TR01: Twilight: A Revisitation

by byronthedeadpoet

Being no stranger to Twilight Fan fiction, I have often wondered what Twilight would have been if I had written it. What would I have changed? What would I have kept? What would I've improved upon? What follows is my interpretation of the story, with no aspersions whatever cast upon Stephenie Meyer. I hope this little thought experiment is as fun to read as it was to write.

11. Chapter 11: Interrogations

The next morning was very abrupt somehow. It was as though there was a solid and concise division from the night before and that day, making the events that had transpired feel distant and dreamlike. I had a lot of trouble believing that they had really happened. It was all for the better. Towards the beginning of my time asleep, I had a nightmare where I was assaulted by four men who died bloody and with a few dismemberments. That didn't, unfortunately, prevent them from continuing their assault. But the nightmare ended without me even waking, a vision of Edward driving the nightmares away and leaving me with long dreams of him, of which all I could really remember was contentment. It made the time with him the night before seem all the more dreamlike.

I left quickly, which I had to because I spent more time than usual trying to come up with a combination of clothing that I hadn't tried before that still went together. I ended up wearing my purple leggings under my wool skirt and purple sweater that I had gotten recently. As I did so, I noted the loose necked sweater I had worn the night before on the top of my hamper and seriously considered just chucking it in the garbage. It would be a while before I would be comfortable wearing it again, or perhaps anything with a loose neck.

I was hustling because I was late, jamming a granola bar into my pocket as I all but launched myself out into the morning, coming up short as the thick fog that clouded the entire area hid even my truck from view. I started walking carefully out into it when I came up short yet again; there was a large silver mass beside my truck, roughly Volvo shaped.

I heard a door open and shut, and instantly another open. A voice from beside the passenger door spoke, "I was wondering if you would like to ride with me today."

As if that would ever be in question.

By the time he said ride, I was already walking past him and sitting. I thought I heard the ghost of a chuckle as he and I sort of closed the door together and he got into his own door.

"I wasn't sure if the night had given you a new perspective," he said as he pulled away. "Things can look differently on the other side of sleep."

I smiled and nodded, "Yeah. I was having trouble convincing myself that yesterday really happened."

His face seemed to close a bit to me. It made me want to… something! It took all my composure, and the fact that I had no idea how to do it, not to leap across the car and try to comfort him.

"The events were rather nightmarish," he commented flatly, at least for him.

I shook my head, "I would have said it was surreal and unbelievable."

He gave me a sideways look, "So, you are going to tell me you didn't have nightmares at all last night?"

I shuddered, pushing the thought of a stump where a hand used to be being dragged over my arm out of my head.

"I did," I said carefully, but then remembered him being there, driving away the nightmares, as he had driven away the bad men the night before.

"I feel like there is a but coming," he said, and my phrase on his lips was too comical. I burst out laughing, so loud in the confined car that I quickly stifled my mirth and tried to hide my embarrassed blush.

"You were saying," he said dryly.

"I did have a nightmare," I said, then realized that I couldn't exactly admit that I dreamed about him. His words came back to me, harsh and undeniable, "Never say that!"

"But it was just the one and it was over quickly," I admitted. It was true enough.

"I am sorry I frightened you," he said with a practiced nonchalance.

I looked over at him, "Believe it or not, but my every dream isn't about you."

He looked at me, and a smile seemed to quark at his lips.

"What?" I asked, trying to hold onto my anger.

"It is nothing," he said politely. "Shall we discuss your nightmare or simply pass over it?"

I suddenly didn't trust him, "What aren't you saying?"

His smile deepened, "I really do not wish to tell you. You don't trust me enough to be comfortable sharing your every emotion with me, so if I happened to find them out myself, I would rather not bring up something that would make you uncomfortable."

"I trust you," I said defiantly.

He shook his head, "You just lied, twice."

"What?" I said defensively. "When?"

"The first time," he said, raising a single finger as though indicating a tally in the air, "was when you were telling me about your nightmare. You changed your train of thought halfway through. The only reason you would censor yourself is if you didn't trust my response. And second just now, when you lied about trusting me."

We pulled up to the school.

"It is possible for me to not tell you the whole truth and still trust you," I said, trying no to sound too argumentative.

"How so?" he asked, with no heat or contest himself.

"If you do not want to hear what I have to say," I pointed out, "then me telling it to you anyway goes against your wishes."

He looked confused, "But I want to hear everything you have to say."

His words crashed over me again, so harsh, so angry.

"That isn't what you said last night," I said.

He came up short, "What did I say?"

I looked away, "I told you that I wanted you, wanted to be with you."

"I recall," he said.

"And you said that I should never say that," I concluded.

My hand was lifted from where it lay at my side. Warmth bloomed over my skin, and I turned in shock. He was holding my hand, and he was warm!

"Oh Bella," he said, gently squeezing my fingers. "That was only part of you had spoken, and that was not the part I was protesting. I told you that I didn't want you to get hurt. Before you said that you wanted me, you said that it didn't matter. That was what I was so vehemently protesting, because you do matter. You are important to me, and there is no amount of pain that you should have to endure to be in my life. Would that I could keep you from all pain, I would and gladly."

I shook my head, "You can't do that."

"Do what?" he asked, looking almost startled.

"Take my pain away," I said simply. "Pain is necessary. We need it. It lets us know when we are hurt, when we are wrong. Pain helps teach us. It is a necessary consequence of life. I want my pain. I couldn't be me without it."

Edward looked a touch disconcerted.

"Before you said that," he said with an almost tired tone, "I would have said that pain was overrated."

I smiled, "It is only overrated if you never learn from it."

He nodded, "I want to learn."

I searched his face, "Learn what?"

I looked deep into my eyes, with a presence and a passion that struck through me. I felt as though my heart was humming in my chest and I could not contain the force that look instilled in me.

"Everything," he said.

"What's your deepest fear?" I asked.

His face slacked, but his gaze lost none of its pull.

"That I am damned," he said. "Truly. That my soul, even if it is not still carried with me, is doomed to an eternity of suffering in the pits of Hell, and even now, I will be bereft of happiness until I cease to be as I am, until my final death."

"You think you won't be happy?" I asked.

He shook his head, "I believe I can't be happy. There is a very significant difference."

There really was.

"You're wrong," I said.

He smiled a twisted smile, "Of course you would say that. You want the possibility that we can be happy together."

"No," I said, sitting straighter. "You believe it is possible too."

"Do I?" he asked.

I nodded, smiling, "If you didn't, then you never would have come back."

I left him in stunned silence as I stepped out of the car. He joined me quickly as we started walking into school. Even with the few students that were already at school, we were getting a substantial number of looks.

"I must know everything about you," he stated, a sort of fervor to him. I couldn't help but laugh.

"I am a perfectly ordinary girl," I said, indicating myself with a sweep of my hand. "You are the exceptional one, worthy of study and questioning."

"That is patently absurd," he argued. "I could ask you a hundred thousand quires and not get through a fraction of the depths I wish to know of you."

"Why do you find me so interesting?" I asked. "And it isn't just that I am interesting. You seem… I don't know. Particularly driven."

He laughed, and it was so loud it turned just about every head that I could see.

"That!" he intoned. "That right there is why you fascinate me! Most people could stand to have truth beat them about the head forever and a day before it makes an impression, and yet you can stretch to the truth of the matter as soon as it is relevant."

I was about to ask further, but I found that we were nearing the closest building, where Jess was standing under the eaves, out of the rain. It was raining?

Rather than continue our conversation, I tilted my head back and let the cool rain fall on my face. I half expected Edward to keep walking, to get out of the wet himself, but when I ran my fingers through my damp hair and opened my eyes, he was still there, watching me. There was a softness to his expression, an openness that I couldn't remember seeing there before. It was sweet, somehow young, practically innocent. I liked it more than I knew how to put into words.

We continued walking and found ourselves in Jess's presence.

"Good Morning, Jessica," said Edward. It was his closer to his usual voice, the voice he used when he was with me and not his usual everyday voice he used in class. I had been listening to it more in the last night than I had in the week before that, and more in that week than I had ever heard it before that, and still, I was fighting to keep from having my toes curl at just the very sound of it, to say nothing of it being directed at me. Jess, poor Jess, didn't stand a chance.

She said something that sounded like she was trying to say hello, but it became somewhere between a hi and a hey before she just gave up and sort of giggle just this side of hysterically. Edward smiled, and that didn't help matters in the least.

Jess finally turned her attention towards me so that she could actually speak.

"Do you have my Trig notes?" she asked, her voice still tremulous.

I was fairly certain Jess had never taken notes in her life, but I could see the significant look she gave me.

"I think Mike has them," I said. "I will get them from him in Government and get them to you before class."

"You are a rock star, Just Bella!" she said, with an enthusiasm that wasn't even close to faked. "See you in Trig!"

She tottered off, the hysteria not quite out of her voice and continued laughter.

"Was that as obvious as I think it was?" I asked.

Edward gave me a deadpan look, "Was it supposed to be subtle?"

I tried not to smile and it didn't work out.

"You forget," he said. "Most people are easy for me to read. You are the exception."

"And that is why I interest you?" I asked.

He looked stunned and sighed out a breathy laugh, "Exactly. I would have added a bit more, but you did it in one, for certain."

"What would you have added?" I asked as we began walking towards my first class.

"An explanation that might be best left to when we have few potential eavesdroppers," he said with a grin.

"More theories?" I asked.

