[ The Human Condition ]
Chapter XXVIII: Home

❝Home isn't where you're from, it's where
you find light when all grows dark.❞
Pierce Brown, Golden Sons


THE REST OF OUR TIME IN ITALY WAS A BLUR.

After arriving to the nondescript lobby and slumping down in its comfy, albeit mammoth chairs, Demetri appeared, warning Alice and Edward not to leave before dark. Then he left. Gianna was the only stranger in the room, her dark eyes staring at us with vulture precision. Curious what occurred between us and her masters, I would have wagered. But wagering was the least of my impulses. My mind was overtaken by images of me, a vampire. Me, immortal. Me, taken from my home, my broken family before any amends could be made, from my foreseeable redemption arc, stolen away by a megalomaniac bloodsucker that wanted to paint me irredeemable. We sat there in the chairs for hours. Well, it had to be hours because of the leisure change from daylight to dusk, but it felt like minutes.

I wanted to cry, but crying wouldn't magically erase the events of the past hour. I wanted to flee, but something told me Aro had the means to hunt me down and drag me, a mess of flailing limbs and broken hope, back to his throne. I wanted to vent, but nothing would heal the ache in my chest or the pounding in my head. Nothing would help this situation—not even dying. Peace was lost.

I could tell my silence worried Alice. She kept glancing at me, seeming not to know whether I or Bella was the most distraught and in need of her attention. Even on our way to the hotel we were staying the night at. Edward looked equally disturbed, his focus switching from the trembling human attached to his arm, to my disheveled Dad silently staring at Gianna's desk, to me. I was wordlessly picking hangnails from my cuticles. My entire body was trembling. Traumatized was an understatement to how I felt.

It took hours for Bella to calm down, and by then we were able to leave under the safe obscurity of the night sky. We stayed at some hotel I couldn't pronounce, and I sat there on the queen-sized bed without my bag, declining Bella's offered unused toothbrush and the bottle of water Alice bought from the shop downstairs. Dad and I were staying in a room all to ourselves, but Alice and Bella repeatedly came to the door into the early hours of morning, offering goods I had no appetite for and pestering me about whether I was alright. After a while I stopped cordially accepting their concern and outright told them to leave me alone.

Getting my wish, I went to the window and perched there, staring out at the beautiful, ancient city. Dad was asleep already. We had yet to speak a word to each other. Actually, Dad had yet to speak a word to anyone—but it was most worrying he hadn't spoken to me, his troubled daughter who came to his rescue.

I didn't get a wink of sleep, feeling unsafe around someone whose mind wasn't their own.

When we got up and departed the hotel to drive Alice's stolen Porsche to the airport, we still didn't speak. It felt like we were strangers—more than Alice and Bella were to him, and Edward was to me. It'd stay that way until I managed to find a way to extract Dakota's darkness without hurting my father in the process.

As my senses returned to me, so did acute awareness of myself and my surroundings. I felt disgusting. My hair was going on four days without a wash, my face hadn't been washed since the morning Dad hijacked our car, and I wanted to change out of my two-day-old undergarments really, really bad. The only solace was I got to splash my face with some water that morning to jog my nerves. Using the toilet was another solace, but discomfort lingered in the aftermath, like I needed a twenty-minute shower to relieve every tarnished part of me. I still felt gross, especially when the five of us walked into the airport and I peered around, noticing all the rich tourists and their polished appearances. No one spared me a glance except to gawk at Edward and Alice's textbook perfect faces, but it was difficult to ignore my own filthy hygiene.

I tried focusing on positives about the situation. It was unlikely I'd be stuck here longer than I had to be. Alice, ever thinking ahead, drafted a fake passport for me last night using the help of an acquaintance she had in Italy. She had to do the same for Dad, who hadn't brought a single item with him overseas in his pursuit of the Volturi. I had yet to know what his motivations even were to fly out here and kill members of the Guard, except that they were totally obscured by mystery.

Unpredictable. Dad was unpredictable.

I could feel my anxiety closing in on me, sudden and unbearable. Like a python, it squeezed me until my throat was close to clogging, my hands trembling like I had caffeine shakes.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I noticed Edward staring at me, his marble face expressionless. I wanted to swear at him until my voice was hoarse, but anxiety's chokehold stole my speech. He wasn't worth the energy it'd take to pry away its fingers.

Stop staring at me.

His attentive eyes swiftly turned. They targeted my father, a silent ticking time bomb, instead.

After feeling confusion take anxiety's place, I remembered he had a power Bella was immune to. I couldn't exactly remember the specific power, but I assumed it had to do with the mind, like most Gifts. Apparently he could use it on me because I didn't know what it was exactly.

I clenched my eyes shut as we motionlessly stood in the line for our plane tickets home. The world went quiet, but my thoughts were loud enough they could be mistaken for a concert. It's like everything came in waves, the thoughts and the feelings and the nerve endings, crashing into me with no intention of letting me recover before flooding my lungs immediately thereafter. Again and again—immobilizing anxiety, searing anger, paralytic terror, feelings that went against my survival. I couldn't wish them away; they were permanent fixtures in my mind, body, and soul, instated by the mental calendar of how long I had before my life would end. Reborn as a monster.

Time moved quickly, and with it I was a mindless puppet, pulled by strings without limbs to call my own. I didn't remember getting a ticket or going through security. I didn't remember walking to the plane or sitting down in one of the chairs. I didn't remember falling asleep to the loud screams of my mind.

What I did remember was arousing to a pleasant quiet in the plane as it soared through the sky. The soft murmurs of passengers were all I could hear aside from the heater's thrum—and Dad's nasally snoring as his head grazed my shoulder.

I blinked open my eyes, glancing at Dad then eyeing my surroundings. It wasn't much different from the last plane I was in, except the seats had a lot longer rows and were white with blue accents, the ceiling a creamy white color. Passengers were mostly asleep, but some were talking to their companions—or maybe they were talking to whoever was most convenient, regardless of opposite appearance or personality clash.

