I was going to scrap this. Then I had a creative rush. I do love days like those. Chapter is fairly long as a result.

Does anyone know the Forks High School colors? Idr if it was ever mentioned in the book. My bad if it was; I made their colors maroon and gold to honor my alma mater. =)

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.


September - November 1999.

She is Bella Swan. Sister to star quarterback Emmett, daughter to Chief Charlie of the Forks Police Department; every warm-blooded male within our small town has two gargantuan and possibly life-threatening reasons to stay away from her. Mike Newton is the first to brave these odds, followed by the courageous Tyler Crowley. Both are shot down – by Bella, not Chief Swan – and I watch the exchanges take place in the parking lot. They approach her on different days, but they do so in the same way. After school when she is making her way to Emmett's practical jeep, they corner her. Feeling like a trapped animal, she grips the SUV's handle in her tiny hand and her eyes dart around like she is high on methamphetamines.

The result is the same on both occasions. All it takes is two long strides from Emmett, and his intimidating presence is enough to scare the predators away. The relief I feel when I see Crowley and Newton turn on their heels and their faces red with rejection is inexplicable. Bella isn't mine to possess. I have no immediate plans to stake claim, but I can't deny that she has captured my interest.

I spend the first few weeks of Biology class in a trance, watching her with the eyes of a hawk. I memorize the texture of her hair – soft as corn silk, it yearns to sift through my fingers. I soon know she has three pairs of jeans and one pair of black leggings that she rotates throughout each week. Her clothes are of neutral colors, and I can tell she seeks the comfort that a loose fitting shirt has to offer as she seems to buy her shirts one size larger than she should actually wear. A designer purse doesn't ornament her shoulder like the other girls here, but I can see the outline of a wallet in her right hip pocket. When she raises her hand to answer questions and her shirt rides up, I can see the edge of the leather square peeking out. It is blue.

At lunch she sits at my table, but we don't speak. She is at the far end with Rosalie and Emmett, and I am next to Alice and Jasper. I try not to eavesdrop and just let the close proximity of our mouths allow the conversation travel from their end of the table to mine, but I can't help myself. Emmett unpacks his extravagant lunches of pot roast and mashed potatoes like an excited toddler, and Bella's timid smile confirms she is the one packing his lunches. I already know she likes to cook; she sported a flesh colored band-aid on her right hand for three days and on the fourth, a tender pink grease burn was revealed.

Rosalie and Emmett dominate much of the conversation. Bella only chimes in with simple one word responses of "yes" and "no" or rehearsed phrases like "I don't know" and "I guess so." She bites apples and sips bottles of lemonade slowly, seeming to evaluate the sour-sweet taste after each swig with a lengthy stare to the table. She's quiet, that much is obvious, but it isn't shyness. There's more to her than that. I can see substance glittering behind those brown eyes.

The only time we make eye contact is during lunch, but we do it often. I smirk at her because I don't know what else to do. I know she can feel my eyes on her during Biology. She shifts in her chair simultaneously when I lick my lips. My eyes travel between her shoulder blades and seconds later, her back arches. Her Keds kick furiously when I let out deep guttural sighs. When I trace her curves with my eyes and my pants tighten, she squirms. She is as well aware of me as I am of her.

I owe her an explanation of sorts, this much I do know, but what would I say? That she is my oxygen. That she is a drug. That my body yearns for hers. That I am a magnet and she is steel. That I fear I want much more than her body. That I fear I want her heart.


A mere foot of distance exists between us, sitting across from each other at lunch, but she and I are no closer than we are filed behind one another in Biology. It isn't until the homecoming game in September that I come within inches of her.

Jasper loans me a Forks High School hoodie that I conveniently forget to wear in favor of my own black hoodie. Alice dresses herself in gold glitter and maroon knee socks and drives us both to the stadium. I'm not remotely interested in supporting the high school football team, but my desire to be anywhere but home is so great, it silences any reservations I might have. Alice breaks away from Jasper and I the minute we arrive, morphing into a fairy and fluttering around the bleachers with such enthusiasm, even I have to smile. Jasper watches her with adoration, and he and I find ourselves a spot at the very top of the stands so we can keep a watchful eye on her.

