A/N: Oh, geez, you guys, I seriously am loving all the reviews I am receiving. Really. I can't tell you how much they mean to me. I literally smile as I read each of your positive reviews—they're what drove me to write this chapter so quickly. Thank you guys so much, I'm glad you're liking what you've read so far.

Considering I almost just threw this chapter together in less than a day, I find it extremely enjoyable.

Chapter Eleven.

Every night for the next two weeks, Embry appears in your room through the window.

You don't talk about much of anything, really—just things that don't matter, things that do matter, things that happened before the magic of werewolves and vampires ruined everybody's lives. Things to do with your childhood. Favorite things; least favorite things. Long-term habits. Jokes. Memories. Everything and anything that happened in yours or his past, good or bad. By the end of one week, you're sure there's not one person in the entire world you know better than Embry Call. Maybe it was reciprocated for him.

And for the first time in a long time, you're actually... happy. Yes, that was the appropriate word to use.

Embry is wonderful company. Endless streams of interesting things pour out of his mouth when prompted. You can't help but somehow feel better about yourself whenever he's around. He laughs at your lame jokes and funny memories, listens intently at the times most called for, and most importantly, he respects you. Anything and everything about you. And, for the first time ever, you get the feeling that you can and will talk to another person about Edward, and Embry was definitely that person.

So, you talk to him about it. Not once does he interrupt. He doesn't snicker, or roll his eyes, or show any evidence that he may not be listening to you. In fact, he seems too engrossed in your past love life (and Edward, being a vampire, for God's sake), that you literally begin crying. Not so much because of your damaged past. No, the real reason you cry is because you were beginning to think that not a soul would care about your silly fling with a vampire—and especially not a werewolf. You cry because, well, at least one thing could turn out alright in the midst of so much hell.

He is so attentive to everything you say, sincerely and honestly attentive because he cares about you, and you are beyond touched.

He stays awake with you, late into each night. He waits until your speech is slurred from being so tired, waits until your eyes have closed and your breathing has steadied. But not before placing a kiss upon your lips. Each night, the same, comfortable, desirable routine. And each night, you smile just a bit larger, and each night, you become more ecstatic at the most simple things in life. And to think that Embry—a person you never gave a second thought about before—could make such a remarkable change in your life.

So, the first week he visits you, you talk.

And the next six days after that, you talk.

And on the last day of the second week, you feel the need to do so much more.

It begins like any other regular evening involving the presence of Embry. After your door is shut tight, you literally sprint to the window and push it open as wide as it will go. The cool breeze of the night sways your hair back and forth gently, along with your curtains, dries your hair slightly from the shower you took a few minutes ago. You see the line of light over the mountains to your left, where the sun has already retired for the day. Darkness slowly settles upon the leafy ground below you, making the swaying tree's shadows look ominous. The leaves ruffle in the trees noisily as the night gets windy—you can hear crickets, toads, and owls calling in the distance.

You rush over to the light switch and flip it on, then review your image in the full-length mirror.

The silk pajamas that you never before wore in your entire life had been dug up from a box underneath your bed to be worn especially for this occasion—when Embry came over. The top is sleeveless (just barely reaching below your belly button), with skinny shoulder straps that occasionally slip down your shoulders. The bottoms are nothing but short-shorts that hardly cover your thighs, giving about four inches between the outline of your underwear and the edge of the shorts. Instead of wearing a sports bra or no bra at all as you usually did to sleep in, you wore the laciest, sexiest bra you owned, which was also hidden away at the back of your underwear drawer, along with a matching pair of underwear, both bought for you by Renee, who seemed to have some wild fantasy that her daughter was going to become an underwear model someday or something. Both pieces are black, and extremely conspicuous through the see-through, light pink fabric of your pajamas.

Your hair is brushed and flattened to perfection, unlike the usual "tie up, throw over the shoulder and get in bed" thing you stuck with until now. A thick layer of mascara was added to your eyelashes (which was an extreme change from your usual thin, or more usually nonexistent, layer of makeup you wore).

It had been so long since you actually had someone to look nice for, but while you did, you were going to take advantage of it and look as sexy as possible. Even if you were just going to bed in a few hours anyway. Or, maybe, tonight, just a little bit more than a few hours.

You stare at yourself uncertainly, wondering if you were overdoing things, wondering if perhaps you didn't need to dress up at all to impress Embry... if perhaps it was just silly. So, you don't know why you did dress up—you hadn't ever before until tonight.

