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oopsitsnothingcreative · 6 days ago

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SUNLIT MEADOW

Summary: Beau Swan-Torres moves to a small town to live with his father and finally have the regular life of a high schooler. Instead, he meets a mysterious, charming boy who flips his world upside-down. Beau's determined to uncover all of this town's secrets and it might end badly for everyone involved. Twilight (Life&Death, Twilight Reimagined, and Midnight Sun) rewrite!!! I changed and added to the lore and world building.

Aka Twilight but make it gay and not toxic. No stalking, no watching people in their sleep. They will actually date/have a relationship and have personalities. Everyone has trauma.

Parring: Edward Cullen/Beau Swan

TW: Underaged drinking, panic attacks, mention of child abuse, mention of past toxic relationship,

CHAPTER 3: THERE’S A MILLION SCARY THINGS

Soon, Halloween became the only thing anyone could talk about—especially Jessica. Her parents were going away for the weekend, leaving her alone in their big house, which was apparently code for “party time.” She handed out invitations to anyone that seemed even mildly interested.

I would’ve been more excited about it if I hadn’t accidentally agreed to bake cupcakes and cookies for the party. Well, “agreed” was a strong word. Jessica had this incredible talent to con her friends into helping with her schemes before they realized what was happening. It wasn’t just me, either—she roped Alice into decorating, a bunch of guys (including Mike) into picking up snacks, and even got her older cousin to buy what I assumed was the sketchiest—and cheapest—alcohol imaginable. Meanwhile, Jessica herself was busy making playlists and planning “fun activities”… whatever that meant.

“How am I supposed to do all of this in one night?” I groaned, letting a stack of recipes Jessica had printed out flop dramatically onto the cafeteria table. My forehead followed immediately after.

Alice leaned in close, practically yelling into my ear. Her voice was as obnoxiously cheerful as ever. “I can help you!”

I tilted my head just enough to glare at her, cheek still squished against the table. “Aren’t you already busy turning Jessica’s house into the set of Hocus Pocus? How are you gonna help me and make the party look like Spirit Halloween had a meltdown?”

“Multitasking.” Her grin practically gleamed. “If we team up, it’ll be done in no time!”

“Oh, good,” I deadpanned. “More work. Yay.” My face remained firmly planted against the table, my voice muffled by sheer resignation.

“Could you not?” She gave me a pointed look, crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed.

Angela, who’d been quietly reading at the other end of the table, finally set her book down. “I can help, too.”

Alice lit up like we’d just solved world hunger. “Perfect! We’ll head to Jess’ after school and get to work. It’ll be fun.”

“Sure,” I muttered, shifting my glare to the mountain of recipes now haunting me. “If by ‘fun,’ you mean collapsing from exhaustion while frosting a cupcake with my own tears.”

Alice rolled her eyes at me, but I caught her hiding a smirk. That was one of the best things about her—she never let my sarcasm faze her, but she never dismissed me either. She just... balanced me out. Like, where I saw doom, she saw glitter and glue guns. Somehow, it worked.

“Stop being dramatic,” she said, nudging my arm with her elbow. “It’s gonna be fine. And anyway, you’re better at baking than you think.”

“Sure,” I grumbled, “and I’m also great at suffering in silence.”

“You’re definitely great at suffering,” she teased, leaning her chin on her hand. “Silent? Not so much.”

Angela chuckled softly. Alice smiled at her, and for a second, I let myself think that maybe this whole baking disaster wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**********

I spent the rest of lunch—and the walk to Biology—strategically avoiding Mike. I’d overheard him talking to Tayler about matching group costumes. I was pretty sure I’d heard my name somewhere in their conversation. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to know.

By the time I got to class, Edward was already at our table, smiling at his phone, his face lit by the glow of his phone. He was smiling at whatever was on the screen, and my heart immediately betrayed me by skipping a beat at just the sight of him, and I stopped in my tracks like a total idiot. I didn’t even realize I was blocking the entrance until someone bumped into me.

Why was this happening to me? Why couldn’t I like someone more… attainable? At some point, between late-night texts and those maddeningly perfect lunch conversations, my brain had made the executive decision to develop a crush on Edward Cullen. Stupid brain. Stupid feelings. Stupid, impossibly pretty boys who made my heart stop.

I practically threw myself into my seat, busying myself with my bag. That’s when I noticed something sitting on my side of the desk.

“What’s that?” I asked, frowning.

Edward looked up, his expression a mix of amusement and mild confusion. “Your book.” He said flatly, setting his phone down.

And indeed, there was “The Complete Novels of Jane Austen” lying before me.

I blinked. “My book? W-What? How? I’ve been looking everywhere for this. I thought I lost it in the cafeteria! Where did you get it?” Words were just spilling out of my mouth as I picked the book up.

“I borrowed it.”

“You… w-what? Borrowed it?” I squinted at him. “You mean stole it.” I corrected jokingly.

He leaned back, “I borrowed it,” he repeated, his lips twitching into the smallest soft smirk, making one of those small, adorable—very distracting—dimples pop out. “I made some notes for you in the margins.”

My mind went blank, and I could only stare at him just as blankly. Words failed me and my stupid heart went crazy again. All I could do was stammer, “W-what?” and continue to stare. Damn those mind-melting dimples.

Fortunately, Mr. Banner started the lesson before I could embarrass myself any further. I quickly stuffed the book into my bag, yet I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was Edward sitting in his room writing notes with that stupid, perfect handwriting of his in my book, for me, thinking about me. And he remembered I liked to put notes in my books. Had he been paying attention? Why was I like this? Why did I do this to myself? Why couldn’t I just stop thinking about this boy? A very, very, very attractive boy who did very, very cute things.

I mean, how could I not start catching feelings? Honestly, I was screwed. And the worst part? I had no idea if he even liked me back. Why would he?

“Beau?” An already too familiar voice right beside me got me out of my daydream. “Are you listening to me?”

“Huh?” I turned to him, panic flickering across my face.

Great, I’ve been daydreaming about Edward and his stupid, perfect hands the entire freaking hour.

He tilted his head, clearly trying not to laugh. “I was talking… to you,” he said, smiling faintly, like he found my obliviousness very entertaining. “I said, we should get going. Unless you wanna stay here…”

“Oh! Sorry, I-uh, sorry.” I mumbled, frantically shoving my stuff into my bag, avoiding eye contact like my life depended on it.

“It’s fine. I’ll walk you to the gym. We can talk on the way.” His smile deepened, and my knees promptly forgot how to function.

We fell into step together, his voice a low, calming hum beside me. My thoughts were all over the place. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but I kept getting distracted by all the little things he did. The way his hand occasionally brushed against mine, or when he leaned in and spoke really close to my ear, leaving the faint scent of his cologne and sending shivers down my spine. Somehow, I managed to keep up the conversation and even made him laugh once or twice.

“Are you excited about the party, Eddie-boy?” I heard Alice’s teasing voice behind us, and suddenly her arm looped through mine. She wedged herself between us, wrapping her other arm around her brother’s waist. Edward slipped his arm around her shoulders instinctively, though his expression was a mix of fondness and mild annoyance. They exchanged a look, it seemed like they were having a full conversation, though they didn’t exchange a single word.

“I’m still not sure I’m going, Ali,” he said, matching her playful energy, but I could tell he was a bit annoyed.

“Of course you are! You have to. It will be fun.” She sounded certain, like she knew it would be exactly as she said. I noticed she did that often.

“It’s a costume party. I don’t have a costume.” He explained flatly.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got a perfect one for you, already at home,” she said with a sly smile. “While we’re on the subject of costumes…” She turned her gaze to me, eyes sparkling with mischief. “What about you, Beau?”

“I, uh…” I stammered, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. “I don’t have one. Haven’t really thought about it.”

Shit. Another thing to add to my ever-growing list of things to stress about.

“You could go as Bowie. B-O…” she sounded out my name slowly “B-O-wie. Get it? I think you can pull it off. And Eddie is, like, obsessed with him.” She slightly squeezed my arm and smiled at me.

“You’re sooo funny, Ali,” I said dryly. “Really, how do you come up with this stuff?”

She elbowed me in the ribs. “You could go as the king of sarcasm, but that’s who you are everyday.”

“I use sarcasm because murder is illegal,” I shot back, earning a laugh from Alice.

“See you after class, boys!” She walked off, still giggling, and I suddenly realized we were standing in front of the gym.

Edward leaned casually against the wall, giving me a once-over that made me self-conscious for absolutely no reason. “You could pull off anything,” he said, his voice quiet but sure.

I rolled my eyes, mostly to cover the blush I could feel creeping up my neck. “Thanks, Mr. Flattery.” I lightly pushed his arm, which only made him grin.

“You should go,” I said pointedly, hoping to deflect whatever was happening here. “You’re going to be late for French.” I paused to emphasize the next part “Again. Mrs. Goff will kill you.”

He smirked, tilting his head like he was daring me to stop him. “Spending time with you would be worth it.”

I just stared at him, brows raised in disbelief.

“Fine, fine.” He pushed off the wall, his grin softening into something warmer. “I’ll see you later.”

I walked backwards in the direction of the entrance, still looking at him. “I’m going to Jessica’s. To help with the party prep, so don’t wait for me.” As I opened the door, I saw he didn’t move, so I yelled, “Go to class!”

He looked down, his hair falling over his eyes. I heard him mutter something that sounded like “Yes, sir,” and with that, he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving me wondering—again—what the hell I’d done to deserve this kind of torture.

When I entered the locker room everyone was already there. Mike was talking animately with Tyler in the corner. His voice was low, but his expression wasn’t exactly subtle—irritated, maybe even angry. I couldn’t hear them over the usual chaotic chatter of guys yelling across the room or slamming lockers shut, but when they saw me, they clammed up and started walking away.

Okay. That wasn’t suspicious at all.

It might’ve been all in my head, though. ‘Cause when we were teaming up to play, Mike, as usual, did everything to be on my team. He was his regular, overly friendly self. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was pissed at me for something.

When I got to Jessica’s, Alice, Angela, and a few others were outside, battling over the decorations. Alice was mid-argument with some unfortunate soul about how the pumpkin string lights were supposed to be hung. The main entrance was wide open, so I ducked inside, leaving her to her war.

No matter how many times I came here, Jessica’s house never failed to make me feel like I’d walked onto the set of some rom-com about ridiculously rich people. I knew Jessica’s family was one of the richest ones in Forks, but this house was fucking huge—absurdly huge, especially, for a family that small. Even the kitchen looked like it belonged in a magazine instead of an actual house. It also looked like it had never been used, which made the ridiculous amount of supplies on the counters seem even more out of place.

I dropped my bag on the counter, pulled out my recipes, and started sorting through them. Most of them were fairly simple, but some were overly complicated. Absolutely me, a sleek little radio perched on a shelf. I turned it on, letting the background music drown out the awkward silence. A song I didn’t know came on, and I shrugged. It was better than nothing, I thought. I sorted the supplies next and got down to work.