He grinned broadly, and graciously took my arm to prevent me from walking into another student, "Exactly."

We came up to class and he stepped before me, "I will save you a seat at lunch."

"Okay," I said, suddenly wishing that I didn't have to go to class, but knowing better than to suggest skipping class. It wasn't like half the school had already seen us or anything.

"Oh," he said, as though thinking of something. "I do not mind if you consider us to be dating."

I frowned, "Okay…. Good to know."

He smiled, an odd knowing smile, "Also, I wouldn't mind if you called me your boyfriend, even if it is seven kinds of unfair."

I went beat red, "Also, good to know."

"I will see you at lunch," he said with a laugh and headed off. "But I can't wait to read what you have to say."

"What on earth did that mean?" I asked no one in particular.

English was nothing to write home about. I turned in an essay on Shakespeare and was walking out of class when Mike caught up with me.

"So," he said, "sounds like you have been up to-"

"How was your date with Jess?" I asked, cutting him off. He was about to say something demeaning, and I figured we would just skip it.

"What?" he asked suddenly, disarmed. "Why? Did Jess say- did Jess ask-?"

"She hasn't told me anything, yet," I added. We spent the rest of the way to class figuring out what he should say the next time he saw her and what I should say the next time I did. Naturally, I would be telling Jess the exact same things I told him, just so everyone knew, even if not everyone knew that they knew, you know?

Once we were done with Government and I was heading to Trig, it didn't really occur to me what I was in for until Jess grabbed my arm before I was all the way through the door, throwing our coats vague in the direction of the coat hooks and dragging me to our seats.

"Tell me everything," she hissed in a whisper to me.

"Jeez, Jess," I said in similar tones, "if I do, can I have my arm back."

"Are you dating?" she asked.

I paused. This… something about this was weird. I couldn't put my finger on what.

"I guess so," I said. "I mean, it isn't set in stone or anything, but he said we could date, if I wanted to."

Jess looked as though she was about to have an aneurysm.

"Is he your boyfriend?" she asked, almost indignantly.

Now, something was very, very wrong here.

"Yes," I said, testing the waters.

Jess sighed, "That is like seven kinds of unfair."

It clicked. He knew. Edward knew what she was going to be saying. He said he was good at reading people. Most people. I was the exception. Did… did he mean read as in, reading minds? Is that what he meant, that he could read minds but not mine? That was good to know. Except that… he…

His last words rang in my ears; he said read what I have to say. Was… was he reading Jess's mind, right now? Was everything I was saying or about to say going to be piped directly to him. I looked at Jess with an expression I was sure was utter horror. I could swear, I heard his distant laugh.

"What?" she asked. "You look weird."

"I'm fine," I replied quickly, returning my face to a neutral expression. "I was just remembering something that was totally unfair myself."

I put a little extra emphasis on the last words, just enough that he might get it, but she wouldn't understand it.

"Edward Frickin' Cullen is your boyfriend," she sighed. "How are you not bouncing off all the walls and gloating at your winning lottery ticket?!"

"Jess," I complained. "It isn't like that…"

"'Isn't like that'?" she hissed quietly. "Do you know how many girls at this school would want to be in your shoes right now? All of them! Some of the guys too."

I shook my head, "That doesn't matter."

"Doesn't-" she looked like she was choking on her words. "Listen to me Isabella Swan soon-to-be-Cullen!"

It was my turn to gag, but she steamed ahead.

"I have seen the way he looks at you," she said. "I have never seen my dad look at my mom like that, and I have seen their wedding videos. The boy has it bad, for you."

I froze. Wait, what?

"No," I said. "He likes me, sure, but he said he doesn't mind if we are dating or if I consider him my boyfriend. He hasn't said anything serious at all."

Jess looked at me, "Have you said anything serious at all?"

I thought about it, "I told him that I wanted to be with him."

She looked at me blankly, "Be still my beating heart."

"Oh hush," I said.

"You've had time to think about it," she said. "How do you feel about him? Really?"

I thought about it. Suddenly, nervous. He very well could be hearing all of this, or reading it or whatever. How could I possibly be honest if I knew he could….

Realization dawned on me, passed through me in a cascade like water, coloring everything in its passing. He was right. The smug vampire was right!

"I cared about him longer than I realized," I said and something about my tone pulled Jessica's entire attention towards me.

"It wasn't the fact that he is the most beautiful boy that I have ever laid eyes upon that first drew me to him," I said honestly. "True, I have never had a boy who could lay me out, witless and ill-composed with a smile before, but I wouldn't stay just for that."

She just breathed, looking at me.

"Edward," I said, almost caressing his name as I spoke it, "has been in my dreams since before he saved my life. I have never dreamed of boys or felt this way about anyone, wanting to be with him and beside him all the time and feeling like he is still here even when he is not actually here. He scares the nightmares away and even if we aren't together in more than name right now, I think we could be something more, stronger, together than we ever could apart. I want to build a life with him."

I didn't think I had even admitted that to myself yet, but there it was. I wanted my future with him.

Jess looked like she was about to cry, so naturally, that was when called upon her.

We didn't have much time to talk for the rest of class, when we were walking out, I saw the expression on her face. It was sort of wistful and sort of, distant, almost.

"Mike asked about your date," I said. It was technically true, even if I asked him about it first.

Jessica's whole face lit up, "Tell me!"

We spent the rest of Spanish talking about him. Granted, it was mostly about how he looked as we talked about the date and why we came up with the lines for him to say to her. She was actually completely okay with how I pushed him away from making up feelings and sticking to noticing and bringing up the stuff he really liked and what was fun. She got a little glowy when I told her that he liked the way she was unselfconscious about eating in front of him and that he liked that she didn't care what people thought. By the time the bell rang for lunch, we weren't talking much anymore because Jess looked like she was ready to swoon, but as soon as we were standing up, she took one look at my face and smiled too.

"You aren't sitting with us, are you?" she asked rhetorically.

We stepped out of class and he was already there, leaning against the closest wall, one knee bent. I realized he was wearing an entirely different style than he had been wearing last… Thursday? I couldn't even remember what he wore last night. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and designer cargo pants, the sort of get up a professional motorcycle racer might wear, matching it with a black T-shirt and a silver chain. His boots were the only thing the same. And by god, I just liked looking at him!

"See you later, Bella," Jess said pointedly.

I got within arms reach and stopped before he said anything. He seemed terribly lost in thought.

"Hello," he said, his eyes finding mine.

"Hey," I said, unable to keep the smile off my face. His expression was more pensive, sort of repentant.

"I owe you an apology," he said.

"You don't owe me anything," I said earnestly.

"But, I-" he started. Without thinking, I pushed a finger to his lips. He looked as though I just jabbed him with a red hot poker but managed to freeze. More instinct than conscious choice, I stepped back.

"Edward," I said, "I am here, with you, because I choose to be. It isn't because you checked all the right boxes and did all the right things. I think we can agree that there are a few checks that many would say should be counted against you."

He nodded, but said nothing.

"You don't have to earn my company," I said. "You don't owe me anything."

He considered that, "Can I explain?"

"Yes!" I said expansively. "If I get a choice, so do you."

His grin found his face again, and I melted.

"You shouldn't touch me," he said, his tone still pleasant.

I took a step away, and he matched it, maintaining our proximity.

"It is alright for us to touch," he said, "but I need to be prepared. It can be… hard, sometimes, with you so close to me."

"Okay," I said. "I can totally do that. Or not do it. Whichever…."

He smiled again.

"I wasn't fair to you, before," he said. "I knew you would figure it out, of course. You are you, after all. But what I wasn't expecting was to be solidly put in my place."

"Put in your place?" I demanded. "What does that mean?"

He stopped, just short of the lunch line, just out of the standing people's easy listening.

"I allowed you into a situation where you felt obligated to confide in a friend without expressly informing you that I would be getting that information as well," he said. "I let you figure it out, but that was not an excuse, a poor justification. Then, not only did you actually figure it out, you showed me just how idiotic I was being by doing exactly what I was unwilling to do. You trusted and spoke up honestly, even if you knew I could hear, especially because you knew I could. I was more interested in showing off a parlor trick and you were more interested in what really mattered; your heart."

He glanced over his own shoulder, "Jessica is wrong. I believe I am the one who has won the proverbial lottery."

I felt something. It was deep and profound and unlike anything I had ever known. I wanted to do something, but he had said I shouldn't touch him, not without warning, and this would be without warning. So, I encircled the sleeve of his jacket with my hand. Immediately, he responded and put his hand in mine. It was warm again, unlike his lips had been just moments before.

"Hey," I said. "Are you doing that?"

He smiled sheepishly as we stepped into line, "Another parlor trick."

"Hmm," I considered.

"What?" he asked, a joyous curiosity deep in his face.

"You don't have to pretend for me," I said. "I kind of like it, you know, when you are just yourself."

He looked at me, seemingly aware of the people near us as he said, "You aren't… uncomfortable?"

I shook my head, "I sort of like it."

He gave me a sideways look that playfully questioned either my sanity or my identity.

"Must be the town," he said. "Next you will be wearing shorts when it sixty degree weather."

I shivered, "No thank you!"

His hand began to cool under mine. I squeezed it again.

"So," he gathered, "aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what?" I asked.

He looked at me squarely, "Maybe? Interesting. For someone who cares so deeply about fairness, I would have thought that you would have preferred that I elaborate on my feelings for you in kind."

