Author's Notes:
OMG THIS CHAPTER HAS PLOT! Crazy, I know. It's short, but expect another one early next week. ~I am on a roll~. Hopefully this chapter clears about some thing and alludes to others that will be cleared up in chapter eight. P.S. I SUCK AT SUMMARIES. Anyone got a good one for this fic? I'll be damned if I think of something. But really, no pressure. THANK YOU FOR JUST READING MY RAMBLES. 3
She was in love with Jacob.
For a moment there was nothing but the landscape blurring by, the cool draft seeping through steel and the calm mutterings of those traveling.
Out of the corner of her eye, a pale hand rested easily on the table, long shadows slipping over the turn of tendons contracting.
She was.
She wondered how he would react if she touched him again. If she reached out, skimmed her fingers over his pointed knuckles.
Stomach turning, she looked away.
They'd spent the first hour of the trip in physical silence, her thoughts only filling the gap between them. Bella locked her eyes back to the thick green trees and lush foliage, admiring the tips of hazy mountains in the distance.
She faltered, readjusted the folded hands in her lap.
"We're almost to Port Angeles," he remarked quietly. She felt the velvet of his voice as it stroked her cheek.
She didn't trust her voice to respond: instead she nodded stiffly.
Of course she was in love with Jacob.
She felt Edward's eyes boring into her, his unmitigated attention breaking her down, piece by piece. The fragile front she was struggling to keep up crumbled further with each second, tearing down her defenses.
She let out a puff of air and dropped her gaze to the table before her, sinking further into the coat that Edward had provided her. The train shook on uneven tracks; her shoulder bumped into his rhythmically. She heard him suck in breath.
She stopped breathing and bowed her head, letting her hair curtain between them like a flimsy barrier.
I don't know what I feel, she reminded herself, but she knew how she felt about Jacob. She knew how Jacob felt about her. There was nothing else that should matter, that did matter, once upon a time before whatever was beside her—the monster, savior, the man—forced himself into her life.
Before she'd willing opened the door and let him in. Before she kissed him.
She shuddered at the memory and wrapped her arms around herself, as if to keep her insides together. It had been there, all the while, from the very first moment no matter how disgusted or terrified she felt. There was something eerily captivating about the creature next to her. Something she couldn't shake.
Yet she didn't feel enchanted, and maybe that was the witchcraft—only changed, as if something monumental in her had shifted between that one hesitant touch in her room and now.
"Bella." His voice shocked her. Her lungs screamed as he shifted noiselessly, arm sliding into her peripheral, fingers pushing back her hair.
She swallowed past a dry throat, a current rushing through her as he tucked strands carefully behind her ear.
"Breathe."
She gasped in air, and found the black depths of his soul, her mind bare and vulnerable to his scrutiny. At first she didn't mind that he could read her thoughts and openly shared them with him; it was easier than trying to fumble for the right words. But with each new thought she felt herself falling deeper; she looked at his lips and remembered what they felt like.
Her cheeks pooled with color and he leaned closer, his expression going slack with hunger. What kind, she could now only guess.
She was under no magic, but for some indefinable reason he was—with her.
"I'm confused," she admitted.
"I'm not."
The surety in his words both calmed and unnerved her.
"How do you—how do you feel?"
He smirked, but the tension didn't dissipate. She clutched tighter at herself, confessions he already must know bursting forth.
"I'm worried. I'm afraid. Jacob is…" Guilt choked her for a moment—Edward's expression went blank. "He's everything to me, and I don't know where he is or if he's still alive. He doesn't know where..." I am. With you. And I kissed you. I'm supposed to hate you. I shouldn't have kissed you. But I wanted to and that's a whole other... "Jacob… he deserves better." And you. I'm dragging you along with me, and if Jacob knew whom I was with, what I did… I don't know what he'd do. I'm selfish. I'm so selfish and I'm so confused.
"You're not the selfish one, Bella," he simply replied. "Trust me."
She choked on a laugh and squeezed her eyes shut, because she trusted him more than she should—she shouldn't trust him at all.
