**Here we go again! I'm not going to give much away in the intro...i'll just say read and please do enjoy! I enjoy your reviews--you are all amazing readers!!**

Ch. 6--Could One Love This?

The snow outside fell softly, unlike the blizzards we'd been having. The window sill was cool to the touch, but somehow, I couldn't feel it. I just knew.

I thought that getting away from Maria would be a new start. A new life. A happy one…but I was wrong. As the days passed, I grew thirstier and thirstier, and I couldn't feed. I couldn't. I wouldn't bring myself to do it.

I fed last month, and barely got through that. Peter and Charlotte had found me in the city, in an alley way, dazed with dry bodies beside me. They had scolded me at first for foolishly laying out among humans, but by the time we got home, they were worried sick. Their worry was so huge and terrible. It pounded inside my brain and scratched and my skull. I could find no relief--they thought that tending for me would help out, but it worsened. My head was so huge with the imagined swelling that I couldn't tell them this. I grimaced and endured their chattering and pacing over me.

I had laid on their couch beside the fire, remembering the encounter. It wasn't avoidable.

I had to be cursed, for as I had laid in the alleyway that night, I knew that the next human pedestrians would not live. It just had to be a couple, didn't it?

The woman was hissing at the man that they were late for something. I couldn't help but check my watch--it was midnight. I could afford to listen to the conversation from afar before their blood got to me. I couldn't run. My thirst was too painful.

"Sweetheart, they won't mind if we are fashionably late." the male had replied, and I could hear the sappy humor in his voice. I was now trying to get away…I was writhing in my place on the pavement. If I could just sit still while they passed, I could wait for an old man…or--

"Oh, honey. Look at that man."

I flinched at the concern my prey had for me. I wanted to turn away, but the fresh night breeze carried her scent to me. I was on my feet, fueled only by the animal inside of me.

"The fella looks homeless. Hey, do you need a buck, sir?" the man whispered to his girlfriend, then hollered over to me. I cringed, clawing at my pant legs…how I wished I could get away…

He was approaching--he was a fool--! I couldn't smell anything but--

Love.

It had stopped me in my tracks, and I couldn't help but be pummeled by the emotion. Even as it was mingled with slight fright of me, it was strong. It was so pleasant…then…it was gone.

I blinked, looking down. I slowly collapsed with fatigue and the painful fear that rushed through my sore body. I lay down with the corpses and sobbed myself unmovable. Peter and Charlotte had found me not much longer after.

"Jasper?"

I jumped, and Charlotte immediately fretted. "I'm sorry, Jasper. I didn't mean to startle you--"

She shouldn't even have to apologize. Vampires never jumped out of fright. They were always supposed to know when they were not alone. They were supposed to be in tune with their senses. They were not supposed to be blinded by thirst.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes as Charlotte's feeble apologies tapered off.

"Jasper, will you come sit by the fire with me?"

I obeyed.

I always did.

I fought the urge not to fall to the ground at the painful reminder. I stumbled to the couch, gripping the plush arm with more strength I thought capable. Charlotte sat down, but turned to me when the fabric seams of the couch popped. I shakily touched the stuffing that was gushing out. "It's alright, Jasper." I heard her say. I kept a hand on it even as I sat down. I kneaded it with trembling fingers. I broke everything I touched. Ruined everything.

Her hand met my shoulder, and I tried to stop my jittery movements. I tried to face her.

"Wh--where's Peter?" I whispered. She sighed.

"Out hunting." I nodded.

"He asked me if I thought you'd like to go, but…"

I closed my eyes.

"Jasper, I think you need help." Her voice was careful.

"If you cannot help me, I don't think anyone can." I couldn't help but say. It was more bitter than I had intended. She was silent.

"I'm not sure if we can, Jasper. That's just it. Who can?" Her voice was so soft and hurt. So like my own. I looked at her fully.

Her eyes were glittering in the fire. The warmth and soot filled the air, making for a cozy atmosphere. It was a little hot for my taste. I didn't like it. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder, cascading down to her hip. Her nose was narrow, her eyes wide, her lips full yet petite. Her hair glittered where the pinkish magenta was shot through. I could see why Peter loved her.