I hadn't thought about that at all. How odd.

"I guess…" I said as we walked into the line proper, "I guess that I am only interested in that if you want to tell me."

He seemed to think about it.

"I do," he said, and proceeded to start gathering food on a tray.

"Are you eating?" I asked, confused.

He gave me a look, "Any reason that I shouldn't be?"

Oh. Right.

"Half is for you," he said, "if that is alright."

"Um," I said, looking at the overladen tray. "Sure."

I realized that this was the second time that he had paid for my meal. If we ate before the dance, it would be three times. I wasn't sure I liked this trend.

"What does that look mean?" he asked as he got change and carried the tray towards the table we had sat at the last lunch we had had together.

"I…" I gathered, sitting closer to him this time, but more like we had the night before, with an arms space between us.

"Yes?" he asked again, and his curious look was so intense and so entirely his, I was almost tempted not to tell him simply so that he would keep it. But, I relented.

"I don't have a lot of money," I said.

He considered, then said, "Ah. We are back to fairness again."

"I guess we are," I said.

"And that would matter," he said, "if we were equals in this."

I felt myself frowning.

"We aren't," he went on. "Fifty dollars has a very different value to each of us."

"But that isn't fair," I reiterated.

He pushed the tray a bit closer to me. Grudgingly, I took up a piece of pizza.

"Can you speak Portuguese?" he asked.

I looked askance at him, "No."

He said something fluid and long in what I presumed was Portuguese. I realized that I didn't even need to understand what he said, and I could still listen to his voice all day.

"I am going to assume that you had a point," I tried to say with the same defiance I had a moment earlier. It just made him smile.

"We each have different skills, different abilities," he said. "We are bound to be at odds, considering our age difference, but if you had as many years as I to acquire the things that I have, we would be more evenly matched."

He had a point.

"I have this in abundance," he went on. "You do not. There is no shame or boasting in this fact; it simply is."

I munched pizza, "I understand that, but I am an unemployed student who was brought up by a police chief and a kindergarten teacher. I have a very different idea about what is acceptable spending."

He considered.

"That is your choice," he said, and I was about to get indignant when he added, "I can accept that."

His tone was his own, but the intonation of his words was the same as when I agreed that I wouldn't touch him unless he was prepared.

"How about this," he said. "When it comes to food, unless specified otherwise, I will pay. You can choose where to eat and what you to order, and I will make no comment on the subject whatever, unless there is an unbiased concern for your health. Is that agreeable?"

I considered, "Alright, but no gifts."

He looked taken aback, "You want no tokens?"

"No," I said. "You aren't earning my company, remember?"

He looked genuinely put out. It was rather adorable, actually.

"How about this?" he countered. "May I impress upon you tokens that I have spent no money upon? Things that were within my possession before this agreement or ones that I can make or acquire without spending anything?"

I nodded, "I can agree to that."

"What of spending money on intangibles?" he asked.

I blinked, "Meaning what exactly?"

"Not on goods or products," he explained, "but on services or experiences. Say entrance into a museum?"

I considered, "So long as the museum isn't the Louvre, and I can agree to that."

He gave a mischievous grin, "So, no surprise visits to Paris then?"

"Let's keep it in the continental United States," I said dryly.

Then, something occurred to me. We could go. I had my passport from when Mom almost got married on a beach in Mexico. School would be out for the summer in a few months. We could actually go to Paris, to Rome, to Amsterdam, to Prague, to London, to Tokyo, to New York, to Sydney, to anywhere in the world. We could go, together.

"For now," I added begrudgingly. He grinned in a way I wasn't entirely sanguine about.

I ate in silence for a moment, until he finally said, "Tell me what you are thinking about, please."

I swallowed and wished I had a mirror or something to check and make sure I didn't have any sauce on my face or anything.

"I, uh…." I murmured, trying to figure out how to phrase if, "I was wondering what… reading was like."

He gave a brief smile, "That's simple enough to explain."

I grabbed something else from the tray, only having eyes for him as he gathered his thoughts. This went on just long enough that I suspected that he might be deciding whether or not to tell me something.

"It isn't as simple as reading a book," he said, keeping his voice low, causing me to lean forward, "or even listening in on a frequency no one else can hear. As soon as I meet someone, I get an idea of how receptive they will be. Some people are so receptive that I do not need to do anything in order to hear exactly what they think. Others, I need to enter their mind first."

"Enter?" I asked, trying not to sound wary.

He grinned, "It is another parlor trick, one of those abilities that we all have, to some degree. One might call it enthrallment."

I thought about that, "Mrs. Cope, and the waitress."

He nodded, "Yes. It is something I am particularly good at but not because I am strong at controlling people, as some are; I get an impression of who the person is, their thoughts, and it helps me devise a command or explanation in such a way that they accept it more willingly. Enthralling someone makes it easier to enter their mind, and once I have, the easier it becomes to do so. Also, familiarity makes it easier to read."

I suddenly felt afraid.

"What?" he asked, looking distressed enough that I found myself answering him, if only to hopefully give his face something else to do but look unhappy.

"I thought…." I said, but my throat closed a moment, "I thought you said you were getting better at understanding. I didn't think you meant-"

He laughed. It wasn't loud but it was totally disarming.

"I haven't lied to you Bella," he said once his mirth had ceased. "I am completely sincere when I say that I would prefer that I had."

I gave him a surprised and angry look, which made him laugh all over again.

"Bella," he said, and I felt his hand find mine under the table. The cool feel of it seemed to ground me and shake me out of my anger spiral.

"From the moment I met you," he said, his expression and words so genteel, it was breathtaking, "I have gotten nothing from you. The first day we met, before we even met, here in the cafeteria, I could tell, yours was a mind I would never get anything from. I tried to enthrall you from across the room, inspiring you to come talk to me, which I didn't need the improved senses I have now to see that you would have been willing to do so."

I felt myself blush.

"And nothing," he said. "Your mind is your own, completely. You are apart from me, unlike anyone I have ever met. There was a time I would have given up the thoughts of all the others, my greatest gift and tool for helping maintain my family's anonymity, if I could hear you and know you how your mind worked. Now, I only want it in my more selfish and weaker moments, when you do something so unexpected and so bewildering to me, that I must know how such a notion was formed."

I found myself picking a spork into a Styrofoam bowl of mac-n-cheese. Sighing, I ate some.

"I'm glad you can't," I said after swallowing. "It would be impossible for us to date otherwise."

"I wouldn't try to control you, Bella," he said, sounding halfway to hurt as he did.

"I'm not talking about that," I said. "I'm talking about trust."

He looked contemplative as I went on, "My words and thoughts are my own, as they should be. I get to share with you what I will, my decision. I could very well be lying to you, just as you could very well be lying to me. But at some point, for the relationship to continue, we have to be willing to put aside our own fears and trust the other. If you could hear the truth, you would never need to trust me."

He seemed to consider that.

"I don't like your idea that I have never trusted anyone before I met you," he said. "But I won't discount it just because I don't like it. It is an interesting idea, regardless."

I felt like a complete cow.

"That's not what I-" I began but he just gave me his crooked grin and I sort of forgot what I was going to say next.

"It is easier to trust someone when their mind is clear to me," he said. "But it doesn't mean I can only trust when I don't know. I can also trust when I do. As you say, it is a choice."

I found my voice again, "Edward, I'm so sorry. I-"

His cool finger found my lips. I wasn't sure what he felt when I did it, but a shock of cool electricity seemed to zing through my whole body. I trembled from the temperature and from the fact that the pad of his finger was upon my lips, bowing them under the slight pressure that felt like it was also squeezing my heart in the best fashion imaginable. Again, I felt like I wanted something or wanted to do something, but couldn't understand what. If this was anything like when I put my finger to his lips, I could see why he found it overwhelming.

"I want you to be yourself," he said, "no matter what. Even if it might seem a slight upon me. I can take it! I want to know all of you. Never hold yourself back. You cannot hurt me."

For an instant, I was visited by the urge to jam my spork into his hand in front of me, but as soon as it entered my head, I felt sick with the idea of hurting him. I couldn't do that. But then it dawned on me; would it hurt him? Was there anything I could do to cause him physical pain? Could he feel pain? What was he, really?

The questions poured through my mind, and I could see the undisguised delight spread across his face. I was about to ask, why he was so happy or what it was like being a vampire, when something icy trickled down my spine. I felt myself turn, so instinctive that it was almost uncontrollable, and looked to the Cullen's table. My eyes fell upon her immediately, the gorgeous sister who sat furthest to one side, her bearish beau beside her. Her eyes were upon me, a stern expression on her face. And, as though she had been waiting for my eyes alone, her expression changed.

I couldn't have expected it. She was so beautiful, a beauty that I could compare with Edwards, which was saying a lot. But in the moment, something in her face shifted. It was almost as though the animosity she felt could not be conveyed upon her usual continence, so her muscle pulled her bone and flesh into unnatural shapes that belied her beauty. It was almost as though something had come to life, something within that lay just below the surface, always there, always waiting, a monstrosity that stretched and writhed beneath her skin and revealing her truly inhuman self. Her fangs all but openly bared, her expression ten thousand billion times more lethal and threatening than any Edward had ever shown me, it took all that I was to not immediately run screaming from the cafeteria. In the last instance, I remembered Edward's words of the previous night, that running would only encourage chasing and death, and settled for turning quickly back to the food before me.

