A/N: The last revise for this story. Thanks for putting up with the confusion, but I really think these revises have made my story stronger, as well as slowed down and strengthened Lia and Edward's relationship.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any other recognizable names.

"Cold hearted orb that rules the night
Removes the colours from our sight
Red is gray and Yellow white
But we decide which is right
And which is an Illusion"

-Nights in White Satin, Moody Blues

Edward Cullen was not a liar.

As promised, he was waiting there, for me. Right after, dinner...

I didn't want to see him.

I had been force fed 600 calories. My stomach was big, I was bloated, I looked disgusting.

"Told you I would be back."

"And your a man of your word, I'm assuming?" His eyes were dancing with mirth.

"You are correct." It was then that I noticed a book dangling from his fingers, as If though it was too dirty to hold.

"What are you doing?" An edge to my voice. That book was special to me, and he was touching it, holding it like some ratty old doll.

"I have one question, why on Earth do you love this book so much?" His face twisted in a grimace, staring at said book as though it had committed a crime.

I shook my head, keeping the savage responses away. Feeling fat made me moody.

"Why do you seem so repulsed by it?" He seemed to be contemplating my question.

His mouth dropped, "I mean, come on. The entire story is written in short, incomplete sentences with undeveloped ideas. The main character is whiny, hypocritical, whiney, and entirely too emotional. Not only that, but he never grows as a character, he tries to act as though he's above adults, and yet, he's one of the most immature fictional characters I've had the misfortune to read about. The story itself, is entirely too depressing."

I stayed quiet for a second, processing everything I already knew about Holden Caulfield. After several moments, I came up with my reply.

"At least it's realistic," I put simply.

He seemed frustrated by my lack of in-depth reply. So I continued.

"I mean, He has this innocence, but at the same time, he's vulgar and cynical. I like that the sentences are so unstructured, because that's how people actually think. I mean, no one actually speaks the way most authors write. It's dramatic, without being melodramatic, it's honest without being obscene, and it balances tragedy and comedy perfectly."

He grumbled, sometimes his brooding actually reminded me of my favorite fictional character.

As if he had read my mind, his frown deepened.

"Holden is a horrible role model."

"I don't think teenagers are exactly the best role models." I retorted.

"And he has this annoying naivety, I mean, he holds his younger sister Phoebe on the highest pedestal, as though she's a hero," he continued in his rant.

"Didn't I say that was one of his qualities? He's innocent, the whole story revolves around him being repulsed by the adult world. The only thing he wants to do is catch kids from falling off of a crazy cliff in this big field of rye for Chrissake." I smiled, using one of Holden's favorite words.

He was still grumbling, his brow furrowed.

"Maybe you reread it, after taking all of my insight into account, I'm pretty sure you would enjoy it." I smiled again, trying not to laugh at his childlike frustration.

Edward nodded, except for it hadn't seemed as though he had been listening to me.

"So you agree with me?"

"I'm agreeing with you?" Slow reflexes anyone?

"You just nodded," I explained.

"You kind of remind me of him, don't get sore about that comparison either."

He smiled back, as if he were teasing me.

"I could say the same about you,"

"Weird, because we've only known each other for about three days." I smiled back…

We stayed up until midnight, talking about our favorite literature, music, instruments, plays, people, wars, everything.

We both loved Dante's Divine Comedy. I argued that my favorite section was Inferno while his was Purgatory. But we both agreed that Paradiso was a little boring.

I loved Fitzgerald and Flaubert, he preferred Austen and Bronte.

"A fan of Wuthering Heights? You brood too much to be a fan of the romantics" No answer, I looked away, seeming to hit a touchy subject.

"Yes." he whispered.

I learned that his favorite was Debussy, while I adored Profokiev. He played the piano, and I danced ballet. We promised each other we would perform for the other someday.

Our favorite time of year was winter, and while I was describing my summer's in California, he muttered something about missing the sun. Whatever that meant.

