A/N: This chapter and the next were originally one, going by the original Life and Death, but it was so long I decided to split it into two. (This one actually had a fairly good stopping place, unlike the last one. I feel like I can focus more on the writing when the chapters are a more manageable length, though unfortunately most of my time ended up getting suctioned into fixing one particular scene.)
Anyway, hope you enjoy, and see you at the end!
Chapter 13: Good Deed
We walked in silence to Biology. I tried to concentrate on the fact that he was here, next to me, and savor every moment—to stave off the images from Archie's vision trying to crowd their way into my thoughts.
We passed Allen, who had stopped on the sidewalk. A girl from his Trigonometry class had stopped him to ask a question about a problem on an assignment.
I scanned his mind cursorily as I was in the habit of doing, hardly expecting to find anything new, and was immediately startled at the tone of his thoughts.
Apparently, there was something he wanted after all. The question was—could I help him get it?
I went next to the girl's mind. I blinked, then smiled to myself.
It shouldn't be a problem. Not for someone with my particular advantages, anyway.
By the time we reached the Biology classroom, I already had my plan worked out.
It was an old story—two people who secretly liked each other, but too embarrassed and shy to say anything. Allen, humble and quiet, never considered for a moment she might feel the same way, and so it had never even entered his mind the possibility of giving any outward indication of his feelings, let alone ask her out. He was generally quiet around her, hardly saying more than a few syllables.
Becca Cheney, the girl in question, a shorter girl who was good in math and lugged around a bag that was forever weighed down with Japanese romance comics, had liked him almost since they had met in sophomore year. But though she had done her best to drop subtle hints, Allen seemed oblivious. She hadn't been able to work up the courage to ask him to the girl's choice dance, and he'd ended up going with Erica, though Erica had complained later he was too quiet and not enough fun. Becca apparently still tried to find excuses to talk to him when she could, but she was on the verge of giving up.
Allen was too unassuming to pick up on the signals, or guess at how she felt—I definitely felt her pain. Well, this was one love story that didn't have to have a disappointing ending. All they needed was a bit of a push in the right direction. The interference of a nosy, manipulative mind-reader who didn't know how to mind her own business.
My mood was almost restored as we entered the classroom and took our seats. I liked the idea of helping Allen. Besides, my time with Beau was limited—every second counted. I shouldn't waste it worrying what Archie or anyone else was thinking, or imagining the horrors I would never allow to happen anyway.
Mrs. Banner entered the room, pulling an ancient television and VCR mounted on a tall metal cart behind her. This was a section of the unit she wasn't particularly interested in—genetic disorders—and she always skipped past it by showing a movie for three days. Lorenzo's Oil. Not a very cheerful piece by any stretch of the imagination, but the students were happy anyway. No notes, no testable material—to a human high school student, three days of movie were three days of freedom.
Not that it would have mattered to me either way. I was only going to be paying attention to one thing.
In every Biology class we'd had, I'd always placed my chair as far from him as possible, to give myself room to breathe. Today I pulled up right beside him, as close as a normal human would have sat—maybe a little closer. Barely inches separated us, much closer than we had been even in my car.
I was intensely aware of the heat he was radiating against my left side. It was nerve-wracking and distracting, impossible to focus on anything else, but not in an unpleasant way. I wanted to move closer still—until our arms were touching. Reach over and take his hand in mine, just like in the cafeteria...
However, I forced myself to reign in the thought. I had to be careful—that was the rule. I had let him touch my hand, and that seemed safe, so long as I kept still, but I still had to make sure my concentration didn't falter. I had to make sure I was paying attention every moment, and doubly so whenever we were in contact. I could never let myself forget that all it would take was one mistake.
Mrs. Banner pushed the tape into the VCR, and as it started to play, she headed around to the back to switch off the lights.
The room was suddenly dark. Mrs. Banner had pulled down all the blinds before class, so I didn't doubt that the other students couldn't see much. Little changed for me—I could still see the entire room in perfect detail.
Normally for my kind the darkness made us feel more relaxed. We were made for the night, and that was when our many advantages were at their greatest. We always preferred to hunt at night, when we could.
But the moment the lights went down, I felt suddenly tense. The air seemed to be buzzing with a kind of electricity that I knew had nothing to do with the old television.
I stared straight ahead, aware of nothing except that he was sitting right beside me, centimeters away, and that, in the darkness, it was almost as if we were alone, invisible to the others. I had the nearly overpowering impulse to touch him—not like in the cafeteria, where he had initiated the contact. I wanted to brush my fingertips against his warm skin, run my fingers over each of his knuckles and down to the end of his fingers. To reach up and trace my finger along the shape of his jaw...