Then, so low I wasn't sure I heard it, a defiant hiss split the air, spitting from Edwards curled lip as he turned to face the table sideways over his shoulder. I quickly glanced back and saw that the large boy at her side had placed a hand upon her shoulder. Something about it conveyed an ironclad grasp as much as support and a request for restraint. It somehow made me feel as safe as Edwards defense had.

"Are you finished?" he asked, looking at the tray.

"Yes," I said, standing quickly. Just about the most delicious food imaginable had all the edible appeal of rubber cement at the moment.

He slid his arm through mine and we exited the cafeteria.

"Jessica wanted to talk with you about what she gathered from us sitting together and talking," he said, "but her analysis will have to wait. I am not letting you stay in the same room with Rosalie at the moment."

We headed to Biology, but had the halls to ourselves.

"What was that about?" I asked, feeling a little weak in the knees.

"You needn't worry," he said. "Nothing will happen to you, I swear it."

I started to feel angry.

"Don't do that," I said.

"Do what?" he asked, looking surprised.

"Try to spare me," I said. "I'm not stupid; that wasn't nothing. Don't try to keep me in the dark because you're afraid."

"Afraid?" he demanded, his voice rising. "I am not-"

"Afraid that the more I see what your life is like and the potential danger and how unnatural your world is, the more likely I am to leave?" I shot back. "Yeah, you are. Stop it. I make my own decisions, Edward. Period. I will not tolerate being lied to, I don't care how scared you are or how justified you think you are. No lies."

He seemed to relent.

"That was not my intent," he said.

"Are you going to tell me now?" I asked pointedly.

He looked annoyed but too amused to hold onto it.

"You really are too becoming for your own good," he said. "The bulk is a story too long for the time we have now, but in short, humans knowing what we are is dangerous, for us and for them."

"Dangerous how?" I asked.

"I cannot tell you that," he said, but before I could do more then puff myself up, he added quickly, words pouring out of him, "There are things that I cannot tell you, not because I am afraid, but because knowing them could mean your death. Vampires do not want themselves known. What damage is done I cannot undo, but I can prevent it from getting worse. I am hoping that your protected mind will be to your benefit, but I am not certain and I do not risk your life lightly. I will be as honest with you as I can be about myself, but I am not obligated to give you information that will put you at risk. Can you accept that?"

I was taken aback. I had no idea that I was risking my life simply by knowing him. Once it occurred to me, I hated the idea. Under what conditions could knowing Edward merit a death sentence? It was the most important thing to me, next to my own life.

"How is it dangerous for you?" I asked.

He sighed but before he could complain, I added, "You said you could answer about you."

He tried not to smile, "Would that I were crueler, I could wish you to be less endearing. As it is, I will take you and keep you and dash the rest."

I felt suddenly decidedly warm.

"Our secret must be kept," he said. "If it isn't, those that know may be put to death, along with those that did the telling."

I felt suddenly cold. I wasn't risking my life; I was risking his. Could I do that? By what right did I have to risk him, simply to know him and keep him? But what was the alternative? Make him leave? Could I even do that? And how could I justify it, when I would so hastily condemn him for doing the same for my sake?

"You're scared," he said, looking into my face. "What can I do?"

"I…" I said, my throat thick. I thought about it. What I wanted, what some part of me longed for, was for him to hold me. I wanted to feel close to him, physically, to be reassured by another body pressed to mine, and I wanted it to be his body. But I knew that he couldn't, that I would be asking too much.

Then, slowly, so slowly that I didn't realize he was moving at first, he raised a hand. With the blade of his finger, he drew a line, starting at my eyebrow, around my eye, across my cheekbone, down and under my nose, and across the plane of my far cheek. His hand opened as it did, his fingers brushing my ear and nestling into my hair as he cupped my face. For a moment, I took in nothing of the world but his coolness and his touch, until I realized my sight was full of his face, a look of utter serene sincerity and care upon his face. I would have given a lot to kiss him at that moment.

"Tell me something," he said.

I decided to agree, but what came out of my lips was, "Anything…"

For a moment, he looked completely at a loss, I could see just how many things he wanted to ask at that moment, but he seemed to shake himself.

"You are too kind," he said charitably, "but really what I want to know is what was occurring to you when we were so rudely interrupted in the cafeteria."

It took me a moment to realign the context.

"Oh," I said, remembering, "I just realized that you are a vampire."

He grinned, and I swear that I caught a bit of extra canine.

"So you say," he said.

"No," I huffed, "I just mean, I have no idea what that really means. Like, it is one thing to say it, but it is another thing entirely to understand it, to contextualize it. I can sort of imagine it, but I don't have to."

There was a look almost like pride, like joy.

"I am at your interrogative disposal," he said gallantly. "Ask me all that you will!"

I honestly didn't know where to begin, so I asked the question at the forefront of my brain.

"Do vampires kiss?" I asked, trying and failing not to go beet red, about as well as he tried and failed not to laugh.

"Of all the questions you could ask," he chortled, "that is your first?"

"It was the most prominent one on my mind, thank you very much," I grumped.

He looked troubled a moment.

"What?" I asked, trying not to sound frantic for some reason.

"We do," he said, "after a fashion."

"Meaning?" I asked. Why did he have to be so cryptic now?!

"We do undertake some physical affection," he said. "It isn't such a persistent drive as it appears in humans, but it does exist and regularly happens… between two vampires."

I felt myself shrink a little, "Oh."

"Don't misunderstand me," he said earnestly, "I would very much like to kiss you-"

I wondered when exactly I had swallowed the hyperactive, supersonic, radioactive flying elephants that were now pingponging themselves around the inside of my rib cage…

"-but, I am afraid that might not be possible," he concluded.

"Might not?" I asked.

The bell rang.

He sighed, saying quickly, "Being physically close to you is hard. My instincts aren't primarily interested in anything so gentle with you."

For a moment, I was visited by the mental image of him being rough with me, and the very genuine thrill that followed was hard to discern between fear and excitement. Then the image of the man being pulled down the alley into shadow and silent death shook me back to my senses.

"You want to kill me?" I asked quickly before students could arrive.

He looked deeply into my eyes, "Yes."

The bottom went out of my stomach. I knew that. But, like being a vampire, I hadn't really contextualized it. I didn't really understand it.

"I want to keep you more," he went on, "but that other drive is in me, unending, and it always will be."

Students started filling the halls. Before I could fully decompress Edward's words, Mr. Banner was opening the door and we were walking into class. I found my seat along with Edward mechanically, without much thought for Edward who seemed to be hovering beside me the whole way to the plastic chair, slightly anxious and also resolved to allow me the space to process.

Almost as though the universe was conspiring, Mr. Banner wheeled in a cart with a television that was older than my mother's, and started playing a movie that looked older than her. I couldn't think of anything that could hold as little interest for me at that moment.

Edward wanted to kill me. There was a part of him, a part of his vampire self, that wanted to taste my blood and feed from me until my death. It was not something fleeting either, some whim. It would always be there, inescapable. The more I thought about it, the more something firmed up in my mind.

Edward could have killed me. Right then, in the dark, he could have probably done it before anyone else in the room could realize it. This was not a gamble, a flip of a coin. Like killing in general, if he wanted to, he would. It was absolutely not outside his power to kill me. But it was also entirely within his power to not kill me. I could trust him. No; I did trust him.

I relaxed and Edward seemed to do so as well, seeming to pick up on my mood as easily as anything. I realized that he was actually sitting a bit closer to me that he had in the past, and I slowly and casually leaned a little closer. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and put on a show of playful disapproval that I didn't find the least bit genuine. Cool fingers slid into mine under the table, and I felt a shiver as they brushed my leg to their final destination.

The class ended before the video did, and we were told that we would be watching more next class. After the time I had just spent beside Edward, I really couldn't seem to care.

"You are different," Edward noted as we left class and he walked me to the gym. A disgruntled Mike passed us in silence, but I could have sworn that Edward's mood improved as he went.

"I am different," I said, smiling.

"What changed?" he asked, steadying me through the grasp on his arm as someone jousted me in passing.

"I trust you," I said.

His expression became momentarily cloudy, "How so?"

"Do you intend to continue killing?" I asked.

He laughed, "No. And it is strange to think that I do mean it. It has been so much a part of my life for so long, going without… I suppose it might be a bit like you trying to become comfortable with the idea of never breathing again."

I smiled, "Weird thought. But to my original point; then I have nothing to worry about."

He became pensive, "I could-"

"You could," I said. "But it would not be an accident. It is your choice, not something that was outside of your control. You get to make the decision. It might be hard and every day, but that is what a relationship is; work."

He smirked at me, "And what work are you doing?"

I was saved from answering by us arriving at Gym. As I turned to face him fully, I noticed just how many people were watching us. I tried not to be self-conscious. Before I could answer, he touched me again. He stroked my face, his eye boring into mine, and I found it took some effort not to get caught up in the moment and do something stupid, like jump on him.

"You aren't the only one who has instincts that demand action," I said before I could stop myself. We looked at each other in equal surprise before I promptly beat a hasty retreat where he could not follow, save for the quiet chuckle that came after me.

Gym was an absolute blur. Not only was I caught up in thoughts of my foot-so-far-down-my-throat-that-my-toes-were-keeping-my-appendix-company moment, but I was caught up with thoughts of Edward himself. Mike at least was stalwart despite the fact that I was no longer single, which I still couldn't wrap my head around. He volunteered at my partner for badminton, which given the number of injuries and such I had caused since arriving in Gym class, meant that I got a partner without Coach Clapp having to assign me one, for which I was grateful. So, of course, I showed my gratitude by striking both Mike and myself with my racket when I swung and missed and hit the net instead. After that, I stayed in the back and let Mike do all the work, because it worked out better for both of us that way.

