"I should run and go, I should run and hide. But I'm stuck on you."
-"Love from NGC 7318," Tanerélle ft. Barnes Blvd.
(87 years ago)
The Monster had not fed in weeks.
The thirst was a physical burn, compelling him to move. He barely had the presence of mind to ignore the people bumping into him, entire groups running up and down the streets.
Everybody was looking for work. This slum seemed covered in some kind of grime that couldn't be washed off and everyone seemed coated in it. Prostitutes shook their scarves in his face, enticing him closer. Parentless children ran past him, their fingers slyly reaching towards his pockets.
He kept walking. If he stopped moving, the Monster would not be able to hold back any longer.
Night fell and the thirst was at its peak— worse than anything he'd ever felt.
Someone had the misfortune of walking too close to him.
The man was worn and greasy-looking— clearly somebody who hadn't bathed in a few days. The man stunk of whiskey and he swayed back and forth as he walked, in the direction of the alley the prostitutes liked to frequent.
The Monster prowled before Edward could stop it, delirious with thirst.
The man went down hard and silently, shoved into a dark alley in the blink of an eye. He didn't even have the presence of mind to scream before the Monster tore his throat out in a frenzy to get to the blood underneath.
When it was over— his own clothes burned, the body dumped in a lake— Edward realized he had no idea what the man had been thinking before he killed him.
(now)
"Oh," Alice breathes. "Something's happening."
Edward looks up from where he is decimating Emmett in five-way chess. Emmett takes advantage of his distraction to pocket one of Edward's rooks.
It's been a quiet, boring day, stuck inside to avoid the sun coming out at 12:38 pm, according to Alice. It's only slightly more bearable than school would be, although his frustration is great as his plans to confront Bella have been delayed.
Edward frowns.
Dark coat. Perceptive eyes. A pale, bruised face looking blankly up into them.
"FBI in Forks?" He asks aloud.
Emmett completely forgets about his cheating and leaps to his feet.
"What?"
"Bella Swan," Alice says, eyes unfocused. "Of course. That's why I didn't see it until now."
Edward keeps his face blank, trying not to look too suspicious.
All those months ago when Bella Swan had walked into that cafeteria and Edward heard not a whisper of a thought from her mind, he had made two important decisions that— though he didn't know it at the time— would come back to bite him in the ass. Decision one was to keep to himself, no matter how ridiculous the reasoning, that Bella Swan's mind was completely silent to him. Easy enough so far. But decision two was growing to be more and more disastrous by the day.
Decision two had been to lie to Alice.
"I wasn't even trying to look," Alice complains. "Now my head feels funny."
She grimaces and rubs at her temples. Edward can only be happy that Jasper is out hunting with Rose and Esme. His overreactions could put Edward's to shame.
Emmett had found Alice's slight blind spot when it came to Bella Swan very interesting for about two minutes. He sits back down on the floor in a flash, pocketing another piece in the game that Edward has already stopped caring about. A knight this time.
"Explain," Emmett says in a bored voice, now uninterested but still vaguely annoyed at being left out. He hates the one-way conversations between Edward and Alice.
"He's investigating the Swan murders," Alice said. "He's meeting with Bella Swan in about two days."
She squints, her face going pinched.
"I can't see his name."
She leans back on the couch and sighs.
"She's still so unclear. And delayed. It's making me sad."
Edward tries not to wince.
Months ago, on that memorable first day, Alice had asked him if he thought there was anything extraordinary at all about the new Swan girl.
He had said no.
"Depression can make people that way sometimes. Fuzzy."
And then she walked back to Economics and put it out of her mind.
Edward had not.
He had let her latch on that excuse—when depression made human brains fuzzy, it consequently made their decisions fuzzy, which is what Alice would pick up on. Like a phone call with bad reception.
He did not offer any other possible explanation for why Alice could sometimes hit a wall when trying to see the future of Bella Swan. It's not like he knew why he couldn't hear her. At least back then.
But it's different now—and now he feels a smidge of guilt for deliberately leaving out a piece of the puzzle from Alice.
