A/N: Sorry for the slow update. No excuse for that. But please enjoy.
Disclaimer: Twilight is a story not written by me. I make no money from it.
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Chapter Ten.
The first thought I had when I passed through those doors was a slight disorientation at the space. I had never been in such a large indoors space. As best as I could, I avoided other people's homes, so generally all I saw in regards to residence was the cramped-but-cozy abodes that I had lived in. I also avoided large populated areas that were situated indoors, because it was usually difficult for me to escape if I needed to run from something, usually a vampire.
The colours of the room were subtle, like the decorator was against drawing attention to any one section of wall or carpet. Faded browns, light yellows, pale cream; it was like being in a waiting room at a hospital. Tasteful enough, but kind of boring. It was vividly opposite to my style. I needed colours, bright reds against startling whites, glaring yellows splashed with fluro greens. But since I rarely stayed for too long in any one place, and usually in rented accommodation, I've rarely seen the need to redecorate.
Jacob gingerly helped me walk to the padded wooden chair that resided conveniently near the door. Out of all the vampires, only Carlisle stayed to watch my despairingly slow walk. I was thankful that my audience was kept small.
My eyes were generally fixed on the vampire or Jacob, who was helping me shift into my seat, but I saw the room clearly. It was brightly illuminated, sparsely furnished; apart from the chair I was sitting in, there was a small high table with some fresh daises bunched in a plain, light purple vase. The only remotely interesting inanimate object was the painting hanging on the wall, directly opposite me, surrounded by nothing else, framed in a stark black wood.
The painting was done on black velvet, an odd canvas material choice because it was considered by the majority of artisans to be too difficult to work with, and the artist used a crimson colour to paint the image of a faded cherub in the corner, taking about a third of the space, leaving the rest strangely blank. The angel was mainly outlines, rendering it to appear faded.
It was amazingly done, I thought, especially the way the reds were hard to see made the viewer look closer, and really take in the image. My eyes were drawn to the tears on the angel, making it seem as though it was crying blood. It's small wings were also dripping with something. Because the artist stuck with red paint, it also appeared as blood.
Along with the ebony frame, the image appeared almost to be a gaping black hole, threatening to suck the brightness of the room into the void, a crying angel-child to send you off. Overall, the effect was breathtaking.
By the time I sat down, I was panting a little, but the pain was building. There was no way I could move, let alone hunt, in this state!
"Jacob," I said tiredly. "Can you pop down to the butcher's? Ask them for some animal blood. They'll give it to you, I think. Some places vary. But can you go ask?" He nodded, and made a move to go, but then he froze, in the process of rethinking something.
"Wait. Are you sure you want me to leave you alone here?" He made no effort to lower his voice, already aware that everyone in the house could hear if they paid attention.
Shaking my head, I snorted. "Sure. Just because I can't walk at the moment doesn't mean I am without protection. You have a treaty or something, right? And I'd like to see a Cullen get near me if they don't want to." Jacob looked confused, and understandably so, seeing as neither him or the others were really sure on what I was able to do.
Deciding that further protest was futile, Jacob left the house hurriedly, his quick walk morphing into a run as he made his way through the airy hall that was situated to my left. He spared me one glance before disappearing.
"Why not get one of us to get you an animal to drink from?" asked Carlisle as soon as Jacob's footfalls faded into silence.
"I am too weak to kill a thrashing animal. Also, I am a messy eater, which would probably make one of you guys crazy with the amount of blood. Actually, I'd probably aggravate my wounds and open some fresh sweet blood into the air that way, too," I explained without preamble, my eyes sliding past him and once again fixing their attention on the painting. Pausing, I added an afterthought, "And I don't want your help."
I wanted no one's help. Even asking Jacob for assistance was killing me.
"Why not? It wouldn't make us feel obliged in the least," said Carlisle in a reasonable tone.
Without taking my eyes from the picture, I simply said, "I don't want your help because I don't want to feel like I owe you something. So far, I've taken your kindness as repayment for kidnapping me. I need nothing further now that I am conscious." Hell would freeze over before I would owe a vampire a favor.