I folded my arms decisively across my chest and clenched my hands into fists. No. No mistakes. I had to be concentrating every moment when were in contact, in absolute control—and right now I didn't feel particularly in control.
The movie started playing, brightening the room slightly, and I couldn't stop my eyes glancing in his direction. I only meant to look for a fraction of a second, but he glanced at me at the same moment and our eyes met.
I noticed his posture mirrored mine—back rigid and tense, arms folded tightly across his chest. I wondered if he was imitating me, or if he, too, was feeling the peculiar electric hum in the air around us. I smiled a little sheepishly, and I hoped he couldn't read in my eyes the thoughts going through my mind.
Beau looked away from me, to the television at the front. I saw in the darkness color creeping up his face, and the heat I felt beside me intensified.
The hour passed slowly. In a bizarre way, it almost reminded me of that very first day in Biology, where I sat rigid in my seat, fighting the overpowering hunger for his blood. This temptation was not so murderous or horrific, but it felt nearly as impossible to resist. It was a hunger of a different kind—one I had never fully experienced before now.
The entire hour I spent debating with my own rational mind, trying to convince myself touching his hand once wouldn't hurt him. Despite my strength, I could easily moderate the pressure of my fingers—in fact, my tactile sense was better developed than a human's. I could juggle a dozen crystal goblets without breaking them, I could stroke a soap bubble without bursting it. There was nothing to worry about—so long as I kept my discipline firm.
Don't, I insisted to myself sternly. Don't take unnecessary risks.
It was a long, torturous hour—and yet when it was over, I sank slightly in disappointment, and unlike that first terrible day, I thought I wouldn't have minded another hour, or two, or day. If it meant I could sit next to him and let these charged, unfamiliar sensations continue to sink in.
However, as the lights came back up, he looked relieved. His rigid posture finally relaxed, and he let his arms fall. The fingers of his clenched fists looked stiff, and he had to work to try to loosen them.
The look on his face made me laugh, and he glanced around at me.
"Well, that was... interesting," I noted, speaking softly. I watched him carefully.
He looked like he was having trouble getting his eyes to focus. "Umm," he said vaguely in response.
"Shall we?" I made my tone light as I got to my feet and took up my bag. He wordlessly followed me and, without discussion, I headed with him toward his Gym class.
Things felt... awkward. Tense. In a way, even more tense than they had last night in my car, when we were talking about vampires and the fact I'd wanted to kill him when we first met.
This was turning dangerous now. It was spiraling out of control. I knew these impulses were purely hormonal—I'd never considered this particular downside to being frozen at the age of seventeen, arguably the years when the power of hormones was at its peak—but if I gave reign to them even a little, gave in to the extreme temptation, I could so easily hurt him, even kill him.
And yet...
My eyes flickered to him, walking beside me. One thing was clear, this dream wasn't going to last forever. I was only going to have this for a short time—until I found the strength to leave, or he lived out the rest of his life and died of old age. How many more chances would I have like this? To just—reach out and touch him. Lightly, just once. Surely that wouldn't be such a crime. I would inevitably regret it if I didn't. Surely there could be no harm...
We came to a stop at the gym door. He turned to gaze down at me and, though his mouth opened to say something, he froze, starting slightly as he took in the expression on my face.
I stared up into his wide, blue eyes, and I could see my own face mirrored back at me. I saw in my reflection the torment, the conflict that burned there. He didn't say anything, only stared down at me, aware of the strain of the moment.
Don't do it, warned the voice in the back of my mind. If you give into this now, where will it end?
But my hand was already moving, reaching, up to his face—his perfect, exquisite face that was forever the focus of all my thoughts. He watched me, unmoving.
My hand hesitated a second. Then, as gently as if I were touching the thinnest glass, I stroked the line of his jaw.
His skin was warm beneath mine—I felt the pulse of blood beneath it and some of the heat flowed into me.
The moment of contact didn't bring with it any relief. Instead, my mind seemed suddenly to open with a thousand possibilities—ways we might touch. I imagined my entire palm curling around the side of his cheek, wrapping my arms around his neck, my head resting against his chest...
I spun around before the sudden craving could overpower me. And, without saying another word, I quickly walked away, back down the hall.
However, of course my thoughts remained behind with him.
McKayla Newton happened to be there, having just stopped outside the girls' changing room in time to witness that last moment before we had parted. Her mind was a convenient place to watch him from, and I saw as she saw him wander past her in a daze.