Especially if Alice is now feeling genuine discomfort when trying to see her.
She must have upped her defenses, after yesterday, he thinks a little bit frantically. There is no other explanation.
So little he understands. So much that he still does not know. Is it possible she is more dangerous than he imagined, if she can cause a vampire discomfort just by being thought about? Or is what Alice is doing a little bit more complicated than that? Can she shield herself from Alice's visions too, like she can to his mind-reading? Is she even aware she is doing this?
Emmett's voice brings him back to himself.
"Not much we can do about that," says Emmett, carelessly. "FBI though?"
He grins widely at Edward, ignoring Alice, who is now rocking back and forth, rubbing her temples.
"Jasper's gonna freak."
Jasper, predictably, does freak.
"We leave tonight."
"NO," Rosalie says petulantly. "We are not starting over. We just got here."
"Won't it be even more suspicious if we all pack up and leave the second an FBI agent rolls into town?"
"Weren't you planning to do that just a second ago?" Jasper shoots back at him.
"Boys. No fighting—"
"FBI means focus. Focus means discovery. Isn't that exactly what you're supposed to be on the lookout for—"
"Don't blame him for you being paranoid—"
"He's not paranoid, Rose— you'll just take any option that ends with you not having to start high school all over again—"
"Do you think he carries a gun everywhere?"
"Shut up, Emmett."
"It's a valid question—"
"We have nothing to do with the Swan murders—"
"Are you joking? We have everything to do with the Swan murders—"
"I am NOT moving again—"
"No fighting—"
"Enough."
They all shut up and turn to look at Carlisle, who is looking out the back window into the dark green forest, frowning deeply. He takes a moment before speaking, with finality.
"We cannot leave."
He turns slowly, ignoring the sounds of protest from Jasper and little ha from Rosalie.
"We have responsibilities here. You five have to finish school. Esme has her students. I have my patients—"
"You cannot be serious—" Jasper starts.
"And—" Carlisle continues louder, "we all have Bella Swan. Or have you forgotten that?"
Dead silence follows while Carlisle stares straight into Jasper's still dark eyes.
"I will not leave an innocent human girl undefended after our kind killed her entire family. We will do the right thing, Jasper."
Carlisle is resolute, his voice clear and unflinching. Jasper lowers his eyes.
"But they're long gone," Emmett says into the silence. "Why would they care about one girl when there's so many others they can drink up?"
Edward's eyebrow twitches in irritation as he reminds himself that Emmett doesn't mean to be rude. It really is just how he sees them all— boring, insignificant weaklings. Then he wonders why the hell he even cares.
"They might come back," Esme says quietly, staring at Edward. "It's always a possibility."
"It could be a pride thing," Alice chirps up. "Get the one who got away. It's better for her if we stay. Safer for us too."
Jasper's head shoots towards Alice's voice and she smiles back at him. Edward feels the perceptible shift in his family when they all relax. If Alice made up her mind, there is no question that Jasper would follow.
Jasper sags, defeated, the battle lost. Alice flashes to his side in a second.
"That doesn't mean we won't be careful," She says consolingly, her hand on his scarred arm.
"Precautions have to be taken. The paperwork needs to be spotless," Jasper says mechanically to the room. Rose is upstairs in a flash, the hum of the computer turning on reaching their ears. Her thoughts are jubilant at having won.
"No doubt he'll be looking," Jasper continues, frowning. "We're strange enough for that."
Jasper looks up at him, gaze hard as he meets his eyes.
"You will have to stay. There's no way around that."
Another tension-filled silence. Even Rose stops her typing upstairs to listen in.
Edward grits his teeth. He called this. He so definitely called this. Alice couldn't have predicted it better. He had known this would be Jasper's concession— he would give them all the best defense if there was even the slightest inkling in the agent's mind that something was off about them.
But be honest, says a small voice in the back of his mind, could you really leave after this?
Bella Swan's challenging face from yesterday flashes through his mind.
"Please, son," Carlisle says quietly behind him. "This is only temporary."
