This is a collection of sideshots/outtakes to my other fic, Vanity and Patience, but through Emmett's eyes. To read Vanity and Patience, please find the link on my profile.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, and its characters, or plot. The characters, books, and plot are property of Stephenie Meyer. I make no money from writing this. I just love Twilight.

Warning: Lemons in future chapters. Rated NC-17 for a reason. Violence, adult language, drugs, assault, and sexual content.

Chapter Specific Warning: Adult content, but no lemons.

This chapter is a direct continuation of chapter 1.

Big thanks to my beta, Lisa aka cfmom, who totally rocks. This story would not be what it is without her.

Playlist:
TLC – Creep
My Chemical Romance – I Don't Love You
Chris Daughtry – Over You
American Rejects – It Ends Tonight
Guns N Roses – Don't Cry
Usher – You Remind Me

Chapter 2: Just Shoot Me

Sunlight filtered through my window penetrating my eyelids and testing my slumber as I tossed in my twin-sized bed. I was in the middle of the best dream when it had suddenly turned into a nightmare. I was working at the lumberyard, when both Betty and Jeanine showed up looking for me. Realizing they both were there for me, they began to argue with one another and had everyone watching them. The argument grew into shouting, and I tried to break it up. A fight broke out between them—a physical catfight. Somehow they ended up tearing each other's clothes off and kissing each other. And then, they began kissing me.

Yes!

Before I could truly enjoy what happened in my dream at that point, the naughtiness was over and I was suddenly standing in front of my parish congregation in a suit. Both women appeared with me at the front of the church, each wearing long white gowns, and I was being forced to choose between them by my father.

I wanted to choose no one.

Bad dream. Bad dream all around.

I tried to run but my feet wouldn't move. Looking down, I realized shackles were tied to both of my ankles. I had no interest in being locked into a loveless marriage with some broad I had lukewarm feelings for. Neither of them carried enough emotional significance for me to want to be with one faithfully for the rest of my life. I wrestled with the shackles, trying to find a way out of them, but before I knew it the hem of a white gown was in front of me. I followed the trail of the dress up to the face and there she was.

It was Betty.

My father had made my choice for me. I shouted my objection, raising my voice as much as I could, but it was no use. I tried to scream but I couldn't. No one could hear my protest.

My eyes flew open, but I squeezed them shut right away, bothered by the blaring sun. I pulled a pillow over my head, trying to block it as I waited for my pupils to adjust to the light. I mulled over last night's events: the booze lifting, speakeasy being busted, the copper chase… Jeanine's warm mouth gliding up and down my… hmm, better not linger on that thought.

I heard noises coming from the kitchen, and realized everyone was up; everyone but me. The smell of baked bread permeated the house… God, I love Sundays. I looked at the clock, and it read 11:30. I sat up reluctantly, stretching my arms and back before hopping to my feet. I stepped out of my bedroom and into the restroom to take a leak and shave the two-day-old stubble on my face. As I stepped out of the bathroom, I ran a comb through my tousled crown.

"That sure smells good," I crowed happily. As I stepped out into the living room, I looked to my left, startled by an unexpected person sitting on our couch.

"Betty," I said, a bit surprised to see her so early after Sunday service. I figured it was a short mass.

"Hi Emmett," she smiled, sitting up suddenly. She was in a green polka-dotted dress, with her shoulder length red hair pulled away to one side. Her creamy complexion, dotted with millions of light brown freckles, seemed to glow as she smiled at me with her rosy lips.

She was cute—pretty even—for a redhead, though my preference normally favored blondes. She was certainly a ripe tomato; her hourglass figure was quite voluptuous. Her round chassis consisted of full hips, a tiny middle, and a large set of lovely boobies. Unfortunately, I wasn't too happy to see her, considering what I had realized about her lately. I didn't miss how her green eyes sparkled as she looked at me, but up until lately, I assumed it was just the way she looked all the time. I didn't consider it was the look she wore specifically when I was around. Realizing this fact was leaving a well of guilt in my stomach.

I nodded hello rigidly before heading straight for the kitchen without a word.

"You missed service," she called after me.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice trailing off.

I found my dad smoking a cigar in the corner of the kitchen while he was reading the paper. He had his reading glasses on, its grey rims blending with his salt and pepper hair. He looked up at me with a smirk. "Mornin' son. Glad to know you're alive."

"I'll say," my stepmother, Sandra chimed in, working over the stove preparing a pot roast. Her auburn hair was in a bun as she worked over the stove in an apron. "You seem to routinely miss Sunday Church."

I sighed lightly, not responding to her. She and I weren't close. It wasn't anything about not liking her—she was a nice person for the most part. However, she just wasn't my mother, or my Nana, and I would've rather she remembered that. Stepping over her bounds of her role in my life was something she did way too often.

It was awkward for me when they were first married, especially since she's thirteen years younger than my dad. I was only twelve years old, but I was old enough to pay attention to "adult things." My Nana always had a sneaking suspicion that Sandra was after my dad's money. If that was the case, she had no idea my father didn't have any, and anything extravagant we had was from my mother's side of the family. I wonder if that tainted my view of her a bit as well. I truly wanted my dad to be happy, so I'd accepted her as his wife. However, I never believed that he loved her like he had loved my mom, and no one could take her place in any of our hearts.

"Your brother's coming over with Amelia and the kids," my father continued. "They're bringing a nice roasted chicken. They went to go pick it up."

