four
november
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow...
- - - Robert Frost "My November Guest"
o.o.o
In Phoenix, it was Bella's habit to read the newspaper; Renee indulged her interest with subscriptions to The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times as well as The Phoenix New Times. Each morning, she would read her papers along with her coffee, updating herself on the state of the world, both local and global. This was not a habit that had followed Bella to Forks. It wasn't daily, anymore. When Bella moved, Renee had altered the subscriptions to deliver only on the weekends, but there wasn't exactly an equivalent to the Phoenix paper and so Bella had been living for two months mostly ignorant of the local news beat.
Until the second day of November, that is. When she goes downstairs in search for her morning coffee, The Peninsula Daily News is flopped on the new kitchen table, opened to a story that makes her heart lodge itself in her throat. Weakly, abandoning her thermos and the still-warm carafe of coffee, Bella sinks into the kitchen chair, tracing her fingers over the raised ink, speed-reading the story once, and then twice.
"Oh, God," she breathes. She feels cold all of the sudden, the hair raised on the back of her neck. Not terror, but awareness. She isn't scared.
She's suspicious - and unsettled, thrown off her axis and irked by the imbalance.
Without even bothering to fix her coffee - and she would surely regret that decision later when the caffeine withdrawal kicked in - Bella snatches the newspaper off the table and hustles to school, reading the story again and again even though she'd already memorized it. Searching for clues in a mystery that she knew humans would never solve.
The Cullen-Hale brood is already in the mostly-full parking lot by the time her stomping feet carry her the mile-long trek to Forks High - and she does not hesitate to weave directly through empty spaces, storming up to Edward Cullen and shoving the paper against his stony chest. "They're dead," she blazons, the accusation clear and biting in the ever-still November morning. She keeps her voice down, conscious of the curious gaze of other students, but she struggles with her expression, which she's sure is frosty.
Edward catches the paper before it falls. He reads much faster than she does, but she expected that. She waits, eyeing each of his siblings in turn as they all read the blip of a story that headlined the newspaper. Shock seems the main register of emotion for all of them, save Rosalie, who has the satisfaction of the cat who at the canary.
"Bella, this wasn't us," Edward says beseechingly. His eyes are lighter than she's ever seen them, bordering on the shade of whiskey in direct sunlight.
"You're vampires," she reminds him unnecessarily, voice clipped and quiet. "And those guys were drained of blood."
The guys in question? Her attackers in Port Angeles, the same ones she made the point to watch being dropped outside the Port Angeles police station - all four of them dead before a bail hearing can be set for any of the various felonies they were accused of, but the leader, a man named Lonnie, he wasn't just drained. His throat was ripped out. A kill that was personal. Who else knew, who else had motivation, except for the Cullens?
"We don't drink human blood," Edward declares, stepping forward carefully, as if she would - or could - hurt him. Physically, probably not. But judging by the flare of agony expressed in his drawn features, she had more than enough ammunition to hurt him emotionally. It's a new power - a power over another person - that she isn't sure she wants, isn't sure she can handle responsibly. She had no doubt that Edward was preparing to hand her his heart on a silver platter at some point in the future; she didn't think it would be in evidence so soon, though. And as Bella's ire cools, her tense posture drooping, a well of guilt opens in her chest. She doesn't push him away when his gentle hands fall onto her shoulders; she doesn't flinch when he stoops down to her level, bending his knees so that they are the same height; she only studies him carefully, reads him as silently as she reads her books. "Bella, please. Believe me."
She does.
Her lips part in a tremble that catches his gaze. "If not you, then who," she petitions in a whisper. "Edward, who would have done this?"
His lush mouth pulls in taut and he straightens, casting his gaze to the forest around the school. "The one who called your name," he suggests. Then he looks at his siblings, a contemplative moment that ends when they all nod their acceptance of whatever decision that had just been made. "There is so much that you need to know. Have lunch with us."
She bites her lip at his request. If she does this - well, it's another step closer to him, isn't it? Another step that she would have taken eventually, a step that she would have had to take before the school year ended because she was graduating and he still had a year left. And she would have had to establish this thing between them - without any doubts, without any confusion - before then, to stake her claim, to reaffirm what he's been chasing. Her hand is forced, now, and it's all happening much faster than she felt prepared for, but…it would have happened eventually. She would have taken this step closer to him. He was playing the long-game. It was inevitable.
