There is no doubt in my mind that this is a dream. I've had too many of them not to know.

For one, I'm not wearing my glasses and I can see clearly. And then there is what I'm seeing. A meadow, surrounded by forest, and covered in brilliant, twinkling sunlight. The kind of light that never shines in Forks, Washington. The final clue is the woman across the way. My mother's mother, Marie Higginbotham – Gran – who died six years ago. A pretty clear indicator that I'm lucid dreaming and really should stop drinking coffee before bed.

She looks exactly how I remember her. Soft and withered skin, with thousands of tiny creases and canyons that cling to the bone underneath. Like a raisin or dehydrated apricot. And haloing her head is a puff of thick, white hair.

She mirrors my surprised expression with her barely-there lips, and then she smiles the smile I feel on my own face. The mutual surprise is almost amusing

I want to ask her so many questions. Why is she here? Does she know about Fork's secrets? Is she staring at the scar on my arm? Did she and Pop miss mom after she left Jacksonville? She opens her mouth with me, so I pause. If she wants to go first, then fine. But true to form, she stops too, and we both laugh at how awkward this situation really is.

"Bella."

Gran didn't say my name. I turn toward the voice, already knowing who it belongs to. His tone, light and musical, is impossible to mistake. The voice I slosh through the pelting rain for daily just to share a laugh with him.

Edward.

Even with the obvious knowledge that this is a dream sitting in front of me, my heart drops when he starts toward us, wearing a billowy shirt and black dress pants - something he wouldn't even dream of wearing in real life. I raise my hands, wanting to shout for him to stop, but nothing comes out. I try to push him back, squinting until the halo of my shield surrounds my hands. But it cracks, and shatters to the grass below.

How the hell am I supposed to explain to my dead grandmother that my best friend looks like a crystalline shark in the sunlight? Oh, you noticed that? I sure didn't! Sorry Gran, but Edward is a little different.

He walks toward me with a big, crooked smile on his pallid face, arms out and embracing me into his cold chest. Like we're the only two people alive. Edward picks me up and spins me around carefully, laughing with a twinkling glee. He's never acted like this. Never so open with his form – the haunting fangs, claws that shimmer like diamond, and skin that you can see muscle through – in front of even me. Not after seeing him drenched in James' blood a couple months ago...

I wish he could hear my thoughts at this moment. I'm cursing him, I'm telling him to go back to the trees before Gran can see what he is. Before he puts himself in danger. My head snaps in her direction and I'm slapped in the face by dread. She looks terrified. She's already seen.

But Edward, as if oblivious to how close she is to stroking out, smiles beautifully, looking down at me with gleaming ruby eyes and a softness I cannot place. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and faces my grandmother. I stare at her, shocked that she is no longer in horror, but blushing, looking like she is about to be chided.

And her arm is against her body, as though someone unseen is pressing it to her side.

That is when the shine of the gilded frame comes to view. The frame of a mirror that encloses her elderly form. I raise my free hand and press it forward, meeting the cool touch of glass.

I gasp as my own hand wrinkles, growing liver spots and visible veins.

I'm not seeing Gran. I'm seeing myself. Ancient. Creased. Withered. Dying. And Edward, casting no reflection, is eternally 20. Eternally youthful and joyous. He hugs me close, careful not to hurt me, and looks me deep in my eyes.

"Bella," he whispers, leaning closer to me.

I wake to the blare of my alarm, eye popping open to the dull, blurry, gray light of Forks. A typical, overcast morning that I've adapted to between January and September. September ... I sit up and check my phone. Oh God, I can't believe it. My dream, prophetic as always, has hit on the perfect day. Friday, September 13th.

I put on my glasses and pretend it isn't my birthday.

With the peppermint paste in my mouth, I start brushing and praying that I might come down with something before anyone can come up with party plans for me. On my hollowed-in face lies a set of scars – three, nearly perfectly even claw marks. The only remnants of the hunter, of James.

I still haven't fully explained to Jessica and Angela – my two best, human friends – what happened the weekend I disappeared. And they've made it pretty obvious that they don't believe my "I fell down the stairs" story one bit. Stairs don't leave fingernail-shaped scars, or break your dad's orbital socket. Stairs don't leave you shaking every time a student named "James" has their name called during the start of class.

