the outtakes
memory
(part one)
Memory...is the diary that we all carry about with us.
- Oscar Wilde
o.o.o
AUGUST
o.o.o
He is restless as he is forced to roam through the minds of his family - always listening, always aware - and he is more and more resentful of their happiness each year. It is more difficult than it used to be, perhaps more difficult than it ought to be, and that in of itself is agitating. He should be happy that his family is happy.
And yet -
Edward snaps the cover of the book shut, grinding his teeth together to bite back the irritable growl that is near to escaping his lips. Emmett's thoughts are unbearably loud, but Alice is a close second and at the moment she is positively swarming with untamed glee at some glimpse of a vision that she is very pointedly masking from her thoughts. As if Edward cared.
He frowns down at the book in his hand, the leather bending in protest under his alabaster grip, and shakes his head. This is getting out of hand. He's - well, if Carlisle is to be believed, Edward is experiencing the vampiric version of a major depressive episode with melancholic features. Which wasn't good. He probably wasn't helping his situation by masochistically reading about the Greek estimation of soulmates when he is decidedly lacking. He was moderately shamed to realize that he's been ruminating about the possibility for the past few years; more than one book in his collection featured the topic in heavy philosophical detail and that definitely wasn't helping matters, either.
What if Aristotle was right? What if love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies?
Here Edward is, surrounded on three sides by the very proof that such a notion is patently true, and he is still bereft.
Maybe he was changed too young? But no - Alice is physically two years younger than himself and she didn't seem to have any problem finding the other half of her soul in Jasper. The problem, then, was Edward.
(Was this punishment from God for his actions in the 1930's? Was this to be his retribution for his audacity in deciding who lived and died? Was he to remain this way, half-complete with an emptiness in his chest until he finally met the end of his eternal night?)
Edward drifts away from the wall where he had been standing, placing the book that had dwarfed his emotions back onto the shelf, and lingering in front of titles that blur in front of his unseeing eyes. He might have remained that way, still as a statue as he tried to block out the contented thoughts around him, if only Esme had not turned the Mercedes onto the long, winding driveway.
He cocks his head to the side, catching the pleased tenor of her thoughts. She'd run out to Port Angeles for an errand a few hours before and had evidently encountered a lovely young lady - Bella - surely Chief Swan's wayward daughter returned home - yes, Carlisle did mention that news recently - what a kind girl, planning a renovation to fill her time before school begins - such initiative - I'm so glad to have helped her ….
Edward sighs, then turns to go downstairs to help Esme with her purchases seeing as how he is the only one in the house - as always - who is unoccupied at the moment. A very, very small part of him is perturbed by the way Esme has fixated on this girl, but it's such a removed concern that he can't be bothered to care -
(He should have known then that this would not be the last time he heard about a girl named Bella Swan.)
o.o.o
SEPTEMBER
o.o.o
There have certainly been more impressive schools than Forks High that Edward has attended. It is small, appropriately delayed in the savvy technological developments of schools in bigger cities, as is only fitting for a series of buildings that served a maximum population of eight hundred students in total. Still, eight hundred minds is quite a few for a telepath who cannot shield himself from sound and he has been spoiled by the relative insulation of the summer holidays. He has also conveniently forgotten how fascinated these backwater humans are by his family; the previous year, when Edward was pretending to be a sophomore on the cusp of sixteen rather than the undead creature of permanent seventeen that he truly is, he had been alarmed by the obsession present in the thoughts around him. It was always worse in smaller schools - the Cullens were hard to ignore anywhere, but especially where the crowds were so small.
He suppresses a groan as he navigates toward his first class, sinking into a seat in the back of the classroom, and doing his best to ignore the cohort around him -
There is a stutter in a cluster of thoughts off the gymnasium. He unwittingly latches onto the thoughts of a Michael Newton and with a muted start, he realizes that Newton is thinking specifically about one Bella Swan, who even a month later was frequently in Esme's thoughts. For lack of anything better to do, he follows the hormonal, jumbled flow of Newton's thoughts - ah. Interesting. The girl is apparently advanced - no, not just advanced. Gifted. She should be a freshman, but she would be taking classes with the seniors. How rare for a human to show any kind of pronounced ambition or skill -
Mrs. Kelley calls for the role, interrupting the strange tangent Edward had started on, and he sits up straighter, prepared to play human on this first day of school. Hopefully, if he made just the right impression of being present, attentive, but detached, he would avoid complications further in the year…
o.o.o
o.o.o
Rosalie is entertained - and broadcasting it with such clarity that Edward can't help but poke at her mind from the distance, trying to see what has captured her attention so completely, so uncharacteristically-
Bella Swan again.
Just what was it about this girl?
Whatever it is, she'd certainly made an impression on Rosalie - defiant to Mr. Varner, but so sharply intelligent that she was beyond reproach, which was something Rosalie always appreciated in human girls. Something to do with the feminist tirades Rose could be inspired to grasp onto every once in a while.
In a building on the opposite of the central office, Edward sits back in his seat, pushing away from Rosalie's mind once she realizes that the girl was observant - had obviously recognized Emmett's pretend surname as one that is shared with Esme - but not so observant as to be caught in the lure of vampiric beauty as so many other humans were.
