Chapter summary: Dammit! Why did I say anything? I'm a Hale. It's human. It knows! It must die. This is the LAW! She'd forgive me with her big doe eyes as I killed her, too. I've killed plenty of doe before. Why does it hurt thinking about killing this one?

I awoke exhausted. Sheesh! Could the dreams be any more vivid? I felt warm, all bundled up in the blanket, that was starting to smell an awful lot like me, which was starting to smell an awful lot like a girl that hadn't bathed properly and who lived in a wood-burning stove house for two days? three days? four days? I was feeling gamey.

Yuck.

I also wasn't feeling cold, and I also wasn't feeling another body sitting next to me in the bed. I hadn't opened my eyes yet, but I started to panic. She said she was going to stay! My hand patted the bed, desperately seeking Rosalie. Nothing.

I drew in a sharp gasp, but then a cold hand covered my now warm one, and I breathed out in relief. She stayed! I opened my eyes, and they were greeted with the most glorious sight they could see: golden hair and eyes, perfect patrician lines, ruby red lips. Rosalie's face.

Yesterday, the exact same vision caused quite a different reaction. Funny what one day can do. Remembering the rest of yesterday's, um, vision, I quickly glanced down and back up to her face ... I hope she didn't notice.

Fortunately for me today, the rest of her was clothed: she had on a white cable knit sweater, under which she wore a burgundy turtleneck.

Red, I guess, is her color. She was always wearing something in it. It should consider itself lucky. I kind of wished I were the color red.

Okay, now, Bella: stop it.

She was also wearing white denim pants, and the effect was such, with the exception of her hair and the turtleneck, that she would win every single game of hide-n-seek if we were to play it outside. She could probably standing out in the open ten feet from me, and I would walk right past her. She looked like she could blend in perfectly with the snow.

Of course, if I buried myself under three feet of that snow, she would probably still find me if she were a mile away — advantage: vampire. That's what I was, Bella-the-beacon: heartbeat and scent. According to Rosalie, I was a magnet. A vampire magnet.

Maybe I should be thinking of something other than vampire hide-n-seek. I wondered what would happen when you were 'it'. Did 'it' mean 'lunch'?

Um, not thinking of that, right? So, let's start down another path:

"Good morning." I said, trying to sound noncommittal. Had her feelings changed during the night? She looked ... hesitant? withdrawn? Or was that how vampires looked in the morning? Or was I projecting my thoughts or feelings on her? Or fears? I couldn't help but think back over my dreams and shudder.

She nodded.

Oh, yeah, that's right. Silence would be her response on Day two of Bella's period. Another day of imposed silences and one-sided conversations and guessing games. I hoped all this thinking on my part wouldn't cause my head to explode. Pa wasn't much for talking, either, but I had had seventeen years to know his moods, and he was a regular auctioneer, talking a mile a minute, when it came to Miss Statue over there.

Of course, when Pa broke his silences, he didn't have to weigh the risk of talking to me enflaming the desire to drink my blood ...

I grimaced. Thinking of Pa made me think of not being able to see Pa again. Vampire hide-and-seek suddenly seemed like a cheerier thought to entertain. I sighed. New topic.

"So, did I talk in my sleep last night?" I wondered how much she heard, or if I talked about the dreams that I remembered.

She shrugged. Great! It was going to be one of those kinds of conversations, where even yes/no questions got ambiguous answers. It sure was a lot of work — a lot more work than I was used to — pushing through these silences, and, when she wasn't silent, her utterly confusing take on things, and I couldn't measure the results. Did these conversations help me or help her? I had no idea. But I promised I'd try, and I figured a good way to start looking at myself was my dreams. But maybe I was wrong; maybe I should ask her first and see what she would say.

"I had some really vivid dreams last night. Would you like me to tell you them? Is that something you'd be interested to hear about?"

She walked over to the table, got one of the chairs, and set it by the head of the bed and sat down, looking at me interestedly. I guess she wanted to hear them then. I sat up in the bed to tell my stories, and that's when I noticed that I had on PJ bottoms as well as the tee and sweater. I also noticed the pad didn't feel full at all, after however many hours I slept. And the panties felt different than the ones I had on last night, primarily in that they weren't wet from melted snow. Let me tell you: melted snow pressing up against your butt and other sensitive areas ... not comfortable. But thinking of what went on to change all that ... so I checked.

"Did you, um, change me?" I dropped my eyes as I asked this question. I tried not to be embarrassed, and I tried not to blush. That didn't work out so well. Oh! How was I going to get her answer if I wasn't looking at her. I lifted my lowered eyes to see her nod, then averted them again. She changed me. During my period. I did not want to think what she saw as she changed pads, for I could barely look as I took care of my own feminine needs. Taking care of somebody else's? Ewww!

"Um, great; um, thanks." I did have to go eventually. I wondered if she realized this? She said she couldn't forget anything, right? I was also hungry, and I didn't see soup on the stove, and I had already finished off the biscuits. Yesterday's meals weren't all that big and didn't really covered all the activities of the past two? three? days. Yes, I was hungry.

But the dreams were floating there, diaphanous, and I knew they would be gone if I didn't cement them in recollection, and I had a ready audience, too, so ...

"Okay, umm, I'm kind of hungry, but I want to tell you the dreams before I forget them ... I suppose," I added thoughtfully, "if I had a writing pad and some ticonerogas, I could write them down as they occurred ..."

