My apologies for the long wait. I thank you all for your patience. Enjoy :)
Beta'd by Arizona Hale and Pre-read by Kitty
The life it seems:
March, 2008...two years ago
T
"What's wrong? You're miles away."
Cool blades of grass curl under my bare feet, prickling the flesh and pushing up between my toes. The sun shines cheerfully above us, casting our skin, light and dark, in a faint glow. Miri's unusually quiet. She walks beside me, head down, mindlessly chewing her bottom lip as we make our way across the open stretch of grass, through the trees and to the small river we found last month.
"I just have a lot on my mind," she says, as she stares at the ground and twiddles her fingers, jet black hair covering her face like a curtain. She makes it to the edge and sits down, dipping her bare feet into the clear, glassy pool. I join her, sitting stretched out on the grass on my back.
"About what Nahuel told you?" I tuck my hands under my head.
"Yeah," she says faintly.
I watch the clouds, my flawless eyesight catching the puffy collections of water morphing into new shapes with each passing second. From the corner of my eye, I note the eerie stillness Miri's form has taken, like a statue, and my concern increases.
"Do you want to join them?" I ask her, quietly. Her head twitches in response, before turning fully to me, eyes scrunched up in befuddlement. I sit up and scoot closer until we're side by side, my feet now in the water, forearms propping my body up.
She fixes her gaze on the glassy surface of the river. Slowly her face changes, anger replacing the vacant expression she's been wearing all afternoon.
"No. I don't want to join him," she answers coldly to her reflection. "I'd rather eat a poisonous frog than even speak to him. And as for Serena and Maysun, as long as they're on his side, we have nothing to say to each other."
She plucks a flower from behind her and begins pulling off the white petals, one by one, letting them drop into the river. Each petal, little scraps of white, float carelessly away, following the flow of the current.
"Are you bothered by it?" she asks suddenly, turning to me, eyes wide. "I'll understand if you don't want to hang out anymore—"
"Are you out of your mind?" I exclaim. I look into her hazel eyes with the utmost seriousness.
"You're my best friend. What Nahuel said doesn't change that." I feel my face heat with embarrassment and I turn away, so she can't see my blush.
"You're nothing like Joham, anyway. Or Serena. Do you think if you were we would even be friends?" I add.
"I'm still half him, though," she murmurs to herself.
"And half your mother," I remind her. "But that doesn't even matter anyway. It's not who we come from that determines who we are, or who we will be."
A small smile creeps onto her face, lighting up her eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, Dumbledore."
I feel my lips turn up in a smirk. "Doesn't make it any less true."
She chuckles and lies down in the grass, hands resting on her stomach. Her jet black hair is now rumpled, fanned out on the ground, but she doesn't seem to care. I turn back to the river. I kick a splash of water at a bee that's been hovering closer.
"Would you ever join him? Your father, I mean?" she asks me.
My heart twists. I grasp the blades of grass and chunks of dirt underneath my hands and look at my submerged feet.
"No. I wouldn't."
"He's not Joham, though."
"Just because he doesn't do what Joham does doesn't make him father of year." Minutes pass in tense silence, regret already forming in the back of my mind for my callous slip.
"Never said it did," Miri finally answers coldly, from behind. I cringe and hear her sit up. "But he didn't know you or Reni would happen."
I feel my face scrunch up in disgust. I turn to her. She's sitting cross-legged, watching me carefully. I take my feet out of the water and turn my body so I'm facing her, legs stretched out in front of me. She stares at me unabashedly, shamelessly, eyes sympathetic, but calculating. Reclining with one arm propping me up, I pick up a pebble with my other and roll it around between my thumb and index finger, locking my eyes on a lady bug trailing up my left knee.
"She met him when she first moved back in with my Grandpa. That was in January, 2005. After nine months, he got what he wanted and left, just like that." I grind the piece of rock between my thumb and index finger into dust and flick what remains into the water.
"He shouldn't have been with her at all. He should have just left her alone." The familiar lump of guilt builds in the bottom of my throat. I try to swallow, but the action only causes me more pain. I taste the venom as it goes down, bland yet sweet. Another reminder of what I am, what I'm not…
And what I've done.
"If he did that, you and Reni wouldn't be here," Miri says gently.
"Maybe that's how it was supposed to be."
She shakes her head. "Don't say things like that."
"Why? It's true. By the laws of genetics we're not even supposed to exist. Yet here we are. Everything's a mess. If we weren't around, my mom would still be human. She would have grown up and been able to get over him and gone on with her life and she would still be with her family, she wouldn't have had to—"
"And maybe the world would have ended from a zombie apocalypse. Or maybe she would have gone backpacking around Europe and joined an all-girl rock band. Heck, maybe she would have become a best-selling young adult romance novelist with a fetish for heartbreak and Vampires…" she says sardonically. I throw her a hard look.
