Morgan smoothed her palms over the front of her sweater, the lilac woven thread peeking out through the unzipped folds of her coat as she walked a straight line from Liz's truck to Jacob's front door. Her mind raced with thoughts of her appearance. Or, more specifically, what others' opinions might be on it. Had she done too much? It was a nice sweater and jeans. Was she under-dressed? Jacob had said it was casual, but she'd never met these people before.
How was she to know their definition of casual? What if they expected more from her, given the rumors about her family's wealth? It itched like a mosquito bite at the base of her skull, just below the skin, and it caused her fingers to fidget with the hems of her sleeves with anxiety. In the driveway, a particular shade of orange caught her eye. Her feet came to a stop, boots shuffling still in the leaves, as her eyes focused on the old truck parked next to Billy's. Bella. What was she doing here? No one had told her there'd be more guests—especially not her.
They hadn't spoken since Bella walked away from the lockers in a huff. She'd seen her in the halls and in the cafeteria, but it felt like they didn't quite know each other anymore. As if we knew each other at all, Morgan sighed heavily beneath the weight of the thought. It was true. What did they know about each other? How much time had they spent together? Was there really any friendship lost? It soured her stomach.
She forced herself to continue her trek to the door after a moment's pause, and the anxiety worsened with each step. Bursts of adrenaline erupted in her veins like dye packs as her knuckles met the wood three times. It caused her muscles to jitter, vibrating with an almost visible frequency, and she stuffed her hands into her coat pockets in an attempt to hide it. Only a second passed before the door pulled open. Jacob smiled down at her as he hung from the door, an expression that lit up every angle of his face.
It injected something warm into her chest, but not like the gentle prick of a syringe—more like the forceful plunge of an epipen to the thigh. Sunk deep into the tissue with a bruising shove. She could feel the warmth spreading out, trailing upward through her veins to tug at the corners of her mouth, threatening to push them up in a curve of their own. "It was seven, right?" she asked.
"Don't worry, you're right on time," he chuckled once. It was sweet that she was nervous to meet his honorary extended family. But he took a step back to open the door fully, gesturing her inside. "Come in. I can take your coat for you."
Morgan absentmindedly tapped her boots against each other to knock off any leaves she might've picked up before going inside, and Jacob closed the door behind her. "Oh, thanks," she was quick to shimmy off her coat, smiling politely as he took it from her hands.
"Morgan!" Billy's voice was a bit loud as he called her name from the living room. Morgan internally startled with a stiff blink, eyes darting to find him in the group of people occupying the room. They were positioned sporadically, comfortably, and it only made her fear of appearing wrong worse. Billy lifted a hand to motion toward her, ushering her over, she knew. "Come, join us. Introduce yourself."
He was more than welcoming, smiling like a father happy to see his child home from school, and it was comforting as she took strategic steps into the room. Though, it didn't give her as much courage as she would've liked. As her eyes darted around the space at the different faces now aimed right at her, she recognized two. Bella sat on the couch, curled into the farthest end away from the two other young faces nearby. Her father, Sheriff Swan, stood near Billy by the fireplace with a beer in hand.
"Hi, everyone. I'm Morgan Cullen," Morgan introduced herself, timidly, as she came to stand near the end of the couch.
"I'm Harry Clearwater," the adult closest to her spoke up first, before gesturing vaguely to the woman at his side. "This is my wife, Sue. That's our daughter, Leah, and our son, Seth."
He gestured next toward the two kids sitting on the couch at the opposite end from Bella. It was a bit startling just how young Seth appeared to be. Leah, however, looked like she could be Bella's age, a year or two older than Morgan at most. Morgan gave a small wave to them, and Seth was quick to wave back, a kind and carefree smile on his face. Leah was clearly more hesitant, giving the briefest of waves before turning her face away completely.
"Hi. It's nice to meet you," Morgan addressed both parties. Sue smiled warmly at her despite the slightly uneasy expression of her husband.
"And you already know Bella and Charlie," Billy continued the introductions, tipping his head in a gesture toward Bella on the couch and then Sheriff Swan beside him in turn.
Morgan nodded, smiling politely at the Sheriff who regarded her with a nod of acknowledgement. "It's nice to see you again, Sheriff."
"Staying out of trouble?" he asked, in jest. "You and Bella aren't planning any mischief, are ya?"
