Hello! I really appreciate all the reviews—as well as your patience regarding Edward's antics. I know his mind can become a tedious place, but it's all part of his journey to redemption ;).

And as usual, a big 'thank you' to CoppertopJ for being an amazing beta!

Somewhere between my guilt for causing Bella so much unintended pain with my visit and the unorthodox—and very much unattainable—dream of being with her, I decided that I had to do the humane thing and at least apologize to her. It was the bare minimum I could do after storming off into the night, leaving her alone right after she told me she needed a friend—and all because I couldn't take a joke.

Not that she needed my apologies, of course, but I wanted to keep things civil, considering I was running on borrowed time in Forks. I had already told her I would only stay for a couple of weeks. So sooner rather than later, I would have to leave again. I might as well make the most of the time I had left, while I still had the chance to do so.

Besides, I still had a book to return.

By the time I decided to gather the courage to face her again, it was already Friday. I deliberately avoided going to the all too familiar spot in her tree the night prior, choosing instead to be smart and curb my bloodlust by hunting until the break of dawn. After all, I needed all the help I could get to make myself appear somewhat normal and collected, not rabid and hungry for her.

An impossible task, of course, considering how her scent seemed to erase all traces of common decency in me as soon as I was close enough to bask in it.

I feasted on several mountain lions before even daring to return to the house, making sure that whatever dark tint my eyes had last night, when Bella called me out on it, would be long gone. Once again, the nearby river proved to be more than a decent shower alternative, serving to wash off all the remains of my hunt. I took my time, since hurrying was not an option that day—courtesy of the sunny summer weather.

Once I had a fresh change of clothes on, time seemed to slow its rhythm, much to my dismay. Out of a self-destructive impulse, I started reading Bella's letter again, even though by now I knew the contents by heart, just to pass the time. Once more, I started dissecting what must have gone through her mind to even consider writing it. What must have driven her to think about giving me a second chance, ignoring the way I broke her trust and made her believe she was not worth keeping.

I felt torn between cherishing that piece of paper for the rest of eternity—preserving it under a dark glass dome, where photolytic and oxidative degradation would never reach it—and tearing it to pieces, as a final act of closure. Of course, I was much too scared to do either, afraid of how permanent it would feel.

In the end, the letter found its way into the pocket of my jeans—close enough to feel its fine, crumpled folds through the cotton fibers, yet hidden from my view, so that I felt less tempted to grab it and read it again. And again. And again.

I waited around the house for the longest time, until the sun decided to dim its exuberance at long last. Hidden between a deceptive layer of clouds, the afternoon sun didn't shine with as much vengeance. The light was paler, duller, certainly not radiant enough to disclose my true self if anyone happened to glance my way.

Thankful for the clouds, but still keeping my guard up by wearing a hoodie—yet another fruit of my thrifting escapade—I drove all the way to Gossamer Grove, trying to ignore the restless feeling in my bones.

When I finally reached my destination, I realized there was still some waiting to be done. Gazing from a distance, past the front glass wall, I saw Bella at her desk, calmly arguing with a couple of clients that watching Clueless—whatever that was—was not enough to understand the complex layers of Emma. I briefly remembered that she didn't even enjoy Emma that much, but I could understand why she still advocated for reading the book. The sight of her face was enough to soften my anxiety, even if it didn't last long. It felt good to watch her in the middle of such a mundane activity—away from the distressed tears from two days ago, just focusing on the trivialities of her job.

The back-and-forth argument between Bella and her two clients continued for a few minutes, ending up with the two of them surrendering and borrowing two copies of Emma. I loved seeing Bella's little smile of victory as she watched her clients walk out; it was such a small thing to fawn over, but I couldn't help it, because that smile made me understand that she actually enjoyed her job, even when the professional stakes were way below what she could do.

I prolonged the moment, cherishing the way the distance allowed me to appreciate Bella without titillating my thirst too much. The yearning was there, it always was, but it was merely a gentle ember.

