Chapter Eleven

AN: Sorry this update took a little longer than the others. Finals are upon me. But, the plus side is, they'll be over soon, and I'll have more time to write! Anyway, enjoy!

I had a dream about both of them. Well, at first, I had a dream about Jacob and I, standing in his barn and painting on this huge canvas, but neither of us had the faintest idea what to paint, so we just kept flinging colors at the wall like Pollack. And we were laughing every now and then, but there was a sadness looming over us, too. Like there was something we were supposed to be painting, but we couldn't figure out what it was.

And then Edward came in, smiling and friendly. He greeted me with a kiss and shook Jacob's hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then he contemplated our painting. He seemed to be sort of amused by the whole thing. He took my hand in his and gave me a paintbrush, and he held my wrist as I painted, pulling me in certain directions and letting me pull him in certain directions. And when we were done, I took a step back and looked at the painting, and it really was just a mess of colors, but I understood that it was somewhat better then than it had been before. And when I went to congratulate Jacob on our masterpiece, he wasn't there.

And then I woke up. Late. I only had ten minutes to get ready and run to class. Jack gave me a little acknowledging nod when I stumbled in. I was flustered and breathing heavily when I sat down and fumbled with my Norton to get to the right page.

Jack was in the middle of his introductory marks. "I want us to start thinking about sympathy. It's a word we sort of throw around arbitrarily. He's sympathetic. She's not. Etcetera, etcetera. But I'd like to start a discussion about sympathetic characters. Do you think we judge real people more harshly than literary characters? Or the other way around?" We were not sure if the question is reciprocal, so we all stayed quiet. Jack smirked. "Anybody?"

A girl, Jenny, shrugged. "I think we judge real people pretty harshly. Like, real people have to obey real laws, you know? Like, I'm not sympathetic to a real serial killer, but I might be sympathetic to a fictional one, does that make sense?"

"Makes perfect sense," Jack encouraged. "Other thoughts?"

"Well, I think it's easier to judge fictional people," a boy, Sean, suggested. "Because they tend to be less complicated—or, they have to be less complicated, because there is never enough time to get to know a fictional person completely. So, we can judge them easier, because they're not real people."

"Okay, good," Jack said. "So we have two opinions. That's great. So then, who do you think deserves sympathy more—fiction people or real people?"

"Real people," I blurted out. "Real people need sympathy—we need to be understood and considered fairly. Fictional people…well, they're not hurt if we don't like them. They're not real."

Jenny shook her head. "But fiction characters need to be sympathetic. Or the work of fiction is useless."

Jack held up a hand. 'Well, not necessarily. I can think of more than a few unsympathetic characters who have done pretty well. Sometimes people don't want to root for the good guy. Some people like a little more complication than that."

"Like Humbert Humbert," Aaron said from the back of the room.

"Sure," Jack agreed. "Or Holden Caulfield."

"Heathcliff and Catherine," I added.

"Right," Jack said. "And there are many more where they came from. So then, the question becomes, if these characters are unsympathetic, why do we care? What makes us interested in these relatively bad human beings?"

Sean shrugged. "I guess part of it is seeing how the other half lives."

Jack nodded. "Go on."

"Well, we," he smiled, "good people are maybe curious to know what it would be like to be bad. We want to experience that without actually partaking in that kind of activity."

I bit my lip. "You disagree, Bella?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, I don't know," I said. "I don't like dividing them into 'good' and 'bad' people. I think that's kind of the point of unsympathetic characters—to blur the line a little bit. I think writers use unsympathetic characters to get us to reconsider sympathy."

"Ah," Jack smiled. "That's interesting. You think we are supposed to sympathize with the unsympathetic."

"Yeah," I said. "We're supposed to see their side. We're supposed to learn not to make huge distinctions. To not take sides."

Jack nodded. "That's a very intriguing idea, Bella. How do the rest of you feel? When you read about a character that does not seem to be sympathetic, do you feel that your idea of morality is being challenged?"

Is that what I'd said? It sounded much more impressive when Jack said it.

"Yeah," Aaron considered. "Characters who don't fit into the 'good person' mold make us change the mold, because we like them a lot of times. Like in Lolita. We're supposed to like Humbert Humbert. Even though he's a pedophile. He's still the, what did you say? He's the 'good guy'."

"Sure," Jack said. "And isn't it sort of amazing that we can do that with fiction? We can make pedophiles, drug addicts, prostitutes, or even murderers sympathetic to readers. We can make them see their side of things."