"Neat-o," I responded quickly, grabbing a piece of carrot from the cutting board and throwing it into my mouth.

"Need any help," Betty offered to Sandra, walking into the kitchen and taking a potholder from Sandra's hands to help her pull out the fresh loaf of bread from the stove. I felt her watching me from the corner of her eyes.

"Sure, actually if you can help me take down some laundry from the line outside while this simmers, that'd be great." Grabbing a couple laundry baskets, they stepped out of the kitchen and into the backyard. Sandra turned to us and asked, "Will you boys watch this while we take the laundry in?"

"Sure, hun," my dad answered, waving his hand in the air.

I immediately turned to my father as soon as the door shut behind him. "Pop, must she be here all the time?"

"Who?" His face seemed puzzled

"Betty," I mouthed in an answer, inclining my head in their direction.

"Of course! What kind of silly question is that?" My father raised his voice, stunned.

I held my finger to my lips to remind him to shush. "It's a question," I replied in a whisper.

My father gave me a stern expression. "Look, she's your mother's only sister."

I cringed automatically. "Stepmother," I corrected him. "My stepmother's only sister." Not only was Sandra not my mother, but the fact that I routinely fooled around with her sister made that fact even bigger in my mind. "Hell, Betty's not even her blood. She's just Sandra's stepsister." I pointed out, as if that would make it any better.

We were not related.

At all.

I shivered at the thought. Betty was in no way my aunt, but Sandra's baby stepsister, who happened to be a bit over two years younger than me. It had all been too convenient for me with easy access, when Betty moved from Michigan a year ago to a house down the street. We didn't grow up together. I met her at my dad's wedding to Sandra when she was nine and I was twelve. I hadn't seen her since. She moved here after her mother passed away a year ago, virtually a stranger to me until then. She and Sandra's father, an alcoholic mess who wasn't fit to care for her in his own, came to live with her aunt, Mary Sponaugle, here in Gatlinburg.

Though it was all fun in the beginning, I was starting to believe that convenience was all our fooling around was, and nothing more. I dreaded the consequences of my actions—that I had permitted such an affair to go on for so long. Last night's situation with Jeanine proved to me that no one had my heart, and I feared facing Betty for this reason. She was very forward, and I would give anything to avoid her. However, no one knew about us, or the things we did when we were alone. We were each other's secret.

"Fine, stepmother's stepsister, and a kid sister like that. And what with all she had endured with her family, we can't just turn her away. We're practically family now, son."

I didn't press it any further. Betty was always here on Sundays for lunch, but unlike many times before, I never minded it. I decided to let it go, even though I wasn't looking forward to this meal.

I watched as my dad's eyes passed over my shoulder and through the window at our driveway. His eyes narrowed. "Say boy, that new automobile of yours, is it hot?" My father asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow at me.

I looked over at my shoulder, staring at the hot rod parked in front of my truck, smirking to myself that I had two cars now. I turned to my father, furrowing my brows at his question before my eyes widened with understanding. "Wait, are you asking me if I stole it?" I asked.

"Quite frankly, yes," he answered, and his voice was stern with resolve. "I reckon I am."

"Of course not," I retorted, irritated at his assumption. "Won it fair and square in a drag race. Got the pink slip in my room."

"A drag race," he mocked, disgusted. "You know you might want to think about growing up, son. All of your gallivanting with your friends every night can't be any good. Don't you tire of bachelorhood?"

Shaking my head, I laughed. "Not this again."

At that moment, Sandra and Betty walked in with a pile of clothes, heading to place it in my parents' bedroom.

My father leaned into me. "You're not getting any younger. You need to consider getting married, and starting a family. Have a wife to take care of you, and have you provide for her and the kids." He lifted his hand to my back, patting it. "Learn some responsibility." He turned back to his paper, flipping to the next page.

I leaned into my father just as the women came back into the kitchen. Sandra put Betty on potato-chopping duty on the other side of the room. "I have my job, Pop. You know they love me down at the lumber yard. I manage all those men and I do well with it. It was a great promotion. You have to be proud of at least that. I mean, I just want to relax with my friends sometimes," I explained softly. I didn't care to have the girls in on our conversation. "Besides, who would I marry? There's no one around that's worth it to me."

"Betty seems to have eyes for you," he said, lowering his voice below a whisper.

Apparently, even as a secret, some things didn't get past my dad. Betty had been careless lately, staring at me for too long in front of my family members, including Pop.

I narrowed my eyes at him, hiding my face from the ladies behind his newspaper. "Pop, I love you… but you've got to be kidding me," I seethed through my teeth.

I looked over in her direction, catching her watching us talk. She looked down quickly, turning her attention back to chopping the potatoes. She tipped her head forward so that her red hair would fall to cover her face, but she wasn't fooling me. I wondered for a moment if she had anything to do with this idea, maybe planting it in my father's head that we'd make a good match. What a sneaky, manipulative broad.

"Why not?" Pop asked. "She's practically part of the family. We all get along well. You two seem to get along just fine."

"Getting along isn't grounds for marriage, Pop," I argued.

At that point there was a knock at the door, and my brother Elliot filed in with his wife, Amelia—who I called Amy—and his kids, my three-year-old niece, Judy, and my baby nephew, Bobby. Amy held a large plate with a foil covered bird on top, and Elliot had my nephew on his shoulders, with Judy holding his hand.

