-Introductions-

Chapter 11

BPOV

The silence was defeaning. We hadn't given each other a second glance. I was sitting curled up on a chair, trying to count the floorboards. I would get as far as thirty-something before I lost count and had to start over. I hadn't seen him since he had walked off into the bedroom. It may have been the ideal opportunity to escape, but the idea of even returning home seemed hopeless now. It made me sick to the stomach. The thought I would come back, walk in to the find the house empty, and have Charlie walk through the doors a few hours later, not having realized the disaster I had went through. It was absurd, the entire concept. But it terrified me. I was utterly conflicted at this point. I wanted out. I wanted out from this cabin and I wanted out of Charlie's lifestyle. I loved him, and he was my dad, but I didn't want to grow old and die drowning in money. Charlie was lonely, and although he wouldn't admit it, he still wished Renee had been around to keep him company.

I yawned and wiped the tears off my face from before. They were only leaking spontaneously now, one at a time too. The sleeve of my sweatshirt was soaked. I wonder if there were any tissues. I stood up slowly and stretched my legs. The lights to the bathroom were turned off when I approached. I slowly pushed the door open and walked to the countertop to grab the box of tissues. My face was red and my eyes slightly puffy. Grabbing one of the tissues, I started dabbing my tears. How could have everything gone down hill so quickly? I took a deep breath and turned to grab another tissue. The door suddenly flew open and I froze. He stood there, taken back by surprise as much as I was. "I-uh."

For the first time he seemed to be at a loss for words. The bags under his eyes indicated stress and he looked as though he had been pulling at his hair. "It's fine," I said softly.

I had lost my fighting spirit. It was laying broken back where I found out no one had noticed my dissapearance. "You can use the bathroom," I told him, grabbing the entire box of tissues.

He stared at me for a moments, looking back between the box and me. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but didn't know whether he should. I didn't bother asking; I walked out and shut the door behind me, leaving him to his business. The room had suddenly gotten cold and the sky burnt-orange. Had it only been a day? A small chair was placed next to the window and I walked over and sat myself down. The floorboards creaked with the added weight and for a moment I panicked that the stool might collapse. I put my forhead up against the cold glass and looked out into the woods. They seemed never ending and dark. If I ever even escaped from here, I would have no idea which way to run.

The floors creaked slowly and I turned to see him standing by the door. We stared at each other for a few minutes before the awkward silence forced me turn away. He looked tired and distraught. Maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe he'd let me go. "You're not alone," he mumbled softly.

I looked back at him in question. "Your dad loves you," he continued. "Whether you want to believe it or not."

I nodding slowly, still processing his words. Why did he care? My life shouldn't be a concern of his. What did people like him know of love anyway? I turned away again. As if it mattered anymore. He couldn't be trying to make small talk with me. That would be absurd. Kidnappers didn't talk to their hostages. "It's Twilight," I mumbled absently.

Why did I say that? My head was beginning to throb and I groaned in frustration. I couldn't understand why I was even bothering to have a conversation with him, but I couldn't help but listen to him speak. "It's the most mesmerizing time of day, but the most predictable," he went on, taking a seat across from me. "Even the best things come to an end," he said softly, staring out the window.

His mood swings were perplexing. One minute he was yelling and fighting with me, and the next he was conversing with me as though nothing had ever happened. It was frustrating, and I was done beating around the bush with him. "Why do you bother?"

He looked up at me in suprise. It seemed as though my question had left him stumped. He continued to gaze at me for a few minutes before finally answering. "I-, I don't know. You're different than what I expected," he explained.

His reponse sparked my curiousity. In the back of my mind, I knew what he expected. He expected what anyone would expect, but I wanted to hear it from him. "What did you expect?" I asked.

He sighed. "You know what I expected," he correctly assumed. "I was waiting to deal with someone self-absorbed, fake, dillusional, intellectually handicapped, irritating," he chuckled half-heartedly. "But you," he paused, turning serious. "I never expected someone like you. It took me off guard."

"Obviously not good enough for me to be able to get away," I muttered.

"If I wasn't as good as I am, you may very well have gotten away," he joked.

My eyes widened at his sarcasm. It didn't occur to me people like him even had a sense of humor that could fit their beside their obiquitous ego. "Well consider that drop-kick compensation," I retorted.

