DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own Twilight - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you HATE Twilight or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.
A/N: I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (Angel of the Night Watchers) for taking this on.
Irritated with Edward's overly protective attitude, Lily now has to wait through an entire Biology lesson before she can confront him over it. But, lo and behold, that ends up being the least of her concerns. Something's changed between them and it's not something she can ignore ...
Hope you enjoy and PLEASE REVIEW!
Chapter 11:
I walked silently beside him all the way to Biology, seething inside with indignation. It wasn't until I took my seat that my thoughts splayed along another avenue. If it wasn't fear of sending me running for the hills, what could cause Edward to react like that? I felt my blood chill as possibilities ran through my head. Maybe it wasn't mere embarrassment on his part. Perhaps his reluctance had a deeper meaning ….
Mr. Banner tugged a dilapidated media cart into the room, distracting me from this new disturbing path. The sudden lift in the spirits of those around me was almost tangible – like a faint electric charge to the air.
Shrugging internally, I didn't bother to read the movie's title. It wasn't like I'd spend the period watching the piece. More likely, I'd use the time to ponder over my lunchtime conversation with Edward.
Closing my binder and textbook, I slid them back into my bag. No use in wasting time at the end of class stowing unnecessary items. I heard the jerking stop of the media cart and Mr. Banner's scramblings as he plugged the unit in. Slowly, I rolled my head around, feeling the tense muscles pull and flex at the movement. If I was very lucky, my extremities wouldn't fall asleep during the hour.
Then Mr. Banner switched off the lights.
That strange electric charge to the air I'd attributed to my classmates' excitement spiked. It was almost as though the arching current was racing along my skin. I sucked in a shocked breath at the sudden intensity of it.
More shocking than the tingling sensation assaulting my nerves was the peculiar force I felt coming from Edward. It felt as though every cell in my body were drawn to him – crying out for me to breach the short distance between us and touch him.
My left hand moved – seemingly of its own accord – toward him and I snatched it back. Unbalanced by this new, unknown intensity between us, I balled my hands into fists and crossed my arms over my chest. Using every ounce of self control I'd ever had I tensed my arms, holding them in place.
When the TV flicked on, lighting the room with its static, snowy glow, I risked a glance toward Edward.
He was sitting in exactly the same position as I was; arms crossed tightly across his chest, hands balled into fists, eyes angled toward me. If it weren't for the apparent severity of the situation, I would have laughed. Despite that, I could feel the pull of amusement lifting the corners of my mouth.
My eyes scanned up the length of him, seeking to share my amusement with a look. Just like it had from the first glance, my mind seemed to skitter away from my control. The mild feeling of fullness that had accompanied my gasped-in breath lingered as my lungs apparently forgot how to dispel the air. My body, though zinging with the unprecedented sensation, froze into position, heightening the feeling to near pain – like the tingle of limbs whose circulation had been cut off for a short period.
The longer I held his gaze, the fuzzier my logic became.
Would it be so bad to reach over and touch him? If he didn't like it, he could simply pull away ….
I felt my mouth open slightly, the request for permission lingering just beyond vocalization.
What if he didn't want me to touch him? Would he be upset if I tried? After all, we had just established that we were going to try to be friends. Friends didn't hold hands in the dark ... Or look at each other like I knew I was looking at him.
When he smiled back at me, his eyes smoldered in a way that was nearly irresistible. The crooked quirk to his mouth, the liquid warmth of his eyes, everything seemed inviting, enticing.
The hunger to reach over and run my hands along him, to clasp my fingers possessively with his surged. As though released from a spell, command of my body returned and I let out the breath I'd been holding as I quickly turned away.
No. This was a friendship, nothing more. He'd been reluctant enough about that concession. There was no way I was going to jeopardize that by practically throwing myself at him.
Even as I waged an internal war between my conscience and my desire over the prudence – and lack thereof – of touching him, I couldn't help occasionally stealing glances at him. Like me, he never moved throughout the entirety of the movie. Each time our eyes met, the humming charge between us would zing through me with a sudden shock. It took everything I had to keep my rigid position.
When at last the moving figures on the screen were replaced with the static and the light was flicked back on, my entire body felt like it had been run through the ringer. The illumination seemed to dissipate the electric field between us. Even so, the residual sensation still hummed through my aching muscles. Grateful for the temporary cease-fire, I rolled my shoulders, flexing my fingers with exultation.
I heard Edward chuckle, "Well, that was interesting."
I smiled in a rueful way, "Hmm." Talk about an understatement.
He stood with a sigh, "Shall we?"
I tried to keep from making a face, but I couldn't seem to. I really wasn't looking forward to gym class. It wasn't like it was some sort of tortuous occasion. My reluctance had more to do with the fact that I didn't want to relinquish Edward's company. That exhilarating sensation during Biology had illustrated an entirely new connection between us. One that I would love to have explored further.
I rose to my feet, careful to ensure my equilibrium hadn't been skewed by the sensory overload of the last hour and followed him out of the classroom.
The walk to gym was both brief and quiet. I couldn't seem to find anything to say. What could I say? Moreover, I was finding it even harder to keep myself from reaching out to touch the hand that hung so close to my side.