"I'm not joking."
"Neither am I."
She picks up a rock by her feet and stands up. "What-if's and fantasies and wishes that will never be. That's all brooding will give you," she mumbles irritably as she walks a few feet away. She shifts her body, so only one side is facing the river, and aims the rock in her hand at its surface.
I turn myself so I'm facing the river again. I unwind my legs and dip my feet back in the cool, rushing water.
"I can't forgive him."
"Never said you had to." She flings the rock at the river. We watch it skip two, three, four times before it finally disappears beneath the surface. "Just accept that what's done is done, and focus on the now." She crouches down and examines her reflection in the pool, before sticking her arm down it and plucking out another smooth stone. "At least you still have a mom."
I wince at her words, scooting closer to her.
"I'm sorry. You're right, I'm being stupid."
The tension grows between us, like a wall. I recognize the faint green sheen beginning to manifest in my vision, and I start to panic a little. All the while, her words and mine repeat over and over in my head, cutting deeper and deeper until I can't bear to keep my eyes open anymore.
No! C'mon, hold it together! You can't lose control again, especially not around HER.
I take a deep breath, emptying my head of all thoughts.
"Hellooo? Earth to Tony? Are you still there?" My eyes pop open, Miri's face greeting me, no longer sad.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
"I was saying, 'Yeah, you are,'" she explains. I still don't know what she's talking about, and she seems to realize this, so she adds, "Stupid. I was agreeing that you were indeed stupid." I exhale in relief, and let out a laugh.
"I am sorry, though."
"I know."
"…Has Nahuel found anything new about her? What she was like?" I ask after a while.
"Not much," she admits. "Pretty much the same thing actually; she wanted to be an actress, she wasn't much younger than your mom and all that…I can see the appeal, though."
At my confused face, she clarifies, "How He must have looked to her. Insanely beautiful, mysterious, alluring…"
She shakes her head angrily as she bites her lip, then scoffs, "She probably thought it was a fairytale come to life; her prince charming whisking her away to a foreign country, where she could live happily ever after." I watch her sadly as she sits back down and hugs her knees to her chest.
"She talked a lot, when I was still…you know, inside. Couldn't understand what the heck she was saying, though. " She rests her chin on top of her knees. "What about you? Has your mom told you anything about him?"
I grab a flat stone to my right and in turn fling it at the river, watching the ripples erupt from the skips.
"No. She rarely mentions him."
"Rarely?"
I stare at the second slab of stone that I have in my palm as I answer.
"…She loved him, but he lied about loving her back." I crush the flat slab into gravel and dust. I throw what remains into the river, watching the little flecks of dust blend and disappear into the water.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs.
"Don't worry about it."
Another long pause. There are no animals on our side of the river. They've already fled long before our arrival, sensing our predatory presence. Silence drones on.
Another tidbit of my life aches to escape my throat, a secret that not even Mom knows, but this time I feel no need to smother it. I look at Miri from the corner of my eye, busy examining an oddly shaped stone she has just pulled out of the river.
"She never said it, but I think he was a musician," I say softly. She looks up at me curiously.
"Seriously? What makes you think that?"
"…It was a week or two before I met you. Remember? When we were still living above that bar? Anyway, there was this band that played nights on Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays. The piano player was a guy named Fabian. He'd always come by in the afternoons before any of his band mates. One day he was practicing his routine, and I heard the tune. He noticed me listening, so he invited me over on the bench and taught me a couple of notes… In less than an hour, he was teaching me one of the band's songs."
"So then what happened?" she asks. I feel the corners of my smirk start to fall as the rest of the memory falls back into place.
"Mom walked in. She was so shocked, but she tried to hide it. I almost fell for it too. She gave me a hug and all that, praised how well I was doing, thanked Fabian for being so nice to me, then sent me upstairs to wash up for dinner. I forgot my bouncy ball, so I went back down, and then I saw her…"
I try not to think about it, even as I describe Mom's delayed reaction to my… skill. A phantom chill runs down my spine.
"So how does that link to your father?" she asks.
"She only gets like that when I ask about him."
"Oh."
We let the silence roll for a couple more minutes, but this time it's welcome. She gets it. Just like how I get that not being able to understand what her mom was saying to her bothers her more than she lets on.
"That's why you don't play anymore, isn't it?"
I shrug.
"I played for you," I say, throwing her a pointed look. She smirks.
"Yeah, like one time. And how long ago was that? Months? A year?"
"It was just a passing phase," I dismiss, with a wave of my hand.
"Mmhm."
We watch the river in silence, the sun's reflection glinting off the surface of the water. My eyes spot the various fish swimming underneath, how they seem to swish through the water oh so easily. My stomach grumbles.