He doesn't miss how Esme grasps hopefully at Carlisle's arm behind him.
No way around it now, if Carlisle was asking. He owes him too much to say no now.
(Aren't you clever, using that excuse?)
"Fine," he grits out, like a child. He is upstairs in a flash.
The chatter resumes downstairs after a moment but it's easy to tune out. He can let them work out the particulars. Rosalie resumes her machine gun typing on the keyboard. Emmett starts up one of the other computers downstairs, chattering excitedly to Alice. Carlisle and Jasper continue in low voices over contingency plans, hidden offshore accounts, passports and birth certificates.
Edward stares into his dark room, outside at the canopy of dark green trees. A heavy rain has started, pounding on the roof, filling his room with the scent of petrichor and wet soil. The brief sunlight of today seems ages ago.
School tomorrow then.
The suitcase that holds all the belongings he had deemed worthwhile enough to take with him still sits by the window. He walks over to it, grimacing that the only truly worthwhile things he's managed to accrue over the decades can fit inside one bag.
He starts to unpack, trying not to focus on that small part of him that is ecstatic at the need for him to stay in Forks. Maybe he's just experiencing secondhand joy from Rosalie's thoughts.
He stops when he hears the soft rustle of fabric behind him and catches the gentle scent of vanilla.
"Are you alright?"
Damn.
He has been so preoccupied with Alice's perceptiveness that he forgot to consider Esme's.
He schools his face into a smile before turning back to face his adoptive mother. She is frowning at him, her lovely caramel hair spilling gently over her shoulder.
"I'm fine."
He turns back to his unpacking, smoothly taking out the little trinkets he had thought to take with him. A music box from Alice. A jeweled comb from Rosalie that was one of the first things she had ever given him. A beautiful, cream-colored journal from Esme.
(A lemonade bottle cap. A crumpled up five-dollar bill.)
He takes out the journal, its ivory pages still blank. It had seemed a waste, to ruin such beautiful pages with his thoughts. He rests it atop the bed that Esme had insisted on installing.
"I can see that," she says, with a trace of sarcasm in her voice.
She's by his side in a flash, smoothing back his unruly hair and he can't resist but smile at her, truthfully this time. Come what may, no one can ever say he doesn't adore his mother.
"It's a change in my plans," he says by way of explanation.
Her thoughts don't agree.
He sees her mind consider these past few months.
His own face in her thoughts, frowning, staring at nothing, lost in his own thoughts. She watches. She worries. Something has been troubling him.
She voices this, even though they both know its unnecessary.
"The Swan's deaths trouble you more than you show, I think," she says gently. She lays her smaller hand on top of his, which is still resting on the journal.
He keeps his face blank as he scrolls her thoughts. It is the only explanation she has come up with for his strange behavior these past few months. It relieves him, but also slightly disappoints him, that she has made no other connection.
His mother would understand his recent confusion, he thinks.
But he still can't bring himself to correct her. His recent promise jumps to the front of his mind, a more effective gag than if he were to sew his own lips shut.
"It was not your fault, what happened that night," Esme continues gently. "They were of the worst of our kind. Had we been more aware, perhaps…" She drifts off, lost in thought. "Even Alice could not see what was to happen. It goes to show how little we can count on fate."
Edward's hand stiffens under hers and she clenches it gently.
"Even we are fallible too."
For a moment, they just stand there, listening to the rain batter against the walls of the house and the distant chatter of their family. After a while, something small eases in his chest. At least, in the middle of all his preoccupations and worries, he can give himself the small reassurance that he will not be breaking his mother's heart by leaving her. Her thoughts are radiant with the relief.
"I'm glad I can give you some small amount of happiness, Mom."
Esme gently swats at his head as he ducks, grinning.
"My idiot son. You give me a great amount of happiness."
Her smile is still on her face, but he hears the last thought whisper sadly in her mind.
I wish you would remember that, from time to time.
School is more awful than usual.
