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Mar. 28th, 2009 01:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
themidnightsonHe couldn't let her out of his sight, lest she managed to find something even worse than a roaming sociopathic serial killer and rapist, and he couldn't let himself out of her sight, lest he comb the whole city over to shatter every inch of bone in that sociopaths' body for what he'd imagined doing to Bella, for what he'd done to a dozen other women all of whom were beloved, and hypothetically now mourned, by someone else.
Which had brought them to Bella Italia, with its invasively juvenile staff and its revolting smell of refuse suffusing his every breath when he spoke, where he pressed soda and food on Bella waiting for the shock of her situation to settle in. It never did. Which was far more worrying and distracted him from the direction of their conversations, what with Bella's displeased preoccupation toward his interactions with the vapid fawning staff, until--
--Edward found himself in the middle of explaining how it was he'd found her. It had started with another one of her 'theories' in an adolescent, if not inefficient, supposition. It had ended, the only way it could if he wasn't going to continued mountain of fabrication, with the truth. He had only thought to give her something, some small bit of honesty, enough to show he wasn't just going to stonewall her with another excuse or with silence.
Except he'd felt relieved, no pleased, to share the truth about his ability with her.
And that had opened a whole new realm of aching possible impossibilities and details, words and phrases falling from his lips almost without heed. Recklessly close to all the most pivotal, volatile, truths involving what he was and what she was and had been to him since the moment she walked into Biology class, how her tiny all but insignificant human life had upended his entire, supposedly nearly unchangeable, world, and even his murderous intent toward the man whose thoughts he could still pin point to perfect placement through her entire meal.
The car ride home had been the inquiry of her actual newest theory. The one that wasn't comic books or movies, that she kept trying to deviate and deter from with different questions he still felt compelled to answer. If not always in as much detail as he could, but that was hardly new. Yet the feeling of wanting to tell her more, tell her everything without filtering for himself or his family or her own good, and having to hold back was.
By the time she got to the theory
She had prattled onward about her ministrations of the Black boy regretfully, while Edward was torn between too many reactions. Ephraimโs descendant, however naive and unknowingly, had broken the seventy year treaty. Bella Swan, incapable of even recognizing the effect she had on the opposite sex no matter how obvious it made itself, had turned the full charm of herself on that poor boy to get what she wants. But even more devastating, and potentionally final, she knew his secret.
Why had she gotten into the car? Gone to the restaurant with him?
Was she finally wise enough to know she should be terrified?
Of course not.
There was absolutely no logic in her.
Even when the truth was sitting right next to her.
She had gone on asking her questions and defending her opinions and information--an act which kept Edward tense and stacked the deck against the Quileute youth with each new piece of information she knew too well. It was impossible not to agree, even in terrified and furious confusion, the snarl of his thoughts getting hopelessly tangled in who he thought she should react, for her best and her safety, and what he wanted, mixed with what he specifically felt torn in to for not wanting to happen.
Too many details (too few) slipped through his lips, grains of sand from an inhuman land.
His family.
Their survival methods.
And instead of being sensible and understanding, she had veered into reactions over his being gone from class for the two sunny days of the week, concluding in an admission that his absence had made her anxious. The car had been too small and too large and too fast and too slow, and he couldn't keep himself from the dozens of reactions that all collided explosively into each other. Everything he wanted with everything he knew should never, never, never be.
He reprimanded her, trying to make her understand--he should have tried to be more sensible about it himself, the words coming out in a hiss so hard and harsh when her typically oblivious and frustrating words made no sense--when the only reaction was her maddening silence as she burst into tears.
All too soon after that the car was parked in front of Sheriff Swan's house.
Reluctant to allow her to leave the car lest she actually did come to her senses.
(Even if she knew too much. Even if she smelled too good. Even if he'd promised tomorrow's lunch.)
But it had to end. It always had to end.
With the girl in small safe house, in her tiny dark bed.