Bella releases her lip. "Fine. Lunch."
"I'll answer everything, anything you ask. I promise."
Drawn by his sincerity, Bella can't resist a parting call - a single touch to the back of his hand as she steps away. The thrill of his mind, just a taste of that chaos, beats a drum inside her heart. She wants more - and so does he. Even in that brief moment, she can tell that all Edward Cullen wants to do is kiss her - and let the world be damned.
Heat suffuses her cheeks. She looks at him, ultra-aware that he knew what she had just done - that she had just read his thoughts - and she has the sense that if he could blush, he would be. Elation bubbles behind her ribs.
"God save me from the mood swingin' of teenagers," Jasper groans, rubbing at his temples. At his side, Alice vibrates with unmitigated excitement, even as her eyes focus and unfocus on the clouds overhead, like she's seeing things that are invisible to everyone else. "Lord and Mary, this is worse than torture. He's up, he's down, she's up, she's down - I didn't think vampires could get headaches, but by the grace of God, it's actually possible."
Emmett guffaws, then drops a heavy arm over Edward's shoulders, unbothered by Edward's attempts to shake him off. "Hear that, Eddie-boy? Jazz thinks you've got a chance. "
Rosalie rolls her eyes. She's still holding the newspaper and folds it beneath her arm. "I'll walk you to class," she says to Bella, flipping her golden hair over her shoulder. "We should go before Mr. Varner decides to make an example out of you again."
Bella hadn't even realized that she missed homeroom.
She lets her eyes linger on Edward for a half-beat more and then follows Rosalie to each of their lockers, taking advantage of the way crowds part for the vampire and marveling at how much faster she could get to and from her classes if people would move for her that easily.
For the first time, she thinks, maybe some day.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Bella is very good at compartmentalizing. All throughout Trigonometry, she very pointedly doesn't think of the newspaper tucked in Rosalie's bag or the impending lunch conversation she was going to have with - count them - five vampires. Friendly vampires, sure. But still vampires.
She couldn't have predicted Edward Cullen standing in the hallway when she emerges from class, ready with a piping-hot paper cup of coffee and a slightly-nervous smile. She takes the cup from him, careful not to brush their fingers - it felt too intimate, too soon after the touch in the parking lot - with some hesitation. She expects the overly-sweet concoctions that typically reside in such cups, but instead is greeted by her familiar strong black coffee, albeit in a brand that laves richly over her taste buds.
Her surprise must show, because Edward ducks his head and says, "Esme has been very interested in human things, lately."
In other words - Esme not only made this cup of coffee, but had also gone through the trouble of buying a coffee maker and coffee, neither of which she would probably use herself.
And that's, like, Bella's third clue that this thing blooming between her and Edward is a pretty big deal.
"Thank you," she murmurs around the rim of the cup.
Edward Cullen has a surprisingly boyish grin.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Bella pauses by her usual lunch table only long enough to tell Angela that she has a project with one of the Cullens; Angela takes this explanation at face value, not pressing for details the way Jessica obviously wants to. Then, she walks directly to the Cullen-Hale table and sits with her back facing the rest of the lunch room. She doesn't bother buying food; the vampires purchase more than enough each day to keep up the rouse and she can just skim off their lunch trays.
She's early though, and so she does what she usually does - pulls out a book and begins to read. Ironically, today that book is Crime and Punishment. How appropriate. Is she not also in a situation where the extraordinary people of the world seem to believe they have a right to commit any crime they so choose - simply because they are extraordinary? Is that not what happened to the men who attacked her, the men who were killed by some random vampire?
Some vampire who knew Bella, but who Bella didn't know? Or didn't think she knew?
Her mind is wandering an uncharacteristic amount, which is why she doesn't startle when the Cullens and Hales converge on their table. Edward sits elbow-to-elbow with her, Rosalie on her other side, Alice directly across from her and bracketed by Emmett and Jasper. The seating feels awfully deliberate, something they had discussed before hand. She doesn't even want to begin wondering about that. Her attention must be reserved for more important matters.
And so that is how Bella spends the lunch hour. Between Edward scooting food in her direction - he quickly learns that she prefers raw fruits and vegetables to pizza - and sipping on water, Bella learns about vampires. Most importantly, she learns that there are two different types.
Those who feed on the blood of humans, who Jasper calls traditionalists.
