It was noisy in the bar. Again, specificity is my bane and I must work around it, so I will say only that it was a Spanish bar. Noisy and dark as it was, there was something tangly oppressive about the environment that not even a single human seemed to notice. There was smoke in the air that was catching, the base of the music so deep that it weighed upon the skin, the light so low that the humans were confined to move only when they could be sure they would not touch anyone they did not wish to contact. They were bound, like me, only their chains were that of expectation and fear. Mine were far more physical.

I could feel their heat, even from where I sat, far back and away from the crowd. I could hear the thrum of every heartbeat, even hear the rush, hush flow of blood in their veins. I could see the webwork of vessels within their vessels, the heat and pulse of warm blood under their seeming ephemeral skin. I could smell the sweet metallic tang of it, wisps of it too sharp to only be within a body, and I knew that someone had cut themselves not long before I had arrived. If it had happened when I had been here, I was not sure what I would have done.

I hated myself. I was a monster, and as pointless as it was to wish it so, I wished nothing more than for mortality. I would do anything to escape what I was, the suffering I felt. I had no illusions about it; my circumstances were unerringly unchangeable and entirely my own fault. Nothing could change what I was or what I had done, and I wished only for escape from it, for distraction from all that plagued me.

And then, she was there. It was as if the crowd had opened for her, for me, showing her to me. She was seated at the bar, wearing almost immodest clothing, for her. Her dark hair was longer than I remembered. I couldn't believe it, believe that she was there, that she had found me. Without a thought, I stood at speeds no human was capable of, which was doubly stupid and wasteful. I paused, casting about to the mind of those around me.

This drink is terrible! Why did I pay valuable money for this?

Did she notice me? I will pass by again…

It doesn't matter. Nothing ever changes. God, she is going to leave me.

He looks like he might just drag me into the bathroom if I let him. Would I let him?

I wish I could do this every night! Just one more drink…

Did I just see…? No, it is dark. I must be blind.

I was safe. So to speak.

I walked to the bar, to the empty seat beside her.

"I cannot believe that you have found me," I said, trying to keep the smile off of my face. I cut a glance to her and she looked confused.

"Do I know you?" she asked, which is understandable. After all, I was not the same as I was. My hair, once midlength and wavy, was now shorn down to my skull, not quite enough to get a grip upon, as was the common style for nomadic vampires. My features, prominent of cheekbone and stern of jaw, had gone from full and luscious to practically gaunt and hollowed, though losing none of their leonine appeal. I had allowed a bit of shadow to grace the lower half of my face, hinting at a coppery beard that gave me a slightly more mature look and had quieted the wonderings of those who thought I was too young to be traveling alone.

"It is me," I said. "What? You do not approve of the changes?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I do not speak English. Do you speak Spanish?"

Who is he? He is certainly a fine young man, but so sad, so thin! Grandmother would love me to bring this one home, even if he is English…

It was then that I realized she was, in fact, speaking Spanish. When did she learn Spanish? When did she forget English? And it was my turn to be confused. I forced my eyes closed, to spend a moment drawing logic in line and prodding my brain forward on the train tracks of rational thought. I opened my eyes again, and things had changed.

The woman at the bar was just noticeably pear shaped, which enhanced rather than detracted from her more curvaceous appearance. Her hair was a deep, almost woodsy brown, cast against her warm brown eyes that were at odds with her unsure expression. She was dressed conservatively, save for her bared shoulders and her amateurish makeup, speaking to me that she was raised not to display herself nor was used to it.

"Forgive me," I said in Spanish. "I mistook you for someone else."

She seemed to sigh and relax, but her concern was back in a moment.

"That is quite alright," she said in return. "Is everything alright? You seem… I am not sure how to phrase it without risking offense."

I gave her a look that I hoped was rakish and charming, but I hadn't the will to ensure that it was so.

"Certainly," I entoned, "please offend me."

She didn't look all that comforted.

"Are you...unwell?" she asked.

In truth, I was.