She waved at me to continue. I suppose I'd lobby another time for that.

"They may not be what you'd like to hear ..."

She waved again. I guess I had permission.

"Okay. So my first dream, I was watching you cook like yesterday?" She nodded. "Well you grabbed out a piece of meat from the soup pot, except, it wasn't a piece of meat. It was my right arm. I saw the hand hanging limply, as I reached over with my left arm to feel for my missing arm. It wasn't attached to my shoulder, of course, because you held it: you were sectioning my arm like the meat yesterday? You tore off my hand first and put it in the basket. Then you tore off a piece up toward my elbow, and then you tore the remaining upper arm in half."

She looked at me, her face a complete mask. Just listening.

"The funny thing about that dream: I was completely dispassionate about what was going on. I had this feeling like: 'oh! that's what you needed to do.' Somehow, in my dream, it all made sense."

I looked at her again and continued. "My second dream, we were outside. You know the tree you felled?" She nodded. "Well, I was the fallen tree. I don't know if I was the tree when it was growing in the ground, but I was the fallen tree on the ground, you know?" I paused. She nodded.

"Then you got on top of me, and you tore off my bark, but then I was me again, and you had just torn off my face and all my skin on the front of my body?"

Nothing from her.

"But it didn't hurt. I don't know why, but I just felt a pulling, and I stayed on the ground and didn't move."

"Those were my first two dreams. Do you know what they mean?"

She shrugged, emotionlessly. So I pressed: "Do you want to hear what I think they mean?"

She shrugged again. Well, okay, she didn't say no. "I think my dreams were telling me what's going to happen. That's what you're going to do to me, right? After you kill me? Tear me up into small pieces so nobody'll be able to identify me. You have to do that, you don't really have another option, right?"

She looked away.

"It's okay, you know? If I'm already dead, right? My Pa's in law enforcement, so I know these things. You'll need to pulverize my teeth, too, you know. And burn everything else for good measure, but you have to destroy the teeth. Obviously, the hands, too, but the teeth are what's used to identify people: they last the longest."

She looked back at me, and I looked down: "Unless you want my Pa to know what happened to me, but I think you don't want that, right? No traces, right? That's why I have to die, 'cause I know: I know about you, about what you are. So I guess it's better for Pa never to know anything. So at least he can go on, you know?"

I was trying not to be emotional, but I felt my jaw starting to tighten and my chin ... well, it was hard to keep it still.

"Yeah, I guess it's better that he doesn't know. I guess." My hands were playing with the blanket, drawing lazy circles. It seemed really fascinating for me, what my hands were doing.

I lifted my sweater's arm, my right arm, my arm that was still on me now, and not in the soup pot, and blotted away some water that had somehow appeared on my left cheek.

I took a breath. And sniffled: I had a little bit of congestion.

"My other dream I had, though," I looked up as I continued. Rosalie was a complete cypher, a void, nothing was coming out from her for me to guess what she thought of what I was saying. She did look like a marble statue. The eyes had light in them, however. She was listening.

"I tell you, that one was really different. You were going to give me a drink of water that you would make from snow, right?" I looked; she looked back. "Remember? Oh, sorry! I forgot that you remember everything. I didn't mean to ..."

She did interrupt this time. One cold, hard finger over my lips, her head lifted up in one nod, I guess signaling me to continue, to move along.

"Right." I said after she removed her hand. "Anyway, this time, when you put your hands on the stove, the flesh bubbled away and then charred. This time, unlike in the other dreams, I reacted. I was screaming and crying, and I pulled you off the stove, but some of your flesh stayed on the stove, and it was sizzling, like bacon. You seemed unaffected, however: you were euphoric. It was like you had leprosy, you know: you didn't feel any pain at all. You said, 'Oh, it's okay! Have a drink.' and you offered the blackened water in what was left of your hands. But I couldn't take it; I just couldn't. I felt sick and in pain for your hands and scared. And still you were strangely happy and at peace. 'That's okay, sweetie, but I'm thirsty, and I need to fix my hands. Would you give me a drink?' I was scared; I was so scared: I was scared that you were going to put snow in my hands and then press them on the stove, but you reassured me right away. 'No, just cup your hands, and the water will come, you'll see!' and you grabbed my arms above my wrists with your charred stubs and pulled them together. So, I cupped my hands, even though I was still afraid, so I watched your stubby hands to rest my eyes on something other than my hands as they went to your contented face. And then I felt something funny and wet and warm, and I felt my hands fill with liquid, and you were drinking and drinking and sighing. I saw your hands reform ... they got better and better and then they were as good as new. And I was happy for you, because it hurt me to see you hurting. I was so relieved."

She looked away again as my eyes tried to penetrate the depths of hers.

"But then ... I felt a pulling through my arms, like a rope was being dragged out of them? And I was going to ask you to take your hands off my arms, please, to be gentle, because I was so fragile, but your hands weren't there any more. They were cradling and holding my hands, still bowled, and I saw your head over my wrists. They were cut open and you were drinking and you said, 'Oh! Your blood's so delicious! So sweet! The aqua vida!'"

By the time I got to this part, Rosalie's head snapped up, and her eyes shifted from golden to black in a flash, and then she did make a sound.

"Ah!" It was a groan of pain.

And she was gone. I waited for the cold blast to come but none did. Hey, wow, this time she had closed the door ... lucky me!