X. There's an Angel in Aisle Three

The drive to Tacoma was filled with pointless speculation. I had called ahead of time, to make sure they had a copy of the book I was searching for. Placing all my hopes on this one thing, which could, in reality, be nothing but a piece of fiction that resonated a little closely with my situation, was risky. But I was nearly three weeks into this reality, and it was the only thing I'd come across that may hold answers. And in the case that it was simple fiction, I was at least hoping it could inspire me to take a different course of action. Something more proactive; something I had yet to think of. I was at the end of my rope.

I don't think I became as aware that I was in the wrong year as I did when I walked into Barnes & Noble. RadioShack, the landline in Charlie's kitchen, Lauren's hideous velour tracksuit, Jamie Lynn's face on the cover of Jessica's copy of Seventeen magazine―all consistent reminders. But this bookstore chain had been one of my frequent haunts, and now, it was all wrong―the displays, the layout, the décor, even the books themselves. My skin prickled with discomfort, and I forced myself to stagger forward when an employee shot me a strange look.

I busied myself, walking down aisles, skimming books, and keeping anything that caught my fancy. I wasn't trying very hard to find the one book I sought. I was a coward.

But when I did catch a glimpse of the cover―an abstract ouroboros set against a slate background, and the title By Proxy in simple, white slanted font across the bottom―it was not sitting on a bookshelf, but in the hands of another. A tall, broad man with the darkest skin imaginable and curls falling messily across his forehead. When he glanced up to meet my gaze, I lurched back.

His eyes were bright, the color of mulberry wine, and utterly inhuman.

"An interesting piece of literature," he commented with a deep voice that sounded like gravel scraping pavement.

I could only stare at him, gripping a small stack of books to my chest, feet glued to the ground. I wouldn't say it was fear holding me in place, but there was a certain disturbance in my gut that cautioned me to keep my distance.

Unexpectedly, he gently shut the book and held it out to me. When I made no move to retrieve it, he spoke again, "It does not hold the answers you seek. But you may find comfort in it nonetheless."

My blood became ice in my veins. "You…?" I couldn't even finish the thought as I numbly took the book from his hand.

He looked me over critically. "You have adjusted well, but you are also impulsive. Allow me to answer your questions."

My face crumpled. "You're the reason…?"

"No," he answered and then turned his back on me. "Come."

I followed after him in a stupefied sort of daze. When we reached a secluded table towards the back of the store, he gestured for me to take a seat across from him. I set my books on the table and tucked my hands between my legs, shoulders hunched.

"Why am I here?" was my first question.

Although I was prepared for the possibility of his answer, his blunt words had me reeling. "You died."

It punctured a hole in my chest that strained wider with every breath. "I-I don't remember…"

"As intended. To minimize the shock," he replied, peering down at me with solemn eyes. "I can change that."

I nodded mutely. It wasn't a question―I needed to know. "But why here?" I whispered, "As a storybook character?"

His broad shoulders lifted almost helplessly. "I cannot say. Although, I find that many discover themselves within places of comfort. A certain time period, a certain culture, or even a certain story."

"And I don't get a say?" I wasn't angry, merely dumbfounded. My situation was beyond all reason.

"No one does," he said factually.

Finally, I met his gaze. "And you? Who're you?"

"My name is Azmon."

I frowned. "What are you?"

"I am called many things―all irrelevant. I am simply tasked with finalizing your adjustment period."

"Adjustment?" I repeated faintly, before demanding, "What happened to me?"

And suddenly, I couldn't breathe.

The lights above collapsed and the chair beneath me burst into an upsurge of water, until it engulfed my nose and burned my eyes. It became darker and colder and the weight pressed against my chest. My breath stuck in my lungs until I couldn't hold it in anymore and then I was choking, throat and lungs on fire. I struggled, desperate to find the surface, but I couldn't breathe and it wasn't there. I pushed and kicked and turned, the overpowering current a roar in my ears, and I couldn't breathe. All I needed was air, but the water pressed harder against my chest, slamming into my mouth, flooding my lungs. I was drowning and I couldn't breathe, but I swept my arms and I kicked again and I couldn't breathe. I didn't know what was up or what was down and I couldn't breathe, Icouldn'tbreathe, Icouldn'tbreathe.

