. I pushed the images away, unwilling to face them right now.

Stepping back, Edward used his grip on my waist to pull me down off the counter and turn me to face the mirror once again. His eyes were calm when they met mine, all the emotion from a few second ago wiped away. He was so self-contained, so in control, which always made it even more disturbing when that control slipped. But it was never for long.

"So, you are just going to have to forgive me for not allowing you to keep your concerns 'private.'" He shrugged one shoulder slightly. "Or don't, it's really all the same."

Like the blank cover of a closed book, his face gave nothing away now—not even the slightest indication of the frustration and dark amusement that had been so evident only moments ago. And for the first time, that absolute lack of expression brought a feeling of relief. He wouldn't be able to just turn it on and off like that, if I held the same power over him that he wielded over me. He wanted me, needed me—I knew that. But I didn't have the ability to destroy him. Of course I didn't; there was nothing about me that could possibly inspire that level of intensity.

My eyes flicked over to study my own reflection, really looking for the first time since I had initially been caught by it in this same mirror just days ago. It was perfect. Smooth. Beautiful. Impassive. Nothing to show the confusion I felt, the guilt and anger that warred inside. I looked more closely at the eyes, remembering how he had once commented on how expressive they were. It was hard to focus—the fiery sheen kept trying to distract me—but if I really concentrated...

And then I wondered; if I had to look this closely, work this hard to try and find an inkling of what I already knew I was feeling, then how did Edward always seem to know when I was upset?

I watched him as he worked, studying his face as I tried to gauge his mood. He didn't look irritated or upset, but something felt just the slightest bit off. I had learned to read the signs of an easy and relaxed Edward, and this wasn't him. It was something in the way he held himself, in the occasional twitch of that little muscle in his jaw, a slight tightness around the eyes.

The pieces clicked together, and I finally understood. What all the words in the world would never quite be able to make me believe, my own mind wouldn't let me run from any longer. Even though we were still virtual strangers to each other in so many ways, he knew me. Knew me the same way I had come to know him—on a level that can only come from constant, obsessive observation. From being tuned in to each slight flicker of emotion, every tiny little clue to what might lie beneath that composed surface.

And why was that degree of perusal necessary? Why was every little detail so important that it had to be observed, examined, and catalogued? The answer was literally staring me in the face. It was in that cold, expressionless visage before me—the one that gave no sign whatsoever of the slowly dawning horror I felt. Because it's the only way to know. Because we give almost nothing away.

How many times would I have to learn the same lesson before I truly believed it?

I had thought I accepted the fact that Edward had the same need, the same compulsive addiction that I did. He had told me how he felt, and I never once thought he was lying—to the best of my knowledge, he had never lied to me. But still, some voice deep inside always whispered doubt, wondering how it could possibly be true. Dripping poison into my subconscious every time circumstances allowed.

How many times was I going to hurt him before I finally realized that I could?

"I'm sorry."

Everything went still.

"You're right. I should have told you, should have said something when you first explained about how you hunted, but I was afraid. I felt like such a failure because I couldn't bring myself to do the most very basic thing that a vampire does, and I didn't want you to look at me like I was some kind of a freak. I just wanted to enjoy the time I had, didn't want to think about what I had to do—what I thought I had to do—so I just pushed it all away. I was selfish, and a coward, and I'm sorry."

"Don't say that." Arms slid around me from behind—one cinching tightly around my waist as the other crossed up and over my chest, cupping my shoulder and pulling me back against his body. I was thrown for a moment by the comfort and caring implied in the gesture, but felt myself relaxing back against him in spite of the unexpectedness. I wasn't used to this kind of easy affection from him—at least not when we weren't either naked, or about to get that way. It was…nice.

"You are the farthest thing from a coward there could possibly be. From the moment I first saw you, you have been…you don't back down from anything. Things that would have most people screaming and gibbering in fear, you face head on." I couldn't hold back my disbelieving snort at that, because come on, really? I made the cowardly lion look like the terminator.

