Mortality

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

I can feel the eyes on us the moment we enter Newton's Games n' Grub. Our hands locked together, Edward pulls as close to me as possible with every brief glance and giggle. His body tenses, his jaw locks, and his hands lock with mine. But no one here sees that. 

They see Edward Cullen, local recluse, out with the still-new-girl. They see the mask. The mask that has shattered for me. All I see when I look in his eyes is an anxious young man in a crowd of gawkers. I gently run my hand over his icy arm, trying to comfort him. He sighs softly, his body slacking a bit. Before I can speak, he buys us $20 worth of gaming tokens and smirks at me.

"I bet I can kick your ass at Mortal Kombat."

"You expect me to believe you're a gamer?"

"Well, I had hoped." He chuckles on our way to the machines. "Truth be told, this isn't exactly my ... erm, element. Loud, smells like grease and teen spirit."

"Edward, why'd you agree to come if you're not comfortable?" I shake my head, wishing just once I could understand his thought process. He shrugs, looking sheepish.

"... I could go anywhere with you, Bella." His eyes land on an old Pac-Man game, a complete shift from his original suggestion, and he inserts a token. "Could you give a poor old man a lesson, ma chérie?"

"Only if you tell me how long you've been speaking French, monsieur nerd." I snort, stepping up to the control with a huge, barbaric grin. Have I played this before? Well, no. Before my time. But unlike Edward, I know my way around a joystick.

... oh god, that came out wrong.

"About fifty years," he says with a nonchalant shrug. "Esme insisted we all learn a second language, exempting Carlisle purely because of his knowledge of Scottish Gaelic."

"Huh, I thought he was British."

"He is, but he lived in Scotland for decades after his transformation. Maybe even centuries. I'll ask him."

"Man," I blink, taking in a sharp breath before escaping the orange ghost on screen, "to see what he's seen..."

"To be honest, he'd be lecturing you if he heard that. Especially when you consider his birth era was full of illness and slavery. It didn't end even after he could legally marry Esme. I mean," he purses his lips and bobbles his head, "sure the marriage isn't technically legal because they're both ... dead, but to Esme, it was important that they wait."

"Was she very young?"

"No, she's physiologically older than all of us, Carlisle included. But she couldn't marry a white man when she was human, and for decades after becoming a vampire. We all fought so the law would catch up with logic."

"That is absolutely incredible..."

"You should have seen how enthusiastic Rosalie and Emmett were. Rose especially. If a man dare come up to Emmett with anger on their mind, she was right there to tear them to pieces. Figuratively speaking, of course."

"Emmett seems like he can defend himself pretty well."

"Oh, he can. Believe me, she can. But Rosalie is one of those super-protective types. Especially over Emmett." I look at him, letting myself die to his disappointment, and nod slightly. I think I get his reasons.

An hour goes by like nothing.

We hop from game-to-game; me kicking his ass in the first couple goes. Not surprisingly, Edward is a fast learner. Occasionally, his fingers lace with mine, or he will tap random rhythms on my shoulders and arm while playing with his other hand. His cold skin sends small chills up my arm, down my spine. Like my body is reminding me of just what he is. Like it's telling me to run.