This is it kids… are you as giddy as I am? This is THE chapter. You know what I'm talking about…you don't? Well this chapter contains what you have all been asking for since day one…I hope it lives up to your expectations ;)

Chapter 20

I floated through a sea of enchantment with a smile on my face; glimmering clouds brushed by my arms like mist and held me up, like arms carrying me. I relished in the feeling.

But as time progressed, I noticed, the arm clouds were gone, and a sharp pain in my arms and neck started to pulsate. I should have fell, for nothing was holding me up; at least, nothing I was aware of.

It was as if my body was being suspended from something, and my shoulder muscles were tight, screaming for relief. My wrists were chapped, and I wasn't quite positive that the reason I couldn't see was the room, or my own vision.

With a jolt, I leapt into awareness, suddenly very awake.

The first thing I felt was the coldness radiating from the wall of the room of which I was in, next, muscle ache in my upper body. Then, the room was lit, but very, very dimly. I was confused, for it felt as if I had weights on my shoulders. I felt as if I weighed a thousand pounds.

The last thing I realized was I wasn't on the ground. All of my weight was being held by my wrists, which were currently above my head. Charcoal black chains held them in their mighty grasp, and my feet were so temptingly close to the ground, it was almost comical. If I could only stand, I would relieve this great pain from my arms. My shoulder sockets were passed screaming, they were now dead, so close to be ripped free.

I finally a had a clear view of what situation I was in, the memories from what had just happened, had been forever constant in my head, refusing to let even my oasis, unconsciousness, free me from my demons.

Letting out a shaky breath, I let my eyes trail downward. The once lustrous, bright, white dress was now in shambles, hanging tattered—now a grayish looking color— to my body. It was an accurate reflection of just how defeated I felt.

A rustling sound came from my left, about five feet away; I automatically stiffened, listening intently, not daring to look over.

"You're awake." I knew I wasn't alone. Even worse, I was with the last person I wanted to be alone with.

I let out an expletive under my breath, hoping it was unintelligible. There was no response. I guessed that he wasn't too eager to address the elephant in the room, but it was going to have to be him, because there was no way I was obligated to address it first.

"How long have I been out?" I asked dryly, skipping past any form of shock. This kind of entrapment didn't surprise me anymore.

"Not too long. You seem to have a way of passing out often." Edward attempted to joke; anger flared up like a raging inferno in me. How dare he make such a casual statement, as if nothing were wrong? He no longer had the right to talk to me like that. Why I allowed him to do so in the first place still escaped me.

"Ah…" He breathed out awkwardly at my cold silence. "You're mad at me; that's understandable."

It amazed me that he could belittle my anger to such a small adjective such as 'mad'. Blind fury didn't even cover it.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He offered agitatedly. I remained a stone, staring straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze, which I could sense on me.

"Alright." I replied coldly; he let out a frustrated breath.

"I'm sorry, really I am." He pushed, but I kept my eyes away from him, for I didn't know what I would do by the sight of his piercing green eyes.

"I know."

"Then why don't you accept it?" His voice raised an octave.

"I did."

"You're still mad…and can you give me more than a two word answer?"

"No."

I had no idea what was wrong with me. Half of me said to talk to him— maybe yell a little, get it settled, work something out. It wasn't worth the resistance, for there was no time like the present. I guess it was a good environment as any to settle things. My heart said to hear him out, my mind said to let him wallow. But it was like my mind and heart were unplugged from my actions, like my actions had an agenda of their own. I knew it was childish to ignore him and lock him out, but I had no idea how to proceed otherwise. The only way I knew was to fight. Maybe that was unhealthy.

"Let me explain myself, please." The desperation in his voice made me look at him for once, even though I had made a pact not to even give him that much satisfaction.

It was like if I didn't at least like at him, he would perish. I let my eyes float to him. They burned like a green fire, they were so fierce. But it was such an intense look, I was taken aback. He was in the same position as I, hanging from the wall, except his arms are spread apart above his head.

Anger still raged inside me, but a part of me wanted— needed to hear what he had to say. I knew I should be able to just wallow in silence, but the fact that I knew we would be here until we died pushed me to maybe offer some leeway and present his case.

"I don't know where to start." He began.