Stairs don't keep you in long sleeves over the decently humid summer, worried someone will realize the scars on your arms fit the average human hand. Stairs don't keep you in hoodies and high collars because of the bite-mark that will never fade, and the inhuman skin that can never be seen.

I don't realize I've zoned out until my eyes focus in on the foamy drool and sagging toothbrush just barely hanging from my mouth. The scar beside my lip starts to sting and I finish the task of keeping my pearly whites a healthy eggshell color. I clean up my mess and examine the mass of brown fluff that's stuck on my head.

Charlie pokes his head in, looking just as disheveled as I. Though with his beard growing out, the messy factor has increased quite a bit. "Finish up already, I have swamp ass and need a shower."

"Oh gross, Dad!" I pick up my hairspray and aim it just below his chin. He gets a kick out of that and closes the door. I make an attempt to brush my hair straight and leave the bathroom, passing by Charlie in his red flannel robe with a raised brow.

He's relaxed quite a bit since his "retirement". Charlie Swan used to be the police chief in Forks up until we got back from our impromptu vacation in Phoenix. When we got home, he spent over an hour ranting about how the other officers disregarded his orders and the number of non-violent arrests increased while he was off duty. By 110%.

He told the officers on duty to kiss their badges goodbye, and then threw his own in the recycle bin. The language he used was much more colorful than that.

I shovel an egg and tofu-bacon breakfast down my gullet after Charlie happily preps it, humming to himself like he knows something I don't. And he isn't wrong, because he turns on his toes and sets two, small packages, wrapped in purple, right in front of me.

My face falls.

"Dad, you didn't have to get me anything."

"Now when have you known me to listen?" Charlie sits across the table, reading the newspaper casually. "You've been improving with your shield, and it's your birthday. It stands to reason that I'd get something for my only child this special day. Besides, one of them is from Renee and Phil. We coordinated. Well, I coordinated them."

I push my empty plate to the side. There's a decently small box, with a tag that reads "my little witch" in Charlie's rough, semi-cursive writing. I carefully open the paper and yelp when it still manages to cut my finger. Finger in mouth, I pull out the box of a brand new, professional camera. Three lenses, digital, built-in flash. I look at Charlie with massive eyes and he winks.

"D-Dad, this is just ... I don't ... thank you!" He taps the other present and slides it over. It's about an inch thick, and has "my little dancer" written in cursive on it. Weird, since Renee doesn't like cursive. I open it, and it's an empty album, deep purple vines decorating the off-white cover. I hug them both to my chest, feeling my face break into an embarrassingly wide smile.

Charlie's face mirrors mine, and he starts to dig into his own meal. That's when I notice his clothing – light gray denim top and dark green bottoms, with a badge and his name on both sides of his chest. I turn the camera on and take a quick picture. Charlie freezes.

"Delete that."

"My camera, my rules. I take it I'll need to bike to school today, Ranger Swan?" I gesture to his get-up and he looks down, as if just remembering what he has on. Charlie rubs the back of his neck and chuckles quietly.

"Your balance is improving, don't worry about it. Knowing my side-work, however, I probably won't be home before midnight. I'd say don't wait up on me, but you're the queen of staying up later than a teenager should."

"Eight hours of sleep be damned; I have reading to do." Charlie shakes his head and fills a thermos with coffee. "I'd better get dressed for the day. I love you, Dad." He kisses my cheek and messes up my already frizzy hair.

"Love you too, little witch."

Getting to school on my bike takes more time than in The Thing, my ancient red truck that I am really starting to miss, but all things considered I'm not missing much. I arrive just after homeroom is called, and have to go through the office building to sign in – no longer needing a parental consent note.

To greet me isn't the secretary Ms. Cope, but Alice Brandon-Cullen, the "foster daughter" of Esme and Dr. Carlisle Cullen – and one of Forks' resident vampires. Her hair is close shaved, and her clothes are almost professional. Her fake glasses frame her bruised eye sockets and ruby-red eyes, two of the trademark features belonging to all vampires.

