A/N: Back again! I've been putting such intense work into other projects lately I was worried I wouldn't be able to get this out this week. (Especially since the roads decided recently to put a big crack in my car windshield, and apparently that's something you should take care of right away.) But I find even when I've been working on other things, it's nice to come back here to this, especially as we get ever closer to wrapping things up and moving onto Breaking Dawn.

Hope you enjoy this next chapter, I'm excited to be beyond the original Midnight Sun rough draft—see you at the end!

Chapter 14: Complications

I knew Royal would be waiting for me at home to bite my head off—in fact, no doubt someone had already told Carine what I had done, and she would be at home too when I arrived, waiting to have a family meeting.

I was in no hurry to get there and, remembering something I had been thinking earlier that day, instead turned the car in the direction of Port Angeles. Archie could always inform the others precisely where I was and when I would arrive, and besides, Royal could use the extra time to cool down.

I turned up the music slightly—it was Debussy in the player—and hummed to myself as I went.

I mulled over the events of the past two days. They were beyond incredible really—something from a dream. They felt like they'd blown by so quickly, and yet, this new state of existence, where Beau knew everything, where much of the time we seemed attached together like glue, felt perfectly natural, as though it had always been that way. I felt submerged in warmth as I went over every look, everything he had said. I savored every breath, every sigh, and stored them all in a place in my mind where they would always be easily accessible. A century from now, I would remember these days as though they were yesterday.

However, I paused on that. A century from now, Beau would be gone. His human life would have come to an end. What would I do then? Even, say, all the precious years of his life he still chose me, wanted to stay with me... eventually, it would come to an end. What then?

I shook my head. It was too early to worry about that yet. I'd only had two days of my allotted time with him. I had many more days left—even if I knew they would slip by all too quickly.

When I reached Port Angeles, I went directly to the largest bookstore in town, with the broadest selection. Looking back at the previous night's incident, how he'd paused at the new-age bookstore, I guessed his errand had been to look at some books. I knew he was a reader, and this was probably the store he would have wanted, if he'd known where it was.

Before, when I'd gone to his room at night to watch over him as he slept, I'd kept my distance, afraid of what might happen if I ventured too close. But last night I'd finally trusted myself enough to take the chance and, holding my breath just to be sure, I'd gone right up to his bed, and looked through the titles of books he left stacked there, as well as those he kept on his desk, and the neat pile of CD cases beside the CD player. I could tell the books were all his favorites, because the covers were worn and the bindings were heavily creased.

At the bookstore, I bought a copy of every book I had seen, and next I drove to the music store, where I took one of every CD that he owned, and slotted them into the CD storage compartment. As I drove back toward Forks, I smiled to myself, satisfied. I doubted I would have time today, but when I did get some time, I would read all the books and listen to all the music. That would give us something else to talk about. I was eager to hear his opinions on his favorite things...

As I turned my car down the meandering path to our house, I heard the thoughts long before I reached it. That quickly put an end to my pleasant mood. I glanced up at the sky again—still dark, still threatening a storm. It was the perfect atmosphere for the mood at the Cullen house. Of course, Royal's mental voice was several decibels louder than anyone else's, and drowned out the others—I would have to get closer before I heard everything.

I carefully parked my car in the garage, then walked with deliberate slowness up to the house, making my face calm, composed.

As I had expected, Archie had told them exactly when I would arrive, and they were all already assembled in the dining room. Carine was there, sitting at the head, her face gentle, but grave, and Earnest sat beside her, his face full of concern for me as he watched me enter. Royal, meanwhile, had gone to sit opposite from Carine, and he was coiled as an African lion ready to spring, radiating open ferocity, while Eleanor sat beside him, though quick to shoot an apologetic look my way. Jessamine stood a little ways back from the table, and her eyes followed me as I walked to my usual place at Carine's left and sat down, her expression impassive.

In short, the arrangements were similar to what they were before—except for one difference, which disturbed me. Archie was not sitting with us, rather, he sat in the middle, neither with Royal, nor with us, but precisely halfway between. He was not grinning his usual grin, and he looked almost as serious as Carine. He turned his gaze to stare right at me. You know what they're going to say, Edy. What are you going to do?

