I knew what is coming. I park the Mercedes and walk into the house. The whole family is waiting there, in the dining room, nearly as before. This time, Jasper sits with Alice, though looks no more happy than before.
I scan over their thoughts. Katherine and Emanuel are of the mind that we need a discussion to resolve the conflict between Rory and myself. Emily is stalwartly at his side but has no true convictions here. Jasper is sampling moods and considering how this will go. Alice is, of course, comparing the products of European shoe designers and considering whom to invest in.
"Ben knows," accuses Rory as soon as I enter the room. "Now, let's suppose how that happened..."
"Simple," I say unrepentant, "Someone on the Quileute reservation told him."
Everyone but Alice comes up short.
"What?" asks Emanuel. "Who?"
I shrug, "I didn't think to ask."
Rory stood up, "You didn't think it was important to inquire into who might be spreading rumors about the Cullens being vampires?!"
"No," I say, no defensiveness or anger in my voice, "In Ben's own words, 'She just thought she was telling me some old story. She was explaining why you didn't visit her land, that's all.' Whomever this person is, she was asked a specific question and answered. We cannot undo what was done. What more is there?"
"We cannot take this so lightly," Jasper says.
I shake my head, "Are you suggesting we break the treaty to investigate?"
"The treaty is broken," points out Katherine. "We must know that this breach will not continue."
"The wolves are dead," says Emily. "Let's just go talk to them."
"We will do no such thing," says Emanuel. "We will not discredit ourselves simply to even the score."
"We could arrange a meeting," said Jasper, "or simply call one of the existing elders."
"But will they speak to us?" asks Emanuel.
"We can't know until we try," says Alice. "Or, decide to, anyway."
I laugh. They look at me as though confused.
"What?" I say in mock defense. "I enjoy Alice's humor."
She beams at me.
"You shouldn't be so blasé about this!" Rory insists.
I sit straighter, "I am not your daughter, nor will I hold myself to your standard above my own."
Rory looks as though he is about to go on a tirade when Katherine gives him a half pleading, half conciliatory look. He sits back, willing to be quiet.
"You must work to contain this as much as any of us," says Katherine to me. "I will do my part, as must we all. Ben, I think we can all agree, is no risk."
We all look at Alice.
"From what I can tell," she says, "Ben is not easily influenced. Things that do change him can have a great deal of effect, but once those changes or decisions are made, he doesn't deviate. I doubt he will tell anyone anything, even if we leave tomorrow."
I try very hard not to let to show just how much the very idea hurts me. Jasper glances my way, and I relax and give him a thankful glance.
"Find out who this person is who told him," suggests Emanuel, as only he can suggest.
"I will," I assure them. "I will discuss it with Ben tomorrow."
"Or," says Alice. "You could just do as you planning and go see him now."
"What?" I ask.
Alice looks again, and laughs, "Yes. That actually resolves the situation nicely."
They all look at me.
Come on! she thinks. Come girl out with me! I need to tell you about tomorrow anyway.
"Okay," I say standing. Alice stands too, knowing the next part. They all wear those expressions when they know something has passed between us that they didn't catch or understand, and we run together to the land behind the house, dancing together momentarily, exuberantly embracing each other and laughing at the joy that is my life.
"I am so happy for you," she says.
"What about tomorrow?" I ask.
She grins, "I am talking you hunting!"
We haven't ever been on a hunting trip, just the two of us. It was either all the girls, or Jasper or one of the parents went with us, or some other uncommon variant.
"Really?" I ask.
She nods, "But, we are leaving at lunchtime tomorrow."
"NO!" I sound so loudly that just about every creature that readily can vacates the area for a half mile all around us.
"Trust me," she says simply.
I sigh, "This better be worth it."
She nods, "Oh, it will be."
I kiss her cheek, "You are my dearest sister."
"Hey," says Emily, only hurt a little.
"I didn't say the best sister," I say.
"Oh good," laughs Emily.
She and I embrace on last time and I turn, about to go when I look back.
"If I kill Ben," I ask, "what will happen to me?"
She shakes her head, "I can't see that until it happens. But, I am sure, that it is likely what you think will happen."
I will die. It doesn't matter how long it takes, I will figure out a way. The Volturi would be my best bet. But that is not something I need to think about now. For now, I need to set things right with my family and see Ben.
I arrive in the woods outside Ben's home. He is inside with his mother.
"You've been all distant since Sunday," she is saying. "But you're not far away anymore; you're back."
There is the clattering of plates and she is thinking of relief and that mental hue she had before when she realized that I existed.
"I'm looking forward to the weekend," Ben says, and I am sure she, like me, is aware Ben is trying to hide how much he is looking forward to it.
"Did she ask you?" his mother asks.
There is a pause.
"Did who ask me what?" Ben asks confusedly. I am not sure how genuine it is.
She knows exactly what is going on. She thinks I asked him to the dance? This is just laughable.
"Nothing," she says, backtracking. "No, nothing. Never mind."
She doesn't want to interfere with Ben. I am not sure how much he appreciates that.
"Mom!" he complains. I congratulate myself on how well I am getting to know Ben.
"So," his mother says over the shifting of chairs, "still planning on going to Seattle?"
I think I understand where Ben gets his insightfulness from.
There is a very noticeable pause. What is Ben up to? Is he not going to tell his mother about me yet?
"That was the plan," he says quickly.
He's lying? Well, no actually. It was the plan. Why is he being misleading?
"What are you going to do?" she asks.
"Not entirely sure," he says. "I was going to play it by ear, see what there is to see and do what there is to do. I've never been there before, so I don't know what there is to even do. It's been a while since I could get out of the house and just do whatever."
I understand enough of her mind to know that Ben's mother is not fooled in the slightest. She is practically screaming girlfriend on repeat in her thoughts.
That is when the car pulls up.
It is an old maroon 92 Toyota Corolla, with two women inside. It is beyond a doubt that they are from the reservation. The one driving is the younger of the two, mid-teens, long black hair, slender, her face with a stark, rather striking symmetry, cast in a somewhat contained excitement. The older is likely her mother, her face worn, with just a touch of gray at her temples. The older is thinking her friend, Carrie, wondering what she has been up to since they last spoke. I get the impression that there was a fight that happened between them. The child, on the other hand...
I can't wait to see Ben! Jeez, after I mentioned that old legend, he hardly said two words to me. I hope I didn't scare him off. I knew I shouldn't have mentioned it. Mom would kill me if she finds out. I hope I can find some way to make sure he doesn't say anything to anyone. I hope he's happy to see me!