"Uncle Emmett," Judy exclaimed running to me. She hugged my leg before I could get a chance to grab hold of her myself, carrying her up to wrap her in a big bear hug.

"Judy-pudy!" I barked, swinging her around as she laughed her adorable little laugh. Her hair, sandy brown ringlets, bounced along with my movements.

After a few minutes of playing with my niece and baby nephew, I joined the rest of the family to help prepare what I could for lunch. I set the table and then offered to help Amy with her famous cinnamon apple cider. She had already started the base, bringing it in a pot to the house. I threw it onto the stove to reheat while everyone was busy doing their own appointed task for lunch. Just a few minutes to get it to boiling, and all that was left to put in it was the spice.

I was able to put in what amount of cinnamon the cider needed before I felt the left cheek of my rear being grabbed from behind me. My eyes widening, I jumped at the unexpected move, and ended up tipping the bottle of spice. Cinnamon spilled on my shirt, a copper colored dusty cloud in its wake. I spun around and saw Betty biting her lip to keep herself from laughing.

I looked at her, shocked at her audacity at such a forward pass in front of the family. "What the hell?" I asked in a low voice. Any other day I would have laughed it off, but today she was testing my tolerance.

"Relax," she whispered, with a devilish grin. "No one saw."

I looked around and realized most everyone had gone to wash their hands or was listening to the radio in the living room, aside from Amy who was preparing the chicken fixings on the table. "You need to quit it," I chastised Betty under my breath.

"Oh wow, Emmett. Let me help you with that," Betty volunteered, raising her voice with so that everyone could hear her. She began to brush the copper colored powder off of my shirt. "You can be so clumsy, Em."

I tried to shake the cinnamon off my shirt with my hands. Her hands pressed intently against the muscles of my chest as she rigorously brushed the dust off above my own. Sneaky broad. My eyes caught that her nipples had perked on her plump breasts; evident through the thin material of her brassiere and dress. I averted my eyes from her, and felt my manhood stirring in my pants despite myself. "I don't need your help," I seethed through my teeth, stepping back.

Betty recoiled and I immediately regretted my snappy request. Yet, how else would I get my point across?

"Emmett," Amy called over her shoulder. "Get the broom and sweep up the cinnamon."

As I went into the closet to grab the broom and dustpan, I realized I needed to tell her today. I had to cut Betty loose. She walked away, her soft, round figure swaying into the living room.

She tried to put on a reserved charade for everyone else, but I knew better. She wasn't the angel that she projected herself to be. In fact, she was very much a little she-devil. She was aggressive—very unlike the refined young ladies I'd known around here. I had always played off her forward nature, happily riding on her initiative to find ways to be alone together for a petting session. However, she had always assured me that she had no interest in me for anything more. It worked for a good few months—necking with no strings attached, but I was an idiot to let it continue for so long. I should have known that eventually one of us would begin to fall in love. I was never in any danger of that, only that I felt that I cared for her, and was too comfortable with the fact that she was always there for me.

We ate lunch and laughed at things as a family. I sat at the farthest side of the table from Betty to avoid any possible eye contact or physical contact she may try under the table with her hands or feet like she'd do sometimes. I sighed. I used to like it. I used to find it exciting—the sneaking around, the stealing glances, the attempts at trying to touch one another in some form without being too obvious.

Now, it wasn't fun. Now, the weight of our actions felt like a ton of logs being carried on my back. Now, I hated the responsibility of her feelings, knowing that could hurt her if I wanted to. I didn't want to. I felt trapped—like shackles on my feet in my dream. No matter how much fun I had with her this past year, our necking was resulting in me building a prison for myself, getting taller with everyday I prolonged our situation.

I stuffed myself silly with the pot roast and baked chicken. I laughed as I listened to the cute stories Amy told us about Judy's apparent desire to grow up and become a lady, getting caught trying to wear her mom's high heels, dresses and hats. She regaled us of tales about baby Bobby, who had just learned to walk. We all laughed together, and aside from the scrutiny-like side-glances from Betty, I had a blast.

When lunch and the family discussions were over, most everyone excused themselves from the table.

"Level with me, kid, you ain't never thought about Betty in that way?" my dad pressed while Elliot and Amy padded around in the kitchen, washing dishes and clearing the table. We had all just finished lunch, and Betty went with Sandra to deliver some food to their Aunt's house down the street.

"Nope," I said, without a thought, handing Elliot my dish. I bounced Bobby on my lap. Judy was running around playing house with her little doll.

My father studied my face. "I just assume all those times that the two of you slip away for a while there isn't more going on than just family friendship."

So he had noticed. I kept my face relaxed. "Not in the least, Pop," I answered below my breath. So I lied, a little. Damn him for being so observant.

"You two go out at least once a week together. I just assumed—"

"Well, you assumed wrong," I sighed, giving him a challenging smirk. "She doesn't have any friends; I'm the only person she knows around here. I'm trying to be accommodating, just like you asked me to when she first moved here last year."

And he had.

It had been a good few years since I'd last seen Betty. She was a 9-year-old with pig tails, carrying a doll to my dad's wedding the first and only time we met. In fact I had forgotten she existed. Seeing her again—a well-developed young lady, only a few days from turning seventeen—surprised me, but I thought nothing of it at the time. It hadn't crossed my mind. I wasn't trying to do anything with her, even when my father insisted I take her out on the town her first evening here. In fact, I had no real interest in the dame. I was just running an errand for my dad, showing around a distant and estranged family friend.

