Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything in the Twiverse. I'm just playing around.

Isabella has made quite the request! Whatever will Edward do?

The Last Word – 11

My face furrows in confusion, my breath leaves me in a rush.

She cannot have said what I think I heard. "What?"

"Kill me."

She steps closer, and I step back. "What are you talking about?"

"You just gave me this lovely speech about how psychotically awful you are. That you love the kill and live for it." She comes ever closer. "Prove it."

I turn away, cursing myself for not seeing this coming. "You don't know what you're asking."

"Yes, I do. I am ready to die. You are a soulless murder, so let's do this." Another step. "Kill me, Edward."

I swallow another batch of obscenities. "Don't tempt me."

"I'm not tempting. I'm asking." She scoffs. "Surely you can decipher the difference."

I clench my hands into fists, tamping down my fury. "How dare you mock me?"

"Do I sound like I'm mocking you?" She is so close I can feel the wind her movements make. "I am asking you to do what you claim you want to do."

"I never said I wanted to kill you!"

"But if you're a monster who kills without remorse, what am I but one more corpse?"

I nearly vomit; the repulsion is that strong.

"Isn't that what you want? Another notch on your belt?" She turns away, gesturing at the walls. "Why else would you be here? When you could literally be anywhere in the world doing anything else, why else would you be here…doing this… unless it wasn't about adding another kill to your tally?"

"I have my reasons! You don't know anything."

"I know you're full of shit!" Her brown eyes are alight with rage. "And I am done with men who are full of shit. If you can't be who you say you are, then either shut the hell up or be someone else!"

"How dare you!" I blur into her face, towering over her. "How dare you presume to know so much about life when you are…"

"I know so much because I've survived so much! I survived being abandoned by my parents. I survived falling for James and catching him with someone else. I survived falling down a flight of stairs and almost killing myself and my baby. I survived my baby's murder while he lay sleeping beside me in bed. I survived the…"

"You were…" I shrink from the rage in her eyes. "You were in bed with Charlie when he died?"

"Oh, like you give a damn."

"I do. I…" I hang my head, shame coating my words. "God, Isabella, please…please forgive me. You…you're only asking me to kill you because I rejected your attempts to sympathize with Carl…" I swallow past the pain. "With my maker's death. I was wrong to be so callous with your compassion, and I…I ask your forgiveness."

She doesn't speak right away, tapping her foot as that infernal corner of her lip slides back into her mouth. At this point, if she draws blood, I don't even have the right to object. I will just have to control myself.

She mutters under her breath, words I fail to understand, and I give her the space to decide our fate. If she wants nothing more to do with me, I will accept it. I will throw open the prison doors and let her walk away, daring someone to defy me.

I owe her no less.

"It's so strange," she murmurs. "Seeing everything so clearly in hindsight. When it happened, I thought I was going crazy, and from the cocktail James' fed me, it seemed that was the idea. 'Prenatal pills' he called them, but I just remember them making me foggy and reckless. I loved Charlie; I knew I did. But all I could see were my flaws and shortcomings. I didn't think…no, I knew he'd be better off without me. Better off…not here."

She clamps her lips shut, and I wait her out, taking a seat on the floor.

"James said my feelings were normal, that many mothers worry they aren't good enough for their babies. He told me to write it all down, to be honest about my fears and darkest thoughts. And the nurses—well, the people I thought were home care nurses—agreed, said it would help with my sobriety to pour out all the negativity in my soul. So I did. Every crazy, insecure thought went down on the page."

"Including the thought that it would be better for you if Charlie were dead."

The words hurt as much to say as they seemed to hurt Isabella to hear. "I didn't mean it. I mean, not really. I just…I couldn't stop thinking that if Charlie somehow didn't make it, my life would be easier. I wouldn't have to feel guilty about being a terrible mother or always afraid I was going to screw up his life. I didn't want my baby to die. I just…I was just being honest."

"That's what journals are for."

"Yes, or so I thought." She sits across from me, shaking her head. "We were supposed to be talking about you."

"We did." I wrap my arms around my bent knees. "Now it's time to talk about you."

"But this stuff….it isn't about me. It's only what happened to me."

"We are what has happened to us."

"Is that why you're here?"

"What?"

"Did something happen to you and now this is the only place where you feel better about yourself?"

"I'm an indestructible being. Nothing can really happen to me."

"So how did Carlisle die?"

I leap into her face so quickly I startle myself. "What did you say?"

She stammers so much it sounds like gibberish. Her heartbeat is alarmingly fast, and I must retreat before literally frightening her to death. I storm across the room and thrust my face into the narrow space of the window, gasping for air my dead body doesn't need.

Isabella's heart rate gradually comes down, and I hasten my amends.

"I'm sorry," I rush out before she can speak. "There is…I have no excuse for scaring you that way."

She tries to speak again, and I hold up a hand to stop her. "I just…I know you want to know me, that your motives are good, and I…I'd thank you for that if I had the words. But you mustn't… that is, I cannot talk about Carlisle. I just…I simply can't."