Unlike the others, her eternal beauty has a youthful curse to it, having been changed at only 14 years old.

She waves with a wide, giddy smile on her face, her bright eyes brilliant with excitement. "Bella! I'm so happy you came." Alice stands, climbing over the desk to hug me tightly. Her embrace doesn't crack my spine this time, and I squeeze her in return. When she pulls back, I can see a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

"I can't miss a day of torturing my favorite people. Though my favorite victim has moved on."

"I miss him, too. He's even moved out of the house." She pouts, resting her cheek on her knuckles. "Well, not really. He's in a little cabin a few miles away, out of our hearing range, so that he can focus on his compositions for a few years. He's also sworn up and down that, no matter where we go, he will never go to high school again."

"Can you blame him? It's miserable."

"Yeah, that's true. I think I may go back to college, use some of the money I've saved to finally get that psychology degree I've been working on-and-off for." I look around, noting the lack of anyone else even in the hallway, and lean in.

"Isn't that risky? I mean, how do you guys even insert yourself into society without something going off in some government office somewhere?" Alice cocks a brow and smirks, sending a chill down my spine.

"Bold of you to assume we aren't in the government, Bella. There are vampires everywhere, enough to make sure we don't raise any red flags anywhere along the line. Good thing, too. I don't like the idea of being dissected by some underpaid human scientist."

"I think it would be less chop-chop, and more super-soldier." We consider that for a moment before she nods. "Still, that's a pretty scary thought for a lil human like me."

"Mostly human, you mean." Alice points to her own neck, and my hand raises to mine, fixing my collar to keep the bite hidden.

"Human enough, then. Well, I'd better get going. Gotta meet with the nerd before homeroom."

"I'll be here," she sighs, eyes rolling into her head. "Office duty for first period. Honestly, I'm regretting not signing up for art again, but the teacher is sick of me."

"I'll see you then, Alice. Oh!" I take my camera out of my bag and hold it up. "May I? It was a gift from my dad." Alice nods enthusiastically and smiles, keeping her fangs tucked behind her lower lip. I take the shot and show it to her before signing myself in, waving as I rush from the office building to the cafeteria, the camera now hanging around my neck. A hop, skip, and a trip later, and I'm running headlong into a cold, hard body.

Warm, happy laughter erupts, rumbling his chest while I take a step backward. I look up at Jasper, at his chiseled cheeks and jaw, his dark honey hair, and bright ruby eyes, and I do what I always do. I sneer and stick my tongue out at him.

"How is it you always know where to be standing?" I joke, sitting beside him at our normal table. Surrounding us are our usual lunchtime buddies. Jessica Stanley and Tyler Crowley, Angela Webber and Eric Yorkie. With Angela and Eric's relationship fully evolved, we all take a moment to eyeball them. Jasper, however, laces his fingers behind his head with a lazy grin.

"I know many things. Including things you would rather I not know. Em, help me out here." He reaches into his pocket and waits for Emmett – who is looking too giddy for me not to squint – to copy him.

I have a moment to shield my eyes before the unleash a rain of confetti over my head and bellow out a hideously off-key rendition of "Feliz Cumpleaños" at the top of their lungs. Angela and Jessica start laughing as Eric joins in, Tyler getting his phone out to video the interaction.

While I, the begrudging birthday girl, stand with my arms cross, and my face sour.

Jasper takes the moment to carefully get my camera and take a selfie comprising of all of us. And the, a close-up of my expression. "C'mon, it's your birthday. That's worth celebrating." He offers a warm smile and a wave of comforting vibrations. I shake off my annoyance at his pushing, and take my camera back with a sigh.

"I don't do birthdays, guys." I say, holding it up and snapping a picture of Jasper with my tongue out. "Besides, it's just another day. What's so special about it?" I turn the camera off and tuck it in my bag, not noticing the collection of concerned faces until I straighten up. "What?"