I smirked, "No, nor can I explain."

She straightened, "Of course not. How rude of me!"

And, like that, she gave up. She just gave up. On me. Again.

"You have so little faith in me," I said.

Her confusion returns, hinted with something close to frustration.

"I do not speak English," she said, each word firm.

"I am not perfect," I said, facing the front. "But you knew that better than anyone. And you cast me out, pitching me back into the imperfect world that spawned my grief and pain in the first place, a world without you."

I turned back to her, her brown eyes almost angry, almost scared, unsure but unwilling to admit her fears; so familiar and totally different.

"Why couldn't I stay?" I asked, almost begged. "Why couldn't you just love me? I made a mistake, but nothing has changed. Not what I am nor what I feel. I love you and I will never stop loving you. Is that not enough?"

"Is he bothering you?" a male voice asked.

I realized that I was so intent upon my words that I had not noticed that we had gathered an audience. A group of five men stood around us. I listened and their drunk minds were as open to me as a mind could be. I saw myself through their eyes, leaning into this young woman, jabbering at her in an unknown language, her pulling back, uncomprehending and afraid.

What should I do? I do not want to upset him. He is frightening but sad. I want to be safe and away, but I do not want to create more undue pain for him.

It was then the irony caught up with me; the group of drunk and callous young men, protecting her from me.

I laughed. I could not help it. It was really rather funny, if you didn't think too hard about it, which I was not.

"Go away," I said dismissively. "Go have another drink. This does not concern you."

For truth, I hoped that they would not. I hoped that they were as they seemed. They did not disappoint me.

"What did you say, you foreign filth?" said the lead man. It was clear they didn't understand my words, but my tone transcended the language barrier.

I smirked at them, "You heard me."

"No!" she cried, and I managed to step around her as they dragged me from the stool and prevented them from knocking my form into hers.

Their intent was clear; regulars to this bar, they knew the rules and how not to get barred, if temporarily. If one must fight, the fight would be outside. And so we went, and I was not unwilling.

The alley was darker than the bar had been and certainly dirtier. I flew backwards as they tossed me, landing heavily upon my side, skidding and scuffing my way across the ground. I looked up, feeling the half smile tug at my lips. The buildings were not so high, and they were made of less modern materials, but it was not too dissimilar to the last time I was in such an alley with a group of drunkards. Although, this time, I was the thing that needed defending against.

I looked at my arm, the abraded skin that would have alarmed most humans by its lack of welling blood. So depleted were my reserves that my body did not automatically heal such injuries. I would have to force it if I wanted the damage repaired, if I had actually had the energy and the blood to do so.

I returned my focus to them and watched as they began taking up improvised weapons. One took up a bottle, breaking it off to use the neck as a grip for the shards he meant to push into my eye, but so forceful was his action and so unsteady his hand that the bottle came apart in earnest, slicing into the crease of his palm.

Flame ripped it's way down my throat. It blasted through me, the all encompassing need to slake my thirst. It shut out everything for a time leaving me as not but a desiccated phage and only enough neurons to know how to sate myself.

To his benefit, my hunger madness did not last long enough for me to kill him. It was too enraptured by the scent of it, by the anticipation to immediately act.

Blood!

The thought screamed through me. It was everything. I knew how good it would be, how quenching. The pain and fear that I ached to break away from would be anesthetized and I would be free, if only for a time. All I would have to do was let go, to fall down the track of well worn habit, to let instinct and hunger rule, to ignore the deed itself and simply act. These were low men, no great benefit to their society, an easily justifiable loss to my sole benefit. They were not the killers and rapists I usually preferred, but what did I care for that?

As it is, there is no place for you in my life. You are a murderer. Until that is no longer true, if ever, I want you to leave.

I slackened, the words pulling all the fight out of me. I didn't resist as they came at me. They put boots to me, stuck me with weighted items, clubbing me with implements never intended for such a purpose. I took it, all of it. I was the monster here. I was the soulless thing easily contemplating their deaths, willing to cast their lives aside and deny those who might love them. I was the creature unworthy of life and deserving of death.