I enjoyed listening to the Rat Pack and he hated the Beatles, which was blasphemy in my book.

"How can you hate 60s music? It was a revolutionary era for rock!"

"It was about being on drugs and sex and nothing of importance, the music was absolutely horrible."

"You can't just write it off like that, Grace Slick? John Lennon? Dylan? The Stones? They were next to geniuses, delusional, yes… but geniuses nonetheless, Joplin's voice was amazing!"

"The 50s were much better in my book," He pointed out,

"Sorry, not a huge fan of Buddy Holley or Little Richard." not that the 50s sucked, but it was nowhere near as inspiring as the 60s.

"They had eons more talent than any of the off-tune, raspy voices of those hippies." He argued.

"They weren't all hippies, and even if they were, they still wrote good music, not defending hippies at all, by the way."

This is how we started our criticism of hippies, it lasted for hours.

Two weeks, it had been two weeks since I had met the illustrious Edward Cullen. And in two weeks, I was trapped. Enchanted, caught in his web. He was an addiction, and I needed my fix. I felt real for the first time in years. He pushed my buttons and then soothed my temper. My brain was no longer on autopilot, the voices and the food and the disgust melted away. Replaced with theory and Bach and Edgar Allen Poe. He promised to play the piano for me one day. I promised to dance for him.

He had visited me every day, keeping his word. We talked about literature and music and history and art. He was witty and intelligent, short-tempered and broody. He spoke in an old-world manner, he was brought up a gentleman, and his posture was stiff, rigid, and unmoving.

He had scorching honey-colored eyes that would get darker some days, and lighter the next. I complained about how I wished that my eyes could change color, topaz to burnt honey, but mine were always dark.

He told me that my eyes were beautiful, yes beautiful, just the way they where, and that my eye color wasn't "black", it was the color of "coffee". Black coffee, it was the same thing.

Ever since our first encounter, I knew he was different. I think he knew I knew as well.

He was too beautiful, too perfect. His skin was too hard, too cold. His movements too graceful, his voice too musical, his scent too enchanting.

I spent my nights in white satin, a never ending insomnia. He would insist on leaving because I needed my rest, but my nights never seemed to end. When the blackness took over and unspoken fantasies played behind my eyelids; restless dreams where heartbreak was the only conclusion. I would wake up at 3:00 in the morning, my heart beating dangerously fast.

thump..thump..thumpthump..thump..........................thump..thumpthump.

The feeling of rejection was even worse when all you could see were shadows. The darkness strangely reflecting what I felt inside. even someone with fog colored glasses could see that Edward's feelings for me were nothing but platonic. it hurt.

Today was no different, I woke up, sun pouring through, a tangle in the sheets. My body aching and my eyes tired. The tossingturningtossingturning had continued on through the night, giving me no rest.

Slowly, I lifted myself off the bed and prepared myself for today's torturous routine. They were stuffing me like a turkey getting ready for Thanksgiving. My once-empty stomach filling to the brim, the stitching was threatening to burst. My days, a whirl of mashed potatoes and cereal and oranges and tiny cakes and strawberry milk shakes and three-course meals. I had never panicked too much about food, if I ate, I threw up. Simple. I couldn't do that anymore. Bathroom breaks were monitored, weekly weight-ins recorded to make sure I stayed fat.

Two weeks and 1700 calories a day resulted in a "healthy" weight of 105 lbs.

I did not write depressing poetry, I did not cut my skin open, I did not purge, I did not close myself off. I was getting out of here after I hit 110. I was getting out of here no matter how much it killed me inside to look at myself. At 110 I would be deemed healthy enough and I would be shipped off to Forks were this body would go down to 90. Charlie didn't hover, he wouldn't notice. And Bella could go jump of a cliff. I didn't give a rat's ass about what her whiney mouth would say.

because I was suffocating under this weight.

And the voices were louder and I couldn't think straight anymore because my head was stuffed to the brim with more rice more chicken more smoothies and more candy-colored pills; a desperate attempt to keep me sane.. or sedated. There was no difference.

