-Chapter Thirteen: What is Denied-

'We always long for the forbidden things, and desire what is denied us.'

- Francois Rabelais

-Edward-

I had promised Carlisle, in an unspoken gentlemanly manner, that I would stay with Rosalie while she hunted - and since I had been anything but gentlemanly, not to mention having left her alone, I didn't return to the house right away.

Instead I ran.

I ran as fast as I possibly could, in the opposite direction from her. I ran through blackness and night, past trees and buildings which I could see in rich, infinitesimal detail. I ran past people, past lives and families. I ran through the wind, leaving a trail of whisked dusk behind me until I came to a river and only managed to stop running when I was halfway across it. I had been running so fast, I had almost walked on water. I didn't swim, instead I let myself go under into pure velvet darkness and silence. I let the water fill my lungs and nose, I deprived my senses and waited for some semblance of peace.

But it never came.

Even in darkness and deep water, I was still thinking of her. Damn her! How could she do this to me? Surrounded by water and nothingness, I could somehow see her face, floating before my eyes. Backlit with golden light, smiling darkly and promising me everything and nothing all at the same time.

My feet hit the river bed and I kicked off, upwards until I broke the surface. I spat out a long stream of water from my lungs and nose and swam back to the shore, both furious and desolate and cursing the day Rosalie Hale was born.

When I had read books about love, in my early years, it was always depicted to be a beautiful, fragrant, peaceful phenomenon that came into dreary lives and made them bright and perfect. Love was pink, red and golden - sweet and kind, heavenly and soft.

Only it wasn't.

I shook water out of my hair and laughed bitterly at my memories. Love was nothing like it was made out to be. Painful, dark, aching, demanding, black and blue, sharp and cutting. It wrecked lives, turning all light into addictive shadows that followed you around even in the sun.

It had crept into my soul and nothing I could do, nothing, could get rid of it. I loved her more than the waking day, more than I loved myself or my family or any beautiful thing on the entire planet. I adored her and it didn't matter that it was breaking me apart - all that mattered was that I loved her.

My uncertainty was growing, my icy restraint was fading. I could feel the weakness setting in, warm and inviting, akin to memories of what sleep felt like. I wanted to be with her. But could I?

Had I ruined all chances of it? Had my mood swings damage the possibility of being able to kiss her, hold her, tell her how much I loved her?

I laughed again, marvelling at my own breathtaking indecision and ambivalence. I seemed to have lost my mind, all common sense had abandoned me.

What could I do, caught between the precipice of love and hate? Who knew what was right and what was wrong? Morality and sense had forsaken me entirely and I decided there and then - that I could stand it no longer. Mere moments spent away from her were agony - I could hear her saying she loved me, over and over again like a stuck record. Each time my heart twisted a little more, and I longed to see her.

I made my decision.

I ran so fast through the night air that by the time I reached our house, I was practically dry. My hair was windswept and my eyes were black, I was extremely thirsty - but these were meaningless trivialities in the face of my goal.

The scent of blood hit me hard, wrenching my thirst to first priority. I gasped as if struck. Human blood, when I was this thirsty (and potentially unhinged), was not a good idea. I looked down at the shadowy grass, each blade visible to me lit up by the lovely moon overhead. There was blood on it, minute droplets clung lightly to each weak stalk. It had come from the forest, that much I knew.

Had Rosalie come across a human? It seemed unlikely; Rosalie had excellent will power when it came to humans (if nothing else). I couldn't imagine her losing control - she would look upon it as weakness, and Rosalie Hale did not brook weakness, not in herself. I knew Carlisle would never do it, and Esme was so rarely without her husband, who would stop her in any case - so what on earth had caused this trail of blood, leading right to my house?

An uneasy prickle of worry stirred at the base of my spine. There was a bad taste upon the air, a nasty feeling in my cold stomach.

I walked swiftly inside, holding my breath, and the thoughts hit me all at once, with such emotion that I actually winced.

'….God no! Don't do this, don't let him die! Please….not this one….not one such as he….oh please, please…"

'…promised yourself never again…how many more lives affected by your weakness and pity? A fourth? What will Edward think of me? How could I do this again….?'

'….poor, poor boy - Carlisle will save him, he must….oh he is so badly hurt though, and poor Rosalie is so upset….must be saved, such a lovely face…even while dying….never seen such a sweet smile….looks at her like she is his salvation….must decide quickly….only minutes before natural death….my poor Carlisle….such weight upon his shoulders….'

'….can't see God anywhere, must just be her and me….never believed Ma about angels….never thought I'd see one….so damned beautiful….my angel….

"No!"

This could not be happening. Another? Another new addition to our family? This was getting ridiculous! I was still in the middle of dealing with Rosalie, how could we deal with another one? And who even was he? How did this happen?

What was I doing standing in the lobby?

I ran to the wine cellar, where I knew they would take him, and the scent of too much blood, pouring too fast alerted me to my already concrete suspicions. A male was inside, and he was dying.

