Disclaimer: yadda yadda … not stephenie meyers, no deniro cometh this way … I hardly own my car, let alone twilight …

Chapter Six: The Grudge

defining, confining, controlling, and we're sinking deeper. (mjk)

BPOV:

"Can I ask you a question?" I looked up and over at Edward, who was sitting to my left on the table of the picnic bench we always sat at. I tried to control my face as I heard his voice, because in the week since we'd been coming out here, this was virtually the first time he had verbally addressed me. My mind flashed to a couple of days ago, and I felt the uprising of anger beginning to pulsate through me.

I was in no way opposed to the evening routine that Edward and I had found ourselves in lately. In fact, my days simply centered around them, as I found myself brimming with anticipation whenever the late hour drew near. I don't know exactly how this had come to be. But, because it was Edward who had initiated it, and also Edward who had previously told me he couldn't be around me, I couldn't quite bring myself to ask.

I knew the reason why I couldn't ask him, too. Because I was afraid if I did, he would realize his mistake, and away he would go, back to condemning my presence to the very depths of hell.

I hadn't forgotten about Rosalie, though. And apparently, neither had he. A few nights ago, after one of our extended and silent cigarette breaks, we had both walked up the stairs, still cloaked in the quiet, and walked into each of our separate bedrooms. It was only five minutes later before I heard it. It was as loud and clear as it was that first day.

Edward and Rosalie. Having sex.

I couldn't register exactly how to feel for a very long time. I stayed awake nearly the whole night. I tried to bring myself to listen to music, I tried to write, even; anything to distract me from the terrible thoughts and feelings that were rapidly enveloping me. But none of it worked. I couldn't concentrate in the slightest. The sounds of their sex didn't last very long, but it didn't matter. It very nearly broke me.

The silence that Edward and I had found was not disturbing, but infinitely peaceful. We did not need to fill up the space with useless strings of sentence or unnecessary questions. Although we hadn't talked about it, it was as if we both understood the reason we were out there. I thought Edward must have needed some peace in his life as much as I did. No social workers, no talking about the past, no trying to prove I was something I'm not; just the truth, presented in silence. It was alarmingly gratifying.

But he took it all away by sleeping with Rosalie again. Because it made me realize he didn't need the sense of quiet as much as I did. It was just an aberration; something to distract him momentarily while Rosalie wasn't home or whatever. And it hurt. It hurt to think that I was just filling in the gaps. Because it wasn't like that for me. I fucking depended on this time with him. It made the rest of it not seem so bad. It was strange-it was like I could finally be myself without even having to say anything. I'd never felt so comfortable with anyone else before, and that really fucking scared me, because I thought about how fleeting these moments could be. Before I knew it, Edward would grow bored, and the sex with Rosalie would replace our time together as if I had never even existed. It kind of broke my heart.

So after that night, I tried to reason myself out of it. The whole next day, I contemplated staying in my room for the evening, or even going for a walk far away from the house; anything to distract me from going to that same fucking spot and sitting next to Edward while he reeked of sex.

But after the first part of my routine was complete; cooking for Dr. Cullen, Alice, Jasper, and Emmett, I couldn't tear myself away from walking through that kitchen door and out into the black cold where I knew I would soon find him. The anger flashed as soon as he showed up, but it faded away by the third cigarette and soon I could forget that Rosalie even existed. We listened to our individual headphones, smoking our own cigarettes, not talking and only going inside when it got too late or one of us made the executive decision to get up and leave.

It was very seldom me.

So, when Edward decided to say something to me tonight, I was a little more than taken aback. The anger flashed again randomly, and I couldn't figure out why the sound of his voice was what brought it back again. "Yeah," I said, in response to him. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering," he paused, a little hesitant, "what are you listening to?"

"Oh," I said, a bit shocked. It made sense in some way-it was something we sort of had in common, since we both seemed to have our headphones permanently attached to our ears, but I had never considered the fact that Edward may have been interested in my musical taste. Or maybe he was just trying to make conversation? But why now, after so long of nothing?

"Well," I thought, considering how much I should divulge, "right now I'm listening to Cat Power. Ever heard of her?"

"No," he said, a quiet smile spreading across his face. "That's a really fucking weird name. What kind of music is it?"

"Her name is actually Chan Marshall. I think the name is just a kind of stage name-I'm not really sure. It's kind of eclectic; sometimes folksy, sometimes blues, sometimes she sings solo against a piano." I paused, suddenly thinking I was talking too much. "I like her a lot, I guess."

