Hi everyone! I'm a little late, I was planning to post the rest of Part One last week but we were away visiting my family and the trip was so hectic. I'm back now, and everything will be posted in the next couple days. Then there will be a break before I start posting Part Two because I have to finish writing it!

I've been encouraged to try publishing, so I'm giving Amazon self-publishing a whirl, it's on there now same name, Vespers by Kera Fox. I've done some editing and added a few things, if any of you care to read it you can message me and I'd be happy to email you a copy.

As always thanks so much for reading!

I sleep like the dead, waking up to the sound of voices down below. At first I think I'm still at the Hamptons, with the party going on downstairs. But I'm at home in my room, I've already been through the awkwardness of seeing old friends, Peter and Norah's happy faces, the firelight and another light burning in Jacob's eyes just before his lips brush mine. The voices are strangers passing in the street.

I roll over in bed, pressing my cheek into the pillow. Jacob's jaw had the slightest bit of stubble. He felt the same as every time we hug, long and lean, but when we were in the kitchen he wrapped me up tighter so that his arms were rock solid under my hands. I've memorized every facial expression and line of his body, I dreamed of that moment for years, but those fantasies are relics of my imagination. The reality is so much more complicated; mixed messages, confusing feelings, I have no idea where we stand, and I wish that we were just old friends again. Friends during a time when our friendship was easier, before the funeral.

I sit on the edge of my bed, tipped forward so my legs won't dangle. The toes of my black shoes have sunk into the thick carpet. I stare down at them without interest. My thoughts are tinged with a fuzzy quality, the pervasive numbness that has followed me for days, or maybe it's been years for all I can tell. I'm alone in an abyss, everything and everyone falling away from me, sinking into an unreality. Only one real thought remains, an image. Blank, staring eyes. I dig my toe into the carpet and sink deeper into the numbness.

The shoes are appropriate for a funeral, not that that occurred to me when I bought them. It seems like a lifetime ago, or rather like it was someone else's life. I roll my ankles out to look at them from the side, where the black leather tucks into the sharp white of the seam. There's a dark spot on my right instep, and a matching smudge on my left knee, from where I knelt to toss a handful of dirt into the grave. It's a terrible tradition, the hollow thump like the echo of an empty memory, a body lifeless within, blank eyes staring up at the inside of the casket.

I slip off my shoes one at a time, line them up neatly in the closet, then peel off my stockings and deposit them in the laundry basket. I sit back down on the bed. The subdued noise of well-wishers is drifting up from downstairs; no one knows what to say to me or my parents, especially when it's clear that my father's no longer living in this house. Social niceties, drooping bouquets and too many casseroles aren't enough to cover up the sickness that's saturated our family.

The door opens and Jacob steps inside, closing it behind him. I keep my face averted, hoping he'll get the point and let me be alone, but he doesn't. The bed dips as he sits down next to me and rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward to catch my eye. He's the first and last person I want to see, the numbness is lifting now that I'm near his very solid presence and in its wake is indescribable pain. It seems as though I might snap from the tension slicing through my body, the pressure ready to collapse in on itself, disempowerment on top of grief. I hold my breath, waiting for the protective haze to return.

"How are you doing?"

I don't respond, and he drops his head into his hands. As if from a great distance I observe his reaction, it seems to be the opposite of mine, his indefatigable energy snuffed out. When he lifts his face, he's very pale and he looks exhausted. I haven't been sleeping either. Jacob says, "I feel like I'm losing my mind, all I can think about is if I could have done something differently, it wouldn't have happened, it's like if I wish enough it won't be real."

He covers his face again, muffling his voice. "I can't even remember the bad stuff, Bella. That's all I can -" His voice breaks, he swipes his palm across his cheek. "Please tell me how you feel."

I stare straight ahead, twisting my fingers in my lap until they turn white. I can't stand him for pushing me to respond, it's taken all my strength the last few days to stop myself from being pulled under the torrent with him. Jacob never could stand silence. I just want to be buried in solitude.

"I thought I said goodbye to him already, we lost so much of our friendship already, it sucked but I thought… that was nothing to this."

He sounds like a lost little kid. I get to my feet, walk toward the bookcase and cross my arms, staring blankly at it. Guilt. That's what Jacob is feeling, he's upset because he's making it about himself. Anger surges through me, Derrick is my brother, not Jacob's, he doesn't understand anything about it. He has no right to sit there whining about himself.

"I hate that you saw him like that, I know you're thinking about it all the time." His voice grates on me, the most annoying words I've ever heard. "If I hadn't brought you there, you'd have different memories. I'm so -"

"If you hadn't met up with me, would you have gone home instead?"

"What?"

"You could have driven straight home. You would have stopped him, or called an ambulance at least."

