Disclaimer: I'm flattered, I really am -- but I am not Stephenie Meyer nor do I own the books (at least in a copyright sense)


THANKYOU! You guys are absolutely awesome! The response to that last chapter blew me away...and blew up my faithful old laptop. I'm serious. It went ka-boom! but in a quiet way and without all the smoke ;P So that's why it's taken so long to update. I lost everything I had on my laptop--including the majority of what I had written for this chapter at the time and the only thing I had of this chapter was the smidget I took out of the last one 'cause I had saved it to my USB :'( ...So I had to re-write. I was devo...

But anyway, thankyou to all those AMAZING reviews--they were beautiful and funny and really encouraging :) I'm loving that you guys are so into this story!

I took a leaf out of SM's book (haha) and I've posted a link to a little gallery in my profile that has pictures of the cars and the building I'm using for the story. So after you've read (and reviewed, hopefully -wink wink, nudge nudge-) swing by and take a look--or have your review box open while you view and let me know what you think...


Part VI – Hell's not so bad if you get to keep an angel with you…

"But he…he left…He didn't want me."

"He lied."

Edward's eyes were wild from the hunt, a bright golden-brown, rainbows dancing off his skin…A different sort of excitement brightened his eyes then, and his mouth crashed down on mine.

I was never going to let go again, not now, not unless she told me to…How I hoped she would never tell me to.

BPOV

I had followed him back to his car, a modest silver affair that reminded me of the Volvo. Heck, it could've been the Volvo for all I knew. I was no more car-literate now than I was when I was human. I think. I had followed as far as I dared, only stopping when he turned onto a long drive that disappeared from sight. I'd sat in my car and deliberated. Did I get out and follow him on foot? Do I keep driving behind him? Or did I not follow him at all? I could go home so I could change and then come back. I'd been pretty sure the drive led to some beautiful piece of architectural magnificence put together by Esme. I would know how to get here, and I had still been wet and my clothes hadn't been in the same condition that they had been when I had put them on this morning. I had never really been a vain person but if I didn't loose my nerve, I would be facing him.

That was incentive enough.

So I went home. The whole time I tried not to think of why I was showering, why I had to change. As the water fell lightly onto my skin and trickled down my body, I tried not to think of that moment in the river. I tried not to think of the sound of his growl as he had kissed me; so…erotically sensual as his body bore down on mine. I tried not to think of the sight of him, wet and dangerous, as he crouched, ready to pounce, in the water. I tried not to think of how delightfully…unchaste our kiss—our first real kiss—had been, of why it had felt so deliciously different. Perhaps because the adrenaline had already been pumping, so to speak, from trying to kill one another. Perhaps because it had been so completely uncensored then, when it always had been in the past. And perhaps because the position of our bodies was…

Yeah. I tried not to think about it, and I failed miserably.

I was a nervous wreck as I ran back. I refused point-blank to let myself stop and think about what I was doing—if I did, I would chicken out. I would turn back and go hide in the comfort of my own house, where I would curl up with a good book—where I wouldn't have to face him. I'm pretty sure making the offensive move in these sorts of situations had never been my strong point.

But I couldn't do that. I couldn't chicken out again.

So I refused to think about it.

Now I sat in a tree, watching the seemingly empty house. I could hear running water, the soft murmurs of voices too far away to distinguish. I heard an engine roar to life and moments later a silver-blue car was coming down the drive, its headlights flicking on as it came. I could see Carlisle behind the wheel, through the black-tinted windows. Heading off to the hospital, I wouldn't doubt. I could see his expression through the window and I was surprised that his face, usually so quick to smile, was twisted into a worried frown. He glanced into his rear-vision mirror four times, looking back at the house before the drive wound out of sight. I wondered at his expression as I turned my own gaze back to it.

The building was as magnificent as I had thought it would be. The gentle grey of the columns and roof contrasted nicely against the soft white of the bricks, bringing attention to the numerous windows. Three-stories tall, it was just as timeless, just as graceful as I remembered the house at Forks to have been. And, I decided, it was probably just as old. Light was shining out of every window I could see.