Do you remember when those same pills were used willingly?

But that was me in California and I was no junkie, that was just trashy. Who knew alcohol had so many calories? disgusting.

After my daily mind rape by Dr. Harrison, came dinner, and after dinner, came Edward.

I trudged down to the cafeteria, filled with other girls just like me, and yet so different. Those girls sabotaged themselves, they closed themselves off and refused to eat and wrote bad things in their journals, their daily therapy turning into one-sided conversations.

silly girls, didn't they know the only way to get out of here was to play the game?

I had come to terms that I would never get better because nothing would ever work. So I kept playing, I ate and talked and smiled and pretended. I was a doll, there was no magic fairy to turn me into a real girl.

Torture tonight was Chicken Breast (120) white rice (186) and cheesy broccoli (95), followed by a low-fat chocolate milk shake (400). horror. I chewed everysinglebite 15 times. A bite of cheese broccoli chew chew chew. A bite of Chicken Breast chew chew chew. white rice, 15 times. Repeat.

strong/empty/strong

I pushed the voices out of my head. It's OK Lia, you'll get out, hold on, pretend, shoveitdownyourthroat, it'll be over soon. I chewed and chewed and chewed. Edward liked it when I finished my meals. I knew he knew that I wasn't getting better. But me eating put a smile on his face. I finished half of the disgusting shake before I was deemed bloated enough to return to my bedroom.

stupid/fat/stupid/bitch/stupid/ugly/stupid/whore.

I felt the fat in my stomach, grease down my thighs, chicken breast stuck in my arms, cheese dripping off my bones. I was disgusting, gross, fat, a failure. I was drowning in my skin. I kept my hands off of my body.

pretend pretend pretend. smile on your face. No tears tonight Lia, don't want the nurses to hear you.

I wanted to crawl out of this putrid skin.

I opened my door, almost breaking it off its hinges, anxious to see him. And, as promised, he was there, laying on my bed. Staring at the ceiling, a smile on his perfect features.

And the voices faded away..

Edward Pov

Her thoughts were screams in my brain. It took all my willpower not to leave her room and comfort her while she was eating. But something told me she would not eat in front of me. I stayed in her room, I wasn't even allowed to enter that cafeteria.

Sad girls get triggered easily.

She was on the verge of tears as she walked towards her bedroom, I knew all she did was a charade. After they let her out, she would slip back into her old habits. But Alice said I would help her, and in two weeks she would be out of here and in Forks. I would keep an eye on her there. I couldn't let her kill herself. I was in too deep. She would not die, not if I could help it.

She hastily opened the door, relief washing her anguished features.

"How was your day?" I asked.

Perfect, I keep gaining and gaining and gaining, pretty soon I'll be out of here and never see you again. just fantastic.

She had been pondering this all day, but saying it in her mind, right in front of me, the thought smacked her, she started to panic.

I hurriedly went to her side when her face reflected her thoughts.

"What's wrong Lia?" She saw no harm in telling me the truth.

"I'm leaving soon, I won't see you again." I saw no harm in telling her the truth anyway.

"No, not really." I gently smiled at her, strangely, excited, to tell her that I was moving to Forks when she was.

"I'm actually, well.. I'm moving to Forks in a week's time." A glimmer of hope shot through her eyes.

"You aren't joking are you?"

"Why would I lie to you?" He was the only who didn't lie.

A pang of guilt bubbled underneath the surface, I hadn't lied, but I hadn't told her the truth. And she was already very suspicious, but like Bella, whom I had found was her step-cousin through Carlisle, she had dismissed her instincts. It must've been a trait all of the Swan women shared.

"Your really moving?!" Her voice an octave higher.

"How is this happening?!" She said through her giggles.

"We lived there before my father took this job, he's going back to work for Forks hospital. My mother missed the small town."

I was lying to her, I was subconsciously hurting her.