"Stop!"

She was there too, for longer than I had cared to consider, but she had been unable to let it continue any longer, her fear for my life outweighing her fear for hers. She pushed her way between us, my body and my attackers, and drunk as they were, they could do nothing to harm her.

"Leave him alone," she cried. "He doesn't deserve this."

"I do," I said in Spanish. "I deserve that and more. They should kill me. If they don't, I will certainly kill them."

"What did you say, you worthless horse's ass?!" one demanded of me.

"No!" she said, with more sense and command than she had yet displayed. "Leave! Go back to your night! You have done enough."

They relented with bad grace, staring proverbial daggers as they turned and walked away. She returned to me, and did the worst that she could do; she leaned close to me.

She was sweet. Certainly not the best I had smelt, not even remotely close, but she was a great temptation. She was not strong, though even if she had the might of two of any of the men who had just attacked me, she would not have strength enough to resist me. She was alone with me, reeking of fear and vulnerability. And, she looked just enough like…

"Bella," I whispered.

It was the first time I had spoken her name since leaving. It was the first time I had formed the words, even within my own mind. I wished that I could have never seen her face or never heard her voice in my own head either, or known her scent, but alas, I had experienced them all.

Her scent! The very memory of it, the thought of what I knew her blood tasted like… it was more than enough to have me swimming, pitching and rolling, out of control, out to sea. Alice had been right, she had told me. And yet, I hadn't listened. I had gone back one last time to that hospital room, to her. I had thought it was my penance, but that was an excuse. Once I was there, I knew. I knew that I had only come back for the chance to lose control again. Though it sickened me, though I had known what it had cost me to stop, what I had nearly ended, I still wanted her blood. I was still willing to kill her. And as she cast me out, cutting ties with me, I felt myself deciding that if I were truly going to hell, what would it matter if I did the thing properly? She wanted none of me, so why not cast all morality aside and have done? There would be no more doubt after that, no more concern. It would be finished, and I would never again have to worry about what could have been.

I looked at the young woman over me. I hadn't tasted blood since Bella's. I wanted to prove that I was better, still worth something, anything, but I knew it was as much for spite. In time, it would cost me everything. I would kill again, so hungry that I could not stop myself. I might kill an innocent. I might kill her.

I gripped the young woman's face in my hands. My grip was gentle until she tried to pull away. My fingers would not be moved. She was trapped.

"Let me go," she said, her fear hitting me. It was too much. If I kept denying myself, I would invariably break. I would feed, and as much as it sickened me, I knew that one day, I would return to Forks. I would find her and have her. Her blood was too alluring and I was too weak. All I could do was keep myself at bay for as long as I could.

"I…" I whispered, too weak, once again. Too injured, once again. Too needful, once again.

I drew her to me, despite her wrestling. She saw it when it happened, when my demon came out. I could see it through her mind as she watched my fangs come into the low light, as my features became more skeletal in my hungered state, as my eyes, so low that I no longer needed the dark contacts to look black, widened in my hunting stare. The irises were now noticeably larger, all the more inhuman for being just noticeably but undeniably not. My mouth dropped open wider and my intent could not have been more plain.

She didn't scream. She was beyond that, but the abject terror in her eyes might as well be screaming. It was a palpable force, more impactful than sound or pain. I would carry the memories of those eyes, of her face, for the rest of my life. I would do so and gladly, if that was what it took to keep Bella alive. I would become a killer again. I would hunt and slay her surrogates, her substitutes throughout the world. It would never be as sweet or as worthwhile as that truest and best blood that would ever grace me, but if it would keep her alive, it would all be worth it.

My teeth found the flesh of her neck, and I almost shuddered at the familiar, anticipatory slide as she opened to me. She welled into me, the taste like coming home, like breathing fully for the first time in years, like the best warm meal after days of trudging through snow and frigid winds, like the sweetest, long awaited kiss…

She reached up, and touched my face, an almost caress.