I wasn't sure how I was planning to proceed from this point. It was like sitting in my car this morning all over again, only this time I had to worry about meeting the whole family—well, most of the family, except for Carlisle…and Alice, Esme and Rosalie, who I had already seen. So really just Edward, Emmett and Jasper. I laughed quietly and shook my head at myself. I could really use some of Jasper's calming influence right about now—I had been sitting in my tree for the better part of an hour and I still hadn't decided what to do.

In all honesty, as much as I wanted to see everyone again, I didn't want to see them—I didn't want to let myself be happy about seeing them—until…well, not until I had his approval, I guess. Or at least until I had figured him out. I knew I didn't want to stay away from his family now that I had found them again. I had long ago accepted them as my own. Carlisle and Esme were already my parents, Emmett the big brother I never had, Alice my eccentric pixie of a sister and best friend, scholarly Jasper and even Rosalie with her self-obsession. I loved all of them and I didn't want to leave them now that I could safely be around them.

But I wouldn't drive him from his family. If he decides he still doesn't want me—I cringed away from the pain—I wouldn't argue. I would only ask for the chance to say goodbye before they all disappeared.

I saw him walk through the lounge, toward the southern end of the room, toward me. I drank him in, staring. He still moved with such feline grace, and he was still so incredibly god-like. But there was something missing…something wrong. I frowned, squinting my eyes as I tried to get a better look. But he disappeared behind the wall. I shifted on my perch and wobbled slightly. I grabbed quickly at the trunk of the tree to stop myself from falling. When I was stable, I shook my head at myself, brushing bark and tree sap from my fingertips. It was little moments like this that made me certain I was a klutzy vampire—or at least as klutzy as they got. It didn't seem to affect me when I hunted though, which was a plus or I would never get to eat.

I saw a slight movement in the bay window as he sat down. I shuffled on my perch and craned my neck, still trying to see him. I heard a single, clear note ring out and the voices I could hear on the upper floors fell silent. I paused too, suddenly feeling very breathless—I could remember that I had loved listening to him play. I knew without a doubt that it had been one of the things I had missed most after he left. Moments later music wafted out the open doors: a light, happy little tune. I sat back with a sigh, resting my head against the trunk. Perhaps I could calm my nerves long enough to be able to do some rational thinking without freaking out while he played.

The thought had barely formed when the music slowed and deepened. I frowned slightly. The darkness of it reflected my uncertain thoughts far too well for my liking.

Then I heard the melody being played with it.

My lullaby.

Was there any electrical charge strong enough to revive a heart so soundly dead? The shock of it was so great I almost fell out of the tree. I slapped a hand over my mouth as the pain came roaring back with a vengeance, tearing through everything I was. A heaving sob tried to break free as all my beautiful, painful memories came flooding back—memories I hadn't even realised I had lost, memories I would never allow myself to loose again. Yes, they were tearing me apart, they were excruciating; but they were of him and if I couldn't keep him, my memories were all I had.

I clenched my hand as hard as I could over my mouth, squeezing my eyes as tightly shut as I could. I wouldn't scream from the sudden, intensely painful bolts dancing through my body. I wouldn't scream from the gaping hole being relentlessly torn into my chest. I pressed my face into the tree trunk as I fought for control. Slowly, the pain eased, as it always did. Gasping, I loosened my hold on myself and slowly opened my eyes, sitting up and staring at the bay windows where I knew he sat at his piano.

I could hardly bring myself to believe it.

It was my lullaby. It was dark, it was haunting, it was mournful…but it was my lullaby. It tore at my heart and I closed my eyes again, sitting perfectly still. I knew every note of music. I knew exactly when the melody would grow so unbearably sweet. I knew when the tempo would make its subtle changes, from slow to slower back to slow. I knew the way he would move his head, just a slight cock to the right then to the left. I knew when his feet would touch the pedals. I knew the way his fingers would caress every ivory key.

He still played my lullaby.

Without even realising what I was doing, I dropped down from my perch and made my way silently to the French doors that stood open, spilling soft golden light onto the darkened lawn.

