A/N: Thank you to my wonderful beta, CyneNoir. She’s awesome! In relation to the actual story, I have a question. Someone pointed out that Carmen cries too much and doesn’t panic enough. Does he cry too much, or is it natural?

Disclaimer: I don't own Carmen's favorite books, though I've shamelessly pimped them. I must be a lover of badboys, for I am a firm supporter of the poor Phantom of the Opera -- and I think Carmen might just come off that way, too. ^^ Sorry guys. In fact, while we're at it, there'll probably be a lot of stuff I don't own, so if there is anything you're familiar with, chances are it isn't mine. I'm a seventeen year old teenager. What do I own, really?

Chapter Two: Of Heart and Home

After almost a month of being in the hospital, Doctor Bennet finally deemed me well enough to go home. My bruises had healed decently, though they burned and ached from time to time, and both the doctor and Edward thought it was time for a change of scenery.

I was currently in Edward’s car — a sleek, black BMW that, in my opinion, really suited him well — and I couldn’t stop fidgeting in my seat. Edward had very carefully led me to the hospital parking lot where he’d parked his car and opened the door for me. After making sure I was comfortably situated, he’d sat himself in the driver’s seat and began to drive towards some unknown destination — my new home.

I know I’d said earlier that I didn’t mind living with Edward, but now that it really came down to it, I wasn’t quite sure anymore. In fact, I was visibly shaking under Edward’s large jacket — which he’d given to me so I could keep warm. Hospital issued clothing just didn’t cut it — and I was sure he’d noticed it, too. He kept gazing back at the rear-view mirror and I was certain he was worried, though he said nothing on the matter. He only turned up the heat, and for that I will be eternally grateful to him. For letting me think things through at my own pace.

I don’t know how long I thought about things. About what my life would be like from now on. About Mother and Father and my life after their death. About Edward, who seemed to really care about me for some strange reason. And about myself and who or what I would become from here on out.

I’d always heard the quote, ‘what doesn’t kill you will only make you stronger’, but I didn’t really feel any stronger. In fact, if anything, I felt a lot weaker, almost breakable even. I wondered if Edward knew that, how weak I was? Would he still want me around when he found out? I could only hope so. I had no one else to turn to.

My thoughts continued to deviate between these very depressing mediums until the car jerked to a stop. I leapt up in my seat a little from fear, a delayed reaction from the accident, and Edward turned around immediately, offering me a comforting smile.

“Are you all right, Carmen? I’m sorry if the jolt from the car scared you, it’s a bit of a speed demon.” He grinned sheepishly and I marveled at this other side of him. He looked like a little boy who’d gotten the toy he always wanted. That thought brought another, almost painful pang of familiarity with it. I’d seen this face before; we’d already established that, now if only I could place exactly where it was that I saw it. He seemed to notice my searching look and changed the subject quickly, as if afraid that I would figure him out. What did he have to hide? “We’re home.”

I’m ashamed to admit it, but that really did divert my attention, at least long enough for him to leap out of the car and open my door for me. You couldn’t really blame me for it, though, because his house was so beautiful. You couldn’t really call it a house, either, since it was so much more than that. It was in 19th century Victorian style with lovely pillars in the front, crafted from white marble; a piece of art in its own right. There were statues of angels, demons, and other mythical creatures all around his vast property, perhaps even larger than a public park, or maybe smaller, but grander in the process.

I walked up to the large porch of the house, tracing my hands across the patterns of angels reverentially, aware of the story they told. This particular story seemed to be of Lucifer’s fall from Heaven and it made me wonder about Edward’s angel obsession, not that it was any of my business. I almost wasn’t aware of Edward’s eyes boring into my back, but suddenly I could feel them, and it made my nerves act up again.

I leapt away from the frame of the house, taking one last note of its pretty powder-blue color, before Edward was at my side, taking my hand in his own. For some reason, though he had already done it many times before, this embarrassed me, so much so that I flushed like a ripe cherry. I heard a warm, throaty sound, and when I looked closely at him, I realized he was laughing. Really laughing, not just smiling warmly or politely. At this point my ears were probably red from shame.