And he would have been perfectly content to remain outside of Rosalie's mind - circumstances always determined that it was best if Rose be afforded as much privacy as possible at all times and he did his best to accommodate that request out of grudging respect for his pig-headed sister - if only the lunch periods at this insufferable institution were broken up by class. Instead, all of the humans converge onto the square cafeteria for exactly forty-five minutes just after noon and the Cullens all play the parts that are assigned to them.
Only Rosalie has noticed the entrance of Bella Swan and Alice is practically bouncing in her seat and even Emmett has turned to stare at the slip of a girl who has seated herself at the empty tables near the windows lining the side of the cafeteria. Edward doesn't bother to turn. He lazily peruses Emmett's thoughts, catching sight of Bella Swan reading A Bolt From the Blue and Other Essays, completely content to be by herself with just an apple to sustain her - an amusingly even appearing startled when a good portion of the freshman class settle around her, as if her concentration had been so intent that she hadn't even noticed the clamor of teenagers around her -
One girl - frizzy, curly hair and a rather gossiping mind - Jessica Stanley - has caught sight of them. OhmyGod, they're gorgeous - "Do you see them?" she asks the table around her and predictably, over a dozen human eyes land on the Cullen table, immediately followed by a series of hormonal fluctuations -
"Oh," Bella Swan says dispassionately.
It's enough of an off-color reaction that Edward does turn around, just for a moment - but the view of her is blocked by the other teenagers, and so he settles on viewing her from the mind of Newton again - just for curiosity's sake. She is still holding her book, but as Jessica expresses her incredulity at Bella's lackluster response - something which even Jasper is bewildered by - she eventually places a bookmark with a sigh and appears to examine the Cullen table critically -
"The tall girl with the blonde hair? That's Rosalie Hale," Bella says to Jessica after a moment. "The guy who looks like he can lift a car is Emmett Cullen. I don't know any of the others."
And he wonders more at the placid response so he tries to slip into her mind, something which is as old hat to Edward as composing the bridge of a melody -
He can't hear her.
Edward freezes.
"Bummer," Jessica sighs dreamily, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "I was hoping you would know who the one with the reddish hair is…"
Edward twists around - just certain that eye contact would enable him to get a read on her - but then Alice's foot kicks him under the table and he turns back with a scowl -
Be patient, Alice sing-songs.
What a strange human - Rosalie.
Rather muted emotions - Jasper - Reckon she must be mature, hey, Edward?
You all are having a conversation again, aren't you? No fair - Emmett. Hey, hey. What's going on?
"I don't know," Edward grits out, even as his ears track the conversation happening half a room and four hundred humans away -
The pastor's daughter, Angela Webber, might be more perceptive than any of them would have guessed. Even from this distance, she's disturbed by their otherness, though her thoughts don't quite frame her unease so explicitly. "Don't they seem sort of…dangerous?" she asks Bella Swan.
And all Bella Swan has to say to that is a disinterested, "No. They're just people."
"Just people," Angela repeats, relaxing minutely. "You're right. I'm just being silly."
Bella Swan hums, already engrossed in her book -
What do you mean you don't know? Rosalie demands.
Edward shakes his head, craning his neck again to catch a glimpse of this strangely silent girl without bothering to mask his frustration -
Her eyes are deep, mossy green, uncommonly vibrant and clear -
"Oh, don't worry about it, Rose," Alice chirps. "Edward just can't hear Chief Swan's daughter. Isn't that right, Edward?"
A chorus of confused, disbelieving whats -
Edward doesn't even have a chance to rip his gaze away from Bella Swan's, as she has already refocused her attention on her book with clearly no intention of paying any of them another iota of thought. He blinks, nostrils flaring. With great effort, he returns the searching gaze of his family and confirms what Alice has already revealed -
But even though he is incredibly disturbed by this development, it doesn't escape his notice that Alice is artfully occluding her mind, a fact which is highly suspect.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Vampires are never late anywhere, and yet inexplicably Edward finds himself quite tardy to the last class of the day - an unfortunate part of playing human was having to deal with tediously outdated lockers that become stuck for no apparent reason, thus delaying him for long enough that the warning bells have already rung throughout the school. He suppresses a sigh and moves at human pace, finally unencumbered by the textbooks that teachers have insisted on handing out all day. What a hassle - he should have just taken them home, as it wasn't as if he was going to use the locker again at any point during the school year -
Warmth careens into his chest rather abruptly, a student running into him in the middle of this empty outdoor hallway, and he automatically reaches out to stabilize the human's balance, as he was aware that running into any vampire was surely akin to walking right into a brick wall and the last thing he needed was a bleeding human on his hands -
Not just any human.
Bella Swan.
She stares up at him with wide, doe-like eyes, their color an unbearably unique shade of mossy green that is flecked with all manner of ocher and cinnamon and gold. His first thought is that she is remarkably lovely, every bit as attractive as a vampire but warmed with blood that stains the smooth flesh of her cheeks an appealing shade of amaranth -
By rote, he inhales. It's habit from eighty years of trying to blend in and is part of a series of movements he makes each day as he tries to pretend that he, too, has a soul and a heart beating in his chest -
Breathing is a mistake.