And those who food on the blood of animals, which Emmett jokingly refers to as vegetarians.
Edward's working theory is that it is a traditional vampire who had killed the men from Port Angeles. In particular, he seems to believe that it is a vampire that has been stalking Bella for a very long time. When she asks why he would think that, Alice has to jump in and succinctly explain that some vampires come out of the change gifted. Jasper, for example, is an empath and Alice is psychic. Edward reads minds.
"Not yours," he says quickly, then he furrows his brows and corrects himself. "Only a few times and only when we touched."
He looks like he wants to say more, but his self-restraint is admirable. Instead, he goes on to describe that while this female vampire had clear memories of Bella at various ages in life, she was also careful to stay mostly out of Edward's mental range and redirect her thoughts before it becomes possible to link these flashes of Bella to anything significant - like why she knows Bella or who the vampire is. Edward's fingers curl into fists in obvious aggravation as he explains this. He thinks that he has failed, somehow, but Bella doesn't see it that way.
It's only been a couple of days since the Halloween Dance when he first heard this vampire's mind. He's being too hard on himself.
He's incredulous at her comfort when she offers it. "Bella, you're in danger."
She purses her lips thoughtfully. "Am I really, though? Even if she comes closer, I'm not completely helpless," she says pointedly.
He isn't derailed at this reminder of their first encounter. Rather, he grasps onto the topic with a single-minded curiosity. "You're a gifted human," he pronounces baldly. "I've never encountered a gift so fully developed in a human before."
"That doesn't mean it hasn't happened," Rosalie interjects, nodding toward Alice.
"I was locked in an asylum for a reason," Alice agrees, then swiftly explains the circumstances surrounding her transition into vampirism, which in turn instigates a round-table discussion about all of their changes, kept as brief as possible. Alice doesn't remember her human life at all, but she guesses that she might have been fifteen; Jasper was changed at nineteen during the Civil War and had been involved in vampire wars ever since; Rosalie was attacked and saved by Carlisle, the Cullen patriarch, at eighteen and had been bitter about her eternal life until she found a dying Emmett, who had been mauled by a bear on the eve of his twentieth birthday.
Edward was the first, though - but she already knew his story.
The lunch hour is eaten up before any solutions can be found about this female vampire who seems to know her, but at least Bella has more trust in the Cullens, in Edward. One thing is clear, though. Whoever this vampire is obviously doesn't mean her any arm - if she's really been watching Bella since she was a girl, then she had more than enough time to attack her before and honestly, the attack of those vile men had seemed to be fueled by vengeance.
Bella doesn't think she has anything to worry about.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Edward disagrees.
She only catches sight of him by accident. Bella emerges from the steamy bathroom still towel-drying her hair and dressed for bed in a simple cotton sleepshirt. She putters around her room, repacking her school bag and organizing her books for the next day, humming to herself as she rubs Great Aunt Suplicia's lotion onto her hands and elbows. She bypasses the window, casting a cursory glance outside, and then stops in her tracks.
Edward Cullen is in a tree not thirty feet away from her bedroom window. She might not have seen him, except that moonlight catches on the skin of his face in a dazzling silver-white that acts exactly like a beacon. He's awfully lucky that Charlie is already asleep.
Bella opens her window. "Do we need to have a conversation about stalking?" she asks, barely above a whisper. She knows he can hear her.
Edward has the grace to appear chagrined, but he doesn't drop from the branch and retreat.
She sighs. "I can tell that I won't be talking you out of this," she mutters.
He shake his head.
"Go home if it starts raining," she orders before briskly closing her window, shutting off her lamp, and burrowing beneath the covers.
She won't admit it to him, but she does feel safer just knowing that he's out there - her vigilant vampire guardian.
o.o.o
o.o.o
And so the weeks pass like this - in a limbo of waiting for some untold danger to play out and holding her breath for Edward's next move.
She's content to bide her time for both issues.
Bella Swan is a patient girl.
But it seems like fate is determined to force her hand in a hundred different ways.
Later, she'll look back and determine that it was all ineluctable - both since she turned fifteen and since she touched Edward Cullen. Maybe even since her birth.
o.o.o
o.o.o
The Olympic Peninsula of Washington is known for its early frosts just as much as it is known for its near-constant cloudcover, so Bella is unperturbed by the first morning that leaves the day dawning with a dusting of snow on the ground. From her vantage point at her bedroom window, the haurfrost coating evergreen pines, house roofs, and every square inch of ground within her line of sight is enchanting. Forks looks magical in the snow, especially the untamed forest - like she's entered a fairytale and she ought to find Snow White traipsing along with the huntsman.