I feel so far removed from everything, like I'm just sitting and watching my life pass by through an outsider's eyes. I hear the roar of the crowd, the band playing fight songs, Rosalie leading cheers, but my mind doesn't separate any of these sounds. Like always, they blur together and numb my brain of feeling. The warm tingling makes me mad, it drives me so utterly insane that I want to get up and leave. I want to take a six-pack of beer and Lauren Mallory's hand into the woods behind the school like I did at last year's game. I want to lick her until screams of my name drown out the boisterous band and the throbbing inside my head. I want her to give me life by letting me come undone deep in her throat. But I tell myself I can't leave Jasper alone. It wouldn't be right. He is the closest thing I have to a best friend, and someday I may ask him for a favor or entrust him and I don't want him to harbor a grudge.

The game progresses, and Alice returns to us with a cherry slush and bucket of popcorn. She sits one bleacher down, directly in front of Jasper so she can loop her arms through his open legs. He massages her scalp with one hand and holds her drink with the other. His gestures prove he loves her more than life itself, and Alice tells him she feels the same way, but I sometimes wonder if isn't just a matter of convenience for her. Jasper means not having to sleep at home and hear Esme crying all night long when Carlisle doesn't call. Jasper means not having to witness Esme popping pills in the mornings on an empty stomach. Jasper means not having to carry Esme upstairs, change her clothes, force her to take a bath. Jasper is comfort. Jasper is security.

I could very well be wrong. They could be soul mates for all I know, and it is more than likely that if my assumptions are true, that Alice does not even realize what she is doing. Maybe it is possible to manipulate the definition of love and make it conform to what you believe it is. Maybe she believes love is feeling safe and secure. Maybe she would love anyone who provides her with an escape from the darkness in her life. Anyone just happens to be Jasper.

At halftime my stomach reminds me that Esme was sound asleep and missed making dinner, so I make my way down the bleachers to the snack bar. The crowd parts for me like I am somebody, someone famous, and I lower my head. Eyes of students and faculty crawl upon me like bugs, knowing far too much for their own good. Their whispers infuriate me. They call Carlisle a lying cheating bastard and Esme a vegetable. I've mentally referred to them as both of these things, but I don't appreciate hearing it out loud from people who have nothing to do but talk.

I order a soft pretzel and cherry slush and take a moment to look around as I wait for my food. Since it is halftime, the cheerleaders are off the field and stretching a few yards away from me. Rosalie catches my eye and nods in acknowledgement. I wouldn't classify what she and I have as a friendship, but I am the brother to her brother's girlfriend so we are somewhat obligated to be pleasant to one another. She's got this infamous long blond hair and a sleek catlike body that gets her a free pass into any party within a thirty-mile radius of Forks. By name or reputation, everyone knows Rosalie Hale. Rumors are just rumors though; she's been joined at the hip with Emmett Swan for as long as I can remember, so I tend to doubt locker room stories detailing her promiscuity. However, while the guys talk about how tight she is, the girls complain about how cold and mean she can be. I can't deny nor confirm this. She's always been nice to me, but I've never done anything to upset her either.

I can spot Alice and Jasper kissing from where I stand; fireworks are exploding in the air surrounding them. Not wanting to get caught in the crossfire, I decide to venture out into the parking lot. Maybe I can find a girl from the opposing team's school. I can sweet talk her until she is flushed and ready, and then maybe I won't feel so alone. I trail between the rows of cars, unconsciously heading toward Alice's Porsche because it is familiar to me and I am craving comfort.

When I am within five feet of the car, I feel…her. Something in the air grips me like a vice and freezes me into place. I scan the parking lot wildly and find her two rows over from where I stand.

Her back is to me, but I know it's her. She has a white T-shirt on and worn blue jeans. Her curls are unruly, tucked underneath a maroon baseball cap. If I squint, I can make out the number twenty-three – Emmett's jersey number – on the back of the hat. I hop up onto Alice's trunk and start in on my pretzel. In all honesty, I am surprised to see Bella here. I've only seen her with Emmett and Rosalie, and he's out on the field right now while she cheers him on. I wasn't even aware that Bella had any other friends, but with further inspection, I realize she is not alone. Her back is to me, I know it's her, but I can see him clearly.

