Hello! I hope you're all doing well and staying safe.

Many thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, and favorites this story. Big virtual hugs for you all!

Enormous thanks to Fran, Mr G and Me, and Monica03 for all of their help and support.

I'm extremely nervous about this chapter, so ... I'll let you get to it. SM owns everything Twilight.

Edward is frozen, his arms hanging loose at his sides. His lips are unmoving, stiff, and unyielding against mine. My heart thunders in my ears as my actions catch up with me.

I'm kissing Edward.

I should be mortified at my brazen actions, but I'm not.

It seemed like the natural thing to do; it's odd that this seems natural to me, rather than just saying "thank you," which would be much more appropriate.

I wouldn't do this to everyone who helped me out, so why is Edward so different?

Is it because of him, I was able to help Jess with the money she needs so she can get help with her stuttering? I know I'm extremely happy that she'll get to be more confident and happier with her life.

One side of me wants to say that's it; I'm simply grateful that Edward helped me out, and therefore, helped Jess out, but something is still bugging me.

Maybe it's because Edward is doing that freaky statue thing I've caught the Cullens doing from time to time. Honestly, with all his remarks about us making out, I thought he would be more receptive to this.

It looks like I'm wrong.

Jerking away from him, I uncurl my fingers from the lapels of his jacket and slowly lower myself down onto my feet. I release a short bark of laughter, shaking my head at my own craziness.

"Well, that … was something," I remark, feeling incredibly foolish.

While I feel like an idiot, I'm not going to apologize. Saying "I'm sorry" means that I regret my actions, and to be honest, I don't … despite the uncomfortable pressure in my chest.

As if my voice had woken him, Edward comes to life. Reaching toward me, his hands glide across my hips, his fingers brushing against my lower back and applying just the faintest amount of pressure. He pulls me toward him, the front of him molding to me in a way that has me moaning, and the pressure in my chest instantly disappearing.

Seconds later, he leans down toward me, his lips covering my own in a bruising kiss, his tongue seeking access, which I readily give with a low groan. There's a slight tingling on my tongue and lips that has me concerned, but it's soon forgotten as I feel him smile into the kiss.

In retaliation for my groan and his reaction, I bury a hand in his hair, pulling hard.

A humming sound of approval erupts from his chest, and he walks backward, taking us inside his apartment. With a flippant hand, the door slams closed, and we stagger backward, blindly navigating through the space. The backs of my knees hit a soft but firm surface, and the kiss unintentionally breaks as I lose my balance.

Taking control of the situation, Edward spins around and falls back onto the couch with a grunt, pulling me with him. I settle myself on his lap but don't return my lips to his.

My chest is heaving, burning with the oxygen it was denied moments earlier. Edward seems to understand this, his focus now on my neck and collarbone. His hands roam my back before settling down low, the tips of his fingers diving in the gap between my skin and pants.

The feeling of his cool fingers sends a chilling thrill through me, and I shiver, inadvertently bringing me closer. Edward's grip tightens, holding me in place and allowing me to feel every hard plane of his body.

Unable to help myself with our proximity, I bury my hands in his hair once more, returning my lips to his.

Things heat up pretty quickly, with our hands under each other's shirts, pulling and tugging at the material, while our lower halves move against one another with a velocity that surprises me.

With the blink of an eye, we're both topless, and Edward's hungry gaze zeros in on my dark purple bra—or specifically, what it's holding.

I want to crack a joke at this and give him a hard time, but words seem to have failed me as he kisses the skin above my bra, his open-mouthed kisses rendering me speechless. I hope he doesn't realize this because he'll never let me live it down.

I shiver once more, feeling his hands moving toward the clasp, and I freeze.

While I know where the next step leads, I realize I'm not ready for anything more than this.

Not yet.

Besides, this is not what I came here to do, and I hadn't planned things going this far.

