Characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

13. Why Worry

How does one know when he has reached his limit? When he is done for, and he really cannot take anymore? That all he is doing, instead of relieving himself of troubles, is plunging straight to the source, to where it hurts most exceptionally?

I've just arrived to Forks, Washington, and I have to say: my welcome was strange, yet it felt right. Over the past few weeks, I've carefully maintained my diet, drinking from pigs and cows from Italian farms, so my eyes would not be devastatingly red. Of course, that did not mean I was not to abstain from human blood, but I had to get here as fast as possible, and that was by plane.

As I predicted, my old family was not there. From what I've heard—specifically, from Mrs. Stanley's thoughts—the "snobbish Cullens" had moved to Canada, because Mr. Carlisle Cullen had received a very generous job offering in the city (she then proceeded to fantasize about spending some time with Carlisle in the metropolitan, what with its stereotypical "manly" lofts and fine dining).

No one noticed, me though I've had many curious glances thrown my way. I was charmed, really, by all the sick imaginations women could dream up, but I had to get away.

On exiting the rental car from the airport, I sighed at the overcast sky. Even in the summer, Forks never failed to gloom with a shadow of clouds and the feeling of thunder.

I breathed in the humid air. "Just right."

I went to the meadow. Nothing had changed much, save for a few weeds growing in some areas. The circular shape of flat grass, upon which I've had many of my more outstanding memories, had become shabby and grown. I would have to fix that later. Appearances did not matter, especially now, but I still had an inclination to keep everything in order, though I've no reason to do so.

I did not want to lose myself.

"Edward Cullen?"

Turning quickly, my eyes widened at the sight of Sam Uley. He never spoke, but thought my name when he saw me. He had been running, phased as his massive wolf form, and the dark fur coated his eyes, which I'm sure were narrowed in anger.

We stood there, paralyzed with caution and control. I spoke first.

"Nice meeting you again." Blunt. Like that annoying Leah—oh, I've practically led her to her death, haven't I? I probably should not be thinking so ill of her.

My neighbor nodded his head in greeting. I could feel his stance strained; he was desperately trying to keep calm. To which I have no reason to be reasonable, Sam mused. He's sort of the reason for Jacob's and Leah's—oh damn, I can't even think it!

Was I actually having this conversation with him? For some reason, this seemed familiar—trite.

But the less sarcastic side of me scolded myself. I've pushed an entire domino of hate and love to collapse.

"I'm sorry, Sam," I said. "I'm sorry for Jacob, and for Leah, and for Seth..." When I spoke my thoughts aloud, they seemed harsher, more real.

Sam listened, but each name I mentioned slashed his heart into pieces. Enough.

Biting my lip, I sighed. Fury and heat were coming from his body, but he kept them equally controlled.

What are you doing here?

"I had nowhere else to go."

Well, I thought the last place you'd go was here, in the past.

I sat down, readying myself for another conversation. "At least the past has reason; if I go anywhere else, I don't know what I'll do."

Thinking it over, he concluded I was right. Crouching down the edge of the meadow, he too prepared for a long talk.

Carlisle came to me last week. They've received news from the... Volterra, is it? At this I nodded. Edward, you're basically in exile. No ones supposed to do anything with you. Of course, the Cullens aren't going to stop you from living with them, but more vampires have been coming here—I think they're the guards to check up on your family. So they moved.

Well, that put the icing on the cake.

"What have they heard about me?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

The anger he was suppressing came in full force. His whole body shook, but he clawed his nails on the grass, digging deep into the soil, to restrain himself. A low growl was forming in his gnashing throat.

You broke the treaty. You killed those humans, and several more after that. I could practically feel his hatred coming toward me. It felt sickly piercing.

Shame washed over me. What had I said before in Italy? What was my justification in drinking from mere humans, who were clueless about our existence?

"I-I just... It was a spur of the moment..." Knowing the weakness in my reasoning, I stayed silent. Who cared about my momentary need of madness? In the end, the facts remained: I killed innocent humans. I was not thinking of the effects.

I don't think we have it in us to fight anymore, Sam thought. Everything's been hell, and no one can take anymore death.

"So you're just letting me leave peacefully?"

It's for the best. Sam was grim, and I sensed disappointment in his eyes. With a soft growl, he stood up and continued his run.

I didn't need his disappointment. I didn't want his bitter resentment to what I've become. I just needed someone to talk to. Someone to listen.

Two miles away, Sam mentally laughed: Go jump a cliff, Edward.

I grinned. For the first time in almost eighty years, I headed to La Push.

The dive was a bit taller than the one in Italy, and a wave of nausea hit me, if that could've happened. This was where Bella had jumped. What was she thinking, when she looked down upon these rocky edges, and the turbulent crashing of water?

