Midnight Sun

by Stephenie Meyer

  "Nothing for me."

  Bella made a slight face. Hmm. She must have noticed that I never ate food. She noticed everything. And I always forgot to be careful around her.

  I waited till we were alone again.

  "Drink," I insisted.

  I was surprised when she complied immediately and without objection. She drank until the glass was entirely empty, so I pushed the second coke toward her, frowning a little. Thirst, or shock?

  She drank a little more, and then shuddered once.

  "Are you cold?"

  "It's just the coke," she said, but she shivered again, her lips trembling slightly as if her teeth were about to chatter.

  The pretty blouse she wore looked too thin to protect her adequately; it clung to her like a second skin, almost as fragile as the first. She was so frail, so mortal. "Don't you have a jacket?"

  "Yes." She looked around herself, a little perplexed. "Oh--I left it in Jessica's car."

  I pulled off my jacket, wishing that the gesture was not marred by my body temperature. It would have been nice to have been able to offer her a warm coat. She stared at me, her cheeks warming again. What was she thinking now?

  I handed her the jacket across the table, and she put it on at once, and then shuddered again.

  Yes, it would be very nice to be warm.

  "Thanks," she said. She took a deep breath, and then pushed the too-long sleeves back to free her hands. She took another deep breath.

  Was the evening finally settling in? Her color was still good; her skin was cream and roses against the deep blue of her shirt.

  "That color blue looks lovely with your skin," I complimented her. Just being honest.

  She flushed, enhancing the effect.

  She looked well, but there was no point in taking chances. I pushed the basket of bread toward her.

  "Really," she objected, guessing my motives. "I'm not going into shock."

  "You should be--a normal person would be. You don't even look shaken." I stared at her, disapproving, wondering why she couldn't be normal and then wondering if really wanted her to be that way.

  "I feel very safe with you," she said, her eyes, again, filled with trust. Trust I didn't deserve.

  Her instincts were all wrong--backwards. That must be the problem. She didn't recognize danger the way a human being should be able to. She had the opposite reaction. Instead of running, she lingered, drawn to what should frighten her...

  How could I protect her from myself when neither of us wanted that?

  "This is more complicated than I'd planned," I murmured.

  I could see her turning my words over in her head, and I wondered what she made of them. She took a breadstick and began to eat without seeming aware of the action. She chewed for a moment, and then leaned her head to one side thoughtfully.

  "Usually you're in a better mood when your eyes are so light," she said in a casual tone.

  Her observation, stated so matter of factly, left me reeling. "What?"

  "You're always crabbier when your eyes are black--I expect it then. I have a theory about that," she added lightly.

  So she had come up with her own explanation. Of course she had. I felt a deep sense of dread as I wondered how close she'd come to the truth.

  "More theories?"

  "Mm-hm." She chewed on another bite, entirely nonchalant. As if she weren't discussing the aspects of a monster with the monster himself.

  "I hope you were more creative this time..." I lied when she didn't continue. What I really hoped was that she was wrong--miles wide of the mark. "Or are you still stealing from comic books?"

  "Well, no, I didn't get it from a comic book," she said, a little embarrassed. "But I didn't come up with it on my own, either."

  "And?" I asked between my teeth.

  Surely should would not speak so calmly if she were about to scream.

  As she hesitated, biting her lip, the waitress reappeared with Bella's food. I paid the server little attention as she set the plate in front of Bella and then asked if I wanted anything.

  I declined, but asked for more coke. The waitress hadn't noticed the empty glasses. She took them and left.

  "You were saying?" I prompted anxiously as soon as we were alone again.

  "I'll tell you about it in the car," she said in a low voice. Ah, this would be bad. She wasn't willing to speak her guesses around others. "If..." she tacked on suddenly.

  "There are conditions?" I was so tense I almost growled the words.

  "I do have a few questions, of course."

  "Of course," I agreed, my voice hard.

  Her questions would probably be enough to tell me where her thoughts were heading. But how would I answer them? With responsible lies? Or would I drive her away with truth? Or would I say nothing, unable to decide?

  We sat in silence while the waitress replenished her supply of soda.

  "Well, go ahead," I said, jaw locked, when she was gone.

  "Why are you in Port Angeles?"

  That was too easy a question--for her. It gave away nothing, while my answer, if truthful, would give away much too much. Let her reveal something first.

  "Next," I said.

  "But that's the easiest one!"

  "Next," I said again.

  She was frustrated by my refusal. She looked away from me, down to her food. Slowly, thinking hard, she took a bite and chewed with deliberation. She washed it down with more coke, and then finally looked up at me. Her eyes were narrow with suspicion.

  "Okay then," she said. "Let's say, hypothetically, of course, that...someone...could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know--with just a few exceptions."

  It could be worse.

  This explained that little half-smile in the car. She was quick--no one else had ever guessed this about me. Except for Carlisle, and it had been rather obvious then, in the beginning, when I'd answered all his thoughts as if he'd spoken them to me. He'd understood before I had...