"Hmm," he murmured, looking at me with some undisclosed intent. "I guess that wasn't what I was expecting from you." I felt confusion pass through me, and I wondered if he'd been trying to guess what I'd been listening to for some time.

"I didn't know you were expecting anything," I said, matching his gaze with my own. "What kind of music do you listen to?" I realized Edward's question gave me an opportunity to ask my own.

"I only listen to one thing," he said quietly, looking away from me. "It's a band: Tool. Are you familiar?"

"Only somewhat. I think I'd heard a few songs on the radio before." His head snapped up at this, and his mouth turned into a frown.

"Those are just singles. They really don't do them any real justice." I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just bit my lip and looked out into the distance. The Cullen house was adjacent to a forest, one that was probably not too large, but intimidating enough that I hadn't yet found myself exploring it. It was past nine now, and the trees were faintly lit from the glow of the shining half moon. The chill was not as present as it had been through the last week, but still, a slight shiver passed through me.

I felt Edward looking at me so I turned my head to face him. His gaze was that curious one he'd had before, the first morning I'd spent at the house. I wanted desperately to ask him what he was thinking, but I bit my tongue for fear of overdoing conversation. In that moment, I silently cursed my nervousness, as I again wondered why Edward's opinion meant so much to me. Was I just fearful of losing this quiet escape that I'd found? I couldn't quite figure it out.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked, still wearing the curious and intense gaze. I felt my eyes widen in surprise, and I hated the fact that my expressions were so easy to read. I should be playing it cool, calm, collected. Instead I was acting like every other teenage girl in wonder at his presence.

"Okay," I said with a bit of reserve, and Edward scooted swiftly off the bench. I noticed that he kept his headphones around his neck, and that he had turned his Ipod off.

Something told me that Edward Cullen wanted to talk to me.

EPOV:

She was definitely not like any other teenage girl that I'd met, that much I knew for sure. What other girl would be content with sitting in the quiet with some fucked up guy who had been a total prick to her a mere week ago? It didn't make a lot of sense-but I wasn't complaining. I was beginning to put a lot of emphasis on these nights, more that I was really sure was okay. But I tried not to think of it too much. I definitely didn't want to freak her, or myself, out.

The last night I'd slept with Rose kind of pulled a fast one on me. After she'd left, I lay awake, contemplating the sudden and compulsive desire to not have sex with her anymore. Thinking back, I realized I'd kind of lost interest a long time ago, but she was still a hot girl who basically threw herself on me on a daily basis, so what full blooded male can honestly resist that?

Apparently, I could. Well, I had to have sex with her one last time to figure it out, but that is what really did all of the convincing for me. Sex with Rosalie was just filler. Just masking over the void. All it did was release a little aggression and relieve my libido.

But that wasn't enough for me anymore. I didn't want some meaningless void filler. I needed something … more. Something bigger than all of this. And for some odd reason, all of my senses were pointing to Bella.

It wasn't as if I were particularly attracted to her. I mean, I didn't think about fucking her whenever I saw her. In fact, I never thought about fucking her, except when realization hit me that I wasn't thinking about it. There was something there that wasn't related to sex in the slightest, something completely different that compelled me to be around her. I knew most of it had to do with the fact that we didn't have to talk at all around each other. It was so weird because it was so goddamn comfortable, and yet I didn't know the first thing about her.

Except that her smell still drove me crazy. Whenever I would first see her, it would nearly blindside me with its compelling force, and I would both want to run the fuck away from her or bury my face in her neck. The feelings were compulsions that hit me instantly, and it would take me a few minutes to adjust.

But I would, because I would breathe deeply, letting the smell slowly desensitize me, until no longer did it fuel a burning ache, but it only smelled appealingly attractive. I wanted to burrow within her peonies and nutmeg and sage; let it wash over me and engulf me in its warmth.

It was fucking driving me crazy. Wanting both to be incredibly close to her and to run as far away from her as possible at the same time. The pull of both emotions was freakishly strong, leaving me breathless trying to make sense of it.

But the one thing I knew for sure was, the need to be around her was stronger than the desire not to be. Because here I fucking was, every goddamn day, and there was nothing I could do to convince myself to not come to our spot or to leave when I got there.

But other than her smell, I didn't quite get the pull. And it was her, I'd realized, that brought me there. Sure, the silence was comforting in itself, the not having to talk and the ability to find another person who seemed to enjoy it as much as I did. But she was comfortable, or her presence was, and that's what soothed me more than the stillness. It was that warmth I'd noticed on that first day, a warmth that transcended from her wide brown eyes and bellowed out around her, overwhelming me in the process.

