Beast at My Side

Crimes Against Courtesy

At first light it was like a bullet lodged in my chest, Luc's name carved crudely in to the side of it. My tears were like blood. My body was an open wound. I raged, I wailed, I tore my hotel room apart. The broken glass glittered like starlight. Deep inside my chest I held on to the last sliver of grief, angry at the thought of parting with it. It was late in the evening when my fury finally died down, my eyes finally dried. I wrestled the remaining heartsick shard with shaky hands. And then it was done. Then, I knew the worst of it to be over.

At the hotel reception I pay extra for staying in past check-out time. Charges for damages will surely come later.

I drive for hours through the dark. Luc's ghost is like a passenger beside me and somehow I know that it always will be. Somehow I know I will always carry this part of him with me. It will make me strong. It will make me brave. I roll down the windows and turn up the stereo, long fingers clutching the wheel too tightly, wind slipping under my skin like the touch of so many cool, clean hands. The roadside is dotted with little white flowers. I sing loudly and off-key, my fingers drumming hopelessly out of time, and I smile. It feels defiant. It feels too soon to smile again; too long since I last smiled. Then I am laughing and blushing and trying to remember the exact definition of hysteria.

It takes two more songs, four more dopey smiles, and one inelegant yawn for me to close in on the town of Forks. I pull into a rest stop and turn the key in the ignition. The headlamps blink off, the stereo goes silent, the world around me plunges in to darkness. For a time all that exists is the sound of my own breath and the stunning purple sky. Spindly green vines cover the lamppost, strangle its busted globe, and grow through the length of chain-link that separates me from the wilderness. I feel a pull. I know not what it is, only that it wishes to draw me close, longs for me to wander in to those woods and never come back. I close my eyes. When I open them again I am outside the van, white-knuckled hands gripping the rail of the fence. It's like sleep walking. It's like a siren's song born of the trees and whispered to the wind. Then I hear it: my name. The sound is hollow, like an echo, as though it only exists in my mind. Then louder, more insistent. Then it is there, behind me, and as real as the gravel at my feet.

"It's good to see you again."

I close my eyes expecting to wake up. I do not. Instead, when I turn to face him he is standing far too close, his hazy shadow smothering my entire body. I whisper his name. It is a question more than a greeting and the fear it holds makes him smile. He delights in my dread. For the first time since meeting him I am able to truly reconcile what Jasper is with the way he treats me. He is a predator. This is predatory. Without the numbness to douse my fear I am left to wonder if his civility will always transcend his hunger. It seems cruel that even now his smile makes my chest ache, makes my knees weak. His eyes are enough to set the sky on fire, to deafen me with the roar of the flames.

So his companions went unnoticed.

They stand on either side of him, a few steps back, a comfortable distance. The woman—more beautiful than Bella; the man—more intimidating than Jasper. I mumble some sort of greeting, the words stumble over my lips, taste bitter with fear, and hang dead in the air. Be brave. You were brave once: when he had his lips on yours, when he clutched you in his hands. I square my shoulders. I raise my chin. Each gesture is, I am sure, as transparent as it is futile. Cold air draws shakily into my lungs and when I finally find the strength to speak he silences me by taking my hand in his, twining my fingers in his own.

He eases me forward. He draws back his hand. "I'd like you to meet some people."

Flawless. Each curve and dip of her body, every length of hair, every scrap of skin has been chosen with an artist's eye, moulded with a master's hands. Rosalie is such an alluring apparition that she makes my stomach twist in to knots, and my palms greasy with sweat. She is undoubtedly the most stunning, most unnatural creature I have ever laid eyes upon. I want her to speak. I want her to smile. She appears likely to do neither.