When we reached the gymnasium, I turned to say goodbye. My mouth parted slightly with the word but it never came out.
The look on Edward's face was heart stopping. Conflict raged behind the liquid color of his eyes and his features were wrought with indecision.
As I watched, something changed and the conflict evaporated, his beatific face turning softer, yet resolved. Without a word, Edward lifted his hand and brushed it once, softly across my cheek.
The cool smoothness of his skin sliding along mine was in stark contrast to the boiling, burning sensation that seemed to follow it. The feeling was neither painful nor unpleasant – quite the opposite. It was merely a concentrated version of the tingling hum that had throbbed between us in the classroom.
Too soon, Edward removed his hand and turned, leaving me standing there open-mouthed, blushing, and completely without words. I couldn't move until his retreating form had left my sight. As though in a daze, I made my way into the locker room to dress out.
It wasn't until Coach Clapp handed me a racquet that any semblance of reality returned.
Great, badminton, I thought dourly. I had never been particularly good at this game. Something about the combination of small flying objects and the swinging of an undersized snowshoe just didn't bode well for me.
"Do you want to be a team?" The look on Mike's face spoke volumes. Luckily for me, it was inside his head.
"Um, sure." I cast a weary glance toward the series of nets set up along the length and breadth of the basketball court. "You know … I can't really play this."
"Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way." The faint twist to his lips made me wonder if he'd remembered the volleyball segment.
I grinned shyly at him and took up a place at the rear of our designated court. As soon as the first birdie was away, my mind wandered back to the scene outside the gym.
Edward had touched me. Not only touched me, but caressed my cheek. What was that supposed to mean? I scanned through every interpretation of 'friendship' I'd ever encountered, certain that I must have misunderstood the limits somehow. I hadn't. Nowhere in any definition, expression, or interpretation of that relationship had there been the inclusion of a casual caress. Hugging, sure. Stroking of the face? Not in my recollection.
Mike had been playing alone for a good part of the hour when the coach came up and suggested – in the way of demanding, rather than suggesting – that he include me in the next volley.
I saw Mike's shoulders sag and I sighed as I hesitantly entered the game. Swinging a possibly volatile weapon while thoroughly distracted seemed like a bad combination to me. But far be it for me to argue with 'the man in charge'.
Gingerly, I swung the racquet in a practice arch, feeling the oddly balanced weight of it pull my arm in a unintentional direction.
Yeah, this was a good idea.
The girl across from me smirked derisively and readied her serve.
"Time for some payback!"
Jennifer's lips never moved, but the words came through loud and clear.
Precious seconds passed as my confused mind attempted to process what had just happened. When at last I understood, my mouth popped open with shock and I could feel a cold chill rush down my spine that had nothing to do with the fast approaching birdie aimed directly for my face.
At the last second, I managed to force myself to make an attempt for the volley. Sidestepping awkwardly to avoid being pelted with the missile, I swung wide.
It was almost comical, the slow-motion processing of my trajectory. My ill-considered sidling had placed me far closer to the center line than I had first perceived. It wasn't until I missed the little white object that I realized my swing was still going to connect with the top edge of the net.
From my peripheral view, I saw Mike spring forward to save the volley.
When the racquet grazed the top of the net, my already tenuous grip on the handle was lost. The elastic-like surface caused the newly-free-flying object to rebound such that it managed to clip me in the forehead before careening off to strike Mike's outstretched arm with a resounding thwack.
The sharp stab of pain across my brow was nothing to the overt embarrassment I felt.
Coach Clapp let out a burst of laughter before covering it with a fake cough, "Sorry, Newton."
The surge of chagrin I felt was accompanied by a nearly deafening rush of noise. For the briefest of moments, it was as though every single person in the room was speaking at the same time.
"That girl's the worst jinx I've ever seen. Shouldn't inflict her on the others …."
"Ow. Ow. Ungh. That's going to leave a bruise."
"Ha! We'll see how Edward likes her with that big bruise on her face!"
"Wow. What a klutz."
Overwhelmed by the crushing noise reverberating in my head, I closed my eyes, covered my face with my hands and kneaded the twinging wound.
"Ow." I could almost feel Mike come over toward me, massaging his elbow, "Are you okay?"
His spoken words seemed to force the other unsaid barrage away.
Peeking up at him from beneath the cover of my hands, I smirked in a sheepish way, "Physically I'm fine." I eyed his arm, "How about you?"
"I think I'll make it." He swung his arm in a circle, testing the pain and range.
Grimacing, "Sorry, Mike. I guess I've ruined your dreams of joining the Professional Badminton League." The last was a bad attempt at a joke, but I felt I had to do something.
He gave me a confused look, "Huh?"
"Never mind. Bad joke. I'll just … stand back here."
For the remainder of the period, I didn't venture even a millimeter closer to the game. Instead, I held my now-proven weapon behind my back and tried to avoid eye contact with anyone.
When the coach blew the whistle, Mike and I deposited our racquets in the bin and headed back towards the locker rooms.