You tried to kill me. How… how could…

The words hit me with more force than high caliber rounds. I was all but thrown back from her as though electrically shocked, the pain of it deeper and more poignant than the burn of hunger. Her blood turned to acrid, poisonous battery acid in my mouth, and I spat it out as though it might mean my death should I take in even a drop of it. And I broke.

Though I had no strength to spare, I nearly caved in the wall at my back, so violently did I strike it. I howled out my frustration and my misery, unable to do even what I needed to be sated and make safe those I wished to shelter from my own monstrousness. So high and inhuman were my cries that humans noticed. I was going against the mandated secrecy of my kind, a crime that necessitated a death sentence. And yet, no human sought out the noise and the commotion. No human thought it was otherworldly or required their direct attention. Authorities were being called, but it would be some time before they arrived. I could have thrown myself at nearby humans. I could make more noise and do greater damage that couldn't be ignored. I could continue until the authorities arrived, but I knew I would do none of those things. I was, after all, a coward as well as a monster.

And then, I heard it. The sound that I made might not be recognizable to human ears, but it would be obvious to vampire ears.

Without a thought, the young woman was once again within my grasp. She trembled upon the ground as I bowed over her, wary of the potential porcher. He came to the edge of the alley, just out of sight, his thoughts remarkably direct but fathomless, much like my younger brother's. He was amused, and he knew my name and my ability.

Come on, Edward, he thought. Even if I hadn't already fed, my tastes do not include the likes of her.

I couldn't let my guard down, not as starved as I was and with this unfamiliar vampire who knew more than he should. He was not reading my thoughts, but so intent was he, so focused on the here and now, I had no idea who he was or how he came to know of me, not until he told me.

"My name is Garret," he said aloud, though not loud enough that the human would hear. "I am here on Carlisle's behalf, and yours."

I began to relax, if just barely. She finally realized that we were not alone.

"Help me," she whispered, and my grasp upon her righted of its own accord.

"Are you going to kill her?" he asked simply and without scorn or judgment that I could hear in his words or thoughts.

I took in his words. She knew what I was. She did not suspect but actually knew. She had but three choices available to her. Death, death, or I would have to break another promise to myself.

"Look at me," I whispered in the honeyed timber I reserved for this act alone. "Look into my eyes."

She did, utterly compelled. I looked deeply into her eyes, eyes still locked in terror.

"Think about what happened tonight," I whispered. She shook but did so. Quickly, I countered or altered each event with my sweet compulsion.

"Those men got rough with a stranger. They broke glass that cut your neck. You scared them off. The stranger was hurt and angry but wanted nothing from you. He scared you. Then you heard some strange cries. He ran off and left you here. You were too scared to run. You will wait for the police and tell them everything."

I went to the wall and pushed off the ground, letting my weight fall away and lessen, just long enough for me to land atop the building. Garrett joined me. Away from potential prey, I found that he triggered none of my defensive instincts. We came to rest several buildings away, but still in sight of the young woman and able to see the approaching policemen.

We watched for a time, seeing as she was seen to, looked after, helped. At length, I turned to Garrett.

"Why are you here?" I asked directly.

His eyes remained on her. His were red, heated from a recent feeding, but not so bright that he fed in excess.

"I told you," he said simply.

"No, you did not," I countered. "Your statement explained nothing. What do you want from me?"

He still kept his eyes on the young woman. After so long that I believed he would not answer, he said, "To help you on your way."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

Your path is not an easy one, he thought. It is thorny and all but untrafficked. I fancy myself something of an explorer and would like to walk this way with you.

"You are at a parting of ways," he spoke aloud. "There are many ways that you might go. Which do you want?"

I close my mouth tightly. I felt resentful and sullen.

Look at me.

My eyes found his.

"You cannot do this alone," he said. "Should I walk away, allow you to withdraw deeper and deeper into yourself, your hunger would not go and would remain present, would be allowed freer and freer reign. That way only leads to hell and death, only ending in your own end."

