2 years later

From the outsider's perspective, I lived a pretty normal life. I was a fighting instructor at one of the many local gyms in the city. Initially they wouldn't hire me based on my age, claiming that I was too young for it.

But after promptly defeating the owner of the establishment in three quick moves, they had no problem with it.

I went jogging regularly – usually around Hampstead heath, but sometimes I got carried away and kept going into the suburbs before I realized where I was.

But I always wanted to return back home – the townhouse on the curve of falloden way. The lights on the first and second floor was always on by the time I came home, not for Garrett's benefit – but for me.

Sometimes he was home, and sometimes he wasn't.

But if he was, he was either reading one of his many dog-eared and battered books that he stole from antique shops, mocking the newscaster on tv or having a small get-together with local friends of his.

But mostly, he just liked starting fights with them.

It is difficult to describe how much I feared him in the beginning. There is so much fear in me sometimes that it doesn't know where to go.

It wasn't until I almost killed him a second time that I truly accepted him.

He had found me again after a nightmare. The same one I kept having over and over. I was hunched over in the backyard – I had thrown up and he was trying to help. He touched my back and stroked it.

And I couldn't handle it – I snapped.

I turned around and put my hands around his neck, the power I kept under my skin somehow surging to life instantly at my command. He fell back to the ground and began choking – not for the lack of breath, but because of the pain I was causing him. His skin sizzled under my hands, and I screamed into his face.

I was so happy to cause that, in that moment. So happy that I could kill him – could kill any vampire that would dare come near me. I could never let them think that I was weak.

But rather than fighting me, Garrett didn't try to touch me again. Instead he just stared up at me.

There was something in his gaze that made me stop. A wordless thing that might have been horror – fear aimed at me. Maybe I had imagined it – maybe it was how I was beginning to see myself.

Afterwards, when I apologized, he shook his head and sighed.

"No, I'm the one that's sorry."

I couldn't believe that. I couldn't even comprehend. I beat at my own face, covered my eyes with my palms and wept. And this time when he held me, rocking me back and forth like a child, I didn't stop him. I didn't want to.

"Feroux, you're clocking in early today." My boss observed as I came in. The gym was on the smaller side, but that also meant that they didn't really care about looking at my identification papers. Which was a good thing, since most of it had been faked.

I pinned up my long red hair and said little, but patted him good-naturedly on the back as I passed him by.

My class consisted of around 15-20 people, depending on how many showed up. I taught hand-to-hand combat, both at basic and advanced levels. On this particular day it was an advanced class – but sometimes people who had no real experience in fighting at all tended to show up, thinking that it would be easy.

Then I had students who I had taught for as long as I had been working there, who knew better. They mostly stayed quiet, remained obedient.

But the ones that didn't…

It was easy to size them up. If they were loud or bragged a lot, if their eyes tended to stray and not focus properly – they were an easy target.

"Man, nobody told me that someone like that would be teaching this thing – is she even allowed in here? " One large, beefy guy asked, and a few of the men around him sniggered. I let him talk, while I taped up my hands with my back turned to them all.

And while doing this, I started speaking loudly to one of my regular students.

"Cordin, what was the most important thing I said to you during your first lesson?"

"Uhm, never to underestimate an opponent?" He said, a bit unsure. I turned around and smiled at him.

"Exactly. Now those of you who are new in this class, please raise your hand."

Four out of the fifteen students raised their hand, some of them with silly grins still on their faces. I locked eyes with the largest one of them and beckoned him forward. I folded my arms across my chest, while his eyes strayed – all that energy wasted.

"What is your name?"I asked curtly, and he snorted - a leery smile crossing his face.

"What's it to you – if you wanted my phone number girlie, just ask."

"Fine. Just answer me this, did you come here to learn?"

"Well yeah-"

Without waiting for him to finish, I dropped to the floor and extended my right leg, sweeping it right under his feet in a quick motion from behind. He dropped like a bag of bricks instantly – I grabbed my bo staff and pushed the tip of it against his forehead. He stared up at me in shock as I leaned down and scrutinized him.

He reacted oddly then, and looked nervous – avoiding looking into my eyes. All talk, no experience.

"First lesson. Never underestimate your opponent, or your teacher. Is that understood?" I asked, my voice low. He nodded, but still refused to meet my gaze.

I more often than not walked home alone when I was finished for the day. Sometimes, if Garrett was in the area, we'd walk together. At first, he would rarely leave my side for anything. Even when I still thought he would hurt me, and I protested.

But now (and probably then too) I realized that he had just been looking out for me – still afraid that the volturi would find me.

It was a strange relationship we had – one that took me a long time to figure out. He never gave up on me. He never said no if I asked him for help (though he would grumble). He would always come if I was upset, or crying after a bad nightmare. And if he got mad at me, it was usually about my safety.

He was, strangely, the closest thing I'd ever had to a real father.

Funny then, that it wouldn't be the Volturi that would try to steal me away.