Author's Note: Again, it has been a long time, but I finally finished this chapter. I hate to sound like I'm begging, but I haven't recieved any reviews the past two chapters, and I'm wondering how many people are actually reading this. I think I know why this hasn't been as wildly successful as some of my others were though, so I'll amend that in the future.

Chapter Ten:

Giving Up

"Hi," I said awkwardly, hurrying over to the plastic chair, as if it would provide a shield from my feelings.

"Hello," Stewart sounded cheerful, his accent broad. He sat leisurely on the mattress, as if all of the tension from our last meeting was insignificant. I immediately felt better, and smiled. I could forget about my brooding and feelings for now, content just to spend time with another and actually enjoy it for once.

"How are you today?" I asked, sitting up and extending a hand as if I was holding a microphone, interview-style.

"Not too bad," Stewart replied, speaking into the fake microphone. "And yourself?"

"Better than yesterday," I conceded. "How was your hunt?"

"Odd. It was like…" He stumbled for an accurate description.

"Like eating rubber?" I provided. I could no longer remember the taste that elicited the comparison, but I remembered how often I'd said it when I first met the Cullens.

"Like being fed fish and chips when you want lamb chops." He said, trying to better analyze the feeling.

"I thought the Scottish loved their fish suppers." I said, wondering how many of the clichés I had yet to discover were untrue.

"We do – umm… did, but no fish can compare to a nice hunk of meat." Stewart explained.

"Ah," I nodded, unable to provide any recollection of my own. "So it wasn't the worst experience of your life?"

"It sated the thirst," he nodded.

"Not for long," I reminded him. Naturally, being on a strict diet makes one hungrier.

"You make it look so easy," he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"It's ridiculously hard at first," I explained, "but with time and effort and practice, like anything, it grows easier."

"Spoken like one truly successful." He chuckled at his own expense. "The others – they don't think I'll make it."

"They all struggled too," I said. "Have you heard their stories?"

"No," he said, "we don't talk much."

"Ask them," I instructed. "Very inspirational."

"I'm sure." He leaned back, as if defeated. I decided to try and pique his interest.

"Jasper spent a long time living the other way. Occasionally, he still beats himself up over the time he took a snap at Bella."

"At Bella?" Stewart sat up a little again, now curious.

"Edward dated Bella while she was still human. They say that she was his singer – the pair of them became quite famous before the whole ordeal blew over. Lots of conflict over that – the Volturi weren't too happy with it either – but, as you know, Bella's one of us now. Jasper and Emmett had a bet going on how many people she was going to kill. She exceeded both of their expectations."

I stopped myself – I rarely spoke without thinking, and all of a sudden, I had said far too much. He would never want to keep trying if he knew that the others thought the odds were so stacked against him. Stewart took a moment to process my words, and surprised me with his next question. "His singer?"

"The most tempting blood he'd ever smelled – even with his years of success, Edward could barely control himself. He managed to overcome that."

"I wouldn't stand up against that," he acknowledged, "but I'm sure not everyone gets it right away."

"Carlisle and Rosalie are the only ones never to have tasted human blood."

"Oh," He said, asking no more questions. I fell into musing, though ignored my all-too-evident feelings for the man. Instead, I asked my most pressing question.

"Why do you confide in me, and no one else?"

Our once-eager conversation lapsed into silence. My question seemed to spark some inner dispute in Stewart, and he narrowed his eyes at the floor. I found myself doing the same. Was he angry with me? Had I insulted him, or pushed him too far with my questions?

It could have been a minute or an hour that we sat there in uncomfortable silence, avoiding each other's eyes. I was so sure that I'd stepped over some invisible line; that to talk about our own undefined relationship was taboo.

In this state of mind, I began to grieve; for my feelings, for our friendship – if it was even as much – and for the indubitable failure of this man at our diet. Sorry, I thought, but how can we be in each other's company now?

He surprised me. "I like you the best. You make an effort to understand people before judging them."

His own words left me speechless, and I struggled to form a reply. It was another five minutes of thought before I spoke.

"I think," I said slowly, well aware of Stewart's unpredictable temper, "that, given the situation, the Cullens are justly cautious."

He did not reply to this, and his face changed several times, as if about to make a retort, before becoming blank again. I knew as immediately as the words left my mouth that I had overstepped that precarious line this time; we could no longer be friends. I was on their side; he wanted me on his side, as if this were a game or a matter of right or wrong. I didn't know what to say to rectify the situation; I doubted that any of my words would hold any real weight.

How could I stay with him for any length of time now? I'd ripped that last straw to pieces with my cold words.

I stood, and took slow, cautious steps to the door. Stewart did not make a move to stop me, did not say anything. I did not look at his face, but I knew that he felt the same weight of the conversation as I did. How could I, always the cautious and analytical, not realize the consequences of my words? I was not attuned to emotion, and had no desire to be, yet for once I sincerely wished that I could read his expressive eyes. Were they filled with anger right now? With disgust? With the same anguish that I felt?

I closed the door behind me, and looked to Alice, who sat on the stairs waiting to take the shift after mine.

"Sorry." It was barely a whisper, though I knew both Alice and Stewart could hear it. I did not know who it was directed to, for what sin I sought forgiveness. But, in that moment, I truly was sorry.

Alice smiled in her oddly cheerful way, pausing before she opened the door to the small room, a sparkle in her eye.

"My vision hasn't changed."

I supposed that I was no longer needed.

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