Edward

I can be dull and quiet, maybe even pathetic; all those things, really. I�d rather
read a book, or sit in a dive bar outside of town with people whose pores seem
inevitably larger than most others' � most normal, softer people�s � than rub
elbows and feign interest in horribly uninteresting people. I don�t have a lot of
time left before I�ll be dragged from my couch and thrown into Emmett�s obnoxious
vehicle, whichever it happens to be today, so I breathe in and out slowly, calming
myself for the anxieties this night will surely bring me.

I walk to the liquor cabinet above my desk and curl my fingers around a bottle of
Johnny Walker. I pour a glass and let the Blue Label wrap its warm velvet around
my stomach.

Courage in a bottle, right?

I clamp my hand around my forehead and push my hair out of my face, because
honestly I am a little hopeless and find myself cringing at my own internal
chatter. Still, the fact remains I am not looking forward to this night, and I am
officially filing a complaint with my familial loyalty department for agreeing to
go to this shit. I don�t want to be just another body pressing against strangers
in dark spaces, hoping to feel something. I feel enough, albeit for myself, but it
suits me fine.

Twenty minutes later I find myself in the passenger seat of some type of SUV that
probably has larger tires than is necessary, listening to Emmett angrily
confronting his cell phone. I�m not sure who is on the other end of the line, but
I do think it would be safe to assume they are currently experiencing swift
hearing loss.

�Do you hear me!? I said: Do. You. Hear. Me. Motherfucker?!� he spits into his
blackberry.

�I�m sure he hears you,� I mutter.

Emmett, amazingly, seems to hear me because he cracks a wide grin and thumps me on
the shoulder. However, this brief glimpse of the brother I know soon re-sprouts
several evil heads and snarls words like �fuck�, �fucking fuck�, and
�motherfuckin� fuckshit� to whatever unfortunate soul is still listening to him.
He slams the phone onto the dashboard and narrows his eyes at it as though it
can�t be trusted.

�You should really read more, build your vocabulary�� I say.

Refocusing on the road ahead of him, my genuinely confused mess of a brother asks,
�What?�

�Nothing.�

�Whatever,� he continues, �that asshole has cost me more money in the past week
than I�ve spent�ever! In my life! You can�t imagine how much.�

I roll my eyes to let him know just how much I doubt the validity of that
statement. He slightly nods and turns his palm up, seemingly conceding to the
point, and once again definitively ends the train of thought with, �Whatever. You
know what I mean, Edward.�

�So what is this, exactly? I mean, I know it�s a club, but, the purpose of me
being here is�?� I inquire.

�It�s an opening. I found the property for the smarmy bastard who owns it.�

I raise my eyebrow at �smarmy bastard� and Emmett waves it off.

�Later,� he says. �The point is, I was invited, and this opening will not be
lacking in business opportunity. I figure smarmy bastards with fat wallets travel
in packs, so I have to take the initiative here. We�ll see.�

�That still doesn�t answer my question.�

He stares at me blankly.

�Why am I here, Emmett,� I clarify for him.

�Oh. Well, I can�t go by myself, can I? Rosalie is at her mother�s, and there�s no
way I�m taking that fucktard Mike. Hell no. He had his chance, had his chance
several dozen times in fact, and I can�t have some idiot with his head shoved up
his own ass representing me. Nuh uh. Fuck. That,� he passionately states while
making narrow eyes at his phone again.

I can�t help but smile.

�Besides,� he finishes, �I�m doing you a favor here. If you don�t get out of the
house more often, pretty soon you�ll be chasing the neighborhood kids off your
lawn for spying on creepy old-man Cullen.�

I laugh a short �ha!� into the air, and shake my head at him.

Sure.

He continues to complain about the woes of his partner, Mike, and the stresses of
the competitive world of commercial real estate until we finally pull into a lot
and leave his car with valet. The night air is cool, and I absorb as much of its
crispness into my lungs as I can before I�m subjected to what I assume will be the
over-perfumed aroma that plagues establishments like this. There are people lined
up down the block and around the corner already, and I can�t help but flare my
nostrils in disgust at the shining sea of glittery, sequined females that are
attempting to woo the bouncers into submission with their collective cleavage.

Emmett walks straight to the velvet ropes and announces himself to the 300 lb.
behemoth standing just on the other side.

�Emmett Cullen. And this is my plus one,� he grins, pinching my right cheek. Jaba
the Hutt eyes him warily, and after a quick glance at his clipboard unfastens the
rope and steps to the side. The walls are pumping with obnoxious music, and the
air hits me with the sickeningly sweet stench I had been expecting.

Give me stale cigarette smoke over this any day.

After thirty minutes of following Emmett around, anxiously pacing and unfairly
judging strangers while he talks to prospective clients, I decide it is time I
venture out on my own and have a drink. As I walk toward the large wall of liquors
I notice an unfathomably attractive couple sitting just out of reach of everyone
else, at the far left end of the bar. His blonde hair frames his face in an almost
artistic manner, and he seems positively in his element; his eyes roaming the bar
and floor with an intense look of satisfaction. I look to his right and take her
in more precisely, with more scrutiny, in a way that is so absolutely me.

Her green satin dress is simple and fitted closely at the waist. The neckline
follows in a straight line under her collar bone to the edges of her shoulders,
and as she turns herself to the right and leans in toward the blonde man I can see
the open back of her dress that has left the most beautiful cream-colored skin
exposed to my thankful eyes. Her hair is long, rich brown, and hangs in soft waves
over her shoulders. The shape of her lips, the slight curve of her nose, and the
high rise of her cheekbones have me swallowing my saliva and clenching my fists.
Then she looks directly at me. Big brown doe-eyes that look absolutely bored, but
suddenly wider, brighter, for only a second before she looks away.

I tear my eyes away from her and back to the task at hand. I am soon holding a
glass of scotch and stealthily gazing in that skillful way men have , and I see
that she is drinking what appears to be whiskey as though it were water, never
flinching, eyes focused on a far corner of the room. I have a seat on one of the
barstools and try to pinpoint what she is so transfixed by. The blonde man is
standing in a corner surrounded by giggling, surely charmed women that graze his
arm with their fingertips as he animatedly talks with his hands. In a quick moment
he turns his attention somewhere beyond them with the distinct look of recognition
in his eyes, as if to say, �Oh. There you are.� and politely excuses himself from
his present company. I turn back to the end of the bar, and my breath stops in my
chest, a lump surges to my throat, as I take in brown eyes staring directly, and
purposefully at me with an overwhelming emotion I cannot place for the life of me.
Apparently the room has turned into a vat of wet cement, because I am so
physically held to my position that I cannot look away. My jaw sets, my spine
stiffens, and Jesus Christ, this is unnerving.

A hand grabs my shoulder, and my brain snaps like a twig. I blink furiously like a
man recovering from unconsciousness, and Emmett�s wide eyes are clearly asking,
�What the hell?�

�Yes?� I somehow manage.

�Um,� he tilts his head just a fraction before continuing, �Come on, there�s
someone I want you to meet. Well actually, I just want you to sit there and look
regal or some shit. Hot damn, I knew this was my night!�

He is visibly becoming more excited, pumping himself up with every word he says.

�Don�t embarrass me, Edward,� he points a finger at my chest, and I raise my

eyebrows disbelievingly.

�I�m sorry, did you say�� I begin, but he cuts me off.

�Just look good, I�m sure you can handle that. It�s all about presentation. He�s
so pleased with this place already, I think he�s looking to see what else I can
find for him. I am so good, Edward. Sometimes I don�t believe it myself,� he
laughs excitedly.

I am completely lost, and he gives my ass a good-game slap as though this will
spur me on; get me excited about this business endeavor that could not make a fuck
of difference to me. I�m still reeling from browneyes, and the fact that Emmett
asked me not to embarrass him, that I do not even realize he is leading me
directly to a rounded booth that a certain green dress and head of blonde hair are
currently situating themselves into.

The blonde slightly raises from his seat, hunched over the table, and quickly
shakes my hand.

�Jasper Whitlock,� he says with a smile, and is seated again. He gestures with an
open hand to browneyes, and says all in the world I think I�ve ever waited to
hear, �And this is Isabella Swan.�

And this is Isabella Swan.

And this is Isabella Swan.

And this. Is.

This. Is.

She does not offer her hand to shake, and I can�t say I would have been able to
take it if she tried, so we give quick, polite nods to one another. I mumble that
my name is Edward and all of those pleasantries. Emmett slightly nudges me to seat
myself, and I slide into the booth toward her, leaving a few feet between us so
that the four of us are angled in a way that allows us to look each other in the
face without any uncomfortable twisting or turning. I want to stare at her, I want
to memorize bones and skin and the coloring of her cheeks until I satisfy whatever
part of my brain needs this image to be permanent.

No one is more surprised at the electricity that is shorting out in my veins and
stinging my skin, than I am. I�m enamored with the figure across from me because I
know she has to be something unusual - something wonderful. I have no idea how to
confirm this yet, but I am more than certain I will do whatever it takes to find
out. As the conversation carries on around me, I try to observe their relationship
more closely. They do not touch, they are not even sitting close enough for their
thighs to make the slightest contact. She tries to seem interested in what Jasper
and Emmett are saying until the conversation turns purely business, at which point
she stares at her own hands on the table, fidgeting with a napkin, tearing it to
smaller and smaller pieces.

�What do you think, Edward?�

The words break me from my reverie and I snap my head up to see Jasper staring at
me expectantly.

�I�m sorry?� I start.

He tilts his head to the side for a moment, and then waves his hand in a sweeping
gesture toward the room around us. �About this. What do you think of it?�

I can feel Emmett�s eyes burning holes in the side of my face. I take a drink from
my glass and determine to answer him truthfully.

�I think. Well, I think it looks like a nightclub,� I say with a completely stiff
gaze that never leaves him as I turn my mouth�s attention back to the glass in my
hand. He doesn�t say a word and seems to be waiting on me to elaborate. �I�m
probably the wrong person to ask,� I continue, �I�m a med student, I mean, I don�t
really� you know�� and I just let the words hang like that, drifting helplessly in
the air, because I am an idiot. The corner of his mouth is slightly upturned, and
he swallows a mouthful of whatever he is drinking before he addresses me again.

�So that is to say, I shouldn�t expect any doctors or other illustriously employed
persons in a place like this? Yes?�
Why does he say everything with a smile?

I don�t give myself enough time to gather my wits before I blurt out an answer.

�No, I mean, not necessarily. Just not this doctor.�

I even illustrate my point by turning a finger toward my own chest. I mentally

slap my ridiculous finger. I don�t mind telling blondie that I don�t care for this
place, or any other place like it for that matter, but I shouldn�t have done it in
front of her. Because now that I�ve started being an ass, well, I have to follow
through, don�t I?

�Well, who knows, maybe with time you�ll find it�s exactly the sort of place you
want to be. After all, you�re not a doctor yet, are you?�

He smiles again, and that gracious, humbled tone with which he spoke is completely
mangled by the condescending glint in his eyes.

Hm. Look at that. Emmett had it right. Fucking smarmy bastard.

I�m sure Emmett will be going into cardiac arrest momentarily, and I feel suddenly
as though I should reign this in. Just a little. I mean besides, where did this
even come from? I don�t know this man at all. So I throw my best full-toothed grin
back in his face, and I hope like hell I am blinding him or at least mindfucking
him with my suddenly light mood, because I refuse to be painted the asshole in
this picture.

What are you even talking about?

�Perhaps,� I say with a laugh, �Who knows, I just may become a different person
entirely someday. One can never tell.�

I hear a small laugh, like bells or even a goddamned xylophone, just this
tinkering, lovely sound that floats to me with a big red bow tied around it. It�s
a laugh that says, �Here. You are a better person just for being in my presence.�
I must be smiling like an idiot because Emmett�s stare is glued to my face and I
see this beautiful thing in her green satin dress laughing gently at me with her
hand covering her mouth, eyes smiling. The heat of her blush rises to the surface
on her cheeks and I would do anything she told me to right now; I would eat
insects, I would put my hand on a burning stove, I would listen to this awful,
meaningless music for hours on end, I would read Henry David fucking Thoreau
without yawning even once. She only has to ask.

She turns in that instant to meet Jasper�s all but amused expression, and for the
first time I hear her speak.

�Oh come on, Jasper, you�re too serious,� she says, hand wrapping around the crook
of his arm, �God knows I didn�t want to be here. That doesn�t make this any less
of a success.� She pointedly sets her eyes on the sea of glittered, sweating,
sexual tension. Their bodies pressing together in the dark. Feeling. Feeling
whatever it is they were meant to be feeling.

He kisses the top of her head and she is dead behind the eyes again, just like
that. I know I should get over this, I should stop my train of thought
immediately, but something is keeping me hopeful and I don�t know if I should feel
like a weasel for that or not. I can have my pick. I can go home with someone if I
decide. People are easy, people are predictable, and it�s not even special that I
can get away with it. The problem is, I don�t want just someone.
I�ve had plenty of someones.

I�ve never really had anyone.

--
Bella

I lean back in the booth, my head resting on the top of the seat, and go about my
usual task.

Count cracks in the ceiling. Count blue lights. Count red lights.

Don�t move your face so much. Just keep counting.

Jasper kisses the top of my head. A few moments later he snakes an arm across my
back and rubs his hand across my ribcage a few times before settling his hand on
my hip. My face has probably given me away, and surely he caught it. I don�t know
why Jasper is suddenly so interested in displaying affection this way, and I
cannot help the instantaneous wide-eyed surprise I show.

Jasper and I had driven here tonight in silence. It is not like him to look so
tense, so I assumed he was nervous, though I can�t understand why. We�ve done this
several times now, and it�s always the same. He opens a venue of some sort, we
stand like showpieces in various areas of the room, he inspects, he nods approval
at, well, essentially himself, he tolerates my glum mood, I smile and adore so
that he seems stable, trustworthy, whatever it is he wants to seem. Which is
usually whatever it is we are not. What we are however, is something I cannot
describe in only a few sentences.

Sometimes I want to give us more credit than we deserve, and other times I make us
out to be monsters when I know we are not. Sometimes I think there is no one in
the world who understands me more, and yet less, than Jasper. Everything is such a
paradox with us. He is not mine, and I am not his. We are each other�s constants.
We are a habit. We are a nicotine fix. We�re a celebratory dance in our own honor.
I am not sure how many women Jasper is currently sleeping with, if any at all, and
I do not ask. I am told, I am always told, that I am free to do as I please.

What I please. Hah.

I spend time with my own head, I develop the deepest love-hate relationship with
myself the earth has ever witnessed, and I ignore life as people tell me it should
be. I think I am happy, but being happy is such a difficult thing. I only know I
don�t have to force myself to feel what I don�t, I don�t have to wonder if
something is horribly wrong with me for not caring as much, I don�t have to be
inadequate, I don�t have to be any other typical thing a woman has to be when she
gives someone that power over her.

The soft kick of leather against my ankle directs my attention away from the
ceiling, out of my thoughts and into green eyes. Edward immediately raises his
hand discreetly from the table, waving it away and mouths, �sorry.�

Sorry? He certainly doesn�t look sorry.

Edward. I have been trying everything in my power since I spotted him earlier to
distract myself from how fast my thoughts run when he�s in my line of vision. I�ve
imagined pinching those lips of his between my fingers; pulling that beautiful
mess of bronze hair as hard as I can when his back is turned; biting his knuckles
when he pointed to himself and said �Not this doctor� because his voice was so
sure, while his body said otherwise.

God, look at you go, Bella. Don�t be that girl. But really, did he just kick me on
purpose?

Jasper and Emmett have returned to negotiations, property speak, terms I don�t
care to know. Edward appears to be paying rapt attention, but I see his eyes
focused somewhere just beyond them, through them. His jaw is flexing repeatedly,
and there is something so incredibly tantalizing about that action that my pulse
is quickening.

I�m bored.

I�m bored?

I�m bored.

There is something standing between us, some sort of fog.

I want a reaction from him.

I have no idea why I so badly need a reaction from him.

In that second I extend my foot -- I close the distance between our limbs.

I kick his ankle.

I kick it with more force than he kicked mine.

Edward slightly jumps in his seat, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, and then
he�

He fakes a cough. He fakes several coughs.

I want to explode in laughter, I want to kiss that smooth cheek of his. Jasper and
Emmett both ignore his coughing fit, and then he slyly looks to me, eyes so
curious. I mimic his earlier action with my hands, and mouth 'sorry' in the same
manner. He turns his eyes back to Jasper, back to the rapid hand motions in their
now drunken, fast conversation, and I see the most enchanting smile spread slowly
across his face.

That smile does things to my blood, it changes my internal chemistry, it sends

sparks through my brain, through my stomach, it sets a fucking Roman candle off in
my chest. I don�t know this feeling very well, if at all, and I think I should be
leaving soon.

�Jasper,� I say softly, touching his hand. �I�m getting tired, I think it�s time
to leave. We�ve been here for hours.�

He grimaces slightly, but nods his head.

�All right,� he says, and I cannot believe he didn�t say the words ok, after I do
this, or ok, after I do that. We stand, he shakes hands with Emmett, and shifts to
Edward, giving him a mere nod and resolute, �Edward.�

Edward returns the gesture, and never makes eye contact with me. I am slightly put
off by this, and berating myself internally, when just as we are walking past them
toward the door, I feel a rather brutal thump on the top of my hand. I see a
slight smirk play on Edward�s face from my peripheral vision. I stiffen at the
attack, but keep walking with my eyes straight forward.

He just thumped me!

That little shit just thumped the hell out of my hand , and it hurts!

I want to break down in laughter or at the very least go back and kick him in the
shin, but Jasper is tugging on my arm, ushering me out the door, and�and� and what
the? What the hell just happened?

I don�t even notice the parking attendant hand Jasper his keys, or the fact that
he all but throws me in my seat. I feel like someone with a secret they can�t wait
to tell, I feel twelve and light-hearted. I feel a slow anxiety building through
me and I want to push someone, I want to be anything but contained.

I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me right now.

After a few minutes Jasper finally breaks the silence.

�Bella, promise me something.�

I�m curious to know where this is going, because his tone is something different,
something I have never heard in him.

�What am I promising you?�

�Promise me,� he begins, a serious look of conviction on his face. This hesitation
causes my heart to stop in my throat, but suddenly his face relaxes as though he
has changed his mind about something. He finishes, �Promise me you will never wear
a dress with sequins or rhinestones. Ever.�

I can�t help it, I snort and let out a laugh, �You hardly have to worry about
that, Jasper.� He softly chuckles with me, and the corners of his eyes seem tense
again.

�Anything else you need me to promise?� I ask. There is still something worrying
there, and I have to pry even though I know it is a conversation I am not
interested in having.

He grins and shakes his head. �No. That�s it, really.�

�It was good, Jasper. Really nice. Everything looked perfect. Not that I expect
anything less from you,� I smile as warmly as I can.

�Yeah, should do some decent business. Ok, let�s stop talking like responsible
adults. Please? I�m getting sick of everything I�m saying right now,� he is
smiling and shaking his head and this is the person only I am allowed to see.

�No argument from me,� I raise my hands in surrender. �Did you see that guy with
the gold lam� jacket? I couldn�t tell if I wanted to be his friend or throw red
wine on him��

�It was way too much. I�m pretty sure he had a pompadour, too,� we are both
laughing now, �Man� What a douche.�

And just like that we are back to whatever we are, ignoring anything that may need
to be said. This is how we work: Take nothing seriously, give nothing seriously,
live as insincere shells. We make it to my apartment and he asks when I start
school again. �Next month,� I say, and he steps out of the car.

�This is your last year?�

�Mhm,� I say, turning from the car to find his face only a few inches from mine.

�What will you do?� he asks, barely audible.

My throat feels dry.

�Live.� I shrug my shoulders, and we say nothing for a very long, awkward moment.

He guides my shoulder toward the building, and walks beside me. He runs his index
finger down the length of my exposed spine, stopping at the small of my back. This
is how he tells me that he is staying tonight. He is telling me that we are going
to let skin do the trick. We�re going to hold our breath, and smother our tongues.
Words aren�t getting out of here tonight.

I am tangled in the sheets, and the sun is turning the sky a light blue and pink
from the other side of my open window. Jasper is leaning over the window sill, his
cigarette caressing the morning air. I watch the smoke trickle into nothing, and
then stare at the musculature of his back. He is lean and riddled with scars from
an angrier time in life; his back a gruesome aerial shot of some mountainous
region. I don�t know the full story. All I know is that he likes me to dig my
nails into them as hard as I can when he�s over me. He stands up straight, and I
know he will turn to look at me so I quickly close my eyes, pretending to be
asleep. I can hear him stalking about the room, keys jangling. His lips are soon
pressed lightly to my eyelids; first the right, then the left. He pushes the hair
back from my forehead and lingers there for a moment. I can feel his hot breath on
my face, stinging my skin. He rubs his nose against my cheek for only a fraction
of a second, and then it is gone, vanished in the cold morning.

I hear the door close and turn over on my back, sighing something heavy. I try to
run through the broad range of emotions I have experienced in the last 12 hours,
and feel nothing but simply� at a loss.

Will this ever end?

Who will end it?

Do we want to end it?

Do I?

What is �it�, anyway?

Why am I still rubbing the top of my hand?

Why does it stab my gut to know I may never see that bronze head of hair again?

Why do I feel guilty for thinking this?

This is so typical.

It�s all questions, and no answers with me.

--
Edward
It�s been weeks since I�ve been out. I have spent countless nights making my way
through the Criterion Collection in its entirety. I read, I turn off my phone, I
study, I turn my phone back on, I scowl at the number of voicemails, I become
overwhelmed and turn it off again. I think it�s useless that no one I actually
want to speak to ever calls. Then again, I can�t think of who I mean when I say
that.

Well, yes I do. Her. The one who couldn�t possibly call me even if she wanted to.
It seems like an eternity ago, meeting her.

I don�t remember coming home that night. I don�t remember the drive. I don�t
remember a word Emmett surely said. I don�t remember unlocking the door. I don�t
remember crawling into my bed.

Here is a list of what I do remember, and what I know:

- Isabella Swan.

- My ankle. Sore for days.

- That blush. Oh, that blush.

- Her hand wrapping around that dickwad�s arm.

- I want to push her into something.

- She would push me back.

- I want to see her surprised.

- I want to be surprised.

- Isabella Swan.