Her shock—though she'd been expecting something like this since this morning—quickly turned to anger. For the moment, she completely forgot her resolve to forget about Beau.
I can't stand her, she seethed. Oh, I can't stand her. What kind of game is she playing? How much longer is she going to keep this up?
As she entered the girls' changing room and Beau entered the boys' side, she continued to fume. I pulled my concentration back from her mind, and instead worked to get a hold of myself.
I was already feeling remorse for the brief moment of contact, even as it had me desperately longing for more. Wanting to push my own rules and boundaries further than I'd ever pushed them before. I'd been right to compare today in Biology to that first day—the burn I felt now was not unlike the burn for his blood. Once I had the taste in my mouth, it made me want more, made it almost impossible to stop. I had to keep a better hold over myself. My restraint, my self-control was everything. I could savor the memory... but I couldn't let it happen again. I wouldn't.
I breathed deeply to steady my thoughts just as Eleanor caught up to me just outside the English building.
"Hey, girl." Wow, she's looking better than she did at lunch. Excited.
"Hey, El," I said. Did I look excited? I wasn't sure. Maybe I was overestimating the effect of my conscience. My fingers tingled as I remembered the feel of his warm, soft skin and, quite abruptly, my mood was soaring.
Eleanor's mouth pursed, and she raised an eyebrow at me. So. You told him, huh? Everything?
I sighed. "Pretty much." I kept my voice too low for humans to overhear. "Sorry. How's Royal taking it?"
She shrugged. Like you'd expect. He's just buzzing like a hornet. You'll be in for it when you get back. Jessamine's not happy either.
"What about you?" I asked, still talking under my breath.
Eleanor flashed a grin. Well, it did kind of make me want to put you in a headlock. I mean, if you were going to go spill all our secrets to a human, I'd figure you'd at least call a meeting first. But, I guess it had to happen sometime. Considering what Archie saw.
An image of Beau, his skin alabaster white and his eyes a glowing crimson, flashed through her mind.
I stared straight ahead, trying not to think of Archie's visions—any of them.
I needed a distraction of some kind, and I paused as I caught sight of Becca Cheney slipping into Spanish ahead of us. I smiled as the plan I'd concocted returned to my mind.
"Hey, El," I said softly to her under my breath. "There's something I'm going to do... if you don't mind, please don't interfere."
She glanced back at me, mystified. Do? Do what?
I grinned. "A good deed."
She frowned at me, curious.
Becca was already in her seat behind mine, scrambling to assemble the homework due this period. She flipped through a couple of pages, making sure she hadn't grabbed her homework for another class by mistake, as she had done last week. When her glasses slipped down her nose, she pushed them up again, oblivious to Eleanor and I as we slid into our usual seats.
The classroom was not quiet yet, murmurs of conversation still going on until Mr. Goff called for attention. He was in no hurry, still in the middle of grading some quizzes from the previous class.
I took advantage of the delay to turn around in my seat.
"Becca?" I murmured in a low, polite voice.
She immediately froze, hands still gripped around the papers, in the act of checking over the answers to her homework again. She stared down at the desk.
Must have imagined it, she thought at last, and gingerly moved to resume what she was doing.
"Becca," I said again, smiling, a little louder this time.
Becca's eyes stayed trained on her desk, her heart suddenly pounding. Is that Edythe Cullen? Is she talking to me?
She raised her eyes slowly, apprehensively, to meet mine. "Yes?" she answered in a small voice.
I flashed a smile. "How's your week been so far, Becca?"
"Um... good." She continued to stare at me with wide, slightly terrified eyes. Edythe Cullen is talking to me. This is weird. This is really, really weird.
Keeping my voice too low for anyone other than Eleanor to overhear, I said, "I was wondering, Becca, if you might consider doing something for me. Just a little favor."
She gazed back at me uncertainly. I knew it. I knew she had to want something—but why me? Her mental tone was full of dread, filled with vague, only half-remembered stories of pranks cool kids pulled on the geeks when they got bored.
"You're friends with Beau Swan, aren't you?" I asked.
She hesitated. Beau? "Not... not really."
"But you're friends with Allen," I pressed. "And Allen is friends with Beau."
Her eyes dropped to her desk. "Not really friends..." she mumbled. "I mean Allen—we just have some classes together."
"Whatever," I said, waving this away. "The point is, you do know Beau, at least a little. Well, I have it on good authority that he's at a stage in his life where he could use the friendly advice of a female friend."