He scowled and frowned, reminscing over the pain. "I have to admit, it was a damn good shot. It hurt like a bitch though."

I froze at his response. And for the first time first time in what seemed like a very long time, I laughed. It wasn't a laugh that dragged on till I cried, but it was a laugh. For some unexplainable reason, I found what he had said amusing. Maybe I was going crazy. The satisfaction of knowing I had left my mark was the only positive outcome of this entire situation. He looked at me as though I'd grown a second head before looking the other way. He pursed his lips, restraining the grimace threatening to expose itself. "Okay. It wasn't that great," he added.

I shrugged. "It was good enough for me to be able to get away," I corrected.

"Until you ran into the table."

I scowled and he chuckled softly. "Thought so princess."

"Princess?" I questioned.

I'd been called a lot of things, and a princess wasn't exactly the most unqiue name. "Would you prefer heiress?"

I glared at him. "Princess it is, Isabella."

"Bella."

I froze. What in the world had come over me? I was making jokes with the man who might possibly kill me and now I'd just told him to use my nickname. It was like I was asking for a death sentence. He studied me with a curious look on his face. "I don't like the name Isabella," I explained. "Too formal."

EPOV

I slowly nodded, acknowledging her answer. "Bella," I mumbled.

The look on her face told me she was as self-conflicted as I was. What were we doing, joking around with each other? That's not what I was here to do. Yet, there was something about her that made me curious. She wasn't the girl the tabloids made her out to be. She seemed- normal. If there was even such a thing as normal. She was a hostage. But she was easy to talk to. There was nothing normal about anything that was going on. "What's your name?" She asked suddenly.

I froze and my eyes widened in suprise. She wanted- my name? She didn't actually believe I would give her my name, did she? Why did she even care? Minutes passed and no one said a word. "Stupid question?" she half-asked.

I nodded. "Don't bet on it," I added.

The silence returned as we stared out the window and watched the sunset. "So a black belt, huh?"

"Surprised?" She asked apathetically.

"Very," I mocked sarcasm.

I was extremely suprised. But I wouldn't tell her that. Never in a million years would I expect someone like her to be trained in a form of art that required tolerant levels of both patience and strength. Girls like her didn't engage in those kinds of things, but- she wasn't like those girls. "You'll get use to it. Especially if you try and bring anymore chlorofoam near me," she warned.

I couldn't help but chuckle. As irritating as she was, she had spirit, no doubt about it. "It's good that you can defend yourself."

I paused and she looked over at me as though I was crazy. No doubt, it sounded crazy. Coming from the guy who kidnapped her. "Guys like a girl who can throw a punch."

The fuck? Where the hell did that come from? Her mouth fell open in confusion as she struggled to find words to respond to my unexpected comment. I was in over my head by this point. Nice job moron, I internally battered myself. She eventally settled on rolling her eyes before beginning to subconsciously bite her nails. "You shouldn't do that. It's not healthy."

Why did I care? She put her hand down and flushed a light shade of red. She was the shy type. Go figure. "I do it when I'm nervous," she defended.

"Why are you nervous?"

The question why did I care was flashing red with fireworks in my head by this point. I realized that it was by far the dumbest question I had asked in my entire life. Of course she was nervous. She was being held hostage of all fucking things. She looked at me with her brow raised. "Stupid question?" I awkwardly chuckled, trying to play off what was an extremely dense question.

She nodded and laughed softly before yawning. "I'm not using the bedroom you know. You can sleep there," before I have to force you to sleep when we leave.

If we decided to leave tonight, I'd have to sedate her anyway. It was easier if she fell asleep so I could do it then, but I wouldn't tell her that. She shook her head and curled her legs tighter to her chest. I stood up and walked to the window. Isabella Swan was a mystery. She was everything I hadn't expected. And everything I hoped she wouldn't be. Things were getting far too complicated, but I couldn't stop myself before I turned towards her and said, "My name's Edward."

...

Atleast she knows his name now.

It's funny how over 800 people read the last chapter, but less than 5 percent (which is 40 of that 800, for those weak in math) actually review. I absolutely appreciate each one of the ones I get everytime, regardless of if they're long or just three or four words, but I would love some extra feedback (I know this information because I do check the traffic on the latest chapters).

On a more ectastic note, I have a new story posted. Basically, if you like this one, you'll like the other one too.

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