"In here, Edward," Carlisle called to me. I went inside and saw the young man. I grimaced at the sight of him - there was no question that in mere moments, he would be irrevocably dead. His body was mauled and ripped almost apart. His arms hung unnaturally, his skin was missing great chunks, revealing white bone and muscle underneath. From the way his lower body remained perfectly still, I knew his spine was broken. Yet he was smiling…incredibly….at her.

Carlisle and Esme glanced at me, revealing their worry unnecessarily. It did not disturb me, I wasn't going to object in the childish way that I wanted to - far be it from me to deny some stranger immortal life. No, that did not trouble me at all. It wasn't even the way he was looking at her, who couldn't look at her like that?

It was the way she was looking at him.

She put her hand to his face soothingly, and then turned her fierce eyes to Carlisle.

"Please," she begged, brokenly. "Please. I haven't the strength to stop, please save him."

I knew of Carlisle's hesitation - he had promised himself never again. Yet I watched his resolve evaporate in the space of a second, under Rosalie's pleading eyes. He leant over the young man, whispered something in his ear - and then lowered his mouth to his neck. I wondered if it was the same thing he whispered to me when I was dying.

"Death will not claim you."

All the while Carlisle bit into him, the young man's eyes never left Rosalie, and nor did hers. They stared at one another with an intensity that made me feel deeply uncomfortable.

And then he began to scream.

God obviously had a sense of humour, if nothing else.

I watched him scream until his voice gave, until his throat ruptured and he was reduced to wracking shudders of agony that passed over his body with merciless frequency. I watched him hold her hand and squeeze it hard enough to break, were she human. I watched him bite through his bottom lip until it bled and tore. I watched him open his eyes and look at her, and every time he did this - I had to watch her smile at him, and worse…I had to hear their thoughts.

I longed to pull her away from him, this unnamed boy who stole her attention - I wanted to take her somewhere so we could be alone and I could tell her that I loved her. I desperately wanted to touch her, to kiss her lips and feel her eyelashes flutter as I tangled my fingers in her hair.

Half a day passed, cracks of sunlight were attempting to penetrate the dark, shadowy cellar, creating odd sunbeams that illuminated all dust as it flew around the room. I was watching them, watching each other - and only when I realised this, did I decide it was time to leave. I could hear every thought as they thought it, and it was beyond tolerance. I did not want to linger on what they had thought, it felt indecent enough hearing it for the first time - even though they pondered upon nothing more than theology and angels, dimples and babies.

I was ready to leave, if I could break my mysterious self imposed moratoria. But still I stood there, stupidly watching the two people who gazed at one another with such strength that they probably didn't even know I existed.

In the end, it was only Carlisle's hand on my shoulder that made me look away.

"Son," he said gently. "You ought to feed."

I shrugged elegantly, still painfully mesmerised by the strange pair. "Hmmm."

The boy had gone from being torn and mutilated, to being whole and wholly lovely. His blood soaked, matted hair had formed into perfect, chocolaty curls; his ruddy cheeks and tanned skin had whitened like porcelain. The missing flesh had filled out, his bones righted themselves as the scorching venom moved through his body.

'Edward, you should take Rosalie aside and ask her what has happened.'

It was rare that Carlisle spoke directly to me in his mind, although I had often suggested it to him. I managed to shake myself from staring and turn to face him. His eyes were dark with guilt, I knew that much. His shoulders were tense, his mind a troubled whirlwind of guilt.

"She didn't tell you?"

'I know how the poor boy has come to be like this, I know of the attack, but that's not what I mean and you know it.'

I feigned ignorance and finally wrenched my eyes away from them, to look at my father, my inspiration. What I saw in his face shocked me, because it hadn't been in his thoughts.

Pity. He felt pity for me. And I couldn't yet see why. I suddenly felt unaccountably young, I felt as though he was rebuking me for doing something that I didn't know was wrong.

I raised my eyebrows, silently challenging him.

'Talk to her, she shouldn't stay here with him the whole time, not when he's in such pain.'

His previous thought still echoed in my head "…take Rosalie aside and ask her what has happened…"I needed to ask him what he meant by that, but I couldn't without Rosalie hearing it, so instead I did as I was told.

She didn't seem to hear my approach, her face was close to his, she was whispering to him things that I didn't let myself hear. Every time he shuddered, their hands tightened, to the point where I could almost hear their bones creaking. For some strange reason, I was thinking of the night when I had returned home to find Rosalie Hale, begging for death in the cellar. I thought of how cold I had been to her, of how I had walked away and left until her screams had faded into oblivion. I hadn't held her hand, stroked her face and watched her endure the agony with solemn, fierce eyes.

I had dismissed her, left her to it and thought nothing more of her than a complication.

"Rosalie," I said very softly. "Come on, come with me for a while."

Her reply was carved from stone, as if such a suggestion simply wasn't feasible. "No."

"He can't even hear you, come on - just for a little while." In truth, I wasn't keen on going outside either, it was fully daylight an hour or so after sunrise, but I put my hand on her shoulder, hoping to persuade her anyway.