That first night I decided to take her to a burger joint in town, and I coincidently found a secluded parking spot. It all happened too quickly, and I never even made it out of the car. She was on me before I could put the car in park, straddling me and squeezing herself between my body and the truck's steering wheel. She sent her shirt flying off within seconds, and before I knew what was going on, she'd shoved her taut, pink nipple into my mouth. Before I could collect myself, she had her hand down my pants, stroking my member in the driver's seat as she grinded herself against my aching scrotum.

What's a nineteen year old lounge lizard like me going to do with that? Tell her to stop?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

"We're just friends," I mumbled, my mind heavy with my memory of the odd and unexpected evening I spent with her—the beginning of our messy fling. We shook hands at the end of that night, agreeing that it would never happen again. The agreement didn't last long, for the next time I was obligated to take her out we found ourselves groping each other again in the back of my truck. It led me to make a strict agreement with her. As long as we both knew that we were only in this for its physical nature and nothing more, then we could continue with this teenage necking affair.

However, that wasn't the case anymore, and she was quickly becoming a boil on the buttocks of my existence. I was one year older and one year wiser than when we started this arrangement, and I just couldn't keep doing this. Not to mention, the dame was persistent to the point of almost being crazy.

"Who are we whispering about?" Elliot asked, breaking me out of my reverie. "Why are you all being so secretive?"

I handed the baby to my brother as I stood up to stretch my arms for a moment. "No one," I answered quickly, looking down at Elliot. He and I had the same dark hair as our dad, but the hazel eyes were from our mother. He was four years older than me, but I was four inches taller than him, and about thirty pounds of muscle heavier.

"Oh my," Amy gasped. "You're talking about Betty, aren't you?"

I sighed and took a seat again, taking the bouncing baby boy back into my lap.

"Are you serious?" Elliott broke out in laughter, and Amy tried to keep from giggling in the corner.

"No," I retorted in my loud voice. "No, we're not."

The look on my father's face, however, with his sheepish grin gave it all away.

"Damn you," I cursed, shielding the baby's ears with my hands. "Damn you all."

"Whoa, what's eating you?" Elliot asked.

I was usually a jolly individual, but I was just about at my wit's end about the whole Betty debacle. "Mind your own potatoes," I muttered wryly.

"Wow, we're in a mood today, aren't we, little brother?"

"Well I, for one, wouldn't personally push Betty on Emmett," Amy interjected, rinsing off the silverware as she smiled at me with a wink. I smiled at her in return, thankful that she was on my side. What would that make her, his aunt and wife? That just… gives me the heebie-jeebies."

I suddenly felt defensive, realizing that if she knew what Betty and I were up to, she'd think the same thing. "Well, we're not related. We're not blood. She's not even Sandra's blood."

"No, your right. You're not blood, but it would still be… strange."

"She's cute, though, Em," Elliott egged on encouragingly. "You said so yourself, she's not related to us. I catch her staring at you quite often lately. She seems to like you a lot."

That's what I'm afraid of, I thought. I quickly looked for a rebuttal—some sort of flaw that I could pick on. "She's too young, very immature. You are all insane."

Amy sat down at the table next to my dad and me, taking the baby from me. "Too young? She just turned eighteen the other day." She kissed Bobby and cooed at him for a few seconds before amending, "That makes her of marrying age." She wiggled her eyebrows at me, teasingly, throwing her long sandy brown hair back over her shoulder.

I made a disgusted face, and she chuckled. I couldn't help but chuckle back. I loved my sister-in-law. She was the sister I never had, and my brother had chosen well. What was great about her was that she was just as sweet on him as he was smitten with her. I had yet to find a woman in my life—if I were to find one at all—that would equal that kind of connection.

It was the love that my mom used to tell me about; that my Nana used to preach to me about. My nana's words still read clear in my mind. You will find great love, and you should save your special time to share with that person. None of these little girls throwing themselves at you will do, Emmett. You need to wait for someone special.

Elliot was lucky enough to find that in Amy. I had to admit I was envious of him for that reason, but I hadn't felt it so much as I did at this moment. I fought a grimace that threatened to crack across my features as I found myself comparing it to my current circumstance to their love.

I squirmed in my chair. "Can we talk about something else? I think I liked it better when we were discussing Amy and Bobby's nursing schedule." I wiggled my brows playfully at her as she turned her chest away from me.

I felt a backhand swat to the back of my head. "Hey, behave!" My brother barked. "Find your own wife to discuss nursing babies with."

"Exactly! That's what I've been telling him!" my dad joined in, and they all laughed.

"Ugh, you all are so unbelievable!" I exclaimed, but, despite my disgust, I couldn't keep from laughing either.

"What's so funny?" I heard Sandra say as she walked through the door with the redheaded she-devil behind her.

"Nothing," I answered quickly.

"Well actually," Amy chimed in, "we were discussing playing a game of charades at our house later tonight. Bring the leftovers to our place, and we'll provide the games and fun."

"Solid!" I chirped.

"Oh that sounds fun," Betty interjected. "I'm good at playing games."

I fought rolling my eyes. Yes, she is. As the family talked over moving the party over to Elliot's house, I realized I didn't want to spend a moment longer with Betty. I had to back out of this, and find a way to do it. In fact, the idea of getting away from my family was increasingly getting better and better by the minute. What could I do? What could I say? I had to think quickly as they began discussing plans on moving the festivities over to Elliot's house.