Bella's eyes shifted to glance up at Morgan. They were filled with a million little things. Annoyance, regret, frustration, sadness. But, above all, embarrassment. Had she not told her father that she wasn't talking to Morgan anymore? Did they talk about those kinds of things? Another thing to add to the list of things Morgan didn't know about Bella. It was then that Jacob made his presence in the room known—at least, to her.
He casually draped an arm over her shoulders as though he'd done it a thousand times before, like it was a simple thing done within their friendship, and Morgan felt her chest still. The weight was so little yet so entirely crushing. She could feel the heat rushing to the meat of her face, threatening to flush her cheeks an alarming shade of red. Still, she stifled it with a forced upturn of her lips, acting out her best attempt at a cool-headed extrovert. "Nothing too dangerous," she replied.
"Well, everything's ready. Should we take our seats?" Sue asked, looking to Billy and Charlie across the space.
"Good idea," Billy agreed. "We wouldn't want dinner to get cold."
Morgan couldn't help but feel entirely out of place. She knew this whole ordeal was to get her acquainted with their family friends so that she wouldn't be, and Billy even wanted her to be friends with the Clearwater kids—however, it felt like he and Jacob were the only ones that wanted her there. And she didn't blame them. She couldn't. After all, she would probably feel weird if one of her friends randomly brought someone to a friends-only event. Especially if that someone was from a family everyone in the friend group had good reason to hate.
Still, she tried her very hardest to seem friendly and approachable, polite and considerate. She wanted them to know that she wasn't like the others—she was safe. They could dislike her if they wanted. But, as long as they felt safe around her, she truly had no complaints. Morgan took her time finding a seat, waiting for the others to settle themselves so as not to step on any toes. She took the available seat left, between Jacob and Seth, across from Bella and her father.
Billy sat at one end and Harry Clearwater sat at the other, with Sue on Harry's left and Leah on his right. They were all sat in a comfortable mix of being near family and blending in with the rest of the table. There was an empty seat left at Billy's right, though Morgan didn't question it. It only made sense having four seats on each side. It was only vacant because Morgan was the only guest to come alone. Although, that wasn't entirely true. Jacob sat closer to her than his father.
A brief thought crossed Morgan's mind but, when it did, she wished more than anything that it hadn't. Did he think this was a kind of date? She didn't mind the closer company as dishes full of food made their rounds, someone she knew better than the others she could comfortably talk to. However, the idea that her attendance might mean something different to him than she was prepared for was another block of stress and anxiety on the ever-growing stack.
For most of the dinner, Morgan simply listened. The others talked to the table about their days, weeks, and she listened closely in the hopes she might be able to get to know these people enough to actually participate. She poked at the green bean casserole on her plate while Harry, Billy, and Sheriff Swan went back and forth about the recent sports scores. Admittedly, she was completely lost. But it was then that a sudden rap on the front door echoed into the rest of the house. A hush fell over the table almost immediately as all eyes either looked to the door or Billy or both.
Something nauseous slithered into Morgan's stomach then. It almost felt like she was being watched again, but it was much softer, and there were no eyes on her to be felt. All that lingered was the upended nerves. Billy left the table to answer the door and she stared at his back until he'd reached it, unable to force her eyes away. He opened it just enough to look out. Then, visible relief seemed to wash over him as he relaxed his hold on the door, and it opened a bit more. If she hadn't been staring so hard, Morgan wouldn't have been able to notice the unexpected guest was blonde.
Wisps of hair dangled, fluttering off a coat-covered shoulder in the gentle wind. Billy reversed, nudging the door open further, and a woman in a brown coat stepped inside. She closed the door behind her and something about the confidence in the action felt familiar. As though she had done it before. It was when the woman pulled the knit cap from her head that Morgan was truly able to look at her. To take in her appearance fully. And it was then that her stomach turned on its side, sloshing harshly, and she tasted bile at the back of her throat.
It was her.
The woman that looked just like her. It was the same blonde hair and blue eyes, and the soft sounds of the words Morgan couldn't quite pick out carried the same gentle melody and sadness in the voice she'd heard along with it. Morgan startled in her seat as Sue stood up from the table with bright features lit with excitement, and she watched as Sue walked to the door to greet the woman. The woman looked just as happy to see Sue as Sue was to see her, and they embraced in a caring hug. The kind reserved for dear friends.