Becca stared at me in confusion, trying to understand where this could be leading. "Um," she said, eyes flickering down to her table again, then peeking back up at me hesitantly. "McKayla is better friends with him than I am... Maybe you could ask her."
I sighed, as though she were missing something obvious. "Yes," I said, "but I don't like McKayla."
She stared at me, eyes round.
I added with a smile, "Or any of Beau's other little female admirers."
Becca stared at the table, thoughts churning. I thought I heard someone saying they saw her hanging around Beau all day today. Are they dating? So why does she need my help? I don't like this. I don't like this at all.
"It's nothing serious," I said placatingly. "Merely, when it comes to Beau, things haven't been progressing quite as quickly as I'd like, and sometimes just a little nudge from an outside perspective can do wonders."
Becca couldn't hold my gaze for more than a couple seconds, and her eyes dropped back to the safety of her desk, though her thoughts were incredulous. She can't really expect... but I don't even know Beau.
"Of course, you're not the best choice," I admitted. "But unfortunately, you're the closest girl to him who wouldn't also be angling to take him for yourself. After all, you already have someone else."
Becca's mouth fell open in shock, glasses sliding halfway down her nose. "I—I don't know what you mean," she stammered.
I gave her an almost pitying smile as I casually slung an arm over the back of my chair. "Oh, I didn't know it was supposed to be a secret. No wonder the two of you haven't made any progress."
She mouthed wordlessly a moment, shaking her head in an attempted denial.
"Here's an idea," I said. "I'll help you out. All you really need is a bit of advice—trust me, I'm never wrong. Then when it works out, you'll owe me a favor. And you can just give Beau that bit of a nudge I'd like—don't worry, I'll tell you exactly what to say."
Becca continued to shake her head, hands wringing with nerves beneath the desk. "I—I don't have any idea what you..."
I raised my eyebrows, smiling slyly. "Come now, Becca. How do you expect to get Allen Weber to take you to the prom with that attitude?"
Becca stared back at me, eyes wide. The golden brown skin of her face darkened several shades, and suddenly her eyes darted about the room, searching for possible listening ears.
"Well?" I prompted.
Becca's eyes dropped back to the desk. For a second, she let herself entertain the possibility—a single mental image of Allen in a tuxedo, and herself on his arm, the corners of his mouth turned up in that usual quiet, gentle smile of his.
Then she pushed it back, as doubt and suspicion took its place. A partial conversation she had overheard McKayla having came back to her mind—something about my meaning to play around with Beau awhile, then drop him like a stone.
I don't want to get mixed up in this, Becca thought. What if this is all part of a big joke on Beau? I can't be a part of that.
I tapped an impatient finger against the metal bar on the back of my seat. And there McKayla went, interfering with my plans again. I hadn't factored in her influence and misinformed, warped view of my intent. Fortunately, I had left my best attack for last.
Becca was still staring at her desk, and she slowly shook her head once, mumbling something incoherent. I sighed deeply.
"How unfortunate," I said.
Becca blinked, and her eyes automatically rose to meet mine.
I gave a sad shake of my head. "Well, if that's how it is..." I met her confused gaze, and my lips suddenly curled into a threatening smile. "...Then I suppose you wouldn't mind if Allen went to the prom with me."
She stared at me uncomprehending for a second, before her eyes widened in horror. "Y-You..." she began in a stutter.
I flashed a wide smile. "Why not? I like shy guys."
Becca was shrunk back in her chair, eyes still wide with horror and intimidation, but her thoughts were a slightly different story.
She couldn't—I thought she liked Beau. Would she really try to get Allen to go with her just because I wouldn't do what she wanted? Allen's so nice, he doesn't deserve that. What if she turns Beau and Allen against each other? I can't let that happen, can I? What should I do?
I'd actually been going for jealousy—the impulse to stop me getting anywhere near Allen if it was the last thing she did—but her thoughts were surprisingly circumspect. Terror of the thought of me hurting Allen or his friendship with Beau overshadowed her own personal feelings.
I was liking Becca more all the time. Allen deserved a nice girl like her—if only I could bully her into accepting my advice. It was unfortunate I had to take such roundabout measures, play the bad guy. But even if Becca wasn't as shy as Allen, she still needed pressing incentive to be induced to act, and an easy, polite conversation just wasn't going to cut it. Sometimes all good people needed to learn how to be courageous was a villain to defeat. And I was good at playing the villain.