There is a fair amount of distance between them, but Bella looks uncomfortable and tense conversing with Mike Newton. He has a large drink in his hand and uses it to make gestures as he talks. His obnoxious laugh reminds me of a hyena's and it makes both Bella and I cringe. I polish my slush off in record time and crumple the paper cup into my hand before sending it through the air. It resounds with a gentle pop against the bumper of a Saturn across from me. I wipe the moisture the drink left behind onto my knees and take another glance at Bella. I wonder what Newton is talking to her about because she is suddenly stiff as a board. As far as I can tell, he hasn't done anything wrong. I don't see anything that warrants me to march over there and intervene.

The salt from the pretzel lingers and irritates my throat, and I cough quietly. The sound is so soft, I can barely distinguish it apart from the stadium noise, but Bella can. She whirls around and finds me immediately. Our eyes lock in the air. My top row of teeth hits the bottom with an audible click, and she noticeably twitches. I let out a low hearty chuckle. It's amusing how responsive she is to my actions, I just wish I understood it better. Is it possible to feel somebody, somebody you haven't said two words to? I suppose I should have paid more attention in Chemistry, as maybe our bodies have a similar chemical makeup. My magnet and steel theory may not be so far off.

Her eyes are connected to mine, so she doesn't see it happen, but I do. I see Newton deliberately lose his footing and empty the contents of his drink down Bella's front.

I am off the Porsche and next to Bella so fast, I don't even care that I may have resembled a mountain goat as I ran. Newton is babbling that it was an accident, but the way he is openly gaping at Bella's chest leads me to believe otherwise. I question whether or not he would've tripped if Bella had been wearing a black shirt. Her white T-shirt is completely transparent. I see her navy blue bra, her nipples hardening. I tell myself its from the cold, but I wonder if it isn't from the desire she feels radiating from me. She is squirming around, much like she does in her seat when I get an erection during Biology. Her arms wrap themselves around her torso to form a shield, and she starts biting down on her bottom lip so hard, I expect her to draw blood.

It isn't my place to rip Newton's head clean off. That deed is reserved for Emmett, who is stomping and causing the earth the shatter with each step he takes toward us. He crushes Bella to his chest with one hand until she whimpers. Then he yanks Newton by his collar as if he were a disobedient mutt and pulls him into the woods.

When we are left alone, I motion with one crooked finger for Bella to raise her arms above her head. She looks confused, but complies, displaying her breasts for me. I know she's embarrassed, so I don't allow my gaze drop below her shoulders. I keep my eyes penetrating deep into hers as I shed my hoodie.

"You're Edward, right?" She asks once I've stripped down to my wife beater. I don't answer her with words. I slowly roll each arm of the sweatshirt down over hers, watching as her eyes flutter closed when I take deliberate sweeps at her bare skin with my fingers. It feels like I am igniting a match with brushes of my fingertips. Fire is burning beneath my skin, and I fear I need her mouth, her body, her taste to extinguish the flames. I hurriedly tug the sweatshirt down over her shoulders and to her waist. It completely engulfs and hangs loosely from her small frame.

"You're Bella."

Her eyes re-open. Lips purse before she nods in response.

"It wasn't a question," I tell her and turn and walk away before she can say anything else. Hands in my pockets, I kick a pebble all the way back to the stadium. Back to Alice and Jasper, back to the numbness.

The following Monday, my sweatshirt is waiting for me in Biology. Bella hides her face when I enter the room, and drops it even lower when I unfold the shirt. I instantly fall in love with the way it smells. Alice and I visit the Laundromat once a week to do laundry because we lost our washer and dryer this past summer to support Esme's habit, and we usually just end up using the detergent they have on hand. It smells like its supposed to – generic and cheap – but the soap Bella uses reminds me of summer. Fresh like flowers, bright like sunshine, I toss the scent on over my red t-shirt and deeply inhale. Bella sighs and taps her toe against the metal rung of her chair.