I shouldn't have asked you to come. They'll kill you just for being what you are.
"It was my choice, Bella," he sighed, and all the nerves in her body hummed and collided as he touched her, fingers feathering down her jaw. "I'm having trouble letting you go…" He muttered the pained words as if to himself, dragging each syllable out as if they were something to savor. "You want to know how I feel? I just feel you. I never want to stop."
She was gasping little breaths, all of her emotions bubbling beneath the surface. All of her confusion increased double fold, but somehow it seemed less important than it did only a few mere seconds ago, taking a backseat to the rush of adrenaline sending her careening in her still body, the fear and curiosity and desire she felt for him rendering her immobile.
Her face heated; his thumb skimmed over the blood-filled flesh with a gentle growl. "I love making you blush…" His teeth snapped audibly and she flinched before settling back against his touch, her heart racing. "So fragile…" He whispered the observation and leaned in, resting his head against hers, nose brushing her ear, his lips contouring to the skin just above her neck.
There was something dark and violent underneath his gentleness. She felt relieved to feel a storm of fear and then felt sick.
"You shouldn't trust me, but I want you to. I should have stayed away, but now it's too late."
"Too late?" Her voice shook.
"I haven't felt anything but rage and guilt in years." His cool breath made her shiver. "I haven't felt anything like you in my entire existence."
"And what is it exactly that you feel?"
He was silent, and all she could do was plead with him to answer with her thoughts. His lips marked her skin, just once, and blindly her hand shot out, her fingers wrapping around his shirt for leverage.
"Human."
It was dusk by the time they neared Forks.
The grey clouds covered every square inch of the sky and they'd passed miles of forest and patches of stumped trees on the way, layers of white sprawling snow that slowly thinned as they reached further towards the shore.
Bella rested her head against the steel of the rumbling car, clenching her teeth together to prevent shuddering.
There was no train after Port Angeles; Forks was only a small blip on the map, a dreary place populated by lumberjacks and the little family they had. Bella had only found peace in her entire existence at La Push, blending among the Quileutes under Jacob's arm.
Without Jacob, there was nothing to return to.
She felt a dam of tears sting behind her eyes and turned into her shoulder, knowing it was useless to hide. She wished Edward hadn't insisted on buying an automobile to drive the latter miles, saying again that it was too cold to run; she wished she didn't have the time to stare out the window and worry and think.
"We'll get a room," he announced suddenly, and Bella whipped her head around to stare at his sudden speech; he'd hardly said more than three words the entire ride.
She had the deepest suspicion he spent the entire time listening to her roaming thoughts.
He did not look away from the winding road, pushing the engine to its highest limit. She was too stressed to care that they were going so fast. She wanted to get there as soon as possible.
"Will you be recognized?"
"It's a small town," she answered in a throaty, unused voice.
"Then in what way would you like to say my relation is to you?" His tone was even and measured, devoid of all emotion, but his eyes flickered towards her and they were tight and pained.
"We're… good friends," she decided, and felt her throat constrict at the words.
He smiled humorlessly, but it was still beautiful and she couldn't look away. "All right. We met in Seattle and I'm accompanying you as a good friend during your visit back home."
She pressed her lips together, wondering why the exchange unnerved her so completely as they entered the town limits and all too soon the few stores and houses greeted them.
She felt a flood of memories retch forward, many she pushed back, her gaze automatically finding the church steeple down the road and the small dilapidated home, now rotting, beside it.
She blinked and one tear fell; hastily she wiped it away as they pulled beside the road to the town's lone motel.
Edward was there before she could even endeavor to compose herself and struggle to open the door, his alabaster hand extended for her. He was stone-still, inhuman, his glassy black eyes harder than she'd ever seen them.
She flushed, intimidated, and then flushed harder, remembering his comment from the train. Then she slipped her hand into his, feet still stumbling to the ground. There was some warmth in his gaze when she chanced a look back up, his fingers curling tighter around hers.
"Miss Bella," he said politely, but the sound of his voice was teasing and intimate.
