Edge05: 'Poor' is a too weak word to describe the humiliation Beatrix felt… but yeah, I would have skipped school, too. Funnily, though, the more I think of her situation, the more I see myself with giant red pimples and walking down the hallway. We just deal with it. I hope that this chapter won't disappoint. :)

Marmite-1: Thank you! Here is a new chapter around one month later. Have fun reading it and thank you again for the support.

The eyes are the mirror of the soul

and reflect everything that seems to be hidden;

and like a mirror,

they also reflect the person looking into them.

-By Paulo Coelho

Chapter 4:

Eyes are the mirror

The sound of the alarm clock makes me jolt up in tension that wakes up the rest of the body in a second. The beeping noise is loud and piercing, like a siren to alert the entire community of approaching threat – that is how I have always felt towards it. And even now I have no idea when or why the old thing has not been replaced yet.

Naturally, the sound still rings at the back of my ears, even after slamming it shut. I have done this so many times that it all happens with my eyelids closed, too. However, unlike during any other day, that is where the morning activity halts. I do not start stretching or sluggishly throw the covers off but stay mutely and immobile on the soft mattress. For once, there is no need for me to start panicking over being late to school and walk into a classroom filled with nosy students.

My face aches, giving a reason to stay in bed.

Another day.

Disgruntle by the light coming from between the half-drawn curtains, I snuggle deeper into the covers and exhale tiredly. The day has begun and a small voice in my head tells me that I am not going to be able to go back to sleep. I am awake and have already opened my eyes once – there is no way I will stay on this bed for another few hours.

Knowing this painfully well, I roll over and over open my eyes again. The phone lays abandoned on the table, filled with text messages. Half of them have been left unanswered for a few days. They are all from Alex and the thought of him is tempting me to give him a call and ask if we could hang out. It isn't like either of the two of us have anything better to do. I have been nothing more than a lingering lazy teenager in this house for days.

Slowly, head spinning from getting up too fast, I make my way to the table and grab the phone. To my great shock, it has over five messages and my heart sinks. Oh, Lex…

The first one opens.

'how is your face? is it better?'

The sinking stone in my chest is lifted from the questions and I slum back down on the bed. Scrolling down, I choose the most recent message.

'guess whose birthday is soon? will u come?'

And just like that, my heart is heavy for the second time. This message was sent yesterday, and guilt creates an invisible boulder on top of my shoulders. Things have not been too sunny for a time now, but the fact that I have almost forgotten my best friend's birthday is too shocking. As if adding salt to the injury, I look over all the other things he has written to me and see that they are all filled with questions about how I am doing.

I may have gone to school that one day for the math test, but that is where I had drawn the line. Since then – through that shame and humiliation – I have been merely staying inside the four walls of the house, nursing the face burned by mere tea. The score I would be getting from math would not be that high anyway, is what makes this all even worse.

A heavy sigh escapes from me. Flunking a test, walking through hallways with red spots across features and skipping school, when not even sick… how low I have fallen.

"Beatrix."

"Kyah!" I jump, sitting up with my back straight as an arrow. "S-stop doing that."

The man standing at the door doesn't even blink at the outburst. He isn't wearing casual clothes for home and the dark jacket for going out is painfully stark and obvious against the white background. The sight is not that surprising, though. Whenever he is in the house, he wears that jacket like a second skin. It always tells me that he has been out before heading inside and seeing me – this time he has come to check on me voluntarily.

My heart had jumped earlier from surprise due to his appearance and the fact the sound of the door opening was nonexistent. But now it beats again, the longer I sit on the mattress, clutching the phone and watching the man clad in dark standing like a statue a few feet away.

However, before I can even open my mouth again, there is a barely noticeable flicker in my dad's eyes. He is surveying my face, the direction of the gaze is obvious, and I lower my chin and eyes in slight embarrassment. Of course, the redness and swelling have gone down to milder level, but I still feel like hiding. Not only that, but the man's silent demeanor and motionlessness are unwavering, if not uncomfortable.

"U-um," I finally manage to mutter out awkwardly, "did you need something?"

"The school called," he says airily, not putting much weight on the meaning of the words. "They said you have been absent for a few days."

I bite down on my tongue, knowing full well that this was coming. However, the last thing I expected was for my dad to bring it up all of sudden. "Yeah. My face has been burned a bit, so I take a few days off until it is healed… and I texted you about this so you could call my school, too."