Jacob has gone completely white. I don't care how I'm making him feel, all I want is to somehow stop him from talking any more. I can't take another second of his placating voice. "You didn't even have your phone or they would have been there sooner. Who doesn't carry a phone?"

"You didn't have one either." He sounds disbelieving.

"Yes I did, you didn't look hard enough. I didn't even want to see you that night, it was your idea, I don't know why. You're supposed to be Derrick's friend, not mine."

"I wanted to see you because I care about you."

"It's not your job to care about me. If you cared more about him -" I say, aware that my voice is too loud for the small room. "You know what, we don't have anything else to talk about."

Jacob crosses the room and jerks the door open. The satisfaction is stronger than ever, that he's proving me right, but at the last moment he turns back. "Actually I'm not done, tell me exactly how you feel."

"This is all your fault."

I jump to my feet, the impact on the hardwood floor of my little apartment is enough to jolt me back to the present. I pace around the tiny room, trying to outthink or outrun the same unbearable tangle that Jacob tried to talk about. Guilt that I didn't try harder to help Derrick, anger that he didn't either. Guilt and anger at myself that I pushed Jacob away, an endless circle chased by an overwhelming, shameful wave of self-pity that I have to go through this. It's a teetering pile of self-absorption protecting me from what comes next. The grief, the loneliness, the loss that I see on Jacob's face. I couldn't stand to see him when he looked like that and I'm still too afraid that when I finally face it, I won't be strong enough.

Pacing isn't working, it's making me feel more trapped, not less. I pull back the blinds and unbolt the window, forcing it up. The frame is swollen with humidity, it makes a shrill sound when it budges, driving up in one quick thrust. Those first awful weeks when I ignored Jacob, shut him down and blamed him. Memories that I wish I could change, my actions so unacceptable to me now that I physically cringe. It was easier than I expected to push him away, all it took were some well-placed words, meaner than I realized I was capable of. And meeting someone who could inhabit the shell that I was, fill it for a time with his own sick perversions.

I met Matt that same day, in the evening, the sun already set and the graveyard gloomy. I pick my way through the headstones, trying to find Derrick's grave. I want to see it one more time by myself, sit by the freshly piled earth that's now his bed. The graveyard is so big, row upon row of headstones, a maze of unfamiliar names. I walk up and down for what seems like hours, until each step makes my panic rise higher, I can't find it.

Think, think, think, I was just here this afternoon. I start to run, straying from my methodical line-by-line search, wildly racing in a haphazard criss-cross until I collide into something solid. The moon's full, hanging heavy and round just over the tips of the trees behind him, casting his face in shadows. He's all in black, a T-shirt and jeans, a leather jacket in his fist. The rough engraved stones standing like soldiers in rows along the grass and the balmy night, my own hysterical state makes me gasp. "Who are you?"

"I'm here to suck your blood darling."

His eyes hold a dangerous gleam, I would have been terrified before, but today it doesn't phase me in the least. I examine his mouth, half hoping to see two points of white peeking out over his pursed lips. He's not much taller than me, I'm at eye level with his chin, which is smooth with a small cleft down the centre. He's devilishly handsome, his dark defined brows shadowing his eyes, his ridged nose slightly flared at the nostrils.

I lie down on the ground, it's already damp from the cooled air, and the grass is coarse and prickly against my bare legs and arms. "Well what are you waiting for, can you get it over with?"

He tosses his jacket to the side and lies down facing me, propping his head on his hand. "You look like you've been to a funeral."

I lift my head, looking down at my simple black dress and the deep blood red of my nails. It's not a colour I chose on purpose, I painted them last week in my dorm. "So do you."

"I go to them all the time. It's great to be alive don't you think?"

"I guess."

"What do you mean 'I guess'? Fuck, you should be jumping up and down." He looks at me, his eyes running over my tangled hair, the dark circles under my eyes, my pale skin disappearing under basic cotton that's fitted enough to reveal my unremarkable curves. It's a lewd examination of what my body has to offer, but I can't feel the flush of offence either. "Well you're in luck. I'm looking for someone to have a good time with."

"That doesn't excite me."

"Only because you haven't experienced what I have to offer yet."

"I was slightly interested when I thought you were a vampire, the creepy nightwalker thing is dull."

"Take off your dress. I'm going to chase you down and fuck you in the graveyard. If that doesn't get your pulse up then maybe you're a corpse already."

"Fine." I stand up and unzip my dress, taking it off and laying it carefully on a rectangular stone slab so it doesn't wrinkle. "So you want me to start running or what. Honestly, I don't know what the point of this whole 'get to know you' conversation was, you still didn't tell me your name. And I was already running when I ran into you, at least there would have been an element of surprise."

"It's Matt. I underestimated how fucked up you are or else I would have. 1, 2, 3, go."