Four hours later, I was still baking. Apparently, this kitchen had two pretty big ovens. Was this a rich people thing? Who the hell needed more than one oven? I suppose it did make things easier for me. I could shove in double the cookies and cupcakes at once.

I was almost done. Almost. The cupcakes were in the ovens, and I’d moved on to decorating the cookies. Pumpkin shapes, bats, witches, and other halloweeny things—store-bought icing galore. But then, because fate has a sick sense of humor, Jessica wandered in to “check” on me, and while scrounging for a snack, she casually remembered that her mom used to make mac-and-cheese cupcakes when she was little. She’d made those big pleading eyes and asked sweetly if I could whip up some for the party. And, of course, instead of politely saying that I in fact did fucking mind because I’ve been here all day and would love to go home instead of indulging her weird rich-girl nostalgia, I responded with “Oh, no problem,” like the spineless idiot that I am.

Fast-forward to me working alone in a giant kitchen, decorating cookies while mac-and-cheese cupcakes baked away. Alice and Angela? MIA. I assumed they had their hands full with Jessica and her ideas, and I didn’t have the energy to bother them.

I was channeling all my artistic abilities and focus into decorating a cookie when I nearly had a heart attack as I realized I wasn’t alone in the kitchen anymore.

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

The voice came from across the kitchen island, so sudden I dropped the cookie I’d been working on. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. That voice had been haunting my daydreams and messing with my sanity for weeks. If I looked up, I’d lose whatever thin thread of concentration I had left. So I didn’t.

“I don’t sing,” said flatly, trying to salvage the mess I’d made instead of acknowledging him.

“Weeell…” He dragged the word out teasingly. “You just did. You have a beautiful voice.”

My hand froze mid-cleaning. Beautiful voice? Me? I snuck a glance out of the corner of my eye. Edward was leaning against the counter,his head tilted slightly, wearing one of those stupidly disarming smiles. “I think you should do it more,” he added lightly.

That’s when I realized I’d been absently singing along to Like a Virgin. Fantastic. Kill me now.

Back in California, there had always been music playing. My mother and I would sing along, and for a while, those moments were some of the happiest memories I had. She’d light up whenever I joined in, overjoyed that I was doing something—anything—that connected us. It was the only thing besides ballet that ever seemed to work. Everything else eventually led to me disappointing her.

She signed me up for art classes so I could learn to paint like her, but I fell in love with drawing instead. I wanted to write; she wanted me to play an instrument—anything but the guitar, which she despised and hated that I even touched. When I inevitably caved in on her wishes and took piano lessons—because we were “supposed to learn together”—she lost interest in a matter of weeks, leaving me stuck with an old upright piano in the living room. I only played it when the sight of it gathering dust became unbearable. But I couldn’t say any of that to him. It wasn’t exactly kitchen-counter small talk.

So, I changed the subject.

“Whatcha doing here, Eddie?” I asked instead. The nickname slipped out, and I realized it was the first time I’d called him that. Maybe it was because I liked the way his full name rolled off my tongue.

He grinned. “I’m picking up Alice… but she’s not done yet.” He leaned closer. “And those smell amazing.” He nodded at the cookies. “May I… Have one?”

He started reaching out for one, but I smacked his hand away before he could grab it.

“These are for the party, so no. Hands off.” I made the mistake of looking at him then—directly into his stupid, unfairly beautiful eyes. And when he looked at me with those eyes, it was nearly impossible to say no to him. I could see all the different colors in them, a perfect mixture of light brown and green—that you couldn’t normally see, unless you stood this close—with a dark ring around the edges, like someone had hand-painted them.

He leaned in even closer, his nose just inches away from mine. “What if I ask really, really nicely?”

My whole body went rigid. My grip tightened on the edge of the countertop as my thoughts spiraled into complete chaos. I didn’t know if I wanted him to move away or come closer. Did he want to kiss me? Did I want him to? What if he kissed me? What if he did, and it wasn’t what he expected? What if it was? What if it’s all just in my head? What if I kissed him? What if? What if? What if…

“Pretty please,” he murmured, his voice soft and infuriatingly sweet. It echoed in my head like a spell.

I straightened up, desperate to put some space between us. “Edward Cullen, are you flirting with me?” I asked, half-joking, half-looking for some kind of confirmation.

“No, I’m not flirting with you,” he said, a bit too quickly. “I’m clearly begging you for food.” His cheeks went faintly pink, and I could’ve sworn his eyes flicked down to my lips for a split second. Maybe I wasn’t imagining it. But I might’ve gone completely insane at this point.

“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “You can take one—” But before he had a chance to, I added. “If… You help me decorate the rest.”

“Deal,” he said instantly, a quiet laugh escaping as he snatched up a cookie. He took a bite, then froze.

My stomach twisted and my head started folding with anxious thoughts.

Oh, no. What did I do wrong? Did I forget to add some key ingredient? Did I grab salt instead of sugar? Did I ruin the whole batch?

“This is soooo gooood,” he said, his eyes wide. “I think I’m in love.”

And with that, he took another bite, looking entirely too pleased with himself while I stood there, losing what little grip on sanity I had left.

This man was seriously driving me insane!

**********

When I finally got home, my dad was fast asleep on the couch, the sports channel still blaring. The man could fall asleep in the middle of a war zone—and honestly, he probably had. I didn’t have the heart to wake him—not that he’d wake up easily—so I turned the TV off, covered him with a blanket, and dragged myself upstairs. I thought maybe a shower would help me find the energy to come up with a last-minute costume. Well, I thought wrong. I barely made it to bed before passing out, and honestly, it wasn’t a graceful collapse.

When I woke up, my face was mashed into the pillow, and something felt… off. It was quiet, which was weird. Normally, the morning was filled with my dad’s hurried footsteps, the coffee machine going full blast, or he would already be on his way to work, the morning news left on in a hurry. But today? Dead silence.

I stayed still, waiting for my alarm to go off. It didn’t. The feeling that I was getting a suspicious amount of sleep crept in. I rolled out of bed in panic, smashing my knee on the floor on the way down. My phone almost slid out of my hand, and when I finally managed to check the time, my heart sank. 9:53.

Cue panic.

Messages flooded my phone: Alice, spamming notes and random gossip; Mike, mostly asking if I was dying and—most importantly, for him—if I was still going to the party; and, of course, Jake with his usual Good morning, sunshine text. My heart sank. I was so late I’d skipped panic mode and gone straight into existential crisis.

My heart was racing as I threw on some clothes and sprinted to the bathroom, managing to brush my teeth and fix my hair in record time—okay, I looked like a half-drowned cat, but who cares?

On my way downstairs, I missed the last step, fell flat on my back, and rolled dramatically into the wall. I could hear the framed pictures banging against it, and for a very scary second I thought they would fall on me.

It took me a moment to register the throbbing pain in my shoulder and I was thankful no one had been home, they would’ve heard some truly creative language that my dad definitely wouldn’t have approved of.

I had no time to wallow in self-pity, so I quickly gathered the scattered contents of my half-open bag and threw it over my still hurting shoulder and hurried to the kitchen. I was just going to grab something to eat and take off when something on the fridge caught my eye. Held by one of the magnets—one of a little, blue fish—I got for my dad years ago, was a piece of paper with his messy handwriting.

“I saw how tired you were, so I called school. You have a day off.

Get some rest! I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Have fun at the party!

—Dad.”

I stared at the note, my back slowly sliding against the wall until I hit the floor. My knees pulled up against my chest, the paper crumpled in my hand. My breathing turned shallow and ragged, like someone had sucked all the air out of the room. I hugged my knees tighter, trying to keep it together, but it wasn’t working.

It was stupid, really. A day off shouldn’t feel like such a big deal. But it wasn’t just the day off—it was the fact that someone had noticed, that Dad had noticed. He didn’t say much, but he always saw me. Even when I wished he wouldn’t. He knew when to push and when to let me breathe.

It was the kind of thing my mom or abuela would never have done.

I’ve never missed school. Well, not without a good reason. No missed school days unless you were literally dying. And even then, my abuela would probably shove a thermometer in your mouth, wave a hand dismissively, and remind you she’d escaped communism, or that she’d sacrificed everything for her family. She was one of those larger-than-life Cuban grandmothers who could command a room with just a look.

She and Mom expected perfect grades and a spotless house. All this to say, complaining wasn’t allowed. Every argument, every minor rebellion, it didn’t matter if I was asking for five more minutes of sleep or complaining about math homework, ended with her reminding me how lucky I was to be born in el país de la libertad or saying something like ‘What happened at school that was so bad, Xavi? Did someone… steal your freedom today?’ And then she’d give me the look—the one that shut down arguments before they even started. She had this way of making you feel guilty for even breathing wrong, but you couldn’t be mad at her because she’d bake you pastelitos right after. Like some kind of guilt-trip peace offering.

Mom went along with whatever grandma wanted. Whether she agreed or not, she didn’t fight back. Even after grandma passed away her presence lingered like a ghost, and everything stayed the same, weirdly enough. My mom didn’t step into her shoes exactly, but the expectations didn’t disappear.

My mom was… complicated. She wasn’t strict the way abuela had been. Not exactly. But she carried that same controlling energy, wrapped up in smiles and hugs and a glass of wine that was never quite empty. Her mood would quickly change regardless if she had something to drink or not. But after a few too many drinks she usually said something along the lines of ‘Beau, you need to relax. Be a teenager’ yet everything she did prevented me from doing so.

I always thought she was that way because her free-spirited nature had gotten crushed under abuela’s endless rules. But I wasn’t so sure now. After all, my father was in the army, and he wasn’t anywhere near as strict as them.

I mean, he was army through and through, but somehow the most chill person on the planet. People always expected him to be the strict one, I guess because of the whole army vet, now chief of police thing, but he wasn’t. He’d spent his early twenties halfway across the world in places he never talked about—not unless he’d had a few beers and thought I wasn’t listening. The one time I’d asked, all he’d said was, “It’s nothing like the movies, kiddo.” He’d never gotten into details, but I could piece it together from the shadows that sometimes crossed his face when he thought no one was looking.

He trusted me, and that somehow made me try harder. Not that I’d admit it.

Somehow, after all of that, he’d ended up being the kind of dad who’d let me screw up a million times and still say, “You’re doing fine, kid.” My mom used to say it was because I reminded him of himself, but I didn’t see it. He was tough. I was… well, whatever the opposite of tough is.

I closed my eyes, the vice in my chest tightening. I hated the feeling of losing control, the way it made my hands tremble and my breath catch. I tried the tricks that were supposed to help: counting, focusing on something solid like the cold linoleum under my fingers. Nothing worked.

The tears burned, threatening to spill over, and I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. “Get it together, Beau,” I muttered. Deep breaths. That’s what they say, right? Deep breaths.