  This question wasn't so bad. While it was clear that she knew that there was something wrong with me, was not as serious as it could have been. Mind-reading was, after all, not a facet of the vampire cannon. I went along with her hypothesis.

  "Just one exception," I corrected. "Hypothetically."

  She fought a smile--my vague honesty pleased her. "All right, with one exception, then. How does that work? What are the limitations? How would...that someone...find someone else at exactly the right time? How would he know that she was in trouble?"

  "Hypothetically?"

  "Sure." Her lips twitched, and her liquid brown eyes were eager.

  "Well," I hesitated. "If...that someone..."

  "Let's call him 'Joe,'" she suggested.

  I had to smile at her enthusiasm. Did she really think the truth would be a good thing? If my secrets were pleasant, why would I keep them from her?

  "Joe, then," I agreed. "If Joe had been paying attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." I shook my head and repressed a shudder at the thought of how close I had been to being too late today. "Only you could get into trouble in a town this small. You would have devastated their crime rate statistics for a decade, you know."

  Her lips turned down at the corners, and pouted out. "We were speaking of a hypothetical case."

  I laughed at her irritation.

  Her lips, her skin... They looked so soft. I wanted to touch them. I wanted to press my fingertip against the corner of her frown and turn it up. Impossible. My skin would be repellent to her.

  "Yes, we were," I said, returning to the conversation before I could depress myself too thoroughly. "Shall we call you 'Jane'?"

  She leaned across the table toward me, all humor and irritation gone from her wide eyes.

  "How did you know?" she asked, her voice low and intense.

  Should I tell her the truth? And, if so, what portion?

  I wanted to tell her. I wanted to deserve the trust I could still see on her face.

&n
bsp; "You can trust me, you know," she whispered, and she reached one hand forward as if to touch my hands where they rested on top of the empty table before me.

  I pulled them back--hating the thought of her reaction to my frigid stone skin-- and she dropped her hand.

  I knew that I could trust her with protecting my secrets; she was entirely trustworthy, good to the core. But I couldn't trust her not to be horrified by them. She should be horrified. The truth was horror.

  "I don't know if I have a choice anymore," I murmured. I remembered that I'd once teased her by calling her 'exceptionally unobservant.' Offended her, if I'd been judging her expressions correctly. Well, I could right that one injustice, at least. "I was wrong--you're much more observant than I gave you credit for." And, though she might not realize it, I'd given her plenty of credit already. She missed nothing.

  "I thought you were always right," she said, smiling as she teased me.

  "I used to be." I used to know what I was doing. I used to be always sure of my course. And now everything was chaos and tumult.

  Yet I wouldn't trade it. I didn't want the life that made sense. Not if the chaos meant that I could be with Bella.

  "I was wrong about you on one other thing as well," I went on, setting the record straight on another point. "You're not a magnet for accidents--that's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for trouble. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you." Why her? What had she done to deserve any of this?

  Bella's face turned serious again. "And you put yourself into that category?"

  Honesty was more important in regards to this question than any other. "Unequivocally."

  Her eyes narrowed slightly--not suspicious now, but oddly concerned. She reached her hand across the table again, slowly and deliberately. I pulled my hands an inch away from her, but she ignored that, determined to touch me. I held my breath--not because of her scent now, but because of the sudden, overwhelming tension. Fear. My skin would disgust her. She would run away.

  She brushed her fingertips lightly across the back of my hand. The heat of her gentle, willing touch was like nothing I'd ever felt before. It was almost pure pleasure.

  Would have been, except for my fear. I watched her face as she felt the cold stone of my skin, still unable to breathe.

  A half-smile turned up the corners of her lips.

  "Thank you," she said, meeting my stare with an intense gaze of her own. "That's twice now."

  Her soft fingers lingered on my hand as if they found it pleasant to be there.

  I answered her as casually as I was able. "Let's not try for three, agreed?"

  She grimaced at that, but nodded.

  I pulled my hands out from under hers. As exquisite as her touch felt, I wasn't going to wait for the magic of her tolerance to pass, to turn to revulsion. I hid my hands under the table.

  I read her eyes; though her mind was silent, I could perceive both trust and wonder there. I realized in that moment that I wanted to answer her questions. Not because I owed it to her. Not because I wanted her to trust me.

  I wanted her to know me.

  "I followed you to Port Angeles," I told her, the words spilling out too quickly for me to edit them. I knew the danger of the truth, the risk I was taking. At any moment, her unnatural calm could shatter into hysterics. Contrarily, knowing this only had me talking faster. "I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes."

  I watched her, waiting.

  She smiled. Her lips curved up at the edges, and her chocolate eyes warmed.

  I'd just admitted to stalking her, and she was smiling.

  "Did you ever think that maybe my number was up that first time, with the van, and that you've been interfering with fate?" she asked.

  "That wasn't the first time," I said, staring down at the dark maroon table cloth, my shoulders bowed in shame. My barriers were down, the truth still spilling free recklessly. "Your number was up the first time I met you."

