Chapter 8 – History and Hairstyling

As it turns out, the accident marks something of a turning point in my new vampire life. I've killed a human, the worst has happened, but in the moving on from it I feel like I'm really finding my place in this new family.

There's no condemnation from any of the Cullens. Instead, they offer me understanding and even compassion as I start to come to terms with the complicated reality of what it means to be a Cullen vampire. Esme tells me about her mistakes, about all the times her control slipped and things ended in tragedy, and promises me that she'll help me through mine. I might secretly think that the faith she and Carlisle have in me is wildly optimistic, but I don't want to disappoint them again and their belief in me bolsters my own belief that eventually control will be possible.

I think my willingness to continue trying to live like they do, after actually experiencing the heavenly satiation of feeding on human blood, goes a long way to making them see me as one of them rather than a kind of unorthodox guest. They relax around me a little, and in turn I start feeling more like myself and we all move a little away from self-conscious politeness and towards genuine affection.

Because as we go on, I discover that I like them all. Sure, they've got more money in their piggybank than I've ever seen and they've all got years (centuries!) of experiences and education that I know nothing about, but they never look down on me for all that. Carlisle's busy with doctoring, but when he's home he's always happy to answer my questions and offer suggestions for things to do or see or read or listen to that he thinks I might like. Esme grew up on a farm, so she understands a bit more where I'm coming from, and she's always cheerful and encouraging company. Edward, once he starts to unbend a little, is great. I've always found it easy to get along with boys and - while I admit none of them have ever been at all like Edward! - he and I slip pretty quickly into a comfortable groove. I mean, if me driving him crazy with teasing and questions and clumsiness while he does his best to rein in my enthusiasm and idiocies counts as comfortable. You'd think a mind-reader would really be less uptight, but he's pretty fun when he forgets to take himself and the world so seriously.

And Rosalie.

It sounds crazy, but it's not just becoming a vampire that's changed my world, it's her. There is absolutely no rhyme or reason to the way I feel about her. I've always liked looking at girls, always felt that draw, but that's like a single candleflame against the power of the sun when I compare it to what Rosalie does to me now. The world exists just to hold her. Everything I do and think and feel is in some strange way shaped by the new emotions that she raises in me.

I don't know if I should call it love, but I don't know what else it could be.

On the face of it, we have very little in common. Rosalie's fearsomely clever, and even though she and Edward aren't going to school while they babysit me she still studies every day with single minded determination. I'm not stupid, but I've never been academic and becoming a vampire apparently hasn't changed that. I read now, but so far it's mostly been action packed adventure stories that they've recommended to me and I'm not in a hurry to change it up with any of the math and science that Rosalie's devouring at the dining room table.

I'd be happy to wear the same rugged overalls every day, although I can't seem to hunt without making a mess and have to swap them over for laundering after every meal. Rosalie spends hours trying on various combinations of the clothes she already owns, and then spends even more time designing, sewing and shopping for more. She studies Vogue with the same intensity that she studies physics.

There might be all those differences between us, but when I'm with her none of it seems very important. Deep down, where it matters, the two of us fit together in a way feels like it was meant to be.

At first I try to feign interest in the things that she cares about. I remember her comment about being glad to have another girl around and I don't want to disappoint her, even though I know I'm not at all the sort of girl that she had in mind. I still try, partly because I want to make her happy and partly because it makes me happy to see her light up as she talks about the things she loves. She sees through me immediately though, and laughs at me and tells me to go out hunting with Edward and leave her and Esme to shop.

If Rosalie wishes I were a different kind of girl, she never lets me see it. Instead, the more time we spend together, the more common ground we seem to find. She accepts that I don't care about clothes the way she does, but without her saying a word about it I find my wardrobe filled with plain shirts and sailor style pants that I know she and Esme have chosen and sewn for me and which suit me completely. She recommends books and genuinely wants to hear what I think about them. She might spend hours brushing and styling her hair and change outfits three times a day, but then I'll walk out in to the barn and find her wearing a pair of grease stained overalls I didn't know she owned and with wisps of hay from the loft caught in her hair as she bends over the engine of the Cadillac and she'll happily teach me mechanics with total absorption. We play checkers and she teaches me chess and I teach her three different kinds of poker and how much fun it can be to gamble.