A pair of ice-cold hands grappled my arms, shaking me and I was coughing and gasping. My chest heaved, but my lungs were blessedly empty, expanding rapidly with sweet oxygen. My lungs no longer burned and my throat didn't feel like sandpaper, but the gulps of air rattled through me and my whole body trembled.

"Isabella?!"

My eyes shot open and locked with a pair of frightened, gold eyes.

"E-Edward?" I sobbed in relief.

I clung to him, forehead pressed against his chest as I continued to gasp small, sharp breaths.

"Shh, slow your breathing," Edward spoke softly into my ear, voice soothing.

I nodded, a high, keening sound escaping my lips as I wept. Sobs wracked my body and my head strained with the force of my clenched eyes. I anchored myself to him, breathing and crying, and breathing again. No matter how much oxygen I inhaled, the distinct feeling of choking, screaming, and water in my lungs would not leave me. I trembled under the weight of the memory.

By the time I calmed down, my eyes were bloodshot and puffy and my cheeks were sticky with tears.

Edward pulled away far enough to cradle my face between his hands. The frigid temperature was soothing against my flushed cheeks and pulsing headache and I leaned into them. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the chair I previously sat on was now toppled on its side, a few feet from where I sat on the floor.

"―sabella?"

I belatedly realized Edward was calling my name, but my throat was raw and head foggy. I mustered the little strength I had left to lift my eyes again, meeting his gaze listlessly.

Time blurred. One second, I was collapsed on the floor. In the next, Edward was guiding my shaky limbs through a maze of bookshelves. And then, I sat in the passenger seat of his car, throbbing skull pressed against the cool leather of the headrest.

The heavy silence was rhythmically broken by my shaky breaths, until I finally turned my head and met Edward's scorching gaze.

"Who did this to you?" he demanded, voice seething.

His question had me careening forward, eyes swivelling through the parking lot and sweeping across the entrance of the store. "Azmon," I whispered his name desperately, voice rough with tears, "Where is he? Did you see him?!"

Edward's face twisted hatefully. "No," he growled lowly.

"You're lying," I cried.

He reached out, tilting my head until I faced him again. His voice was gentle when he said, "When I found you, you were alone."

This time, there was no deceit. I could only assume that if he'd found me, Alice's visions were responsible. But how much had he seen? Did it matter?

I slumped down with a frustrated hiss. Damn it. I fucked up. I had too many questions left unanswered, but my hands were still trembling, and I didn't even know what I wanted to ask. All I knew was, I wanted to go home.

"Who was he?" Edward asked.

I blinked back into awareness. Once his question registered, I shrugged. "I think…" I swallowed thickly, "I think he was trying to help me." In the most fucked up way possible. I took another deep, shuddering breath.

"Help you," he repeated flatly.

I didn't bother replying. I didn't want to believe any of it myself―but the memories were too real, too vivid. Did Edward remember his death as vividly?

I cupped my hands over my mouth, fighting to hold back another sob. I'm dead. How can I be dead?

"Isabella, please," Edward quietly begged, "What's going on in your head?"

I gulped another wide breath and curled my hands on my lap. "He showed me a truth," I whispered.

"A truth?"

I hunched my shoulders. "It's like...it's like the first time I saw you, I saw your truth," I explained hoarsely, unable to look him in the eye, "And I knew. You wanted to kill me."

Edward became a statue at my side. Despite the weariness that weighed me down, I pressed on, "It's...I forgive you. I know you struggled with yourself, because you didn't want to disappoint your father. And you didn't want to disappoint yourself." It hadn't been okay―far from it. But there was nothing to do about it, and in the end, Edward hadn't killed me. Can a person die twice? My heart bled.

His voice cracked as he said, "I'm sorry."

"I know you are," I sighed and leaned forward to cradle my pulsing head, "Azmon showed me a truth about myself. That's all I can say." I was slightly remorseful for calling Edward out like that, but it was the only way I could explain it. My truth was an intimate and visceral thing that I found myself unable to voice.

When I sat up and reached for the door handle, Edward's hand shot out and gently gripped my arm. "Where are you going?"

I wiped at my face. "My books," I explained, sniffling, "I still need to buy them."