He doesn't look startled by my explanation, there are no signs of anything on his startlingly pale features half-hidden by the hat on his head. Rather, he doesn't seem to be listening anymore and starts to slowly turn away from the room. There was no interest in his behavior, to begin with, but for a moment there he had almost shown awareness towards my life. Now that it is gone, there is emptiness in the atmosphere.

Without really thinking, I rise from the bed and walk briskly out of my room. Maybe, it is because I somehow am childishly blaming him for the tea incident – if he had fixed the heating early, then I wouldn't have sneezed or chilled myself to the bone – but something within my gut is burning. The sensation is almost as bad as feeling that hot tea dripping down the skin again – hurts. He has seen what kind of injury I have, but doesn't even bat an eye, forgets to even check the message I sent him and now chooses to walk away.

"Dad!" I call out at the door, watching his back and how he stops in the middle of the hallway. He glances at me and that is enough to make whatever I truly want to say die in my mouth. "Can… can you please call the school and tell them I have been ill?"

That is not it. This is nowhere close to what should be coming out of my mouth and it leaves a bitter taste. I want us to talk, or I want to tell him how I feel. It would be better if he asks that himself, but I doubt greatly that that would ever happen.

He won't listen.

I falter, when he turns around to fully face me. There is no intimidation in his posture or expression, no indication that he is put off by the sudden outburst from me. The latter is probably what makes the irritation simmer and I bite down on my tongue.

"… Anything else?" His tone is void of any emotion, monotone. The worse part is that it isn't made to be sarcastic or exasperated.

The contact of my teeth with the flesh of my tongue is becoming almost painful. I drop my eyes down in defeat. It is so frustrating – every time I look at him, there is nothing more than an expression of emptiness and boredom of a passive man staring back.

My shoulders visibly slump down, but almost as soon as they do, they stiffen up again.

Bitter.

Instinctively, I let my hand hover above my nose, as if not sure whether to shut it or let it freely inhale. "What… what is that smell?"

The man hiding half of his features underneath his hat and high collar barely lifts an eyebrow but does turn fully around this time. I frown and look around, carefully sniffing and cringing every time the unfamiliar odor gets too deep into my nostrils. Desperate when the baffling and sickening stench starts making me physically ill, I look twirl around, eyes frantically darting across the place.

The smell is strong and has come out of nowhere. It is like one moment you are walking down a street and the next there is a lamppost slamming on your face.

Appalling.

"…probably the pipes," the silent man finally speaks up, making me look at him with a frown. "There have been problems with the area's sewers lately, too."

"No," I shake my head, looking at him strangely, squinting and trying to distinguish the hidden features. He is still fully turned, but it only seems like he is shadowing himself more this way. "This is… something different."

He doesn't move, again, not even blinks once. "Different," he parrots hollowly. He doesn't seem to be grasping the meaning, though, and I grow more agitated.

"Look, I don't know what it is, but – ugh! It is getting worse," involuntarily, I cringe and start backing away into my room. However, before I disappear from his sight, I give my dad one final look. "Since when have you ever been all-knowing of the things that are wrong in this place? You barely ever pay attention to the dates of the year."

The door shuts firmly, but that is the total opposite of how the ground feels beneath my feet. The curtains of the room are still closed, so the entire place is nearly dark, and nothing has a clear shape. It is so dramatically ominous and silent that I have to lean my forehead against a solid surface, like in a soap opera. But then I stiffen up.

Shit. I need to use the bathroom.

Groaning, I open the door again.

There is tiredness on both of our faces, but Alex is the one with the palest. He looks almost drained of energy and I find it miraculous how he can lay against large pillows and read the pages with a theatrical flair. But frankly, if someone was to look at him and listen to the lines without knowing the circumstances behind his state, they would be alarmed to silence.

We are not sitting at a restaurant or café anymore, but the atmosphere doesn't seem to be any different from those times. Both of us are amused by this strange piece of entertainment I brought. Not even the sight of the young boy in the hospital gown is enough to wipe a slowly growing smirk from my face.

Inhaling, I get more comfortable in my seat and strain my ears. No matter how scary, the words are intriguing.

"His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; if you could hear, at every jolt, the blood…"(1)

A violent shudder breaks the tranquil state I am in. It comes from the wind from an open window and I stand up to close it. The passageway for fresh air is closed, so the sickening warm and bitter smell of the hospital replaces it.

