Daybreak: Her Side Of The Story

by WinterSunshine

"In that moment, something shifted inside me, not in a physiological way, but on a much, much deeper level. In this moment, I was forever changed, by the seemingly simple human boy sleeping in the bed across the room from me." [Life and Death/Midnight Sun, from Edythe's POV/perspective.] Canon pairings, etc, etc.

5. Fair Warning

A/N: Hi, all. This one's a bit of a longer one. This was always one of my favorites from the original, and so it was fun to write. Song inspiration of the week: "Demons (feat. Jennel Garcia)" Boyce Avenue. Enjoy!

…

I returned to normal as best as I could.

I stayed in Forks to appease my family. I was focused on doing everything correctly now, dotting every "I" and crossing every "T". I hunted no more than the rest of them, I attended school and played the quiet junior girl every day. Everyday I listened with extra attention to the thoughts around me, keeping an ear out for any signs of suspicion. But there were none. Not from the teachers, not from the students. Beau had not spoken a word of it to anyone—much to my knowledge, he was still going along with the story I'd fabricated, and no one had questioned him. The lie was very obvious to me, and at first I thought it was because Beau seemed to be a horrible liar, but then maybe I suspected it was because I knew it was a lie, and I was overthinking it. At any rate, his peers soon grew bored of his unchanging story, gleaning no more details, and they eventually backed off.

So my very absurdly stupid action had harmed no one—except for myself. Every day was torture—hell, and fire; the both of them. It was torture to be here in the same place as Beau, to have to sit beside him every day in fifth period biology and endure the scorching burn in my throat. But more-so, to have to sit and bear that strange magnetic pull, to resist its strength.

Every time it got difficult to defy, I called to mind Archie's visions—the two fates he'd given Beau: Death, or eternal damnation. It eased the urge to sooth the rejection I'd given him. I pacified myself with the knowledge that his malleable human mind would process this, in the long run, as a mere pin-prick of rejection.

I was determined to refuse Archie's foreseen future for the boy. I would create a new path for him. But then, this was easier said than done.

I had assumed the first day would be the hardest, but every day after became more and more difficult, a growing unease, acute to the point of pain. But I was determined to grit my teeth and bear it, for the sake of the boy. His world and mine were spheres that did not touch. It was for his own safety that he remained in the realm of his own universe, with his friends and his father and mother, and all the potential the mortal world held for him.

Beau was human, and in being human, he possessed instincts that were sure to warn him of my difference, that I was something to be frightened of. He would probably be more relieved than wounded when I turned my face away from him and pretended that he didn't exist.

Except that the first day after the accident, he tried to talk to me. The day would have been hard enough without the confusion his greeting stirred up in me.

"Hey, Edythe," he'd said upon his arrival to our one shared class. His tone was friendly, open, and it perplexed me. I had been as intimidating yesterday as I knew how. Hadn't my obvious unfriendliness threatened him at all? He had seemed so… dissatisfied the day before. So many of his questions had been unanswered, but his tone here, now, gave the illusion that he would be perfectly willing to let it all go.

I wanted to look into his face, just once, to try and make sense of the puzzle, and I began to turn my head, but quickly drew myself up short. No. I could not allow that. Not if I wanted to change things for him.

I nodded at him once, and then turned my eyes to the front of the room again.

He didn't speak to me again after that.

Running became my new after-school activity of preference. It was very easy to run all-out, until everything around me was a gray and green streaked blur, not to have to focus on the torment in my head, only on the environment around me, the passage of my feet along the forest ground…

But still, the musings always found a way in…

Did I love him? No. I didn't think so—not yet, at least. But Archie's premonitions had stayed with me, haunting me like nightmares—except that I couldn't sleep, so instead, they haunted me day in and day out. I could see, objectively, just how simple it would be to fall for Beau Swan. Absolutely effortless, like breathing, or falling. All of the things that made Beau human were what I desired, and the agony of it was inescapable. Impossible. But keeping myself from him was impossible—like dragging myself up a sheer cliff-face, day after day—minute by minute during fifth period biology—as if I had nothing more than mere mortal strength.

But if I was destined to love Beau, then wouldn't that mean I should keep him safe as humanly—and inhumanly, as it just so happened—possible? If I wanted what was best for him, I had to stay away.

The six weeks that passed didn't get any easier, and I went round and round in my head, trying to see a way around the two possible futures Archie had seen, to no avail. I was not strong enough to be near him and keep him safe. I did not feel I was strong enough to stay away from him, either, but I had so far. Avoiding him was the best foreseen solution to keeping Beau alive and mortal.

Avoiding him was about the limit of what I could bear, though. I could pretend to ignore him, and never look his way. I could pretend that he was of no interest to me. But that was the extent, just pretense and not reality.

In reality, every bit of it was torture.

The thirst was torture, the constant burning of my throat was the most focused of pains. The silence in his mind was torture; to not be able to know what he was thinking, to know why he did the things he did. To not know why, on any given day, he would rush in late, face flushed, or why he would drop his bag on the floor by his seat with just a little more vigor than usual, or why he would bounce his knee spastically. Each movement in the periphery of my vision was a maddening mystery. When he talked to his peers, was he saying what he was really thinking, or was he just saying what he thought they wanted to hear? More often than not, it sounded like the latter to me, and strangely, it reminded me of myself and my family—the façade we constantly had to uphold… But then, maybe I was just imagining things again. Why would Beau, of all people, need to hold up a mask? He was one of them.