"How about from the beginning? How about why you lied to me, led me on, in the first place?" – Here it was. The wrath my heart had wished to be released. The accusations— here they were, to join the party— "Why you were so cruel?"

"See? This is good, we're moving past blunt statements." He cajoled, annoyingly.

"Can you stay serious for five seconds, Edward? You're supposed to be the older one here." I let that slip. I wanted to let out so much more though. So much anger penned up inside.

"Look, I didn't mean to lie—"

"It's a conscious decision, it's not involuntary. Stop acting it like it is." I spat, sick of his avoiding the problem. "You lied from the very beginning, making me think you were just so curious boy who wanted to know about my side, about me— which I'm sure you already knew all about. You lied about not meeting a woman before, everything that you said was part of the façade. Everything you did was for your benefit. You could have just locked me in the basement until I healed, then dragged me here, you didn't have to set me up so high so I would fall so hard when I discovered you're lie. How could you be so brutal? Do you get sick satisfaction from this?"

"Because I didn't want to just lock you away until you healed." He whispered, not looking at me. That only confused me further, sending me sailing into a new wave of rage.

"That explains it all. I thought it 'wasn't your choice'. You need get your story straight—"

"Let me talk!" He shouted, suddenly furious. "For once can you just shut the hell up?" He squeezed his eyes shut and huffed like an animal.

I was stunned into silence.

Edward had always been so composed— so in control, so aware of things— now it was different, like he was vulnerable. Why would he go to such great lengths to get his word in? Why did it matter to him so much? I didn't think I'd ever really seen him angry at me. But, what gave him the right to be mad at me? I was supposed to be the one in the right. Was I a hypocrite for not letting him talk? Why should I care? I should be shouting back at him right now, but I wasn't. Something inside me told me I would regret it if I flipped my lid.

I turned my head away from him, in shame. There was no other emotion. Why should I be ashamed? I shouldn't have been, but I was.

"Go on." I choked out, wishing to move on and bury my embarrassment.

He exhaled and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, his gaze seemed a thousand miles away. "My whole life, my goal was to be the best. Anything less wasn't an option." He started, staring unseeingly into space. "When The Wall went up, they drafted all the boys from ages seven to nineteen years old to train to be an agent. What didn't kill you, made you stronger. The training was the same for boys at age eighteen, for the boys at age eight, so it made it even more brutal. I was seven when I was drafted—part of the youngest group. Through the vicious training, I learned not to get attached to anyone in there with me, for most of the boys close enough for me to call friends, died soon. I was among the few young ones that survived to see my teenage years."

His eyes grew distant, soon I found myself captivated by his tale.

"Jas and Em were too young to be drafted when they recruited, so they were spared. I trained to be better than everyone else, because when I turned twelve, I found out that the best out of the age group would be able to live with their families on weekends. So, I pushed harder than I had ever pushed myself, just to get back to my dad.

"I pleased the Core, so they allowed me weekends at home. That's when I first discovered my father had taken in Jas and Em. That was why I despised them so much in the beginning. It had felt like he was moving on from me, and that he was looking for sons to replace me. And for years, Jas and Em had lived with just my dad, so they saw me as an outsider. Later, we got passed that, and I came to understand, my father took them in out of his own kind soul.

"As the training progressed, I was unknowingly becoming more and more valuable to the Volturi; I was just working harder to get even more time with my family. After a certain number of years, I was able to live at home completely, and check in with them a few times a week. Soon, they were assigning me to even more critical cases— such as sniffing out rebels throughout the nation."

Images of our journey to Ole' Rust flashed in my mind, the way he seemed to know his way so incredibly well through the dense vegetation. The way he knew it like the back of his hand.

"That's how you knew the forests so well." I murmured. He nodded in response. "Except when we got lost." I added dryly. He nodded once more.

His eyes met mine, and he looked at me with an intense stare, making it impossible for me to break away. "I didn't lie, not in the beginning. They keep a very, very tight leash on what we know. I had just recently seen a woman—but you see, we're not allowed to talk to any of the wives. So, I'd only seen glances, I was still oblivious to everything about women except their look. I didn't what the other side was like, all of the questions I asked you, were legitimate." He paused. "They…" He let out a small, breathy, chuckle. "They don't train for situations like this."

"Situations like what?" I asked softly, not breaking gaze.

"You." He said simply and plainly.

"Me?"