And I could fight a mere ember.

I got out of the car with a renewed sense of confidence, trusting myself to behave. The book in my hands felt lightweight as I carried it with me, and a sick part of me begrudged the fact that I had to let it go. Letting go of this one precious thing that Bella wanted me to experience was surprisingly difficult.

As soon as I was inside, the embers in the pit of my stomach were set aflame, as if I hadn't gorged on the blood of five mountain lions the previous night. I had to make a wilful effort to breathe in the fragrant air and not groan. The door closed behind me, prompting Bella to raise her eyes. I saw the instant surprise in them, tinged with disbelief—in fact, I was starting to get used to being greeted as if I was nothing more than an annoying hallucination.

"Edward?" Even her voice seemed to reflect the doubt.

She got up from her chair and I forgot the importance of formalities when I saw the way her dark-green shirt wrapped around her waist in a snug embrace, disclosing the elegant details of her form. What I would give to wrap my arms around that waist, bringing her closer…

"I'm sorry to barge in like this."

"No, you're… you're not barging in. It's a library, everyone's welcome."

Bella was clearly nervous, going by her bodily responses. Tinted cheeks, turbulent heartbeat, heavy breathing—all these things used to mean something else at one point, but now I was reasonable enough to accept that they were nothing more than signs of her utter astonishment.

Still, my reactions to her—hitched breath, tense muscles, hardened cock—had precisely the same meaning as when we were together.

"You're too kind to me," I sighed, chasing away my fast-paced desire. "May I have a few minutes of your time?"

She nodded shortly, walking away from her desk and meeting me halfway. I was still holding tightly to The Book Thief, and she seemed to notice. "Is this about the book? Is that why you're here?"

"Yes. But I'd be lying if I told you it was the only reason why I'm here."

I couldn't suppress a smile when I noticed the glimmer in her eyes. To my delight, she returned the smile, seemingly without too much thought.

"Fine, then I'm listening," she said.

Inhaling deeply, I forced myself to accept the pain in my throat and the way it reverberated into my lungs, pushing through its layers until I could speak again. "I would like to apologize. Two nights ago, when I stopped by your place and you made that joke… I shouldn't have reacted like that, it was out of line. And for what it's worth—"

"No, no, no," she interrupted. "You have nothing to apologize for, trust me. If anything, I'm the one who owes you an apology! I know I upset you."

I frowned, my confusion getting the better of me. Between the two of us, she was the one who ended up crying after our evening together, which meant that I had upset her, not the other way around. "You did nothing wrong, Bella. I'm certainly not upset."

"There's no need to sugarcoat things for my sake." She paused, and I could see that she was struggling to find her words. "The thing is, I… I never drink, all right? So the other night, you weren't wrong when you kept telling me that the wine got to my head. I would've been a hell of a lot more careful with my jokes if I was sober."

"I like your jokes," I replied sincerely. "I'm just no longer used to some of them."

"They're a little better when I don't have wine in my system." Her smile lingered still, before fading into a concerned expression. "Anyway, I hope you can forgive me for what I said. It's not your fault you feel the way that you feel about my blood. Trust me, I know that."

Just like it's not your fault you happen to smell like the best damn thing in the entire world.

I suppressed the need to voice that particular thought out loud. "I'd argue that's not entirely true, but that's not the point. Thank you for being so… gracious about this. It's more than I deserve."

"No need to thank me. Apologizing is the least I can do. I would have done it sooner if I had a way to contact you."

For a moment, I considered the possibility of offering her the number of my emergency phone—I could already imagine myself changing my habit of keeping it turned off, in hopes she would reach out to me.

The only problem was that I could also imagine my family calling—and I was hardly prepared to withstand any potential conversations with them, after the way I had been behaving.

"Don't worry, I can always find you," I offered half-jokingly, relying on the fact that she would not push further.