Although he knows it to be impossible, Edward's mind short-circuits completely - and it's like a crack of lightning ricocheting down his spine, like the burning of the bite all over again, like the tremor of tectonic plates slipping against each other as he stands directly over a fault line, like a solar flare changing the magnetism of the Earth -
One second has passed since Bella Swan made the unfortunate mistake of literally walking into him -
The scent - the scent - it's beyond anything he's ever experienced - sweet, but heady, floral, but not overly fragrant, tinged with fruitiness, but tempered by acid - candied pecans and lilacs and lilies and pomegranates and chocolate-dipped strawberries - and it dances across his olfactory nerves, seeps into his taste buds as his lips pull back to reveal the venom-slickened weapons masquerading as teeth inside his mouth. His senses are singing, turned all the way up and focused entirely on this little slip of a thing that has broken his self-control. His hands tighten on her arms to prevent any escape - even, hopefully, to prevent even the idea of escape.
He'd hate for bruises to mar what he is perfectly sure is flawless ivory skin -
Not that bruises would detract from her appeal, of course. In fact, his marks on her skin might even make the rush of pushing into that blood-hot-wet-vice even better - a complete experience where he can prove that he has marked her even half as much as she has marked him -
Her pulse jumps, hear beating humming bird quick inside the fragile case of her chest, and he growls sub-vocally, canting his head toward the sound and widening the snarling maw of his mouth. She remains still, though she swallows heavily, likely some prey instinct in her brain trying to make her last moments as non-violent as possible. All it does, however, is draw his eyes to her throat, a graceful length with a jumping pulse, protected only by the thinnest, most insubstantial layer of skin.
God, but does he want his mouth there. His teeth, his tongue, his lips. Anything. Everything. He would have everything -
"Edward, no!"
Alice's lack of tact certainly wasn't going to save the girl, not even her screeching thoughts of NOT HER YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND PLEASE DON'T JUST WAIT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE -
He twists, slamming Bella's back against the row of nearby lockers and emitting a thundering, roiling growl that meant do not disturb me - or else. If anyone - anyone - got in the way, he'd kill them. He would. It would be so easy - and then he would have the girl, her blood and her body and her submission and -
"Think of Carlisle! He would be so disappointed!"
Oh, silly Alice. Not even Carlisle could stop what's happening right now.
Edward dips his head down, skimming it up the side of Bella's neck, inhaling long and deep. His eyes roll in the back of his head. Venom pools against his tongue even as heat stirs in his loins. The girl trembles in his grip -
For a moment - just a millisecond, maybe less - he is…disturbed by her fear. Why should she fear him?
But then it passes with Jasper's arrival and unlike Alice, that really is a threat to Edward's prize, to Edward gaining this coyly-scented trophy for himself because Jasper would not hesitate to do to Edward what he had done to so many before -
And then there is Emmett and Rosalie and both of their thoughts are so loud - just screaming and threatening and planning and now the situation is more complicated because Edward is a good fighter, but not even he can take on four vampires at a time.
What a pity. He'd wanted to savor this experience, but it wouldn't be possible. If he let the girl go to deal with these threats to his desire, then one of his siblings would inevitably get her far, far away from Edward and he couldn't have that, could he? No. No, he supposes the only course of action is to simply bite - fuck - can't do both - which did he want more -
"Step away from the girl, Edward," Emmett finally rumbles darkly. "This isn't the Cullen way."
Edward growls in response, flashing his hand forward to curl around Bella's thought, lifting her negligible weight from the ground. He wants to smirk as she scrambles and squirms, her small feet banging against the lockers and her breath escaping her parted, luscious lips. He wonders if she realizes how appealing that is -
God, but he wants her. So sweet, that blood, I must taste it…it's mine - she's mine -
"Mine!" he snarls, both to the girl and to his family - and then he darts in for the kill - or the ravaging, he hasn't quite made up his mind - and how peculiar is that?
What is he doing? This isn't how he's meant to be -
But in the same moment, something seems to…flip in Bella Swan and while it's obvious to the analytic portion of his brain that is constantly filing data away that she is still overwhelmed by panic, it is also obvious from the sudden flintiness in the directness of her watery gaze that she was about to fight. Her hands come to rest on his wrist, on the back of his hand, pulling futility at his stony fingers around the column of her throat -
All it takes is a touch -
A fine, dark red rivet of blood slips from her nose -
Her small hands press against his skin harder, abandoning escape in favor of pure intent -
NO!