"Edward this is great! We'll be going to school together!" She was laughing now, and then.. she hugged me. Her warm body pressing against my own. I knew she knew there was something different, the way my ice cold, rock hard body felt, so unnatural, she would ask me about it soon. I surprised myself by doing two things, one) hugging her back, easily, and laughing right along with her. and two) accepting the fact that I had to tell her what I was, tonight.

She had become the closest thing to me besides Bella. My first real friend, my best friend. She was a bright and shining star in a moonless night, a point of reason, a point of existence.

I was suddenly afraid, afraid of her reaction. But the strangest thing was, I knew she wouldn't reject me. In all her tempered glory. She could be moody but I knew that she wouldn't dismiss because of what I was. It was a feeling that radiated between both of our bodies; acceptance.

I had accepted her for what she was and she would accept me in turn.

The hardest thing would be to tell her about Bella, the love of my life. Her cousin, a cousin she wasn't too fond of. I'm not sure if she would accept that.

"I have something to tell you." I said impulsively. Her touch had given me a surge of confidence, I might as well use it while I had it.

And without knowing how she knew it, she nodded. Sitting down on her bed.

"I believe you have something to tell me?"

It's alright Edward, I'm more understanding than you think.

I sat, flabbergasted. Had she just directed her thoughts to me?

Her musical laugh interrupted my surprise.

"How.. how did you?"

"Oh please Edward, you don't think you were being inconspicuous did you?"

I still sat there, unable to say anything. idiot.

"50 percent of the answers you were giving me were from the questions I formed in my head. I've been eating, my brain cells are intact."

A huge sigh of relief went through me, I breathed in black roses. Sweet and dangerous.

"Well, you're not angry?" Most people were quite upset when they found that their thoughts weren't safe with me.

"It's not like you can help it, I'm not ashamed of what I think."

"You don't exactly voice your opinions to everyone, only me."

"Well, most people don't want to know what I'm thinking." Her smile was encouraging, I know there's more.

"Where to begin."

"At the beginning, of course." She took my hand in hers, I didn't retract.

When she understood that I wouldn't say anything, she began by asking a question.

"Why are you so cold, and, and.... hard?" She thought over her question, snorting at her choice words.

Very mature Lia. Stop being such a teenager.

Just spit it out already.

"I'm a.. a... vampire, Lia."

Three agonizing seconds later...

really?

"Yes." I whispered.

She didn't look surprised, or shocked. Simply, curious.

"I guess my blood isn't very appetizing?"

What? I had just told the girl I was a blood-sucking monster and that was the first response she could give me?!

"Why would you think that?"

"Well if it was, wouldn't you have already sucked me dry?" She was smiling, smiling. I expected her to be accepting, I didn't expect her to take it so well.

What was it with these Swan women? All of them praying for a death wish.

"I don't drink human blood Lia."

"Why?"

"I don't want to be a monster."

"But it's your nature, you can't help it!"

"We can, it's just.. very difficult. Me and my family only drink from the blood of animals."

"A moral vegetarian, wow, I hate people like that."

In the short two weeks I had known Lia, in all of my life, I had never met anyone with such a wide array of things she loathed. Now she hated moral vegetarians?

"They think they're so self-righteous, always trying to shove their ideals down your throat, how annoying." A playful smirk in place.

"So what now, you hate me?" I joked back.

"Nope" popping the p. "I mean you have a good reason, not like those grass-smoking wannabe hippies, don't they know that peace and love died with the 60's?"

"Some people would argue that belief." She waved her hand, dismissing my retort.

This is why I was so close to her, she complimented me perfectly. She knew when to fight and when to joke and when to comfort. She just knew when.

"And for the record, you don't smell bad." Curiosity won over her need to argue back to my latest response.

"What do I smell like to you?"

"Like black roses." I blurted out. because her smell washed out all of my senses.

She contemplated for a second.

"And what does that smell like?" she said in a hushed voice.

"It's elegant, and sweet, but with a hint of spice, it smells dark."