"And you're not going to the dance?" Carrie asks again.
A wave of jealousy plumes within me, and I have to take a moment to fight it down.
"I don't dance!" Ben proclaims loudly.
"Okay," sounding like she is trying not to laugh or yell. "I hear you."
She gets out of the car first, and I wonder if she is old enough to legally drive. Her mother stays in the car, and while I am considering the reason why, the younger gets a well-used wheelchair out of the back seat. She helps her mother into it with a practiced hand and more strength than I would have expected for her thin frame. She is settling her mother in when the mother's head whips around and she sniffs the air. This strikes me as odd until the single word slams into her mind.
Vampire!
I am not sure if she is speaking to me directly, for there is no way that anyone outside of my family, including the cousins, or Ben, could know about my gift. She doesn't go on, and I assume that she must have somehow smelt me.
"Mom?" asks the child. "Mom, what is it?"
She shakes her head, "It's nothing. Just thought I smelt something foul. Doesn't matter. I never had the nose your great-grandmother had. She could sniff out a flock of geese flying south."
"Sure she could, Mom," says the child.
I see the mother's thoughts. A very early memory, warped by time, but clear enough. A stooped old woman, blurring into the massive, unmistakable form of a russet wolf, the wolf that had been Ezra Black.
So, these are the Blacks then. If I interpreted their customs correctly, that means that this is not only one of the Elders of the tribe, but is the Matriarch of her entire people. The child must be her daughter and future leader to her people. This is who broke the treaty? It is so ironic as to be laughable!
Ben's mother is starting to speak as they get to the door and knock. I hear what can only be Ben, racing to the door, flinging what sounds like silverware in his haste. He throws open the door, and I see his face fall, turning to surprise that covers his disappointment. The child doesn't seem to notice his disappointment.
"Hey Ben," she says flirtatiously, and I need to take a moment to keep myself from launching into a lengthy string of fantasies of what I might do to this girl if she tries to touch Ben.
"Hey, Joc- Josie," he says.
"You remembered," she says, her voice and mind betraying just how much this little thing means to her. She is so easily pleased!
"Hey Lin," Carrie says at Ben's elbow, addressing the Elder Black. "Right on time."
"With a game tonight," Lin replies in kind, a sort of put on enthusiasm. "You know it!"
It is just a moment, a slip, but I catch it. This is about me. Lin, apparently, keeps tabs on us through school. She is friendly with a few of the parents whose children go to Fork's High. From the brief understanding I had, she hasn't told Carrie anything about us, but she is here with her daughter, who is clearly admiring of Ben, in the hopes of trying to separate us.
"Decided to tag along, Jos?" Carrie asks.
"Yep," Lin says meaningfully. "Apparently she's developed a sudden interest in... sports."
Apparently, even if she isn't fully in on the plan, Carrie is interested in attempting to pair their children. I am not sure why she is trying to destroy me, but for now, I will assume it isn't intentional.
Ben is oblivious to all of this. They believe it is funny. I am trying not to lose my temper.
"Well," Carrie says, "come on in! You can't see the game from out there."
They trundle their way inside.
"We've got snack food," Carrie continues. "Unfortunately we didn't make enough dinner. Ben didn't know you were coming."
"You cook?" asks Josie. Wow, that's so grown up!
I try to keep calm and fail. Why is this getting to me so!?
"I can follow a recipe," he says bashfully. I see the two of them within Lin's mind. They look at odds, but in her eyes, they seem to fit somehow. I can tell that she isn't doing this for any outright malicious purposes. She is afraid for the son of her friend. I forgive her. The anger and jealousy I was feeling a moment ago is suddenly displaced by worry. They do look good together.
"I'm going to eat in the living room," say Carrie. "Why don't you two hang out in the kitchen?"
They are giving them space? To do what?! The jealousy returns and the worry redoubles.
"Okay," says Josie. I move around the house, finding an angle that I can see them from. She is sitting on the counter as he takes a seat at the table.
I keep forgetting how cute he is! she thinks. He seemed so grown up when I knew him as a kid, but now, he is just so cute! He's nothing like the boys at school. Say something! Be polite! Don't let him know that you're interested, not yet...
"How've you been?" she asks him.
He chews and swallows.
"Can't complain," he says, indicating the living room. "Except for them. What was that about?"
"I think they think we might be all self-conscious if they hang around us kids," she says. I am just glad I get to be alone with him.
He snorts, "Speak for yourself."
There is a flash of old ache, her feeling rejected by him because he didn't want to get lumped together with her in their childhood games. It brings out a challenge in her rather than any sort of victimhood.
"What?" she barks back. "Please! As though you expect me to believe you're older than me!"
"I am older than you," he says, nonplussed.
"Sure, sure," she banters, "but we all know girls mature way faster than boys."
Ben follows suit, naturally.
"You seem surprised I can cook," he states in similar tones. "How mature can you be?"
"Mature enough to understand our moms' subtext," she maneuvers, "which you obviously can't."
"I can drive," he parries.
"I can too," she ripostes.
"Legally?" he inquires, knowing that he has scored a point.
"Can you fix a car?" she rebuts.
"I can change a tire," he counters.
"I'm putting an old Rabbit back together," she bolsters. "With a little luck, it will be up and running before I get my license."
"Can you balance a checkbook?" he volleys.
She becomes flustered.
Think of something good! Think of something good!
"Assist someone who's disabled?" she vies.
"That's in poor taste," says Ben, but doesn't sound all that critical. "Plus, extenuating circumstances. If I was in your position, I would know that too."
"First aid?" she presses. "CPR?"
"That's cheating," he complains. "Speak a second language?"
"Better than you can, white boy," she says in her native language.
"I can also," he says in passable Spanish.
"Do the grocery shopping?" she fights back.
"Yes," he affirms. "Clean the house?"
"Yes," she answers, reservedly.
"Regularly, and well?" he pits.
Come on! Don't take that sitting down. You can trounce him! Come on! Show him you aren't that little girl anymore!
"Do you know your family lineage?" she interjects.
"What does that have to do with being grown up?" he asks, baffled.
"Do you?" she insists.
There is a slight pause.
"Do you have a college fund?" he asks, a note of triumph in his voice.
Instantly, his question fills her with chagrin.