Surprisingly, the worst of my torments was the one I least expected: McKayla Newton. I could not fathom how it was possible for a skinny little blonde to be so totally vexatious. The girl knew nothing about the boy, though she was the one who kept him talking, and as a result, had me continuing to add to my list of the qualities I admired in Beau. She had constructed a Beau in her mind that just did not exist, and it did not do him justice whatsoever. The Beau in McKayla's head was just as frivolous and shallow and flat as she was, and frankly, it offended me. It gave no credit to the multi-faceted character Beau actually was. She didn't seem to notice the selflessness and gallantry that set him apart from other humans, she didn't hear the abnormal maturity of his spoken thoughts. She didn't perceive that when he spoke of his mother, he sounded like a parent speaking of a child rather than the other way around—loving, indulgent, slightly amused, and fiercely protective. She didn't hear the patience in his voice when he feigned interest in her rambling stories, and didn't guess at the kindness behind that patience.

Through her conversations with him, she had unintentionally unearthed the most revealing of all his qualities, as simple as it was rare: Beau was good. All the other things added up to that whole—kind and self-effacing and unselfish and loving and brave—he was good through and through.

Still, the helpfulness of her discoveries did not put the girl in any kind of new light for me. The strength of her possessiveness over him drove me nearly insane with provocation. And it wasn't only her inappropriate fantasies about the boy. For an entirely perplexing reason, she saw their relationship as something more than it was. Beau's polite smiles and respectful attentiveness came off as something completely misperceived for her. It didn't help that he seemed to prefer her over the rest of his admirers. And what drove me even more mad, was that I had no idea why.

Every day she would perch on the end of our table and twitter away to him, flashing him coy smiles and flipping her hair over her shoulder, encouraged all the more by his, I was sure, purely polite smiles.

But today, she was feeling more let-down than usual, and I had to fight very hard to keep the grin of pleasure off my face.

McKayla had talked to Jeremy this morning, trying to fish out information on where Beau stood via the upcoming Sadie Hawkins dance. Oblivious to the Stanley boy's infatuation with her, she'd figured him to be an easy in to Beau's motives, as he was the friend Beau seemed closest to. But she'd been let down when Jeremy had told her that Beau wasn't planning on attending the dance. She'd been building herself up for weeks, attempting to garner the bravery to ask him.

Prissy little coward…

"So," she said now, too chicken to look him in the eye. Instead, she directed her gaze at the floor. "Jeremy said that you don't do dances."

"Yeah, that's true."

I had to swallow my snicker at McKayla's apparent offense. She'd been under the impression Beau had been lying to Jeremy, for whatever reason.

"Oh," she said, her tone a little affronted, "I thought maybe he was making it up."

"Uh, sorry, no." Beau scratched the back of his neck, confused. "Why would he make up a story like that?"

The corners of McKayla's lips turned down into a frown, discouragement sinking in. "I think he wants me to ask him."

"You should. Jeremy's great." Beau's tone was suddenly enthusiastic, and curiosity shook me so suddenly, my shoulders began to turn toward them. I caught myself almost immediately, and clenched my hands into one knot on my lap, forcing composure. I stared so hard at the blackboard at the front of the room, I could make out the faded outlines from the entire last month's notes.

McKayla shrugged her shoulders, non-committal. "I guess." She hesitated for a moment, and then braced herself for impact. She drew in a deep breath and lifted her eyes to his face. I watched Beau through her eyes. He didn't suspect a thing. "Would this 'I don't dance' thing change if I was the one asking you to go?"

In that moment of hesitation, I suddenly saw it. Maybe Beau would end up accompanying the girl to the dance, maybe he wouldn't. Either way, someday, Beau would choose someone, whether it be McKayla, Taylor, or someone else.

I saw it again—the potential of his life, college, marriage, kids… Children with beautiful blue eyes…

The pain was more than anything I'd felt before. A human would have to be on the point of death to feel this pain—a human would not live through it.

And not just pain, but outright rage.

I was completely taken aback by the sudden rage I felt toward this insignificant human girl. Rage so acute I had to fight the urge to channel it into some physical outlet. I entertained fantasies of ripping handfuls of hair out of her pretty blonde head.

I didn't understand this emotion—it was such a tangle of pain and rage and desire and despair. I had never felt it before; I couldn't put a name to it.

"Um, sorry, again." Beau's tone was genuinely apologetic.

McKayla's hopes plummeted, and I saw the stab of disappointment in her thoughts. I would have thoroughly enjoyed myself under any circumstance, but right now, I was drowning in a sea of emotion I didn't know how to process.

One thing I did know, however: Archie had been right. I wasn't strong enough.

"Would it change if someone else asked you?" For the first time in a month and a half, McKayla's thoughts turned suspicious as she snuck a glance at me. Through her eyes, I realized I'd betrayed my interest; my head was slightly inclined in Beau's direction.

And there was something else in her thoughts—petulant envy for the girl she suspected Beau preferred over her. It named my foreign emotion, for she was feeling the same thing—I was envious.

"No," Beau said, "It's a moot point anyway. I'm going to be in Seattle that day."

Suddenly, I was considering my stance in the matter, and who my contenders might be. The curiosity about his where's and why's was dulled by the comfort in knowing I would find the answers to my questions, somehow.

"Does it have to be that weekend?" I didn't like the way she sounded, offended and rude, as if she disapproved of his possible prior engagements—though I had a feeling, he was just saying that to get out of going to the dance.