She's a bit less enthused the following day when she discovers that the snow has melted and then refrozen overnight, leaving a tricky layer of black ice along the asphalt. Dressed in a thick cobalt turtleneck sweater, canvas jacket, skinny jeans, and sturdy tan hiking boots, Bella keeps warm on the walk to school with her thermos in one hand and As I Lay Dying in the other. Her walk is slower to accommodate her careful steps.
By the time she reaches school, the lot is filled up and she is forced to walk through the rows of cars as opposed to the sidewalk in order to avoid the impromptu snowball fight that had broken out in multiple groups. She isn't bothered, though, because it brings her closer to the promise of indoor warmth all the sooner.
And then, she slips - just slightly, just enough that she drops her book and sloshes her coffee and must catch herself on a nearby tailgate. She frowns at the ice beneath her boot, then scoops up her book, dusting off the cover with a pinched brow. Honestly, couldn't the school put salt down, or something? Even with the thick tread on her boots, there's no traction to be found in the parking lot and with the way teenagers drive, it just doesn't seem very smart or very safe -
The squeal of tires, followed by the metallic churn of brakes pumping ineffectually, draws her attention.
Bella looks up, searching for the source of the sound, but finds her eyes drawn directly into the horrified gaze of one Edward Cullen. If vampires could lose their color, then Edward had just managed to do so. She doesn't understand, and so looks to the nearest sibling - Jasper looks to be in physical pain - Alice is completely immobile, the unmistakable lost gaze she associated with a vision-sighting - Rosalie and Emmett frozen statues -
She follows Rosalie's gaze.
Oh.
And here Bella was, right in the path of an old red Izuzu SUV that had hit the ice wrong, probably driving too fast, and now wouldn't be able to stop before impact.
There wasn't any time to move. Bella is only human.
She closes her eyes, bracing herself. It will only hurt for a little while, she reasons, but even her thoughts quiver in fright. She's scared. She doesn't want to die. She can't prevent this, though, and it's only a matter of time before her body is crushed beneath the vehicle -
The impact doesn't come from the direction she was expecting. That is the first thing she notices, followed quickly by the realization that she is caged within a protective grasp. Familiar arms drawn around her waist and shoulders, lifting her off the ground as two bodies turn and twist in the air, crashing back onto the ground a split second before the spit of shattering glass showers over them. Her forehead bangs against an unforgiving surface, but not the ice; beneath her ear is a steady rumbling growl; and the scent is amazingly heady, all musk and cinnamon and brown sugar.
Edward.
Even before she opens her eyes to the sight of his body beneath hers, his back braced against a tan car hard enough to leave an impression of his shoulders, she knows that Edward Cullen had just saved her life. She pulls back enough to catch his onxy-dark gaze, his flared nostrils as he breathes deep - checking for injury by scent, she knows, because one of her hands is trapped between them, skimming the skin at the base of his neck, and she is receiving all sorts of interesting information.
The most prominent is a revolving thought of not her not her not her not her not her.
The second is the knowledge that Emmett Cullen had helped to, had stopped the SUV in the blink of an eye and darted away while Edward had taken care of Bella personally.
The third is that, for the first time, Edward isn't thirsting for her blood.
And the fourth - registering somewhere far, far in the back of his mind - is that the female vampire who has been following Bella had seen this all happen and would have intervened if Edward and Emmett had not.
Bella draws her hand away, gasping at the influx as much as she gasps at Edward's unrelenting gaze. She's trembling from the adrenaline. She swallows. "Edward."
His growl is the only reply she receives - she takes it more as a grunt of acknowledgment, a noise that seems universal to all males.
Bella's swift mind latches onto the foremost concern at the moment. "I'm fine," she tells him. "But you need to calm down if you're going to be seen here."
His growl tapers off and he is still for a long moment before standing both of them up in one fluid movement, a steady hand on her lower back that doesn't move the entire time it takes for the student driving the SUV to be lugged out of the drivers seat by an assortment of teachers. Edward remains hunched protectively at her back as the EMTs arrive and doesn't sacrifice any distance when Charlie shows up, frantic with worry for her even as he shoots Edward a dark look. Unfortunately, she's not able to talk either of them out of visiting the hospital, but she does avoid going in the ambulance, which is a win as far as she is concerned.