I don't have any money. All I had went into the stupid car that doesn't even run yet. Even if it didn't, it is exactly like I can pay for even community college. What am I even doing here? It isn't like a boy like Ben is really ever going to be interested in me. Why would he-
"It doesn't matter how much you have in it," Ben says suddenly, every last little bit of competition gone out of his voice. "I would have been completely cleared it out if mom hadn't gotten me the truck. The important part of the question is having one."
How very decent of him.
"No," she said, reluctant in her head but not in her speech.
"We both still have time," Ben says politely, then jokingly. "It isn't like we're going to college tomorrow."
He really is just a great guy. Why is it so hard to meet a decent guy? Okay, I met him, really, but why can't I just ask him out already!?
I manage to stop myself before I get to the door and knock. I wouldn't be doing him any favors, but I want so very desperately to stop this.
"Is that good?" she asks. I can hear Ben eating and return to my spot where I can see them.
"Not my best," he says humbly, "but it's good. Do you cook?"
She thinks of a particularly burnt piece of what might have once been fish.
"Yeah no," she says sarcastically. "Not really. I mean, I can put a meal on the table, but most of the recipes I follow I'm getting off the back of the box."
"Yeah," he says, a smile clear in his words as well as on his face, "I can see that."
She becomes indignant, though I cannot tell just how seriously from her tone, mind or literal.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks severely.
He isn't at all swayed by her response. He goes so far as to laugh.
"You're such a delicate flower!" he pokes fun at her. "Can I borrow your frilly apron and your flowery ironing board when you're done with them?"
She laughs as well, pleasantly and without recriminations.
"Yeah," she admits, "I see your point."
She considers.
Look, if you are going to ask him, just ask him! Start with a nice icebreaker. Ask him about girls. It will be a nice segue!
I am pacing in the woods so quickly that I am disturbing animal life.
"What sort of girls do you like?" she asks.
I am about to call Ben, but I realize that I still don't have his number. Or rather he hasn't given it to me. How could I explain?! ARGH!
"I..." Ben stammers. "What?"
"Girls," she says, drawing out the word, gaining confidence through her jesting. "You do like them, yes?"
"Yeah," he finally manages to get out. "Yes, yep, uh huh. I'm pro girl."
This actually makes me laugh for some reason. I keep it quiet but am soon back to being frustrated.
"What sorts of girls do you like?" she repeats her inquiry.
Suddenly, I quit being frustrated and stand still. Here I am, with another chance to know more about Ben, and I am fretting it away!?
"I'm not sure, honestly," he says frankly. "There really hasn't been many that I've really liked, and the few I have I wasn't hugely interested in and they couldn't exactly be lumped into a group, other than girl."
Interesting. Why is he being more detailed with his responses with her? I suppose because she asked. Why didn't I? This seems rather important in retrospect.
Okay, she thinks, ask, but don't make it sound like you think he's racist or something. Maybe he has a non-white girl fetish- did I really just think that!?
"All white?" she asks, playing her misgivings off very well.
"No," he says, but doesn't continue. Now she doesn't ask?!
I so hope this doesn't come off as creepy!
"But you aren't going to the dance with any of the girls who asked you?" she asks.
Oh no! I am suddenly completely unworried and amused. I keep my hand over my face.
"How do you know about that?!" Ben cries. His voice shoots through two octaves, again. I am rolling, on the ground.
"Girls talk to their moms," she informs him, patronizingly. I am too busy to be annoyed on his behalf.
"They especially talk when they get shot down by boys," she continues in similar tones. "Moms talk to other moms. Things get talked about and heard of."
"I'm never going to escape this stupid dance," he intones miserably.
"What's the big deal?" she dismisses. "It's just a dance."
"It's not just a dance," I say with undisguised venom. "It's a plague. It's a pox upon my life, always catching, never cured, inescapable and festering. People in our fiftieth class reunion will be asking me about this dance."
What is the big deal?
"Why aren't you going?" she asks.
"I can't dance," I admit.
Is that it?
"And?" she asks sarcastically. "No one else who goes can either."
That can't be it. What is it really?
Is she seeing something I can't? Is she understand something I don't?
"I don't want to go because..." Ben says, then stops. He is considering his words. There is something here! How could I have not thought to look!?
"I always thought," he says shyly, "I'd go to the dance with my girlfriend and we slow dance and it would be amazing."
The thought comes to life in my mind. Us, together, dancing under the streamers, no one else but him in focus. It feels incredible. I am suddenly fabricating plans to take him to prom. Just one dance. He can't fault me for just one dance, can he?
"But I can't dance," he says, as though it is the real reason.
Ask him!
"You don't have a girlfriend?" she asks.
I want to scream yes before I realize that we never specified. It is not something I had thought to flesh out, but now that I think upon it, I realize that it is my own fault and that I must live with whatever he states.
"I don't have a girlfriend," Ben says.
I feel somewhat dejected, but only through my own stupidity and I bare no ill will toward him. I am starting to have to actively not dislike the child though.
"But you're dating someone?" she asks.
In her mind is a snippet of conversation, Carrie saying that she is pretty sure Ben is dating someone or is at least interested in someone, but they haven't been seen together that she knows of.
Ben is less than coherent with his vocalizations than he was when she mentioned the dance.
"I'll take that as a yes," she says sounding defeated. I am just a tad smug.
"How did-," Ben says, looking towards the living room. Why is it so important that his mother not know?
"Who is it?" she asks conspiratorially.
"Edwina Cullen," he whispers.
Neither parent overhears.
OH MY GOD! That is too funny! No wonder mom mentioned this. I bet she wants me to go out with Ben to keep him away from her! If only. If she's half as attractive as I have heard, I might as well go home now.
I wish she would!
"Well," she laughs quietly, "that explains why my mom has been so anxious."
"Why?" he asks, sounding worried.
"No one from the reservation was going to the hospital," she says. "When your mom found out and ask why my mom said that it was because of Dr. Cullen. They had the worst fight I've ever seen them have and didn't speak for months. This is the first time I've seen them be this friendly again since then."
That explains the fight. That was more than four months ago, by my estimate.
"Is she going to tell my mom?" he asks, sounding unhappy.
"I doubt it," she replies. "Neither of them want to fight like that again."
"Okay," he says, relieved.
"Why don't you want your mom to know?" she asks.
I am torn between being disgusted with her and finding her very useful.
"Mom has been interfering with my dating life since before I had a dating life," he says.
I have seen firsthand evidence of this, but somehow, I think that there is more to it than this.
"Interfering how?" she inquires.
"She... uh..." he says, sounding put out. "She asked me about it."
There is a moment of silence. He can't be expecting her to fall for that, can he?