Though, I could not escape Mike before Gym was over.

"Look," he said, looking at the ground, ironically.

"I'm not going to tell you what to do," he said. "I get it. You are going to do what you are going to do, but I will say this; you shouldn't date Cullen."

I rolled my eyes, "Oh? And why is that?"

"I don't know," he said. "The guy… something about him makes me think he a predator, you know? Like, you don't feel… I don't know, safe with him, I guess. He looks at you like something to eat."

I snorted. It was the best I could do to cover my laugh.

"I get it," he said, as though I had dismissed him. "It isn't up to me. But I don't want to see you get hurt."

That, at least, I could respect.

"I don't either, Mike," I said. "But he is what I want."

"Why though?" he asked. "I am not trying to be an ass, really. I just don't get it."

"Mike," I said patiently, "I understand, both that I matter to you and that I matter to Edward. But, and I say this because it is in your best interest; get over it. This isn't any of your business. You're welcome to be my friend, but that's it. You can accept that, or not. It's completely up to you."

"So," he said harshly, "I get to be your friend, so long as I act all the ways you accept and none of the way you don't? Is that it?"

I nodded, "Yes. I will not accept you acting entitled to me and my life. You're not. I will not accept you acting in ways that hurt me or my friends, including you. I am not obligated to be your friend no matter what."

It was a good thing class was over, because Mike stomped off without any sign that he would be willing to interact with me again any time soon. We changed out and as soon as I left the locker room, he was there. Unlike before, after Spanish, his eyes found mine immediately. He moved towards me a tad quicker than he normally had before, and with a relative abruptness, his hands came up to cradle my head. I was so caught up in feeling just how gentle his touch was, how careful and practically reverent it felt, that it wasn't until his touch caused a dull twinge from the spot where my racket had hit my head that I recognized his touch for what it was; it reminded me of his adopted father, the doctor's probing investigation to access the extent of my head injury. This lead to a string of question that paraded themselves through my mind. But the first answered itself.

"You were watching?" I asked, aghast. I didn't exactly feel spied on, but the idea of him seeing me so clumsy and ungainly, while he was the epitome of poise and grace, just made me feel awful.

"Yes," he said. "I'm sure that you would find high school just as tedious as we do after attending it for so long. Anything that makes the days here more interesting is a blessing."

There it was again. I wasn't a person or something worth valuing. I was an object, a curiosity, something to fill up his time and alleviate the boredom. He didn't care about me.

I was stomping away before I could remember that I couldn't hop in my truck and drive him because it was already home. Why the heck did I agree to him driving me anywhere!? I guess I was walking home.

He kept up easily with me, and I expected him to be asking me what was wrong, making excuses and justifications, but he didn't do any of that. Instead, as I ignored him completely and started down the most direct route towards the highway and my way home, he simply joined me. Except, when we stepped off the curb, he lost his footing on a small patch of mud and slid sideways, falling sidelong onto the damp pavement.

The resounding gritty smack as he landed drew the attention of everyone in the area. There were a few concerned hisses and some irreverent applause from some of the guys nearby. He stood up, his jacket splattered with dirty water and his hair mussed and his expression smarting. It wasn't fair that he should still look so charming. But all things considered, it was perhaps the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me.

"You didn't have to do that," I said, so that only he could hear as I dug a packet of tissues out of my bag and used a few to get most of the mess off his jacket.

"Do what?" he said, his expression giving nothing away, though his eyes gave me everything.

After I finished, he took my hand.

"We aren't the same," he said seriously. "And I am grateful for that; for though you see me for that I can be, I have spent hundreds of times that span seeing only the evil in me. I honestly wish that I were more like you, for it I was, I might actually be worthy of your attention."

And, that was perhaps the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me.

"You're insane," I said, wishing both that he wasn't still a mess and that he wouldn't be put out if I were to press my face into his chest.

He chuckled and smiled his crooked smile, "I think that we are in the same proverbial boat on this one. We both are used to seeing only the worst aspects of ourselves, while we choose to focus on only the worthier traits in the other. We view the others' impression as ludicrous and our own as patently obvious."

Before I could respond, his expression hardened.

"What?" I asked, looking around for what he was reacting to.

"My sister," he said, with a degree of annoyance I had never seen upon him. Immediately, I began looking for the impending attack of the glorious Rosalie, and came up short. Literally.

"Hello," chirruped the diminutive Alice who all but materialized out of the crowd.

"What is it?" Edward all but hissed, his teeth clenched.

Alice simply rolled her eyes, and kept her attention on me.

"Hi," I said, taken suddenly aback. I suddenly realized up until this point, I hadn't really considered Edward's family with any sort of context. I was still really getting used to the idea that I was walking around with a vampire, one that was as complex and interesting as any person I had ever met, and yet mattered to me more than anyone else had either. Trying to wrap my head around that and his family at the same time was nigh impossible.

Alice grinned at me.

"That's enough," said Edward. "Why aren't you looking after Rosalie?"

I frowned, and felt myself gearing up to admonish Edward for being rude and controlling, when I caught something in Alice's eye. As I did, she smiled at me, and in that smile, I knew that she saw what Edward was doing too. She understood that he was scared and defensive of me, and, somehow, her presence and expression pointed this out to me in just the right way for me to understand that my admonishments would do little good. As she and I stood there, we were communicating between each other without saying a word. Understanding and meaning were flowing back and forth, better than it ever had with Edward and me. We were connecting in a way that made it feel like ours was the chief exchange going on, as though Edward was on the outside of this thing going on between us, like he was the third wheel. As her expression seemed to playfully huff at the lunacy of boys, I couldn't help but laugh. She clutched my forearm in such a way that it felt natural for me to grip hers in return, as we were suddenly laughing together at the outlandish and melodramatic vampire in boy's clothing before us, equal parts horrified that his vampire sister was so physically familiar with me, probably risk my life in his eyes, and also that we were connecting, happily, instantaneously, and above all, fearlessly. He seemed to concede that there was little he could do in the situation by fall back sullenly to wait for us to subside in our effusive laughter that was directed solely at him, which, of course, only served to redouble our mirth. The grip on our arms rapidly became necessary to steady each other in turn. Finally, Edward went to go stand against a nearby wall and seemed to brood, in modelesque fashion.

"He really is quite impossible," she finally commented at long last as he settled back. "You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that."

"Laugh at him?" I giggled, trying not to get started again. She beamed.

"That too," she quipped, "but really, to meet you. He wouldn't have it."

I could sympathize, "He really just wants to keep me safe."

She gave me a look that cut right through me. It seemed to ask me if I really was so obtuse.

"I get it," I said.

"Do you?" she asked.

"You're going to say a gilded cage is still a cage," I said.

She tapped her lips with a single index finger, "Actually, what I was going to say is that the shackle you close yourself is still a shackle, but you really don't need me to explain that."

I didn't. Her presence here had done something important. Edward wasn't it. True, he mattered to me more than anyone else did right now, but Alice being here showed me, without her needing to explain it, that there were other people out in the world that were just as interesting and deep and as meaningful to me as he could be. She conveyed to me that I was beside him, not bound to him. He often tried to control me, and had I felt the least bit as though he might be the only chance I had for happiness in this world, refuting him in anything might feel impossible.

I knew what I had to do. I stood taller, and seemed to mentally prepare myself for the coming talk, when Alice took my arm, pulling me around as she looped hers in mine.

"Not so fast there," she smiled, us practically leaning into each other, then staying there, as though conspirators.

"He has no right to tell you what you can and can't do," she pointed out. "You know that and are very good at pointing it out, but you are missing the point."

"Which is?" I asked, and somehow the asking made her smile. She was nowhere near as beautiful as Edward or Rosalie, but her elfin face was very pretty.

"Telling him to stop controlling you is the same as trying to control him," she stated roundly.

I blinked at her. I hadn't thought about it that way. And, I'll be darned if she wasn't right!

"So," I said, "what should I do?"

To my surprise, she placed a chaste and friendly peck upon my check.

"You have a good heart, Bella," she said. "I am sure that you can figure it out."

I was slightly stunned for a moment.

"He has one too," I added, unthinkingly.

"Sure he does," she said. "When he uses it."

With a grin, she turned and walked away. I practically felt Edward behind me. It wasn't unsettling at all. I wondered if I leaned backwards, past the point of recovery, if he would be there to lean against or if he would just catch me. I felt somehow certain it would be one of the two, but I wasn't sure which. But then again, did it really matter?

"Dropping any eaves?" I asked with a grin.

"Alice is such a meddling-" he began.

"Hey," I said, looking him full in the face. To my surprise, he stopped and looked into my eyes.

Keeping my eyes on his face, I inspected him, each subtle shift and change that might come over him. Carefully, and in plain view, I raised a hand towards his face. He gave no indication that my well intentioned advancement would be ill-received. My fingertips just brushed his skin, and as they did so, his eyes locked on mine. Even as they skirted across his skin, my fingers heading for the depths of his hair, his gaze seemed to become less focused. For a moment I worried, but as soon as the emotion percolated through me, it seemed to rouse Edward back to attention in a way that made me think a lack of focus was good. An unfocused predator was not a successful one.