She asks me all about my life, about my family and my home and what I used to do with my time, and even if some of the things I say surprise her she never judges. She pushes for details, and as the vampire brain takes over and my human memories start to fade, I realise what a gift she's given me. Talking over those memories implants them into my new consciousness, so that even when my old life starts to feel impossibly far away, I can still summon the faces and mannerisms of the family I'd loved so dearly.

The more time I spend with her the more I want to be near her, and it's so much more than her beautiful face. She's smart and passionate and determined, and has a surprisingly sharp sense of humour. Every time I think I have her figured out she does something to surprise me. I never let on that there's anything more than friendship in my heart, but with every moment I'm near Rosalie I feel more strongly about her.

Of course she's not perfect. She's stubborn and bossy, and overly fond of getting her own way. She can be judgemental, and the intensity and passion that is one of her greatest strengths sometimes expresses itself in a vicious temper. She and Edward quarrel like children, to the point that sometimes I could cheerfully crack their heads together. Even so, in this strange new world I'm finding my way in, Rosalie is the one that makes me feel like home.

"Steady, steady…you're doing well." Carlisle's voice is calm and soothing. "Try and hold out a little longer."

Another day, another excruciating experience of opening myself up to the temptation of human blood while I try and resist.

I grit my teeth and clench my fists as the scent of human drifts tantalisingly closer. The thirst intensifies, and I swallow hard against the burn in my throat and focus on the sound of a distant car, the way a tendril of Rosalie's hair is lifting in the breeze, the fragment of leaf I can see caught on the shoulder of Edward's sweater…anything to distract myself from the overwhelming desire for what I can't have. Ahead of me, slightly obscured by a stand of trees, the cause of my torment brings down an axe and another chunk of timber splits neatly in half. The other human, probably the woodsman's son, picks the logs up and adds them to the stack on the back of the pony cart.

"They're almost done," Edward murmurs in my ear. "The horse is old, he can't pull too much more so they're going to finish up."

Sure enough, the man swings the axe a final time and then loads the last split logs into the cart. I have to wait while the other one stoops down and collects a sackful of kindling, but they finally unhitch the pony and drive slowly away along the rough road and I can finally breathe more easily.

"You're getting so much better Ellie!" Esme says. "That was rather a long time and you even seemed relaxed. Almost."

I laugh. "I definitely wouldn't say that. It still feels like I'm one breath away from a massacre." I glance at Carlisle. "How did you ever come to it? I understand not wanting to be a killer, but if you didn't have anyone to tell you that it was possible how did you ever manage to believe that it might be? If I didn't have all of you right in front of me proving that it can be done I would have probably just given in to it from the first moment. And you didn't have that…did you?"

"No." Carlisle shakes his head. "To this day I don't know the identity of the vampire who changed me. At the time I was actually hunting vampires, werewolves and witches, and…"

"Say what?!" I can't help but interrupt. "You, a man of science and reason, the man I caught putting a spider outside the house yesterday rather than squashing it flat…you were a MONSTER hunter?!"

Carlisle laughs ruefully. "Yes. My father was a pastor, a fire and brimstone preacher who believed in a sacred duty to rid the world of evil. He spent much of his time hunting evil in whatever form he might find it, but for the most part all he ever found was simple human malevolence. I was not as convinced as he was that there were any extraordinary evil or sinful creatures to be found – although as it turned out, he was right on that point and I was terribly wrong. I found a coven of vampires existing in the dark corners of London, and I led a raid to destroy them. Absolute foolishness, knowing what I know now…but I didn't know then that all my human efforts would be utterly futile in the face of vampire defences. We got close though, and in the chaos I was bitten. I may not have fully believed in the vampire stories but I was familiar with them and I knew what a bite meant. My father would have killed me as soon as looked at me if he'd known, so before the transformation could incapacitate me I crawled away and hid myself away in a potato cellar."

"So the vampire who bit you didn't look for you? He must have known what he'd done."

I think about how Rosalie's voice had reached me even when I was most lost in the agony of the vampire change, and try and imagine what it would have been like to be Carlisle enduring it alone. And waking abandoned?

