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Steven Wagy
The rain continued to fall with the same monotony that seemed to envelop Forks, but Nate didn't mind. As he drove back from dinner at the Swans' house, the tapping of the drops against the windshield felt almost comforting. A constant. A damp, subtle melody that accompanied the echo of the warmth he'd just experienced.
He liked Charlie. He was direct, straightforward, yet honest in a way he rarely found in adults. And Bella, though more reserved, had a certain kindred spirit that piqued his interest. There was something about her home, that quiet, unpretentious routine, that gave him back a feeling he thought was lost: that of belonging. Of arriving at a place where someone was waiting for you. With a hot meal. With an awkward but genuine smile. As if, for a couple of hours, he'd been able to touch the idea of family again.
Family.
The word fell like a stone into the lake of his thoughts.
He felt a lump form in his throat, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. The image of his mother laughing as she poured coffee. His father's deep voice tells stories at dinnertime, amid laughter and breadcrumbs. They returned with such cruel clarity that it disarmed him inside.
A pang of guilt coursed through him. As if enjoying the company of others, something resembling a home, were a silent betrayal of those who were no longer there. As if that fleeting stolen happiness came at a price: remembering that his own family no longer existed.
When he finally arrived home, Margaret greeted him from the couch, looking up from her book with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile.
—Did they feed you well or do I have to make you something decent?
"That was enough, thanks," Nate replied, with a tired, almost automatic smile. He headed upstairs without much else to say.
He gently closed his bedroom door, sank onto his bed, and let the silence envelop him. The day had been long, exhausting, and emotionally charged. He fell asleep almost immediately.
In the dream, his mother's laughter filled the air like soft bells. The car rolled down a road bathed in golden light, flanked by tall trees dropping leaves as if time were on hold. His father sat behind the wheel, relaxed, joking about something only they understood. Nate watched from the backseat, unable to speak, but happy to see them like this: alive. Whole.
But something changed.
The sky turned grayer, colder. The trees stopped moving. The world lost its rhythm.
And then Nate wasn't in the car anymore. He was outside. Watching from another perspective. From something else.
An invisible, silent figure. Lurking. Patient. Inhuman.
The car stopped next to a serene lake. His father got out and walked around to the back to check something. And then it revealed itself. It had no clear shape, just a shadow, a distortion in the air. Like thick smoke moving against the logic of the wind. The driver's door opened by itself. His father barely had time to turn his head.
The entity lifted him with brutal force and shattered him in seconds as if he were nothing more than wet paper.
Nate couldn't move. He couldn't scream. He could only watch.
His mother got out of the car, terrified. She saw the body, the chaos, the blood. She fell to her knees. She screamed his name.
Then another figure appeared behind her. He didn't touch her. He didn't have to.
Her mother began to shake. To cry. To scream in a way that wasn't human, a shriek that seemed to come from the depths of her soul. And then... she fell. Like a broken doll. Her chest heaved one last time before she went still.
Nate wanted to run toward her. But he was stuck. In the wrong way. In the wrong place.
In the body of what had killed them.
He woke up with his body drenched in sweat. He jolted upright, panting, his heart racing as if he'd just escaped from a hunt. The dark ceiling of his room seemed alien, almost hostile. He rubbed his eyes with trembling palms. It had been days since he'd dreamed about them... not like this. Not with such horror. Not from that perspective.
"I can't stay still today," he murmured. "I don't want to think."
He went for a run in the pre-dawn rain, ignoring the chill that chilled his bones. He ran until his legs ached and his lungs burned as if they were burning from the inside out. Until his body screamed for rest and his mind finally gave out.
When he returned soaked, his grandmother was already in the kitchen.
"Are you back from the triathlon yet?" he asked without turning around, stirring the scrambled eggs as if nothing had happened. "Or are you just warming up?"
Nate didn't respond immediately. He dried himself with a towel and watched her. He noticed the freshly brewed coffee and the toast. His favorite breakfast. Margaret glanced at him.
—Everything okay, kid?
—Yeah… I just needed to move a little.
She narrowed her eyes.
—You're trying to escape something. I can see it in your eyebrows.
—My eyebrows?
"Yeah. When you're tense, you push them together so tightly you could crack nuts between them," she said, amused, with a half smile.
Nate gave a short laugh. But he looked at her more closely.
He noticed how she'd gone out of her way not to try to figure out what was bothering him. How she'd used humor to smooth over the rough edges. How she'd pretended not to see the trembling in his hands when he put down the towel. She didn't ask directly, because she knew he wouldn't tolerate it. But she was there. Present. Loving in her way.
He felt guilty for having been so self-absorbed, for not having noticed before all the lengths she was going to sustain him. To give him refuge.
He offered her a more honest smile this time.
—Thank you, Grandma.
"Always, son," she replied, still stirring the eggs. "And please, go take a shower. You smell like a wet dog and emotional trauma."
The school was more lively than usual. The rain didn't stop the constant murmur of students talking about the upcoming dance, couples, and trivial rumors that wove a web of social distraction. Nate found it helpful. Good background noise. Something to keep him occupied enough to keep from sinking into himself.
In Spanish class, Eric sat next to him with a mixture of enthusiasm and nervousness.
—Hey… are you going to invite anyone to the Spring Dance?
Nate raised an eyebrow as if he'd just remembered there was a dance coming up.
—I haven't considered it yet.
Eric smiled, but there was something forced about his expression. He scratched the back of his neck before speaking.
—I… was thinking about inviting Bella.
Nate looked at him. Not like any other teenager, but like someone reading a line of code to find a hidden error.
Eric wasn't asking out of politeness. He was looking for confirmation. He wanted to know if Nate was interested in Bella. If he had any competition.
The pity he felt wasn't condescending, but inevitable. Bella didn't seem like someone who responded well to unexpected romantic attention. Especially not from someone who could barely hold his gaze. Rejection was almost inevitable.
But Eric didn't know that yet. He still believed he had a chance.
"Good luck with that," Nate said, his tone neutral. Not mocking. Not encouraging. Just… sincere.
"Thanks. I was thinking of doing it this week… before someone else gets there first," Eric said, with an uncertain smile, almost like a disguised sigh.
Nate nodded silently. He didn't say anything else. It wasn't his place.
The class passed without incident, but Nate's real excitement was ignited when he arrived at Government, the class he shared with Edward Cullen.
The window seat was empty.
Nate paused before sitting down. He watched him for a second longer than necessary. Then he took his place, but his mind was already far away.
This wasn't a coincidence. Edward was avoiding him. There was no doubt about that.
And the most disturbing thing was why.
What had he said? What had he done? Had he scared him? Or simply reveal something he shouldn't have known?
I had no answers. But it was close. I felt it.
Nate clenched his jaw. But he relaxed it almost a second later. He wasn't in a hurry. There was a certain fun in not finding things out so easily.
Today. You'll get more answers at lunch.