I walked up to the club's bouncer. He was one of three that I had seen at this particular club. I had compelled him the first time I had seen him into believing I was someone who was not to wait in line. Upon seeing me, he pulled the rope aside for me. Unlike the first night, people didn't complain. Tonight, I looked the part.

It had been some time since I had met with Esme. A few days later, my wallet had arrived at the hotel room we were staying in, my identity and my funds restored. I was still Edward Cullen. It was concrete confirmation that my family was maintaining the identities we had most recently adopted. It both heartened and grieved me. What I had done could be undone, but did I truly want to go back to it? I couldn't be sure. Was it that I wanted to go back to Forks because if I did, she might accept me, or was it that I wanted to go back to prove my worth yet again? I couldn't be sure.

In the meantime, I had begun living like a Cullen again. Or, at least, living like a human with the Cullens' family fortune backing them might.

I entered the club, looking the part. My hair was back to its usual appearance, long enough to run my fingers through, to hold onto, a careless mess that looked trendily purposeful. My stubble was still present, but it had gone from making me look mature to making me look mature and fashionable. My clothes were expensive and my manner was that of the young and self important. It was a ruse, a falsehood, a cheat, but it was what I need to be to hide in plain sight.

"Ladies," I said as I came up to the bar and a group of young women, not all of them spoke French, but they understood my tone and my gestures well enough. I was there to enjoy their company while they were there to enjoy what my money could buy them.

"Edward!" more than one of them crooned. I made myself warm just before the cheek kisses and sideways embraces began. It was not as easy as it had once been. The blood of animals was not nearly as efficacious as human blood, and it took more to get what I needed. It would be the second week in a row that I would have to hunt twice in one week.

"Darling," one beauty said in Italian. "I'm so glad you could make it tonight!"

She turned and a blonde girl appeared whom I had not in our little group before. From her features and her coloring, I would have guessed somewhere northerly.

"Hello handsome," she said in Russian, and I smiled.

"Handsome perhaps," I said flirtatiously, also in Russia, "but nothing to your beauty."

She grinned and nodded.

"He speaks it," she said in English, which seemed to be most of the girls' first or second language. Half of them moaned while half cried in exuberance. I grinned at their little game. So far, I hadn't lost.

"How many languages do you speak?" asked Gloria.

"More than most people," I said in Cantonese.

"You're making fun of us," complained Francesca.

I bowed my head, "If only to make you laugh."

I smiled at her and listened to what my smile did to her heart rate. It was most gratifying.

We found our way to the usual table I kept, the ladies happily moving together, garnering a lot of attention, flavored with lust, envy, admiration, and appreciation, to one degree or another. I walked behind them, meeting the gaze of every single person who looked upon them with less than benevolent thoughts, letting my human mask slip just long enough for them to become unnerved and look away. They were mine.

We sat together and the ladies chatted, openly and honestly. A server came by and took drink orders. I could tell at a proverbial glance that none of their minds showed the sluggish signs that they were already indulging in excess, so I allowed them their drinks without issue.

By now, the ladies knew the rules. They were not here to overindulge. No excessive drinking, no drugs that would damage their health, no controlling what others said or did. So long as they did these things, I would pay for their night's activities, their food, their drinks, their entertainment, and keep their company. Moreover, I would protect them from those who would make their night less than pleasant. No one would touch them without their permission and anyone who did would be removed.

Carlos, a man I knew and who was good for the girls, joined us then. He was clean cut, nicely dressed, and liked order. He stuck to beer and never drank in excess. He had gone home with more than one of the ladies present, and they were pleased to see him and would eagerly do the same again, should the opportunity arise. I clasped hands with him and we each thumped the others back in turn, the well mannered greeting between two men who liked each other in this particular club scene. And then, Celine appeared.

She was the most problematic of the unproblematic young women who have joined our little group. She is unproblematic because she does not show any of the usual tendencies of putting down other women or wanting more than is offered or pushing men into wanting more than spurning them when they expect her to follow through, or lie or manipulate or demand or have profoundly unrealistic expectations. She is problematic because she simply and insistantly wants to have sex with me.

As soons as I had sat down, she sat as well, about as close as she dared without actually sitting in my lap. I gave her my usual look, letting her know that her interests were never, ever going to be fulfilled and she knew it, but she still wanted me. She would never stop hoping, and it sort of made me sad.

It was then that I first heard it. It was a mind unlike most that I heard. He was close, and loud for me not to have heard him before that moment. His mind was direct, analytical, and without the usual inner monologue of most minds. He was focused on the here and now in the way that I associated with soldiers or those with military training. And he was looking for a girl.