It didn’t help much, but I stumbled into the kitchen and boiled some water for tea.

Chamomile. Grandma used to swear by it. “Xavito, you drink this, you calm down. Then you can be smart again,” she’d say, her thick Cuban accent turning every word into a song. I could still hear her voice sometimes, echoing in my head, teasing me about my name. She never liked “Beau.” Too American. Too… not Xavier.

I forced down a cup of tea, the warmth helping to unclench the icy grip on my chest. Still, I couldn’t shake the restless energy gnawing at me. I wandered back to my room, hoping it would help, but when I stood in the doorway, I froze, staring at the bed like it was mocking me.

What was I supposed to do now? There was always something—always something to fill the time. I never had to just be. It was… unsettling.

I hated it. I hated the way it felt like I was waiting for something to happen. Or, worse, for something to go wrong. I was never without a plan, never without a schedule. Not even for a second. And now? Now I was just… standing there, useless.

I glanced at the clock. I had no idea what to do with myself, and it was making my skin itch. I paced the room a few times, like I could out-run the feeling of emptiness. The ticking of the clock on the wall was starting to feel louder than usual.

I couldn’t let it get to me. I couldn’t.

I decided to try to get some sleep. And that’s exactly what I did—tried.

I closed my eyes, tossed and turned, trying to find the most comfortable position to sleep. And nothing. It felt like my body had forgotten how to be still, how to be calm.

The more I tried to get comfortable, the more restless I became. I opened the window and drew the curtains, hoping the fresh air would clear my head. It didn’t. And it got even worse when my mind inevitably wandered to yesterday… to Edward… to his eyes… to his lips… Damn, those lips… and to how I shouldn’t be thinking about him or his stupid lips. But I couldn’t stop.

Why was I even thinking about this? About him? It wasn’t like he’d said or done anything… except for the way he looked at me, the way his voice got softer when he spoke to me, the way he leaned in just a little too close.

Okay, fine. Maybe he’d done plenty. But this wasn’t me. I’ve never craved someone’s affection like this. Ever. But with him, it was like my brain had been rewired. It was terrifying, wanting someone so badly it felt like my whole world might shatter if they didn’t want me back. Wanting them like that—needing them—that wasn’t me. But with Edward, it was different. Too different.

I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow, but it only made the thoughts worse. It felt like my brain was just looping through the same images, the same impossible questions.

What if he was flirting with me? Or was he just messing with me?

Get it together, Beau.

But the panic was creeping in. I hated that feeling. My chest felt tight again, and the idea that I might need something, want something from someone—it sent me into a tailspin.

I looked at the time again. Instead of trying to relax, I decided to make a plan. Something to fill every second, every corner of my brain, just to stop the thoughts from creeping in. It didn’t matter what the tasks were—cleaning, reorganizing my bookshelf, math homework—anything was better than this. Something was always wrong when I had too much time to think.

Before I knew it, the day had slipped away, leaving me tangled in a web of thoughts and feelings I didn’t know how to escape.

**********

The party had started over an hour ago. I’d parked a block away, and I could already hear the music—the bass thumping so loud it felt like my car was vibrating.

And yet, I couldn’t make myself get out of the car.

I just sat there, overthinking everything. Why did I drive here alone? I should’ve gotten a ride. Would I end up drinking? Probably not a good idea. Why did I even come at all? I’ve never been to a party before. I didn’t even know how I was supposed to act.

“This wasn’t life or death—just high school.” I muttered under my breath, over and over, like a mantra. It didn’t help much, but eventually, I took a deep breath and cautiously stepped out of the car.

The air was cold, too cold even for my outfit. Somehow, even four layers of clothes weren’t enough for autumn in Washington. At least it wasn’t raining, though I probably should’ve worn a thicker jacket. I knew I was acting like a five-year-old screaming at his mom that a jacket would ruin the costume, but then again, I didn’t have a mom that would tell me to wear a warmer jacket.

I glanced down at myself. This costume had been sitting in my closet since last year, for what was supposed to be my first real party, my first wild high school experience. The party I’ve never got to because I had to take care of my heartbroken mother after her boyfriend decided to trash our living room and steal her credit card. I spent that halloween night on the phone with the bank while cleaning. So fun.

Still, I’d been excited back then. I remembered the guy that invited me. He was a year older, kinda cute in a “plays in the band that only performs in his garage” kinda way. We had that in common, the band thing. We went on a couple of dates, and I barely knew him, but it still hurt when he avoided me in the hallways after I stood him up.

Now, here I was, finally using the costume. People were pouring out of the house, some of them I had never even seen before. I guessed Jessica managed to invite people from the town over. A big group gathered on the porch and front lawn, talking and drinking, and one guy was already puking in the bushes. A great start.

I stood frozen on the sidewalk, overthinking again. I could still turn around, go home, and pretend none of this ever happened.

But I didn’t.

I felt my shoulders tighten as I walked inside.

Everything from the floor to the ceiling screamed halloween—the low lights, thin smoke, decorative pumpkins, skulls, cobwebs, caution tape over some of the doors and, of course, the people in crazy outfits. It was so loud I had to fight the urge to cover my ears. The living room had been turned into a dance floor, packed with sweaty, drunk teenagers. I pushed through the crowd, dodging elbows and drinks, and made my way to the back of the house, where it was quieter.

Sort of.

The back room had tables covered in snacks and games. To my surprise, people seemed to actually enjoy my baked goods, and that earned a small, satisfied smile from me.

I was looking for my friends when I got hit by a ping-pong ball in the shoulder. A guy dressed like a baseball player just shouted “sorry” before going back to his beer pong game. Meanwhile, I got stuck in place like a Sim when their action was canceled. Just following the ping pong ball with my eyes, watching how it missed the cups each and every time, to the frustration of the players and others around the table.

“Beau! I’ve been looking for you!” Jessica’s voice snapped me back to reality. She pulled me into a tight hug. “You look… amazing!”

“Wha-what are you supposed to be?” she asked, pulling back to give me the full once-over.

“Oh, I, I’m the Doctor. The Tenth Doctor.” I gestured awkwardly at my thrifted brown three piece suit with thin white stripes, a matching tie, red converse, and paper 3D glasses on my head. My nails were still painted black, thanks to my shortage of nail polish remover, so I decided to lean into the look with some eyeliner. The only thing missing was the iconic sonic screwdriver, but I’ve never been interested in buying overpriced movie gadgets—mostly because I’ve also never had the money. Jessica was dressed as Princess Peach in a light-pink puffy dress and a very sparkly tiara.

Jessica’s blank stare said it all.

“Doctor Who,” I added. “The British TV show?”

“Who?”

That was it. The joke practically wrote itself. “Exactly,” I muttered with a little laugh, but it was wasted on her.

Jessica shook her head like I’d just confessed to an unspeakable crime. “Whatever. Come on, we’re drinking!” She grabbed my arm and dragged me into another room.

And there he was, looking like a dream, looking like Mr. Darcy. The shirt, the coat, the messy hair—he looked like he’d just stepped out of the set of the 2005 Pride and Prejudice adaptation. Like he’d just confessed his undying love for Elizabeth Bennet.

My heart skipped a beat.

He was incredible, and I was hopeless.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away, not even when our eyes locked, and the rest of the room disappeared. My stomach twisted into a knot, and I could barely breathe. Not until I literally couldn’t see him anymore, until there was this tiny faerie practically throwing herself at me. Her cheerful voice pulled me back to Earth and then she literally pulled me straight to the ground to sit next to her, because apparently we were playing a drinking game.

That was when I finally noticed there were other people around that weren’t this handsome Georgian guy or his magical-looking, faerie sister.

Before I knew it, I was sitting cross-legged in a circle on the floor, wedged between Jessica and Alice, being handed a plastic cup filled with something alcoholic, surrounded by Super Mario characters. Looking at them all—Mike as Mario, Tayler as Luigi, Eric as Waluigi, Lee as Wario, Samantha as Rosalina and Lauren as Princess Daisy—made me glad I avoided them when I heard the words “group costumes.” Ben and Angela’s costumes didn’t match the rest of the group either. Angela was some anime character I didn’t recognize, and Ben was a superhero from one of those comics he always reads.

“Okay, game time!” Jessica announced, dropping a stack of laminated cards with questions or dares, and an empty bottle on the floor in the middle of the circle. The rules were simple: spin the bottle, pick a card, and either do what it said or drink. Basically, a mash-up of ‘Truth or Dare’ and ‘Never Have I Ever,’ so the classic teenage party game, except Jessica was the mastermind behind the questions and dares—which meant things were about to get really personal. Of course.

As expected, I was right; the questions did get personal, especially when it came to Angela and Ben. Everyone knew they had feelings for each other—except them, obviously. Beyond that, everything, specifically the dares were exactly what you’d expect—designed to make you drink. I honestly thought I could just sit and observe everyone else without ever having to actually, well, play. Fortunately, the bottle seemed to avoid me most of the time—maybe out of pity—and when it finally landed on me, I got lucky and only got the easy questions, like ‘what was your first kiss like?’ Questions that were a little embarrassing, but not so personal that I couldn’t answer them.

I considered lying but decided the truth was mortifying enough. “Weird,” I said, trying to sound casual. “It was with my best friend’s school friend. Paul. He kissed me at a campfire while people roasted marshmallows. Romantic, right?” I rolled my eyes, hoping that would be enough.

But Jessica, of course, the gossip queen that she was, immediately connected some dots in her head. “Wait, is this Paul Lahote? Didn’t he—?”

“Yep,” I cut her off quickly. “He did. And we don’t talk about it.” My tone was light, but internally I was wishing for spontaneous combustion again.

The game dragged on, circling around like an awkward confession roulette. People swapped stories about exes, awkward childhood moments, and, in one case, an unfortunate tattoo. I stuck to short answers, leaning on sarcasm, and kept my cup untouched. The only thing that truly made it embarrassing was Edward’s presence. Especially when I got the question ‘what was your first relationship like?’ I almost choked on my drink.

Talking about my first boyfriend—if I could even call him that—in front of the guy I wished was my boyfriend was a special kind of torture. Worse still when I had to admit I was still a virgin (or at least by my friend’s standards). I wanted to sink into the floor. I avoided Edward’s eyes like they might actually catch me on fire, instead staring at the rim of my cup as I muttered something vague about my weird, messy, complicated relationship with Paul Lahote.

I kept most of it to myself, glossing over the details like I always did. Paul wasn’t someone I liked to talk about often with anyone, brushing it off with a joke that didn’t quite land. It wasn’t a story I wanted to share here, not with Edward sitting across from me, his gaze soft and curious. Not when the truth still felt too raw, too tangled. Even Jake only knew bits and pieces, though he probably knew more than I’d ever had to admit out loud. My relationship with Paul was a tangle of contradictions—brief but long-lasting, messy but magnetic—and doomed from the start.