I fought a yawn. In the same line of seats where I was closest to the window and Bella was at the end leading into the aisle, Alice and Edward were situated next to each other and sitting beside Dad, heads turning inward and mouths moving inaudibly. When they saw my exhausted face staring at them, Alice's mouth stopped moving. Edward was completely expressionless, per usual. Nothing could be interpreted, thoughts or otherwise, from such a face.

It should have been off-putting. Maybe with other faces I would've been more alarmed, but these were faces of monsters that had yet to turn me into mincemeat. And I was too numb to care.

"Alice," I greeted. My eyes slowly turned to Bella's beau. "Edward."

Like cement mix, Edward's face churned into a suave smile, a pale hand reaching over Alice and Dad's laps to meet mine.

I gave it a weak shake.

"Alissa, right?" he said, with a familiarity that said he knew more than trivial pleasantries. Obviously he had. Still, I humored him with a nod. "I apologize for not greeting you sooner."

"Nah, it's okay," I said dismissively, still in a sleep-addled daze. "I've been out of it."

"Understandably so," he said. His eyes flashed down to Dad whose ashen face was still curving in on my shoulder. "Alice informed me bits and pieces about your father's situation."

I shifted my eyes to his collar. He changed out of his robe at the hotel. "I'm hoping there's a way to extract his memories without another problem like this coming up."

Edward nodded. "Well, I'm sure you don't remember with everything happening like it did, but there is someone Alice knows from a distant coven who could assist that extraction."

"Seriously? Who?" I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

"Her name is Elaine," he explained. "She has a very powerful Gift that Aro would stop at nothing to obtain if he knew of her existence. She can take and replace memories from any mind, human or not."

I could feel the hope bubbling in my gut, my heart beating to the sound of its pops.

Then I thought about everything Edward said. The name Elaine was familiar. This wouldn't be the same Elaine Roman mentioned in our last phone call together, would it?

The more I thought about it, the more I thought there wasn't any other explanation. Roman wouldn't keep assistants likely to figure out the secret hiding behind his inhumane physique, and it sounded like him to keep someone with a Gift like that close, given the damaged lover he refused to relinquish. Vampires weren't a common species—and they frequently flocked together. Like birds. Like a coven of witches.

Out of every possible response I could have given, I only mustered enough awareness to utter, "I wouldn't fix him myself. Couldn't. I'll need to contact that chick soon…"

Without Taha Aki, I'd lose my wits. I'd freak out and curse in frustration and feel weighted by guilt at my half-dead Dad's dead expression. Memories of our fight in the front-yard whipped through my mind. Memories of him looking at me like I was the enemy, his words nothing like the soothing song of his voice when he was treating me and Jared to ice cream after school or taking us to our annual dentist appointments.

It wasn't wise to have a family member operate on a loved one. I'd take one look at his face that couldn't recognize friend from foe, and I would want to fumble back into bed, losing myself in the sheets for hours, crying like my life depended on it. I'd forget sun and moon and school and family bonds and death sentences. Nothing would matter except the reality repeating over and over in my head—the reality that I couldn't fix anything, not even my own father.

Edward's face had lost its stone exterior, now exhibiting some sort of sympathy.

I shook myself from my thoughts. An awkward pause had set in place after my last statement. Obviously they didn't know what to say in the wake of everything that happened. Obviously I didn't either.

I still didn't speak. I let the silence fester, willing one of the immortals diagonal to me to say something, anything.

Finally, Alice said, "I'm sorry for the arrangement I made with Aro. I thought… I knew he wouldn't let you or your father leave alive, if I didn't attempt to sway his sentence for the two of you. Aro enjoys commitment; breaking an arrangement gives him the opportunity to unleash his Guard on anyone who dares go against their word. This wasn't your word permitting joining his Guard, but… He already saw your disobedience. A Gift is a Gift. Yours would be irreplaceable."

I'm not an artifact to be bargained with.

Her arrangement would signify my doom. She knew the sentence she was drawing, but it was a sentence in place of a sooner demise. I would have perished yesterday had she not spoken up, offering Aro a deal. If he loved deals so much, it explained the easy way with which he released us—even Dad, who had committed a crime far worse than my existence as someone who could ricochet even the worst of immortal Gifts. The others with him, the bleach-blond one particularly, had been irate, but Aro silenced their protests. We left without a hair on either of our heads harmed. Out of place, maybe.

Alice was to thank for our present safety, yet she'd be the one denounced and beseeched in the year and a half it took for me to turn eighteen. When the Volturi came knocking at my door, expecting me to go calmly, quietly. I'd blame her—and blame myself, too.

Dad was safe. That was the only comfort I had in this situation, except the dawning reality he would be used as leverage to sway my decision next October.

Fucking hell, my thoughts wouldn't shut the fuck up.

I was terrified.

Another pregnant pause. Courtesy of me.

"I'll figure out something," I muttered, glancing up at Alice with a gaze I hoped was void of tears.

Alice didn't look convinced. Neither did Edward.

The latter didn't comment on his suspicion of my assertion; instead, he raised his bronze brown eyebrows at me, asking, "What will you tell your pack?"

I would have liked to have had a solid answer for that, but it was difficult to truly know what I'd say once in front of them. After all the pain the pack had brought me, including Jacob's asshole fuckery, Jared's askew loyalty, and my own amazing ability to always ruin good things, I almost didn't want to speak to any of them after getting home. I knew they had some sort of love for me, some sort of respect for me, but love and respect weren't enough to rectify the past.

I wouldn't refuse seeing Paul, telling him everything. He was potentially still pissed about the decisions I had made without a consultation with him and me putting myself in danger where there was a likely possibility I could get myself killed—but I was sobered up enough from my prior irrational decision-making to know I was in the wrong. And I couldn't let myself get further along in this relationship, with Paul and with the pack as a whole, without becoming risk-averse. I had to prioritize others before myself, and frequently I did just that—except, I was constantly helping others in situations where I was putting myself in harm's way in the process. I was making horrible decisions and never considering their consequences. Most of all, I was hurting people with my decisions; I was ruining my relationships because I couldn't get a grip on my emotions.