A drop of rue joined the unholy turbulence in her gut. She couldn't quite tell why, but something cold in her chest told her to look at Billy, to examine his reaction. Perhaps that would give her an idea of what was actually happening? Though, when her eyes shifted to his face, they were met with his observant stare. Already looking directly at her with the same idea. What was this? It felt like an intervention of some kind, although she couldn't tell just what for. However, it was clear that this guest was not as unexpected as she'd originally thought.
As Morgan's eyes fell to her plate, she reached out a hand beneath the table, fingertips probing the air for something specific—she didn't know exactly what, though. She just knew she needed it. A jolt ran up her spine as her hand collided with Jacob's, the sudden warmth of his skin racing straight to her chest. It was in her veins. Her fingers slid into his open palm in a kind of silent question, a request for reciprocation, and his hand turned to embrace hers almost immediately. Her eyes lifted, then, to see his face—only to find his brow knitted questioningly.
With the softening of his eyes and relaxed lines of his features, the question was more than clear—are you okay? Her face had washed pale, her lips and eyes the only color left, and it was a ghastly difference from the cheery warmth of her features not ten minutes ago. The sight stiffened his shoulders, pulling at something so deep within his chest cavity that it almost hurt. Morgan tried to tell him. She tried so desperately to convey why she was not okay, to alert him to the fact that the woman in her dream-like visions was standing right there, though she knew he would not understand.
However, he understood the confirmation that the answer to his question was no, she was not okay, not in the slightest. There wasn't an ounce of peace in her body, and her features began to color a gentle hue of green. All he could do without telling the whole table what was happening was try to comfort her. To try to ease her silent suffering with a kind 'I'm right here' brush of his thumb, carrying warmth over her knuckles. Whatever she needed, even if it was to leave, he was there.
An ounce of relief washed over her like cold water on a warm day, draining down her veins to pool in her stomach, and it attempted to steady the brutal chaos within. It was then that Sue and Billy returned to the table, coming to their seats to sit as they had before. Though, this time, the woman followed them. She stood behind the empty seat at Billy's right a moment, just across the table from Jacob and Morgan, and she stared down at Morgan with a vague expression. Morgan chanced a brief glance in her direction, aiming for subtly, but she paused seeing that look.
Was she asking for permission? Waiting for some kind of invitation? But the woman pulled out the chair and lowered herself into it just as Morgan thought those words, as if they'd projected right from her mind to the woman's ears. And, in a way, perhaps they did? After all, Morgan wasn't in the best position to be properly controlling her facial expressions. Sheriff Swan offered her the nearest dish, but the woman politely declined. "Thank you, but I'm just here for the company," she said. "It's been a very long day."
"Yeah, I can imagine. Did you drive all the way down from Alaska?" Harry asked her.
Morgan's right brow lifted an inch reflexively, eyes darting from the woman to Harry and back again. The woman retained a smile as she turned her head to look at Harry. "Just about. Been in the car the last three days, off and on. I had to see the sights on my way, you know," she flirted with sarcasm, almost attaining it before reclining, settling for a kind of inside-joke humor.
It was then that Morgan looked to Billy, at the end of the table, as something in her stomach clenched. Sitting silently as he observed the interactions. His eyes shifted toward her only at the movement in his line of vision, and he sat back in his chair. The lines of his face smoothed into a reserved shape of realization—and, perhaps, remorse—when her features came into focus. Jaw tight, shoulders gently slumped, she was unmoving in her chair, but there was a different color in her eye. Something angry. Betrayed.
A different kind of realization had come over her, and he understood, then, just what she'd come to know. It wasn't surprising. However, he hadn't expected this reaction. There was supposed to be excitement, joy on her face, and the look she gave him was meant to be of thanks. Instead, she looked at him now as though she'd watched him harm her dog—and she wanted justice.
Something white hot burned in the center of her spine, and Morgan found herself turning to the woman across the table from her. It drew the woman's eyes—the sudden movement—and caused her pause, a moment of stun, if only for the lack of preparation for indifference here. Indifference to her. "Alaska, really?" Morgan's voice was sickening in her own ears, straight from some kind of commercial. Clearly acting like it interested her for friendly reasons. "What part?"