Sensing my hesitation, Edward's hands flatten against my back, and he pulls away, his breathing labored. Questions are written all over his face, and there's a slight feeling of remorse as I notice the uncomfortable expression he's sporting due to my position.

Scooting back, so I'm resting on his knees, I firmly place my hands on his shoulders while his hands glide down my sides, eliciting another shiver.

I take a moment, hoping to calm my heaving breaths, noticing that Edward's gaze is locked on my breasts.

"Enjoying the view?" I question, pushing at his shoulders.

Releasing a hand, he rubs it across his lips, in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his grin. "It's all right, I guess."

"You're such a charmer," I reply dryly, pushing against his shoulders so I can maneuver myself off him.

Instead of letting me go, he holds me tighter, applying light pressure to my hips so I can't move. It's a little painful, but the intense look in his eyes keeps me from saying a word.

"I never know when to be serious with you," he starts, his voice no louder than a whisper. "You're always a smartass, so I'm always cracking jokes, trying to one-up you."

I raise an eyebrow at this, and he smiles bashfully, a single shoulder lifting slightly. "I'm kind of competitive."

"Even with me?"

"At first," he replies honestly. "Then, I just wanted to push your buttons because I love it when you get all riled up and pissed."

"Why?" I question, shocked.

Slowly, he brings his hand to my face, his fingertips brushing gently along the skin of my temple, down to my cheek. The feather-like touch sends shivers through me, and in response, he holds me closer, even though it doesn't help my shaking one bit.

When he repeats the action, it's then I notice there's a slight tremor in his hand.

I want to look away because it feels like there's a heavy, intense moment happening here, and I need a breather so I can get in control, but I can't seem to look away.

"Because," he lowly starts, his voice shaking like his hand. "Your skin flushes beautifully when you get pissed. Your eyes light up, and your whole face ignites in light and passion and annoyance. You just radiate … inside and out. It makes you even more beautiful than you are. Because … because I love being the one who evokes such a reaction in you. I love that it's me you're reacting to. It's not just pissing you off either; I love being close to you. Being with you. I can't explain it."

I swallow thickly and shift, feeling every line of hardness Edward has. He groans lowly, and I stop, muttering an apology.

He waves it away. "I lo—Do—can you—" he trails off, throwing his head back against the back of the sofa, a string of curses leaving his lips.

While he's not looking, I take a moment and think over everything he's said.

Hadn't I been wondering the same thing moments ago? Or better yet, since we had started getting along?

It's comforting to know we share the same confusion and feelings toward one another.

It's nice to know I'm not alone; he's feeling the same things I am, but he seems to know exactly what those feelings are … so why don't I know?

What is this, I'm feeling?

Is it attraction? Like? Love?

The attraction is definitely there; there's no denying that, and I do like him … when he's not seriously irritating me or sneaking into my room without permission. He has a wicked sense of humor, and I love being in his company.

When we spent the day together, and he suggested we do it again, I wasn't opposed to it; in fact, I was happy. I looked forward to it.

So, yes, I suppose if I didn't want to be alone with him, then I wouldn't like him, right?

My gut is telling me yes.

I do like him … but is it more than that?

I love spending time with him, and kissing him is great, too, if I'm being honest … but does that equal love?

It frustrates me that I can't answer this question myself, but I'm not going to jump too far ahead into an obsessed love-struck wanna-be that thinks every little thing equals love.

I'm just going to take this one step at a time and go with the first part of my epiphany.

I'm definitely attracted to him, and I like being with him; therefore, I like him.

Sliding my hands over his cheeks and applying pressure on my fingertips, I silently implore him to look at me.

He does, his expression guarded with numerous questions in his eyes. But there's something else there too … it looks hopeful.

"Just spit out what you were going to say. You've never filtered much in our conversations before, so don't do it now," I tell him, ignoring the confusion on his face. I continue, wanting to add a little humor to the situation, so it's more us and less like a soap opera. "If it's completely ridiculous and stupid, I promise not to make fun of you … a lot. To your face."