I stood half-hidden behind the doors; my eyes were drawn straight to where he sat at an ornate, white grand piano, barely noticing Esme sitting on the stairs with her arms around Alice. His eyes were staring at the piano in front of him, but I knew he wasn't seeing it. His body was rocking gently back and forth with the flow of the music as it swelled effortlessly, and I remembered the first time he had ever played it for me.

It was still just as beautiful.

I didn't dare close my eyes. I watched him, watched his hands, drank in every detail I could as I watched him play, leaning myself against the door—I don't think I could stand properly on my own. I didn't breath from fear of pain, although standing there watching him, I felt…more at ease than I could ever remember since he had left. I was still absolutely petrified that the moment he realises I'm not a figment of his imagination he'll leave again. I knew I wouldn't survive it. I didn't want to be without him.

I couldn't be without him.

His face suddenly crumpled in pain. The music didn't stop but it grew unbearably painful in its mournful beauty. I felt my breath hitch in pain that was a response to his as he drew in a breath. He opened his eyes, watching his hands for a moment. I was so enthralled by the heart-rending sadness of this new…perspective on my lullaby, that it took me a moment to notice.

The music had stopped…

…And I was staring him in the eyes as he sat, still as a carved angel, at his piano.

I still had no idea what I was going to say to him, what I could say to him without him turning his back and never coming back. But I couldn't hide this time—I wouldn't hide. I had made my decision—now it was time to see it through.

How I planned to do that, though, I had no idea.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the room, crossing my arms as I did. I glanced at Esme and Alice who were still sitting at the bottom of the stairs. I saw Edward tilt his head slightly, and they got up and left, smiling gently at me as they went.

He was still staring at me and I was confused by the anguished look in his beautiful eyes.

I put my back against the wall.

"Please," I whispered. "Keep playing."

He looked away from me, his heavenly face devoid of emotion, as he put his fingers to the keys. I tried to ignore the pain clawing at my chest as he looked away from me. Was he so revolted by me that he couldn't even stand the sight of me? The pain tore right through me and I slid down the wall. He was so close and yet…

I just wanted him to look at me and tell me it was all a lie. I wanted him to look at me like he used to—no, not like he used to. I wanted him to look at me as an equal. I wanted him to see that I could be so much more to him now rather than just an encumbrance. I wanted him to look at me and see what Carlisle saw whenever he looked at Esme, or when Jasper looked at Alice, or when Emmett looked at Rosalie. I wanted him to want me, even though I knew it wasn't likely. He had moved on, he had left me to go chase his distractions, whatever they had been…

No, I didn't care what he did.

I just wanted him to love me.

I felt my body shudder as pain ran through it again, felt the sharp intake of breath through my lips.

I felt his hands on my arms as he pulled me into his own. I wrapped my arms around his neck—what was the worst he could do? Push me away?—as tight as I could and clung to him. I pressed my face into his neck, sobbing, drawing in his glorious scent with every gasp. I felt his arms tighten around me and I didn't care if he didn't want me. As he hugged me back, pulling me closer to him, burying his face in my hair, it was easy to fantasise that he wanted me.

And I was so much happier pretending.

I was content to just stay in his arms. I wasn't planning on moving until he told me to. I kept my face in his neck for reasons I couldn't fathom, even to myself. I should be staring at his face, recalling every detail that had slipped from my imperfect human memories, rememorising his beautiful face. But I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes again. I didn't understand his motives for comforting me like this but the last thing I wanted to see in his eyes was some sense of duty. I wouldn't be able to take it.

Quietly, so quiet I almost missed it even with his mouth right next to my ear, I heard him say my name.

I couldn't understand the emotion in it. I pulled back and stared at him, trying to figure out why his voice was so forlorn. He stared back at me, his eyes moving hungrily over my face.

I was confused. I didn't understand. Why had he been playing my lullaby like that? Why was there so much pain in his face, in his voice and in his eyes? He had left—he hadn't wanted me. Why was he behaving like this?

Was he feeling guilty? Or did he really…?

No. I wouldn't let myself go there. The pain would be bad enough as it was.

I didn't want to leave his arms. I didn't want to move away from him, not even an inch. But I couldn't think clearly with him so close, with his scent swirling around my head with each intoxicating breath. My thoughts were a jumbled mess as it was.