"Look," I said, switching to the direct approach, "the fact is that I've already talked to Allen, felt him out a little. And I think he would want to ask you, if he doesn't let himself get roped into that group thing a few of his friends have been trying to throw together. He's not one for picking up on subtle hints. Here's my advice: take the initiative. Just come straight out and ask him if he'll ask you."
Becca stared back at me, aghast.
"The way I see it," I went on reasonably, talking over her racing thoughts, "you don't have to risk a whole lot. Catch him alone and ask him. If you want you can even use me. Say, 'Edythe Cullen told me you wanted to ask me to prom. Is that true?'" I shrugged. "Worst case scenario, I'm wrong and he doesn't like you, so he says no. He certainly wouldn't embarrass you by telling anyone else. But I'm not wrong. Trust me, I know how to read people."
Becca didn't respond, and I added airily, "That's my advice. What you have to gain is far more than I'd ever ask for. Of course..." I leaned forward slightly and, lip curling, added in a low voice, "I'll understand if you don't have the guts to even try."
Becca didn't reply, eyes once again on her desk, but inwardly she bristled.
Edythe Cullen doesn't know the first thing about guts. Like she's ever had to worry about a guy turning her down. She hesitated. But whatever she's up to, I wonder... could she be right? Could Allen like me?
As Mr. Goff finally called the class to order, she continued to mull it over. Already I felt her working herself up, steeling herself to take action.
I muttered over my shoulder, "Good luck."
I turned my head back to face the front, smiling to myself in satisfaction. From the tone of Becca's thoughts now, I was fairly certain she would follow through. She knew, whatever I was really after, Allen liking her wasn't something I could manipulate. And she wouldn't have to help me if I asked for anything unethical where Beau was concerned, however I might try to guilt her into it.
There were no other students close enough to have overheard our quiet conversation, only I felt Eleanor eying me from the next seat over like she thought I was crazy.
You have a really weird definition of a good deed, she thought. You know that?
I flashed her a grin, too quick for any humans to see, before I turned my eyes to the front of the room. However, my mind was already elsewhere.
Back over in Gym class, McKayla was already changed and lined up, ready to start. I sought her mind out first because it was the easiest to find—she had calmed herself down again and I was just in time to see her go up to Beau to be his badminton partner.
Beau seemed surprised. "You don't have to do this, you know," he said.
McKayla smiled back. "Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way." Friends no matter what, she thought. He'll see that I'm someone he can rely on. And when Edythe Cullen shows her true colors, then...
I was a little annoyed by the tone of her thoughts, not so much her usual antipathy toward me, but because she seemed to view herself as a kind of martyr in partnering with Beau. I didn't see how she could think herself such a good friend bearing such an attitude.
However, I was more annoyed as the two of them shared a grin, and Beau appeared again surprised and even touched by the gesture.
However, I didn't have time to speculate on what it might mean from the vague fragments of McKayla's memory as they headed out onto the court and took up their places.
As the first game got underway, I was perplexed to see Beau standing unmoving at the back of the court, his racket dangling reluctantly at his side as he watched McKayla race back and fourth while she fended off two opponents at once. The previous night Beau had been all about getting doors for me, and today even wanted to carry my bag, despite knowing better than anyone else that I hardly needed the service. Letting a girl do all the playing seemed unlike him. All McKayla's focus was on the game, so I couldn't get much explanation out of her, except that she didn't seem to resent playing alone—in fact, there seemed to be some kind of unspoken agreement from previous classes where they had partnered together.
While I was puzzling over this, Coach Clapp happened to pass by their game, and she sternly ordered Beau to get out there and play.
Beau reluctantly shuffled forward, holding his racket at an awkward angle. The tone of McKayla's thoughts was suddenly apprehensive.
Justin Ford served the birdie directly toward Beau, thoughts radiating smugness.
Beau lurched for it, but as he swung his racket it went yards wide of the intended target. I saw the trajectory of the racket mesh, and watched helplessly as it struck the net and sprung back at him, giving him a good thwack in the forehead. McKayla, who had rushed forward to try to save the volley, got clipped on the shoulder.
"Sorry," Beau said, looking really apologetic as he rubbed his forehead.
McKayla, whose shoulder was still smarting, couldn't stay irritated for long when he looked at her with that face.
"Don't worry about it," she said. "But maybe you better stay at the back..." She glanced over at Coach Clapp, who was facing away. "Okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Beau agreed with a sigh, then retreated meekly back to the farthest corner of the court.