He smirks, shaking his head. "I … I feel something for you, Bella."

"Friendship?" I ask distastefully, recalling his previous use of the word.

His response is immediate. "No. Well, kind of. It started that way, but I don't think about my other friends this way," he pointedly says, pulling me closer to him.

"Thank goodness. That'd be weird."

"Completely," he agrees, solemnly nodding, though there's a smirk twitching at his lips. "Bella, I—I like you." His face screws up at this like he doesn't like the sound of it, but he continues, nonetheless. "There's just something about you that pulls me toward you. I can't stay away."

"I can relate. I feel the same way."

I notice his bright smile just moments before he pulls me in for another kiss. It's shorter than our previous one, but still just as intense.

"So, what does this mean?" I question when we pull apart. "Do we date, or just continue doing this … whatever it is?" I circle between us with my finger, wondering what the next step is.

He raises an eyebrow, his hands flexing on my hips as he leans forward, teasing me with his lips. "I think you know my answer."

Rolling my eyes and using him for leverage, I roll off his lap, and he makes no move to follow me, resting his head back and staring up at the ceiling.

"Sorry," he murmurs, after several moments pass. "I wouldn't pressure you … and I didn't mean for things to go that far."

"I wasn't stopping you."

He hums, rising from the couch to collect our shirts—I have no idea how they ended up across the room, but the distance is rather impressive.

"No, you didn't, did you?"

"All right," I reply, holding up a hand. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Just because we confessed our feelings, doesn't mean you get to gloat about anything. I still have options."

He snorts, amusement flashing in his eyes. "Yeah, that's why you're here with me. Out of all the guys in Forks, La Push, and Port Angeles, it's always me you seem to be kissing."

"I guess I'll go to Seattle then," I sneer, but it doesn't remain there for long. A smile quickly pulls at the corners of my lips, which I quickly hide.

Edward tosses me my shirt, and I hastily put it on, catching him studiously watching every move I make with rapt attention.

"You do realize that's going to be one of my questions, right? Whether you've caught this show when I wasn't aware? I also expect total and complete honesty. I deserve that much."

Harshly, he sighs, resuming his previous spot on the couch. He angles his body toward me, and I do the same, our knees touching.

"I figured, and the answer is no. I never spied on you getting dressed or undressed."

My lips purse and my fingers tap against my opposite thigh. It doesn't escape my notice that he doesn't make a promise to be honest, but that's okay. I think I have him pegged pretty well; I'll know if he's lying or not.

As for the rest of his words, how can I be sure he's telling the truth? He could say whatever he wants, and I have no proof, either way, to back up his claims.

When I relay this to him, he merely sighs, as if he's already tired of the conversation, but I don't care. I need answers.

"You're right, I could say anything, and you'd have no proof. However," he says, stressing the word. "If I did, I would have told you. Especially now that you know—"

"You're a creeping creeper?" I quip.

"If you want to phrase it that way," he grudgingly replies.

Pursing my lips, I nod at this, realizing the truth. After all, he looked extremely and satisfyingly surprised at the sight of me in my bra.

Not exactly how someone would look if they'd seen it before.

I push back the thought and decide to let the matter rest. I'm not ashamed of my body, and from Edward's reaction earlier, he seems to like what I have.

"Fine."

Giving me a small smile, he motions for me to ask another question, his hand falling on our knees. Distractedly, his fingers rub at the material there, a gentle, soothing motion that makes my body melt. I gaze at him, looking for any indication that he's aware of what he's doing, but there are none.

I don't know if this is his way of trying to distract me, but I'm not going to let it happen.

Purposefully looking away, I take in his apartment, trying to stomp down the shock I feel from its appearance, not to mention the fact that he actually has his own place.

What in the actual hell?

The space is open and clean, with white walls and dark oak trim along the ceiling and floorboards. The floors are light mahogany, glistening underneath the muted recess lighting.