"So." There was a quality of sullenness to Mike's tone.
Stopping, I looked at him, "So?"
"You and Cullen, huh?"
I felt my back stiffen, "That's really not any of your business, Mike."
"I don't like it." He looked down, avoiding my now angry eyes.
"I don't recall asking you for permission."
"He looks at you like … like you're something to eat."
Before I could censor it, a snicker slipped through. Clamping my lips shut, I waved at him and went into the locker room. He glowered at me as I went.
If only you knew,I thought.
The amusement was quickly lost as I slipped back into my regular clothes. Musingly, I wondered whether Edward was going to meet me here or at his car. What if I went to his car and met up with his siblings instead? Edward I trusted – even his father, to a lesser degree. The others … not so much.
By the time I left the gym, I had nearly convinced myself that the best course of action would be to walk straight home without ever looking toward the lot. My anxieties, however, were unnecessary. Edward was leaning casually against the side of the gym, his angelic face untroubled.
I felt the relieved smile spread across my face as I walked to his side, hesitancy and nervousness a distant memory.
"Hey." Okay, it was a lame opening line, but I was okay with lame.
"Hello," his answering smile was radiant. "How was Gym?"
A snapshot of my disastrous last hour flitted across my vision but I tried to hold my smile in place, "Just fine."
"Really?" His knowing smile told me that he'd heard the lie in my voice.
Before I could insist, his amber eyes shifted away from mine, focusing on something behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I noted Mike stalking away.
"What is it?" I demanded.
His heavenly eyes refocused on mine and a rueful quirk turned up the corner of his mouth, "Newton's getting on my nerves."
Confused, I glanced back at Mike's distant form, "Why?"
When I looked back at Edward's face, comprehension clicked into place.
"Please tell me you weren't eavesdropping again!" I wasn't angry. I was horror-struck. It was one thing for every single person in my gym class to have witnessed my utter lack of coordination. Quite another for Edward to have been privy to it as well.
"How's your head?" His innocent tone was not nearly contrite enough.
"I can't believe you!" Angry now, as well as embarrassed, I turned on my heel and stormed off in the direction of the parking lot. In truth, I was so aggravated that I was reconsidering the decision to walk home, rain or no rain.
He kept pace with me easily, ruining the effect of an indignant retreat.
"You were the one threatening to 'pencil in' an electrocution this afternoon. I figured it was better to keep an eye on you, just in case." He smirked down at me, though I cast an irritated glare up at him. "Besides, I've never seen you in gym – I was curious."
Of all the days for him to be curious about seeing me in gym, it had to be the day I nailed both Mike and myself with a racquet.
My procession was further hindered when a wall of drooling, testosterone-filled flesh rose up between me and Edward's Volvo. Every head was turned toward Rosalie's pristine convertible, unmistakable lust in their eyes. Not a one of them even glanced up as Edward and I slid between them to slip into the Volvo.
"Ostentatious," he muttered as I buckled my seatbelt.
I sniffed and glanced out at the ruby ragtop, "It's not like she didn't expect the attention."
"True enough."
My eyes skittered over the manufacturer symbol, "What kind is it, by the way."
"A BMW." He looked over his shoulder and began slowly backing out of the spot.
I met his gaze for a moment and tried not to roll my eyes, "I did live in LA, Edward. I know what a BMW is."
He smirked, "It's an M3."
I nodded – that was one of the ones Alex had mentioned. Not that I could tell it apart from any other model on the line.
We were both silent until we exited the lot.
"Are you still angry?"
"Absolutely."
He sighed, "Will you forgive me if I apologize?"
I thought for a minute, meeting his eyes and weighing the possibility that he'd commit the affront again.
"Perhaps."
He raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
"If you're sincere, then you'll give me your word not to do it again." I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a level stare.
His gaze turned shrewd, calculating. "How about if I'm sincere, and I let you drive Saturday?"
I let out a bark of laughter and raised my own eyebrow at him, "My driving on Saturday was dependent upon our altered plans. I don't recall those having anything to do with your nosiness."
His mouth turned down slightly.
I couldn't stand to see him upset, so I decided to concede, "Though, in this case, I suppose I can make an exception. It's a deal."
His crooked smile returned for a moment before his eyes turned into liquid honey, "Then I'm very sorry I upset you."
There was no question in my mind that he was sincere about the apology. Granted, there were no questions in my mind at all at the look on his face ….
"And I'll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday morning."
"It might be a little suspicious to Julia if there's an unexplained Volvo in the driveway, when she gets home."
His smile turned considering, "I wasn't intending to bring a car."
"There's no need for someone to drop you off. I can come get you."
His smile turned impish, "No need."
"Then how …."
He cut me off, "Don't worry about it. I'll be there, no car."
Part of me wanted to argue with him. Unanswered questions weren't really conducive to a curious nature. However, there were more pressing matters to be ferreted out.
"All right. Then on to the next topic. Is it later yet?" My tone was full of significance.
He frowned, "I suppose it is later."
I waited.
The car came to a stop and I glanced out the window to see we were parked on the street outside Julia's house. I'd learned last night that it was better for me to only look once he'd come to a complete stop.