"Yeah," Beau returned brightly, unaffected by her offensive tone, "But don't worry about me. You should take Jeremy. He's much more fun than I am."

I doubted that.

"Yeah, I guess." McKayla made no effort to hide her dejection. I found great humor in the disappointed way her shoulders slumped as she went to take her seat, and then abrupt disappointment when her eyes left Beau's face.

I wasn't going to stand for that. I turned my face toward where Beau sat for the first time in many weeks, and I was surprised at the relief I felt in doing so—like a deep gasp of air to long-submerged human lungs.

He was taller than I remembered, but he sat slightly slumped forward now, eyes shut, fingers pushed into his temples. What was he thinking?

I stared, for one brief moment, wondering if he was regretting his choice in telling the girl no.

Exasperating, and yet, so entirely beguiling.

After a long moment, he sighed and opened his eyes. Their blue depths latched to mine immediately, perhaps sensing my gaze on him, and I was even more-so surprised at the relief this provided, more than the gasp of air to long-submerged lungs, this was drags and drags of air, the ability to suck them in in copious amounts, without refrain—and something else along with it, that strange sensation of weakness and strength in the same, strange coexistence.

Beau did not look away, his gaze fixed on mine, and I stared with continued inappropriate intensity, trying to read the answers in his eyes, though all I could decipher were more questions.

I could see the reflection of my own eyes in his gaze—obsidian with thirst. This was not the safest day for my long-standing will to crumble, but the darkness didn't seem to intimidate him. He continued to stare down at me, heat rising behind his skin.

What was he thinking? I so desperately wanted to know, and I was just about to ask, when Mrs. Banner clued in on our inattention.

"Miss. Cullen?" she called, pleased to have caught me off-guard—or so she thought.

I tore my gaze unwillingly from Beau's, easily picking the correct answer out of her head. "The Krebs Cycle." In order to answer the teacher's question, I had had to draw a breath, and flames scorched down my throat now, triggering all the usual instincts: venom flooded my mouth, my muscles coiled to spring, my stomach panged emptily.

I let my eyes fall shut, attempting to focus through the whirl of bloodlust swirling inside me.

The snarling, savage, animal part of me was rejoicing. Its odds had increased, growing from a mere 33.33333 percent, to an even fifty-fifty chance at winning the battle—at possessing the reward she so craved.

The remorse and the guilt filled up the empty caverns of my insides, aching acutely. If I had the ability to produce tears, I would have shed them, now.

In this moment, I had lost the battle, I had proved Archie's predictions all along—I was not strong enough to stay away from Beau. I suspected I might never be…

Giving in to it all now, I turned to stare at him. He had his head ducked, one elbow propped on the table, hand on his neck. His skin was rosy with color, eyes glued to the notebook in front of him, though his pencil lay abandoned on the table.

I wavered, considering the fragility of his nature. I couldn't do this. He was too good, too precious, too delicate. He did not deserve the dark stain of my presence. I could not eclipse this bright, warm sun with my cold, heedless shadow.

And yet… I knew there was no way I could keep myself from him, not now that the third option had dissipated.

There was a raucous collision inside me, hissing frustration and anguished groaning, as I first wavered one way, and then the other.

Despite my inward mêlée, the hour with Beau passed much too quickly. I was almost surprised when the bell rang, sooner than I had thought it would.

When Mrs. Banner excused the class, I was surprised at the stab of pain I felt when Beau turned his shoulders away from me to stack his books. I supposed I deserved the rejection. I had not treated him very kindly in this past month and a half…

My willpower lying in shreds already, I spoke before I could stop myself, aching for those eyes on me again. "Beau?"

He stiffened, his shoulders lifting just slightly toward his ears, which were suddenly red. Slowly, he turned toward me, and I braced myself for the assault of his gaze.

His expression was wary, guarded, but the flood of emotions washed through me all the same. Like the long drags of air, the relief, the pain, the euphoria, the weakness.

I pulled in shallow gasps of air, trying to ignore the fire in my throat. I waited. I had no right to his trust. He should distrust me, in fact. I had done nothing to garner it. Why had I said anything? How was this going to work? Where would this go?

"Yes?"

I just looked at him.

Confusion etched his eyes. "So… um, are you… or are you not talking to me again?"

His confusion, the lost look in his eyes, as always, entertained me, though I didn't know why. I fought the grin that wanted to find itself on my face as I replied: "Not." The smile carved its way into my face anyway.

"Okay…" His eyes dropped to his hands, and then across the room to the chalkboard.

I felt the need to explain myself, and the dilemma it presented sobered me.

"I'm sorry," I told him, "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really." I spoke the words with vehemence, trying to make him understand. Grappling for some way out of this strange unforeseen option, coming to fruition now. Impossible as it was, I wanted to deserve his trust. But at the same time, I passionately wished he would clue in to just how dangerous I was, and how important it was he stayed away from me… He was an intelligent boy. Surely, he could see that it would be better this way… Though everything inside me screamed in resistance.

"I don't know what you mean."

"It's better if we're not friends," I went on, "Trust me."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, almost in anger, and it filled me with surprise, and desperation.

"What are you thinking?" I wanted to know.

"I guess…" He began, swallowing, "that it's too bad you didn't figure this out earlier, saved yourself the regret."

Again. Completely caught off guard. What was going through this boy's mind? "Regret? Regret for what?"

