Whaddup, my friends? Ready for another installation in this story? What a coincidence; me too!

I stare at my reflection in the wall of wide glass windows in the Cullen household. My eyes are no longer the bright red I am used to seeing, or the yellow I am sort of becoming accustomed to. They are a vibrant, deep shade of red-orange, a burning fire with a single black coal in the center. And only after a few animal kills! (I took down a few more deer on the way here.) The overcast sky prevents my skin from emitting anything more than a low shimmer, but the sight is still beautiful, enticing me to examine all of my skin's many facets. I think of all the safehouses Riley kept us cooped up in, day after day. We always boarded up the windows, cowered in the basements, never took the chance of letting light in. This house is just the opposite; it seems to be made more of glass than of anything else, and it fascinates me. These vampires are not scared or ashamed of what they are; they embrace it.

It's been many, many hours since the Cullens picked me up in the woods, although I'm not sure - and don't particularly care - what time it is, exactly. Upon discovering that I have very little to say about anything, they left me alone with my thoughts. I'm glad they are not hovering over me, but I am constantly aware of where they are in the large house. Edward left hours ago to meet up with his delicious fiancee, but Jasper hasn't strayed more than one room away from me this entire time. He has nothing to worry about, though; I am in control. Even though I can detect hints of the beautiful scent of the human (Bella, I guess?) within the house, they are faint, as if she has been here before, but not too recently. It helps that I have just consumed several creatures' worth of blood, of course, and I resist the urge to hunt her down by constantly filling my mind with other thoughts.

Like Diego. I sigh and turn away from the window, remembering how he looked at me with unabashed wonder the day we discovered the dazzling effect of sunlight on our skin. I recall the sound of his laughter as we spent the day playing ninja and decided we were best friends. I think of his thick, dark curls and his lips on mine. I remember how he wouldn't allow me to meet Riley with him, and I come to a realization: he knew. He knew, deep down, that he wouldn't survive the confrontation, and he couldn't bear the thought of my days ending with his. He wouldn't risk me. He loved me, like I love him.

It is too much. I plop myself onto one of the couches in the room and cover my face with my hands. I sit there, alone with my misery, and just let my heart ache for him. My Diego. We hadn't had much time together, but that's what he was: mine. And I miss him terribly. Suddenly I wish I was capable of producing tears, of physically manifesting my anguish somehow.

As it is, I just let it hurt.

A while later (I don't know how long, but it feels like hours to me), I hear Edward come in. And then I smell him - or rather, I smell her on him. I sink my fingernails into my thighs to keep myself from jumping on her fresh trail. I clench my jaw and stop breathing, trying to keep the burning at bay, but my eyes are wide open. Alert. Hunting.

Edward and Jasper already stand in the doorway, crouched in a defensive formation to stop me. I hear the others too: all close by. Waiting to see what I'll do. Expecting my self-control to fail again.

I don't blame them.

But I look at Edward and try to form coherent thoughts. I won't, I promise him. I understand how important she is to you. And I do. What he's willing to do for her - to protect her under any circumstances - that's what Diego did for me. At that thought, the pain comes back and overwhelms my thoughts again.

I decide in that moment that heartache is worse than thirst.

I slowly return to my previous position: head in hands, perfectly still, mourning quietly. It hurts so bad that I'm almost glad for the burning sensation in my throat (which is lessened, admittedly, by all the animal blood I consumed earlier). All this grieving is getting monotonous, I think bitterly. I guess I could use some new pain to distract me.

On some level, I register their muttered comments: "Amazing... Unbelievable... Unlike anything I've ever seen"... things like that. But I'm busy wondering why so much of the pain from Diego's death is just hitting me now. Maybe it's the loss of Fred's strength and companionship. He had been a sympathetic party, at least, who understood my situation because he had lived it with me. Perhaps it's this strange new place, the complete removal of anything that could possibly remind me of him from my life. All that is left of him resides in the memories I hold in my head. Maybe I just have to reopen this wound in order for it to heal.

I look up. Edward sits across from me, at a safe distance. He looks at me ponderously, as if I am a puzzle he can't quite solve. Everyone else vacated the area long ago, but most of them are still moving around the house. I can hear them. So why has Edward stayed here? Watching me wallow in self-pity? I make a mental note to stop all this wallowing; I'm doing it far too often these days.

At that, Edward almost cracks a smile. "All right, how do you do it?" he asks me.

I cock an eyebrow at him. I have no idea what he's talking about.

"Your self-control," he explains. "Where does it come from? How are you possibly this good?"

My self-control? I have nearly hunted down his fiancee on at least three separate occasions at this point; I still long to drink her dry, as the burn in my throat reminds me. He must absolutely hate me! What is he doing, asking me about my self-control? Shouldn't the mind-reader know, better than anyone else, that I don't have any self-control?

"First of all, I definitely don't hate you," Edward explains. "Your thought process is far too fascinating to me, and Jasper has been very persistent in making sure I keep my emotions in check. And secondly, you most certainly do have self-control: an astounding amount, especially for someone of your age. You are baffling to all of us. Even Jasper, and he's dealt with more newborns than anyone. So," he says, lacing his long fingers beneath his chin and leaning forward intently, "how do you do it?"

I am confused. Jasper - emotions - newborns? How does it all fit?