"Oh, that I know." Bella walked back to her desk, and I followed her, enslaved to the sweet cloud of her fragrance. "But don't you think it's a bit unfair?" she pondered, right as she was getting comfortable in her chair. "I mean, I'm still not supposed to drive until my next appointment at the orthopedist, so… so I cannot just drive to your house."

I raised one eyebrow, curious—and a little afraid—of where she was going with this. "Why would you need to drive to my house?"

"To make up for the fact that I don't have your phone number when I have something to ask you, for instance."

"Well, I'm here now," I replied unconvincingly, still trying to shift the discussion away from the tempting offer of exchanging phone numbers. "So you can ask me anything."

"Right." She closed her eyes for a few seconds, slightly frowning, and I instantly recognized her expression. She had given up on her task of convincing me—not because she wanted to, but because my veiled rejection made her feel inadequate. It was the same expression I saw when years ago, late at night, I had to curb her enthusiasm before I imploded from the insane concupiscence of our kisses and touches.

I hated making her feel like this. Not even the thought that I was doing it for her own benefit was enough to ease the aching feeling in my chest.

"I'm listening," I encouraged her when she opened her eyes again. "What was it that you wanted to ask me and couldn't?"

Distress still lingered in the chocolate wells of her irises, coupled with a strange tension in her shoulders. "It was more of a favour, to be fair. Only if it's not a problem for you, of course. And if you've got time."

I refrained myself from admitting that I would probably do her any favour if she asked me to. She didn't have to witness how deep my desperation ran. "I have time," I assured her.

"It might be a little strange though, so I understand if the answer is no."

"Fortunately for you, I can do strange." I winked, in an attempt to set her mind at ease, and her pulse quickened in response. Damn. Perhaps my gesture killed my attempt in its tracks, turning it into an unintentional scare tactic. It seemed that I was particularly good at being scary lately—which was precisely what I was trying to avoid with her.

She gazed at me as if she was still deciding whether to go through with her question or not. I waited, hoping she could not read the greedy anticipation on my face. "All right, so you remember how I told you about Jacob leaving on Wednesday for that client he's got in McCleary?" I nodded calmly, even if the mere mention of her future husband's name hurt worse than a stake through the heart. Every reminder that he was real was sheer agony. "He was supposed to return tonight. But this guy recommended Jake to a friend of his, who needs help with his truck. So he won't return until Monday evening."

I didn't dare to say anything, nor to make the arrogant presumption that she would ask me to pay her another visit. I chose to shut up, confident that my silence would convince her to go on. And that was precisely what happened. "The problem is, Jacob drives me to Charlie's grave on the first day of every month—it's kind of a remembrance day, because that was when he… you know, when he was buried."

An uncomfortable silence fell upon us. I desperately wanted to know how to crush it without also crushing Bella's heart too; as skilled as she was at putting up a brave front, I feared that the wound of losing her parents was still very much open and bleeding. Worse, I feared that it would never really heal.

It wasn't long until guilt started to overcome me. The guilt of knowing that if I had never disturbed Bella's life, her parents would still be alive.

"The thing is, Seth has been my driver for the past few days, and I would ask him to drive me there," she started, and I had to make an effort to push aside the more nefarious thoughts, to offer her my undivided attention. "But the weekends are usually reserved for visiting his sister, Leah, in Seattle. So I don't want to force him to stay in town just so that he can drive me to the cemetery. It wouldn't be fair to him." I could hear the self-reproach in her voice, as if the simple thought of disrupting another person's plans was causing her internal misery. "So my question is: do you think you can drive me there on Sunday morning? Please?"

She seemed sheepish, and I wondered if it was because a part of her expected me to refuse. I didn't allow myself more time to process what my answer should be. All I knew was that there was no way in hell I would let her down now. "Of course, Bella."

I saw the shift in her posture as soon as the words left my mouth—the rigid tension in her shoulders let up and the corners of her lips jumped up. "Really?"