  It was true, and it angered me. I had been positioned over her life like the blade of a guillotine. It was as if she had been marked for death by some cruel, unjust fate, and--since I'd proved an unwilling tool--that same fate continued to try to execute her. I imagined the fate personified--a grisly, jealous hag, a vengeful harpy.

  I wanted something, someone, to be responsible for this--so that I would have something concrete to fight against. Something, anything to destroy, so that Bella could be safe.

  Bella was very quiet; her breathing had accelerated.

  I looked up at her, knowing I would finally see the fear I was waiting for. Had I not just admitted how close I'd been to killing her? Closer than the van that had come within slim inches of crushing her. And yet, her face was still calm, her eyes still tightened only with concern.

  "You remember?" She had to remember that.

  "Yes," she said, her voice level and grave. Her deep eyes were full of awareness.

  She knew. She knew that I had wanted to murder her.

  Where were the screams?

  "And yet here you sit," I said, pointing out the inherent contradiction.

  "Yes, here I sit...because of you." Her expression altered, turned curious, as she unsubtly changed the subject. "Because somehow you knew how to find me today...?"

  Hopelessly, I pushed one more time at the barrier that protected her thoughts, desperate to understand. It made no logical sense to me. How could she even care about the rest with that glaring truth on the table?

  She waited, only curious. Her skin was pale, which was natural for her, but it still concerned me. Her dinner sat nearly untouched in front of her. If I continued to tell her too much, she was going to need a buffer when the shock wore off.

  I named my terms. "You eat, I'll talk."

  She processed that for half a second, and then threw a bite in her mouth with a speed that belied her calm. She was more anxious for my answer than her eyes let on.

  "It's harder than it should be--keeping track of you," I told her. "Usually I can find someone very easily, once I've heard their mind before."

  I watched her face carefully as I said this. Guessing right was one thing, having it confirmed was another.

  She was motionless, her eyes wide. I felt my teeth clench together as I waited for her panic.

  But she just blinked once, swallowed loudly, and then quickly scooped another bite into her mouth. She wanted me to continue.

  "I was keeping tabs on Jessica," I went on, watching each word as it sank in. "Not carefully--like I said, only you could find trouble in Port Angeles--" I couldn't resist adding that. Did she realize that other human lives were not so plagued with near death experiences, or did she think she was normal? She was the furthest thing from normal I'd ever encountered. "And at first I didn't notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with her anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I could tell that you hadn't gone in, and that you'd gone south...and I knew you would have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street--to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried...but I was strangely anxious..." My breath came faster as I remembered that feeling of panic. Her scent blazed in my throat and I was glad. It was a pain that meant she was alive. As long as I burned, she was safe.

  "I started to drive in circles, still...listening." I hoped the word made sense to her. This had to be confusing. "The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out, and follow you on foot. And then--"

  As the memory took me--perfectly clear and as vivid as if I was in the moment again--I felt the same murderous fury wash through my body, locking it into ice.

  I wanted him dead. I needed him dead. My jaw clenched
tight as I concentrated on holding myself here at the table. Bella still needed me. That was what mattered.

  "Then what?" she whispered, her dark eyes wide.

  "I heard what they were thinking," I said through my teeth, unable to keep the words from coming out in a growl. "I saw your face in his mind."

  I could hardly resist the urge to kill. I still knew precisely where to find him. His black thoughts sucked at the night sky, pulling me toward them...

  I covered my face, knowing my expression was that of a monster, a hunter, a killer. I fixed her image behind my closed eyes to control myself, focusing only on her face. The delicate framework of her bones, the thin sheath of her pale skin--like silk stretched over glass, incredibly soft and easy to shatter. She was too vulnerable for this world. She needed a protector. And, through some twisted mismanagement of destiny, I was the closest thing available.

  I tried to explain my violent reaction so that she would understand.

  "It was very...hard--you can't imagine how hard--for me to simply take you away, and leave them...alive," I whispered. "I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them."

  For the second time tonight, I confessed to an intended murder. At least this one was defensible.

  She was quiet as I struggled to control myself. I listened to her heartbeat. The rhythm was irregular, but it slowed as the time passed until it was steady again. Her breathing, too, was low and even.

  I was too close to the edge. I needed to get her home before...

  Would I kill him, then? Would I become a murderer again when she trusted me? Was there any way to stop myself?

  She'd promised to tell me her latest theory when we were alone. Did I want to hear it? I was anxious for it, but would the reward for my curiosity be worse than not knowing?

  At any rate, she must have had enough truth for one night.

  I looked at her again, and her face was paler than before, but composed.

  "Are you ready to go home?" I asked.

  "I'm ready to leave," she said, choosing her words carefully, as if a simple 'yes' did not fully express what she wanted to say.

  Frustrating.

  The waitress returned. She'd heard Bella's last statement as she'd dithered on the other side of the partition, wondering what more she could offer me. I wanted to roll my eyes at some of the offerings she'd had in mind.

  "How are we doing?" she asked me.