"Actually, I forgot that I told Oscar and Daniel that I'd go camping with them tonight." So they weren't really coming, but I needed an excuse out of the house and away from my family.

"Camping?" my father asked, his eyes curious. "On a Sunday? Don't you have work tomorrow?"

"Yes I do, but I've been camping on a weeknight before. I'm perfectly fine to go to work in the morning." I didn't do it often, but I have gone camping on a weeknight a few times before. I wasn't sure why my father was giving me a hard time about it now.

I volunteered to take the trash out, gathering the bags. I pushed my way through the back door and walked around the side of the house where we kept our trash cans.

"Am I coming, too?" a high voice asked from behind me.

"Excuse me?" I asked, turning to meet her big green eyes. Immediately, I was checking around the immediate area or the windows to see if anyone could see or hear us.

She didn't seem as concerned, her attention directed completely at me. "Camping, can I come with you?" she asked again.

"Um… it's a guys trip," I snorted, not appreciating her assumption that she was invited.

"Please, Emmett," she sniffed. "There are no guys. You've used this excuse to be with me before."

I gave her a puzzled look before I remembered that I had used it as an excuse once, about three months ago. Damn this crazy broad. "Well, we're really going camping."

"And I can't come along," she stated. It wasn't a question. She was just direct, and awfully presumptuous. If there was one thing you could say about her, Betty's persistence was relentless.

"I seriously doubt Miss Mary would let you out for the night. It's not proper for a young girl, you know. Don't you have school tomorrow?"

"You could always take me home," she said inching towards me before dropping her voice to a whisper, "when we're done." She traced the hem of her neckline near the small teasing dent of her cleavage.

My eyes followed her fingers instinctively, but I shook off my un-gentlemanly thoughts, focusing on her face instead. It was easier to keep my head on straight when I stared at her face. "It's not that kind of a trip, Betty."

Her expression turned sour. "What's wrong with you, Emmett? You've been acting really weird all day. And lately you haven't been around at all. I haven't seen you all week." By the end of her complaints, her face had turned gloomy.

I looked at her crestfallen face, and my throat swelled up with guilt. This would be the time to let her know it was over. The time to tell her we couldn't continue this… this sordid deal.

"Ha—have you…" she tried to say but her voice trailed off. She took another breath, her heart shaped face apprehensive as she spoke her next phrase. "Have you met someone? Is something going on?"

My stomach churned as I heard the discomfort in her voice. I shook my head. "No, I haven't." Feeling pity on her, I wondered, for that brief second, if maybe I was wrong. Maybe my father had a point. Maybe I had held onto her for a reason. Maybe I wasn't seeing the possibility when I looked at her.

"Well, that's good," she sighed. "I thought maybe it was all in my head." She looked relieved, and the pain in her eyes, now slightly glassy from tears that threatened to fall in her insecurity, had turned into hope.

Hope.

Unfortunately, it was that hope that made me realize in the next moment that we could never be. I didn't wear any sign of hope or affection when I was around her, no matter how much I cared for her as a friend. A friend. I was doing a great disservice to her as her friend by continuing to neck with her. Making out with her had involuntarily messed with her head. I was smarter than this, and though I was a man with needs, I knew that Pops would kick me in the kiester if he knew what we were doing.

I took an anxious breath before I spoke again. "Betty it's not… all in your head. I don't think we should do this anymore."

"Oh," she said, struggling to get a grasp of what I had told her, averting her eyes from me. Her voice was small, sounding like a little child.

"I think it's time for us to move on," I pressed, studying her expression.

She furrowed her brows for a moment, processing what I'd just said. "But I thought things were fine. You said you hadn't met anyone. I'm not with anyone. It's always been fine." She looked to the ground, her eyes searching for something at our feet.

I shook my head again. This was harder than I thought. "It's not fine. I can't do this anymore."

"But we agreed," she protested, her voice cracking.

"We agreed that we'd do this, so long as it was understood that we were just… fooling around. You know that."

"Of course I know that," she scoffed, her head whipping up to look at me. "I—I know what this is." Clearly she was grasping desperately for composure, trying to keep a tough exterior.

"Good," I said, playing off her façade. "Then you'll be okay if we stop, because I can't afford to hurt you like that, Betty."

She snorted as best she could waving her hand in the air as if what I was saying was nonsense. "Who's hurt? I know I'm not." Her face was one of irritation, like she meant to show me that this didn't affect her, but her watery eyes betrayed her.

"Then it's settled." I confirmed.

"Right," she affirmed, nodding her head sternly and with concerted effort to keep herself composed.

I nodded back. "Good." I began to walk away from her when I heard her sniffle. Damn it. I turned around and saw that she was holding onto the drainpipe of the house, leaning forward to look at her feet. I checked the area around the house to see if anyone was looking before I closed the distance between us and threw my arms around her small frame.

No, she wasn't the right one, but she'd been my friend and necking partner for a year. Even if I didn't love her enough to want to marry her, I did sincerely care about her. I hated to hurt her, yet I knew it was necessary to end things now. I knew that I would cause more emotional damage to her and possibly to myself if I waited any longer to end things.

She buried her face into my shirt, and I felt her arms hesitate to wrap around me. "Go away," she said, but her body didn't match her command. I felt her tears moisten my shirt, and her arms began to squeeze at my torso.

"See," I sighed, leaning my chin onto her head. "This is exactly why we should stop."