Charlie drives her to Forks General. The Cullens follow, along with half the school.
"So," Charlie begins gruffly. "Edward Cullen, huh?"
Bella's head lolls toward him. "He did just save my life, you know. We wouldn't be able to have this super uncomfortable conversation if he hadn't pulled me out of the way."
"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I have to like the way he looks at my little girl."
Her brow quirks. "And how does he look at me?"
Charlie sighs. "The same way I used to look at your mom."
Bella's heart leaps, banging against her breastbone. "Oh," she says softly, taken aback by her father's comment. He's usually so ineffable about Renee, about everything; it's kind of shocking, on top of the events of the morning, to hear him talk about her, especially in this context.
They are silent the rest of the way to the hospital and silent still while Charlie fills out the insurance forms. She doesn't see the Cullens pass through the waiting room, but she doesn't have time to think about it because a nurse is already calling her back to be examined and Charlie is trailing along stoically. Bella sits through the primary assessment with an air of unfamiliarity; she hardly went to doctors, let alone hospitals, to not find the process a bit fascinating. She's intrigued by the measurements of blood pressure and heart rate, wondering to the exact theory behind these practices…
The nurse leaves before she can ask any questions, which is somewhat disappointing, but she can doesn't have a chance to ruminate before Dr. Carlisle Cullen is stepping around the examination curtain with shining golden hair and gold-coin eyes to match. She isn't surprised to see that Carlisle is just as attractive as his wife or his "children".
"Chief Swan," he greets as he slips on blue latex gloves. "Isabella. Edward tells me that you've hit your head?"
Did Edward neglect to mention that I hit my head on his chest? she wonders dryly.
"I have a hard head," she tells Carlisle. She wonders how a vampire decided to go into medicine, of all things. Wasn't it awkward with all the blood?
"And she's stubborn," Charlie adds. "Better check real good."
Carlisle chuffs a polite laugh, pressing cool fingers over Bella's scalp, searching for a tenderness that is not there. His examination is swift and ultimately concludes that Bella is uninjured. When Bella points out that she could have told him that, he smiles and says, "Edward told me you would say that." Carlisle removes his gloves, signing off on her release; he glances up at her, holding her eye for a moment, and she decides that he doesn't look upset that Edward and Emmett had violated a major rule of vampire-secret keeping in saving her life. Interesting. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Isabella. You're free to take her home, Chief, though please come back to the hospital if there is any dizziness or confusion."
"Will do. Thanks, Doctor."
Bella slips off the examination table, tilting her head as she considering her father. "So, can I go back to school?"
"I don't think so."
"But I'm fine, even the doctor said so."
"Nice try, kid," Charlie says. "You're just going to have to go home and be lazy while I suspend the license of this idiot driver."
"Dad."
o.o.o
o.o.o
Dear Great Uncle Aro,
Life has certainly been exciting since moving to Forks. High school dances and boys aside, I seem to have become some kind of magnet for attention, most of it bad in my estimation. I do not wish to worry you, but if I don't tell you then Charlie's dramatic portrayal will make the incident seem way more serious than it actually was. I was almost in a car accident as a pedestrian. I am fine - no blood, no foul. The boy I mentioned before actually pulled me out of the way.
On that note, I have begun to give serious thought to the field of medicine - or at least, serious interest has begun to plague me. At my recent trip to the hospital, I concluded that I am far too ignorant of anatomy and modern medical practices. I think it might be exciting to be a doctor. Wouldn't you agree? Is there anything more fulfilling than saving the lives of others? Perhaps my recent experience has colored my thinking overmuch, but I can't help but think of my future and imagine that the occupation of doctor might be well-suited. I certainly have the memory for it, don't I? Although, I wonder, do I have the passion? Charlie has always told me that passion matters more than knowledge - that is why he chose the police force, I think, because of his passion for protecting people. I am passionate about books. Could I also be passionate about other things, do you think?
Have you read any interesting books, lately? I am about to start on Jane Austen again, Sense & Sensibility, out of nostalgia. It was the first book you sent me, as I'm sure you will recall.
All of my love,
Your Great Grandniece Isabella
o.o.o
o.o.o
A knock on the door early the next morning rouses Bella from slumber. Or rather, the knock startles Charlie in the bathroom, but since his face is half-slathered with shaving cream, he wakes Bella up and sends her downstairs to answer the door in his stead.
