Chapter Twenty-One

Gratitude

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

Lena blinked at Carlisle. They were in his office once more, sitting across from each other, separated by his large desk. In a way, it felt as if they were going to battle, opposing each other like this. Not so much a disciplinary talk as a verbal altercation.

Carlisle looked no angrier than he usually did when they met in this room. His jaw was set, and his eyes hard, but somehow it didn't seem threatening. Rather, it all just made Lena feel oddly shameful, as if she had let someone down - someone who, without fault, always believed she could do much better.

"Your eyes," he said. "They're muddy. You fed from a human."

Lena wasn't sure what he meant. She hadn't seen her reflection since she fed, but could only assume her eyes were not somewhere in the strict spectrum of gold the Cullens accepted. Maybe that was how Rosalie knew almost the second she saw her. That, or the scent of human blood clinging to her. She sprinted off, and reported her crime to her adoptive father almost immediately. Her loyalty was sickening, far more disgusting than her eagerness to have her punished.

"Do you think your actions don't have consequences?"

They never did.

Carlisle was a man who lacked a spine, lacked the qualities needed to truly administer discipline. She had nearly killed his granddaughter, and she was told to keep her motives a secret. He didn't yell at her, or take away freedoms, or even raise a hand to strike her.

"Say something, Lena." It was the first time she heard his voice twist like that, morph into something that actually portrayed emotion.

"Sorry for-"

"Something you mean."

She didn't think Carlisle would like the truth. She didn't think he would like for her to describe in vivid detail just how much she enjoyed killing those two campers, how she adored the way their blood spilled from their throats like water from a fountain. The little gasp of air, their last breath, the way they were so pliable in her hands, and she could tip their head any number of ways to force more from them.

She loved it all.

"I don't like deer," she said finally.

A muscle in his jaw fluttered, and his eyes flicked away from her face. He stared hard at the wall. His hands, resting on the table, balled into tight fists. He drew a deep breath, and forcibly relaxed his muscles.

His eyes returned to her face. Lena didn't flinch under his glare, but sat up straighter to meet his gaze.

"You didn't learn from Renesmee. I knew you would be tempted - truthfully, I was surprised you lasted so long - but I had hoped you would come to me, or one of your siblings."

Her mouth stretched slightly in amusement. Siblings? Surely he wasn't referring to the others, wasn't including her in their strange little game of pretend.

"You're smiling."

She schooled her face back into neutrality.

"You murdered someone. Don't you feel bad?"

She didn't feel guilt, not the overwhelming variety which she knew was the only type he would be satisfied with her expressing. Of course, she mourned the fact that she had to do it, but it was a sadness directed more to herself having to kill at all than her victims having to die. She didn't know them, couldn't cry over their lost lives. But she had lost the Cullens' protection, Jasper's help, and most importantly, the unspoken promise of peace between them.

"Well, do you?"

"Yes," she lied.

He shook his head. He stood, paced several steps behind the desk. It was strange that even in a moment like this, arguing over something he deemed to be as serious as feeding on humans, he acted like one. It was as if he believed he had a connection to them, like he still thought of himself as a human even after all these years.

She had not just hurt a human, but one of his own.

"It's only natural," she said after a while. "We are meant to hunt them."

He stopped pacing and faced her. "Did Alistair tell you that? That man is poisoning your mind. I thought it would be beneficial for you to form a friendship with someone outside our coven, but I can see it has done far more harm than good for your moral development."

"No, I know it myself. I wouldn't have these urges if it was not normal."

He slammed his hands down on the tabletop and leaned over the desk. His face loomed before her, angelic despite his clear anger.

"Edward was right," he sneered, lip curling around his disgust. "You're a monster, in every sense of the word."

Lena didn't move, didn't blink, didn't react at all. She met his eyes levelly, his hauntingly empty eyes, and smiled.

"Thank you."

"I thought I could fix you," he said. "Your cruelty, your lack of empathy. I thought keeping you from human blood would make you decent. I see now it was all in vain."

She blinked at him.

"You could have joined our family, Lena, but I have realised that you're nothing like us. My family thought I was too soft to believe you weren't beyond saving, but I can see now that I was merely naive."

"Why did you care at all?"

Carlisle said nothing. The question seemed to throw him off. He slowly straightened back up and fixed his shirt. His eyes dropped, unable to meet her gaze anymore, and he stared at the carpet as if it had personally offended him.

"As the leader of this family, I am charged with making difficult decisions. I have to consider what is best for everyone," he said. "I'm sorry I have to do this, but I want you to leave. I expect you out of Forks by tomorrow night."

He didn't look at her again before he left the room. His pace was measured, but it was obvious to Lena that he was fleeing.

There was a suitcase in her room, waiting for her. It sat on top of her bed, open and empty. Bright red, and made of hard plastic. Rosalie's, she thought. It smelt like her. How eager she must have been to have her out of the house.

She closed the door behind her, and stared at it. She wasn't sure she owned enough things to fill it.

In her time before she met the Cullens, she travelled light. A backpack of clothes hastily pulled from her drawers in Thessaly. She didn't give herself the time to find her favourites, and it was probably better that way. Most of her shirts ended up ruined, covered in dried blood, and her supply of clothing diminished rapidly.

She owned only two shirts, and two pairs of pants. The rest of the things she wore belonged to Rosalie. She wondered if the thought upset her, if when she saw her leaving her room wearing her donated pieces, there was a part of her that wanted to scream.