"I mean it. I don't think you see yourself clearly at all. Do you know what most people do when they realize that they are about to die? They either go into shock, scream, or beg for their lives—if they have the time. Even the most hardened criminals, the ones who will plunge in the knife and smile as the blood flows from their victims, become whining, sniveling wretches when faced with their own demise. 'Please, don't hurt me. Don't kill me. I'll do anything.'" His words were little more than a sneer behind me, disgust lacing through them, and I barely held in my shudder as screams echoed in my ears.

"But you," he continued, and now his voice was soft with wonder, all traces of repugnance gone. "You knew what I was, knew what you were facing better than any human I have ever had my hands on, and you yelled at me. I offered you painless, and you told me off." I didn't even have to see his face to know he was smiling, I could hear it.

"None of that makes me any less of a coward. It just makes me stupid. And shows that I have absolutely no sense of self-preservation."

"I'll agree with no sense of self-preservation, but not stupid. And never a coward. Which is what makes it so hard to understand why you won't just…" He trailed off, and his jaw came down to rest against my temple, breath wafting across my cheek as he spoke. "How is it that you can be so fearless in the face of death, can take everything I throw at you, turn around and give it right back, yet you can't bring yourself to ask about something so inconsequential? Something that you already know the answer to, if you would just think about it?"

I frowned in confusion—except my reflection didn't change, so I guess I didn't. Consciously making the effort to manipulate my facial muscles until they reflected the same level of perplexity I felt, I made a mental note to spend some more time in front of the mirror sometime soon, and further explore this strange new development.

"What do you mean, I already know the answer?" Had he really not caught on to the meaning behind the little diatribe that he had so craftily manipulated out of me? It seemed unlikely, but if we were talking about the same thing, then I most certainly did not already know.

He stared at me dubiously for a long moment before answering. "Don't you remember anything I told you?"

"I remember everything that you've ever said to me, and believe me, there's never been anything about…about…" I stumbled over my words, unable to finish the sentence. "I don't know why you won't let this go. It doesn't even matter, anyways."

"Just ask the question, Isabella."

"Why? You already know what it is, so why do I have to ask? And maybe I don't even want to know anymore." He just stood there, silently staring, and I knew I wasn't going anywhere until I gave him what he wanted. I didn't know why he was so eager for me to humiliate myself, but I supposed that in the end it didn't really matter. He would get his way, because he always did.

I closed my eyes against the humiliation I was about to bring on myself.

"How many?" The words no more than a whisper of air slipping from lips that barely moved. So quiet they could almost have been my imagination.

He moved his head slightly, so that his lips were just a hair's breadth away from my ear, and breathed his answer just as softly.

"None."

And this time I really did frown, as I tried to grasp the implications of that one single word. None? How was that even possible?

"I am…" My head swam as I looked for the appropriate word. "Confused." That worked.

"How can you be confused? I've told you, over and over again, that I had never wanted anyone, never felt this desire before you."

Snippets of conversations, words and sentences played back through my head, taking on new meaning.

"For the first time, I found myself wanting another kind of pleasure besides that of satisfying my thirst."

"I've experienced it more times than I can count, and it was far from the first time it had been directed at me. But it was the first time I had any reaction to it other than disgust."

"The thoughts and images that flooded my mind then—they were things that had been there hundreds of thousands of times before, but that had never been my own."

"I could be merciful, and sane, and avoid acting on these strange new urges that I had no experience with trying to control."

"I never thought…I assumed you meant because I was human. That you had never wanted a human before."

"You assumed wrong."

I was still trying to wrap my mind around it, to make sense of the incomprehensible. Surely someone like him couldn't have spent nearly a century without having even once been tempted. Maybe not by a human, but surely another vampire should have caught his eye at some point in the last hundred years? Or had I been wrong about his age?

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," he answered promptly, and I rolled my eyes.

"And how long have you been seventeen?"

His lips twitched as his eyes stayed steady on mine. "Awhile."

"Okay. Fine." I tried to step away, only to be yanked back by his arms tightening around me once more.

"I was born in Chicago in 1901." His voice was very low. "Carlisle found me in the summer of 1918, dying of the Spanish Influenza. I was alone, as the disease had already claimed both my parents, and I had no other family. That was why he chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize I was gone."