"Bella, you're a legal adult now," Angela says with an incredulous laugh. "That's a massive deal. You can vote, you can marry, you can smo – well you can't smoke, I think they changed that – but still! This is a big day." She pulls a book from behind her back, a hardcover copy of The Exorcist, a proud look on her face. "Would you believe me if I said Edward arranged this?"

I look to see Eric pull a copy of The Virgin Suicides, Jessica a thick, black-&-purple tie-dyed hoodie with a crescent moon bleached on it, and Tyler wiggles a fresh, leather-bound journal in his hands. I gather the gifts with a twitch to my lips, and a soft burn in my eyes as my vision blurs. Too much... this is all too much.

I don't deserve any of this...but I still tuck my new belongings into my locker and give everyone a tight hug in thanks.

We make it to lunch without incident, but not without tensions. I see how Jessica religiously looks at my neck, my arms, no doubt wondering what's underneath. I watch Angela's eyes flick down to my hands, how they'll travel up my arm and scratch over the healed scars. Even Eric, in his infinite fawning over Angela, keeps looking at me like I may shatter at any given moment.

And I'm about an inch from it.

Being stuck inside this petri dish while everyone stares at me though a concerned microscope. When they announce that lunch will be served, I excuse myself to the girl's restroom – the one place completely away from prying eyes and Jasper's cloud of chemical influence. And where, thankfully, I can take a leak.

Unfortunately, once I start washing my hands, I'm ambushed by Jessica and Angela, with my sleeves rolled up.

"Ahh!" Jessica jumps back, her chestnut curls falling from her face. "Oh God... Bella, what happened?"

"I … I uh …"

"Bella," Angela reaches down to take my hand, squeezing it softly, her soft face filling with concern. What on Earth did I do to deserve these women? "Bella, if someone is hurting you..."

"It isn't like that!" I jump back, holding my still damp hands up. "I feel down the stairs when I … during my meltdown. I got hurt. I got scars. I told you this..."

"Bella, I'm not an idiot." Jessica says pointing at my arm. "That is not from falling, even through a window. They're punctures, they look like fingernails. I swear, if Edward did this to you..."

"It wasn't Edward!" I grab a paper towel and dry myself before I get droplets anywhere else, but it winds up a crumpled ball in my violently shaking hands. My lip trembles and I feel my joints locking up. "Look … I-I told you, I can't say. I just can't, it's not … not possible. Okay?" Jessica huffs, pouting in the angrily cute way she does when she doesn't get a straight answer. And Angela just looks at me, knowing I'm lying through my teeth.

"We don't want to seem pushy," Angela says softly, shuffling her feet, "we're just scared for you. Yeah, you're quiet, but lately you haven't been eating a lot, and you've got this thousand-yard stare." She clenches her fist and chews her lip. "It's like you've gone through a war while we weren't looking."

"..." I start to recount every moment Jessica shook my shoulder when I didn't react to the bell. Every jump that slammed me against the wall when a couple guys approach me from behind. Every night Charlie woke me because I started screaming...I stare at my shoes, tears creeping over waterline. "I-I'm sorry..."

Jessica shakes her head, pressing her fist to her forehead. "Okay. Okay, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I just … I feel like you're just not wanting to include us in something."

"I wish I could tell you. I really do. But I can't. If things were different..."

"You know what?" Jessica sighs and looks away. "Just forget about it. She clearly doesn't want us involved in whatever this is." She picks up her purse and takes Angela by the arm. "C'mon. Let's get something to eat."

Angela watches me the entire time they leave, and the only thing I can do is mouth my apologies in silence. The door clicks shut, and I collapse, holding on to the edge of the sink as I swallow down the scream that is attempting to erupt from my lungs. Tears race down my cheeks as small, pained chirps escape my throat, through my clenched teeth, and out my chapped lips.

I gasp, my voice growing raspy from the rapid, dry heaves that rush my lungs and rip through my throat. I grip my sleeves tightly, feeling his claws digging into my skin. His teeth puncturing my neck. I feel hands, grabbing my collar and tearing the cloth from my chest.

I feel myself die and come back all in the matter of a minute.

I cover my mouth with my sleeve and scream, letting my faculties return to me slowly, curling into myself so I can steady my breathing. So I can figure out how to hide this episode.

