I do not own Twilight.

Here is part 2 of (I think) 4.

Thank you for your interest in this story. It means the world to me.

Alice is there, illuminated by the bonfire in the yard, her tiny hands wrapped around Jasper's upper arm, trying to coax him away from Edward and his growing temper, but I can see that there have already been fists thrown. Blood is dripping down the front of Jasper's face. It looks like he's been hit in the forehead.

Edward has a trickle of blood moving from his nose and I freeze up when I see it. I had thought most of this was over; I had thought we had moved past this, these seemingly unprovoked attacks. But that's just the thing with Edward: nothing is unprovoked. Even the shortest phrase is seen as a provocation by him, and everyone around him receives the blunt end of his anger. Everyone except me, and I'm beginning to wonder just why I am singled out.

Jasper says something and I watch as Edward takes another lunge for him, unintentionally knocking Alice to the ground. I hear her cry out and, as Jasper turns to make sure she is okay, Edward lands a fist to the side of his head.

"NO!" I hear Alice scream, "Edward, fucking STOP!" but words like that don't get through to him when he is in this red zone.

A few other guys are running from the back of the house and they try to grab onto Edward, but he slips away, running the back of his hand over his bleeding upper lip, his eyes bitter and pointed, intense on Jasper.

Jasper says something else, one hand held in a sort of surrendering movement, but all I hear is Edward's enraged voice calling out, "Fuck you!" before he's lunging once more.

My heart is racing so fast in my chest that I'm pretty sure if I take a step towards the scene, adding more stress and exertion, it will explode, but that doesn't stop Alice from spotting me from where she is on the grass.

"Fucking do something!" she yells at me, and she is angrier than I have ever seen her.

This is the part that I hate, out of everything. The fact that everyone seems to think I have some say in this. Like I can snap my fingers, and his anger will subside. Like anything I say to him right now will make him stop.

I move forward regardless, my legs feeling like jelly, and make eye contact with Edward. I don't know what has happened in the past five minutes since he left me inside, but whatever it is has taken its toll on him. It's pushed him past the breaking point.

His chin juts upwards an inch as he lets his eyes slide away from me, the muscle in his jaw ticking and for a moment I think that maybe I do hold the key to his anger; perhaps I can make him stop, but he only rears back and his fist flies into the nose of one of the guys holding him back.

The guy tumbles away, his friends moving after him, making sure he has nothing worse than a broken nose, I'm assuming, and Edward is unguarded.

I think he will make another move against Jasper, against the guy, against Alice, maybe, but he doesn't. He only spits out a bit of blood, wipes his bloodied hand against his bloodied nose again, and moves towards me.

"Let's go," he hisses under his breath, his eyes not meeting mine as he walks past me.

I glance away from his retreating form, back to Alice who is still sitting in the grass, staring at me, stunned. Jasper is kneeling beside her and she lets him help her up, though her eyes are still on me. They're not concerned as they usually are in situations like this, nor pitying. They are stark-raven mad.

Edward turns back to see I'm not following, the wet leaves beneath his shoe making a sound as he pivots harshly against them.

"Bella," he orders and, after an unspoken apology to Alice's infuriated face, I'm turning and following him.

At the car, he doesn't say a word, only opens the passenger door, sits heavily, and slams it shut behind him. I stand outside for a moment before getting in, quieter than he was, but equally as pissed.

I stare over at him, key in ignition, but he is still avoiding eye contact. The blood is beginning to dry beneath his nose and I can already see the beginning marks of a bruise by his chin. He reclines back in the seat as far as he can go without actually tilting the seat down, props his elbow against the cold window, and closes his eyes.

I scoff, shake my head, and turn the key.