"I do rather wish he had returned," Carlisle says. "It would be nice to have my curiosity satisfied on that point – but I still hold out hope that one day I may find out. At the time though, I barely spared him a thought. When I emerged three days later as a vampire I knew exactly what I had become and it horrified me. I fled the city, going far out into the countryside where there was no human blood to tempt me. I thought killing myself was the only way out, but despite my attempts I was unable to manage it. Jumping off cliffs, drowning, fire…nothing was effective. I've since learned that fire will destroy a vampire, but only if they are dismembered first and it is only another vampire who has the necessary strength. I thought it was hopeless, until one day a herd of deer wandered past the cave in which I was hiding. Nearly maddened by thirst I fell upon them and fed, and discovered in that way that it was possible to survive by drinking animal blood. It was possible for me to live as something other than a monster – it just needed the belief and the willpower. It was difficult, but ever since I have fought to live in the light rather than darkness, and I like to think I've succeeded."

"Live in the light, but only when no one's watching," I say, as a shaft of sunlight through the trees shimmers on the curve of his cheek. I grin at him. "That's a great story. And I'm glad you found a way."

Carlisle smiles at me. "You'll do it too Eleanor. I have great faith in you."

"Isn't it lucky for all of us that you managed it?" Esme smiles at me. "I struggled a lot to control myself, as you know. But I always wanted to – how could I wake up to those golden eyes and not want to try?" She clasps Carlisle's hand, and I see the quick pressure of his fingers as they wrap tightly around hers.

"Don't start," Rosalie grumbles, rolling her eyes.

"What about other vampires?" I ask. "The ones who do it the other way – how come no one ever notices? Shouldn't there be bodies piling up everywhere? It's not like humans could even DO anything to us, so why bother with all the secrecy?"

"People notice," Edward answers. "Murders and 'accidents' and disappearances happen all the time, but investigators simply don't have knowledge of the supernatural and so they seek out human explanations. Like you – I'm sure they decided you were attacked and eaten by a bear, not whisked away and transformed into a vampire!"

"Well, they'd be half right," I say.

"The vampire population is also quite small, relatively speaking. It's diabolically difficult to effect the change on a human and have things go well – Carlisle's something of an anomaly there," Edward says. "Our numbers remain fairly static. Most vampires live nomadically alone or in pairs, perhaps a trio, so their kills tend to be spread out enough that the humans don't connect them to each other and start to ask questions. No one wants to draw attention."

"But why does it matter?" I ask. "I can see why it matters to us – I don't know how many hospitals would open their doors to you, Carlisle, if they knew what you really are! – but if most vampires are just moving around and not even pretending to live a human life, why should they care? Even an angry mob armed with flaming torches and pitchforks isn't going to be able to do any actual harm."

Carlisle smiles. "That's true. At the same time, humans are very inventive and have a great will to survive. Who knows what they'd be capable of developing if they knew of our existence and felt a need for it? At least, that's the explanation Aro gave me when I asked him the same question, many years ago."

"Aro?"

"Aro is the leader of the Volturi," Carlisle says. "They're a powerful coven of vampires that live permanently in the city of Volterra in Italy, and consider themselves as something akin to the rulers of vampire society. As far as there are laws for us, the Volturi are the ones to make and impose them. They believe secrecy is the key to our continued existence in a human world, and they have enforced this rule when they found it necessary. Most vampires will do what they can to avoid their wrath."

"A vampire sheriff? It's all a bit more complicated than I thought." I frown. "So there's this – government? – of vampires in Italy. And most of the rest of them are roaming serial killers. And then there's us, knitting charity sweaters and studying advanced trigoncalculometry or whatever it is and wearing a white coat as your friendly neighbourhood sawbones." I shake my head as the others laugh. "Are there any others like us? You haven't tried to convert them all?"

"I'm not an evangelical," Carlisle says. "I prefer to lead by example in that way. But in terms of influencing any of my more traditional vampire acquaintances to take up our vegetarian lifestyle, it's never happened beyond my own family. Most vampires consider our diet an eccentricity at best. I spent some time in Volterra early on, and while Aro was curious about my way of living he felt it was rather perverting the natural order of things. He suffers no pangs of conscience over the human deaths at his hands, and he didn't believe that an animal diet could possibly maintain a vampire in prime health. I think time has proven him wrong on that point though – I don't believe I have suffered any ill effects after nearly three centuries."