The days were the same, though. I still avoided the cafeteria at lunch, still sat in the back of Alice's car with my eyes shut and my fists clenched; I still bolted from creative writing the second the bell rang. Those things never changed. Because when we weren't immersed in the quiet backdrop of the black forest, I could forget that I ever wanted to be around her in the first place. In those moments, the only need that was ever pressing was the uncontrollable urge to get the fuck away from her. Then, I could forget about how soothing her presence was in the silence and how effectively I was pulled there every evening. With others surrounding us, the ache again pulsated, and my mind would wrap around the cool arms of my mother and the tears would press in desperation against my lids.

It wasn't clear to me why some places were bearable while others weren't. Maybe when we were outside the coolness dispelled the scent somewhat, so it wasn't in my primary focus. Or, maybe when we were amidst socialization and surrounded by others my memory would simply flare up, and I would realize the person I'd made myself to be: someone who's known to not give a shit. So why did I give a shit about this one? It still was throwing me all out of focus.

But I found, these last few nights, after I'd given Rose the boot, that there was a part of me that was itching to know more about Bella. Like, where did she come from? What music does she listen to? Why the fuck did she keep coming out here to sit with me?

So I finally asked her one question in attempts to satiate my interest. But it didn't work. I figured she'd ramble off some bullshit Britney Spears or something, and then I would find that she really was just some stupid girl, and my curiosity, as well as my need to be around her, would disappear.

But fucking shit, of course her interests would be way off my predictions, and so the curiosity was even more fueled. I knew I was staring at her again when she answered me, and I also knew I couldn't fucking help it. I wanted to know more about this girl. I wanted to break the silence. I wanted to talk to her.

I thought it might be easier and less awkward if we went for a walk instead of staying in close proximity where the impulse to stare at her would arise more often. If we kept moving, I'd have to be somewhat distracted. I wanted to push pause on the creep factor that I was afraid was becoming a prominent characteristic of mine.

We walked for a few minutes in our comfortable silent state, only the sounds of forest life and our footsteps crushing branches and leaves surrounding us. The path we were on was a walkway I was familiar with, as during summer twilight when there was more activity around the house during that hour, I would find my escape walking out into the woods. It led fairly deep into the hub of the woods, but I wasn't planning on taking Bella that far. Just a little walk to get our blood pumping and to push away the anticipation that was now making me twitch in sudden nervousness. I shook my arms out, trying to dissipate the feeling with further movement.

Her head flicked up a second after I did that, and a light smile touched at her lips. I found myself smiling back at her, and for a minute I was caught up in the moment: us walking in silence in the dark out here, the cool breeze making her hair flow softly around her face and neck, her smell drifting softly towards me. For a second, I was gone. I was swimming in the moment.

I snapped myself out of it and returned my focus to the path ahead. "So," I said, deciding the best way to avoid creep factor was to talk it out. "Cat Power, huh? Sounds relatively interesting." She laughed, a light, subtle sound that echoed softly against the darkness.

"I don't search far and wide for the interesting factor as far as music is concerned," she said without bitterness. "I just find what I like and listen to what I like. It's as simple as that."

"I see," I muttered. "What is it that you usually like? If don't mind my asking …"

"Of course not. I guess I mostly gravitate toward female singer/songwriters. I like artists that play a variety of instruments. And lyrics are important to me as well. I don't know … I just like music, like everyone else, I suppose."

I couldn't help myself-I looked at her. Her expression seemed far away, like she was deep in thought. "Does everyone like music?" I asked, curious that she would think so. In my experience, everyone enjoys music to some extent, but not everyone truly likes it, or know what they like. And hardly anyone really loves it.

"I think so," she said. "Maybe not everyone likes what I like, and maybe I don't like what everyone else likes. But it is pretentious to think you're the only person in the world who's moved by a particular musician, or by a particular song." She caught my eye, and I felt like she knew everything about me, or that I was transparent, and the mask I'd worn for so long was wearing thin. Or maybe she was just speaking from personal experience. Either way, my head was spinning again.

"I guess I never thought of it that way," I admitted. I felt like she was inadvertently calling me on my bullshit, and I was at once insecure and impressed. This girl sure had a way of pulling mixed emotions from me, of that, I was sure. "I don't think I'm the only person who's ever been moved by music … that's just fucking ridiculous. But, I guess I've never met anyone who considered music an important part of their life. Is that fair?"

"It's fair," she said, smiling once again. "But not completely accurate."

"How so?" I demanded, getting a little frustrated.

"Because now you've met me."