With Edward returning back to the world he belonged to; not hers.
There was still something he had to do tonight, there was still another monster.
Which had brought them to Bella Italia, with its invasively juvenile staff and its revolting smell of refuse suffusing his every breath when he spoke, where he pressed soda and food on Bella waiting for the shock of her situation to settle in. It never did. Which was far more worrying and distracted him from the direction of their conversations, what with Bella's displeased preoccupation toward his interactions with the vapid fawning staff, until--
--Edward found himself in the middle of explaining how it was he'd found her. It had started with another one of her 'theories' in an adolescent, if not inefficient, supposition. It had ended, the only way it could if he wasn't going to continued mountain of fabrication, with the truth. He had only thought to give her something, some small bit of honesty, enough to show he wasn't just going to stonewall her with another excuse or with silence.
Except he'd felt relieved, no pleased, to share the truth about his ability with her.
And that had opened a whole new realm of aching possible impossibilities and details, words and phrases falling from his lips almost without heed. Recklessly close to all the most pivotal, volatile, truths involving what he was and what she was and had been to him since the moment she walked into Biology class, how her tiny all but insignificant human life had upended his entire, supposedly nearly unchangeable, world, and even his murderous intent toward the man whose thoughts he could still pin point to perfect placement through her entire meal.
The car ride home had been the inquiry of her actual newest theory. The one that wasn't comic books or movies, that she kept trying to deviate and deter from with different questions he still felt compelled to answer. If not always in as much detail as he could, but that was hardly new. Yet the feeling of wanting to tell her more, tell her everything without filtering for himself or his family or her own good, and having to hold back was.
By the time she got to the theory
(I ran into an old family friend--Jacob Black
His dad is of the Quileute eldersWe went for a walk
He was telling me about some old legendsAbout vampires)
he'd flinched once for hearing her say it.
She had prattled onward about her ministrations of the Black boy regretfully, while Edward was torn between too many reactions. Ephraimโs descendant, however naive and unknowingly, had broken the seventy year treaty. Bella Swan, incapable of even recognizing the effect she had on the opposite sex no matter how obvious it made itself, had turned the full charm of herself on that poor boy to get what she wants. But even more devastating, and potentionally final, she knew his secret.
Why had she gotten into the car? Gone to the restaurant with him?
Was she finally wise enough to know she should be terrified?
"I decided it didn't matter."
"You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not human?"
"No."
Of course not.
There was absolutely no logic in her.
Even when the truth was sitting right next to her.
She had gone on asking her questions and defending her opinions and information--an act which kept Edward tense and stacked the deck against the Quileute youth with each new piece of information she knew too well. It was impossible not to agree, even in terrified and furious confusion, the snarl of his thoughts getting hopelessly tangled in who he thought she should react, for her best and her safety, and what he wanted, mixed with what he specifically felt torn in to for not wanting to happen.
Too many details (too few) slipped through his lips, grains of sand from an inhuman land.
His family.
Their survival methods.
And instead of being sensible and understanding, she had veered into reactions over his being gone from class for the two sunny days of the week, concluding in an admission that his absence had made her anxious. The car had been too small and too large and too fast and too slow, and he couldn't keep himself from the dozens of reactions that all collided explosively into each other. Everything he wanted with everything he knew should never, never, never be.
He reprimanded her, trying to make her understand--he should have tried to be more sensible about it himself, the words coming out in a hiss so hard and harsh when her typically oblivious and frustrating words made no sense--when the only reaction was her maddening silence as she burst into tears.
All too soon after that the car was parked in front of Sheriff Swan's house.
Reluctant to allow her to leave the car lest she actually did come to her senses.
(Even if she knew too much. Even if she smelled too good. Even if he'd promised tomorrow's lunch.)
But it had to end. It always had to end.
With the girl in small safe house, in her tiny dark bed.
With Edward returning back to the world he belonged to; not hers.
There was still something he had to do tonight, there was still another monster.