I return to the chair cushioned by my jacket and look back at Alex. His face is grave, totally in-depth with the writings of a long-dead man. His eyebrows are raised to his thin hairline, nose pointed to the air and mouth pursed into a frown – I smile in amusement.

"Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs… Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud."

"My turn," I say and pluck the book from his grasp.

"Hey!"

A mischievous grin is the only look I spare to him, before looking down at the page and finding where he left. "Of vile… incurable sores on innocent tongues… My friend, you would not tell with such high zest… to children ardent for some desperate glory… The Old Lie: Dulce et d-decorm – decorum," I frown and look at the end of the poem in confusion. "This is not English."

Lex snorts, reaching out from his bed for the book and I let it slips from my hands. His eyes read the lines again and then he smirks. "Could have figured that from the name. Dulce et Decorum Est."

"Do you know what it means?" I ask, crossing my legs in mild interest.

He frowns incredulously. "Do I look like I do?"

"Oh, right. You're the guy who failed the German language course."

"Don't you dare bring that into this. And don't forget I got a higher score from that than you in the French course," he points out with a snap and then looks back at the book. "Isn't this French, too? C'mon, try translating."

"I'm pretty sure dear old Mrs. Lowden would have a field trip from that," I answer wryly, recalling the pinched look my former teacher used to send. "And this doesn't look like French. Italian, maybe?

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure."

"Really sure?"

"Yes."

"That is the same thing you said when you tried to navigate through the town once."

"Hey, that was one time and two years ago."

"Sure."

"Look, I may suck at languages, too, but at least I can see that this isn't French."

"Tell that to your middle-school grades."

"Shut it, clusterduck."

His jaw drops and it takes a moment for a delighted smile to spread on his face. "Since when do you know loophole swearwords?"

I frown, not liking how pleased he appears instead of insulted. I am about to say something else, but the door to the room is opened and the bottom of my jaw clicks shut in an instant. Both of us are suddenly very still and the very first sight of a white coat is enough to drain the atmosphere from its playfulness. From one glance at Alex's blank expression, I can tell how unpleasant this is for him.

Barely thought of comforting him passes through my head when a woman is suddenly approaching my seat and I stand up, engulfing each other into an embrace. "Trixie, dear, how nice of you to visit."

The mother of my best friend looks almost nothing like him. Her hair is dyed pure black and it's wavy down to her shoulders while her eyes are cool grey, nothing like Alex's warmer shades. Still, the scent of the vanilla perfume she uses frequently tickles my nose and a natural smile spreads on my otherwise tight features.

And then I see the doctor who has arrived with her and the smile drops. Mr. Carlisle Cullen stands just a few feet away with a clipboard in his hand and a pleasant smile on his face. As a greeting to not disturb the moment between the older woman and me, he gives a single nod.

He is like snow – white, cold, beautiful – just how we met almost a week ago. His appearance can't still blend in with the background, though. He is clearly standing out from everything else, but one thing specifically makes me frown back at his friendly gesture and expression… there is no sign of dark charcoal irises which I saw last time.

"Hello, Beatrix," he greets me, after a pause.

I swallow and give him a stiff nod. "Hello," is the only word that comes out of my mouth weakly. The dark-haired woman next to me is obviously looking between the two of us in confusion, but I still keep my mouth shut.

The object of my silence trails over my features. "I am glad to see your burns have healed nicely."

Golden brown.

"Beatrix, don't you have a bus to catch?" The bedridden boy says suddenly, snapping me back with a flinch. He is uncomfortable in his state now that there are more people in here.

I look between him and the clock hanging over the door, realizing how fast the hands are ticking forward. Stiffening up and knowing that he is right, I start gathering my things. "Oh, right. I should really be going."

"Hold it," Alex suddenly grabs the book of poems and holds out the page where we were reading from earlier. "We couldn't figure out what language this one's title is written with. Can you read it, Dr. Cullen?"

The reaction from my part is immediate: I stiffen and shoot my friend a look, telling him silently to let it go, but know that the damage has been done. Thoughts, that I experienced the evening Alice came into the house, fill my head and I start thinking once more that I have nothing against her family on a personal level. I am merely finding it very uncomfortable to be standing near the man who had seen my red-faced and messy self at my house.

With fluid motions, the older Cullen walks over and closer to stand next to Alex. He is now on the opposite side to where I am standing. Seeing this causes me to turn far more rigid and I purse my lips. In the beginning, what were the chances that the doctor treating my friend today is the father of the girl who suggested that same book for me?