I loved Paul. He was my everything—and I hoped I was his. It could have been the imprint bond flushing through my arteries, nurturing affection and longing in places neither belonged, but I never bothered to rationalize our relationship. Our past. Our feelings. None of it was bred from the beastly womb of the supernatural; we would have found each other regardless, I was sure of it. We liked each other before the supernatural world came and swept us away. I was in constant danger and Paul had worse anger issues than ever, and sometimes it felt like I wasn't a physical priority for the pack because I was a distressed damsel saving herself from distresses, but—and this was a huge but—it was something that could be worked out. All it took was communication, but I was terrible at communication. Communication and trust.

There were several things I could use against the pack in their anger against me and my anger against them, but it was difficult to have anything against Paul. Throughout my trips and falls, Paul was there. Always there. I was not the kindest to him. I treated him like he was obligated to be there, protecting me, loving me, comforting me, when our relationship was never meant to feel like an obligation. I was a parasite. He was the body hosting my selfish tendencies. I had to fix myself—fix my treatment of him and my petulance towards life—before ever seeing a silver lining.

I was taking a long, long time to respond. Staring with tired eyes at Edward, I finally answered, "I'm not sure."

He nodded.

I didn't know what else to do—whether to learn more about Edward while Bella was snoozing away the plane ride, ask about this Elaine character, or get a better understanding about the monsters we left in Volterra. I let myself drain of questions and gave Edward and Alice a half-assed version of a goodnight. What a sorry conversation. What sorry conversationalists.

When I woke up a second time, we were finally in Atlanta. Then we transferred planes. An hour passed, and we were up in the air again, speeding towards Seattle. It was like a moment passed and, with it, came a change in scenery and pace.

I was staring at my dead Motorola, sober and awake, as Dad stoically sat beside me, his entire body taut like he was under some immobilization jinx. There was a blonde, doll-faced attendant floating through the aisle, carrying refreshments, and both Bella and Edward were cuddled up, whispering to each other furiously. Alice sat and gazed around, ever the observer.

We had all been in the same positions since the plane first took off. I couldn't bear looking up anymore, Dad's presence discomforting enough I felt like I was in an incubator. Eventually, with a hefty period of time spent mentally belting 90s pop ballads, I fell into another nap.

Hours later, we landed in Seattle.

After getting off the plane and through another security check, I followed Alice, Edward, and Bella to the luggage claim. Only Alice really brought anything, and I had lost my bag sometime during Cade and I's grand run through Volterra security.

As we congregated at the entrance, out of harm's way, the vampires looked straight at me—as did their human ward. The looks on their faces made me want to wordlessly pass, hellbent on reaching my car unbothered.

There wasn't distaste in their eyes, per se. Maybe sympathy. Maybe worry. Maybe annoyance. I was itching at the heel at the prospect of going home, so honestly, I didn't care much about decoding. I just wanted to take a shower and fall asleep in my own fucking bed for a change.

Alice took a step forward. "If you need a ride home, we can drop you off at the treaty line," she said. Her offer was a sour note on my ears.

I didn't try thinking about my feelings towards every fucking vampire in existence except Roman. Unfortunately, it was a difficult venture. Every feeling and thought in my body was hateful.

"No, it's okay," I said civilly. My fingers clenched and unclenched by my hips. "Dad parked our car somewhere around here. If we can't find it, I know a guy in the area who could take us. So we're good. Thanks though."

Just leave me be. Dad's not talking, so I know things will be silent like a funeral in our car. Not with you. You're loud for deadies.

Alice bent her head, going back to stand beside Edward, their height difference astonishing. Bella was the next to approach.

"I'm sorry about the way things went," the brunette said, frowning at me, before her entire demeanor changed. Like a switch flipped. "Um, if you see Jacob, tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I'm… safe."

No chance in Hell would I seek that fucker out myself. Paul or Jared would have to be the messenger.

"I will."

Bella nodded. "Thanks, Alissa. Sorry about, um, the way things went."

Obviously, Aro's promise hung over everyone's heads, not just mine. I didn't know how to feel about that.

"Eh, we have time." I shrugged. "I'm sure I'll work out a solution by the deadline. Maybe. Hopefully."

Bella didn't look sure, and neither did her vampire saviors. But what did they know?

More than you, I bitterly admitted.

Still, I had over a year to prepare.

With cordial goodbyes given to Edward and Alice, I watched the three of them disappear into the crowded parking lot, in pursuit of the car Alice drove us in days ago. When they were no longer traceable with my blurry human vision, I turned to Dad. He hadn't moved from his position the entire time we stood at the entrance. "Where'd you park the car? If you totaled it, I'm going to be pissed."

After a moment he started moving, dodging departing passengers, and I dutifully followed. At the pillars he came to a sudden stop. Dad expressionlessly moved his eyes over to the back of the car lot that was nearly two football yards away, jabbing a finger to assert his point. I almost scoffed, but I held it in. I had to keep reminding myself—

He isn't Dad.

A shell of Richard Cameron maybe. Nothing like the man from yesteryears. Somewhat still like the self-absorbed asshat he'd become since January, since the supernatural overtook my normal. But not the father I used to adore with my whole heart.

Dad led the way to where he left our car. I was surprised he left it—even more surprised I hadn't seen our Cavalier when Alice arrived and found a parking spot in the back just days ago. It was parked haphazardly, but managed to stay between the chalk lines.

Our walk over was silent, marred by my frequent glances about to ensure no aggressive drivers ran us over. It took nearly five minutes to reach our car. In the dark, we had to keep close and be acutely aware of our surroundings.