"For not letting Taylor's van crush me when it had the chance." He said the words so casually, with such blasé off-handedness, it floored me.

How could he possibly think that? Saving his life had been the one acceptable thing I had done since we had met. The one and only thing that had ever made me glad for my existence. To think he thought… When I had been fighting with every fiber of my being to keep him alive since I had first caught his scent… The absurdity of it all froze me to the spot.

"You think I regret saving your life?"

He looked away again momentarily, and then unexpectedly leaned closer, his fragrance rampaging down my airways, flooding me with burning heat.

"Yeah," he murmured, "I mean, what else? Seems kind of obvious."

I couldn't help it—I was so full of rage—as an uncontrolled hiss escaped through my teeth. This was inexcusably absurd! His estimations of my intensions had me seething with rage. To assume I thought so little of him as to wish him dead…!

"You're an idiot."

Something in his eyes locked up, and despite my anger, the emotions I saw there in the split second before he turned away had me curious. Resolve, frustration, a flash of embarrassment… But mostly that lost puppy-dog look, which would have entertained me if I hadn't been in such a suddenly bad mood.

He gathered his books and rose, striding toward the door. He moved stiffly, not paying attention to where he was going, and his boot caught on the doorjamb. He stumbled, his books spilling out onto the sidewalk. He stood very still for a moment, as if considering whether or not to pick the books up. Then he sighed.

It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, considering the magnitude of the past two months' events, but no one was watching me anyway, so I grabbed my bag and flitted to his side in an instant.

I stacked his books neatly before he even knew I was there. He bent halfway toward the ground, and then jerked into stillness when he saw me. I passed the books back to him, making sure my skin did not come into contact with his. He took them with his eyes averted.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," I returned icily.

He straightened, turned his back on me, and headed off toward the Gym building. I watched his receding back until he was lost in the crowd of roaming students, and then I wrenched myself the other way and headed for Spanish.

Mr. Goff didn't pay my inattention any mind—he knew my comprehension of the Spanish language was superior to his, and so he tended to give me great leniency.

I found myself thinking again, of that fourth, unforeseen option. It was clear I could no longer ignore Beau—no matter how much I had tried to in the past six weeks, it was clear I was unable to do that. But did it mean I had no other choice but to destroy him? Via death or eternal damnation, it didn't make a difference—I would still be viciously obliterating his soul. There had to be another way, some sort of moderate balance… I struggled toward an absolution.

…

On our way to the car, Eleanor finally pegged my mood. She wasn't usually very attentive to the changing emotions of those around her, but she wasn't able to ignore my obvious change today.

Hopeful. She decided I looked hopeful, and her thoughts surprised me.

Hopeful? Was that what it appeared to be from an outside perspective? I wondered what that meant, and what on earth I should be hoping for?

But I didn't have long to ponder over the prospects, for the minds of some of Beau's admirers—did I consider myself a part of that group, now? I supposed I did, but not in the way many would assume—had caught my attention. Both Erica and Taylor had caught wind of McKayla's rejection, and they were preparing to try their own luck.

Erica was already waiting by Beau's truck, her mind a racing rampage of nervous reflection. Taylor's class was being held late to receive an assignment, and she was in a rush to get out to the parking lot, glancing between the clock and the door again, and again. She wanted to get to him before he escaped.

Now, this I had to see.

I stopped walking, and El continued a couple of paces before pausing and glancing back at me, confused.

"Wait for the others here, okay?" I told her, hiking the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder and then turning away before she could really answer.

Poor girl, she thought as she watched me go, She's damn near lost her mind.

I saw Beau on his way out of the gym, and I waited where he would not see, watching as he passed. As he got closer to Erica's ambush, I strode forward, setting my pace so that I would walk by at the right moment.

He caught sight of the small, slim figure leaning against the door of his truck, and he skidded to a stop. I heard his heart skip a beat, and then he drew a breath, and his heart rate calmed down. He walked forward, and I found myself wondering what his reaction had been all about? As if he'd been expecting… Someone else?

"Hey, Erica," he called out as he approached.

"Hi, Beau." She stammered a bit over the words, smoothing a hand over her ponytail. Her face was bright red under the constellation of acne on her face, and I was surprised when I was suddenly filled with anxiety. What if this kind of girl was more his type—quiet, bookish, slightly awkward like himself?

"What's up?" he inquired now, sliding his key into the door. And then he turned his gaze on her, his long fingers fumbling the key. It seemed he had caught on to her nervousness.

She didn't meet his gaze as she said her next words, staring instead at her Converse against the slick asphalt. "Um, I was wondering if you would go to the spring dance with me?"

Erica was still looking at the ground, and so I couldn't see Beau's reaction in her mind. Was he pleased? Taken aback?

"Sorry, Erica, I'm not going to the dance." His words were gentle, and due to the fact that Erica Yorkie didn't annoy me nearly as much as McKayla Newton did, I felt a sudden hint of pity for the girl.

"Oh, okay." She lifted her gaze just enough so that I could see the edge of his jaw, the shape of his lips.

"Because I'm going to be in Seattle," he continued on rapidly, as if trying to reassure her, "It's the only day I can go. So, you know, oh well. I hope it's fun and all."

She met his gaze then, and I was struck by the compassion in Beau's eyes. He really did look commiserated. "Okay. Maybe next time." She forced her tone to sound a bit more upbeat. She had already heard the excuse from McKayla, but she was disappointed all the same.

"Sure." And then he made a face, as if he regretted giving the girl a loophole. I was pleased about that.