I settled my hand on his cheek, much as he had caressed mine earlier that day. His cool skin was soft and smooth. There was substance there that was undoubtedly Edward, and while it was animate and left him undiminished, there was a certain vitality that was not within him. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I could feel it.

"No heartbeat," he said, so that only I could hear.

It was a transcendent moment. He may not be able to read my mind, but he understood. We didn't have the sort of instant connection that Alice and I seemed to have, but somehow, our connection was stronger for having to be forged ourselves. He learned me, as I learned him.

I smiled, and his expression softened.

"It doesn't matter what Alice is," I said. "I am here. You are here. I have everything I want. I'm grateful."

A languorous smile spread across his face. He nestled into my hand, breathing deeply and stifling some emotion that flickered on his behind his eyes for a moment. In that moment, it didn't matter what it was. He would tell me when he was ready.

We walked together to the Volvo, arm in arm, my head leaning against his shoulder now and again, all thought of the dirt on his coat or control or strangeness out of our minds. Until we entered the car, at least.

"Finally," I said, as soon as the doors were shut.

"What?" he asked, that curiosity in his eyes again.

"I have been waiting to interrogate you all day," I said with a ring something like enthusiasm. "I haven't been able to speak plainly because we might be overheard."

He considered, "What do you want to ask me?"

First things first; "How is being a vampire different from being a human?"

He pressed his lips in thought as he started up the car. He wasn't nearly as quick to exit the parking lot, but I couldn't tell whether that was because there were other cars around or because he was less than eager to get me home.

"Firstly," he said, "I must ask a question of my own before I answer."

"Okay," I said.

"I don't want to part with you just yet," he said.

I felt myself blush and beam, but more beam than blush.

"That wasn't a question," I pointed out.

"Yes," he agreed, "but you see, the best pretense I have for not letting you leave would be to get you food. That would be a perfectly normal thing for a boyfriend to do, wouldn't it not?"

"I suppose," I said dubiously.

"However," he said, "making decisions is something that you enjoy doing, and though we already agreed that food is well with my purview to pay for, I wanted to ask if this is alright."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. I laughed even more at the confused look on his face, half shocked and half unsure. Reaching out, I took his hand resting on the gear shift, closer to me than to him.

"Edward," I said, feeling light, seemingly buoyed along on whatever Alice had left in her wake, "you can just ask me. I don't need to see that math."

He seemed confused, "I was asking."

I was about to explain, to show him that what he was really doing was trying to ask the question in the way to most likely have me answer the question in his favor. I inhaled, opened my mouth, and then turned. Standing next to a flashy red sports car several spaces away, was Alice. It was odd that I noticed her, what with the gaggle of boy standing about, staring at the car with drooling avarice. She stood in just the largest grab that could show her, still rather small, her eyes meeting mine with a little smile; a reminder.

And, I let the breath out of my lungs.

"You're right," I agreed. "Okay. Where is there to eat around here?"

I'm not sure if he was more confused or nonplussed. He offered up several suggestions, and then to his surprise, we went to a local burger joint. We walked in, ordered our food to-go, smiled and waved to a few kids from school, or, at least, I did, then we went back to the silver Volvo.

"I believe that this will be the first food eaten within this car," Edward commented with a smile.

I was instantly more self-conscious.

"I'll try not to spill anything," I said carefully.

"That is no problem," said Edward. "If you do, I'll simply buy another."

I gagged on my veggie burger a moment and managed to wave him off before he could do anything serious, like rip off the door and drag my out of the car to do the Heimlich or something.

Still, he looked mildly concerned as I quickly righted my own airways.

"You joke?" I asked, trying to clear my brain as well. "You're joking, right?"

"Of course," he said. "I am not so frivolous. Would you really think that of me?"

"I don't know," I said ardently. "Because, I don't really know you. That kind of why I am here, after all."

He watched me somewhat covertly as I carefully kept the wrapping between my burger and my hands, and between my burger and his car, taking small bites. At length I realizing that he wasn't really critiquing my way of eating so much as paying attention to me because he liked to and because he was looking for the right words to say at a time when I wouldn't risk choking again.

"Vampires are different from people in many, many ways," he said. "Please understand that I don't have a clear comparison, since my memories of that time in my life are magnitudes older than my human parents ever lived to be."

I put more burger in my mouth, as though to silence any words that might fight their way out, unbidden.

"As a vampire," he said, "I do not eat or drink, save for artifice. It is a bit like holding something wholly unappetizing in your mouth, only more so. It can't stay within us long and we must get rid of it as soon as we can."

I didn't ask how he did that.

"We don't breathe as such," he said, "save for scenting the air and to speak. I think the longest I have spent underwater was the better part of forty six hours, but I eventually got bored and returned to the beach."

It wasn't until a scrap of veggie burger fell onto my hand from my mouth that I realized I was gaping. I quickly nipped it back into my mouth and hid my face behind the burger as I took another bite. He was gracious enough to at least pretend he hadn't noticed.

"I am not sure how long we can go without sleep," he said, "but that is a metric I never had need to test. Rather than sleep eight hours a day, I sleep about eight minutes a week, usually at school."

He flashed me a devil-may-care smile, and my stomach did a series of backward handsprings, tumbling my burger with it.

"We are, essentially," he said, as carefree as his previous comment, "dead things."

There was a moment of silence.

"We are little more than animate corpses," he said went on, as though my lack of a negative response was cause to continue. "We have no life to speak of, so we all must pay for all manner of living function that your body normally handles naturally with our inhuman one."

"Hmm?" I asked around a mouthful.

With a suppressed smile, he darted a hand briefly between us, coming away with a smear of ketchup from the corner of my mouth. Embarrassed, I handed him a napkin and he wiped it away.

"My body does not heal," he said. "It does not repair itself. It is not warm. Its heart does not beat. It does not endure. Only one thing keeps this vessel in motion, allows me to recover from hurt, to persist, to be as I once was."

"Blood," I replied. He nodded.

"And only one thing strips us of that single power," he said.

I looked at him.

"Sun," he said.

I looked at him, "But I have seen you during the day a lot."

"Yes," he said, "But how much, really? How often in direct sunlight? At noon? Outdoors?"

He had a point.

"We can persist a while," he said. "It burns the blood out of us, makes us weak, old, mortal, takes what little activity we have, reposes us. We have to stay where there is little sun if we wish to be out at all in the day. Overcast days are best, with indirect light and the excuse to remain indoors as much as we can."

"Somewhere where there is a lot of rain?" I queried and he grinned.

"What is it like?" I asked.

"Hiding?" he asked in turn.

"Drinking," I countered.

He swallowed. All care and pleasantry drains from his face.

"Do you really wish to know it?" he asked, sounding distant, reserved and maybe even a little scared.

"All of you," I clarify. He gave a little nod of determination.

"I have little context," he said, "save for what I have gleaned from the minds of humans. But from what pale reflections I have seen in their minds, there really isn't a human activity that compares to it. It is the act of absorbing liquid life. It is like the most exquisite pleasure, the most satisfying satiation. Like humans, I suppose, wars have been fought for it, and vampires have died for it. It is the most powerful drive we have, save for one that most do not ever find."

I swallowed for a couple of different reasons, "Which is?"

"Love," he said simply. His eyes lingered long on me. Unwanted and undeniable hope spring up within me. Unwanted because there was still a part of me that believed this unbelievable dream would inevitably end, and undeniable because I found that with more and more time spent in it, I never wanted to wake again.

"But, as I said," he went on. "Most never find it. And still more are not capable of it. Blood is, I suppose, less complex, easier, quicker, in some ways more reliable."

I didn't like that idea. I didn't like it at all.

"Do you feel that way?" I asked.

I looked at me. As his eyes roved over my face, he seemed as though he might be searching for something.

"No," he said quietly, but surely. "At least, I believe that love is more powerful than the desire for blood. I am just not certain I am capable of love, or worthy of it."

"I am," I said. It was the only thing I could think of to say that wasn't arguing with him.

"Condemning me already?" he asked with a sly smile. I frowned at him, but I couldn't keep it up for long.

"I am not sure how capable of love I am either," I said. "But when it comes to you, it is sort of tougher."

He looked at me, "What do you mean?"

I shrugged, collecting my thoughts.

"Everyone is worth loving," I said. "But, I am not going to be egotistical enough to suggest that I am capable of loving anyone. There are some people who are just beyond my desire or ability to love. You…"

I felt my throat close at the very idea that he might not have love, and that he wasn't sure if he truly deserved it.

"You are the most worthy man I have ever known," I said. "To me, you are worthy of more than I think I can give, than I am capable of."

He looked suddenly horrified, so much so that I found myself wanting to look around and find the source of such distress. Surely, nothing I had said or done could have caused such abhorrence.

"Never say that!" he said, so loudly that I was worried someone might actually hear him. But my worry was swept quickly aside by how ardent his words struck me.

"You," he said, sounding a bit choked himself, "are the most compassionate woman I have ever encountered. You could give my adopted mother and father a run for their money, and they have had better than five hundred years in total to learn how to accept and care for those about them. Should you choose to love anyone, they would be blessed beyond reason. I do not deny that you believe I deserve it, but that doesn't mean I know how to accept it. I have been denying myself for so long…. I didn't want to believe that love was possible for me."

"Why?" I asked, still more abashed.

"Because," he said, looking away, "if I could be loved, how could I justify my own monstrousness?"