He held eye contact. "That day. That day, I was standing guard at The Wall, for that part of The Wall had been damaged in a recent flood, and they were reconstructing it. I had to oversee it while they were on break. The day had been quiet, as usual, I had expected a boring day. But then," He chuckled darkly. "I heard a strange noise. And I saw you. Lying there, at my feet, still under The Wall. They never trained me for something like that. And it scared the hell out of me.

"I never dreamed someone would be so stupid as to try to cross The Wall—but then again, I didn't know you."

"Gee, thanks." I said sardonically. "But, why didn't you turn me in then?" I asked curiously, it sounded like he would have—or was supposed to—turn me in immediately. His teasing grin faded, and his head hung, as if he weren't sure himself.

"I was supposed to. If we ever encountered something we weren't prepared for, we were supposed to bring it to their attention immediately. But I didn't. For one thing, you were dying, and I knew I couldn't leave you there."

"You never did go to the hospital…did you? All those times, you were just reporting back to the Volturi?" I asked quietly, peeking up from my bangs to look at him. He held guilt in his eyes. "You came here. Every time you said you were going to the hospital, you came here."

He nodded grimly. "My dad is a doctor. That much was true. But not me, though. As a part of training, we get extensive medical knowledge, to heal injured comrades; you couldn't get by without that. The second reason I didn't turn you in was, well, curiosity."

"Curiosity?"

"I guess I had more rebellion in me than I thought. My dad always told me stories about women and the other side, making me realize that there was something more than just the Volturi's way, there was another world than the one they instilled in me. And when the opportunity presented itself to me, I couldn't resist the temptation." He chuckled a bit and broke our eye contact.

"What temptation?" I pressed, the more he explained, the more confused I became. He sighed in exasperation, as if what he was saying should be blatantly obvious.

"You. I could have turned you in, and never seen you again. You probably would have been executed— I knew that. That's why I took you home instead.

"I told myself I would turn you in after a few hours or maybe a day, at most, after I grilled you with questions that had haunted me for my whole life. I guess I didn't see you as a person, really. Just an information holder. But the more you told me, the more I was captivated, and the longer I wanted you to stay."

As he talked, I felt a blush creep up my neck, and I turned my head away.

"After that, the lies just kept coming. I had to lie more to cover up my first lies, and it just spun out of control."

"The reason you kept me so hidden wasn't because you were worried I would get kidnapped, was it?" I asked dismally.

His voice was pained. "Not by whom you thought. The Volturi would have found you soon enough even if I had buried you. By that time, I had already let it slip to them that I had something in my possession and that I would bring it to them when 'it' was ready."

That first realization led to another and a whole chain of others. "That's why we picked up and left so suddenly, to go find my dad." That annoying sound of strain that came into your voice when you're about to cry, became laced into my tone. I bit back the tears, wishing not to divert attention from the subject.

His eyes sunk, and even more hurt came into them, "They were becoming suspicious, they were going to come and check it out soon. I knew it was wrong, but your father's unknown whereabouts opened up another door to get you away, so I could gain more knowledge. It was irresistible. I should have let them take you at that point, you were almost healed by then. But I just couldn't. I told myself I still didn't know enough about the other side to satisfy my curiosity, but something else had grown inside me. Something I didn't—and still don't, completely understand. I don't think I would have ever stopped learning. You're just so complicated." He laughed, as I frowned at the almost insult.

"Soon enough the idea of turning you in seemed less and less appealing, but Bella, I didn't lie to you in Ole' Rust—"

"Except about the tattoo thing." I muttered coldly, as an aside.

"Uh…yeah. But when you found out about your father, I didn't expect to care at all. I didn't expect to feel so hurt— hurt for you. I figured you would somewhat jarred, but I merely saw it as a bump on the road to getting back. It hit me like a pile of bricks when I found out, I didn't want to tell you. Then that man handed me that journal and I just didn't know what to do.

"I was worried the journal would release my secret to you, so I wasn't going to give it to you. But when I saw there was no way to open it, I figured it was safe. I guess I was wrong." He chuckled half-heartedly, I exhaled shallowly. "I honestly had no idea your father had been so involved with the Volturi, so I gave it to you, hoping he was just an innocent man that got separating during The End. It turns out he was about as involved as someone could get."