He hadn't seen her before. All he knew was her approximate height and weight, that she had red hair, frequented clubs in this area, and that she was dangerous.

He sat at the bar and ordered a tonic with lemon, something that clearly looked like a drink but wasn't. He chose a spot at one end of the bar, his side to a wall, unless he turned to face the crowd, then his back would be to it. It was a hunter's position, one easily defensible. Without a concern, I stood, ignoring the odd looks I was getting from the girls, as I crossed to the path he had walked to the bar and inhaled. Gun powder; he was armed.

I walked to the nearest bouncer, against a pillar and surveying the crowd. As soon as I was beside him, I locked eyes with him and bespelled him.

"Darius," I said in the tone of the vampire I was. "There is a man sitting at the bar, looking shady. He might have a gun. You should investigate."

I stepped back, and his thoughts seemed to kick back into gear. He pulled around and looked over the bar spotting the man immediately. He wore nondescript clothing, jeans, army boots, dark brown jacket, his hair cropped short, his posture held tall, ready for action, his eyes covertly scanning. Darius was not impressed.

He got on his walkie as I turned back to the girls. They were confused but pleased to see me return. Suddenly, I found my way blocked by Garrett.

I froze. In vampire terms, such a pause would have been akin to a good thirty seconds of stunned silence. Had he not been an ally, such a response would have meant my death. As it was he looked at me in a way that felt rife with judgment.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, reeling back.

"What are you?" he asked in turn. He couldn't disarm me with his even, soft tone.

"I'm not doing anything," I said.

He smiled, "If you were truly doing nothing, you would admit it freely instead of being so defensive."

I stood straighter, "I am here with some friends."

I gestured to the girls.

He nodded, "It's quite the little harem you have going here."

I glared at him, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, "that your anger is telling."

"What?" I demanded, feeling wrongfooted.

"If there was not some truth to what I was saying that you wished to deny," he explained, "then you wouldn't be angry."

I crossed my arms, "What do you think is going on here?"

He gave me a shroud look, "You are exchanging one distraction for another."

I stared at him.

"You're so sure?" I asked.

He shook his head, "Denial and Skepticism are the two most lazy positions to take when endeavouring to improve yourself. It requires no effort on your part, no responsibility."

"I'm doing nothing wrong," I complained.

"If you unwittingly deny everything about this situation that is wrong," he responded, "then yes."

I shook my head, "Name one thing!"

"Gun, gun!" cried Darius. There was a rush in the crowd, a scream, followed by the discharge of a weapon. I whipped around, just in time to see the bullet heading my way. Instinctively and with nearly no time to spare, I pulled myself out of the trajectory of the round. I checked briefly and found that no one had noticed my bout of superhuman speed. I did, however, have another issue.

Celine rolled on the floor, all but one of the girls fleeing for their safety, Carlos with them. I crossed the distance in a trice and, taking up the shot Celine, headed behind cover. Putting her down, I carefully assessed the injury.

"It hurts," she cried, and I kept her from doubling over.

My God, there was so much blood…

I shook my head, trying to clear it.

Judging from the entry and the amount of blood, it had hit her liver and the hepatic artery there. She would bleed out in moments. The likelihood that she would live until help arrived was slim. The chances that I could get her to a hospital without conveying that I was otherworldly was impossible.

She was going to die. I mean, there was nothing I could do to stop that. It seemed like such a waste. There was so much blood.

"Edward," she whispered. "I don't want to die."

It wouldn't matter. It wasn't as though I killed her. I didn't choose this. It just sort of happened. It wasn't as though I had made it happen or as though I was responsible for it happening. All I would have to do is nothing, then…

What? What was I doing?!

I caught her up, doing the best to compress her wound as I held her to me. I went out through the roof hatch, even though I had to break a lock with my bare hands to do it. Once in the night, I leaped. She was heavy, harder to keep in the air than just myself, and it was hard, harder than anything I had ever done. I leaped rooftop to rooftop, trying to steady her, hearing her heartbeat slow. I all but roared in frustration, landing into the parking lot of the hospital without checking to even see if I would be witnessed. I entered the emergency room, all but drenched in her blood.

I handed her over to the staff. Had I been Carlisle, I could have demanded a surgery suite and helped her properly. But I was not my father. He would have never been tempted to let her die so that he could taste her blood.

I found myself atop the hospital, with little idea how I got there. I listened to the night around me, with both my hearing and my ability, anything to drown out my own thoughts. Finally, he found me.

"Do you want to talk?" asked Garrett.

I couldn't say yes and I couldn't say no. Either would have been a lie. Though I said nothing, he understood.

