Shocker! I'm updating… Honestly, I'm embarrassed by how much time passes between posting chapters… but my masters course is really kicking my ass right now… just know I haven't forgotten the story… here you go!

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The door didn't creak, thankfully. I peered into the darkened room. The only source of light came from the chink created by the open door. It fell directly on the bed, illuminating Isabella's face. She didn't stir.

I breathed deeply, pushing the door further. I crept in, glancing around for the stupid messenger bag. It lay on a chair, neatly propped upon the seat. Looking at it there, it taunted me, knowing.

Disregarding Alice's comments completely, I was there to take the notebook like the fucking stalker I'd become. Since I could barely carry a conversation with this girl, I was intrigued by the woman she had been—Bella, as Jasper had called her repeatedly.

I unzipped the bag, carefully keeping an eye on Isabella so she didn't wake up. The canvas bag rustled softly, whispering in the dark. The notebook wasn't immediately visible, so I dug into the contents. I pulled out a dark blue blouse and short black skirt. Nestled there too was a pair of chucks. Huh. Somehow, despite the glaring differences, I could totally associate the quiet Spanish-speaking girl with a young woman who could pair semi-formal clothes with Converse.

Finally, buried beneath it all, was the notebook. I touched the velvety cover, going over the ridges and whorls etched into the design. I was surprised Alice hadn't guessed at my intentions and hid it before I could get my hands on it. I closed the bag again and snuck out before Isabella could hear me and wake up, probably screaming her fucking head off.

I returned to my room, throwing myself on the bed. I opened the notebook to a random page and began to read.

... there are no expectations. I'm not quitting, whatever Angela says.

Expectations for what? I flipped back until the beginning of that particular entry. It wasn't her thoughts, but a description of a dream or something:

I was back in the house. I've never been back since the accident, so it was weird, but this time the house was different. Familiar, but off somehow. There were strange lights in the garden, and then Mom was there…

At one point in the entry, she rambled on about a celebrity cameo and accidentally diving off a cliff, and ended it with, "then I woke up." It didn't tell me much of anything about Isabella, so I opened the notebook at the first page and began reading then.

Pate after page filled with her endearing chicken-scratch writing. I could barely read for shit. I gleaned so much more about her. Her job at Maison Rose, how much she missed her parents. A little about her friends—the people in the picture I had seen, I assumed.

As the writing progressed, it became somewhat repetitive, talking about a recurring dream in which she wandered down an abandoned hallway. The notebook was half-written in, swinging between a weird-ass dream journal and girlish diary. Only towards the end did I begin to discern more about Bella, the girl, and leave behind Isabella, the princess.

I learned she did prefer to go by Bella, rather than her full name. The girl was very self-assured. I felt an unreasonable stirring of jealousy when she mentioned the occasional one-night stand. She loved movies, and quoted Camus, followed European soccer leagues, and spoke French—French! Bella was eclectic, all over the place… looking for something and never quite finding it. I heard her voice clearly through her writing, echoing my own shitty feelings of vagueness and lack of purpose. Such a dangerous line to walk on.

The last entry was a repetition of her wandering dream. That was it; the date marked was the day she was admitted into the hospital and I got Jasper's call. And the day she walked-slash-screamed her way into my life.

I pushed myself up, half-tumbling off the bed. I shut the notebook and crept back to Bella's room. It was almost 5 AM. The sky outside her window was taking on the light blue-gray tinge of dawn. I replaced the notebook in the messenger bag when she suddenly stirred and murmured.

I froze, peeking at her over my shoulder. I thought Bella had woken up. But her eyes were still tightly shut. Something in her expression compelled me to get closer. I stood next to the bed, practically looming over her—seriously, could I get more fucking stalkerish? I watched her breathe for a few moments. The rise and fall of her chest lulled me.

The next sound to come out of her mouth startled me back to focus.

"Edward."

Shit. Not Eduardo, but my own goddamn name. Was she dreaming of me? About me? The loudest noise in the room was probably my racing heart. Adrenaline coursed through me. The irresistible urge to touch her zinged at my fingertips. I reached out, the motion almost foreign to my brain. I watched as my hand tangled in her dark brown hair. What I'd been dreaming about since I saw her at the hospital.

I dragged my fingers through it slowly. It was thick and wavy and luxuriant. I hefted it, twisting it to the side and laid it gently on the pillow next to her head. The light was increasing in the room. I spared her one last surreptitious glance before I left her sleeping, and treaded up to the attic studio.

The heat was not yet stifling due to the early hour. I hauled a big blank canvas and set it on the easel, adjusting for its height. I picked tubes of oil paints this time. I spread different colors onto a stained palette and began.

Thick strokes for the background; I settled on the dark blue tone of her blouse. Once it was covered, I splashed paint thinner on a brush and mixed pale flesh tones until they yielded a creamy ivory. It was as though my fingers itched and hummed with electricity, and I knew I would have to finish the piece.

A heart-shaped face was outlined on the canvas. I changed the tones for added depth, and features appeared subtly. A slight rosy blush on the cheeks. Eyes—dark, chocolate, with light flecks of honey, contrasting with the mahogany of her hair. The dark blue background looked lovely with her skin.

Bright, sad, longing… but luminous, somehow. Bella. I tried as best I could to capture her essence in flat paint. It was partly the Spanish princess I had met, but mostly the intriguing, living girl I had discovered through shitty penmanship on stolen pages.

And I so feared I loved her.

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Currently planning for a sequel to Es/C's story, "Everything I need to know…" and another B/E ditty… stay tuned. Oh, and please review!