I glanced at my Motorola. Indeed still dead.

Frustrated, I glanced up, searching for our car. There it was. Intact. Just like it was the day Dad—Richard—fled for Volterra.

"Huh," I said aloud. I pocketed my Motorola and shuffled forward, frustrated with the dark sky; if it were sunny, I could have inspected for new scratches. The overhead streetlamp was only good enough for determining whether the Cavalier was totaled. It wasn't totaled. Nothing seemed broken.

Absorbed in my inspection, I flinched when Dad threw out his hand, a key ring hanging from his index finger.

I stared at him. He stared at me.

The silence became so unbearable I senselessly locked my knees.

"Are you just going to give me the silent treatment until we find this Elaine character?" I chewed on my bottom lip.

I searched his face for an answer. The hard wrinkles on his cheeks and forehead, the crow's feet crinkling the skin beside his eyes, the flat-lined lips, the empty pupils. Ever since Taha Aki saved him, he had been a different person. He was constantly angry, but it's like the anger wasn't an emotion rocking his shit—it was a personality of its own. He wasn't the host anymore; the anger had taken the reigns of his mind, controlling his decisions, controlling his thoughts, controlling his loyalty.

I could look at my father for hours and never see anything aside from anger, with expressionless, vacant eyes to unnerve my search.

Like now. It was all for naught; nothing about him was human, aside from the feebleness of his limbs if he, potentially, were to be overpowered.

He scoffed at me. "I have nothing to say."

I had to admit—I was surprised he even responded. The snide comment and side-glare were refreshing. Rude and uncharacteristic of Richard Cameron, but refreshing.

Okay, so he's not entirely batshit crazy, I thought. Lucid enough to give as much as he takes. That's… a relief. Huh.

I raised my eyebrows at him before taking the key ring still hanging from his finger. "I'll be watching so don't think you can slip up right under my nose, but uh… A head's up would be nice. Let me know if your homicidal tendencies start acting up, Daddio."

I went around to the driver's side, inserting the key into the slot after several fruitless attempts of finding it. Motor memory failed me when I was left to my own devices, mind a swamp of gibberish thoughts.

Getting in, I started up the Cavalier, immediately cranking up the heat to the highest setting. Cold air wafted like gaseous fumes into my face. I had to remind myself several times that it would eventually become warm, then hot. Hot enough to melt the shivers right off my rigid, gooseflesh-encased skin.

After unlocking the passenger doors, Dad got in. He didn't bother buckling up—I did, however. His stoic face started straight forward, his arms crossed over his chest. His face's unshaven lower half twitched like words were fighting to dart out of his mouth.

Sighing, I busied myself with getting us the hell out of there.

A long ride was ahead of me, full of despairing thoughts and petulance I'd have to fight down.


When the sign for La Push came into view, I almost voiced my relief. Dad was snoozing with his head against the chilled glass. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and my muscles felt like they'd gone through a fifty-minute workout. Three hours of driving did that to a person. I was just so fucking happy to be home. I could kiss the broken road's pavement.

In just five or so minutes, I arrived at our driveway. I pulled in like a maniac, waking Dad when I barely braked while recklessly zooming into a parking position. Some gravel sailed through the air while the rest crunched underneath my tires.

I turned my head and watched, with amusement, as Dad flinched awake.

"What in the—" He snapped his mouth shut. Apparently, he noticed we were no longer in motion. His dark brown eyes—like black bulbs under the starless night sky—looked over at me as his head twisted.

No words. Just the look of death.

I smirked, slowly turning the key and removing it from its slot. "Sorry. The dark makes it hard to estimate how fast I should go… heck, even where I am. You're lucky we're not crashed up against a tree."

He said nothing. He was probably staring at me and wishing there was a way he could legally strangle me to death without evoking the rage of a pack just minutes away—and the police. Charlie was probably the only person who would give a fuck, though. In all honestly. Not many people cared about me, let alone the general Indigenous populace. But back to our regularly scheduled program of split-Dad not appreciating his daughter's sense of humor…

Okay, no. Not now.

Shaking my head out of the irrelevant hole it just dug, I popped open my door.

Ignoring Dad but inevitably worrying about him anyway, I robotically left the car, bringing the key ring with me—and tromped inside our unlocked house. I turned on lights, from the kitchen chandelier to the living room fan to the hallway bulb, until I made my way to my room. There, I opened the door and sunk down against it, stretching until my shoulder popped to lock the knob behind me.

It was like entering my room, to the smell of a half-opened bag of Doritos I'd left on my dresser for weeks and lavender bloom fabric softener wafting from my unmade laundry, shattered a nerve. My volcanic mind decided it was time to erupt.

A wave of heat welled behind my eyes—a pressure that felt like a disintegrating dam. A pressure that built until I was shivering, not from the cold but a known force of anxiety and frustration. I threw my phone, my wallet, the keys, aiming for my bed and hitting a wrinkled pillow. I kicked off my shoes, mud falling everywhere. I took off my hoodie and slung it over by my hamper. Left in a pair of reindeer socks, jeans, and a thermal long-sleeve alongside my undergarments, I felt barren. And gross.

Thoughts trickled in.

Charge your phone. Lord knows how many missed calls you have.

Moving was useless; it felt like a goliath mass of dumbbells was immobilizing my legs.

Paul will know you're here soon. He's a shapeshifter—remember?

Jared would too. I knew that. Shut up, brain.

Dad needs your help. You should talk to him. Ask him why he went to Volterra and killed people.

Not people, idiot—vampires! And why would I ask him anything? He was crazy. I had bruises and kerosene-soaked memories to attest that.

What about school? You're going to get suspended and go to court for your truancy record. Fail tenth grade. Get your Dad in trouble. What do you think those assholes would do? They don't care about the Indigenous, idiot.

Not to mention I'd be getting my report card soon. Sure I always managed to do assignments when I wasn't freaking out about the supernatural or going on mental tangents about how much I hated my life—but still. I was slowly letting this new reality consume me, consume my priorities.