"Why, Alexander," the mother of the brunette sighs in wonder. "I had no idea you still liked to read books."

"Ha, ha," Alex rolls his eyes at her teasing. "Very funny, but this is Trix's book."

Carlisle's lips quirk up from the two's interaction and he straightens up. "This is Latin. Dulce et Decorum Est; sweet and beautiful is."

The young boy's eyes widen. "Wow. You can speak Latin? Isn't that language – oh, I don't know – dead?"

Taking his amazement as the perfect distraction, I grab the book from his grasp and drop it into my bag. I give the older woman next to me one final smile. "Well, see you later. Like he said, a bus to catch."

"Thank you, again, for coming to visit," she smiles back, both voice and eyes truly genuine with gratitude. With her sickly son, there is only so much outsider contact that he can get in this building monthly.

I give the said son a small look. "Your party will be at ten?"

"Yeah."

"Good. See you later, then," I wave and round the ridiculously white and long bed with a few strides. I have a real reason to hurry, so I do not even glance or acknowledge the doctor's presence, even though I am much so tempted to glance back.

But the curiosity gets the best of everything – always – and so by the door, I look over my shoulder. The three people have turned their attentions away from me, luckily, but I slightly wish that the man dressed in white hadn't. For a moment, there is a nagging urge to take one last look at his features and see his eyes again.

I am pretty sure that they were much darker the last time we met.

In my dreams, I am always running. Whether it is because I experienced an impactful event in my childhood or everything is sheer coincidence, but as long as I can remember, both dreams and nightmares show me scenes where I run. Or at least attempt to. Frankly, picking up speed with the feet is not an area of a great forte for me, so the nightly images are always rather puzzling.

"In all my dreams before my helpless sight… He plunges at me… guttering… choking… drowning."

Dark, greyish green hues of the woods. Scrunches of branches broken by feet leaping across the forest floor. Thick bushes and stones cutting the flesh, scraping against the bare skin. There is nobody around, no sound of wind or sensations of cold. The long and tall trunks are closing in on me.

Barely any space to move, to bReAtHe.

"If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace… Behind the wagon that we flung him in…"

Finally, there are scents. The smell of pine and forest moss fill the air. The trees push each other aside, creating a clearer path. But this is all too strange – everything becomes too easy.

"And watch the white eyes writhing in his face…"

The world changes, spinning and turning, altering the steps where I could simply move forward. There is no way to take a turn without the roots stabbing the limbs. Something doesn't want me to have a will of my own, it guides me towards a direction where I shouldn't go to. Everything is barely real, I am the only thing breathing.

And running towards the doom.

My eyes fly wide open and for some reason, the air in the room has gotten so stuffed and unbearable that it isn't enough to fill my lungs. I cough, sitting up and letting the dizziness muffle the frantic thoughts once I am fully up and out of the bed. And the moment I am up, something slides off against the covers and to the floor with a 'thud' – I flinch and crouch down. The book of poems by Wilfred Owen is barely visible with my hazy vision, though.

Then, through the blur in the mind, I recall falling asleep from reading it. It's night, is the natural conclusion once I walk towards the faint light coming through the window. I have an urge to open it. For some reason, during the deep sleep sweat has gathered up all over my body. The clothes I wore to the hospital are sticking to my skin and the sensation is sickening. It is like I ran a marathon and didn't even notice.

Delirious from the night terror and the sudden wake up are still in the work, as I stumble forward. But the closer I get to the glass, the more I can feel the coldness from the outside seeping through it. For once, I am grateful how my room is poorly constructed to produce heating from the floor.

A dream.

As if in a trance, I touch the glass and let out a sigh, watching the scenery on the other side. My eyes are not used to the dark, but the shape of the trees and the cloudy night sky are distinguishable… all too familiar to my nightmare.

I shudder, skin crawling from every piece of that dream which is coming back.

A messed-up dream.

Biting down on my lower lip, I look down at the small book and the line of my mouth thins further. This thing – this object made out of papers squeezed together – probably triggered my brain to produce such a nightmare in the first place.

Now frustrated from the fact that I even had to read the whole thing before and wake up in the middle of the night, I drag out a chair and sit down, eyes rising towards the forest. This is what usually helps if my sleep is cut short. Just trying to calm down. But even when I sit, there is a clenching feeling in the gut that tells me it won't be that easy. My mind keeps on racing and I am still soaked in sweat.