"Yes. Although, there is one thing." The sudden flash of fear on her face stung—she couldn't possibly believe I would back down immediately after assuring her of my willingness to help. I continued before she could think the worst of me. "I still need to be careful about the sun. If there are no clouds in sight on Sunday morning…"

"Oh. Oh, you're right, I'm sorry! I should have thought about it beforehand. I am so sorry!"

"Shhh, Bella, it is fine, trust me. I don't blame you for not taking this into consideration. All I wanted to say was that even if it'll be sunny in the morning, I can still take you there in the evening if it is not too late for—"

"The evening works for me too", she said, not even letting me finish my sentence. "Actually, it's even better, because Sundays are usually packed with chores for me, so I'll get to do most of them until then. Thank you so much for doing this! I'll owe you one."

I smiled, loving every bit of her reaction. "Don't worry about it." My smile started to fade once I observed the pink splash in her cheeks—particularly how mouth-watering it looked, the rosy tendrils of blood dissipating under the fragile alabaster fabric of her skin, painting it in demure hues of red. And how close to it I was, with nothing but a desk separating me from Bella…

Masochistically, I breathed in deeply. I might as well have been inflaming direct flames from a fireplace—although I was tempted to think that dealing with actual fire would have been a hell of a lot less painful. With Bella, it was never just mere pain. It was torment and lust and ache and scorching scenarios about what I could never do with her.

Scenarios that got me hard as much as they filled my mouth with flaming venom.

At least she couldn't see the effect she had on me—because then she would most likely not even entertain any kind of conversation.

Desperate to hang on to something other than my visceral needs, I placed the book I was holding on the desk.

"So, as I was telling you, I am also here to return this," I began. Bella grabbed the book with trembling fingers, and I yearned to feel, even for a fleeting moment, the heat of those fingers on my skin again.

"Yes. Give me a second." I watched as she started typing on the keyboard in front of her, captivated by the small, rapid movements. She was done in no time. Soon after, she raised her eyes to look at me again, her gaze leaving me awfully hot and bothered. "Um, do you maybe… want to borrow another one?"

There was a thick layer of hesitation wrapping around her words, making me wonder if she was asking just to be polite. "I still don't have a library card."

"I can still let you use mine, obviously."

I mulled over her proposal, slowly understanding that maybe she wasn't just polite. "If it's not a problem for you, then yes. Thank you."

"Great. Do you want to read anything in particular?"

"I trust your recommendations," I answered truthfully. Although, if I had to be honest all the way, I was silently craving to read something that she enjoyed, something that she wanted me to enjoy too. It was such a fragile emotional connection, but it was a connection nonetheless, one that I was more than willing to experience.

Even if it meant reaching pathetic levels of desperation.

"Sure, no pressure then," she quipped, moving away from her desk. I accompanied her to the nearest shelf unit and stopped when she did. If the closeness from moments ago, when we were separated by the desk, had been overwhelming to me, what was happening now was all the more compelling. Several hungers battled within me as I watched her scan the books that were at the level of her eyes.

Hoping to tame them, I talked again. "I didn't get to ask you, but how is your ankle now?"

"It doesn't really bother me if I don't force my luck by standing for too long", she said, starting to pick several volumes from the shelf. "Or walking for too long."

"So not much walking for you these days."

"Not if I listen to my doctor. Although I'm counting the days until I can be normal again. I miss my motorcycle."

She sighed longingly, picking another book and staring at the cover. I recognized the title instantly—Never Let Me Go, the book she told me about two days ago. She hesitated before adding it to the small pile in her hands.

"Your motorcycle," I repeated, still not fully comprehending why she seemed to enjoy this perilous activity so much. "Exactly what you need right now."

"Oh, get used to it."

Although I knew she was joking, the slight sharpness in her voice lured me to believe that her joke might have been buried in some type of resentment.

"I am trying," I admitted. "It is a work in progress."

She said nothing in return. She simply turned around, heading back to her desk. I followed her, my senses choking on the maddeningly delicious trail she left behind her. I was aching to get the smallest fraction of what she was thinking about. I didn't get the chance to embarrass myself by asking her if my remark angered her, for she opened her mouth before I got the chance to. "There you go. These should keep you busy."