The woman was stuck in her pause a brief moment longer. There were only so many outcomes from this interaction, and none of them were the desired. Telling her could alienate her with loyalty to her family. Lying would bring questions from the others around her who knew the truth, but not the whole truth. Though, it didn't take her long to decide between rock and hard place. "I was in Denali for the holidays," she answered. Clean and light, untethered to the weight in her chest.
"Didn't your family live there for a while?" Sheriff Swan asked Morgan, a curious slant to his brow.
Something nudged at Morgan's hip then. It poked, held its pressure, and then went away entirely—and then did it again a split second later. Vibration. Cell phone. She untangled her hand beneath the table and instead submerged it in the front pocket of her jeans. Sure enough, her cell phone was wild with vibration and the screen lit up with Edward. There was a flash of instinctual irritation. Then, adrenaline as her stomach poured into the soles of her shoes with a sudden rush of concern.
It had to be an emergency, didn't it? There was no way he would call like this, not in the middle of her visit to the reservation. None of them would. "I'm sorry, I have to take this," Morgan said, standing a bit abruptly. "Please excuse me."
She nudged her chair back in, but didn't waste another second on her way to the front door. Her coat was easy enough to grab from the rack on her way out, draping it over her arm as she answered the call before it could go to voicemail, and she closed the door behind her as she held the phone up to her ear. "Hello?"
The cold breeze bit at her cheeks, slithering through the fabric of her sweater as she struggled to put on her coat with one hand. "Morgan, are you still at Jacob's house?" Edward's voice came through the phone swiftly but reserved, audibly restrained. She felt the urge, briefly, to make a snarky comment about the cold introduction to the conversation, but decided against it.
There was obviously a reason behind the question, and the nature of it all didn't bode well for it being a harmless one. "Yeah, I'm still here," she answered, before putting her phone in the opposite hand to shimmy her sleeve onto her arm. "Why? What's going on?"
"I'll explain it when you get home, but it's not safe for you to stay there. Esme already called Liz to come get you. Wait for her, get in the car, and come straight home. Understand?"
No, I don't, but there's no point in arguing with you, is there? she thought, withholding a heavy sigh. Amongst the irritation was disappointment, but also a small amount of relief. She wanted to leave a little more with each passing second that that woman sat at the table with them all—but there was no real reason to. What would she have told them that didn't raise an eyebrow or ruffle a feather? "Yeah, fine," she exhaled the words, arms pinned tightly around her torso to keep her coat closed.
A small but audible, "I'm sorry," came through the speaker, and then there was deafening silence. Morgan pulled the phone from her ear to look at the screen and, sure enough, he'd hung up. It sounded like a genuine, remorseful apology. Still, it didn't sponge her of the negative emotions now communing with the anxiety in the swell of her gut.
"Everything okay?"
Jacob's voice from behind caused her to startle, a subtle but noticeable lurch on her heels, and she turned to see him as he approached from the front of the house. Again, she wanted to admit that the answer was no. For a second, the realization crossed her mind that the backlash she might receive from telling the truth would still feel better than the guilt she would feel from telling yet another lie. But this was the worst possible time. No, if she was going to be stupid, she needed to be smart about it.
Sighing, she slid her phone pack into her pocket and fastened her coat. "Sort of. Something's going on and my dad needs me to come home," she casually flubbed.
Disappointment flashed across his face in the briefest of shadows. "Oh. That sucks," his lips screwed up to make an expression. "Maybe you'll feel better when you get home?"
Morgan paused. She eyed him for a quiet moment in thought. Just a second, really, but it felt like the whole world had stopped. The breeze had stopped mid-gust and the leaves steadied their rustling, even the moon held still as it hung in the sky, only its light remaining in motion as it traveled to earth simply to glimmer across his eye. He'd been there for her each and every time, even when she did not ask. Not because he expected something from her, either a favor or gratuitous gratitude—just because he truly wanted to.
How many other people like that would she meet in her life? How many people like that even existed? He could read her better than the people who raised her, who were responsible for the person she'd become, and the book had never been locked. Not for him. It was a diary she'd opened and set before him, willingly allowing him to know the deepest parts of her soul. To run his finger down the spine and turn the pages at his leisure—but he never tore a page or bent it at its corner to mark his place. He didn't need to. He always remembered right where he was.
"I feel better when I'm with you," she blurted, though not quite the accident it should've been. She wanted him to know. He needed to know that after all he'd done for her and how he cared, she truly appreciated and cared for him, too.