She turns back to the river. "What will you do if you ever meet him?"
"Kick his teeth in, probably," I say nonchalantly, as I spy a particularly big catch a couple of feet from us. I move to crouch before the edge of the bank, balancing myself on the top of my feet. "And then chop him to pieces. You?"
She picks up another rock and twirls it around her fingers. Then, without warning, she flings it as hard as she can at a tree on the other side of the river. The force of impact shatters the rock into dust, but not before causing the branches to tremble as a result, forcing the birds inside to flee.
"Castrate him."
"Fitting," I say faintly, as I prepare to spring into the water.
Present day
The sound of the flowing water soothes my raging headache. I cradle an overflowing puddle in my palm before splashing it against my face, driblets sliding down my neck and soaking the front of my shirt and tie. I take deep breaths, grasping the sides of the sink, bowing my head. Once the nausea subsides, I stand upright, wiping my face with my sleeve. Moving away from the sink to head for the back office where Mr. Cliffton and Reni are, I maneuver around the many rows of haphazardly organized music stands and chairs left asunder in the wake of the dismissal bell.
I freeze under the door post of the office. Reni's sitting in the computer chair behind the desk, spinning herself around, eyes closed in amusement, while Clifford rummages in the back storage closet directly behind her. I walk around the desk and place a hand on the leather upholstery, making the chair come to a stop. Reni opens her lids and looks around confusedly, before settling on me. I give her a stern look. She shrugs.
"What? He said I could," she squeaks, an innocent look on her face.
I roll my eyes as Clifford walks out of the closet, my bag, stuffed with several of my books, and my raincoat in hand.
"Thanks," I say, as he hands them to me.
"No problem."
I quickly slip on my raincoat then sling my bag across my shoulder. As I do so, Reni hops off of the leather chair and runs over to the entrance of the office, tiny hands grasping the doorpost as she watches me shift my bag.
"You alright, kid?"
I look up. Cliffton's eying me with worry as he leans against the back wall, arms crossed.
"Yeah. I'm fine," I say curtly.
"My sink would beg to differ," he says wryly.
I shrug. "It's been a long day." Before he can say anymore, I exit the room, taking Reni's gloved hand and dragging her towards the band room's main door.
"Should I expect you back here tomorrow or Monday?" I stop just outside the exit. From the sound of metal scraping against tile, he has begun straightening out the chairs and folding down the music stands to be put away in the small niche in the back corner of the room. Before I can ask how he knows, he continues, "Everybody, and I mean EVERYBODY, knows about what happened at lunch today."
My shoulders slump. Of course.
I mull over his question. Can he expect me back Monday? With the epic mess that's happening right now, probably not.
But he doesn't need to know that, does he?
"Monday."
He pauses with his clean-up, the tell-tale scrape of chair legs no longer screeching against the floor. I hear him inhale a lung full of air, the kind preceding a question, but at the last minute he exhales and the click of his jaw shutting follows instead. When the scrapes resume, we waste no more time and exit.
"Come on, Momma said we had to go!" Reni urges, once we're out of the room, practically dragging me down the hallway.
At her words, I remember again why we're leaving in the first place and I strain my ears, trying to locate the sounds of their voices above me. It's easier since most of the staff and students are gone for the day. Mom's wounded tone instantly sets me on edge.
"Why are you even here?" She sounds so small, so vulnerable. "Isn't it a bit early for you all to going through this cycle of yours again?"
"Times have changed. The Volturi's keeping watch on all of the Covens. Maintaining a sense of normalcy placates them, convinces them that we're not a threat," Carlisle answers gravely as we step off the last step of the stairs.
The routine we're known for.
So it's true then. They have done this in the past—play human—and by the sound of it, they've been doing it for a while. So much so that it's practically routine for them now.
And Mom? Was she his routine? I try to swallow the bitter taste of bile accumulating in the back of my throat.
Maybe Miri and I do have more in common than I thought…
Disgusted, I shut my ears to the conversation going on above us. We pass by the main office, its door closed. A few more strides and I'm pushing the front doors of the school open and walking down the steps with Reni. The storm has ended for now, the once nearly black clouds now a neutral grey. It's quiet, the front of the school deserted save for a small group loitering by their car parked on the far right side of the street. The sound of our shoes squelching against the wet cement echoes ominously throughout the yard. Several heads from the lone group turn up in response to the noise. They look at us unabashedly, but I ignore them. We cross the street.
B
He doesn't look the same.
My eyes search Edward's face hungrily—the contours of his jaw, his lips, eyes, his hair, and I fight the urge to walk up to him and put a hand on his cheek, to see if his skin still feels like marble.
Vampires don't change. He was right. From the moment we're bitten, everything about us freezes— our likes, dislikes, appearances. From the length of our eye lashes to the size of our feet.