I can't let the girls see me like this.

I can't let The Cullens see me like this.

I can't let anyone...

A pair of cold arms wrap around my waist and help me up, taking a lace handkerchief and wiping my face. I look up and gasp, not expecting to see a pair of luminous crimson eyes looking at me with a beautiful, sorrowful expression.

"Rosalie … I-I..."

"Don't. I know it's hard for us, but we're used to this. Hiding the truth from others, even those we care about. It's painful at first. Don't be ashamed." She dampens a paper towel and dabs my face gently.

"Did you hear me at the table?"

"We heard Angela interrogate you. When you didn't come out right away, I decided to come in here and see what was taking you." She pulls her rose-gold hair back, letting my inflamed cheeks calm down until they pass for almost normal. "That's better. Cute as a bug's ear." Rosalie giggles, a sweet, light sound that relaxes me.

"Thank you, Rosalie...for all this."

"That's what friends are for, right?" She takes my hand and leads me back to the table. To my surprise, there's a tray for me, equipped with a salad and some potato smiles, and a can of iced coffee that definitely didn't come from the a La Carte.

"Did I do alright?" Jasper looks up at me with a soft smile, and a slight wetness to his eyes. I nod and sit down, keeping my eyes on my plate. I eat slowly, listening to everyone talk like nothing happened. But the eyes, the eyes.

I wince, Jessica glances over.

I pull my collar up, Angela sucks in a breath.

I can't breathe. I can feel my heart slapping against the inside of my ribs, feel my hands start to tingle with electric energy.

I run – as safely as I can – to my bike right as we're dismissed.

One of the biggest things I've done since returning to Forks is get a job. It isn't much, but I'm not exactly used to much. Renee raised me on a kindergarten teacher's salary, and Charlie's ranger job isn't going to make us rich any time soon.

I decided on the plane home that I wanted my own income, to start saving for whatever the future holds – chances are, a lot of medical bills. There wasn't a lot to choose from, and a lot of the stores are family-owned and family-run. I got lucky when I found an advertisement that led me to a rare occurrence – a new store opening.

I skid to a halt in the small parking-lot, chaining my bike to the set of bars that the owner graciously installed for my green traveling needs. I pull my name tag out of my backpack and rush in to my 6-day-a-week part-time job at Byrne's Books, owned by Jessica's witchy uncle, Rowan.

And the newest resident vampire, his husband, Gabriel.

"Bella, welcome back!" Rowan flashes his goofy grin, dark curls falling in front of his face. I touch the rainbow quartz around my neck and return his smile. "How are your studies going?"

"My dad is impressed with my progress, but I've been a little … wobbly with my shield."

"You've been using your magic for less than a year, you'll gain strength in it as you go along." He chuckles, taking a stack of books and starting to sort through them meticulously. He's organized this store much like his old one. Massive bookshelves stuffed to the brim with tomes and texts about all sorts of subjects. Sitting areas, with armchairs and beanbags and even a couple couches and cots for anyone who needs a quick nap.

I start toward the small break room in the back and lock my bag up in a small locker with my name painted on it in dark green. By the time I've got my nametag on and am ready to start whatever job Mr. Byrne has selected for me today, Gabriel is leaning on the front desk, smiling down at his human lover with beautiful, symmetrical lips.

When I first met the Byrne men, I made a horrible impression. Overwhelmed by Rowan's enthusiasm and Gabriel's... vampire-ness, introductions were not my first priority. But Edward knows Gabriel, introducing us as soon as he realized who rented the empty store in the wall-to-wall market.

And the difference between the two men took me off guard. Rowan is tanned, curly haired, and has a warm glow to his entire being that radiates like its own sun. Gabriel, like all vampires, has a coldness to both his skin tone and the air around him, but his quirk makes him unique. Tall, overly slim, and always dressed in suits, his sunglasses and Persian ink hair hide something that vampirism couldn't heal.

Gabriel's head shifts into my direction, and he chuckles, waving with his left hand – the hand not holding a white and red cane.