We don't speak again until October. Mr. Banner introduces a project and tells us he is going to be pairing us with one other person. Silver with gold, chocolate with vanilla, strawberries with champagne, Mr. Banner pairs Bella Swan with Edward Masen. She elicits no visible reaction upon hearing our names spoken in the same sentence. Perhaps she knew as well as I did that we would be paired together.

"So, we should probably get together this weekend and work on our project," I stand and mumble once class is dismissed. I run my fingers through my hair and shrug sheepishly. Bella maintains eye contact with the ground and nods, still clutching that notebook to her chest. I feel like since I was first to speak, I should offer my house up as a meeting place, but I don't want her there. She's pure. The horrors of my home life would taint her.

I stare at her uneasily and lick my lips, trying to buy myself some time. She reaches out suddenly and takes my hand, pressing the palm flat against the tabletop in front of us. I gasp at the unexpected contact. She clicks a pen against her thigh and imprints her address on the back of my hand. I don't watch the pen make elegant scrawls, I watch her tongue dart out in concentration.

"Come over tomorrow," she says and returns the pen to her pocket. "It's the white house on the corner with the beat-up truck in the drive." Her eyes roll to show her disdain. "You can't miss it, trust me."

I don't sleep that night. I drink and smoke. I shack up in my room and listen to music. Alice is with Jasper, Esme is out cold on the living room couch, Carlisle is away on business, and I am bored. At one a.m., I tuck a condom in my pocket and take a walk down the street to Lydia Ford's house. She is one year older than me, but she is home schooled so the morning after business isn't quite is awkward as it is hooking up with a Forks student.

With strawberry-blond hair and freckles, Lydia is pretty cute, but I mean much more to her than she will ever mean to me. I climb into her window and attack her. I probe her mouth with my tongue until she writhes for my fingers. I stroke her deep with one, stretch her wider with two, and press that button with my thumb. She pants and clutches at her sheets and my hair, and I silence her cries with my lips. Her hands reach for my belt buckle to return the favor, but I push them away. I am bored.

I head home; shower, dress, and carry Esme upstairs to her bedroom. I remove her slippers and tuck her into bed. In her bathroom, I fill a glass of water and empty her bottles of pills into my palm and flush them away. I know she will just get more and there's nothing I can do to stop her, but I can at least do this. After laying clean clothes out for her, I return to my bedroom and listen to Zeppelin until the day breaks and I can leave for Bella's house. Alice is with Jasper, so I have no choice but to walk. I think I know where her house is, but I get an early start anyway.

I smoke cigarettes on the way to Bella's, trudging through the damp leaves and cursing when they cling to my Converse. It's brisk out, and the wind slaps me across the face, reddening my cheeks. I'm dressed in black jeans and the same hoodie I gave her months earlier, but I haven't washed it since.

Even before I reach the white house on the corner with the beat-up old Chevy, my senses are awake. The appetizing scent of bacon, eggs, and cinnamon is traveling down the street. I close my eyes to savor the smell, my mouth watering shamelessly. It smells nothing like Pop-Tarts and Sunny Delight.

When I reach her house, I notice the front door is propped open. I assume its because she's expecting me, and the thought makes me smile. I put my cigarette out on the oak tree in her front yard and jog up the porch steps to let myself in.

The scent is even more appealing inside. I follow my nose through the entryway, to the left and to the kitchen. Bella is standing at the sink with her back to me, hands immersed in soapy water. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy knot, and she's wearing gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. She has 'Bicycle Race' by Queen playing in the background, and she is belting out the chorus right in tune with the flamboyant Freddie Mercury. I watch her with a suppressed smile. She doesn't know I'm here yet. Testing the connection we seem to have, I inhale until my lungs have reached their capacity and then I let the breath out through parted lips.

"Oh!" She squeals in surprise. The plate she was washing drops into the sink with a dull clank. One of her tiny hands clamps down over her heart and she takes a deep breath to steady herself. "You're early," she declares, still facing the sink.

"Am I?" I question lamely and take a few steps further into the kitchen. I truly don't know what time it is. Once the sun rose, I left. I pick up the rind of a freshly squeezed orange and toy with it absentmindedly while Bella resumes washing the dishes.

"I didn't expect you until at least noon."