I could feel Carlisle's want to protest almost as easily as I could feel the air on my skin. But thankfully he dropped the subject, instead talking about the painting that so captured my attention. "What do you think about the message the artist is trying to send?"
"Huh?" I turned my head to the vampire. "Message?" Looking back at the image, I tilted my head, as if that would change the way I saw the image. "I guess I see a fallen angle, cast away from the gates of Heaven, damned for his sins." I didn't think my answer through, but as the words poured out of me, I knew them to be undeniably true. The crying, bleeding angel, mixed with the dark background, something that looked like a pit of darkness and despair... Yes, my answer made sense.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Carlisle's face change into one of brief amazement. "You are possibly the first one to immediately see the exact message that the artist was trying to communicate," he murmured in a slightly shocked tone.
"Who was the artist?" I asked, my tone colored with mild interest.
As the blond vampire turned and made his way out of the room, he paused for a second, and turned his head to answer, the corners of his mouth tugged slightly upward in the shadow of a smile.
"My son, Edward."
*******
I finished the last container of blood, licking the droplets the droplets that surrounded my mouth. Placing the canister down, I started scratching my tongue with my fingertips, trying to rid myself of the overly salty taste of days old blood. It was obvious to me that the butcher drained this lot from a carcass of old meat, salted so heavily in an effort to preserve it. But the already stale blood was made worse from that.
"What's wrong?" asked Jacob, who was sitting across from me at the kitchen counter, eyeing my actions with an aura of intrigue.
"It's blood alright, good enough to make me feel a little better, but the damn butcher gave you old stuff, packed full of salt. Urgh," I complained bitterly, still scratching my tongue, so my words came out slightly muffled. "Goddamn bitter shit."
"Like coffee, right?" said Jacob lightly, a grin spreading on his face, raising a can of soft drink to his lips.
"Nah, I think coffee is still worse," I told him. I'd stopped scratching my tongue, and started chewing on the wax fruit on the table.
"You know that stuff is for display purposes only?" Jacob pointed out, looking at the wax apple in my hand and then looking at me, his eyes clearly showing that he thought I was crazy. Maybe I was. Or perhaps "eccentric" was a better descriptive.
"I'm just chewing on them to clean my mouth," I told him offhandedly. The chewing was helping; the waxy taste better than the salty one. "Don't fret, 'cause I'm not stupid enough to swallow it. But then again, I've eaten metal before, and that didn't effect me." I spat out the blob of slime-covered wax with perfect aim into the bin.
"When did you have to eat metal?" laughed Jacob in an incredulous tone. "And why would you want to?"
"I didn't want to. It's just that I was once thrown face first into a slab of metal, my teeth ripped some of that up, and in the heat of the moment, I ate some without noticing," I explained after taking another bite of the wax fruit. "I think I can literally say that blood does have that metallic aftertaste."
Jacob laughed again, the noise booming and joyful, honest and true. "Why were you slam-dunked into a sheet of metal?"
"Kinky sex," I answered immediately with a straight face. It was at that moment Jacob was taking a huge gulp of Coke, and with my strange reply, he started spluttering and coughing profusely.
Reaching out to pat him on the back, I chuckled and said, "I wasn't actually having sex, you dumbass. I was fighting with a vampire—what else?" As he regained himself, I noted that I was actually reasonably comfortable in his presence. Maybe it was the humanness that just radiated out of his pores, the loud thumping of his heart, the whooshing noise of his lungs, the heat coming from his body in waves...
But I did not yet trust him with everything I had. He was nice enough, but he did cleave up my back with his claws, so I thought I was entitled to a little reserve.
Looking at his face, I saw that two pockets of red were blooming on his cheeks, hard to see with his chestnut-brown skin colour, but still there.
"Haven't heard of sex before?" I asked sardonically, one eyebrow raised questioningly.
"Of course I had!" exclaimed Jacob defensively. "I was just taken by surprise, that's all. I mean, of all the things to say, I did not think you'd say that."
