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His Best Friend

Summary:
What if, during (human) life, Edward had had a best friend? A girl best friend, never more than a sister, but still there. What if he had thought that she was dead for almost 90 years? And what if he found her just when he needed her the most? Chapter 3 is up!!


Notes:
This is told from two points of view, "His POV" and "Her POV". It's about Edward after he left Bella in Forks, and before he went to Rio (later Italy). None of these characters (except one) are mine. They belong to Stephenie Meyer, and no copyright infringement was intended. I'm just a normal addicted teenage girl.


3. Chapter 3

Rating 5/5   Word Count 497   Review this Chapter

His POV:

As I held her, she seemed to stiffen, her mood seeming to shift as suddenly as mine sometimes does. She looked up at me with her exotic eyes. They were concerned.

"What?" I asked.

"You had to leave someone behind," she stated.

"No I didn’t," I lied, an electric pain stabbing my long dormant heart.

"Yes you did. Your family." I was about to say yes, when she spoke again, pain in both her voice and eyes. " And the girl you love. Bad choice," she murmured. I saw in her head a pair of other vampires, a male telling her to run, her refusing to leave him, a column of smoke, dark and oily. I recognized the other vampires at once: James and Victoria. My poor friend, she hadn’t won her battle with them, as I had.

I leaned down and murmured in her ear. I was internally growling.

"I’m so sorry for your loss."

She looked at me like she had never seen me before.

"Step outside with me. I’ll tell you there." I looked pointedly at the man behind the counter.

"We’ll go to my apartment. It’s safe there. Tell me where you’ve been these past, er, eight years."

I took her hand and led her outside, where, with her free hand, she hailed a cab.

"922 5th Avenue," she informed the driver.

And as he pulled away our entire pasts were laid out for the other to see.

Her POV:

As he hugged me, I felt his trouble. That was my gift. I could tell what was wrong with people. Just like I was able to solve emotional riddles as a human. He had left behind his family. And the one he loved. I couldn’t believe him. He had always been a bit of a romantic, and to have left her while still loving her. And that our kind don’t fall out of love.

"You left someone behind," I told him.

"No, I didn’t," he said, obviously lying.

"Yes, you did. You’re family. And the girl you love. Bad choice."

Images of that day 25 years ago flashed through my mind: his voice telling me to run, the column of smoke, their faces; the faces of the ones who killed him. I swore to myself that if I ever met them again, I would kill one of them. Just one, so the other knew how I felt.

"I’m so sorry for your loss," Edward’s soft voice whispered in my ear.

I looked up at him, incredulous. How did he know? Was he like me and could tell what was wrong with people, or was it something else?

"Step outside with me," he said, glancing at the man behind the counter. "We’ll talk there." He looked like he had so much to tell me.

"We’ll go to my apartment. It’s safe there," I answered automatically. "Tell me where you’ve been these last, er, eight years."

He took my hand and led me outside. I hailed a cab as we walked. I gave the cabby my address and we headed off, our entire pasts out.