“So cute,” he said suddenly, after his laughter died down, cupping my warm cheek in his equally warm hand. A few seconds later he seemed to realize what he’d done and pulled his hand away so fast that a gust of wind hit my still bruised cheek. I stared at him blankly, my confusion obvious. He cleared his throat. “Come along.”

I followed a few paces behind him, peeking up at him shyly on occasion, as he led me into the house. The interior was just as lovely as the rest of it. Arched stairways like those out of a fairy-tale. Paintings of strange and yet refined men and women, and they all looked so serious and businesslike.

Their strict gazes held me as if saying, You don’t belong here. I nearly ran to catch up with Edward, and in the process, freed myself from their dark aura. He seemed to notice my fear and directed a reassuring smile towards me.

“Don’t be afraid, Carmen. Think of them as family.” I doubted I could think of the cruel looking people as family — family were supposed to be kind, offer safety. Something the figures in those paintings certainly didn’t — but I could think of Edward that way, so I chose to trust him and just nodded my head.

Edward showed me around the entire house, wanting me to get acquainted with it so I’d no longer be afraid, before finally coming to a stop by a door next to his own bedroom.

“This is your room, Carmen. I’ve arranged it according to your tastes, but you can change it to suit whatever you’d like.” I wondered how he knew what my tastes were, but I felt too tired to bring out the notebook he gave me, so I had no way to ask.

He opened the door for me and when I finally caught sight of the room my eyes widened to the shape of saucers. I should have expected it already, but when I saw the paintings of little cherubs sleeping on clouds I was surprised. The walls were a powdery blue, similar to the entire exterior of the house, and there were more things in the room than I would’ve thought.

The room was actually pretty big — bigger than my old room, anyway — and had book shelves lining both of the side walls while a large bed, one that was obviously too large, sat in the center, covered in silky-looking sheets. A teddy-bear — my teddy-bear — sat against the fluffy pillows and a large box sat on the very center of the bed, a single ribbon wrapped around it. Edward gave me a small nudge and I stumbled into the room. After gathering my bearings, I walked up to the book shelves and began tracing my fingers over the titles.

Angel of Music. The Music of Razors. Beautiful City of the Dead. Music of the Night. Beastly. The Graveyard Book. The Little Prince. Tristan and Isolde.

These were books I’d read and loved, along with a select few that I’d never read but always wanted to. I stared blankly at them, my own thoughts fluttering around like so many pages within my mind. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d suited the room to match my tastes.

Edward cleared his throat, smirking slightly, and I turned around, flushing almost as an instinctive reaction. I'd inherited that from my Mother, angry little woman that she was, though my reactions were described more as ‘cute’ and ‘sweet’ than ‘constipated’ like my Father had once described her. He’d slept on the lawn that night.

That memory made irritating tears prick at the corners of my eyes once more and I swiped at them furiously, turning away from Edward. That’s all I did now-a-days: whine, cry, and blush. Why did Edward have to put up with me? That only made things worse. If he’d mocked me for being such a baby, at least I’d have something to go on, but no—

“You don’t like it...” Edward cut off my thoughts with his desolate voice, sounding like a kicked puppy, and I could bet that he was giving me the puppy-dog eyes from under his shades. I wondered how he always assumed such horrible things about me. Did I really come off as such a brat? Maybe I did.

I shook my head furiously, almost making myself dizzy, and offered him a thankful smile. Reaching into his coat pocket — from the coat I was still wearing — I began to search for the small notebook he’d given me at the hospital, but his hand caught mine before I could find it.

“It’s okay. That’s all I needed. Your smile tells me everything about you, Carmen.” I flushed again, but I was happy he understood me so well, though I’d have loved to know exactly how he knew me so well. His smile only widened at my flush and he gestured towards something behind me. I turned around in confusion and noticed something. The box. “Don’t you want to know what’s inside?”

I swallowed dryly, staring at the box with curiosity. It was riddled with holes — perhaps to hold an animal of some sort? — but there was nothing overly special about it. I wondered what Edward had bought for me now. For all of the short while I’d known him he’d very nearly drowned me in lovely, sentimental and sweet presents. But this one made my heart clench slightly. What if he’d thought it would be kind to get me a replacement Max? I didn’t think I could live with that, no matter how kind the gesture. Oh well, there was only one way to find out.