There's no artwork or pictures anywhere I can see. There are a few odds and ends that look delicately vintage, but are surprisingly in good shape, if they're as old as they appear.

Like his parent's home, there's a small den-like area with four walls all shelves, housing books, and records. There's one lone chair in the center, underneath a crème colored rug and one small glass table next to it.

It looks like a relaxing home library, but at the same time, it feels extremely sad. Like a corner, you'd send a kid to after they wouldn't do their chores.

Not that I'd know anything about that.

The only picture he has visible is my painting, giving the space a small amount of color.

The furniture matches the tone of the apartment; sharp angles, and dark wood edges, and while they look like they'd be uncomfortable, the cushions are plush and thick, promising comfort. It's minimalist and very masculine; a clear sign this is a guy's apartment.

"Not exactly what I pictured for you," I murmur, sweeping around once more before looking back at him.

He raises a questioning eyebrow, his finger now tapping evenly on my knee. "What were you expecting?"

"A lair of sorts. Dark walls, uncomfortable furniture, and maybe a few spider webs. Maybe dirt scattered everywhere," I reply with a straight face.

Edward snorts, shaking his head. "Where do you get this from?"

"Mainly? Movies. Occasionally there is a legend or two thrown around a campfire."

He says nothing and only stares, his nostrils flaring. I can't tell whether it's in annoyance or irritation, but I have a feeling it might be both.

"Really?"

"Mmmhmm. It's all good things. Mostly."

He hums, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth before looking away. "Get on with your questions. I have somewhere I have to be."

"Edward—" I start, not wanting him to do something he'll regret because I have a feeling he's mightily pissed off right now … and it's because of me. "It's not that big of a deal. I'm not afraid."

He gapes, his eyes open wide and his mouth falling open so hard I'm surprised it doesn't dislocate. Slowly, he comes back to his senses, his mouth closing, but his eyes remain wide open, filled with shock and confusion.

Slowly, he shakes his head, scoffing. "You don't know what you're saying," he says lowly.

"Don't do that. Don't undermine what I feel or think."

The surprise fades as he murmurs something to himself, periodically nodding.

It seems as if he's trying to convince himself of something, but what, I don't know.

He scoffs again, his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes flashing to mine briefly. "You can't," he hisses. "You don't know what you're saying."

I'm ready to lay everything out in the open, but Edward remains stubborn, keeping his gaze forward and his jaw taut.

"Your questions?"

Taking a deep breath, I think of all the questions I want answers to, wondering which one I should start with. When I have one in mind, instead of asking one at a time, they all come spilling out.

"Why did you sneak into my room? When did you start doing it? What were you doing in there? Did you steal my stuff? Move things around? Did I really see you that one night when I hit my head?"

His eyebrows raise high on his head, nearly disappearing into his hairline. His eyes are wide and unblinking, and his mouth partly open from shock.

He recovers quickly, though, a sly smirk lifting the corners of his mouth, looking thoroughly impressed with my word vomit.

"What?"

"Nothing," he replies. "I'm just amazed you were able to beat my siblings in the rambling department. I didn't think it was possible."

Throwing my head back, I laugh. Knowing those two and seeing how they rattle on when they're excited, I'm even impressed I matched their speaking speeds.

I respond with a shrug and cocky smirk. "Well, what can I say? I'm multi-talented."

"Mmm-hmm."

I wait for his chuckles to pass, and when they do, he delves into answering my rapid-fire questions.

"I did sneak into your room, but not for nefarious reasons," he starts, and I hide my smirk behind my fingers at his choice of words.

I'll definitely be giving him shit for his fancy vocabulary, but not now.

"I was … worried about you. After Royce's attack. At first, I just wanted to check in on you, see how you were, but when I saw you struggling while you were sleeping …" he trails off, running a hand through his hair and blowing out a breath. "I didn't want you to suffer while you slept. I wanted you to have peaceful dreams. So I just … began humming."