I replay the data. I want to remember her scent, capture it, memorize it somehow,
like filing it away for later dates. I want to know what it�s like to sleep beside
the girl who can smell impossibly delicious when she is on the other side of the
table in a room heavily saturated in cheap perfumes. How can she be so distinct?

I become annoyed with myself for slightly obsessing over someone I know next to
nothing about, and stride across the room to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator
door and stare at the sad state of its contents; a few condiments and bottles of
beer.

So standard, right?

I shrug and grab one of the bottles, turning to stare out my front window. This
night is bleak and I am feeling something anxious, like I need to get out of here.
Maybe because I put the thought out there, into the hands of some greater
conscience, my prayers are suddenly answered. A familiar black SUV pulls into my
driveway and I can�t help but grin. I practically skip to the door and stand in
front of it, staring at the knob like the psychotic idiot I am, until there is a
welcomed knock. I pull the door back to what appears to be a very worried Emmett.

�Jesus! Why the hell haven�t you answered your phone? What if something awful had
happened and I really needed to�� he spews without a breath, but I cut him off.
�Ok, ok, ok. Calm down, I�ve been�busy.�

He takes a deep breath, steps into the house, and stares at my sparse living area.
He does not seem at all convinced that I�ve been busy with anything, but seems
willing to let it drop.

�Edward, get dressed.�

�Where are we going?� Not that it matters, I�ll go anywhere.

�A lounge. I�ve got to meet that Jasper guy again, but it�ll be brief. He just
needs to sign some papers,� he begins to smile wide, �he�s buying another place.�

Jasper.

Jasper and Isabella.

Surely she�ll be there.

She should be there, right?

She has to be there.

�Give me five minutes,� I say, sprinting to my room.

�Yeah, sure �Congratulations, Emmett! Good job being amazing, Emmett!� � he calls
out sarcastically, �Oh, why thank you for being so supportive, Edward!�

�Sorry, yeah,� I say peeking out from around the corner of my bedroom door, �of
course. Congratulations, Emmett.�

�Thank you,� he replies with self-satisfaction.

I wash my face, I stare at my face, I pinch my face, I�m ok with my face. I grab
my leather jacket out of the closet and let everything blur on the drive over. I
think of things like how much I like cinnamon, how perfect the air smells tonight
because it is full of rain, how much I don�t want to be disappointed, how easy it
is to be disappointed, how I am really ridiculous and want to speak like this to
someone so much that it hurts.

I shove my hands in my pockets and follow Emmett into the dark space. He stops in
front of a table and I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, take a breath, and open
my eyes to Jasper sitting, staring.

Alone.

He�s alone at the table and he is staring at me.

He says hello to Emmett and he is still staring at me.

Fuck!

Maybe she�s in the restroom?

�You remember my brother, Edward,� Emmett says nodding in my direction.

�Mhm,� he responds simply, and we have a seat.

Fucking shit, I should have known she wouldn�t be here.

And now I have to endure this jackass�

�Something to drink?� I hear Jasper ask, and notice there is a petite brunette
standing to my immediate right, looking down with expectation.

�Ah, no thanks, I�m fine,� I decide.

She touches my arm lightly with a sugary grin on her face and says, �Just let me
know if you change your mind. Anything you need, I�ll be right over there.� I turn
my head away from her before she completes the sentence and focus on Jasper,
hoping she does not try to linger.

Jasper raises an eyebrow at me and then addresses Emmett, �So. Let�s get business
out of the way, yeah? I need to relax a little before I head home.� He places his
index finger and thumb on the bridge of his nose and smoothes out his eyebrows. He
seems stressed and suddenly I realize I want to know why. I need to know why. I
watch them shove papers back and forth for several minutes and begin to wonder at
this situation.

Does he live with her? And if so why does he need to relax before going home to
her? Am I wasting my time? I am probably wasting my time.

Emmett straightens his stack of papers on the table and places them in a green
folder. Jasper waves the brunette back over to the table and orders three Stella
Artois, emphasis on the Artois.

Prick.

When he sees the look on my face that says, I said I�m not drinking, jackass, he
plainly states, �It�s just a beer.�

Emmett pipes up to soothe the strange tension that always seems to be lingering
between Jasper and I for a reason I still don�t fully understand.

At least not on his part.

�Yeah, a beer won�t hurt, but I should probably be getting home soon.�

Jasper looks slightly confused before I chime in, �Rosalie?�

He nods his head, �Rosalie.�

�Your girlfriend?� Jasper asks.

�Wife,� Emmett corrects.

Jasper�s eyes widen, �really? You�re married?�

�Three years now. We�ve been together much longer than that though,� Emmett looks
down at the table thoughtfully, smiling to himself. Rosalie is the only thing that
seems to soften him, even if momentarily.

�Sorry, I didn�t mean to seem so surprised. It�s not like it�s unusual or
anything, people our age being married�� Jasper seems to trail off, looking into
the distance. This peaks my curiosity, and I decide I am sick of keeping my mouth
shut or only babbling when I chance to open it. I want to keep him talking.
�Yeah I guess it isn�t. I tend to forget, myself. I can�t even imagine it,
really�� I try to sound light, simply keeping with conversation.

�Me either,� Jasper states.

�What about, what�s her name, ah�� Emmett seems to search his memory, and I want
to kiss him for following this thought.

Isabella.

Isabella.

�Bella?� Jasper finishes for him, his previous confusion turning into what looks
like surprise.

�Yeah, Isabella,� Emmett says.

�No,� he says, shaking his head at the table, eyes tense, �That�s. Well, that�s
complicated. It�s not anything like that, really.�

I will do a cartwheel on top of this fucking table right now.

I don�t want to seem too eager for him to continue on this subject, and I am so
confused by what exactly this is I am feeling at the moment that I don�t know if I
truly want to hear anymore. The waitress places our beers on the table, and I am
suddenly grateful to have it.

�Complicated. Yep. Been there,� Emmett says amicably, and you can cut this
awkwardness with a knife. No one seems to have any idea what to talk to the other
about, but as I look up at Jasper I notice something completely different in his
face. He seems thoughtful, pained even. The signs of stress he showed earlier seem
to have coated him completely now, and he sighs heavily.

�I don�t mean to sound as though she isn�t important to me. She is. I�m just not
cut out for any kind of, you know, serious relationship. It�s good for those who
can. That�s nice, it�s admirable even. I�m just�� he looks exasperated and shakes
his head again, �It�s just not for me. That�s all.� In an instant he smiles that
shit-eating grin again, his face back to a mask of complete confidence and even
obnoxiousness.

I barely know how to react to such an admission to two strangers, at least semi-
strangers, and before I can think better of it I open my stupid mouth, �so she
isn�t even your girlfriend?�

What the HELL, Edward?

He straightens up in his seat and his smile fades.

�Well she isn�t available, if that�s what you mean,� he says calmly,
intentionally.

Fuck it. I�m all in now, anyway, aren�t I?

�It�s nothing serious, but she isn�t available?� I throw back in his face, trying
to appear as though this isn�t dire information I need, but rather a challenge to
him just because. Just because it is painfully obvious we do not like each other.
�That�s exactly what I said.�

�Just seems contradictory, that�s all.�

�Can�t help you there. I said it was complicated.�

�Fair enough. I don�t mean anything by it, you know? I just got a different
impression, that�s all.�

Like hell I didn�t mean anything by it.

I mean it.

You can see that I mean it, can�t you?

�It�s fine,� he smiles again. We are having an entirely different conversation

with our eyes. I don�t know what I�m doing.

Fifteen minutes and several business-related ramblings later Emmett and I excuse
ourselves from The Blonde One�s company. We drive back without conversation, and I
begin to unravel myself. I know that I had no reason, and no real right to behave
the way I just did, whether it was as seriously conveyed as it felt or not.

I don�t know this woman at all, and there is a 95% chance I will never see her
again. I felt instinctively protective about a woman I know nothing about. I
puffed up like a fucking gorilla back there, trying to make something apparent to
him. All I know of her is her childish kicking tendencies, her lingering laugh,
her incredibly strange stares. I can�t believe my train of thought lately and
everything about me seems out of control and spinning into some desperation over
an idea.

I�ve never done this before, and I have to remind myself. People always talk about
that thing, that pull toward someone, that electric charge that fills the air
around you. I spent so long waiting for that, I had given up and called bullshit.
I don�t know what happens between people when there is a real pull, I don�t know
what it feels like to be ecstatic and shaky and buzzing about the person lying
beside you. I don�t know if I can ever feel it, but I know that looking across
that table I never wanted it more. I have to put this to rest. I don�t know this
woman. I�m building an idea in my head that�s about to topple over on itself. I
have to get this out of my head.

As I make my way to my room I do not
pelting the windows, and I fall onto
jacket. I need so many things, and I
person obsessing over what he has no
have to keep reminding myself.
bother to turn on any lights. I hear the rain
the bed without bothering to remove even my
do not like feeling like a weak, ridiculous
control over. I�ve never done this, and I

I really have to get rid of this.

I want skin, and more than skin; I want to feel the spine of something strong and
stable.

I really have to get rid of this.

--
Bella

Rain smacks my black umbrella as I trudge across the parking lot. I feel satisfied
when I hear my rain boots slosh in puddles, and am so preoccupied by watching this
take place, that I almost run straight into the curb, flat faced onto the
sidewalk. I stop myself with one hand and look around carefully, hoping that no
one saw this little incident. Thankfully the lot is empty as usual.

I come to this theater when I have an itch to leave the house, to be alone, to see
images that make me feel calm, happy, something. It�s an old, rather dilapidated
building that specializes in cult films and arthouse type movies; it�s rather
pretentious and I don�t really mind it. People are rarely here in the afternoons,
and if so, they are usually quiet movie-goers with minimal commentary throughout
the showing.

I purchase a ticket for Tarkovsky�s Mirror and make my way a little excitedly up
the winding stairs to the left of the entrance. It�s wonderful, this place. The
air is a little damp, the corners are very dark, the staff is scarce, and the
auditoriums are small and hidden away in the oddest angles of the building, like
you�ve stumbled onto a secret. I walk down the aisle of Theater 4, and touch the
old, deep purple velvet of the seats on my way. I sit a few rows from the back,
directly in the center. I take a look around and see that an older couple is on
the very back row, to my left. There is no one else in sight, and I sigh, content
to feel this way.

It has been a long week and I want to feel invisible anywhere I happen to be. I
have not heard from Jasper in several days, and it feels like a cinderblock
lifting from my chest. Last week I was in a caf� sitting alone having a piece of
cardboard that had been listed under Club Sandwich, when Jasper walked past me,
never noticing me, straight to the counter. His hand was locked with a very petite
girl, short black hair matted to her face, large round sunglasses appearing wobbly
and massive on such a small, sharp visage.

I sat there holding my pathetic sandwich and it felt like watching a ghost or
observing an animal I had never seen before in his natural habitat. He smiled, he
petted her hair, he put his hand on the back of her neck, he leaned down and
whispered with such genuine warmth, and to my surprise I didn�t feel nausea. It
only felt like melting, like my limbs were slowly evaporating, and something was
leaving me. He had turned sometime later, his eyes finding mine staring back from
behind dark sunglasses. I will never be able to explain to myself what his
expression was then. Was it regret? Was it fatigue? Was it surprise, or
satisfaction? Smugness? Anger? Shame? It could have been everything.

The click of a projector places me back in the here and now. As the room goes
completely dark and the screen lights up I hear the door to our theater close
abruptly, immediately followed by a pair of feet lightly padding down the aisle.
Out of usual curiosity, because I am nothing if not curious, I glance up and see
the faint profile of a very familiar man. His ridiculous muss of hair and the
outline of his jaw give him away to me immediately. As he stops several rows ahead
of me and ducks into a seat, I catch a quick glimpse of his face illuminated by
the screen, and my hands grip the armrests.

It�s Edward; the face that has come to me from time to time in the past several
weeks, while I�m doing something like walking, or eating, or breathing. I�d
thought of his face so much that first week, but in the last I�d all but given the
image away completely, but here he is, right in front of me. I had replayed the
way it felt when he�d thumped my hand as I passed more times than I care to admit.
It�s a strange sensation, remembering such a small, miniscule physical moment, yet
recalling it with such clarity. It was nothing really, but at the time I felt like
he was printing a novel there on my hand; a manual even, a guide to the rest of
whatever this is.
A slow smile spreads across my face, and those feelings are back again; the
exhilaration, the anxiety, the need to do something, anything. I stand and make my
way quietly to the row behind him, seating myself in the chair exactly diagonal
from him. I see his hand move to his mouth and realize he is chewing on popcorn,
which somehow strikes me as very funny that anyone would eat popcorn while
watching a movie like this. It�s not exactly the sort of thing you are wildly
entertained by; entranced would be much closer. I hear him eagerly eating his
snack and I am struck by how endearing I find this simple act.

So naturally, I thump him as hard as my fingers can muster in the back of the
head.

His face from this vantage point is priceless as his eyes become wide, and he
jerks around in his seat looking ready to pounce. When his eyes find mine, he
opens his mouth as though he may shout, but stops abruptly, jaw snapping shut,
eyes wide in surprise, and then turns around in his seat without a single word. My
heart rate picks up.

Was that not funny? Oh my God, am I terribly annoying? Is he horrified to see me

here? Was I imagining his schoolyard flirtations? He is not interested in playing
this game at all, and I am an insufferable idiot.

Before another self deprecating thought can surface, my right eye is assaulted by
a piece of white styrofoam-textured fluff.

What the?

I can�t help but smile. I am smiling like some twisted version of myself,
Bizzarro-Bella, because this man has just thrown a piece of popcorn at me. I feel
like a puppy whose master just agreed to throw the stick again. He wants to play.
I�m not an insufferable idiot after all, or at least not yet. So, very quickly,
excitedly, perhaps with a little more force than I�d originally intended, I give
the back of his chair a swift kick. He lurches forward with a huff, but then I see
his hands fly to his throat, as his eyes bulge and he begins to sputter and
gurgle.

He�s choking.

I�ve killed him.

Death by popcorn, this is so inappropriate.

I jump from my seat and run into his aisle, my hand flying to his back like a
mother burping her child, I am probably stringing words together uselessly and
incoherently. Worry and panic are wrinkling my forehead into an unattractive mess,
when a handful of popcorn is shoved brutally into my face, greasy melted butter
smearing across my cheek, a piece lodging into my nose. My mouth opens in absolute
shock as I stare blankly, completely caught off guard. His face cracks into the
most beautiful mess of stifled laughter, and eventually spews out from him in a
snort.

�SHHHHHHHHHH!� we are hushed by our back row neighbors.

He sinks further in his chair, a child caught, and hands me a napkin. I wipe my
face, glaring at him the entire time, as he covers his mouth, his wonderful grin
peeking out between his fingers. His eyes are so bright with amusement that I
break and cover my own laughter. I ball the napkin up and throw it in his lap. He
doesn�t even look down at it, but keeps his eyes focused on me. His right ankle is
sitting casually on his left knee, and his chin rests lazily in his hand, elbow
propped up on the armrest between us. My body is still, but my head is exploding
and popping inside. We stare at each other like this for awhile. We even smile, in
a very small, subtle way, at one another. There is a certain frustration about us,
even sitting here so unexpectedly like this. I want to climb inside his head.

The opening scene begins, but I do not turn to watch it. This is really saying
something, because I love the way the woman stops the boy�s stuttering; his hands
fanned out in front of him, hypnotized. Edward�s face is quite possibly the only
thing that could happily distract me from it.

�Do you come here a lot?� he whispers.

�Pretty often.�

�I�ve never seen you before.�

�I�ve never seen you before.�

�Maybe you have.�

�I would remember it.�

His eyes soften, the corner of his mouth turning up, �Would you?�

I simply nod my head.

He takes in a sharp breath and faces the screen. We watch in silence, my nerves
are calmed and then I am on edge just as suddenly, this visual washing through me.
I am incredibly aware of his presence beside me some 30 minutes in when he shifts
in his seat, resting his hand on his knee. I slyly glance at his hand, his knee,
his thigh, his fingernails. I am overwhelmed with intrigue, and I want to analyze
exactly why that is. In the last five years I have paid little attention to anyone
other than myself, or Jasper, and even then I have opted to think very little.
I�ve never caught myself so interested in knowing anyone the way that I intensely
want to know this person sitting beside me right now. I cannot place what it is I
feel toward him, whether it�s simple lust, or just the pulls of some new mystery
for me to solve.

The man is gorgeous, this is obvious to anyone, but there is something else,
something behind his eyes, his motions, the way we have behaved during our small
and limited meetings. There�s something always standing in between us, a thin
mist, which keeps every nerve in my body standing at attention. We have been in
one another�s presence for a mere four hours total, and it�s possible I�m losing
my sense of perspective.

Later, Edward turns slightly in his seat and leans in toward me, his hot breath
grazing my ear, and whispers, �So what is it that you do?�

�What do you mean,� I ask, our faces only a few inches from one another.

�During your days� I mean, what do you do? Work? School?�

�English Lit. This�ll be my last semester.�

�You want to teach?�

�I haven�t decided on anything yet.�

He seems to be mulling this over for a moment before he speaks again, �So you
don�t work?�

�No. Not right now.� He seems a little confused so I continue, �Savings. A sort of
inheritance, actually. Not enough for a lifetime, but I should be alright for a
little while longer.�

I do not want to explain this, and never have, so I am glad when he seems content
enough to let it drop. He turns his attention back to the screen. I feel I should
have said something, so I lean into him this time, ready to do some prying of my
own.

�What about you? What do you do?�

�It seems about the same as you,� he smiles, �only I�ve got a lot of school ahead
of me. Three years of med school left before I can even start my residency.�

�Sounds overwhelming.�

�I don�t mind it. Not really.�

�I hate talking about school.�

He laughs that low hum of his, and says, �Me too. We can never do it again.�

�Fine with me.�

�So you agree we�ll talk again?�

I narrow my eyes, and swallow the nerves I don�t want to show, �I agree we�ll talk
more today.�

His mouth turns up in a sly grin and he taps his fingers on his knees, shaking his
head in an amused way. I feel so many things in this moment. I want to place my
hands on the side of his face and press our foreheads together. I want to say that
we should always talk, because there is a flood inside of my chest that boils and
sloshes around in such an uncomfortable way as a result of suppression; years and
years of stupid, blind suppression.

Instead, I do nothing.

Instead, I practice more self-preservation, more ignorance.

The movie comes to a close with sweeping pans of trees and a swell of music. The
room is still pitch black and neither of us makes a move to leave. He turns
completely in his seat, folding his legs up to sit Indian style, and I do the
same.

�I come here Thursdays. Usually around the same time,� he says.

�I�ve got nothing on Thursdays,� I try, hoping this is an invitation.

�No dates? Club openings? No�pouting blonde�s arm to dangle on?�

I bite my lip, I freeze a little, and tread lightly, �Ha! You find him pouty, do
you? He�s not pouty.�
�I think he�s pouty. Secretly pouty,� he states matter-of-factly.

�He�s not pouty. And I don�t� dangle.�

�Do you prefer �accessorize�?�

�What makes you think I�m the accessory in this equation?� I challenge, though I
have no idea where I am going with this.

�That�s a good question.�

�It�s neither. I mean it�s not the case with either of us. It�s not like that.�

�Then why don�t you explain it to me?�

�Because I don�t have to.�

He smiles again and the lights, though still dim, rise and alter everything. It
feels exposing and vulnerable. We both stand and make our way out of the theater,
down the winding stairs, and to the front doors. He shoves one hand in his pocket
and runs the other through his hair.

�I�ll see you Thursday, Isabella.�

�Oh, Bella. It�s Bella, actually. I don�t know why he introduces me that way�� I
begin to trail off, slightly upset with myself for bringing him into our
conversation again.

�Right. Well, maybe we can figure that out sometime. I�ll see you next Thursday,
Bella,� and with that he turns and leaves.

My drive home becomes a race to the sanctity and comfort of my bed. I begin to
wonder over my motivations, analyzing every detail of my words and actions the way
I am prone to do. I am terrified this is a reaction to Jasper. I am terrified that
we have systematically gutted one another over the span of five years until we
became hollowed out shells of people. The rain becomes heavier by the time I pull
into the apartment complex parking lot. I step out and walk slowly, not opening my
umbrella. I want to feel numb, and I want a hot bath. I want the sheets on my bed;
I want the absolute fucking oblivion of dreamless sleep.

I am nearly at my steps before my heart thuds back to a vicious pace, a pace with
a vengeance, when I see the curtains are drawn back. An all too familiar figure is
seated easily on the living room sofa, and my spine becomes stiff. I am surprised,
and that is actually really laughable because out of everything, this should be
the least surprising.

I open the door and do not even look his direction.

�I took your key a month ago, Jasper.� I say softly, bending down to wriggle my
feet out of their rubber casing.

�No, you took a key a month ago. Did you really think I wouldn�t make a copy?�

I do not bother to answer, and continue peeling off my wet clothing, throwing it
toward the couch at his feet. I want him to know that I am annoyed; I want him to
feel how unwelcome and tiring this is. I am stripped to my underwear before he
speaks up again, this time with a tone that sounds hesitant, but hungry.
�Bella. I�� he stops and sighs, and I finally turn to look and realize his eyes
are full of sadness.

�What, Jasper?�

�I don�t know.�

I bite back tears. I suck them down with my anger, because I am shaking and
enraged that I cannot read his mind and neither of us can seem to open our ugly
mouths. I shake my head, I open my mouth several times to say something, anything,
but nothing comes other than noises of bafflement and frustration. He stares back
at me, he stands very still, and then reaches for my wrist that is flailing around
in exasperation.

I push his hand away and start down the hall to my bath.

He calls that he will be back later.

The door closes.

All of my anger is for myself, and I shatter to pieces in my bathtub.

--

Bella

I stand in front of the full length mirror and try to count out the seconds before
I turn away. I never get past seven. I brush my teeth and try again; only five
this time. I swing the door open, stepping into my bedroom, and fling it shut
behind me again with the bad nature of a petulant child; throwing my tantrums and
hating myself for it. I lose the towel and wrap it around my dripping hair
instead; slipping on a black robe I�ve favored for one too many years as is
evidenced by the tears around the sleeves and hem.

I grab a pack of cigarettes from the bedside table and cringe at what I�m about to
do, because God knows they have to be stale and awful by now. I gave up smoking
over a year ago, and this pack has been sitting here for at least a few months; an
�in case� pack, reserved solely for spiteful purposes. Jasper hates it, and I have
nothing left to defy him with anymore.

I laugh at myself, and it�s not hard to see why. This is really fucking silly.