Well, it wasn’t always bad. It was actually quite sweet in the beginning, the opposite of complicated.

Jake introduced me to Paul when we were thirteen, during one of those Forks summers where the days stretched out like they’d last forever, back when everything felt simple and exciting. Paul was a year older, he was pure energy—loud, cocky, and unfiltered. But when we were alone, he let his guard down just enough to pull me closer. For weeks, he tried to impress me, to make me laugh, showing off at the bonfires and daring me to do things I never would’ve done on my own, like daring me to race him into the freezing water. I laughed at him at first, but before I knew it, I was caught up in his gravity.

I’ll never forget the night he kissed me for the first time. We were sitting by the fire on the beach, away from everyone, the ocean whispering behind us. His hand brushed against mine, and for once, he seemed nervous, his confidence faltering. He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he was about to ruin everything, and before I could second-guess what was happening, he leaned in and kissed me. It was awkward and clumsy—his lips too warm, his nose bumping mine—but it was also perfect in the way only a first kiss can be. We spent the rest of the summer tangled in each other’s orbit, sneaking around like it was the world’s greatest secret, stealing moments when no one else was watching.

When the summer ended and I went back to California, I thought that would be it. A sweet little memory to tuck away. That’s just how these things went.

Only, it didn’t end.

When I came back the next summer, Paul acted like no time had passed. We picked up right where we left off, sneaking around, again, stealing kisses when no one was looking, and whispering into the night. For the first time, it felt like something that could stretch beyond just a season, into something bigger, something real.

Even though loving Paul came with rules, ones I didn’t understand at first. He wasn’t out—not to his family, not to anyone but me… not even to himself in some ways. I could feel the weight of his fear, the way it pressed down on every moment we shared. Always looking over his shoulder, always torn between who he was with me and the version of himself he thought he had to be for everyone else. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t his fault, that I could be patient, that he’d figure it out.

But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t carry that weight for him. Loving him meant shrinking myself, bending myself to fit into the spaces he made for me, and hiding in the shadows he was too afraid to step out of. I kept telling myself it was enough… even when it wasn’t. But the truth was, Paul’s fear kept us on uneven ground from the start. I was always waiting for him to let me in completely, and he never did.

We promised to make it work, even with the distance. And for a while, it did. I believed him when he said it was worth it, that we were worth it. We stayed up late texting, calling each other, trading sleepy ‘I miss yous’ that felt like lifelines when we were hundreds of miles apart. I clung to those words like they could hold us together.

But slowly, Paul began to drift away. For a while, I convinced myself the distance was the problem. That everything would be easier if we were in the same place. But it wasn’t. Paul started pulling away bit by bit. He would take longer to text back, then stopped responding altogether. Let my calls go to voicemail. At first, I made excuses for him—he was busy, overwhelmed, tired. I told myself we were fine. But the silences between us grew heavier, like they were saying all the things Paul couldn’t bring himself to say.

Then Jake called.

He wanted to know why I hadn’t told him that Paul and I had broken up. My heart sank. I didn’t know what he was talking about until Jake told me he’d seen Paul with another boy—and, furthermore, he apparently also had a girlfriend.

He’d been seeing other people, and I was the last to know.

I felt hollow. I’d been holding onto something that was already gone, and everyone else could see it but me. Paul didn’t even have the decency to end things. He just… moved on, leaving me to piece together what was left of my dignity. I wanted to hate him for it, but I hated myself more for not seeing it coming. For ignoring the warnings Jake had given me from the start. He told me Paul wasn’t the kind of person who’d ever give me what I deserved. He told me Paul didn’t know how to love anyone but himself, but I didn’t want to believe it. I thought I could prove him wrong.

The worst part of a broken heart wasn’t the moment it shatters—it was the quiet echoes that linger after. I missed him in ways that made no sense. I missed the warmth of his laugh, the way he’d call me “kid” even though we were only a year apart, the spark in his eyes when he was just Paul and not the mask he wore for the rest of the world.

I kept waiting for closure that never came, for some kind of explanation. But Paul never gave me that. He just kept going, not looking back. And I was left to wrestle with the ache of loving someone who wasn’t who I thought they were.

I wrote about it, of course—it’s what I do, what I’d always done. I put it all in my journals, poured every feeling, every ounce of confusion, and longing, and heartbreak into words, or incomprehensible scribbles or sketches… anything that came to my mind was hidden neatly into those pages meant only for me. Though sometimes that endless stream of thoughts and pictures ended up as poems or lyrics, and those lyrics—with a lot of effort from my more musically talented friends—turned into songs for our little band.

But even with everything I wrote, the words couldn’t erase the hollow ache of knowing that no matter how much I’d loved him, it would never be enough to change reality.

Paul had always been a storm—wild and untouchable, pulling me in and tossing me aside. And I’d been foolish enough to think I could weather it.

And yet, even after all that, it wasn’t over.

The following summer, I didn’t expect to see Paul. I told myself I was over him, that the bruises he’d left on my heart had faded. But the moment he found me again, smiling that same careless smile like none of it had ever happened, my resolve crumbled.

He told me he’d made a huge mistake, that he’d never stopped caring about me, that he missed me. He said I was the only one who really understood him. And like the fool I was, I believed him. I let him pull me back in, convincing myself that this time would be different. That the sweet boy who kissed me by the fire was still somewhere inside him.

But Paul wasn’t the same. He was reckless now, angrier. He’d started drinking heavily and even smoking weed, partying with people who only fueled the worst parts of him. I’d get calls from him at three in the morning, his voice slurring as he told me he loved me while I could hear the sound of wind whipping past—Paul, drunk and driving, making promises he’d break by sunrise.

He wanted me when it was convenient, but he refused to let anyone else see us. We’d sneak around like some dirty secret, hiding behind locked doors and whispered conversations. When I asked him why he couldn’t just be honest about us, he’d snap, accusing me of trying to ruin his life or calling me selfish for not understanding how hard it was for him.

He showed up late to see me, reeking of alcohol and bad decisions. Sometimes, he’d come with bruised knuckles, a split lip, or blood on his shirt, and I never knew whether to ask questions or stay quiet. If he was in a good mood when I asked what happened, he’d laugh it off or change the subject. Other times, we’d fight. The arguments were sharp and exhausting, like walking on glass, and no matter what I said, it always ended the same.

He’d apologize and tell me it was my fault in one breath. He was so charming and persuasive. He’d tell me I was wrong, call me crazy, say I was imagining things, make me doubt myself so much that I started to believe him. There were times I’d feel like I was losing my grip on reality, constantly questioning if I was the problem, if I was too much, or not enough.

I remembered the time when I could make him smile during an argument, the argument forgotten, but those times were gone, swallowed by the storm of anger that lived inside him now. I couldn’t reach him anymore.

Paul’s temper scared me. He’d punch walls when things didn’t go his way, leaving holes in the plaster. One night, during an argument, he grabbed my wrist so hard it left bruises. I told myself it was just a moment, that he didn’t mean it, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t the first warning sign—I’d been ignoring them for months.

He’d cheat on me and lie. Once I’d overheard him talking with his friends, saying he’d only ever dated me for laughs. We’d fight and we’d break up. Later, when he was drunk and alone, he called me crying, saying he didn’t mean it, that I was the only one who ever mattered to him. And I believed him. Over and over again.

This cycle went on until this past summer—the one that finally broke me. Paul begged me for another chance, tears in his eyes and promises tumbling from his lips like they actually meant something this time. And like every time before, I gave in. I didn’t even know why anymore. Maybe I was still clinging to the memory of the boy who kissed me by the fire, the one who made me feel like I was someone worth chasing. Or maybe I just wanted to believe that he could change, even though deep down, I knew better.

I wanted to believe him when he said things would be different. But nothing had changed. The fights were still there, sharp and suffocating. The jealousy, the anger, the drinking, and, of course, the cheating. He wanted me to belong to him completely, but he was never really mine—not in the way I needed.

It all came to a head when I told him I had to go back to California a month early. He didn’t even let me finish before he lost it. His face twisted in anger, his voice cracking as he shouted over me. When I tried to explain, he grabbed my shoulders and slammed me against the wall. His whole body was shaking, and for the first time, I wasn’t just scared of losing him—I was scared of him.

I never got to tell him the truth—that I wasn’t leaving for good. That I’d decided to move to Forks, to stay. Not for him, but for me. Because I wanted a fresh start, a place that felt like it could finally be my home. But in that moment, I realized something that had been staring me in the face for years: Paul wasn’t the person I thought he was. He never had been.

Walking away from Paul felt like breaking free from a chain I’d kept locked around myself for far too long. It wasn’t easy—I wanted to turn back more times than I care to admit. There was a hole where he used to be, and no matter how much I knew I needed to leave, it still hurt. For so long, I thought love was supposed to feel like this. Like sacrifice and pain and longing. But Jake—my best friend, the one who always had my back, even when I didn’t deserve it—showed me otherwise. He reminded me of who I was, of what love should feel like.

Looking back now, I can see the relationship for what it really was: a mess of manipulation, heartbreak, and abuse dressed up as love. Paul was like a storm—beautiful and wild, but impossible to hold onto without getting swept away. He played with my emotions like it was a game, keeping me guessing which version of him I’d get each time. The charming boy who made me laugh until my sides hurt? Or the angry, destructive one who left bruises on my… heart?

Paul never changed, not really. He was still the boy who punched walls when he didn’t get his way, who got drunk and showed up at my door with slurred apologies. The boy who talked shit about me to his friends, who made me feel like I wasn’t enough and too much all at once. And for a long time, I let him make me believe that was my fault.

But the truth is, Paul wasn’t mine to save. No matter how much I tried to break through his walls, all I ever did was hurt myself in the process. He drained me of everything I had to give, and when there was nothing left, he moved on, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

I think the hardest part was letting go of the hope. The hope that he’d wake up one day and realize what he’d done, that he’d apologize in a way that actually meant something. That he’d love me the way I deserved to be loved. But holding onto that hope was killing me, and I finally had to let it go.

In the end, all I got from Paul was a lesson—and some songs. Writing about him was the only way I could make sense of it all, turning the pain into something real, something I could use. So, yeah, I got some decent songs out of it. But honestly? I’d trade them all just to never have met him at all.

Now, only a few months later, I sat in a circle of new faces, new friends and I couldn’t stop thinking about how messed up it all was. Paul’s ghost lingered in the room, a weight I couldn’t quite shake. I wondered if Edward saw it, too—if he could tell that every sarcastic remark was just a defense mechanism, a way to keep anyone from getting too close. After all, getting close had only ever ended in disaster.

The bottle spun and spun, but it never seemed to land on the right questions for Edward—the ones I needed answers to. My stomach twisted every time I glanced his way, wondering if he noticed the way I stumbled over my words when he looked at me a little too long or how I laughed a little louder at his jokes. Maybe it was stupid, but part of me wanted to believe Edward could be different. That he wouldn’t leave me feeling small and broken like Paul had.