But he doesn't look the same.
Our eyes lock. Luminescent gold no longer bores into chocolate brown. We're equals now. Which means no more excuses based on my humanity. No more reverent looks that leave me dazzled and breathless. The days of him throwing a charming smile and ending with me melting at his feet are long gone. And yet, I feel as though I'm about to shatter into a million pieces.
The conviction I remember is still there. The self loathing, clearer now to me than before. But all of that is overridden by the undercurrent of emotions currently swimming beneath his flawless face; disbelief, heartbreak, desolation, desire, sorrow, despair, regret, hope, fear, love.
And I'm left to wonder why.
Why he could possibly feel this way when he so coolly and carefully told me in the forest that I was no good for him.
Why he looks as though he's about to fall apart when he reassured me that it would be as if he never existed.
Why is this happening? What does any of this mean?
Why do I care?
"Bella."
Memories of happier days, framed in the familiar muddled haze that marks the humanity I once had crosses my mind, a picture show of who I thought he was, who I used to be.
A fairy tale. Nothing more, nothing less.
And with that in mind, my heart twists, the fissures crack deeper, and a little more of the naïve person I was disintegrates into nothing.
Tears. What I wouldn't give for tears right now.
"Why are you even here?" I find myself asking. The look he gives me, the sorrow, I can't stand it, can't take it. I tear my eyes away from him and instead look to Carlisle. "Isn't it a bit early for you all to be going through this cycle of yours again?" Despite his youthful appearance, Carlisle looks weary. Exhausted.
"…Times have changed," he finally answers. "The Volturi's keeping watch on all of the Covens. Maintaining a sense of normalcy placates them, convinces them that we're not a threat." His words turn my insides into ice, while my mind spins and shoots in ten different directions.
"What are you talking about?"
His expression changes to one of confusion.
"She doesn't know, Carlisle." I look at Edward again. He's still watching me, with an intensity that would melt an iceberg. It takes everything in me not to scream in frustration. "None of them do." He pauses, then adds, "The boy's thoughts were proof enough."
"I thought you couldn't hear him?" Rosalie asks, eyes narrowed. She refuses to acknowledge me, accusatory glare aimed at Edward.
Without looking at her, he replies, "Sometimes. It seems only when he's under great stress or panic can I not. Any other time, however, with the exception of right now—"
"What do you mean right now?" Carlisle interjects carefully.
Edward clenches his teeth, letting out an impatient exhale through his nose. His eyes fall to the floor, frustrated.
"I can't hear him right now, or the child. At all." His eyes float back to me, something akin to wonder now swimming in his eyes.
"They're like you."
With a shake of my head, I turn back to Carlisle.
"Can you explain now?" I ask him. He nods and exhales through his nose, tossing a look at one of the doors to his right before beginning.
"Evidence of someone creating newborn army's began surfacing in 2008. It started in Ireland. The Guard was dispatched, but they didn't find anything, even after interviewing the Irish Coven for information a couple of weeks later, but luckily they weren't in the country at the time, so they couldn't be implicated. In the end, it was assumed that the newborns ripped each other and their creator apart and that was that.
"But then a pattern began to surface; soon, it was happening in Russia, then Poland. Entire villages were being wiped out, cities were being plagued with mass murders, and again the Guard was sent to investigate, but not one newborn was found. The affected areas should have reeked of vampire, and Demetri, the Guard's tracker, should have locked onto the perpetrators the minute that they set foot there, but he didn't. When they arrived, the streets smelled clean, and Demetri couldn't sense anyone guilty to track. Not to mention the affected areas were lacking the blatant property destruction so common with newborns."
He pauses, so I can soak everything in. My mind is in a stupor, I can't even begin to imagine the luck we had. If we had run into anyone, any other vampires, the Volturi would have found out about us, Nahuel, everything. Guilt threatens to overwhelm me, putting a bitter taste in my mouth. All this time, the supernatural world was in turmoil and we didn't know because of my choice to keep us in hiding.
"Has it only been in Russia and Poland?" I finally ask, breaking the silence. I'm almost afraid of the answer.
Carlisle shakes his head. "No. That was just where it was starting." My shoulders stiffen, regret and worry sending phantom nausea to the pit of my stomach. "So far, Italy's the only country in Europe that's been left untouched."
"So that's it? A country gets ravaged for a bit, and then whatever's causing it moves on?" I ask.
"It would seem so, yes."
"And the Volturi know nothing."
"Yes."
It's worse than Nahuel thought, I think bleakly to myself. God, what is Joham doing? He's going to get his entire family killed. And Nahuel, Miri, and Huilen…
"Enough with the history lesson, Carlisle. We have a situation here, in case you forgot," Rosalie snaps, shooting me with another contemptuous glare. She takes a step forward, but in response, Edward steps to my end of the hallway and stands in front of me. I push him slightly to the left as I step next to him. I can take care of myself.