Instantly I felt her let go of me, and wedging her arms between us she pushed me away with her palms flat on my chest. "Just go," she whispered. "I'll be fine."

"Betty—"

"You're making it worse," she complained, turning her back on me. "Just, please… go."

I walked back into the house with the most unsettling feeling. I hated to have to hurt someone. I never did anything I would regret, and I knew that breaking it off with her now would only be something I'd be happy I did later. I just wished that later would come right away, and that I did not have to experience the guilt that came along with it.

As the family gathered all of the food to take over to my brother's house, I prepared my own things to go camping. As I began to pack the back of my truck I heard Elliot walking towards me.

My brother gave me a bear hug. "See you next week," he said.

"Whoa, there big brother," I laughed, pulling away to stand by his side leaving only one of our arms around each other. "What's all this about?"

"Nothin'. Just wanted to hug my little brother goodbye for once."

"All right then," I said, squeezing my arm around him.

Elliot was able to reach his hand up to my head scruff my hair with his hand.

"Hey," I laughed, pulling away. "That's enough of that." I crouched into a boxing position with my fists up. "You're gonna hafta fight me to get close to me again."

"Go ahead and try, Emmett. I beat you up all the time when we were little," he said, mirroring my stance before we took a few play jabs at each other.

"Will you boys quit playing around and help me load all of this food into the car?" Amy asked, carrying the leftover pot roast. We stopped and helped her out, and then I kissed her and the baby on the cheek.

I heard the patter of little feet and saw my niece's bouncy little form running in my direction. I kneeled down with my arms stretched before me. She slammed right into them and I squeezed her tightly as I picked her up and swung her around. "You're not coming Uncle Emmett?" Judy asked.

Her puppy-dog, hazel eyes made me melt. "No sweetheart, I can't," I replied with reluctance.

"Aww, but I wanted to play some more," she huffed, pouting with her little lower lip sticking out.

I kissed her on her cheek. "I'm so sorry, little lady, maybe next time." I was hit with another pang of guilt as I watched her tiny face fall. What was it with me and the ladies today? I decided to amend my last statement. "And when I come over next time we can play jacks. You like jacks right?"

"Yeah!" she exclaimed. "Okay next time! Jacks! Yay!" she exclaimed as she clapped her hands and jumped up and down.

"Yay!" I clapped my own hands after I placed her on her feet. "Now go on to your Mommy and Daddy."

As I climbed into the back of my truck to fix my camping gear, my father walked over to me. "Son, I just wanted to tell you, that I know I give you a hard time with the whole marriage and family thing and all…"

I chuckled. "Yes, sir, I reckon that you do."

"However, young man, I wanted you to know," he said as he leaned into me further, "that I sure am proud of you and your job. You've gotta know that."

"Well, shucks," I grinned at him. "Thanks, Pop."

"Even though I still think you need to grow up just a bit more," he amended, unable to resist. "And I really wouldn't mind if you did find someone to start a life with and providing for a family of your own."

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Here we go again."

"Hey, it's the truth. You seriously need someone to rein you in, to stop your bar-hopping and drag racing. Otherwise, with your job, I think you're well on your way. If it helps, I think you've got the beginnings to hold your own and support your future. You just need to make the decision to do it," he said patting me in the back. "And I think if she was still around, you'd really have made your mother proud. She'd probably be angry with me for not giving you enough credit."

I recalled my mother's heart-shaped beautiful face, with her ash-blonde hair, light hazel eyes, and dimpled smile. "Really, Pop. Thanks. That means a lot to me."

"No go on with yourself and those little hoodlums… and don't you gettin' into any trouble, ya hear? Just because I'm proud of your job, doesn't mean I'd be proud of everything you'd do." He said his last statement through a bit of laughter.

I chortled along with him. "I promise that I won't do nothin' you wont do, Pop. How's about that?"

We all got into our own automobiles and headed on out. I went the other direction. As I drove away, I found myself in deep contemplation of today's discussion. To my horror, I found myself considering my father's advice.

Marriage.

So clearly Betty wasn't the one. I wondered then, if I'd been neglectful about my options. An idea crossed me, and I stopped by the grocery store, grabbing a loaf of bread, a gallon of milk, some eggs, and a dozen apples. I placed them into one bag. The next bag I had filled with some frankfurters and bread, and threw them into the back of my truck, making sure the first bag sat in the cab with me.

I drove to the Whitaker home, seeing Grandpa Whitaker outside, sitting on the porch. I walked up past their white picket fence, following the pathway to the porch with the grocery bag in hand.

"Afternoon, sir," I greeted him, nodding my head and tipping my hat.

"The McCarty boy?" he asked. "Haven't seen you around these parts in quite some time, son. C'mon in. What you got there?"

"Just a little something for the family."

I was greeted by Mrs. Whitaker as I stepped in. " My, my, Stuart and Muriel's son. What brings you here?" she asked.

"Had some doubles with groceries. Turns out Sandra and my dad bought some of the same things, and I didn't want it to spoil," I fibbed with a happy grin. "So, please, take it."

Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Well, thank you."

I offered to help her put the items away as some of their younger grandchildren ran around us. As I finished placing the eggs and the millk in the fridge I heard keys at the door.

The front door swung open, and there stood the prettiest dame in town. "Emmett?"

"Good afternoon, Miss Jeanine," I said.

She looked pleasantly surprised, with a cake in her hand from the bakery in town.

