"One more word and you won't survive."
-"Eyes on Fire," Blue Foundation
(one year and three days ago)
A fire was put out. Charred bones that could approximate three bodies were recovered. A funeral was had. A traumatized survivor underwent three skin surgeries.
The days were short and strange.
Edward lied to his family. Jasper and Rosalie canceled their bloody contingency plans with his dull report that the girl had no memory of that night other than hospital rooms and policemen. Alice, if she saw through his lies, did not think of it in his presence. Emmett spent an unusually subdued few weeks holding vigil on the top staircase outside of Esme's closed door. And their mother, after three weeks of silence, clawed herself out of some deep, black hole and emerged from her room. Everyone avoided her eyes. Everyone thought about dead babies. No one said anything out loud.
That day turned into days, into weeks, into months.
Bella Swan eventually went back to school and Carlisle came back home.
(The windows shook with thunderstorms, and no one could look each other in the eye.)
This'll work.
Edward frowns.
Alice is carefully placing something into a Tupperware, snapping the lid down with the precision of a surgeon. He takes a practiced sniff and grimaces. Chicken.
Attempt #4. He wonders if she remembered to take the plastic off the cheese this time.
"Done," she says out loud.
The Tupperware is tucked securely in her bag and she is standing by the door in the next second, a giddy little grin lighting up her face that makes his heart ache. The dramatic irony is too strong. He knows, like he knows the purity of Alice's good intentions, that Bella will not touch that sandwich.
And even less likely, accept Alice's sure to be overbearing attempts at friendship.
He suppresses a sigh.
Alice's guilt and Bella Swan's depression cannot be cured by something so mundane as the power of friendship, but of course Alice would take that with a grain of salt. She is of the opinion that fate bends to her will, not the other way around. She walks through life with all the self-assurance of someone who has never been denied what she wants. And what she wants is for Bella to be her friend.
She's basically bouncing on the balls of her feet, eager for him to get a move on so they can get to school.
Edward grabs his keys, keeping his emotions off his face, and doesn't think about what he knows.
Today was sure to be a shitshow anyway.
Bella frantically checks the time on the dash.
7:58 am.
Just has to jump out at the last second, dodge the stragglers, avoid Principal Greene who is lurking around the parking lot, duck beneath the window of Dr. Tabitha's office on her way to class, slide into her chair in the back of Economics just as the bell rings, and completely avoid eye contact with Tyler Crowley for the rest of the day. She can do that, no problem.
7:59 am.
She whacks her hood up over her head and leaps out of her truck— and immediately trips and falls face first into a puddle.
Principal Greene spots her immediately.
Damn.
She stands and shoves her shaking hands into the freezing wet pockets on the front of her sweater.
"Ms. Swan."
Gulp. Principal Greene taps his foot, narrowed eyes peering down at her.
"Your presence is requested with Dr. Tabitha this morning. You will be given a pass for first period."
She bites her lip, thinking fast.
"But I've missed three days of Econ already. Shouldn't I just go to class?"
But he is already walking away. She sighs, defeated, and follows.
"Breathe in peace… breathe out stress. Peace… Stress… Peace… Stress…"
Dr. Tabitha sits across from her on the yoga mat, guiding her through her forced meditation exercise. She is here under protest so she focuses most of her energy staring at A Thing on Dr. Tabitha's desk, a package with a big spangly bow.
That, combined with Dr. Tabitha in general, is making her rather twitchy.
Dr. Tabitha finally opens her eyes and shakes out her entire body, face shining like that was the most relaxing thing in the world. Bella fidgets on her own yoga mat, legs starting to fall asleep from sitting on the floor.
"Now Bella…" Dr. Tabitha begins with her trademark wispy voice, "we must talk about what happened the other day."
She deflates.
"Um… I was suspended for three days?"
"Expressive language, Bella, remember. Feelings before facts."
"Um…" She looks at the ceiling. "I'm— sad about… my jacket, I guess?"
Dr. Tabitha frowns.
"You know," Bella hurries to explain, feeling like a complete idiot, "my black one. The nice one. You liked it."
Dr. Tabitha's eyes flicker down to the giant dark wet spot on the front of her green sweater. "That would explain the sudden change in wardrobe. I don't usually see you in pastels."
"There was paint on it."
She Therapist Nods, considering this. "I assume your jacket had something to do with the events?"
"It was a nice jacket."
"Bella…," Dr. Tabitha sighs, "please open this."
She reaches behind her to grab the package and deposits it in Bella's lap. She squints at it.
Hot-pink polka dot wrapping paper. Lime green bow. Appears to be a present.
"It will not bite you."
She takes the hint and rips off the paper.
Revealed is a medium sized journal with a cute little drawing of a smiling cactus on the top. She balances it in her lap, staring at the cover. The cactus is waving at her with its drawn-on stick-figure tiny legs and hands. Something a 12-year-old would swoon over.
She recoils on sight.
"Um. Thank you? But I still have the journal from last time."
"It occurred to me last week during a return visit to the dentist," Dr. Tabitha says dreamily, tapping her chin, "A black, leather bound journal is bound to feel unfriendly. No personality at all— don't know what I was thinking. Perhaps it was the Novocain," she muses airily. "My aura never did respond well to tranquilizers."
Bella blinks. "You think the reason I didn't write in my journal was because it didn't feel friendly enough?"
"But luckily, in my drug induced state, I was able to recall your affinity with all desert-based foliage—" (She's absolutely sure she mentioned maybe perhaps liking the deserts of Arizona a tad more than Forks precisely once), "— and happened to wander past this little guy on my visit to the local dollar store," she says with a fond smile at the stupid journal.
Bella glares at the jolly little cactus on her lap. She can't be caught dead with this.
"Think about it like a little friend. One you can carry in your backpack and is there for you whenever you need it. I've already begun to refer to him as Mr. Cactus, if you need a push of inspiration," she says with a twinkle in her eye.