The thought is hard and heavy and loud, a chorusing clang of a sledgehammer supercharged with electricity and rage and the need to survive - and like a battering ram, it slams against his sensitive telepathy artlessly, accompanied by a flood of energy that is not unlike a lightning rod -
In an instant, he releases her in favor of clutching at his head with a cry of pain - actual pain, something he hasn't felt physically for a very, very long time. He's dizzy and stumbling with vertigo, hitting the cold cement as his limbs twitch mindlessly. His eyes are shut, his ears are ringing, and he only very distantly realizes that he's being hauled away by his siblings. He only notices because - beyond that immense, immeasurably, immutable pain - that scent that was making him toe the precipice of fuck or kill is fading like a distant memory -
(He hurts for hours afterward and he didn't think that was possible. Not even Kate's channeling of electricity has caused such lingering pains and this is worse because along with the agony fissuring through his mind is an unabating, gloating mental anguish that leaves him sluggish and oversensitive in convoluted turns.)
o.o.o
o.o.o
I can't believe you, Edward Masen -
Dude, was she your singer? Do you think, I mean, you know what it was like for me -
Oh, Edward, you've made it all so complicated now - and she knows, Edward. She knows what we are -
Need to get a damn drink. Anything'll do. Your bloodlust almost killed that girl twice over -
Carlisle will have a solution. He always knows what's best for us, Edward -
He's in too much pain to tell his family to quiet down and so all he can do is cover his ears with his hands, much the same has he did when he first woke into this hellish farce of a life, and pray to a God that has abandoned him - pray for forgiveness and pray for an end to the pain, to the quiver of his bones, and pray for an end to the rattle of obsession that has been born in his mind -
God, of course, doesn't answer him.
o.o.o
o.o.o
"I'm going to Alaska," he says, but he doesn't look up. He's too ashamed to raise his eyes to his sire, to his father, and though the tenor of Carlisle's mind is as fair and compassionate as ever, Edward doesn't think he could bear to see even the shadow of censure in those kind golden eyes. No, it's better if he just keeps his stare trained onto the glossy leather of his loafers.
"If you think that is what is best for you," Carlisle murmurs after a moment.
Edward bows his head lower. Removing himself from the equation is what is best - for himself, for the family, and for the girl.
(He can't think her name. He doesn't deserve to utter it, not even in his mind.)
That night, Edward runs nonstop to Denali, wallowing in self-loathing that is completely deserved. He needs the space to think and regroup and try and figure out why everything had gone so wrong so quickly -
(He doesn't return or plan to anytime soon.)
o.o.o
o.o.o
It is Tanya who points it out to him, which isn't at all surprising as she has lived through horrors Edward can't even contemplate and has come out stronger, wiser, and more astute - and she is blunt. She doesn't beat around the bush, but she isn't callous about it in the same way that Rosalie often is. Instead, she acts as a shepherd and leads him to the metaphorical watering hole with the posing of a single question.
"Do you know the difference between lust and bloodlust, Edward?"
And no, he realizes with no small amount of loathing, he had not realized the difference between the two -
He had not even realized until it was brought to his attention that for the girl it had not been only bloodlust that had claimed the most base of Edward's instincts - no, she had also fanned the flames of his lust and he was so caught up in self-flagellation over his slight against her person that it had slipped his mind that his interaction with her had been more complicated.
Edward ruminates over this for a very long time, sitting on a tall drift of snow and ice for days and days -
He has to go back.
Even Edward is not so arrogant as to assume that he will have this chance again.
o.o.o
OCTOBER
o.o.o
"I'm glad you decided to come back," Alice trills brightly, clasping him into an excited embrace that is quickly followed by Esme's maternal press and the clap of Carlisle's hand on his shoulder. Jasper hangs back, as he is wont to do, but Emmett does not hesitate to greet Edward warmly, his mind teasing over the phrase prodigal son returns -
Rosalie is more aloof, not that he expected anything different. What he does not expect, however, is the way her mind flashes protectively over the mental image of Bella Swan who is - by Rosalie's estimation - something of a brilliant enigma, bold and serious and unfathomably intelligent. "I like this girl, Edward," Rosalie says softly, crossing her arms over her chest. You'll have to go through me to hurt her.
Edward keeps his lips sealed. He has an inkling of what the girl is to him - after a month of thinking about it, he's pretty certain that she has changed him, the unchanging vampire - but he can't be sure, yet, and so he does not try to defend himself. It's pointless to try defending his actions to Rosalie, anyway. She can be stone when she wants to be.
"Yeah, me too!" Emmett says jovially. "She's got big brass ones, I'll tell you what!"
Edward obligingly follows the barreling train of Emmett's thoughts - his memories, really, all gathered in pop-rock snippets of a dark haired girl with keen attention and a small issue with authority and very little patience for students slower than herself - though she hides it well -
Alice, too, eagerly presents him with memories of the girl, carefully occluding any visions that surround her - maybe he should wonder at that, but he's admittedly entranced by Alice's version of the girl, who she thinks to be somewhat wry, but also very kind -
Jasper's memories are more remote, focused on observing the whip-smart mouth and the philosophical twinge to her arguments in class -
Edward doesn't realize he's sat on the bench of his baby grand, a slight smile quirking the corner of his lips, until Esme's joyous thoughts cut through a month's worth of memories of Bella Swan-
Oh, this must be what we've all waited for.
Edward must concede that it just might be. Hope swells in his quiet heart.
o.o.o
o.o.o
His first glimpse of her - the real first sight of her without the taint of frustration at being unable to hear her thoughts and without the heady mindlessness of bloodlust clouding his reason - is from across the parking lot.