When I returned my eyes to his, he was watching me in a measuring way.
"And you still want to know why you can't see me hunt?"
Was that humor lingering behind the seriousness in his eyes?
"Yes and no," I chewed my lip for a second as I thought. "I'm more concerned with your reaction, actually."
"Did I frighten you?" Yes, that was definitely humor.
I answered immediately, knowing that he'd hear the fib despite my denial, "No." It hadn't been his expression or even his avid refusal that had frightened me. It had been the possible reasons behind them that had been discomforting.
"I apologize for scaring you," he was still smirking, though his apology was sincere enough. Like a switch had been thrown, the amusement was abruptly gone, "It was just the very thought of you being there … while we hunted." His jaw tightened and I could see something foreign swirling in his eyes.
I watched him for a moment, analyzing his hunched shape. There was fear, restraint, and desire all wrapped up together in a twisted, complicated knot.
"I'm not sure I understand why that would be so bad."
He took a deep breath and stared out the windshield at the misty sky.
"When we hunt … we give ourselves over to our senses," he spoke slowly, precisely. "Govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way …."
Sense of smell …, I thought dolefully. Did it always come back to that? Was I destined to spend the rest of my life will the liquefied version of a siren's call running through my veins?
I expected the quick flash of his eyes, keeping my face as neutral as possible. He'd been hoping for a window into my thoughts, but I wasn't about to let him have it. If he wanted to know what I was thinking, he'd have to work harder at getting it out of me.
Our eyes met and held. His pupils, such a strong contrast against the golden hue of his irises, dilated and the silence thickened, changed. It started with a faint humming echoing in my mind, reminiscent of the buzzing from Biology. Next was the tingling, pale in comparison to the zinging I'd experienced before but still palpable. The longer he held my gaze, the more intense the humming and tingling became. It wasn't until the edges of my vision blurred that I realized I was no longer breathing.
When I drew in a jagged, rasping breath – breaking the stillness of our connection – Edward closed his eyes.
"Lily, I think you should go inside now." His low voice was rough.
My body worked without conscious command, my hand jerking the handle up to open the door. The arctic gust of air across my face helped to clear my mind, though limbs still moved of their own accord. Carefully, I emerged from the car, breathing deeply as I closed the door securely behind me.
The whir of the automatic window made me turn, curious.
"Oh, Lily?"
I leaned down slightly to see into the window, wary of the return of the electricity. So much for penciling in an electrocution. I'd gone through two today ….
There was an impish quirk to his lips, "Tomorrow it's my turn."
"Your turn?"
He smiled wider, flashing his gleaming teeth, "To ask the questions."
Then he was gone, driving away down the wet road at a ridiculous pace. I had to grin, despite myself. If nothing else, I would see him tomorrow. I'd focus on that rather than the looming disaster of Edward's curiosity.
Perhaps it was the strange mental bombardment I'd experienced during gym class or – more likely – it was the sensory overloading sensations from my time with Edward. Either way, I was exhausted by the time nine o'clock rolled around. Even so, my early hours weren't sound. What few dreams I had were as expected – filled with visions of Edward. But that wasn't why I tossed and turned, restlessly somersaulting from side to side, stomach to back. No, that was due to the return of the exhilarating electric charge humming ceaselessly through my unconscious mind. Sometime in the small hours of the morning, I drifted off into a dreamless slumber.
Waking with my alarm was a chore, at best. My scant few hours of rest left me tired. Combined with the nervousness I harbored toward the impending question and answer session with Edward, I was tense, edgy. My lethargy didn't hinder my morning preparations, thank goodness. When at last I emerged from my bedroom, the sweet aroma of coffee called to me from the kitchen.
Julia was seated at the table, her coffee in one hand and a cream-cheesed bagel in the other.
"Morning," I yawned, grabbing a fresh mug and filling it to the brim with the welcome ambrosia of chocolate-flavored caffeine.
"Morning, sleepy-head."
Slumping into the seat across from her, I wrapped my cold hands around the warming ceramic cup and sipped at the steaming liquid.
We didn't speak again until after Julia had finished her bagel.
She rose, taking her travel mug back to the pot, "Lils, about this Saturday …."
Surprised by the topic, I gulped a larger mouthful of the hot beverage than I'd intended, scalding the inside of my mouth, "What about it?" Please, oh, please let her not have gotten the day off. It would be bad enough trying to talk her out of going with me. Worse yet, if I had to explain Edward's presence.
"Are you still planning on going to Seattle?"
"That was the plan." I blew a slow breath out of my mouth, letting the air cool my aching tongue. Well, it had been the plan. It just wasn't anymore ….
She paused as she refilled her cup.
I waited with baited breath, wishing more than anything else that she hadn't brought up the subject. I didn't like having to lie to Julia. She was my family and I loved her.
"And you're sure you can't make it back for the dance?"
Sputtering again, this time managing to slosh a little of my coffee on my jeans, I gave her an exasperated look, "I'm not going to the dance, Julia."
"Why not?" She turned to face me, hers full of concern, "Didn't anyone ask you?"