He stepped closer to me. He put a hand on my shoulder.

"What do you want?" he asked.

My shoulder slipped from under his hand so quickly, it would have fallen if I had grabbed him bodily and cast him through the air. I was right behind him, catching him up before catching him up and slamming him to the ground on the outskirts of town. We skipped across the earth once, twice, three times with bone breaking impacts. We slammed to a stop against a tree, my hands on his collar as I howled into his face.

"What do I want?" I hissed back. "What do I want?! I want to be unmade! Would that I could, I would relinquish all that I have, all that I am, for my returned mortality. I would endure all the pain I have dealt, every single death, and bear the scars of all until the end of my days, and gladly, for my humanity, restored. I would die a torturous death for every drop of blood I ingested, every hour I have been a vampire, a thousand fold for every sin I have committed! I would give up every gift my life has given me, my heart and my soul not to be a monster. I would give it all up, save one thing; her, for she is no longer mine to give or have."

I slumped. I had used it all. My blood was spent. If I could not crawl out from under the next day's sun, I would become nothing short of a corpse until blood was restored to me. If I were burned in cremation, it might actually kill me. But after a hundred years, that became a dubious undertaking. And, as much as I claimed I wanted to die, I couldn't face the fact that my damnation here might be a cool breeze to the hell that waited for me.

Garrett caught me. He lowered me to the earth.

I have something for you, he thought, his mind clear and open, from Carlisle.

With a motion that reminded me of flicking open a knife, he drew his wrist across his teeth. Turning his hand over, he pressed the opened wound to my mouth.

Blood. It was not human, per se. It was the same blood that Carlisle had given me when I had been injured saving Bella's life. It was blood that could make a vampire or make a vampire whole again. It was a gift, and, as with all the gifts that Carlisle bestowed, I received it, regardless of the fact that I knew I did not deserve it.

It dribbled to an end, as Garrett was either unable or rightfully unwilling to give blood of his own. But since he was able to carry Carlisle's blood within himself for me it was likely the latter. The blood gave me strength again, let me feel something besides the gnawing hunger and amaranthine pain.

I curled into myself. I was broken, in pieces, with no idea how to begin sorting through the shambles of my existence. I felt a hand take my arm. Looking over said hand, I found Garrett's eyes.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

Garrett smiled, "For many reasons, not the least of which was that Carlisle refused to ask me to."

I felt the confused expression press itself into my features.

"Then why come?" I asked.

"Because," Garrett said, "Carlisle doesn't ask anyone to do anything he wasn't willing to do himself. And he couldn't be here himself. And he wouldn't ask because he knew that you couldn't be reliant on him for this."

Garrett stood, pulling me to my feet.

"I'm no rescuer," he said. "I have not the stomach nor the temperament to be anyone's white knight. I go where the adventure is, where the new is. Helping a vampire shoulder his addiction for immoral blood is certainly that."

I wanted to beat him, to denounce him and leave, but I had not the stomach for it either.

"And besides," he went on, "this endeavor requires the one thing I care most about in this world."

He paused dramatically and I rolled my eyes, knowing full well without my telepathy what he wanted.

"Which is?" I asked.

"Free will, my brother," he said. "Free will."

I shook my head, looking back the way I had come.

"I lay waste to everything about me," I confessed. "Are you sure that you are willing to risk it?"

Garrett laughed, "I have survived two wars as a participant, one mostly mortal, and witnessed two more. I believe I can comport myself accordingly."

I looked down at myself, dirty and blood splattered.

"I am broken," I admit. "In shambles."

He put an arm about my shoulders, tall enough to do so.

"Then we'll just have to see about stitching back together," he said.

He stepped back, a joking mean about him.

"I'll admit," he teased, "I have not the skill of our Master Carlisle, but I'm willing to give it a go."

I did something that I had not done in earnest since the Spring Formal; I smiled.

"That's a start," he said.

He stood at my shoulder, and I found myself standing to his, and we walked forth into the night, into I knew not what.