A/N: Hey, guys. I'm free! And freedom is sweet. Especially when it means that I no longer have to study long hours every day, using all my free time to prepare for my AP exam, which I took today. A weight has been lifted! Woo hoo! My, my, my, I really haven't been happier in a good while. Anyway, I'm going to procrastinate on my Chemistry SAT II until it's absolutely necessary I start studying for it. So that gives me about a week, roughly, to write some more. I'll probably post sometime soon. Sooner than this time. Hopefully. Then after that I have all my Regents. Yay. Cough, cough. So I've got a lot written, albeit not in any real order, but there'll be another chapter up soon. Review, and you get it faster ;)

-Lisa


A Different Decision

By: Twilighter

A few hours later, I was sitting in my room, listening to a CD that Edward had given to me, when I heard someone kick my door. I pulled the headphones out of my ears and watched the door warily. "It's unlocked," I called.

Alice's annoyed voice came from the other side. "I know, Bella. It's just…my hands are kind of full at the moment." This made me even more cautious. I briefly considered not opening the door at all.

"Don't even think about it, Bella." I rolled my eyes. Of course, she had seen.

"Fine, then. But I have a feeling that I'm going to regret this." I stalked over to the door and pulled it open. Let's just say that the scene before me defied all laws of physics.

Alice, in all her four-foot-nine glory, stood balancing a pile of boxes that extended several feet above her head, just short enough to fit through my door. Behind her, there were several more piles of boxes lining the hall. She smiled angelically. I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Help me bring the rest of these inside," she ordered sweetly. I complied, knowing fully well that it would end up worse for me if I didn't. The boxes were not heavy (though as a vampire, this wasn't saying much), but they felt dangerously full. Several had packing labels in languages that I couldn't even read. I set them down in my room with the rest, and turned to stare at Alice.

Putting my hands on my hips, I tried to appear strong. "What's all this?" I demanded.

"It's the stuff I picked up from the post office. I had to use Emmett's Jeep," she added sheepishly.

"I figured that," I said impatiently. "But what's it for?"

"It's for you," she replied simply.

I raised my eyebrows skeptically, then turned to the nearest box. The thick layers of duct tape were not much of an obstacle for me. I took one look inside, then back at Alice.

"You're joking. All of this –" I gestured to all of the packages, "is clothing?"

She looked defensive. "No. Some of it is shoes. And underwear." I stared at her, aghast.

"But Alice, I don't need any of this!" How much money had she spent? From the looks of what I'd seen so far, the clothes she'd bought were not cheap.

"Well, I think you do. And I've had to share my clothes with you for the past few weeks." I hadn't thought of it that way. Had I been inconveniencing her? "Besides, my clothes don't really fit you too well anyway."

I sighed, my shoulders drooping. "But did you have to buy so much?" It seemed that anything Alice ever did was over the top.

"No. But I wanted to. See? This was really for my benefit, not yours."

I snorted rather unattractively. "You can twist it any way you want Alice, but at the end of the day, I'm the one who has to end up wearing all of this."

"And it will all look beautiful on you. You'll soon be thanking me."

"That'll be the day…" I didn't enjoy shopping, and I couldn't care less what I was dressed in. Though I had to admit that lately I'd started to take an interest, and the reason wasn't just vanity.

She giggled. "Yes. Forget the pigs…that will be the day when werewolves fly."

I nearly choked at the unexpected word. "Werewolves?" I squeaked out.

She hesitated. "Just kidding. We've already reached our quota of magical creatures around here." I had the funny feeling that she wasn't telling the truth, but I brushed it hastily away.

Dramatically placing a hand over my heart, I sighed deeply. "For a brief moment there, Alice, you had me thinking that werewolves were real." They could never be; after all, the world was warped enough already. "Can you never be serious, Alice?"

"Nope. It comes with the territory of knowing the future. I've nothing to be worried about, not if I can try to fix things to my liking." Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "It's a God complex – but I acknowledge that."

I decided to humor her. "And just what does the almighty Alice see in my near future?" I asked dryly.

She pursed her lips delicately. "Now that is for me to know, and you to find out."

"How unoriginal," I stated bluntly.