Coach Clapp didn't interfere again—she'd seen the incident out of the corner of her eye and, feeling bad for McKayla, who was one of her favorite students, spent the rest of the period studiously ignoring them. So I wasn't forced to go down and manufacture a reason to get him out of class before he could really hurt himself.
I breezed through the quiz at the end of the hour, and Mr. Goff let me go early. I was listening to McKayla's thoughts intently as I strode across campus toward the gym under a darkening sky. McKayla had made up her mind to ask Beau about me, and find out for sure if we were really dating.
"So," she began, as the two of them headed off the court.
"So?"
"You and Edythe Cullen, huh?" she couldn't quite keep it casual, and the obvious contempt crept into her tone as she said my name.
"Yeah, me and Edythe Cullen," he answered.
"I don't like it," she muttered darkly. Just because she's got the looks and the money... why can't he see what she is?
"Well, you don't actually have to." An unmistakable cool edge had crept into his tone that McKayla immediately picked up on.
Irritation quickly replaced surprise. "So she just snaps her fingers and you heel?" she demanded with disgust.
"Guess so." His tone was indifferent this time.
McKayla glared at him a second longer, frustrated. Girls like her always get what they want, she seethed as Beau turned his back on her and headed toward the changing rooms. Why do all the nice guys always fall for—she thought several incredibly rude words—like her? It's not fair.
I leaned against the side of the gym wall, waiting for him to emerge. I considered again the last hour, and I wondered how someone with such poor coordination had survived this long. And if the flurry of memories I'd gleaned from McKayla's thoughts were any indication, today's incident was just the tip of the iceberg. Combined with his apparent lack of concern for his own safety, perhaps it was just as well I was here. He was a menace to himself and others. Maybe he could use some supernatural intervention—or, as Archie had put it, a guardian angel-vampire.
This thought was enough to ease much of the tension in my frame. I was a danger to him every moment we were together, and yet, if I could somehow discipline myself, make myself safe, then maybe it wouldn't just not be wrong for me to stay. Maybe it would be right—better, safer for him.
The thought made me euphoric.
I saw him come out through the gym doors, his forehead creased in a frown, like he was worried about something. However, the moment he caught sight of me, his entire face lit up and he smiled broadly.
"Hi," he said.
"Hello," I answered, and my smile automatically widened in response to his. Then, unable to help myself, I added, "How was Gym?"
His smile shrank a little, and he regarded me warily. "Fine."
"Really?" I said. I added, my grin turning sly, "How's your head?"
He stared back at me, aghast. "You didn't."
I turned toward the parking lot. "You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym," I pointed out. "It made me curious."
He grimaced. "Great," he muttered. "Fantastic. Well, sorry about that. I don't mind walking home if you don't want to be seen with me."
I laughed, wondering what it was about his chagrined expression I so delighted in summoning. "It was very entertaining. Though I wouldn't have minded if you'd hit that girl just a little harder."
He blinked, confused. "What?"
McKayla had just emerged from the gym and, seeing us together, mentally launched a volley of curses at my back. She was still furious as she turned her back on us and stalked in the opposite direction, forgetting that she would have to go to the parking lot to get to her Suburban.
I couldn't stop myself from glancing over my shoulder at McKayla's retreating back, and Beau followed my gaze.
"It's been a while since someone besides my family thought those kinds of words about me," I noted. "I don't think I like it."
His gaze flickered between me and McKayla once, and his expression turned to one of apprehension, as though he suddenly wondered if he should be concerned for McKayla's safety. Maybe he understood how dangerous I was more than he let on after all—it was just his own safety that didn't concern him.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Don't worry, I wouldn't hurt your friend," I said, and it was true. In spite of the fact I couldn't stand her, and the occasional fantasy I had about burying her out in the woods, I wouldn't hurt anyone that was even slightly important to Beau. I could still hear McKayla's thoughts, growing increasingly sulfuric.
Ignoring her, I added with a smile, "If I did, who else would agree to be your badminton partner?"
He stared at me for another minute, then asked, "What kinds of words has your family been thinking about you?" He was frowning.
I didn't want my careless comments to give him the wrong impression of my family, and I said, "It's not fair to judge people on their thoughts. Those are supposed to be private. It's actions that count." With a few exceptions.
He was still frowning. "I don't know... If you know someone can hear, isn't that the same thing as saying it out loud?"
"Easy for you to say," I said, grinning. "Controlling your thoughts is very difficult. When Royal and I butt heads, I think much worse things about him, and I do say those words out loud." As we no doubt would when I got home this afternoon. However, strangely, I wasn't the least apprehensive. Instead, I laughed again.