I walk into the living room and seat myself on the sofa, carefully avoiding the
soaked clothing piled at the foot of it, and prop my legs up on the coffee table.
I can�t be bothered with picking the mess up right now, because I�m waiting and
bouncing my leg furiously, nervously on the table, glaring out the window. Only
ten minutes pass before I see his car pull in and park. I grab a cigarette from
the table and light it hastily. I�m being beyond childish, and I cannot stop it.

Jasper opens the door, immediately flaring his nostrils in disgust, and leans back
against the frame once he�s closed it again. He doesn�t look in my direction for a
moment, but then spits, �put that fucking thing out.� He glares at me, and oh I
have been waiting for this.

�Come here,� I say as calmly as I can so that my voice will be strong and not
shake.

He regards me for a moment with a set jaw and straight lips. He removes his black
jacket and pushes the sleeves of his dark grey sweater up over his elbows as
though preparing for battle.

�Put it out,� he states again, but takes a step closer.

�Come here, and I will.�

Suspicion is clear on his face, but he still walks toward me until he is close
enough for me to reach out. I hold the cigarette between my thumb and index finger
and grab his wrist with my other hand, pulling it toward the cigarette until he
jerks away from me, rubbing his forearm as though I had really burned it.

He laughs humorlessly and shakes his head, �you�re fucking insane. You know that,
right?�

He knows I wouldn�t have done it, I would never have done anything to physically
harm him, so he sits down and angles himself toward me slightly. I stub the
cigarette out in the potted plant between the couch and window, then turn to face
him again. He reaches up and pushes at the towel wrapped around my head, then
unfolds it until it falls behind me. I am motionless throughout all of this and
never take my eyes away from his. I�m sick of staring games, so I grow a spine and
prepare myself for everything we have to say to each other this time. We must.

�Where did you go? Just now?� I begin.

�I just made circles. Drove aimlessly. I thought my head was clear before you got
here, but apparently I was wrong,� he pauses for a moment to stare at his feet,
�Where were you?�

It was almost a whisper, and still I could hear the hesitancy and� fear?

�I went to that theater I like. The one downtown.�

�The one with the black and white movies?� he looks up at me again, and I have to
clench my jaw to keep from gaping at how vulnerable he looks right now.

�Yeah. Same theater,� I say, not feeling the need to correct him, because I�m sure
any movie before 1980 may as well have been black and white to him.

A sudden look of determination comes over him, and he moves to completely face me,
one leg bent at the knee on the couch, �I may as well just get this the fuck over
with. I�m sorry you saw me out like that the other day. I�m sorry I didn�t say
anything, I just didn�t know what to do.�

�You don�t have to be sorry, Jasper. I�m not your keeper, you can do whatever you
want��

He cuts me off, �that�s not what I mean. I know that well enough. It�s just that,
you know, we�ve never actually seen each other with someone else. It just
felt�uncomfortable.�

�Jasper, I really don�t care. It�s not like I�ve been deluding myself into
thinking I�m the only female you spend your time with in that way, it�s really��

�I�m not sleeping with her,� he says firmly, shaking his head very slightly and
quickly at me.

This gives me pause for several reasons. I always assumed that Jasper�s personal
reasoning in all of this, this mess or convenience of a relationship we had built
together, was that he was partial to doing whatever the hell he wanted. Which I
assumed meant sexually first and foremost, among other things. We had never had a
completely explicit conversation about it, but it seemed very safe to assume this.
Right? Not only that, but why did he feel the need to clear up this exact point
with me?

�Ah. Well. Ok,� I let tumble out, because what else is there to say to this?

�You assumed I was, didn�t you?�

�Well. Well, yes, probably. I mean, I haven�t known you to be the expressly
affectionate type without some kind of�I mean. I barely know what I�m saying right
now. Yes. Yes, I assumed you were sleeping with her.�

Jasper�s eyes become wide, and then creased in concern. He puts a hand on my knee
and continues, �Is that how I�ve made you feel? That any affection or�fondness I
show toward you is just because I�m getting that,� he pauses with a pointed glance
over my body, �in return?�

�Well doesn�t it work that way with anyone?�

He laughs a sort of surprised laugh, a half bark, and looks at me incredulously,

�No, Bella. No, that is not how it works with anyone.�

�I don�t think I meant it quite how it sounded,� I say frustrated, because once
again I did not think before I spoke.

�The sad thing is, I think you did. Whether you realize it or not,� he says,
shaking his head again while staring at his hand placed lightly on my knee.

I move from under his palm and slouch down on the couch, feeling like such an
idiot, and absolutely angry at everything.

�Don�t look so sad like that, like you pity me or something! I can�t stand it. You
can�t act surprised that I would assume these things, Jasper!� My chest is heaving
now, and I can feel five years of un-had conversations about to break the hell out
of the dam.

I have his full attention now, his face stoic, his body rigid.

�All I have ever had, the only relationship I even know is this!� I raise my voice
slightly, gesturing from his chest to mine, �This! And we know it�s fucked up, and
we�ve dealt with it so well up until now. I don�t know what has changed, I don�t
know what flipped, but this past year has been one hell of a lesson in patience. I
don�t know what to do to feel normal anymore, to feel the way I used to. It wasn�t
difficult. Everything felt so understood, and I thought this was the best way, and
I know you did too.�

�Patience? What do you mean it�s been a lesson in patience?� he looks genuinely
hurt, and I feel like hiding in a corner because every bit of this conversation,
every bit of these emotions, is something we simply do not do. Ever.

�I felt like I was waiting. All year. Waiting on you, waiting on something, or
someone, to just stop this in its tracks and either make it better or disappear
completely. I can�t feel anything but cold when I�m with you now, and it was never
that way before. We understood each other, we wanted the same things. We were so
ambitious. And when I saw you the other day��
He grinds his teeth and swallows his adam�s apple, �what? You saw me, and what?�

�I saw you and I thought I have never seen you look so at ease in my life. It was
as though I had never met you,� I say softly, all of my anger washing away and
turning into complete fatigue.

Jasper sighs heavily, and slumps back into the couch, leaning into me, �Bella,� he
squeezes my hand and sighs again.

His voice is throbbing with something close to desperation as he tries again,

�Bella, you�re my only friend in this entire fucking world. I can�t lose you.�

I�ve never felt so defeated in my life.

�We can�t keep doing this, Jasper,� I say, turning to meet his gaze and pleading
with my eyes that he will see this. I need him to see that I am begging him to
understand how horrible this makes me feel, what a horrible person I am becoming,
and that I feel so used up and completely spent.

He nods almost imperceptibly and sighs so loudly that it fills the room, �I know.�

He pushes my damp hair from my forehead and tucks a few strands behind my ear
before standing up and walking to the door. He turns before leaving and softly
smiles such a pathetic thing at me.

�I�ll talk to you later.�

Edward

My feet have found their own way to my car, and it�s anyone�s guess how the hell
I�m controlling myself right now. I�ve had reoccurring flashes of popcorn and some
wonderful kind of cinnamon scented air as she passed me in the theater last
Thursday, and this shit is getting out of control.

Two weeks ago I had resolved myself to forget about this entirely. I passed my
time with books and movies and even a few dinners at Emmett and Rosalie�s. I�ve
never minded going out places on my own much, but even with this new resolve to
forget and chalk it up to another �what if?� in my life, sitting at a bar with a
beer never felt so fucking pathetic and downright lonely.

I should state for the record � and if only to myself, well, so be it � that it is
highly unlike me to let anyone, let alone someone I have seen for only a handful
of hours, get under my skin and cause me to fucking brood away and obsess like
some complete tool for days on end. I wondered for sometime if it was merely the
mystery of it. The way she had stared into space, so dead-eyed and empty, while
she sat next to her showboat, had caused more intrigue than I had bargained for.
The kick under the table, the playful way she mimicked me, had been something so
new to me. It was an interest unlike the usual. She hadn�t twirled her hair and
shoved her chest in my face; she hadn�t made boring and predictable jokes all
evening, or giggled uncontrollably at every fucking thing every male in the room
had said. There was nothing attention-seeking about her, yet I didn�t want to take
my eyes off of her. This is my reasoning, and I have to stick by it, because I may
unwind if I can�t find the logic.

I tried to be interested enough to take someone home two Friday�s ago, but it
ended in epic proportions of awful. Tanya, a friend of Rosalie�s, whom she had
eagerly been trying to get in the same room as me for months, was not a bad
looking girl. In fact, she was far from it. But, the closer I got to convincing
myself that it wouldn�t hurt to bring her back, that I could do worse, the more
intricately I began to pick her apart.

Her hair looked a bit dry and unnatural; the blonde a little too blonde. Her laugh
seemed completely disconnected from the upper half of her face, resulting in a
bizarre twisting of her mouth while her eyes stayed fixed and simple looking. She
smelled like peppermints and stale cigarettes. She was polite, but altogether
uninteresting. She didn�t seem to know or care about anything I brought up for
casual table talk over dinner. She drank one too many glasses of wine, and snorted
when I hadn�t said anything the least bit funny. She felt like a chore, leaning
against me as I held her up on the way back to the car. She seemed a little
stunned that I drove her directly home without any encouragement in regards to
another possible outing. She asked if I wanted to come in. I told her she
should�ve stopped trying an hour ago. She slammed my car door with a wrath I
haven�t seen too often. All I did was smile dumbly, and wave as I drove away.

I will never hear the end of this from Rosalie. Emmett will never hear the end of
this from Rosalie. I can�t help that her judgment was so off that I�d be willing
to say it seems as though she had never even fucking met me. I don�t know what
anyone expects from me, really.

I drive across town and past a grey landscape of buildings and puddles and lost
people wandering into their small bits of nothingness. I am so surprised at how
collected I feel right now, that I pinch the skin on the top of my hand. I think
this has something to do with that steel resolve I promised myself. Though I�d be
a goddamned liar if I said I didn�t feel it crumbling when I caught sight of those
wide brown eyes last Thursday, peering back at me from the darkness, humor
flirting on her lips.

I pull into the parking lot at a snail�s pace and continue to convince myself that
this isn�t really anything at all, it�s no big deal, and if anything I just want
someone to be interesting enough to talk to. I walk into the damp theater and rock
back on my heels, staring at the options. It�s 1:00 and there are two possible
shows I could choose. I grimace at myself for not thinking this far ahead before,
because who knows if I�ll even find her here today? Just as I�m about to give up
and go sit in my car like some crazed stalker hoping to see her walking across the
lot, I hear that wind-chime voice just over my shoulder say, �Two for �Steak�,
please.�

I smile without turning around, and take the tickets from the pimpled thing behind
the counter. I can hear her following in step behind me as we walk up the
stairway, bound for Theater 4. I wonder if it�s a coincidence and secretly hope
that it isn�t. The theater is empty as I expected at this hour. I walk down the
aisle and stop at the center, turning around to finally face her in the dim
lighting. Her hair is up and piled on her head in a messy way, her black v-neck
sweater exposing flawless cream skin, and fuck me her face is perfect.

�This ok with you?� I ask gesturing toward the row I�ve stopped at.

She nods and I proceed to a spot in the middle, when I feel a small hand shove me.
I lurch forward a bit, but thankfully it wasn�t forceful enough to make me lose my
balance. I hear her laugh to herself softly, that same tinkering and pretty bells
that make my face warm. I�m amazed at this habit of hers, and a little bit fucking
confused as to why I like it so much. We�re seated and I turn to find she is
staring at me, that small impish smile on her face.

�You�re a very aggressive little girl, aren�t you?� I say quietly.

�Something like that,� she shrugs.

We sit easily this way through the previews and first fifteen minutes of the
movie. I keep glancing sideways at her, catching her doing the same and fidgeting
with the sleeve of her sweater. I want to talk to her; I want to say anything
right now, because it�s painful being this close and realizing we are here for a
reason. She sighs and turns toward me. I don�t hesitate to do the same when I
notice her shift in her seat.

�This has been a shitty week,� she says frankly, her eyes averting to the sleeve
of her sweater again.

�Mine hasn�t been so pleasant, either,� I venture. I don�t know how the hell to
start a real conversation, especially not with a stranger, but something feels
easy with this, necessary even.

�Why�s that? I bet it�s girl troubles, isn�t it?� she says smirking, looking
suddenly younger than usual.

I can�t help but laugh a little, �and why do you think that?�

�Oh, please. You�ve got them lined up, don�t you?� and this time she seems nervous
and unsure of herself. I can�t figure out where this is going or where it�s coming
from, or quite how to answer it.

�I don�t know, I wouldn�t say that�� and I let it fall, because I don�t know what
to say to this, repeat, what do I say to this?

�Yeah, well,� she sighs, looking back up to me from under dark lashes, �I thought
maybe I was just your Thursday movie companion. Just wanted to make sure I wasn�t
being added to a list of sorts.�

Is she trying to figure out if I do this often?

Is that what she�s doing here?

�What, like I have nothing better to do than sit in movie theaters on different
days of the week with different, random girls?�

�I�m not random,� she says very firmly.

�I didn�t mean to imply that you were. But, really, is that the impression I give
you?�

She smiles lazily at me, �no. No, not really.�

�Nice to know. What about you, you bully? You do this often?�

Her eyes widen a little, and she laughs. �No. I hardly go anywhere. Especially not
to meet strange men.�

�Strange men. Hm, I see,� I pretend to mull this over, taking pretend offense.

�I guess you�re not all that strange,� she says, cocking her head to the side
playfully.

�Jesus, rein in those compliments, will you? I can only take so much.�
She laughs and looks down at her sweater again.

�Sorry,� she mutters

�So what about you, why was your week so shitty? I bet it�s boy troubles, isn�t
it?� I say in a mock tone.

�If you only knew the half of it,� she says, brushing a stray hair from her face.
I realize I have quite unintentionally hit the nail on the head, so I consider
what to say next. Fuck it. I�ll just come out with it.

�You could tell me about him, and then I would know the half of it.�

She looks up, alert eyes, and seems to be searching my face for traces of
something I�m not sure of yet. �I�m not going to do that. I�m not going to be that
girl. I guess you could just say nothing is easy with me, and I�ve had an entire
week of dealing only with myself.�

I can�t explain at this moment how much that comment makes me want to shake her,
or hug her, or grab her by the rib cage and press her close. I don�t know what her
story is, and it�s possible that it doesn�t even matter, but those words are so
close to me, such an integral part of my person, that I am completely certain at
this moment that she is something with reason, some amazing tangible thing that I
am determined to touch and to know. I know exactly what it is to be faced with
yourself.

Nothing is easy with me.

�Does he live with you?� I cannot help myself for asking.

�No. I told you, it isn�t like that.�

�I saw him a couple weeks ago,� I decide to tell her.

�You what?�

�Yeah. He was meeting with Emmett, I tagged along.�

She smiles, her eyes lighting up with that same easiness and teasing, �looking for
me, huh?�

�Yeah. I was,� I don�t hesitate to say. She looks up, eyes wide with surprise like
I�d just punched her in the gut.

�Oh.�

I shrug and turn back straight in my seat, facing the screen again. We finish the
movie, both tense in our seats, throwing sideways glances at each other
frequently. She never stops fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater, and as soon
as the credits begin to roll I grab her fingers and pry them away from it. She
stares at our hands until I take mine away, and then she looks at my face with
such a blank, such a fucking overwhelmingly calm look that it�s completely
unnerving. She stands, and I follow. We wind down the stairs, out toward the front
doors. I�m not sure if I�ve just fucked up somehow as she gets closer to the
handle, when she spins around abruptly and meets me face to face.

�Just choose whatever is playing in Theater 4, next week. Alright?�

I grin, �Alright. I�ll see you then.�

She lingers on my face a little longer, and then pushes her way through the glass
doors, walking quickly across the lot. I can�t help the strangely victorious smile
that spreads across my face.

Wasn�t a fucking coincidence.

--

Bella

The glowing red numbers on the clock are taking a remarkable amount of time to
change. I�m sure I�ve slipped into some strange fold in the universe where minutes
are actually days. It is Friday morning, 4:20 A.M., and the wind is banging
heavily against my bedroom window. I haven�t been able to necessarily sleep, but
rather doze off in half hour intervals, waking up to wind and the loud, constant
hum that is my internal chatter � not surprising after the week I�ve had.

Tonight�s bout of insomnia is different. My frowns and smiles are fading into one
another, and my mood can�t even keep up � should we sob into the sheets? should we
kick giddily and giggle like a lunatic? Questions I can�t answer.

If I think back to earlier, only hours ago sitting in the theater, I am surprised
at the peace I was granted, even if only for a couple of hours. I feel at ease
with Edward, there is no pretense, absolutely no expectation with him. I feel
normal in his presence, as though I would never even have to speak and he would be
content to just let us be. At least, I think he would be content with this. I have
to say it shocked me when he blurted that he had, in fact, been looking for me. My
stomach turns and I�m wobbly just imagining him in the same room as Jasper,
especially since I was not present. I feel slightly panicked, wondering what they
could have possibly said to each other, if anything at all.

I groan out of frustration and an anxious, twisting gut in the dark of my bedroom.
Here comes the shift. I hope, I pray, that no one mentioned my name wherever it
was they happened to meet that day. I hold these two in such separate regard at
this point that I physically cringe at the notion of them in the same room,
speaking to each other, saying anything that merges the three of us into the same
conversation, puts us in the same context.

For days now, I have pondered over, even wallowed in, my predicament with Jasper
to the point of nausea. It�s not even breaching the surface really to call it a
predicament. It�s a complete gridlock of my sensibilities. As days wore on I
realized everything I already knew somewhere in the back of my conscience. I
admitted it all. I was not and had never been in love with Jasper. Neither of us
had ever claimed we were. We had operated for so long in a strange and basic way.
We became friends, we became confidants, and more importantly we became each
other�s constant. I loved him, and in his own strange way, he loved me, but it had
never progressed beyond the love and care you have for a person you respect, a
person you trust. The lines of loyalty were arguably blurred between us, but no
one can say we were not loyal friends.

And this is where it all gets even fuzzier.

Does a friend stand by, on the sidelines, while the other habitually self-
destructs? It appears we are those sorts of friends. Because we�ve both been
tearing ourselves down from the inside. Perhaps I can�t really speak for Jasper,
though I think I know him well enough to see the stress he wears on his person
now. I know that I feel rotten inside; that I feel undeserving and that I have no
idea what normal is anymore. Would it have been normal to date? Would it have been
normal to be single and spreading my legs for anyone who�d have me? Would it have
been normal to beg Jasper to never see anyone else, to cling to him, to restrict
him, to stick myself to his side like some fucking barnacle because I couldn�t
bear the thought of standing on my own? Would it have been normal to isolate
myself further, terrified and almost certain that no one would ever relate to me,
ever see me, ever know me? Maybe it would have been normal to never have let him
in when I first realized what it was going to be.

Jasper was sun-kissed and solid and sinewy, walking into my life with his dark
denim and just a taste of Southern drawl. Jasper then, at 23, and Jasper now, at
28, would be comparable to examining two completely different alien species. He
has lost none of his attractiveness, but almost all of his innocence, and sort of
imaginative sincerity. He had such a way then of spinning stories, and making
every word he said dance on my eardrums and swim in my bloodstream. His ambition
was almost overwhelming; it preceded him like this giant wave that pushed through
anyone he met. He was infectious and I had thought I�d never seen anything more
perfect. It was the summer before I was to start college. My ambition had been a
thing of beauty then as well, so I took a small course in creative writing at the
community college to prep myself for the coming year. I felt I needed to
completely lose myself in paper and ink and keyboards. I wanted to set my brain on
fire and feel completely consumed by this new and exciting life that I thought, so
naively and ridiculously, loomed ahead, just on the other side of the hill.

He was sitting in the middle of the room, chin resting lazily on his palm. He was
older, more defined, more relaxed and confident than the rest of us. �For personal
enrichment,� he had said. I never questioned him about it again, though I always
suspected it had something to do with the graceful and attractive professor. She
was younger than I�d expected and I remember how smooth her hands always looked
skimming over pages and touching her palm to his shoulder on occasion.

Of course I said �yes, I would love to get a coffee� and �yes, I think having
lunch with you tomorrow is a great idea.� I did everything any young girl would do
when faced with such an interesting mess as Jasper Whitlock. He fascinated me, and
scared me, because I had never felt the slightest bit interested in anyone before.
He talked quickly, lyrically, and spoke so earnestly. Now he chooses his words
carefully, bites them back, and suffocates himself.

I first noticed the crack in the fine polish the third or fourth time we had lunch
together. He had been petting my hand under the table, rubbing my knuckles with
his thumb throughout the entire meal. I felt lost and ready for change, something
to cement us together, all at once. He looked at me in a way I was sure was
separate and reserved for someone that was more than just a friend or confidant.
We barely spoke a word this time, and it seemed certain that everything was
becoming something more. He paid for the meal and walked me to my car, gripping my
hand tightly and a little more forcefully than I had expected. I turned to him as
we reached my driver�s side door, smiling and probably glowing in that particular
youthful way we have before the world has jaded us, and I nearly jumped back at
the expression he wore. His mouth was turned down in confusion or disgust, I�ll
never know, and every bit of the person I had just been inside that deli with had
disappeared. He dropped my hand, and I became a blank canvas again, the smile and
glow gone.

�See you next week,� he said with his hands in his pocket, and his face still
cold.

He turned so quickly and I couldn�t place why exactly but I wanted to burst into
tears, or to scream at him and ask what had happened. I felt like I had done
something wrong, and I spent the entire weekend examining every gesture I made,
every word I had said. I even made what I thought might have been my facial
expressions that day in front of a mirror. I still kept going back for more. He
acted as usual the next week, inviting me for coffee or lunch, talking with his
hands and stroking my knuckles with his fingertips. I began to notice that when I
appeared calm, when I appeared unaffected by his touch or affectionate gestures,
he would continue with them and with more fervor. The minute I became Bella, aged
seventeen and infatuated, was the same minute his face contorted into
dissatisfaction, and would soon after be followed with his departure.