He says the last part awkwardly as if he hates to admit it, but the more I study him, the more I realize he's also anticipating my reaction.

To be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about his actions.

On the one hand, I can see the kindness of the gesture. I would do the same thing for anyone—and I have—but the sneaky way he went about it sets me on edge.

"Okay, but why? And how? Did you leap into my house with a single bound?"

He whips his head around so fast I'm surprised it doesn't come flying off. "You—How can you make jokes?"

I shrug a shoulder. "It's what I do."

"You shouldn't be so accepting."

"Oh, I'm not; I merely tolerate you. I can't really stand you; your ego is out of the world, but you're okay enough to look at, so that makes you okay."

He snorts an unamused laugh, shaking his head once. "I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay," he repeats before rushing out the next sentence. "I would do the same for anyone."

I hum an acknowledgment, not really sure I can believe him, but let him carry on without comment.

"Really? Because it's always me," I repeat with a sarcastic grin.

"Yeah, because ... someone needs to look after you."

"I managed just fine on my own and with my family for seventeen years; it wasn't until you came into town that things started to go south."

Immediately he frowns. "It started long before that," he murmurs seriously.

Swallowing thickly, I nod. I remember the odd random disappearances around town. Someone would go missing, and you'd hear nothing about it for months at a time until more people went missing more frequently.

In La Push, people were terrified of leaving the reservation, and there were always rumors of giant creatures stalking the perimeter of the small town ... or even going as far as the woods around Forks. No one ever got a picture of it, but I knew they weren't just rumors.

After all, seeing is believing.

"I know. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

It looks as if he wants to say something more, but he never does. Instead, he motions for me to continue with another question with a flick of his wrist.

Heavily, I sigh but ask anyway. "Did you steal my stuff? Go through it? Move shit around?"

He shifts, casting his eyes to an errant spot on his jeans, picking off invisible lint. He must have a lot of it on him because he spends quite a bit of time getting it off.

Folding my arms across my chest, I'm fully prepared to wait him out because I have nowhere else I have to be.

After a few minutes of silence, he peeks at me through his lashes, and closes his eyes, dropping his chin to his chest.

He mumbles something, and I lean toward him, trying to make out what he's saying, but none of it can be understood.

"English at a hearable level, please," I snap, feeling my anger begin to simmer.

This time, he sighs and lifts his head, but keeps his eyes closed as he turns to face me. "Yes, I touched your things."

Honestly, I had suspected as much with his reaction, but I didn't want to jump the gun and presume he did. Now, I wish I had.

It would have saved me some time.

"What!" I scream, jumping up and pacing in front of him. "How could you? It wasn't bad enough you were being a perv, sneaking into my room, you just had to touch my shit and move it around? Asshole!"

"Bella—"

I round on him, flinging a finger in his direction. "You're an asshole!"

"I'm not disputing that," he counters calmly, only adding to my ire. "I was … just curious about the things you had. Like I said before, I like you. I wanted to know more about you."

"So you ask me! You don't snoop around and touch my stuff!"

"I'll admit, that was a bad decision on my part …and while I'm being honest, I will admit, I wanted to mess with you sometimes."

"Asshole!" I screech, balling up my fists, wishing more than anything I could just throttle him and get away with it.

"I'm sorry."

My eyes narrow as I study him, and while he does look sincere, I can still see mirth swimming in his eyes.

"No, you're not."

"Okay, not completely. It's your turn to be honest, though. You'd do the same thing to me, right? You'd go through my stuff too?"

Unable to help myself, I smile. He's completely right; If I were given the opportunity, I would definitely screw with his head and his stuff, so I guess I can't fault him on that.

"I admit to nothing," I reply coolly, banishing the amusement from my face and hardening my features. I think back to my favorite shirt going missing and know he's responsible for it. I'm going to ignore the fact that it was returned, because that doesn't matter to me at the moment. I just want to know why it was missing in the first place. "How are you planning on making this up to me?"