I didn't know what to say then, because again this girl had taken me completely off guard. I shook my head in amusement and frustration as we continued on our walk. We were heading a little deeper than I liked, so I stopped abruptly in my tracks, and motioned back in home's direction.

"I think we better turn back," I said, anticipating her agreement.

"Do you mind if we keep walking?" she said, her eyes softly pleading. "I haven't really explored too much out here … I'd like to keep going." Again, she had taken me by surprise, as I had expected her to be too cold or maybe uncomfortable with this newfound progression in our relationship: talking. But, I guess if I were really paying attention, I would have to learn to expect the unexpected with this Bella.

"Alright then. We'll keep going. But I have to warn you: the trail gets a little rough further ahead. Think you can manage?"

She squared her shoulder confidently and grinned broadly. "I think I can manage just fine."

"Well, okay then, Miss Brave One." I flexed my wrist and patted the air before us. "Onward."

We resumed our walk again in silence. I let the silence work in things I was not ready to say. More questions, I suppose: but I was really curious to know what she was thinking. She was very hard for me to read, as she wasn't at all like any girl I'd ever met. None of the other trivial concerns seemed to fill her mind. She was contemplative and abrupt: and I liked it.

"What's your favorite song, Edward?" she asked, taking me off guard again. It was the first time she'd said my name, and for some reason, I felt her warmth all over again. But it was the question I was more wary of than anything else. Because it was a question I wasn't comfortable answering.

"Next question," I said a bit sternly.

She looked at me with confusion. "What's so hard about that one?"

"It's just … personal," I said, hoping she would get it and move on. I never talked to anyone about that song. It meant to much to me. I felt if anyone heard it, they would instantly know everything. I couldn't have that. Not with her; not with anyone.

"Okay then. So are you giving me permission to ask a different question?"

"Yeah, sure … if you want." It never really occurred to me that Bella would be interested in knowing things about me as well. Maybe she was just trying to make conversation? Either way, I was interested.

"Have you always been a writer?" she asked. I was an unprepared asshole again. God, this girl paid attention. Well, maybe I was giving her too much credit, as she had seen me writing countless amounts of times in my notebook, and she had heard my presentation in creative writing. But she was interested in it, which was more than I could say for most people.

"Pretty much," I said somewhat evasively. Then I thought this girl deserved a little more for making the effort with such a question. "I didn't have much growing up, and my mom, she was a writer, so she always had a paper and pen in hand, so I guess I got that from her. She was a poet, which I definitely didn't get from her. But she was always encouraging me … telling me to keep writing …" I realized I had gone too far, and instantly regret filled me. I did not want to fucking talk about my mother, especially not with the reincarnation of her scent standing two feet away from me, but there was something about Bella that made me foolishly honest. It was fucking ludicrous: I couldn't tell her about my favorite song but I can impulsively spew some bullshit out about my dead mother. Ridiculous.

But Bella knew what was what. She was perceptive, that girl. "I would consider you a poet," she said, diverting the topic away from my mother and back to her original intent. I shook my head, both grateful and annoyed that she thought she knew what kind of writer I was from one mere example.

"I don't know about that," I said, still shaking my head. "I don't know what kind of writer I am. I don't think it's easily classified, you know? I don't do fucking stanzas or rhyme or some bullshit like that. I don't really care about form. It just … is. It is what it is."

She seemed to contemplate that for a moment, her brow furrowed as if lost in thought. Her eyes shifted toward me momentarily. "It doesn't matter," she said, seemingly confident in what she was about to say. "You're still a poet. Those other kinds of rules don't matter."

"Hmm," I said, not knowing how to argue, or if I even wanted to. Of all things, this girl thought I was a poet. Which in some aspects, could be an insult or a compliment, depending on how the accuser was delivering it. But Bella was complementing me; she was basically telling me she liked my shit. I kind of felt like I was on a bit of a high, as no girl had ever read or heard what I had written and had said something to that affect. Rosalie, for example, had had absolutely no interest in my writing. She brushed it off completely, as if she never could be bothered. I couldn't begrudge her too much for it: I was never interested in her shit either. But Bella was interested in something that interested me. I felt lighter, as if I were walking on air instead of leaves and dirt.

I suddenly realized I should be paying more attention to where we were going, as I had been so enwrapped in our conversation and speculation that I hadn't realized how far off path we were walking. Looking around, even in the dark, I could tell that we were very far off course, and that in actuality, I had no idea where we were.

"Fuck!" I said, the beginnings of panic starting to unravel. I had no fucking clue where we were. I looked at my watch and realized that it was past midnight; we had been out here for so long and neither of us had realized it.

"What?" Bella asked, her innocence to the situation obvious.