Jacob stared back at her—at first, with a gentle shade of surprise hiding behind his unmoved features, and then his warm skin dusted a faint rose along his cheekbones and the corners of his mouth curved out into his cheeks as if pulled there by some other force. "I'm glad I could help," he replied. It was a response typical of his sarcastic humor, but he was more than a little flattered. What else could he really say without giving too much away?
There was too much behind his actions for words, anyway. She didn't know what moved her, what otherworldly force conspired to possess her, but Morgan moved a step forward. A step closer. It took every inch of her feet to lift herself high enough, rising up on her toes to touch her lips to the soft skin of his cheek. He'd leaned forward to accommodate her absentmindedly, but all thoughts in his head had come to a complete stop.
It was the briefest moment—much more fleeting than he would've liked—as she pulled away only a second after leaning in. Something in his veins forced his hand to surge forward, grabbing hold of hers as it hung by her side, and tangled his fingers in with hers. Though, the grip wasn't just on her hand. She could feel the weight in her rib cage, warmth wrapping itself around the bones. It begged her to stop, pleading with her to slow down, to stay closer a little longer. To let herself linger.
There was no question of what she could afford. Not a single thought of it entered her mind. It was as though something had barricaded the door, boarded it up to keep them out and stop them from souring everything left inside. What remained was far too precious. Him.
It felt as though there were no barriers. Like, for a few minutes, nothing said or done could be judged. Nothing was too much. There were no worries about being too forward, or assuming. There was only familiarity in the space between them, and it was a kind of warmth Morgan had never felt before. Was this what people called intimacy? The way their eyes closed as their foreheads met? Their fingers curling into the fabric of each other's coat sleeves? It was heavy and light at the same time. Everything and nothing simultaneously.
"Morgan?" his voice was a whisper.
She did not dare open her eyes. "Hm?"
"Can I kiss you?"
Drunk on the exhilarating comfort, she had only the wherewithal to blush at the idea, a rosy color dusting the pale outlines of her cheeks as the corners of her mouth curved upward. Of course he would ask. "If I can kiss you, too," she replied, a cheeky response only somewhat unserious.
Jacob's lips met hers with an upward slant, but their nervous and humored shapes managed to fit together—melting in places not quite proportionate. There was nothing but static buzzing in Morgan's mind, buzzing like a swarm of somewhat muted bees. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the dizziness setting in, her heels threatening to sway. Though, amidst it all—the nausea, anxiety, dizziness, and anger—there was an electrifying hum spreading through her skin.
Then, there was a flash of white. A bright white light that darted across the black behind her eyelids. Her muscles tightened, jolting with surprise, and her head instinctively turned in the direction it went. Jacob was surprised by it, as well. However, his reaction of looking to find the source was more from annoyance at the interruption. Liz's truck was now parked just feet from their position. The driver's side window eased its way down just enough for Liz herself to be visible, leaning her head through the hole to smile smugly.
"Someone call a taxi?" she sarcastically asked.
Morgan sighed a shaky breath, loosing her grip on Jacob's sleeve to allow her hand to hang at her side. Though, it wasn't so easy to relinquish her grip on him. "I'll call you later?" she tipped her head back to glance up at him with a hopeful tint to her eyes.
He smiled warmly, softly. "I'll be waiting by the phone."
"You better."
She reached up a hand to push playfully at his arm before finally untangling her other hand. The lack of warmth was immediately felt. Morgan shoved her hands into her coat pockets as she started around the front of Liz's truck. Jacob's eyes followed her all the way to the passenger door—and, when they reached it, Liz came into view. Her arm folded on the open window, she leaned into the door as she stared at him with a smug, almost humorous smirk.
"Nice," she mouthed the word, lifting the arm folded over the window to hold up a thumb in a brief gesture, and Jacob couldn't help but chuckle despite tossing his eyes toward the moon.
Heat blossomed against her palms as they grazed the mug on the table in front of her. Her fingers danced slowly, gently over the warm ceramic surface absentmindedly. Her eyes, however, were focused on the glass windows, spanning from the floor to the ceiling along the walls of the dining area. Rain speckled the clear surface from the outside and sporadically drizzled down the length of it, and she watched the droplets in a kind of unfocused distraction.