"Mister Edward," she retorted, and properly took his elbow.
His teeth flashed and he shut the door for her, escorting them both to the hotel, but she hardly saw the building, stricken on his genuine grin.
He stopped suddenly, his expression going slack.
"Isabella?"
The icy air froze her lungs as she whipped around towards the familiar voice, her face contorting in despair. "Uncle Charlie."
His eyes were wet underneath the wide rim of his police chief hat, and in the next moment she was in his warm embrace, her nose buried in the smell of tobacco and cedar. "Bella. Oh, Bella," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay? Where were you?"
"It's okay, Charlie," she said, his grief and guilt and love injecting some strength into her frame. "It's over now and I'm back and I'm fine. It's not your fault. Dad took me to Seattle."
"It is my fault, sweetheart." He pulled back to look at her, hands gripping her arms, a bittersweet smile on his face. "I knew you were running around with that kid, and I should have known Will would react like he did… and the attack, Bella. If only I'd been there to…"
"Don't be ridiculous, Charlie," she pleaded, her heart clenching. "There wasn't anything you could have done. It was my fault." She felt the weight on her shoulders, pushing her down and strangling her, and she didn't want that burden for Charlie.
"I've been looking everywhere, talking to everyone I know. Your father and you just disappeared."
"That's what he wanted," she assuaged him.
"I should have looked harder. I'm so sorry, Bella."
He crushed her against him again and she relented to his guilt, bringing her arms around his shoulders, holding back tears that spilled anyway. "It's okay," she whispered. "Please don't blame yourself."
She'd lied before—there was more in Forks for her than just Jacob.
"Is Jacob here?" She held her breath, fingers curling into his jacket; she felt as if even her heart paused.
Charlie pulled away, discreetly wiping under his tearful eyes, hand dropping casually to his gun holster, the sight both comforting and familiar. "I'm sorry, Bella. He left. He's gone, and Seth and Leah are gone too. No one knows where to. I'd thought he chased after you, but Billy seemed so… strange, even when he agreed with me. Something's not right." He shook his head, his jaw tensing. "He's keeping things from me. The whole damn tribe is and I know it's about that night and the attack."
A sob choked her, grief welling inside. She grabbed at her heart and felt it breaking. "I have to see Billy."
He nodded and seemed overcome by the sight of her. "You're back, Bella. I swear I won't let anyone hurt you again. How did you-?" He paused and seemed for the first time to notice Edward, who was hovering only a yard away, watching the exchange with practiced indifference. "Who's this?"
She stuttered for a moment, swallowing past the building lump in her throat, but Edward swiftly glided forward, touching her arm minutely before smiling courteously. "My name is Edward Cullen. I assume your Bella's uncle Charlie Swan."
"Yeah," he confirmed and the hand on his gun didn't seem so casual anymore. "What are you doing with her?"
"Charlie-" she started, her brows furrowing in disapproval.
"It's okay, Bella," Edward cut in smoothly. "Your uncle cares about you and travelling alone with a man has its implications."
Her eyes widened, her mouth formed a small 'o', and her cheeks blushed fiercely. "That's not-"
"I have no ill or inappropriate intentions towards your niece, Chief Swan," he began, and Bella felt herself sinking into the ground, dying from embarrassment with each word. She almost scoffed at his statement. "We became fast friends in Seattle. I volunteered to escort her back home after she left her father. I thought it wiser if she had some sort of companion then go it alone."
Charlie seemed skeptical, even when Bella nodded in contempt. "He's helped me a great deal," she confirmed, surprised that she meant every word.
"Well, then." He rocked back and forth on his worn boots, glaring at Edward's stoic frightening stare, and unflinchingly, to his credit. "I guess you're both staying with me."
"Oh, Charlie, it's okay-"
"No, Bella," Edward interrupted, and his gaze stilled her. "It would be rude. He's your uncle, and he's spent the last month combing the state for you."
She nodded dumbly, unable to look away.
"Well that's that, then," Charlie concluded.