"Isn't it sweet, Jeanine?" her grandmother called from behind me. "Mr. McCarty brought us some groceries."

"Thanks," she mumbled.

Her pretty face was one of shock and of delight. I'd known her for years, back in elementary school. She was a year ahead of me, and I'd always had a crush on her. I finally did get a chance her my junior year, just as she was graduating. We necked all throughout that summer and she was the first girl I'd gotten fresh with. However, when she started college, we broke it off. And then during her first year, her family had lost their fortune and their house. Her mother grew ill and died, and her father committed suicide shortly after. Times were tough for her all around, and she had to withdraw from the university in order to support her four younger brothers and sisters.

She'd tried many small jobs, but none were as lucrative as her current… profession. I stumbled upon her when my friends and I graduated high school and began frequenting speakeasies. I began swinging by every so often at the one she worked, insisting on giving her some money even if she didn't give me any service. I was a friend helping a friend out, so even if we did some necking in my truck or not, I was going to give her a little something to help feed her siblings. I was more fortunate than her in my own financial circumstance, landing a job at the lumberyard during senior year.

"Well, I have to get going," I muttered quickly. "Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker, it was nice to see you both."

I turned to Jeanine, still standing in the hall. Her face, still stunned by my visit, seemed to glow with amusement. "Thanks, Emmett."

"It's the least I could do," I mumbled, giving her a lopsided grin.

She giggled, almost bashful in her demeanor—a stark contrast from last night's confident sexiness at the bar. She checked around as her grandparents left the kitchen and were out of hearing distance. "Emmett," she began, her face turning serious," what are you really doing here?"

I looked at her pretty face, those crystal blue eyes staring back at me. "Can't a friend visit a friend without the third degree?" I chuckled.

She seemed to study my smile for a moment before speaking. "All right. Well… thank you."

"No problem," I said, offering to take the cake from her hand and placing it onto the counter.

"Let me walk you out," Jeanine offered.

She walked beside me to my car. We stopped at the opening of their fence. I turned as she looked at me with a timid grin. "So… what brought you here today?"

"Well I figured … after last night's… event, I'd… repay you somehow. A generous favor for a generous favor." I wiggled my eyebrows at her flirtatiously.

She smiled her lovely smile. "Thanks," she breathed. "That's mighty sweet of you."

"Hey, I was thinkin', maybe… next week we c—"

"Hi there, kids," I heard someone call out, interrupting our conversation. George and Martha O'Reilly breezed by just then, walking their dog. I waved at them, but my hand stopped in my movement as I witnessed something strange and unsettling. When I realized that something about George's facial features bothered me. His face held an intense, almost lewd expression as he stared in our direction. I turned to Jeanine, waving uncomfortably at them. Her posture had stiffened in an awkward stance. That's when I realized why Mr. O'Reilly had such a reaction.

George O'Reilly? Old and married George? Full of disgust, my face turned sour immediately.

Gauging my expression, Jeanine immediately shrank in posture.

I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. What was I doing here? Realizing I was about to make a mistake in considering this—considering her.

"You… you were gonna ask me—" but she stopped herself, meeting my revolted gaze, which told her that whatever I was going to ask I'd changed my mind.

"Uh… actually, that was all," I corrected.

"Oh," she breathed, her face falling.

"Well, I should go. Got some campin' to do," I excused myself. I watched as she shifted her weight on each foot, looking away from me. I sighed, angry at myself for hurting yet another girl in one day. I stepped towards her, hugging her and pressing my lips to her temple. "You take good care, ya hear?"

She nodded quietly.

"Have a good evening, Miss Jeanine," I mumbled as I pulled away and walked towards my truck. I saw the blonde dame, my former high school crush, watching me as I drove away, and I shook my head.

I settled on heading in the direction of an area within the camping grounds between Gatlinburg and Pigeon's Ford.

I set up camp, pitching a small tent, and making a small seating area. Gathering some wood, I blazed a small campfire and roasted some hotdogs on skewers, with a pot of Amy's cider brewing on the side. Though I spent a lot of my time with friends, I never minded being alone. I was secure enough with myself to not need company in everything I did.

I chewed over what I had said to Betty as a dog toasted over the fire. I hated to hurt her, even if I knew I had to do it. I had to be honest and I was rather proud of myself for holding my own. I had to cut the ties. There was no way I was going to continue leading her on, if that's what our fooling around did to her. Looking into those hopeful green eyes made it clear to me, and even if I considered her for a second, I knew my heart wasn't in it. If my heart wasn't in it now, it would never be.

After laying the well-done wiener on my plate, I poked another stick through a frankfurter and began to toast that one. I continued to think as I fired up about four more. I figured I'd continue to make some incase I got hungry through the night and into the morning.

My small attempt to gauge what feelings I may have for Jeanine was successful in that it made one thing clear… I cared about her, but I didn't want her like that. I realized maybe my kind gesture to get some groceries for her family could be misconstrued as an attempt to court her, but I was confident that she was smart and knew nothing could ever happen between us. She was a gorgeous girl that had to take drastic measures to support her family. I understood those measures, and knew her well before she had to take them. However, I had to face it. Though I cared that she was happy and well, I had to be honest with myself. I'm sure she knew my thoughts just as well as I did. I could never bring myself to commit to someone who shared her bed with many. It was shallow reasoning, but I was not in love with her, not enough to forgive that huge fact.