"You are staring." Her voice wasn't offended, but amused.

"Forgive me." My accent filled the room, and I cursed it once again. She smiled, and amusement replaced worry a little. It was rather refreshing. I sat up and faced her.

"That's what you need." She spoke sort of to herself, but I still asked, "What?"

She clasped her hands, her eyes wide as if she knew the answer. "You need a mate."

My hope in her epiphany died. I sighed, my shoulders slumping. I shook my head. "No."

"But why?" She leaned forward, her fingertips touching my shoulder blade. I gently pulled away.

"No female would find attraction in me." I said coldly, scooting away from her. She frowned.

"And why not? You are a wonderful man. You are gentle and thoughtful, and--"

"Deformed." I spat. She shrank away, her hands burrowing into each other. She didn't meet my gaze. It pierced into her pale face.

"Jasper, don't say things about yourself. It's only a few bites, nothing too bad." She shrugged and smiled. I nearly scoffed. She had only seen my face, after all. Would Peter be such a fool as to not mention it? Why would I only have a few scars on my face? My body was not immune! Couldn't you figure the scar consistency by the several already shown when I wore long-sleeved shirts?

"Charlotte, I have more. You have to have assumed that." My voice cracked. I turned away and bit my fist. I shivered as I tried to regain control over my own emotions.

"Jasper, people don't care about scars if--"

I made her back away by harshly swirling around, my shirt sleeves cuffed up to the elbows. I held them out, letting the fire dance upon the upraised shapes. There were so many--I was perhaps showing her a hundred right there alone. "Look! This is what a woman would have to come to me and see. She would lay down with me in bed and look at my body. She would be appalled and leave me. Everyone leaves me--because I am a filthy animalistic monster. I have the scars to prove it."

I realized I had been shouting at Charlotte, for once I quieted, her fear was so great that I had to leave at that instant. I tore my sleeves back down and stormed out of the house as the fear nipped at me the whole way. It was so bitter and stinging--I found relief only once I found fresh air.

The snow fell from the skin, spiraling in the blue wind torrents. It fell peacefully, carelessly. It disappeared in the mounds all around me--alabaster and glittering beneath the house lights. My own agony overshadowed my thirst for the moment. I could feel the white flakes touching my hair, clinging.

I held out my hand in slight wonder--I had seen snow before, yes, but I always found it so relatable. White and cold. Like me.

Flakes touched my hand, laid inside my palm. They didn't melt. My brilliantly intense eyes picked up the designs of each, and I marveled at the differences. There were so many--it was moments like these when I appreciated the world. It had to be an acceptable place if it had such beauty as this.

I poked my finger in the tiny pile, gently rummaging through the different flakes. As the pile grew so I couldn't distinguish anything but plain patterns, I let my hand and its contents fall.

I stared into the blackening night. I watched the snow fall, and I became intoxicated by the beauty around me. All the beauty I had known was evil…except for Charlotte, who was simply unattainable. I didn't feel that way towards her anyway, and nor did she. She only longed for Peter. How I envied my friend.

I warily let my fingertips brush over my wrists, bumping over a scar. I closed my eyes and touched my skin. Smoothness…a scar. Soft…hard and cold ridges. I gently rolled up my sleeve and stared at it, thoughtlessly.

That was my skin. Those terrible designs where permanent, and they would be the reason I would die alone, perhaps of thirst. Perhaps of other vampires. I had tossed around the idea of begging for death. I wouldn't ask Peter and Charlotte, of course. Could one die of self-loathe? That would be the suitable death for me…Jasper Whitlock.

Flakes clung to my eyelashes. I didn't brush them away, even when they weighed down enough to mar my vision. I sat in the snow, yet I didn't feel the cold wetness beneath me. I sat there until the sun rose.

**Jasper is having a moment. Sorry we are going back to depressed, alone Jasper, but it will all be okay! I promise you!!**