I put my hand on his chest; trying to ignore the electricity that shot up my arm, and reluctantly pushed him away. I stood, hating each step I took—who knew if I'd ever get to be in his arms again—and went to his piano. I dusted the keys with my fingertips, thinking of the way his fingers had moved over them, the way his fingers had slid up my arm earlier in the river, entwining with mine…

I could feel him watching me and I found myself wondering, for a moment, if he was as lost and confused as I was in a turmoil of boiling emotions.

I took a deep breath. I still wasn't ready for this.

"We need to talk," I muttered.

xoXox

I couldn't remember ever being this…awkward with him. Not even during the very early stages of our relationship. Neither of us was talking, which completely contradicted the point of being here. Because of my stubborn determination not to think about what I was doing, I now had no idea what to say. He was standing at his piano, glaring at the top where his hand rested, curled into a tight fist. His knuckles were whiter than white and his tendons were stretched taunt. Just like that first day in Biology when he had restrained himself from killing me.

But what was he restraining himself from now?

The silence stretched on as I refused to look at him. It's not that I didn't want to talk to him. Because I did. It was just…How do I accurately sum up all of my feelings, all of my experiences from the moment he left? And how do I express it to him? Should I even express it to him? I mean, what was I supposed to say? So Edward, how have you been? How did those distractions work out for you? Oh, and by the way, I've missed you and I wished you'd never left.

He wouldn't want to hear it because he had left. And I didn't want to say anything that would drive him away before we had a chance to talk.

My head was just one great, big confusing mess.

I heard him take a deep breath, and I was mildly surprised to hear it was unsteady. What impulse was he so desperately trying to oppress?

"Talking usually involves…well, talking," he muttered, still frowning at his clenched fist.

Oh, yeah.

"I don't know where to start," I whispered.

Scratch that, I thought suddenly. I knew exactly where I wanted to start. If Alice and Esme were right, I wanted to hear it from his own mouth.

"Why did you leave?" I demanded, my voice suddenly firm with my determination. I forced myself to look at him, straight in the eyes. I was perversely grateful for my lacking heartbeat. He may not have been able to hear my thoughts as a human but my heartbeat had always given me away. I didn't want him to know how anxious I was for his answer.

He stared at me with those anguished eyes—the ones that caused me so much confusion—again as he shook his head.

"I'm sorry." He looked away. "I'm so sorry."

I flinched. I dropped my own eyes to the coffee table in front of me, suddenly feeling…well, it felt like someone had just poured salt on my gaping chest wound. "That doesn't answer my question, Edward." His name burned in my throat as I said it for the first time in eighty years, directly addressing him.

He was in front of me then, perching himself lightly on the edge of the fragile glass top. He looked at me, trying to meet my eyes, but I kept them away from him, his sudden proximity being almost too much to handle. I was shocked by the sudden electrical charge that was between us—a flash of a dark classroom, lit only by the light of a television screen, filled my head, followed by the kiss in the river earlier.

"I didn't know," his whispered. His voice was as rough as smooth velvet could be and his words began to flow quickly. "I had no idea. I didn't realise the mess I was leaving behind. I thought you would be…" He paused and took a deep breath. "I had no idea that Victoria"—he snarled the name—"would come back—that she would send Laurent." A growl ripped from his chest.

I felt myself frown, as I looked at the space above his right shoulder. Why did that matter? He had left because he hadn't wanted me—a fact he hasn't denied, even when given the chance. So if he didn't want me, why did it matter?

Well, just because he didn't want me didn't mean he didn't care. Right? You could not want to be with someone, but still care about them, couldn't you? And if you cared, you would be upset if something awful happened to them, wouldn't you? So maybe he was feeling guilty. Was that it? He may not want me anymore, but he had at one point, and he had cared. I knew that. So, had it been guilt that had compelled him to go to Italy? Had it been guilty relief that had him kissing me in the river, relief that he hadn't been the reason for my supposed death?

I shook my head and stood. I moved away from him, putting the sofa between us. I could feel him watching me. I kept shaking my head—I couldn't form a single coherent thought.