The bottle spun again, glinting under the dim light, and I forced myself to focus on the moment, to push Paul out of my mind.

Edward drank a couple of times, always at the worst moments for my sanity. Questions like, ‘Do you have a crush on anyone?’ were met with a cool, deliberate sip instead of an answer. My chest tightened every time. I wished he’d said something—anything. I wished he’d said my name. I wished for confirmation that all of this wasn’t just in my head.

Jessica’s grin turned downright predatory. “Alright, Cullen,” she drawled, handing him a card. “Let’s make this interesting.”

Edward picked up the card and read it aloud, his voice calm and measured: “Who’s the most attractive person in the room?”

Cue collective silence.

Edward’s gaze swept over the circle, his expression unreadable, until his eyes lingered on me. For a fraction of a second too long. Then, with infuriating poise, he raised his drink and took a slow sip.

My stomach flipped, and not in a good way. Was I imagining things? Did that tiny pause mean something, or was I just desperate enough to make it up?

The moment passed, and the game trudged on. The rest of the group seemed oblivious to the tension humming between us, but I couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him. And every so often, I caught him doing the same.

When the bottle finally spun back to me again, Jessica couldn’t hide her excitement. “Alright, Beau,” she said, her grin like a shark circling its prey. “Let’s get serious.” She handed me a card that read: “Kiss the person you find most attractive here.”

I froze, heat rushing to my face. The room felt suffocatingly small.

Edward’s gaze burned into me, intense and unreadable. It was the kind of look that could melt steel—or possibly my brain.

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the cup. I considered my options.

A) kiss Edward, get rejected and die of absolute mortification.

B) drink and look like a total coward.

Well, I already was a coward, so the choice was easy. I lifted the cup and drank, the alcohol burning my throat as I avoided looking at Edward. It was warm and bitter. It wasn’t all that bad, but I wasn’t entirely sure if I liked it.

Jessica pouted, but the game rolled on. Slowly, people started peeling away. Ben and Angela were the first to leave, as they emptied their cups to avoid the uncomfortable questions about their feelings. Tyler followed soon after. Alice abandoned the game entirely to join Emmett and Rosalie on the dance floor. My cup was still half-full at that point.

Before I knew it, everyone had fizzled out completely. It was just Edward and me, sitting in the corner of the room, the laminated cards abandoned on the floor. Exchanging questions under the flimsy pretense of the game, except neither of us wanted to embarrass the other. It started very simple.

“What’s your favorite color?” Edward asked suddenly, as if it was vitally important to him.

I rolled my eyes. “Very creative.” I leaned back, pretending to think deeply. “It changes from day to day.”

“What is it today?” he pressed, still solemn.

“Probably brown.” I tended to dress according to my mood.

He snorted, dropping his serious expression. “Brown?” he asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“Yeah, brown,” I said defensively. “Brown is warm. Also everything that’s supposed to be brown—tree trunks, dirt, rocks—is all covered up with squashy green stuff here. I miss brown,” I complained.

He seemed fascinated by my little rant. He considered for a moment, staring into my eyes.

“You’re right,” he decided, serious again. “Brown is warm.”

And then, like it was nothing, he reached over, swiftly, but somehow still hesitant and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertips barely grazed my skin, but I forgot how to breathe for a solid five seconds.

“What’s your mother like?” He asked suddenly. It was my turn, but I let it slide. His tone shifted to something softer, more curious.

I blinked, thrown by the change in topic. He studied me curiously while I answered. “Uh, she’s… complicated. She kind of looks like me—same eyes, same hair color—but she’s short with darker skin. She’s an extrovert and super forgetful. She’s also eccentric, irresponsible, and a very unpredictable cook. She’s a nurse, or I guess she was a nurse, she quit to travel with Phil.”

“Do you miss her?”

The question caught me off guard, and I hesitated, my hands tightening around my cup. “Yeah. I mean, I guess I haven’t really thought about her much this past month.” I paused, feeling a little guilty. I looked away, focusing on the way my drink swirled in my cup.

“Why did your mother marry Phil?”

It took me a second to answer.

“That’s… complicated too.” I sighed, trying to find the right words. “My mom… she’s very… young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. Anyway, she’s crazy about him.” I shrugged, feeling awkward. Personally, I didn’t see it, but did anyone ever think anyone was good enough for their mom? He made her stop drinking or at least drink less, so that was something, I guess.

Edward tilted his head, like he was trying to understand my logic. “Do you approve?”

I shrugged again. “I want her to be happy, and he’s who she wants.”

“That’s very generous… I wonder…”

“What?”

“Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?” His voice was low, his eyes searching mine with unnerving intensity.

“I, I think so,” I stammered. “But she’s the adult—on paper at least. It’s a little different.”

His face relaxed. “No one too scary, then,” he teased.

I grinned back. “Define scary. Covered in tattoos and piercings? A gang member? Someone who doesn’t like dogs?”

“That last one would be unforgivable,” he said, his tone dry.

“Exactly.”

His lips curved into the faintest smile, and I found myself staring at it, which was definitely not helping my racing pulse.

“Do you think I could be scary?” he asked suddenly, his eyebrow arching in challenge, the corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk, lightening his face.

I pretended to examine his face for a minute, partly to keep the conversation light and partly as an excuse to shamelessly stare at him, my favorite thing to do, as of late. His features were perfect, so symmetrical. His face would stop anyone in their tracks, but it wouldn’t make them run in the other direction—the opposite.

“It’s kind of hard to imagine that,” I admitted.

He frowned a bit.

“But, I mean, I’m sure you could be, if you wanted to.”

Edward’s smile faltered for a second, like he wasn’t sure if I was joking. Then he chuckled softly, the sound low and warm.

We both paused for a moment, the silence between us wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt… comfortable. More than I’d ever experienced with anyone else. It was strange to feel so connected to him, even when we weren’t talking. This past month had been filled with so many moments like this, where we didn’t need words to understand each other. It was like we had fallen into this rhythm, this unspoken closeness that I hadn’t shared with anyone else.

“Do you have any other relatives?” he asked after a while, his voice quieter now.

“My mom has a sister,” he waited for me to continue. “Umm…Tía Isa, she’s great. She and her husband are journalists, they travel around the world, or at least they used to. I don’t know what they do now. I-I haven’t seen them in years.” I looked down at my hands. “We used to be so close.”

“What happened?”

“She and my mom fought a lot. They had a huge argument a few years ago, and Tía moved away. Mom didn’t want me talking to her anymore.”

Edward tilted his head, his expression unreadable. But he didn’t push for more.

“So,” I said, desperate to steer the conversation away from myself, “are you going to tell me about your family? It’s got to be more interesting than mine.”

His posture stiffened, instantly cautious. “What do you want to know?”

“The Cullens adopted you?”

“Yes.”

I hesitated, unsure if I was crossing a line. “What happened to your parents?”

“They died a long time ago,” he said, his tone flat and matter-of-fact.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t really remember them clearly.” His voice softened. “Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now.”

“And you love them.” It wasn’t a question. It was obvious in the way he said their names.

“Yes.” A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. “I can’t imagine two better people.”

“Then you’re very lucky.”

“I guess I am.”

After that, the conversation drifted, though it was hard to find something we didn’t already know about each other. We ran out of the simple, light and breezy questions pretty fast.

He asked me about my favorite books. And reluctantly I had to admit that I’d had a massive crush on Mr. Darcy when I first saw the movie adaptations. He laughed but admitted that he could respect my taste. Then he even got me to talk about Doctor Who, and I was surprised when he admitted the Tenth Doctor was also his favorite.

The room was getting stuffy and warm, the kind of heavy air that makes you feel like you’re stuck inside your own skin. Somewhere along the way, I shrugged off my jacket, letting it hang loose over my shoulders, and absentmindedly started to roll up the left sleeve of my shirt.

I didn’t even know what we were talking about or what led to this conversation, but Edward was laughing at me for being a ‘ballerina’ when he suddenly asked:

“How did you get that?” He was looking at my left forearm, specifically at the faint, thin lines on it, etched there like they’d always been part of me. “Did you fall out of a tree as a kid or something?”

He was joking—I knew he was. But the question hit me like a sharp jolt. I didn’t even notice the countless scars on my body most of the time. Nobody did. Either they didn’t look closely enough to notice, or pretend they didn’t see. Either way, no one ever outright asked about them.

But Edward wasn’t like anyone else.

I didn’t know why, but I yanked my sleeve down quickly, my hands trembling just enough for me to notice. I looked away, the heat creeping up my neck. I could feel him tense up beside me.

“I—” Edward’s tone shifted instantly, his voice soft, urgent, and apologetic. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” I interrupted, my words probably sharper than I intended, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “It’s fine. Really.”

I grabbed my cup and drained it in one long gulp, in hopes it would calm me down. Unfortunately, the liquid did nothing to settle the storm inside me. The tension between us was palpable, but I couldn’t stand the way he was looking at me, steady and concerned, like he was trying to unravel me with his eyes, or like he wanted to fix something he didn’t understand. I stood up abruptly, and he was right by my side. He reached for my hand, but I pulled away before he could touch me.

“Really, let’s just go dance.” I smiled at him again, but he still wasn’t convinced. “And I can’t dance, so it will be fun.”

He hesitated, his expression doubtful. “You just told me you’re a ballet dancer.”

“Well, this,” I gestured to the crowd of drunk teens, “is very different from ballet.” A corner of his mouth twitched, he was clearly fighting back a smile. I seized the moment, grabbing the cuff of his sleeve, walking backwards, pulling him along with me. “Come on, you can make fun of me some more on the dance floor.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, like he couldn’t quite believe what I was doing. Then he laughed—a low, melodic sound that sent a shiver down my spine—and let me lead him. It distracted me more than it should have.

I didn’t get far.

I bumped into someone. There was a loud shattering noise echoing in my ears, I felt my shoes getting soaked. The acrid smell of spilled alcohol hit me like a heavy wave. I looked down. Glass, tiny shards of glass all over my shoes. And it was like I was back there. I couldn’t catch my breath, I was so lightheaded, I gripped the first thing near me not to fall down. The noise of the party blurred, people laughing, someone yelling “Watch it,” but it was all muffled, like miles away or coming from underwater. The sound of breaking glass still echoed in my head, getting louder and louder—sharp, relentless, deafening.

I didn’t even realize I was running, pushing my way through, until I felt the cold night air on my face. I had no idea where exactly I was. My feet carried me to the nearest wall, solid and grounding, and I collapsed against it, my knees pulled tightly to my chest.

I gasped for air, but it wasn’t enough. My lungs wouldn’t fill. My tie felt like it was choking me. I clawed at it, loosening it with trembling hands. It didn’t help much.

“Beau?” A familiar voice—soft but sharp—pierced through the thick haze in my mind. It felt far away at first, muffled like it was underwater, but steadily, it grew louder, closer. It anchored me, even as I shook uncontrollably.