Laughing dryly, I asked, "How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
My eyes widened and my lips parted in surprise. Giving him a quick once over with my eyes, I could not see anything that implied that he was so young. Sure, his face was round, youthful, but not displaying characteristics of a sixteen year old. Even his eyes held depth to them, as if he'd been alive longer than his birth certificate declared.
"Hey, it's not like I'm a child or anything," protested Jacob quickly, his tone defensive.
Snorting, I retorted without antagonism, "In the eyes of the state—hell—in the eyes of the world, you are a child by law. Ha, you can't even legally drink or drive!"
"Well, how old are you then, Grandma?" snapped Jacob, the red in his cheeks deepening.
"Hmm," I paused. "I'm not too sure, but definitely older than you."
"How come you don't know how old you are?" Jacob asked disbelievingly.
"Years pass me by in the blink of an eye, and I have more worrying things to concern myself over than trivial stuff like keeping track of my age." Jacob stared at me with a blank look, and I rolled my eyes, before saying, "Yeah, but the last time I checked, I had passed more than a century of existence."
"Wow, you are old." He stressed the last word, and I slapped him on the back of the head.
"Thanks," I snarled, as he rubbed his scalp, a fake look of pain on his face. "That's what every gal wants to hear, you know."
Before he could say anything in reply, a faint howl pierced the air, but Jacob's face swiveled in that direction as if he had a homing beacon in his head.
"I've got to go; that's Sam calling me." Noticing the blank look on my face, he elaborated hurriedly, "That's the alpha, the top of command."
Nodding, I waved him off, telling him to go. His dark, round eyes hesitated; it was clear he didn't want to leave me alone. "Just go," I told him, daring him to insinuate that I was incapable to be left alone like a naughty child. But a howl rent the air again, louder this time, and rushed off to answer the call.
Using the crutches that Carlisle insisted I have, I hobbled over to the lounge room, intending to watch some television to pass the time. Instead I found Edward staring intently at a chessboard, halfway through a game. But he was alone. He was playing against himself.
That is so depressingly sad, even for a monster.
Edward's head snapped up, his face contorted in an angry scowl. The irises of his eyes were nearing black and an angry brow shrouded them.
"Oops, did I say that aloud?" I asked nobody in particular.
"It's not because I'm a monster. It's because I'm too good to play with anyone else except Alice, and she's busy at the moment." He growled quietly and turned back to his game. I noticed that he never denied that he wasn't a monster or anything. Odd.
The room was open, airy, still a disconcerting feeling, and was still decorated in the same bland colour scheme, except there were more vases of flowers in this room, not to mention some pretty fancy bits of technology. That television must have been like 150 inches across...
Making my way over to him, my legs shaking the entire way, I collapsed into the soft reclining chair across from the chessboard. Resting the crutches to the side of me, my hands—now free—darted out and readjusted the pieces to start a new game. Edward protested, but I shushed him, moving a pawn forward two spaces to start a new game.
Looking up, I saw that he looked pissed, and I just said, "Oh come on. Playing a game with someone else is surely better than being a little loner. And if you ever wanted to revisit that particular sad game, you have a picture perfect memory."
Finally, Edward responded, moving a knight forward. I grinned at the move and the game began. Our movements were speedy, rarely a pause between them. Our hands would have looked like blurs to humans.
I liked this particular set of chess pieces. The entire thing was made of either pristine white stone or ebony marble, both cut cleanly and with obvious skill. Set in the eyes of the horses was two small diamonds (for the white pieces) and two small rubies (for the black pieces).
It had been some time since I last played, so I made some blunders early in the game, but I soon got into my groove and got better as time progressed. I'd just lost my last bishop to Edward's knight, but it was worth it for the opening to tackle his black rook out of the game.
"You're good," commented Edward lightly, his voice monotone, neither surprise nor praise passing through his tone. I raised my eyebrows; this was the first time either of us spoke since the game began.
"So are you," I replied politely, but honestly. I hesitated my hand over a pawn, but instead moved another to remove one of his own pawns. His pale hand quickly shot out and took away my soldier from the game. I knew that would happen. I planned it so that I could get closer to his bishop.
"I guess I should have guessed that you'd be skillful," he mused gently, moving his queen in a threatening direction, too close to my king for my liking. In retaliation, I called moved my knight to attack his king, the white horse head clacking down on the board loudly.