Like always, Bella is wide awake the moment her eyes open and she shoos Charlie away while she slips out of bed, tucking her feet into cable-knit slippers and shuffling through the hallway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her flannel sleepshirt is long enough to hit just above her knees, which is just this side of appropriate to answer the door -
Edward grins at her, eyes glinting like topaz. "Good morning."
Bella's reaction is instinctive as she steps half-behind the door to better hide her unkempt self from his unflinching admiration, her cheeks bright and eyes round. "What are you doing here?"
"I've come to speak with your father," he explains.
"At six in the morning?"
"It's very important."
Thrown off kilter, Bella lingers half-behind the door, unsure of whether she should invite him in or not while she's still in her pajamas - long enough for Charlie to finish shaving and come downstairs to see what all the fuss is about.
"Cullen?" he asks with a frown. "Boy, what on Earth are you doing here so damn early?"
"Sorry, Chief, but I felt it imperative to talk to you before you went to work."
"Imperative, huh?" Charlie crosses his arms, speculative, and then steps back from the door. "Well, come on in. We'll…talk while Bella gets ready."
Effectively dismissed, Bella exhales heavily and returns upstairs, selecting her clothes for the day, rinsing her face, and combing her hair. She would be curious about what Edward needed to speak with Charlie about, but the thing is that Charlie's house is small and sound travels very well. She hears the entire conversation, more or less.
Edward had come to ask Charlie permission to date her, and even as he frames the question, she can tell he really wants to say court instead of date - because his intentions were aimed toward a permenant relationship, such as the ones from his era, rather than the fleeting couplings of hers. Dating was the closest approximation, but in doing this, Edward was taking the right steps to make it perfectly clear that he was perfectly serious about her.
"She is fifteen," Charlie reminds him brusquely.
"Yes."
"She's mature, though," Charlie concedes.
"I agree."
A moment of silence.
"Alright, Cullen. You've got my permission on a probationary basis. There are rules. She has a curfew. No taking her out more than once a weekend. If she doesn't want to see you anymore, you listen. If I find out you pressure her in any way, you better run, because there isn't any place you can hide where I won't find you. Are we clear?"
"Crystal, Chief."
"Good." Another moment of silence, then a heavy sigh. "Cullen, is there anything else you wanted to talk about or are you just aiming to take up space in my kitchen?"
"I would like to drive Bella to school and back," Edward replies instantly.
Charlie grunts. "Fine by me. She doesn't need to be walking in this weather, anyway. Good luck convincing her, though. Stubborn as a mule, that one."
"It's one of her more admirable qualities."
"Get the stars out of your eyes, Cullen," Charlie returns glibly, then seems to clap Edward on the shoulder. "Take care of my girl."
"I intend to."
Bella shivers at the promise.
She has no doubt that Edward will keep this vow.
Her heart is still fluttering when she meets him at the foot of the stairs, his attentive gaze trained on her face, hands clasped behind his hands. He radiates an air of victory, as if he'd just won some great battle. In a way, maybe he had.
And that is how Edward Cullen begins courting her.
o.o.o
o.o.o
As Edward explains it, if they had been in his era, the majority of their dates would have taken place under parental supervision when he would call on her at her home. There might have been occasional walks, or visits to parks and museums and outdoor concerts, but all of this would have been observed by another set of eyes intent on observing the Victorian standards of conduct.
In some ways, the dates Edward takes her on are very similar to the ones expected from his era. He often offers his arm after school - on the days where she doesn't insist on visiting the grocery - and they will walk in the woods behind her house, talking of books and music, of his past and her future, of the differences in life between mortal and immortal. There is a tacit agreement that they not keep secrets from each other. She confesses her worries about the future, about her anxiety of not knowing what she will do in college or beyond, the crippling weight of so much expectation hanging from her shoulders - not from her parents, but from schools, from the world at large. And Edward speaks of the darkness in his past, that shameful stretch of time where he played God with mortal lives and let his eyes bleed red, let himself tarnish the Cullen name.
She is closer to him than anyone, and he to her.
Over the Thanksgiving break, Edward insists on taking her out to dinner and he won't hear of word of protest, even as he is in the middle of choking down mushroom ravioli. "Really, Edward," she chides, sliding his plate away from him and switching it with her almost-cleared one. "You act as if Emmett hasn't already told me how revolting human food is."