This tradition carried on past the summer, past my 18th birthday, and into my
first fall semester. One day, uncharacteristically, he invited me to his home. He
was living by himself in a small apartment on the edge of town in those days, and
I can still remember acutely how thrilled I was to step foot in it. We were
breaking a barrier, and I craved more of him all the time, more of how understood
I felt in his presence. He said I was beautiful, that I was intelligent, that I
seemed to understand him better than most people, that I wasn�t too pushy with
him, and that I never seemed to expect anything of him. Of course I didn�t. I
didn�t know that I should. We kissed in the slowest, most painful way there on his
couch. I was excited and panting, and suddenly I feared that it would end because
I could not control the way my body was reacting to him, how fully I wanted to be
closer and pressed. But, to my surprise, he did not pull away; he did not stop and
ask that I leave. Instead, he pushed me back, he pulled me close, and allowed me
to be that impassioned, young and stupid girl who wants a boy so much she cannot
contain herself. He returned everything with even more impatience. I would like to
say that sex did not become my weapon, but in many ways I know that it became the
only way I could have those parts of Jasper that would let me return the sentiment
without him running away.

He was very clear with me in the beginning of this new path in our relationship.
As I have said before, it was always precisely clear to me that I was free to do
as I pleased, as was he. For everything that he has told me about himself, and
everything I have learned of him over the years, I still cannot pinpoint why he
finds it impossible to be in a real relationship, in the traditional sense. I
suspect it has to do with the only other thing I do not know about him � his
mangled back of scars, but I would never attempt to pry that information out of
him. I feel Jasper deserves his privacy on that matter, and truthfully I don�t
know how I could ever even approach the subject.

Everything flipped on its back last year when I realized how empty I was. When
couples holding hands and laughing made my skin itch and my stomach burn, I
realized something was horribly, irrevocably wrong with my situation. How could I
have turned from such a passionate, burning, ready and wide-eyed girl into this
vacant chinadoll, sitting at parties and waving and touching shoulders as was
appropriate? How could Jasper have, for that matter? It�s downright fucking absurd
to be passionate about everything else in life other than each other, other than
love itself. It�s had to end for sometime now, and we both know it. We just seem
paralyzed to do it, and I could ask myself why all day.

Because this is simply what we do, what we have done.

Because what was designed to keep us from feeling too much, from being dependent
on one another, has reared its ugly head and laughed in our faces.

I�ve spent too much time justifying what I do, what we do, and I�m ready to simply
be. I�ll choke on my own vomit if I hear myself make one more excuse.

Around 7:00 A.M. I roll out of the bed and into my shower, preparing myself for my
Friday classes. I go through the day as is standard, realizing I can�t remember
the last time I was actually focused on anything during the droning of these
lectures and fast-paced fingers moving lithely across keys.

Saturday and Sunday pass without consequence, or a call from Jasper. I run on
auto-pilot through Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday morning I am torn from
my sleep by the loud rings of my cellphone. It�s Jasper, and I debate whether or
not to answer for a few rings.

�Hello?�

�Hi, Bella. Good morning,� he sounds emotionless, drained.

�Hi, Jasper�� I wait, wondering where this is going.

�I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you�re ok.�

I�m confused and a little annoyed at this, �I�m fine. Thanks for asking.�

�Alright. Well. I�ve got a lot to do today, so� I�m glad that you�re alright. Have
a good day.�

The click sounds in my ear like a hammer. I just wish he wouldn�t bother at all at
this point.

I lounge around my house. I eat a cupcake. I drink a glass of sangria.

Breakfast of champions.

A little before 12:30 I slide on a pair of black jeans, a red flannel, and my
black leather boots, and head to the place I�ve been waiting to get to all week.

I welcome the dark of the theater, the glow of the blank screen and the smell of
popcorn, and something damp. I do not see anyone in sight, so I walk down the
aisle, suddenly nervous that he may not show. Before I can reach the halfway mark,
I hear a small yell, or growl, something strange, as a dark figure leaps out from
a row of seats and grabs my leg. I am so confused and panicked that I heave
forward, my legs flying out from under me as my right shoulder meets the ground,
and I roll over onto my back.

�Oww�� I manage, grabbing my poor shoulder.

�Oh my god, are you okay?! Oh, Jesus, I�m such an idiot! I was just joking around,
I didn�t think you�d actually�� comes Edward�s voice, leaning over my face in the
dark, worry creasing his forehead.

�Didn�t think I�d actually what?� I say incredulously, but so glad to see him that
I could care less about my shoulder. �Didn�t think I�d actually fall? When you
tripped me? As I was walking down an incline?

�I just thought maybe you�d stumble a little bit, or pee your pants a little,
maybe� he says sheepishly, trying to hide the amusement that�s fighting to break
all over his face. �Ok, game over. No more twisted little antics, ok?�

�All fun and games until someone gets hurt, yeah?� I add.

�Yes. Bella, I am so so sorry,� he gulps.

He reaches down to help me to my feet, but I swat his hand away. He looks slightly
offended or at least confused until I start laughing, and his face visibly
lightens.

�Edward,� I almost can�t catch my breath now, �the mental image of you hiding in
here in the dark for who knows how long, waiting to trip me. Like a first-grader.
It�s too priceless.�

He rolls his eyes and ignores my amusement with him, grabbing my shoulders and
lifting me from the floor, �alright, alright. Get in your seat.�

I�m still laughing softly to myself as we sit down and I cannot erase this
gigantic smile that is plastered to my face. He stares back at me, face
maddeningly perfect and eyes alive. I realize I want to talk to him more now than
I ever have. I don�t want to pay attention to anything that is about to play on
this screen, I just want to get to know him better.

�I haven�t laughed or smiled like that in so long,� I say.

�Glad I could be of service,� he says, tipping an imaginary hat to me.

�You�re really silly, aren�t you?�

�Oh, I forget. That�s right, you like pouty. You like solemn and unpleasant,� he
says, nudging my shoulder with his and willing me to see that he�s only teasing.

I feel emboldened and restless, the way I always do in Edward�s presence, that
strange ticking and messing with my chemistry he somehow does with the green in
his eyes, and I want to begin everything today. I want to begin knowing one
another.

�If you asked me again today, I�d tell you. I�d tell you about him.�

He seems thoughtful for a few moments; his eyes darting around my face in a way
that makes my cheeks flush.

�Alright, then. Tell me. And don�t censor yourself,� he says. There is something
so alive about him today, so vibrant and wanting that I�m having trouble looking
back at him. I sigh and glance at the ceiling.

�He has double standards.�

He waits patiently, leaving me room to elaborate when I�m ready.

�You know, I used to smoke. Cigarettes. And yeah, ok, I know it�s an awful habit,
but I did. Jasper still does. For some reason around a year ago, though, he
suddenly decided that for me it was unattractive, foul, like it was the most
revolting thing to see me do it. So I quit. I hated the way just that small thing
made him look at me with just, this extreme disgust. It was so apparent, he would
wave it away, scrunch up his nose, just glare at me. Just like that. So suddenly.
One day it was fine, the next it wasn�t. I know it sounds so stupid, just this
little thing, but it��

�It would still hurt,� he offered.

�Yeah. It did. Somehow, but for different reasons, I think. Maybe because it
doesn�t matter how big or small the offense is, it�s just that disappointment,
that evident disdain with you, or your actions � coming from someone that�s
supposed to love you. It�s just awful�� I trail off into the dark, realizing I�m
talking aloud to myself more than I am actually explaining anything to Edward.

�Sometimes I think,� I begin, looking at the ceiling as I make these admissions to

myself, �Sometimes I think the more I become like him, the more he can�t stand to
be around me. It�s as if he�s pushing himself away all the time. It isn�t fair to
anyone. If he had seen me with someone that day, the way I saw him��

Edward clears his throat slightly, and I turn to see his confused expression, his
brow furrowed and eyes questioning.

�I saw him at some caf�. I was having a sandwich. He was holding hands with this
small, tiny girl. She didn�t look fragile or anything, actually pretty confident,
to tell the truth. They looked so warm with each other. So easy. He could smile
and laugh and rub her neck, and he could never do that with me. Never. At least
not openly, or genuinely. I didn�t feel jealous; it wasn�t that sort of reaction.
I was happy for him, in a way. I realized I never, ever want to come between him
and something like that. I had never seen him that way, and it was just for a few
minutes, but it was so insanely foreign to me.�

Edward looks at me with the darkest eyes, and then turns one corner of his mouth
up somewhere between pity and sympathy.

�Do you want to know what I think?� he asks, and I nod.

�I think, and believe me when I say I understand this situation, Bella� I think
that you deserve more than this. And I�m not just saying that for my own benefit.�

I raise an eyebrow, �not just for your own benefit?�

He smiles so charmingly, �well I think we both know I have my own reasons for
wanting this arrangement you have with him to end.�

�Do we?� my traitor throat squeaks, not accomplishing the unaffected air I always
try to have with him.

�Well, if you didn�t know it before, you do now,� he pats my knee lightly and
never wipes the smile from his face. Here it comes again. I want to pinch his
lips, pull his hair, and never look away.

�But that�s not what�s important right now. What�s important is that you realize
how seriously fucked up you really feel about this. You need to understand that
you can have more if you want it. You just have to try,� he finishes.

�We don�t see each other anymore. Haven�t for at least a month. Not in that way,
you know.�

�Not in what way?� he pushes me, leaning in the slightest bit closer to me. I
realize he is seeing just how open I�m willing to be with him.

My cheeks are hot, and it suddenly occurs to me that I feel ashamed. I don�t ever
want him to know anything I�ve done with anyone sexually; I don�t even want to use
the words. This modesty isn�t really like my usual self, and I�m extremely
confused as to why I am having this reaction to him. I gulp a few times, even
clear my throat. He begins smiling at me again, and he sees that it�s made me
embarrassed, my face all hot and red.

�Bella?� he asks moving an increment closer again.

�It�s time to watch the movie, Edward,� I say. My brain races and I become angry
with myself for feeling like a young, inexperienced girl all over again. I try not
to let him see anymore than I already have, and face the screen.

�Whatever you say, then,� he says smoothly, and relaxes back into his seat.
--

Edward

Who the hell is this? Who the hell am I being right now?

I�ve noticed it more and more with every time I�ve been around her, but today my
confidence level seems to be pushing through the roof. I don�t know how it�s
possible, but with every small uncertainty that creeps into my thoughts about this
wonderfully bizarre creature sitting next to me, my brain seems all the more
determined to crush it with a blinding surge of self-assurance.

I don�t give a fuck about this movie anymore, and all I want to do is figure out
how to continue the conversation we were just having. I want everything to pour
out of her mouth and trickle into my senses. No matter how insanely jealous it may
have made me, there was a voice screaming inside my head that wanted her to say
exactly what she meant by �in that way�. It would have been gratifying in some
perverse, sadomasochistic way I can�t fully understand just yet. It takes
everything in me to block out the rapid mental images assaulting me of the two of
them together.

Her small frame locked under his heavy weight.

Her lips parted against his neck, his hands touching her perfect skin, gripping
her slim thighs.

Grunts. Moans. Sweat. Slick. Slaps. Skin. Teeth. Hair. Blond. Brown. Hips.
Pulling. Pushing.

I grab my seat, digging my nails in and willing my brain to just shut the fuck up
already, when I see from the corner of my eye she has shifted in her seat to face
me again as though she had heard my filthy thoughts.

�Ok, you know what? It�s my turn. Let me ask you something now.�

I raise my eyebrows, and turn in surprise. She looks so determined, with her eyes
narrowed and posture straight as an arrow. I decide it may be wiser not to respond
with words at this moment, as it is becoming very clear to me that she has a
shutdown button that is put to frequent use. The only thing that isn�t clear is
what triggers the damned thing, so it�s best not to risk it just yet since the
power seems to have flipped back on.

�Do you have a girlfriend, Edward?� she asks with a set jaw. I want to laugh at
her, because it seems like the dumbest thing she�s ever asked me. I thought this
had all been so obvious to her.

I clear my throat and swallow my amusement, �no, Bella. I�m pretty sure I�ve made
that clear; at least I thought I had. But, no, I do not have a girlfriend.�

�Why?� she snaps, shaking her head in a quick, tight jerk as though she can�t
figure me out.
�What do you mean, why? What kind of question is that?�

�The most common question. I mean, why wouldn�t you? You�re attractive. You�re
smart,� the words come out begrudgingly, and I can�t help but widen my eyes a
little at her as she finishes, �So�what�s wrong with you, then?�

I almost choke on my own saliva, �aha!�

I can�t believe I�m suddenly the defective one here. I can�t believe that she
honestly just implied I am�off in some way, when she is clearly the more
delusional one here when it comes to relationships.

�Why does something have to be wrong with me? I may not be perfect, but I mean,
there isn�t anything wrong with me. Unless you consider the fact that I refuse to
settle, wrong. I don�t just take what�s easy and convenient for the sake of not
being alone,� I say with a very intentional stare.

Her jaw falls open, snaps shut, falls open, and snaps shut again. I�m not trying
to offend her, but I�m growing frustrated at how easy it is to see through this
mess she has with Jasper. Every time I venture out on a limb and make a comment
like this I seem to hit the nail on the head precisely; fucking dead on. I�ve
mostly been guessing and merely suggesting at things, but she has readily accepted
all of my speculation as fact. I know such a small portion of the situation from
her mouth, but it�s so easy for me to see exactly the order of things. She would
never have to say to me that it is an open relationship, that it�s convenient,
that it�s comfortable, that it has become an animal all its own, or that she has
no idea what normal or usual is. It�s not that I want her to be usual, exactly the
opposite, actually. What I do want is to show her something different. I want to
wake her up. I want to watch her eyes light up in surprise. She needs a good shake
or knock to the head.

�What makes you think that I�m not alone? That I haven�t really been alone all
this time?� she calmly asks after a few moments. I swallow heavily as I see the
sadness break through her collected demeanor. She�s fidgeting with the ends of her
sleeves now, picking relentlessly at the cotton threads.

�I guess it depends on our definitions of alone. Maybe you�re right. Maybe you
have been alone,� I start, giving her a sideways glance before leaning in toward
her, closer to her ear. �I guess it doesn�t matter how many times someone has run
their hands down the bare skin of your back, or how many times they�ve parted your
thighs if they�re never really listening to you, huh?�

Her breathing picks up just enough for me to notice it, and my lips are merely a
hair away from the skin of her temple. Her fingers are pulling and pinching
rapidly at her sleeve. I slide my hand quickly down the length of her arm and
clasp my fingers over hers forcefully, stilling the movement. �Stop. Fidgeting,� I
whisper firmly, my lips just barely grazing her hairline.

I slightly move to pull my hand away, but to my utter disbelief I feel her tiny
fingertips, her short nails, curl and dig into the crease in my knuckles from
underneath, and push my hand down, pinning it to the edge of the armrest. I move
just a few inches away from the side of her face and see that her eyes are closed,
her face relaxed unlike her stiff posture and the death grip she has placed on my
hand. I�m confused and elated and just a bit nervous all at once, staring at her
profile in the glow of the theater.

�Why do you keep pushing me like this?� she suddenly asks in almost a whisper, her
eyes still closed.
�I don�t know, Bella,� I say sincerely, �It just feels�necessary. There has to be
a reason we�re coming here like this. Isn�t there? Isn�t there a reason you�re
meeting me in some dark, dingy theater every Thursday? You need a push. You want a
push.�

Her lips curl slowly into a smile, and she opens her eyes, turning toward me, �you
think you know everything, don�t you?�

�Probably,� I say, smiling back and returning her death grip, balling her little
hand into a fist. �For instance, I know you�re just dying to have my phone
number.�

She laughs and slaps my arm playfully with her free hand, �you�re an idiot.�

�And you�re difficult,� I retort.

Her smile becomes a small smirk to the side, and she lets go of my hand. She
raises her hips off the seat and I won�t deny that I stare as they are suspended
there in the air, her hand sliding into the back pocket of her jeans. I want to be
that hand, but realize the hand and I are not the same at all, as it leaves her
pocket after only a brief moment.

She places a small black object in my hand, �here. Put your number in.�

I turn it over in my hand and quickly punch in the ten familiar digits. I press
the call button, and my seat vibrates. She raises her eyebrow at me as I pull my
phone out, handing hers back to her in the process.

�Thanks,� she says quietly with soft, adorable eyes.

�Thank you,� I respond, entering �Bella� on my keypad.

She shakes her head with a small laugh and returns to pretending she�s actually
been following the plot of this film. I feel really satisfied with our little
meeting here today. I sit with the faint smile of contentment on my lips until the
credits roll and the lights are brought back up from dark to dim. I follow behind
her, down the stairs and through the lobby, high on the hint of cinnamon and light
sweetness she exudes. Today she does not stop at the doors to look at me, but
continues walking straight across the lot, turning only once to give me a small
wave and smile as she stops at a black car.

I wait only a day to call her.

The first night we speak it is raining and I am lying on my couch with the lights
off and my thoughts fully focused on every word she says, every small sound or
sigh she makes. She doesn�t even have the decency to act surprised I called her so
soon. She does, however, sound happy that I did. We talk about music, and she is
no stranger or idiot to what I consider good and acceptable. I feel some small bit
of assurance in this, even if it sounds dumb, because common interests mean a lot
more than people would like to credit them with. I can hear her smiles, and good-
humored annoyance with my prodding and teasing over certain subjects like
Victorian writing, female directors, and her questionable taste in men.

The second night she tells me I make her feel normal, and I tell her that she is.
She says she is not, and I reply that normalcy is subjective. She audibly rolls
her eyes. I share stories about my family, my doctor father and saintly mother,
and she hesitantly tells me the story of her parents. Their death in a car
accident, and her subsequent upbringing by an older aunt who also passed of a
heart attack when she was nineteen, had resulted in a small inheritance. She
explains she hadn�t wanted to use it at first. It felt sordid to gain from
something as awful as their deaths, she says, but Jasper had convinced her she
could take care of herself with it while she focused on herself and school. She
does not have any family left. I realize I�m holding myself, my arms wrapped
tightly around my waist as she finishes. I ask her, a little too obviously, if she
has seen The Blonde One. She says she has not, has not even heard from him, and
wishes I would stop calling him that.

It is now the third night in our amusing rounds of phone talk, and I decide it is
time I see her face again.

�Bella, do you think you�d want to come over, maybe? Here, I mean, to my house. I
have a pretty healthy DVD collection. One might even say, impressive,� I venture.

�Um,� she sounds hesitant and I cringe a little, �Well, I don�t know, Edward.�

�It�s alright. It was just a thought,� I finish, feeling resigned to the answer
being �no�.

�Maybe you could come here?�

I hate myself a little for the jolt of electricity that shoots through me when I
hear her words.

�Ok. Sounds fine to me. When?�

�Well, when did you want to?�

I laugh a little, �Bella, you�re doing the inviting now. This one is up to you.�

�Right. Well, what about now? We�re obviously not doing anything, anyway� so�� she
trails off, sounding precious and nervous.

�Now�s fine,� I do not hesitate. I write her address on a scrap of paper that is
lying on the coffee table, hang up the phone, and head to my shower.

The drive to her house is maddening, as my stomach twists and turns in building
anxiety. I don�t know what it is about her. I feel so close to finally finding
someone that will let me speak easily and say every random stupid thing that comes
to me out of nowhere. I just feel so close. I turn into a small parking lot and
drive a circle until I find her building. I park the car and run my hands through
my hair, taking a deep breath. When I reach her door, I suddenly smile to myself
as I feel my nerves loosen, and my body relax. I�m just happy to be here now, and
that�s it.

I knock and after a few moments the door is pulled open. She stands there under
soft lights wearing a thin, soft blue t-shirt that hugs the curve of her hips, and
a dark pair of blue jeans that are straight and fitted to her legs. Her hair is
down and flowing over her shoulders like some dark- haired, angelic, little,
perfect thing, just waiting on me to throw my arms around her. But instead of
grabbing her and letting my hands count her ribs through her soft shirt, I just
smile at her with my hands in my pockets, taking a step forward as she moves back
to let me enter.

�How do you feel about nachos?� she asks, pointing to a spread of plates, napkins,
and food on the small table in front of her dark brown leather sofa.
�I feel really good about them,� I smile, walking across the room to sit in front
of my cheese covered meal.

�Make yourself at home,� she says jokingly, and sits beside me.

�I should�ve brought something to drink or at least a DVD�I�m sorry. I came

totally empty-handed,� I suddenly realize, feeling like a bit of an asshole.

�No, no, I�m doing the inviting now, remember? This is on me,� she says, popping a
nacho into her mouth. She stands up then and walks to the kitchen, leaning into
her refrigerator.

�Sangria or Guinness?� she calls over her shoulder.

�Guinness.�

She returns with our drinks and sets them on the table in front of our respective
places before walking over to a large shelf at the right of her television.

�What are you in the mood for?� she asks, grazing her hands across several spines
of DVD cases.

�Whatever, doesn�t matter. It�s just going to be background noise anyway, Bella. I
didn�t come over here to stare at your television,� I say, thinking myself to be
endearing with my frankness. However, Bella does a sort of half cough, half choke,
and turns to face me with wide eyes that clearly got the wrong impression.

Way to set the tone for the night, Edward, you fucking douche.

I open my mouth to clear up what may be a disastrous misunderstanding, and wave my

hands in the fashion that states �no no no no no, you�ve got it all wrong�, when
she takes a step back and stiffens.

�Bella, I just meant,� I start, unnerved and frustrated with this non-filter thing
I have when I�m with her, �that I came here to talk to you. Because I like talking
to you, actually, I love talking to you� only tonight I wanted to have the
pleasure of actually seeing you. I like your face, too. See? I think your face is
really nice, I can�t help it, I just think it�s nice, and it�s really good to see
it when I�m talking to you. So it doesn�t matter what we watch, because I�m not
going to be paying attention to it anyway. I�ll probably just be thinking of
things to say to you, that�s all.�

Ugh. Shut. Your. Mouth. You idiot idiot idiot.

I�m waiting with bated fucking breath for her to say something, anything, when she
smiles softly and shakes her head with a small laugh, looking back to her movie
collection. She picks one out, and pulls it from the case, loading it into the
player and walking back carefully to the sofa. She sits down, and the screen
lights up with Disney animation and the words �Sleeping Beauty�. My eyes bulge at
it a little, and turn to her with one seriously quirked eyebrow.

�What? You said it didn�t matter,� she says in an adorable sing-song voice, and I
burst out laughing.

�You�re perfect,� I blurt out without any serious thought, just this buzzing in my
head and warmth I feel when I�m looking at her impossible face.
�No one�s perfect, Edward,� she says very seriously. I�m determined for her to
understand that I see her in a very flattering light, and that it�s because of her
flawed yet completely innocent nature that I find her so fascinating and perfect.

�You should learn to take a compliment, Bella.�

She huffs and rolls her eyes a little, �thank you.�

�You�re welcome,� I say with a smile.