She walks to school apparently, nose buried in a book with a tall thermos in hand; she flips pages with her thumb, a well-practiced motion, and does not falter as her terrain shifts from gravel and grass to the smoothness of sidewalk cement. She is dressed in the way many of her peers are, bearing flesh that would have been scandalous in another time, but she does so with an air of modesty, comfortable in layers and tall socks and sturdy boots. Her hair is the same shade as the darkest Columbian roasted coffee bean, her complexion of ivory pressed with rose petals. And when she looks up at him, a flash of fear in deep, wide green eyes, only to turn away with a pointed air of nonchalance, his stomach flips.
She is so young. Fifteen according to Alice and of course Alice would know.
But she doesn't carry herself as a fifteen year old might. There is something old in her, in her soul, that shows itself in the coolness of her posture, in the way she seems to float in the student body, untethered by the immature clashes for popularity and teenage hormones that have gripped every other human. She is apart from them all.
He wishes he could just hear her - for a moment - and without it hurting so damn much -
He settles for watching her through the eyes of everyone else, impressed by the way she so casually treats his siblings, even the amusing sardonic comment she mumbles when Emmett tries his hand at riling her up. "What is he, Beetlejuice?" she asks rhetorically with a shake of the head, much to Emmett's delight.
Did you hear that, Eddie-boy? A girl after my own heart!
She is decidedly more standoffish when the topic of her lunch table inevitably swings toward the topic of his return to school. She doesn't seem to care for Jessica's chattering and that is when he truly discovers that Bella Swan is possessed of a truly astounding amount of focus - she reads her book, seeming to sink into the storyline with no attention paid to the world at all - that is, until the conversation turns into the uncomfortable area of speculation about his family.
"They're all adopted," Jessica gossips. "And together. Like together-together. Dating and living in the same house! Can you imagine?"
"And Edward is all alone," adds the rather mean-spirited Lauren, leaning forward on her elbows with a nasty smile that instantly draws the focus of the conversation to her. "Or is he? I mean, it's all so scandalous, so who knows what the parents are into. With the good doctor always tied up at the hospital and the couples always together, what do Edward and the mother get up to-"
"Oh, Lauren! That's horrible!" says Angela.
"Oh, please. Like it's that hard to imagine. They're just plain weird and-"
"That's enough," Bella injects sharply as she snaps her book closed and stands from the table. And because he can't hear her, it is much to his surprise when she continues waspishly, "So what if they're all adopted and dating? It's not like they're actually related so don't go stopping the presses over it. And I'll have you know that Esme Cullen is a lovely woman who does not deserve your vile speculation, Lauren Mallory. You would be better suited to keep your mouth shut about things you know nothing about."
Damn! Emmett thinks with a wide smile. What did I tell you, Eddie-boy? Big brass ones!
Oh, Esme will be so pleased, comes Alice's bright thoughts, which are strangely on par with Rosalie's, who is quietly approving of the firm way Bella has jut out her chin in a defiant challenge. Rosalie smirks when Bella's challenge is answered by a resentful declaration of teasing from Lauren.
"I-I didn't mean it," Lauren huffs, curling away from Bella's derisive snort. "Really. I was just messing around."
"Maybe you shouldn't be telling that to me," Bella says pointedly and because she's standing, Edward can see that she has nodded over to his table. "I'll see you guys later."
He manages to catch her eye before she leaves though and he isn't completely sure what expression is on his face, but he can guess that it's one of bewilderment. He has never seen a human stand up for anyone in his family - especially not a human who knew what they were. But this girl is fearless it seems, or is otherwise unbothered by the idea of vampires. Maybe because she's also gifted?
Bella Swan - the enigma with the implacable focus.
He needs to know this girl.
Determined anew, he makes his move in the only class period that they share - an art elective that Edward actually enjoyed and that Bella Swan was hopelessly outclassed by, a fact that he soon discovers as he sets up his station beside hers, wallowing in the sucker-punch her scent sends to his gut. As he relishes in the slow burn in his throat and in his groin, he notices from the corner of his eye that Bella does a better job making a mess than actually making…whatever it is she's trying to make with that clay.
"I'm sorry for being rude the other day," he murmurs, leaning toward her by just a hair.
Her dark, finely-arched brows shoot upward. "Rude?" she parrots, the feminine alto of her voice thick with ironic humor. "Well, okay, if that's the word you want to go with, fine. You were pretty rude the last time we saw each other."
Edward - well, there's no other word for it - falters. That was not the reaction he expected, but then again, she seems to be strong willed, maybe even as strong as that sledgehammer fist of energy in her mind. "I'm hoping you'll forgive me," he says with a small, bashful smile, almost certain that if he just projects the right body language that she will -
"Forgive?"
He hesitates at the hard tone in her voice, the flintiness flashing in her verdant gaze. He swallows. "I behaved terribly and I hope for your forgiveness," he reiterates carefully.
Bella briskly cleans her hands off with a wet cloth, seeming to collect herself before she turns toward him with that same defiant set to her jaw that she'd used with Lauren - and Edward cannot escape the feeling that he is treading on a landmine as she says, "Edward, right?"
(Even though the tone is not strictly friendly, he likes the way she says his name.)
"Yes. Edward Cullen. I'm pleased to meet you properly," he says with a smile, the same stretch of lips that had made women swoon even when he was human.