Something inside of her sinks. Dr. Tabitha is apparently absolutely 100% serious. And if she has gotten to the point where she seriously considers the idea that Bella would look at inanimate objects and think 'friend,' then the inevitable upgrade from school shrink to State Appointed Psychiatrist must be coming sooner rather than later.
Dr. Tabitha is still smiling from her queenly perch on her zebra print yoga mat, completely unaware of Bella's immediate rejection to the idea of writing inner secret thoughts down on paper on principal. Not because she's rude. She's actually slightly toughed that a slightly high and medicated Dr. Tabitha happened to think about her while perusing aisles of dollar-worth junk.
Bella resolutely stares at the little Zen garden they both prepared on their very first session together, right at the corner of the desk where Dr. Tabitha proudly set it down, so she could 'look at it when she needs to'.
The ruthlessness of Dr. Tabitha's will to force self-improvement on her knows no bounds. It might be easier to just concede defeat and write in the stupid journal.
But. It's so green.
"I will skim through it on our next session— just a skim, I promise," Dr. Tabitha says, literally crossing her heart, "Just to ensure that the urge to leave it blank has not overtaken you once again. I want you to write whatever you want without judgement or shame. This will be only for you and no one else. Let us try for a page a day. What do you say?"
"What if someone reads it?"
Dr. Tabitha frowns off to the side, like she just considered the horrendous possibility that someone might think it funny to read Bella Swan's diary in front of the entire school. Or something.
"Well… just try to keep track of it as best you can."
Reassuring.
Mr. Cactus gets shoved down at the very bottom of her backpack, where the granola bar crumbs live.
She used to think walking down the hallways of Forks High School was the literal definition of hell.
Five minutes of absolutely unmonitored teenage bodies crammed together, bored out of their minds and brimming with an active hate that zeros in on that invisible target on her back. They have their reasons for hating her, just like she has her reasons for taking it.
But god, having her reasons don't make it any easier.
She's been spit on. She's had food and trash and other nasty shit thrown at her. She's been slapped and kicked at. She's been left with nightmares that adult vampires didn't leave on her.
But nothing quite unsettles her like this morning.
She has ignored most of everyone— the taunting, the stares, and the flat-out threats— staring at nothing on the way to her classes and is mostly successful.
She reaches her locker, only to groan at the sight of it. The janitor had at one point this school year given up on trying to repaint it and advised her to just carry her stuff everywhere she went, which her pride (and back, with her ridiculous stack of books) ultimately vetoed.
Someone vandalized the front again and she's distracted, trying to scribble out the slur with her own sharpie that she keeps in her locker specifically for this purpose when she hears—
"Hey Bella— is it true you're fighting Tyler in the parking lot after school?"
She can't help it. She wheels around at that one— frantically trying to pinpoint the voice so she can demand an explanation— when she slams into something with the consistency of concrete.
Solid hands reach up to her arms to steady her from faceplanting for the second time today, and she looks up— then down— into the puzzled face of Alice Cullen.
There's a moment of complete silence as she waits for Alice to release her arms, her brain nothing but static.
The monster is frowning at her sweater.
"I'm sorry," Alice finally says, shaking herself and releasing her, taking a step back. "I just don't think I've ever seen you wearing something that wasn't black."
Her golden eyes flicker to the still sopping wet spot on her front.
"It's… nice."
Bella can't seem to remember words. She nods. Then turns back to her locker to continue scribbling out the giant words with her pitiful nearly dry sharpie.
And ignores the way her hair stands on the back of her neck.
"Here," she hears Alice say and in a flash, her pale hand is reaching across her with a tissue wet with something. The harsh smell that stings her nose suggests hand sanitizer.
Alice starts wiping across the front of her locker with rapid strokes. A deep furrow grows between her brows when the word stubbornly remains no matter how much she scrubs at it.
Bella's own sharpie has petered out. Her arms hang uselessly by her side as she watches Alice try to wipe the hatred away.
"Damn," Alice mutters, "I thought this would work better."
Bella halfheartedly shrugs at the still remaining T-C-H. The B and the I are faded but still definitely there.
Static has made her brain numb. It makes her mouth numb too.
"No point anyway."
She holds up the dry sharpie like that's enough of an explanation and opens her locker to switch out her books. She waits for Alice to comment on the red paint that is still all over everything on the inside but Alice says nothing about her ruined books, or her dead sharpie, or the careful way Bella is breathing in and out when she turns her back to her.
She also doesn't go away.
"Would you like to sit with us during lunch?"
Bella's hand slips and she slams her locker shut with too much force.
Did she hear right?
Us. Would you like to sit with us. She doesn't even have to ask who the 'us' is. Everyone in the school knows that the Cullens only sit together, just like everyone knows that she only sits alone.
"Why?" She stupidly blurts out before she can think otherwise.
Bella watches with a strange detachment as Alice leans against her locker and casually shrugs her tiny shoulders.
"I noticed before that you don't really eat anything."
Bella blinks.
(I thought you'd feel better with some sugar.)
"I don't eat," she hears herself say.
Alice seems to find something amusing about this but it's gone in a second, replaced by something that Bella can't seem to put her finger on. She's almost… nervous?
She swings her bookbag to her hip in a way that's slightly too smooth for ease and reaches for something inside.
She hopes that Alice doesn't catch her flinch backwards.
"Well… here."
Alice pulls out a tiny glass Tupperware dish.
Bella stares at it— the pale hands, the flowered pattern on the outside of the dish, and the mystery offering inside— for an embarrassing amount of time.
She finally looks up at Alice's uncertain eyes and shuffling feet. She seems almost… shy? Is that the right word?
It's a frighteningly human gesture.
"I accidentally packed an extra one today so…. Just in case?" Alice asks with a tiny smile, holding it out.
Bella's heart stutters but she finds herself taking it from the vampire's hands, distantly noticing how the bottom of the dish is cool to the touch.