We were to my car now. However, our way was partially blocked by a crowd of gawkers ogling Royal's car. Royal's car always attracted attention—which was just how he liked it.
Beau had to squeeze by them to get my door for me, and as I got in I muttered, "Ostentatious." This was precisely why it was better for Royal to only use his car out of town... Not that I had a right to say anything.
As Beau went around to get into the passenger seat, he turned his head back to look one more time. "What kind of car is that?" he wanted to know.
"An M3," I answered, as I tried to back out of the space, and was annoyed to find drooling car enthusiasts in the way. All thoughts were focused on admiration of Royal's car's various features. I wondered if I was going to have to run somebody down before they would notice us here.
Beau frowned. "Um, I don't speak Car and Driver."
It took some fancy turns of the wheel, but finally I got around the crowd and turned us toward the exit. "It's a BMW."
"Okay, I know that one."
We were away from the school now, the road flying away under my tires. It was just the two of us.
Being alone with him in my car reminded me of the previous night. My feelings were strangely mixed—it had been a night of magic and impossibility beyond anything I could have imagined. It was such a release, now that he knew everything, and we could talk plainly about anything we wanted. He knew the truth and he still accepted me.
However, beneath it still lingered a current of anxiety—the anxiety of speaking the monstrous truth, and knowing the possibility that, at any moment, he might go rigid, petrified with fear of me. The anxiety that something I said would trigger something, that he would wake up and realize that what seemed like a wonderful fantasy in the illogical way of dreams was really a nightmare.
"Is it later yet?" he asked, and I knew exactly what he meant. We hadn't been alone five minutes, and already he was determined to push the hard questions.
"I suppose it is," I said reluctantly. I didn't continue, however, and I felt his eyes on me as I stared straight ahead at the road. After everything that I had told him about me that he had barely reacted to, was I afraid this might scare him where nothing else had? Or was I more afraid I wouldn't scare him?
He didn't interrupt my thoughts, only continued to watch me, patiently waiting for an answer.
I still hadn't spoken when we reached his house, and I brought the car to a halt. I stared straight ahead for another few seconds, but I no longer had my driving as an excuse not to look at him, and finally I turned.
"And you want to know why you can't see me hunt?" I asked evenly. However, a touch of a smile twitched at the corner of my mouth. He always wanted to know everything, and he seemed impossible to rattle. Answers that might have made other humans turn and run screaming he answered with a quiet nod, and another question, as if this were an ordinary conversation over tea.
He nodded. "Yes. And why you seemed so... mad when I asked." For a moment his eyebrows tensed with disquiet, and I imagined he was remembering the look on my face.
"Did I frighten you?" I asked. I wondered again if I was finally getting somewhere after all.
"Did you want to?" he asked.
I considered the question. That certainly hadn't been the goal at the time, I simply couldn't contain the emotions that struck me as the idea entered my mind. And yet... his earlier naïve question made me realize I needed to frighten him more than I was. He needed to be made to understand, for his own good.
"Maybe I did," I said at last.
"Okay then, sure, I was terrified," he said agreeably. Like a guy answering his girlfriend asking how a dress made her look—supportive and affirming without the slightest useful or honest feedback.
I smiled slightly with amusement, then forced myself to be serious again.
"I apologize for reacting like that," I said quietly. "It was just the thought of you being near... while we hunted."
He read the nerves in my expression. "That would be bad?" he guessed.
"Extremely."
He wasn't put off by my hard tone, and he pushed, "Because...?"
I sucked in a deep breath, and his scent swirled around me in the enclosed space, burning my throat, trying to muddle my thoughts. Even now, when I was firmly in control of myself, my resolve absolute, the pull was still there, the temptation. The slightest weakness, the slightest distraction... could so easily be fatal.
I raised my eyes to the sky outside the windshield. The dark storm clouds were thick and heavy, blocking out the least bit of light. Would I ever master it? Obtain a control so complete I could trust myself to be safe for him, no matter where I was, no matter what I was doing? Or was it hopeless?
"When we hunt," I said at last, "we give ourselves over to our senses... govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way..." I let it hang.
My eyes quickly flickered to his face, to see how he would respond. But, there was little reaction. I was slowly coming to expect that—which was dangerous. When the moment finally came when it got to be too much, when he finally heard something he couldn't handle, how much more devastated would I be for having thought myself safe from his rejection?