Clenching my eyes tightly shut in a desperate attempt to forget the nightmare, I inhale deeply, every inch of me tense for no reason. It is maddening. I have school the minute the sun rises up, but there is no hint of tiredness left in me.

With a heavy sigh, I resist an urge to turn on the computer and lean down to the rest my chin on my arms that are crossed on the hard surface. The clock is showing an hour past midnight on this same table. The sight of it only makes me more restless. I have only a few hours before school starts.

Slowly, I look back up to the forest, cursing the nightmare with every possible name I can think of. But that irritation falters, when the creepiness of it starts making my skin crawl.

And all of that becomes worse when I start closing the curtains – a dark mass moves, for a very small moment, by the forest line.

Without meaning to, my hands pull the curtains with such force that they could be ripped down. I am sweating, but this time knowing it is happening and quickly move back towards the bed. I really need to get some sleep.

I must be suicidal. That is the only explanation I can find to my insane – if not creepy – behavior.

After hiding inside this place for almost a week, waiting for the burns to heal, I was not so sure about going back to school. Maybe so much isolation has also caused me to make the most ridiculous decisions and gain stranger behavior patterns. That is the reason why I am literally hiding behind one of the school's fake plants just next to the cafeteria and glancing through the leaves and glass towards one single round table that barely anyone has the guts to approach.

She's not here. I bite down on my cheek, not liking how almost nothing has changed. However, unlike the last time I saw them, Edward is back at his usual spot. That leaves only two blonds and a one bear-like boy sitting motionlessly near him.

Finally, my stalking stops and I back away, thanking the luck for the food I have already packed into the school bag. There is no way that I have enough courage to march into the sea of people, considering over half of them saw my red and swollen face the other week. The movie is hidden inside my stuff, though, is the only thing that brought me remotely close to this place. And I really wished for a second that Alice could be present today. Carrying her stuff around is like a burden. If her brother has come back, then why wouldn't she do the same?

Stupid.

However, it is still strange how she is absent. Not strange like there isn't a possibility for her to be sick, but… I can't shake off a nagging feeling that something is off. Being paranoid is nothing new, but I do find it strange that just after being one evening with me, she wasn't at school the next day. Rosalina's heated glare and bumping me in the middle of a hallway… there could be something going on.

I end up mentally shaking my head, though. The more I try thinking of that family the crazier ideas pop into my head.

The second the locker with the number I recognize is on sight, I grab the keys and open it. Something falls from it, though, and I take a startled step back. Who knows? It could have been a prank or an animal, but the sight of a squared white piece of paper is somewhat relaxing… if it weren't for what it contains.

There is a picture attached to it, and I recognize the fingerprint of the school's newspaper club pretty well. Especially, when it is from an article that happened last semester. I am in the picture frozen with equally petrified Jasper Cullen and Alice standing next to me. The shades are grey and white, but the contrast between the white shirt and the giant splatter of darkish grey easily tell the story of what happened. The sight of the dreadful day staring me right in the face is enough to make my gut drop. The worse part comes, when I look down from the picture to see a colorful one of me walking down a hallway and red patches all over my face.

As if my body wants to show my embarrassment to the world and mimic the fresh picture of obvious mocking, it lifts my face on fire. Oh. My. God. Whoever has done this, obviously wants me to feel uncomfortable and it is more obvious from the writing at the bottom.

'NICE MAKEUP PAINT GIRL.'

It doesn't take minutes to figure out who or what group sent this. A smirky face next to the text is more than enough evidence.

A clearing of a throat makes me nearly drop the source of my shame and I whirl around to see an equally bashful expression. "Um, hi. I'm Isabella Swan, but call me Bella."

Despite knowing better, I frown at her. Of course, I know who she is from the last week, but to see and hear her speaking directly to me all of sudden brings goosebumps all over my arms. It's like meeting Alice all over again and the paper containing the pictures is crushed and hid quickly into the locker by my hand. My face must still be red, but for now, that should be ignored.

"Beatrix Stone," I say back, giving a mental pat for myself from not stuttering. Bella doesn't say anything after, though. She merely continues standing in front of me, holding few books to what appears to biology class and bites down on her lower lip in a nervous manner – I can totally relate to another awkward person. There is no eye contact.