Alice beams with a force that could rival the sun. It immediately reminds Bella of the vampire in Billy's house when she told her she happened to share a class with her adopted son.
She shudders at the weirdness of it all. Alice is still beaming.
"If you change your mind, we sit towards the end. I'll save you a spot anyway!"
Bella watches Alice bounce away, seeming buoyed only by air— her joy seemingly stemming from the fact that Bella happened to accept her offering of (she lifts the dish to eye level) a sandwich?
A vampire made her a sandwich?
Also, it's ridiculous. Everyone knows where the Cullens sit.
(Have you ever considered the possibility before you?)
Alice leaves her with plenty of time to spare but she's still three minutes late to Trig.
(You've never had it before.)
She's still holding the Tupperware in her cold hands. It hasn't occurred to her to put it away.
(All these places you've been, around the world, and can you honestly say that the friends you've made there ever really knew who you were?)
She's still in such a daze with the whole bizarre exchange by her locker that she barely registers Mr. Varner telling her off in front of everyone for walking in late. She doesn't even blush, seems to have lost the capacity for blushing because apparently, another vampire has thought it prudent to interfere with the tight bubble of separation she has encased herself in since arriving in Forks. Not only that, but she is the fourth one to break it.
How weird, she thinks (shuffling sideways across Jessica's desk to take the only open seat next to her, bumping into everything on the way), that the vampire wanted her to sit with her, with them, during lunch, because why?
I noticed before that you don't really eat anything.
She stares at Mr. Varner's scribbles on the whiteboard, not really seeing. Her brain is unable to process Alice Cullen. She has never really considered her without relation to the other significantly scary siblings she shares her table with.
The Tupperware sits on her desk still where she placed it, too dazed to put it away into her bag.
The gesture was almost… kind?
She immediately recoils from the idea.
Kind and Cullen don't go together. And yet. And yet…
(I thought you'd feel better with some sugar.)
(If you need me, you know where to find me.)
(Please feel free to stop by anytime.)
(I'll save you a spot anyway.)
When did everything stop making sense? It's almost like they're going out of their way to unhinge her—
"—Ms. Swan? Are you paying attention?"
She jumps in her seat. Mr. Varner called on her.
Someone snorts in the seat next to her and she glances over to see Jessica watching her.
Bella swallows.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that, Mr. Varner?"
A collective giggle goes around the class and Bella sinks even further into her seat. Mr. Varner is notorious for public humiliation when students are caught dozing off, unaware.
Sure enough, he calls her up to the whiteboard.
"Why don't you demonstrate the proof of the function to the rest of the class?"
Her heart sinks down to her stomach.
Mr. Varner taps his foot, impatient.
(He's angry, she can't help but think, he's holding a grudge because of what she did to Tyler in this classroom and no matter how hard she tries, she can't remember if she really elbowed Mr. Varner in the face like everyone says she did—)
Besides. There's another elephant in the room here, and Bella's pretty sure she just heard him laughing in the back row.
Mr. Varner hands off the marker and steps to the side, eyes piercing over his glasses.
She stares at the whiteboard, at a complete loss.
Mr. Varner pointedly clears his throat for her to get a move on when she stares at the board for a solid 30 seconds with nothing. Not even an inkling. Someone mutters something she doesn't catch but it causes a ripple of laughter to go through the boys sitting towards the back of the class. She makes the mistake of looking behind her and catches herself staring into Tyler's two heavily bruised eyes.
She turns back quickly but the damage is done. The guilt rears it's ugly head towards her throat, burning her.
Alice Cullen distracted her before but she's all too aware now. Aware that this is the first time she has seen Tyler since Tuesday, aware of how badly she hurt him, aware that everyone is watching this interaction with hungry eyes and it will be around the entire school in an hour tops, and all too aware that the last time she was in this class, she was pummeling this human boy to within an inch of his life.
The equation is a jumble in front of her, no matter how she looks at it. The lines and numbers blur together as she realizes she doesn't even know where to begin.
The entire world narrows to the red marker in her shaking hand.
Mr. Varner says something that doesn't quite make it to her ears. Someone laughs.
Come on, Bella.
The marker hovers over the board, waiting for a stroke of brilliance, or mercy, or something.
Just do something and don't just stand here like an idiot, come on.
Her hand shakes too hard and the marker clatters earsplittingly to the floor.
Silence.
Tears spill out hot over her eyes.
"Would anyone like to help Ms. Swan?"
The laughter erupts.
She closes her eyes.
"I can, Mr. Varner."
She opens her eyes but keeps them on the floor because she recognizes that voice, knows who it belongs to, knows that the person who used to be her best friend has volunteered to be an accomplice to her public humiliation, so she does all she can do. She bends down, picks up the marker, and hands it off to Jessica.
She watches Jessica's hand elegantly record the answer in one swift motion. She doesn't even stop to use the calculator, even though she's allowed to.
"Excellent work, Ms. Stanley. Please, return to your seats."
Bella keeps her eyes on the floor until she reaches her desk but because she's a masochist, because she's an idiot, because she doesn't care anymore, she glances over at Jessica.
It's surprising when she notices that Jessica is not gloating. It's worse. She is seething in her desk, arms crossed, glaring at Bella like she legitimately hates her. Hates her.
She had never thought that Jessica could realistically believe the rumors. Until now.
Mr. Varner doesn't call on her again even though it's clear she's not hearing a word of his lecture. Maybe because he's made his point. Maybe because he's not the kind to waste time. Maybe because the hot tears continue to roll silently down her face.
The Tupperware sits innocently in front of her. It seems like such a small thing now.
Mr. Varner holds her back when the bells rings.
She's not surprised but she's still deeply, deeply embarrassed when she stands in front of his desk, waiting for him to look up from his stack of papers.
He doesn't look at her, not even during the time it takes for the class to clear the room on their way to lunch.
He clears his throat, one eyebrow raised as he scribbles something on a familiar pink sheet.