"She asked you about it?" she asks, clearly not.
"More than... once," he says, his voice drifting off.
"Man," she says with flat sarcasm. "That must of been rough. Right up there with Chinese water torture."
"Oh shut up!" he says seriously, though she smiles in return. I grit my teeth. Ben's heart rate hiccups. I grit my teeth harder.
Just ask him!
My jaw creaks audibly.
"So what if I took you to the dance?" she asks, obviously still shy.
"Why?" he asks, sounding rather baffled.
Yeah, she thinks, why would he ever want to go with me? No! Don't think like that! That wasn't a no! Just talk to him.
Before she can reply, he continues, sounding a bit uncomfortable, "I mean, it doesn't seem like your kind of thing. You don't even go to my school."
That's fair. But... wait...
"What do you mean," she asks, sounding as though she isn't sure where to be defensive or not, "'not my kinda thing'?"
Ben looks at her. It is hard to tell from his expression what he is thinking, but it is nothing at all like the way he looks at me. I am torn between feeling relieved, smug, and sorry for the child.
He's looking at me, she thinks, almost frantic. Why is he just looking at me? What is he thinking? Do I want to know what he is thinking?!
Utter lunacy! How could she ever not want to know what he is thinking?!
Then, something about his face changes. It becomes pleasant, almost, dare I acknowledge it, fond.
She seems to swell, her thoughts taking on a warm, almost ringing quality in her contentment. It reminds me of how I feel when he smiles at me. She actually cares about him?!
Then he actually does smile at her. Her heart rate peaks.
"I just can't see you wearing a dress," he says happily, with just a touch of teasing to his tone. "I'd keep confusing you with an umbrella."
WHAT?! A WHAT!?I...! I! Oh damn it... that was funny! AH!
She laughs, unable to hold on to her expression of outrage.
"You ass," she says, still smiling. "People development at different rates. If you saw my mom at my age, she was the same way, but as soon as she hit sixteen, she became a knock out. Just give me six months or so, and I bet you fifty bucks I'd wipe that smirk off your face."
She recalls an old picture she saw of her mother. She is right; even though she has not retained the same structure to her face as her mother, if she is proportionally similar in the body, she will be very attractive by human standards. This makes me feel decidedly taciturn.
"That won't help you much," Ben says, smiling again. "The dance is in two days."
What's that supposed to mean? she thinks, giving him an almost critical look, her head tilted to one side.
"Are you saying you wouldn't take me to the dance because I'm not curvy enough for you?" she asks.
Of course he isn't! She doesn't know him at all!
"No," he says, but I do detect the defensive and almost dismissive tone to his words. "I'm saying your point is moot. You couldn't prove it in time for the excuse for you to wear an actual dress, so there!"
Apparently, so does she.
"You're being really sexist," calls him out.
And then, something changes. He seems to take her words seriously, and whereas I was thinking it was likely that he would become offended, instead, he looks at her directly and earnestly, and we both feel a quiver shutter through us at his look, me seeing it through her eyes.
"Josie," he says, so very kindly. "It doesn't matter to me. You could be drop dead gorgeous or plain Jane or forty pounds overweight or anorexic."
The smile is lovely, and his teasing tone returned as he said, just as seriously, "I'm still not going to the dance with you."
Her offense is hilarious to me, and I have to stifle my unexpected laughter, which scatters a few nighttime birds in nearby trees before I can stop it. I am completely silenced when she throws a dish towel at him that causes his chair to topple and him to crash to the ground. I am so close to the window that I might be visible, trying to make sure he is alright.
What did you do! Oh jeez! Oh jeez! Ugh! I hope he's okay! Perfect, Jos! You know what will really impress him!? Hit him with a car next time. Brilliant!
"That was loud," he says, getting up and playing it off. His mother comes in to check on him and he puts the chair upright and begins clearing the table. She returns to the living room with her friend, and Josie hovers as Ben puts dinner away and cleans up.
"I'm so sorry," she says, sounding truly repentant.
"I'm fine," Ben says, trying to hide his embarrassment, "it's fine. Really."
I have to scale a tree to see through the kitchen window. It is further back from the house than I would like. As I am watching, Ben walks over to her. Her heart starts racing again as he comes close, and with an ease that is nearly heartbreaking to me, reaches up and pushes her hair out of her face.
This is unbearable! I want to be her! I want it to be that easy between us! I want to have him and hold him and be with him, without wondering if this is the time I will kill him. I am disgustingly jealous of the child.
"Why did you do that?" she asks, a quaver in her voice.
"I couldn't see your face," he says simply.
That is all, I try to convince myself. There is nothing there. They are barely even friends! They are standing remarkably close though... She blushes and lowers her eyes.
Ask him! Askhimaskhimaskhim!
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the dance with me?" she asks.
He looks as though he is thinking about it.
Even though I do not need to, it feels as though some old memory of fear is being triggered and I feel as though I need to breath, but cannot get the satisfaction of getting air, no matter how hard I try. I need his scent in my lungs, the burning reassurance to know that I haven't lost him. I might lose him! After all, Alice is only as sure as we are of our path. What if he changes his mind? What if he makes another choice?
"I can't," he says, simply, decidedly. "I'm dating Edwina."
The relief I feel is heady, almost powerful enough to be considered an altered state.
"And?" asks Josie, sounding a bit chiding. "You said it yourself; she's not your girlfriend. What? She's not up for a little healthy competition?"
"There's no competition," Ben says, just as firmly, though not harshly.
It isn't fair, she thinks. We could have fun! You would like to go with me! I would be worth going with! I could so make you forget some pretty white girl. Come on! Give me a chance!
To both our surprise, he reaches out and takes hold of her, giving her a shake, silencing her mental tirade.
"I'm not a prize at the end of a contest," he says evenly. "You can't win me. It just doesn't work that way."
Wow, she thinks. He is so right! Wow, how come I didn't get that? He is such a great guy. I have never known anyone like him.
I have to agree.
She puts a hand on his chest, looking into his eyes. I am seeing red with jealousy.
"Can't blame a girl for trying, can you?" she asks.
As the night passes on, I become more and more introverted. I rely on my advanced mind to continue moving me about the world, taking in information, function as I would, but my focus is internal, on the deep and profound thoughts that begin to plague me.