It's because tonight's going to be different—special, you remind yourself. And I'll make it that way, even if he doesn't.

You turn the light off and run back to the window again, resting your elbows upon the thin window frame and holding your chin in your palms. From where you sit, you begin slowly to appreciate the eerie view of your yard at night, the forest only yards away. And then you wait, your stomach doing flip-flops in anticipation of his arrival.

It doesn't take very long—it never does. You've been told Embry's pack schedule, and memorized it: He takes the late evening shift and the 3 A.M. shift, immediately running to your house afterwards, which is unbelievably convenient, considering the times you wanted him with you. The pack took turns switching around the jobs once every two weeks, you learned. Which was why you were so desperate to kick things up a notch, just this one night, before you wouldn't be able to see him as regularly for more than a month. Because how then could you distract yourself from disastrous thoughts if Embry wasn't there? Would you be forced into your regular, miserable habits once more?

From the porch light still on in the front yard, you see the shadows shifting in the trees, and from them emerges Embry. Even from two stories up, you can tell that he is exhausted. That worries you; ruins your spirit. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as fun, you think. Maybe it would just a rerun of what's happened every night for the past week. And, right now, that wasn't a good thing. You had planned so much for this moment, this precise moment right now.

Being in a dark room late at night, with an extremely handsome boy you've fallen in love with, with absolutely no parental supervision whatsoever, and just sitting there doing nothing but talking, is probably the most infuriating things of all time, you realize. Tonight, you really planned on doing so much more. But... if Embry believed in abstinence as much as he appeared to when he was around you, not to mention if he was extremely tired, then tonight was going to be an extremely difficult night in which to get your way.

Embry now moves closer to the house with lightning quick reflexes, calling up softly to you, "Hey, Bella." At the sound of his voice you grin widely.

From there he swings himself up to your window, using the out-of-place siding on the wall and using the nearest tree to push his feet up, swinging his body around like a cartwheel in midair, to land soundlessly on the balls of his feet inside your bedroom. You move backwards at the last second—you always love seeing his amazing acrobatic skills each night he visits. You're awed at his coordination, and can only wish you were as such. Of course, that specific thing might be included in the package of becoming a werewolf.

Embry dusts off the back of his cutoff jean shorts with one hand, then looks at you, overdone makeup, see-through pajamas, lacy underwear and all.

At that exact moment, you wish you had a camera to capture a picture of his face.

His eyes widen to the fullest extent at seeing you all dressed up. It seems he doesn't even see your face. Instantly his eyes go to your breasts, resting there for a time that is almost uncomfortable for you. From there he slowly scales your legs, his face becoming flushed, drool almost dripping from the edge of his lips. Then he slowly looks back, his eyes settling upon your face, and awed and amazed look in them. After awhile he seems to finally realize his mouth is hanging open stupidly. He shuts it quickly.

To cover up your embarrassment and self-consciousness in the only way you know how, you run forward to hug him, and stand like that for a few minutes in contentment.

"I missed you," you finally whisper, amazed at how your words can still sound broken even in the presence of someone you truly love—and, more importantly, someone who you are sure loves you back.

"Uhh... same here." He finally finds his voice, which sounds significantly tired and bemused. Much worse than you thought. You lean your head back to get a better look at his face—even in the darkness, you can clearly see each bloodshot eye, and the bags that rest underneath them. His eyelids intermittently droop, and his hair is in a wild disarray, for whatever reason. To sum it all up: He looks awful.

But that's not the only thing you notice. Beneath his exhaustion, you can see something much deeper, just barely on the surface: uneasiness, anxiety, fear... There's definitely something on his mind. Something you knew you would coax out of him, sometime, maybe not right now, but sometime. Besides, if it was absolutely and immediately important, wouldn't he be the one to bring it up? Maybe he would.

But you don't focus on that right now. "Embry," you murmur reluctantly, softly stroking the skin beneath his eyes, "you... should take this time to go home and rest. It's not healthy for you to lose so much sleep... just seeing me."

Embry chuckles once: a weary laugh, drained of humor. "Don't worry about it, Bells. It's definitely worth it. I like seeing you." He takes a long look at your body again. "I really like seeing you."