His eyes suddenly got very serious, "Bella, after you went back to your side, I did some research through files on your father." I held my breath. His eyes looked pained and weary. "I found out how he died."

"How?" I choked. I hadn't expected that.

He turned his face away from me, and his hair covered his eyes.

"For making a device. I don't know what it was, because there were no more records past that. But it must have been pretty destructive, because as soon as he finished The Wall, they executed him. They knew he had created a device, but they could never find it." His voice was fearful and had a hint of amazement.

A device. A device had brought him to his death. What could he have made that got him killed? A death ray? A bomb?

"The diamond in the necklace was the key, to the journal." I said, moving on from my father's death. "It told me everything. When we returned, after I had asked to stay at your house, I read it. I found out everything, and I didn't think. I ran. And I found that hole in The Wall. Again." A light flickered on in my head.

"Oh," Edward started. "You got your memory back, right?"

"Yes." I replied.

"Explain to me again, what it was." He settled, like he was ready to hear a bedtime story.

I exhaled loudly. Everything, the events from getting my memory back. Oh…Alice. I stayed quiet, trying to repress that awful memories.

"You don't want to tell me?" He phrased in a careful way.

"You're mother… I already told you she…er… defied, the Volturi." He whipped his head around at the mention of her. "Your mother was a teacher, my teacher, at school. Well, on a very specific day— your birthday, as I said before—she just cracked." I paused, reading his expression.

"Cracked…" He murmured softly.

"She couldn't handle the stifling anymore. She took the whole class period to tell us about this side, something strictly forbidden. Then, the Hawks carried her away." I stared into the darkness, my eyes stinging with tears at the memory. "It haunted me.

"The next morning, my mother was gone. I went into her room and found pictures, a ring, and my necklace in her drawer. All the pictures were of my father and her. That's when I realized just how much my mother had kept me in the dark. Your mother's outbreak gave me fire. I stood up to my mother for the first time. It was so relieving—so freeing!" I smiled to myself, but it soon was wiped away. Edward was listening as intensely as I was in thought.

"But that freedom was short lived. That kind of rebellion is what she despises most. She shoved me, and my head strategically found its way to the hard wooden end of her bed. So, I ran. I didn't think— I tend to do that— I just ran. And I stumbled upon that hole in The Wall. I did a little crawling. And here we've come full circle." I stopped, and looked over to him. His eyebrows were knit together, and his mouth was set in a frown.

"To think, I came so close to turning you in." He whispered staring off into space. "What…what is she like?" He inquired softly, peeking up from his lashes.

"Who?"

"My mom." He breathed, seeing a glistening in the corner of his eye.

"She was kinder than I ever could have imagined—you don't really get to know your teachers very personally. After I returned to my side, I ran away from home.

"But, eventually I was caught. It was inevitable. I was taken jail. You know that place I was telling you about?" He nodded worriedly. "When I was younger, I knew getting in trouble bad enough to get sent to jail was out of the question. I wasn't a trouble maker.

"I saw your mother there. She kept me sane for however long I was there. But…" I let out a strangled sob. "After a while, she was losing it." I stopped to spare him; he didn't need to suffer the pain.

"No," he forced suddenly. "I can take it. Go on."

I breathed, unsure he knew what he was saying; he knew what he was getting himself into. "When I was being taken away to be brought here, I found out that, everyone in the room was going to be executed soon. The Hawk didn't say when. But she is supposed to die, if she hasn't… already." Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I didn't want to look over to see if he was crying too. Something told me I didn't need to.

I should have just shut up and not said anything; I could visibly see just how this was killing him. I should have spared him, even though he said he could handle it.

Looking over to him, I saw past the overbearing agony in his eyes, and found a glint of envy. I supposed, in that regard, it was unfair. That even though she wasn't my mother, I got to spend so much time with her. But as I thought this, I suddenly had the biggest yearning, to have her be my mother instead. I knew I could tell her anything and not be judged; that was something I couldn't say for my own mother. I was suddenly very jealous of Edward—but then I remembered, that I had been the one to reap the benefits he'd been neglected of.

He was silent for a while, and I found my anger slowly withering, like powder disintegrating in water. I knew I should be ticked off for letting it melt so easily away. But due to the circumstances, I was far past caring.

"Why would the Volturi do this… this evil thing? It's as if they're not even human." I snarled to myself, my fury turning toward the Volturi.