Finally, though, the brunette looks up. "I know that… this may sound weird, but do you happen to know where Edward Cullen was last week?"

Please don't tell me you are going to be one of those awful drooling fangirls in this school that wear low collars and will send lewd glances at one boy, is the spray of words that almost comes out of my mouth. I can't stop those thoughts from entering my head or the way I open and close my mouth afterward from shock. Out of every possible thing, this is the last one that I expected to be asked about.

And that is why I end up crossing my arms. "No offense or anything, but why are you asking me?"

Again, the awkwardness returns, and she looks away for a second. "I was kind of told that… I'm sorry for just assuming, but I was told that you talk with his adopted sister. He and I kind of have a class together and last week, um," she starts trailing off, obviously in discomfort. "I am just curious if he had… maybe other reasons for being absent?"

"Well, the most obvious reason out of everything is that he might have been sick," I press on the word, getting a bit satisfaction from the sarcastic tone. But after seeing the expression on the new girl's face it is replaced with slight guilt. Suddenly, it is me who is feeling more awkward. "It's true that Alice and I have talked – a few times, mind you – and she did mention that her brother wasn't feeling too well."

"Oh, I see," Bella nods, almost robotically and bites once again her lower lip. She tries to smile, but even I can see how uncomfortable it is. Then, she repeats herself. "I see. Good to know. Thanks."

"Yeah. No big deal."

"Yeah."

There is a pregnant silence, despite the noisy cafeteria being only a little further away. The moment, when Alice had come and greeted me for the first time during lunch had been mortifying, but I honestly can't tell which meeting with a new person has been the worst.

Suddenly, I decide to put an end to the awkwardness. "You have biology ll next, right?"

Brown eyes blink and for the first time, I take note of how pretty her pale features are against the darker shades. "Yes, but how did you…?"

"I have the same class. I sit at the back, so you probably didn't notice last time … want to walk there?"

"Oh. I would like to, but I still haven't eaten lunch. Want to come and eat with me?"

"Oh, I see, but you see… I have already eaten. Sorry. But see you in class, then?"

"Yeah," she nods and turns away, brown waves luscious and shiny as she walks towards the place that I do not dare to set a foot on.

It is a blessing that she walked away without making further comments because as soon as she is gone, my legs carry me with the mind of their own. There is almost not a single thought, besides what just happened, raising through my head. Still, another thought does come up, when the temperature on my face is rising for what feels like the hundredth time during this less than two-week period. Why is it that when I actually try and talk to someone – get to know a person who is just as awkward as I am – it ends up with me standing alone in the hallway?

Honestly, it is still more than a bit puzzling why everything in my life is without warning spinning around this one family. It has been very much less than a month and nearly every day I am either thinking her, or her family, or hearing and seeing them. Even the hospital visit to Alex hadn't been an escape. The father of the Cullen siblings works in that place, too, for God's sake.

I need tea. The thought of going through two more classes, when I barely stayed up for the first few ones at morning is excruciating. There is no way anyone could survive this day with a few hours of sleep that I have had.

My steps slow down and I lean against a wall, once Mr. Banner's class is in sight. The lunch in my bag is forgotten. I need Mom's tea… the one that is running out.

The school ends peacefully. There are no further disturbances or problems. Even the memory of those pictures in my locker is gone from my mind within an hour. I do not even wonder who might have put them there. In fact, despite the rest of the lessons going forward slowly, I wouldn't have it in any other way. It is better to have nothing but daydreams in your head rather than heavy thoughts. This is what I consider to be the best advice I have ever given to myself – it has kept me sane.

Still, the entire being of Forks may have something against my peace of mind. I blame the weather patterns and have a conspiracy theory that some government agency is controlling it to make every misfortunate person on the planet even more devastated. True or not, it has started to rain heavily, and I have to walk through the water to get back home.

Why me?

This is the second time this year that I have forgotten to bring along an umbrella. And if there weren't any people surrounding me right now, I would break down in tears from exhaustion. Sighing quietly, I still begin to come out from the shelter of a roof. The cold drops hit the top of my head in a second.

Why do things like these happen to me?

Almost every other person I see while walking towards the road has an umbrella or a jacket that can't be permeated by water. I obviously have neither, but still drop the hood over my head, knowing that no matter what I would get soaked to the bone. Nevertheless, there is a fact that I can't accept: others can be on their way just fine and drive past me with their cars. It is infuriating.