"Always so brave," I muttered, but Sam heard from beside me.

Reminiscing much? He had been trying hard not to care, I could tell, and he was partly succeeding. But the only result was his being more sardonic, and using his wits to push people away from his real feelings.

Before I could form a response, he dived, still in wolf form, howling madly that it echoed along the cliffs.

I listened to his mind, noting how free and careless he was. He was enjoying the feel of falling down, of letting something else—nothing, really—break his fall. He liked the feeling of letting go.

Now in the water, he swam fast, with his powerful legs, and I watched him fought against the current. Normally, one would swim sideways the flow, but I assumed he wanted the extra challenge.

With some form of jealousy entering my mind, I slowly leaned forward.

This time, I tried to slow my descent. Spreading my arms, I felt the air push against me, and my mind became a dizzy relaxation. In reaching the water, I made a nosedive, and steered underneath so I would not hit the rocks. The strong current resisted my arms, and I enjoyed the feel of expending effort to swim toward shore.

Looking up, I saw that Seth Clearwater had come, and was then peering with awed eyes at the sight: Edward Cullen, vampire, cliff diving with Sam Uley, werewolf.

Sam, shaking the water off his head, howled in gesture for the younger boy to accompany us.

"Alright!" Seth shouted, before jumping. I heard his heart pump faster, adrenaline building in his grown up body.

With superhuman speed, we dived all afternoon, without a care or a worry in the messed up world. When a car passed by, we would get interesting glances, but other than that, everything seemed normal.

That evening, when bonfires lit First Beach, and most of the Quileute tribe had gone to Billy Black's house party, Sam and Seth voluteered to spend time with me.

"Why would you want to do that?" I asked, while walking alongside the two dark skinned figures.

Seth shrugged. "Everyone's been down lately. This whole mourning thing's like a plague!" We figured something different would get our minds off everything.

Wasn't Seth Clearwater supposed to be by his sister's grave? He was not thinking of her, so I could not say. Not wanting to upset his peace, I just complied.

We went to the beach.

With waves crashing down the rocks, Sam and Seth chose a spot without much people. There were only elderly tourists at that time, all packing up their beach umbrellas and picnic baskets.

Sam had phased back earlier, and was now wearing a tattered black shirt and crinkly shorts. My jeans were far from drying, and I had taken off my shoes because wet socks were far from comfortable.

There was no need of fire, for the chilly winds had no effect on our bodies. But, as Sam said, 'we don't want to seem like strange boys sitting in the dark'. So, a few minutes later, the three of us were sitting around the small fire. I found it quite peaceful, for Sam and Seth were not threatening. Our eyes, deep into the multicolored flames, only looked inside ourselves, trying to figure out what the heck we were.

"So, Edward, what're your plans for the future?" Seth had been curious for some time, and I smiled at his courage of speaking it then.

Flicking some sand with my fingers, I shrugged. "No plans." I tried to be more conversational, but nothing seemed to form on my lips.

He nodded slowly, but he wasn't even listening. I cannot believe you and Leah, he paused his thought, not knowing how to proceed.

Sam spoke his question. "What did you do with Leah?" He was still looking at the fire, and his voice was full of anticipation, expecting the worst.

I told them the whole story. Leah and I had begun in the same low depression, but ended up separating to our deaths. They listened intently, and in the end, Seth was wiping tears.

"How could she think of doing such a thing, when she always had me, and us, and—" Seth swallowed the invisible lump on his throat, hoping to get rid of the terrifying truth.

This is all my fault. I'm unforgivable... Sam was blaming himself for something Leah couldn't help. Why didn't she wait? Her imprint, Jacob's...

Then, by some useless attempt to comfort himself, Sam pictured Leah and Jacob, arguing with each other endlessly. He laughed. I did too. Seth sniffed.

"I guess it's been inevitable for some time," Sam admitted, poking the fire with a twig. "It just... I dunno, kind of confirmed my fears or something."

Seth had now calmed down, and he too was smiling. "This whole thing's been crazy. I don't even know how to react." He looked at me then, his twinkling eyes shining. "D'you think she did the right thing? Is she happy now?"

"I can't be sure," I said. Why would they ask my opinion on this matter? Did I not make it clear that I never really cared for Leah?

But underneath my hard exterior, with the "Carlisle" in me, Leah mattered to me. She helped me; and I gave her a way to an easy suicide.

"There's no such thing as an easy suicide," Sam muttered. Only cowardly ones.

"Did I say that out loud?" I looked down at my slip up. What else did I voice outward?

We talked through midnight, enjoying the fact that there were no rules to stop us tonight, and our nightmares being true, there was nothing left to fear.