I walked up to the box slowly, like a man walking to his death, and just stared at it for a while, until Edward cleared his throat impatiently, though he sounded more amused than impatient. The box yelped, lifting off the bed a little, and it nearly gave me a heart-attack. That would be amusing, wouldn’t it? Living through a tragic accident only to die by heart-attack because of a talking box. I thought I might sleep deprived...

Edward cleared his throat again and I realized that I’d been standing in front of the box like an idiot. Taking a deep breath I put my hand on the lid, unknotting the ribbon and peeling off the top. Something leapt out and began to lick my face. Something bandaged, with painful looking patches of red in its usually gold fur, but it was something alive. Something I thought I’d never see again.

Max. Maxie. Maxwell. My beautiful, beloved Max. Tears welled up in my eyes once more as I buried my face into Max’s fur, taking in his slightly charred scent. The silly dog attempted to lick my tears away.

“I went to the accident site and he was there; badly hurt, but still alive,” Edward explained and I looked up at him thankfully from my position on the floor. If I’d ever held doubts about him, they were all but gone now. Max barked happily and tried to pull my attention back to himself. I whimpered and buried myself even deeper into his soft fur. He obliged by attempting to pull me even closer with his doggy arms.

I've always loved Max. Ever since I was three and he arrived on my doorstep; a tiny puppy with a big red bow tied around his neck, looking excited and loving. My parents had been afraid to let me near him, as if they thought their poor baby may suffocate on dog hair, but I'd shrieked and cried, threw more than one temper tantrum, until they’d finally allowed the puppy in. The tag on his neck had said, simply, From Wy, your bro.

Wyman — or Wy, as he sometimes shortened it to — was my elder half-brother. His mother was my father’s first wife. A beautiful lady who’d died of cancer when Wyman was really young. Father married my Mother, his former secretary, only a couple of years later and they soon had me. At that point Wyman moved away to live with some eccentric uncle in the city. Though it hurt both my Father and Mother, I think they were happy that he wasn’t there to cause trouble. They’re not bad people by any means, but I think they were afraid Wyman would hate me. Hurt me.

I’m still not sure if they were right. Wyman always sent me gifts even though he lived elsewhere. He was almost ten years older than me, but he always sent me things I really liked, things that became really important to me. My teddy-bear, Pendragon, Pen for short, was also a gift from him, and I couldn’t sleep without it when I was younger. I’d even found myself missing it when I was in the hospital, wishing it was there to give me its warmth. So, against all odds, perhaps Wyman grew to love his estranged half-brother? The one who, in his opinion, probably shouldn’t have even been born.

But maybe not. After all, I was orphaned now and Doctor Bennet had said ‘No remaining family is willing to take you in.’ It hurt a little. I think I’ve always loved Wyman, despite not knowing him as much as I could have. The only time I’d ever actually seen him was many years ago, when I was only an infant, and the memory was distinct and vague. I think perhaps we both shared Father’s green-blue eyes, though I wasn't even sure of that. There weren’t many pictures of Wyman and his mother around the house. In fact, I’d only found one of Wyman’s mother with an infant Wyman, perhaps only a few days old. There wasn’t much to go on from the picture as it was many years old, but that’s how I knew that she was so pretty.

Max’s abrupt bark shocked me out of my thoughts and I looked up from my place on the floor to see both Edward and the dog giving me worried looks. I pushed Max off gently, wary of his wounds, and smiled sheepishly. Edward smiled back and it warmed my heart so much, my very being so much, that I threw myself at him, nearly knocking him over just as Max had done to me a few seconds ago. He gasped in surprise. I mouthed the words ‘thank you’ into his thin cotton shirt, his jacket still wrapped around me. Though I was positive he couldn’t feel it, he still lifted up my chin with two of his fingers and beamed at me. Really, really beamed. And then he pressed a soft, gentle, barely-there kiss onto my forehead.