Esme sat on the other side of the table, her back to the visuals trademarked to the Pacific Northwest, but her eyes did not meet Morgan's. This was not a conversation anyone in the household had wanted to have—but they couldn't keep it from her for much longer, and it was better this way. Bringing this to her in a comfortable and safe environment, presented by people she knew loved her, was much better than leaving her to find out on her own. Or, god forbid, through a dangerous interaction.
However, Esme was only somewhat of an audience member for this discussion. Carlisle was to give her the news and the others would be there to help smooth things out and keep it all from becoming something it shouldn't be in case it's received poorly. They were there to soften the blow. Though, Morgan knew what it was already. She'd come down for breakfast and stepped right into the stiff, stale, and silent aura of the house.
Emmett was uncharacteristically quiet, Jasper wouldn't quite look her in the eye, and Rosalie's clenched jaw stuck out against her rather indifferent features. Alice, however, was overly helpful and intent on making conversation, and Esme was a bit more doting than usual. It was the same routine, the same emotions and behaviors they resorted to, so many times before. They were moving again. No other explanation made sense. This time, it was a shock to her system.
Last night, she'd come home just as asked and when she questioned the reasoning, Carlisle simply fed her a line about not trusting the wolves and wanting to be careful before sending her to bed. It was obviously a lie. Not trusting the wolves was true, but they had been worried since the beginning. Why only now did it bother them to the point of reeling her in like some kind of bass on a line? And, was it really just a coincidence that they were going to leave town the day after the woman from her visions arrived?
They had taken her for some kind of fool, she was sure of it. She didn't know whether to be angry, sad, or let herself fall into a dissociative state of denial. It was Carlisle's voice that finally pulled her eyes from the glass, forcing them to focus on his face as he sat at the head of the table to her left. A second later, the legs of the chair to her right shrieked against the wood floor, and the suddenness of it tugged her head to the right in a jerk. Edward lowered himself into the seat directly next to her and angled not only the chair, but himself, to face the others at the table.
Morgan blinked. Though, she couldn't bring herself to make a comment. So, instead, she simply turned her head away to continue looking at Carlisle. Her fingernails dug into her palm as her hand wrapped around the handle of the mug, carving crescents while the fingers of her other hand continued to ghost the ceramic absentmindedly. "I want to start by assuring you that this isn't the discussion you believe it to be," Carlisle finally spoke, cutting through the silence so sharply it almost hurt her ears to hear sound. "We're not leaving Forks. Not yet. There is, however, another very serious discussion we, admittedly, have been putting off for some time now—but we can't any longer."
"Are you kidding me? What's with the funeral act, then? Everyone's been walking around like someone died," Morgan couldn't help but knit her brows tight with confusion and frustration.
Carlisle inwardly braced himself, focusing on his phrasing. "We know, and we're sorry for the confusion. This conversation is equally as serious. Jasper told you about why we left the house in Nova Scotia. The tracker that attacked us—attacked you—got away. We've only recently become aware of the fact that he's been tracking us since we left. We'd gone to our cousins in Denali in case of that very thing. However, we think he's been waiting for us to get a little too comfortable."
Esme gave Morgan an agonizingly sympathetic look and Edward was watching her closely, practically breathing down her neck, and all Morgan could do was stare at Carlisle in bewilderment. How could this be the discussion? It wasn't even in the realm of possibility in her mind when trying to think of a reason for the sudden change in atmosphere. Was this truly what they were so scared to tell her? "So…you think this pedo vampire has some kind of obsession with me, and he followed us here?" she asked, repeating only for the sake of a sheer loss for words.
"We know," Carlisle nodded once. "He's been fairly smart in evading us. I don't want to alarm you any more than I have to, but his scent was on you when you came home on Friday. Did you come into contact with anyone you haven't met before? Did anyone ask you for directions, maybe? Or, simply looked out of place?"
Cold trailed down Morgan's spine and her fingers stilled against the mug. It was him. The vampire she'd felt following her—it was the one that had tried to kill her so long ago. The idea of it was enough to cause her stomach to slosh abruptly, paling her cheeks with an unreadable anxiousness. Esme noticed the sudden shift in her appearance immediately, and something about it gripped at her chest. "Morgan, honey, what is it?" she asked gently, with a sweet but worried mixture only a mother could properly pull off.