"Why?" I asked. "I have done everything that I know how to be better, and yet…"

Garrett came to stand beside me.

"When will I stop making mistakes?" I asked.

"Never," he answered.

That was quite possibly the worst thing he could have said. I gaped at him in open horror.

"This was never about making you perfect Edward," he said. "If you demand perfection of yourself, you will be doomed to eternal disappointment as well as eternal life."

"Then, when?" I asked.

"When what?" he asked in return.

"When will it get better?" I demanded.

"When you change," he said.

"I am changing!" I all but roared.

As always, he was completely unaffected by my outburst.

"You are," he said, but continued, "only changing enough so that you can feel as though you are making progress. You want a solution, buttons to press in the right order, an answer that once you know, you can be finished, you can be worthy."

I glared at him, but said nothing.

"You are simply doing the same thing, calling it something different, and calling it change," he said. "But it is just the same habits, again. You are distracting yourself, hiding behind justification, holding tight to the idea that you are getting better because you believe that getting better makes you worthy of… love."

I wanted to protest, but I knew better.

"You will do anything and everything to avoid the truth," he said.

"And what truth is that?" I asked.

He put a hand on my shoulder and turned me to him.

"Nothing you do will ever make you worthy of love," he said simply.

I felt as though the ground had vanished from underfoot. I felt as though I had lost the will to hang in the air. I felt cast down, with nothing below me but the yawning mouth of Hell.

"And," he said, as though tossing me a lifeline, "nothing you do will ever make you unworthy of love."

For a long moment, I felt as though I had lost the ability to inhale, and it sapped something in me.

"You must be honest," he said. "Not because I want you to, but because doing anything less is a waste of your life. And not honest with me, but honest with yourself. Why were you meeting with those girls?"

I felt something within myself, something pressing and stymying, wanting to rob me of my voice. I wanted to leave, to deny, to be silent, something, anything other than to speak. But speak I did.

"I'm not sure," I admitted.

He shook his head, "A pointless evasion. Why?"

"Because I was hiding," I said. "Because I was distracting myself."

"Now you are simply parroting my words back to me," he stated. "Why?"

"What do you want from me?" I demanded.

"An answer," he said lightly. "An honest one."

"I don't…" I said, feeling breathless with no need for breath. "I can't…"

"Why?" He asked once more.

I grabbed him, flipped him over on shoulder to slam him bodily upon his back onto the roof.

"Because it's better than nothing!" I cried.

He just looked at me.

"I'm not-"

"Stop," he said.

I choked on my words, "What?"

"Stop," he said. "You're doing it again."

I just stared, "What?"

"You are deflecting," he said. "You're hiding. You're being really dramatic about it. No pain, no fear, no drama. Just tell me why."

I stopped. I was about to think, but I felt myself understand that thinking was just the same as lying. I answered.

"I don't think Bella will love me," I said, my tone almost flat.

He looked into my eyes, "You don't think she can?"

I snorted, almost laughing, "If any human can, it is her. But I don't… I don't think she will."

"Why?" he asked.

"Aside from the obvious reasons, like the undeniable fact that I tried to kill her," I said dryly, "I don't believe I get to have good things in this world."

"Why?" he asked.

"Empirical evidence," I said.

Garrett almost laughed.

"And how much of that evidence was self fulfilling prophecy?"

I sighed and pulled him up.

"More than I think I will ever know," I said.

"So," he said, "when you believed the lie that you couldn't have what you wanted, you settled?"

I thought about it, "But I can't have what I want."

He shrugged a shoulder.

"Which do you want more?" he asked. "To be with Bella or to be happy?"

He snorted, "I can't have both?"

He patted my back.

"That is the un-choice," he said. "Which do you want, more?"

I nodded, "To be happy."

"Good," he said. "There was a time you believed being with Bella and being happy were the same thing."

My eyes went wide, and the words that fell from my lips were odd and awed as they rang with truth, "And they aren't."

I was dumbfounded. How could I have missed this?! I no longer believed that Bella equaled happiness. It was possible to be happy… without her. Even if it once had felt impossible, it didn't feel that way now.

"You have come a long way, my friend," he said. "You will always make mistakes and you can be unhappy about that if you really want to, but it isn't practical. I prefer to think of them as poor decisions. The only real mistake it is possible to make is not to learn from those decisions."

I put my hand on his shoulder and leaned against him.

"Will I ever run out of lessons to learn?" I asked.

Garrett grinned, "I haven't yet. We should ask Carlisle."

I grinned too. Before we left, I cast my senses below. Celine was going to make it.