Beast at My Side

Manners for My Killer

It's perfect. Being here with you, our fingers interlaced, lying in bed, talking just like we used to. Soon it will be midnight. The droop of my eyes and slow slur of my speech are reflections of every hour that I have been awake. You have been awake for months. You look better than you ever have. You are dead.

I write it like a letter in my mind while I stare at her inhuman beauty. I don't want to find her so captivating, and I tell her as much. She wishes I didn't have to either. It's all a part of the 'package', she says. A little taller, a little curvier, straightened teeth, thickened hair. Unquenchable thirst for human blood.

I want to drift off, give in to the sleep my body is calling for, but Bella won't let me. She's giggling nervously about something. You could almost forget that she is a monster. Having waited long enough, she leans in close and speaks in a whisper. She wants to know about Jasper. Where did we go? What did we talk about? The questions are flying past her lips even as I try desperately to cover her mouth. She giggles, I shush her, there's a gentle rapping on the bedroom door. Bella calls for them to enter before I can clap my hands back over her face. Esme lingers in the doorway. She informs Bella that Ren is sleeping soundly and that Edward will stay with her at the cottage. She turns to leave when the thought occurs to her.

"Careful, dear," she points to her own mouth before gesturing back to us, "sharp teeth."

A little shamefacedly, Bella zips out of my grasp and starts tucking me in before I can protest. She tells me she should never forget how frail I am. I tell her I want to climb another tree. It is then that she tells me how I sound just like she used to: reckless and stupid. It's easier for her to infantalise me than to engage in a serious discussion about our predator-prey relationship. I want to tell her that she sounds just like Edward, but my eyes are heavy and my mouth is full of cotton.

---

Breakfast is a quiet affair. I am the only one eating though Bella, her husband, and daughter all sit with me making idle chatter while I chew. I have never enjoyed idle chatter. When I finish my meal I wash the dishes. The crockery is modern and white, and it looks perfect stowed away next to its counterparts. All seldom used, all expensive beyond my estimation. I am weary for the early hour.

When their conversation lulls I clear my throat. I have an appointment in Seattle, the time has changed, I cannot stay as long as I have promised. I provide them with little more detail and this upsets Bella. It upsets me, too. It might only have been one more day but we could have made that day last forever. Could have written it in the sky.

She tells me to come back. She says it without consultation or hesitation, without any regard for a life that is not hers or mine. Come right back, she pleads, meet Rosalie and Emmett. At that statement, Edward grimaces. Whatever dark thought he has captured in his pinched face - it is not for me to know. I tell her that I want to, that I would if I could, that returning here would make me happier than I have ever been. The truth of that leaves me raw. In the end I acknowledge that it is a family matter, she should discuss it with them.

Exiting the kitchen, Carlisle crosses my path.

"Bartók," I greet.

"Frankenstein," his reply.

I laugh all the way up the stairs.

My hands are clammy, resting on the handle of the bedroom door. The air is thick with a feeling, I swallow it deep. It is heavy like mud in my lungs. Before I can turn the handle he opens the door and beckons to me, shutting us in. This is part of his gift, as I understand it. A cloud of emotion that he is prone to wearing around as though it is his Sunday best. I cannot name it, only feel the weight of it upon my shoulders. It will crush me to death.