I blew my fire out, leaving the pot of cider up there to chill. Grabbing a hotdog stick, I laid back on my blanket looking up at the stars, taking a bite of the frank and contemplating the day. There was absolutely no need to force myself to marry anyone, and looking into my possibilities today, the probability was scarce.

Was I being too picky? There was no spark, not with Betty, not with Jeanine. No one. I refused to settle, and if I was meant to be single in my life then I'd happily accept it. I knew though, that I may never find someone. I could possibly never find someone I felt was good enough to marry, but I was all right with that fact.

I listened to the sounds of small animals and birds in the woods as I thought of the cute redhead and the pretty blonde. I wished them well. They were both terrific broads, ones that would make a man very happy one day. I just wasn't that man. I hoped that they would find their own happiness—happiness with someone who was deserving of them. I honestly didn't think I deserved either. Both should be with a man who could commit to them without a second thought, and who couldn't hurt them like I have. And I believe I'd hurt both today.

I'd lived every day of my life to its fullest. I drank, I smoked, and I experimented with other substances. I went to service on occasion, and I had fun with my friends. I did my best at my job. I experienced as much as I could with a woman without ruining my virtue. Sure, I thought it would be nice to meet a lovely woman and start a family one day, but I was all right if it never happened to me.

I put the fire out, using some of its flame to light the lantern that I kept with me. I looked down to see I had three more hot dogs and a few slices of bread left.

I heard a snarling and grunting, and instantly I was alarmed. I rose to my feet slowly, my whole body in tense alert. I knew that there were bear sightings months ago, but there hadn't been any recently.

This isn't good.

He emerged from the trees, ever slowly. He was a tall black bear, his body completely massive. He probably saw and smelled the smoke of my fire and the scent of the franks.

Fuck. This isn't good.

I gulped. My eyes didn't leave him as I walked, taking careful steps backward.

He was hungry, sniffing around, inching towards my camp site. I figured he'd smelled my hot dogs.

"Easy there, fella," I whispered, and he snarled at me with a menacing grizzly sound. I pursed my lips, realizing that he saw me as competition for his food.

He circled around to me from the side and I walked the opposite direction, trying my best to lock him into my gaze.

He leered at me, and all I could do was try to control my fear. I was pretty sure he could smell it on me if I let it get out of control. I knew that he wasn't trying to eat me, but he thought I was a threat against his food source.

He made a movement towards me, and I ducked from him, picking up the lantern. In fact he made a few teasing attempts of swinging his claws and snapping his large jaw at me while I danced and swerved to miss him. He snapped his jaw at me, as if to warn me.

This is not good at all.

He stood on his hind legs, towering close to a foot taller than me. I gulped, taking a slow step back. I saw him position to lunge at me, and I began to feel apprehensive. I tossed the lamp in his direction, hoping to light him on fire or scare him away with its flame. With one swing of his paw at me, he had gouged at my arm and my hand instantly let go of the lantern.

So this was it.

I was clearly going to die a single man, a virgin at that. Funny though, I was actually okay with both facts, considering how full I'd lived my life up till this point. My whole life was flashing before me, and I found I didn't regret anything I'd done, including things I hadn't done yet.

I danced to dodge him, realizing my injured arm became numb and useless from his first swipe at me. I felt my heart pounding loudly within my chest, and I looked down to see a thick stream of blood gushing from where he had scratched me. I knew I was smarter than this animal, even though he was stronger and with one swoop of his claw-laden hands, or one snap of his sharp toothed jaws, and I'd be killed. Still, I couldn't go down without defending myself.

And so I fought.

Even if it's the last thing I'll do—even if it was hopeless—I was going to fight this bear.

I was trying to outsmart him, dance around him. For a few moments I evaded his huge arms as they came at me. I'd cut away from him, dodging when his large snout would come near me to snap his mouth at my face.

Without another thought I ran to try to ambush him, pummeling myself at him. However, my chest met his claws as they dug into my gut. I felt a small moment of the sharpest pain, and then, my body went numb. Instantly, I heard his growling in my ear and teeth sink into my neck , shredding me apart. I screamed, and I believe he pulled away to bite and claw at my torso, ripping and tearing at my flesh.

But suddenly, something startled him and he was distracted enough to leave me.

I fell forward on my stomach, sprawled across the dirt. I felt nothing below me but I knew I was injured badly. My breathing was labored, my body temperature dropping. Soon after, my consciousness began to fade, my eyelids growing heavy.

Yes, this was it.

Author's Note:

I know that Emmett likes grizzly bears, so one would assume it was a grizzly that attacked him. However, in canon, SM never specified what species of bear killed Emmett. I checked on Grizzlies, and they are not prevalent in the Tennessee area. However, Black Bears, who are more prone to human attacks than Grizzlies anyway, are common in that region. Therefore, I chose his killer to be a black bear.

Also, I know that everyone's looking for his sight of Rosalie, but I decided to end it before she shows up. He doesn't see her until she flips him onto his back.

1930's Vocabulary

Tomato – an attractive or "ripe" female.

Lounge Lizard – A horny dog

Mind your own potatoes – mind your own business

A small note: I tried to find a slang term appropriate for the time for "breasts." All I could find was "boobies," originating between 1930-1935. Ah… the research I have to do, lol.

Support V&P in the Bellie Awards! I have been told that V&P has been nominated in two categories in the Bellies. The two categories are:

Emmett You Want as Your Brother
Best Missing Moment (Canon Award)

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