Edward heaved a sigh. "Wait here," he instructed, before disappearing from the driver's seat. Perhaps, at any other time, his order would have aggravated me. But I was too mentally and emotionally spent.

I sunk into the leather seat and took a long, deep breath, reassuring my lungs they were still empty of all water. I pressed a hand against my chest, comforted by the strong tempo of my heart. I died, but I'm still alive. I have to remember that.

When Edward slipped back inside the car, he handed me a large, plastic bag heavy with books. "Thank you." It was lackluster, but it was the best I could manage.

Edward nodded, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "I hope you don't mind," he said slowly, "But I had Alice take your truck back to Forks."

"Huh?" I frowned, and then shrugged. "Okay."

Edward's stare was heavy and inescapable.

I couldn't find it in myself to care. My eyes rested against the dashboard, dim.

My head swam. It wasn't until the dash blurred, that I realized I was crying again.

"Please, don't cry." Edward's cool fingers brushed my face, catching my tears.

"Sorry." I blinked, dislodging the tears stuck to my lashes and rubbed at my eyes. "Are we heading back now?"

Edward hesitated. "Let's get you something to eat first," he suggested, twisting the key into the ignition.

I didn't respond. I didn't have the energy to argue, although I didn't have much of an appetite. I stared out the window while he drove, thoughts numb. Sooner or later, I knew I would have to unpack the consequences of my death, but I was already so drained. Instead, I focused on the quiet, instrumental music drifting from the stereo, allowing it to sooth my turmoil.

"Do you want to wait here?" Edward offered soon after he parked.

"Yeah."

I was surprised when he simply nodded and disappeared. I blinked back into awareness, noting that we'd parked across from a small café. I guess even a vampire can't mess up a pastry order. The thought was amusing enough to tug at the corner of my lips.

While I waited, I tried to piece myself together. Reluctantly, I sat up and flipped down the sun visor to uncover the mirror and winced. I pulled and brushed my hair back from where it'd stuck to my drying cheeks, and used the sleeves of my sweater to wipe down my face and nose. There wasn't anything I could do for my puffy eyes, so I flicked the visor back up in time for Edward to return.

He handed me a blueberry muffin and a cup that smelled distinctly of hot chocolate. Just like at the gas station. It was oddly touching.

"Thanks," I croaked. Of course, it tasted much better. But there was queasiness in my stomach that kept me from enjoying it―I still couldn't quite get the cold burn of sea salt to disappear from the back of my throat.

Edward stared at me with a contemplative expression. "Why did you drive here by yourself?"

The judgement in his eyes made me feel a little self-conscious, because his concern wasn't completely unwarranted. "I just wanted to buy some books," I answered reluctantly, quietly. "And I wanted time for myself."

He frowned. "So that man you met with…"

I shook my head. "That wasn't planned." I closed my eyes and sipped, almost crying when the comforting warmth hit my throat.

"I see…" he trailed off. "How does… Your ability, how does it work?"

And now, back to our regularly scheduled lies. I chewed slowly, mulling over my answer. Once I swallowed, I said, "What I know is limited. And it has an expiration date."

"That...what?" Edward appeared dumbfounded. I didn't blame him―he was operating under that assumption that my "ability" worked in the same fashion as his mind-reading or Alice's visions. Bella had a mind-shield, while I had read a series of books as a teenager. They weren't comparable, even if it did give me twice the advantage.

When I didn't elaborate, Edward continued, "It's just...what you said to Rosalie. When I heard you, I was surprised. But then, Rosalie, she...you were right."

I ignored the faltering in his voice, assuming he was skirting around the mind-reading. Because if anyone could confirm what I'd said to Rosalie, it was him. Unlike me, she couldn't hide her thoughts from him. "Why is that confusing?"

"Because," he sighed a frustrated sound, "You knew my thoughts that first day. But you didn't read Rosalie's thoughts. Jealousy was the last thing on her mind at the time."

If I hadn't felt so beaten down, I might've laughed. "I'm not a mind-reader," I placated him. "I just know things. Some random, some useless, and some that others would rather keep secret―like Rosalie's jealousy." I was quick to tack that on at end, lest he assume I was referring to more sinister secrets.