I thought for a moment. This was much more information than I had expected to get, and as was usual when it came to Edward, it only served to confuse me more. "If your parents were already dead when you were turned, what did you mean when you said you had a family? Parents, and brothers, and sisters?"

I was swept up suddenly and without warning into a pair of strong arms, and before I had time to react Edward was striding through the bedroom and out into the hallway. Startled, I threw my arms around his neck and clung as he quickly descended the staircase.

"Edward! What are you doing?" We were in an unfamiliar part of the house by the time he stopped and lowered my feet back down to the floor. I glanced around quickly, taking in the dark paneling on the walls, the oriental-looking carpet that was perfectly centered atop the polished wood floor, and the long mahogany table that rose above it.

Grabbing hold of my hand, Edward guided me over to one end of the table, pulling out a chair and gently pressing down on my shoulders until I gingerly lowered myself onto the seat. Pushing the chair back up to the table, he then sat himself down just around the corner, angling his chair so that we were facing each other.

"Edward?" I was confused as to why we were here; in this room that I hadn't even known existed up to this point. And why did it? Why would a vampire have a dining room table? Or for that matter, why would a vampire have a dining room, period? Or a bed? Or any of the other trappings of humanity that he seemed to surround himself with? And why had I never stopped to wonder about that before?

I pulled myself out of my musings when Edward ran first one hand through his hair, then both of them, scratching at his scalp absently as he looked around. "The bathroom just didn't seem like the appropriate place to be having this discussion."

"Discussion? Does that mean you're actually going to tell me?"

He leveled a dark look my way. "Do you want to hear this, or not?"

I looked down at the table, mumbling a quiet "Sorry."

He leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes fixed on where his clasped hands rested on the table surface.

"Carlisle acted from loneliness when he made the decision to change me. That's usually the reason behind the choice, although for the most part those of our kind tend to be solitary creatures. He knew that there was nobody left alive to miss me, and I would soon be dead, anyway. So, he decided to create a companion, since he had been unable to find one among his own kind that would accept his way of life."

He glanced up at me briefly, and then let his gaze drift off to the side as he continued. "He thought of me as a son, and treated me as such. I was the first in his family, although he found Esme only a few years after. She had fallen from a cliff, yet somehow her heart was still beating when they brought her to the morgue. She and Carlisle were married a few years later."

"So you must be dying, then, in order to be changed?" I thought of my last moments before Edward had sunk his teeth into my neck; I had actually been able to feel myself slipping away. But he was shaking his head, looking back at me as he answered.

"No. Although he says that it is easier if the blood is weak."

"And when you talked about having a family, that's who you were speaking of?"

"Yes, although I suppose coven would have been a more technically accurate term."

"So, you've been like this for almost ninety years?" He nodded his head, watching me carefully. "And in all that time, you never once had any desire to..." I couldn't finish, too embarrassed to put my thoughts into words, and still slightly unbelieving.

"I've already told you that I didn't." I could hear the impatience in his voice, and quickly looked down again. I didn't want to keep pushing when he was being so uncharacteristically open.

I was going through all the questions I had about this elusive family of his, trying to decide which ones to ask first—since he actually seemed willing to elaborate on them at the moment—when I looked up and met Edward's quizzical stare.

"May I ask you a question, now?" His tone was oddly hesitant, a fact that was only highlighted by his typical precise diction. I couldn't recall ever hearing him sound so…uncertain? That wasn't quite the right word, but it was the closest I could come.

"Why now? After all this time, all the things we've done, why did you suddenly start worrying about this today? I don't understand."

I smiled inwardly to hear my mantra coming from his lips for a change. After taking a brief moment to weigh the consequences, I allowed the corners of my mouth to curl up just a bit, letting my amusement show. It was gone in an instant, however, as I mulled over his question. I didn't want to answer it, didn't like how much my response would give away. But it only seemed fair, considering how easily he had been answering mine.

"You knew from the very beginning that I had never done…that…before. I'm sure it was completely obvious, even before you…before…" I strangled on the words, unable to force them out. A hazy memory surfaced—a classroom full of nervous, fidgeting teenagers, a woman at the front saying, 'If you aren't mature enough to talk about it, than you aren't mature enough to be doing it,'—and I almost laughed. Sorry, Mrs. Hanson.