Suddenly, Edward hisses. He makes a step towards Rosalie but Emmett immediately goes to her rescue and places himself in front of her. From behind him, Rosalie bares her teeth at Edward and lets out a furious snarl, eyes on fire.
"No."
Edward's face is murderous, the muscles on his forearms protruding prominently as his balled fists clench tighter. I look around to the others.
Carlisle's eyes flit from me to Edward, pity clearly illustrated on his face as Esme stares at me unblinkingly, conflicted and heartbroken. Emmett's defensive… but resigned. Alice is at loss on what to do, eyes retreating into blankness every couple of seconds, no doubt to search the future, while Rosalie continues her stare down with Edward from behind Emmett, fury practically oozing from every pore.
Jasper, on the other hand…
He's off to the side, arms crossed, staring out one of the windows, eyes far away. Cold resignation is etched in his face, relaxing his muscles, smoothing the lines, draining all emotion from his eyes, until he looks almost bored.
Impassive.
"Then what do you suggest we do?"
"You don't understand—"
"What's there to understand?" she begins, moving past Emmett to face Edward head on. Emmett makes to move in front of her again but she throws him a look that clearly conveys her desire for confrontation. He hangs back, watching them both carefully.
"You know the consequences if they find out about this. Even if things weren't how they were right now, our next step would still be the same—"
A jolt of fear shoots down my spine at her words. Carlisle looks to me with pity, and that in itself is all the confirmation I need. I try to shut out everything going on around me: the arguments, the tense stances, the fact that we're having this confrontation in a not-quite-empty school building, the overflowing emotions that threaten to spill out of me like molten lava from a volcano.
But try as I may, vampirism no longer offers that luxury. For as I try to block it all out, my ever wake mind records everything they say, everything I see, everything I feel, no matter how much I don't want it to. Perfectly. There is no catatonia to escape into. No drug that can put me to sleep. All there is, is my eternally conscious mind and my broken heart.
And my growing anger.
"—if you would have let me explain from the beginning, we wouldn't be in this dilemma!"
"Explain? Do you even know what's coming out of your mouth, what you're claiming?"
"Yes."
She glares at Edward, scathingly scrutinizing him from underneath her piercing gaze. Minutes pass before she abruptly turns to Carlisle and asks, "Is it possible?"
"Is the fact that she's a spitting of image of Edward not enough for you?"
She finally looks at me, disdain in her eyes, which I meet coldly, my mind finally settling on a tone to operate by: anger.
Anger at her, for assuming the worst and rallying the others to her self-righteous cause, anger at their reluctance to listen in the first place, but most of all, anger at them for believing her so resolutely and without explanation.
"You saw her eyes," I say coldly to her. "They're neither gold nor red. They're brown, like mine were,and if you weren't so intent on finding a reason to antagonize me, you would have seen it, and would have noticed her temperature. She's not cold at all. Neither is Tony."
The anger keeps burning, rolling off of me in waves, but again I try to contain it.
"Do you all really think that little of me?" I ask them, their abrupt silence gnawing at my bones and making me want to scream. I clench my fists. "That I would create an immortal child? Do something that stupid? That awful?"
"Bella, please, that's not how it is at all," Esme pleads, walking up to me. I back away, ignoring the hurt in her eyes. The defeated, vulnerable person that' s been a part of me for the past five years, that side of me, in this moment, has been vanquished, cast out of my mind in the wake of my raw fury. I feel my lips purse, my teeth clench, mirroring my fists.
Five years of running and hiding and worrying day in and day out about my children's future, of drowning in crippling heartbreak and dejection and personal inadequacy, and they have the nerve, the audacity, to assume the very worst of me. That I would stoop so low.
Is it because they think I'm lonely? That the stupid, dependent teen they so vehemently believe is my character is so desperate to have companionship that she would subject an innocent child to such a horrendous faith? That I am that ignorant of their world's rules? My world's rules?
Who do they all think I am?
But just as sudden and fierce the fire in my being ignites, it is extinguished, alien calm replacing it with crushing effectiveness. I sway. Edward catches me, easily propping me back up on my feet, his arms secured under my armpits. I shake my head. My eyes meet Jasper's.
"Don't do that," I say quietly to him. "Don't treat me like a child, silencing me whenever you see fit." I pull away from Edward's grasp, swaying, but on my own two feet. I meet Jasper's gaze, my eyes boring into his.
"You owe me this much Jasper."
My last words affect him, a hint of guilt seeping into his calm façade. Slowly the numbing calm creeps away, and I feel like myself again. Still though, the temporary numbness has quelled the fire that just moments ago was raging inside of me. And in its place, exhaustion has moved in.