You weren't exactly in the mood to giggle, as you might have otherwise. You stare at him sternly. "Don't be stupid. How could it be worth it when you're just losing a full night's sleep every night you come? I mean, I know you sleep during the day, but lately it seems like that's not enough for you. Which I completely understand, so don't feel inclined to stay just because I want you to."

"But you see, that's exactly why I'm staying: because you want me to. And because I want to. And I'm okay, really," he insists, but his voice and his face contradict his words. "Besides, my being tired has nothing to do with you; I would be tired, anyway. The pack is kind of... running extra shifts these days."

The fearful, worried look is back in his eyes again. Maybe he would take this time to explain things. You pay strict attention.

"Why?"

He seems startled that you asked that, and composes himself much too late. "Uh... it's no big deal, really. You know, just some extra precautions."

"Extra precautions? For what, Embry?" you insist stubbornly.

He smiles a blinding, toothy smile. "I told you, it's not a big deal. Absolutely nothing you should worry about."

You sigh, your eyebrows furrowed, giving up—for now. "Well, that doesn't take away the fact that you still need your sleep. I command you to leave, now." You poke a finger at his chest.

"Oh, Bella," he chuckles, regarding your demand as a joke.

"I mean it," you stress.

He completely ignores you and settles himself down on the floor against the window. He can't seem to keep his head up any longer—he leans it back against the wall with a loud thump that you swear shook the walls.

"Be quiet," you hiss, abnormally aware of Charlie's snoring in the next room over.

Embry just grins and slowly closes his eyes. Only seconds later, a soft snoring is audible to be coming from his now gaping mouth. Not for the first time, you envy the werewolves' amazing ability to fall asleep so quickly.

You sigh. You don't want him to leave, and he doesn't appear to want to either. So, was this just you making a problem where a problem didn't exist?

No, you think, sure of yourself. It can't be good for him to visit me if it means he's sleep deprived.

Suddenly you get an idea—a stupid, pointless one, that was true, but an idea nonetheless. It would make things much more interesting.

Quietly, you tiptoe over to where he sits and place yourself gently upon his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He instantly wakes, looking startled and confused. Noticing you sitting on him, he seems to become placated and leans his head against the wall again. But this time, you doubt he'll fall asleep.

Slowly, you lean your head closer until you can taste his breath through your mouth. His eyes grow to slits, peeking at you under his dark eyelids.

"As soon as I kiss you," you speak softly, "you're going to suddenly get the strength of a thousand suns to jump right back out that window and head on home for a good night's rest, okay?"

He sluggishly nods his approval, obviously amused. Underestimating your power.

Then you press your lips to his and kiss him: once, twice, three times, till he begins to wake up, more and more with each kiss. Then he kisses you back, suddenly crushing his body to yours (causing you to emit a gasp of pleasure and surprise) so that you're constricted in his arms. He sloppily kisses your face, mostly missing your mouth. You feel nothing but Embry; taste nothing but Embry; feel nothing but Embry's heat. You're so overwhelmed from his lips against that you begin to breathe hard and shallow, catching his mouth with yours at every opportunity, his tongue occasionally running against yours. You can feel his large hands pressing hard against the small of your back, sometimes catching the edge of your shirt in between his fingers so that you feel the skin of his hands against the skin of your back.

The abruptness of his wild attack on your lips catches you completely off guard, but you weren't going to stop him anytime soon.

Oh, my, you think. Perhaps this night will go my way after all.

And he doesn't stop there. He abruptly moves his lips from your mouth to your chin, then your neck, then your chest. He begins using his tongue to continue the amazing feeling of bliss radiating throughout your entire body. You urge him forward, hugging his head tightly to your torso, sighing when you feel a tickly, never-before-experienced sensation in the lower half of your body. You're sweating in the ridiculous heat, but you don't mind at all. His hips rub hard against yours, again and again, making you gasp and moan in delight.

His hands begin moving further up your back, taking the edge of your lacy top along with them; you reach your hands back to help him with the removal of your top, your heart beating so hard you're sure it's about to explode, the feeling in the lower half of your body crazily anticipating it, and you think, Here it is, here it comes, it's really about to happen—

"Jake...," you moan.

In that moment, everything stands still. Embry's body instantly freezes against your own, his mouth moving no more, his hands set at his sides. Nothing more happens. Nothing at all. And you realize too late that Jacob, in fact, is not the boy who just kissed you. Not the boy who is in your room at this exact moment, not the boy initiating your arousal.

