A/N: WARNING: This chapter contains some mature and serious themes. Please stop reading if suspenseful situations upset or offend you.

Chapter 10.
The Frailty of Understanding Feet, Fleeing the Midst of Delicate Unions .

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(A.K.A. Pretty Little Stab Wounds From Yours Truly.)

I'm dreaming of… yellow. That's really the only way I can describe it. It's bright and warm, and reminds me of those two years Renee and I lived in Phoenix. It pulses around my skin and penetrates me, warming me from the outside in. I can't recall ever feeling anything so vibrant, even though I know things aren't meant to feel vibrant. This yellow definitely does. It tickles the tips of my toes and slithers up my form, tickling my flesh with its prickly heat. It makes me want to smile and laugh and dance—even though I know I'm awful at it.

I'm searching for something with my eager eyes, and although I know I'm looking for something in particular, I don't know what I'm looking for. I twirl around, scanning the absent, golden space for this something that I… can't be here without.

It doesn't take long for me to find him. He is behind me, eyes closed with his face tilted back, as if soaking up the yellow reverently. The first thing I notice is his hair as it shimmers brilliantly, reflecting the golden light that's consumed us in speckles of red, white, and for some reason, green. I simply watch his steady breaths as the warmth shines upon his face, illuminating his eyelids and accentuating the little crevices of their folds. Suddenly, his lip twitches, the corners pulling up into an impish grin.

He cracks one eyelid, smile widening. "Stop being so fucking girly," he chastises, finally opening both eyes and meeting my gaze with amusement.

Feeling as though he has some odd capability to read my thoughts, I ask, "Who says I'm being girly?" Though on the inside, I certainly feel girly… which is definitely not like me one bit. I want to wrap my arms around his neck and squeal, because he'd been here, waiting for me. Recovering, I add, "Plus, I think the whole 'having a vag' thing makes it kind of unavoidable…"

He throws his head back and chuckles, a raspy, yet musical sound. Looking me in the eye, he smirks and replies, "You'll have to show me that sometime," then winks.

I can't be certain if I'm blushing, because my body already feels so warm. "Sometime," I agree unabashedly, and we are flirting. I stifle a giggle.

His smile slowly falls, eyes easing into a blank stare. The yellow around us feels as though it's dimming in some way, but I'm convinced that my eyes are playing tricks on me. It just feels too endless to ever cease.

"You don't know me, Bella."

I blink rapidly in astonishment at the name he's addressed me with. Only Charlie has ever called me Bella. It feels so intimate and… inside. Like he's inside my life and is contradicting his very words by using it. I might have enjoyed it exponentially if his stare weren't shifting to one of cold desolation.

"I want to," I promise, but am momentarily distracted by the ever-dimming aura that has cocooned us.

His gaze turns hardened, and I can almost discern the exact moment he's driven out the possibility. "It's not important," he says tonelessly, and begins turning away.

My chest feels heavy with his words as the yellow flickers and diffuses to a dull green. "Edward…" Stubbornly, I reach for his arm and yank hard, the odd lack of gravity in our empty space seeming to make him fly toward me with the motion.

His head snaps to mine, his lips set into a grim line. "I'm an excellent actor, Isabella…" His voice fades though his lips remain moving. His voice flickers in and out, like a television with bad reception, and I stretch the antenna, bunny ears flopping from left to right. "…something… heard of… why would… fucking stupid… last time… promise… get hurt… wake… fuck… wake… Isabella…" I narrow my eyes as I watch his lips flutter in slow motion, the noises coming in clearer, until he abruptly grasps my chin, yanking my gaze to his eyes. I gasp at the fury and hatred beneath the green, the atmosphere we've been wading in now a barren, charcoal grey. His fingertips dig into my skin, pulling me closer as his nostrils flare, voice growling, "Goddammit, Isabella. Wake the fuck up!"

My body lurches forward, chest heaving with sharp, stifled breaths. I gulp in the cold night air, resting my hand over my heart as it thrashes violently against my ribcage. I'm sweating, I realize, the soft sheen of it making me shiver against the cold wind.

I wipe at my eyes and am not startled at first by the darkness surrounding us. It doesn't take long for me to wonder what had happened to the fire that had once warmed us. I search around me for Edward, a faint sense of déjà vu, and find him disassembling the shelter behind me with quiet haste.

Furrowing my brows, I begin to ask, "What—"but his eyes dart to mine, cold, hard, and subtly panicked. He raises his finger to his lips and flares his nostrils. He mouths silently, something that looks like, 'Shut. Up,' but the darkness makes it difficult to determine with any certainty. He continues his task with rigid, silent movements, grinding his teeth when twigs snap almost inaudibly.