I wanted to ask him whose side he was on, because from his thoughts it still wasn't clear. He was conflicted—still troubled by his vision in the meadow. Even though he and Beau had never officially met, he already viewed him as a friend. He was afraid—afraid of the possible future.

I shifted my eyes away from him, abruptly angry. What he saw would never happen. What right did he have to be so worried? How could he compare his friendship that was still hazy, unrealized shadows to my burning, all-consuming inferno of passion? He didn't need Beau, love Beau like I did. If he couldn't stand the thought of Beau being hurt, how much more would it destroy me? It would never happen—I wouldn't let it.

It was Royal who spoke first.

"Well," he began in a growl, "as we all know, our sister—" he spat the word as though it were a curse— "has taken it upon herself to share our most closely guarded secrets with an outsider. A human. I think we'd all like to hear what she has to say for herself."

I sat up straight in my chair, folding my hands in my lap.

"As I think Archie already explained," I began calmly, "I ran into an unexpected situation. His life was in danger, and it took... fairly extreme measures to rescue him. As he'd already proven himself capable of keeping a secret, I didn't see any harm in explaining things a little."

"A little!" Royal scoffed. "You told him everything!"

"Sometimes secrets are easier to keep when you know what they are," I answered evenly. I went on before Royal could object, "Besides, I'd already made up my mind to tell him at some point—it was only fair."

Royal's eyes narrowed. In a low, dangerous voice, he said, "So, you decided that was a decision you were free to make on your own, did you? As though it doesn't affect every single one of us."

"He has to know," I said again. "If I'm going to be around him, he has to know to be careful."

Royal opened his mouth to answer, but to both our surprise, it was Jessamine who spoke.

"And has it worked?" she asked. She stood back, leaning against the wall, her arms folded. "Has he been more careful around you?" She stared at me, her eyes boring into mine.

I hesitated.

"No matter what you've told him, he's not afraid of you," Jessamine said. "I feel that much—he's afraid of us, but not of you. How many close calls have you had already?"

I didn't answer.

Jessamine unfolded her arms and pushed herself up from the wall. She came to stand by the table, beside Royal and Eleanor.

"You've made this far too public, Edythe," she said quietly. "If you make a mistake now—"

"I won't make a mistake," I interrupted. "I'll be careful. I'm always careful."

Jessamine's face was hard, but beneath the anger she felt toward me for placing Archie in danger, what she felt was mostly pity.

"No precaution you take will be enough," she said. "Not when he lacks the proper fear to keep his distance. You will eventually make a mistake, Edythe. Even if it's not tomorrow, even if it's not this weekend—a month from now, a year from now, your concentration may waver. And the humans, knowing you were with him, will suspect something. They already unconsciously fear us, feel that we are unnatural—you know what a delicate thing it is, maintaining this facade. It would be too easy to break."

I was distracted for a moment, by her mention of this weekend. My eyes flickered to Archie.

He met my gaze, and shrugged one shoulder imperceptibly. Sorry, Edy. You know I don't agree with her on everything about Beau, but—maybe this is one outing you should skip. Take it slow. Don't get overconfident.

I turned my eyes back to Jessamine, and I felt that same flicker of irritation as before.

"I won't make a mistake," I repeated, more firmly this time. "Not a single mistake—ever."

Jessamine gazed back at me for a long moment. "Who knows?" she asked quietly at last. "Who knows you are going with him on this trip? This weekend."

The others glanced at her. Archie hadn't told anyone else about my plans for Saturday.

My eyes dropped to the table. "No one," I said, in a very low voice.

She nodded. "Good. I advise you to keep it that way."

My eyes flashed back up to hers, furious at the coldness in her tone. As if—as if it would somehow be better, if I murdered him or killed him by accident and no one knew it was me.

Rationally, I knew what she meant. I knew it would be better for my family, safer, if it happened that way. And yet, it felt impossible to be rational—impossible to get past the thought that his death was intolerable no matter how it happened. That if he died, nothing else that happened in the world could possibly matter. Everything would lose all meaning.