I run as fast as I can. It feels good to have my blood pulsing through my body as my heart beats like a jackhammer, the air ripping through my lungs from the exertion. I dodge around jutting stones, jump over flat ones, with so many obstacles my entire focus is on picking up shades and shadows in the darkness. I make it to a large tree and hide behind its trunk. The bark is smooth and papery, and the trunk is much wider than me. I lean against it trying to catch my breath. I stare out blankly through the leaves, resting my head on a branch that's reaching up beside me.

"Gotcha." Matt's arms grab me from behind, digging possessively into my flesh, pulling me away from the trunk. "You're supposed to fight back," he growls into my ear. He lifts my hands to a branch above me, trapping them underneath his.

From my vantage point half-hidden behind the tree I can see Jacob trudging in my direction.

"Bella, I've been looking for you everywhere," he calls. I can tell the moment Matt comes into his sightline because he breaks into a run.

"Go home Jacob," I yell. "Just leave me alone."

My words stop him dead in his tracks. It's hard to make out his expression, hurt, anger, more likely disgust, before he turns away. I feel a flicker of uncertainty and regret and then Matt's hand slides under my panties and everything shuts off.

I scrub my face at the bathroom sink. I have to stop thinking about the past. I have to get ready for work. There's a knock at my door, I walk over and peer through the peephole. All I can see are a million flowers, some of them shift as the person carrying them moves around and I make out a young guy with a clipboard in his hand.

"Special delivery. Where would you like them?"

I look over his shoulder at the huge number of vases spilling over with blooms, so many that he has a big trolley. "Anywhere they'll fit." I gesture him inside. I think there are at least 50 vases and by the time he's done my apartment looks like a flower shop.

I lock the door behind him, filled with misgivings; the flowers look like a fairy tale that only Edward could have sent, but nothing is that clear and absolute anymore. I search through bouquet after bouquet of white hydrangeas, blush peonies and roses, the fragrance of them filling my nose. The petals are fragile and easily bruised, some of them crushed from being squeezed in with so many others. The peonies are bending over from the weight of the blossom, layer after layer of densely packed petals just beginning to open. Finally I give up trying to find a card or I'll be late for work. I close my door on the luxurious mass of flowers, my apartment has been blanketed with a pinkish white wash of delicate blossoms; they're so lovely, but I can't enjoy them.

The missing card is still on my mind as I cross a packed and honking Center Street, tucking my keys and wallet distractedly into my bag as I go. My MetroCard is already clutched in my hand, ready for the subway. I hurry down a smaller side street, hoping to make up for lost time on the almost deserted sidewalk, unhampered by pedestrian traffic. By now it's almost impossible that I'll make it to my first meeting on time. I'm mentally berating myself for being so distracted, unreliable in a way I never used to be.

A woman skirts around me, pushing a stroller with one hand and talking on her cell phone with the other, her loud voice carrying down the block. As the sound fades into the distance, I realize how quiet it is, and the creeping sensation of being watched edges into my thoughts. The newsstand at the corner is unmanned, the stacks of black and white paper left unattended for the time being. A couple of sheets at the top lift in a gust of wind, bound to the stack but fluttering for a moment in a vain attempt to escape. I slow down as I pass and glance around. A car with tinted windows is creeping down the street, hugging the curb indecisively. I don't stop but looking back over my shoulder I stare after it, trying to see through the windshield to the shadowed face of the driver.

A flash of something catches my eye, across the road something or someone moved into the shadows under the awnings. A steady stream of people are entering and exiting the shops, their paths crossing the point I'm trying to see. This time I'm sure, a glimpse of someone in a grey hoodie. His back is to me but it's that same shade, with the hood flipped up over his head. He was standing under the market awning, but he walks into the narrow alley next to the shop, disappearing amongst the shadows.

There's a snarl, a sudden blur of movement and I fall back against the newsstand. The dog's fangs are bared viciously as it lunges at me, barely restrained by a taut leash. I can't tell whether anyone's trying to call it off because the owner of the newsstand has returned and is shouting at me, drowning out the noise of the dog. "Thief! Thief! Get your hands off - police, here!"

A pair of cops has turned toward us with mild interest, but they don't seem too concerned. The dog, finally dragged away, has stopped barking, and I hurry to the subway station, not stopping to apologize to the furious man behind me. I'm carried along with the crush of people who are jostling their way down the subway stairs. It's incapacitating and comforting in equal measure, being powerless to do anything except stay upright and move forward.

I cling onto my little square of railing on the train, looking unseeingly straight ahead. Minding my own business like everyone else. It's what I used to love about the big city: the anonymity, the freedom of being able to step out among a crowd of people and be alone. The solitariness of walking down the street, the sensation of being independent in a terrible, gigantic world, and surviving. Now it leaves me uneasy, the isolation making me feel exposed and vulnerable.