It was lucky I'd put my mug down on the table. Otherwise, I might have been wearing the remainder of the contents. This was the third time in recent weeks that Julia had tried to breach the subject of 'boys'. And, like the last three times, I wasn't really ready to talk with her about it.
"It's the Sadie Hawkins dance, remember?" Fleetingly, I wondered what she'd think if she knew I'd turned down three invites already.
She wasn't deterred, "Okay, so haven't you asked anyone?"
"No," I shook my head to emphasize my response.
"Why not?" Again with the concerned puppy-dog eyes.
I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, "I'm not ready to date." It was true … in a not so true, but kind of true way.
"Oh," she turned back to adding sugar and creamer to her cup.
Despite my embarrassment over the topic, I could understand Julia's concern. It had taken me an inordinate amount of time to accumulate any friends at all, after I'd arrived. And now, it seemed as though I had little or no interest in having anything more than that. When I was growing up, lack of a beau at seventeen wouldn't have been all that concerning – particularly when you took into account my strict Catholic upbringing. Nowadays, however, a girl of seventeen who'd never had a boyfriend was … well, odd. If I were in her position, I might be a little worried, too. Little did she know that I was interested in someone – and boy would she be worried if she knew even the barest hint of the truth about him.
Within minutes, Julia was out of the house, her green sedan pulling out of the drive. I didn't bother waiting. I rushed to my bedroom and retrieved my backpack from the floor before hurrying to the window to check. Sure enough, the silver car was there, idling quietly in the drive.
Smiling to myself, I went outside, locking the deadbolt behind me. As I opened the car door, I wondered how long this routine would continue – wonderful and bizarre as it was. If it were up to me, it'd never end.
"Good morning," his voice was silky and the relaxed smile on his face was perfect and tempting to a degree that ought to be illegal. "How are you today?" His eyes roamed over my face, seeming to indicate his question was more than simply courtesy.
"I'm well, thank you." Well, now, anyway.
His eyes shifted down slightly, focusing on the dark circles beneath my eyes, no doubt. "You look tired."
I made an acquiescing expression, "A little. I didn't sleep." Habit kicked in and I swept my hair over my shoulder between us. Considering it wasn't shielding my face – as was the original purpose – it didn't provide much cover, but somehow I felt a little less revealed.
"Neither did I," he teased as he pulled out of the drive. The car was so quiet that I was sure the snarling growl of my T-Bird would be startling when I drove it again.
I laughed, "Touché. Of the two of us, I suppose I did sleep just a bit more."
"I'd wager you did."
"And just what did you do with yourself, monsieur oiseau de nuit?"
His expression turned speculative and it took a moment for me to realize that I'd fallen into my native tongue. I'd become so accustomed to being open with him – about his existence, at any rate – that my usual barriers were slipping. As I did my best to maintain a politely blasé expression, I chastised myself for my recklessness … and my deceit. It felt wrong to hide so much of myself from him. Especially considering his candidness with me.
As quickly as the speculation appeared, it was gone. Then his smile returned and he chuckled, "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."
I did my best to hide the grimace, but I could feel my brow furrow, "I can't say I wasn't warned. What is it you want to know?" I was tense, afraid he'd ask the wrong question – any number of them that I couldn't answer, wouldn't answer. Again the nagging remorse pricked at my conscience.
"What's your favorite color?" His face was a so grim, it reminded me of the expression a priest wore at confession.
I bit back the snigger, "I don't really have one anymore, though I suppose it used to be green."
"What made you decide green wasn't your favorite anymore?" His expression never lost its serious cast.
I thought for a second and then motioned out the window – I could tell a bit of the truth, anyway. "Where I came from, green wasn't so … prominent. It had a meaning – it meant Spring had arrived. Here …. Well, here it's just everywhere. Anything that's permanent is covered in this thick, squashy, wet mass of greenery. It's not novel anymore. Instead it's invasive."
He seemed fascinated by my little rant. His eyes considered me as my words trailed off into silence.
"I suppose you're right." He was serious again, "Green is invasive." Without warning, he swiftly reached over and swept my curls back behind my shoulder. Despite the quickness of the action, there was still something hesitant in it – as though he wasn't sure he should touch me.
We reached the school at that moment and he turned back to me after sliding smoothly into a parking spot.
"What music is in your CD player right now?" Again, it looked as though he thought I might rebuke him for his nosiness. If this was the line of questioning he intended to follow for 'his day', I was more than comfortable with it.
I thought back, trying to remember what – if anything – had been in the stereo CD player I'd brought with me to Julia's.
"You know, I'd don't remember what's in my stereo, but I listen to my iPod more often," I pulled the tiny device out of my bag and showed it to him.
"So, what was the last thing you listened to?" Still so serious.
The last thing I'd listened to had been a mix of some of my highest rated music – hoping the steady, familiar tunes would distract me from my musings over vampires, werewolves, and the whole world of unknowns. I clicked the selector and read off the song title and the name of the band.
With a breathtaking crooked smile, Edward opened the compartment under his car's CD player and pulled out a single case from amid the thirty or so crammed in there.
