Can I ask just one more?" I asked as Edward accelerated much too quickly down the quiet street.
He sighed.
"One," he agreed. His lips pressed together into a cautious line.
"Well… you said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that."
He looked away, deliberately.
"Really? I thought we were past all the evasiveness," I said, scolding.
He almost smiled.
"Fine, then. I followed your scent." He stared ahead at the road.
I didn't have a response to that, but I filed it away for future study. I tried to refocus. I wasn't ready to let him be finished, now that he was finally explaining things.
"And then you didn't answer one of my first questions…" I stalled.
He looked at me with disapproval. "Which one?"
"How does it work—the mind-reading thing? Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family do the same thing?"
It was easier to talk about this in the dark car. The streetlights were behind us already, and in the low gleam from the dashboard, all the crazy stuff seemed just a little more possible.
It seemed like he felt the same sense of non-reality, like normality was suspended for as long as we were in this space together. His voice was casual as he answered.
"That's more than one question," he pointed out. I simply intertwined my fingers and gazed at him, waiting.
"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. They have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's… 'voice' is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles." He paused thoughtfully. "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum—a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they're thinking is clear."
"Most of the time," he continued, "I tune it all out—it can be very distracting. And then it's easier to seem normal"—He frowned as he said the word—"when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thought rather than their words."
"Why do you think you can't hear me?" I asked curiously.
He looked at me, his eyes enigmatic, searching, and full of that frustration I knew so well by now. I realized now that each time he'd looked at me this way, he must have been trying to hear my thoughts, and failing. His expression relaxed as he gave up.
"I don't know," he murmured. "The only guess I have is that perhaps your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM." He grinned at me, suddenly amused.
"Did you just suggest my mind doesn't work right? Like I'm a freak?" I'd always felt like someone who marched to a different beat, as they say. But the thought of being so different bothered me for some reason.
"I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that you're the freak," he laughed. "Don't worry, it's just a theory…" His face tightened. "Which brings us back to you."
I sighed. I didn't even know how to begin.
"Aren't we past all evasions now?" he reminded me softly.
I looked away from his face for the first time, trying to find words. I happened to glance at the speedometer.
"Holy crow!" I shouted, "Slow down!"
"What's wrong?" He was startled, but he didn't slow down any.
"You're pushing a hundred and ten miles an hour!" I was still shouting. I shot a panicky glance out the window, but it was too dark to see much. The road was only visible in the long patch of bluish brightness from the headlights. The forest along both sides of the road was like a black wall—as hard as a wall of steel if we veered off the road at this speed.
"Relax, Beau." He rolled his eyes, still not slowing.
"Are you trying to kill us?" I demanded.
"We're not going to crash."
I tried to modulate my voice. "Why are you in such a hurry?"
"I always drive like this." He turned to smile crookedly at me.
"Keep your eyes on the road, Edward!"
"I've never had an accident, Beau—I've never even gotten a ticket." He grinned and tapped his forehead. "Built-in radar detector."
"Very funny." I glared. "Charlie's a cop, remember? I was raised to abide by traffic laws. Besides, if you turn us into a Volvo pretzel around a tree trunk, you can probably just walk away."
"Probably," he agreed with a short, hard laugh. "But you can't." He sighed, and I watched with relief as the needle gradually drifted toward eighty. "Happy?"
"Good boy." I smirked.
He glared at me through narrowed eyes for a moment, but I could tell he was trying not to smile.
After a moment, he let out a frustrated sigh. "I hate driving slow."
"This is slow?"
"Enough commentary on my driving," he snapped. I stifled a laugh.
"I'm still waiting for your latest theory." He said, seriously.
I bit my lip. He looked down at me, his honey eyes unexpectedly gentle.
"I won't laugh," he promised.
"I'm not worried about that."
"Then what?"
"I'm worried that you'll be… upset."
He sat, silently, for a moment, and then glanced sideways at me. He lifted his hand off the gearshift and held it out toward me—just a few centimeters. An offer. I glanced up quickly, confused. His eyes were soft.
"Don't worry about me," he said. "I can handle it."
I tentatively took his hand, and he curled his fingers very lightly around mine for one short moment, then dropped his hand back to the gearshift. Carefully, I placed my hand over the top of his again. I ran my thumb along the outside of his large, strong hand, tracing from his wrist to the tip of his pinkie finger. The dissonance was disquieting. His hand was hard as stone or marble, but his skin was soft like the smoothest satin and cold as ice. It reminded me that, even though my theory was insane, Edward wasn't human.
"The suspense is killing me, Beau," he breathed out the words. I could see his eyes watching my hand.
"I don't know how to start," I admitted.
"Why don't you start at the beginning… you said you didn't come up with this on your own."
"No."
"What got you started—a book? A film?" he probed.
