~ Chapter 2 ~

After I dropped the body off I had a chance to think things through. A lot went through my mind and of course everything revolved around Bella. What should I do about her? Should I try and go through with my plan or should make her my next meal? I know under normal conditions I would use the latter but this was different. This time I had come across something much more fascinating. Normally, when talking to people, I can simply access their minds and know what they are going to say before saying it; I know their every little thought. Bella is a whole another thing, I don’t know anything about her, yet, for some reason, I’d like to. No. I have to.

Which brings me to a three-lettered question: why? Why should I care whether or not I know this puny human? The only thing I should care about is how to get her blood; that’s the only reason we, the vampires, need that species. I shouldn’t care about her!

The frustration was making me angry and since I’ve always been hot-blooded, I needed to live it out on things around me. I crashed a boulder with a single hit, pulled out an old tree with its roots and kicked it away with my foot. After this I was left breathless. Why, I didn’t know; this wasn’t even anything that physical.

After I became calm again I raised my head to look at the cloudless night spread all over me. The sky here, near Canada, was much cleaner than back in US; here I saw stars. This made me remember something from my human life. I only have a few memories but this has always been the strongest one amongst them. For some reason I always see it like a bystander but… I feel like I… That’s just stupid, though…

‘Momma, momma! Look what I made!’ a small boy cried as he ran to his mother. He was perhaps 4 years old, a complete child and unscathed from the world. In his hand he was holding a white paper snowflake. He was beaming of happiness and just by looking him the world seemed like a better place.

‘Oh, what a beautiful thing! Did Eleanor help you with this?’ the woman in her thirties asked and crouched down to his eyelevel. She didn’t care about her dress getting soggy from the wet ground; her son was more important than her dress and the women pointing-whispering because her dress was now ruined. She took the paper snowflake into her hands and smiled: it really was beautiful. Then again, he had always been very artistic.