I didn't want to fail more than I already had.

Tears flooded the corners of my eyes, one droplet after another falling like a dripping gutter. I couldn't stop it. The anger was too much to handle, and so I cried. I sat there and cried until my shoulders were shaking, guttural sobs stuck like gobs of mucus in my throat.

I hardly understood my reason for crying. Was it Dad? Was it Mom? Was it Jared? Was it Paul? Was it me?

It had to be all five. Of course it was. I was bravado and wit and comedy and stubborn mule tactics, but never strength. Never patience. Never empathy. Never self-respect. I could pretend I was strong and understood my own worth, but the millions of instances where I stood up for myself yet fell back in with abusers and assholes was evidence enough for who I was underneath.

A coward afraid of being alone.

I had abandonment issues. They'd existed since Mom's passing and became even worse when Jared went through his better-than-thou, bro-misters-before-bro-sisters stage. Having Aro threaten stakes where I would be stripped from everyone and everything I knew—that scared me. Petrified me, even. If they came for me, I would lose everything.

I missed when I was fourteen and had Jared.

I missed when I was five and still had my Mom.

I missed when I was naïve and optimistic and had hope for the future and love for my remaining family.

Now, I felt like nothing. Just a little girl playing with swords in the middle of an outright war. Harry was dead and I would be too.

I didn't know how long I sat there. I knew Dad was probably asleep by now, if he hadn't ran away like a man on a mission again. By now my tears had dried and I sat there twiddling with a loose thread on my thermal shirt. That didn't change how empty-hearted and empty-headed I felt. I wanted to sleep yet knew the minute I closed my eyes I'd be sucked back into the horrors I'd faced in the past week. Was there a point?

A hard tap at my window interrupted my response.

I froze in the midst of tearing the thread from my collar, tilting my head in the direction of my window. It was closed; I didn't remember closing it before leaving for Bella's house. Did I?

Maybe…

Fuck. I don't know.

Deciding against pondering it any longer, I got to my knees then stood on shaky legs, pulling up my pants that were starting to sag around my waist. All that stress had made me lose a few pounds.

The curtains obscured the majority of the windowpane, so I had to move them when I walked the few feet it took to arrive. Unsurprisingly, there was a person standing below, close enough to be right beneath the gutters. A familiar tall, toned teenage boy with messy jet black hair that matched the moonless night.

I almost laughed.

Well, this is a familiar sight. Only our positions are switched and there's no Sublime in the background… and it hasn't snowed in a while.

Forcing away my memories, I cracked a smile. "Fancy seeing you here, LaHottie," I drawled. My voice was still thick with tears. "Bet you thought those vampire assholes back in Italy killed me, huh?"

I expected him to share in my situation-specific humor, but he simply stared at me. Silently and without response.

I waited… and waited… and waited… Still nothing. Like a cadaver without a soul.

"Tough crowd," I muttered glumly, hanging my arm out of the opening.

"Can you open the front door?" Paul abruptly asked. His voice was hoarse like he'd just woken up, not so different from my pity-party voice.

I grinded my teeth together. "Uh, it should already be open."

"I tried it. Locked."

Okay then.

"Alright, Mister Macho. Be there in a sec," I said and promptly pulled the window shut. My curtains shuttered around it the minute I moved my hunched body away.

It took seconds to leave my room and jog to the doorway. Dad apparently locked the door after going inside. What a shocking turn of events.

I wondered how he knew I was here. Perhaps he was on patrol, watching the house and waiting to see us home. Maybe he alerted the pack and now everyone knew we were here, alive and haggard. Whatever the case, I was relieved to see Paul. To breathe his air. To know I was no longer alone.

Immediately after I unlatched the lock and turned the knob, Paul barreled inside. I didn't have a chance to give him a sarcastic welcome before he crashed into me, pulling me so tight into a hug I didn't keep my balance. I fell even further against him, clumsily wrapping my arms around his back to keep myself from fumbling to the ground like a broken toy.

"Paul, Jesus, what was that about?" I asked, voice muffled by his t-shirt. Huh, another shocking turn of events. Paul covering his chest.

Was he patrolling? Or was he watching in human form?

"You scared the hell out of me," he said angrily. His face was turned in on my messy, greasy hair pulled loosely into a ponytail. I wanted to swat him away, but I knew from his body language he wouldn't let go any time soon. "You never called. You didn't tell me anything in the call I made to you. It's been a whole hell of a lot longer than you promised to get back—God, you've had me worried out of my fucking mind. You know what that kind of shit makes a guy think, Alissa?"

"The worst" for 100, Alex.

My sigh became a shiver halfway on its route to the homey, unscented atmosphere. "I'm sorry. I promise I'm sorry. I don't plan on doing something like that ever again, I swear."

Sure, I didn't want to, but fate always had other plans. It listened to no one and gallivanted through human life cycles with reckless poise, flourishing them with chaos. What a fucking trickster, fate—almost like Loki. I knew there wasn't love in fate's heart. I knew that for a fact. It was neither friend or foe to humans. It was a watcher of destiny and a collector when time spelled out life endings.

Paul's lips pressed against my temple, wetting my skin the longer they sat. I could feel my heart slowly quieting, my shot nerves cauterized by the chilly air wafting through the front door. For a moment every worry, every complaint, every consequence drifted from my mind. The world disappeared. It was just us. Us, together. Us without Paul's anger and my nihilism. He was worried; I was disappointed. Quite the pair…

We're quite the pair.

I felt him shift, warm lips leaving my head cooled. "You better fucking not," he murmured.

I clutched to him tightly. "Believe me, I think I'm ready to retire."

"Me too," Paul said, his hands moving from my waist to my neck, massaging his fingers into its nape. "Too fucking much. It hasn't even been three months."

"You can't even think before you're back to kicking ass and saving Washington state," I joked. "Is there ever time for a break?"