"I…I didn't tell anyone because I was hoping it was just one of you and I was wrong…but, I- I've been feeling like someone's watching me sometimes," Morgan haphazardly explained her thoughts, tripping over her own tongue. "And I don't mean a normal person. I can tell when it's not a human watching me. But it's only happened two or three times in the last two weeks."
A dreadful sigh settled through Carlisle's bones and Esme reached out a hand, placing hers on top of his as it rested atop the table until it turned over and accepted the offer of support. It was worry that rattled them. Pure terror that threatened to consume them. "What do you mean you can tell?" Edward questioned, filling the moment of silence.
Morgan adjusted in her seat to properly look up at him, turning away from the sad sight of her fraught parents. "After a while, I could just tell the difference. My assumption's always been correct. You guys would always spy on me when I was out alone, and I'd get this really uncomfortable feeling at the back of my neck. I just knew."
"Then, how do you know it wasn't one of us?"
"I know when it's you guys. I know when it's family. This…this felt so completely wrong. It wasn't anyone I've felt before," Morgan explained, with a shake of her head.
"Where were you each time you felt this feeling?" Carlisle reentered the conversation, pulling her gaze back to him in a slow swivel on her chair.
Though, she paused. She knew how it could sound. She knew what they would take away from her. But how was she to lie her way out when she'd already dug herself into this hole with complete honesty? Morgan's shoulders tensed as she braced herself with a tightened grip on the mug, forcing her jaw to loosen enough to speak properly. "The reservation. With Jacob," she answered.
Carlisle's brows set low, casting shadows that reached his cheekbones. "Both times?"
Morgan nodded. Edward looked to Carlisle and the movement drew his eyes, though he was already about to glance at him, as well. "He's waiting to get close to her until she's somewhere we can't go," Edward said, confirming Morgan's fears. She slumped into the backing of her chair, removing her hands from the mug only to use them to cover her face.
Carlisle nodded in agreement, though he sat back in a deep train of anxious thought. "Sweetheart, I know this is hard for you," Esme leaned forward an inch in an attempt to single out Morgan between the two men. "Just remember that this isn't something we're doing. This monster is trying to harm you, and it's incredibly unfair. We understand that, okay? And we're here for you."
"We're going to do everything we can to put an end to this as soon as possible," Carlisle added, a foot in and a foot out of his brain. But it was a kind of promise he intended to keep—not just for the sake of momentary assurance. For the sake of his family.
The muscles in Morgan's limbs were beginning to shake with anxiety, frustration, and adrenaline. She scrubbed her face with her hands before wounding her arms tightly around her torso in an attempt to keep them still. Though, her face had given it all away the moment she uncovered it. "What am I supposed to do, hm? Stay home from school, make up some bullshit illness, for however long it takes to kill this guy? Because that's what you're going to do, isn't it? Rip his head off and set the rest of him on fire?"
"We'll come up with a better excuse if we need it," Carlisle bit his tongue, ignoring the added gruesome details. "For now, we don't want anything to change. If he knew we were onto him, he wouldn't be so careless, and we want to keep him in the dark. However, you can't go out of the house alone until this is over. And I'm afraid that means no more going past the treaty line."
There it was. The bomb she'd watched drop from the sky, taking its time crawling against the wall of blue sky, finally reached the ground. She could feel the shock waves ripping through her skin, burning deep into the tissue, and her bones ached in the aftermath. It felt like her chest cavity had been hollowed out entirely with the stillness of her lungs. She could almost feel them collecting dust, growing mold, turning utterly sour. She didn't want to move them and risk it spreading—but now her chest was burning like her skin as if she'd breathed in the radiation, too.
Her inhale was shallow, slow, calculated. There was no need for this to get worse. For it to spread to her throat and her stomach and her heart. She couldn't survive that. With all eyes on her, she felt like some kind of doll positioned in her seat at the tea party, and she was waiting for someone to reach over and tell her how to move. However, the others were rather quiet. Perhaps none knew what to say, seeing her expression? Watching as the lines of her face deepened, her features becoming more pained?
There was nothing any of them could say to reverse that look of devastation. It all felt so foolish, and Morgan held back a pitiful laugh aimed at herself. Of course this would happen. She knew from the beginning that, eventually, she would be leaving Forks just like she'd left every city, every house, every friend she'd ever made. It was just her luck that it happened the morning after the night she'd had. After Jacob became more than a friend.