"Debussy to this?" He handed me the CD.
The cover art was an exact copy of the thumbnail image on my iPod's screen. Peeking up at him from beneath my lashes, I smirked.
"I could ask you the same thing – if I were allowed to."
He laughed.
Things continued along this path for the rest of the day. He met me after each class, using the passing periods to slip in anything else he could think of. Lunch was the most intensive, a full hour of nonstop queries. He wanted to know everything, from the insignificant to the personal. Mostly, I didn't mind. It felt a little like being in a psychotherapist's chair – answer with the first thing that popped into my mind and move along. Topics spiraled from movies and books – a topic he was quite content to linger upon – to places – where I'd been and where I still wanted to go. The last was a touchy subject. I had to carefully phrase my answers so as to be truthful and yet sufficiently vague.
By the end of lunch, my voice was becoming a bit hoarse. My usual silent observance had been utterly shattered. It felt awkward to be the one dominating the conversation – particularly in a high school cafeteria. Some of my degrees had required extensive discussions, presentations, and the like but I couldn't honestly remember the last time I'd spent a straight hour talking about myself. The topic was typically scarce – as was to be expected, considering my … predicament.
For the most part, his questions were mundane enough not to cause discomfort. Every once in a while, though, one would trigger a blush or moment of shocked silence. Nothing was ever vulgar or overly intrusive, however some subjects were both unfamiliar and a bit uncomfortable for me. This phenomenon seemed to pique his interest, detouring his line of inquiries for a time.
"What is your favorite gemstone?"
The preference questions had been flying at me so fast I didn't have time to censer my answer before it slipped out.
"Topaz." Then it happened – the blush. Internally, my 'too much information' alarm was blaring. Up until I'd moved to Forks, my favorite gemstone had been Opal – the same stone that was set in the heart of the cross I wore beneath my clothes. It had once been Marie's. She'd given it to me when we'd set out to Rome. I wasn't even sure that topaz was my favorite gemstone. Its hue was the same as the color I most loved to see, though ….
"What is it?" He leaned forward, examining my face.
Carefully, I kept my eyes aimed at the untouched food before me, "Nothing. It's nothing."
"Please." The single word was both music to my ears and the most painful sound imaginable. I didn't want to tell him the reason. Explaining to him that my blunder was the obsessive result of longing to see more of his eyes would be embarrassment on a level not yet achieved.
I shook my head, keeping my gaze fixed downward. The silken velvet of his voice was torment enough. If I met his hypnotic stare as well, I'd be confessing the deepest darkest secrets within my heart in no time flat. Nervously, I pulled at a section of hair that had fallen over my shoulder; twirling the loose ringlet round and round my pale fingers.
"I won't laugh," he used that same tone from yesterday that he'd invoked during his apology.
The world lilted ever so slightly to the left but I managed to hold my ground, shaking my head in refusal.
Two minutes later, he'd given up on persuasion, "Tell me." He commanded.
His frustration was almost as painful to me as my embarrassment. In the end, however, I gave in. Out of habit, I reached into the neck of my sweater to clutch the small silver cross resting below my collarbone, worrying the smooth stone with my thumb.
"Because it's the color of your eyes after you've fed … when you're in the best mood." I sighed in an exasperated way, fearful that my confession would spark that flash of anger in him that always arose whenever I slipped to reveal how obsessed with him I was.
It didn't. His pause was short, considering.
"What kinds of flowers do you prefer?" he moved right along, down his mental list of questions as though the interruption had never occurred.
Grateful, I breathed deeply and continued along with the psychoanalysis.
The fired off questions continued unrelentingly until the instant Mr. Banner dragged the media cart through the Biology room door. I'd been so focused on the round of 'three-hundred and sixty-five questions' I was involved in that I'd forgotten about the movie. This was going to be a complication again. It seemed Edward agreed. As Mr. Banner walked to the light switch, Edward slid his stool several inches further away from mine.
I only had a split second to wonder if he was trying to alleviate the tense, electric connection between us out of dislike when the lights shut off and the hum began. The distance didn't help in the least. In fact, the charged sensation was harder to resist, urging me more forcefully to reach across the desk and clasp his cold hand in mine.
Determined to resist the gnawing craving for contact, I leaned forward, folding my arms beneath my chin and focusing on the screen. In an effort to keep my hands busy, I gripped the edge of the table with my left and my cross with my right. I denied myself permission to look at Edward for the whole time the lights were off. If he were looking at me when I glanced at him, I wasn't sure I could resist the draw any longer.
My back ached – along with my hands – when at last the lights were flicked on. If there had been a pop quiz about what the movie had been on, I would have failed it. There was only enough focus within me to have maintained my position. Anything else, was a lost cause during lights out. I stretched leisurely, rolling my shoulders and flexing my fingers as I looked up at Edward. His expression was blank, eyes ambivalent.
Our procession and goodbye was like a strange déjà vu. We spoke not one word on our way to the gym and, like yesterday, he touched my face again before leaving – this time stroking the back of his hand down the side of my face from my temple to my jaw. Fire erupted beneath my skin, urgent and pleasant at the same time.