"I don't…That doesn't…Why does…?" I had to take a deep breath, to settle myself. I didn't want him to see how upset I was. I looked down at my hands again, resting on the back of the sofa. I had to focus on one question at a time. I looked up and met his eyes again. My breath caught in my throat. He was…absolutely glorious, even as he stared at me with such obvious anguish on his face. I looked away quickly, focusing again on the space above his right shoulder.

"Please," I whispered. "Tell me the truth, Edward, whatever it is. Why did you leave me?" My voice broke and I knew I would be crying if I could.

He stood and I took a step back as he took one forward. I couldn't see the hurt my retreat caused him without looking at him, but I heard it in his voice. And it only confused me more.

"I thought you would be safer." His voice was softest velvet as he whispered the words. "I thought that if I took myself away from you, I would take everything about my world with me and you could live a safe, happy, human life." I was frozen where I stood as his voice washed over me. He moved slowly, stepping around the end of the sofa, coming closer to me. I followed his movements out of the corner of my eye. He stopped just within arms reach. "I never thought…I never wanted you to have this life.

"I lied, Bella. I lied through my teeth and I'm sorry. So sorry because I hurt you, because it was a worthless effort. I couldn't protect you from my world." His hand reached out and gently brushed my hair back over my shoulder, his knuckles grazing the very spot Laurent had bitten. "I lied to save you, Bella, and it didn't work. I'm so sorry."

My eyes had fluttered closed when he had touched me. They were still closed as his hand slid under the hair at the nape of my neck. I tilted my head back, into his hand. We were both made of frozen marble but there was heat generating somewhere where his hand was resting on my neck. I would have been hyperventilating if it were possible.

He was stepping closer to me, his scent blooming around me. I tried to focus on his words.

I forced myself to step away from him, away from his hands.

"You lied," I whispered. I repeated it like a mantra in my head, over and over, trying to convince myself. He lied, he lied. I moved to stand near a marble pillar, wrapping my arms around myself. "You lied." I was staring in the general direction of the floor, but I wasn't seeing it. I was seeing all the years I had been without him. My human memories were nothing more than a haze of pain too great to describe.

My vampire memories were tortuously cruel in their photographic precision.

I had had none of my human memories immediately after the change was complete. I'm not sure why—I don't know if it was a generic defect, if you will, of the change or if it was just my uncanny ability to block unpleasant memories. I didn't remember getting away from the wolves; I didn't remember how I had gotten there. It took a few days for the first memory to come back. Edward. Not the Edward that had left me in the forest, but the Edward that had picked me up for school every morning, the Edward that had chuckled at my embarrassing inquisitions as we lay in bed together for the first time.

The Edward that had shown me what it was to be in love.

I had searched for him, going back to the house by the river only to find it empty. I remember the confusion, the hurt. I couldn't remember Laurent at that stage, but I could remember my wish that Edward would give me his gift of immortality so I could spend it with him. With my memory lacking, without remembering that he had already moved on from his infatuation with me and had left, I had thought that he had finally given into my pleas and granted me my wish. I couldn't understand why I couldn't find him.

It wasn't until I had caught the scent of a human for the first time that it all came crashing back. I could remember the terrifying realisation of what that horrible, painful burning I had been feeling in the back of my throat meant—a realisation brought about by the sudden pooling of venom in my mouth. I could remember how the newborn in me had wanted to follow the scent and devour every last drop of blood it would find. I could remember the pain I had been in as I resisted—the pain that had me screaming and sobbing, curled up on the ground, my hands tearing at the earth beneath me. That pain had brought back all the rest and I knew I was alone. Edward had left me, taking his family with him. It hadn't been his venom that had coursed through my veins and made me the creature I had so badly wanted to be so that I could be with him. That knowledge had only caused me to scream louder.

After my first hunt—once the blood lust was sated—I had broken down. I had sobbed for hours, wishing he were there with me, teaching me, comforting me, sharing the experience with me. I fell into a pattern where I couldn't move from my crumpled position next to the dead carcass of the animal I had drank from, my strong young body crippled by the pain in my chest. The pain never left. Even now, eighty years later, I knew that if I went hunting I would spend the following hours in a miserable heap. I had grown used to my pain being a constant companion in my daily purgatory.

Hell had come, but I hadn't gotten to keep my angel.