I finished off my burger, not sure what else to say for the moment. His eyes weren't on me, but then again, they didn't have to be.

"How do you see the world?" I asked.

He grinned, "You are very nearly as curious about me as I am about you."

He looked back at me, his eyes sharp and keen and the most gorgeous things I had ever seen, even black and covered as they were.

"I suppose," he said, "I see the world as you do, only more of it, more clearly. If you close your eyes, you still have a sense of the room around you. We have that as well, only our definition of the world is much more defined. I can sense the surrounding area by hearing, but I do it so well, it is almost like a form of echolocation, save that I don't need to be making the sounds myself to sense the world. I can smell a wider range of scents, as well as capture more information from less actual scent. By touch, I can tell wind direction and whether anything is moving around me, even in the dark, even from meters away. I can also feel heat with a greater degree of precision, to the point that I can tell directionality. I haven't tested it, but I believe vampire skin can sense the actual infrared radiation, not simply the excitation of air molecules. My sight is considerably better, allowing me to see nearly as well at night as humans do in the day. I also have a heightened proprioception, so I can sense where my limbs are and the placement of my body with a much more precise gauge."

I swallowed, "So, what do your senses tell you about me?"

He grinned a little, but there was something sad behind his eyes.

"I couldn't tell you much," he said. "What I know about you colors what I sense too much. I know you just ate. Your heartbeat is slower, your skin cooler in your extremities. It will be harder for you to enter…"

He stopped, looking away.

"What?" I asked, feeling concerned, "What is it?"

He seemed to collect himself, but poorly.

"I am truly sorry," he said. "I did something rather rude. I wanted to answer your question, wanted to be better than I am. But, it isn't very helpful to me to talk about that. You see, I… I don't want to think of you as prey. I have a hard enough time not doing that already."

"I'm sorry," I said, and he chuckled.

"Yes," he said teasingly, "because it is all your fault I'm a monster."

I frowned at him, but that only made him more amused, which made me less.

"Alright," I said, a tad grumpily. "It wasn't my fault and you're not a monster. Okay?"

"We have an accord," he said with a smile.

"Why are you so happy?" I asked, trying not to sound like a grouch.

"You're here," he said. "I have so many reasons to be happy because of that."

There was a short silence, not an uncomfortable one.

"Tell me what you are thinking," he said, the boyish eagerness of him the only thing from keeping the statement from sounding like a command.

"I don't know," I lied. I was thinking about his lips, the way they moved when he spoke. They seemed really soft, not too full, but not thin, not pouty or chapped. If I looked closely, I thought I could detect the faintest purple blue to the corners of his mouth, which was sort of pretty.

"Liar," he said carelessly, as though it truly didn't matter.

"Fine," I said. "I am not going to tell you what I am thinking."

"Why?" he asked, the question doing many interesting things to those lips.

"Too embarrassing," I said, shaking my head.

He considered, "What of commerce?"

"Huh?" I asked.

He grinned, "I will confer onto you something embarrassing in kind if you tell me this something you find embarrassing."

"Okay," I said. "Tell me."

He laughed, "You believe I will go back on my word?"

"No," I all but blurted.

He looked into me, those eyes like vast worlds, deep and full and glorious. I wasn't sure if he was entirely truthful when he said his compulsion didn't work on me.

"Some trust, please, Bella," he said. And I felt myself all but melt.

"I want to kiss you," I said. And promptly slapped my hand over my mouth and sat back in my seat, my face a color usually reserved for a bruised red delicious.

He looked amused, then fearful, pensive, then horrified, then tender, then sad, then bewildered, then nearly heartbroken.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, unable to get my clasped hands off of my face. "I'm so so sorry!"

I looked out the window, and wondered if I could get out and walk home without anyone seeing me. That was the sort of gossip I really didn't want.

Then, I felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Bella," he said, my name soft on his lips. I cast him a furtive glance.

"Vampires…" he said, his words failing him.

"We do not have the same drives you do," he said quietly.

"What does that mean?" I asked, sounding almost afraid for some reason.

He sighed, which made me stifle a tense giggle.

"Our blood doesn't flow," he said.

I wasn't following what he was saying. In my own fear, I looked at his face. Just that momentary sight, and I couldn't believe what I saw. Fear, shame, worry, doubt. It looked wholly wrong on him. Suddenly, I had no thought for my own fear. All I cared for was to take the fear from him.

"Edward," I said, my voice cajoling, consoling. "It's alright. You can tell me."

I'm not sure who reached for whom, but his cool hand was suddenly in mine.

"I guess I really don't trust, do I?" he asked rhetorically. Ironically, I still asked, "What does that mean?"

He chortled, "I really don't trust this. No. I guess I really don't trust you. It is interesting."

I tried really, really hard not to feel hurt. I managed it just long enough for him to go on.

"That is no reflection upon you," he said seriously. "I have spent my whole life believing that any happiness I might have will be ripped away from me. I believed that my penance for all the evilness in me was to never truly be happy. Every time I thought for a moment that it might be possible, I found only hollowness, followed by disillusionment. It turns out, all the chances I had for happiness before now weren't genuine. Because, I hadn't met someone like you yet. No; that isn't right either. It was because I hadn't met you yet."

He brushed the back of my hand with his thumb.

"I think it is time," he said, "that I actually trust you."

I felt a shiver go down my spine that had little to do with the cool tingles he was sending through my arm.

"We are dead things, vampires," he said. "As such, we don't partake in the life sustaining, life affirming activities that you humans do. Eating, drinking, growing, aging, as well as other more… amorous activities."

"Oh," I said, finally getting it.

He looked sad almost, "We can, after a fashion. That is to say, it is a bit like, say, having relations with someone outside of your orientation, yet without even the possibility of… release. It is possible, but not really desirous."

I nodded, looking down, "So, we'll never…"

He moved, and I turned to see him face me more in his seat.

"I don't really know," he said. "I suppose, there is a fair chance, should we become close… if it was something that you wanted… but, even so, I am having a hard enough time with the idea of simply kissing you. To be that close, that…"

I swore that I could see a bit of maroon show through his contact.

"Don't worry about it," I said, trying not to sound dejected. "I wouldn't want you to put yourself out. If kissing me is that… distasteful, I really couldn't-"

"Bella," he said, almost chidingly. "You misunderstand me…"

I couldn't look at him, even as he took my hand in both of his.

"This," he said, stroking my hand, which felt good enough that my eyes fluttered shut of their own accord.

"This," he said again, "this is vital to us as it is to you. Touch, embracing, the affirmation of another's existence through tactile sensation, that is just as meaningful to us as it is to you. A kiss, is just as powerful to us, maybe more so than it is to you. But, you see, that kiss… is naturally done between two vampires."

I understood. Kissing me would be hard, not because he was repulsed by me, but because he wanted to kill me. Which, naturally because my brain was stupid, meant I registered only one detail.

"You want to kiss me?" I asked, trying very hard not to sound hopeful. Or overjoyed.

He actually guffawed. He was all but rolling in his seat. I might have been a bit pink.

"Sweet Bella," he said. "Understand this; until I met you, I never once regretted what I am. I wondered what my life might have been had I never met Carlisle, even if I had never contracted the Spanish Influenza. I frequently hated myself and what I was, but I never regretted the necessity of it. My entire horrific, monstrous existence feels entirely justified, if only to have met you. But once I did, never had I desired to be human more strongly."

"Why?" I asked.

He snorted, which seemed sort of odd, coming from him.

"Bella," he said. "It would mean that I could hold your hand without risk to your safety. It would mean that I could be close to you, hold and have you, if you would have me, without wanting anything more than you. I would mean that I could kiss you, that my body could respond to yours, as it was intended to. It means we could have a life together."

"You got that from me," I said.

He looked taken aback, "Huh?"

It was my turn to guffaw, except mine was more like a braying mule. It was some time before I could stop giggling, caught between embarrassment and both definitions of hysterical.

"You are starting to sound like me," I said. "Snorting and picking up some of my words, I guess."

He smiled, "Am I?"

He seemed altogether pleased by this. I was too.

"But is it possible?" I asked.

"Is what possible?" he asked back.

"You kissing me?" I asked.

He looked unsure.

"It is," he said, "but it is very dangerous. If I were to hurt you…"

Again, the thrill of him being rough rippled through me.

"And stop that!" he chided.

"What?!" I retorted, sitting straight up in my seat.

He sighed, "It is distracting, when… you become aroused."

Well, nothing turns a girl off quite like having it pointed out.

"Yeah," I said vaguely, "I can't really… see, that might just be a little unavoidable."

He looked hard at me.

"Try," he said harshly, then added, "please."

I was very still, until he added, "It makes you smell like prey."

That sobered me right up.

"Okay," I said. I was even more determined than ever not to make this any harder for him that it already was. If I was good, did all the right things, there might be a kiss in my future. No! Stop that! Safe thoughts. Only safe thoughts.

"I…" he began, then folded, "I am sorry."

"Sorry?" I asked in disbelief. I think he had said that maybe three times to me, and never like that, as though he truly meant it.

"I am blaming you for my reactions," he said. "It is a bit like protesting the knife when I cuts yourself while cooking."

I frowned, "I'm not sure I follow."

"The knife is just a knife," he said. "The action could have been prevented by me, and even if it was not reasonably avoidable, my reaction is still up to me."

He looked at the remnants of my meal and seemed to take a slow breath.

"I should take you home," he said.

