Thanks for checking back on this story! This chapter is from Eli's perspective, and it centers around his mysterious and erratic behavior when he got home in the last chapter. You'll also see a bit of Imogen in this one. I feel the need to say, since I've seen this in a few reviews, I'm not an Imogeli shipper. It's probably blatantly obvious that my leaning is Eclare, no matter what the setting or story line happens to be. But in chapters to come, we'll begin to see Imogen start a little trouble for our inconveniently related lovers. As the saying goes, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and by the end of this chapter, scorned barely scrapes the surface.

Review if you please! Broken record over here but I love hearing reactions and such. Also, I'm a bit open-ended on how the next chapter will go, so if you have any ideas, let me know! I'm considering picking it up directly where it leaves off but from Clare's perspective.

In any event, enjoy!

Even now the envelope felt heavy in my hands, five days after receiving it. With each day that I failed to tell her, the contents inside seemed to feel heavier to me, as if each 12 point font times new roman letter was a ton in and of itself, the signature at the bottom acting as an anchor, pulling the entire letter down into the depths of god knows where .

Randall Edwards.

It was the name printed on my birth certificate, under the label of "father", though we both knew that was merely a technicality, nothing more. It was the name my mother would yell in fury in years past, only to be returned by the slamming of the front door with his departure . Most of all, it was the name I worked so hard to detach myself from, going so far as to leave Canada to escape it. To take on my mother's last name for all legal and social intents and purposes; Goldsworthy. I could stomach her bloodline far more than my father's.

Yet here it was in chicken scratch cursive right before me, more likely than not written with a fine point gel pen. Ball point would have been classier, but Randall has never been one for class.

My blood boils as I contemplate tearing it up, though I know it wouldn't be a wise idea to do so. It was one thing to disregard it. Another to try and pretend it never existed at all.

I can't believe he's finally taking interest, after all of these years. All of the fights, how he left mom, and most of all, everything he did to Clare.

Which is why I'll be damned if she find out about this. It'll only serve to upset her, open old wounds and rub the salt in. After helping her sleep the past few nights, staying by her side and brushing my fingers through her hair to calm her, I'm beginning to see just how traumatized she is.

I've gotten slapped many a time while she rests, jerking me to attention from my slumber until I realize it's her. I've lost count of the amount of times I've heard her mutter, "stop,", "please", and "leave me alone." Her voice is always frightened, belittled. I hate the bastard who instilled this fear in her. I can't stomach the way her face contorts in terror as she tosses and turns, running from memories that plague her subconscious. I can do nothing but hold her closer as she wakes in a cold, disoriented sweat, letting her know that I'm there. That from now on, I'm here. I'm never going to leave her alone again.

The only pleasant thing I've gotten from her so far as she sleeps is the way she smiles, almost like she did when we were little and I'd take her to the park. And one night, I saw her lips moving as she glowed with the corners of her lips upturned. No words came out but I swear she was mouthing my name, "Eli". The expression she wore was so fond, so full of adoration.

I can only hope that I was the one to elicit such a genuine smile from her.

Just as my mind starts traveling into questionable territory, I feel hands suddenly grip my shoulders, a quiet "boo" whispered in my ear.

I jump nearly a foot up in the air, stuffing the letter into my coat pocket hastily before she can see. "Hey, babe." I mutter breathlessly, the adrenaline from her unexpected arrival shaking me.

"Hey jumpy. Whatcha hiding?" Imogen inquires, shooting me an inquisitive smile. She's cute, I'll give her that, but there's no way that I'm letting her become privy to this fiasco and how deep it runs. She knows next to nothing about my family and that was how I prefer to keep it.

"Oh, nothing. Junk mail." I whisper dismissively, remembering we were both in the campus library. It was the perfect excuse to stay mum, and that was my game plan despite her needling and persistent questions.

She rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet, the tiny bells adorning her petite flat-clad feet jingling as she did. "Is it a present for me?" Her eyes dart to where I had tucked the envelope in my coat curiously, though it came across as nosy in my opinion.

"No, not for you." I reply with a forced laugh, attempting to mask my growing frustration with her.

"Then what is it?" She stops rocking , a mischievous smile decorating her slender, elf-like features. She looks as if a light bulb has just lit up in her mind, and I know this can only mean trouble. "Maybe I'll just snatch it myself!" she squeals quietly, reaching for that vulnerable spot right at my ribs where I'm ticklish. She knows it's my weakness. My face breaks into a smile as I laugh though on the inside I'm fuming, raging with contempt and disgust for her. In my mostly immobilized state, she swipes the letter from my pocket, triumphantly waving it about as she releases me from her tickle attack.

As soon as I collect myself I jump to my feet, all but clawing it from her tiny hand and gripping it tightly in my fist. "Do you not understand me when I say it has nothing to do with you?" I seethe through gritted teeth, my eyes feeling as though they could easily burst forth from my face.

The look on her face should make me feel guilty, or at least persuade me to take a more mild approach but it does neither. If anything, it solidifies my stance on the matter. "You're a nosy, persistent brat, Moreno. The world doesn't revolve around you, newsflash. I'm tired of you sticking your little nose in my shit." My eyes narrow at her, my nostrils flaring to a degree I didn't even know they were capable of. My fuse is exceptionally short when it concerns this topic, my defensive nature for Clare overriding all else. "You know, I'm not sure why I even deal with you anymore. For a good fuck? Maybe for company?" I sneer, getting a bit closer to her than I know she's comfortable with. "I'm done with you. Stay out of my business and my life."

As I turn to grab my book bag and hurry off away from her, I realize the phrase I just spat out hardly sounds like one a loving boyfriend would say to his girlfriend, but I barely care. I'm done donating my time to a girl who hangs off of me as if she has nothing better to do. I can live without her whining. She pries too often, attempts to figure me out. I'm like an experiment to her, a psychological plaything she can tweak and test. But everyone has those specific buttons that should never be pushed. Much to my dismay, she's figured out every last one over the past year and a half. Or perhaps she missed one that was only created recently: Clare.

Hurrying off to the parking lot, I get inside the driver's side door of my hearse and start the engine up, swiftly exiting the college campus.

Even as I drive I can feel the letter burning a hole in my jacket, the heat radiating off and scorching my chest where it rests against. My hands grip the steering wheel more firmly, attempting to calm myself as I enter the busy streets of Manhattan

Imogen can go to hell as far as I'm concerned. There's only one girl I need to give my full time and attention to. And currently she's at home, waiting for me to arrive so we can have a "sibling bonding night" as she so cheerily coined it. It basically translates to sappy romance movies of her choosing all night long, followed by a bout of her crying on my shoulder.

And for some reason I can't quite explain, I can't wait.