He hummed in thought and flickered his gaze towards the stereo. "It's how you knew my preference for classical music." It wasn't a question. After a pause, he asked, "When's the expiration date?"

I searched my memories, until I came across an approximate date. "Hm, January 2007, I think." The expression that crossed his face had me shifting awkwardly. "What?"

"Can you...can you see the future?"

I blinked, wondering how'd he reached a conclusion that was so wrong, but also exactly on point. "You like to ask a lot of questions," I sighed. If I didn't know so much about him, I'd probably be more irritated. I didn't want anyone to know I was a fraud, but it wasn't a good idea to let him reach the wrong conclusions either. "I know a future. Singular."

"How does it work?" he pressed.

I frowned. "It means, a lot of shitty stuff is supposed to happen to me and I do my best to avoid it."

He recoiled. Before he could start firing another million questions, I held up a hand. "It's fine, Edward. No more questions."

He ran a hand through his hair with an agitated look and groused, "Now you decide to stop?"

"S'not like you ever answer any questions," I bit out.

He shot me an incredulous look. "You never ask any."

I blinked. Oh. It was Bella who asked the questions. Wow I really suck at this. "But if I did, would you?"

"Well. No." His smile was cheeky and I couldn't help but smile―a small and frail thing.

"Right," I mumbled and bit into my muffin. We fell into a comfortable silence while I ate, and I couldn't help but feel reluctantly grateful for Alice. If not for her, I'm not sure I could've pulled myself together as quickly as I had with Edward there to pick up the pieces. And my truck was already a bit of a hazard on the road―driving in the state I'd been would've been a tragedy waiting to happen.

As soon as I drank the last of my hot chocolate, Edward had taken the wrapper and cup from my hands, rolled the window down, and chucked the trash into a bin a few feet away. "Ready to go?" he flashed me a crooked grin.

I smiled fondly. "Yeah. Thank you―for coming, I mean."

For a moment, Edward stared at me uncomfortably, not paying any mind to the road as he pulled out of the parking lot. "You really don't ask any questions," he realized, and then added quietly, "Because you don't need to."

I hummed in agreement. I wondered to myself how much he thought I knew. I wasn't ready to have that conversation; I was even less ready to accept my place in this story. If Azmon was to be believed, this was my new reality. It didn't mean I had to make the same mistakes as Bella, but the longer I spent around Edward, the harder it was not to care about him. But the bottom line was, I didn't want to be a vampire.

I fiddled with the plastic bag on my lap, mind drifting towards the book I'd driven out here for. Zaire White―the name of the author. It was comforting to know I wasn't the only one.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Edward prodded, eyes fixed on me as though the road were the least of his worries.

"Just nerding out over my new books." My attempted smile was weak. I peeked inside and was glad to find all the ones I'd picked out. "Where's the receipt?"

"You're not paying me back," Edward shook his head and turned to face forward, as though dismissing any potential arguments.

I shrugged―it wasn't like I could afford to be annoyed. "Well then...thanks."

His shoulders relaxed. "You're welcome. How's your head?"

"Better," I said, briefly prodding at my temple to reassure myself of the fact. "It hurt from crying too hard, but it's okay now."

"And what about you? Will you be okay?" The distress was so evident on his face, I could no longer look at him.

"No," I said plainly, hands fisting in my lap. I died. Mamá, papá―I'm sorry.

The cool palm pressed against my cheek startled me back into awareness. "Talk to me," Edward insisted.

For a moment, I was tempted. How did Edward handle his death? I clenched a hand against my chest as my breaths turned ragged. "I can't," I gasped.

Edward's acceptance was quiet, but solemn. Gently, he tangled his icy fingers with my own. He didn't say another word, simply holding my hand for the remainder of our drive. For now, it was enough.

A/N: Sorry for the sad chapter :( I'll try not to drag out the angsty-ness, but she's definitely going to struggle with this new revelation.

I did not realize my audience was so diverse, so a shout out to my foreign readers! :D Also, the reason I asked if I was updating too fast is because I've had readers unsubscribing from my story, and it made me sad :(

Fun fact: The title of this story is from a line in the song Vice Verses by Switchfoot. If you read the lyrics, you can see where most of my inspiration for this story came from.

Anyway, let me know your thoughts on the chapter and I'll try to update soon! :)