It's awful because everyone is still talking about what happened with Tyler Crowley with varying degrees of accuracy, the most recent embellishment being that Bella was dragged to the hospital in handcuffs after punching a police officer in the face. It's awful because they're still finishing the horrible Romeo and Juliet film in English. It's awful because they are all forced to attend a schoolwide assembly about the dangers of bullying, which only adds to the fire of everyone's mind yelling about how Bella Swan and her violent outburst actually proves that she did kill her entire family.
And it's awful because the person in question is still not back in school.
By lunchtime, he is ready to murder anyone who even breathes in his direction.
"Move," he snaps at Rosalie, whose leg is taking up an entire side of the bench.
She narrows her eyes at him and puts her other leg on top, crossing her feet.
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and considers the situation he'd put them all in if he tore Rosalie's arm off right now and started beating her over the head with it. He throws himself on the seat next to Alice, slamming his lunch tray on the table. Emmett and Jasper decided to stay home today, Jasper still needing to hunt and Emmett just blowing off school. He should have done the same.
"You're in a bad mood," Alice observes, without lifting her eyes from her nails, which she is painting a dark blue the exact color of her sweater.
"Everyone needs to stop talking and thinking about Bella Swan or I'm going to lose my goddamned mind," he hisses, trying to open his bottle of water without it exploding all over the table.
Alice nods.
"It is getting quite excessive."
"I get it," Rosalie says with a shrug, offering her hand to Alice, who starts to paint her pinky nail with expert precision.
Edward shoots her a glare. "What do you mean?"
Rosalie sighs, her eyes rolling to the ceiling like she's exhausted with the fact that her brother is such an imbecile.
"Think about it. Yeah, we know she didn't do it. But if we didn't know that, who would you think did?"
"True," Alice says.
Edward grinds his teeth.
"Being the sole survivor doesn't automatically mean you did it."
"Also true," Alice quips, ever the peacemaker.
"Anyway, I think we got worse things to worry about than Bella Swan," Rosalie says with a roll of her eyes.
It bothers him how she says her name, like she doesn't think much of the human, if at all. Then (once again), he wonders why the hell he even cares. And quietly reminds himself that Bella Swan is most definitely not human.
"What?"
Rosalie reaches behind her and grabs her backpack, zipping it open and pulling out a stack of papers in one fluid motion without ruining her wet nails. She dumps it on the table in front of her siblings.
"Agent Steven Marks. I researched all his old cases. He has a success rate over 90 percent. The way his mind works," Rosalie says, shaking her head back and forth, "it's genius. He's good. Really good. He's methodical and perceptive and—" Rosalie trails off.
"— and exactly what we don't need right now," Edward finishes.
"Exactly."
Alice pauses in painting her final thumb nail and reads through the paperwork in front of her, skimming through the entire stack in seconds. She frowns.
"Where did you find the time to do this, Rose? It's super detailed."
"Mr. Larson lets me do whatever the hell I want, since he's in love with me," she says with a disgusted roll of her eyes. "Revolting but useful."
Edward nods in agreement. Mr. Larson is the computer science teacher, who spends his entire class period drooling in Rosalie's direction. He's 25 years old and a generally scummy looking person but does have access to some of the best technology in Forks. Rosalie spends the majority of her class period brushing up on her cyberterrorist-level coding skills and thinking up creative ways of flaying the man alive, which Edward tunes in to hear on particularly boring days.
"We need leverage," Alice says calmly, now reaching for Edward's left hand, which he begrudgingly holds out for her to paint. "Does he have anything we can use to blackmail him? Family? Affairs? General sketchiness?"
Rosalie is already shaking her head.
"I really looked. There's nothing. Guy is squeaky clean. And worse," Rosalie says darkly, "he's motivated."
She reaches into the stack and hands Edward a single sheet of paper.
It's a news article dated back almost 10 years. There's a black and white photo on the bottom right corner— it looks like an average family, father and mother smiling with two small children posing for the camera in front. He peers closer— the man looks vaguely familiar, seen only through Alice's vision in his head. The headline is in all caps.