�So, what did you do today?� she tries, putting her knees up on the couch and
folding them to the side, turning toward me.

�Ah, don�t do that, we�re past that now,� I say, waving a hand in the air, �Ask me
something serious.�

�Fine,� she says setting her jaw, but I can tell she�s glad we�re skipping the
small talk, �Why don�t you tell me where this is going?�

I�m a little taken back by this question, but I try not to show it. I always
figured that if either of us knew the answer to that question, it was her, not me.

�This,� I annunciate as if her hearing is impaired, �This as in�you and me?�

�You�re stalling. Yes, this-as-in-you-and-me,� she says in a slightly mocking

tone.

�I want to be friends, Bella,� I say, but notice that her face seems to fall and
she glances at her hands. I see her fingers making their way to the hem of her
shirt, as the pinches the material between them and looks down, fixated on what
she�s about to do.

�Don�t! Don�t you dare start picking at your shirt� what is that? Why do you
always do that?�

�It�s a nervous habit, lay off,� she spits, obviously frustrated with my
exasperation at this.

�Why do I make you nervous?�

She finally looks up at me, �I don�t know, you just do.� She reaches toward the
table and shoves a plate in my face, �your nachos are getting cold.�

�Why are you trying to shut me up?� I ask, a little more than amused now.

�I�m starting to doubt anyone could shut you up,� she says, glaring at me
defensively.

I narrow my eyes at her and take the plate out of her hands. I chew on a nacho,
and swallow, �I�m going to eat these, and give you some time to think about what
you just said, but I want you to know, I�m not going to enjoy it. Besides. The
chips are stale.�

She opens her mouth and gasps, lightly punching me in the shoulder, �they are
not!�

�Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but they most certainly are.�

She folds her arms across her chest, and we glare at each other for a moment until
our faces both crack at how ridiculous and pouty she looks right now.

�Reminds me of someone else we know,� I mutter under my breath.

Her face clearly registers that she has heard me, �oh don�t start with that.�

�I�m just saying. I�m sure his tendency toward bratty pouting has rubbed off on
you over the years, so I can hardly blame you.�

�You are such an ass, Edward Cullen,� she says, eyes still bright and smiling at
me.

We finish Sleeping Beauty while downing a few Guinness� each, and continuing with
our stupid banter. I love how easy it is to get her riled up and defensive, so of
course I do it as often as possible. It always ends with her lightly slapping at
my shoulder and me laughing at her expense. I can�t help it. It�s too easy, and
she�s too adorable. I�m not sure how late it is at this point, but my eyes feel
heavy, and my body feels warm with this strange tingling and comforting feeling
here on her couch, curled toward her. Our heads are resting against the leather,
and we have slowly come to within a foot of one another throughout the course of
the evening. She yawns and looks at me through hooded lids.

�Edward. I really like you,� she says in almost a whisper.

�Bella, I really like you too,� I say in the same tone, willing my eyes to show
her just how much I mean it.

�This will sound stupid, but, I really hope� I hope all the time. I just hope that
there�s a reason for this�� she trails off, her words more open and flowing than
usual.

�What do you mean?� I ask.

She reaches out and grabs my hand. I feel so rough and ugly against the small pale
fingers that are grabbing mine. I don�t know if it�s the alcohol that is making
her do this, but if it is I am writing Guinness a love letter for it.

�I just really like you. That�s all.�

I smile at her. I want to reach up and smooth her hair. I want to pull her into my
lap and kiss her temples and make her understand how perfect I think she is. But
before I can consider any of these things my thoughts are taken away from the
couch and moved toward the door. A loud thud sounds from the other side of it, and
I hear the distinct sound of keys jangling and entering the lock.

Bella spins around on the couch and faces the door with straight shoulders and a
stiff spine.

�What the�?� I manage to say before the knob turns and the door opens.
--

Jasper

It is sometime between midnight and sunrise, and I have been standing on my

balcony in the cold and wet for 22 minutes now. My hand is shoved in my old coat
pocket, looping a few loose threads from the mass of strings there around my index
finger, tighter and tighter, until I can feel the blood drain from the tip and
become numb. I turn around and lean toward my reflection in the sliding glass door
and push my hair out of my face, moving it this way and that. The circles under my
eyes have become even more ghoulish and hollow lately. My head seems to bob atop
my stick neck like a pez-dispenser, poking out of my coat as if even it is
surprised to find me looking so gangly. I haven�t slept in days, and food has lost
its flavor.

I pull another cigarette from my half empty pack and frown at my hand as it makes
its way toward my mouth. My entire life seems like a filthy fucking habit. My
story seems standard and I hate going into it, reliving it, or worse, feeling as
though I�m trying to gain pity from it, or some impossible empathy.

I was raised for the most part in a group home in Texarkana, some simple and well-
meaning Southern Baptist establishment, until at the age of 15 I sneaked out
during dinner hours and ran until my heels bled. I was not subjected to any ill
treatment there, but come to think of it, I�m not sure in those days I would�ve
been able to tell you what good treatment was, either. I carried a shapeless lump
of a bag that held all the contents in the world I owned at the time, and I can
still rattle it off like a simple grocery list of bread, milk, and eggs.

- A crumpled picture of my mother, aged 17, standing in front of a large expanse

of trees and small, run down houses.

- A small, red book titled Very Rich Outlooks on Very Poor Circumstances, author
Unknown, that I snagged from the drawer of my step-father�s desk, knowing it had
once belonged to my mother because it was tucked away in a cigar box with other
odds and ends she kept.

- At least twenty unfinished essays written for my own amusement on subjects

ranging from snow owls to Attila the Hun.

- A thin, corduroy jacket the color of a robin�s egg, which was wrapped around two
pairs of slate gray slacks, no creases.

- A map of the United States of America riddled with lines in multiple pen colors
and tiny symbols noting places I imagined myself to visit, and almost convinced
myself I indeed had. (e.g. a group of frowning faces scribbled over New York City
for all the vagabonds and burnouts I would befriend and become more knowledgeable
of, more in tune with, the world because of. A tiny comb over Norman, Oklahoma for
the house I would return to, finding the ghost of my mother perched on the worn
orange sofa, ready to comb my hair one last time. A pair of shoes next to Augusta,
Georgia for the bricked streets I would walk down, and all the dancing I would do
with mysterious women whose lips were painted the brightest red, etc. etc. etc.
and so on in that manner.)

- A bottle of aspirin.

- A rusted single blade penknife with the engraving: �To John, who is a cut above
the rest�, that I stole from the same cigar box in the desk drawer, as I assumed
it belonged to the father I never knew.

- A single blue toothbrush.

The details of life before and after that don�t seem to matter much to me anymore,
considering I�ve blocked most of them out as I�m prone to do with what I find
difficult. There had been so many times I wanted to tell Bella, tell her about the
thin leather belt that lashed my back into a pulp until I was unconscious. I
wanted to tell her about waking up in the sterile hospital room and being stared
at like a pitiful specimen, some abandoned doll-boy. I wanted to tell her how my
step-father had fled after that, how I was given away to the hands of strangers to
feed me, clothe me, and look after me. I wanted to tell her about my 18th birthday
that I spent in a rented closet of a room in the south of Texas, with only a pen
and cheap spiral-bound notebook to keep me company.

By the time I met Bella I was playing catch up with my life. I started college
late, and never fully completed what I had wanted to. I was a self-made man in the
fullest extent, and with every business endeavor I fell into by sheer luck or
misfortune � a point that remains tenuous; I became less and less interested. To
my astonishment, though, everything with it felt easier and easier, and I seemed
to have a knack for talking my way into most anything with anyone. Owning
buildings, owning establishments, owning empty, glittery nests for people to flock
to, became my own private and endlessly amusing joke. I was a man who was never
meant to own a single thing, and it was funny how predictable I found people, how
easy it was to piece together some abstract thing they would enjoy and debauch
themselves in. The baser habits of people were something I was well acquainted
with, and if I�m being honest, I derived some sick pleasure from assisting them in
it, even if on a small scale.

I have hardly even spoken to Bella since a little over two weeks ago, when I let
myself into her apartment. I don�t know why she acted surprised I had kept a copy
of the key she had given me long ago. Surely she knew I wasn�t happy when she
asked for it back, and at the very least she should have suspected I was only
appeasing her urge to feel in control when I relinquished it to her small hand.
Bella wasn�t in control any more than I was. We had let this whole mess sweep us
up and consume us years ago.

She looked like the picture of my mother, almost exactly. She listened to me with
such unabashed fervor that I almost felt the need to blush anytime I had met her
gaze in those early days. I knew I could never love her back the way she needed
it, or even the way I needed it, and I had wanted to push her away, but found my
selfish ways were stronger than my good intentions. I realized she wouldn�t hang
on as merely my friend, and that the more I was around her, the less she became an
image of my mother, and the more she became a manifestation of myself. It was an
ultimate narcissistic act on my part, pushing her back against my couch that day,
tearing at her like she held the piece I needed to put the puzzle of myself
together. It was fine for awhile; it was fine for years, the unspoken arrangement,
the understood circumstances of our relationship, until that day on this very
balcony I�m standing on now.

I was staring at her profile as she smoked a cigarette, resting her elbows on the
railing and staring into the distance with something I had never recognized before
that very moment. She loathed herself. She loathed where she was, and yet she did
not understand why. She looked exactly like me. She appeared undeniably as I had
at that age, only in female form, with a calloused stare and set jaw. I had never
felt more disgusted with myself, and I could hardly look at her for weeks
afterward. I had to close my eyes when she was under me or over me, and I had
always looked at her before with a wild abandonment, watching every muscle of her
body arch and tense. I had thought her beautiful, until I realized she was
becoming as ugly and broken as I was. I was like a cancer, spreading through her
body from the toes up and choking the life from her.

I should have left after that. I should have disappeared from her life like a bad
dream, and never contacted her again, but I was never one to deny myself anything
� not after I had discovered I could take what I wanted out of life. After our
conversation that Thursday on her couch, however, I began to understand that even
at the expense of the great self-inflicted suffering I will have to endure, I
simply can�t do this to her anymore.

I laugh bitterly to myself in the dark.

Jasper, the martyr.

I�m the vilest thing you ever met.

I slide the glass door open, not bothering to close it, and pour myself another
shot of whiskey. It�s anyone�s guess how many I�ve had in the past hour. I down it
and pour another. I see my phone come to life on the end table and lose myself in
the name that flashes on the small display screen until it stops with the ringing.

Alice.

Alice, Alice, Alice.

Alice is a bartender, sometimes waitress, at my latest foray into nightclub

ownership. She hates her job and has no problem telling me so. She does not listen
to my bullshit and has an uncanny ability to put me in my place, seeing right
through everything I say. As much as I suspect Bella does as well, the thing about
her is that she has never vocalized it or even seemed to care enough to do so. I
have spent the last month metaphorically pulling my hair out over what my business
with Alice is. It�s something like friendship, though I don�t even know what the
fuck that means anymore. Of course I�m attracted to her; of course I entertain the
idea of peeling her clothes off with the lights on, and often, but this isn�t what
disturbs me. What disturbs me is what I�ve told her. I have always had the ability
to separate my emotions from my needs and desires, but with Alice something has
blurred and I found myself sobbing on her lap after a particularly awful strain of
a day, telling her the story of my mother.

I have never, not once, spoken of my mother to Bella. Bella, who deserves my
devotion more than anyone else in this world, Bella, the beautiful and precious
thing that has stood beside me without so much as asking for an �I love you� in
return, has never seen my eyes so much as damp. I feel bound to her through our
minds and our impossible standards for the outside world. I cannot bear the
thought of losing the comfortable silence I share with her, even if I cannot smile
at her and kiss her on the mouth in a room full of people I could honestly not
give a fuck less about. She deserves that I tell her.

But, I have to stay away, don�t I? I have to leave it in the sick and filthy
disarray it already is, unzipped and spilling all over us with so many unresolved
issues and indiscretions.

I spend the next thirty minutes convincing myself that seeing her one last time is
a means of giving her closure, and not satisfying my selfish desire to be in her
presence. I justify and flatter myself with the notion that she would never be
able to move on unless I finally explain everything to her I never have before,
give her some kind of reasoning, even if it�s useless at this point. That�s what
she wants, after all, isn�t it? To move on? She thinks I didn�t feel her leg
barely brush against mine and kick that asshole sitting across the table from us
that night. She thinks I didn�t see them each stealing glances and flirting with
their eyes and smiles. It was stupid, and small, but I felt like a goddamned dog
ready to piss on her leg if I had to, and snap his neck off if it came to that.
She�s not mine, I always told her she wasn�t mine, and I wasn�t hers, but fuck if
it didn�t feel like it then.

Somehow the thought had never occurred to me before that night, that someone might
take her away from me. I needed the solace she provided, whether I deserved it or
not. She is the closest link I have in the chain of life to family. It was stupid,
and it was small, and I knew that what they poorly judged as a discreet flirtation
would never amount to anything; they were strangers. Still, I couldn�t rule out
the possibility that someday there could be someone else, someone that would show
her it could be different. God knows that she deserves it and that someone should
give it to her, but I never claimed to be a big enough person to see it happen
without trying to crush it first.

I stand off the couch, a renewed vigor surging through me in the form of alcohol
and absolute shit judgment. I have to tell her everything. I have to see her and
give her pitiful excuses and some semblance of warmth if I can, because I�ve held
her down under a pillow for too long.

I want to feel like I have good in me, like I am defrosting my veins, as I stumble
down the stairs and out into the cold night air, but a voice in the back of my
head is whispering that I am only doing this to relieve my own sense of guilt. I
slap my face and grunt, determined to just silence myself and figure it out when I
get there. I just have to see her.

I walk toward my car and almost trip. I take my phone from my pocket and dial a
car service, realizing as much as I know I am revolting, I still value the act of
living, if only to continue punishing myself. I sit on the curb in the rain, the
street is only in a mild spin, but my limbs are gelatin by the time the black car
pulls up beside me.

�1414 Argyle Road,� I slightly slur.

I smile to myself with my head back on the seat and prepare pieces of my
admittedly poorly planned speech.

I want to say things like:

Hey, you�re beautiful.

I�m sorry you met me, but please see that I loved you as much as I could.

Why didn�t you just stab me with something dull while I was sleeping, or knock me
down a flight of stairs?

I am a fucking typical, disgustingly typical, story of abuse and abandonment, and

I have sought my mother out in everyone I ever met, and probably will until the
day I die, so please see that I am just a piece of trash with the history to prove
it who can�t help but need indulgence, even if it makes you want to vomit.

You are both the best and the worst person I ever met in my life for reasons that
are not even mutually exclusive anymore.

I am a devil that will push myself against you until you find the courage to make
me stop.

Please don�t make me stop.

The car stops and I fling him an unknown amount of bills. I exit the car and ball
my fists at my sides, knocking them against my thighs as I walk to make sure
they�re still there. I reach her building and see the soft yellow of a lamp and
the blue glow of her television through the blinds, and hit my thighs harder, both
stressed and happy that she is awake. I stumble into her door, finding the keys in
my pocket and fumbling with them for a moment before it finally shoves into the
lock.

�Belllllaaaa. Bella, Bella, Bella,� I repeat as I push the door open.

--

Bella

I can�t feel my legs. My fingers are ice. My mouth is flooded with a tingling,
numb sensation.

�Belllllaaaa. Bella, Bella, Bella,� Jasper�s voice floats from the door.

This is not happening. This can�t possibly be happening.

I feel Edward�s hand touch my back, his palm simply pressed to me. Whether it is
out of shock, or because he�s trying to comfort me, I don�t know, because my stare
is fixed on the door that is serving as a poor excuse for a barrier between us,
and him. I see an unfamiliar, almost glowing smile on his face from the side,
until his eyes search the room and find mine. He freezes with the door still wide
open; cold air races into the room like an omen. There is no movement from anyone
as he stands there, completely blank-faced, his eyes looking from my face, to
Edward, and back to me again.

I somehow manage to let his name stumble off my tongue, �Jasper��

His hair is tangled and his eyes are wild. He looks so exhausted, his white
button-up rumpled and un-tucked over his tailored black slacks, but somehow at
this moment I�m not sure he has ever looked taller or more fascinating.

He doesn�t say anything. I�m not sure what to expect from him right now, but it
seems the last thing is his sudden low, dry laugh as he shakes his head, and turns
a slight left to walk into the kitchen. As he begins to rummage through my
refrigerator, his back to us, I suddenly snap out of my suspended state of
disbelief and something close to anger and annoyance creeps into my system.

�Jasper, what the hell are you doing here?� I ask, standing from my place on the
couch to walk toward the kitchen. I stop halfway between his sloppy form that is
now banging the refrigerator door shut, and calm, quiet Edward who is still seated
on the couch. I�m in a panic over what Edward must be thinking right now, but push
it from my mind, because I know I have to deal with diffusing this potentially
awful situation first and foremost.

Jasper turns around and faces me, nearly stumbling in the process, when I realize
just how awful this unannounced visit is going to get, �are you drunk?�

I barely register Edward barking out one short laugh, and musing dryly to himself,
�that�s just perfect,� as Jasper shrugs his shoulders at me. Jasper leans forward
from his waist, his arms stretching out to place his palms on the counter that
separates us. He glares at me with so much fury my eyes widen, and he slams his
hands down hard against the formica in one quick jerk, causing me to jump in
surprise. This makes me both uncomfortable and angry. He turns his back to me,
occupying himself with something on the counter top between the sink and
refrigerator.

I take a step forward and lean my head into the space between the bar top, and the
kitchen counter and state as calmly, yet forcefully as I can manage, �I really
don�t think this is the time, Jasper.� He stiffens for a moment, but then relaxes
and spins around, a wide and devious smile on his face.

�Now what is the big deal? Relax, Bella, I�m just here to have a cupcake, that�s
all. Just had a craving for some of your baked goods,� Jasper says through a dry
hiccup-induced guffaw, clearly amused by his own statement.

He turns around and I hear him fumbling with the Tupperware dish again. He throws
the lid off the container and it slides into the sink. He does not bother to pick
it up and return it to its rightful place, but instead stares at the piece of
plastic as though it has magically appeared in front of him from some other world,
and he has no idea why. He spins around, grabbing his desired cupcake in the
midst, and leans over from the kitchen and onto the open counter of the bar,
facing the living area where Edward is seated.

He shoves almost half of the entire treat into his mouth and smacks his lips
loudly for dramatic effect. I want to slap him for making this scene right now,
but before I can say anything he addresses Edward with a bit too much enthusiasm,
�Mmmm. This is really good, Edward, you should try one. Want one? I can bring it
to you.�

Edward remains mute, and I step closer to Jasper, asserting in a calm tone, �Stop
it. Right now��

He ignores me, and continues glaring at Edward from his perch on the bar. �She can
bake like you wouldn�t believe. She�s good at a lot of things, actually. Did you
know that? Hmm? Did you?� he practically spits the end at Edward from across the
room.

I cringe at the implication, and Edward only stares back at him.

Jasper drops the remaining half of the cupcake onto the counter with a splat, and
all the humor leaves his voice as he narrows his eyes at Edward, �well, aren�t you
just a regular fucking Chatty Cathy.�

I�m mortified, angry, and so embarrassed to have put Edward in this awkward
position. It isn�t fair that Jasper is doing this to me, it isn�t fair at all, and
I am filled with such resentment I never even realized existed in me until this
moment.

�Jasper, what do you want? I don�t understand what you�re doing here right now,
and I am trying really, really hard not to lose my temper, so I really think you
should go,� I try to say as easily as I can, though my hands are shaking and it
takes everything in me not to physically push him out the door.

�What do I want?! Ohhhh, �what do you want�, she asks! I don�t know, Bella, I want
a lot of fucking things,� he moves from the kitchen and pulls out a chair at the
dining table that is near the door. He plops himself down into it, still facing
Edward from a diagonal angle, and rubs his hands over his face several times. �How
about a lobotomy, that�d be pretty nice right about now,� he mutters to himself.

My heart completely stops when I hear Edward�s voice float from across the room,
�you need any assistance with that, you just let me know.�

The air around us becomes thick and still; I think I may pass out at any moment if
this nightmare of a situation does not end soon. If I thought merely talking about
them in the same context was physically revolting, this has reached an entire new
level of utter repulsiveness. To my surprise I do not see Jasper bolt across the
room, or hear screamed obscenities fly, but only slow and rising laughter from his
chair by the door.

�That was funny,� he says facing me, but with his finger wagging in the air toward
Edward.

�Jas�,� I start, but he holds a hand up to cut me off.

�Don�t you dare tell me to leave again, Isabella Swan, don�t you even fucking
think it. Let me say what I have to say and I�ll let you get back to whatever it
is you two were doing,� he says with his head lowered, looking up at me through
narrowed eyes. He does not break his gaze from mine, and adds, �That alright with
you, Edward?�

I look to Edward with the most apologetic expression I can manage, so confused as
to what it is I should do in this situation that I want to huddle in the corner
and cry. �Does it really even matter what I think, Jasper? Don�t ask me that, I�m
not part of this conversation,� he snaps, looking down at his clasped hands that
are resting between his knees.

As I look at Edward�s profile, his brow furrowed and eyes locked intensely on his
hands, my heart clenches and the blood drains from my face. I don�t want him to
see this, and I don�t want him to run from me now, even though I wouldn�t blame
him if he did. My mouth is set in a permanent frown and my eyes begin to sting. I
don�t want to cry, I don�t want him to hate me because of this. I want to close my
eyes and wake up to a different day, and I can�t understand why it feels so
painful to stare at his face right now. As if he can feel my eyes on him, he turns
his head to meet my stare with such an intensity and mixture of emotion that my
knees go weak. I push the back of my palm to my right eye, angry and fighting the
tears that want to come.

I break his gaze and turn toward Jasper again, to see he is now standing, staring
at me with a severely hurt, deeply confused expression. He moves toward me, face
still twisted in a painful grimace. Before I have time to understand what he is
doing, his hand clutches the side of my waist, hard, almost painfully. His
previous anger and quick motion catches me so off guard that I flinch away from
him with my eyes squeezed shut, and let out a small yelp. I hear Edward jump up
from the couch at the same time Jasper�s fist crashes with the top of the bar, and
he yells, �don�t flinch away from me! I would never hurt you! I would never, ever
hurt you!�

�It�s time for you to leave,� Edward demands, taking a long stride toward us, his
fists clenched at his sides.