The pit he'd made for the fire is covered in sand, smoke still faintly rising from the ashes. My chin drops as I realize that Edward had intentionally extinguished the fire he'd worked so hard to create, the proof of his triumph now nothing but a pile of soot mingling with damp soil. His jacket is draped over me and I pull it away as I prepare to stand and ask him what the hell is going on.

Before I can even fully stand, his long fingers are suddenly wrapping around my elbow, pulling me up. I meet his gaze with questioning eyes, but am met with an expression that clearly implies I'm to keep my mouth shut. I'm vaguely registering how pissed off that's making me when I begin hearing the distant trampling of footsteps.

Multiple footsteps.

My eyes widen in joy as I turn away from Edward and distinguish at least two remote beacons of light, filtering through the trees. I raise my arms and inhale a deep breath, preparing myself for a deep scream to signal the searchers before a cold hand is clamped over my mouth.

And then we are running. Or rather, Edward is running and yanking me beside him. My feet drag as his hand presses against my lips, his strong legs pushing us forward and back into the cover of trees. I growl under his palm and attempt to pry it away fruitlessly. My mind is enraged that our salvation is so close, and yet he is dragging me away from it.

When he's pulled me a good distance, he stops and forces us both into a crouch. His eyes are shifting from side to side, terror seeping from his every movement, the grip of his hand around my arm, his quiet pants and stiff posture.

"You have to run with me," he orders in a nearly silent voice, looking over his shoulder once before meeting my gaze.

"What?" I hiss incredulously, trying to jerk away from him.

His jaw locks further as his eyes bore into mine. "That's not who you think. I'll explain later, but we have to move. Now." His voice rings of finality as he lifts us and looks to me carefully, gauging my acquiescence.

I'd seen Edward wear so many different expressions over the days. I'd gotten familiar with all of his bad moods, and very recently, his good. I'd seen him annoyed, pissed off, agitated, restless, grim, and despondent. I'd even seen him comfortable, pleased, trusting, victorious, and even aroused.

I'd never seen him frightened.

Fright is really such a weak term to describe him in this moment. His emotions are never weak or subtle. Edward himself is far from being weak. This fact only amplifies my worry and inclination to submit to his requests, because—I figure—it must take a whole hell of a lot to make someone strong like Edward look so fucking petrified.

So, for the second time in my life, I follow Edward Cullen into the forest, leaving civilization behind me.

I still want answers as we run. He catches me when I fall and his eyes are tight with an odd mixture of focus and fear. We never look back, but bizarrely, I can feel those strangers behind us as we move through the night. Our breaths are hard and erratic. We just keep moving. He stays behind me and slows to my clumsy pace, never as annoyed with it as he should be.

He is patient.

He is impatient.

He is a perfect fucking paradox.

This is all fairly fucked up, and I know it. I don't care if it's a few stray campers following our path. They can help us. It doesn't make sense to leave the area when people are so near. It doesn't make sense for Edward not to realize this. This either means he's a complete lunatic, or he knows something I don't. And why wouldn't he know something I didn't? Isn't that what I had been for the few days we'd known each other?

In the dark?

"This is probably a really great time to do that whole 'explaining' thing, don't you think?" I ask hostilely as he pushes me further, his hands at my back.

"Keep your voice down," he hisses. I grind my teeth angrily as I nearly stumble over another root or log or stump or mound or… goddamit, I fucking hate the forest.

Without slowing, he steadies me and begins in a quiet voice, "That's not a search party, okay?" His sharp breaths are against my hair, his hands holding my waist and pushing… always pushing me forward.

It's difficult to see anything through the thick cover of darkness, but I know his eyes are focused on the path ahead, steering me away from obstacles. The moon is either hidden or entirely non-existent. We're going at a brisk jog, and eventually have to climb a small embankment. He climbs first, digging his boots into the ground and propelling his body up with ease. He extends his hand and pulls me up, only straining minimally as I fight to mimic his grace.

After I'm at his side, I expect him to push me further, so am surprised as he leans down, resting his hands on his knees. "You know that crew I was rolling with? James?" he asks. He pauses and actually stands still for a moment, searching my face as he fights to catch his breath. At my wheezing nod, he smiles hollowly, shifting his stare to the soft ground. "Well, that's them."

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"You—" My voice catches, simply because I am so infuriated. I want to pace the small space behind the trees, but his hard stare makes it clear that I'm to remain silent and still. Incapable of venting my frustration, I settle for, "Why are they after you?"

Of course they are after him. It makes perfect sense. Edward has royally pissed someone off.

Walking toward me and brushing my shoulder, he asks, "Can we walk and talk at the same time?" His fingers once again wrap around my elbow and tug, though this time a little more gently. The fear and panic haven't dissipated, but he's making a better effort to hide it from me. I'm not certain if that makes me relieved or annoyed.