I'm finished. Done.
I'm tired of this; the explanations, the patience, trying to sway a different party to my side, trying to play diplomat. For the first time, I don't care if I'm leaving an argument unresolved; I want to walk away. Just take Reni and Tony and go. Nahuel and Joham's war has gotten out of hand, and the rest of them, the Cullens, they can debate amongst themselves all they want. I don't care anymore.
And Edward…
I don't know what to make of him. The familiar ache in my chest persists, but I ignore it. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except Reni and Tony. Cold determination resurfaces, returns to the forefront of my mind.
We have to get out of here.
I make to leave but he grabs my arm and stops me. I refuse to look at him, focusing my gaze on the window at the end of the hallway.
"Let me go," I say quietly.
"I can't," he whispers. "I know she's mine." His words turn my insides to ice.
"I saw her…in Tony's thoughts, his memories…but…he…" he struggles with what he wants to say, like a schoolboy trying to explain himself to his teacher. It would be endearing if he wasn't trying to come up with an explanation for his son's existence.
"I don't know how he plays into all of this…" he finally settles. My face twists in pain, but I still I don't turn around.
Of course he wouldn't link that possibility together. For crow's sake, he looks like a fifteen year old.
I let out a dark chuckle that sounds more like a sob. Out of everything, out of all the mysteries tossed around in this very small world, he ends up not completing the most important. I shake my head at the incredible mess this has become, putting a hand to my mouth.
"Bella, please, talk to me." I let my hand drop off my face and fall to my side.
"Let me go," I grit.
"Not until you tell me everything." I try to tug my arm out of his grip but he's too strong.
"Bella, please."
That desperation. Vulnerability. I finally turn around to fully face him.
He looks about ready to get on his knees and literally beg. The emotions that look so foreign on his face make him look so defeated. For the second time today, I'm left to wonder why after everything I still care. Why he cares.
"There's nothing to tell," I answer tiredly. "You all left. Reni, Tony, and I survived. That's all you need to know."
His face crumbles at my words, like he himself is burning in the hell he so fervently believed was his soul's final resting place. His anguish only serves to confuse and frustrate me even more. Indecision grows, infecting me with reluctance to leave while cold determination tries to fight off it off.
It's as though I'm balancing on a tight rope, where the other side rests my choice to leave without explanation, and at the bottom rests my choice to stay and explain. I'm stuck in the middle, alone, terrified of falling, trying to focus on the other side, the ultimate escape.
But as I keep my toes in line and my feet grow tired, I find I cannot continue, no matter how much I want to. The past five years pass through my mind, all at once in that moment. Days of worry, dejection, fear and heartbreak.
And joy.
And love.
And no matter what he's done or hasn't done, no matter how great a lie he has inflicted upon me concerning the nature of our relationship, whether he loved me or not, I can't just walk away and deny him this. I will not toy with the truth and hold it in, like a game.
I cringe at the word, the way my son had so bluntly stripped raw what happened between me and his father.
I toss one last look at his family, to the ones I once thought of as my family, and again I wonder just who exactly they thought I was, what they perceived me to be. A nuisance? A new distraction? A doll? A pet? A star-stricken bimbo entranced by Vampirism's glamour? The last seems most accurate. It's obvious though, how they see me now:
Pathetic.
Stupid.
A child in their grown-up world. A teenager eternally frozen in her immaturity and selfish desires of instant, self-gratification.
My heart twists again, from their betrayal, then and now, their rejection. They truly don't know me. But if I leave now, that will be all the confirmation they will need.
That cannot happen.
I am not some immature adolescent relishing in petty schemes of manipulation and revenge, treating the details of my children's lives as nothing more than trivial fodder, something meant to dangle over their father's head at my leisure, like a piece of meat for a ravenous lion.
I am not that girl. I will not prove them right. I will not prove him right.
I take one look at the bottom, and with a calm exhale, let myself fall.
"They're both the same age, Edward."
Our eyes lock once more. Confusion mars his face.
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said. They're the same age. Precisely the same age…Tony just grew faster."
I let the implications sink in. His eyes start out blank, then slowly widen in realization and shock. The grip he has on my arm slackens, until his falls uselessly back to his side forgotten. His mouth opens, but no words come out. If I were still human, bitter tears would be trailing down my cheeks.
"Twins," he whispers to himself, eyes seeing nothing. But then they flit back up to me in wonder. "How?"
"You're the one with over a dozen medical degrees. You tell me."
R
Tony's mad.
He keeps making his angry face, dragging me along without a word, passing by buildings taller than even he can jump and shops and restaurants Momma promised to bring us to once we were more settled.
I don't like it.
