The brunt of the drive was engulfed in the heaviest silence I'd encountered in a long while, and one of which I've never experienced with Eli. One half of me was surprised he wouldn't just turn on the radio or pop in a CD, and the other was irritated that he didn't on my behalf. I'd never been able to tolerate the screams of agony that Eli revered as music; he learned that quickly while we were together and made it a habit not to subject me to it when he drove anywhere. Obviously I didn't expect him to allow one of my old mixed CD's to grace us in the cab this time, nor did I hold out any hope that any of them still existed, but for him to let the ride stagnate on in the eerie and painfully noticeable quiet was just torturing us both.

"We're here," Eli announced in a soft voice, almost as if he was reluctant to shake me from the daydream I'd slipped into. I hadn't noticed us pulling up and I was thankful for the interruption; I had no business letting my mind wander back to that place. I turned to him with a scowl so natural that even I was taken aback by it.

"I-" he croaked, likely a bit more taken back. No words formed past the stammer and he slipped out of the driver's seat, instinctively making his way over to the passenger's side which I was already out of. We stood cramped on the pavement for an awkward moment before he stepped aside, letting my sour being take the lead up to the steps. I did so, and almost tauntingly, he was at my side once more, tugging open the heavy handled door before my hand could settle on it. I scoffed at the suddenly sexist gesture that was never so heinous until that moment, brushing past him without thanks.

The gust of warmth from the library's cozy walls evoked a quick change in me. Somewhere subconsciously I knew my behavior was unreasonable, brash even. Eli of all people was never a deserving party of any heat, but suddenly I was overwhelmed with irritation, each huffy knee-jerk reaction or dramatic sigh occurring like second nature towards him for reasons that if they existed I couldn't explain. I filed away a mental note to lighten up and be the gracious recipient of any other polite and chivalrous gestures he may offer today if I hadn't already shot that horse in the face.

A few more slow steps inside, Eli in tow, I gave my customary once over of the familiar building, taking in the dimmed surroundings, the smell of the aged pages encircling the room, all the tiny details that no sane patron would likely heed any attention to at all. But that was never the case for me since I could remember. Even before I could read, it calmed me here, it brought me to a good place, and it wasn't until I cracked my first smile that I realized how long it'd been since I'd been here.

"Too long," I whimpered, accidentally voicing the sorrow.

"Since?"

I jumped at the voice behind me, having had been so wrapped up in my recollection that I'd forgotten about the body attached to the sound until the moment it boomed behind me.

"Since noth-" I snapped my mouth shut. My first instinct was to snap at him again, insist it was none of his concern, but I managed to catch this instance, averting the internal crisis before it began. With a gentle sigh, I started over, choosing honestly over defense. "Since I've been here," I all but whispered, my eyes occupied with the rows of banged up spines. "I don't even remember the last time. Must've been close to a year ago." I couldn't pretend that I didn't hear the edge of sadness in my voice; it was a sad thing to confess, a sadder situation to be found in. This building had once been my refuge. From my parents before Eli was in the picture, and many times even with. I smiled at that. When the fights got bad, Eli knew this was the surefire stop to cheer me up, even if only by a fraction, and would frequently drag me kicking and screaming until I gave in, even know we both knew how much better I'd feel once there.

It was no surprise that the two of us shared a penchant for literature. Though our preferences tended to vary –greatly, with one erring favoritism with the vampire works-, we could always find a good plot to debate, which was secretly more thrilling for us then a civil, mutual discussion, and somewhere down the line, it would spur into an all-out war, consuming out respective afternoons until it was the only relevant fight anymore. Even now I had to be grateful for the countless afternoons Eli had wasted on me; ones that almost always ended in him conceding, no matter how strongly convinced he was that he had the valid points. He'd rather me be happy than him be right. It didn't take me as long this time to notice the tears that had been welling behind my downcast lids, and were now slowly propelling down my cheeks, one sacrifice by one. Similarly, these were happy tears, a welcome change from the only expression I'd been capable of lately. But that knowledge was my own, and as soon as Eli noticed my display, he sighed heavily, his emotion not syncing with mine.

"What?" I asked innocently, perplexed by his sudden angst.

"Nothing," he hissed. So now it was his turn to snap. I can't say I wasn't deserving of it, but it really did puzzle me how abrupt the change came in him, and I was about to chalk it up to a side effect, or symptom of the disorder I wasn't familiar with, when he laughed.

"Eli?" I pressed, uneasy by the darkness in the chuckle.

"You've barely been in my company for an hour and you've already cried twice," he explained bitterly. He had sorely misconstrued both events, and I implored him to understand, but he cut me off. "If you honestly think I would ever do something that stupid and risk your safety, I think you should walk home or call Jake," he spat, not even willing to meet my eyes.

"Eli," I tried again, cut off at the same point.

"No, I get it Clare, it's not like I don't know what a… monster everyone thinks I am. Not like I don't believe it half the time." He paused, and I considered my third attempt before he sighed a heavy continuation.

"I just hoped you still saw the human that's in there too."

His final words were not laced in acid. They were sincere and heart wrenching, and part of me wanted to cry again, but this round wouldn't be a happy one, and I couldn't risk pressing his sanity any more than I accidentally had already. He stood up straight, turning away from me and slipping down an adjacent aisle, and I took the hint not to follow him. And suddenly I regretted how I'd been acting all day. My assumptions right off the bat and initial refusal to this outing, the curt behavior to his harmless, and in retrospect gentlemanly gestures. And most of all allowing my mind to drift into memories of such bliss, when those times were now so far off.

He is human. He is breakable. And if I dared to reach out and touch him right now, he would be soft and warm beneath my fingers.