"No—it was Saturday, at the beach." I glanced up at his face. He looked puzzled.
"I ran into an old family friend—Jacob Black," I continued. "His dad and Charlie have been friends since I was a baby."
He still looked confused.
"His dad is one of the Quileute elders." I watched him carefully. His confused expression frozen in place. "We went for a walk on the beach together," I noted a change in Edward's expression but couldn't identify it, "and he was telling me some old legends—trying to scare me, I guess. He told me one…" I hesitated.
"Go on," he pushed.
"About vampires." I realized I was whispering. I couldn't look at his face now. But I saw his knuckles tighten convulsively on the wheel. I could feel his hand tense under mine on the gearshift and I thought about taking my hand away. But I left my hand and continued to gently trace the lines of his hand. His grip slowly softened on the steering wheel simultaneous to his hand relaxing beneath mine.
"And… you immediately thought of me?" His voice was calm.
"No. He mentioned your family."
He was silent, staring at the road.
I was worried suddenly, worried about protecting sweet Jacob.
"He just thought it was a silly folk-tale," I said quickly. "He didn't expect me to think anything of it." I felt guilty, "It was my fault, I convinced him to tell me."
"Why?"
"Logan said something about you—he was trying to provoke me. And an older boy from the tribe said your family didn't come to the reservation, only it sounded like he meant something different. So, when Jacob and I went off alone I asked him." I admitted quietly.
"You must have said something to convince him to tell you." Edward said.
I was confused, "No… I just… asked him?"
He startled me by laughing. I stared up at him. He was laughing, but his eyes were fierce, staring ahead. His cold hand was tense again beneath mine.
"You obviously don't understand your own charm." He chuckled darkly. "And you accused me of dazzling people—poor Jacob Black."
"Are you jealous?" was all I could think to say. He didn't answer, but his jaw tensed.
"What did you do then?" he asked after a minute.
"I did some research on the Internet."
"And did that convince you?" His voice sounded barely interested. But his free hand was clamped hard onto the steering wheel.
"No. Nothing fit. Most of it was kind of silly. And then…" I stopped. "I decided… It didn't matter," I whispered.
"It didn't matter?" He pulled his hand out from under mine and I looked up—I had finally broken through his carefully composed mask. His face was incredulous, with just a hint of anger but I couldn't help the anger wasn't directed at me.
"No," I said softly. "It doesn't matter to me what you are."
A hard, mocking edge entered his voice. "You don't care if I'm a monster?" If I'm not human?"
I thought about it for a moment. "No."
He was silent, staring straight ahead again. His face was bleak and cold.
"You're upset," I sighed. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"No," he said, but his tone was as hard as his face. "I'd rather know what you're thinking—even if what you're thinking is insane."
He had rested his hand back on the gearshift. I moved my own hand back to gently stroke the back of his hand with my thumb. It seemed to soothe him.
"What are you thinking about now?" he asked. His voice was calmer.
"I'm just curious about a few things."
"What are you curious about?" He asked, with a hint of resignation in his voice.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen," he answered promptly.
"And how long have you been seventeen?"
His lips twitched as he stared at the road. "A while," he admitted at last.
"Okay." I smiled, pleased that he was still being honest with me. He stared down at me with watchful eyes, much as he did before, when he was worried I would go into shock. I smiled wider in encouragement, and he frowned.
"Don't laugh—but how can you come out during the daytime?"
He laughed anyway. "Myth."
"Burned by the sun?"
"Myth."
"Sleeping in coffins?"
"Myth." He hesitated for a moment, and a peculiar tone entered his voice. "I can't sleep."
It took me a minute to understand the weight of that confession. "At all?"
"Never," he said, his voice nearly inaudible. He turned to look at me with a wistful expression. The golden eyes held mine, and I lost my train of thought. I stared at him until he looked away.
"You haven't asked me the most important question yet." His voice was hard now, and when he looked at me again his eyes were cold.
I blinked, confused. "Which one is that?"
"You aren't concerned about my diet?" he asked sarcastically.
"Oh," I muttered, "that."
"Yes, that." His voice was bleak. "Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"
I flinched. "Well, Jacob said something about that."
"What did Jacob say?" He asked flatly.
"He said you didn't…hunt people. He said your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."
"He said we weren't dangerous?" His voice was deeply skeptical.
"Not exactly. He said you weren't supposed to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."
He looked forward, but I couldn't tell if he was watching the road or not.
"So was he right? About not hunting people?" I tried to keep my voice as even as possible.
"The Quileutes have a long memory," he whispered.
I took it as confirmation.
"Don't let that make you complacent, though," he warned me. "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."
"I don't understand."
"We try," he explained slowly. "We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."
"This is a mistake?" I heard the sadness in my voice, and it surprised me.
"A very dangerous one," He murmured.