"It's wonderful to hear you again, Miss Swan," his heavy English accent leaks out more so than Carlisle's ever has. Less Scottish, more posh Brit. He takes off his sunglasses to show milky red eyes. Unseeing, but always aware. "I heard that today is your birthday. How has it been?"

"I uh... it's been good. Great, even. My dad got me a camera, and my friends got me so many books and a cute shirt..." I shake my head, grabbing a stack of books and checking the spines. Fresh covers, clean pages, unbroken bindings. I don't think I've ever seen these before. "Are these new arrivals?" I hold one by my head to show what I mean.

"I just picked them up," Rowan reaches over the desktop and picks up his ledger and a pencil. "I'll need you to write the details in here, sort them by genre, and then alphabetical. You can use the back table if you like, more privacy that way." I nod, taking all the books and setting them on a cart. Thirty new books. Hopefully, I'll be able to read some of them during the break, if Charlie doesn't kill me with telekinesis and shield practice...I go to the backmost table and start the inventory taking process.

My mind wanders the moment I start writing, always toward Edward and his family. But not about the weirdness of their existence – I've already had enough time to think about that. No, I think about what Alice said, about there being vampires within the government, making it harder for the Olympic Coven to be detected on a mass level. What does that mean for them financially? Are they rich? Millionaires? Billionaires? Their house is large, and their property-line unknown.

Then Carlisle paid for all my hospital bills without even blinking, and it made me realize that money might not even be a worry to the Cullens. Or maybe they just don't care about it. Not like vampires need to worry about taxes, right?

My face slips off my hand and I slam my nose into the table. The books are logged, stacked beside me, ready to be put in their rightful place on the shelves. In front of me is a shock of cold air, and the smirking face of Gabriel Byrne, chin on his fist, his cane leaning against the table. I open my mouth, then close it, staring down at the table with a massive lump of guilt in my throat.

"Daydreaming?"

"I uh ... yeah, yeah a bit. I'm sorry, Mr. Byrne." I start picking up the books, going through my own logging to be sure they go where they're meant to, and feel his hand on my shoulder.

"What's troubling you, Bella?" He picks up the book stack with one hand, nodding for me to lead.

"I'm not troubled, sir, I promise." I take the books and start putting them away, walking and talking slowly. "I guess I'm still adjusting. And my dad has me religiously using my Gift so he isn't absolutely terrified whenever I leave the house," I yawn, covering my mouth and dropping the book in my hand on my foot. Gabriel beats me to the punch and picks it up, letting me gather my dignity.

"You sound exhausted, if I may say." He hands me the book, and I put it on the shelf. I have no reply to that, I just continue doing my job with Gabriel's low-pitched hum in the background. "You're constantly stifling yawns and dozing off when things are a little slow. Perhaps you're overworked? With everything on your shoulders, I somehow doubt you're sleeping well. Then there's the matter of …" His hand travels up, becoming even with my neck.

"D-don't worry about it, sir." I say, stepping back. "Carlisle says I'm still, wholly human. Just a little sturdier. It's a miracle, really. I fell down the stairs at home and didn't even bruise." It sounds like nothing to me anymore, admitting to something that should have killed me.

Like falling down a flight of stairs.

Like James.

Like the gang of men.

Like Tyler's van.

Like Edward.

I put the final set of books in their reserved locations and rub my arms, savoring the touch of warmth it sends through me. Gabriel seems content with my answer, since he's gone silent. Though if he's got something to say, I won't be able to tell. His unseeing eyes are either completely zoned out or focusing on a sound unknowable to a human, his back against a wall as we listen to a few customers come in and explore with glee in their voices.

Then the bell chimes another arrival, and Gabriel perks up, head snapping in my direction.

"Oh, I forgot to mention, you're off early tonight. Happy Birthday." And with a smirk on his lips, he offers his hand to Edward, who shakes it with a laugh.

Edward's deep copper curls have a delicate shine in the soft light of the store, his ghostly skin and sickly features somehow hauntingly beautiful with the marble-like smoothness of his flesh. His eyes meet mine, just barely showing a hint of ruby in them, and I start to notice the sockets seem deeper, his cheeks more hollow.