Jessamine watched me, and I could feel it as she felt the emotions swirling like a storm inside me, wild, violent, so mixed up it was impossible to tell one from the other. Fury and love and fear and hope and longing and anguish and guilt—

"You are not in control of yourself," Jessamine said quietly. "You are not thinking. Your mind is clouded."

"No," I tried to argue, shaking my head. I forced my voice to be calm, steady, even as the emotions continued to spin dizzily in my mind, each vying for my attention. "No, it's going to be fine. I know what I'm doing."

Royal made a scathing noise, and Eleanor's eyes flickered back and forth between Jessamine and me, wondering if Jessamine was right.

"There is only one solution I see," Jessamine said. "And that is to create a deadline. Place a limit on the time you will have to resist his blood. A year, maybe two—and then change him. That is the only way he will ever be safe from you. That is the only future Archie sees where the path no longer diverges into two."

I stared back at her for a moment. Then my gaze turned to Archie. His face was calm, smooth. The image of the future played once again in his mind... Beau, his face the alabaster white of our kind, his eyes a crimson red. Hard as stone and cold as ice.

I knew why Archie was sitting in the middle of the table. He wasn't worried about how public this was becoming, or that I'd told Beau our secrets—but he did agree with Jessamine on one thing. He wanted that future, too.

I shoved back from the table and I was suddenly on my feet. I glared around at all of them, my furious gaze shifting from one face to the next. Then, without a word, I stalked from the room, and out through the front door.

As I passed the treeline into the woods, I picked up speed, eager to be away from the sickening swirl of thought. Fury and despair rose inside me, threatening to overtake me.

It was easy for them to say that. As Eleanor had said, it would be the best thing for us, for me—and yet, I knew the minds of my family better than anyone. And I knew, deep down, that there was not a one of us who didn't secretly long to be human again. Unlike others of our kind, we would have given anything for it. Burn for however many days, or centuries, if only we could. Even Eleanor, who enjoyed our way of life more than the others, sometimes imagined a human life with Royal, what it would have been like, and she missed the life she knew she would never have.

This immortal life was not one to be envied. Either it was a life of hard denial, as we lived it, or it was one of sickening indulgence, gluttony—I had lived that life once, as had Jessamine, and in spite of the difficulties of restraint and denial, that had been by far the most wretched.

Was I going to inflict this soulless, damned existence on Beau too? Just so I could keep him for myself? The sacrifices I was asking from him were unreasonable enough already. Would I ask for the ultimate sacrifice now as well? Even if he didn't despise me for it later, I knew—if I went through with it, I would never stop hating myself.

I slowed to a stop. I was far from the house now, and the thoughts of my family were more distant. All except one.

She followed slowly at a distance, and I waited for her to catch up to me. When she noticed I had halted, she slowed and approached cautiously.

"Edythe?" Carine said softly. She waited, ready to turn back in a moment if I said I wanted to be alone. She debated whether following me was right, what I needed, or if anything she might say might only hurt me further.

"Carine," I answered quietly. I didn't turn, gazing out into the woods. It was still dark overhead, the clouds so thick it looked almost like night. However, the rain had yet to fall—still only the threat of a storm.

"Am I doing the right thing, Carine?" I asked suddenly.

Carine paused. "The decision is yours, Edythe," she said softly at last. "If you trust yourself to be alone with him on Saturday... I trust your judgment."

I shook my head, and finally I turned to face her. My eyes were wide, and she saw the writhing anguish burning in their depths.

"Archie was right," I said suddenly in a rush. "I can't stay away from him. That month that I tried—it just kept getting worse. More intense all the time. I know what the right thing to do for him is, but—"

But I was too happy when I was near him. Too happy when I with him, speaking to him, and he wasn't afraid of me. Too euphoric when I contemplated the next time I would see him, too anxious and miserable when we were apart.

All my intense feelings of love for him—the selfish always seemed to overpower the selfless. It was a dark love, a sinister love, which, if it stayed the way it was, would surely destroy him.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, and a strangled, animalistic sound escaped it.

