And there's no way to talk to you. This conversation's been dead - on - arrival. A rivalry goes so deep between me and this loss of sleep over you... - fall out boy
“What did you do?” she spoke loudly as she opened her front door, louder than she’d ever raised her voice to me.
“Don’t,” I warned. I walked past her and craned my neck around the corner of her hallway. Behind me, I heard her close and lock the door.
“No one’s here. Edward, what did you do? Did you find him?”
She knew what I’d done, just like I knew her family was out of the house. My looking around the corner was just me buying time, and her asking questions she already knew the answer to was more of the same.
I knew she knew. I’d heard the anger and honesty in her voice when he recalled it in his last moments. When he remembered her, when I had my hands tight around his neck, ready to pull, snap, bend and break.
I saw the memory, saw her through his eyes as he watched her hold together the torn shoulder of her shirt. Her lips were swollen and red from where he’d forced his own, and they shook with hatred when she raised her eyes and spoke.
“Are you fucking stupid?”
He swallowed, not answering. He was afraid even then, he knew the consequences.
“Do you have a death wish? Really?”
“All I need is the end of the night,” he tried. “I can make it out of the state by tonight. I’ll disappear. He won’t find me.”
She scoffed, shaking her head.
“So that’s it? You tried to take something that doesn’t belong to you and now you think you can just go away? Like it never happened, just ‘disappear’? You don’t have a chance.”
“Yes. I do.”
The sound of ignorance and desperate hope was thick in his voice.
“No,” she shook her head again, and stood up straight and tall on her uneasy legs to look him right in his eyes.
“You think you’ll see the end of tonight? Jake, you’re not even going to last the hour.”
He turned after that, and ran fast. He phased. He ran faster.
I was onto him once he was a few miles away from her house - when the blankness lifted from Alice’s mind and she saw Isabella nursing bruises on her forearms. Her thoughts were mine, and I was moving faster than I ever had.
I turned and looked at Isabella, her question about if I’d found him or not still hanging between us. Stepping forward once, then twice, she took one back, then another, bumping her back against her front door. Her pupils dilated darker, wider with each step I took until their brown was almost completely blacked out.
“Edward... what happened? Did you-”
I took the only step that was left and she pressed her hands into my chest, as if to keep me back. I pushed against them, exerting my authority over her.
“This conversation is over,” I said lowly.
She closed her lips in turn, and swallowed, the muscles in her throat twitching as she did so, teasing me.
I brought my hands up and slid them between hers and my shirt. Her eyes darted down and she inhaled sharply.
Glancing down to see why, I saw the blood under my fingernails, around my cuticles.
I leaned back a few inches and she brought my jeans into focus, the halfdry reddish stains from where I’d wiped my hands when I was through with him.
I wasn’t a messy eater. I never ruined clothes when I fed. But dealing punishment was another story.
I severed his arms from their sockets, shredding muscles and tendons - all in a matter of immortal seconds before grasping his jaw and the base of his throat and pulling. Twisting. Tearing.
Ending.
My palms and fingers were only as clean as they were because I’d wiped them on my jeans without even really thinking twice.
“Edward,” she whispered, pulling me from my thoughts.
I swallowed hard. The natural scent of her life was ripened by the fear swelling up inside her and the power of it pushed me forward so that our bodies touched.
Her heart raced at the contact, beating rampantly against the inside of her own chest and the outside of mine. I moved quickly, ridding her of her shirt and myself of my own, needing to feel our skin together. Needing to feel as close to that stubborn little muscle in her ribcage as I could possibly get.
She struggled as I tugged at our shirts away, pushing at me, reaching for my hands.
“Stop it,” I ordered, pinning her wrists on either side of her head. I squared my jaw and narrowed my eyes on hers.
"You know better than this."
“Wait,” she pleaded back, turning her head to where my right hand captured her left.
I looked again to where she was focused on my fingers, then back to her face. She raised her brows, pleading with her frightened eyes and I loosed my right hand from her wrist.
My patience was wearing thin like old thread. And she smelled so good...
She turned my hand over in her own, stroking the palm of my hand with the pad of her thumb.
The hand that had caught Jacob by his hair. The hand I’d closed into a fist and crushed his cheekbone with. The hand that was covered in his blood just minutes ago.
I pressed more firmly against her, the top of my aching stomach against her naked breasts, my belt buckle digging against the bottom of the butterflies in her abdomen. She raised our connected hands as I did so, and I closed my other tighter around her little wrist.
She opened her lips to speak, but refrained. Instead, she brought my hand to her mouth and kissed my palm, the insides of my fingers. Soft and small, chastely sweet little kisses.
The honest innocence of it was too much, the relief and gratitude coming off her too overwhelming. I tilted my head down, capturing her wrist once more into my hand and her lips with my own.
She was flawless, delicious and delicate in her surrendering. She was pink-lipped and her mouth was so full of loving cries and her heart was beating, bursting, brandishing love. She was beautiful when she fell apart. She was immaculate.
And he would never know it.
