Long time no update, so enjoy the fruits of my labour ^.^ Cool chapter, however small. Go Muse :) I'm addicted to the House of Night!

"Lemme go slap him!"

"Stop fooling about, Renny."

"I've told you; don't call me Renny, auntie! My nickname is Nessie. And can I please go slap him?"

"No. That is final. Now get some cash."

Renesmee rolled and went to ask her dad for some money. Rosalie watched her go with an uncertainty in her heart.

"Going somewhere?" asked Bella, suddenly appearing beside Rosalie.

Rosalie nodded. "I thought some shopping would take her mind off Jacob." She turned, a pained expression tacked onto her gorgeous face and she asked, "He's still mad?"

"Very much so," Bella nodded. "I just don't know why this is going like it is."

Rosalie hugged her absent-mindedly and then asked, "You want to come with us?"

Bella shook her head fervently. "As much as I'd like to, I don't feel up to it. I think I'll go into Forks High today, to check it out. I want to see a few files of Edward. Some of his perfection should lighten my mood."

Rosalie watched Bella go, shaking her head, and in those few moments, she saw the mother Bella never got to be and was trying so hard to be now.


I wandered through the shelves and shelves of music lined up in Port Angeles. I hated lying to Rose and Ness, but I just wanted to get out of the house. I wanted to listen to some music. I'm not saying that Clair De Lune is bad (au contraire), but I just didn't want Debussy in my head for a bit. I want to clear myself of the usual. I, Bella, wa sbreakign free for the first time in a long while.

I picked a random CD off the shelf in the "M" section. Glancing at it, I saw in vibrant writing "Time Is Tunning Out..........Muse" pasted on a sticker on the cover art. A pretty interesting song title. It was hard rock too. Just the way I like depression-cures. All of guitar.

I slammed the CD into the test player, grabbed a magazine from the nearby newsagent shelf, and slouched over a beanbag, waiting for it to play.

My eyes zipped over the article: "Five Ways to Make Him Happy in Bed." I read the intro, saw the picture of the writer and read on as the song started.

I think I'm drowning
I wanna break this spell
That you've created

I thought about how the words described life right now. I'm totally drowning. Worse, my daughter's one the brunt of suffering. Boy, wouldn't life be different if this evil vampire crap wasn't so popular?

You're something beautiful
A contradiction
I wanna play the game
I want the friction

I read the first paragraph about how men totally loved skimpy lingerie, and it was a masculine response to be turned on my the sight of female flesh. Underneath that, I thought about how much I missed feeling with Edward what I felt in my schooldays. That young love. Where had it gone?

You will be the death of me
You will be the death of me

Bury it
I won't let you bury it
I won't let you smother it
I won't let you murder it

I wouldn't really let my life, my daughter's life, my husband's life - ANY life - be ruined by the witch who'd set a spell upon us. How can I let the past go down? I can't bury what I feel. I need to use whatever I have to help my family.

Our time is running out
Our time is running out
You can't push it underground
You can't stop it screaming out

I continued reading the article even though the heavy singing was intoxicating, fuelling the ticking of the alarm in my head. It's going to get worse, Bella, I told myself. And there's nothing you can do. Your time's going, girl. You have just seconds before what was will never be.

I wanted freedom
Bound and restricted
I tried to give you up
But I'm addicted

Now that you know I'm trapped sense of elation
You'd never dream of
Breaking this fixation

You will squeeze the life out of me

Bury it
I won't let you bury it
I won't let you smother it
I won't let you murder it

Our time is running out
Our time is running out
You can't push it underground
You can't stop it screaming out
How did it come to this?

I finished reading about how masturbation (okay, WHY am I reading this?!) helps couples be content with each other in bed. Why did I need these tips? I was already expert! I slammed the magazine into the stand again, earning a furtive look from the cashier. I went back to the song.

You will suck the life out of me

Damn, I thought. She will. Everything will. It's already happening. My life's leaving my fingertips as I speak. I'm losing it.