I look with wide eyes from Edward to Jasper, my face wet with the inevitable tears
that are spilling, shocked, scared, angry, hurt, and confused. I notice that
Jasper�s face has crumbled and his eyes are immediately red-rimmed with
threatening tears. He turns toward Edward with his arm extended, finger pointed
accusingly at his chest from only a few feet away. �You don�t come near me,� his
voice cracks with both venom and sorrow, his face contorting further as he tries
not to let himself break or appear weak. �Don�t. You. Come. Near. Me,� he finishes
in almost a whisper.

�This isn�t how it was supposed to go�� Jasper�s voice is frail, and pitiful. �He
wasn�t supposed to be here, and I wasn�t supposed to be angry, and we were
supposed to�� he trails off and pushes his hands to his face, laughing somewhere
between desperation and disbelief. He suddenly heads for the door, grabbing
something from his pocket and flinging it on the dining table in the process.
Edward is standing almost directly between us now, tense and bewildered. Jasper
yanks the door open, but turns around. His face is impossibly collected again,
masked so quickly and thoroughly that I cannot believe it, �there�s your key. I
won�t be bothering you anymore. You�re on your own now.�

He launches the words at me like some sort of sledgehammer to my chest, intending

to cave me in. I hold my tears, and say the only thing I can think to say, my
voice weak and bitter, �when was I not, Jasper?� He steps outside without looking
back and closes the door behind him. I sink to the floor and stare blankly at the
space in front of me. Edward kneels down beside me, and tilts my face toward his,
forcing me to look at him directly.

�I had no idea,� he says. His face still holds traces of anger, but his eyes are
soft with sympathy.

�Edward, I am so sorry,� I say quietly.

�Why are you sorry? You don�t have anything to be sorry for, you didn�t do a
single thing.�

�I should�ve known better, I should�ve known something like this would happen,
I�ve been so stupid,� I start to ramble as regret and guilt eat through my
stomach.

�Should have known what?� Edward looks at me incredulously, �You should have known
that your psychotic pseudo-boyfriend, or whatever the fuck you want to call him,
would barge into your apartment and throw some irrational temper tantrum? All
because you were here with a friend?�

I want to say that Jasper is not psychotic, that he wasn�t throwing a fit, that he
was hurt, but nothing in me feels even remotely sympathetic enough to defend him
that way.

�Bella, I don�t think even you understand what your situation with him is. I sure
as hell don�t. I thought I did�� he trails off, looking up at nothing in
particular, �but clearly I was wrong.�

His mouth is turned down, and I am expecting him to walk away from me at any
moment. I�m sick of this. I�m sick of just letting everything fall all over me,
and not doing anything to stop it. I�m sick of letting someone else determine who
I am, and control my emotions so easily. I stand up quickly, and Edward moves back
to do the same. My eyes are dry, and my body is almost limp.

�Stay here,� I whisper.

�I�m not going anywhere, Bella,� he says with a crease in his brow, still
uncertain of what it is I�m asking him.

I feel on the verge of collapse. My head is still swirling and I don�t want to
feel anything right now. I breathe in deeply and inhale the mint and earthy
undertones of Edward. I�m light-headed, intoxicated as my adrenaline rush comes
crashing down. Tiny sparks still linger in my fingertips and my heart becomes
slow; my blood pumps softly. I inhale several more times, willing my thoughts and
emotions to shut down. I step toward Edward, and wrap my arms around his neck. He
stares down at me with confusion and anxiety. I stand on my toes and press my
mouth to his smooth cheek. He takes in a sharp breath and does not let it out. His
eyes close reverently, and I kiss him softly again, moving to the corner of his
mouth. I think I may hear him say my name, but I pay no attention as I press my
mouth hard against his.
Suddenly his firm hands are placed on my ribs and he moves me forcefully away from
him, my arms unwrapping from his neck. He is heavy-lidded and his mouth is turned
down in disappointment, �you don�t know what you�re doing right now, you�re still
upset.�

My eyes crease with hurt at the sting of rejection. I don�t want to think or feel
anything, but a tidal wave of guilt, desperation, and regret hit me all at once as
I realize what I�ve just done. The tears start to well again, and I want to tear
my eyes out. I�m so angry with myself for all of these stupid, typically weak and
female reactions. I was so stupid to think he�d want anything to do with me,
especially now. Why would he? We were just friends, he had said so himself. He
hadn�t wanted anything more; I had just willed it to be that way. I had allowed
myself to hope somewhere in the back of my mind all this time, and now I was being
rudely awakened by the reality of it all.

He reaches out and grips my arm lightly, �please don�t cry again, Bella.� I jerk
my arm away and wipe my face. I don�t know why I let myself do that, I don�t know
what I�m doing at all.

�It just isn�t fair, that�s all. It isn�t fair to either of us,� Edward says
quietly, but I�m already heading away from him and to the sanctuary of my bedroom.

�I�m sorry for everything, Edward,� I call down the hall, my tears spilling
quickly and freely.

�Bella, you don�t understand,� he says, moving down the hall toward me. I turn
around and grab the edge of my door, facing him from my bedroom now.

�Yes I do, Edward, I understand everything. I�m so sorry for all of this. You
should just go home now. Goodnight,� I say closing my door.

I fall down onto my bed and bury my face in the pillow, crying out what little
strength I have left. I�m angry for so many reasons right now, but above all I am
angry at my own guilt for knowing that I cared more about what Edward thought,
that I cared more that he was still here in the end, than I cared at all about the
things Jasper said and did.

I think that I am an awful person.

As I make my way to the kitchen, squinting at the rays of sun that are streaming
in through the blinds, I stub my toe on a barstool and nearly crash my head into
the counter as a result. Grabbing my toe and making poor, wounded puppy noises, I
notice a post-it-note stuck to the refrigerator.

I�m sorry. Answer your phone today.

- E

I frown and look down at my feet, feeling even more pathetic. He has no reason to
be sorry; I�m the one who woke up heavy with the shame of my actions. I sincerely
can�t believe myself at times, and last night was definitely not one of my finer
moments. It would be a lie to say that it doesn�t still hurt, knowing he pushed me
away, and knowing what I must�ve seemed like to him: a tattered, needy ragdoll
with attention issues. I can�t decide which hurts worse � his rejection, or my
guilt.

I dress for the day and pretend I am responsible. I make my way through classes,
staring at the ground as I walk, and letting each and every word that is said
around me merely drift in circles, never actually committing any of it to memory.
I order take-out and sit in my worn robe, feeling sorry for myself and crying for
no apparent reason on occasion. My phone buzzes around 8 P.M. It�s Edward, but I
can�t think of what on earth I would be able to say to him. I don�t want him to
call because he pities me, or worse, because he�s afraid I�m prone to psychotic
episodes of crying and general bizarre behavior, thus feeling some small
obligation to check up on me. Jasper did that. I can�t handle any of that. I let
the phone go to voicemail.

His second attempt comes on Tuesday night, and I feel guilty for being such a
coward. I can�t imagine why he would want to talk to me, and know he would
certainly be better off if he did not. After a few minutes I pick up the phone and
decide if I can�t speak, the least I could do is send a text.

Busy with homework. Not much time lately. Nothing personal.

It�s such a lie, and such a meaningless response.

Nothing personal?

Like he gives a shit?

He probably just wants to make sure I haven�t slit my wrists in the bathtub yet.

Soon enough, my phone chimes and I read the message: You misunderstood me.

I don�t know what the hell that is supposed to mean, and my forehead is an ugly
mess of wrinkles for several seconds as I stare at the words as if they�ll jump
off my phone and whisper their secret meaning in my ear. I decide to ignore it,
though there is not much surprise there. Ignorance is bliss, and also a longtime
friend of mine.

Wednesday passes with an extra kick to my gut. I spend time over my toilet bowl
with some sort of mild food poisoning, and do that whimpering while choking thing
because I feel so sorry for myself � poor me, oh cruel world, why must you make me
vomit? I wash my face and brush my teeth. I�m tempted to laugh at my reflection
every few seconds because my intense state of isolation has only just dawned on
me. For all the whining and complaining I�ve done over the past year, telling
myself I was so alone in the world, this day should not feel any different in
terms of emptiness, but oh, does it ever.

There is no Jasper. Not even the menacing shadow, always so eager to hang over my
life, will have me anymore. It�s not even that I want him here now. We are too far
removed from one another, even if I wish with everything in me that things could
have been different, could be different. The damage that has been inflicted is
irreparable, and all my pain is in that very fact. There is nothing I can ever do
to change it now; nothing either of us can ever do. I want to throw all the blame
on him, but I know that I cannot. I�m just as responsible. And now, just when I
thought I couldn�t get any lonelier, I went and effectively screwed up my only
chance of normalcy with the one person I was beginning to feel comfortable with.
The one person I felt excited by. My energy depletes just thinking anymore, so I
climb into bed and silence myself.

Thursday I wake with a start. My chest is tight and I feel like there is something
I am forgetting. I look at the clock and realize I�ve slept for nearly twelve
hours. It is 12 P.M. and all I can think of is Edward. I rush to the bathroom,
pulling a brush through my hair and swiping gloss over my lips before I even
realize that today is different. Today is a different Thursday, a Thursday where I
am a little more repulsive. I debate with myself.

Should I just go anyway? What if he�s not even there? Wouldn�t that be ok if he
weren�t there? I could just watch a movie nonchalantly, just like I used to.

I�ve ignored him all week. It doesn�t make any sense for me to assume I could see
him face to face without going limp, when I couldn�t even bring myself to answer
his phone calls. The fact is, I miss him. I miss his smell, his eyes, his stupid
hair, and every other ridiculous thing you miss about someone you�re hopelessly
infatuated with.

Is that what it is?

I could stand here and weigh the options for the rest of the afternoon, make
charts and graphs to determine my odds in this situation, but I decide I just want
to go. I just want to see him. I�ll apologize to him for what I did, for the
situation I put him in, and hope and pray that he will still agree to sit next to
me in the dark on Thursdays, letting me look at him and breathe him in. If that�s
all I can get, then I�ll take it. It�s not even about my loneliness at this point;
it�s just Edward. I wouldn�t have to see anyone else ever again if he�d just
continue to allow me these weekly meetings.

When I make it to the theater my hands are shaking. My heart is permanently lodged
in my throat, my pulse sending blood furiously to my temples. I can hear my
heartbeat in my ears. I take the stairs slower than usual, and feel everything
from dread, to hope, to fear, to excitement, to nausea. I take a deep breath and
enter our familiar dark room. The screen is blank and glowing white as usual.
There is no one in sight. The lump in my throat crumbles into pieces and makes its
way back down to my stomach. This was a stupid idea. I turn around, feeling
defeated, but run into something solid. I back up a few steps quickly, slightly
disoriented.

Edward�s face is looking at me with so much bright, childish hope that I don�t
know what to do with myself. My brain and tongue aren�t even interacting with one
another right now, so nothing comes from me other than something between an �oh�
and �thankgod�.

�You came,� he says softly.

We stand staring at each other, and all I do is nod my head. Edward closes the
distance between us and cups my face with his hands, tilting my head up. His
expression is something so different than I�ve seen before. It�s tender, it�s
inviting, and it�s overwhelmingly sincere.

�I wasn�t rejecting you. Don�t you understand that?� he asks.

I stare blankly. He leans in and presses his forehead to mine, our eyes glued to
each other. He asks me again, and I continue to stare. My eyes feel damp for some
reason, and I�m horrified with myself for doing this again. I can�t believe he is
this close to me, that he is touching me, or that he knew exactly how to squash my
fears with two small sentences.

�It wasn�t right, Bella. I would have been taking advantage of you, and I can�t do
that. I want you�more than anything. More than anything. But I can�t have just a
piece of you until you�re ready to give me everything. Do you understand that?� he
says slowly, his breathing labored.
My head is spinning in all of those typical, emotionally-drunk ways, staring into
his green eyes this close, feeling his breath on my face, and his skin touching
mine.

�Everything?� I ask

He smiles slowly, our faces still pressed, �everything. It�s just not right yet.
You�re not ready, even if you can�t see that for yourself.�

I nod in shameful agreement, my voice cracking �I know.�

I close my eyes, and feel his cool lips press to each of my eyelids. He moves away
only to place his chin on top of my head and rub his hand down my back gently. He
lets out a heavy sigh, and I reach out to circle his back with my weak embrace. I
press my cheek to his chest and sniffle against the warm black wool of his
sweater.

He runs his fingers through my hair, squeezing me tighter, and whispers to

himself, �what am I gonna do with you?�
--
Edward

I can�t think about this anymore, it�s nothing but annoying and grating and hardly
what I want to occupy myself with. If that door had never opened, if I had never
witnessed any of it, this would all be a different story. Relationships are messy,
I�m messy, she�s messy, and anything worth my time has always been messy. I�ve
misjudged before, been completely off the mark, but the misconceptions with this
one have left me a little more than just stupefied.

�Let�s skip the movie today. Come on. Take a walk with me,� I say, quieting her
sniffling. She runs a hand through her hair and nods to me. We walk as we have so
many times down this winding stair case, only today it feels like a death march,
some slow and tense preamble to the distasteful matters we�re about to discuss.

I lead her in silence across the street and into a park with wet foliage and
weather beaten benches. My leather boots make vulgar sounds on the damp ground and
I am a million different things at once: perplexed, angry, hopeful, relieved, and
sad.

I�m perplexed by something I was too quick to write off as simple, see-through,
and shallow; her ever-confusing relationship with Jasper. I�m angry that a third
party has to be an issue with an idea I am hopelessly attached to, and especially
that this third party is him. Though, I guess it could have been anyone, and I
would have immediately resented the headache; I�m only human, after all. My hope
and relief are found in the fact she even bothered to show today after our episode
last Sunday. Her eyes are glistening. I need her to see that I don�t give up
easily. I think sadness is just an afterthought; who could possibly stare down the
mouth of this mess with a smile?

�Edward,� I hear her say softly, but I shake my head once, tightly, and she drops
back into silence, her feet marching along with mine down a tree-lined path. I
have to collect my thoughts. I have to be specific, because something tells me
this will be my only chance to gather matter-of-fact answers to my questions.

I need to know that I am not wasting my time, before I get in too deep. I�ve never
made half the effort before that I am making now, so I can�t let it all end up in
vain.
She�s different.

You�re different.

Naturally, this won�t be easy.

I stop walking, and turn abruptly to face her. She looks younger again, her whole
face open and vulnerable.

�I have things I need to ask you � things I need to know. I need you to be clear
with me. Don�t try to spare my feelings. Don�t try to hide the ugly parts. Don�t
be afraid I�ll think differently of you. I�ve seen enough already, anyway,
wouldn�t you agree?� I say firmly, and she seems more available than ever,
completely ready to face me and herself. She nods slowly.

We begin walking at a slow pace, and I keep my eyes on the path ahead as though it
will make things easier for the both of us if we don�t have to look one another
directly in the eye.

�For how long were you with him?� I begin.

She answers quickly, �five years, more or less.�

This is the very first question and I�m already somewhere between shocked and
punched in the stomach. I jerk a wide-eyed glance in her direction, and she seems
to catch it with a heaving sigh toward her feet.

But she�s only�

�How old were you?� I ask, showing a little too much of my disapproval at what has
an obvious answer.

�Seventeen when I met him. Eighteen when things really um� officially began, I
guess.�

�Hm. Did he ever hurt you?�

�Of course he hurt me. But not in the way you mean, I don�t think. Not
intentionally.�

I stop again, thrown off for the third time in just as many seconds, �Not
intentionally?�

She shakes her head dismissively and waves her hand a little, �there was this
thing�with the dishes, once, it�s not important. He never laid a finger on me if
that�s what you mean.�

I raise my eyebrow at her and tilt my head down a little, but she goes no further,
and I choose to believe her if she says it�s really not important, �Ok.�

We start walking again, looking ahead at landscape that could just as well be
static on a television for me right now, �Do you love him?�

�I want him to be ok. I care that he�s alright. I�m not in love with him, if
that�s what you�re asking. Not that.�

�Fair enough. Were you ever?�

Her lack of hesitancy is still surprising, �I don�t know what that even is, I
don�t think. Fascinated would be closer to what it was. I idolized him, put him on
a pedestal. He had a way of making everyone around him seem inferior, at least to
my young eyes. I�m still young, I know that, but not the way I was then. It was
more than just being young; it was naivety on an entirely different scale.�

�Hadn�t you had boyfriends before?�

�No.�

Jesus, this is going to be harder than I thought.

�Do you plan on keeping him in your life? I mean, in the way that he was�or is? I
mean, is it just a sex thing? I�m sorry, but I�m really trying to understand
this�� I start sifting through the barrage of questions that are flying to my
tongue.

�No! No, no�� she cuts me off, �I mean. I don�t know, maybe it was at first, for
him. I couldn�t tell you what he was thinking. I probably just wanted him however
I could have him. I know that sounds pathetic, I know that now��

I swallow the bile that is creeping up my esophagus, but say nothing.

�I don�t plan on keeping him in my life�in that way,� she finishes.

Though I know I have no right to ask it, and that it was never something I
intended to ask, my impulsive nature gets the better of me. I hear the acrid words
float from my mouth in all their bitter glory, �when was the last time you slept
with him?�

Again, she doesn�t even flinch, no reluctance to answer whatsoever, and states as
simply as if I had asked for her name, �the night I met you.�

Though it�s infinitely better than if she had answered �last week�, I still have a
knee-jerk reaction to clench my right fist and flare my nostrils. I have no reason
to feel jealous, because I�m the one who asked, and at that point in time we had
nothing at all to do with each other�s lives. The gut-dropping feeling is
somewhere in the words �met� and �you�. It�s hard to explain, but just knowing
that my eyes had met hers that same night is enough to make me feel defeated by
this information.

�That�s it then? That was the last time?� I say, in a surprisingly cool tone.

�Yes. That was it. Edward, I�m sorry, but why does it matter?�

�I�m asking the questions right now,� I answer, trying to clear my head and turn
this conversation back into something leaning toward productive rather than
destructive. I suddenly feel guilt for snapping that response, and realize that it
probably only made me look like some dejected frat boy, ready to turn my
insecurities into misplaced aggression.

I sigh, �Bella, it matters because I don�t want to be wasting my time with you if
you�re still running to him despite how obviously problematic your relationship
is.�

She jerks her head back, her eyes bulging for a moment in offense, �is that the
kind of person you think I am? Just� just running around moaning and bitching
about her asshole boyfriend to anyone who�ll listen, even though she�s just going
to continue with him as usual? You think I�m just one of those girls, looking for
your sympathy or something? Well Edward, if you think you�re wasting your time
with me, then fine��

I stop her before she can continue on her misguided tirade, �stop right there.
Just stop. The point is, that�s what I�m doing here � trying to figure out what
kind of person you are. I think highly of you right now, believe me, I do, I have
nothing but good thoughts about you, Bella. But, you have to see where I�m coming
from here. Yes, you told me you weren�t talking to him, that he hadn�t called or
gotten in touch with you, but excuse me if I was just a little bit thrown off by
the fact he had a fucking key to your apartment. Call me crazy, but that may have
indicated to me, a person you have expressed fuck-all to about your relationship
with him outside of cryptic little stories about cigarettes, that he�s still a
part of your life in a more than just friendly way.�

We are standing facing each other now, and her face falls. Her eyebrows knit
together as she stares at her feet again.

�I know� I know, but I can explain that. I took his key away awhile ago, I did,
but he made a copy of it without telling me,� she sighs, looking sincerely
apologetic. I feel like an asshole, because she really doesn�t have to apologize
to me about this, I�m not entitled to anything here.

�And that�s the way you found out he had a copy? Just that night? Or did you know
before?� I prod anyway, because I want to seem like I really have a point to make
here.

�I found out not much longer before,� she says, hesitation finally making an
appearance as she sees where this is going, �he showed up one day. I just expected
he wouldn�t be doing it again, not after the conversation we had��

�Yet you still didn�t take the key from him?�

�I didn�t want to argue about it, it wasn�t a big deal,� she says as we start our
tense stroll through the park again.

�Letting someone control you like that is a big deal, Bella. What, you just keep
the peace by not telling him how you really feel about things? You think that will
make everything better? Just ignoring things he does that bother you?�

�It didn�t bother me!�

�Now you�re telling me the truth,� I sigh.

�Don�t do that, you�re twisting my words in your head or something. It didn�t

bother me because this was just something I was used to with him. It didn�t
matter. It didn�t give him control, at least not in my mind. Believe me, Jasper
doesn�t need a key to my apartment if he wants to keep tabs on me, or stick his
nose in my business. A door with a lock wouldn�t stop him, Edward; you don�t know
him at all.�

�Is that supposed to intimidate me or something?� I ask sharply.

�I�m just explaining to you that the key isn�t the issue. It�s us. It�s the
dynamic we have, and keys, phones, emails, fucking cupcakes, whatever � none of it
makes a difference in the big picture. He is what he is, and maybe I�ve allowed
it, but I don�t have the energy to try and change it now. I want to change myself;
I�m not saying that I don�t want change in my life. I guess I mean that it�s
irrelevant, this key business. It�s over. I can�t say it anymore clearly to you.
It is over, over, over, and I am relieved, Edward. I�m not mourning the loss. The
mistakes were made years ago; I can�t do anything about it now but try not to make
them again in my future.�

�I didn�t mean for this to turn into such a heated discussion�� I say, rubbing my
face with my hand and sucking in a crisp gust of wind through my nose.

She shrugs her shoulders, �it�s the nature of the beast. You wanted me to be
honest; I�m being as honest as I can with you. I�m just not sure what you�re
getting at. Definitely never had a friend like you before�� she trails off.

�Bella, I don�t want to be your friend,� I say, turning to her with all
seriousness and willing her to understand me.

�You�at my house, you said those exact words, you said you wanted to be friends?�

�Don�t play dumb, Bella, it doesn�t suit you. I never wanted to just be your
friend. If you really thought that, then you�ve given me too much credit,� I say
bluntly, turning my attention ahead of me again.

She is silent for a moment, but then I hear her sigh and feel her small fingers
digging my hand out of my pocket. I only look to her from the corner of my eye as
she wraps our hands together, and says, �good. �Cause I didn�t want to be your
friend either.�

I give her a small smile, but still keep my attention focused on the surrounding
area � anywhere but on that pretty, soft face of hers.

�I�m not going to be a crutch,� I blurt, even taking myself a little by surprise.

�I�m tougher than you think. I don�t need a crutch,� she retorts.