Then I breathed deeply, trying to get a hold of myself. When I raised my gaze to Carine again, her eyes were kind. She reached out, and touched my hand with the very tips of her fingers.

"I'm proud of you, Edythe," she said softly.

I stared back at her, surprise for a moment cutting into my despair. It seemed a strange thing to say, given the circumstances. Given that I had just thoughtlessly put the entire family in danger, and given the monster that I was, choosing my own wants over the welfare of that which I loved most. But I felt in her thoughts that the sentiment was entirely sincere. She swelled with it as she gazed at me, overcome with a love and compassion I didn't deserve.

You will do the right thing, she thought.

I shook my head. "I don't know that I will, Carine," I whispered.

Her expression didn't change. Even when you make mistakes, Edythe, you do the right thing in the end.

I shivered. "I can't make any mistakes, Carine," I whispered, and my face twisted in pain as Archie's vision once again filled my mind.

Carine touched her fingers gently to my face, and I gazed up into her eyes.

This path you've chosen will not be easy, she thought. But if anyone has the will to see it through without tragedy, I think it's you, Edythe. Because you understand your choices. You take responsibility. You are so much more than I ever could have hoped for in a daughter. Find your happiness, Edythe—that is all I hope for. And no matter what, you will always be my daughter.

I didn't answer, didn't nod or smile. I only closed my eyes for the briefest moment, letting myself absorb the feeling of her touch on my face, the warmth of her unwavering support.

Her hand lingered there a moment longer, before at last she drew back a step. Smiling sadly for the torment I was now enduring, yet with a light of hope that shone beneath it, she turned slowly away. I watched her disappear into the dense, murky forest.

Not for the first time, I wondered what I would be if not for Carine. If not for the ideals she had taught me, the example that had shown me what I might aspire to that I had tried to live by for so many decades, what sort of monster would I be? Without Carine's influence, I knew that, without a doubt, if I had run into Beau I would have killed him without a moment's hesitation.

If Carine had not already had all my love and gratitude before all this, that alone would have been enough to win them.

There were so many things I wanted, and also things I didn't want. I wanted to love him enough to never hurt him, to be able to stay with him and make him happier than he would have been without me. I didn't want to disappoint Carine, even if she would love me no matter what. I didn't want to hurt him, or take his human life from him. I didn't want to make him miserable. Was my will strong enough? My love?

I went hunting yet again that evening—staying close, sticking to easier, less delectable prey. Then, as I had every previous night I was close by, I went to his house. I wondered, after today, how many times he would say my name tonight, and I thrilled at the thought.

He didn't sleep well. He seemed agitated, tossing back and forth. He woke more than once, saying my name aloud, and I was sure he must have seen me, sitting here—but apparently he couldn't see me in the darkness, because he always settled back, punching his pillow as though to mash it into a more comfortable shape. It wasn't until a few hours before dawn he finally settled into a deep sleep, too tired to dream anymore.

I was solemn and contemplative as I went back home early in the morning to change into fresh clothes and get my car, as I wondered what torments I was continuing to put him through. Perhaps though his conscious mind wasn't afraid of me, his subconscious had a little more sense. He'd said when he dreamed about me they were definitely not nightmares—and yet, after everything I'd told him, I knew how soon that could change. I wondered if he dreamed about me hunting. About bears and mountain lions and...

I left the thought off where it was and shook my head. My time with him was limited—I didn't want to waste even a moment worrying over that which I couldn't know about.

I heard the indistinct sound of Charlie Swan's thoughts as I neared the house, and I slowed, timing my arrival in his driveway just as Chief Swan's cruiser was disappearing around the corner. I didn't exactly understand Beau's desire not to share things with his father. He seemed unreasonably afraid of the possibility of awkward questions—especially unreasonable, considering he was consorting with vampires, and that didn't seem to bother him a bit.

I settled in to wait for him to finish getting ready, but I'd been there barely a few seconds before I heard the thumping of feet running on the stairs, and he appeared in the doorway, bag slung over his shoulder.

He eagerly slid into the passenger's seat, snapping his belt into place.