"No!" I protested, shocked by how loud my protest was.

He looked at me and smiled, "Do you want to risk your father asking why you aren't driving the truck?"

I looked at the time.

"We have time yet," I said, not wanting this to end on such a sour note. "I'll risk it."

He shook his head, "At least this is a simple risk."

"As opposed to sitting in the car with a vampire?" I asked.

He grinned, if a bit bashfully.

"I want to help," I said, finally voicing out loud what I had been thinking before.

"Help?" he asked, unsure.

"I am not just a knife," I said.

He considered that and smiled, "Of course you're not."

His cold fingers found mine, and something in me eased. All of that, all the worry and the risk and the craziness that was this… relationship, all of that fell away. He was here and I was here and somehow, I felt like we could do anything, together.

"Tell me something else," I said. He smiled.

"What?" I asked as he pulled the car into motion.

"You really have no idea how restrained I have been," he intoned, "now that we are truly talking. You have no idea how many times I have wanted to ask that question, all together, let alone today, and haven't."

"You ask then," I said, not wanting to monopolize the conversation.

He smiled, "You have asked first. I can be patient."

I smiled at him, playfully, "Oh?"

He laughed, "To a point."

I squeezed his hand.

"What would you like to know?" he asked.

I considered, "How do you become a vampire?"

I thought I heard something crack in the steering wheel. He turned and looked at me, and I wasn't sure what the expression on his face was. He didn't look exactly like he was thinking about killing me, more like he was being killed, as though he was terrified and angry in equal measure, and trying very, very hard not to direct that anger at me, with marginal success. It was thrilling to behold.

"You will never know that," he said.

It wasn't as though he was making a statement; it was more an edict, a law, an indelible fact that he would not and could not let come to pass. It scared him hugely.

"Okay," I said, my voice calm. It was the calm I think that did it, that shook him from his sudden frightful fury. He slowed the car to a stop, seeming to settle into himself, to relax purposefully, if not easily, by degrees, his eyes closing. At last, he opened them and seemed his usual self again, if quiet and a bit distant.

"I do humbly apologize for my rudeness," he said. "I was ill-prepared for that particular question. We should move along, I think, to another, if you don't mind."

I smiled, "I don't mind."

He looked so grateful, as though what I had done was a gift, rather than me simply being myself. I just couldn't really see how that would be so… valuable to him.

"What do you enjoy?" I asked.

"You," he said immediately, with almost no time for thought. I couldn't help but beam.

"No, but really," I said.

He considered.

"Of all my family," he said, "I am the only one without a partner, before now. And, other than my father and my brother Jasper, I am the oldest of us, though he didn't join our family until nearly sixty years ago. In that time, I have had no one to occupy my time as they have had, and as such, I have spent it… learning."

This was something, at least, that I could understand.

"I love to learn," I said. "There is just so much, and understanding and knowing… it is so…"

"Reassuring somehow," he agreed, and I nodded.

"I learned all that I could," he said. "I learned medicine, from Carlisle and from university. I have two degrees in medicine, to say nothing of my time studying alone. There really isn't a subject that I haven't studied upon at length, save for the more popular ones of the day. It will be some time before I fully understand the Internet the way you all do."

I laughed, "You are such an old man."

He laughed as well, if less loudly.

"I am," he said. "But if I had to put my finger on my most long loved passion, it would be… music."

"Music?" I asked. "How so?"

He turned to the CD player and pushed a few buttons, then, the car was suddenly filled with Piano Sonata number fourteen, third movement, by Beethoven. My eyes were suddenly riveted to him as his closed, him seeming to basque in the music, to let it occupy his entire being, as though there was nothing else in the world by the notes flowing about us. The emotion it inspired in him was playing about his face with abandon, and it took me a moment to notice his hands, now laid upon his thighs, were twitching and shifting ever so slightly, and I realized he was not only hearing the music, feeling it; he was playing it too.

The song seemed to take an eternity to finish, and no time at all. I wished that it could have gone on forever, for I felt as though I could have been happy to watch him be himself in that moment, raw and pure and unrestrained, and do so without end. And yet, I was glad that it was over, because that meant I could do what I wished.

Carefully, without fear yet slowly, I took his nearest hand. Drawing it up and to me, he turned as watched as I brought it to my lips and lightly kissed his knuckles. His skin was soft and though no life pulsed beneath the skin, there was something clean and pure about his skin. For all his talk of being a dead thing, there was something wholesome, vital about him.

He stared at me, his eyes wide, his expression rather undecipherable. His face pinched and relaxed and stretched in weird ways, almost as though it wasn't sure how to convey what he was feeling, almost as though he wasn't capable of it.

"Is this okay?" I asked, my lips almost brushing his skin as my breath did.

He nodded, as though incapable of forming words. He still didn't move, but it wasn't like his stillnesses before, when he was so motionless that he didn't seem real; it was almost as though he couldn't do or express what he wanted to do or express with the body he had.

"You…" he said. "What are you?"

I smiled, "Bella."

He was suddenly mobile again, his face splitting in a serene smile.

"Would that five letters could encapsulate all that you are!" he laughed. "The stars could slip from the heavens and find solace in the depth of your eyes. The moon could grace her countenances on your. The sky could swim about in your hair. And every rose petal on this earth could kiss their softness into your full lips. All of that and more could befall you, and still, you would not be half again as comely as you are to me now, sweet Bella."

I couldn't…. I just couldn't. The tears came, and I wanted so desperately to wipe them away, to not feel silly and weak. And strangely, I didn't. Even weepy and wet-faced in front of this, the epitome of beautiful boy, whose favor I begged the hardest, I felt unburdened by my feelings, and, for the first time in my life, I cried happy tears for myself.

One graced the edge of his finger, when still so close to my face, it had but to straighten to find its way into the path of a tear. His hand slipped from mine as he brought it to his eyes before he carefully tasted it. It was almost a reverent act as he did so, like the music, necessitating all his attention. Once he was finished, he returned his hand to mine.

"I feel lucky," I said.

He snorted, "I do as well."

It didn't take long for his expression to sour.

"What?" I asked.

He looked apologetic.

"I don't suppose I will ever get over what I am," he said. "What wouldn't I give to be able to be closer to you now!"

I unbuckled my seat belt.

"Bella," he said, wary worry in his voice and face.

"Don't move," I said, my eyes on his, focused and steady while his were nearly frantic. He obeyed.

I slid from my seat slowly, as slow as I dared without nearly toppling over, trying to support my weight on my hands while I shift my feet. I didn't come to sit in his lap, but only because I kept some distance between us. I leaned across the seat, my hip against his leg, mine still in my seat, mostly sitting on the parking brake. So settled, I pulled his closer arm around me as I leaned my head carefully down upon his chest. Still as he was, cool as he was, he was still so very gratifying to be that which I lead on, nestled into. I vaguely wondered what it would be like to lay upon him, cool and crisp as clean sheets, soft and yet firm beneath me, real and vital yet cool and capable of being inert.

Then, so slowly I wasn't sure of it at first, his other hand came up, finding my hair and gently brushing through it. It was… breathtaking.

I wanted to ask if this was alright, but instead, I let him say. I decided to trust him to speak up if this was too much, and he did not. I could have stayed there through the night, but after so much time, I wondered about my dad coming home, he stirred.

"Your dad?" he asked.

I tried not to laugh.

"You're getting good at that," I pointed out.

He smiled as I came back to my seat.

"That was…" he said, and I nodded, knowing too that words did it no justice.

"I don't know how I am going to do it," I said.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Go inside," I said. "Walk into my house. Go up to my room. Do my homework. Be that other Bella, that one that I am when I am away from you. It isn't that I can't or that I don't want to. It is more like, I don't know how to fit both together in me. How can I be just a normal girl and still be… I don't know; a part of something that seemed more like a dream than not."

He grinned, "You were never a normal girl."

I couldn't help but smile, "You were never a normal vampire."

He laughed.

"Getting out of this car is simple," he said. "You simply need to remember one thing."

I felt almost like a rebellious child, defiant and unwilling to give in so easily.

"And that is?" I asked, hoping my near petulance came off as endearing. If his expression was any indication, I absolutely was.

"We will have another day, just like this one, tomorrow," he said. "Only better, because we will know each other that much better than the day before."

When he put it like that, it didn't sound so utterly terrible…

"Will you pick me up again tomorrow?" I asked.

He smiled, "Gladly."

"Okay," I said. I gathered my bag, slipping outside. I was on the porch before I heard it.

"Oh, and Bella," he said, sounding like he had stuck his head out the window. I turned, to find that he was standing before me, so close that I couldn't make out much of anything around his shoulders. I looked up at his face, his almost smug expression.

"Don't move," he said. I tried my best.

He slipped his hand about the small of my back. I was having trouble not going weak in the knees, but he helped hold me. His other hand was in my hair again, and I was suddenly almost frightened at the prospect of this being it, of this being the moment he would kiss me. But as he tilted my head, I realized the angle was wrong. His forehead met mine, and I felt his cool skin on mine as a balm. He was not there more than a moment, but it felt like much, much longer.

"Thank you," he said. He disentangled himself, taking a step back, looking happier than I had ever seen him. I would have looked that way too, if I wasn't so thoroughly floored by him and near collapse. He grinned all the wider.

"Oh," he said, just before turning and slipping back to the car.

"Tomorrow," he said. "It is my turn to ask the questions…"

And like that, he was gone.