�I don�t doubt that. I just need to let you know, up front, that the things you
know are convoluted, totally backwards. I�m far from perfect, and with time, I�m
sure you�ll see that, but I�m also a far sight better than the nonsense you�re
accustomed to. And I say that with complete and utter confidence, Bella. I am. So
don�t take this lightly. I have no more energy for light and meaningless. I�ve had
plenty of that, and I don�t want it from you.�

She squeezes my hand and lets out an uneven breath, �this may take patience.�

�I don�t know what I�m doing anymore than you. I�m just certain that I can,
because I have to. This has to work, Bella. I don�t ever want things the way I
want this.�

�You�ve never been serious about anyone?� she asks, very quietly, that uncertainty
rising back to the surface again.

�No,� I shake my head, �I haven�t. But I don�t think it�ll be a problem. Do you
not see that I can say anything to you? I have no filter, I say every bit of word
vomit the second it reaches my brain, and you don�t falter for a minute. You just
let me do it, you respond to me, you just� it�s so easy.�

�You just make sense to me,� she says.

�Do I?�
�Thoroughly.�

�You may be jumping the gun on that one,� I say with a smirk.

�Alright, let�s see. I think it�s my turn to pry. Unless you�re not done?�

�I�m done for now,� I offer.

�Just how many� relationships, significant others, girlfriends, whatever � God, I

hate saying that. Girlfriends, boyfriends, I feel like I�m twelve with those
words�� she starts rambling to herself again.

�It is what it is. And the answer to your semi-question is� well, not including
highschool? Four. Yeah, four.�

�And including highschool?�

�Fourteen.�

�Maybe I did jump the gun�� she says with those adorable wide eyes.

�I�m joking, Bella. If you want to consider them girlfriends, I guess, the number
remains four. You know what�s childish and indicative of a middle-school
mentality? You even asking me this question, that�s what.�

She slaps my arm lightly, �and asking me about the last time I had sex wasn�t?�

�Touch�, pretty lady, touch�.�

As her laughter trickles into a silent smile, I take her hand and place it in my
back pocket, patting her hand through the outside jean material with my own. She
raises an eyebrow at me questioningly, and I pull her toward me, placing my right
hand in her back left jean pocket.

�What the hell are you doing?� she asks.

�Does this not look painfully retarded? Is it making you uncomfortable? That�s
actually my intent,� I say with a shrug.

�What are you even�?�

�All we�re missing are a couple of matching Labrador�s and a stick for me to throw
in the pond. So they can fetch it.�

�And a voice-over for herpes medication, apparently��

�That too.�

She snorts, and I give her ass a light squeeze before removing my hand from her
pocket.

She raises her eyebrows and feigns offense. I roll my eyes shake my head, �I�m
only going to get worse, so you may as well get over it now.�

�That a fact?� she asks, returning the eye-rolling gesture, but with an amused
smile.

�An absolute certainty.�

We have made a full circle around the park, and without another word between us we
head back to the parking lot of the theater. We stop somewhere between our two
cars and look to each other with a slightly subdued expectancy.

�Don�t ignore my calls anymore,� I say evenly.

�I won�t.�

�Drive home safely,� I say, and mean it.

�Can I�� she begins, but bites her lip, and sticks her hands in her pockets,
raising her shoulders slightly, �I would invite you over, but I�m sure last time
made it� I don�t know, maybe you wouldn�t��

�I would,� I cut her off.

Her face relaxes, �maybe tomorrow then?�

�Sure, just give me a call.�

�Ok. I�ll see you later then,� she says and turns so quickly I barely have time to
register it before I hear her car door open and shut loudly.

�Ok, then�� I say to myself, and maybe the pavement.

I enjoy the silence on my drive home, and wonder as I always do, at the range of
emotions we jump so seamlessly through each time I�m in Bella�s presence. I can
barely wrap my head around it.

I�m partial to making mental lists, and today is no exception. I tick through
random notions and thoughts like, how doubtful I am that I could handle her ever
speaking to Jasper again, even though I know it�s a distinct possibility, perhaps
even an inevitability; how strong my will is to wade through this slowly, or keep
myself from feeling jealous or uncertain; how I have a propensity for general
distrust in relationships, and that this is far from ideal territory for me to be
walking through.

I�m not sure how anyone would be expected to handle this, and though I�d like to
think of myself as mature, able to be the bigger person in any situation, I know
that it�s usually forced because a greater part of me leans toward a more
animalistic and territorial side.

I want to explain this to Bella, but I do not know how.

I want many things, like her fingers in my hair, a web of limbs on soft cotton
sheets, cinnamon covering my apartment, tiny, hushed moans and unfinished
sentences. I want to read everything she�s ever written, to know every morsel of
food she prefers on her lips, and that my name is always on the tip of her tongue,
in every crevice of her body, inside and out.

I�m partial to fierce devotion.

Today is no exception.

I�m into it.

I�m making it.

There�s really no substitute.
--

Bella

I don�t know what to ask for.

There have been so many moments that felt like staring into a black abyss. For the
longest time I wondered if anyone had felt that blankness, looking at me as I
looked at them, with a consuming despondency that comes with knowing you�ve never
really seen anyone � truly seen the mental and emotional parasites that plague a
person. These parasites could be attributed to a broken childhood, a lost love, a
fear of intimacy, a crippling humiliation that happened somewhere along the line,
or some inherent isolation; these parasites could be anything.

I always wished hopelessly that someone could see me; just as I am, with only a
simple glance or my mere presence to express all that needed to be. No words. No
explanations.

It has always felt like a waste of time, opening my mouth.

My head swims with glimpses of a possible and alluring future, but all too quickly
I drown in the muck and grime of the things I have known. The only person I have
ever seen, ever really seen, as much to my surprise as his own, was Jasper.

It shouldn�t have been any different, really, but it seemed to change everything.
It was the moment I realized that despite our greatest efforts to conceal
ourselves from one another, life would never let us get away with it.

A person wants to be seen.

I walked into his house that day expecting a small miracle. At the time it didn�t
seem much to ask, but looking on it now I have an acute sense of embarrassment and
shame, because I should have known better. I did know better. I don�t know what
made me do it.

Jasper was standing at the kitchen sink, a faded blue dishtowel in his hand
working vigorously over dripping ceramic bowls and plates. He was setting them
down neatly in a pile to his left, as I stared intently at his unclothed back
there in the pastel light of morning. I leaned against the doorframe there for
longer than I could say, just watching the scars arch and twist with his movements
like an ever-changing mass of tunnels. He turned his head slightly to the left,
chin hovering just over his shoulder and asked, �Where have you been?�

�Shopping. It�s Charlie�s birthday tomorrow,� I answered.

�You�ve been shopping for three days?� he asked flatly, never one to hide his
irritation.

�I was home before that. You could have called if you wanted to see me,� I said
with my eyes to the ground, knowing that I was not going to help my cause any with
this kind of response.

I remember how the muscles near his shoulders rolled slightly at that, and how I
wanted to run my palms across them. But I was too far away for that � too far away
in physicality, and too far away with the words falling flat from my lips.
�I did call,� he set another bowl to the side.

�I guess I missed it. Sorry,� I lied.

�That�s alright.�

He continued with his task quietly, his posture relaxed again. Still, I never
moved from my spot by the entryway, knowing that Jasper�s body was always intended
to deceive. I had never been able to gauge his reaction correctly. Never.

�Would you like to come with me tomorrow? To Charlie�s?� I asked as civilly as I

dared.

�I don�t think so, Bella. I�d rather not,� he addressed his reflection in a
shining, white dinner plate.

�Right.� I did not expect anything else. I never did.

He looked up from his towel then, but did not face me, merely paused and took a
breath.

�Well, I�ll be going then. I know you don�t care, but I�ll be gone for a few days,
staying with Charlie. I�ll see you later, then.�

The moment the words left my mouth, I desperately wished they had been attached to
a string that I could pull back and cram up inside my obviously poor judgment.

It was in a fraction of a second really, the white pieces of ceramic cracking like
splintering bone against the deep burgundy walls. Shards flew to my feet and
settled like clumped dust in the space between us.

�That was surprising, wasn�t it?� he asked in a porcelain-smooth tone.

My legs did not seem available to me, and my tongue felt as though it had swelled
and become completely numb � bee stung. Another flash of white hit the wall a few
feet away from where I stood.

�This is what you�re like, Bella, all honey and sugar, soft voice, but somehow you
manage this.�

Another crash, but this time on the cold tile in front of his feet as he moved
toward me.

�Why are you�you�re breaking things!�

What a stupid thing to say.

Another crash on the floor.

�What do I care? Hm? If I don�t care about you, then I certainly don�t care about
a set of fucking plates!�

One of the remaining two discs held limply at either side of his solid frame
exploded to my left again with even greater force.

�They don�t mean anything to me, you don�t mean anything to me, nothing means
anything to me � is that what I�m supposed to say, Bella? Is that what I�m
supposed to be? Tell me! Answer me!�
Shards flew from the wall for a third time and as they launched into broken, sharp
edged missiles, my arms rose in defense to their much nearer proximity. The sting
on my left knuckle was abrupt, and almost nothing, but I hissed anyway.

Jasper�s entire face contorted, stunned as though he were just born, examining my
finger from a slight distance with absolute fascination. Tears of anger were ready
and waiting for me, but my shock, my total uncertainty in this situation, had the
peculiar effect of tensing my body into a stone, staring into his eyes with a cold
I hoped he could feel in his veins.

He walked hesitantly toward me, his hand held out with a few lazy, extended
fingers groping the air, searching their way toward me like a moth to the flame.
Nothing pumped through me, breath did not reach me; I was in a state of immediate
atrophy.

His eyes flickered quickly between my face and the blood that dripped down the
sliced knuckle of my ring finger, wandering slowly down my hand like a river. He
picked my hand up gently, and pulled it toward his face, his eyes searching mine
in quick, furtive blinks. He enveloped my finger in his warm mouth with gentle
pause and bereaved eyes.

My finger slid from his mouth slowly, his teeth never so much as grazing me.

I slapped him quickly, forcefully across the face. I struck him again. He never
moved, never faltered. The heat and wet of my eyes flashed like a quickly fading
flood, over within seconds.

�I care,� he grabbed my face with both palms over my ears, muting the world. I
watched his lips repeat it over and over, muffled by the heat of his hands. He
pushed our bodies briskly to the ground; his right hand cradled between my
shoulder blades, while his left hand ran smoothly up my thigh and pushed the
feather light material of my dress above my hip. I was pressed to the carpet of
the adjoining room, and his weight crushed me, covered me, seared my skin with his
own, and fell into me with no end.

He crept three fingers up to my lips, forcing my mouth open, and wrapped them one
after the other around my bottom teeth, forcing my jaw down. His face hovered an
inch above mine, and his eyes still held that enchanted look of wonder, as though
he had never seen me, and could not understand what it was he should do with me.
His other hand kneaded the soft space between my ribs and hip, as his pelvis
ground in rhythmic, desperate motions against me. My hands slapped onto his back,
and I dug my nails in quickly, sharply into his marred flesh. His mouth shot open
in immediate response, his upper lip touching mine as he let out a whimper. His
fingers moved from the inside of my mouth then, digging into my cheek vigorously
as he replaced them with his own mouth. He tore at the slight, offending material
just below my hips, and yanked it down my legs and straight to my ankles, his palm
pressed to my center, rubbing tight circles with unbearable pressure.

My eyes closed, and I arched my neck from the ground, my head thrown back as he
assaulted my throat with teeth and the sand-paper rough of his second day stubble.
He was off me in an instant, kneeling at my ankles and throwing the scrap of black
dangling at my feet across the room. He unbuttoned his dark slacks, and pushed
them off his hips within seconds, mercilessly thrusting into me in almost the same
motion. I yelped with a sharp intake of breath, and he covered my mouth with his,
smothering any noise I might dare to make. His movements were heavy, and painfully
cogent. Every push felt further, deeper, quicker, and more purposeful. I had no
chance of lasting, and he made sure of that with several rapid pulls of my hair in
his fisted hand. Our mouths opened in shocked pleasure as I suddenly began to
clench around him, slowly, and with build. He slid a hand under my arched back and
opened his eyes wide, pushing hopelessly and frantically into me with total
abandonment.

I snapped at his lip with my teeth, and he angled my hips at such an exact,
fucking astoundingly precise angle at that moment that all our movement became
suspended in a whirl of moans and releasing breaths, our muscles collapsing into
each other with a slap. Sweat and swollen lips collided as he pulled me closer and
slid to the side of me, his body clunking onto the floor with a defeated thud. I
could hear the beat of my heart in my ears. Our worn, gasping breaths panted in
rhythms with one another, and I closed my eyes tightly.

This was the way of it. It was every time, it was always.

It was Jasper dragging his nails down my legs.

It was Jasper sliding me across a hardwood floor, and pinning my arms.

It was Jasper drawing blood from my shoulder and fighting furiously to find his
way back into something.

It was Jasper pressed to my back, breathing heavily, ceaselessly pulling at me,

pushing, tearing clothing and digging his fingers into my flesh.

It was abrupt, it was lightning and sudden.

It was gratuitous and filth and unrelenting and barbarous.

It was loveless.

My body aches with the astounding clarity of it all.

This is what I know. This is what I�ve lived. This is the parasite that gives me
doubt; doubt in myself and doubt in others.

I never imagined another door would open for me, or that I could ever have the
opportunity to let someone see the good in me � whatever small bit there is left.
The trouble with approaching that door, the trouble with hesitantly opening it and
starting anew is not my unwillingness to do so, no, it�s not this. It�s knowing
the room I�ve just come from; it�s knowing where I�ve been, and the uncertainty of
whether or not I actually deserve anything more.

Just the thought of Edward, just the thought of a new hand on my skin, just the
simple thought of sharing myself as a person, feels like a ticking bomb about to
explode somewhere in my chest.

There is no doubt that I want it. There is only doubt that I can achieve it.
--

Edward

It�s just past midnight as I climb into my bed. I reach toward the bedside table
and switch off the lamp. The night is still, and my sheets are cool.

I�m tired of sleeping alone.

It�s a strange thing, feeling this way, because it has never really bothered me
before. Loneliness is something I�m familiar with, something I may have even gone
out of my way to insure.

There was always something missing.

Quiet walks down school halls, and all the unconditional love I could stomach made
up the better portion of my early years. I was neither unpopular, nor sociable. I
was there, and I existed with the rest of them, and I laughed and I enjoyed. I
might have been too self-involved for a long time to have noticed anyone�s
interest in me, and by the time I did, I was so thoroughly bored with myself and
my walk through what felt like a two-dimensional world that neither party involved
stood a chance.

Relationships, or rather their precursors, those awful strings of trying to get to

know someone, felt boring, and scripted, and totally predictable. Dates were
interviews and sex was ordinary, necessary, and nice without being memorable.
There was no mystery; it always felt like a shallow pool I was forcing myself to
be content enough to wade through. One was vain, another overwhelmingly ill-
tempered. There was one who couldn�t control her unfounded jealousy issues and
another who boiled down to simply vapid. I could list reasons like this off for
days, to make some sense of why they didn�t work out. But, I know it was more than
that. It was more than small faults. It was more than all their faults combined.

If I�m being honest, these assessments are terribly hypocritical. I could be all
those things. I�ve been all those things. The problem was always me. I couldn�t
muster enough interest for anyone for long enough. There was always something more
important, something that required more of my focus. I�d never thought of myself
as being particularly fickle, but when it came down to relationships, it seemed I
very well might be.

Two months. Eight days. Three weeks. And a personal epic � four months. These were
the only times I managed to see a person consistently. No one ever broke my heart,
and it�s doubtful I did any breaking of my own. Everything was simple, rational,
and painfully adult. There was no expectation anymore; from me, from anyone. So
along with it, out went things like passion, and magnetism, and screaming matches,
and 'don�t leave�s', and quick eyelids snapping at me, and every other meaningful
little thing that happens when you let someone close. It never found me. �I love
you� seemed at a perpetual distance.

Sometimes it felt like the world around me had gone to sleep and I was left to
walk through its abandoned streets, wide awake, with blood-shot eyes and a serious
sense of neglect.

I don�t know what is different now. I�ve yet to put my finger on it. I don�t know
what has changed. I just know that it has. I can actually feel it. I react to her.
She reacts to me. I think that�s all I�ve ever wanted, really. For someone to just
react.

It�s not even really a relationship yet, though, is it?

The surprising ring of my phone causes me to jump a little, as a blue glow washes
over the room. I reach toward my nightstand and snatch it up quickly, hoping it�s
the one person I want it to be.

How perfect.

�Hello, Bella,� I answer with a stupid grin on my face.

�Edward, I may have lied to you,� says a slightly unsteady voice.

Things like worry, panic, and fear start coursing through me and the only thing I
can manage to croak is, �what?�

This was the last thing I had been expecting when I picked up my phone.

She clears her throat and seems to be trying hard to fight the tension in her
voice.

�I�m so stupid, Edward. But please hear me out before you hang up on me, please.
It�s about my parents. I didn�t tell you everything,� she says in almost a
whisper, a hint of shame ringing through clearly.

�I don�t understand?�

�They, well, listen, I know this isn�t going to make sense to you, and I�m going
to sound like a complete�God, a complete psycho. But I didn�t know you. I still
don�t know you, I just, I made up such a stupid thing�well, maybe not made up, but
I didn�t say everything. I didn�t know where things were going, and to be honest,
I wasn�t sure I would even see you again, really. Not in any meaningful way, and
oh God��

�Didn�t think you�d ever�? Bella, calm down. You�re probably freaking me out way
more than is necessary right now. Just take a deep breath and tell me what this is
all about,� I try to sound confident, but my chest is heavy with dread.

�I didn�t want to sound pathetic to you,� she whispers again, almost

apologetically.

�Why would you sound pathetic to me?�

�My father is fine.�

It takes me a few moments to gather what this all means. If I had said I wanted to
be surprised before, I think I may have just received my wish.

�He�s�he�s fine? I thought you said your parents died in an accident�� I say,
still letting every thought I have trail off, because there is no real way to
complete what�s running through my head at this point.

�They did! My mother and my step-father. Her name was Renee. And my aunt, that was
all true. I didn�t lie about any of that. It�s just that, well, I don�t have much
of a relationship with him anymore. My father, I mean. Charlie. But, that story is
irrelevant right now. And the money. I haven�t actually been using it. It�s paid
for college, but what�s left is still there, it�s just sitting there, I just
didn�t know how to tell you,� she is speaking unbearably fast and becoming
increasingly flustered.

�How to tell me what, this still isn�t making any sense to me�� I try, but my head
is still spinning with this onslaught of information.

�Everything I have, my apartment, my car, fuck, even my furniture,� she makes an

exasperated noise to herself, �It�s all his. It all belongs to Jasper.�

Oh.

�Edward? Edward, please say something�� she pleads.

�I um, I don�t really know what to say right now, I can�t, um�� and I truly can�t.
I can�t think of what to say, or what this means, or why she is telling me this. I
can�t comprehend any of it.

�It�s just that I felt so fucking dumb around you. The way you put things, the way
you talked about Jasper, and you didn�t even know him. Or me. I felt like if I
told you that�that I depended on him financially; you�d think I was just this
pathetic girl that couldn�t do anything for herself. And that isn�t true at all,
it�s just not. He pleaded with me, he begged me to let him take care of things so
I could stay focused on school. And Edward, I really needed the break.�

�I don�t understand why you are apologizing to me for letting someone take care of
you��

�What?� she sort of hiccups, and I realize this response isn�t what she was
expecting.

�I understand, well I guess I understand, that you�re apologizing to me for lying.

Though, really, it technically wasn�t a lie, maybe just an omission, I don�t
really know. What I don�t understand is why you are trying to justify to me,
Jasper�s role in your financial stability. I�m also having some difficulty knowing
you assumed I would think less of you for it. That�s kind of an unfair assumption,
don�t you think?�

�I�� she seems stunned into silence.

�You what?�

�See! God, you�re so blunt, you know that?�

�How does my being blunt have anything to do with this?�

�I don�t know! Give me a second, I have to clear my head or something, just�hold

on,� I hear her shuffling with something. She clears her throat in the background,
and I can hear her mumbling to herself.

�Ok,� she says.

�Ok?�

�You�re right. It was an unfair assumption. I should have never said the things I
did in the first place. I glossed over it because I hate talking about it. I hate
remembering that time in my life, and I hate trying to explain myself to anyone. I
know you didn�t ask me to, and you couldn�t have possibly known the situation, I�m
just trying to make myself clear,� she pauses for a moment and sighs, �I�m failing
miserably, aren�t I?�

I laugh softly, �No. Not entirely. Go on.�

�I�m getting a job,� she states almost defiantly.

�You�re losing me again,� I say, so confused by this odd girl.

�The reason I�m telling you all of this right now is because I want everything on
the table. I needed you to know this so I wouldn�t have anything on my conscience.
I also don�t want you to worry that I�d let him continue paying for things for me
like this, and I won�t. I�m not wired that way, I wouldn�t let that happen. I�ve
taken care of myself before, I can do it again.�

�You don�t have to prove anything to me, Bella.�

She is silent for a moment.

�I know that. I guess this is more about proving something to myself. I just
wanted to tell you. I don�t know what I�m doing here, Edward, I don�t know at all.
It�s like feeling my way through the dark, I�m just trying to figure out how this
is supposed to be done, and it�s really�it�s really scary.�

�Bella?�

�Yes?�

�This was really not a big fucking deal.�

She laughs and I smile at the tinkering sound, �I was worked up before I even
called you, I�m sorry, it really could�ve waited. My brain has just been�speeding,
or something. I just had to call you, and I didn�t really think it through before
I actually dialed, and well � here we are.�

�It�s almost cute, actually.�

�Glad my insanity amuses you�� she trails off quietly.

�You�re not insane. You�ve just got a lot on your mind. You should try to sleep.�

�Yeah, you�re right. Thanks, Edward. For listening to me, even when I�m not making
any sense.�

�Not a problem. I�m actually, I don�t know, kind of glad you called about it
anyway. It�s nice. You know, that you wanted me to know. Maybe that means you
trust me?�

I can almost hear her smile. �Could be. Goodnight, Edward.�

�Goodnight, Bella.�

I smile to myself in the dark, because this girl is all over the place, and I
couldn�t be more intrigued if I tried.

