Endless Secrets

The next morning, I’m awake just in time to watch the sun rise through my window. It’s early enough that no one is moving around just yet, so I lie in bed and just – think.

At first, it’s about Lionel. I wonder, how much does he know? How much has he pieced together? I never tried hiding anything in the beginning. It would have been easy for him to figure things out. But if he does know anything, he certainly doesn’t act like it. I can’t imagine that he, well anyone really, would take it lightly. There is no way he would keep it to himself; it’s not something he would keep a secret for me. Everything I have hidden has been for good reasons. I don’t want anyone to know. I don’t want anyone to think of me differently.

But at the same time, it would feel amazing to not have to keep everything a secret. Every time something slips, or someone freaks out, I go into a silent panic. I can’t help but to feel afraid, yet somehow relieved. Despite my years facing this, I still get scared when someone starts to piece things together. When they start to ask questions, I run. Is it time?

I’ve always been a self-conscious coward. I’m terrified that they’ll think less of me, that they’ll hate me. Everyone ends up hating me, don’t they? But is it because I’ve lied or because of the actual secrets?

I wish I didn’t care.

Everything would be easier. Being with Jasper wouldn’t be so terrible. Living in La Push wouldn’t make me feel quite as guilty.

I spend hours lying in my bed; hours more after I hear Lionel and Marisol get ready for the day. They start talking – talking about me. Lionel is telling Marisol about how I seemed shaken up after meeting the vampire; he knows me enough not to let her know I actually knew him. He knows me enough to know I wouldn’t ever tell Marisol that. I’d much rather keep her sheltered, in the dark.

He doesn’t know I can hear him, even in the hushed tone he’s speaking with. He doesn’t know I can hear his damned heartbeat, his deep breathing. He doesn’t know I can hear him walking down the road or that I can hear the stretching of his muscles when he shifts.

He doesn’t actually know anything, does he? No one does.

I’m going to tell them.

Climbing out of bed, I head to the closet and pick out some clothes, not caring much about appearance at the moment. After making myself look a little less like I just climbed out of a grave, I nearly run down the stairs. Marisol is gone by now; only Lionel is in the kitchen. There’s a plate of blueberry pancakes on the table for me – I smile. Lionel knows me so well.

“Lionel,” I start to say as soon as I see him, but he interrupts me.

“Good morning, love. I hope you’re feeling better.” He says, coming around to hug me. Then he places fancy envelope in my hand, my first name written elegantly on the front. “This was on the porch.”

Curious, I decide to open it first. When I see the familiar stationery, I get nervous. Biting my lip, I read over it quickly.

My dearest Silvia,
Your presence is required in Italy. Be home by midnight, tomorrow.
Do not be late.

My heart sinks.

“I have to go home.” I tell Lionel, walking out the door.

He shouts and runs after me, but I take off before he can catch up.

I’m so sorry.