She finished listening to the final chorus and ejected the CD. Putting it back in its case, she handed it to the cashier.

"You would like to buy this?"

I nodded.

"Three dollars."

I handed her a bill and took the change.

Walking home, I couldn't help but feel a sixth sense warning me of a new death. Like the death I'd died when Edward had left me. Or maybe my sixth sense spoke of my daughter.

The words of the song still rang in my head, and I couldn't clear myself of them.

You will suck the life out of me

You will suck the life out of me

You will suck the life out of me

You will suck the life out of me.

I hurried on home before I'd lose it.


He was warm, she could tell. His skin was like a warm geyser in Yellowstone, gushing warm water every now and then, searing across human skin like a soothing balm, like passion sugared and salted with experience.

She saw rather than felt the scene. His body was larger – larger than normal – and his russet skin glimmered naughtily in the dim light of the room. White sheets covered him like the god he really was. Brown and white – they contrasted so perfectly. The sheets around him made him look more exotic that ever.

She saw his bare chest first. He was on top of somebody, hugging her tight, and the sheet only covered him from face down; he was on his stomach on somebody. Her eyes noticed how the person he was on top of had such sharp and defined curves, such flawless, perfect skin, and such beauty that the white and the russet fitted each other better than blue and yellow ever could.

Her breath staggered as she saw him making frantic moves under him – twisting in the sheets like a fan on a hot summer's day, and caressing her body with more and more vigour and passion. She could feel the woman under him lick his earlobe and prompt him to moan sensually. Her pale white hand – hand whiter than snow – met his skin and she could almost hear the mist that engulfed them – fire on ice, ice on fire.

She twisted in her own bed, disturbed by the scene. He was touching her vilely. Maybe not so vilely – gently, passionately, but the moves weren't friendly. He grabbed her here, brushed her there. And then all in all, searching, his plump lips found her perfect one and they pressed together.

That wasn't all that pressed together. She could feel the burst of pent up energy that flew between the two there in that room. She could only see him grab her neck to push her closer to his mouth. She could only see his russet hand entangle itself in her perfect blonde hair, and startled, she saw exactly with how much love he and she shared intimacy, and how much lust those butterscotch eyes gave away before her hand shot up into his black mane and pulled her over him.

She screamed and sat up, instantly alerting Rosalie. Renesmee threw off the pink Dora sheets off her bed, much too childish for her growing teenage body, a body fit for the man she thought once loved him. Renesmee scrambled off the floor and threw open the bathroom door, gasping into the sink, running cold water over her shaking hands. She didn't bother throwing a robe over her scantily clad figure – a meek tank top and micro-shorts. She didn't bother hiding the showing top of her black bra cup. She didn't bother tying up her alluring hair and untangling it from the afro-like mess it was right now. And most of all, she didn't bother wiping away the tears.

Staring into the mirror, she saw her own scared face. She saw in her mind the russet face and the black hair of the man who'd been everything to her, and then she saw herself.

Scared and upset, she saw that her own eyes were hazel, and not butterscotch. She saw that her own hair was not a blonde waterfall, but a bronze-mahogany tress-set. She noticed her figure and saw herself so slim and so not sexy. She saw herself with hands with an expanse of fairly coloured skin – nothing as pale as she's conjured in her dreams.

Sighing, she felt the voice in her throat as sweet as honey, and nowhere near as gravelly and promiscuous as had been in her dream.


Freaked, Renesmee turned around to face a startled Rosalie full in the face. Rosalie stood there, fully clothed in the outfit she's worn to the mall. She's been sitting in Nessie's room watching her sleep, have a nightmare, and then fling herself out of her bed in a hurry. Her voice broke the string of confusion that had battered Renesmee head to toe.

With a broken sob and an inward scream, Renesmee stared into Rosalie's yellow eyes and realized at once who the woman Jacob was making love with had been.

And it was not herself, Renesmee.

And because you know I love you, you shall reply.

Please.. Come on. Pweeeez.