two weeks since my last hunting trip; this was not the safest day for my will to crumble. But the
blackness did not seem to frighten her. She still did not look away, and a soft, devastatingly appealing
pink began to color her skin.
What was she thinking now?
I almost asked the question aloud, but at that moment Mr. Banner called my name. I picked the correct
answer out of his head while I glanced briefly in his direction. I sucked in a quick breath. "The Krebs
Cycle."
Thirst scorched down my throat-tightening my muscles and filling my mouth with venom-and I closed
my eyes, trying to concentrate through the desire for her blood that raged inside me.
The monster was stronger than before. The monster was rejoicing. He embraced this dual future that
gave him an even, fifty-fifty chance at what he craved so viciously.
The third, shaky future I'd tried to construct through willpower alone had crumbled-destroyed by
common jealously, of all things-and he was so much closer to his goal.
The remorse and the guilt burned with the thirst, and, if I'd had the ability to produce tears, they would
have filled my eyes now.
What had I done?
Knowing the battle was already lost, there seemed to be no reason to resist what I wanted; I turned to
stare at the girl again.
She had hidden in her hair, but I could see through a parting in the tresses that her cheek was deep#p#分页标题#e#
crimson now.
The monster liked that.
She did not meet my gaze again, but she twisted a strand of her dark hair nervously between her fingers.
Her delicate fingers, her fragile wrist-they were so breakable, looking for all the world like just my breath
could snap them.
No, no, no. I could not do this. She was too breakable, too good, too precious to deserve this fate. I
couldn't allow my life to collide with hers, to destroy it.
But I couldn't stay away from her either. Alice was right about that.
The monster inside me hissed with frustration as I wavered, leaning first one way, then the other.
My brief hour with her passed all too quickly, as I vacillated between the rock and the hard place. The
bell rang, and she started collecting her things without looking at me.
This disappointed me, but I could hardly expect otherwise. The way I had treated her since the accident
was inexcusable.
"Bella?" I said, unable to stop myself. My willpower already lay in shreds.
She hesitated before looking at me; when she turned, her expression was guarded, distrustful. I
reminded myself that she had every right to distrust me. That she should.
She waited for me to continue, but I just stared at her, reading her face. I pulled in shallow mouthfuls of
air at regular intervals, fighting my thirst.
"What?" she finally said. "Are you speaking to me again?" There was an edge of resentment to her tone
that was, like her anger, endearing. It made me want to smile.
I wasn't sure how to answer her question. Was I speaking to her again, in the sense that she meant?
No. Not if I could help it. I would try to help it.
"No, not really," I told her.
She closed her eyes, which frustrated me. It cut off my best avenue of access to her feelings. She took a
long, slow breath without opening her eyes. Her jaw was locked.
Eyes still closed, she spoke. Surely this was not a normal human way to converse. Why did she do it?
"Then what do you want, Edward?"
The sound of my name on her lips did strange things to my body. If I'd had a heartbeat, it would have
quickened. But how to answer her?
With the truth, I decided. I would be as truthful as I could with her from now on. I didn't want to deserve
her distrust, even if earning her trust was impossible.
"I'm sorry," I told her. That was truer than she would ever know. Unfortunately, I could only safely
apologize for the trivial. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really." I would be better
for her if I could keep it up, continue to be rude. Could I?
Her eyes opened, their expression still wary. "I don't know what you mean."
I tried to get as much of a warning through to her as was allowed. "It's better if we're not friends."
Surely, she could sense that much. She was a bright girl. "Trust me."
Her eyes tightened, and I remembered that I had said those words to her before-just before breaking a
promise. I winced when her teeth clenched together-she clearly remembered, too.
"It's too bad you didn't figure that out earlier," she said angrily. "You could have saved yourself all this
regret."
I stared at her in shock. What did she know of my regrets?
"Regret? Regret for what?" I demanded.
"For not just letting that stupid van squish me!" she snapped.
I froze, stunned.
How could she be thinking that? Saving her life was the one acceptable thing I'd done since I met her.
The one thing that I was not ashamed of. The one and only thing that made me glad I existed at all. I'd