"I couldn't wait."

I expect my comment to throw her, but it doesn't. She simply nods her head as though she understands, and begins swaying her hips from side to side, from Bohemian Rhapsody to I Want to Break Free. I find myself a seat at her kitchen table and prop my chin up in my palm and watch her. She's doing this for me; she has to be. I sigh; she arches her back. I lick my lips; she reaches up to touch the back of her neck. This game we're playing, the outcome isn't clear. I don't understand the rules and what I'm about to do may very well end our game, but I can't help myself. I have to know.

I drag my hand from the edge of the table to my crotch at a snail's pace and give myself one pressure-relieving stroke through my jeans. A plate slips from Bella's hands as I do so. Her hips jerk almost imperceptibly, and she lets out a strangled cry. All the blood from my brain rushes to my cock, and I give it a hard squeeze. Bella presses her thighs together, legs faltering as if I'd just kicked her behind the kneecap. She turns suddenly from the sink to face me. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes are hooded with lust. She drags her tongue along her lower lip, and I rub my hand along my throbbing member in unison.

"I need to shower," she says hastily. "Help yourself if you're hungry." She runs past me and up the stairs to where I hear a door slam and the sound of rusted pipes creaking to life.

I snatch up two pieces of French toast, a napkin, and head upstairs. I find her bedroom easily. Emmett's looks like a cyclone has blown through it, there isn't a inch of carpet visible. Chief Swan's looks like a motel room, barely lived in and everything meticulously in its place.

Bella's room is simple. She has a purple bedspread and the walls are neutral gray. Floors are wooden, as is all of her furniture. Her bookshelf houses Shakespeare, Emily and Charlotte Bronte, and Dickinson poems. Though many genres are represented, her CD collection is minimal. In no particular order, she has Guns n Roses, Eric Clapton, The White Stripes, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Frank Sinatra all represented. I pick up her empty Queen case, wondering if she and I will ever get to the point where she feels comfortable enough to lend it to me.

I peek inside her drawers, open her closet doors. I don't know what I'm looking for, but I'll know it when I see it. There has to be something in here, an answer that will help me penetrate through that force field she has built around her. I refuse to believe she's just shy; there is an answer, and probably an extensive one at that, as to why she's so quiet.

Under a thick layer of dust, I find a small photo album with a red leather cover. I thumb through it, realizing quickly that only the first page is filled. She is younger in the first picture; sandwiched between Chief Swan and Emmett, all three are making funny faces and laughing. The second picture is of a woman that bares an uncanny resemblance to Bella. She has Bella's eyes, but her hair is shorter and her curls are less defined. The photo is creased, like it has been folded and unfolded several times. The third photo I realize isn't actually a photo at all. It's a picture taken from a magazine. I slip my fingers into the plastic to remove it, but just as I am shimming the clipping out of place, I hear creaking pipes and the water turning off. I hurry to place the photo album back where I found it.

I'm sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of her room, flipping through the latest issue of Rolling Stone when she enters. Wearing the same black t-shirt and a pair of black leggings, her hair is straight; damp and plastered to her cheeks. She shuffles into the room barefoot, patting the moisture from her thick strands with a lavender towel. She flops down onto her bed and I feel her eyes on me as I pretend to read.

"Did Emmett come home yet?" Out of the corner of my eye I see her bite down on her bottom lip. Her voice is hopeful. I shake my head and turn the magazine's page. "Oh," she frowns. "He must still be at Rose's. Charlie isn't here either."

I lower the magazine to my lap and stare at her.

"You call your dad Charlie?"

"That's his name," she shrugs. "Why, what do you call your dad?"

"My dad is dead," I state monotonously. "And I call my adoptive father Carlisle. Or sometimes, I call him a bastard. It all depends on my mood, really." I bring my hands up to rest behind my head and I rock back in the chair. Bella's eyes widen at my nonchalant attitude and her cheeks flush.

"I'm sorry," she begins, "I didn't---"

"It's fine, really." I leave the magazine and join her on the bed. "Let's just get started on the project, okay?"