And I had gone through it all because he had lied.

"You lied." I said it again, because it hurt. It hurt so much. I could feel myself gasping as my arms wound around my chest again. I couldn't stand straight. My legs folded in on themselves and I succumbed to the pain. He had lied. He had told me he didn't want me, that he didn't love me, but he had lied.

So what did that mean?

I instinctively shied away from it. Following that train of thought was only going to cause more pain when he left again…or when I woke up.

Panic flooded me at the thought. Was he really just a beautiful, perfect figment of my imagination? Was I really just asleep, about to wake up and find myself back in Forks, back in my bedroom at Charlie's? Was I going to wake up and realise that this, the last eighty years of my life, had been nothing more than a dream?

Would I wake up to find myself without him again?

My sobbing increased, my breath coming in wild gasps. I clutched at myself harder, trying desperately to hold myself together. I didn't care if it was a dream. I didn't want to wake up. I didn't want him to leave me again. I wouldn't survive it, dream or not—it was too real. Far too real.

I was in his arms again as he cradled me on the floor. His beautiful voice was broken and agonised as he whispered, "I did. I did, and I'm sorry. Bella. Please, Bella." I felt his face pressing against my hair. The pain in his voice tore at me. I twisted in his arms, bringing our bodies together, wrapping my arms around his waist instead, and pressing my chest to his as I tried to contain the pain. The relief was instantaneous. The hole that had been living in my chest for the last eight decades was suddenly healed, the pain nothing more than a memory. I drew in great, gasping breaths, my face pressed into his shoulder, revelling in the lacking pain. His arms tightened around me, crushing me closer and I wondered if he had had a hole too.

"I'll never forgive myself," he whispered into my hair. "Not if I live to be a thousand years. But you have to understand Bella; I would never have left if I had thought you wouldn't have been better off. I left you because I could see what I was doing to you—keeping you constantly on the edge of danger just by simply being with you, risking your life every moment we were together, taking you away from the world you belonged in." I felt him shake his head and his arms flexed around me, tightening even more. "But I never understood—I still don't understand—how you could believe me. How you could believe me so quickly. After all the thousand times I've told you I love you, how could you let one word break your faith in me? How could you accept such a ludicrous concept—that I could exist without needing you?"

I didn't say anything. I wasn't sure if that was a rhetorical question.

He lent back slightly, still keeping his arms bone-crushingly tight around me, as he tried to look at my face. "Bella, please! What are you thinking?"

I kept my face hidden in his shoulder, trying to find the answer. I settled for something easy. "I'm…I'm confused."

His hands were gentle as he pushed me away, but I felt a spasm of fear and the ghost of the hole came back. But he only pushed me away far enough so that I couldn't hide in his shoulder, and reached for my hands. "What can I do?" he whispered brokenly. "Please, Bella. What can I do to make you believe in me again?" He pressed my fingertips to his mouth, sending electricity racing up my arms. "I don't deserve you. But I need you. I love you. I have always loved you and I will always love you. I won't leave you unless you tell me to. Please." His breath hitched as he closed his eyes and pulled both my hands to his mouth. "Please."

I was frozen. He had said them. The words I had wanted to hear him say all along. The words that negated the words that had negated everything else. The emotions running through me were… incomprehensible. I wasn't sure what I was feeling because everything was just one great whirlwind and I was caught up in the middle of it.

"Bella, please," he begged.

So I started sobbing again. It was pitiful, but I couldn't help it.

He exhaled, and the sound was practically a growl. He pulled me back tight to his chest and rocked us back and forth. Eventually I was coherent enough to speak.

"It never made sense," I muttered, answering his earlier question. "It never made sense for you to love me. Everything about us was so…" I couldn't find a word that would accurately convey just how lopsided our relationship had been. His hands rubbing soothing circles on my back paused. "It never made sense," I repeated lamely. "I knew that. I couldn't trust myself to be enough for you. There was nothing about me that could hold you…"

He interrupted me, whispering into my hair again. "Your hold is permanent and unbreakable. Never doubt that." His arms tightened around me again, trying to convince me, most probably.