"Power." He muttered. "Power hungry. They're very, very power hungry. Separating the two races gives them that power."

"I know." I said, surprised at myself.

"Do you, really?" He said condescendingly, looking me straight in the eyes. He obviously was telling me something important, or at least, it was big to him.

"But, how do they plan on keeping everyone separated? If I could get through, anyone could. It's almost like it's…it's…

"…Their plan isn't over yet is it?"

He nodded solemnly.

It wasn't going to stop. It was never going to stop. The building of The Wall was just the beginning of a grander, horrific scheme.

His eyes grew grim. "No. First they are going to tell your side that there wasn't enough funding to keep those Care Centers you told me about, running. They are going to close them down so reproduction within the villages is impossible. They're going to gather a select group of men and women to have children, then those men and women will be killed; and those children will be put in camps, where they will be brainwashed until adulthood. Then they will be released into the community; they'll make it seem like there is nothing beyond that God forsaken wall, that crossing it will mean you will just fall into nothingness. And they'll believe it. It's a vicious and endless cycle." I grew cold. And not just because of the chilling temperature.

The End was by no means the end. It was only the beginning.

"That's awful." I groaned, feeling so defeated. No one really could beat the Volturi after all.

"Well, we won't live to see it." He breathed. "I guess that's good." I was about to go into a silent mourning session when he suddenly spoke up again.

"You know," he started. "My father is older than my mother." He finished tersely.

I wrinkled my nose in confusion. "That's nice." Why would he bring something up so randomly? "But that pertains to what's going on, how, exactly?"

He grunted, dissatisfied, as if he was frustrated I wasn't catching on to whatever he was trying to say.

"Just saying age is just a number." He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. My eyebrows knit together. Why was he acting so strangely? One minute we were talking about how terrible the Volturi was, and our impending doom, and the next this?

"Okay." I said carefully, trying to sort through the confusion that cluttered my brain; what was he getting at?

"Do you get it?" He asked, hopefully. A fire lit his eyes, and like the fire inside myself, I wished I knew what it was trying to express.

"…No."

"Ugh." He exclaimed, and rested his head back and closed his eyes. Was he angry at me? What did I do now?

"After you came to this side, the prospect of turning you in seemed less and less appealing; do you remember me saying that?" He let on once more. I nodded. "I didn't know why though. I had been taught my whole life to let go of myself when presented something related to work; but somehow, I was brought out from behind the mask I had made for myself. It was coaxed out."

"By what?" I asked, ignorantly.

He turned his eyes to me. "You. You brought it out." I held my breath. He had said that before, but it was just because I was the first woman he got to have a conversation with.

"Yes, you told me. I was the first woman you ever met, got to talk to. That's why, you weren't prepared for that. I know." I said this, knowing this was the truth.

He closed his eyes once more. "No, not that. You brought that out. Yourself, not your status as a woman, but you."

After finding out about his membership in the Volturi, I had given up on this crazy emotion I was feeling inside, called Love. I had let it go. The funny, unexplainable, piercing feeling, was now forcing its way back from the bowels of my heart, and to the surface.

His eyes were fierce, confident and sure.

"At first, I wrote off the feelings as annoyance, because you really do annoy me sometimes." He smirked in my direction. "But there was something underlying, steadily building.

"I realized I would go to bed thinking about things you said, things so elusive, I would lay awake, trying to decode them. You confused me so much, but it wasn't an angry confusion. It was a contended ignorance. As I said, you are nothing like I expected. I only knew rumors and stories about women, and you fit the mold, but you also broke it. You're what they said, but also so much more." I felt a powerful smile break its way through my face.

I wanted him to keep talking, keep admitting these strange things; all my anger, all my resentment, all my rational reasons for hating him, evaporated.

But a part of me also wanted to stop him, for him to shut up right there; I had admitted my feelings before (to myself only thankfully), and I was hurt. I knew that if he was saying what I thought he was that I had to stop him. I didn't know if I could handle anything else.

"And—" He started. A flare of desperation flared up in my chest, a desperation for him to stop.

"Please, stop." I whispered shortly, shutting my eyes.

His mouth snapped shut. I could see that confusion had dominated over that assurance he had a second ago.

"What? Why?" He asked, upset and exasperated. An abrupt desperation surrounded the air around us, suffocating me.