I spent the entire hour lost in my own thoughts. It had been a long time since I'd had anything even resembling a friendship with another person. Still, I couldn't recall having spent so long – and so thorough a job – on getting to know them. Then again, I hadn't ever had a friend like Edward. When I was human, the few girls I talked to after Sunday services weren't exactly what one could call friends. Marie was the closest to it, but she had been family – fully aware of my oddities from the start. Never would I have disclosed my strangeness to another person before, for fear it would have consequences I could not have withstood.
Wryly, I realized that Edward wasn't exactly a friend either. He didn't know about a majority of my peculiarities. He was only vaguely – and wrongly – aware of my past. The raised crescent scars on my body weren't fully responsible for what I was. Some of it had been there even before them. And yet he'd trusted me with his secrets – in a way more damaging than my own. Some friend I was ….
Friends …. If only I could read his mind as easily as he read those of the people around him. Sometimes, when he looked at me, I could swear there was more behind his eyes than merely friendship. I'd been gazed at by smitten human boys more than enough to recognize a certain spark. And yet, he was so formal, so distant most times. Except when he touched me. I still couldn't understand why he would do that, if he was only interested in friendship. Surely he heard the way my heart fluttered every time he did it. He was intelligent. Intelligent enough to have guessed the cause behind the palpitations, even without my verbal confirmation. Could it be that he was testing my resolve? I didn't believe him so callous but, then again, it may be his way of making certain I was willing to stick to our agreement. Or could there be more behind them? Could he want me just as much as I wanted him?
Without notice, images of Edward sweeping me up in his arms and crushing my mouth to his filled my vision. Warmness accompanied them, flowing out from my core to my extremities. I could feel the sudden raggedness to my breathing and I tried to push them away. As much as I wanted that, it couldn't be. He had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't interested. Moreover, how was such a thing to be accomplished? I already knew I'd have to leave in a few short years – if only to keep him from learning of the horror I truly was. So what was I to do? Cling to illusions until they drove me mad? And even if he did want me as I wanted him, what kind of selfish harpy could I be to agree knowing our time was limited?
With concerted effort, I shoved the images away, locking them in another drawer. Breathing slowly through my nose, I attempted to stem the waterworks I could feel building behind my eyes.
When at last I had calmed, something flitted through my mind; part of a stanza from a poem Steph had loved by Alfred, Lord Tennyson: "'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." For a time, I allowed myself to ponder this concept. In the end, however, I couldn't honestly speak of its truth. I had lost loved ones in the past. I would not trade my time with them for anything in the world – including my own normalcy. The poem, though, spoke of romantic love. Something I had never experienced.
Mike didn't speak to me at all. He continued his one-man badminton game – winning every match, from what I could tell – and didn't so much as glance at me. In the back corner of my mind, I wondered if his reaction was due to our spat from yesterday afternoon. I had been rude, after all. Perhaps I should apologize. Then again, the sooner he stopped seeing me as something to swoon over, the better for us both.
My mind was more relaxed and focused, when I walked out of the gym to find Edward waiting for me. A sense of release accompanied the smile I gave him – as though I'd been tense before. He smiled back before diving right back into the cross-examination.
The topics had shifted again, moving onto things which required more thought. Settling into a more comfortable pattern, I began using my hands as I talked, exercising my vocabulary – something I rarely got to do in company. Carefully, he delved into my relationship with Steph and Alex, watching my face for signs of depression. This was a harder topic, but one I was willing to discuss. I talked about the things we used to do together, Alex's work, Steph's philanthropy. I even explained a little bit about how I came to live with them.
"I was staying in an empty house. There was an old woman down the street who used to leave food for me – I think I reminded her of her daughter or something. One night, the police just showed up at the door." I shrugged, looking out at the water cascading in rivers down the windshield. It was mostly true. I simply left out the part where I'd made an anonymous phone call to the police to inform them someone was living in the house.
"And then?" He was quiet, obviously not wanting to push me.
"Well, I was obviously under age, so they took me to the precinct, questioned me, and, when they couldn't figure out who I was, they turned me over to social services." I glanced back to him, "I'm sure you can guess the rest."
"How long were you on your own?"
I sighed heavily. Fifty-two years and counting …. "Not long. A few weeks, maybe."
"I'm sorry." His sincerity was touching.
I smiled, weak though it was, "It's not your fault. Besides, it all worked out for me, in the end." I hoped.
We were silent for a few moments before he shifted subjects again. We sat in front of the house for hours as I answered question after question. When at last I was finished detailing the contents of my bedroom back in LA, he made a protracted pause instead of continuing along.
"Is that it?" I was both relieved and sad. Monopolizing the conversation was something I was unused to, but it had felt good telling him what I could about me.
"Not even close – but your aunt will be home soon."
"Julia!" I glanced out the window at the roiling clouds, unable to determine the time by them. "What time is it?" I scanned the face of my wristwatch, shocked to see how much time had lapsed.
"It's twilight," Edward murmured, staring off into the west. There was a resigned quality to his voice, as if he were sorry to see the day end.