What if Ben decides to leave me? We have agreed to be dating, and nothing else. I have no confessed my love for him, and though he cares for and trusts me, he will never love me the way I love him, living as he is, as a human. I have no right to anything. As I consider it, I realize that I have no more right to keep him human than I would if I decided to make him vampire. I have no more right to ask him to stay away from her than I do to ask him to stay with me. He has the ability to make his own decision and that thrills me and scares me. It is easy to say that I care about Ben no matter what when he is with me, but when he is with her, talking and laughing and obviously having a deeper and more meaningful connection than he has with the girls who prance about and want his attention, I am afraid not only that he might leave me but that he might be better off. It is easy to say I will care about him no matter what, but it is so much harder when actually faced with the possibility that he and I may not end up together, that an alternative might be better for him. I am so torn, not for what he might do, but what I must do if he should choose another.
I come back to myself in his yard. I search my memories and realize that I have been home and spoken with my family about what I learned and told them of the reason we need not fear more from Josie Black. I have written and mailed a simple letter to Belinda Black, with the words "You daughter broke the treaty. Please take steps to ensure that it doesn't happen again." I also have seen that Ben is still within Alice's mind, duel selves as ever. I feel better, if only marginally. I slip into Ben's room, and as soon as I am there, his tossing and turning ends and he settles, beginning to speak my name. I feel happier.
I sneak away at dusk, as always, this time kissing his head before I go. He sighs in a gratifying way, and I run home and change, chatting with Emanuel about being jealous, and he smiles and simply loves me as I sulk. Finally, he kisses me and hugs me and tells me that everything will be alright and that Ben gets to make his own choices, and I get to learn by letting him. I smile, thank him, and grabbing the Mercedes, arriving a little early, as usual.
Ben exits his house, having to double back to remember to lock it, then seems as though he is trying not to walk too quickly to get to me. I smile.
He gets in, glancing at me, but saying nothing. I momentarily wonder if he will talk about last night, or if there is a way for me to bring it up without totally giving away the fact that I overheard everything, that I was there.
"How was your night?" I ask casually.
"Good," he says in similar tones, and I feel pleased that his voice still has the gratified sigh hinting at it. "Had friends of the family come by for a visit."
"Oh?" she asked, curiosity too much for me. I have to know!
"The Blacks," he says, no guard to his voice at all, "from La Push."
What can I safely say to that?
"Any more stories about supposedly mythical creatures they wanted to tell you about?" I tease, glancing at him.
He isn't smiling. His face is rather serious, a sort of resignation to his expression, as though he must discuss something unpleasant. I have to pull eyes back to the road because a car is passing and the driver is focused on his stereo and not the road.
"Belinda Black is worried about us," he says. I almost sigh and laugh in relief.
"She believes what you are," he continues, his tone still serious, "and she doesn't want me to get hurt."
There is something to how he says that last sentence, and I suddenly realize that we all, all three of us, know that this is a distinct possibility.
"I don't want that either," I say to no one in particular, before I can stop myself. "If I thought that it was likely, I would not be alone with you."
"I don't mind being alone with you," he says, a nearly covetous tone to his words. "I almost prefer it."
As much as I would love to have him all to myself, even more so than I do, separated from the public at large, I realize that the aspects of myself that lust for his blood like that too. Too much.
He is looking at me, so I smile at him.
"Don't give me any ideas," I say, trying to keep up my pleasant tease. "What would your mother say if I didn't bring you back?"
I am able to cover the despair that I feel at almost admitting what I might do tomorrow.
"I don't know what she would think," he says. "I didn't tell her where I was going."
I feel myself become still. He really hasn't told her. Has he told her anything, at all? Not last night, not this morning? Purposefully?
"You didn't tell her?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even. "Why not?"
He shrugs, playing it off as no big deal.
"Two reasons, I guess," he says lightly. "One, I have trouble talking about you, especially with mom. I feel like I'm sharing you, and I don't want to. I don't want how I feel about you to be wrong, and the more people who get to judge it and me, the less important my feelings seem."
He feels intensely about me and doesn't want to share me? That at least is flattering. But he is afraid that his feelings for me are wrong, and he is afraid of being talked out of them? He doesn't want to be talked out of anything others might judge to be dangerous? Why not!?
But I have to know. I have to know the second before I can decide just how mad I must be with him.
"And, the other reason?" I ask trying harder and harder to keep my voice casual.
"The other," he says, with a momentary pause that nearly has me ready to shake him, "is that I trust you."
I am not sure how I could become more still, but I am. I nearly stop driving.
"What?" I say, having to force my body to follow my commands.
"I trust you," he says again, his words nearly the same, "but I also understand that you might fail. It isn't your fault if you do. It would be a horrible accident, and I wouldn't want it to cause you or your family trouble if it happened. That wouldn't help things any, and it wouldn't bring me back in any case."
"You're-" I start, before I can fully comprehend what he is saying. I feel so intensely, my emotions all trying to vie for my attention and focus at once, that it takes me a moment to really understand exactly what he is saying and his words are so unbelievable that I can't believe what I am hearing.
"You're trying to make it easier for me," I ask, taking every fiber of my conscious mind not to be screaming at him, "in the event that I should kill you?"
"Yeah," he says, his tone still maddeningly light. "I don't think you will, but I wouldn't want my decision to end up making things difficult."
The car is turning. I don't remember making that decision. I am simply stopping the car beside the road in the most efficient way I can.
I turn to him, and in that moment, I lose total control. What I feel is on my face. All of it. It looks as though it is hurting him, but I can't stop. I can't anything but get what I am feeling out.
"You!" I cry, louder than I would ever talk to a human. "You cannot be this... this... selfless! Have you no sense of survival?! Of self-worth?! Do you not understand that it would be easy, so easy for me to kill you now, here, this very second?! You are taking away any obstacles that might be in my way! You're making it easier!"
I lean into his face, trying not to lunge at him. His scent is exciting for the first time in a long time, making me want to hunt, but what I feel is too profound, too extreme to allow for anything else.
"Do you want to die!?" I screech. "Why are you doing this to me?! Do you see how much you mean to me?! Do you have any earthly idea what it would do to me if I lost you!? If it was my fault!?"
As I say the words, the reality of it, the nearness of that possibility comes into my thoughts and is realized fully. I can almost feel his blood on my hands, cooling my throat, the taste, the strength it would give me, the power, the pleasure, the gratification, and the pain, the torment, the loss...
I shake, violently, then let go, my hands covering my face.
"You can't," I whisper, waves of grief and pain flowing over me, drowning me. "You can't do this to me. How would I ever survive..."
I cannot speak anymore. I fade, trying to disappear within myself, trying to hide from it all. The pain, what I am, what I might do, the shame of it all.