The conversation drifted into speculations of how one interprets a character to be sympathetic—what can be accepted in terms of flaws and strengths. I could barely hear them. The word murderer was ringing in my head. My mind was swimming with the words of critics—sympathetic? Was Edward Cullen unsympathetic? Was I just drawn to him, because I wanted to blur the lines of good and bad? Was I trying to see how the other half-lives? What was it about him? Why was it so easy for me to overlook—everything—when it came to him?

I had half decided not to call him after I'd spoken with Jacob. I had decided that I would allow the memory of him to drift away again, this time knowing that I had made the decision—it had not been forced upon me. But I couldn't let his face go. I couldn't stop my heart from pounding hard in my chest if I allowed myself to think about calling him. I couldn't stop myself from programming his number into my phone. As much as I wished I could deny it, I wanted him.

I wanted him so badly my chest felt tight for the rest of Jack's class and into the rest of the day. The pain of it made me want to rip out my lungs and heart and collarbone so they wouldn't remind me of what was missing from my life.

I didn't tell Rachael anything. She was entrenched in her position and was a loyal enough person to stick with her decision. Kelsey, though, was still wavering between teams, giving me shrugs and agreeing with whatever I thought from moment to moment.

As Friday night loomed, we were all preparing for our friend, Brian's, twenty-first birthday celebration. We were meeting at his apartment around 11:30 and planning to stay the night. Kelsey loaned me a simple blue, strapless dress for the occasion and insisted fervently that I wear heels.

"Brian's brother's going to be there," Kelsey said, raising her eyebrows, while we walked across campus. It was only a ten-minute walk from our apartment to his. "The bartender."

"That's exciting," Rachael noted. "He's older than us, right?"

"Twenty-three," Kelsey said, nodding wistfully. "Lovely, lovely twenty-three."

"Is Brian drinking?" I asked. In the year and a half that I'd known him, I'd never seen him have more than one drink at a time.

"He better," Kelsey demanded. "I plan on being every badly acted teenager in health class movies tonight. I will peer pressure his ass off; I swear. It's just too wasteful if he doesn't get absolutely trashed tonight."

"You're such a good friend, Kels," I joked, and she winked at me in the darkness.

Rachael countered, "He's not going to do anything he doesn't want to do."

"God, you're no fun," Kelsey sniggered. "Well, whatever, even if that's a bust, I've still got the hot, older brother to occupy my time."

"True," I sighed.

"Aw, Bella," she looped her arm around mine, "I wish you were single! We would have so much fun!"

"Thanks, Kelsey," Rachael shrugged.

"Oh, you know what I mean," she stuck her tongue out at Rachael. "You're awesome, Rach, and I love you to pieces, but you refuse to make out with attractive strangers."

I laughed, "So do I."

"Because you're with Jacob," she said.

"No, because I don't want to make out with strangers. I much prefer making out with people I know," I countered.

"Like Edward Cullen?" she smirked.

"No," I said. "Like my boyfriend." I shook my head. "You really are a terrible influence. Poor Brian."

"Have you talked to him recently?" she pushed.

"Brian?" I asked harshly.

"Yeah, Brian," she rolled her eyes.

"Stop being a pest, Kelsey," Rachael reprimanded.

Kelsey giggled and leaned into me, hissing, "Pssst!"

I narrowed my eyes and smiled. "No. I have not talked to him recently. And I'm not going to."

She sighed. "But you have his number, right?"

"Yeah," I shrugged, trying to convince myself that it didn't mean anything.

"So, hypothetically, if I get you drunk enough tonight, you could—hypothetically—call up your gorgeous hunk of an ex and have him here pretty quickly," she was smiling widely.

"Oh, God, Kelsey," Rachael shook her head.

Kelsey nudged me. "Come on, Bella. Hypothetically?"

It wasn't going to happen. It wasn't going to. Even if I drank tonight, I always retained enough self-control that I wouldn't do something like that. I was almost completely certain of it, so I felt comfortable enough to make a joke out of the possibility. I smirked as we approached the door to Brian's building. We could hear music pounding from inside. I shrugged, "Hypothetically."

AN: Review! Even if it's just a short, little thing, tell me how you feel about the story thus far! I have a general idea of what's going to happen, but I'm really curious to see if anyone has any ideas, so let me know! Thanks!!