The hold he has on my arm makes it feel tingly, like how my legs feel when I sit criss-cross for too long. He looks like he's going to punch somebody…
We get to the crosswalk and stop. When I look at him again, he's grinding his teeth, watching the streetlight, waiting for it to turn into the picture for walking. He taps his foot, keeps pressing on the button on the pole. The hold he has on my hand tightens, and it hurts.
"Tony, let go!" I yell, trying to pull my hand out of his grip. My words surprise him and take away his angry face. He looks worried, more like my Tony. He loosens his hand and I pull my hand back, rubbing the ouchie away. Instead of joining the crowd and crossing, he gently guides us around the corner to a bench.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs as he sits me on. "Did I hurt you?"
"A little," I admit. "But it's okay now."
I take his hand, to show him what I mean. I replay the memory of the past couple of minutes.
"See?" I say, staring up at him. "All better."
He grunts in response, looking to his right, running his hand through his hair. He sits next to me, and lets out a sigh, burying his face in his hands.
"Aren't we going?" I ask, head tilting to the side as I look at him.
"Not yet." My shoulders slump. He finally brings his face out of his hands and sits up. He sighs, and lets his head fall back, eyes closed. We don't talk for a while. I start to kick my legs, to give me something to do.
"So what are we waiting for?" I ask, after what feels like forever.
"I just need time to think, alright?" he says, eyes still closed.
"But we can do that at home."
"I don't want to go home."
"Momma wanted us to go home."
"Momma isn't here."
People pass us on the sidewalk, dressed in thick coats and carrying umbrellas, their noses in their cell phones and iPods. I lean back in the metal bench and I stare at the grey, puffy sky. I nibble on my lip, even though Momma told me not to, wondering about everything: the scary lady, the blond-haired man and his family, but most of all, the man talking to Momma. The man with the coppery hair.
The man who looks like me.
I sneak a glance at Tony. His arms are folded now, body now slumping against the back of the bench. But his face, eyes closed, scrunched up like he's having a bad dream, is still facing the sky. I sigh, my patience starting to get away from me. Across the road, some boys wearing the same uniform as Tony walk by, laughing at something one of them said.
"How long are we going to be here?" I ask him, but he doesn't hear me. I keep calling his name, getting annoyed as more time passes. People walking by start to stare at us oddly. Finally, I pound his leg as hard as I can with my fist, like I'm banging on a door. That finally gets his attention.
"What?" he finally asks sharply, eyes popping open.
"What's going on? Why is everyone acting so weird?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Why not?"
"Just don't, okay?"
"Who were those people at school? Why did you get into another fight? Why was that lady so mean to Momma? Why did you attack that man? Why does he look like me? Why—"
"Be quiet!" he snaps, making me swallow my words. I feel myself shrink, the familiar sting of tears building up in my eyes. I look down to the ground, the grainy pavement blurring as hot, salty drops begin to fall.
"Oh, Reni, don't cry," he pleads from my right. He slips out if his seat and kneels in front of me, so that now we're at eye level, but still I turn away, sniffling.
He cradles my face in his hands.
I'm sorry.
I rub my eyes and finally look at him. The corners of his eyes are scrunched up, like he's in pain. His lips are set in a hard line.
I'm still trying to absorb everything that's happened. But still, I shouldn't take it out on you. he silently tells me.
"What's happening?" I ask him aloud.
"…Grown-up stuff," he says, after a while.
"What do you mean?"
He sighs, rubbing one side of his head with his fingers. The shadows under his eyes are darker. Slowly he gets up and sits to my right again. He stares at nothing for the longest time.
"It's complicated," he finally says.
I shrug. "I wanna know." I scoot closer to him. He still seems uncertain, still looking to the ground.
"A 12th grader and his friends decided to mess with me at lunch," he finally tells me. "They weren't being nice."
I lean in closer, interested. "Did you beat them up?"
"Not as much as I would have liked," he admits. He looks down at the space on the bench between us. His pointer finger starts to scrap away at the seat, until he has a small pile of grey meal shavings.
"Why did you do that? You promised Momma…"
"It's not always that simple," he replies.
"But didn't Flan say—"
"Flan never knew what we were, so most of the stuff he told me doesn't apply."
He throws his arms over the back of the bench. "I would have beaten them all up if Edward hadn't gotten in the way."
"Edward?"
"The vamp you're a dead-ringer for."
"Dead-ringer?'
"The vamp that looks like you."
"Oh." I feel my eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. "But isn't that a good thing?" He looks at me like I'm stupid.
"What?" I ask, squirming under his gaze.
"How is that a good thing?"
"Well," I begin hesitantly, "remember the last time you got in a fight?"
"Yeah? So?"
"Momma said you could have killed him," I say quietly. His eyes widen for not even a second before understanding takes over and makes his face angry again.