Alice shrugged. "Call it what you like, Bella. But like I said – someday, you'll be thanking me." I got the feeling that she wasn't just talking about clothes.

I groaned belligerently, conveniently forgetting the fact that it was my fault for asking in the first place. I just couldn't take all of her mysterious hints and teasing, coupled with my own self-doubt. "That's it! I'm sick of all the cryptic remarks already! What are you really trying to say?" I demanded of her. She could trust me with this. She could tell me.

She looked very taken aback. "You and Edward will fall in love," she whispered in a flat, slightly monotone voice. Then her eyes widened. "What did I say?"

My eyes narrowed and I glared at her, stalking out of the room. She remained where she was, seeming a bit dazed. I didn't care. If she wanted to play games with me, I wasn't just going to lie down and take it willingly. I hated that everyone was always on my back about this. My chest hurt whenever I thought about losing the friendship that I had with Edward – I didn't want any of their incessant, juvenile teasing to jeopardize it.

Unsurprisingly, I sought him out for comfort. All I needed to feel better nowadays was his presence. I stalked to his room, but it was empty. Then I headed to his next most likely location.

Edward had been spending a lot of his time at the piano lately. But when I asked him about it, he just smiled evasively. He wouldn't even let me in the room to listen while I read. Of course, I could still hear him play – but usually, he was mostly writing the notes, rather than playing them.

I often wondered why he bothered writing anything down at all. The perfection of a vampire memory was no joke ­– it was laughable to think that we could ever forget something as simple as a melody. But there he was each day, writing, then dissatisfiedly crossing the notes from the paper.

He only played a few jagged, broken bits of composition every so often before groaning in frustration. I never knew why he was getting so upset – I thought everything sounded beautiful.

This time, though, I found him sitting on the bench, arms crossed, glaring balefully at the keys. "Hello," I said, my tone of voice still hard from my anger with Alice.

He looked up, startled by my presence; he had been very focused. A crooked grin appeared on his face at the sight of me, but my own answering smile was unenthusiastic. "You again?" he asked archly. "Haven't you had enough of me yet?"

I walked over to the bench and sat down beside him. "Never," I answered, my frustrations dulling the shyness I might have felt answering such a question. His grin widened at my response. We sat in silence for a minute.

"What's the matter?" he asked, interpreting my mood.

I grimaced. "I'm surprised you didn't hear. I got a bit angry with Alice."

"I had a lot on my mind. What did you fight about?" Dangerous territory.

"I don't know. I think it was just me, overreacting." Neutral, noncommittal answer.

"And what were you overacting about?" he pressed.

I pursed my lips. "Nothing of importance."

He chuckled. "Fine then, keep your secrets. But I thought you trusted me?"

I leaned back, gripping the ledge of the polished black seat for support. "Well, there's a difference between trust, and letting someone know every detail of your life. And trust doesn't necessarily mean no secrets – it means no lies."

"Interesting view." He let his fingers skim over the keys, but they didn't make a sound. "But like Alice said, some secrets shouldn't be kept – lying by omission, remember?"

I rolled my eyes. "Of course. But this is much more trivial; it's not exactly on the same level as the secret you kept. Speaking of which…"

His head hung guiltily. "I really should tell them. I don't know why I've waited so long."

"You're afraid of seeming weak," I deadpanned.

Edward winced. "Sometimes is seems like you know me too well. But, yes…and no. You must know the feeling – the longer a secret is kept, the worse it seems. And the harder it is to tell."

"I hate to use the band-aid analogy, but – "

His laughter cut me off. "Don't bother. I get what you mean, even though I can't exactly empathize completely. I've never had to rip off a band-aid before."

My forehead creased. "Why not?"

"I wonder if you will think it's strange," he reflected to himself.

"I doubt you were a hemophiliac as a child," I said, a hint of sarcasm coloring my tone. He didn't respond. "Try me," I added, making sure my expression was casual.

Edward smiled slightly. "Well, then. You asked for it." He paused playfully, dramatically, seeming to ignore the serious air. "The band-aid was invented three years after I died."