“Goodnight, Carmen. Goodnight, Max.” I nodded at his statement as he directed me to the bathroom, my personal bathroom, and brought me some really soft pajama tops and bottoms from my new wardrobe. When I came back to my room, Max was already settled on the foot of my bed. I smiled and, spooning Pen into my arms, gave him one last pat before pulling the silky blankets around myself.

I never thought that I’d have another warm, safe moment like this one ever again. It’s nice to be wrong.

I was in the car and I heard laughter. It was mine, but it seemed distant, far away. Max’s barking seemed far away too.

My parents were laughing, talking, and basically there were smiles all around. My Father swiveled around to ask me a question. He shouldn’t have done that, I knew he shouldn’t, but we were all so happy, the moment was just so right, and I couldn’t tell him to turn around. I probably should have.

I knew something was wrong as soon as his lips began to move, but no words came out. Suddenly, everything was silent, and I couldn’t even hear Max barking. The laughter — the joy — it was all gone, though everyone’s lips were still moving, still laughing. It terrified me.

My heart clenched abruptly and I got a very bad feeling. Turning my face awkwardly away from my laughing family, I took a peek out the window. The sky that was so bright and beautiful only a few minutes earlier was now graying and smoky, the window-panes chilly against my cheeks. A drop of rain fell from the sky and hit the window exactly at the spot where my cheek met the glass. It slipped down from there like a tear. I shuddered.

And I saw something against the graying horizon, the smoky edges of something huge, dark and ominous. I squinted my eyes in hopes of a closer look and I could almost see it. Suddenly, as if reading my mind, it broke through the shadows and I could see it clearly. Something I’d never had reason to fear before. A truck.

My father was still turned around, his lips in constant movement, and I screamed, gesturing my arms behind him wildly in warning. He didn’t turn around, but his smile widened, teeth gleaming eerily in the smoky light of the cloudy sky.

And suddenly he wasn’t my Father anymore. He was Edward, and I could hear him, he could hear me. His smile didn’t shrink.

‘Save me,’ he whispered softly, his breath visible because of the sudden chill in the car, and I screamed at him to turn around, to save us—or, more importantly, to save himself. Because if he did, if Father did, at least they might have been happy now. No one needed me, at least not like they needed themselves. Needed each other. An explosion erupted as the small family van collided with the truck, and I was shaken awake. For some reason, the rain still dripped down my face.

The rain, I realized, was tears and I couldn’t stop crying. I threw one of my arms over my eyes in hopes of hiding that fact, but it didn’t work. My breaths were choked and came out as hiccups, no matter how quiet I tried to be, and I could barely breathe. The door was soon thrown open and Edward ran into the room. I wondered how he heard me, being vocally incapacitated as I was, but it didn’t matter because I needed someone. I needed him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked softly, voice gentle with a worried edge. I noticed that he was wearing only a simple pair of black pants, his golden body stark against the darkness of the room, shining like a beacon. His eyes, for some strange reason, were still hidden behind his shades. I briefly wondered if he slept with them on.

I shook my head and held out my arms, only a little bit because it embarrassed me. He smiled softly and pulled me into his instead. The slight movement shook Max awake, and he looked between us in confusion, before his shook it off and laid back down, tongue lolling. My heart clenched painfully as I gazed at them, my precious people, even Edward who I’d only recently met, and I couldn’t bear to think of the dream, the nightmare. I couldn’t bear to imagine them dying—not them, not my family! And I couldn’t bear to let Edward go, and so I clung to him, pathetically, like a small child, my tears wetting his smooth, golden skin and leaving tracks against it.

After a while of sitting in silence, I pulled away and grabbed something off my night stand. The notebook. I always kept it close; it was my only way to vent.

In it I wrote the question that I’d always wanted — no, needed — to ask.

/Why?/ He gazed at the word in confusion, though I so hoped for his understanding, before his face tightened, a deep frown marring his handsome face.