"I am aware that the administration has seen it fit to grant you a mere three day suspension for the violence displayed in my classroom," he begins without preamble, "but not only do you show up late your first day back—" he says, ignoring the Bella's automatic wince, "—you also distract my classroom, you fail to pay attention in class, and your work is abysmal at best. At this rate, you will fail to move on to your senior year."
He signs the pick sheet with a flourish and tears it off the stack.
He finally looks up her as he hands her the slip, eyes completely devoid of sympathy.
"I wonder, at the rate you are going, do you even plan to finish out your high school career?"
Her entire body prickles with deep shame but she stares in the ground and says nothing.
He sniffs dismissively.
"You will serve detention with me after school for the remainder of the semester. 4:05. On the dot."
She takes the note with a silent nod of the head. It's not like she has anywhere else to be anyway.
It's a difficult thing, trying to remember she is dangerous.
He walks in giant circles around the gym side by side with Alice. Coach Clapp is entirely disinterested in anything now that football season is over so he lets them off with doing whatever they want. So long as there's some physical activity involved, they get a passing grade for the day.
He and Alice walk lazy laps around the gym, minds a million miles away.
Alice is thinking about sandwiches and lockers. Edward is thinking about markers and tears.
It could have gone better, Alice is thinking, not particularly at him. Like she's talking out loud, but not expecting any answer from him. She seemed surprised but, to be honest, I would be too. It's not like we've talked before. At all. It's not like anyone talks to her. Well… at least without saying horrible things.
She just seems so sad, is her most recurring thought.
Edward kicks at his loose shoelace.
Dark bruises. Clenched jaw. Rapid blinking. Trying, and failing, to offset tears. A myriad of examples that pass through her eyes of such an inadequate word.
Sad.
Sometimes, he thinks that Bella looks like she is on fire.
Bella Swan, red face bending down to pick up a red marker, lank hair swinging purposefully forward to hide her face. She's not exactly successful. She can only stand frozen and awkward to the side as the answer is solved in front of her. It's embarrassingly simple. Her face goes from red to white to dead. Something shuts off behind her eyes and once again, she is entirely inaccessible.
He frowns. It's not exactly what he expected for a threat. And she is, right? He's been watching all day, waiting for some kind of sign. He knows he was right, with Billy confirming his suspicions. But what was he expecting?
Bella to lunge at him with a bloody dagger in the middle of lunch?
But no, she hadn't been there at all. She disappeared out the exit doors despite the pouring rain, running in the direction of what could only be her truck. Alice had followed her with hopeful eyes, hoping to catch her attention to the empty seat next to her, only to deflate when Bella had not looked up at all.
And then what was that feeling? Relief? Disappointment? He was absolutely sure she would not take up Alice's offer.
The bell rings. Lunch is over and he remains undecided.
Lunch is spent watching the rain wash over the windows.
It's a safe little space in here. It's freezing inside but she doesn't want to gun the engine and have the sound alert everyone in a one-mile radius. She's not sure if Principal Greene would come up with a rule on the spot that students could not spend lunch in their cars, even though plenty of people do.
She's not hungry, hasn't been hungry for a straight year, but that's not why she doesn't touch the sandwich inside her backpack.
She stares out the window, seeing nothing but grey through heavy streams of water.
It's always raining here.
She misses the south, the sprawling desert, dust in the mouth when you walked outside. Sun meant warmth and light. Safety. Monsters didn't go out in the sun.
Here, they wander in the day. They walk outside and give her rides, they give her bandages and offer her food. Here, they get as close as they ever get to her and she can't do anything about it. Nothing at all.
So why doesn't she leave?
Leave Forks. Start over. Change her name. Cut her hair. Live out the rest of her very long life on a lonely beach somewhere. Find parts of the world where the sun shines day and night. She'll sleep for years.
She rejects the idea immediately.
(Didn't she promise her, in that final moment, she would never leave her?)
She gathers her things. Puts the book she wasn't reading back in her bag.
Biology next, then.
Edward is not nervous. Edward is not freaking out. Edward is calm, cool, collected.
Edward is five minutes late to Biology.
Mr. Banner purses his lips when he strides through the door but says nothing. There's something to be said for straight A's and immaculate essays.
Bella completely ignores him as she has done ever since the beginning of their time together. She is sitting in her usual angle facing away from him and perched tight like a bowstring at the edge of her chair. Also usual.
He's not sure what he expected after their surreal interaction three days ago. Some kind of acknowledgement? A hello at the very least? Some indication that they had said more than two words to each other after months of complete mutual silence?
He sneaks a quick peek.
A twitch is going in her eyebrow. She's wearing a horrendous sweater at least four sizes too big with mud dried on the front. On top of all of that, her face looks like she just picked herself off the floor after a bar fight.
He's seen feral alley cats with more grace.
Her eye twitches again as he sinks into the seat next to her but other than that, there is no reaction.
"Everyone quiet down… Now that we're all here," Mr. Banner shoots him a look, "we'll be spending today at the library again. Use this time wisely. There is only a little over nine weeks before your research proposals must be completed…"
There's a collective groan but everyone begins to gather their things and follow him out the door.
He stands with his bookbag but Bella is deliberately stalling next to him. She is placing her notebook back inside her backpack with overdone care, her eyes are on Tyler Crowley's retreating back, who is leaving the room with a laughing Mike.
Tyler has seemed to decide that the best approach to saving face is to pretend that the girl who beat his face into a bloody pulp is beneath his notice. Edward, considering the past year, can't help but feel this is an improvement. But Edward, who can also hear his furious inner monologue, knows better than to be fooled by Tyler's devil-may-care swagger. Fantasies of retaliation ring loud and clear.
Maybe he should warn Bella.
He dawdles as well and trails behind a short blonde girl with glasses. He hears Bella behind him. They are the last two out of class.
He slows his walk down so he can fall into step with her. Her tired-looking eyes are glued to blonde girl's back.
