In the Grip of Twilight
Chapter Two: Daggers
By: Olivia Tannis Moore
In Economics class, Mr. Ellard was droning on and on about Gross Domestic Product. I was unable to concentrate on anything he said as my mind kept going back to Edward and the fight of yesterday.
"You want me to walk away from you? Fine. Then that's just what I'll do. You've wanted me to walk away from the very first day. Nevermind everything we've been through…nevermind that every single day takes me further away from you anyway.
He looked as if I had struck him, mouth open, and those topaz eyes ablaze.
" Yeah," I had yelled, "just let time do your dirty work for you. Because in a blink of an eye, I'll be dust and it'll be too late then."
Edward had regained his composure enough to counter my outburst. "I'm trying to be selfless. But you obviously can't appreciate that." He'd pointed his finger at my chest without actually touching me. "You don't know what it's like to live with the constant coldness—you take your warmth for granted. You've lived for eighteen years and think you've experienced all life has to offer."
I glared at him. "Is that so? Well, you only lived for seventeen years in human form as well, Edward Cullen. And I'll tell you something else—I may take certain things for granted, but you take Us for granted and it's time you realized it."
"I don't take Us for granted," he'd growled.
"Oh yes, you do. So don't you dare pretend you know what I'll be missing." At that point my eyes had glazed with tears and my voice was breaking, becoming almost inaudible. But still there was more to say; my frustration seemed to have a life and will of its own. "You don't know what it's like to wake up every morning and feel everything slipping away from you." And then it had tumbled out; this horrid, despicable thing I said to him: "It's because of you that I can't enjoy being human. Every hour, day, week I live is insignificant next to your forever."
He'd held up both his palms in defense of my hateful words, eyelids squeezed tightly closed.
I should've done something right then, said I didn't mean it, that I was sorry, but I just stood there in mute shock.
I wiped at the corners of my eyes to clear the tears away, and when I looked up again, he was gone.
"Miss Swan? Are you with us, Miss Swan?" Mr. Ellard's voice boomed low and sarcastic. Snickers from the desks surrounding me followed.
I shook my head. But I could not force myself to look up. My pain was written in the wet passages that flowed down my cheeks and I would not give Mr. Ellard, or my classmates for that fact, the satisfaction of seeing this misery.
Quickly, I gathered my books and stood to leave. Mr. Ellard was saying something; it sounded absurdly like the teacher from the old Peanuts cartoons. Wha-wha-wha-wha-wha…Miss Swan…wha wha wha wha wha. And then the bell was mercifully drowning him out as I sped out the door and found the nearest bathroom stall.
By the time I'd cleaned myself up, I knew I wouldn't make it to English class on time. So I took another dousing of cold water on my face to wash away the last traces of shame, and hopefully any eye redness that remained. When I entered class everyone swiveled around and stared. And for good reason. My desk, positioned next to Edward, was now occupied by the new girl, this Elena Sheridan that everyone was talking about. Someone, either Edward, or herself, had pulled my desk over closer to his; it was taking up half the aisle. She had one hand propping up her chin, with the tip of her pinkie nail poised between her teeth, watching and appraising me, gauging my reaction through that curtain of dark red hair that waved over one green eye seductively.
It seemed Edward was the only one that didn't turn around—but then it wasn't like he didn't pick up my scent before I even entered the classroom.
The one available desk was directly behind him. I had no choice but to take it.
And the one bright spot was Mrs. Cargill, who upon traveling the aisle, leaned over and whispered, "Page one eighty-eight, dear."
Grateful, I looked up and smiled and whispered, "thank you." Why couldn't teachers be more like Mrs. Cargill, I wondered? But then again, maybe I begged for sympathy; there was a femme fatal sitting in my desk wearing my boyfriend like a second skin.
I turned to the appropriate page in the textbook for appearances, and then continued to stare at the back of Edward's head. Concentrating, willing him to turn around for one second. That's all I needed, one little second. I tried projecting my thoughts but it was a failed experiment. And when I tried a second time, I was interrupted by Elena's degrading snicker. It was then that I realized I had been squinting at the back of Edward's head and must have looked insane. I almost laughed at that. A straight-jacket and a cool, dark room would seem like paradise about now.
I made one of those prolonged and breathy sighs—at least that he could hear. Elena gave me another of her sideway glares then rolled her one visible eye. "What a Cyclops," I said under my breath, and then watched as her back straightened.
Okay, there was more than one way to do this, I thought. From my book bag I took a notebook and pen and scribbled:
Please, I need to talk to you. Can we meet after class or sometime before we leave campus? I'm really sorry for the things I said. You know I didn't mean it.
I was tempted to write more. There was an overwhelming need to pour every thought I'd had in the last twenty-four hours into the letter. But I forced myself to put the pen down and fold the paper over and over until it fit into my enclosed hand. Then, I waited until Mrs. Cargill's back was turned before reaching over Edward's shoulder and dropping it into his lap.
I watched as he looked down and then stuffed the folded letter into his jeans pocket. Then he went back to looking straight ahead as if Mrs. Cargill's diatribe was the most interesting thing he'd ever heard. But at least he'd get my apology, if not now, then later. I could live with that. I was amazed at how light I now felt—everything would be alright; I just knew it. Words out of anger could never keep us apart.
Elena was glaring at me once again, casting daggers my way, hoping to stab me to my seat no doubt. I confronted her with my most brazen smile. Come and get me, I thought. And she would. Because girls like her were used to getting exactly what they wanted, when they wanted it. They don't mind the casualties they cause; perhaps they even enjoy it.
Regardless, I knew from the moment I set eyes on Elena that she was much more than the new girl, or the femme fatal.
She was Vampire.
(Next chapter to be posted soon. Hopefully, later today—O.T.M.)
(Afterthought: This site has really changed since I was last here...and I can't seem to upload the chapters under the story title, *sigh. It's 2 am and I'll try to figure it out later.)