Shrugging a single shoulder, he gestures toward me. "I don't know. I thought I'd apologize and that would be it."

"Oh, Edward," I reply, purposefully patronizing. "You're so naïve."

"Apparently," he says with a snort. "What do you want?"

Tapping a finger against my chin, I ponder this for a moment. There's so much I can do with this type of power, but I don't truly know what to do with it yet.

"Servitude, for a limited time, at my discretion."

His lips purse at this, but reluctantly, he nods. "Fine. Within reason," he warns, pointing a finger at me. "I won't become your sex slave."

I sputter until I see his gleaming smirk and shoot him a nice view of my middle finger. "In your dreams, you pervert." After a moment of stillness, I get serious once more. "Can I ask more questions?"

His response is slow, mixed with caution and curiosity. "Sure."

"Why did you take my shirt?"

He stares, his features blank for three breaths before confusion takes over. "What do you mean? What shirt?"

"Don't bullshit me. You just admitted to sneaking into my room, touching, and moving my shit around. It's not too far off that you would steal something too. Why?"

"I didn't steal anything." His tone is firm and concrete; the stiff flex of his jaw and his unblinking eyes tell me getting him to tell the truth, won't be an easy feat.

Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms over my chest, scowling at his modern kitchen. All I wanted to find out was why he took it. Despite knowing a bit about him, there's still quite a bit of mystery surrounding him; something I hate with a passion.

From the corner of my eye, I notice Edward shift, and I swing my gaze back over to him quickly, but it doesn't appear as if he's moved at all.

He remains seated, his attention on me, looking calm and relaxed.

"Asshole," I mumble, shaking my head. I can't believe I came here, let alone that I'm still here. I should have never come, but my mission for answers is keeping me here, and I can't leave until I get all I can.

"What about the night I hit my head? You were there," I start again, leaving no room for questions or argument.

The calm exterior he was exuding vanishes in the blink of an eye. His eyes darken, his body stiffens, and his teeth clench together audibly as anger and pain flash across his face.

"Why are you bringing this up again?" He grinds out. "You hit your head, and you imagined me being there."

"You can understand why I don't believe you, right? You admitted to sneaking into my house and messing with me. It's not so far off that I didn't see you there. I just want to know why; and why you took my shirt because that's creepy as all hell. But I have to reiterate something here, okay? I'm not afraid of you; I mean, I have been frightened, but I'm not scared."

Once more, shock colors his face, but he remains quiet and says nothing; he does, however, mutter to himself, shaking his head every so often.

"I don't understand you," he finally says with a bitter sounding laugh. "Just when I think I'm starting to understand, you just … you confuse me more."

Taking a cautious step toward him, I intend to reclaim my previous seat, but I freeze as he jerks back, as if my presence is bothering him.

Instead, I try my tactic from farther away, hoping it'll work.

"Look, I don't understand it, either. I just know that I'm not afraid; that I shouldn't be afraid … and I won't be afraid of anything you tell me either. I won't judge you … much. I just want the truth, okay? I have a lot of questions about what I know."

"What do you know, Bella?"

His words are harsh and filled with ire, just short of being patronizing.

"Don't be an ass. Let's just have an adult conversation."

"Okay," he acquiesces, folding his arms across his chest. "Go ahead."

"I know you're different," I bluntly reply. "Different than me … and different than others like—"

He stalks off before I can say anything more, shooting me a glare as he strides past. Before the door slams, I notice his cell phone in his hand, and the screen lit up as he dials.

Trailing off after him, I pound on the wood, adding in a kick for good measure. "Who are you calling? Why can't you act like an adult for one damn minute?!"

"I am," he counters, his voice muffled. "I'm putting space between us, so I don't do anything I might regret later." Moments later, I hear him talking quietly, and I think I hear Alice's name being uttered, but I can't be certain.