I was meaning to ask, now that you're back, if you've gotten a chance to look over the group assignment…?
He's been rehearsing it in his head for the past 30 minutes but when he opens his mouth, what comes out instead is—
"Is it true you're beating up Tyler in the parking lot after school?"
There's that twitch again.
She mumbles something under her breath that even he can't catch.
"What was that?" He asks politely.
"I have detention," she says through her teeth.
He fights down the bizarre impulse to ask twenty more questions.
"Oh," he says instead.
There's no more conversation after that.
They walk silently to the library, Bella with a little jerk to her step like she's dying to get away from him. He keeps up easily.
It's all too natural to read her reactions now, so much so that he wonders why it wasn't blatantly obvious before.
She's twitchy— to the extreme. It's making him oddly apprehensive, as if he's Jasper and her paranoia is infecting.
It's aggravating.
He's the one who should be afraid. He's the one who knows absolutely nothing about her. His most useful weapon is dead in his brain. It's weird— hearing her shoes scuffle against the floor and the air move in and out of her nose and still feel that oppressive, terrifying blank void moving by his side. It's like continually seeing some vague specter just out of the corner of his eye that hides when he tries to make eye contact. It's making him jumpy. His eyes keep darting sideways to check that she is still there while his mind picks up nothing but… silence. Just a blankness. Shadow.
He feels less and less sure about his plan.
When they finally reach the library, the class scatters. Mr. Banner takes the vacant table in the front by the entrance with a giant stack of senior essays and a sigh. Bella makes a beeline towards the tables near the back with the wide rain-streaked windows. It's plenty far from where most of the class congregates around the computer area on the other side of the spacious room. Books are apparently no longer the preferred research method so she's all but guaranteed a space of her own.
His plan is working out a little too well. But he still pauses by the door, undecided.
He could put this off… Formulate a better plan than throwing up his hands and just poking the sleeping dragon in the eye. He still has the upper hand here.
Then Billy's words ring in his ears.
Tell her. Or I will.
He bites his lip. He has no idea when Bella will see Billy again. It could be in a month. It could be this afternoon. Wait too long and he risks losing his advantage. He can pick time and place, plan for witnesses. There's plenty in the library alone, despite Bella's well-chosen spot. He can make this work.
When he steps forward towards the far tables, less than a second has passed.
Bella's already set her stuff down and— he is amused to see—already has a very beaten-up novel open in front of her. He studies the rare expression of contentment on her face as he makes his way over to her. It makes sense— she's commandeered an entire area of the library all to herself and she gets to read uninterrupted for the entire class.
The expression disappears immediately when she hears the sound of his chair screeching against the floor.
Her lips go white.
They make eye contact and her eyes dart away. His eyes are a vivid gold today. It's not unintentional.
Edward sets his stuff down carefully across from her and answers her unspoken question.
"Aren't we partners?"
She purses her lips, face abnormally drained of color. Staring up close like this, he realizes his previous assessment of her was not too far off. She looks like she could use a coma.
Finally, she shrugs her shoulders with a forced nonchalance and props her book up on the table, hiding her face. Apparently resolving to ignore him for the rest of class.
Fine.
He pulls out his own stuff. He takes out his composition book, his pens, his biology textbook. He even opens it up to the correct page. He straightens his pens in a neat little line and after some deliberation, pulls out his highlighters and lines those up too. He stares at the first line of tiny black text.
Boring.
He chances a glance. Bella is sinking further and further down her chair.
Interesting.
He straightens up, dutiful-student-act forgotten.
"You got detention immediately after a three-day suspension," he says without preamble.
Her forehead reddens from behind Pride and Prejudice.
"Why?" He hints.
She turns a page.
He simultaneously smothers the urge to scoff and flick the cover of her book. He's trying to be conversational, not antagonistic.
She's making it very hard.
He drums his fingers against the table and tries again.
"I've never read that before," he lies.
He watches with deep interest as Bella's fingers tighten on the cover to the point of turning her fingernails white.
Is she always this defensive with everyone or just him? It makes sense that she'd hate him but it seems a tad more pointed at him than say, Rosalie or Jasper or any of the others, who she doesn't even acknowledge. Is it because he's the one won't leave her alone?
Another more interesting revelation dawns on him.
She wasn't this defensive to Alice this morning either. Or was she?
He's pondering over the memory he watched through Alice's head when he hears her reply from behind her book, so quiet it's almost like she's trying not to be heard.
"It's extra credit. For English."
He considers this, then snorts.
"I doubt that," he says without thinking.
Bella's narrowed eyes peer out from the top of the book, suspicious.
Stupid. Idiot. Moron. Imbecile.
"I thought Mr. Mason didn't give out extra credit," he says quickly, trying to cover his slip.
"He does if you're failing," she answers tersely.
Her face disappears behind her book once again, all conversation seemingly over.
But he can't help himself.
"Why are you failing?"
Bella's teeth grind audibly. He tries not to wince.
"I… heard that you were good at English. I thought you used to tutor."
This is true.
(He vaguely recalls a memory of Mike Newton loudly and repeatedly begging for essay help during lunch a million years ago. Even if Edward hadn't already heard she had read the entire semester booklist, he would have been able to guess at her love affair with books. She had a book propped open in front of her almost every lunch period, much to her table's amusement. And frustration. Jessica had been torn with both.)
He frowns, distracted. How did it all go so sour?
Bella's voice brings him back to himself.
"It's none of your business."
Curt. Tense. Edgy. Defensive.
Why the hell do you think? Her voice seems to say instead.
He lets the conversation drop. Her shoulders are too high up on her shoulders and her fingernails are turning blue with the pressure.
This is not the best start to how he envisioned doing this. But it's not like he had high hopes for this turning out any other way. Any attempt he makes at introducing the topic is making her crawl further and further out of her skin. She'll snap at him no matter what comes out of his mouth.
So. To hell with it.
