Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, all characters belong to Stephanie Meyer.

Note: This a collab with puppymama0909, she will be writing Bella's POV and I will be writing Jasper's. The chapters will alternate between POV's. Chapters will go up two at a time, starting with Jasper's POV, then Bella's. In puppymama0909's case, her first chapter will start with Bella's POV, then be Jasper's.

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The Wanderer and Waitress

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I never thought I would find myself here. Here as in, wandering the wide streets of a one horse town with nothing but my companion. I glance down at the swinging guitar case in my hand and ponder exactly how many towns she had seen already. One town, one day, that's all I ever stayed. It was enough for me to feed, if I needed, then I was gone again. I was somewhere in the thousands since I had left Peter and Charlotte. Five years had gone by since I left them after not finding any solace in the last half-a-century with my former coven.

Peter and Charlotte had tried to get me to stay, even if it was just a bit longer with them but I didn't want to burden them anymore than I already had. It was almost at the year mark and all I ever did was sit in my room, strum and pluck my guitar and wallow in self-pity. I had way too much time to think on my hands and needed different scenery then I had currently been at. It was the same old song over and over again. Play my guitar until all hours of the night, listen to Peter and Charlotte ravish each other senseless and hunt when I felt the need. Weeks would go by and sometimes Peter would force me to go and hunt, even if it was only just a taste to take away the blackness in my hallowed eyes.

For a half a century with my former, I lived more like a human that I had ever had in over the century that I had lived, until now. I still managed to maintain some of those human characteristics, well, all but one. My eyes told a different story. They told another side of my story. They have returned back to what my past held, human feeding. They were crimson red; the tell-tale sign that someone like me is a human drinker. Before now they were a golden hue, and I fed off animals. It never really sated my thirst, only made the burn dull in the back of my throat.

What does a wanderer do you ask? Well, I think I just told you up there, especially with one who is a vampire, like me. I don't stay long enough for anyone to remember me in the first place. I lift my gaze to the flickering sign of the only restaurant in town, Ruby and Roberts. The building looked about as old as I was and the smell that was coming from it, was just as bad. I filtered out the smells, humans, food and not so human by which I mean animals. Each was wretched in its own manner, except one. The scent was heavenly, black orchids and was that hibiscus? It was exquisite and my throat flared slightly. I swallowed thickly and bit back the hiss that wanted to escape. That would be my next meal, if I knew the owner.

I wandered down the path; kicking a rock and watching it sail out into the distance as my guitar swung next to me. I glanced at the lot next to the restaurant and saw a few rusted vehicles. Shrugging lightly, I dismissed that this town was like every other one I had stepped into lately. It only had one street light, one stop light, and no stop sign in sight. I stepped my way across the broken sidewalk and found it to be much like my life had been the last five years. Each cement slab was littered with cracks, some places were uneven and others were just missing.

I reached up, brushing my blonde locks out of my eyes and looked down at my clothes. I had on the same outfit I had worn for weeks on end; consisting of very little but torn and tattered jeans, a well-worn pair of cowboy boots and a simple white t-shirt, with a flannel over. I looked off into the distance and saw the thunder clouds getting ready to roll in. The wind picked up and sent that scent billowing back towards me again. I once again, swallowed hard. I needed to find the source. I glanced into the restaurants dingy brown windows, with cracked and peeled painting, taking note of the patrons. An older gentleman, sipping on a cup of coffee; a small child with him that was eating what looked to be cherry pie; and waitress, in a starched pale blue uniform, with an apron. The outfit looked hideous and extremely uncomfortable, pity it hid her figure. I shook my head and growled under my breath for having such intrusive thoughts about a woman that I didn't even know. I passed by the door and walked to the end of the building before making the decision that maybe I should go in. The scent had lingered in the air near the door while I passed by, maybe it was the waitresses. Surely, it wouldn't be the child's scent that was that potent, nor would it be the gentleman's.

I crossed back towards the door and stood there for a second when I reached it. My doubt had always seemed to creep in at the most inopportune times. I let the thought go and pulled open the door, hearing the bell above it jingle out into the wind. The scent of black orchids and hibiscus slammed into me and the venom pooled in my mouth. I sighed, shaking my head as I dismissed the waitress's eye which had caught me. Well, there was my next meal. The waitress in the scratchy blue uniform, which was unflattering and stunk of this place; she was going to be dinner.

I slowly walked over to the booth in the back, resting my guitar in the seat across from me and glanced out the filthy window. I thought of the many other times I had done this, sitting in a lone corner booth, waiting until some unsuspecting worker was done with their shift. I paid no mind to the gentleman and his grandson with the pie, but could hear the conversation they were having. The grandson made no movement but the swinging of his legs and the tink of his fork every once in a while that clambered onto the plate when his grandfather spoke of his time in the war. The boy was amazed, fascinated and I knew he was hanging onto every word that his grandfather spoke. I let out a soft chuckle to myself with my eyes trained outside.