"I don't know where the fuck we are," I said furiously, whipping around, trying to catch my bearings. We had definitely come from the north, which meant we had to go back south. But I sort of remembered a left turn here or there, but I couldn't think of exactly where it had been. We were cloaked in an even deeper envelopment of trees, and the air was thick with darkness as the moon was shielded by the forest. I was suddenly so pissed at myself for bringing Bella out here when now we were completely lost and it was all my fault.

"Okay," Bella said, obviously attempting to make sense out of our predicament. "We'll just go back the way we came. That should be easy enough, right?" I decided I had to keep my cool, as not to freak Bella out.

"Alright," I agreed. "Let's go."

BPOV:

It felt like we had been walking for hours. I looked at my watch, and sure enough, it was well past 2am. I had no idea what direction we were going in anymore, and I could sense Edward's growing frustration and anxiety with every new step that we took. He let out a few verbal indications to his mood, with a random "Fuck!" or "I'm such a fucking asshole" here and there. I really didn't think it was his fault, as we were both pretty distracted and not paying too much attention to where we were going throughout.

But as Edward grew more pissed off with every step, I just grew more tired. So fucking tired. My movements were sluggish and my eyes were glazing over. I couldn't concentrate. I had no idea where we were going. And honestly, I didn't care. I was so far gone I could have curled up at the foot of a tree and passed the fuck out. I barely registered Edward's presence beside me, but I could tell his pace had faltered too. Then suddenly, I had an idea.

"I don't think we're getting anywhere, Edward," I said, my voice sounding shaky and unbalanced. "Why don't we wait it out until morning when we can see where we're going?"

Edward whirled around and stared at me, shocked understanding registering on his face. "No way," he said violently. "No fucking way. I am not having you spend the night out here in the forest in the fucking cold! Out of the question." I was too tired to consider his overreaction to my proposition, but I did barely register that he was in some way worried about me. But all that seemed highly inconsequential, as I was mostly mildly angry that he would be so fully against sleeping it off a little bit before taking it up in the morning. It was a Friday, after all, so we didn't have to worry about waking up for school the next morning.

But none of that mattered. I wanted sleep, and I wanted it now.

"Fuck off," I stuttered, turning around to face the base of a huge tree. I thought I saw some grass near it, and that grass was suddenly more appealing than the thought of my down comforter at the Cullen house. I was sleeping in that grass, and there was no way Edward Cullen was going to stop me.

I tripped with every step as I trudged toward to tree and the grass and barely made it before I fell on my knees and crawled the rest of the way. As soon as my hands touched the grass my eyelids seemed to fall, and my arms gave way from beneath me and I fell flat on my face. But my face was in the grass, which was really so soft, and I didn't have the energy to rearrange myself, so I just stayed in that position.

But Edward didn't approve. "Whoa whoa there," he said, coming from behind me. I felt the warmth from his hands as he moved me from my stomach to my back. I felt movement, and I realized he was carrying me, but not too far, because we seemed to now be at the base of the tree, with the landscape of grass reaching out before us. I partially registered Edward's arms wrapping around me, but then all the rest of it went out of focus.

Sleep came quickly; no music, no distractions.

***

I woke early the next morning, enveloped in an uncertain kind of warmth, as I couldn't remember where I was. Or who the fuck was hugging me. I jumped up quickly, and crawled away from Edward who was leaning against the back of the tree with sleepy haze still foggy in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice mumbled and groggy. "You just looked cold … I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," I said, finally understanding the situation, and the fact that I had been the one to force us into it. "I just forgot … where we were."

He stood, running his hands through his disheveled hair and wiping sleep from his eyes. "Well, I know where we are now. Ready to go home?"

I smiled faintly, thankful for the sunlight, thankful for the sleep, and thankful that Edward had been nice enough to think of making me comfortable in the first place. "Yeah, I'm ready."

He smiled back at me, and I suddenly realized that everything had changed, and more would change. Edward Cullen was changing me. And maybe I was changing him, too.

We walked, again in silence, and Edward found the path with ease and relief swept through me. Because, for once, I was looking forward to going home. Home to the Cullen household.

A/N: Ok, this chapter was so fun to write, and hopefully it was just as fun to read as well. We'll see what plays out next time around, but I DO anticipate more juice. NOT lemon juice, naughty girls ;)

I forgot to thank all the wonderful people who reviewed, and especially all those who wished me a successful and safe trip to Oregon (it was both). And again, thanks to anyone who has recced this story at L/L or anywhere else … it truly makes my day when I see that.

And more reviews, por favor? Make my day, lovelies. :)