Bafflingly, it doesn't seem to have any effect on Bella Swan. "Sure…Edward Cullen. Look, I think we might be having a bit of a miscommunication right now," she informs him frankly. "I mean, aside from the semantics of word choice and the fact that rude doesn't even begin to cover attempting to choke the life out of me or having serious issues talking yourself out of literally drinking my blood, we have a bigger issue to deal with here."
Edward sits back abruptly, feeling severely wrong-footed and off-balance. He can't read her mind. It's a bigger handicap than he had anticipated - and she still smells so good, so much like his. No, this isn't what he'd anticipated. Not at all.
"I see," he realizes quietly, eyeing her with a small measure of trepidation. "And what would that issue be, exactly?"
Her answer is swift and terribly blunt. "You're terrible at apologies. Just…so bad at them."
"Excuse me?"
She gestures to his person with a roll of her wrist, a single brow arched in bemusement. "The entire presentation was underwhelming. You're sorry for being rude? You want me to forgive you? That's entirely too vague. What, exactly am I forgiving you for? And why should I forgive you?"
He blinks a few times. "You're absolutely right, I-"
"And, what about your motivations?" she interjects swiftly. "Are you only apologizing because I know your secret, or are you genuinely sorry?"
His breath leaves him, a slow deflation of the lungs as he stares at this willful, beautiful creature before him. He suspects that there is nothing he can say to salvage this conversation - and he supposes that she is right that he honestly has no idea what he is asking forgiveness for. He certainly regrets the way they had met, but that regret hadn't kept him away, had it? Add that to the fact that she doesn't interact with him the way other humans interact with vampires. She isn't swayed by all the physiological lures of his person - or if she is, she's much better at managing it than he is.
He watches silently as she cleans up her station and leaves the classroom - as she leaves him to contemplate this challenge she has presented him with.
o.o.o
o.o.o
"Heard she handed your ass to you, bro."
"What? How did you - Alice!"
"Little pixie has her uses, huh?"
"Leave me alone, Emmett."
o.o.o
o.o.o
Obviously, he has to rethink his approach. He's not so arrogant as to think he has handled this situation perfectly - and her blood is still affecting him, winding through his mind with gossamer seduction, and surely that is the reason that he has been so wrong-footed. Yes, that must be why. It is perhaps a good thing, then, that Edward is the stubborn sort because after regrouping, he wades into his next interactions with Bella Swan with greater determination.
It is - as he should have known it would be - an incredible blunder.
The tip-off should have been that she seems to entertain his questions, as if she is indulging his attempts rather than actually having a congress - which is admittedly intimidating. Amazing. Edward Cullen, vampire of over a hundred years, intimidated by a wisp of a human girl.
"Why did you come to Forks?"
She shrugs a shoulder indifferently, which only serves to further corrupt her most recent attempt at throwing clay into something passably recognizable. He finds it endearing. "My Mom remarried."
Ah, finally, he thinks with a modicum of relief. He knows this type of teenage angst. Confidently, he proclaims, "And you don't like the guy."
Her pert nose wrinkles. "What? No, Phil is great, he's good for Renee. Stable. She needs that. But he travels, too, and it would have hurt her to be away from him. So I left instead."
He catches her eye. "Selfless. Sacrificing your own happiness."
Bella stares at him, unimpressed by his deduction. Then she says flatly, "Did I ever indicate that I wasn't happy here?"
(Yet another wrong step. He can't seem to get it right.)
"You make a lot of assumptions," she tells him.
At that, he feels frustration paint itself across his features. "Usually, I don't have to assume. You're a difficult read."
More like she's in an entirely new language and I will never catch up to the learning curve.
He's surprised when she laughs, a low musical chuckle that shivers down his spine. His chest clenches at the sound. He wants to hear it again. "So are you," she says as she wipes mirthful little tears from her cheeks.
He feels warm - truly warm - as he smiles at her, helpless to do anything else because being this off-kilter, while wildly irritating, is also a blessing because of who she is to him, or who she could be to him. It's worth his pride just to hear her laugh, to see her smile. She has a face that isn't quick to those expressions of joy, everything about her always tinged with the barest hint of wryness. But when she does laugh…
"You're a pretty odd fifteen year old," Edward says.
"And you're pretty odd," she returns glibly.
(This is progress.)
o.o.o
o.o.o
"All I'm sayin' is that I can't get a good read on her emotions, Ed-"
"You said she didn't have any!"
"Not any that I could get a hook on! Jesus Christ, boy! Keep your damn mood swings to yourself! At least she doesn't feel contempt for you like I do right now!"
o.o.o
o.o.o
She has such sublime conversation - able to tune out the world on her whim while he is forced to run miles into desolate forest to do the same. She's rather adorable when she reads, isn't she? A tiny furrow in her brow, eyes darting quickly over the pages. Sometimes, she bites on that bee-stung lower lip and it is all he can do to remain in his seat. Lust, he has decided, is not an emotion to sneeze at and while he's never understood lust before, it seems that he is doomed to make up for lost time.