But I shook my head. "The only reason you ever noticed me was because of my scent, and because you couldn't read my thoughts." I whispered so my voice wouldn't have the opportunity to break.

He pulled back from me then and there was an angry glint in his butterscotch eyes. "That's not true."

I said nothing, because I didn't believe him. He had told me himself what my scent had done to him on that first day and I could remember his reaction to me with absolute clarity.

He glared at me for a moment before his expression changed, softened and saddened by some emotion I couldn't name.

"You probably wont remember it," he said quietly. He reached out to gently tuck my hair behind my ear. My heart almost spluttered back to life when I saw the corner of his mouth lift into my favourite crooked smile, even if it was sad. "It was in the cafeteria on your first day. You were sitting with Jessica Stanley, across the room." I frowned, trying to remember. The name caused a faint stirring of a memory but I couldn't find the face. I could only remember the cafeteria in bits and pieces—mainly what I had seen over Edward's shoulders. "Your eyes," he continued after a moment, his beautiful voice so very soft as he remembered. "I find brown eyes are usually flat because of how dark they are. But yours…Yours were surprisingly deep and so…innocently expressive." The smile disappeared. "But I won't deny that I forgot all about them in the following hour I spent trying to decide the best way to massacre our entire Biology class." His voice was filled with self-loathing. He looked away and I knew he was still ashamed of his behaviour that day, despite that his family and I had already forgiven him for it.

"Edward…"

"If there's anything that doesn't make sense, Bella, it's the love you…you had for me." He looked at me earnestly and I found myself feeling very indignant at his use of the past tense. "From the very beginning, even when you figured out what I was, when I told you how badly I craved for your blood…" He shook his head. "I don't think I'll ever understand what you saw in me, but I'm beyond questioning it now. I'm too selfish—I want you too much and I need you too much—to care. All that matters is you.

"I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm asking for it. I'll beg for it—I'll gladly stay on my knees for the rest of eternity if it means I'll get to stay with you. I'll do anything, even though I know I don't deserve you."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I stared at him incredulously.

"How dare you." My voice was a soft whisper. I pulled away from him, ignoring the physical pain even this slight separation caused. I moved across the room, toward the fireplace. I turned my back on him completely, positioning myself to look out the window. I folded my arms across my chest, partially to keep the ghostly hole from tearing back into existence, partially to comfort myself. I let the silence lengthen as I tried to piece together the raging emotions inside.

"You told me once, human memories fade." My voice was soft, distracted as I submerged myself in my memories. "At the time, I took that to mean all the memories of my human life." I paused. He did nothing to break the silence. He had stood when I had walked away from him and he had moved to the pillar closest to the fireplace, but he had come no closer. I could feel him watching me.

"I was terrified, Edward," I admitted in a whisper. "Absolutely terrified when I really realised what had happened to me…I was so scared I was going to forget you." I heard his sharp intake of breath behind me but I didn't turn around. "Immediately after the change, I had no memories at all. I just knew something was different. It took a few days for the first memory to come back." I paused as I remembered. A small smile curved my lips but there was no real joy in it—more just the memory of joy. "That day in the meadow," I told him quietly. "Do you remember it?" It was a rhetorical question because I knew he would. But he answered anyway.

"Of course I remember it," he whispered, his voice low and husky with something akin to pain.

"I tried to find you. I didn't remember Laurent. I could only remember us…I thought you'd finally given in." I paused long enough for a mocking smile at my own idiocy. "But the house was empty. I couldn't find anyone. I couldn't find you." I took a deep breath and shifted my position slightly. "They all came back soon after that," I muttered, referring to my memories.

He still didn't say anything so I let silence sit between us for a bit. I wasn't exactly sure why I was telling him this, but I knew I wanted to tell him how I felt. Perhaps describing this to him would give me the help I needed to make him understand.

"You know, I've never drunk from a human," I told him in an off-hand voice, glancing over my shoulder. His eyes were gloriously intense as he stared at me, leaning against the marble pillar. I didn't allow myself to look at him for any longer than a moment because I could remember the incoherency issues I had had whenever he had looked at me like that while I was human. And judging from the feeling running through me now, those issues were still very real. I turned back to staring out the window, where I wasn't in danger of loosing my train of thought.