Oh, my God, you panic. How could I say that? How did I make that slip? What the hell just happened? It was an accident, a mistake, I—I didn't mean to, I know it was horrible of me but I sincerely didn't mean to!

But you know that wouldn't matter to Embry.

And before you know what's happened, his hands tightly grip your upper arms and you are swiftly brought up to stand on your feet again, your hair a wild, sweaty mess, your shirt still halfway up your back. You know you look like a fool. And a damn fool, at that.

And the last view you see of Embry that night is of his bare back disappearing through your window, his legs springing forward to propel him, his arms in the air as he braces the fall. He doesn't even make a sound. Nothing but the whisper of the trees follows his departure through the window.

He doesn't come back.

-x-

So, back to the beginning.

Your eyes glaze over. Charlie stares. Time passes. Weeks, probably. (Except for this time you weren't going to bother counting. Not this time.) Mirrors become a constant enemy, along with yourself.

And you dream again, which was always something you feared over everything else. Because dreams always stuck with you, whether you wanted them to or not. And now, they were like poison. Permanent images in your mind that can never be extracted. All involving, in some way or another, you losing all the people you love in a short and immediate amount of time. Oftentimes Edward crept back into these dreams, completely against your will. It made no sense to still dwell on him, so you don't know why it kept coming up, time and time again. What you had with him was long gone and completely through with, unlike how you only just recently were broken because of Embry, almost as soon as Jacob seemed to be through with you. Same old, same old.

Except for this time, you have two boys (maybe three? Did Edward really count, still?) to be depressed over. How in the hell did that happen? Really? How could you have made such a stupid, stupid decision to bring two people in your life who were practically brothers? It was probably—definitely—the most thoughtless thing you've ever done.

And now you were broken (yet again) because of it.

You should have never started anything with Embry in the first place. You should have seen it was coming before it actually, you know, came.

But... was that all it really amounted to? Did you only continue seeing Embry because he reminded you so much of... Jacob...? How could you have been so shallow?

No, you think time and time again, what Embry I had was real. I'm sure of it.

But as that phrase gets more repetitive, so does the thought that maybe you were lying to yourself all along. Maybe you only took Embry as a quick fix—the gas station to your tank when it was running on empty. And, seeing as he was the closest one around—and the one most likely to fill your immediate needs—he was the one you took. And took advantage of. And then you drove too far, past the speed limit you knew existed somewhere, somehow. And now you were going to pay for it.

It just wasn't fair.

"Next time Mike Newton asks me out," you say aloud to your mirror one day, "God damnit, I swear I'll say yes."

Another lonely night passes.

The wound on your cheek has no faded to a light pink, giving you a subtle reminder of everything that was your fault; everything you brought upon yourself, for absolutely no reason. Maybe if you went to a doctor it wouldn't have scarred so badly. Yes, you regret not taking the chance to go the hospital when Jacob and Charlie had both suggested it to you. Just another flaw you couldn't seem to avoid—stubbornness. At first you had the impression that being stubborn got you what you wanted, made you sound in charge, like a person who wasn't going to take any shit. But now look where it brought you—curled up into a freezing ball each night, genuinely missing the heat of a werewolf next to you.

It was just another night, alike to all the others you faced alone. Because you were still... alone.

But that's when you heard it.

It was a subtle conk—like someone had just thrown something hard at something else hard. A few seconds pass before you hear the sound again, more distinct this time. And then you realize that it's at your window. Someone's knocking against your window.

You lay frigid in your bed, expecting the worse, expecting someone to burst through at any moment and literally eat you alive. For the first time in a long time, you remember Victoria.

Victoria.

Victoria.

And you were still alone. All alone.

Well, I guess this is it, you think calmly, although in actuality you are positively terrified. I guess she can't hold off hunting me forever. The least I can do is die is to let her end me quietly, so as to not startle Charlie... then beg for his life, at least once, then go down in silence so he doesn't wake up and come in here...

There was nothing else you could do besides that. And it probably wouldn't be enough. Victoria would probably disregard your request, stalk through your house, and find Charlie asleep and snoring in his bed, more alone than you were, and vulnerable, oh so vulnerable, and more importantly full of blood...

It's all you can do to not scream aloud right then and there. You cover your mouth with your fist.

