Paper Faces - 13. Apex

I swallow bile as he describes an ambush – homophobic football players who'd been my teammates only the year before waiting for him in the school parking lot. I cringe when he says he almost preferred their fists to the words because they made him doubt everything he knew about himself.

Worse, they made him ashamed.

Made him wonder if he wanted to live.

I reach out to him, needing to stop the flow of words, needing to save that scared little boy, but there's nothing I can do.

"Don't," he snarls. "You were the reason."

I drop my hand, helpless.

Paper Faces - 12. Break

Never in my life have I flinched and shied from words. Now I feel their keen sting.

His cool reserve cracks, his voice a harsh whip that mercilessly lashes out, recounting a life I couldn't imagine enduring.

My heart breaks, anger crumbling into pity. Pity fuels his rage.

An uncontrollable erection. Friends teasing. Hiding but not denying. Watching from afar.

Hero worship. Rejection. Humiliation. Abject disappointment.

A downward spiral into darkness.

A deluge of words, venom and nectar in one, and as it scours my skin, I finally see.

He risked it all on faith.

Shattered when it snapped back.

Paper Faces - 11. Obtuse

"Oh, god," spills from my lips. He was there, in my house. He tried to speak, and I brushed him away, another brainless gnat buzzing around Rosalie.

Only he wasn't.

"I remember." He hears the inflection, draws himself to his full height. "But why?" I say. I'm trapped, penned by the same syllables. The only escape lies behind those cold eyes.

Scorn answers me. "You were perfect." The sneer transforms the word, a curse delivered as praise. "Beautiful. Friendly to everyone."

"But not you," I finish for him, remembering my annoyance.

My frustration circles and resurfaces. "Why now, damn it?"

Paper Faces - 10. Silence

I offer no answer. He offers nothing at all.

I wonder why he stands there, facing a man he despises, but it is the same reason I stand here with only a thin metal railing between me and a nine story drop.

He's waiting.

Desperately, I search my past.

Rosalie's friends crowded around the pool. Bright green eyes, a shy smile. Impatience. Escape. Following footsteps. "Did you need something?"

A blushing, embarrassed retreat.

My chest constricts, pounding in my head struggling to drown out the memories. It meant nothing at the time. I had forgotten.

But now I see it.

Paper Faces - 9. Glass

Countless questions swirl in my mind, but only one matters.

"Why?"

It hangs in the air, thin and brittle like glass. His hate – his fury – burns me where I stand. I need the reason.

He says nothing.

"I remember…" I trail off, unwilling to say I remember my little sister's gossip. "You were younger. Rosalie's age."

Bitterness twists his mouth as something – disappointment, perhaps – flashes in his eyes.

Even his disgusted mutter is a caress, beckoning me toward some unknown somewhere. Why do I want to answer the call?

"Yes, I could always count on the kindness of the Hales."

Paper Faces - 8. Light

Darkness wraps around him like a cloak, making angular cheekbones cast deep shadows. I imagine him in the light, see his face round with youth and inexperience. My mind replaces the steel in his eyes with curiosity.

I have it.

"Edward?" I see the slight twitch of his Adam's apple as he fights not to swallow. It is the only tell. "Edward Cullen."

He hears the finality in my voice but does not speak.

Memories cascade in waves with my sister's voice. The boy who came out. Beaten up. Tormented.

"I never knew you," I murmur.

"You made that clear."

Paper Faces - 7. Change

A silent moment stretches, looming ominously. I feel his fingers twitch, sense the shift in his mood as the fight leaves him.

Muscles slacken, his hand falls, and he steps back, but I can still sense him, mere feet away. "Who are you?" I whisper. The hush fights back, swallowing my words greedily so my voice is a hollow echo of itself.

"Nobody," he answers.

Inch by inch, I turn and lean against the railing, my hands grasping the bar beside my hips. I study him, my head tilting as I begin to piece together planes and curves into memories.