"See ya," she called over her shoulder as she headed toward her car.

His face still looked pinched as I passed, as if all this attention from his not-so-secret-anymore admirers was painful, and I giggled quietly.

He whirled to face me, his bag striking the side of his truck as he turned, and I forced my gaze straight ahead, holding my mouth in a straight line, as not to betray my humor, though I suspected I already had.

Taylor was behind me, almost running in her hurry to catch him before he could get into his truck and drive away. She was bolder and more confident than the other two; she'd only waited to approach Beau this long because she'd respected McKayla's prior 'claim'.

Though her audacity agitated me, I wanted her to achieve her quest for two reasons—one, if Beau was as uncomfortable with all this attention as it seemed he was, I wanted to see his reaction. It was funny. And two, if Taylor's had been the invitation he'd been waiting for… Well, I wanted to be aware of that, as well.

I hardly deserved the title, but I supposed I saw myself as a competitor to the other girls, as well. Though, as I compared myself, I realized I could never compare to the normal, trivial, human girls. I could never be a typical human girl, and I flinched at the realization. It was foolish to see myself having any sort of chance among the other girls. How could he care for someone who was, by every sense of the definition, a monster?

He deserved much better than a monster.

But still, the curiosity plagued me, and I had to have my answers.

I picked up my pace, sliding into the driver's seat of the Volvo and pulling out into the narrow aisle just in time to hinder Beau's progress. I didn't want to give Taylor the opportunity to invite Beau to the chance somewhere private, where I wouldn't know the outcome.

Eleanor and the others were on their way, but still walking slowly, watching me, curious about my odd behavior. Eleanor had explained to them, and they were confused.

I kept my eyes on Beau in the rearview. He seemed to be trying very hard not to look at me. His eyes flitted from his dash to his own rearview, to his hands on the steering wheel.

Taylor, thankful for my intervention—though oblivious to the fact that it was all for her—hopped into her newly acquired Sentra and got into line behind him. She waved, and I laughed when Beau ducked his head, pretending not to have seen her. She was not deterred. She waited another minute, and then got out of the car, leaving the ignition running, and headed over to his passenger side window.

She gave it a rap, and Beau glanced over at her. When he saw it was Taylor, he gave a muddled look in the rearview at her abandoned car, and then a double take back to the girl standing outside his truck.

I laughed again. His bewilderment really was adorable.

He leaned across the bench seat and rolled the window down manually, about halfway. Then he seemed to give up, straightening up once more.

"Sorry, Taylor," he apologized, "I can't move. I'm pinned in." He waved his hand toward the back of my car, and I ducked my head, pressing my lips together, unable to get rid of the smile totally, in case he saw me watching.

"Oh, I know," she said, not bothered in the slightest, "I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." Her grin was undeniably confident. Her thoughts were filled with self-confidence.

I was rewarded with the look of astonishment on Beau's face.

"Will you go to the spring dance with me?" she continued.

"I'm not going to be in town, Taylor." He sounded a little sharp, a little exacerbated, and this made me laugh again. The complete unthreatening tenor of his frustration was almost as hilarious as his puppy-dog-esque disorientation.

"Yeah, McKayla told me that."

"Then why—?"

She shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting her down easy."

"Sorry, Taylor," he said, not really sounding very sorry at all, which pleased me, "I'm not going to the dance."

"That's cool, we still have prom." She accepted the excuse, her self-confidence still totally intact, and then headed back to her car.

I guess that secondhand gown will come in handy after all, she thought with glee. She was already picturing Beau in color-coordinated garb.

I did not deny waiting for this in the least.

The perplexed astonishment on his face was apparent, and also, the funniest thing I had ever seen. The humor was made all the more potent by the fact that his expression had given me the answer I had been so desperate to know—though completely undeserving of: He had no feelings for any of these girls whatsoever.

And so, I was essentially rocking with laughter when my siblings reached me, sliding into their seats. They all stared at me, baffled. They weren't used to seeing me in such high spirits. They had long ago adjusted to their bitter, melancholy sister.

What are you laughing at? Eleanor wanted to know.

Beau revved his engine impatiently now, and it looked like he was considering his old, decrepit truck a tank engine, possibly. His impatience only made me laugh harder.

"Let's go," Royal groaned, fed up with my odd behavior, "Quit acting like such a child. If that's even possible…"

His jab didn't offend me—I was still too entertained by Beau—but I did as he requested, and put the Volvo in drive.

No one spoke on the way home, and every now and then, Beau's expression would come to mind, bringing with it fresh waves of amusement.

…

It was past midnight when I arrived at the Swan residence. The entire street was unconscious, not an aware meditation in hearing distance. And, of course, nothing from Beau.

I hesitated at the fringe of the trees bordering the east side of Charlie Swan's property, settling a palm against the bark of the tree closest to me. This was wrong. I shouldn't be here. I had known it when I'd set out for my hunting trip—where I'd absolutely gorged myself on a small herd of elk doe and a black bear I'd been lucky enough to find at this time of year. Eleanor would be jealous.

My insides sloshed with the animals' essence, and I was full—uncomfortably full. And yet, the temptation for the boy was as resilient as ever. The magnetic force, the one that didn't desire his blood, but him himself, pulled me, with ever-growing strength, toward the male human.

I flitted across the wide lawn and paused beneath the second story, west-facing window. His scent was strongest here, and in the room above me, I could hear his steady heartbeat. I took a moment to close my eyes and study that mellow thump, though it had been center stage in my mind for the past six weeks anyway.