"By running away, slamming doors, and avoiding the situation when I'm trying to get answers? Yeah, that's real fucking mature."

The door swings open, revealing Edward's thunderous face and onyx eyes. The sight sets me on edge, and my gut instinct is to take a step back, but I remain firm.

"Look who's talking, hmm? Kicking my door, shouting, and throwing out curses? That's mature."

"I never said I was mature. In fact, ninety percent of the time, I'm not, but I can be an adult when I'm needed." Taking a moment to take a deep breath, I close my eyes and calm myself. I'll get nowhere if we start bitching at each other.

When I open my eyes again, I feel much calmer, and it seems Edward is too.

Good.

"Edward, all I want are answers, okay? With everything that's happened recently, no one seems to want to talk. Not even my mom. I'm not innocent, and all of this avoidance is driving me crazy."

The corners of his mouth lift at this, but it's not enough to bring a full-fledged smile to his face. I point a finger at him. "Not a word."

"Of course not," he coos, crossing his arms, leaning against the doorjamb, and raising an eyebrow. "Look, what I don't understand is why it matters … especially what happened in the past."

"Because I'm curious! Because I want to know!"

"So you can hold it over my head?"

"Maybe."

Annoyed, he rolls his eyes. "Your maturity level just continues to rise."

"I said I'm mature most of the time. Listen next time, okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Just tell me! Were you preparing to hunt me or something?"

His mouth falls open as he gapes at me in surprise. "Wha—Why would you say that?"

"It's what I've been trying to tell you … what I've been trying to elude to, hoping you'd confront me on it, but you never did! Either I'm not very good at throwing out hints, and it's something I need to work on, or you're just obtuse."

Trepidation floods his face, and he swallows thickly, the sound of his throat bobbing seems loud in the silence of the apartment. He closes his eyes, squeezing them closed. "And what, precisely, have you been trying to tell me?"

It looks as if he's bracing himself for the worst, and I second guess my idea of spitting everything out in the open, but my mouth has a mind of its own.

"That I know you're a vampire," I blurt out, the words coming in one, long stream. "Billy has been singing your family's praises for years with the help you've given him and the people in the area. At first, I thought it was all bullshit, because who knew vampires and shape-shifters were real, you know? But then I saw Paul turn into a giant dog and it kind of confirmed everything for me, and when I met you, it all clicked on who … or rather what you are. So? Did you take my shirt to hunt me? Because as I recall, your eyes weren't completely gold when we met, and I think you wanted to kill me, but I'm not afraid of you … well, I'm not afraid anymore. There were a few times you looked like you wanted to kill me, mainly, the time I hit my head. Not to mention, dreams and daydreams of you killing me. My imagination is twisted sometimes, but while I felt and thought that you'd kill me, I wasn't completely terrified, just … apprehensive. And cautious. That's why I was ready to blow you off and didn't want anything to do with you after we met and the handful of times after. I really didn't care what Billy said about gold eyes, you looked fucking scary as hell, and I wasn't taking any chances. But then, we started to spend more time together, and I found out that I liked being in your company and all that stuff we've already established. So? What do you say? Was I right?"

My heart thunders in my ears, my throat thickening. I have a feeling I made a very terrible mistake just spitting everything out like that, but honestly, it's a relief. I've wanted to talk about this since Edward, and I started to kinda, sorta, get along.

My mother spoke to me about the whole vampire thing a little bit after Halloween, but she really couldn't answer everything, saying only Edward could give me those answers.

Now that I'm here and he's promised me honesty, I guess I figured I could blurt it out, and everything would be okay.

Before my eyes, Edward's shock and confusion quickly transform into a murderous glower. The dark onyx of his once golden eyes, tell me that maybe … just maybe my word vomit was a huge mistake on my part.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Halloween!

I'm just going to go, now ... I'll update as soon as I can!