Part of me expected her to shrug out it, to flinch away from my hand, but she didn't. She blew a breath through her teeth, and nodded tersely. She leaned in closer to him, right by the side of his face and whispered that she would be back soon. Then she was walking, ahead of me who was supposed to be leading her.

As she walked past Carlisle she kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you."

That took me aback a little, but I ignored it and we went outside into the blinding daylight.

Once outside, I fell oddly short out words. Was I now supposed to make everything alright? Was there a combination of well articulated reassurances that could somehow solve this madness?

But she spoke first. "Your unsubtle attempt is deeply unnecessary. I am fine."

"I know you're fine, I thought you might…Carlisle asked me to." I didn't even bother trying to lie to her.

I looked at her, she was so achingly beautiful. There was blood on her arms and on her clothes, some even in her hair. Her skin sparkled like diamond dust, her eyes were darker, but it wasn't all from hunger. I loved looking at her, even when things were like this.

"He wants you and I to talk. To clean up our little mess."

"He wants to know what happened in the woods."

"I told him of the attack."

"He means…between you and the boy."

She snorted with laughter. "He is not a boy. You infer that perhaps there was no bear? That perhaps I attacked him in a frenzy?"

"No," I denied vehemently. "I know that is not what happened!"

"Then what? I cannot read minds, Edward - what are you asking me?"

"It's just…" I paused, unwilling to say something so ridiculous out loud. "You seem to know him. Do you?"

Her lips pursed. "Excuse me?"

I gritted my teeth and continued. "You seem close."

"The first time I ever laid eyes on him, was when he was being torn apart. Would you have me let him die?"

"It's natural for him to die!" I tore out, instantly regretting it.

"Oh really? So he should have died? As we all should have? Who are you to decide who lives and who dies? You may think you're God, Edward but you're really not!"

"Carlisle should decide!"

"He did!"

"No, you came to him and begged him - as if anyone could refuse you, Rosalie Hale! It was unfair to ask him, you know he would never deny you anything - right or wrong!"

"But you would deny me what I want, Edward? Right or wrong? How dare you stand there with you moral code, and pathetic childishness - a spoilt brat who refuses to share, you disgust me!" she snarled viciously. "How dare you question anything about me?"

"How dare I?" I laughed bitterly. "It's you…YOU who has done this to me, you selfish spiteful little bitch! You have no idea what I've been through since you came here, what you've done to me….I'll never get over it! Your revolting need for attention has driven me to do things that go against every moral fibre in my body and you have the audacity to scream your indignations at me?"

"Oh yes, because you were such an angel when I was brought into your life, Edward Cullen! You were the pinnacle of moral hygiene; murderer, narcissist, Goddamned arrogant bastard who only wanted me when you realised I was as broken and as dark as you. You're sick, and now you can't stand it!"

"Stand what?"

"Him!" she yelled, pointing in at the house. "You wouldn't even look at me before!"

I had never felt this angry before in my life. "This has nothing to do with him!"

"Oh really?" she snorted disbelievingly.

"Yes really! Before he came I…" I stopped myself before it came out.

She threw her arms out impatiently. "What? You what? Huh? You were going to tell me how much you love me, how we could be together? It's done, like you said! Let it go - we do nothing but hurt each other and the more we dance this dance, the more I come to hate you and myself."

"Just like that?"

She laughed mirthlessly. "You're insane!"

I closed the space between us in one stride and took her by the wrist, yanking her to face level.

"Only as much as you!"

I kissed her ruthlessly, breathing in her scent and tasting her unwilling lips. It lasted only for a full second before she tore out of my grip and viciously cracked her hand around my face. It resonated around the forest like a gunshot.

"I hate you," she breathed in a trembling voice. "I hate you more than anyone I have ever known, and that includes Royce King! At least he had the courage to follow through!"

I hit her back, hard. She put her hand to her face, not from the pain - I knew that much - but from the shock that I had hit her. I hated myself for it, but her words had hurt me beyond anything I had ever felt before and my hand had come up involuntarily.

Neither of us said anything for a long time, we just stood there frozen and glaring. The wind blew around us, moving her hair and mine. Finally I managed to breathe in enough to speak, I was surprised to hear how my own voice sounded; so foreign and raw.

"What have we done?"

She shook her head and stepped back, my voice bringing her back to reality. "Don't talk to me. Don't ever talk to me again."

And she walked away from me, to go back to him.

A/N - Hello my beautiful, amazing darling readers! I just want to say a MASSIVE thank you to everyone who has reviewed, you're all just...lovely! I really do love you all, and treasure each comment you leave.

Onto the chapter. It turned out way more angsty than intended, but these characters are stubborn - they have their own idea about what they want to do, and they wanted a big fight so...that's what happened. I know I promised sexual tension, and believe me - there will be some, just in the next chapter. Let's just say that Edward is not going to like some upcoming events.

Thanks again for all the reviews and very helpful criticisms (I am terrible with typos - I just don't see them when reading them back, and I hopefully sorted out the whole past and present tense mess) - keep them coming. Next up very soon x x x