We were both silent then. I watched the headlights twist with the curves of the road. They moved too fast; it didn't look real, it looked like a video game. I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road beneath us, and I was afraid I wouldn't have another chance to be with him like this again—talking so openly, without the walls between us that I had grown to expect. I couldn't waste a single minute I had with him.
"Tell me more," I asked, trying not to sound desperate, and failing.
He looked at me quickly, started by the change in my tone. "What more do you want to know?"
"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," I suggested, my voice still tinged with desperation.
"I don't want to be a monster." His voice was very low.
"But animals aren't enough?"
He paused. "I can't be sure, of course, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather the thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time." His tone turned ominous. "Sometimes it's more difficult than others."
"Is it very difficult for you now?" I asked.
He sighed, "Yes."
"But you're not hungry now," I said confidently—stating, not asking.
"Why do you think that?"
"Your eyes. I told you I had a theory. I've noticed that people are crabbier when they're hungry."
He chuckled. "You are observant, aren't you?"
I smirked, enjoying the sound of his laughter.
"Were you hunting this weekend, with Emmett?" I asked when it was quiet again.
"Yes." He paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something. "I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."
"Why didn't you want to leave?"
"It makes me…anxious…to be away from you." His eyes were gentle but intense, I felt an electric feeling running through my body. "I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed." He shook his head, and then seemed to remember something. "Well, not totally unscathed."
"What?"
"Your hands," he reminded me. I looked down at my palms, at the almost-healed scrapes across the heels of my hands. His eyes missed nothing.
"I fell. Once," I sighed.
"That's what I thought." His lips curved up at the corners. "I suppose it could have been much worse—and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Emmett's nerves." He smiled ruefully at me.
"Three days? Didn't you just get back today?"
"No, we got back Sunday."
"Then why weren't any of you in school?" I was a little frustrated, almost annoyed as I thought of how disappointed I had been when he hadn't shown up to school. When I had so much on my mind, so much to ask him.
"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see."
"Why?"
"I'll show you sometime," he promised.
"You could have called me," I offered.
He was puzzled. "But I knew you were safe."
"But I didn't know where you were. I—" I hesitated, averting my eyes.
"What?" His velvety voice was compelling.
"I just… I thought you might not come back. That somehow you knew that I knew and… I was afraid you would disappear." I felt my face turning red as the words spilled out, too honest. What was Edward to me? What was I to him? Sure, I was sitting in his car, stroking his hand but did that mean anything? Was I just a fascination to him? The one thing he couldn't figure out despite his supernatural talents. I realized that I was too invested in this; I was in too deep.
I noticed he was quiet. I glanced up, apprehensive, and saw that his expression was pained.
"Ah," he groaned quietly. "This is wrong."
I didn't understand his response. "What did I say?"
"Don't you see, Beau? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved." He turned his anguished eyes to the road, his words flowing almost too fast for me to understand. "I don't want to hear you feel that way." His voice was low but urgent. His words cut me. I was right; I was in too deep. I took my hand away from his and rested it in my lap. "It's wrong. It's not safe. I'm dangerous, Beau—please, grasp that."
"No." I tried very hard to think of a better response, but the words refused to come. I felt foolish for thinking… It didn't matter what I thought.
"I'm serious," he growled.
"So am I. I told you, it doesn't matter to me what you are. It's too late—"
His voice whipped out, low and harsh, cutting me off. "Never say that."
I bit my lip and I was glad he couldn't know how much that hurt. How stupid I felt, and how angry I was with myself. How foolish and reckless I had been. I didn't know anything about love, or relationships. Beauregard Swan: the strange loner. Something different about that one. Here I was, sitting in this car with this boy, this boy who was also strange and also different. I thought maybe he liked me. After all, we had been so open with each other; told each other so much—too much. The emotions were brimming up; all my frustration, all my anger, and I felt it all catch in my throat. I stared out at the road. We must be close now. He was driving much too fast.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice still raw. I just shook my head, not sure if I could speak. I could feel his gaze on my face, but I kept my eyes forward.
"Are you crying?" He sounded appalled. I hadn't even realized it until I felt a tear fall down my cheek. I quickly rubbed it away with the back of my hand, but it was soon replaced by more.
"No," I said, but my voice broke.
I saw him reach toward me hesitantly with his right hand, but then he stopped and slowly pulled it away. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, my hands resting on my lap.
I suddenly felt his cold hand on top of mine, holding it gently. I opened my eyes to look at him.
"I'm sorry." His voice ached with regret. I knew he wasn't just apologizing for the words that had upset me. His thumb stroked the back of my hand, softly.
The darkness slipped by us in silence. The car started slowing, and even in the dark I recognized that we were passing into the boundaries of Forks. It had taken less than twenty minutes.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" I asked, wondering if he heard how much more was in that question than I was actually saying.