We work in silence for the first hour. She has her laptop, I have our textbook. I'm not sure what she's researching, but I am consulting the various appendixes to determine the best way to build a terrarium. Bella jiggles her ankle while she takes notes, and I tap my pencil in tune. Consumed in definitions and comprehension questions, our concentration is fierce.

When the sky dirties and it starts to rain, Bella's stress level seems to rise. She keeps shooting frantic glances out the window at the blowing branches and flashes of yellow light.

"Why didn't you drive here?" She breaks the silence and asks with worry. "You're going to have to walk home in the rain."

"I'm not sixteen yet," I say quietly. "Not until March."

"Really?" She says, surprised. "I'm not sixteen either. Did you skip a grade too?"

"Yeah." My answer is automatic, pre-programmed. "No." I clear my throat awkwardly. "Well...kind of."

Bella sits up straight and eyes me warily. I fold down a page of the textbook to mark it and face her straight on, contemplating just how much I want to share with her.

"Carlisle and Esme adopted Alice and I at the same time. They wanted us both to start school at the same time, in the same grade. The only problem was, she was fourteen months older than me," I sigh, remembering how Carlisle had apparently paid someone a pretty penny to let me skip the final semester of second grade and the entire year of third. "I guess technically I skipped a grade, but I didn't test out of it like you probably did."

"Why did they want you to be in the same grade?"

"Planning ahead," I laugh bitterly. "They want us both out of the house at the same time." I lower my eyes back down to the closed textbook. "You know, I know I should be so grateful that I was adopted," I tell her honestly. "Some kids never are. But sometimes I think I would be better off on my own." I don't look up, but I can feel Bella nodding, and not just because the bed frame groans slightly when she does so. "It's just...It's better to know there's no one there to want you than to know the people who are supposed to want you don't." I let my words sink in for a moment, hoping that time will a elicit a response from Bella, but she just continues to stare at my knee. "If that makes any sense," I add quickly and re-open the book.

"It does," she whispers, pain evident in her voice. She averts her eyes even lower to the deep grooves in the floor, and I sense I've struck something.

As good as oil or gold, I've struck one of Bella's nerves, and it is surfacing beneath her skin, ready to expose itself. Silently, I beg her to let me see it. Silently, I promise I won't let the endings fray. Silently, I tell her if she forms a bond with me I won't let it break. I lick my lips and lean toward her. She fidgets and winces before drawing her eyes up to meet mine.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Her voice is breathy, and her eyes are searching mine, darting back and forth, focusing intently on my left and then my right. I hold her gaze until she looks away, and then I tell her. It is a ridiculous response, frankly one that makes me sound like a smart ass, but it's honest and real. I don't want to waste any amount of our time together second guessing myself. I want her to know exactly what I'm thinking. I want my first thought to be my only thought.

"Because you're listening."


We become oil and water after our project is handed in. Opposing forces, we separate and repel from each other and I don't understand why. Our bodies are still as in sync as ever, and I've found new ways to keep us connected through an invisible string. I tease her mercilessly during filmstrips when the lab is dark; ghosting the backs of my fingers against my length until she is forced to muffle her moans with the sleeve of her sweater. But she never calls me out on it. Not once will she turn around and look at me. Even at lunch, she avoids returning my stares at all costs. In her eyes, I feel as though I am the spitting image of the devil, and it is with that that I wonder if her constant avoidance of me doesn't have something to do with my reputation. I know it is not respectable.

I also wonder if perhaps we are too similar to attract one another. If we are both magnets; if we are both steel.

I don't see her outside of school again until November. Jasper has invited Alice over for Thanksgiving dinner and she tells me he has extended the invitation to me. I am suspicious as to whether or not I am actually welcome at the Hales, but in the end I decide the origin of the invitation is irrelevant.

Alice spends an hour and half buzzing around our kitchen, frying a pan of sausage and chopping fresh cranberries for stuffing. The kitchen is foreign territory to me, so my only assistance to offer is my company. We talk and laugh, commiserate about Esme and speculate as to where Carlisle is. He disappeared two nights prior, letting us know he'd gotten called in at last minute to check out a potential development in New York. Alice and I both agree he is going to spend time with his baby boy who is now two months old.