But he still takes a moment to gather his courage, glancing at Mr. Banner scribbling away, his classmates on the far side of the room, and (most importantly) the cameras lining the edge of the walls.
Bella's face is still hidden behind her book.
He closes his eyes and sighs.
Don't be a coward.
"Blood typing," he says before he can second-guess himself. "That's my research proposal."
There's a very audible rip as the page she was turning tears off in her hand.
He leans as far away from her as he can, waiting for the incoming explosion.
Her hands and her book drop uselessly to the table, revealing her entirely blank face. The image clashes wildly with the sound of her heart that is skipping too fast inside her chest.
Too fast for human possibility.
Then—
The sound of her heart disappears entirely. Her already muted scent completely vanishes. Most alarmingly— the entire sight of her just… blurs out of sight. Like he's suddenly needing glasses. Like someone's taken an eraser to her face, her hair, her clothes, and left some blurry, vague mess that he can't seem to focus on.
Some hidden veil pulling it all under its draw.
His mouth falls open.
It's the first real concrete proof he's had. His eyes widen in amazement.
She can do that?
He feels— more than sees— the movement as Bella leaps from her seat and storms her way over to where Mr. Banner is marking papers.
"I would like to change partners," he hears her say.
He swivels in his seat to stare and is relieved to find that he can see her a little easier now. She's a little clearer around the edges and his eyes don't have to strain so much.
It is a remarkably uncomfortable feeling. He doesn't like this newfound ability of hers at all.
The predator inside him likes it even less.
Mr. Banner, by contrast, is as microscopically clear to him as he always is. He sputters at her from his seat, rearranging his glasses.
"Miss Swan. We are well within the week with our research proposals—"
"I could work alone," she says desperately, "or write some kind of essay or something—"
"Miss Swan," Mr. Banner cuts across her rambling, now truly annoyed, "I am attempting to prepare you for college. And in college, you do not get to switch partners willy nilly because you'd prefer to work with your best friend, or because your partner smells funny, or because you have a moral obligation to work with your boyfriend because he's bad at reading above the sixth-grade level or any of the other thousands of reasons I have had to hear this week. You will work with Edward Cullen and that is final."
Edward counts the seconds it takes for Mr. Banner's face to go from a motley purple and back to normal. They're speaking quietly enough that the humans won't hear but Edward listens with ease.
"Miss Swan," Mr. Banner says again, voice muffled from behind his facepalm, "You and Mr. Cullen consistently have the highest grades out of any of my other students, the fact that half of whom would be lucky to end up as gas station tellers notwithstanding. You are well above the national average. It is no mistake I paired you both. I believe you will work well together. Now go— read something."
Shit.
He spins in his seat and immediately turns his attention back to his open book, pretending to work.
He can feel her eyes boring into him. Like heat. Like venom. Like fire.
He resists the urge to shudder, suppresses the animal instinct to turn and face the threat head on. He can't even hear her footsteps as she makes her way back to their table.
(The danger is worse than he thought.)
Venom floods his mouth. (Does she know?) His hands tighten into fists. (Did she understand?)
She reaches her seat and slams her hands down on the table.
The entire library goes deadly quiet.
She leans close. Bared teeth. Bruises shining. All of her in 100% bright laser focus and tells him—
"My research topic is parasites."
Her eyes cut through him.
She watches the way he doesn't react. Watches the expression freeze on his face. Watches how his eyes widen ever so slightly.
Yes. She did understand.
Something inside of him collapses in the relief that it is done, it is over, it cannot be taken back.
Another part of him—a bigger part of him— asks him what in the hell he just started.
She runs out of the room.
No.
No.
No no no NO NO NO NONONONONONO—
She abandons her things, her backpack, her books.
She distinctly hears Mr. Banner yelling after her but she does not care, she is already out the door and down the hallway around the corner (remember the routes remember the blueprints) pushes the handle though the exit and down the steps outside and down, down, down, down, rows and rows and rows of cars until finally, finally, she reaches her truck.
Where she realizes she forgot her keys in her backpack.
"Shit shit shit shit shit—"
She paces back and forth in front of the truck she can't drive, trying to calm down, trying to breathe, trying to think past the screaming in her brain that shrieks he knows, he knows, how the fuck does he know—
When she remembers that— thank god— she still has her phone in her pocket.
She scrolls through her contacts, one eye on her phone and the other scanning her surroundings with animal paranoia.
Billy— doesn't drive. Charlie— dead. Jacob— in school. Renee— dead.
When she reaches the first 'S' name, she immediately hits dial.
"Sam," she gasps out, "It's Bella. I— I think I'm about to die."
Sam shows up in his black truck, his driving entirely too calm.
She sits up from where she was laying on the bed of her truck, confirms its him, and jumps out with her heart in her throat, her shield still wrapped tightly around her as it has been since that first inkling of something not right.
(He said blood.)
(Had that word really come out of his mouth? Was she losing her mind? She couldn't be sure what the vampire was trying to do— some sick, private joke he wanted to amuse himself with or was he taunting her? Or was he hinting all along and trying to draw out what she knew?)
(But she had said parasite and the realization crashed over both of them. They looked at each other, really looked, for the first time. A mutual understanding. A mutual recognition.)
(Their secrets were not secrets to them anymore.)
(There would be no going back now.)
She runs wildly over to the passenger side— all flailing limbs— and jumps in and slams the door.
Sam watches her with a strange expression on his face, for some reason still not driving.
"Drive," she says breathlessly. "Please— just drive."
Sam frowns at her but he pulls the truck into reverse, calmly navigating the rows of parked cars. They pass the Volvo and just the sight of the shiny silver paint is enough to make the reality of the situation really hit.
Sam has to pull over on the interstate. Her hyperventilating is scary fast in the tiny cab but he seems familiar enough with panic attacks to know not to ask her to calm down. His burning, heavy hand on her shoulder reassures her more than anything else could right now. She has an ally.