"I like checkers better," I told him indifferently.
"Really?" Edward finally displayed some kind of surprise, even though it was a subtle reaction. "But chess is more complex, and needs more concentration to play."
"Exactly why I like checkers better." I began moving my pieces in a trap planned to be set in thirty-seven moves—if everything went to plan. "Actually, if we counted every board game ever made, I like Monopoly the best."
"I never would have pinned you for the financial type," remarked Edward as his bishop took away one of my remaining pawns.
"I don't like it for the money or the property buying," I explained. "I like the colours."
At this, I was unsurprised to see Edward to raise his head and look at me like I was stupid. "Colours is not something you can use as a reason to why a game is your favourite," he told me strongly.
Raising both eyebrows, I snorted ungracefully and asked, "What makes you the boss of me? I can like any game I want for any reason I desire." Glancing down at the board, I swiftly moved my queen diagonally across the black squares three spaces, and exclaimed, "Checkmate!"
Edward's eyes darted down to the board in disbelief, before his face quickly smoothed out. "Well played."
"I know."
"Pride is a sin," Edward said, not looking at me, instead concentrating on replacing all the chess pieces.
"Yeah, why would that bother me?" I asked with some surprise. "I mean, I've pretty much broken all of the seven main sins."
"Hmm... Wrath?"
"Murdering vampires not good enough to break that one or something?" I chuckled. His eyes connected with mine, and I thought I saw a spark of dark humor in them, but as quickly as it appeared, it went.
"Okay," replied Edward. "Envy?"
"I envy normal humans all the time." Something close to understanding passed over his face like a shadow before going.
"What about gluttony?" he asked with a faint smirk.
"Because of my higher metabolism, I have to eat like a pig if I wanted human food to stabilize my systems," I told him unabashedly.
He said nothing, but looked intrigued at what I told him. "How about sloth?"
"You've seen me sleep. Even carrying me around did nothing to wake me. And I can be exceptionally lazy when the feeling hits me."
"Avarice?"
"Okay, maybe not that one. I don't want, nor do I need excessive amounts of money." Pausing, I added as an afterthought, "Though isn't it ironic that the Catholic Church calls that out as a sin, when they themselves have millions, possibly billions, of dollars worth of art in Vatican City?" At that, a laugh barked out of Edward, and I rolled my eyes at the sound.
I knew what the last sin was, and so did he. "Lust," he muttered, lowering his voice as if embarrassed. I don't know how he could be embarrassed as I was the one answering the questions.
"Yep, had that before." Now I noticed his eyes were all black. How odd. "What?" I asked defensively. "It's not like I acted on it." Anyway, everybody must have, at one point, experienced lust for someone or something. It wasn't surprising.
"So you've never had sexual intercour—" Edward never got to finish his question, because I took the intuitive and slapped him hard across the face. Then I slapped him again with the other hand. His eyes were wide and a hand rested on his cheek where I slapped him, a look of surprise and shame painted on his features.
"That last question was totally inappropriate. I am not some floozy who would kiss and tell."
"I apologize for my actions. They were uncalled for," said Edward with what sounded like sincerity. My eyes narrowed, and my lips curled back in an almost-snarl.
"But," I stalled before continuing, "if you must know, I haven't. Not because I couldn't, but because I wouldn't. I can have children—" according to my father's research "— but there is no way I would bring up a child into my world."
With that final statement, I hobbled out of the room, my crutches' clacking muffled by the carpet, but somehow sounding loud in the silence that followed me.
*******
A/N: Reason why Bella talked so much? She didn't realize it, and because she didn't reveal anything terribly important—in her opinion, anyway. Like she didn't tell them about her fighting abilities or her powers, so she didn't feel threatened.
Link to my terrible attempt to do a graphic of the cherub painting:
http://i728[dot]photobucket[dot]com/albums/ww286/Tellytubby101/CryingCherub[dot]jpg
It's terrible, awful, hideous, (I'm not the best with computer technology), but check it out so you have a vague idea of what I wanted the picture to look like.
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