But all that leaves my mind when he takes me in an embrace, his cheek pressed against me tight.

"I suppose you're wishing for my death by now, eh?" I scoff, hugging him back and playfully stomping on his foot. "Ooh, ouch. I'm hurt." He says with heavy sarcasm mixed in his musical voice. "I'm here to pick you up, your bike is already in my car."

"...oh no."

"Wear your new hoodie."

"No, no no, nonononono."

"And I hope you like spinach pizza."

"Edward Anthony Masen, I told you not to do this!" I whine, pressing my face into my hands, glasses falling from my face and into Edward's waiting hand. Then I snort and shake my head. "Is this revenge for …?"

"For putting one hundred and eighteen candles on a cake for my birthday?" He gently plops my second pair of eyes on my face. "Yes. Yes, it is." He offers his crooked smile and a wink, draping his arm over my shoulders before leading us both out the door, my nametag long left in the hands of the vampiric bookstore owner.

We play with the radio on the way there, Edward bouncing his head to the beat as we make our way out of Forks – and at a legal speed, if you can believe it. The songs shift from pop punk to classic rock and then to opera, which makes me snicker as always.

"How predictable."

"Oh, shut up. This is a classic." He turns the song up and smiles. "Antony and Cleopatra. Bit of a fucked-up love story, but still one of my favorites."

"Most people prefer something more akin to Romeo and Juliet when it comes to their Shakespearian lovers."

"Ah yes, a 17 and a 13-year-old who die within a week of falling in love. But I suppose that's why it's called a tragedy. He makes a turn with his lip between his teeth. "I think it's the politics of the love Antony shares with Cleopatra that sticks with me. How they caused one another's deaths because ... they couldn't bear to live without one another. And thus, lost everything they'd fought for to Octavian. It's cruel, and cold. But at the end, they were reunited. I mean, supposedly." Edward shrugs, rolling his eyes. "Who knows where their spirits went, surly not I. Even so …"

"I … I never really thought of it like that." I pull my knees to my chin and tilt my head, wondering just how much pain someone would have to be in to end their life like that. In the Shakespeare play, Antony killed himself with a sword, and Cleopatra used a venomous snake.

Can a love that strong really exist between two people? Edward's cold fingers pull me from my daydream, tucking a longer lock of my hair behind my ear. But they linger, feeling the neck of my new pull-over hoodie with a shake.

"Honestly, I always envied that about humans. How easy it was for them to take their lives. Just a blade, some poison, and bam. Dead. You all have it so damn easy."

"Excuse me?" I snap at him, brows creased together. "Edward, why would you even be thinking about that? Are you alright?"

"Don't make it like that, Bella … I had a very good reason to be, and I will stand by it."

"What could make you...?"

"Last spring, when I thought you were gone." He leaves it at that, his knuckles cracking as he adjusts his grip. "So, they've been asking. Rosalie seemed a little closed off when she came home, and the others kept replaying what they'd heard over and over again in their minds. I ... I can't say I blame them for assuming."

"Have they been all summer?" I ask, looking at him. "Do they think you've been hitting me?"

"They hadn't, for a while. Thought you were adjusting to how cold it is in Forks, even in the summers. But then it got in the 90s, and you were still dressed for early spring. Angela even saw the small sliver of skin that's still transparent. Swore to herself she saw one of your veins."

"I hate doing this to them …"

"I wish it were easy. I really do. But it's for their own safety." He pulls into park and unbuckles, checking himself out in the mirror with a soft hiss. "Ooh, I'll have to get a drink soon." I lean over and peck his cheek, sliding out of the car before he can react.

"You look pretty cute to me, old man."

"Be good, please," Edward says, now at my side, with one hand on my shoulder. My heart races in my ears and I lay my hand over his with a wiggle. "Also, I uh ... might have gone overboard."

"You threw a party for me when I explicitly said I didn't celebrate my birthday," I remark, feeling my camera be rescued from my neck. It's already on, Edward holding it to his eye curiously. "What more could you have done?"

"Made sure you weren't the only human here." He grins wickedly, hiding his fangs in time for the front doors to swing open with a scream of "Surprise!"