Paul didn't immediately respond. "Think not," he finally said. "Time for bitching and moaning, maybe."

While it was possibly a diss towards my way of handling things, I still laughed. The only way to heal was to let go of the heavy. If I reacted in anger, it'd turn back into a cycle. If I had only a year and a half left, I—

Wait. Wait, wait, wait.

Memories flitting through my mind, I quickly moved out of Paul's embrace. My breathing hitched. My eyes went wide in panic.

One year left to what? Heal? Be a better Alissa? Paul didn't even know.

Like my subconscious knew my immediate reaction, it hissed, No more secrets, idiot.

Yeah…. no more secrets.

Paul was staring at me, half in wariness and half in concern. Those brown eyes made my resolve crack, crumbling around me until all that was left was a flimsy little gate.

"Sorry, I…. well… there's… fuck, this is harder than I thought—" Eventually I cut myself off, running a hand through my tangled hair until my scalp burned. "I don't even know how to tell you everything that happened in that hellhole. It was bad… really bad."

"Just tell me," Paul said, reaching his hand out. I didn't even flinch when it circled my shoulder. "If I need to know something, then I need to know something."

I was glad one of us could be logical in this situation. Like back in my bedroom, I was a mess.

When I looked into his eyes I wanted to shelter the truth. He looked determined, he looked relieved, he looked worried—all would change and splinter the minute I whispered Aro's intentions. But what use would it be lying? Dad knew. The Cullens knew. Bella knew—and Jacob would too. Everyone would know, and it would all backfire if I withheld something so important, something so endangering. Like with Victoria.

Stop. Take a deep breath. Tell him. Tell him what happened.

So I told him everything. Even when he growled and vibrated like his wolf was going to burst out from his skin, I went on. At some parts I got choked up and had to take a minute to just breathe and count to ten, but I dove back in seamlessly. I told him all I could remember down to Aro's demands that would come into play in just a year and a half.

When I finished, a tense hush encircled the living room.

We stared at each other. Paul with angry eyes and me with something I couldn't even decipher. I didn't know how I was feeling. Had I accepted my fate or was I just in shock? I couldn't tell.

Paul slammed his fist into the front door's frame. "That leech can't fucking do that," he growled.

I shook my head; he'd said that at least five times as I explained my sentence, and every time I had to remind him— "There's nothing we can do, Paul. They're a bigger threat than anything we've ever faced, and I'm not putting anybody in danger just to get killed by not doing what he wants."

Paul began pacing like a prowling wolf, his posture predatory. "There has to be something! Are you just giving up? Bloodsuckers are killers, they're fucking monsters—we're not letting you become one. Your Dad won't stand for it, Jared won't, I sure as hell won't. Sam would agree."

"Yeah, Paul, let's go and get killed," I said, walking away from him to slam the front door shut. The wind was distracting. "Maybe we'll be in side-by-side cells in Satan's lair. Might even be invited to his chambers to dine on chicken head skulls and dead soul casserole. You hear how that sounds? Stupid. Stupid plan. There can't be a plan against thousand-old vampires! Some of the people in their Guard are actually fucking terrifying, Paul. They'd rip us apart, even with the Cullens if they helped."

Paul sneered at me. "Then what? We wait for them to come and turn you into a tick servant? Fuck that, Lissy."

"I am not saying that," I said, rolling my eyes. "I'm saying this 'guns blazing' approach of yours won't work. We gotta wait and talk this over with Sam, the Council, Dad when he's not a lunatic… adults. People that know what they're doing. We don't know shit, Paul. War tactics maybe…"

Paul flashed his canines. "Speak for yourself," he said darkly.

I was speaking for myself. Him, too. Paul could be such a hothead; it made him motivationally deluded. It made him blind. He thought going in without a plan wouldn't ultimately backfire, but I was lucid enough to see every piece on the board, like we were playing a game of chess. Thinking I could live by eliminating the killers jeopardizing my well-being before they could abduct me? Foolish, foolish, foolish. We would all fall. We would all die. Even if the Cullens helped, even if Roman offered his services, even if Dakota's memories were extracted from Dad and he could finally assist in preparations for the worst, it wouldn't alter my fate. Aro had me right where he wanted: without a plan. Even if there was a plan, there were blockades in the shapes of immortals, the Guard who would defend their master until their marble bodies were lit up in flames. They would foil any risky endeavors taken to save myself from a voided eternity.

Paul was arrogant. He believed too strongly in his pack's abilities, forgetting that strength was only half the winning arsenal. The Volturi was strong, but intelligent too. And Gifted. Gifted with powers beyond human comprehension. The shifters were fast and powerful—that was an undeniable fact—but when it came to a battle between seasoned veterans and pups, the dogs would be put down.

That was a realistic assertion. I wasn't even trying to be a pessimist.

I shook my head, gritting my jaw in frustration. "You aren't invincible, you know? The Volturi aren't either, granted, but… they're ancient. They're smart. They're quick on their feet. They have strategy on their side. I'd say numbers, too. Getting people killed to save my own skin isn't the way to go. I'd wind up the same as the rest."

Paul went deadly silent. I could see the tremors swallowing his body, hunching his posture, the skin of his mouth tearing back to reveal an angry snarl. He was angry. Maybe at the sense I was making, maybe at the feeling of helplessness. I knew it; I felt it. I felt trapped, like Aro was over my shoulder, telling me, Where do you go after this?

I had blackmail. He knew it too.

But Aro was a manipulative bastard. He could see memories through touch, but his true Gift lied in manipulation. He could take his worst enemy and transform them into a comrade in arms. That was just a fact. A fact I witnessed. The comradery, the total devotion, the unhesitant impulse to protect—it was all there in the Guard's actions. Their decisions shaped an allegiance that ran so deep and thick I doubted any persuasion on my part could penetrate it.