"You should have human experiences."
"Not at your expense, though," she argues gently. "The thought was nice, but I would honestly rather eat my own cooking."
He sighs, raking a hand through tousled bronze locks. "I just…want to give you everything."
"You do," she says, bracing herself for the vibrant torrent of his mind as she reaches across the table to brush her fingers across the back of his knuckles, smiling at the liquidation of his gaze as he catches the singular thought she pushes forward.
Please, believe me.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Great Uncle Aro still hasn't written Bella back.
That's never happened before.
o.o.o
o.o.o
"Where are you taking me?" she asks on the final Saturday of November. She eyes the thinning clouds in the sky with something akin to worry, but Edward doesn't seem to care that the sun would surely be shining at any moment. In fact, he drives faster, pressing the Volvo along the stretch of the back road right off the 101 with a near-giddy chuckle.
"I'm answering a question you once asked."
Her hands flop onto her thighs in exasperation. "By kidnapping me? Honestly."
He grins at her. "It's easier to show you."
He pulls onto the side of the road right and blurs to her side of the car, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he waits for her to untangle herself from the seat belt. He keeps looking up at the sky and then back at her with such obvious excitement that she can't bear to rain on his parade with her tetchiness. Instead, she indulges his peculiar request to give her a piggyback-ride, locking her arms over the firm contours of his shoulders, the side of her face resting against the back of his head, flirting with a touch of their skin but never quite meeting.
"Hold on tight."
"What-"
It's like riding on the roof of a race car, she'll decide later. That's how Edward runs. The speed is unimaginable, his joy at sharing this with her more than enough to soothe her frayed nerves at seeing the world pass by too quickly for her to comprehend. But soon, the sensation of her heart taking residence in her stomach fades, replaced by a vivid exhilaration to the stinging breeze on her cheeks, blowing her hair back, the speed that blurs the world so totally also lighting the world on fire in a saturation of color that breathes impressionists like Monet.
She laughs, delighted and gleeful. "Go faster," she suggests, the breath in her lungs compressed with the weight of sheer exuberance.
Bella can't hear Edward's returning laughter, but she does feel the vibration through her fingertips as he kicks his speed up a notch. She wishes that he would run for a longer time, but he stops in a small, roundish meadow littered with the evidence of autumn tidings, kneeling on the grass to make her dismount easier. Bella feels like she's floating, like her feet aren't touching the ground. She spins in a circle, dancing away from him, high on joy and impervious to gravity.
Edward watches on, seemingly content to let her be free - but then the sun breaks through the clouds and Bella can't help to stop and stare. Already unspeakably gorgeous, Edward in the sun is best reserved for myths because it is unfathomable that any person, human or vampire, could possibly be so - angelic. He doesn't sparkle in the sun so much as he shimmers, faint and iridescent, a fracture of prisms built directly into his skin.
"This is why," she breathes, breaking their staring contest with conscious effort.
"Yes. It's a bit difficult to hide."
She rolls her eyes at his blasé delivery. Bella sits in the center of the meadow, bundled into Edward's beige leather jacket that she never returned, white scarf piled high beneath her chin. She gestures for him to come closer and he does, flashing to her side, lounging back onto his elbow. He is so relaxed - it's hard to believe that someone so alive could be still as a statue if he so wished.
"Tell me about that day. Why did you attack me?" she requests simply.
Edward heaves a sigh, simultaneously dropping onto his back, disturbing the slow-dying grass and the pile of autumnal leaves with the weight of his body. His topaz gaze never wavers from her face, as if he is committing each of their shared moment to his vast memory. "Isabella Swan," he murmurs thoughtfully, reaching a hand toward her, stopping just shy of brushing her cheek. "I had so many warring instincts that day. Your blood was singing to me at the same time your soul was drawing me closer - and I didn't know, couldn't know, whether I wanted to bite you so I could kill you or bite you so I could keep you. You are a drug to me in so many different ways, Bella. My own personal brand of heroine. My drug of choice….And I cannot imagine how I could continue to live without you."
She has no adequate response to what is - for all intents and purposes - a blatant declaration of his affection. So she does not sully the moment with a clumsy response because she does not have words to communicate the exact breadth of emotion she has carved out for him within her heart.