My forehead creased as I considered this anticlimactic response. That I had not been expecting. I couldn't imagine a time without band-aids. I wondered just how old he was. "And when was it invented?" I asked carefully. He knew what I was getting at.

He copied my casual demeanor, although seemed a bit more hesitant to answer this time around. "1921."

I froze for a second, doing the math. That meant he died in 1918. So he was born at the start of the 20th century, if the age he had pretended, seventeen, was correct. In awe, I realized that the godlike boy in front of me was over a hundred years old. He saw the questions in my eyes.

He gazed down at his piano keys. "Do you want to know more?" he asked, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes.

I nodded. With sudden inspiration, I arched my eyebrow. "About you? Or the band-aid?" My joke had the desired effect: he laughed.

"Either, I suppose. Though I don't know much more about the latter."

"Alright, then." I grinned. "I guess I'll settle for hearing more about you."

He permitted himself a brief smile at me before staring steadily across the lacquered black top of the piano, and taking a deep breath to begin. "I was born in Chicago, in 1901, to Elizabeth and Edward Masen Sr. I don't remember much – or anything at all, really – about my childhood, so forgive the large gap in my recollection."

I smiled encouragingly. "There's no need to apologize. Please, go on."

He nodded absently, lost in thought as he tried to remember more. "Human memories tend to fade over time…but I do remember some little things – my first time playing piano, one of my father's birthdays..." he trailed off. "I remember reading in the papers that America had entered the war, and how badly I wanted to join. It seems foolish now." He shook his head.

"What do you remember most?"

His eyes shifted up to the high ceiling. "The days leading up to my death. Carlisle found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918, dying of the Spanish influenza."

I felt a heavy, sinking feeling, horrified at the thought of him dying even though I had him safe and sound less than an arm's length away. My hand involuntarily reached out to grab his, and I entwined it securely within my own, giving it a squeeze.

He smiled slightly at the contact, but still didn't look my way. Absently, Edward began tracing the back of my hand with his thumb, leaving behind a pleasant warmth, even though his hand was as cool as mine.

"I always find myself thinking that it was…meant to be, or fate, perhaps, for him to find me. Many of those who developed symptoms died within 24 to 48 hours. My father was dead. My mother was dying. Carlisle's shown me his recollection of it…. Beneath the sickness, my mother was beautiful," he recalled suddenly. A few seconds passed before he continued. "She was what convinced Carlisle to save me. She begged him not to let me die."

"I wonder sometimes, if she would be proud of what I've become, even after everything I've done. Or if she'd regret what she'd asked of Carlisle. But then she was gone, and I had no one, and he turned me – making me his first companion after three hundred years of being alone."

"Do you regret it?"

His face briefly clouded, but then smoothed over. "Sometimes I do. Like when I think of all the mistakes I've made. It's so hard sometimes – I can remember the face of each and every person I've killed. I can't take it back, no matter how much I want to." He looked at me, gauging my reaction.

This, now, was something we shared. The crime, the memory, the guilt of what we'd done. I'd only murdered one human – one – and I still felt horrible, would always feel horrible about it. I couldn't imagine what is was like for Edward, those faces all blending together and yet standing out so vividly. Hundreds, he'd said, maybe thousands. Three long years of thirst and instinct and murder. My mind shied away from the very thought.

Edward sighed wistfully. "There are all those things to make me regret it, but other times, I don't. I love my family. I have brothers and sisters who I couldn't be closer to if they were related by blood. And I can't imagine two people better than Esme and Carlisle."

I smiled. He was right about that; this family had come together so perfectly that it was hard to doubt that there was some greater entity out there, guiding us and bringing us together. I didn't feel like an intruder upon the family so much any more. I almost felt like one of them.

"And then there's you," Edward continued gently. "If I'd died in 1918 like I should have, I would've never met you. I suppose, in the long run, your life would be better if I didn't exist, but I happen to like my life with you in it. Which makes it very difficult to regret anything." He finally looked at me, a faint smile turning up the corners of his lips. "Does that make me selfish?"