She didn't care much about Rosalie. Whether she hated her or adored her, it made little difference to Lena. She was far more tolerable than most of the Cullens, though. She never went to any great length to bother her, and Lena granted her the same freedom. When they crossed each other in the hallway, they hardly acknowledged the other, aside from the compulsive glance they cast to the other, an action born of instinct rather than interest. It didn't mean they were friends. It didn't mean she would miss her.

It didn't mean anything.

She decided to pack her hand-me-downs, thinking she owned them now. If she left her room and Rosalie demanded them back, she would happily empty her suitcase in front of her. The fabric wasn't pleasant, all too light and soft and airy, but it was better than nothing. She missed the abrasiveness of itchy sweaters, and the weight of heavy fabrics atop of her when she reclined.

A knock on the door pulled her from her musings over her old life, a world that seemed so distant and strange to her now. She sniffed the air cautiously, wondering if Carlisle had unsaid words to deliver to her, or if her thoughts about Rosalie had summoned her like a spirit.

Alistair's scent crept under the door. She tried not to question the way her taut muscles relaxed.

"Come in."

He slipped inside quietly, and stood beside her. He was silent for a long moment, but she felt his eyes on her, and knew he was watching her hands as she folded blouses she hated.

"You're leaving," he said.

"Yes."

"Is your decision final?"

He seemed to misunderstand. He thought she was leaving of her own volition, and she maintained she wanted to go, but there was no way she could stay either.

Carlisle, for all his spineless hatred, could only take so much. He was like all men, far more typical than she ever suspected. She thought he was above humankind, different, God-like in his patience and his temperament, but he was not. He had no ghosts because he worked to escape them, worked to be rid of them. That didn't mean he never had any, just that he had spent the last few hundred years driving them away desperately.

He was flawed, perhaps more so than any of them.

"Yes."

"You're running because you feel guilty."

She shook her head. "I'm leaving because there is nothing here for me."

He frowned, and stepped closer to her. "What about-"

She dropped the shirt she was folding into her luggage, and whirled around to face him.

"What about what? There is no benefit staying here. All they do is teach me to turn pages without tearing them, and remind me how many times to blink and breathe in a minute so one day I can leave the house and buy into their game of pretend. Delude myself into thinking I'm related to them, join their creepy little family, all while Emmett tries to shove another deer down my throat."

She finished, and sucked in a breath. She knew she said it too loudly, and that everyone in the house heard. She didn't care - she was leaving, anyway - but was amazed that she managed to say all of that in English while so angry, without so much as stuttering.

She looked at Alistair. His lips were parted, and he seemed to sift through about a hundred thoughts in the span of ten seconds.

"I think that's the most I've ever heard you say at once," he said.

She scoffed, and turned back to her bag.

He grabbed her by the wrist, and spun her back around. "I'm serious. You've never spoken like that before."

"So?"

"So, I like knowing what you're thinking," he said. "Oftentimes, I feel like I have to do a lot of guessing when it comes to you."

She said nothing.

He sighed, and released her arm. "Then again, I suppose that is the standard when it come to the fairer sex."

Lena turned her attention back to packing. Alistair lurked beside her. Sometimes, she thought she sensed him reaching out to touch her, but whenever she dared to glance over at him, he was several paces away, arms folded, chin dipped.

"I'm sorry," he said after a long silence.

She frowned, looked at him, but her attention was focused primarily on trying to shove her only pair of sneakers in the bag. "For what?"

"I can't help but think this is my fault," he said. "If I had stopped you…"

"It would have happened eventually," she said, and zipped up her suitcase.

He nodded, but Lena could tell he had not forgiven himself. He felt like he had taken something from her, like he ruined her chances at something she wanted. Lena never wanted to be like the Cullens, though. She stayed because she wanted to live. Truthfully, she had always wanted to leave.

She walked over to him. His eyes followed her movements, and danced over her face when she stopped in front of him. Close. Closer than she might have some nights ago.

"Lena." He said her name like a warning, and from the way he frowned at her, it was clear he didn't quite know what her intentions were. Even now, after everything, he was wary. He couldn't help it. Always, he was prepared for the worst, for her to hurt him beyond what he could forgive.

For some reason, the thought of him fearing her did not appease her as it might have if it were anybody else. Her stomach coiled, and she swallowed thickly.

Slowly, she reached for his hand and brought it to her lips. She pressed a kiss to his knuckle, and looked up at him from beneath her dark lashes.

His hawkish gaze strayed from her face to his hand, clasped gently in her own.

"Thank you," she said, "for freeing me."

thank u so much for reading! if u want to, please review as this helps me grow as a writer x

also, just wanted to thank a guest reviewer for leaving some helpful feedback. i really appreciated your honest insight into lena's character, and found it helpful to see how you view her. and i completely understand that this type of story isn't for everyone.

i also just want to mention that lena is 100% morally reprehensible. she's a monster. she's awful, selfish, and hypocritical, and her skewed perception of reality damages what chances she has of a functional and moral "afterlife". she mirrors the volturi - the way their members obsess over power, and the way they abuse it.

i intend for her character to be a study into the darker side of humanity, the awful, the side of twilight that isn't full of happy endings and saintly vampires. my execution may not be perfect, but it's certainly entertaining to try :)