I wouldn't say we were fucked, but…

It would take a damn miracle to waver Aro's sentence and save myself from a thousand lifetimes of misery.

Paul's anger was a clue to him coming to the same realization. I didn't know whether the imprint bond was what made him so brash in his rush to protect me, but its extent was identical to the Guard with Aro. He'd do anything, try anything, if it meant keeping me from harm.

So why did it feel like I was on my own?

Was it because of the last few times of peril? I was alone then—no one came to my aid. There was an underlying reason, probably, but I had to wonder…. based on something Jacob said, that was only returning to me now… if shifters could feel their imprints in trouble and in pain, why was I constantly alone? Why was I forced into rescuing myself?

I needed an answer.

"Paul," I said, only just remembering the state he was in. I took three steps toward his trembling figure. "Paul. I gotta ask you something. It's important. Calm down."

Paul blinked several times at me. I could see the bones of his spine through his shirt, and it made me nervous about cleaning house; repairing the mess left by a shifter didn't set well with me, not when I had no time to waste on trivial spring cleaning.

"For fuck's sake," I muttered, running a hand over my face. "Calm down, you rangy mutt!"

Eventually Paul did calm down. By that point I had almost forgotten my question.

"Okay. Thanks for complying, sir," I said. I crossed my arms over my chest, fisting the sleeve of my thermal. "So I'm not sure how to ask this, but Jacob said something the other day and I've been wondering about it. Is it true you guys feel when your imprints are in danger?"

Paul's face shifted into a confused scrunch of features. "What kind of question is that? Of course we do."

But… but…

"Then did you feel it when my Dad went crazy and I had to fend him off? Or when Victoria chased me off a cliff? Or when Jacob saved me from drowning?" I was completely bewildered. "Paul, you're kinda sounding like you don't care."

"I do care, Lissy, you know that. I've been wondering about that too. I've got my own theories," Paul said, leaning up against the shelf Dad kept in the kitchen housing antique dishes he'd collected over the years. "Your emotions have been all over the place since that night you made Jared shift.

"It was really confusing because it was like you were constantly angry, but then it got weirder, and you weren't just angry—you were paranoid. I could barely ever sense when you were in danger because it felt the same every time. Angry and paranoid every minute of every goddamn day. The only time you were in danger that I actually felt it was the day in the forest when Dakota got his memories swiped. When you got bitten. You were in so much pain I thought my arm was roasting. But every other time was the same."

So the truth was Paul did notice. But all he felt was the feelings I spent every day brewing in to concoct an emotional soup: anger and fear. It was a logical conclusion. Even when I was drowning, I was angry at God for striking me down and afraid of Victoria and my fate.

Paul didn't realize when I was in danger because every day felt like a battle. I was swathed in turmoil. I remembered moments of calm when I was forced to concentrate over falling further out of control, but… even then, I'd go right back to being a rigid pole of rage.

I could understand it. But I hated myself for having such loose constraint on my nerves.

"Huh," I said, lifting a hand and pinning my bottom lip down with my thumb. "That explains a lot."

Paul just shook his head, like this entire situation bewildered him. Then something changed, like another something clicked. He pushed off the shelf and approached me.

A stream of apologies was at the tip of my tongue, but he silenced me with one look, swiftly crushing me against his chest. I felt his toned muscles against my shirt, his arms like metal rods of a furnace swallowing my backside in licks of fire.

He led me to my bedroom. I knew he glared at my father's door in passing; I didn't blame him.

When we arrived at my room, Paul led me to my bed, pushing me down into a heap of limbs.

I caught myself, but even so I was immediately trapped by Paul's body as he carefully maneuvered himself on top of me. This was an entirely new position we were in. Not even backseat French kissing enabled such a position.

"Paul—what, what are you doing?!" I sputtered. My eyes met his, their chocolate brown depths driving me away from my concentration, into a haze where all I wanted was to inch closer and forget the horrors of reality. Judging by his proximity, and the smirk quirking his lips, Paul thought the same. Of course he did.

Paul said nothing. He didn't explain what motivated his actions and he didn't even try something inappropriate. He hovered over me and stared, eyes flickering over my entire face. Until they settled on my mouth.

I blinked at him.

Okay I'll guess I'll roll with the punches, I thought, unable to tear my eyes away. Sure, we've kissed and made out and groped and made sex talk but… the look in his eyes in different. Desperate, somehow.

Desperate indeed. Tentatively, I reached out a hand and brought it up to the tendril of black hair curling around his ear, pinning it back. Paul leaned closer, and I leaned with him. I followed his lead until my eyes closed in anticipation, his hot breath fanning to meet my mouth, open in a purse.

Then, we kissed.

It wasn't dramatically different from the other kisses we had shared, but I sensed something off, maybe a result of the distance that had come between us lately and the ongoing argument we had yet to communicate about. I tried to forget all the negatives, all the red flags I'd been ignoring, and focused on how warm my body had become. How nervous I was. How my heart was beating inside my chest like a Sonic-speed round of ribcage ping pong.

My hand grabbed around his Paul's head, fisting his hair, pulling him closer. Like a snake, Paul's large hands encircled my waist. We drew each other closer until there was not even an inch of space between us; we were left invading each other's personal space, mouths pressed so tightly together I felt my breath catch, launched back against the base of my throat like phlegm.

My shirt rode up. Chills wracked my skin in goosebumps, but I didn't care, eyes clenched shut and mind lost to the brutal assault of the chilly, unheated air's attack on my flesh. Paul was warm. He was a walking, talking heater, permanently set to a temperature that would make scalding bathwater jealous. His arms were around me, his hulking torso flush against my chest, his forehead on mine.

I gripped his hair tighter. All my frustration, all my need, all my desperation disappeared from my aching nerves, transferring to that kiss.