I had already surmised that the front door would be locked. That was no problem in my case, except for the fact that I didn't think Chief Swan would appreciate a break and enter.

Resting all of my weight into the back heel of my boot, I pushed off the grass and launched myself up the side of the dully white, faded house. Easily, I caught the eave of the window frame and peered through the glass.

Immediately, I discovered his long shape, draped over the small bed at the other end of the room.

The small space was surprisingly organized. Books stacked neatly on the desk, only a gray hooded sweatshirt hanging over the back of the computer chair—the same sweatshirt he'd worn today.

There were no other clothes, not on the floor, no shoes strewn about… Nothing cluttering the weathered oak chest of drawers. Everything was perfectly neat and organized… Except for…

My gaze shifted back to the boy in the bed.

The teal-colored duvet had been thrown to the floor, the sheets were tangled around his knees. He wore a pair of basketball shorts, and his chest was bare. The slightest sheen of perspiration glistened at his temples. He was too warm.

As I watched, he tossed restlessly in his sleep, throwing an arm across his face. So he wasn't a restful sleeper, that much was clear…

Or was it that he could sense I was near—his subconscious cluing him in of the peril that was in too near proximity?

The familiar roiling sensation of self-loathing filled my hollow insides, and abruptly I was appalled with myself. This was a disgusting breech of privacy, and abhorrently inappropriate. Not to mention insanely dangerous.

I dropped one hand from the eave, prepared to fall back to the ground.

But then—he spoke. And when I turned my gaze back on him, his expression was… unhappy.

"S'okay, Mom," he muttered, "Don'… worry 'bout me…"

Well, this was certainly intriguing. Beau Swan was a sleep talker.

Inquisitiveness chased away the self-disgust, and my hand was pushing up the frame of the window—the ministration almost unconscious, unthinking. The curiosity had won me over, and I wanted to hear what else he might say.

I swung my body through the opening and landed silently on the balls of my feet.

I took a more thorough inventory of the small room. The CD player on the table by the bed, a single clear jewel case sitting on top of it. The small shelf of books beside that.

Abruptly, I took a step toward the bookshelf, wondering which books he might keep on hand. Again, they were all perfectly arranged, each spine propped next to another, though many of the bindings were worn.

I drew up short when he stirred again, tossing his head once, toward me.

"No, Mom," he mumbled, "'S all good…" And then fell silent.

I glanced warily toward the open window. I really should have departed then…

Instead, I went to go sit in the rocking chair in the corner, curling my legs up underneath me and folding my arms over my middle to keep myself still.

He didn't speak for a long moment, and I shifted impatiently, drawing my leg up to my chest and resting my chin on my knee.

He really was quite striking, and I wondered why it hadn't occurred to me earlier. His thick, dark hair, mussed in his restless sleep… The full plushness of his lips, slightly parted in slumber. Though slim, the fine shape of muscle through his frame, especially along his arms.

I surprised myself with my reflections. It had been so long, nearly a century of living the human charade, of putting up a front, an act. It was unfamiliar and unsettling to have such… Human thoughts.

I shook my head a little at myself. To even think of putting myself that close to this boy was insane. I had to think of the future, of the impossibility of it.

No matter what I felt for this human, I could not, would not, put him in harm's way. And everything about myself screamed harm. I could not bring myself to hurt him, couldn't stand even the possibility of it. And so, that would mean I would have to leave.

I felt my brows pull together at the thought. To him, I would be a strange shadow in his very short, very transitory life. The mysterious girl from his junior year biology class, who had done something impossible by saving his life, yes, but ultimately I was nothing more than a creature of the night—an abomination. He would move on quickly, I was sure of that. His fascination with me would fade quickly. Blatant as it was, I chose to ignore it. He wasn't fascinated by the girl—he was fascinated by the seduction of the predator.

Beau would easily find himself another—his options were varied enough, what with all of the admirers competing for his affections…

And I could not hope to compete against them. They all had the one thing I did not, could not ever, have: humanity. And with that humanity came safety, warmth, normalcy. To even think I could take any of that away from him was despicable. He deserved happiness with whomever he chose.

It was my duty now, to take moral action; and I forced myself to admit that the potential for loving this boy was a hazard, an insufferable prospect. Of course, it wasn't a prospect, there was no potential, because I did. I did have feelings for him, I was beginning to realize. Why else would I be here? Why else would I have stayed for as long as I already had in this tiny, inconsequential town?

Besides, the eventuality of my departure was meaningless, I realized with morbidity. Beau would never see me the way I saw him. I could never be worthy of his affections, of his attentions. I would never be worthy of the pure, living love this boy possessed. I was not deserving.

I was surprised to feel the odd sensation in my chest, the strange dull ache, the stab of hurt. Could I, the shell that I was, experience heartbreak?

"Edythe…"

My body shut down in reaction to his voice, my eyes fixed to his slack, unaware face, eyes still shut, thick lashes unmoving over prominent cheekbones. He had spoken my name so clearly, I had to assume he was awake, but… His heartbeat was just the same as it had been, his breath just as even, and as I sat there, unnaturally still, he rolled onto his side.

"Edythe," he repeated on a sigh.

The realization still had me frozen—he hadn't woken. He was still obliviously unaware, and he was still dreaming. But dreaming of me…

Something swelled inside me, and I leaned forward in the chair, desperate to hear more.