"Ah yes," he says. "I suppose now is as good a time as any to load all of this on you..." Edward goes on to explain Jasper's special ability to influence the emotions of the people around him. (While he's at it, he describes Alice's power of vision as well. Riley wasn't lying about one thing: this coven is talented.) He tells me very vaguely about Jasper's experience with newborns like myself. I immediately understand where he got all those scars; I know better than most the ruthlessness of living amongst a crowd of brand-new vampires. But now I can't help but picture Jasper as Riley. I mean, didn't they essentially have the same job? I bet Jasper was way better than Riley at it, too, given his special ability.

"No," Edward nearly barks, effectively breaking my train of thought before it is finished. Then he shakes his head and softens his voice a bit. "No, they're not the same. Jasper is better than that trash; he's changed."

I nod. But I know he is wrong about one thing, at least: Riley is far worse than "trash". He is a lying, conniving misfortune of a vampire, and he murdered the man I love. Hate and anger roll off of me in waves as I think of all his terrible deceptions, ultimately leading to the death of nearly everyone I had ever met in my short lifetime. I begin to shake with rage.

Edward's eyes flash. "I killed him," he admits without preamble. I look up, surprised. He nods. "In the attack. He and Victoria came after Bella and me. I took them both down. You don't have to waste another second of your thoughts on that awful excuse for a vampire." His eyes burn.

Gratitude fills me. I smile as I imagine Riley burning in pieces in the middle of the woods somewhere, and nearly laugh. "Thank you," I say aloud, the first time I've spoken in hours. "I hope it hurt."

Then I have a plethora of new questions for him. He answers all of them readily. I learn that the mysterious creator of my old coven is named Victoria, and I learn of her vindictive motivation for attacking the Cullens with a newborn army. I learn of her miserable failure on that front. I learn of werewolves, how they helped the Cullens defeat Victoria's army, and the treaty that exists between the Cullens and the Quileutes here in Forks. I learn about the Volturi (vampire police) and their rules. I file all of this new information away for future thought. Then I return the favor by telling him of the things Diego and I found out during our short reconnaissance mission, which he finds very interesting. I suspect he is filing it away, too. This whole exchange happens without me even opening my mouth. Now, this is my kind of conversation, I think. One where I participate but don't actually have to talk.

Edward laughs. "That's not what most people think," he says, then adds, "And I would know."

What do they normally think, I wonder? Isn't it just easier, more convenient, to converse this way if you have the option?

"Not for most. Like I said, you're different. Most everyone finds it... annoying. Or inconvenient. At least strange. Some things, people just want to keep to themselves. But not you." He looks troubled. "You just accept it as fact and move on. That's what's so interesting about your brain; you're so very skilled at compartmentalizing. You use logic to get you through any confusing or uncertain situation, and anything extraneous, you choose to not think about. I mean, you just don't. That's not easy for most people."

I shrug. That's just how I deal with things. I don't understand what the significance is.

"It's significant," Edward explains, "because you can even put off your thirst. You can choose to ignore it. I'm one hundred years old, and thirst still distracts me when it's really strong. I can choose not to act on it, of course, because I've had so much practice, but it still plagues my conscious thoughts. Look at you! You're three months old, and I come home carrying Bella's scent - Bella's scent, mind you - and you simply acknowledge your instinct to hunt, and immediately let it go. You can even smell her now, and you hardly notice anymore. Your mental discipline is paralleled only by that of Carlisle, Bree."

I had forgotten to stall my breathing somewhere along the "conversation". He's right. I can smell her, and I am choosing not to think on it. I suppose this will come in handy as I learn to avoid drinking the blood of humans in this new lifestyle.

"Exactly!" Edward says excitedly. "You see why we're all so impressed? You will likely have absolutely no problem living the way we do, especially once your newborn senses fade. Each of us had an extremely difficult time adjusting, and the thought of you avoiding that stage... Well, it's an incredible opportunity for you, to say the least."

Huh. I file this away for future thought, along with the overabundance of new information I have received today. For now, I still have a pressing question, something that has been troubling me subconsciously ever since I put it together in the woods. I remember the Cullens collectively laughing at my inquiry about Edward's sense of smell, but I had been seriously confused at Emmett's response.

Edward smiles. "Is that really the strangest thing you've heard in the past few days?" he asks.

I think it's actually the strangest thing I've heard in my entire life. The strength of her scent on him when he returned today... Well, they had to have been very close for him to have smelled so strongly. But he didn't seem upset, which meant she wasn't dead; he hadn't killed her.

Does not compute.

Chuckling at me, he shakes his head. Then he sighs, looking away from me. "Killing her is one thing I will never do," he says gravely.

But, even if you had the mental presence and physical ability to resist drinking human blood that close to you (of which I am still skeptical), why would you put yourself through the agony? What could he possibly gain from a... relationship... with a human? The only relationship I have ever seen a human have with a vampire is that of prey and predator, respectively.

But even as I question it, I know the answer. It's written all over his features: he loves her. It's that simple; he's made the decision already that he will never hurt her, and now it's easy for him, not miraculous in any way. For me, however, it is incredible.

I scoff. And he says I have good self-control.

Fun times! Haha. Oh, and I forgot to say this last chapter, but I'm sorry for the verb tense shift. I just decided I like present tense better, and also I think it kind of shows how fundamentally Bree's life has changed after making this choice. I don't know. I'm starting to sound like an English teacher, haha :) Anyway, review!