"Just breathe, kid. Breathe…"
Sam is a soothing presence but nothing stops the terror from crashing into her like waves, frigid and drowning all at the same time.
Sam asks her what's happened.
She tells him.
Sam drives them to the stupid diner 20 minutes later because of course he does.
He sets a Coke down on the table in front of her.
She's been twitching wildly and looking out the window with crazy eyes every two seconds. She's somehow both completely exhausted and crawling out of her skin. Sam might have to knock her out.
She stares at the Coke, then at Sam, like he's just handed her a flopping fish.
"Drink," he instructs.
It's easier to follow directions than to try to make sense of anything. Like how Edward Cullen knows what she is, and how he knows that she knows what he is, and how he knows that she knows that he knows what she is and—
"Stop," Sam deadpans, like he can read her mind. "Drink."
Drink. She can do that. She obeys and chugs down her Coke so fast she chokes on it.
She starts coughing to the point of suffocation. There's a heavy sigh and Sam's heavy hand thumps on her back from across the table. She looks up through teary eyes. He's staring at her like he's not actually sure she's losing her mind or not.
Something occurs to her in the middle of her gasping for air and she looks up at Sam with suspicious eyes.
"You are—" cough cough, "—too calm right now."
Sam blinks solemnly at her and picks up his menu.
"And you are not," he remarks, gesturing to the waitress for more soda.
Bella glares at him as her breathing finally levels out. The young waitress appears and nervously refills her glass, clearly uneased by the vibes at their little table. Bella waits for her hasty retreat before she rounds on Sam.
"You knew," she hisses.
Sam has the nerve to not look the least bit ashamed about this. He sets the menu down and folds his hands on the top.
"Yes."
She fumes. He says nothing.
"Well?" She prompts. "Explain."
Sam frowns at her, eyes roaming over her face.
"Maybe we should get some food into you first."
She slams her hands down hard on the table and yells.
"Why does everyone feel the need to put food in me instead of answering one simple goddamn question?"
Everyone inside the diner goes quiet.
Bella breathes hard through her nose, hands gripping the edge of the table. Sam picks the menu back up, disappearing behind it.
"Pancakes?"
"Fine."
"When?" She asks immediately once his towering stack of pancakes are gone.
Sam doesn't need any further explanation.
"Since the night of the wake," he says quietly.
She swallows. Three days. She spent three whole days unaware that death was breathing down her neck?
"Do they know what I am?"
Sam's face tells her everything she needs to know. She puts her face in her hands.
"Three days. Three whole days," she groans. "And none of you thought to tell me?"
It's Sam's turn to swallow.
"They don't all know. Just the boy."
Her head snaps up at this. "What?"
"They don't all know what you are," he explains patiently. "Just— Edward Cullen," he says disdainfully, in the same tone her mental voice has when referring to them by name. "I heard the whole conversation with him and Billy."
She narrows her eyes. Right. Billy. Sam watches the look on her face warily.
"You shouldn't hold it against him… he had your best interests at heart."
Bella snorts. "Right. So much so that he sends me to school with my cover blown. He might as well have sent me dripping blood with a big bow tied around my head."
Sam winces. "He truly believes they are not a threat."
"And what do you believe?"
Sam hesitates, black eyes falling to their empty plates in front of them.
"I trust Billy," he says finally.
She snorts again, glaring out the window.
"You know," she says again, watching the rain, "I wish everyone would remember that I'm not actually an invalid. I can be trusted to know things that affect my life."
"I agree," Sam says unexpectedly.
"So why didn't you tell me?"
He falls silent again. Sam Uley, man of few words and master of eerie staring.
"I trust Billy," he says again.
She sighs, throwing her napkin at the table. It would be simple, so much simpler, if she could pin all of her trust in Billy's beliefs. But she's seen too much to be that naïve. She's surprised to find that Billy apparently is.
"How can he trust them? After what he's seen? After what he's been through? He knows what they're capable of."
Sam apparently has no answer for this. He turns his head to the window outside, to the dark forest surrounding them, watching the rain with his deep, dark eyes. Bella shivers deeply, the food in her stomach churning as she thinks of the secrets these woods have hidden. Monsters. Fires. Corpses.
"I don't know what to do," she says after a long moment of silence.
"You do what we've all been doing," he says immediately. "You don't follow your instincts. You don't eliminate the Cullens. You don't break the treaty and you don't stop watching your back."
She bites her lip. That's easier said than done.
Sam is watching her carefully.
"Stay with me and Emily," he says abruptly, "at least for the next few days. You'll be safer on our territory. We can run some patrols, make sure that Edward's promise wasn't just words."
Her head snaps up at this piece of new and unexpected information.
"What promise?"
Sam grimaces.
"He said his coven would not become aware of what you are. He said he would not tell them."
She frowns. That's deeply, deeply confusing.
A promise? On her behalf?
"But… why?" She asks slowly, shaking her head. "Why would he agree to something that goes against his coven's best interest? That makes absolutely no sense."
Sam clenches his fists.
"I don't care why," he growls, "only that he does. Carlisle may be predictable. The new arrivals… I'm not so sure."
Bella's anxiety spikes, that thought not even occurring to her until now. Alice Cullen and Jasper Hale. They are unknown and unaccounted for, according to the elders. They haven't proven themselves enough like the others did 50 years ago to earn that tenuous trust that was hesitatingly granted. She thinks of the seemingly innocent conversation in the hall today with Alice in a chillingly new light.
Is it possible she knew? Was she testing the waters, so to speak? There was no sign of that… was there?
Oh god, was she trying to poison her?
"Bella," Sam says, watching her with concern, "You know you are not alone in this, don't you? The pack is by your side, no matter what."
She looks up at Sam, little more than a stranger to her, and feels the tears well up in her eyes. He barely knows her and here he is, agreeing to fight for her. Agreeing to fight with her.
She sniffs and looks down, face suddenly hot. Sam seems to find his cup of coffee very interesting all of a sudden.