He frowned, just slightly, full lips turning down at the corners.

"Hey, don'…" he mumbled, "Don' go… Stay."

Dreaming of me, in the absence of horror and gore? In the absence of a nightmare? The concept was impossible, and yet, it was taking place. He wanted me to stay…

In that moment, something shifted inside me, not in a physiological way, but on a much, much deeper level. In this moment, I was forever changed, by the seemingly simple human boy sleeping in the bed across the room from me.

When Carine had changed me ninety years ago, every part of me had become still, unmoving, stone. My body, for one, of course, but more, still. Each facet of my personality, each preference for or against. For so many years I had been unchanging, exactly the same. But here, now, it was impossible to deny the change that was taking place.

My adoration for this human had changed me irrevocably, impossible to reverse. And now that I acknowledged it, the alteration of my life was clear: I would never be the same.

It was common knowledge that a change in an immortal was a rare and permanent thing. And it was happening to me now. I had seen it happen, twice. First in Carine, the love that had bonded her to Earnest, altered her forever. The way she still looked at him now, with an adoration that never changed. And then, again, a decade later, I had seen it in Royal, the day he'd met Eleanor.

The impossibility of my situation clawed at my consciousness, tortured me. I would have to leave him, if I truly did love him. And I did, love him, with everything that I was.

I knew I could not leave him now. I simply wasn't strong enough. But I would leave him one day. Because if I really did love him, I would have to leave, to step back in order to allow him the life he truly deserved.

This life was not for him. It was absolute depravity to imagine the possibility of it—the one side of the coin Archie had seen—and I forced the image of Beau's stone, marble face and bright crimson eyes from my mind.

There was only one option left—to stay with him until I gained the strength to leave, and to leave him human.

Was it possible? Was I anywhere near strong enough for that?

I supposed I would have to be.

Bracing myself, I inhaled deeply, allowing his fragrance to rip flames down my throat. His scent was stronger here than I had ever smelled it, ingrained into every surface of the room, swirling with utter potency in the air around me.

I breathed in deeply again, forcing myself to focus on the piercing pain. If I was going to stay, I was going to have to accustom myself to this sensation. It wouldn't get any easier from here on out.

But as I deigned on the agonizing sensation, I realized something—the terrible creature that had clawed and writhed and begged relentlessly that first day… She was no longer present. Abruptly gone.

The pain and the instinct that came with the burning held desire no more. And I knew now, that if I were to… kill him… It would be pure, tragic accident.

So I would have to be careful—extraordinarily careful, to keep my distance, to measure my breaths, to never, ever let my guard down. I would have to stay alert at every moment. I would have to be strong and unerring, if I truly wanted to be with him. Could I be? I would have to be.

I relaxed back into my seat, drawing a knee to my chest and took another breath, his scent swirling like a firestorm down my throat. I fixed my eyes on his face, relaxed and peaceful in sleep now, and waited for the sun to rise.

…

I ran home to change, returning just after the others had left for school.

I took a minute to examine myself in the mirror in my room. Did I look unassuming enough, did I appear threatening in any way? My eyes were a light honey ochre, my jeans and sweater didn't raise any eyebrows. I looked just as unassuming as any forever-seventeen-year-old-immortal-turned-heartstruck-fan-girl would.

On my way back downstairs, I found Earnest watching me, but he didn't say anything. His thoughts were a swirl of worry and relief. He saw the changed light in my eyes, and wondered about that. My long depression had saddened him, and he was glad to see it finally seeming to lift.

I could take only one guess at what—or, rather, whom—had changed that for me.

I ran to school, arriving just seconds after my siblings had parked. I paused on the edge of the parking lot until I was sure no one was looking, and then stepped out from between a couple of parked cars.

I could hear the rumble of Beau's truck around the corner, and I paused behind a suburban so I could watch his arrival, unseen.

He drove into the lot and took a space across the lot from the Volvo. He did not look in its direction, seeming very intently focused on what he was doing. He turned off the ignition, gathered his things, and got out of the truck.

In a moment, a spear of self-doubt and hesitation struck me. He paid no mind to my car, and my possible whereabouts. I had spent so much of last night plotting and hoping and wondering… What if it was all for naught? Was I overestimating his interest in me? What if he didn't feel the same way I did? The dream, his uttering my name, it all could have been about something entirely inconsequential. Who did I honestly think I was? To be so sure of myself, so conceited, so idiotic…

I thought about it for a minute, the possibility that he did not return my feelings… Would it stop me from courting him? Probably not, but I at least owed it to him to give him fair warning as I did so.

I walked toward him, wondering how I would go about beginning, but then he gave me the perfect opportunity.

As he climbed out of the driver's seat, he fumbled his keys, dropping them into a deep puddle of icy water.

I was there before he had bent a third of the way, though his ineffective human sight did not comprehend my presence until he'd bent half-way.

I plucked his keys out of the cold water, and he jerked upright, almost smashing his head into my chin, but my reflexes were much more adept than his. I stepped carefully out of his path of self-destruction and leaned casually against his truck door.

"How do you do that?" he demanded, sounding slightly flustered.

"Do what?" I held out his key while I spoke. His eyes were bluer than I had recalled. He reached for it, but before his hand could make contact with mine, I dropped the key into his palm. I drew a breath in through my nose, sucking in his absurdly sweet fragrance. It burned—as always.

"Appear out of thin air?"