"Edwina."
It is the one thing that can break through to me; that voice, saying that word.
I feel soft, warm, gentle touch, pulling away my hands, bringing the world back to me, raising my face to his. There, he leans in, and I can't help but let my eyes flutter shut as the light, soft, gentle kiss alights upon the skin of my cheek. I feel empty, but it is the best feeling of emptiness I have ever felt. It is where my heart should be, where the pain is no longer.
"Have you no sense of self-worth?" he says, the words shocking me. "You are so much stronger than you are giving yourself credit for. What, you think that if my mother knew where I was, it would be the difference between you deciding to kill me or not? Are you really so weak that such excuses or justifications would be enough reason for you to keep my life or end it? If you made the decision to murder me, there is little I could do to try and stop you. It's your decision. I can't make it for you, nor would I. I trust you."
How is this even possible? I knew that his mind was a mystery to me, but how is it true that such a mind can exist? What must it have gone through to see the world in this way? How can he make me feel weak and strong at the same time, make me want to run and leap and yet be still and quiet? How can he make me doubt all my weakness and dare to dream of what untold strength might lie within me? How can he see me in all the ways I wish that I could be seen, but never thought it was possible to even know enough to ask for it?
"What are you?" I ask, unabashedly awed by him. "Are you some angel, here to torment me? Everything you are and want contradicts all that I know about the world and what humans are to each other. Before I met you, had I to asked for what I could want, my fantasies could only have been a fraction of the person you are. I would have settled for flimsy excuses for the traits you possess because I didn't know their true depths could exist in full, as they do in you. You may not be perfect, but you are so far beyond my ideal, it is all but simply comical."
He looks into my face, my hands in his. There is wonder in his eyes, and he looks at me in a way that no one has ever looked at me before, as though there is nothing I could say or do or be that would cause him to think less of me, that no matter what, he will always accept me for who I am, and that I will always be enough for him. Even if it kills him.
"I'm just me," he says. I can't but laugh. As though it were so simple a thing to be! With such faith, such bravery!
"You are," I say, grinning at him. "But that seems an understatement somehow."
I restart the car and he sits back, though our closer hands remain entwined.
"Where are we going this weekend?" he asks me.
Finally! Finally, he is human and imperfect. He has forgotten our conversation from yesterday. I see no reason to disabuse him of it.
"I know of a place," I say smiling, wanting to have him all to myself, ready or not, "a meadow that's not too far. It is a rather pretty place, especially when the weather is nice."
"Okay," he accepts. He sounds eager if not excited, but then again, he doesn't strike me as the outdoorsy type. I park the car and we exit. This time, before he can fully extend his arm, I take it, in its straightened state. I do not want to be apart from him, even that little distance the bend would require me to be. I breath deeply, taking him in, feeling my every desire for him, basking in it, loving it and him.
At last, we must go our separate ways. He turns and looks into me, into my eyes, and I see them drop, considering me, my body, my lips, and I can sense his body respond, all the little ways that tells me he is attracted to me. He is so very human, so very boy. I adore him! I giggle, thrilling at feeling so entirely girlish, so very human myself.
"I don't think I will ever get tired of that," I say.
"What?" he asks, sounding as though he thinks he should be embarrassed.
"You being attracted to me," I say. "Your eyes dilating, your skin heating up, your heart pounding..."
I notice now that some weight has been lifted. I do feel stronger, more capable around him. I am no more willing to take risks, but what I might consider risky has changed. I feel a draw towards him, more powerfully than ever I have felt so far, similar to my hunger, only it is a desire to touch him, feel him pressed against me, to feel his skin on mine. I am lusting for him, so deeply for him that I might give in. So, I do, only so much, and no more.
I clutch the front of his shirt, careful not to actually touch him, yet pull him as close as I dare. His warmth and closeness is so inviting, so gratifying. I want more! How can I stand so little? But, I do not do more; he does.
He is careful, drawing his hand up, and carefully fits it to my cheek. It feels like melting warmth, seeping into my bones, like sugar dissolving into water, like caressing clouds, like licking heat, like joy, like a drug.
My eyes close, and I lose myself to him and his touch. To lose myself in his eyes is a wonder; this... this could easily become an addiction!
"Being touched by you feels criminal," I confess, trying to hide my smile be biting my lip, keeping my eyes closed as he continues to stroke my check. "It shouldn't be allowed."
"Why?" he asks, amused.
"It feels like we are breaking some rule, some limitation on what people should be allowed to have," I say. "It's too much, in so many, many ways."
"Okay," he says shortly, and promptly removes his hand. The shock of the sudden cessation is so dramatic that I am nearly heartbroken, agonizing. He openly guffaws at my reaction.
"No," I complain as he pivots and beings walking to class. I want to follow, to get him to keep going. I want retribution. I want to drag him to the nearest out of the way spot and wonder what else that touch might do to me. He cuts a glance to me, and he looks suddenly as though he is in similar distress, but he finds his resolve, so I do as well. I pout at him and turn, walking myself, and wonder what exactly he is looking at now to get his heart to accelerate like that while I am grinning to myself.
That morning, I decide to do something extraordinary. I actually pay attention in class. I answer questions, I smile, I engage. It is the most tedious and monotonous tripe, as always, but in the back of my mind, I know what I am really doing. I am avoiding thinking about the fact that I must tell Ben the truth. I have to leave at lunch! I do all I can to avoid the idea.
However, I can't not keep an eye on Ben. Even while I have my mind on other things, I check in on him almost continuously, even if I don't focus as hard as I have been. Just seeing him does me good.
Lunch finally arrives, and I step up to Ben as he walks out of his class, putting my chin on his shoulder, missing him terribly already. For a moment, I wanted to have his flesh between my teeth. I didn't want to bite him, but I wanted him against the same nerves that we use in our neophyte state to sense the world, to feel him more viscerally or thoroughly than I could with just my hands, to experience him with mouth and lips and tongue, to know him with the most densely pack nerves my body possesses, beyond words, beyond thought.
"If I didn't know any better," he says, his sarcasm barely discernible to the unpracticed ear, "I would have thought you were eager to see me or something."
"High school is torture," I say, trying to quantify just how much I would be willing to give to have every class with him. "But I get to see a lot of you, so it's totally worth it."
"You could be seeing a lot of me with your own eyes," he says, and I love that we are thinking the same thing.