"Oh…oh, okay." Her shaky exhale is punctuated by regret. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." I turn slowly to her, hoping my features have returned to neutrality. "You mean me nothing but kindness, and…it's been a long time since I have felt such unmerited favor."

I watch the reply form on her face and admire her restraint in not sharing it. She is quick, intuitive almost in her ability to understand me, and the similarities between her and him are more than a little unnerving.

"I would imagine so," she says shakily. "I mean, you're not likely to get many thanks for a job well done in here, eh?"

She tries to snicker, and I feel worse. "I'm sorry."

"You said that."

"But I mean it."

"I know that."

"I can't keep doing this to you. I can't keep snarling at your attempts to be friendly."

"I wouldn't call it a snarl. More of an aggressive grimace with a growling chaser."

I blink at her. "Who are you?"

"I should be asking you that, Mr. Vampire. Though…I think I just answered my own question."

"How can you be so cavalier about this? About any of this?"

"You think I'm being cavalier?"

"Aren't you?" I ask without malice. "You seem…I don't know…diverted by this entire situation, as if none of it really affects you one way or the other."

"It doesn't." She fingers the ends of her hair. "I've made peace with my fate."

"Yet you didn't want to die at the hands of the guards."

"That was me being ridiculous. I think I'm entitled to a moment or two."

"You said you didn't want to die yet."

"I didn't."

"Yet you asked me to kill you not five minutes later."

She shrugs. "I knew you wouldn't."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"If that's the lie you need to believe."

"Why would I lie when the truth is more believable? I knew you wouldn't kill me, Edward, but I needed you to know you wouldn't kill me."

"But I may have to," I murmur. "Sooner than I'd like."

"Right. Sooner than you'd like."

"What are you getting at?"

"Don't you see? You have to kill me: it's why we're here. But when I first walked in here, you said I would die when you decide and no sooner."

"And…"

"So how could I die sooner than you'd like if the choice is up to you? No. That could only happen if you're leaving the moment of my death up to me. And that could only happen if you wanted to make sure I was comfortable with the moment when it came. And that could only happen if you cared about my comfort." Her voice is gentler now. "And that could only happen if you aren't the monster you claim."

I press my fingers into my eyes, trying to stop the feelings bubbling in my chest. Her words meander beneath my skin, seeping into me without invitation or inhibition, and I now fear I am the one who may keel over.

I don't know where to cry or laugh, to scoff at her accuracy or rage at her effect on me. Either way, I cannot go on in this manner much longer.

"Tell me what happened," I grind out. "With James and Charlie."

"Are you sure you want to…"

"Now." I raise my gaze to hers. "Please."

She looks torn between hugging me and bolting from the room, evidently splitting the difference. She leans against the nearest wall, clearing her throat. "Um, the journals. There were two of them."

I frown, and she nods in response.

"Yeah, one of the so-called sobriety coaches suggested it. She said the physical separation of my good thoughts from my bad thoughts would help me distinguish between the part of me that wanted to do better and the part of me that didn't. It made sense at the time, though I now think that was the drugs talking."

"How did you…" I clear my throat. "How did you think you were getting sober if James was drugging you?"

She sighs, and I hate myself for asking. "That should have been my first clue that something was wrong, right? I mean, I quit alcohol cold turkey with very little withdrawal? I honestly thought my luck was finally changing after so many years of crap, not that my very sweet and oh so attentive boyfriend was drugging me. The nurses said the 'side effects'—grogginess, moodiness, loss of time—were normal. So I faithfully took the pills, proud of myself for sobering up and excited to meet my son."

Her voice trails off, and I sense the dread in the air. She falls silent, and I am content to bask in it while it lasts. There is bizarre peace in her silence, something I have not felt since…

Since before.

I stare out the window to mark the time, and though she says but an hour has passed between us, I think two is a closer estimation. Either way, it is much too long yet not nearly enough.

I don't think there could ever be time enough.

My thoughts drift to our imagined, immortal future, and a sigh escapes me. We are so happy, blissful even, traveling the world unbidden by time or obligation. I show her a world beyond her imagining, a life she so richly deserves, a love she will have to reciprocate.

"So I hope."

"What was that?" she asks.

I look up. "I'm sorry?"

"Did you say something?"

"No. I was…no." I clear my throat. "But uh…do you wish to continue your story?"

"No." A soft smile in return. "But I must. It's the only way."

"The only way?"

"The only way to set you free."

"And I want that for you," I blurt in earnest. "I want you to be free, Isabella."

"Oh, you sweet thing." Her chuckle is almost maternal. "I appreciate that, but that's not what I meant."

"I don't understand."

"I'm already free." She meets my gaze unblinking. "I mean, it's the only way to set you free."

Sorry to leave this on such an ambiguous note, but I wanted to get this update in before the kids return from their outing with Grandmom.

A lot of words flew around the chamber just now. What do you think?

See you next weekend...I hope! XOXO