Edward kneeled in front of me, his face etched with concern. He rested a steady hand on my trembling knees. “Beau,” he said again, his voice calm and deliberate, “what do you need?”

I couldn’t answer, my breathing still erratic, shallow, ragged. I clutched my chest with one hand and dug my fingernails into the palm of the other, hard enough to sting, trying to steady myself. Edward’s hand slid into mine, stopping me from hurting myself further. His grip was firm but not forceful, his touch gentle. I clung to it desperately, like a lifeline.

“Hey.” His voice dropped, low and soothing. “Look at me.”

He tilted my chin up with the lightest touch, just his fingertips grazing my skin. His eyes locked onto mine, those beautiful, weird golden-green eyes, impossibly bright against the night. “You’re safe. Just look at me.”

I focused on him, the sharpness of his features blurring the chaos in my mind.

“Breathe with me” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “Inhale. Slowly.”

I tried, the first breath a jagged mess. The cold night air burned as I dragged it into my lungs.

A moment later, “That’s it. Now exhale.”

We exhaled together. His hand never left mine.

He repeated that over and over. I matched his rhythm, each breath a little deeper, a little steadier. His thumb brushed against the back of my hand in slow, rhythmic circles. Gradually, the tightness in my chest eased, the frantic edge of my panic dulling under his patient guidance. The cold air seeped into my lungs, calming the storm.

I became aware of my surroundings again—the chill of the night air on my skin, the faint thrum of music from inside the house. I realized we were on the patio, mercifully alone.

Edward stayed close, his presence as steady as the stone wall behind me. “Are you feeling better?”

I nodded, though my throat still felt raw, my body shaky.

“Okay. What can I do? Do you want me to drive you home?”

The mention of “home” made me firstly think of the home back in L.A, dragging my thoughts back to the thing I tried desperately to forget about. I shook my head hard. “No,” I croaked.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was careful, almost hesitant, as if afraid to push me too far.

I hesitated, but then nodded. Words felt impossible, but something in me needed him to know.

Edward didn’t rush me. He just waited, both of his hands now in mine, letting me squeeze them as tightly as I needed. The quiet wrapped around us like a cocoon. My jacket must’ve fallen to the ground at some point, and I noticed it lying next to him. He must have picked it up after chasing me out here. The thought sent a faint warmth through my chest, though it was quickly drowned by the lingering echoes of panic.

I didn’t know how much time had passed. It felt like ages when I finally spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. This… this hasn’t happened in a while.”

“Don’t apologize,” Edward said firmly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult. “I… I need you to just listen. And then we can go back inside, okay?”

I needed to tell someone. And for some reason I needed him to know, I wanted him to know everything.

“Okay,” he agreed, his voice so soft it almost felt like a promise.

I took a deep breath, focusing on our intertwined hands. His were slightly colder. “I was maybe… about seven,” I began haltingly. “It was late, really late, and I was asleep. I heard my mom shouting and this… this loud crashing noise.”

Edward’s grip on my hands tightened ever so slightly, encouraging me to go on.

“I got up and went to the living room. My mom and her boyfriend were fighting.” I paused, my throat closing up. Edward didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stayed there, steady as always. “He was throwing things. I don’t think they noticed me. I… I remember hearing more glass breaking, and my head started hurting, everything was kind of a blur. I think I passed out.”

Another deep breath, shakier this time. “When I woke up, I was on the floor. There was glass everywhere. And this weird smell—like metal and salt with alcohol. Then another crash, and I think something fell on top of me, like a shelf… I don’t know, I just felt something heavy on me and I couldn’t move. My mom was screaming my name, over and over. And then I woke up in the hospital.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and jagged. I let my head fall back against the wall, staring up at the cloudy sky, no star in sight. “I hadn’t thought about that night in years… but I dunno, you asked about my mom, and the…” I trailed off, gripping my left arm where the scars were, “…and then the glass.”

I looked back at Edward, at those beautiful eyes, still fixed on me. Despite everything I couldn’t help but smile, “But I’m fine, really.”

Edward didn’t look convinced. “It’s okay if you’re not fine,” he said softly, his voice like warm honey tea.

He reached for my jacket, carefully draping it over my shoulders.

“But I am. I’m not gonna let this stop me from having fun with my friends. I got scared, and I just needed a minute,” I insisted, standing a little too quickly. My knees wobbled, and I lost my balance. Edward caught me immediately, his hands firm and steady around my waist.

I realized just how close we were, his face inches from mine. I was pressed against the wall, with my hands on his chest. His hands shifted to the wall on either side of my shoulders, caging me in without ever feeling threatening. His breath was warm against my lips, his gaze dark and intense.

“Are you still scared?” he asked, his voice low, rough. It was like he was asking about something else.

“No,” I whispered. “What would I be scared of?”

His gaze dropped to my hands, still pressed firmly against his chest.

“You?” I let out a nervous laugh, though my voice was barely audible. “Oh, Edward, there’s a million scary things in this world… but you are not one of them.”

I made sure to look straight into his eyes as I said this. There was something unreadable in his expression. I held his gaze, trying to will him to understand what I couldn’t put into words. And he looked right back at me, like there was something in me worth looking at.

Edward leaned in, his nose brushing against mine. The smallest, unexplainable spark passed between us, electric and undeniable. His forehead rested against mine, and I unconsciously closed my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“I get them too,” he murmured, his voice so quiet I almost missed it.

“What?” I asked, but I couldn’t open my eyes.

“Panic attacks,” he admitted, a faint vulnerability creeping into his tone. “Not often, but… when they hit, it’s like the world closes in. Like I’ll never breathe again.”

I stayed still, stunned. “You?”

“I’m not as unshakable as you think, Beau.”

The moment stretched between us, charged with something fragile and electric. I tilted my face up, trying to bridge the gap between us, just enough that the tiniest part of my lips barely brushed his—

And nothing, just nothing.

I blinked my eyes open, disoriented. He wasn’t there. He was just gone.

Was he here at all? Did I just imagine him being there, comforting me? Was I going crazy or did he just leave me? Which was worse, being insane or being rejected?

I pressed my lips together, the lingering ghost of his touch fading. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I could either cry and drown in self-pity or laugh and move on. So, I laughed—a hollow, bitter sound—and pulled my jacket tighter around myself.

Like I said, getting close had only ever ended in disaster.

With a deep breath, I turned back toward the house, slipping inside through the glass door. The deafening music hit me like a wall, drowning out everything else, every single thought in my head.

I grabbed an unopened bottle from the kitchen counter, poured a cup, and downed it in one go. I wanted to drown everything out. Paul, Edward and every fucking memory of my mother, of the pain, of the screams and the blood that creeped in my head. It burned all the way down, but at least it gave me something to focus on.

Tayler and Mike appeared at my side, grinning and laughing, their words lost to the pounding music. One of them grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the dance floor.

And I let them drag me away, the crowd of screaming people swallowing me whole. Everything started to get blurry fast.

**********

I was in a different part of the house. Maybe the basement? I wasn’t sure how I’d ended up there. The room was thick with smoke, stinging my eyes and making the edges of everything blur even more. A group of guys was sprawled out on couches and the floor, looking like they were melting into the furniture, clearly stoned out of their minds.

I was sitting between Tayler and… someone else. His name was a blur, lost in the haze in my head. Tayler was way too close, uncomfortably close. It was like he had no idea what personal space was. His arm was slung across my shoulders. He was chatty, his voice loud and slurred, and he kept laughing at things I didn’t say. I guessed he was too stoned to notice I wasn’t interested… in him or whatever he was saying.

“You having fun?” he slurred, leaning into me. His breath was warm and smelled like beer.

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure if I could. My head felt heavy, and the words were stuck somewhere in the fog. He offered me his joint and I shook my head weakly, not bothering to explain, but he kept insisting.

“Come on,” he pushed, his voice dropping like it was supposed to be enticing. “Mama didn’t raise no fucking bitch,” he slurred, putting the joint to my lips. I tried to pull back, but the couch seemed to swallow me whole.

“Tyler! Noooo, no, Beau—no, mama raised a bitch, let’s go,” a small voice snapped through the haze, sharp and fierce.

A tiny fairy. Alice. She grabbed my arm, yanking me to my feet with surprising strength. I let her, grateful for the escape. She shot Tyler a murderous look that could’ve burned a hole through him. He looked up at her, confused and slow to react.

“Mama didn’t raise nobody, actually,” I mumbled, stumbling after her. “My mom was absent.” I laughed at my own joke, but no one else did.

Alice’s arm hooked firmly under mine, holding me steady as she led me back upstairs. My legs felt like jelly, but she kept me moving, dragging me to where Angela was waiting by the dance floor. Her face lit up when she saw us. Alice handed me off like a package, and they steered me toward the crowd of dancers.

“Dance it off, babe!” Angela shouted, her voice barely cutting through the noise.

I didn’t argue. I didn’t do anything. I let them push me into the crush of bodies, their laughter and energy buzzing around me like static.

The music thumped in my chest, a dull, steady rhythm that drowned out everything else. Time blurred. Everything faded into a blur of sound and movement. I felt a cup pressed into my hand, and I drank it without thinking. I didn’t even know who gave it to me.

**********

Then I was wearing someone’s cowboy hat. I wasn’t sure whose it was or when I’d put it on. It sat lopsided on my head, threatening to fall off as I swayed to the beat. Everything was hazy and I liked it that way. It was so much easier to breathe with every thought and memory pushed to the back of my mind.

A guy dressed as a pirate offered me a shot, and I downed it without hesitation. It burned all the way down, and I laughed—though it didn’t feel funny. Nothing did.

The pirate high-fived me, and I stumbled backward into someone else. They caught me, steadying me with a laugh, their hands lingering on my shoulders before they disappeared back into the crowd, and then I was dancing again. Or at least moving.

***

It didn’t take long for the room to spin. Everything felt distant, like I was watching it all happen through someone else’s eyes. My body moved on autopilot, going wherever someone pulled me, doing whatever they suggested.

A hand brushed my back—too low to be casual. I turned, but whoever it was had already disappeared into the crowd.

***

Someone pressed up behind me, their hands brushing my waist.

“Hey, you look lonely,” a voice murmured in my ear.

I didn’t turn around. Didn’t care. Just pushed their hand off me.

They lingered for a moment before melting away into the crowd.

***

Another drink found its way into my hand. This one was blue, or maybe green. I drank it anyway.

Someone else tried to talk to me, leaning in close, their smile too wide, their words slurred. I couldn’t hear them over the music, and I didn’t bother trying.

I turned away, letting the crowd swallow me again.

**********

Sometime later, the music slowed down, giving me a second to realize how much my head hurt. My throat was raw from singing—or screaming—along to songs I barely remembered. I felt the ache in my legs, the weight in my chest creeping back in, heavier with every beat of the music.