I think about having all my classes with him, and realize that with all my social clout, such a thing might not be possible. The very idea of trying to be with him more and failing is far worse than just being so regularly separated from him. Then I realize that I do need to leave in a matter of minutes and it crushes me. I hate the very idea of being a single inch further away from him than I am this very moment.
I shake my head, trying to wash away the weight of it, "I can't think about that too hard."
We move through the cafeteria, herding with the rest of the students towards the line for our meals.
"Why not?" he asks, sounds curious.
I realize that he thinks we are still having the conversation from before. I search for some train of thought before I end up outing my duplicity.
"Imagine," I say, trying to put the emotion into words that he would understand, "how you would feel not being able to see me all the time."
He frowns at me, "I don't see you all the time. Some of us have to wait for lunch because we aren't telepathic."
Brenda Chaney behind us suddenly focuses on our conversation. From Ben's tone, she couldn't dismiss his words as joking. I help her out. I laugh at his words so that she can hear and, true to form, he immediately notices that I am doing something out of the norm, sees her and instantly knows what happened. Leaning in to the side of my head, he brushes his lips against my hair, so that no one might see his lips, so close that he can whisper so that no human might overhear. With his soft lips and his warm breath, his body pressed so close, I am invariably humming with sensation and desire for him. I have to actively fight it down, so much so that I have to gather his words from my memory after he has spoken.
"Sorry," he whispered. "I forget sometimes."
I look up at him as he pulls back, and I would do just about anything to kiss him in that moment. But I don't think I would have to restraint to not do something against social norms. What fresh hell it is, not to have him as I would! Only now do I truly understand what he meant when he said it was hard to do anything but want me. I might need him to help dissuade me from embarrassing us both. I breathe and find my focus.
"I love it when you do that," I say.
He does not follow.
"Do what?" he asks.
"Forget what I am," I say simply, then I clarify. "Or rather treat me like I'm a person, like an equal. To be like you is, I think, the great aspersions of worthiness I could hope to achieve."
He shakes his head, as though what I think is beyond his understanding.
"Mine is to be worthy of you," he says. "I don't know how I got this lucky."
A laugh escapes me. Him worthy of me?! HIM LUCKY!?
"Your view of me is ludicrous," I say affectionately.
He shakes my words off, "If you say so."
We get our food and are sitting at our table when I hear Alice.
It is almost time, she thinks. Hurry up and tell him already!
I try to put it off, making small talk, but I can't put it off any longer. I finally say, "I have a confession to make."
He hears my tone and looks at me, uneasy.
"Okay," he says.
"I am a bit worried about what your reaction will be," I allow. I try to play it off, exaggerating it so that he might be relieved when it isn't so very serious.
"Okay," he says again, giving me nothing.
"I will make it up to you," I declare. "I promise."
His look becomes calculating, yet he says nothing. I realize that I am still putting this off. I refrain from sighing.
"I must hunt," I say concisely, "before our date tomorrow. The only way I can do that adequately is to leave. I must travel out of state with my sister, and I won't be back until morning."
"That's okay," he says lightly, and I realize he hasn't realized the issue yet.
"When are you leaving?" he asks, and I must disillusion him.
"Pretty much now," I say, wincing the way a human does who is delivering bad news.
"No!" he exclaims, so loudly that a few people notice, aside from every member of my family.
I am forced to laugh in kind.
"I mean, no," he says at a more socially acceptable register. "I mean, okay. I... I understand."
"You are very cute," I say, smiling endearingly. His mood, which was quite dower, improves slightly.
"It isn't too far to walk home," he says lightly. "I've certainly walked further."
My face falls. In all my purposefully avoidance, I hadn't considered this all too important factor. How will he get home if I drove him?! Stupid self!
"I'm not going to make you walk!" I say, being overly loud in turn. He winces. I lower my voice.
"I apologize if I embarrassed you just now," I say smoothly, "but no, I'm not going to leave you without a ride. Your truck will be in its usual parking spot when you get out of school."
"Okay, but you're not leaving," he says insistently.
I can't help but think of all the ways he might keep me here. They range from the comical, his arms around my ankles, to the spine tingling, him whispering his deepest secrets in my ear, to the downright captivating, his lips just below my ear, where my jaw meets my neck, his hand against my thigh where no one can see, sliding...
I have to stop myself right there. Why must I leave!?
"Yet," he says, sounding defensive. "I mean yet. It won't matter if you leave now or after lunch."
Alice sighs, and I can see that she accounted for him wanting to keep me here, and is waiting for his keys which I covertly slip from his pocket and, in a glance, sight a line under the tables and find that I can throw them almost to her. She gets up, walking towards the line, and I calculate, throwing them to her at the exact moment so that no one notices. Taking them, she walks out of the cafeteria.
I consider his words, and find them somewhat... codependent.
"That doesn't seem like the healthiest way to go about it," I say to him.
"How so?" he asks, tilting his head to one side.
"You want every minute you can to spend with me," I say carefully. "Aren't you afraid that you will lose yourself or your life in me and mine?"
He thinks about my words, carefully too. I am glad he is taking my concerns seriously.
"No," he says. "I'm not concerned. Or afraid. I will do what I want to do. If it creates trouble for me, then I'll do something different. But I can't live my life trying to avoid doing everything that might result in doing something wrong. I'd drive myself crazy if I tried to do anything more than just exist."
Hmm. I suppose humans are limited. It isn't as though he can consider as many options as I can, nor that he can think about them as often as I can. Trying to keep track of all the options, with less than perfect recall and cognition, would be very taxing, not to mention inefficient. I guess that I am wrong.
"You're right," I admit, but then I consider what the price of a mistake might cost me and add, "mostly. I can't afford to make mistakes with you. If I do, you won't survive it."
He stares at me a long moment, then shakes his head.
"It is possible for you not to be perfect," he says, with the slightest sarcasm to his words. "You can make mistakes that won't cause my death."
"Maybe," I say thinking about it. "It depends heavily on what your definition of a mistake is."
"Huh," he responses. "Yeah. That's a good point. I guess, a mistake is anything that doesn't make you happy."
"That's no good," I say, laughing. "After all, many addicts are perfectly happy to take their drug of choice."
"You're missing the point," he says, shaking his head, his tone disagreeable. "Have you ever known a happy addict?"
I consider all my memories, sorting through every drug addict I have come in contact with. He has a point.
"I don't mean temporarily happy," he elaborates, "or even less miserable. I mean genuinely, undeniably happy. Being with you makes me happy, but I'm not with you all the time. I have responsibilities; school, chores, being at home, talking to friends and family. I must be responsible too."