"Good morning," I said. "How are you today?" I glanced at the circles beneath his eyes. However, his aspect seemed cheerful enough.

"Good, thank you," he answered, and there was nothing off about his tone to signal a lie.

"You look tired," I observed, a little hesitantly.

He smiled, rueful. "I couldn't sleep." Again, his face held no sign of an attempt to conceal anything.

I laughed, relieved—maybe his restlessness last night had been from excitement rather than nightmares. "Neither could I."

I started up the car and backed out of the drive.

He was grinning—he just looked happy to be here. "I guess that's right," he said. "I probably did get more sleep than you."

When the two of us were here together like this, joking, acting a bit silly, it was hard to believe any of this could be wrong. Not when everything felt so right with the world.

"I would wager you did," I said dryly.

He glanced at me. "So what did you do last night?" he asked curiously.

I laughed again. If only he knew.

"Not a chance," I answered. "It's my day to ask questions."

"Oh, that's right," he said, remembering. His eyebrows furrowed. "What do you want to know?"

I had about ten thousand questions all clamoring for attention, so I decided not to waste a single moment prioritizing—my time was limited, and I had to get in as many as I could.

"What's your favorite color?" I shot at him.

He stared at me. Then he shrugged. "It changes."

"What is it today?" I pressed.

"Um, probably... gold, I guess."

It was such a relief to be able to ask my own questions—how frustrating it had been to try to learn about his tastes through his conversations with McKayla. She only ever asked general questions, and was never pushy enough to try to get at the details I was really eager to know. And I'd never been sure if he was totally honest with McKayla all the time, either. Now I could give full reign to my greedy, voracious curiosity.

"Is there anything material behind your choice, or is it random?"

He looked embarrassed. "It's the color of your eyes today. If you asked me in a week, I'd probably say black."

I glanced at him, surprised he had picked that up, not just on the eye color change, which he had already mentioned before, but the timing of it. He really was exceptionally observant. However, I knew if I commented on it, he'd get us sidetracked into a conversation about vampire eyes, and there was no way I was going to let myself get sucked into answering his questions when it was my turn.

"What music is in your CD player right now?" This question I already knew, as I had gone through his CD collection the night before last. However, I wasn't ready to reveal that yet, and I planned to use it as a lead-in to grill him on his tastes in music.

When he named the band, I drew the same CD out of my own compartment and showed it to him. If he was surprised, he didn't show it. It was a popular band, I supposed, though I didn't always keep up with the current trends.

I had listened to the music briefly on the way over—it was certainly different from I would have expected Beau to like, but then, he was always full of surprises, and there wasn't any reason he couldn't enjoy a variety.

"Debussy to this?" I said, raising an eyebrow, with a bit of an ironic smile.

He shrugged. "Even if you don't like it at first, it grows on you after awhile. It's great if there's something you don't want to think about—or you don't want to think, period."

I glanced down at the CD. "I see your point," I said. There was definitely enough screaming in the mix for that.

I kept the questions going all the way to school, and right up to the door of his first class. Then I met him and walked him to each of his classes for the opportunity for more. During my own classes I mentally prepared my list. It was more exhilarating than I could have imagined. Some of his likes and opinions were expected, based on what I had observed of him so far, while others seemed to come out of left field. His least favorite movies were mostly chick flicks his mother had forced him to see with her—he talked with some affectionate exasperation on this subject. He liked action movies, though as far as horror movies went, he preferred the classics. Newer flicks with endless blood and gore weren't really his thing. I also knew he liked to read, so I spent a lot of time there—I wanted to know how he felt about each of the books he kept in his pile of favorites. I would read through every one of them later.

I spent the happiest half hour of my existence at lunch—I questioned him almost nonstop, only pausing now and again to force him to eat something. I also asked him questions about his favorite foods and flavors. He was a cook, and he seemed to have a lot of opinions on this, but he gave only brief answers. I made a mental note to grill him more thoroughly on this topic when we had more time.

I was disappointed when the first bell rang, and it was time to go to class. Of course, we had Biology together, but we wouldn't be able to talk. I wondered if I could get one or two more short ones in before class started...