We both feel bad about leaving Esme alone on a holiday, but it isn't as if she would spend time with either one of us if we were home. Alice and I would just end up ordering a pizza and watching movies upstairs, one of us coming down stairs periodically to check on Esme. High as a kite, she barely knows if we are coming or going anyway, but we kiss her forehead just in case.

We brave the icy road conditions to the Hales where I discover I am not the only additional guest. We follow Emmett's jeep into the driveway and he and Bella meet up with us on the front porch. I'm happy Alice talked me into wearing khakis because Emmett and Bella are both dressed up. Bella looks beautiful in red knit dress that falls just below her knees, and I don't try to step away from her when our arms brush together on our way through the front door.

Mr. Hale greets everyone with handshakes, Mrs. Hale with hugs. Jasper picks Alice up and swings her around in a circle, telling her her burgundy dress is beautiful and that it makes her hair look black as a raven. Emmett openly grabs Rosalie's ass in front of everyone and just laughs when Mr. Hale shoots him the death glare. Bella and I stand back and observe the interactions with forced smiles.

I help carry mashed potatoes, turkey, green beans, and homemade dinner rolls out to the dining room table. I'm unsure as to where I should sit. Mr. and Mrs. Hale each take an end as expected, so I decide to take an outer seat on the right hand side. Bella willingly sits down next to me, but I tell myself it's probably because she is confused on where to sit too. Emmett sits down next to her, and Alice and Jasper take the opposite side with Rosalie.

Before we begin passing the food around, Mrs. Hale announces a longstanding tradition in their family – each Thanksgiving they go around the table and each person says what they are thankful for.

"I'll start," she says. "I am thankful for good health, two beautiful children, and a wonderful husband."

"I'm thankful for Jasper," Alice begins carefully, "And how welcoming the two of you have been to me." She glances back and forth from Mr. and Mrs. Hale with undeniable gratitude.

Jasper is next. He is thankful for his parents, his girlfriend, and the fact that Christmas is now less one month away. Rosalie's list is identical, except she interchanges Alice for Emmett. Mr. Hale jokes that he has raised selfish children and picks up where his daughter left off, reciting a similar list, but also noting he is thankful for his job security.

Emmett takes over next, his voice commanding everybody's attention.

"I'm thankful for Rose, the fact that I led our football team undefeated this year, and my hair," he taps a finger with each declaration. "Umm..." His face scrunches up, deep in thought. "I'm thankful for my girlfriend's parents," he adds, most likely his peace offering for his roaming hands earlier. "And most of all, I'm thankful my mother lost her marbles when she remarried and shipped ol' Baby Bell here off to Forks." He laughs and tosses his arm around Bella's shoulders, ruffling her curls with the other.

It isn't until the words have had a minute or two to sink in that I realize what he means. I turn in my seat to face Bella. She is ghostly white, still tucked underneath an oblivious Emmett's arm. The table is now relatively quiet, the tension mounting with each passing second that Bella remains silent. I clear my throat, hoping to regain her focus, but she remains lifeless. Like a corpse, she is propped up by Emmett's arm, staring at her plate.

I don't think, I just react. I reach underneath the table and stroke a soothing circle into her knee with my thumb. Her tiny shaking hand soon makes its way into mine, and I intertwine our fingers. She squeezes with all her might, crushing my hand in an iron grip. She doesn't want me to let go. So I don't.

The Hale tradition is broken as we dive right into the meal in an attempt to take the focus off of Bella. I let go of her hand to eat, but I clear my throat occasionally and tap my toes to make sure she knows I haven't forgotten about her.

After dinner, Alice and I break the wishbone. She gets the bigger piece and proudly announces to everyone that she will soon be receiving a check in the mail for one million dollars. Mrs. Hale insists on a group picture in front of the crackling fireplace, and she positions our group so the girls are in front of the guys. At the last minute, I wrap my arms around Bella's waist and press her back into my chest. She hums a content melody in response and doesn't push my hands away.

Snap, snap, snap; Mrs. Hale takes two pictures, and then another. Alice and Rosalie both break away from Jasper and Emmett once the flashes cease, but Bella remains still. She doesn't want me to let go. So I don't.


Reviews make Edward hold on tight.