Heartbeat [Alec Volturi]

Pierrot

"Ow!" Jane's harsh gaze snapped to my face, using the mirror before us as a vessel. It was an automatic response to see if there was any validity in my claim, even if I was not the most reliable of sources when it came to exclamations of pain.

Her expression shifted to give me a look that clearly said she had no patience for my antics. She rolled her eyes dismissively when I gave a sheepish face in return, before continuing to run the bristled brush through my curls.

"I can still hear it," I mumbled, offering a defence for such an obvious lie. As I did, the brush caught yet another tangle in my hair and tugged my head back with the resistance. Instead of running it through anyways and causing aforementioned sound to happen again, she moved the antique brush away. Jane didn't acknowledge my sass, but she did take the time to comb the tangled strands loose with her fingers.

This exchange was the first crack in her highly guarded exterior since I'd returned to the room almost an hour ago. I'd been aiming for a reaction from her, so whether the brief, tiny smile on her face was due to a dip in her anger or was owned by a more sadistic cause, I did not care. I'd take anything at this point.

I didn't get the chance to ask her why she was waiting for me because only a few seconds after the chamber door had shut behind me did she tell me to "take a shower". Word for word. It seemed like a weird directive to me, but because I'd already been debating it, I did as she said without another word.

As soon as I'd closed the bathroom door, I was racking my brain, trying to figure out a reason why she would be upset with me. I tried to remember when I'd first noticed it and it was just before my fight with Alec so it was an unlikely possibility, at least when considered as the main cause of her anger. Of all the options that ran through my head, none stuck out as something that would upset my friend. I'd hoped that maybe I had just imagined it, but it was very clear that Jane was, at the very least, extraordinarily frustrated with me.

And it wasn't like I could come right out and plainly ask her what was wrong. That would be too easy.

Water still dripped from my hair as I'd emerged from the bathroom soon after, both nervous and eager to discover what my friend was upset about. I observed the room first and I was surprised to see my rucksack, which had been missing since I'd moved back into my room, resting against the bedpost. It looked like it had been filled to the hilt and just barely managed to zip closed. The journal Aro had given me and a book of Jane's current poetry favourites sat on top. We'd been reading through them recently and discussing our perspectives afterward, almost like we were in school.

When my eyes had landed on Jane, I'd realised why she'd wanted me to take a shower. She was standing at the vanity desk, brush in hand, waiting for, but not looking at, me. It was a contradicting activity to her emotions and I almost second guessed my assessment. Except that ever since I sat down, she wouldn't say a word.

Small tugs of exhaustion were already pricking my skin, but I pushed them down. There would be time to sleep later. But, god, I wish I would've known I'd need the sleep. The shower had done nothing to reverse the effects of my previous nights, which included a less than restful R.E.M. cycle. I'd been sitting patiently and obediently and I was sort of impressed by my doing so. I chalked the submissive attitude up to the tediously drawn out day. A day that was far from over.

Jane wasn't known for starting conversations, and she was especially not one for small talk. This time, however, I was determined to let her initiate it. After all, I truly was lost as to the cause of her frustration and I doubted trying to start a conversation about the last movie we watched would be enough to pull her out. Though this staying quiet tactic had, unfortunately, not initiated the conversation as quickly as I had assumed it would. Instead, Jane remained intent on the single task of combing through my hair. It was almost like she was in a trance, but her anger came through every once and again when a particularly stubborn tangle resisted her touch.