Chapter Ten
Pretend
Lena laid on her bed, eyes shut. She didn't sleep anymore - she didn't need to - but she liked to pretend. The mattress beneath her was too squishy, her silk sheets cold. Strange, how a fabric she thought was impossibly smooth as a human felt rough to her now. She could see every fibre, feel every thread under her fingertips.
This had been Edward's room, she was told. She didn't like it very much. There were too many windows, too many places which permitted sunlight. Tired of reflecting everything like she was covered in glitter, she asked for drapes. The next day, Emmett hung blackout curtains. They were nice. Plunged the room into darkness.
On the floor below her, she heard them all talking. Renesmee was here, too, though not in the house. She could smell her. She gripped the bed sheets tightly and forbade herself from standing. Fibres of the fabric snapped - she heard them give. The girl was outside, with that man who smelt like a wet dog. It was enough of a deterrent not to fly out the window and attack her.
"I don't understand how you can keep her here," Edward said. He spoke no louder than normal, but she could hear him just as clearly as if she were in the same room. "She's unnatural!"
"She's young," Carlisle said.
He scoffed. "I was your closest friend, your first son. How can you side with her?"
"We've all had moments of weakness, Edward."
"Yes, and not once did any of us try to kill Nessie."
"Bella-"
"That was entirely different."
A pause. It lasted too long.
Lena frowned.
"Why are you protecting her?" Edward's voice was lower, quieter. Hurt, she might have even gone as far to say.
"She's learning," he told him, "as we all are."
"What if she succeeded, and killed her? Would you feel differently then, when we buried her?" Edward asked. "Would you see her for the monster she is then?"
Carlisle said nothing.
"After everything I've done for you, after all this time, you're going to choose her."
Lena could tell it was supposed to be a question, but it didn't sound like one. The sentence didn't rise in pitch at the end. Edward already knew the answer. It was an observation.
Truthfully, Lena was confused. Maybe just as caught off-guard as Edward was.
She wondered if this was all just a cruel little game, if she was meant to find her way here all along. Running into the Cullens wasn't a coincidence, but a given. Carlisle was pretending to be on her side, when he was really loyal to her killer. He was trying to gain her trust, trying to fool her, but for what?
What was the end goal? She was already dead. Her family was gone. What more could they take?
"When she leaves, let me know," he said. "We'll consider returning. In the meantime, we're going to stay with-"
"Travel safe," Carlisle interrupted. "Tell Renesmee to call often. The girls will miss her."
Edward made an odd noise, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "Definitely," he said, but his tone was flat, and he didn't sound happy at all.
The front door opened and closed. Leather creaked downstairs as someone sat down, and then exhaled unnecessarily.
Lena slinked off her bed and towards the window. She peered through a tiny gap in the blinds, and looked outside.
The car in the driveway was sleek and black. She counted three people inside. Bella sat in the passenger seat, all quiet anger. Her brown hair was pulled over her shoulder, a curtain which hid her face from Lena's sight, but she could picture her expression as she was forced to leave her home.
In the back sat the bronzed man who reeked of dog, and the girl. She sighed, and leant against his thick arm. She could hear her heartbeat quicken. Her sweet blood was instantly tinged with the bitter scent of fear. The girl knew Lena was here, watching her.
Where else would she be?
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. She gripped the window frame tightly, heard the wood groan beneath her hand. She knew it wasn't worth it - knew if she flung herself out the window and at the girl, it would be at her demise - but what was one more bite? Just one more taste of her delicious blood, and she was sure she would be over it.
She refrained. Carlisle had sacrificed too much already for her. He lied, which she knew he struggled to do. He let his fake son walk away from him.
She watched as Edward's copper head of curls ducked into the car. He didn't glance at her as he turned on the engine and rolled out of the driveway. As far as he was concerned, she was dead.
Really dead.
"Spying?"
Lena didn't startle. She knew Alistair was there. She had known for some time.
She watched Edward's car disappear. Still, the scent remained - dog, and the girl. She hummed in delight, hoping it would remain - the girl, not the mutt - and that it wouldn't rain as it so often did. Even a light shower might be enough to wash away the sweet smell.
"You were eavesdropping earlier, too," Alistair accused when she said nothing. His voice was odd sometimes. There was a lilt to it she couldn't quite place. An accent that had long since died out, she suspected.
"It doesn't count if they know I can hear." She moved away from the window.
He said nothing, so Lena turned to face him.
He leant against the wall by the door, arms and feet crossed. Considering his normal temperament, he looked oddly at ease. Briefly, Lena wondered what had changed.
"If I didn't know better, I would think this was a symptom of depression," he said.
"What?"
"Your preference for the dark."
"I didn't know you played doctor like Carlisle."
There was a mocking tone to her words he must not have liked. He narrowed his eyes, and, for an instant, Lena glimpsed the dormant beast his body caged. It was proof they were all like her, no better and no worse.
"Watch your words, woman," he said. "He is my oldest friend."
Lena smiled. "Friend? Why not his half-brother, or uncle?" She paused, and pretended to think. "I wonder what I'll be. A distant cousin, maybe."
He smiled, baring his teeth. The gesture was oddly offensive. "There are some games it would be best not to play."
Lena wasn't entirely sure if he was condemning Carlisle's choices, or her own attempts at agitating him. His words were equally applicable in both cases.
Never before had she thought of Alistair as threatening. He wasn't, for the most part. He was quiet and generally looked annoyed, but these characteristics weren't combined with a frame that would frighten. She realised it was his expression, and the way he worked to hide his threats beneath his words which made him a man to fear, a man who promised action.
And still, in spite of that, he was always prepared to acknowledge the need to retreat. She could see it in his eyes, in the way they traced over her, measuring, calculating. Even now, with his feet crossed, she knew he would not stumble if she decided to lunge at him. He would be out the door before she had her hand wrapped around his throat, stubble prickling her palm.
He was like her, far more like her than anyone else in that house. A lion, not a cat. A monster beneath everything else, trying to act tame.
He smirked. "Don't look at me so hungrily. I'm not quite as tender as a human."