I needed air. Or maybe just quiet.

I stumbled out of the crowd, I asked the nearest person about the bathroom, the words barely making sense even to me.

“Upstairs,” they said, pointing vaguely toward the staircase.

Ugh, of course, it had to be upstairs.

The stairs were strung with fairy lights, bats taped to the walls, and stars dangling from the ceiling. At the bottom, a cowboy was making out with a cheerleader, their bodies pressed against the railing. I pushed past them without a word and stumbled up the stairs.

The bathroom was one of the first of many doors on the left. I pushed it open and froze in place.

At first, I didn’t know what I was looking at, my brain struggled to catch up. The thought, ‘just how drunk am I?’ came across my mind.

Princess Peach and Princess Daisy were kissing in the bathroom. Or rather, Jessica and Lauren were kissing in the bathroom. Jessica was pressed against the sink, her legs wrapped around Lauren’s waist. Jessica’s hands in Lauren’s hair, Lauren’s hands on Jessica’s hips and moving up and down Jessica’s thighs.

They jumped apart when they finally noticed they weren’t alone anymore, faces flushed, startled and wide-eyed.

I shut the door instantly, yelled ‘sorry’ and ran. Just bolted back downstairs, past the cowboy and cheerleader who were still glued to each other.

**********

Back in the kitchen, I grabbed a new bottle of something amber. Whiskey, rum—whatever. I took it to the dance floor, drinking straight from the bottle.

The warmth spread through me, dulling the edges even more. I drank half of the bottle before someone took it away from me. Everything blurred again—faces, music, laughter. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. I found another bottle, someone took it from me again. But I didn’t care.

I was dizzy. My throat was raw. It was too loud, it was like my ears were bleeding. The flashing lights too bright. I longed for my bed, my warm, cozy, safe bed. I dug my phone out of my pocket, squinting at the screen. 3:15 a.m.

I needed to go home.

Somehow, I found myself on the front lawn, I didn’t know how, but I was there, the cold air hitting me like a slap. I found my keys in my jacket’s pocket, I fumbled with them, realizing with a sinking feeling that I couldn’t drive.

I was in no condition to walk to the car, let alone drive.

I collapsed to the ground with resignation. The damp grass soaking through my jeans. Tears rolled down my cheeks, hot against my cold skin.

I pulled out my phone again, scrolling through my contacts with shaking fingers.

Who was I supposed to call? Definitely not Dad. He was out of the question. No way.

I stopped at Jake’s name and hit call.

It rang and rang, going to voicemail.

I tried again.

And again.

The fourth time, I broke down and left a stupid voicemail.

“Jakey… I know you’re probably asleep, but I can’t get home. I-I need you. I need you to get me. Pleaseeeee,” my voice slurred and cracked, but he could probably still understand me. I hoped he could.

I hung up, dropping the phone into the grass beside me. The tears kept coming, but I didn’t wipe them away. I just stayed there, staring at nothing, waiting for something to pull me out of the dark.

**********

Bonus: Edward’s pov

Beau was so close, yet somehow still not close enough. He smelled wonderful, like lavender and old books. Now there was an undertone of whiskey, which made his smell all the more intoxicating. I inhaled slowly. His eyes were so dark, his pupils dilated, I could barely see the lovely, warm, deep brown, he slowly closed them, his long lashes falling on his cheeks. And then his lips…Oh, his lips… looked so soft, chapped from constantly biting them, but still soft. I wanted to feel them on mine so badly. I gently rested my forehead against his. He was warm, it felt so good against my permanently slightly colder skin.

I had this gorgeous boy under me, and he wasn’t afraid of me, even though he should have been. He was here with his hands on my chest and he trusted me. Beau sighed, and something hot and electric went through my chest. That was right, more right than anything I’d ever managed before. Making Beau feel like that, safe and secure in my arms, was it. I dreamt of kissing him for so long, but when his lips parted and he leaned towards me, his heartbeat quickened, I froze.

I knew I could never have him. I tried so hard not to cross the line. I told myself I’d be fine with just being friends. That I could at least have him as a friend, that it would be enough. But still I hung on every breath he took, every word he said. The question was never out of my mind: What is he thinking now? When I heard him quietly sigh to himself. When he twisted a lock of hair absently around his finger. When he threw his books down with more force than usual. When he was reading and suddenly frowned. When he wrote, almost obsessively, in his journal. When he rushed to class late. When he tapped his foot impatiently against the floor. Each movement caught in my peripheral vision was a maddening mystery. When he spoke, I analyzed every word and tone. I wanted him to be mine. Selfishly, thoughtlessly, mine.

For a long time I wished I couldn’t hear everyone’s thoughts all of the time, but when it finally happened it nearly drove me crazy. I never really got to enjoy the quiet of Beau’s mind. His thoughts were the only ones that actually mattered to me. Not hearing his thoughts was a blessing and a curse.

Spending time with him made me feel normal, human. But I wasn’t human and no matter how much I wanted to be a part of his world, I couldn’t. Being with me was too dangerous for him. My pursuit of him was indefensible. What kind of relationship could I offer him, when I couldn’t risk touching him? He deserved someone he would be safe around, someone that could touch him and not accidentally hurt him.

Alice said that I would not be strong enough to stay away from him. I would prove her wrong.

Leaving Beau there was the last thing I wanted, but I forced myself to anyway. I was gone and inside the house before Beau could notice. But before I could grab my things and leave the party for good, Alice was in my way, blocking my only exit, visibly angry.

“What the hell are you doing?” She yelled over the loud music. Emmett was right behind her. This whole situation was really entertaining for him. He was dying to see what Alice would do.

“I have to leave,” I said, my teeth clenched. If I stayed, I would definitely do something stupid.

“You can’t just leave, you idiot!” she snapped. “What, you can’t even properly kiss a boy you like? You had the perfect opportunity and you blew it.”

Damn, kid, you’re a mess, Emmett thought, sympathy in his tone.

“Bite me,” I muttered under my breath, and I heard his low chuckle. I stalked out of the room. Alice touched my arm as I passed, but I didn’t acknowledge the gesture.

They followed close behind me. Alice sighed. You are so blind, Eddie. Can’t you see where you’re headed? Can’t you see where you already are? It’s more inevitable than the sun rising in the East. See what I see…

I shook my head, horrified. “No.” I tried to shut out the visions she revealed to me. “I don’t have to follow that course. I will change the future.”

She’s been having the same visions for a few weeks now. Visions in which my feelings for Beau either end up getting him killed or changed into… one of us. And I couldn’t let either one happen.

“You can try,” she said, her voice skeptical.

“Oh, come on!” Emmett bellowed. “You had a gay crisis so big you had to leave the state. Just get it over with already.”

“Keep out of it,” I said under my breath. Alice’s face fell, and then brightened again. “Can you keep an eye on him? Please.”

Alice unwillingly nodded. Fine. Be stubborn. It’s only a matter of time.

I was running before I left the house. I raced into the forest. The rain was back again, falling so heavily that I was drenched in a few moments. I liked the thick sheet of water—it made a wall between me and the rest of the world. It closed me in, let me be alone. I ran as fast as I could until I reached the meadow, my meadow, my safe place. It was miles away from the town, from the people, from their thoughts. It was a place where I could breathe, where I could think. And I needed to think. I lay on the grass, feeling the cold rain on my skin.

This could not be allowed. There had to be a way to circumvent the future. I would not let Alice’s visions direct me. I could choose a different path. There was always a choice. There had to be.

His scent lingered on my clothes. That sweet, sweet scent which made me wonder if he was even human. He didn’t smell like any other human, not like, well, prey.

**********

I remembered Beau’s first day at school vividly. Every single detail.

I tried to give him some privacy. I knew how hard it was moving to a new place, every mind in Forks was already focused on his arrival. I wanted to give him space, but Alice decided to talk to him. I saw Alice’s visions, saw her becoming friends with him, which made Beau even more interesting. But I still kept my distance.

He was sitting with Alice in the cafeteria.

Edward Cullen.

I turned to the sound of my name being called, though it wasn’t being called, just thought, a reflex reaction. My eyes locked for a small portion of a second with a pair of wide, deep chocolate-brown eyes, so familiar, yet new, warm and intense at the same time, framed by thick, long lashes that blinked once in surprise. His face was gentle and thoughtful, with soft, dark curls that framed his features, slightly messy in a way that seemed more accidental than intentional. His skin had a warm, golden tone, it stood out against the backdrop of mostly pale faces of the student body. It gave him a distinct presence, though he seemed almost unaware of it. His whole face, the cheeks, the bridge of his nose, trailing all the way down his neck were dotted with faint freckles. Somewhere deep in the back of my mind I wondered if every inch of that enchanting sun-kissed skin was covered in freckles. And those full lips, slightly parted in either curiosity or maybe astonishment, were a perfect blend of features. They made him look almost regal, something that everyone around seemed to notice. I knew that beautiful face, though I’d never seen it myself before that moment. It had been foremost in everyone’s head that day.

The new student, Beauregard Swan-Torres. Beau. He’d corrected everyone who’d used his full name… I looked away. It took me a second to realize that he had not been the one to think my name.

Wait, is he interested in Edward? Is he into boys? I heard the first thought continue.

Now I recognized the ‘voice.’ Jessica Stanley—it had been a while since she’d bothered me with her internal chatter. What a relief it had been when she’d gotten over her misplaced infatuation. It used to be nearly impossible to escape her constant, ridiculous daydreams.

Alice was talking about our family, and I listened carefully for Beau’s reaction and heard nothing, though I listened close beside where Jessica’s frivolous internal monologue gushed. It was as if there was no one sitting beside her. My gaze locked on those wide brown eyes again. He was sitting right where he had been before, and looking at us, a natural thing to be doing, I supposed, thinking about us, too, would be natural. But I couldn’t hear a whisper. I scanned Alice’s thoughts for an explanation, but she was already lost in the future and not focusing on what was happening right before her.

I could hear nothing but silence from the place he was sitting. Nothing at all. I felt a moment of unease. This was nothing I’d ever encountered before. Was there something wrong with me? I felt exactly the same as I always did. Worried, I listened harder.

All the voices I’d been blocking were suddenly shouting in my head.

…wonder what music he likes… maybe I could mention that new band… Mike Newton was thinking, two tables away—fixated on Beau.

Look at him staring at Beau. Isn’t it enough that he has half the girls in school waiting for him to… Eric Yorkie thoughts, also revolving around the boy.

…My God, she’s not even looking at me anymore… flaunting her new best friend. What a joke… Even Edward’s staring, weird… Lauren Mallory was always jealous when it came to Jessica. Her secret crush on Jessica was consuming most of her thoughts. Venom continued to spew from the girl’s internal ranting.

…I bet everyone has asked him that. But I’d like to talk to him, he’s cute. I’ll think of a more original question… Ashley Dowling mused.

…maybe he’ll be in my Spanish… June Richardson hoped.