I looked, too, realizing that yet another day had come and gone in my life; leaving me unchanged. Was that how he felt, too?
His eyes shifted suddenly back to mine and I could almost read the sadness in them, "It's the safest time for us."
His statement didn't make sense to me right away. Then I realized he must have seen the question in my eyes. His assumption wasn't correct, but it did bring up an interesting topic.
"The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way … the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" His smile was wistful.
So he did feel the same about the passing of time as I did. Well, that was one thing we had in common, at least.
I smirked whimsically and looked out at the ever-present gloom, "When I was a child, I used to think that. But I've grown to like the night. In LA, I used to love watching the moon rise over the ocean." I sighed and turned back to him, "But I think I miss the stars the most. It's been years since I've seen them." Casting another annoyed look out at the pouring rain, "And it looks to be a few more before I have the opportunity."
He laughed – probably at the dour expression I was wearing – and the mood lightened.
"Julia will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell her that you'll be with me Saturday …" He raised an eyebrow.
"Tempting … but no." With notable stiffness, I gathered up my bag. Apparently Volvo and Porsche had something in common – they didn't design their cars for long-term occupation. "Is it safe to assume that tomorrow is my turn again?"
"Certainly not!" The feigned outrage on his face was comical – in an angelic, drool-worthy so of way. "I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"
"Did your ancestors come from Spain?"
He looked taken aback, "No, why?"
I smiled in a teasing way, "Because you seem to be attempting to recreate the Inquisition."
He smiled back at me, "Not quite."
"Honestly, though. I can't imagine what else you could possibly want to know."
"You'll find out tomorrow." With a knowing smirk, he leaned across me to open my door. The proximity of his face to mine – not to mention the rest of his body – sent my already overworked heart into overdrive.
Suddenly, the teasing smirk on his face was gone, replaced by tense concentration, "Not good." His hand was still frozen on the door handle.
Barely breathing, I whispered a response, "What is it?"
His brief glance at my face was stressed, his strong jaw clenched. "Another complication."
Before I could voice another whispered question, the door was flung open and Edward all but cringed away from me.
From around the nearest corner, a pair of headlights set high above the ground swung toward us, illuminating the Volvo's interior. Seconds later, the vehicle – a dark colored truck – pulled up to the curb just in front of us.
"Julia's around the corner," Edward warned, staring through the downpour at the other vehicle.
Without further prodding, I stepped out of the car at once. The barrage of noise was greater outside and I pulled up the hood of my jacket. Futilely, I looked into the truck's cab, but I couldn't see anything more than that there were two figures in it. Confused and curious, I glanced back at Edward as I shut the door. He was still sitting there, staring defiance and frustration at the unknown occupants of the other vehicle, his glorious face ghostly illuminated by the still-lit headlights.
As soon as the door was shut, Edward turned on his headlights and sped away. But not before I could see the rusted, dented Chevy emblem on the front of the red truck's grill.
I froze, knees locking like a colt's. The only thing going through my mind now was a memory of a beaten up red Chevy truck, two inhuman stalkers, a shotgun, and the threat of being watched.
My heart jumped into my throat as my frantic eyes scanned the two figures.
Dear, God! I thought with a thrill of true fear coursing through me, What did I do?
The sharp creaking click of the driver's side door opening snapped me back to the moment. Without thinking further, I began backing away from the dreaded truck and the people I was sure were inside. My hands came up in front of me in a shielding way as I slipped and stumbled backward over the sloshing lawn.
"Hey, Lily!" The voice was familiar – husky and boyish at the same time – and absolutely nothing like any of the ones I'd been expecting.
I stopped moving and stared hard at the lean figure emerging from the vehicle. It wasn't until I saw the long fall of dark hair framing a not-yet-mature set of russet features that I figured out who I was seeing.
"Jacob?" The question was rhetorical, I knew who it was. For a moment, relief washed over me. Then I remembered who Jacob's father was. Billy Black.
In that instant, Julia's car pulled around the corner, her headlights clearly illuminating the two people opposite me. This time my exhalation was a terse mix of relief and jittered skittishness. Jacob continued the climb out of the cab, his brightly smiling face lit up with more than the residual florescence. Unable to move, I watched as Jacob went around to the passenger's side of the truck, readied the collapsible wheelchair, and helped his father into it.
Those frighteningly familiar, overfull features were in no way comforting to me. Billy Black's eyes were fixed on me, staring out from a face set in hard lines. Instantly, I felt like I had been placed under a microscope. Dark eyes scrutinized me, narrowed with suspicion as his nostrils flared.
What now? I thought as I stood there, transfixed beneath the weighty stare of this strange, shamanistic man.
A/N: Have I mentioned how much I like leaving chapters in Cliff Hangers? Well, I do :D
More Food For Thought: It's been nearly 48-hours since Lily dropped the 'I Know What You Are' bomb in Edward's lap. He's had an entire DAY to ask the 'tough questions' about her and her past. And yet ... he hasn't. The question then becomes: Why not? What is he waiting for? What is he afraid of ...?
Translations:
monsieur oiseau de nuit - Mr. Night Owl