Should you open your window, or would she forcefully bust the glass into a thousand pieces? The sound would inevitably wake Charlie—you couldn't let that happen. No, that couldn't happen... So yes, you decide. You would open the window to, firstly, protect Charlie's life, and, secondly, to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You gather up any and all courage you can possibly muster and quietly get yourself out of bed and tiptoe over to the window, hating the sound of the creaking floorboards. Then you grasp the bottom of the window—conk—as another rock makes itself visible against the glass before falling down. Slowly, you slide the window upwards, then quicker as soon as you're sure that the metal wasn't going to squeak against each other. You half-expect to get hit in the head with a rock, but nothing comes anymore.

You close your eyes tight and breathe in and out slowly, knowing that any second Victoria could pounce through the window and tear off your head. So you brace yourself for pain, however momentary.

But it doesn't come.

Instead, you hear a voice. A whispering voice. No, a hissing voice. And it's most certainly not Victoria. But it's not a voice you recognize, either.

So you risk looking out the window. You see shadows moving in the trees, and then a figure appears. A dark, tall... shirtless figure. Your heart skips a beat. But, of course, it's not either of the people you hoped for it to be.

"Hey, you," the voice hisses loudly from the ground. He was definitely from the wolf pack. But he wasn't who you would otherwise expect. "Um... Bella!" He says your name like he's not at all used to speaking it.

"Who is it?" you whisper back loudly.

"Paul," he yells quietly. You weren't expecting that. "Listen, I gotta be back soon so I wanna make this quick—God, this is stupid, can I just jump up there real quick to tell you?"

You blink. "Um, yeah, sure," you tell him, utterly baffled. "Just—mind the broken siding, would you?"

Now you feel completely and absolutely like an idiot for being so sure that it was Victoria at the window... Why did you always just have to jump to conclusions without even really being sure? Not to mention you were way off. Things couldn't be any more differentiated between Victoria and... whoever was down there. Because, obviously, he does not mean to hurt you. Still, that doesn't erase the mass amount of stupidity you feel for prepping so much to meet Victoria, only to have it be someone else entirely. Still, you supposed you could never be too careful. That was a mild comfort.

Already, he's climbing his way up, ignoring your request. The siding squeaks under his weight. "Move, will ya!" he huffs, seeing you still standing in the window.

"Oh—sorry," you mutter, moving back several feet. You have to remind yourself how short-tempered Paul is, and possibly, how much he dislikes you. (At least it sure seems like it.) But, for whatever reason he was here, you were without a doubt that it wasn't to just stop in and say 'hi'.

Paul isn't as graceful and silent as Embry—or even Jake, for that matter. He lands on the floor of your bedroom with an echoing thump and a huff of breath. You realize he probably purposely was loud just to annoy you, because you were definitely annoyed. He laughs softly when he lands, seemingly impressed by his ability to jump through a window. He stares smugly out the window before turning to you, a glare on his face that plainly screams, Oh, my God, I can't believe I'm here right now. And not in a good way, either.

"Like I said, I'm gonna make this quick; it's my turn for the midnight patrol, so I gotta get back," he drawls, pulling you out of your thoughts. "And, believe me; I'm not enjoying this any more than you are."

You shrug, feigning indifference. You aren't sure what to think, exactly. So you settle with confusion.

"I didn't volunteer to be the messenger or anything," Paul continues, quotation marks clearly present in his voice around the word messenger. "It's just that apparently everyone else is too fucking afraid to tell you what I'm about to tell you or something. I dunno. Buncha pansies, if you ask me." He glares, then shakes his head.

"Um... what?"

He rolls his eyes. "Eh, Jacob and Embry think they're protecting your brain or some stupid shit like that, by not telling you what you ought to know. Well, I say screw them! I usually wouldn't do you such a big favor as this, but seeing as I'm living amongst a bunch of morons who are too afraid to talk to a girl, I had to defy them in some way, you know?"

You scrunch up your face. "No, actually, I don't know, Paul. So, do you mind making this quick, like you said, by getting to the point and telling me what the hell is up?"

Paul sighs. "Yeah, sure, whatever," he says, rolling his eyes again. "I just thought you wouldn't really mind getting some background knowledge, you know? So, anyway, here's the big fish I'm betting you didn't really know about till just now.

"That red-headed female leech—what's her name, Victoria?—yeah, well, she's in the Forks and La Push area right now, even though we thought she'd moved on. And from what we can tell of her maneuvering tactics, she's still got her mind dead set on killing you."