“Why, what?” he finally asked; voice soft, as if he was on the edge of something, but not quite ready to believe it. There was a warning tone to it, and I realized that he knew what I was asking, but didn’t want to acknowledge it. I had the feeling that he really didn’t want to hear what I was about to say, probably because he didn’t want to have to deal with my depression. I didn’t want him to have to either, but he was the only person I could ask. I felt really selfish as I took a deep breath and scrawled the words onto the slightly tear-stained parchment.

/Why am I alive? Why couldn’t I have been the one who died?/ His frown deepened in response, and his whole body, pressed up against me because I was shivering in his arms, froze up. He looked hurt, infinitely saddened, and I couldn’t even begin to fathom why.

And suddenly I was flush against him, even closer than before, and his face, glasses and all, was buried in my hair, tear drops falling against it. I gasped in response; a quiet, muted sound like the whisper of a ghost. I just couldn’t believe he was crying. Not for me; what possible reason could he have? Before I could even register it, he pulled away, gazing at me with a searching expression, running his hooded eyes over my pajama-clad body.

“You don’t...you don’t want to die, do you, Carmen?” I ducked my head in response. How could I answer that question when he sounded so sad? Like his world would fall apart at a single wrong word, if I said yes.

Instead, I opted not to respond, writing different words in the notebook, words that didn’t answer anything. Maybe even another question.

/Stay with me tonight? Please?/ If desperation could be read in words, they’d certainly be read in mine. He gazed at the notebook with furrowed eyebrows, before offering me a sad smile, and pulling off his glasses. He pulled my small frame into his arms and tore the covers off the bed, hopping in and pulling them over us. The movement scared Max and he gazed at us in confusion, before doing a little doggy-shrug and hopping on top of our tangled frames. His movement distracted me, and by the time I turned back, Edward was already asleep, his unveiled eyes closed. I sighed and, taking a deep breath, joined him in the world of sleep. My sleep was oddly dreamless that night, with him in my arms, or rather, with me in his. I wondered if he would join me, at least for a few more nights, until I was no longer afraid of being alone.

Edward carefully extricated himself from the small teen's arms, pulling the sheets back around the sleeping boy once he was finally out of the bed. He watched tiny hands reach out and clutch for him, a slight pout forming on petal pink lips, and placed a teddy-bear into them, smiling in satisfaction at the answering smile. The boy was just so cute, and he couldn’t help but place an affectionate kiss into his messy sand-colored locks. His frown abruptly returned when he saw the dried tear-tracks marking the snow-pale cheeks. He pulled out a small, sleek phone, opening it and inputting a number. The person on the other line picked up after only a single ring.

“Hello? It’s me, DeAngelo. Problem? I guess you could say that.” He looked back towards the sleeping boy in worry. “I think it’s going to take more than a change of scenery to fix this. He’s having nightmares, really vivid ones from what I can tell.”

His frown became more pronounced as he carefully listened to the other’s quiet response. “When can you get that supposedly brilliant Psychologist to work with him?”

There was silence on the other line for a few seconds, seemingly forever, until a quiet voice answered. Edward, listening carefully, nodded his head and snapped the phone shut.

"Maybe if you take him out in public, he says..." the man whispered softly, tone filled with muted sarcasm, and ran a hand through sleep-tousled ash-blonde locks. He returned to bed soon after, but couldn't sleep a wink.

A/N: This chapter’s longer than all of the ones before it. I hope you enjoy. ^_^

Thanks: All my reviewers, people who added this to their story-alerts and favorite stories. I really hope you guys will review. I mean, it's not that I don't appreciate you, far from it, but chances are, after the initial favorite or alert, you'll leave me hanging and I'll never hear from you again. How will I know what I did right? Wrong? I'm sure you get the point.

Sarah: I think it was your review that finally inspired me to put this up. I was moping and depressed, but you really made my day, and so late in the game too. I don't mind that you don't have an account, but there are definitely bonuses to it. There are some amazing stories on FP, many on my favorites list are pretty -- really -- good, too.

R&R: Read, relax, and review please! Perhaps you don’t want to, so I’ll have to bribe you! The next chapter has Kyle in it! Aren’t you the least bit curious about him? And Edward, of course. Curious about his angel fetish? Wanna know what’s up? You’ll have to review to find out. Thanks.