So sorry. I can't say anything other than that. Really sorry. But I'm not dead and I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. Here's your Ellie/Rosalie chapter. Enjoy and review. And anyone who knows what chair mode activated is referencing gets candy.

Disclaimer: Ellie's back-story minus Renee and Phil is mine.

Chapter 6: Eyes are weapons

Ellie/Bella

I paced restlessly across the length of my living room. Holy crap, she's gonna be here soon! I squeaked in my head. I reached for the coffee table and grabbed a scrappy piece of note paper. I skimmed my list again. I had compiled a list of songs and matched them to poems earlier today. I had seven. Shake it Out by Florence + the Machine, Winter Song by Sara Bareilles, Two is Better than One by Boys like Girls, We Are One… from, uh, Lion King 2, Set Fire to the Rain by ADELE, Move Along by All-American Rejects, and Part of Me by Katy Perry. I hoped they were good. I couldn't shake the feeling that I would be chow if I did the slightest thing to annoy her.

Haven't you pissed her off in a big way already? I shuddered. Yes. And just like that, I was stressing again.

Charlie walked in, took one look at me, and sat down on the couch. He patted the seat next to him. I slouched over and took the seat, looking at my fingers.

He made the first move. "Are you gonna be okay here, Bells? I can call off today."

I shook my head. "No, Dad, they need you at the station. I'll be fine, really." It didn't sound convincing, even to me.

He looked at me for a long moment, probably deciding whether to call my bluff or not. "Alright," he said hesitantly. "I'll have my phone with me. You have any problems, and I mean any. Problems. You call me. Understand?"

"Yeah, Dad. I got it," I mumbled, getting the words out as quickly as possible.

He sighed. "Alright then." He got up, and then paused. Cautiously, he reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. I ignored my first instinct to move away, and gave him a shy grin.

He got his things and left. I tried to stay on the couch, but was too restless. I got up and started pacing again. When the door bell rang, I just about jumped out of my skin, even letting out a little yelp. Shaking from head to toe, I stumbled into the hall. It took me several long seconds to steady my hands enough to unlock the door.

She was there, of course, radiant even under the gloomy gray sky. I froze like a mouse looking at a beautiful and very dangerous snake.

"You gonna let me in or not?" She said. I snapped out of my trance, gulped noisily, and stepped to the side. She sauntered into my house, sliding out of her boots. She turned back to me, eyeing my shivering form with an unreadable expression. "Do you have your songs picked out?"

"Y-yes," I stammered, looking down. I gestured vaguely to the family room. "In here." We moved to the family room and, without giving her my back, picked my list up off the table.

She took it and then stared. I mean, she reamed that thing, absolutely impaled it with the two dark amber spears that were her eyes. Her eyelid twitched, and I knew I was in some major trouble. Chair mode activated, boop! I slipped out of sight and took to the couch, hoping to disappear.

I damn near pissed myself when she finally moved. She turned in one of those really slow motions, like the ones you see in movies when some idiot's about to get his ass handed to him after ticking someone off in a big way. She looked like she really wanted to hit something, but was composing herself. "Your list is good. But I've never heard Winter Song."

I made myself speak. "I… I have it on my iPod. I can p-put it on." She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she seemed to change. The poorly hidden harshness and irritation in her expression faded. Her shoulders relaxed a little. She stopped clenching and unclenching her hands. Just like that, she seemed as normal and not Azriel-ish as any average person.

The voices in my head reminded me not so subtly that she was far from normal.

"That would be good," she said. Her voice was all softness now, lower than her original timbre. Like someone was trying to flip a switch, I wanted to relax, to just sit and listen to that soft murmuring. Kinda like dark colored silk, my whacked out head imagined. But I couldn't, so instead I gathered what wits I had, got up, and shuffled over to the stereo, plugging my iPod in and scrolling through the songs. The first notes of Winter Song began to play as I took my seat again. She sat in the chair across from me and was silent.

This is my winter song to you

The storm is coming soon

It road in from the sea

My voice a beacon in the night

My words will be your light

To carry you to me

Is love alive?

Is love alive?

Is love…?

Her expression shifted dramatically. First there was surprise, as if she had expected something different. Then something of a disheartened look came over her. And then it vanished back into her mask.

They say that things just cannot grow

Beneath the winter snow

Or so I have been told.

Was that… contemplation?

They say we're buried far

Just like a distant star

I simply cannot hold.

She looked at me thoughtfully. Her eyebrow rose when I blushed.

Is love alive?

Is love alive?

Is love alive?

My favorite verse was next. I couldn't stop a grin from flickering across my face.

This is my winter song.

December never felt so wrong

'Cause you're not where you belong

Inside my arms.

I know it's cliché, but our eyes suddenly met, as if drawn magnetically. Whoosh! I was gone. Goodbye awareness, hello golden haze of oblivion! God—goddess, really—how the fuck could anyone be so fan-fucking-tastically beautiful? Jesus Christ!

I think the song was finishing up when she finally looked away. I felt conscious thought return to me like a slap in the face. Which sucked, because naturally I blushed like a beet and shook like an epileptic. Crap, how did she have this effect on me? She was unnaturally beautiful, yes, but this was different, separate from that. I couldn't help but feel some… draw to her, I suppose. And that was illogical. What possible connection could we share?

I didn't have any time to ponder this because she started to speak. "That's a nice song. You connected it to 'If you were coming in the fall'?"

I nodded. "Yes," I whispered. She sat there in silence for a long moment. Then she stood.

"Then we're done. Don't worry about the power point. I'll take care of it. We'll talk more in school."

"Oh, okay," I stammered, getting up. We walked to the door. My hands were just steady enough to get it open without trouble. She looked back at me as she walked out. Her expression was speculative.

"Are you sick?"

"What?" I was caught off guard by the question.

"Are you ill? You look tired. And peaked."

"Oh, no. No, I'm not… sick. I just… don't get much sleep."

"Oh." What an abrupt syllable. It was just as abrupt as her turn as she started walking back to her—for the love of god—sleek, red Mercedes Bendz. Other than that Volvo, it was the nicest car I had seen in Forks thus far. Looking at Rosalie, I realized I wouldn't have expected anything less.

After she had driven away and was entirely out of sight, I closed the door and released the breath I'd been holding since she'd first arrived. I went back into the living room and noticed an unfamiliar paper on the table. I picked it up and observed the sharp, curving script.

She forgot her list of songs! I looked up at the closed door. I would have to bring it to her tomorrow. Sigh.

Curious, as I often was, I looked over the songs she had chosen.

Oh.

So that was why she had tried to laser two holes in my list with her eyes.

With exception of Winter Song, our song choices were identical.

Ooo.

Kay, peeps. The poem they mentioned, If You Were Coming in the Fall, is by Emily Dickinson. Her poetry is great. See you, hopefully, soon.