When we reach home I take a quick shower to clean away the remains of the hunt I'd devoured before tormenting myself with the human temptation. The blood spatters on my overalls are a few too many to ignore, so I throw on some new clothes and take the old to the laundry for soaking. Rosalie is there, gathering clothes from the airing cupboard, and I look away hastily as I see the collection of slippery, lacy underthings and concentrate on filling the laundry tub.

"Eleanor?" Rosalie pauses by the door. "Your hair."

"Oh yeah, I just washed it." Self-consciously I pat the wet, tangled mess. "I was going to comb it after I'd taken care of the clothes."

"May I do it?" Rosalie sounds uncharacteristically unsure. "I know you don't like to fuss about your appearance, but I'd love to do something with it…"

"Of course you can, if you want to!" I try and ignore the squirming sense of pleasure I feel deep in my belly at the thought of her hands in my hair.

Rosalie's face breaks into a smile, and she leads me upstairs to her room and sits me down in front of her vanity. I breathe in the scent of her so close (summer roses and sugar cookies and mine) and watch our reflections in the mirror without speaking as Rosalie busies herself finding brush and comb and hairpins and then takes up a handful of my hair. I force myself not to shiver as her long, delicate fingers gently and deftly untangle the thick, unruly curls.

"I love styling hair," she says, taking up a comb. "I know mine's an unfashionable length, but it was always so much fun to play with that I resisted getting it bobbed like my mother thought I should. And I can't cut it now."

"Well, fashionable or not I think it's beautiful just the way it is," I say, looking at the waves of molten gold falling halfway down her back and making sure to keep my voice light. "Mine's been nothing but a trial to me all my life. Mama says I was born with so much hair I looked like I was wearing a wig. I chopped it all off when I was four; I didn't see why I should have to fiddle about with braids instead of having it short and easy like the boys. Mama was NOT pleased with that – made me promise I'd keep it respectably long after that."

Rosalie laughs. "Well, I'm glad." Her hands comb through my hair, and my scalp ripples with pleasure. "I can do something fancy, and pretend that we're going out somewhere glamorous. A party, or a club or a dance…something." Her voice trails away.

"You could go out," I say. "Your control is great around humans. I bet you'd drive all the men wild if you got all dressed up and went out dancing…" This time it's my voice that falters.

"It's not really about control," Rosalie says, coiling and pinning my hair. "I'm not concerned about that. It's more complicated – you'll see how it is, later on. We go out in to the world and play human and we do it well enough that no one can ever point to anything and say that's wrong. But we're not human and there are an infinite number of differences that mean we'll never quite fit in."

She's quiet for a moment as she works on my hair before she speaks again. "When I was human, I loved being around other people. My social calendar was always full. I had so many friends, and we were always doing things together – shopping and gossiping and walks in the park and parties and dancing and planning our futures…oh, much of it was shallow and frivolous, no doubt, but it was so much fun and I was happy with it. And when I became what I am now, it was all taken away. At first I thought that maybe when I mastered the thirst and went back out into the human world that I could have some of it back…but it doesn't work that way. I found out when I went to school that even though I can be around people and do everything right so that they'll never realise that I'm different, there's an unbridgeable gap between us that means I can only ever really be an observer. It can never be like it was."

"But you've got us. Esme and Carlisle and Edward…and me now."

"Yes." Rosalie pins up the last bit of my hair and then arranges the loose curls. "I have you all. And Esme tries very hard to give me some of what I used to have. She invites me to all her committees and drags us all out to the cinema and all the benefits and doctor dinners and dances she can find! Carlisle never says no about anything, and even Edward goes along with it. I appreciate their efforts, I really do, and even if it's not the same I suppose it helps…there you go. What do you think? A little formal for hunting deer, but perfect for an elegant party."

"The fanciest hairdo I've ever had; I barely recognise myself. You're a wonder, turning that mess into something pretty."

But it's not myself I'm looking at in the mirror, it's her. And I grin as her eyes meet mine, and I try not to think about the way her hand feels where she's left it carelessly resting against the nape of my neck.