She handed me the books she was holding, and I grabbed them eagerly, all of a sudden ravenous to feel the warmth left behind by her skin once again. My entire body tensed upon sensing the fevered paper. I started analyzing the titles, one by one. Lisey's story. Slow Man. A Thousand Splendid Suns.

And, invariably, Never Let Me Go.

My fingers started to draw patterns on the covers—partly to bask in the last remains of heat, partly curious to discover the stories awaiting inside.

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

"It's what I'm here for," she returned, downplaying my zeal.

I agreed with a nod. In the distance, I heard two unknown voices arguing ardently whether they wanted to stop by the library or not. Not wanting to ignore my cue, I took one step back, hardly ready to say goodbye.

"So, will I see you on Sunday?" she asked.

"I will be there," I promised. "Try not to hurt yourself further until then."

"And here I was hoping to get back on my motorcycle tonight before I go to bed."

I shook my head, suppressing a laugh. It was refreshing to know that her sarcasm was as strong as ever. "Take care, Bella. I mean it."

Once I was outside, a hollowness I knew all too well made its way to me—through the deceivingly calm air, past whatever strength was still left in me, and right into my bones. Maybe the hollowness was to be expected since each time I said goodbye to Bella was a cruel reminder of the day when I thought I had said goodbye for good.

With half of my heart still in Gossamer Grove with her, I did what I knew best. I went back to nothingness.

Time seemed to have found a new cadence, thanks to the books received from Bella. Had I not known that she handpicked these books specifically for me to read, I wouldn't have been inclined to touch them; not because the subject matters were not interesting—no, far from that. The real reason was that I gave up on reading—and playing the piano—around the same time I realized life was pretty damn pointless without Bella. In her absence, the very idea of literature turned dull and indistinct, while music lost all meaning, turning into an annoying clash of sounds.

Of course, all that went out the window, now that Bella was a tangible presence in my life again—not tangible in the sense that I could somehow let my hands near her body again, but rather in the sense that she was flesh and bones, so much more than a vivid memory. And I wanted to get a glimpse of what she had grown to enjoy while we were apart—what books she was reading, what foods she was eating, what kind of music she was listening to.

Anything that would bring me closer to who she was, at her very core.

I went through the books she lent me over and over again, searching for meaning, trying to guess what aspects captivated her the most. Was it the harrowing origin story of pain and darkness in Lisey's Story? Was it the looming pride that people would not let go of in the process of getting old, so aptly shown in Slow Man? Or perhaps the almost superhuman resilience that the female protagonists of A Thousand Splendid Suns showed?

But then again, if I knew anything about her, I was willing to bet that the utter futility of human life and its inevitable destiny of reaching completion, was what got her attention upon reading Never Let Me Go. Either that, or I was projecting, because that was precisely the aspect that was ceaselessly troubling me. Even if, for all intents and purposes, my human life was very much gone, Bella's was still intact. But there was a time when she was more than willing to give it up—a time when she begged me to take it away, so that she could join me in the dark realm where life and death met.

I wondered—and feared—how much of that desire was still left in her.

The lure of immortality had fascinated humankind for millennia, so I couldn't blame her for it, but that didn't mean I wasn't bothered by the fact that I was most likely the fuse that lit up that particular bomb of thought in her mind. I preferred to believe that, thanks to the newfound love she discovered with Jacob, she no longer understood the appeal of living under the curse of eternal life and indubitable damnation; but then again, her reading preferences got me to wonder if I had been wrong in assuming.

I kept rereading the books, seeking answers to Bella's mind, only to find more questions staring back at me from between the powder-white pages.

Saturday came and went, the sunny weather keeping me locked in one place. I refused to indulge myself by watching over Bella when she slept, willing myself to be a better man. I kept myself busy with the stories in my hands, with the many—yet perfectly countable—splotches of worn-off paint on the walls, with the humming of the fauna around the house.