"But that wasn't the case for me. You always seem to know exactly what you're doing, and I was always too preoccupied with the present to ever stop to think about the past. I mean, someone who looks like you, and has lived for so long, I just took it for granted that you had tons of…experience." Oh, this was so mortifying. For the thousandth time, I thanked whoever was listening that my propensity for blushing was a thing of the past. My head might have actually exploded with the amount of blood that would have been rushing to my face. "So, it just wasn't," I shrugged my shoulders, "an issue."

"And that changed today, why?"

It was a strange thing, this being a vampire. Not too long ago, a situation like this would have had me squirming in my chair, red and stuttering and fidgeting as I wished for the floor to open up and swallow me whole. But now, the deeper my distress grew, the more still I became. I was practically a statue by now, welded to the seat as my eyes remained frozen on Edward's. I wanted nothing more than to look away, to escape the heavy atmosphere that had descended. But I couldn't even manage to blink.

He leaned farther in toward me, one hand coming up to push the hair away from my temple, then trail down along my jaw. "Please?" His voice was so persuasive, so impossible to resist; my resistance melted away into nothing.

"When we were there, in the bathroom, and you were…were…it was just such an…intimate…" I wasn't sure how to continue, how to put my feelings into words.

Edward was staring at me with a strange intensity, and shook his head slightly as I stumbled to a halt. "What I would give to be inside of your head right now. I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, but it just gets worse and worse."

"It was something a lover would do," I blurted out. "Not just a partner, or someone you use to scratch an itch. And it was like you had done it a hundred times before, and I know it's stupid, and I never thought I was the only one, but I wanted to be the only one who matters. I hate the thought that anybody else may have ever been where I am now."

At last finding the strength to tear my eyes away, I turned my head to the side and pulled in a deep breath, desperately scrambling to bring some kind of cover back up over everything I had just bared. It was too much, too raw, and I felt too exposed.

I heard and felt him move, even though my head was angled so that I couldn't see it; so it wasn't as startling as it might have been when I felt myself lifted out of the chair before being settled back down onto Edward's lap. Arms wrapped around me, one hand pulling my head onto his shoulder.

"I'm an idiot," I mumbled against his neck.

"You are an idiot," he agreed with a laugh.

I stiffened in his embrace, betrayal rendering me motionless for just a fraction of a second before my muscles flew into action. Hands grabbed my waist as I tried to launch myself off of him, yanking me back tightly against his chest as I struggled to pull out of his hold. "Let go," I hissed through clenched teeth.

"No. Not until you settle down and listen. I'm sorry, Love. I shouldn't have laughed. Ow—damn it, Isabella, just sit still and let me explain, all right?"

I quit squirming, but refused to relax back into him once more. Edward wasn't the only fast learner around here, and I wasn't letting my guard down again. He let out a deep sigh when I remained stiff and unresponsive in his arms. "Would you please look at me?"

Why was it that even when I had the undeniable urge to rip his throat out, I still couldn't resist him? Unwillingly, my head turned until our faces were only inches apart.

"I told you that I had sisters," he began, and I couldn't contain my snort of disbelief.

"And you expect me to believe that you spent your time playing beauty parlor with them? Please."

A dark glare was his response, and I had to force back a laugh at his expression. Not so funny when you're the one whose buttons are being pushed is it? I knew better than to push too far, though, so remained silent and outwardly solemn.

"Carlisle brought Rosalie home a little more than a decade after he found Esme. She had been attacked and left for dead in the street; Carlisle smelled the blood, and went to investigate. When he realized that she wasn't going to survive, he made the decision to change her." He paused, looking away as he remembered. "She…didn't take it well. Newborns are violent, erratic creatures in any case," he flashed a grin at me, and my offended growl died before it could be properly born. "Rosalie was especially…difficult. She wanted nothing to do with either me or Carlisle; Esme was the only one she would allow near her to begin with." I heard everything he wasn't saying, and my heart broke for this girl I had never met. I thought I had a fairly good idea of what had happened to Rosalie before Carlisle came upon her, and my stomach turned at the thought of how very easily that could have been me.

