*by Stephenie Meyer*



NEW MOON - chapter 2 - STITCHES


“How can you do this?” I demanded. “Even Alice and Esme…” I trailed off, shaking my head in wonder. Thought the rest of them had ibingiay up the traditional diet of Bampira jtsu as absolutely as Carlisle had, he was the only one who could madala the smell of my blood without suffering from the intense temptation. Clearly, this was much madami difficult than he made it seem.
“Years and years of practice,” he told me. “I barely notice the scent anymore.”
“Do you think it would be harder if you took a vacation from the hospital for a long time? And weren’t around any blood?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged his shoulders, but his hands remained steady. “I’ve never felt the need for an extended holiday.” He flashed a brilliant smile in my direction. “I enjoy my work too much.”
Plink, plink, plink. I was surprised at how much glass there seemed to be in my arm. I was tempted to glance at the growing pile, just to check the size, but I knew that idea would not be helpful to my non-vomiting strategy.
“What is it that you enjoy?” I wondered. It didn’t make sense to me - the years of struggle and self-denial he must have spent to get to the point where he could endure this so easily. Besides, I wanted to keep him talking; the conversation kept my mind off the queasy feeling in my stomach.
His dark eyes were calm and thoughtful as he answered. “Hmm. What I enjoy the very most is when my… enhanced abilities let me save someone who would otherwise have been lost. It’s pleasant knowing that, thanks to what I can do, some people’s lives are better because I exist even the sense of smell us a useful diagnostic tool at times.” one side of his mouth pulled up in half a smile.
I mulled that over while he poked around, making sure all the glass splinters were gone. Then he rummaged in his bad for new tools, and I tried not to picture a needle and thread.
“You try very hard to make up for something that was never your fault,” I suggested while a new kind of tugging started at the edges of my skin. “What I mean is, it’s not like you asked for this. You didn’t choose this kind of life, and yet you have to work so hard to be good.”
“I don’t know that I’m making up for anything,” he disagreed lightly. “Like everything in life, I just had to decide what to do with what I was given.”
“That makes it sound too easy.”
He examined my arm again. “There,” he sinabi snipping a thread. “All done.” He wiped an oversized Q-tip, dripping with some syrup-colored liquid, thoroughly across the operation site. The smell was strange; it made my head spin. The syrup stained my skin.
“In the beginning, though,” I pressed with he taped another long piece of gauze securely in place, sealing it to my skin. “Why did you even think to try a different way than the obvious one?”
His lips turned up in a private smile. “Hasn’t Edward told you this story?”
“Yes. But I’m trying to understand what you were thinking….”
His face was suddenly serious again, and I wondered if his thoughts had gone to the same place that mine had. Wondering what I would be thinking when - I refused to think if - it was me.