Ed, the girl is only reading, Jasper thinks mulishly. Tone it down a few pegs before I have to drag Alice outside and do unmentionable things in your car -
Edward blinks, flicking a dark look in Jasper's direction, before allowing his eyes to return to Bella. She's reading The Count of Monte Cristo and it is yet another new genre that he can attach to her. She doesn't seem to have any discriminatory tastes at all - he's almost positive that she would read anything set down in front of her and he can't wait to show her the Cullen library -
"Bella. Bel-la. Hey. Earth to Bella." Jessica huffs then resorts to snapping her fingers close to Bella's ear to draw her attention, an action that has Edward biting back a growl at the rudeness, at the audacity. But Bella doesn't do anything more that blink a bit owlishly and raise her gaze to the other girl placidly. "Sorry," says Jessica. "Did you hear what I said?"
Bella shakes her head, dark hair slipping from behind her ear to obscure the high arch of her cheekbone.
"I said, Edward Cullen is staring at you," Jessica repeats.
Edward starts at that. Had Jessica said that already once before? When? Was it - could it be possible that Edward had been so caught up in simply watching Bella Swan that he had managed to tune out the world, possibly with the exception of the louder vampire minds immediately near him? That was - that had never happened before…
"I wonder if he's thinking about asking you to the dance! Wouldn't that be amazing? A junior asking a freshman!"
"Except Bella is a senior, technically," says Angela.
"Oh, that's right," Jessica breathes excitedly.
"Well, if you ask me, it would be weird. He's, like, what? Seventeen?" Mike asks impolitely.
A bit older than that, Edward wants to retort, but he doesn't. He only has eyes for Bella and she seems content to just shrug noncommittally, seemingly not enthused by the prospect of the Halloween Dance. He wonders what she would say if he did ask her. Would she say yes, knowing what he is? And not that Edward has any designs to attend some banal high school dance, but -
"We're definitely going to that dance!" Alice suddenly declares, once again occluding her mind.
But the smiles she shoots him is sunny and he has learned to not bet against her - and besides, Bella has just agreed to attend with her friends, and he can't help but view that as another opportunity to become closer to her. To puzzle out what makes her tick.
o.o.o
o.o.o
"Oh, no!"
"Alice! What are you - Alice when does that happen?"
"Today, I think, I-"
"Where? Where, damn it?"
"Port Angeles - I - Edward you need to -"
"I am!"
"I'm coming, too!"
o.o.o
o.o.o
He has never driven so fast in his life, the Volvo's engine protesting as it overheats under the relentless way he has pressed his foot to the pedal. It would be faster to run - he could be too late, entrapped in this cage of a car while Bella is - is - But he can't run and neither can his siblings because Port Angeles is a crowded port town and it is a weekend and there cannot be witnesses-
He is almost too late as tires screech into the darkened alley between a department store and coffee shop-
Unadulterated rage shoots through him at the sight that greets him - at the nasty, dark cloud of thoughts that scream of pain and sadism and evil - the kind of mind he would have sought out on purpose in the 30's just to remove the scum from the face of the planet -
Bella has been fighting back, but it's been futile. Her tights are ripped and her dress is hoisted high over her waist and her hair is knotted and she is bleeding and there are hands on her -
He leaps from the car, snarl on his lips as he rips these vile creatures away from his mate, uncaring of the force he is exerting as bones snap and skulls crack against brick and pavement, the coppery scent of blood filling the air and feeding the galvanized, growling beast trying to break through his skin. He will kill them -
Bella falls to the ground in the next second, curling her body protectively, sobbing with wide eyes and pale cheeks - and he moves in front of her, tethered and immobile, a force that will shield her from the rest of the world until everything is ashes if need be. It's not enough to cage the seething monster inside, but a larger portion of his instincts are clamoring protect mate do not leave protect mate and he is a slave to these instincts as much as he is a slave to her.
He'd almost been too late.
It's a good thing he didn't come alone. His family is taking care of the vermin, Rose in particular is taking pleasure in snapping the tiny, hard-to-heal bones in hands as Emmett bodily lifts the would-be rapists - unconscious from pain or from whiplash, it doesn't matter - into a single pile of wretched human bodies. Edward is still a rumbling mass of vampire fury, a sentinel to the precious thing at his back that will not back down to the likes of anyone, let alone his siblings who only have good intentions -
"I'm going to check her whether you like it or not," Rosalie spits, just a breath away from being completely unhinged by the return of her trauma playing a loop in the back of her mind. "Don't make me move you myself."
"Let us do it," says Alice, projecting clear visions of Bella being happy and safe and unhurt, unmolested, untouched, her manipulation at its finest.
He steps aside - grudgingly - but does not stray far. Even just a foot to the left and he is quivering with madness, aching to just pull his vulnerable mate into his arms and protect her from the world. It's almost physically impossible to keep himself away, even as he is aware that his nearness may not bring her comfort after -
"I'm fine," she murmurs, voice breaking with the thickness of tears and fear still in her voice. "They didn't…"
Edward closes his eyes in relief.
He hadn't been too late.
"No bruises, right?" Alice asks after a few moments, after she has seen to straightening Bella's clothes and hair, cleaning the tear tracks from her cheeks and wiping blood from her upper lip.