"So, how do you recognize a mistake?" I ask, trying to follow his logic. "I mean, it's obvious that a lot of people have a hard time knowing when they have done something wrong."
"True," he considers too. "What do you think?"
I have to grin. He is so thoughtful. Even if he doesn't know and he is just trying to cover for it, the fact that he asked my opinion is so unusual. God, I want to kiss him!
"Honesty," I say, considering the facts he has established, "I think; being honest with yourself, really honest. And something else. Information maybe."
"Information?" he asks, unsure.
"From others," I go on. "Like input or advice or what have you."
"No," he says, a pleasant tone to his voice, a lightness, as though in awe of his own thoughts. "Trust. It's trust. People can tell you what's up all the live long day, but if you don't trust them, it won't matter."
I nod. This feels amazing to me. Like yesterday, making our decisions around sex, we are working together, offering our own thoughts, countering with new logic, new insights. He is bring his truth to the table, and I am bringing mine, and we are working as one to make the pieces fit, working to find new answers together, better than the other could ever do alone. We are as one, a single unit. It feels right. I feel... happy with him.
So, naturally, Alice chooses this moment to interrupt.
"Hi Ben," she says, beaming at him.
"Go away, Alice," I whisper so that Ben cannot see or hear me. She naturally ignores me.
"Hello, Alice," he says. He looks thoughtful, and before I can read her thoughts, she moves on.
"I'm not telling you that," she laughs. "You are going to have to see it through on your own."
He must be wondering about the future, his future. What did he want to know? I will have to ask him tomorrow.
He thinks a long moment, then asks, "What will you tell me then?"
Alice appreciates this. It is so strange to me. As I watch, I realize that Ben isn't just insightful about me. It isn't as though he has been forged by the hammer of creation into a creature the balances perfectly with me. He fits well with her too, maybe the rest of my family as well. If he lives, no matter what I do, he will become one of us. It is like gravity. It's just the way it is.
She thinks about the duel image, and for a moment, I am afraid that she is going to tell him the truth, and it scares me so much I cannot control my reactions, but she doesn't.
"Behave yourself," she says, meaning tomorrow at the meadow. "I've always wanted a brother. And Rory doesn't count! He's way too much of a prima donna."
She takes my hand and raises me from the table.
"I will see you tomorrow," I say over my shoulder. Alice is fully prepared to drag me if I don't keep up. He just watches me go, sort of sad. I want to break my arm off and go back to him, but I don't think that he or the other students would appreciate that.
His truck is in the lot, she thinks at me. Let's go.
Before we leave, I grab a sheet of paper from my locker and write him a quick note. I stick it in his cab, for him to find; Be safe. I check to make sure the keys are there and then return to my sister.
We climb into the Mercedes, her driving. Apparently, she sees that I am going to be huffy, thinking of him, hoping that he is okay without me. She shows me that he will be, in her thoughts. He will spend that night at home, likely doing things like making some phone calls, checking emails, eating pizza, cleaning, watching television, and, not talking to his mom about me!
I stay huffy, but now for different reasons. She leaves me to it. Instead of trying to get me out of my funk with logic, she thinks about me, the whole way there. Not Jasper or Ben or anyone else. Just her and me. Her favorite times with me, her doing my hair, her playing games with me, her picking out my clothes, the moment I accepted her as my sister. Us, helping each other, supporting each other through this crazy, messed up half-life of ours, our indomitable sisterhood.
By the time we reach Clearwater Oregon, it is after dark, even with her ability to speed through traffic and avoid the police. We park in a spot that won't get noticed, and make our way into the Umpqua National Forest. We are efficient as ever, her guiding us, as we hunt. I gorge on Cougar, my favorite, and she takes a cougar and a black bear while she is at it.
I am finishing my fourth cougar, spotless and shuttering at the warmest, soothing, sweetest draft that I can ever let touch my throat again, even if it is rather repugnant. I relinquish my kill and turn to Alice, who is standing in the light of the nearly new moon, just starting to wax.
"Can I do it?" I ask. "Can I not kill him?"
"Yes," she says instantly, as though we have been talking this whole time. "But I cannot say if you will."
"What can you tell me?" I ask her, knowing that this is why we are here.
"I can tell you that this is a crossroads," she says. "If you do not kill him tomorrow, the image will change, subtly. The chances that he will join us will increase, slowly, at an accelerating rate over time, until the day he does become one of us. Until then, you will still risk his life, but tomorrow... tomorrow is going to be your hardest day on this path."
"So," I say, "if I get through it, it will only become easier."
She laughed her twinkling bell laugh.
"Of course not!" she giggled. "Just easier on the path of not killing Ben. There will still be other wrenches thrown in the plan, other things that could and might happen that could result in his death, or yours, or increase the chances that you would kill him, or that he might leave. But, given our current path, sure. It won't be harder for you to kill him than it will be tomorrow if nothing else in the world ever changes. I hope that makes you feel better."
I hug her, feeling momentarily vulnerable, "Will..."
I cannot get the words out. My grief at the thought is too great.
Of course I will help you! she thinks. Though I will be grieving too, I will grieve with you. Oh, and I will stop you from killing yourself. I would never let you do that.
I sigh.
"You are such a pain," I tease. "I couldn't do that, not to Emanuel."
Liar.
I take one more breath.
"I love you," I say, "and you can stop me, if you can. But I can't live without him. I can't."
That is only true if you believe it to be, she thinks.
"Come on," I say. "Let's get back."
"Not just yet," she says. "One more thing."
"Okay," I say.
"Jocelyn Black," she says.
I freeze. I know whom she means. Ben's stutter over her name makes perfect sense now that I know the full name.
"What about her?" I ask.
"You know that she is in love with Ben," she states. "I can't see it clearly. There is something that is interfering, some strange dissonance I don't recognize, but she makes choices that bring her closer to him."
"What about him?" I ask. "What does he choose?"
"You!" she pronounces. "He is her friend, and so long as you choose him and he is choosing you, that is all they will ever be. Close friends, but friends."
"Could they be more?" I ask.
She shakes her head, I can't tell. She would want it, but to even have a chance, you couldn't just leave and never come back. You would have to break his heart and make him believe that you would never be with him ever again.
I shutter.
"I couldn't do that," I retort. "It hurts to even be away from him for this long. How could I ever hurt him like that?! It's not possible!"
She hugs me, You asked!
I smile, "I did, didn't I?"
"Is your worry assuaged?" she asked playfully. "Are you ready?"
I nod, "I am ready."