FAMILY OF FBI AGENT MURDERED IN BRUTAL TRIPAL HOMICIDE— DETECTIVES SUSPECT CONNECTION TO PAST CASE
Edward curses under his breath.
"You see?" Rosalie says, pointing at the headline. "This is the kind of man who's not going to stop for anything."
Alice reads over Edward's shoulder. "They never caught the guy."
"Lots of similarities, right? It's already personal for him. He chose to work Bella Swan's case."
Alice and Edward stare at Rosalie, who is still pointing at the headline.
"You know what this means, right?" Edward asks.
"Yeah," Rosalie says with a huff. "We're fucked."
After lunch, Edward sits in Biology trying not to think about the empty seat next to him or Rosalie's research or brutal homicides or anything the other 29 people are thinking about right now. He doodles aimlessly on his notebook as he waits for class to start, practicing the ancient art of meditation that Alice once forced him to try out with her one boring afternoon. It doesn't help.
"Everyone settle down," Mr. Banner says when he walks in. "We've got a lot to get through today."
Edward tunes out, still sketching mindlessly. Mr. Banner drones on and on about the importance of peer work in college, which he says they're all going to have to get familiar with. Edward sketches out a dark circle and starts shading it in. Mr. Banner says how in college, peer work and peer review will account for the grand majority of research for anyone going into the sciences. Edward sketches out a pointed eyebrow, right above the iris. Mr. Banner explains how the end of semester project will be practicing the very process of peer review with their lab partners.
Edward's eyes shoot up.
"You will practice on each other. One will present a research proposal and the other will review it and vise versa. There's only two months before winter break, folks. This is all we'll be working on until then. And," he says loudly, over the collective class groan, "it will account for over half of your final semester grade! So, let's get to work!"
Mr. Banner starts handing out the paper detailing their project requirements. On the very top left corner is the name of his assigned partner scribbled in red ink.
Bella Swan.
He raises his hand.
Mr. Banner's eyes go wide and he freezes in the middle of passing out papers. The entire class falls silent, every head turning to him.
I've never even heard him speak, someone thinks.
He stiffens under the scrutiny. Honestly.
"Yes, Edward?" Mr. Banner asks somewhat nervously.
"Are we allowed to change partners?"
Dead silence falls. Mr. Banner shuffles his papers and clears his throat. Edward pries into his head.
I knew this would come up but who else could I stick her with?
"I'm afraid not, Edward."
Edward swallows hard.
"Can we work alone?" He asks somewhat desperately.
The muttering starts up in the back of the classroom. He doesn't even try to hear.
Mr. Banner straightens up.
"The whole point of this project is to practice peer review. I don't exactly see how you can do so working alone."
"I could write a paper on it or just join another group—"
"Mr. Cullen," Mr. Banner says with finality. "I'm afraid when you are in college, you won't necessarily get the chance to pick your partners. Your grade will depend on whoever you are assigned to work with. Consider this good practice. And let this go for everyone," he says, turning to the class. "I don't want to hear all these requests for switching partners just so you can work with your friends. In college, you won't…"
Mr. Banner's voice is drowned out by the roaring in his ears. Edward stares at the tiny red letters until they blur together.
You knew you would have to face her eventually.
He kicks at the dirt.
The perfect opportunity falls into your lap and you try to avoid it?
He jumps high into the treetops, climbing to reach his favorite spot where he can sit for hours with the view. From here, he can see almost all of Forks.
Why?
He had come home and wandered outside, running until the thoughts of his family were distant hums that he could easily tune out. His brain felt like pulled taffy. He told them all he needed the silence.
He sits with his back against the thick trunk, scratching the blue paint off with his thumbnail in neat little lines. And tries to think about what he is going to do.
He's lying to Alice. To Rosalie. To everyone.
He needs to tell Bella that he knows what she is, and soon. If he doesn't, Billy will tell her. And then he will have lost the element of surprise. Bella will know that her cover is blown and she might take it upon herself to strike first. And then he'll truly be fucked.
He knows. He has one more day until Bella comes back to school. He needs to be ready.
