I sit in a front desk while he props against the lab table we slightly defiled a few hours prior. There is temperance in the way he shifts between his feet, a cognizant motion which seduces and repels at the same time. He's not my soon-to-be lover. He's my teacher, my elder, holding some knowledge I must possess in order to board this perilous train we're running alongside like criminals fleeing from some former life.

He braces himself against the counter. "Thank you for coming," he says.

My insides shrivel. This is a meeting, not a steamy affair to be consummated in the most dangerous of tidings. I look to the door. I can play that game, too. "Yeah. Well, Ms. Kirby will notice I'm missing."

He grins. "She won't."

She notices everything. I shift this time, hinting my aggravation. "What do you want to talk about?"

"This...what we're doing?"

"We're just talking," I say.

Darkness presides where his grin once perched. He moves from the table, pushing away, toward me. Butterflies return with objective movements and conjure my racing heart. We're eye-level. Voice low, deep, he says, "I mean earlier, Bella. After class. You know."

Yes, I do. I lean toward him. "Maybe I need reminding."

His fingers touch my cheek, a slight pinch. The flat of his palm. It drops and with it my anticipation he built in such a small wave. He wants to say something, but can't, or won't. He looks down.

"What?"

Shake of the head. Flicker of a smile. It's fake. Remorseful or frightened. "Why are you interested in me?"

This surprises me. Not even I'm aware of why I hold interest in this man. There is a stumbling gallop inside my chest when I see him, the quickening of adrenaline. Am I so shallow to want to be with him simply because of his unearthly beauty? I am. I'm sure he has other qualities to value, too. But, to this I shrug. "I find you fascinating." Perhaps I do.

He lifts then lowers his eyes. "I want to be honest with you. I'm uncomfortable with this, but it doesn't mean I regret everything that's happened. You're beautiful and smart. You deserve more. I just don't want you to get hurt."

I shake my head. I feel my mouth smile, open with an incredulous belief that I would be hurt in all this. Does he want to inflict pain? "Why would I get hurt?"

"I'm not going to be able to be with you all the time. There will be rules between us..."

"Rules?"

"One of them being we can't have any physical contact on school grounds."

"But..."

He stops me. "It's too risky."

I'm staring at him. Anger hits my cheeks, boils my blood. "Then what's the point of all this? What's the point if we can't be together at all?" I want to hit the floor running. Wounded. Pride cut and bleeding. Why give so mercilessly then take it away? Rejection burns. His fingers take hold of mine. That cool grasp, an echo to the chilling air wafting above us, lessens the fire consuming my mind.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." Pause. He clears his throat with slight nervousness. I can tell by the way his brow dips and his eyes adjust to mine. Growing, clear, focused, bigger through the lenses, and full of curiosity. He sees me, all of me. "What are you doing this Saturday?"

I twist my fingers into his, lacing us together. It's the question I fear. The binding of raw, secular emotions from separate sources coming together for one purpose. It's the question which makes it real, even though our bindings earlier stroked the canvas. This man has the power to hurt me, to cut and injure with words or space, but what hurts more is to let go. More than a question, I fear being without our secret. I fear being without this small power I hold because Edward Cullen is mine now. "Whatever you want me to do."