He didn't look away, only stared into my eyes, and I stared back into his. The tone of the silence seemed to shift—and the strange charge from the Biology room seemed once again to be vibrating in the air. My breathing sped, and though my mind was still thinking with perfect clarity, I felt like I was in a fever, a fog. The magnetic lure to reach out and touch him was almost overpowering.
I remembered the previous night, when he had leaned close, as though to kiss me. If we continued to sit here, would he do the same thing now? What would it feel like, I wondered, to feel his warm lips against mine? Could I do that? Could I find the willpower, the restraint, to be that close, and...
He suddenly sucked in an uneven breath, having forgotten to breathe, for the moment breaking the spell I was under.
I turned away and closed my eyes, trying to get a hold of myself. I remembered suddenly again Archie's vision from the meadow. The green grass, soaked with blood, his pale form limp and broken in my arms. And I wondered if the greater danger wasn't that I would give in to my instincts to kill him, because I wanted his blood—rather, maybe it was this that may well be our downfall. This yearning to be close, and closer still, to love him like a human girl would love him.
The call of his blood was too powerful for me. If I let myself get as close as I wanted to be right now, all it would take was an instant—an instant where my thirst and vampire's instincts won out over my control. A single mistake in one regard would inevitably lead to the other.
I gripped the steering wheel. How, in this moment, I despised what I was. How I wished I could be human again—somehow, someway. It was a useless wish, impossible, but the desperate desire for it crashed over me anyway. I wished I were human. I wished I was a part of his world.
I didn't allow myself to look at his face again, afraid I would once again fall under the spell. Instead, I gazed out at the heavy clouds above.
"Beau, I think you should go inside now," I said. My voice was almost rough with emotion. I was disappointed—I'd been planning on at least an hour or two more, just to sit here and talk. But clearly that wasn't a good idea. Not right now, when the electric impulses humming through me were barely restrained.
He seemed to read the urgency in my voice, because he immediately opened the door without argument and got out. He closed the door and started toward the house, without looking back.
Worried that he might have taken my abruptness as some kind of rebuke, and my head feeling clearer now that he was out of the car, I quickly rolled down the passenger window and called after him, "Oh, Beau?"
He paused and turned partway to meet my eyes again. "Yeah?"
I smiled. "Tomorrow it's my turn."
His eyebrows creased, confused. "Your turn to what?"
My smile spread wider. "Ask the questions."
Then, before I could change my mind and get out, and follow him into his house—or wherever else he might go—I hit the gas and sped off down the street.
I breathed deeply, and his scent still lingered in the car, powerful, intoxicating. The hand where I'd touched him earlier today tingled, and some of those flickers of electricity still sang in the air.
I breathed deeply again, finding my resolve. It was all right—I didn't need to touch him, as much as I might want to. Tomorrow, I was going to ask a lot of questions. I was going to finally begin to learn more about him—this boy who occupied all my thoughts. So long as I could have that, so long as I could be near him, that was enough.
A/N: And, that's the end of the original Midnight Sun rough draft. From here on the story will be based purely on Life and Death.
Back as I was working on Eclipse, I had the scene from this chapter with Edythe and Becca in mind, and I wondered if it would affect Becca's attitude toward Edythe later. (For the gender swap, I decided to go for a kind of high-handed social manipulation approach from Edythe over Edward's more macho, direct confrontation.) I thought Becca ought to mention something vaguely about it, or almost mention it before getting cut off, probably in that last scene in Chapter 3, Motives. However, I didn't see a way to work it in without drawing unnecessary attention to it, so I just left the scene similar to as it was in Eclipse.
From what clues we know of Ben in the original series, he seems to have a pretty good relationship with Edward (or at least doesn't feel an antagonism toward him, unlike Mike), and as I was working on Eclipse, I thought it seemed more natural for Becca to have similar feelings toward Edythe, in contrast to McKayla.
The story behind Becca's later changed attitude toward Edythe that occurred to me won't be coming up in the story later, at least in any detail, so I think I'll just summarize it here. Basically, I think because things really did end up working out with Allen, and because Edythe never actually asks Becca to make good on the favor, Becca probably suspected that Edythe might actually have really just been trying to help her, even if it was in a bizarre way. Then, after spending time around Edythe in their friend group, and being a first-hand witness to Edythe's real affection toward Beau, she eventually comes to suspect that Edythe did legitimately want some help with Beau at the time, but was unused to interacting with people, and too proud to simply ask for that help in a normal way.
That's it for now. Thanks so much for reading, and all your thoughts and comments! We're getting close to the end now—just three chapters left, plus the epilogue. If you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and see you next time!
Posted 1/28/19