3rd person point-of-view

As Jasper brought Bella home, he felt her emotions slip from ease and comfort to tension and fear. He did his best to send soothing emotions towards her, but could only do so much, since he was worried, himself. Not to mention, morbidly curious as to the cause of her distress, and more than a little angry at whoever was causing it. Anger and lust rolled from the house in waves that made Jasper feel like a weak human getting swept away by the tide. He walked Bella all the way to her front door, hoping she would invite him inside. He didn't like the emotional situation from inside the house.

"Today was great, Jasper," Bella said with a small, grateful smile. "Thank you for the ride… Rides."

"No trouble at all," Jasper stalled, returning the smile and shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Well… 'Night, then," she slipped inside, shutting the door. He sighed, moving at vampire speed back to his car, driving out-of-sight of her house. Jasper parked smoothly in a deserted driveway, running back to her house. He jumped to an overhang where he could listen, but not see or be seen. As much as he wanted to make sure she was safe, and as much as he distrusted the situation, the girl did deserve her privacy. He would only stay as long as he was needed- long enough to ensure that Bella was alright.

The anger and lust was even more concentrated, only now, it was met with hatred and disgust. Jasper seethed as he heard Bella whimper, followed by the sound of a zipped un-zipping. 'It wouldn't be helpful to break into that house and tear that man apart.'

He heard the distinct crack of a slap, and felt Bella's spike of pain. 'Not yet, anyway. Think of Bella. You can't scare her.'

There were vague, (yet completely obvious) moist sounds coming from the house, punctuated by moans and grunts, none of which were Bella's. There was a burst of release and content, met with an equally-strong feeling of disgust. 'Who would she have to turn to if she thought you were a vicious killer. Or, if she KNEW you were a vicious killer, more like.'

There was a small gagging sound, followed by the rustle of clothing being returned to its proper places. Then a door opened and slammed, and out stomped a short, thickset man in greasy bluejeans. His hair was dark, his eyes were soulless, and he sported a smug smirk that very nearly undid all of Jasper's nonviolent logic. A deep, angry snarl ripped from Jasper's throat, and Doug whirled in terror, looking for the wild animal he thought caused the sound. He jumped into his car at record speed, speeding off and swerving wildly, nearly wrapping himself around a tree.

Jasper hated that man. More than he had ever hated anything- and there was a lot to hate in his life. He wanted to follow him wherever he was going, then corner him in an alley. He wanted to hear the man beg for mercy, Jasper wanted to laugh- cackle, actually- while denying aforementioned mercy. He wanted to go for the jugular, but not drink. Jasper did NOT want blood like that running through his veins. No, not to drink. To inject venom-- painful, searing venom, the exact opposite of mercy. He would wait long enough that the horrible man would burn sufficiently- a day or two, but not long enough to turn him into a vampire. Then Jasper would finish the job and dispose of the body, never inflict that man on society ever again.

Fantasizing about what he wanted to do was enough to keep him doing what he needed to do-- stay with Bella, help her cope, and allow her to get some rest, if possible. Jasper numbed her shock and depression as she got ready for bed, then, once she was settled in, he let her own emotions trickle out, gradually building waves of lethargy and peace until she was sound asleep. He stayed on her roof all night, making sure her dreams were as pleasant as possible.

***

Bella's Point of View:

I was learning to compartmentalize. I allowed myself a grief period, but refused to dwell. Even subconsciously, I was getting stronger. I wasn't having nightmares about Doug, but rather, dreams about Jasper.

I was wearing an exotic-looking floor-length dress; it was red^like^wine, and fit in well with my surroundings. I was in an |old-fashioned gypsy fortune teller's trailer|, but I knew that it was supposed to be my bedroom. Doug was there, and I instinctively backed against the wall. Suddenly, Jasper burst into the room, looking murderously angry *dangerously beautiful*. His rage was palpable. {A separate energy}. ~~Practically its own person.~~ He seemed like he was about eight feet tall, and his skin was giving off its own \\silvery light//. His eyes were dangerous, a deep burgundy color. [The same color as my dress.] He SnArLeD, but I couldn't hear it… Jasper had Doug by the throat, and Doug exploded into a thousand shards of glass. I didn't quite see how it happened, I was distracted by the \\silvery light//. It had begun to separate into two parts; one part was Jasper's (aura), the other part wafted around the room, circling a crystal ball I hadn't seen previously.

I ran to my savior, and he swept me up into a protective hug, and we were enclosed in an invisible, intangible, {but very real} bubble. Like a pocket of protection had [enclosed] us. Or maybe it just enclosed [me]. Maybe Jasper was the protection. All I knew for sure was that I was safe, even when I should be feeling scared and confused.

Once Jasper set me on my feet, I pulled him to the globe of glittering light, and looked deeply, curiously, into the crystal ball. There was a wisp~of~smoke inside it that looked like a shattered piece of cloud, or a liquid diamond. We leaned closer, as if our very existence lay with that ~wisp~. And the room spun. Suddenly, yet somehow expectedly, we were falling into the orb. Into the future. Landed like actors, dropped into the middle of the scene. Jasper was the only one who knew the lines. I never even saw a script.

He bent his head to my throat and put his cool lips to my pulse point, smiling against my skin. He whispered one word before he kissed my neck.

He said it gently,seductively,tentatively?

"Vampire."

And scene.

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