Eventually, I opened my mouth, feeling a shiver tiptoe up my spine—in desire or anxiety, I couldn't decode. Paul pressed harder. His teeth knocked against mine, and a sneaky hand went to the end of my shirt. There it went, carving a path of blistering, fading heat until it palmed the cup of my bra. Phantom touches that erupted in an explosion of nerve-endings. Then, came a thought. A thought of Dakota. Of Dante, of Aro, of Demetri, of Dad, of Victoria. Of everyone who brought harm's way to me when we touched. Would Paul—?

Why can't I forget?

I asked myself that question as I became further lost in Paul's heat. I knew I was tensed, even as my kiss didn't freeze and my body moved in concord with his. My head was a disaster, even as I screamed at myself to let Paul slaughter the shadows plaguing me. Let light defeat darkness—let heat overcome cold.

No. Shut up. For once in your goddamn life.

I gnawed on Paul's bottom lip, swallowing my fear, my guilt, my frustration. I felt our teeth gnash, my tongue aching. My mouth was numb.

I wanted to be numb. I wanted to forget.

I can't fucking think about this anymore. It's ripping me to shreds.

First went my shirt, then went his. My bra was discarded like a piece of useless fabric at a tailor's. I frantically moved my hands from Paul's scalp to his neck, then his shoulders, then his abdominal muscles, then the toned line connecting his legs and torso.

When my nerves switched courses, only knowing the body mixing with my own, I knew I succeeded.

And when I fell asleep with Paul holding me like I was a stuffed possession, I was too exhausted to think. I was out like a fucking light.

That frozen night I dreamed of my day of reckoning. First it was black—then the Volturi appeared. They swarmed me, and I was pulled in front of them on hands and knees. Aro read my sentence. We were on a high pedestal that looked strangely identical to the throne from the room I lost my freedom in. The blond-haired vampire and Marcus were there. So was Dante, so was Demetri, so was the frighteningly tall, muscled one. Jane was there with her twin—and she was laughing. They pinned my eyelids back and inflicted pain.

Pain from the tiny, preteen fairy. I couldn't see; I knew next to nothing about ricocheting what I couldn't see.

Then I was bitten. Right where Dakota's venom entered, bringing with it an identical scar. By fangs sharp and unnaturally white, elongating bigger and bigger until I felt like I was being eaten by a titan.

I screamed but no one noticed. No one tried to stop the transition. Roman wasn't there; neither was my Dad or Jared or Paul. Alone. Changing, alone.

I woke up in a sweat. I breathed heavily, my heart racing like it was in a marathon against time. Paul was still beside me, arms pinning me to his chest. His breaths were soft and deep, nothing the shallow gasps I emitted.

Deliriously, I thought my dream—nightmare—was a vision of the future.

How far can you run from your destiny? Was that a glimpse of my destiny?

Regardless of how disheartened I felt, I had to hope there were options other than surrendering. I didn't like losing; I hated subordination even more. Taking orders, being exploited for my weaknesses, being lied to, facing manipulation, accepting consequences…

There were fates far worse than death. Being immortal was one of them. I would rather die gruesomely than experience eternity. I wasn't cut out for fighting until my last breath, but I would to avoid the manifestation of my worst nightmare.

I didn't sleep a wink.

The date was set. My fate was clear. And it would take a miracle to escape, to survive.

Suddenly, I went rigid. A thought occurred to me. My mantra from Italy.

Find the loophole. Tug.

But what loopholes could be found in escaping Fate?

I had to have hope. There would be a loophole; all helpless situations had one, no matter how dire.

I survived so much already. What was different about a group of ancient, blockheaded vampires?

I'll live, I thought, blearily blinking my eyes as a wave of exhaustion enrobed me. For you, Mom—and for you, Arcus. I'll win the game.

I fell into a dreamless sleep, with hope for the future—my future—on my mind.

Fin.

End of New Moon.


A/N: That was… hard to write. I hope it was okay. I've been really depressed lately and theres been a lot on my mind. It makes writing hard

Rinabee: Very true! Alissa's a smart cookie so after the initial shock/paranoia wears off she'll be looking for the best way her blackmail can be used :)

seventhhaven: Yes! I am SO excited to move into the aftermath because now that Dakota's out of the picture, there WILL be an Aro/Alissa dynamic alongside Victoria's army's dynamic even before Breaking Dawn's arc hahah. Aro is fascinated with Alissa's ability and it's likely he won't hold his word before her 18th birthday

.2020: I'm glad! :D

RubberDuckiez: I'm super super sorry about taking so long to finally get this out but I hope it was worth it! It makes me happy to hear you enjoyed my last updates, I'll do my best to keep it up :) thank you for reading!

WashedUpInNewYork: So hopefully this will be further explained in future updates but I'll try and help explain now :) no one knew exactly what Gift Alissa would have, but Dakota's exceptional Gift after Turning gave Aro and the rest of the Volturi reason to believe that the emissary bloodline holds extraordinary potential for all bearers of the genes, meaning both Richard and Alissa would have higher chances that ordinary mortals to have a Gift. Cade was warned beforehand who Alissa was and knew there she was a potential chance of her having a Gift alongside the abilities she has from being an emissary. Most of the time the italics are Alissa's inner monologue just running its course, but who knows, maybe there's a chance of something on the sidelines? Hehe.

WolvesAlpha: Hiii, this review was such a treat to read! I can promise this; with all the drama and teenage bullshit that happened in the New Moon arc, Eclipse's will be much more adult. Characters will wise up and Alissa will find closure :) there's been a lack of communication, and Alissa tends to lie and build walls to avoid being vulnerable. We see the cracks when she encounters danger, but as always, her only friend is sometimes herself. She'll soon find that's not the case but it takes communication, trust, and understanding on all parties' accounts to achieve that heh. I'm so glad you enjoyed, and I hope this update is just as good!

I hope you guys are having a good winter break or enjoying the cold weather and pajama season- whatever's going on, I wish you all the best! Have a great new year's and thank you for reading and giving feedback and being all around awesome people! Xoxo :)