He spends the night tracking two mountain lions near the border, miles away from Forks. The hunt feels good— he goes alone, the opportunity to be miles away from any living thought too sweet to resist.
He takes down two with expert ease, not holding back. He feels the blood thrumming through his body, bringing him to peak strength. He takes a long detour on the way back, feeling his muscles stretch and hum as he runs like a wraith through the forest. Reminding himself that he is still on top of the food chain.
He returns home around four in the morning with a plan, exhilarated and dripping with rainwater.
The lights are on in the kitchen.
"Alice?"
His sister is a sight with flour-streaked hair and panicked eyes. She is chewing on her thumbnail, sitting crossed legged on the floor in front of the oven.
"Don't talk to me right now, Edward— this batch is not burning."
Edward grins. "Shouldn't you know if they will?"
"That's the thing," Alice snaps, "I can't decide when to take them out so consequently—"
"You burned three already?"
Alice sniffs, turning her head away.
Edward snatches one of the finished cookies off the plate on the stove and gives it one tentative sniff.
"Um… Alice?"
"Hmm?" She replies, not taking her eyes off the stove.
"Um… how much vanilla did you put in these?"
"I don't know, like three bottles?"
"Oh. I see." Edward clears his throat. "And where's your recipe?"
Alice shrugs. "I don't need one. I'm a genius."
"So… how are you measuring things?"
Alice blinks. "Measure?"
Ah.
"Well… you see… human food is a bit more complicated than throwing together whatever smells good. Take vanilla, for example," he says, holding the cookie up. "Tastes delicious when subtle. Poison in large doses."
Alice blinks. Then looks to the oven with dismay.
"I guess you can be forgiven for not knowing that."
"I added five bottles to these," She wails, ignoring him. "They didn't smell right! Esme wanted me to make treats for her class and for the Blacks! How am I supposed to know that white powders aren't interchangeable? They look the same. The same, Edward."
He stifles a laugh, since Alice looks genuinely distraught.
"I'll help. We should have a recipe book somewhere."
Alice nods quickly, wringing her hands.
"Um. Alice?"
"Yeah?"
"I think your cookies are burning."
They work through the night, Alice dutifully measuring the ingredients and handing them over to Edward, who mixes everything together with expert precision.
Alice watches with uncharacteristically somber eyes.
"How are you so good at this anyway?"
Edward shrugs.
"I studied culinary back in London. Remember?"
"Oh," Alice says.
Edward frowns at his sister, who is dully poking at the eggs he had her separate with sad eyes.
"Alice… why are you baking in the first place?"
She shrugs, eyes on the counter.
"I told you. Esme asked if I could."
"But… you offered," he says, scrolling quickly through her thoughts.
Alice sniffs, face downcast.
"I just… I just wanted to do something nice," she finishes lamely.
I thought I could do this right. At least.
The realization crashes at her whispered confession. He turns back to the batter, mixing in the eggs.
"Alice... You know it wasn't your fault, right?"
She sighs. "Yes, you've said so. Everyone's said so."
"But…"
Alice finally looks up at him, her eyes wide and shining.
"But how can we all say it wasn't your fault when we don't even know why you missed it in the first place?" Edward finishes her thought for her.
"Exactly," she says quietly.
He frowns, carefully keeping his eyes away from hers.
He swallows down the powerful wave of guilt, his good mood vanishing in an instant. He could tell her. He could tell her right now and end his sister's year-long self-punishment.
He tries not to feel guilty over how easy the decision is to make.
"I missed it too," he says instead.
Alice scoffs, turning her back to him to wipe the counters in a blur of movement.
"You cannot possibly compare the two."
"Except you can," he argues stubbornly.
Alice leans against the sink, the tower of dishes already done. She sighs, the tiny arch of her shoulders drooping down.
"Regardless. I can't turn back time and do it right this time, I can't cure Bella Swan's depression, I can't see if things will get better for Billy Black, I can't make little kids understand what happened to their friend, but I was hoping I could do this one thing. And I can't even do that."
She hangs her head, arms crossed protectively over her chest.
(He is the worst brother in the world.)