Taking driving lessons should be useful. But what use would those do, when there is no car to a way to buy one, to begin with.

And as if the universe is against me for the second time today, a silver car – clearly making every other piece with wheels out of their league – rolls right next to me on the road. I am too bitter that someone gets to stay warm and dry to continue ogling the vehicle.

"Stone."

I stiffen. When your last name is the same as a non-organic piece of nature's you can hear it mentioned from time to time by random people. That is one of the reasons why I don't like my last name to begin with. It has caused me disconcerting situations over the years. I have responded to the word during more than a few inconvenient times. And that is precisely why I do not immediately assume that it is me who is being called.

The sensation of cold and tiredness are so strong that I even don't recognize the voice.

"Stone," the same voice calls out a bit louder and I jump from how close it is. This time, I know who it is even before turning towards the fancy car.

Oh, dear sweet God, I nearly sigh out, shoulders dropping. Why is this happening? Involuntarily, my limbs freeze, and I stop walking – the vehicle follows my lead and the breaks are placed. The rain continues to fall and freezes my already icy blood vessels. Jasper fricking Hale is sitting behind the wheel, expression void and empty, but the slight stiffness of shoulders is visible from how low the dark window has been rolled down.

He is here. A piece of an enigma that complicated my high school life way before Alice. And he has just voluntarily called for and stopped the car next to me. The latter only manages to create tension in my gut. This situation is completely different from how the interaction with the school's new girl went, so I do not even begin comparing scenarios based on the atmosphere. It is the same, though. Awkward.

All of sudden, I am even more frustrated that the cursed umbrella lays forgotten in my house. My entire being is screaming a drowned rat.

And just as suddenly he asks: "Would you like a ride home?" It throws me off. For the second time today someone's question throws me off and is not what I expect. My thoughts must be obvious in my expression because Jasper continues. "The rain will not let up for a while at least… You will catch a cold."

I almost snort from the last statement, not because I think of it as ridiculous, but more from how he said it. It's like you are trying to get an excuse to skip detention. A ride in a super nice-looking car does sound very inviting, but this isn't someone I even know well. Whether he is trying to be nice or not – for some very scary and unusual reason – the last thing I want to do is to risk getting into an accident in this kind of weather. And since when were we such close acquittances to worry about the others health?

"Thanks," I manage out. Great work brain. The way the water is making both my hair and clothes sticky is so uncomfortable. The longer I stand here, the more I can feel how my heartbeat picks up."But I can get back home by myself."

The sight of a corner of his lips twitching up could be the trick of the light and rain. "Alice would be quite upset with me if I let you walk all the way there in this weather. You will get sick."

This is way too weird.

"Flu in the worst case," I mumble indecisively under my breath, avoiding eye contact and biting down on my tongue to keep myself from saying something extremely regretful and embarrassing. But then I perk up and take off my bag. "Speaking of Alice… Here is the movie she forgot. Can you give this back to her?"

To hand it to him I have to obviously come closer and stand around two feet away from the car. That is also how I can get a closer look at his features, too. Nothing is much different from how he usually appears in the school building. He is stoic, uncomfortable and barely shows any emotion. This, of course, makes things supplementary awkward for both of us.

The tips of my fingers are numb, and the water droplets are gathering up on the shell protecting the borrowed movie quite fast. My heartbeat has the same pace. Jasper doesn't so much as twitch. This immobile reaction causes my stretched-out hand to falter and I blink the rain off from my lashes. The longer I stand, the more convinced I am that the blond-haired boy inside a warm and cozy space doesn't realize how unpleasant it is to be in my position with only a hoodie to cover your head.

Still, though, up closer even Jasper's appearance is a bit off-putting. The golden wavy locks are tousled as if he had ruffled them before stopping the car. Opposite to that, his golden eyes dart between the movie and my face easily – wait, what?

The frown deepens and I squint my gaze. That is not right.

In stuffy and heartbeat raising situations my mind might turn into a mess, but I have never forgotten what color his eyes had the day I ended up pouring red paint all over him. They weren't bright back then. They were dark, smoldering coal that had shone with shock and anger – rage. These eyes are not a replica of those. They are just as obvious and startling, though. Just like Alice's.

I inhale sharply, both from shock and surprise. And that is how a prickling smell waffles into my nostrils. It is familiar and just as repulsive – I have to stop breathing for a second. But almost as soon as the emotion comes it is gone with a calmness that comes out of nowhere.