"Physically unharmed," Rosalie confirms. "Mentally…"
"I'm fine," Bella repeats.
"She really is," Jasper realizes, his brows furrowed. Four on one and she walks away with only a nose bleed? And those are big men…"Christ, but how the hell-?"
One of the vermin groan and in a flash, Edward has positioned himself in front of his fragile mate, growling a threat that softens only when a dainty hand presses against the middle of his back - soothing the beast quite effectively.
"I'm okay," she whispers to him, catching his gaze with solemn eyes.
He turns to her in supplication then, rubbing his thumb beneath her nose to catch a stray drop that had lingered - and for a second, he catches her thoughts and this time without pain and she is concerned for him - and he can do nothing but lick the blood from his thumb, closing his eyes. Ecstasy. Relief. Reassurance. Pleasure. The fine burn of bloodlust that pales in comparison to the rage still simmering in the back of his mind. He inhales deeply, cataloging her scent, and then opens his eyes so that he might kneel before her, helping her with her shoe and never daring to break the lock of their eyes.
She is shaken - he can tell, he knows from that tiny brush of her mind against his - but she is stronger than he gave her credit for as she insists on helping them deal with the vermin piled up in the middle of the alley. "I'm not a doll, Edward," she insists. "I think I can handle watching them be dropped off at the police station without suffering from a mental breakdown."
He wants to argue, jaw working tightly, but swallows his protests with a healthy dose of humility. She might be his mate, but she was not his property - she had a choice and right now she wanted this. He would give it to her against his better sense. This is what she wants - to see justice. Fine. They are both strong-willed, he is realizing, and he might as well get used to compromising now.
Bella Swan wouldn't be controlled.
She would, however, gladly wear his jacket.
(He does not acknowledge the satisfied rumble of the monster in his head at seeing her dwarfed so completely by leather that carries his scent. That is not what she needs right now.)
o.o.o
o.o.o
"That girl is made of titanium, Edward. And I don't mean that she's physically durable, which she is surprisingly so - I mean that she has the mental fortitude of Fort Knox. Don't you forget that."
"Rosalie…"
"She's a good match for you."
o.o.o
o.o.o
After - well, Edward had learned by now to not form expectations to how Bella Swan would behave. She is clearly affected by what happened, a fact that he only knows because of his frequent nightly runs in the forest near her house that leads him to believe that her sleep has been less than stellar, but she is not letting it get to her.
Titanium might not be a strong enough alloy to describe her strength.
o.o.o
o.o.o
At Alice's insistence, they have all dressed up for this Halloween Dance. Edward is going as James Dean. He isn't sure that Bella has dressed in costume specifically, but he won't deny that the little black dress clinging to her figure and the thick line of dark kohl around her eyes has made her especially alluring. She is, of course, reading a book and he has to shake his head as he approaches her where she has taken residence in a deserted corner of the gymnasium. "Dracula? Is that supposed to mean something?"
"Do you think it means something?"
"You have a morbid sense of humor," he decides once he catches sight of the fake fangs she has attached to her teeth and the thin line of red she has made drip from either side of her lush mouth. She's dressed as a vampire. How charming. "The book wasn't enough?"
"Me? Please," she scoffs. "Honestly, my great-uncle is really the twisted one. Huge fan of Poe."
He smiles at her good humor, holding out his hand. "Would you care to dance? I'm led to believe that is the expected behavior at these events."
"I don't dance," she laughs. "Sorry, but no thanks."
"That's fine. Would you care to take a walk instead?"
Please say yes.
"A walk sounds nice," she smiles, releasing her lip from the indecisive bite of her teeth. She allows him to guide her outside by the small of her back and he valiantly ignores the gut-deep thrill at the implicit permission. "How old are you?"
"Seventeen," he answers promptly.
"And how long have you been seventeen?"
He hesitates. "I was turned during the height of Spanish Influenza in 1918. Does that frighten you?"
"No. Should it?"
Most people would be frightened. Not Bella Swan.
"I suppose not," he concedes. "Although, I continue to underestimate you. Nothing seems to frighten you for too long."
She smiles at that, accepting his proffered elbow as they meander around the field a few times, exchanging small bits of details and witty quips and generally enjoying each other's presence. It's remarkably soothing to Edward. He imagines he could spend hours and hours - years - a millennia - simply talking to her-
Isabella…
Edward stops cold, eyes sharp as he scans the forest - looking for the face to attach to that ghostly thought, but whoever it is has removed themselves from his range. He shakes his head at the inquisitive look Bella directs to him. "It was nothing. I just thought I heard someone say your name."
Bella frowns, pressing closer to his side. "Then why don't you look convinced?"
Edward drops his voice to below a whisper, leaning toward her enough to skim her temple with his nose, relishing in the soothing flavor of her scent. "It sounded like a vampire…and it sounded like she knew you."
(If only he had known then.)
A/N: Part one of the outtake request for Auntie Kim, who was such a huge part of keeping my sanity in writing this rollercoaster, dragging me through my stressing, freaked-out moments with such dignity that this beast of an outtake - all four parts of it, which will be continued in the next three outtakes - simply must be dedicated to her.
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~cupcakeriot