"I've found resisting the craving for their blood a lot easier than I thought I would. The first few times were hard"—I flinched slightly at the remembered pain—"but I managed. Now it's almost ridiculously easy to resist. That's not to say that say I don't crave it—after all, I can't change what I am."

Again, he didn't say anything when I went quiet. And I didn't dare to look at him. I was far too aware of him as it was. I could feel him standing at the pillar; I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my head. I wouldn't be surprised if he was trying to see my thoughts, even though we both knew it was an absolute improbability for him.

But it felt like I was getting nowhere.

So I decided to be blunt.

I wandered over to another window, pushing back the sheer white curtain so I could see outside.

"I'm confused, Edward," I informed him. "There are…so many emotions running through my head right now. So many that my body has no idea what to feel." I frowned at my reflection in the glass, trying to sort them out. "I can't describe how I feel about seeing you again. How it feels to be with you, after all these years, and to have you say the words I'd been so desperate to hear for the last eighty years. But now that you've said them…" I paused as I shook my head. "I know I'm upset…and I know I'm angry. You left. You lied and you left, trying to save me from a world I'd already become a part of,"—my fingers absently traced the crescent scar on my wrist—"a world I wanted to be a part of."

I sighed and let the curtain fall.

"You were so ridiculously enthusiastic about my staying human…Perhaps a little too enthusiastic."

I heard him inhale sharply again, and I turned around to face him. His eyes were closed and his head was bowed, but I could see the pain on his face. It made me feel sick.

"I don't blame you," I whispered. He opened his eyes and I flinched away from the agony in them. "I don't," I repeated, my breath hitching. "What happened to me—becoming a vampire—it was going to happen from the moment I met you." He took that the wrong way too. "Edward…" He wasn't going to listen to me, I knew. He was already drowning himself in disgust and self-loathing.

I took a deep breath.

"I hate you."

The words were too soft to be a whisper, but he heard them. His eyes snapped open and he stared at me. I couldn't even begin to fathom the emotions in his glorious eyes.

"I hate you because you left. I hate you because you're standing there and we're having this conversation. I hate you because you kissed me when we attacked each other in the forest. I hate you because we bumped into each other on the street. I hate you because it shouldn't be happening like this, not eighty years later. Not when it should've been you, Edward. I wanted it to be you. I wanted you to be the one to bite me. I wanted it to be your venom that made me what I am…And I hate you because it wasn't."

My voice was a broken whisper by the time I finished. I turned away from him, not wanting him to see the pain I felt. But he was behind me in an instant, his hand on my wrist as I tried to move away. I didn't try too hard. He turned me back around to face him, lifting my face so he could look at me with his hand on my throat, his thumb under my chin. The air was suddenly highly charged with electricity.

"Bella…"

"I don't care what you think, Edward," I whispered. Our faces were less than two inches apart and I was aware of that same feeling of electricity originating from somewhere in his body, running through his hand on my neck and into me. "I don't care whether you think you deserve me or not—that decision is up to me and me alone. I may not agree with your motives, but I can understand why. I wish you had done things differently, I wish you hadn't been so damn stubborn. But I love you. I do—right this second, ever since I met you. I never stopped and I never will..."

I had memories of every time he had kissed me. I remember being constantly frustrated by his damned lines that he adhered to so carefully, constantly wishing he would just forget all about them.

Well, he forgot about them now. He didn't throw himself at me—the kiss started out somewhere between the chaste kisses of my human years and the unchaste kiss in the river. It was just very quick to escalate. He cradled the back of my head as he deepened it, his tongue tracing my lips, pulling my body tight against his. My mouth opened willing, just as it had before. My hands clutched at him, one on the arm he had around my waist, and the other tangled in his messy bronze hair.

I realised, belatedly, what impulse he had been oppressing as he pressed my back against the window; the urges I had been oppressing by refusing to look at him. He picked me up, lifting me and holding me against the glass so our faces were on the same level. I used the leverage to wrap my legs around him, to pull him closer. He growled and pushed himself closer.

The booming laughter scared the life out of me.

"Careful, Edward. Esme won't appreciate it if you break her windows."