I shouldn't feel calmer, but even my heartbeat slows down. The smell remains, though.

Dreadful.

Somehow, I can tell what the stench is. It reminds me of meat, the kind that I would never eat; the kind I would find in a dumpster. With that, there is a small and sharp hint of rust, metal. This is not a normal smell, but it is the kind that I have experienced before. It is the same odor that was present in my house.

"I can give it to her if you accept the drive," he says with a straight face, breaking me off from the stupor.

The cold and tiredness must have already numbed the neurons because I merely stiffen up in disbelief from the suggestion. For a second, I think I am hearing one of the most boring and stupidest jokes of all time, but the seriousness of it all wipes those thoughts away.

It truly is true that I do senseless things while in uncomfortable situations. Without thinking and like from an impulse, I shove the movie through the window and into the car, listening for a moment how it clatters somewhere inside. A second later I am filled with shame and then embarrassment from rashness. Now, I have even better look at Jasper's features and a furious blush fights the coldness on my cheeks. The cold wins, when the stench hits me hard and I recoil back almost immediately. It is sudden and tears prickle the corners of my eyes furiously. The smell comes from the car, or rather from Jasper.

What the heck does he have in there!? The shame I felt for a second from throwing the movie into the vehicle evaporates. At the moment, I feel disgusted. My back stiffens into a straight arrow, but the calmness keeps on returning and I clutch the wet handle of the school bag.

My emotions are in disarray and they continue being so when what appears to be a frown tugs Jasper's eyebrows.

Instead of bringing up the smell or apologizing, I turn around. "No thanks."

The strange sense of calmness is gone the second I am a few feet away and pick up the pace. The terrible smell is left behind as well.

The house's heating system has been fixed, thankfully. The moment the door is closed firmly, faint white puffs of smoke come out of my mouth. The warmth is welcoming, but it makes every part of my frozen skin prickle painfully. It is like I was walking through thick masses of snow and not puddles and rainwater. Even without a mirror, I know what a soaked person looks like – horrible.

C-cold.

Hurriedly, I hobble – that is the only way to describe how I move with wet socks on my feet – to the bathroom. The hoodie comes off with a shudder of disgust. It continues dragging along the shirt underneath and falls to the tile floor with a splat. The rest of the clothes don't come off any easier. All ten fingers on my hands are trembling and barely have any feeling on them. Even the floor which is not usually warm feels heavenly under my feet.

Instead of putting the piece of fabrics into a basket at the side, they all splatter down to the ground. The drain right next to the spot where they lay is soon filled with small rivers of water coming from the pile. I would have to clean it later, I am always the one trying to keep an order with a lazy teenager mind in this household.

Icy.

I do not fill the tub like usually. I merely turn on the water and immediately let it warm the top of my head.

Numb.

The last time I felt this cold, was back when I spent the first winter here in Forks. Stupidly enough, even then I did not put on any decent clothes for the weather. Had to walk back to the house till I was half-icicle, too.

As I shudder, every small hair on my body standing up, and bathe in the warm steam and water of the room, a variety of thoughts race through my mind. They have nothing to do with the school material still laying soaked inside the school bag, though.

The second I close my eyes and wrap my arms around myself, I see different faces. They all are pale, some blank from expressions and some holding smiles. Only one detail is something I hold as the most important of everything else. Their eyes, the eyes that belong to the Cullen's I have recently been seeing. It is certain, eyes don't change shade so drastically as theirs have.

Golden-brown.

The events from earlier last week come next. They are about Alice and her father, both of them in this house. Slowly, unconsciously, my still stiff fingers trail the side of my arm, the areas where the pixie-like girl had touched and the side where their shoulders had barely touched.

There had been no heat.

I flex the hand that Dr. Cullen had touched, and shudder. If that is his true temperature, then I bet he was just as cold as I was now in the rain.

Pale transparent skins.

Another face pops into my head and a frown tugs the corners of my mouth down. It is the face of the one I have seen and talked to for years, now. The one who covers himself in the dark or leaves preferably without a word or sound. And the second person to live in this house besides me –

"A-ACHOO!" A loud sneeze cuts off my thoughts and my stiff shoulders drop. "Ugh… Achoo!"

I am starting to regret not taking the ride home. Even if a dead body had been in that car, I would prefer it over the thought of snot covered nostrils tomorrow morning.