"Beau," I teased, wondering if he noticed how my voice wrapped around his name so tenderly, knowing before I'd finished the sentence that the whole phrase was a paradox. He saw everything. "It's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant."

He only stared down at me, his eyes unfathomable, and I stared back, trying desperately to make sense of it all. Then he dropped his gaze to our feet, which were half a foot apart, and then up and over my shoulder, toward the courtyard beyond the parking lot.

"Why the traffic jam last night? I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist."

He was still confused, and I resolved to be as honest as I could with him. After all, he'd done nothing but cooperate with me. It was the least I could do to give him what insight I could.

"Ah. That was for Taylor's sake. She was figuratively dying for her chance at you."

He blinked. "What?" Irritated confusion bled into his voice.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," I continued. In fact, I was trying my very hardest to do the opposite now, trying to make up for time lost, I supposed. I kept my tone teasing, to keep the mood light. It would be easier this way, rather than giving me feelings away totally, and potentially scaring him off…

He met my gaze again. "I don't know what you want from me."

The self-doubt and anxiety over my unrequited love resurfaced. "Nothing," I lied quickly, and as much practice as I had in lying and acting and putting up various facades, for some reason, this time I couldn't quite do so. Beau Swan left me vulnerable and scattered, and feeling like I was on the constant verge of swooning—if that were possible for a vampire.

"Then you probably should have let the van take me out," he said, "Easier that way."

Cold anger bolted through me. "Beau, you are utterly absurd."

He didn't say anything, only jerked his chin up a fraction of an inch, and strode past me.

And the anger disappeared immediately, replaced by deep remorse. I had no right to be angry, none at all.

"Wait," I begged.

He kept walking, so I went after him.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," I apologized. "I'm not saying it wasn't true"—it was ludicrous to think I wanted him anywhere near harm's way—"but it was rude to say it out loud."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" he groaned without looking at me.

Believe me, I wanted to say, I've tried.

Oh, and one more thing—I'm hopelessly in love with you.

Keep it casual. Right.

"I wanted to ask you something, but you distracted me."

He exhaled, the inexorable cloud of his scent engulfing me, and he slowed his pace just slightly. I almost laughed at the action—as if he had to slow so that I could keep up. As if.

"Fine," he said, "What do you want?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday—" I forced back the laughter when I saw his face blanch, "you know, the day of the spring dance—" I teased, having way too much fun with this.

He interrupted me, wheeling to stare down into my face. "Is this funny to you?"

Hilarious, actually. "Will you please allow me to finish?"

He didn't say anything, but he also didn't walk away from me again, so I figured I was good to go ahead.

"I heard that you were going to Seattle that day, and I wondered if you wanted a ride." I had realized that, instead of just finding out the answers to his where's and why's, I could maybe go along with them myself.

His face went blank. "Huh?"

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?" I took a second to ponder it—me, and him, alone in my car, his scent so very potent in the small space… My throat burned at just the thought.

Suck it up, sweetheart, I told myself. It's not going to get any easier.

He was still clueless. "With who?"

"Myself, obviously."

"Why?"

"Well," I lied as casually as I could, "I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it." Again, teasing seemed safer than potentially scaring him off by professing my undying love and such.

His legs jerked into action again. "Make fun of me all you want, but leave the truck out of it."

Oh. I'd hit a sore point. I pressed on, encouraged by the fact that he hadn't said 'no'.

"Why would you think that I'm making fun of you? The invitation is genuine."

"My truck is great, thanks."

Was this all just pre-emptive to him saying no? What would I do if he did decline?

"Can your truck make it to Seattle on one tank of gas?"

"I don't see how that's your problem."

That still wasn't a 'no'. And his heart rate was a little quicker, his breaths coming just a little more frequently. And I didn't think it was due to the… Advanced physical exertion he was doing by meandering across the high school parking lot.

I figured this was a good time for another joke. "The wasting of finite resources is everyone's problem."

"Seriously, Edythe," he said, and I felt a thrill rush through me at the sound of my name on his lips, "I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

For a moment, I struggled between honesty and casualness, and then surmised that honesty was of a bigger priority, at least in regards to this.

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Oh, wow, great, so that's all cleared up," he said sarcastically. He'd stopped walking again, and his eyes dropped to my face once more. His heartbeats stuttered. Was he afraid?

"It would be more… prudent for you not to be my friend." And then, gazing into the lucid, clear cerulean of his gorgeous eyes, I lost all grasp on casual. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau."

His breathing cut off then, and in that moment, I worried about how much I'd scared him. Had I done it? Had I overstepped my bounds? Frightened him off? I supposed there was only one way to find out…

"Will you accept a ride with me to Seattle?"

He didn't speak, but he nodded in assent.

Euphoria erupted inside my chest. Yes! He'd said yes, to me! I felt the flicker of an exultant and triumphant smile flicker on my face, and then I suppressed it, remembering my promise to give him fair warning.

"You really should stay away from me."

Did he hear me? Would he escape the inauspicious future I was hell-bent on changing? Couldn't I do anything to spare him from the abomination that was myself?

Keep it light, I reminded myself.

"I'll see you in class."

I spun on my heel and walked away, forcing myself not to run.

A/N: I don't know, just somethin' about this chapter gets me… Oh, and by the way, I'm hopelessly in love with you… Ha! Maybe because Edythe's mood finally picks up here? That and the scene with the sleep-talking and her permanent change. Ah, the hopeless romantic in me swoons! Leave some love and lemme know what you thought! xo :)