The timer dings.
He gives her some space, reaching into the oven and pulling out the trays with his bare hands. He places them on the counter, the delightful scent jarring against the heavy silence.
He goes over to lean against the sink, side by side with his sister.
"If the day ever comes when you have a worse outlook on life than I do, that is the day I will run around naked with only Emmett's flannel jacket from the 70s."
Alice cracks a smile at that but her eyes are still sad. Stuck in the past.
He elbows her side gently.
"Moping isn't a good look on you, Alice," he says much more seriously. "That's my job."
Alice smiles and elbows him back.
They get to school an hour later.
"They're excited," Jasper says dully from the backseat, right when he pulls into a spot.
They quickly find out why.
"He's back."
"Joy," Rosalie says from the passenger seat, slamming the door on her way out.
"Mr. Cullen, you can join Mike and Tyler for now since your, um— partner is still out," Mr. Banner says. "Just go over potential topics for now. She can catch up tomorrow."
He grimaces.
Mike and Tyler are sitting towards the back, heads close together and muttering.
Tyler is a sight. He has two black eyes, one of which is still almost completely swelled shut. There is a bandage on his forehead where he needed stitches and his lip is both bruised and split. More than that, however, Tyler is radiating positively frantic vibes— the air of a defeated alpha who is scrambling to regain ground from the embarrassment of a very visible and obvious defeat.
Edward drags over his lab stool with a loud screech and plants himself right in front of their table, ignoring how everyone stares. They both seem to unconsciously lean away from him.
"Hi," Mike says nervously.
"Hmm," he hums back.
His eyes shoot over to Tyler, who can't seem to keep still. He taps his foot, gnaws at his pencil, shoots everyone in the class suspicious looks. Edward automatically leans away from him too, the energy of his thoughts immediately setting his teeth on edge. His mind is a scramble of fury and humiliation as he keeps going back to Bella's remarkable outburst in the trig room.
—is he imagining things, or are all of these people all pointing and laughing at him behind his back, everyone in the school is talking about how he got his ass kicked by a girl, oh my god, the embarrassment, he's swears to god, she's going to get hers, they'll see, they'll all see and god, he does not need to be around Cullen right now, guy acts like a complete sociopath—
Edward lays his elbows on top of the lab table, resting his weight comfortably on his arms.
"How's the car, Tyler?"
Tyler's eyes shoot to his face.
"What? How did you know about that?"
Edward carefully shrugs his shoulders.
"I thought I heard it from someone."
Tyler narrows his good eye, suspicious, but still responds.
"I have to replace all of the tires before I can drive it again. Mom was pissed, said I had to come up with the money somehow. So now I'm walking to school."
Mike sighs, shaking his head. "That sucks, man."
Tyler slams his hand down on the table, which Edward can see is bandaged.
"It's bullshit," he hisses. "Some asshole slashed my tires. And it's all because of that bi—"
His voice dies off and both he and Mike shoot him a look. It's clear they don't know whether Edward can be trusted to shit on Bella Swan the way everybody else does, since he spends the grand majority of his time acting like other people don't exist. He picks at his thumbnail, which he left painted in silent support for Alice, giving them nothing.
"That's too bad," Edward says carelessly.
"Yeah… it is," Tyler says, eyes narrowed.
Mike clears his throat, uncomfortable.
"So… Edward," he says, with a false, wide smile, "Bella Swan. She's your partner, right?"
He tries not to roll his eyes. "She's the only one not in class right now, so… yes."
Mike internally bristles at that but he plays it off with a laugh. "That's unlucky, man."
Edward frowns. "Why?"
Both he and Tyler laugh, then falter when they see the completely serious look on his face.
"You're joking, right?" Mike asks, his stupid mouth gaping. "I mean, you were even trying to get out of it. Don't tell me you're looking forward to working with that— that—"
"Psychopath," Tyler mutters under his breath, glaring at nothing.
"Right," Mike says, pointing at Tyler.
Edward delicately shrugs his shoulders.
"I dislike group work."
