Recommence ° Edward Cullen[Rewriting]

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Chapter Thirteen | Borrowed Skin

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"We need to talk."

Alex glanced up from the book in her lap to stare unblinkingly at Edward. "Excuse me?" In the boy's room, sitting outstretched on his bed, her back against the headboard, and Edward lying on the length of the couch near the balcony, they'd been making idle talk about the book in her lap, music playing softly in the background, before he had promptly ruined her tranquillity.

"I said we need to talk." If he'd been human, he would've sighed as he turned his head to look at her. "Yeah, I heard you the first time." Alex tilted her head, curious but perplexed. "Are you breaking up with me?" Her tone was teasing, despite her genuine wonder. His gaze was serious—focused—in a way that gave her little else to consider.

"What—no." Edward's answer was immediate with a hint of offence. Alex raised her eyebrows at him as he glanced at her sideways. The baseball bouncing between his hands in a blur never faltered, even as he gave her his attention. "We need to talk about what happened two weeks ago."

Her teasing mood died instantly. The young woman sat up straighter, lips tugging down into the ghost of a frown. "Oh. That." His gaze softened, but his tone didn't lose its weight, "Yes. That."

"And here I thought," she muttered, slumping back against the headboard, "that we had a collective agreement to pretend the malicious voice in my skull doesn't exist. You know, the one that whines when it's hungry and threatens to eat anything with a pulse?" The baseball thudded quietly into Edward's palm as he caught it mid-air, his movements stilling. He sat up abruptly, his brows furrowing. "She talks to you?"

Alex blinked at the sudden shift, mirroring his expression in her own incredulity. "Uh. . , sometimes?" Her lips pressed into a thin line as she watched the discarded baseball roll away when Edward buried his face in his hands. "When," he said, his voice muffled, "were you planning on mentioning that?"

She shrugged, gently closing the book in her lap. "Mm, never? I figured if I ignored it long enough, it'd go away." That seemed to be the wrong answer. "You can't—you can't keep things like this to yourself, Alex." The man was a blur as he stood from the couch and began pacing. "I thought she was lying—I thought she was making it up, but now? Knowing she's in your head, talking to you? Still? After everything, I—"

Alex tracked him for nearly a minute, her gaze narrowed into a squint so she could make out his twisted expression. After a while, it made her head spin. "Okay, okay, sit down. You're making me dizzy," she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes while he complied. "What are you talking about? You thought who was lying? The," Her brows furrowed as she glanced up, "the thing?!"

Edward stopped as she asked, but he didn't sit back down, and he didn't turn to look at her. "That night," he said, slowly, "yo—she told me you weren't. . . real. That you were what was left after she got. . . locked away. Now that she's back, it means that you might not be around for long."