Before we had gotten up, I saw him glance back over his shoulder, suddenly looking apprehensive. Then he turned back to me. "There's one question you haven't asked me yet."

I smiled a little. "More than one, actually, but which specific one are you looking for?"

He frowned. "The most embarrassing thing I've ever done."

This was one I hadn't thought of and I appreciated it. I wondered if this was a sign he would soon start volunteering information.

My smile was brilliant. "Is it a spectacular story?"

"I'm not sure yet," he muttered. "I'll tell you in five minutes."

He shoved back from the table, and I watched, perplexed, as he strode across the cafeteria, toward where his friends were just starting to rise to their feet.

I could see his face through their eyes. Splotches of red were blooming across his cheeks, and based on what he had said, I assumed it was from embarrassment. And yet his expression was almost... angry?

There were times when not knowing what he was thinking was frustrating. Other times I was certain if curiosity could kill, I would already be long dead and buried.

His friends were equally mystified. They watched him approach, and no one seemed to know what to expect.

"Taylor, can I have a minute?" he asked as he came to a stop in front of her. He said it out loud, so everyone was watching. His face was burning—he hated this kind of attention. What on earth?

"Sure, Beau," Taylor answered, her thoughts too bewildered to form any theories.

"Look," he said, "I can't do this anymore."

Everything abruptly went very quiet. Everyone seemed to realize at exactly the same time what this had to be about. The prom situation.

McKayla was staring at Beau, slightly shocked. He isn't seriously going to do it like this, is he? she thought. When I said man up, I didn't mean act like a jerk. What's going on? This isn't like him at all.

McKayla's eyes flashed to me, still sitting at our table. Oh, she didn't.

In truth, I was almost as stunned as McKayla. She was right, this wasn't like Beau. Was he going to turn Taylor down so publicly for my sake? Did he think I would have asked this of him?

Taylor's eyes were round. "What?"

Beau's scowl was fierce—so fierce it looked almost put on.

"I'm tired of being a pawn in your game, Taylor," he said.

There was a smattering of confused thought at this opening.

Beau went on, "Do you realize that I have feelings of my own? And all I can do is watch as you use me to make someone else jealous."

His eyes went very obviously to Logan, who was staring with his mouth agape, then back to Taylor. "You don't care if you break my heart in the process. Is it being beautiful that's made you so cruel?"

Taylor stared back at him, thoughts barely coherent.

McKayla gaped, incredulous. She can't really buy that, can she? I mean, he's so obviously into Edythe Cullen. Then again... this is Taylor we're talking about.

"I'm not going to play anymore," he continued. "This whole prom charade? I'm out. Go with the person you really want to be with."

He glared at Logan again, then stalked out of the cafeteria, slamming through the double doors and disappearing from sight.

There was a moment of silence. However, all thoughts were yammering at once.

Wow. I had no idea he felt like that. I didn't even know I was toying with him, but I guess I better stop before I hurt anyone else. Taylor.

That was the stupidest thing I ever saw. Logan. He's right of course, Taylor never could have been serious about a dweeb like him.

That was actually kind of cool, but am I missing something? Jeremy.

McKayla was staring straight at me with furious, accusing eyes. Did she put him up to that? Some kind of ultimatum if he didn't turn Taylor down in front of everyone somehow she was going to dump him? The witch! Is she going to keep making him do stupid, embarrassing things just to keep herself entertained? Taylor only bought that speech because she's dumb as a sack of rocks. What would he have done if she called him out? Why does he put up with her?

I realized I was still sitting at the table, as stunned as everyone else, and I rose and swiftly exited the cafeteria.

I caught up to Beau easily, though his fast gait now looked more like running away than stalking. His face was beat red and his eyes were wide, as though he couldn't believe he just did that.

"That was truly spectacular," I murmured.

He blinked and seemed to come out of shock. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "Maybe a little over the top. Did it work?"

I let my mind flicker back briefly to Taylor.

"Like a charm," I reported. "Taylor's feeling quite the femme fatale, and she's not even sure why. If Logan doesn't ask her to prom by Monday, I'll be surprised."