"I love you. Don't you get it?"

No...NO! This couldn't be happening! The words were sprinkled like salt on an open wound, adding insult to injury.

"I can't." – I blurted out—"You can't." I was having trouble forming complete sentences.

How many times had I secretly dreamed of this? Not just him, but any man admitting something so powerful to me? And now I was wishing it would stop, to wish it had never started. I wished he would just maintain what little middle ground we had reached beyond hate and betrayal and between these scary and crippling confessions.

"I'm not sure how much time we've got left, so I've got to get this off my chest. I. Love. You." He pushed incessantly. Frustration and an insane need to make it stop flared in me, I didn't like feeling rushed to tell him what I felt when I honestly had no clue myself.

"Because I'm scared okay?" I shouted over those three words he wouldn't stop saying. "Are you happy? I, Isabella Swan, am scared."

He grew quiet. Then he said this next sentence so softly, I almost missed it. "I think the time for fear has passed." He motioned to our surroundings; obviously a blow to me, for being scared when the game was over and we were as good as dead in the dungeon.

Fear was really stupid; it was a stupid emotion to feel at a time like this. Fear would have been proper right before this, or even earlier than that. Now, I had nothing left to lose. Everything except my last breath. If I admitted this, I would be losing the last thing that was mine.

But was that really so bad? For what little time we had left, I would be able to give myself to him fully. What harm could it do?

His voice finally fell silent while I huffed, trying to control this sudden uprising of dark emotion.

I was scared. Terrified actually; what did this mean? I still haven't gotten past the fact that he harbored these feelings, and how could he possibly have feelings for me? I was just a kid to him— wasn't I?

'Age is just a number', he'd said. Plus the difference isn't that much; now if he were ridiculously older that would be different…

We were going to die. No doubt about that, so really, what did it matter? It shouldn't have mattered. Yet, it did.

I should have been giddy— elated at what he said. But, I could do nothing more than hold this off as long as possible. Something in the back of my head said I was at the end of my rope, that I really could handle no more. I felt like I was pushing away something inhumanly powerful by mere hairs, and that I was slowly losing the battle. That the thread tying me to sanity was stretching itself too far.

Waves of regret and self disgust started eating up at me from the inside, like an invincible virus.

If only this conversation would have happened earlier, maybe we could have prevented such a confrontation, being in such a terrible situation; maybe something could have been worked out. We wouldn't have been captured, my friends wouldn't be imprisoned, and none of this pain would have been experienced. All this pain, all this ache, all this heartbreak, could have easily been prevented. I felt like such an imbecile. I didn't even let him explain himself when it really mattered. Now that I've heard what he had to say, I feel more shame than I ever had.

I had run. Like a coward. Maybe I deserved this fate.

But he didn't, and that's what hurt most of all.

I looked upon him now, cold and staring off into nothingness, faced with death, when he didn't deserve it. I had painted a dreadful picture of him in my head, and didn't even occur that there could be some explanation. Because I was bloody scared!

I always saw myself as the strong one, the one who reigned Alice in when she had a bad idea; the medium, the rational one. The barer of pain. It turns out I was nothing more than a selfish coward, hurting those I cared about.

Being in the wrong wasn't a good feeling. I tried to avoid it when I could. My only hope for redemption would have been to get Edward out of here, to escape, and I couldn't even conjure that up.

I wasn't worthy of such affection, such a statement of absolute devotion. That's why I pushed him away; I did nothing to deserve it, I caused too much trouble for my own good. I did nothing for him, to make him feel this way; I wasn't even sure if this was true, or if this is brought on because of the death sentence we have against us.

He should have hated me— I would have felt so much better if he did. This was a million times worse. Much worse than any form of loathing.

"Why?" I spoke up suddenly, throwing his question back at him. His head snapped up and his eyes were filled with confusion. "Why do you feel that way?" I lowered my voice toward the end, embarrassed to say it loud.

A smirk crossed his face. "Many reasons." He said vaguely. I wanted to slap him… again.

"Oh, that's nice and distinct." I spewed, rolling my eyes, jittery than anything at the moment.

He huffed. "What do you want me to say? It certainly isn't because of your charm or anything."

"Hey!" I yelped indignantly.