"This wasn't like that. I wouldn't have killed them." He stops, eyes scrunching up angrily at a jogger who runs past us too close. He rears back, letting his head drop so it's facing the sky. "If anything, it's their fault I got into the fight in the first place," he mutters to himself.
"What do you mean?"
"I lost control because I was—" he stops mid sentence, biting back the words, pursing his lips. He looks away again, angry. "Never mind, it's nothing."
"But—"
"Ask anything else," he interrupts. The way he says it, I know I shouldn't ask about it again. I think hard, trying to remember one of the questions I tried asking him earlier. Then it hits me.
"Why does that man look like me?"
He stops breathing and freezes. I wait for him to snap out of it. A breeze whips by us, messing up my hair. I breathe in the cold air. I like the feeling of it cooling the inside of my throat and chest. And not only that, I smell the smoke from around us, gasoline from the cars, stray dogs and…
Blood.
My tummy grumbles. I'm thirsty. I squirm in my seat, the cool air not really helping anymore. The more I think about it, the more my throat burns no matter how cold it is outside. The scents of the people walking by us, some smell not so good, but others...
Still, it's not good to think like that, even if we're the sharks and they're the fish. Besides, fish are friends, not food, just like in the Nemo movie.
Right?
But we're not REALLY sharks. So for us, wouldn't it be 'humans are friends, not food?'
I sigh. I'll have to ask Tony about it, maybe later, when he's not so serious or angry-looking any more.
It's been such a weird day. First Tony gets into a fight, and then gets into ANOTHER one with that copper-haired man AND he's a vampire. And then there was the copper-haired man's family, the mean blond lady, the scary man with the scars…
Momma said the bad people wouldn't find us, but Momma doesn't lie.
So how was she wrong?
I shiver. It's getting colder. I curl closer to Tony, bringing my feet up. His arm wraps around me, and I rest my head on his chest. His heartbeat soothes me.
"Reni, what has Momma told you about our father?" His voice isn't mean anymore. I blink up at him, puzzled. He stares down at me, still serious.
"Nothing. Well…" I trail, trying to remember something she told me a long time ago.
"Yeah?"
"…Oh wait, that was about Grandpa Charlie…"
"What did she say about him?"
"That I got my curls from him," I tell him. He looks down at me, confused, so I take his hand and focus on the memory.
"Momma, how come my hair is different than yours and Tony's?" I ask her, while she ties my shoes. She looks at me funny, surprised…and something else. She gives me a small smile.
" It's not so different," she says, brushing a strand away from my face. I look curiously at her. "…Me and Tony's hair turns almost the same color in the sunlight…"
"But how come mine's curly but yours isn't?" I ask.
"…You got your Grandpa Charlie's hair, it seems," she tells me.
"Really?"
"Yes," she chuckles, kissing my nose. I giggle and hug her, and she squeezes me back.
"When did that happen?" he asks me, stunned.
"When you and Miri were out with Nahuel," I say simply.
"Oh. Anything else?"
"No," I say, avoiding his eyes. Uneasy silence stretches on. After a while, he tilts my chin up so he can look me straight in the eye.
"You're lying," he states. My eyes fall guiltily. I shift my legs so they won't fall asleep. "Tell me," he urges.
"It's nothing."
"Then why won't you tell me?"
"…You'll get mad."
His expression softens. "Why would I get mad?"
I bite my lip again, everything in me screaming not to open my mouth. Momma said to keep that conversation a secret, that it might upset Tony if he saw it.
"How about this, why don't I ask you what it's about, and if I get it right, you can nod yes, and if I get it wrong, you can nod no," he suggests.
I look back up to him. "Like twenty questions?"
"Yeah."
I slump against the metal seat, the twisted feeling in my stomach becoming undone.
"Okay."
"Alright, I know it's about our father," he begins. He runs his hand through his hair again, eyes scrunched up as he thinks up a question. "Is it a sad memory?"
I nod yes.
"Was it a talk between you and Momma, like when she was telling you about your curls?"
Again I nod yes.
"…Was it about why he wasn't around?"
I pause, mid-nod, goose bumps prickling over my skin. I check that my hands are nowhere near his; they aren't.
"I'll take that as a yes." I look down at my kicking feet, not liking where this is heading.
"Did Momma tell you not to show me?" he asks softly. I look at him from the corner of my eye. He stares back, calm.
"…Yeah," I say after a while. "She said it would make you angry and sad again." He frowns, looking away. I watch his face change, from confused to annoyed to angry then back to calm. He looks at me again.
"She told you not to show me what you guys talked about, right?"
"Right."
"Well," he starts, "Telling isn't showing. If you tell me with your words, then you're not breaking any promises, are you?"
This chapter originally was supposed to go in a much different direction than how it goes now. The wolves will make their appearance in time. Actually, you could they say that they already have in this chapter.