Bella licks her lips, shifting to lean over him. "I want to try something. Don't move," she instructs.
And then with considerable purpose, Bella touches him - tracing over the arch of his heavy brow, down the straight slope of his nose, the high planes of his cheekbones and into his impossibly soft hair, absorbing every ounce of his mind that he so readily delivers. Each thought she has is answer, each touch returned with a memory of her through his eyes, how he sees nothing but her, only her. Bella. Mate. She stops at his lips, lush and parted slightly beneath the ghosting, questing touch of her fingers.
Mate, she ponders, curling her palm to the sharpness of his jaw. Yes.
Their lips meet unhurried, chaste, an exchange of breath that fogs her mind until she has worked her hands deep into his hair, her chest pressed against his as one arm slips around her waist and the other hand sketches the line and dip of her spine. She breaks away, inhaling raggedly, and Edward's lips meander to her sedately offered neck. Where had her scarf gone? It didn't matter. She is lost in his touch and in his mind, in that amazing chaos of thought and music and Edward-
Then, abruptly, Bella finds herself on her back, staring at the underside of Edward's jaw and the snarling curl of his lip. He has braced his body over her own, protective and instinctive. And she too moves by instinct, pressing her palm against the side of his neck, following the ferocious tenor of his mind -
The female vampire is back, watching them - watching her.
And this time, before she can disappear beyond Edward's telepathic reach, a memory of someone speaking rises to her mind unbidden.
The vampire's name is Mele.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Dear Great Aunt Sulpicia,
At the urging of Great Uncle Aro, I am writing this incredibly embarrassing letter in the hope that it will reach you and satisfy your curiosity. There is indeed a boy who has caught my eye - Edward. He is magnetic, charming, and so very kind. Protective, too, but not overbearing, for which I must express my relief. He is old fashioned enough that his protectiveness might have come off as suffocating if he didn't respect my independence so fiercely.
He brings me coffee and keeps me in supply of books. He is musical, too. I have yet to hear him play his chosen instrument, but I don't doubt that he is very talented.
We have kissed, once. It was - incendiary. Even now, my cheeks feel hot as I recall the moment and I would not ordinarily speak of such things, but I would prefer to tell you than my mother. Could you imagine me talking to Renee about a boy? I would never hear the end of it. (So please do be gentle in your teasing!)
Also…I am wondering if Great Uncle Aro is okay? He has not written me back and it is very unlike him. I am worried.
May this find you both in good health.
All my love,
Your Great Grandniece Isabella
o.o.o
o.o.o
That is November.
A/N: Wow, guys! Amazed with the response, honestly!
Okay, okay. There's a lot of questions about Charlie that I think need to be addressed. Most of you are wondering what the deal is - why Charlie doesn't seem, like, vampire-y enough? He is. He's just different than Bella. Being part vampire hasn't actually changed the characters too much; Bella was already smart in canon, right, I mean she was in advanced classes in Phoenix and a good reader, so I didn't even really change that. I figure, being part vampire will only enhance certain personality and physical quirks. The most obvious part for Charlie? On Facebook, Kim (Auntie Kim!) did the math and pointed out that Charlie is older than he physically appears - but he doesn't look it. I mean, not that Bella is consciously thinking about her father's age, but she has briefly mentioned that he has "peppery" hair, you know, so you can guess that he looks about middle age. That was intentional; that was a way to give a nod to the main vampire trait that Charlie has which, aside from his mental shield, is physical ability. Last chapter, he dislocated someone's shoulder; he's "tough"; he enjoys Bella's cooking more than Renee did. On my part, it's deliberate writing to ghost over these details about Charlie - Bella's narrative isn't explaining it because she would take all these things by rote. She wouldn't find anything strange about it. She's operating out of the assumption that she was born later in Charlie's life, that his schooling didn't have the same opportunities as her own (to accommodate higher intelligence), that he's sturdy, and that he's aging, like, super well (which isn't even all that weird because "exceptional agers" is literally part of a study by Olay, so). I didn't think that being 1/6th vampire would change Charlie all that much - he's still the same Charlie - and anyway it's not really about him. It's about Bella, who aside from her gift and tendency toward rationality, isn't all that different from canon, either.
Also, someone very smart pointed out that small town cops have a pretty tough job. Stranger Things, anyone?
Okay. Explanation over. Shoot me a message on my Facebook wall if there are other questions on this topic!
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~cupcakeriot