For some reason, her smell didn't make me want to taste her, it just made me want to smell her. She was a fine wine, something to be admired, not gobbled.

"Thanks?" She said, not really knowing how to respond.

"You smell like winter." She put simply, breaking the awkward silence that was threatening to form.

And with that, I began to tell her about my brothers and sisters, and of how I was turned, and eventually to the years of my rebellion.

"You lived during The Progressive Era? And then the 1920's? And through the Great Depression? And through World War I and II?" She sat there, amazed, asking question after question about my early years as a vampire, and the few memories of my human life.

Her eyes were alight with wonder, Bella had never been this interested in my past life before. Bella. I had to tell her, and she gave me the best opening.

"Did you ever, you know, meet any women?" She was a little embarrassed to be asking such a "personal" question, as she put it.

I stopped to take a breath, preparing myself for the onslaught I knew without a doubt would follow.

"Yes, actually. there was one." I whispered, scared of what her reaction would be when she learned the full story.

Well of course he must've been in love, just look at him. Is this why he seems so down all the time?

"What was her name?"

I stopped once more, deciding to rest my eyes on her lap. I concentrated on her scent, noticing that her skin was getting brighter, an effect of the nutrients she was thankfully putting in her body.

"Isabella Marie Swan." I said in a deathly whisper.

She did not move, she did not speak, she just stared, her mind twisting and turning.

He loved her? He loved her! He lived in Forks, she lives in Forks. Is this the reason he started talking to me? Did she ask him to do so? Get inside her crazy cousin's mind before she wreaked havoc in her precious sanctuary?! And why did he choose her? Of all people? Plain, boring, whiney Bella? Is this the real reason he's going back there?!

She was hurt, her eyes filled with anger and betrayal. My eyes narrowing as well, I had thought that her and Bella would've been rather close.

Which I knew was a far-fetched theory, after all, Bella and Lia were vastly different people. Lia was vivacious and charming, a people person, and, from her thoughts, more than a little selfish.

Lia was exactly the opposite of what Bella was, and in turn, the exact opposite of what Bella looked for in her relationships.

"Is this why you came here?" She spoke in a calm manner. Her mind was still in a frenzy, cursing me and her cousin, cursing herself for being so naïve.

"No." I continued to whisper.

"Don't lie to me." She responded in an astoundingly authorative tone.

"I'm not." I responded, pleading with my eyes. Don't leave me.

She closed her eyes, the voices in her head quieted.

"Did you love her?" She asked.

I couldn't lie to her, not when she had been so honest.

"I still do."

I didn't dare move, not an inch. I stopped my unnecessary breathing. Once again, I might just break her, or you just might.

"What happened?" She responded after several seconds of soothing breathing, she was trying to keep her temper in check, for me.

And I told her everything, about me leaving her, coming back because I couldn't live without her. Coming back and finding that she Jacob had imprinted on her, coming back and finding that she still loved me, coming back and finding that she couldn't leave Jacob. He needed her, she was selfless, He needed her, and apparently I didn't.

She listened, never interrupting my confession, she listened with expressionless eyes and a calm demeanor. She mulled over my words, contemplating what to say next.

"She was always so selfless wasn't she?" Was her sole response.

Her thoughts, her eyes, her presence, revealing nothing.

I nodded, I couldn't speak anymore. I was engulfed in pain, my body shaking as salt was poured on the wound. Bella's voicehaireyeslipsbodysmell engulfing me. I couldn't see anymore, I was blinded by the ghost of my old lover, I had barely registered that I was dry sobbing until I felt a pair of soft, warm arms wrapping around me.

She held me all night, without judgment, without saying anything. She just held me, letting me lament over the cruelty of life, and the way it had tortured me.

Her blankets were no longer gray, but a white satin. She had fallen asleep at around 4 in the morning, her arms holding me firmly in place.

in the background, the sound of Chopin's Nocturne in C-Sharp Minor, lulling me into a stoic state, a mockery of the restless sleep that had engulfed the beauty in my arms.