Through the dirty window, I still managed to see my reflection. I let my eyes rake over what I saw; the clothes of a modern man, the features of an immortal and the eyes of a haunted man. That was how I saw myself most of the time. Beauty to me came in the most deadly ways and that started with my beginning, my second life. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, listening to the clattering of dishes in the back of the restaurant. I must have just missed the dinner rush, not that there would be many people here to begin with. I bet the food was good, down-home Southern cooking. The footsteps of the waitress pattered against the floor like the constant of when I strummed my guitar in the middle of the night. They clicked, keeping time with the ticking clock that hung somewhere in the distance.

I could hear the waitress approach me and I turned my head slowly. Her calm demeanor and plastered on fake smile said that her job wasn't what she had intended it to be. I knew my story and as I glanced over the cotton blue uniform, my eye caught the nametag. Now, I wondered what Isabella's story was. How did she end up in this one horse town with a wanderer ready to eat her alive? Her scent washed over me and I had to clear my throat as my eyes traveled further up her uniform. A small stain of cherry pie was just below the collar. I chuckled softly as I wondered exactly how that had gotten there. I let my eyes finish to the path that it had taken in the first place. Isabella's face.

Her features were soft, the heart-shaped lines of her jaw, set the rest of her face in perfect alignment, except one eye drooped a millimeter lower than the other. Her eyes softened the rigid lines of her cheekbones while her hair was pulled back tightly, swept up in a ponytail with some adornments. She was flawless. Beauty in this case was as innocent as the perception of the waitress she portrayed. I slowly reached out with my gift, making myself unknown to her and smirked. Her emotions were a mix of acceptance, relief and a slight case of irritation. I'm quite sure it was the fact that I had blatantly let my eyes wander up her figure as she stood there.

She asked me if I wanted a glass of water and I simply nodded, not saying a word. She turned stiffly on her heel, muttering something under her breath I couldn't quite catch and walked behind the counter. The sound of the glass digging into the ice and the flow of water broke my haze and I returned my gaze back out to the window. Again, I saw my own reflection. I criticized every hardened line of my face, the crimson that stared back at me and the beauty that would swoon my meal. I glanced over at my guitar, looking at every sticker that was placed on the case, a memory of some towns I had been in. Austin, Dallas and back to where I was born, Galveston stood out in my vision. The rest I could honestly do without; they brought up only of the death that I had bestowed upon their towns.

I could hear the light footsteps of Isabella approaching me again and setting the glass of water down on the table. I let my gaze flicker to the glass; with the heat condensation had already started to form from the chill of the ice. I reached out, pulling the glass to me and brushed my fingers along the rim, following its circular form. I kept my eyes trained on the glass, my fingers lightly moving in circles while the silence filled the air. I focused on Isabella's heartbeat while my fingers played. One, two, three…it continued on, steady and strong.

"There is a menu over there, if you would like something to eat?" She asked me and motioned towards the menu that was stuck behind the napkin holder.

"The water is just fine, I'm not very hungry at this moment."

I held my breath at the interaction; her scent was calling to me, and I couldn't risk taking her down before her shift was over. I let my eyes flicker up to the pulse point on her neck, watching the blood flow under the pale skin, and returned my eyes back to the glass. I could hear her footsteps withdraw away from me. She muttered again, incoherently; she honestly needed to speak up besides some talking like a pre-recorded show host. I stuck my finger in the glass, swirling the ice around and felt the temperature was even with mine. Something as cold as I was that was unlike my next meal. Isabella was warm and that was all that mattered to me at the moment.

I blew out the breath that I had been holding and listened as the grandfather and the little boy made their exit. The little bell above the door, ringing and the shuffle of the old man's feet made the emotions of the boy sadden. This must have been one of his favorite times, spending it with his grandfather over cherry pie. The door closed and I was cut off from their emotions; the only three people I could feel were the cook, someone in the back who must have had a door cracked open and Isabella. The cook was very disgruntled about his job but seemed to have a passion for whatever he was making. The second person was happy about what I did not know, and then there was Isabella. She was a never-ending swirl of emotions. I wondered what exactly she was thinking about with the cocktail that she was throwing off and was quite inclined to at least know something about her before she was killed. I didn't want to know her story, just a small minute detail. Her footsteps were drawing nearer again, seeing as I was the only patron in the entire restaurant and I pushed the glass of water away. I glanced over her shoulder at the clock. It was just before nine and I figured they were getting ready to close up. I listened to her heartbeat and locked my eyes with her as I stood up.

"We are getting ready to close up." She stated simply.

I gave her a curt nod and buttoned up my flannel shirt, pretending to have a chill and grabbed my guitar from the seat. I kept my eyes trained on her before I brushed past, inhaling slightly at her scent and let the venom pool in my mouth. The scent of black orchids and hibiscus would forever be ingrained in my head as the last meal of Cold Spring, Texas. I would bury the body and head out just before dawn, never returning to this one horse town for another kill. I reached out, pushing the door as my guitar swung at my side languidly and listened for the jingle of the bell as I made my exit to find a spot to wait.

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AN: I hope you enjoyed the first round of Jasper's POV. Leave some love and you will get a teaser from the next chapter.

TK