I looked down at our intertwined hands, pulling them into my lap and grasping his with both of mine. "No, it doesn't. I like my life with you in it too. Which makes it hard for me to regret anything either." I looked back up at him, and he was staring at our hands, too.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. "What would have happened, do you think, if I were still human?" I wondered. "Is it too hard to imagine that we could have been friends then, as well?" He stayed silent for a moment.

"Before I went to your house that night, after I dropped off my family, I was undecided. I could have gone either way…to Denali, or to you. There were two possible futures that had you still alive. Two visions. Alice saw them both. She told me about them. The first was the path you're on now."

"But to answer your question, yes, we would have been friends if you'd stayed human – as unlikely as that seems. But in that same one, you still would have ended up like me, like us, Alice believes." He sighed. "I guess it just wasn't in your cards to remain human, no matter which path I'd taken. Apparently, I couldn't stay away from you in either of them."

I couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, that's me. Irresistible," I said with heavy sarcasm.

He didn't laugh; it seemed that he didn't get the joke. Instead, his unblinking eyes never left mine, just holding on to my gaze as my smile faded and I could do nothing but stare helplessly at him. "Yes," he murmured, a vague response.

Then he blinked and looked quickly away, the smile swiftly reappearing on his handsome face. "And I thought you were a modest type of person. How wrong was I?" Once again, his mood changes left me a step behind. Had I just imagined the intensity of his gaze?

I tried to pretend as if a thing as simple as his stare hadn't taken my breath away. I couldn't help but think, sometimes, that he might feel the same way. But that was just wishful thinking. "Hey!" I said indignantly, breaking my grasp to hit him on the shoulder, and he raised his arms to defend himself.

We both laughed, then sighed, breaking away from the scuffle to sit again in a companionable silence. He looked so content, so different from my first impression of him. He'd seemed bad-tempered and moody – for him, I'd thought, the role of angst-ridden teen wasn't even an act. Despite his hundred-odd years, it came naturally. But now he was so…different. Less distant and remote, happier, more engaged.

"Edward? Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

His contented expression didn't waver, remaining open and light. "Go ahead," he told me, gesturing forward with his hand for me to proceed.

"I know I haven't been here very long, but I still can't help but notice some things."

"Such as?"

"Well, you mostly." I slapped my forehead inwardly. If I was trying to conceal my obsession with him, it wasn't advisable to admit that I watched him so closely. "You just seem a lot more agreeable than you used to be," I clarified.

"You're not wrong in that line of thinking. I am a lot happier than I used to be," he admitted.

"Why were you so unhappy before?" I wondered.

He sighed, and answered not unwillingly. "There were a lot of reasons. Guilt, boredom, frustration…loneliness," he ticked off. "I didn't have a very good self-image either. Not to mention, I felt that I had nothing to live for."

"You had your family," I reminded him, confused.

"Yes. And you know I love them. Not that they weren't enough, but…something was still missing. After a hundred years, everything seemed kind of meaningless."

"What changed?" Please let it be me.

He smiled brightly. "Well, now I have someone around who's even more stubborn than I am. You were able to get some things through my thick skull that my family had been attempting to convey for decades." I sighed, more than a bit disappointed with his platonic answer. He glanced at me curiously.

I smiled half-heartedly. "Gee, thanks for the compliment."

"You know I didn't mean it like that," he said softly.

I looked up at his apologetic face – he didn't even know what he did wrong. I tried to grin more genuinely. "Yeah, I know. I better go say sorry to Alice; like I said, I wasn't so nice to her before." I stood.

He put a reassuring hand on my elbow, making my heart seem to flutter at the contact. "Don't worry. I'm sure she's already forgiven you."

And it turns out she had. In fact, it seemed she was making all attempts, to act like nothing had happened at all. But that didn't stop her from guilting me into playing dress-up in all the clothes she had gotten for me.

Given the ability to make speedier clothing changes, you'd think that this couldn't have taken too long. But no. Alice insisted on surveying each outfit, making me switch pieces to make it match better, deliberating the pros and cons of it, and so on. Everything seemed to fit perfectly and look nice – a benefit of seeing the future, I assumed. Either that, or she'd had everything custom tailored for me, which I doubted.

She circled me, eyeing my latest outfit critically.

I sighed. This was going to be a long night.