"Do you want to see me?" he said softly, with a tinge of sadness in his voice.
"I do."
"Then I'll be there," he smiled, slightly. "I'll save you a seat at lunch."
It was silly, after everything that had happened tonight, how that little promise sent flutters through my stomach, and stole the words from me.
We were in front of Charlie's house. The lights were on, my truck in its place, everything utterly normal. It was like waking from a dream. He stopped the car, but I didn't move.
"You'll really be there tomorrow?"
"I promise." He squeezed my hand ever so gently, before taking it away. I pulled his jacket off, taking one last whiff.
"You can keep it—you don't have a jacket for tomorrow," he reminded me.
I handed it back to him. "I don't want to have to explain to Charlie."
"Oh, right."
I slowly reached over to the door handle, reveling in the moment before it ended.
"Beau?" he asked in a different tone—serious, but hesitant.
"Yes?" I turned back to him.
"Will you promise me something?"
"Sure," I said hesitantly, slightly nervous as to what his request might be.
"Don't go into the woods alone."
I stared at him in blank confusion. "Why?"
He frowned, and his eyes were tight as he stared past me out the window.
"I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."
I felt a sense of dread overtake me hearing the sudden bleakness in his voice, but this was an easy promise to honor. "Sure, Edward."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Beau." His eyes looked sad again, like when he had told me I could leave.
"Tomorrow, then." I opened the door slowly.
"Beau?" he caught my hand and I turned. He was leaning toward me, his pale, handsome face just inches from mine. I felt like my heart stopped.
"Beau, I…" he didn't finished. He fell silent, his golden eyes staring into mine.
We stayed there, for a moment. He held my hand, not tightly but with determination. His eyes were still searching deep in mine, for what I wasn't sure. He leaned even closer, if that was even possible, and his lips parted minutely. So close to him, I could smell that exquisite scent that clung to his jacket, but in a more concentrated form.
"Sleep well," he finally said and he reluctantly leaned away, releasing my hand.
I was unable to move for a moment, my heart was beating rapidly. I stepped out of the car carefully, having to use the frame for support. I thought I heard him chuckle, but the sound was too quiet for me to be certain.
He waited till I had reached the front door, and then I saw him look at me with those sad eyes for a moment before he slowly pulled away. I watched the silver car disappear around the corner. I realized it was very cold.
I reached for the key mechanically, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.
Charlie called me from the living room. "Beau?"
"Yeah, Dad, it's me." I walked in to see him. He was watching a baseball game.
"You're home early."
"Am I?" I was surprised.
"It's not even eight yet," He told me. "Did you have fun?"
"Yeah—it was lots of fun." My head was spinning, my night out with Jess and Angela seemed like it had been so long ago. "They both found dresses."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm just tired. I did a lot of walking."
"Well, maybe you should go lie down." He sounded concerned. I wondered what my face looked like.
"I'm just going to call Jessica first."
"Were you just with her?" He asked, surprised.
"Er, yes—but I left my jacket in her car. I want to make sure she brings it tomorrow."
"Well, give her a chance to get home first."
"Right," I agreed.
I went to the kitchen and fell, exhausted into a chair. I was starting to feel really dizzy now. I wondered if I was going into shock after all. Get a grip, I told myself.
The phone rang suddenly, startling me. I yanked it off the hook.
"Hello?" I asked breathlessly.
"Beau?"
"Hey, Jess, I was just going to call you."
"You made it home?" Her voice was relieved.
"Yes. Hey, I left my jacket in your car—could you bring it to me tomorrow?"
"Sure. But tell me what happened!" She sounded eager.
"Um, tomorrow—in Trig, okay?"
She caught on quickly. "Oh, is your dad there?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow, then. Bye!" I could hear the excitement in her voice.
"Bye, Jess."
I walked up the stairs slowly, my mind in a stupor. I went through the motions of getting ready for bed without paying any attention to what I was doing. It wasn't until I was in the shower—the water too hot, burning my skin—that I realized I was freezing. I shuddered violently for several minutes before the steaming spray could finally relax my tense muscles. Then I stood in the shower, too tired to move, until the hot water began to run out.
I stumbled out, wrapping myself securely in a towel, trying to hold the heat from the water in so the aching shivers wouldn't return. I dressed for bed quickly and climbed under my quilt, hugging the warmth to my body. A few small shudders still trembled through me.
My mind still whirled, full of images I couldn't understand. Tonight had been real, and it had all actually happened. I didn't think I was reaching for something that wasn't real anymore. The look in his eyes, the way he touched my hand, the way he had leaned in to almost… Nothing seemed clear at first, but as I fell gradually closer to unconsciousness, a few certainties became evident.
About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was part of him— and I didn't know how potent that part might be— that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.