Something worrisome occurs to her, in the middle of a million other worrisome thoughts.
"I won't be in Emily's way?"
Sam gives a small smile, his first one since arriving in Forks. It immediately brightens his face. He suddenly looks all a handsome young man of twenty-five, with gentle hands and kind eyes.
"She'll be hysterical over you, to be sure. But no, she won't mind."
She gives a hesitant little smile. It's been a while since she's been generally fussed over.
"We'll hold base for a few days, make sure nothing is out of the norm with the Cullen's movements. After we make sure all is well, you should be good to go back to your apartment on your own. You'll need your weapons with you at all times. Does Billy still have them?"
She nods.
"Good. We'll make a pit stop after we get your truck."
She frowns. All these precautions. She's glad for the semblance of a plan beginning to unfold— it almost calms the raging anxiety inside of her. But still, something nags at her.
Sam's response supports what she already knows. There is cause for concern, despite Billy's claims to the contrary.
Not everyone in the pack seems to believe in the ceasefire.
"I thought you trusted Billy."
"I do. But that doesn't mean I'm stupid," he says, with all the seriousness of the world.
Sam drives her back to the school. It's well into the afternoon and the lot is almost entirely empty except for her truck and a few of the teacher's cars.
She's about to walk into the school to go get her stuff when a sudden morbid curiosity washes over her. She makes her way over to her truck instead.
Inside, sitting innocently on the driver's seat, is her backpack.
She drives her truck as Sam follows in his own. It's calming in the millionth degree to look up in the rearview mirror and see him driving so close behind, almost bumper to bumper.
They drive to her apartment first to grab a suitcase of clothes for her to wear throughout the week. Sam stands outside, takes one practiced sniff, and declares the area safe. It still doesn't stop her from wrapping herself in a shield a foot thick as she climbs the rusty metal steps up the second floor to her tiny studio apartment.
She grabs clothes indiscriminately and shoves them into her suitcase, along with her toothbrush. Sam and Emily must have some stuff for her but something internally blanches at the idea of having to ask for more. She's already taking too much, putting Sam and Emily in danger like this.
When she jogs down the steps, she sees Sam holding her backpack a foot away from his face, nose wrinkling.
"Reeks," he mutters.
Next, Billy's house.
She gnaws on her thumbnail the whole way there. It's testament to how hurt she really is that she stays in the car and lets Sam get out to do the talking. She doesn't want to see Billy right now and say something she might regret.
She still can't believe he didn't tell her.
She watches Sam knock on the door. Billy answers seconds later, a confused frown on his face. His eyes go from Sam, to Bella's, and back to Sam, who leans forward to say something. Understanding dawns in his eyes. Bella stares down at her shoes when she feels Billy's eyes on her face again. She doesn't want to look at him either.
They disappear inside.
A few long moments pass and Bella sighs, staring out the window at the La Push forests. She's always loved it here. Being this close to the beach, the clouds go interesting. Intense swirls and colors.
It's the first thing she decided she loved about Forks.
Something moves in the corner of her eye and she looks up to see Jacob coming out of the shed.
Their eyes meet and they both freeze— Bella with her fists gripping the steering wheel and Jacob halting midstep.
His eyes wander and land on Sam's empty truck, which he seems to recognize. His mouth falls open. His eyes dart back and forth from her to Sam's truck, then finally go flat. He gives her one last look of deep betrayal before he turns around and disappears into the shed.
A pang pierces through her chest. He looked so suspicious. He must still be angry. She'll have to apologize sooner rather than later, if she wants to remain his friend. And truthfully, he was right in the end. She was being rather dickish about the whole thing, especially when he is 100% right. About everything.
But that goes way down on the list of 'things to worry about right now.' She has to survive this first.
And right on cue, Sam is walking out the front door (Billy nowhere to be seen) with a gigantic, heavy black duffel bag over one shoulder. Bella hurriedly leans over the passenger seat to open the door. Sam dumps the bag on the seat, not one ounce of strain on his face. Thing must weigh 50 pounds.
"It's all in there. Everything."
Bella swallows with difficulty. Her finger traces over the zipper on the side, up and down, following the jagged edge of its teeth. She flicks it open in one quick swish.
Right on top is the crossbow. Underneath— arrows, pistols, bullets, shotguns, scopes, metallic nets. All traced. All poisoned. All ready to go.
She picks up an arrow, holding it up to the light. The shiny metal tip is dark red in color, blood crystallized on the surface. It shimmers ruby red in the air— time would have only made it more potent.
Her father's.
"What did he say?"
Sam's jaw goes taut.
"He… he wanted to know if you were planning on killing them."
Bella blinks. That's a surprising train of thought. And truthfully, an avenue of choice she has not yet considered. It's… an option, she supposes.
She'd be unlikely to succeed. But going down fighting? It's been an abstract idea lurking in her brain ever since she's been old enough to understand that she would most likely die young.
(She'll have to think later about why that idea doesn't bother her as much as it should.)
"Does he really think me that unhinged?" She asks instead.
Sam gives a strange half-smile, half-grimace. And doesn't answer.
Which Bella takes to mean, yes.
Yes, he does.
Sam leaves her to get settled in the guest room as he leaves to go pick Emily up from her afternoon class at the local community college.
After some deep deliberation, she pulls Mr. Cactus out of her reeking backpack and lays it on top of her borrowed bed right next to her mini arsenal.
She's scared, she's exhausted, and she's so so sick of the fact that death has an old familiar attendance in her everyday life, and there is no rest, no rest, and the secrets are weighing down on her so heavily that it's a chain around her neck. The secrets line up behind her eyes, one by one by one. They're pulling her under and she's drowning.
So she does something completely reckless. Something entirely, wholly unprecedented.
She listens to her therapist.
Dear Stupid Mr. Cactus Diary, she writes. Tomorrow, I think I'll take a gun to school.