"Yeah, that much is clear," Tyler says rudely, still glaring at a huddle of giggling girls in the front of the classroom.
Edward ignores him, but Mike doesn't seem capable of letting it drop.
"But don't you agree, you know…" Mike says, leaning closer and lowering his voice, "don't you think she's the most obvious suspect?"
He completely fails at resisting the urge to roll his eyes this time.
He knows, very clearly, that Mike's extreme antagonism against Bella Swan has nothing to do with any moral code but rather over how she consistently (and very conveniently) had other plans any time he asked her out. Of course, that was back when he was still asking her out, not spreading rumors in the cafeteria.
"You know... I don't think she did it," Edward announces to the air.
Both Mike and Tyler gawk at that, Mike like he's not sure if he's joking or not and Tyler with open disdain. He pushes on.
"I mean, I'm a rational person," Edward says lightly, staring at the wall behind them like he can't be bothered one way or the other, "And most serial arsonists aren't soft-spoken 17-year-old girls who read a lot and get good grades. They're rejected 18-year-old white boys."
He looks back to Mike, who is staring with his mouth open.
"So statistically, you're the more obvious suspect."
He shrugs his shoulders, turning back to his paper. Mike and Tyler have fallen silent.
"You know, I think I'll do my report on blood typing."
He wonders, watching Tyler squirm with suppressed rage for the rest of the class period, if Bella should be watching her back.
The bell rings and he gathers up his things, noting with satisfaction that Mike scurries off faster than usual.
He's about to walk out of the door when Mr. Banner waves him down.
"Edward, a quick word please? I'll write you a pass for your next class."
He sighs, already seeing where this is going. He hovers by his desk as Mr. Banner clearly waits for the class to clear out.
"So, Edward," Mr. Banner begins, once they're alone, "I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. I know there's been some… tension... throughout the school about Ms. Swan. And I can understand why you would have reservations against working with her."
Edward stands up straighter.
"Actually, Mr. Banner, I don't mind."
Mr. Banner blinks.
"Oh. You seemed to mind yesterday."
Edward sighs.
"I know. I admit I did, but I did some… deep introspection yesterday. And I realized it was a bit unfair. She's an excellent lab partner. I think we'll work great together."
Mr. Banner blinks at him, his thoroughly constructed arguments vaporizing in his head.
"Oh. Well, that's great, Edward. Of course, your grades speak for themselves. I have no doubt you have nothing to worry about."
Edward smiles.
"I think so too."
He leaves the room, thinking of how many witnesses could now place a connection between he and Bella Swan. They would work together, be seen together. He thinks about how many people would be watching them. The antisocial sociopath and the murderous psychopath.
If he suddenly disappeared, she could no longer say she had no personal connection to him whatsoever.
He smiles.
Your move, Bella.
(87 years ago)
Edward ran.
The night was cold and windy. Rain pelted him on all sides as he ran as fast as he could, leaping through the tin rooftops of the slum, his shoes soaking through with mud and scum from the alleys.
He finally reached a payphone and he pulled out his wallet, inserting the coins with shaking hands.
He dialed the memorized number.
"Hello?"
He shook, rainwater dripping off the bridge of his nose, and he closed his eyes.
(monster)
"Edward, is that you?"
His breath wavered. He shook his head. No. No. No.
"Edward, where are you?"
"Help," he whispered. "Rosalie, help me."
"Edward, what's wrong?" She said urgently.
He had never felt so far away. How many years had it been since he had been home?
"Where are you?"
"I don't know, somewhere in Cleveland— Rosalie, I— I think I killed someone."
He breathed in his sister's silence, miles away.
"But… Edward, you've— been gone for years."
You've been killing for years, she didn't say.
He shook his head frantically. She didn't understand.
"I didn't hear— I don't know who it was. It was— just some man. Just some person, Rosalie."
The silence grew on the other line.
He waited with his heart in his throat. Who else could understand but her?
"I'll be there in two hours."
A/N: Everyone should listen to the song quoted above- It has such Edward/Bella vibes and I love it.
Please review! Please. Pretty please.