Rating/Warning(s)/Note(s): T, Shadows
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Prompt: Mild

The next two months I threw myself into my classes. High school had been relatively easy, and while I knew college would be harder and busier, I was blown away by how much more work there was. Within the first two weeks I had five projects assigned between my English and humanities class. Thankfully Calculus was a bit easier since I took it my senior year, but the nightly homework still required hours to complete. Freshman biology made up for it with all the memorization required, though. However, it was women's conditioning, or as I liked to call it, fitness for death since the teacher was intent on torture, was the one class I didn't think I'd make it through.

Marta was a gift, working beside me in both my English and humanities classes. She had a job at the library which allowed her access to the sign-up sheets for the study rooms. While she couldn't put her own name down, she could mine, so reserved our favorite room as often as was allowed by policy. It came complete with a table, white board, and iPod dock that some student had left behind and remained hidden in the back of a cabinet.

What wasn't a gift was the mild weather. We knew it was going to turn bitterly cold soon and had to force ourselves to keep our nose to the grindstone and study. For some reason Edward seemed to be missing whenever the sun was shining. Not that I ever saw him when he was there, but I could feel his presence nearby.

After the first note, others followed. Usually they were simple things, like a suggestion of what book to look in for the answer to a particularly elusive fact. Once a book we'd spent days searching for showed up in our study room, opened to the very page we needed. I made sure to whisper my thanks to him under my breath each time. Marta thought I was crazy but couldn't argue that it was more than coincidence. I'm fairly sure she'd rather it be me that was crazy and not that I really had a beneficial stalker, because "That's just creepy, Bella."

Whenever I found spare time I was on the internet. Cold hands, incredible speed and strength, red and amber eyes were all entered into the search engine but nothing came up that made sense. Cold hands gave me a link to Dr. Oz, speed and strength pointed me to health and fitness. Red eyes turned up links to gothic costumes. So not helpful.

At the beginning of November, during one of my biweekly calls to my mom, she asked if I would be able to fly to Jacksonville for Thanksgiving. "Phil and I would love to see you," she said, and I could easily picture her pleading eyes even though she was trying her hardest to keep it out of her voice. "Think of how jealous all your classmates would be if you went back with a tan."

"I don't know, mom. Tickets are pretty expensive," I said while pulling up my bank account information.

"What are you doing for Christmas, then? You could come then, and we'd be happy to have Charlie as well." She knew my weakness. I had no illusions that my parents would ever get back together, nor did I think they should, but they were friendly and it was nice to spend holidays like a real family.

I hesitated for a moment, then my mouth dropped open. A thousand dollars suddenly appeared in my checking account. Hitting the update button didn't change my computer screen back.

"Mom, could you hold on a second?" I asked. When she hummed her assent I muted my phone, stalked to the window and slammed it open. "Edward! What have you done?"

My gmail opened, a chat window waiting that said, 'Edward is typing.'

You want to see your mother. Ms. Hale gave me permission.

Unmuting the phone I answered my mom. "Apparently my trust gives me money to fly home for the holidays. I'll book a flight and let you know the details?"

"Oh, honey, that's wonderful! I've always wanted to deep fry a turkey, what do you think?" she said. This was something that had to be stopped immediately. Visions of her burning down her house flashed through my mind.

"I think ordering in Chinese food, like we did last time I was there, sounds really good," I said, hoping to waylay her. "Um, I just got pinged about an assignment. Can I call you back later?"

"Sure! I'll run tell Phil you're coming. Oh, I'm so excited!" I hung up after that. Renee was known for forgetting to push the button to hang up the phone.

The curser on the gchat box was blinking, letting me know that Edward was still there.

Why? I typed.

Why what?

Why are you all doing this for me? Why are you following me? Why won't you talk to me?

The curser blinked for a minute before the 'message sent at' line came up. I could be patient. I would wait him out. Three minutes passed, then five.

I wasn't patient.

WHY? I typed, complete with shouty caps.

Another minute passed. Finally the notice that he was typing came across.

Because you're important to us. Because you're important to me. Because it isn't safe.

My mind reeled. I was important? To him? Why wasn't it safe?

How can it not be safe? You've been protecting me. What is dangerous about seeing you, talking to you?

It was another five minutes before he replied. I'm not safe. Think of the woman in the woods.

Fingers flying, I typed my reply. You saved me from her. I don't know how she would have hurt me, just that it was her intent, but you saved me. I feel safe when you're around.

This time his reply was automatic. You shouldn't feel safe with me. Please understand, I might hurt you.

Thinking back to that day I realized how similar the woman was to Emmett and Rosalie. A thought struck me that maybe they weren't quite human. But if not human, what? As my mind raced with possibilities I could see the shadow I knew was Edward move on my wall opposite my window. He was very close for the shadow was larger than normal.

"What are you?" I asked out loud, not bothering to type.

My computer pinged. Keep doing your research. Goodnight.

I looked up and saw the shadow grow smaller. In frustration I closed my laptop, not bothering to shut it down. My window was still open, the scent of warm honey carried on the frigid air. Rising to shut it I hesitated and looked around. "I will figure it out one day, Edward, and when I do I expect you to talk to me," I said, but there was no response. In my heart I knew he'd gone.

A little more communication! Hooray!

When I was in college there was a required gym class called Fitness for Life. We all called it Fitness for Death, sure they were intent on killing us. Luckily for me, I'd taken a women's conditioning class in my junior college that transferred. I never bothered to tell them all I did was play on the diving board because the coach's husband was the diving instructor and asked her to let me stay at the pool all semester. Twenty-five years later I can still do an acceptable dive. Don't ask me to run wind sprints or do sit-ups, though.