Either way, I follow at his side and do my best to match his pace.

"I should have known," he sighs, curling his fingers into tight fists. "This whole wilderness thing is James' element. He's good at tracking." Shaking his head, he begins, "It was the last job I was supposed to do," he stalls, hiding his face from my view. His voice is low, but clearly distressed. Perhaps even remorseful. "I fucked it up pretty bad. I think—"

I jerk him to a stop and gawk, incredulous, and reconsidering a vicious stabbing with much more seriousness. "This is about that heroin!"

His hand clamps over my mouth once again, much colder as his nostrils flare. "A little fucking louder, why don't you?" Slowly, he removes his hand, convinced that my withering stare will be the extent of my fury. Continuing his step, he looks away and swallows. "Yeah, they're… after the heroin," he confirms, offering me a sidelong glance that is curiously calculated.

As I walk at his side, I begin doubting him for some reason I can't entirely justify. There's no reason for him to be honest with me, but there's no reason for him to be dishonest with me either. His eyes are carefully fixed on the ground, and we are still going at a speed difficult for my feet and legs. I have utmost confidence that he can go much faster, and that I'm burdening him.

If Edward were truly concerned about protecting his heroin, he probably would have ditched me. That's what heroin dealers do. They don't care about anyone but themselves. But Edward's already made it clear that dealing heroin is a front for his infiltration. So why would he care? Why wouldn't he just hand it over, and be done with it?

Nothing made any sense.

"Why don't you give it to him?" I eventually ask, and am further puzzled by his alarming stare.

Without slowing, he answers in the oddest, possessive and determined tone, "It isn't theirs." His steps grow louder, and I vaguely register that that sounds a lot like something a real heroin dealer would say.

I'm at a loss, and irritated that I've allowed myself to be dragged in the middle of some small town drug feud. This isn't exactly what I'd had in mind when visiting Forks. Getting lost in the forest, I can handle, but this is out of my league. I'm a motherfucking spoiled little rich chick from SoCal, for fuck's sake. Unfortunately, there is no turning back. I have no idea what those men back there are capable of. I don't know if they're bumbling idiots or criminal masterminds with guns. All I know is that Edward knows, and I'm forced to trust his judgment.

Not too long after we made the speedy departure from the riverbank, sprinkles begin falling from the sky, speckling us as we huff and puff and push onward through the dense brush. We're mostly silent, the sounds of our ragged breathing filling the black spaces around us. The rain clicks as fat drops hit leaves and branches. One plops unceremoniously onto my forehead and tickles as it bleeds down my nose. The rain makes the ground beneath us soft, masking our steps as we travel soundlessly through the night.

Being the insufferable nuisance it is, my body yearns for rest long before any such action could be deemed acceptable by present, tense and focused company. James' approach had disrupted my sleep, and now the fatigue was starting to catch up with me. It's funny how living like this—sans food—made me so easily fatigued. The bed of scratchy forest debris, which looked repulsive and uncomfortable only days ago, now seems like it would be heavenly to lie upon, I mused wistfully. I doubt even the rain would bother me as much as it would've that first evening.

I begin falling with more frequency as the hours pass, the sluggishness of my limbs making it incapable to exude any amount of grace, especially at the speed in which he pushes me. Edward begins growing more frustrated with my stumblings, his eyes getting tighter, jaw tenser, grip tighter as he helps me up and tugs me forcedly along. I can see his patience faltering and his annoyance and desperation finally shining through.

Sadly, my attempts to remain coherent enough to mimic his ease are futile, and I trip once again, stumbling as my foot catches on a snarled root. It's too dark to see the ground as my face rapidly approaches it, but I can feel it coming, and brace myself with my hands.

I'm expecting Edward to catch me.

He doesn't.

I land with a lung-draining, "Oomph!" My palm has broken my fall on a wet and jagged upturned branch. The pain of it penetrating the soft flesh below my thumb makes me cry out into the dirt. My body quakes as I lift myself, Edward's hands finally coming to lift me. His eyes are bright with vehemence when I meet his gaze but transform into concern as he sees my injury.

"Shit," he hisses, wincing as my hand lifts between us—limb still attached. I smell, more than see, the blood running down my flesh and mingling with the raindrops. Swallowing thickly, he grimaces and gingerly cradles my hand in his, only taking a moment of deliberation to scan the space over our shoulders. He inhales a steeling breath and prepares to remove the stick with careful eyes.

Intriguing.

His concern for me surpasses his need to flee, and this puzzles me further as his soft fingertips press into my hand. I stifle a whimper as he coaxes the wood from my flesh, darting his apologetic eyes to mine to gauge my responses to his ministrations.