"I'm being honest. I don't know why, I just know I do. It seems to be the only thing I'm positive of anymore." He sighed; I'm sure it was supposed to be romantic and sweet, but it only fed my fire. I swore he was doing it to egg me on.

"Shut up!" I spat, humiliated.

"Ah, there's that charm I was talking about."

I exhaled slowly, trying to calm down enough to proceed.

"How do you know you're not just saying this because these are our last days— if even that much?" I tried to sound reasonable, maybe he would come to his senses, apologize, and take it back like I was trying to make him do. It would be easier for both of us, and make more sense.

"Because I know myself; death and torment is nothing new to me, Bella. I've been on the brink of death before. I know what desperate emotions are, and what's real."

He had an answer to just everything, didn't he? Peachy.

"Ugh." I groaned, trying to collect my thoughts.

"Look, I won't mention it again if you answer me two questions." It was an innocent enough proposal, yet, something much more trying lay behind the seemingly harmless phrase. Despite my better judgment, I nodded in agreement.

"If it hadn't been forced, would marrying me really be so bad? Do you like me, even just a little?"

Kill me now. I had been fighting death for the last month, and now when I welcomed it, it wouldn't come.

Out of all the questions in the world he could have asked, it had to be the one that would undo me.

Of course I loved him; it was the only thing that hadn't changed. Even through the hate, I subconsciously knew I still and always would love him. But admitting it out loud, to him, was different than admitting it even to myself.

I thought about it. About me, a happy, blushing bride, him in a dark tuxedo, in a blissful place, me spending my life with him, becoming a member of his family, starting one on our own—our way. Not the Volturi's way. What would it mean now? Nothing, really, the possibility of that life was obliterated. It's not like we could hug and kiss romantically, like in the books when we confessed. It was pretty set that we would never have physical contact for the rest of our short lives. What harm would saying it verbally do? None…I hoped.

I turned my gaze to him, his eyes bored into mine such a ferocity, I didn't dare break the gaze; I asked myself a thousand times in my head, if I loved him, looking for even a slight indecision (maybe I was praying for one). But each time, it came out to a resounding 'yes'. Even now, my heart beat erratically in my chest, and my face flushed.

I can't, I told myself, I won't.

Oh yes you will, the voice shoved so hard, the words were so close to flying out of my mouth.

Nice for you to join us again, I seethed at it. Care to explain where you've been?

I'm only around when you need me. It replies coolly.

Now is hardly a time I need you.

Something began building inside me. It started at the pit of my stomach and worked its way upward, consuming all of me. I suspected the voice, but not even the voice was this powerful. I burned up all space behind the words in my throat, pushing upward and outward. It was something of my own orchestration, because I could feel the voice, merrily watching from the sidelines.

"No. In fact it wouldn't have been bad at all; it would have been great," I paused, before letting the words flow from my tongue. "I love you…a lot." I didn't dare look at him as I said this, in fear of losing my nerve.

To my worst fears (and hopes), he didn't say anything. The silence in the room was deafening, the words hung in the air, rotting in silence.

"Say it again," He said quietly. This time it came easier to my lips.

"I… love you." I wanted to bite my tongue, for I had not read his reaction yet.

His grin grew wider. "You have no idea how, invigorating that is to hear."

I sighed, in relief. "I think I have a pretty good idea." The phrase was supposed to come out jokingly, but instead, came out more like a confession. Our gazes meet, and held for the longest time, there was something being shared, but I was too far immersed in his eyes to decode it.

"Ah," He pulled back. "I should have just told you sooner, maybe things would have been different." Now, he was pitting the blame on himself; he just made it worse.

"Don't start that." I groaned. "You couldn't, you said it yourself. If I had waited, and let you explain— wait, how did you know I knew anyway? About your connections to the Volturi?" I had forgotten to ask that. I didn't know what I expected (some big secret exposed). But he just replied easily.

"I was walking back when Jas ran up to me, saying you had run away. I had no idea why or where, but when we got back to the house, I saw that journal open on the couch. And I knew you figured it out. It devastated me. I wanted to tell you, I was working out ways to do it before actually; when the thunderstorm hit I ran out to go find you.

"Even in the pouring rain, I still hoped, and searched. When I reached as far as you would have been able to go, I knew you had found that hole in The Wall; the kink in the armor. It frustrated me, because no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't follow you. I came back home, pouring wet. Em asked me what was wrong, but I couldn't find the words. But Jas just said 'she's gone' and left the room, as if he were telling him the time."