The red was finally starting to fade from his face. He looked relieved, and satisfied. "Good."

I smiled. Overall, this had been an interesting side-note in the conversation, and Beau seemed happy at being freed from obligation to Taylor without making her feel bad. But I hadn't forgotten my purpose.

"And now back to you... would you say you prefer salty or sweet?"

I continued on the food line of questioning as we went into Biology and sat down, and I didn't let up until Mrs. Banner entered the room, dragging the frame with the television again.

I hoped today might be easier than the previous day, now that I was mentally prepared for it—but if anything, the sparking electricity that seemed at once exhilarating and also unbearably torturous seemed to have intensified. I tried pulling my chair further from his, and when that had no effect, Beau, evidently feeling what I was feeling, tried to relieve the tension by leaning over and casually pressing his shoulder against mine. He must have felt as I did that only made it worse, because he soon leaned forward away from me, staring at the screen with an expression of intense concentration, as though Lorenzo's Oil was the most compelling story he had ever seen.

When Mrs. Banner finally turned the lights back on, Beau sighed and his shoulders relaxed. He hadn't even looked at me the entire hour, but now he did. Our eyes met, and I couldn't read his expression.

I didn't ask him any questions as we headed toward his Gym class. Guilt was gnawing at me again—seeing with my own eyes the torment I was putting him through, even now. And feeling my own impulses I knew I must not give into lurking beneath the surface.

However, as we stopped in front of the gym, I lingered there, gazing up into his face. Once again, knowing I was about to be parted from him, however briefly, I momentarily gave into temptation. Reaching up, I lightly stroked his face with the back of my hand, from the edge of his hairline down to the curve of his jaw. My hand felt warm where it came into contact with his skin, almost burning as I longed to curve my hand around his face, and perhaps feel his hand around mine.

I pulled my hand back and quickly strode away, before I could succumb to any more of my fantasies.

I spent the final period watching Beau in his Gym class again. Coach Clapp had told everyone to keep their partners from last time, so he and McKayla played on the same badminton team again. This time, Beau stayed far back out of the action, and Coach Clapp pretended not to notice.

McKayla was still thinking about the incident in the lunch room with Taylor, and the way Beau had spoken yesterday. And when she saw Beau come wandering into the gym, his face dazed, distracted, she decided there was no point trying to communicate with him today—not when he was still under my evil spell.

For some reason, I found McKayla's intense dislike of me comforting in its familiarity, and just a little amusing, enough that it momentarily shook me from my darker contemplations. I watched her play badminton alone against her opponents, playing even better than she had the previous day—likely helped by the fact that she was imagining each of the birdie heads had my face.

Once again, I finished early in Spanish, and went to wait out by the gym for him to get out. And, just as yesterday, as soon as he saw me, his face split into a wide smile.

I started in on the questions again. There was a new vein I hadn't tapped yet, which I was dying to know—his old life, his life before Forks. His life in Phoenix, with his mother.

As I drove us to his house, I didn't ask quite as many questions now, as the questions required longer answers. I asked mainly about places—what the landscape was like, and his old home.

I was delighted when I hit on some topics that really got his enthusiasm going, and he spoke for a long time without needing me to prod him with more questions.

The sun slipped across the sky far too fast, and before long it had begun to darken. Our time was already up—it felt like seconds.

When he finished talking on the last topic—his old room back in Phoenix—he waited for my next question, but when I didn't say anything he turned to me.

"Are you finished?" he asked, looking relieved, as though he had just spent a day of hard labor.

I sighed. "Not even close—but your father will be home soon."

He blinked. "How late is it?"

I gazed at the western horizon, the red light of the setting sun glowing against the clouds.

"It's twilight," I said softly.

Twilight. The time when the day drew to a close. No matter how perfect the day, how wonderful, how magical, it eventually had to come to an end. No fantasy could last forever—eventually, my own personal fantasy would come to its twilight, too. And then it would be over.

He was watching me, studying my expression.

"It's the safest time of day for us," I said. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way... the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" I tried to smile, but I couldn't quite keep the melancholy from my voice.