Eventually, the limb is free, and Edward tosses it aside with a curt snap of his arm. Lifting me fully, he begins to speak, frowning, "I'm sorry. I was—"

But he freezes as we hear the sounds of footsteps behind us—the snap of a twig, the brush of a leaf against fabric, the heaving of breaths. He stares intensely into my eyes, rigid as he drops my hand. My eyes widen in return, because they had sneaked up on us, the softness of the damp ground masking their footfalls as well.

There is only a split second as we stand in the rain and share a knowing stare, but the moment seems to go in some kind of skewed slow-motion. His is panicked and conflicted, his lips parting as sharp, rapid breaths emerge from his mouth in little puffs of grey steam.

I'm uncertain what my gaze holds but am convinced that it's somewhat defeated, frightened, and surely pleading. Pleading for him to do something and get me out of this mess he's shoved us into. Mostly though, I'm worried for him and what they'll do when they catch him.

There is no time to run or hide, the beacons of light washing over us too quickly to make a getaway. Edward's shoulder drop, his breathing labored as he pushes out more air than he seems to take in. His eyes are agonized, tortured, resigned as his face inclines to the sky, drops of rain spattering over his squeezed eyelids.

This is more than just terror.

This is apology, wrapped in desperation, with a blatant edge of "I'm so fucked right now…"

I open my mouth to apologize for my failings, to tell him that this is the story of my life, to beg his forgiveness for ruining what could have been an easy escape from his demons but am cut off by the sudden crashing of Edward's lips against mine.

I gasp in surprise as his hands surround my head, his fingertips pressing roughly into my scalp. The kiss only lasts a second, but its message is startling. His tongue forces itself between my lips, a brief thrust that is quickly drawn away as he presses a final smashing of his lips to mine. The wetness of rain dampens the kiss, our lips fusing and sliding and slipping and cold.

It's stolen and urgent and breathless and reeks of goodbye.

When he pulls his face away, he jerks his body with it. The footsteps are close enough that I can hear the mumbling and see the way their flashlights illuminate the leaves at my feet in a bright circle. But I can't focus on their voices or anything else when Edward is looks at me like that.

He's cold and stony, all expression wiped clean from the pale edges of his face. It reminds me of the dream I'd had hours before and makes my heart plummet in a way I'm not expecting.

Then he grabs my shoulder, and I'm too startled by the roughness of his grip to see the motion as he spins me, crushing my back into his chest. He twirls us around to face them, and once again, his palm is over my mouth. His breath at my ear is slow and controlled, a nudge of his nose against my hair, a sweep of his thumb against my cheek.

"I'm sorry," he whispers in a low, strained voice, before inhaling deep. I can feel his chest expanding against my back as I grasp at his hand in confusion. Edward's shout booms into my ear, making it ring and pulse in protest as he calls, "I've got her! Over here!"

I'm still pulling at his hand when two distinct figures emerge. I stiffen, stilling my hand as my breath come in sharp gasps through my nose. My heart begins thrashing wildly as they step closer, their faces veiled by darkness and shadow.

"What took you guys so long?" Edward asks in an even voice, tickling my scalp with his warm breath. I attempt to look at him, but find that he's just out of my periphery. "I've been stuck in this fucking forest for four days now," he adds in a growl, angry and almost menacing as his grip around my mouth tightens.

The pair stands before us and lifts their lights, forcing me to squint and recoil away from the bright intrusion. There is a brief moment of suspended silence as the rain pelts the leaves and ground, and I have no idea what Edward is doing.

An eerily calm voice responds, "And I've spent four days tracking you in this fucking forest. Mind explaining that?" There is a definite accusation in the way his voice lowers to a threatening rumble.

I idly pondered the extreme lack of violence, not to mention Edward's hand across my mouth, or the way in which he had basically called them to us.

What the fuck is going on?

Edward doesn't skip a beat as he replies in annoyance. "The directions you gave me were shit. How the hell do you expect me to navigate out here? Not everyone—"

He's cut off by the same rumble as before. "You honestly think I'm going to buy that—"

"Stop!" a new voice commands. His silhouette seems to reach out and grasp the other's arm, ostensibly uncertain. "I told ya' he just got lost, man," he soothes. I can discern a slight touch of southern accent to this voice, but can't make out his face in the darkness. He seems to be calming the atmosphere with his cool voice.

It sure as hell isn't working on me. My hand's still grasping at Edward's, trying to dislodge it from my mouth.

The man he's holding back sneers, "If you've fucked this up for me, Edward, so help me God…"

Edward responds brusquely, snorting, "I didn't fuck anything up." His other hand comes around my waist and grasps my hip. He tilts my head and crushes it against his shoulder with the palm over my mouth. My angry growl builds as I move my heel to crush his toes. Before I can, his voice resounds around the area, casual and yet, somehow, automatic.

"I brought her to you like you asked. Now where's my fucking payment?"