"Esme was the only one who could calm her down when she would fly into one of her rages or bouts of depression; she would hold her, sing to her, comfort her…"

"Brush her hair," I whispered, thoughts of my own mother causing my throat to feel tight and swollen. I could remember being a little girl, and the way Renee would wrap me up in her arms, rocking me and stroking my hair as she whispered that everything would be all right. The way she could make every hurt better, every disappointment a little more bearable. The memories themselves may have been dim and gauzy, but the emotions that went along with them were still powerful. I missed—I pushed the thought away. I couldn't deal with that right now. Not on top of everything else.

"Yes. Esme is a natural born mother. She has an innate need to take care of anybody and everybody." My breath caught at the soft expression that flickered for just a moment across Edward's face, and jealousy flared briefly before I slammed the lid on it. This was the woman he referred to as his mother, for heaven's sake. It was beyond ridiculous to feel resentful that he had never looked at me like that.

"I can't wait to meet her." And it was the truth. For the first time since Edward had sprung this whole 'family' thing on me, I actually found myself looking forward to the idea instead of dreading it. "Have you found out where they're living? Will we be leaving soon?" I wondered how long it would take to get there. Would we drive? Or run? Running would allow us to avoid people more easily, but driving would offer some protection against their scents…hmm. It would probably depend on how far we would have to travel, and in which direction. What if they were all the way over on the East Coast? How long did it take to drive across the country? There was no way I would be able to get on a plane, unless Edward had his own and knew how to fly it himself…

Realizing that several seconds had passed with no response, I pulled back far enough that I could look up to see his face. His jaw was hard, eyes intense, face unreadable as he looked off into the distance. I shifted as I leaned back farther, trying to get a better look, and suddenly found myself caught by a pair of blood red eyes. I couldn't make out the expression that clouded his face, but he almost seemed to be fighting with himself about something. Conflicted.

I had no more time to try and decipher whatever it was. After only a second or two his arms tightened around me, pulling me in so snugly against him it was an effort to breathe. Instinctively my arms came up around his neck, trying to give whatever it seemed he needed from me. If he wanted me close, I had no problem with that.

But even that didn't seem to be enough. I gasped when Edward's grip became just short of painful, and I thought I heard a barely discernable sound come from his throat just before he buried his face in my hair and took several deep breaths. His arms loosened the slightest bit, and I managed to pull in a shaky breath before his mouth made breathing impossible.

His hands were needy and desperate as they roamed my body, and I felt sanity slipping farther away with each and every touch. His lips were hard against mine, then soft as they traced over my face before once more claiming my mouth. Fingers tangled into my hair, undoing all his hard work, before sliding down my sides to grab my hips. With a sudden movement I was lifted, turned, and set back down with my legs straddling his. Arms once more wrapped securely around my back, pulled me up flush against him: chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach.

When his hands gripped my hips once more, pulling me down as he arched up into me, some dim voice of reason whispered that things were getting a little more out of hand than they should. I thought we didn't have time for this

But something in the way he held me kept me from pulling away, from reminding him that he still had things that needed taking care of. There was an almost anguished frenzy about him, and I had the strange certainty that he was somehow hurting. And that was just…it was unacceptable. My beautiful boy should never, ever hurt.

So I let him push me and pull me, let him have what he wanted and take what he needed, because it was the only comfort I knew how to give.


Hey there! *waves* Long time no see! Some of you may have seen a teaser posted over on ADF last week, promising this chapter by last Friday. Obviously, I didn't make that deadline. For those of you who have been following this story for a while, I'm sure this comes as no surprise. For all you new readers: welcome to my world.

The bad news: this next month is going to be even busier than usual for me, and I will have pretty much zero time to write.

The good news: I already have about 2000 words of the next chapter written (it was supposed to be part of this chapter, but was such a drastic change in tone that it just ended up not fitting in).

As the outline stands, there should be 4 chapters to go. Of course, we all know how it turns out when I start trying to predict these things, so please don't hold me to that. Between word vomit and characters that keep trying to hijack my story, that number could double.

Thank you for reading!