"I like the night," he declared. "Without the dark, you'd never see the stars." He suddenly frowned, thinking. "Not that you see them here much." He eyed the heavy clouds on the horizon with distaste.

I laughed, and I wondered if he understood the philosophical underpinnings of my thoughts about the twilight, and if his response was meant to be taken metaphorically, too—I wouldn't be surprised.

"Charlie will be here in a few minutes," I said, smiling. "So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday..."

As much as I knew Charlie's knowledge would add extra risk to my family's safety, I couldn't help but hope Beau would tell his father. That someone, somewhere, would know where he was and with who. Maybe I just wanted to see Beau being careful, taking precautions—doing everything he could to keep himself safe.

However, it was a useless hope, and I already expected his response.

"Thanks but no thanks." He gathered up his things, slinging his bag over his arm as he reluctantly prepared to get out. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?"

I feigned outrage. "Certainly not! I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

He wasn't intimidated by my pretend anger, but he did look a little incredulous. "What more is there?"

I grinned. "You'll find out tomorrow."

He blinked. He didn't answer, only stared at me, his eyes suddenly losing a little bit of their focus.

Again, as though he were in a trance, he raised a hand toward me, and leaned closer.

I drew back sharply against the car door, before he could get as close as he had the last time—and I wondered how many times this scene was going to repeat.

He jumped slightly, coming out of it, and he quickly pulled his hand back.

"Sorr—" he began.

...totally love this excuse. You rock, Bonnie.

...should be back soon at this time of day. We shouldn't have to wait long.

I heard the approaching thoughts—it was the name in the first set of thoughts that got my attention. Bonnie. Thanks to Beau, I knew that name.

I turned my head sharply to stare out the windshield through the rain, and I saw in the distance—a little black Sedan, quickly approaching.

"Oh no," I whispered. Bonnie Black—one of the Quileute elders. If she saw me here, with Beau, there would be trouble. No one mistrusted us like they did, and the treaty was tenuous enough as it was.

Beau looked confused, unable to see what I saw through the gloom. "What's wrong?"

I gritted my teeth, then turned to meet his eyes for a brief second. "Another complication."

I quickly leaned across him and shoved his door open. My sudden movement, or perhaps just the sudden unexpected proximity, set his heart racing just as my ear passed his chest, and I jerked back at the sound of hot rushing blood.

He raised his eyes and was finally able to make out the headlights of the car.

"Hurry," I pushed, though I knew it was already too late.

At my tone he immediately got out, into the heavy rain.

However, by then the car had just about reached us, and for a moment the light of the headlights washed across me. I could see the two figures in the front seat. One, a teenage girl—judging from her thoughts, she was Bonnie Black's daughter, Jules Black, the girl who had told Beau about the legends. The other, an older woman, had streaks of gray in her dark hair and weathered russet skin folded like leather. Bonnie Black.

In the instant the light hit the car, she saw me. Her eyes widened in shock, horrified recognition washing across her face.

...Charlie's boy, mixed up with one of those? I've got to warn him, before it's too late. Before that monster...

I stared back into her eyes, and my face was suddenly fierce. Let her know what I was doing—I wasn't breaking any rules of the treaty. And let her try to split Beau from me. He already knew everything—everything, and he accepted it. There was nothing she could do.

I set the gearshift and hit the gas in the same moment, and in an instant I was off down the road and away into the fading evening light.

A/N: For some reason, I always love those Cullen meetings.

In the original Twilight and also in Life and Death, the 'Debussy to this' conversation was always one that left me a bit confused. (Edward/Edythe just happen to have the same CD lying around in their collection? Is it supposed to somehow be a comment on their shared interests, like Debussy? But the comment, 'Debussy to this?' sounds more like a response to Bella/Beau's preferences, rather than indicating a real coincidence.)

Because Bella/Beau seem to show little sign of obvious surprise and we get no thought processes on it, it's always felt a little ambiguous to me. I decided it made the most sense as kind of a clue to the level of Edward/Edythe's stalking, and I just liked the idea of seeing another instance of Edythe being interested in Beau's interests.

Thanks for reading! If you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and see you next time!

Posted 2/25/19