I suddenly wished I hadn't been as fast I was, and that Edward had seen me in the underbrush. That he could have stopped and explained. But I hadn't let him.

"It's not your fault; I know it's mine." I hung my head. Edward wasn't stupid, even he could see it was my fault.

"Well, I won't let you take the blame. I'm taking this one, whether you like it or not."

"But…why?" I asked, stunned by his boldness (really, I should be past that by now), usually people would see it was my fault and move on, knowing I was to blame. But he refused to…why?

"Because I love you."

He said it so casually, so offhandedly, so naturally; it hit me harder than if he had said it intensely. He wouldn't stop telling me that, he brought it up every few seconds; somehow that made it even better.

Something inside me broke; a wall, a dam, something, because now I was flooded with the emotions I was putting off.

Love, filled me completely, like water in a bag; I heard the clinking of the iron shackles, and I discovered I had unknowingly been leaning toward him, my body trying to break these bonds. I had a burning desire, to be freed from these chains. To touch him, stroke his face, hold his hand, a brush of the fingertips, anything. I felt so restrained, I felt I would drown in it. My heart swelled up as I repeated the words in my head. I love him, he loves me. The feeling was beyond that of any drug.

But something else, close to love, but different in a significant way, filled me as well; desire. A much less innocent feeling, it was primal, animalistic. I wanted him. But I choked it back; for if I wallowed in it for too long, it surely would kill me.

Also anger; pure loathing toward the Volturi, and myself. The Volturi, for keeping me bound like this, for condemning us (him), to an undeserved death; and me, for starting this whole chain of events in the first place. If I had talked it out with him, and this love we shared had come out sooner, we could have been (dare I say) happy.

I clenched and unclenched my fists in blind rage beyond that of this universe, while Edward just hung there, in bliss. I wish I could immerse myself in the positive emotions, and not harbor this anger. In some ways, I wished to be more like him, for this anger would get me nowhere.

"What's wrong?" His eyes were suddenly, I could see in his gaze, he could truly see any reason not to be in high spirits— and I was, ecstatic. But the anger still boiled beneath the surface.

"Can you honestly say you don't even feel the slightest bit…livid?" I choked back a nervous laugh. "I mean, nothing's going to change, we're still going to die." I breathed, fighting tears.

He grew aged, an understanding look. "A little; but at least we know how we feel about each other." The word 'we' still made my heart flutter. "In a way, I'm glad we got caught before our voices fell silent."

"What?" I questioned.

"It shows we're different, still human, that we're not like them."

I thought about it, and he was right. Being here was a good sign, like his mother said. Automatically, at the thought of her, my heart ached, and guilt washed over me, for forgetting of her for even a little while. We hadn't played into their game, none of us did. He had his mother's rebel spirit— I saw her in him. Her soul, her fighting spirit, her ability to subdue my fears, and my doubts.

"Love you." He said one more time, more jokingly than before; the words went into me like a broom, sweeping away all of my worries, even just for a second.

"Right back at you." I replied jokingly; he laughed too.

The moment was comfortable— beautiful really. The feeling of loving and being loved in return was something no words can express. It was a feeling from the soul. Suddenly this torturous room didn't seem so bad. Our future wasn't so bleak; not even death could dampen this moment.

Until the giant, heavy door, creaked open, and dark, menacing silhouette stood in its way.

… Expectations met? Satisfactory? Did I screw up big time?

If you can bear to, review for the rest of the teaser:

"You know Edward," Peter started. "Aro was going to let you out, regardless." His eyes bored into Edward's. Edward's face grew dismal.

"I figured so." Edward said grimly.

"What?" I asked, phrasing the question that was in everyone else's mind. Peter turned to us.

"Typically, it takes weeks, even months for a member to choose a wife. Searching for the best genetics, and the Volturi usually let's them take their time. The Core can stand for quite awhile without all its members." Peter said, more to Edward than anyone. "What still confuses me is the deadline they set."

A deadline? Why would they set a deadline?

"Yes, they set a very strict deadline, so I didn't have time to think. They wanted us wed as soon as possible." Edward murmured, deep in thought. This conversation confused everyone.