Time only started to dilate when Sunday rolled in. With the knowledge that our meeting was getting closer and closer, I started growing unbearably restless, wondering about all the things I could do to make our little trip easier for her. Visiting her father's grave was anything but a cheerful activity, especially since she was not going to benefit from the comfort of having her husband-to-be close, which meant that I deeply wanted to make things better, in any way I could.

So when the sun was getting ready to set, I decided to use the knowledge gathered from attending several funerals and visiting several graveyards with my family—in a bid to commemorate the lives we took the only way we knew how—by picking dahlias and poppies from the forest and arranging them in a tiny bouquet that Bella would be able to place on her father's grave.

The sky was still basking in the last remains of the day when I got into my car, carefully placing the flowers in the back seat. It was dark enough to no longer worry about the possibility of exposing my kind, but still light enough for the thin wispy clouds to bleed red through the purple canvas of the sky—mere scraps of the melting sun.

Bella was ready and waiting when I arrived, her hair pulled up in a disheveled bun that revealed her enticing neck from every angle. I found her beauty even more striking than usual as the twilight pulled us deeper in its vice, making my need for her ache and throb in new, exciting ways.

"Are you ready for this?" I checked as we walked to my car, keeping a safe—yet utterly irresistible—distance between us. One wrong movement and our hands would have touched.

"As ready as I can be."

Grateful for the lack of intrusive neighbours peeking out their windows, I opened the passenger door for her and watched as she got inside my car, cherishing the sheer improbability of such a momentous thing happening. I was by her side in no time, already feeling the hunger creeping in, despite having fed three days ago. Trying to appear somewhat casual, I rolled down my window, praying that the new opening would keep me in check.

"I hope you don't mind, but I brought these for you," I said, once I was in my seat, reaching behind me to grab the flowers from the back seat. A wave of shock traversed Bella's eyes as she gazed at the bouquet in my hand, and I rushed to continue before she got the wrong impression. "For your father's grave, I mean. I figured you would need something like this."

"Edward, I…" She seemed to struggle to continue, but she managed to. "Sorry, I'm kind of speechless."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have?" I didn't mean to make my words sound like a question, but I certainly failed midway through my attempt to say something thoughtful.

"It's not that, it's…" Another pause, as her struggle went on. "I always bring flowers when I visit Charlie's grave. Jake usually takes care of it. I didn't want to bother you with this, since I had already bothered you by asking me to drive there, so…"

"You didn't bother me," I clarified.

She shook her head as she accepted the bouquet. "If I didn't know any better, I could've sworn you read my mind." I wish. "I honestly can't thank you enough."

I used the brief moment of starting the engine to think about the right response—a response that would not hint at the harsh reality of how I was ready to do anything and everything for her. "Don't worry about it. Having friends in low places has its benefits, right?"

"More than you know."

In what appeared to be an instinctive gesture, she reached forward to turn the radio on. The shaky frequency squeaked for a few seconds before it started carrying an unknown tune, filling up the small space with the soft strum of a guitar, that faded in and out in wistful waves.

I couldn't decide whether I liked it or not. But for the first time in a long while, I realized I didn't completely hate the sound of music. In fact, I was getting eager to listen to more, suddenly fascinated by the possibilities of where the melody could go next.

Although, truth be told, having Bella by my side would have made even an outright apocalypse fascinating.

With her scent in my lungs and melodies hanging in the air, it was easier to accept the fact that I was getting closer and closer to the point at which reason would outright abandon me. It was the logical consequence of being trapped in a car with her for far more minutes than my body was trained to endure.

And it was also a fight I couldn't afford to lose. Ever.

So when Bella asked me to close the window, because the draft of air was unpleasant to her, I knew I had only one option left.

Bracing for war.

An evening with a vampire in the graveyard—what could go wrong?

I'd love to know your thoughts on this chapter :).

Stay safe and happy!