…tons left to do tonight! Trig, and the English test. I hope my mom… Angela Weber, a quiet girl, whose thoughts were usually kind, was the only one at the table who wasn’t obsessed with Beau.

I could hear them all, hear every insignificant thing they were thinking as it passed through their minds. But nothing at all from the new student with the pretty eyes.

Of course, I could hear what the boy said when he spoke to Jessica. I didn’t have to read minds to be able to hear his low, very attractive—though I couldn’t admit to myself yet—clear voice on the far side of the long room.

“Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?” I heard him ask, sneaking a look at me from the corner of his eye, only to look quickly away when he saw that I was still staring.

I’d hoped that hearing the sound of his voice would help me pinpoint the tone of his thoughts, lost somewhere I couldn’t access, but I was instantly disappointed. Usually, people’s thoughts came to them in a similar pitch as their physical voices. But this quiet, shy—attractive—voice was unfamiliar, not one of the hundreds of thoughts bouncing around the room, I was sure of that. Entirely new.

Oh, that’s not a good idea… but I guess everyone had a crush on Edward at some point… Jessica thought before answering the boy’s question. “That’s Edward. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time. He doesn’t date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.” She sniffed.

I turned my head away to hide my smile. Jessica and her classmates had no idea how lucky they were that none of them particularly appealed to me.

But him…

It was unbelievably frustrating. I could clearly see it was a strain for him to sit there, to make conversation with strangers, to be the center of attention. I could sense his shyness from the way he held his frail-looking shoulders, slightly hunched, as if he was expecting a rebuff at any moment. And yet I could only sense. Could only see. Could only imagine. There was nothing but silence.

I could hear nothing. Why?

“Shall we?” Rosalie murmured to Emmett, interrupting my focus.

I looked away from the boy with a sense of relief. I didn’t want to continue to fail at this—it irritated me more than I cared to admit.

Jasper got up and walked to Alice, and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I didn’t need to read minds to know what Jasper was thinking. I hoped they’d go far enough away for me not to hear their thoughts while they made out.

Emmett and Rosalie left soon after to join their friends. After some time, I too got up from the table and left the cafeteria.

In the classroom, I settled into my chair and let my books spill across the table. I was the only student who had a table to myself. The room slowly filled as students trickled in from lunch. I leaned back in my chair and waited for the time to pass as I replayed that brief interaction. The boy was still on my mind.

I didn’t notice him enter the classroom.

It wasn’t until he passed by my desk that my body went rigid, seized by a sudden, primal reaction. I hadn’t been surprised by a human ever since I was changed. Yet, in that moment, I felt something raw and instinctual surge through me—an immediate flight-or-fight response.

In that instant, I was nothing close to the human I’d once been; no trace of the carefully constructed control I’d spent decades mastering, no shred of humanity remained. It was as if his mere presence unraveled me.

The moment my eyes left him, it was like he ceased to exist.

Not in the mundane sense of someone walking out of sight, but in a way that was deeply, profoundly wrong. I couldn’t sense him. Couldn’t track him. It was as if the universe itself blinked, and he vanished.

And it terrified me. I spent decades trying to bury my vampire instincts and, just like that, my control was gone.

I snapped my gaze back to him, and there he was again, walking toward his seat as though nothing had happened. I stared, unblinking, trying to make sense of it. My mind raced, each question more disjointed than the last. What was he? Human? Supernatural? Something entirely outside my comprehension?

His gaze met mine, and I saw myself reflected in the wide mirror of his eyes. —shock, anxiety, and something else I couldn’t name etched into his delicate features. His heartbeat thudded faintly in my ears, grounding me, but the moment I looked away, it disappeared again. I still couldn’t hear his thoughts.

It was maddening.

I spent the entire hour with my eyes glued to him. I didn’t trust myself to look away. I had to make sure he was still there. His mental silence made everything so much worse. He was an unknown. My mind clawed desperately at the silence where his thoughts should have been. I tried to analyze every detail—his movements, his posture, his breathing. He had a heartbeat though, every time my eyes shifted away from him, I couldn’t hear it anymore. Every time I looked away, even for a fraction of a second, the world felt emptier, more dangerous.

And still, I couldn’t ignore how beautiful he was. This boy would drive me completely mad.

When the bell finally rang, I bolted.

I was in my car before I even realized how I’d gotten there. This boy shattered my reality. I was losing my mind. Everything I knew, everything I have been used to and comfortable with was gone. I needed to avoid him. I needed to put some distance between us, as much distance as possible.

So I tried to get out of Biology. I went to the office and, with the rest of my mental strength, I tried to change classes. I was barely coherent as I spoke to the receptionist, gripping the edge of the counter to steady myself. But then, he surprised me for the second time.

A faint breeze from the opening door announced his arrival before I even saw him. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was him; his scent washed over me, a mix of warmth and something tantalizingly sweet. My control faltered, and panic surged again.

I had to leave.

I didn’t stop until I was in my car, moving too fast, too reckless the entire way there. Most of the students had cleared out already, so there weren’t a lot of witnesses. When I slid into my Volvo, the others were already there, their curious gazes fixed on me. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly it groaned under the pressure. My breaths came in short, sharp gasps, as though I couldn’t get enough air.

He isn’t real. He is. What is he?

“Edward?” Alice’s voice broke through the storm in my head, alarmed.

I couldn’t answer her. My vision swam as the panic built, wave after wave crashing against me. I gritted my teeth, struggling to steady myself, but the feeling of losing control only grew.

“What the hell happened to you?” Emmett demanded.

I shook my head, my throat too dry to form words. Swallowing hard, I tried to speak, but the rising tide of panic made it impossible.

Instead of explaining, I threw the car into reverse, jerking us out of the lot faster than I should have. The tires squealed, the sound slicing through my fraying nerves.

Oh, he’s having a panic attack, Alice realized. Her thoughts were clear, cutting through the haze like a blade. “Eddie, what happened? What do you need?”

Without looking, I knew Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper had all turned to stare at Alice. She shrugged, her expression uncertain. She couldn’t see what had passed, only what was coming.

“I need—” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. I slammed my foot on the gas, the car lurching forward. My hands trembled so badly that I could barely maintain my grip on the wheel. “I need… to think. To figure this out. He’s—he’s not real.”

“What do you mean?” Alice pressed, her tone softening with concern.

I shook my head again, unable to explain. How could I? How could I put into words the way he made me feel like I was losing my mind?

I gripped the side of my head with my free hand as if I could physically hold my thoughts together. The image of him—his wide eyes, his fragile movements, the maddening silence of his mind—played over and over in my head like a fever dream.

“Edward, breathe,” Alice said gently, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I tried. I really tried. But each breath came shallow and fast, and I couldn’t escape the feeling that everything I knew—everything I’d built my life around—was crumbling beneath me.

The silence in his mind. The way he disappeared when I wasn’t looking. The sheer impossibility of it all.

What was he?

What was happening to me?

Alice’s hand tightened on my shoulder, her thoughts shifting. She looked ahead for me now. We both processed the vision that had just flashed in her mind, and we were both surprised.

“You’re leaving?” she whispered.

The others stared at me now, their questions unspoken but heavy in the air.

“I think so…” I rasped. The words felt foreign in my mouth, like they didn’t belong to me. But I knew they were true. I had to leave. I had to clear my head. I needed to breathe.

Alice’s vision shifted again, playing out a future I could see as clearly as if I were already living it: an empty highway at night, trees dusted with snow flashing by at nearly two hundred miles per hour.

“I’ll miss you,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with sadness. “No matter how short a time you’re gone.”

***

I spent a week in Alaska, hiding in the snow, trying to get my mind right, the silence of the wilderness echoing the maddening silence of his mind. The stillness should have brought clarity, but it only gave me time to replay every moment over and over again. It was a week full of realizations.

I came back knowing two things; Beau was a mystery, unlike anything I had ever encountered. And I was undeniably, dangerously attracted to him.

**********

Attraction.

It was a problematic thing to contemplate. So many sides to it, so many different meanings and levels. Not the same thing as love, but tied up in it inextricably.

I had no idea if Beau was attracted to me.

Would his mental silence somehow continue to get more and more frustrating until I went completely mad? Or was there a limit that I would eventually reach?

I tried to compare his physical responses to others, like Jessica Stanley, but the comparison was inconclusive. The same markers—changes in heart rate and breathing patterns—could just as easily mean fear or shock or anxiety as they did interest. It seemed unlikely that Beau could be entertaining the same kinds of thoughts that Jessica Stanley used to have. And yet… as I remembered those fantasies that used to repulse me, but remembered them with Beau in Jessica’s place…

The air in my lungs felt too hot, too sharp. My throat ached, the fire clawing its way up and down as my mind conjured an image I couldn’t seem to stop.

What if it had been Beau imagining me with my arms wrapped around his fragile body? Feeling me pull him tightly against my chest, my hands sliding up his back? One cupping the nape of his neck, my fingers curling into his hair, feeling its softness under my palm? The other tracing the curve of his jaw, tilting his face up toward mine?

And those lips. Soft, full, and slightly parted, warm and inviting. My thumb brushing across them, his breath hitching under my touch. I’d let my fingers trail down the side of his neck, feel the rapid beat of his pulse against my skin, alive and fragile and…

And then I would lean in, drawn by the heat of his breath, the quiet sound of it catching in his throat as I moved closer, so much closer—

I flinched violently, yanking myself back from the edge of the daydream, horrified.

The ache in my throat burned brighter now, hotter, as if it were punishment for indulging those thoughts.

I almost did all those things.

I barely touched him, but I had been so close and his hands were on my chest—And, oh my god, I need to stop…

Attraction was an impossible dilemma, because I was already too attracted to Beau in the worst way.

Did I love him?

No? I didn’t think so.

Maybe?

Not yet.

I definitely had feelings for him, but infatuation or a crush didn’t seem to describe them well enough. So was it love?

Alice’s glimpses of that future had stuck with me. Those flashes of what could be, of what felt inevitable. I could see how easy it would be to fall in love with Beau. It would be exactly like falling: effortless, as though gravity itself were drawing me to him. Not letting myself love him was the opposite of falling. It was pulling myself up a cliff-face, clawing my way up hand over hand, the task as grueling as if I had no more than mortal strength.

I would not destroy Beau’s future. If I was destined to love him, then wasn’t staying away from him the very least I could do?

And yet I couldn’t do it. I guess I was too selfish for that.

Hours passed, the rain eventually stopped, but my thoughts had only tangled further. There were more questions now than before, more fears. And I still couldn’t stop thinking about Beau. I was too far away to hear Alice’s thoughts, and my phone was dead. I had no way of knowing if Beau was safe. The need to check on him struck me suddenly, like a physical pull I couldn’t ignore. Before I’d even made the decision, I was already moving. My feet carried me swiftly, faster than I should have allowed, back toward Jessica’s house.

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