--

It�s Friday, and I am not just going through the motions. The sky is unusually
clear, the air is crisp but warmer, and I need no jacket. I stare at everything:
grass that is slowly becoming greener, long-legged people walking their dogs,
children whispering and running, shining cars that are free of mud and grit. There
is some sort of energy in the air that comes undeniably with the changing of
seasons. I tap my fingers on my thigh. I may even hum a song or two; could be
three.

I make my way through the liquor store, grabbing a bottle of wine and doing
something closer to gliding than walking down the aisles. My toes cramp at the
edge of my boots, and it doesn�t even matter, because I never want to stop moving
toward the direction I�m heading in now.

When I reach that door, framed in a perfect white with its perfect set of golden
numbers, I raise my fist and tap my knuckles across that wood emphatically � like
I mean it.

I did not tell her I was coming this early.

I did not even bother to call.

She opens the door with doe eyes and we smile like two idiots with a secret.

As she steps away from the door, allowing me to slip past her, I catch the
cinnamon scent of her hair and this day seems unfailingly perfect to me.

She tilts her head to the side, a lopsided smile still hanging on her face, and
laughs slightly. I cannot manage to look away from her in this moment. We stand
two feet away from one another, and I do not hide the fact that I am roaming her
body from head to toe with my eyes. Her dress is loose, her clavicle is sharp and
elegant, her mouth is the slightest width apart, and her calves are rubbing
against one another nervously.

�I didn�t know you�d be here so soon,� she finally speaks, glancing to the floor
as I continue my visual stroll across her person.

�I didn�t feel like waiting,� I say quietly, sincerely.

She fixes her gaze on the ceiling and laughs softly to herself. Her eyes return to
my face and they are so wide that my gut twists and I am struck by an overwhelming
urge to tell her something ridiculous, like maybe my life story, or how I might
have a panic attack if this doesn�t go the way I want it to.

She reaches toward me, and I follow the movement of her gentle hand to the bottle
of wine I am clutching in my own rough fingers. She takes it from me and moves to
the kitchen.

�It�s a little early in the afternoon for drinking, isn�t it?� she asks with a
grin.

I don�t say anything. I don�t move. I don�t do anything but smile back.

She shrugs her shoulders. I run my hand through my hair and watch intently as she
removes a corkscrew from the drawer and goes about opening the bottle. She pours
two generous glasses and walks past me, looking from the corner of her eye with a
smirk, and plants herself on the couch.

I follow suit. My hands are steady. We aren�t speaking, and it�s still enough. We
take small sips. I stare. She glances, nervously and often. There is an electrical
current passing between our knees.

�I�m sorry if I woke you up last night,� she says suddenly, still looking at her
wine glass.

�You didn�t. Don�t be sorry.�

�Maybe it was a little strange of me.�

�Why do you say that?� I ask, breaking the current and closing the distance
between our knees.

She finally looks up at me from under thick, dark lashes, �I get these ideas in my
head about people sometimes. That maybe all they�re doing is waiting on me to
screw up. Not that you�ve made me feel that way, it�s something I do to myself. It
just all felt very imperative. Telling you that.�

�It wasn�t even something I had to know. That kind of stuff, Bella, it�s for you
to decide. I�m happy to know anything you want to tell me, but you have no
obligation to me. Not yet, anyway.�

I grin at her. She rolls her eyes.

�It felt like lying to you. I�m a horrible liar, you see. Well, I�m sure you can
definitely see that now,� she laughs to herself.

�Can�t say that�s a bad quality.�

�I suppose not,� she smiles.

She turns her head to face me, her right cheek resting against the leather
cushion, �what do you want to do today?�

�Anything. Doesn�t matter.�

�I thought I�d make us dinner, maybe?�

�As long as it doesn�t involve stale chips, I�d say go for it.�

She rolls her eyes again, �they weren�t stale, I don�t care what you say. Besides.
Nachos aren�t exactly a gourmet meal. It was just a snack.�

�Yeah, sure, whatever you say,� I smile.

�I kind of feel like an idiot, drinking this wine on the couch like a couple of
cheese-eating assholes.�

�I just want you to know�that was very disgusting imagery, Bella.�

She laughs, �I feel like we should discuss our private school days. Talk about
modern art or interpretive dance or something��

�I�ll get the Guinness.�

�Thank you.�

I grab our glasses and dump them in the kitchen sink. As I grab the bottles of
beer from the fridge, I grin and ask, �What do you have against private schools,
huh?�

I turn to see a blank expression on her face; she blinks a few times.

�You went to a private school didn�t you?�

I smile, �of course I did.�

�Of course you did,� she mutters to her hands.

�My parents thought it would be better,� I say, walking back to the couch and
sitting beside her again.
�I just realized I don�t know much about you at all,� she says, looking so sincere
and almost concerned that I want to pinch her or kiss her.

�Then why don�t you ask? Come on, ask me things. I usually hate this whole part,
the get-to-know-you date talk, but with you�� I nod with a raise of my beer
bottle, �with you, I think I might like it.�

She smiles slowly, �is this a date?�

�If you want it to be.�

�Don�t we have to go somewhere?�

I shrug, �doubt it. I think it only requires that you and I are in the same place,
with the same intent.�

She tries to hold in a beautiful grin, but I can see it anyway. She takes a drink
and never breaks eye contact with me.

�Alright, question one,� she sits her bottle down with a clink and wipes her damp
hand on the light material covering her knee. �Did you always want to be a
doctor?�

�Definitely not.�

�Well then, come on, what did you want to be?� she looks almost childish with her
bright eyes and slightly leaned forward posture.

�A lone ranger. With a rock for a pillow when I slept, you know, with my feet
propped up by the fire. Boots, blue jeans, all of it. I wanted to eat rattlesnakes
and whatever the hell came in tin cans.�

Her laughter starts to slowly rise into a kind of amusement that almost surprises
me.

�What?� I ask. �I�m being serious!�

�I know you are, that just� that was not at all what I expected. It was sort of
precious.�

�I�ll have you know that you should always expect me to be precious.�

�Noted,� she smiles and nods.

�What did you want to be?�

�You�re not supposed to ask me anything, I�ve talked about myself enough. Let me
have my turn,� she says with that fading laughter that seems to float in between
her words.

I raise my hands in feigned annoyance, �fine, fine. Continue.�

�Do you get along with your parents?�

I notice her voice is softer when she asks this, slightly sad and small.

�I do, yeah. I have really great parents. My dad and I, we�re a lot alike, really.
Sometimes that�s a good thing, sometimes it�s bad. For the most part, though, I
can�t say there�s anyone else I respect more. My mother, she wouldn�t hurt a fly,
doesn�t have even a trace of a temper. Carlisle likes to think he�s running the
show, but we all know Esme pulls the strings. She could talk him into, and out of,
virtually anything.� I smile to myself, surprised at just how much I could say on
the subject, and just how much I want to say it to Bella.

�Carlisle and Esme. Those are nice names. Even pleasant to say,� she muses.

�Can I please ask you something, now? Just one thing and I�ll stop, I promise,� I
try.

She smiles and rolls her eyes, nodding her head to let me know it�s ok.

�On the phone last night, you said you didn�t really talk to your dad much
anymore? Is that� I mean, he�s alright, but you just don�t talk much?�

I can see her body tense slightly, �Charlie�s just not very happy with some of the
decisions I�ve made. It�s a long story, really doesn�t matter. I�d rather not get
into it��

�Ok. Yeah, I mean, sorry, I just wasn�t sure I understood everything you were
saying, really.�

�No, it�s fine. Yeah. I�m just on my own for all intents and purposes, you know? I
just thought, if we got to know each other better, I�d mention him eventually and
I didn�t want that to throw you off or anything, considering what I�d said
before.�

�Yeah, I understand completely. It�s fine.�

We look at our bottles on the table, and everything that is usually so comfortable
between us suddenly feels awkward and out of place.

�I um, I think I may have found a job,� she thankfully changes the subject.

�That�s great. Where?�

�I went this morning, walked down to this little book store that�s on the corner.
I�ve always frequented it, I know the manager pretty well and she said they were
looking for someone to work evenings during the week. I thought that might be
nice. It�s not exceptional pay, but it�s enough. More than I expected, actually.
I�ll have to get rid of the car, but that�s fine. I mean, it�s just on the corner,
and I can use a car service for anything else, or the bus, whatever. I�m kind of
excited about it, really.�

I smile at her sincerely. �Sounds perfect.�

�It�s just temporary. Until I graduate. You know, figure out what the hell I�m
doing with my life,� she says, throwing back her drink with a large gulp.

�There�s nothing wrong with that. Sometimes I think school has become my career. I
almost can�t imagine how I�ll do anything else. You know, actually put it all to
use.�

�Isn�t that the truth,� she says, sighing at her hands.

We continue the rest of the afternoon this way, rambling out small details of our
childhoods, and discussing favorite movies, books, and music. For the first time
in my life, none of this feels trivial. It feels necessary. It feels like what
must be said in order to get somewhere else � somewhere stable.

I watch the way she continues to unravel the hem of her dress, standing near the
stove using utensils I don�t know the names of, while stirring, saut�ing, grilling
� could be any of these. I talk about school-issued uniforms; she tells me about
seeing a boy�s head smashed into an air conditioning unit during an after school
fight. I tell her she made that up, and she says that shows how much I know.

I set her table with bright blue dishes and thick white napkins. It seems like too
much, but I don�t tell her that. When I take a bite out of my steak I let out
something like a moan, and she triumphantly yells �in your face!� and I almost
choke right there. I tell her it�s the cow that should be getting all the praise
for tasting so delicious, and she just rolls her eyes.

She�s always rolling her eyes at me.

I end up sprawled in the middle of her living room floor sometime after seven
p.m., staring at some absurd reality show and holding my stomach because I�m
pretty sure it may burst at any moment. She sits on her sofa, laughing at my pain.

�Maybe if you gave your food some time to digest before you kept shoving your fork
back in your mouth, this wouldn�t have happened,� she mocks me.

�Maybe you�ve poisoned me,� I joke.

�I guess we�ll see,� she widens her eyes in pretend conspiracy.

�You like me too much to do that to me.�

�What makes you so sure?�

I lift myself onto my elbows and crane my neck back toward her, �I can just tell.
I know these things.�

�That�s not even a real answer.�

I turn slowly onto my hands and knees and crawl toward her. Her eyes grow bigger
the closer I get, and I stop at her bare feet. I stare at her toes and she curls
them inward under my gaze. I raise my eyes slowly up her legs and to her face. Her
eyes are dancing across me.

I kneel in front of her, sitting back on my ankles, and I can see her chest
visibly moving with every breath. I place four fingers lightly on her calf. Her
leg twitches infinitesimally at my touch. Her eyes are fastened to mine as I raise
myself to her level, still kneeling on the floor. I graze my fingertips lightly,
tracing the curve of her leg up to her knee, and place them only centimeters under
the gauzy fabric of her dress. Her eyes flutter closed and her mouth is slightly
open with muted panting. I lean in toward her neck, keeping my lips painfully
close to her fragrant, milk skin, but careful not to touch. I hear her shallow
breaths, and feel her body slowly coming nearer to my own, magnetically and
nervously.

�That�s how I know,� I whisper just below her ear lobe.

I lean back slightly, bringing us face to face. She is scanning my eyes, my nose,
my lips, and I cannot help myself. I kiss her softly, drawing her lower lip into
my mouth and smoothing my thumb across her cheek. She kisses me back hesitantly,
but then sweetly, as if she may melt into me. My pulse is quick, absolutely
raging, and I am paralyzed by the fear of how much I want this.

I feel her small hand wrap around my arm lightly as I kiss her again and again,
the tips of our tongues finding one another. She grips my arm tighter and I want
to throw her over my shoulder and disappear into a mass of sheets and skin.

She breaks the connection and I see that her eyes are so wide, so surprised, that
all I can do is smile. She presses her forehead to mine and closes her eyes,
swallowing shakily.

�I do like you,� she says softly.

I place my index finger under her chin and lift her face to mine. I kiss the tip
of her nose and sit back on my heels.

�Bella. You�ll have to tell me to leave,� I say, staring at her intensely and
wanting everything in this moment that is better left for later.

She seems confused and opens her mouth, but then shuts it again.

�I like you�.just, awfully. I mean, I really like you, Bella. Which is why I
should probably go now,� I say, gulping down the lump in my throat and averting my
eyes to the floor.

She nods as though she understands, but I�m not sure she really could.

I could rip that dress off.

I could become anything and everything right now if I could feel the friction of
her hands on me, or the heat of our mouths together.

But it�s not the time.

I have to keep reminding myself that it�s just not the time.

I stand and she follows me to the door. I turn to her and smile again, because I
am still dumb and feeling like a child when I see her face. She smiles back
nervously and begins to look exactly as she did when I first came in this
apartment today.

I kiss her cheek. I kiss her forehead. I push her hair behind her ear and say
goodnight.

She closes the door quietly behind me, and I am sinking and flying all at once.
--
Edward

I am not sure I understand just how much I am taking into consideration right now.
I�m not sure I understand the seemingly considerate nature in which I have been
handling things. Does she understand that this is unusual for me? Does she
understand that it is almost involuntary? My head is a vessel, and it has carried
me into corners of darkness and light and a swallowing gray area that can�t be
ignored, many, many times before.

I�m standing in my brother�s driveway, dialing his number so that maybe he�ll come
out and give me some kind of opinion or just his ear, for whatever it�s worth. The
unsettling glow of security lights makes my skin look fluorescent and powdered.
�Are you really calling me from the driveway right now?� Emmett asks in a
monotone, as I notice he is peering from the blinds of the front bay window, a
black shadow against the warm, yellow lights of his living room.

�Yeah. Can you come out?�

�Afraid to face Rose?�

�Probably.�

�Smart boy.�

�I like to think so.�

�Did you cut your hair?� he asks, and I can see that he is tilting his head.

�Huh? No, nuh uh. I think it�s just flatter today, maybe the humidity or
something.�

�Hm. It�s pretty dry out tonight. It looks shorter.�

�Really?� I ask bending down to look at it in the side view mirror of my car.
�Weird.�

�Yeah, I could�ve sworn you had it cut.�

I shake my head, suddenly realizing the sheer ridiculousness of what we are doing,
�Ok, what the fuck are we talking about, are you coming out here or not?�

�Oh. Yeah. Let me put my shoes on,� he snaps his phone shut and disappears from
the window.

I get into my car and wait only a couple of minutes before I see him making his
way across the lawn. He pulls open the passenger side door and slides in with an
automatic, �Rosalie says to tell you you�re a pussy.�

�Tell Rosalie �thanks�.�

�Yep,� he lets out a large yawn and slaps me on the knee, �so what�s up you
fucking weirdo? Where have you been?�

�Alright, listen. I know we don�t really do this whole brotherly bonding shit a
lot, but I figured you�re the only person that�s ever given it to me straight,
despite your massive aptitude for bullshitting. I kind of, um� well, I have a
problem.�

�You don�t say?� he says sarcastically.

�What�s that supposed to mean?�

�You having a problem isn�t exactly a fucking newsflash, Edward.�

I suck a deep breath into my lungs, letting it out in a woosh, my eyebrows raised
in shock at what I�m hearing. �Ah, ok. I�m not really sure how I should take that
right now, but uh��

�Look, you said yourself I�m the only person that�s gonna give it to you straight.
So here it is. We all know you have a problem, Edward. Mom knows you have a
problem. I know you have a problem. Dad knows you have a problem. Rosalie feels
pretty fucking adamant about you having a problem. So don�t look so surprised that
I�m saying this. Everybody knows you�ve turned into some kind of stone over the
last few years, Edward.�

�Well. I wasn�t aware everyone felt that way, Emmett. Maybe you can all invite me
to the next meeting on my mental well-being; I�d love to hear all the fascinating
mutual discoveries that have been made, because I seem to have missed the fucking
memos! I mean, what the shit is that, Emmett?�

He puts his palms up in front of his face, �I�m not trying to attack you here,
sorry, but damnit! You know how many times I�ve called you over the last couple of
weeks? Do you know how many times you�ve actually answered? Here, let me answer
those questions for you: more than I should have, and fucking not at all. You
drive mom crazy, you know that? And guess who has to hear it? I have to hear it,
Edward. I have to deal with it. You don�t go out to see them, you don�t come out
to see me, I have to drag you practically kicking and screaming out of the house
when I do get to see you. And even then, you spend the night making totally mean
and uncalled for remarks to perfect strangers, and ignoring every female that �
god bless her poor, unsuspecting soul � tries to start a harmless conversation
with you. You�re going to be lonely, Edward. You�re gonna get old, and you�re
gonna be such a fucking pain in the ass, grumpy motherfucker to deal with. I will
put you in a home! You hear me? I will send your ass to a nursing home so some
poor nurse has to deal with your shit, because I can�t even begin to fathom how
bad you�ll be by then. And I won�t feel bad about it either, �cause at least
she�ll be getting paid for it.�

He seems to be trying to catch his breath, and I�m pretty sure he just made my
balls into a fucking rearview mirror ornament, because that was brutal.

�I actually came to talk to you about a girl,� I say quietly, my face surely
spelling out all the ways in which I am stunned right now.

He turns to me with his mouth still set in a frown, arms folded across his chest.
However, as soon as he registers what I�ve said his eyebrows rise in something
like delight, or relief.

�Well why the hell didn�t you say that in the first place?!� he yells with a
smile.

�Because you were too busy castrating me for me to get a fucking word out!�

�Ah, Edward, I�m sorry,� he says clapping a hand on my shoulder, �it�s just that,
well. You�re kind of a dick. And after two weeks of getting your voicemail�maybe I
just had to get this off my chest. Probably wouldn�t have mattered if you said
anything or not.�

His laugh is goofy and honest, kind of sputtering, and no matter how awful I
should feel about what he just said, I can�t help but grin back at him.

�I guess maybe I deserve it, but I really didn�t know��

He cuts me off with a wave of his hand, �forget that for now, we�ll get back to it
later. So there�s a girl?�

�Yeah. There�s a girl. This girl. And, I mean, I actually, you know�.like her-like
her. As in I want to talk to her, and she can talk back to me without inspiring a
reflex to gouge my eardrums out with a dinner fork.�

I look to Emmett and the right side of his lip is curled up in disgust, �You�re
really fucking weird.�

�Whatever,� I roll my eyes, �the point is � I�m not just doing it for the hell of
it. I actually want to see her, and be around her, and it�s so fucking odd and
different.�

�I�m sorry; I thought you said there was a problem?�

�I�m getting to that. The problem is, I�m not sure if I can trust this girl.�

Emmett�s laughter erupts into the space around me like some obnoxious, squawking
bird and I jump back in my seat a little.

�Welcome to the fucking club! �I don�t know if I can trust her�? Did you really
just say that shit? Edward. No offense, I know you�re being sincere right now and
it�s touching, really, but since when the hell has anyone started off a
relationship with full and total trust? That�s something you gain, dude. That shit
is earned. So if that�s the entire reason you�ve been reluctant to meet anyone, I
may have to smack you around a little. Just a little. That�s just the risk you
take, Edward. That�s just how it is � for anybody, I don�t care who they are.�

I let out a deep, annoyed sigh.

�Once again, Emmett, you have failed to let me speak. Just listen, ok? I�m not an
idiot. I understand the risks, ok? I understand the usual, normal risks. Shocking
as it may be to you, all-knowing love master, I�ve even touched a real live girl
before! We even had these things called conversations, which is the exchange of
information by way of speaking, can you believe that? I know, I barely believed it
my��

�Shut the fuck up and get on with it,� he interrupts, not amused in the slightest.

�Do you remember that guy, Jasper? The one that bought those places from you?
Blonde hair, total prick?�

He looks confused about where I�m going with this, even as he nods his head that
he indeed knows who I�m referring to.

�Well,� I continue, �the girl he was with, that night you dragged me out with you
to that lame-ass dance inferno��

�Isabella?� he asks suddenly.

�Bella. Yeah,� I nod and stare at him until his eyes grow into saucers.

�You�ve got to be fucking kidding me. Oh man, Edward, I think I fucked up.�

I shake my head, not understanding why he�s putting some sort of blame on himself,
�what? You fucked up? What are you talking about?�

�If you would�ve just answered the goddamned phone, I could�ve asked you. I didn�t
think it was a big deal at the time, maybe a little strange, but I mean, you guys
had met before, I thought maybe he just wanted some medical advice or something��

�Whoa, whoa, whoa, what?�

�He called and asked me for your number. I gave it to him; I didn�t think it was a
big deal! But now I know you fucking snaked his girl out from under his ass�Jesus,
Edward! I didn�t know you had it in you!�

�You gave him my number? He asked for my phone number?�

�Yeah. I mean, look on the bright side; you don�t answer the fucking thing anyway?
And I mean, it�s not like I gave him a map to your house or something. I�m sure
it�s harmless.�

�Maybe, but it�s still fucking weird he would ask you for my phone number�� I
trail off, looking at my steering wheel and trying to make sense of this.

�I wouldn�t worry about. If you see a strange number, just don�t answer it. It was
a few days ago, anyway, so maybe he decided to not bother with it.�

�Yeah. Maybe. Did he say anything else?�

�No. Just asked if I minded giving it to him, said he wanted to ask you something,
that it wasn�t that important. So what happened? How the hell did I miss this?�

�The �how� is pretty irrelevant. And I didn�t snake her out from under him, she
was never really with him in the first place. He said it himself, remember? �It�s
not like that�.�

�Edward,� he says flatly, lowering his chin and giving me a pointed look. �It is
always 'like that'. Especially if they were fucking.�

�You are so fucking crass!�

He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated arc, crossing his arms, �like that�s something
new? I�m just stating the facts here.�

�He showed up when I was at her apartment one night. We were just watching a
movie, sitting on the couch, and he throws this huge fucking hissy fit like a five
year old. Then it turns serious, suddenly he looks like he�s going to cry, like
she�s really fucking gutted him or something. It was the strangest thing I�ve ever
seen, because she�s so lost! Really, he just seems psychotic or something, like
he�s systematically broken her down. Then I find out he�s apparently paying for
all her shit, and she�s assured me that that�s going to stop, and she�s getting a
job, and that she doesn�t want to have anything to do with him anymore, and...�

�Whoa there, slow it down. He�s paying for her shit? Like what? Rent?�

�Everything.�

�Everything? Hm.�

�Yeah. I don�t know what to think. I�m not making her sound that great right now,
I know, I�m just giving you the bare facts, but trust me when I say that it�s some
kind of sick control issue with him. Trust me on that. I�ve seen him in action.
She�s so incredibly nice, and she cuts the bullshit, you know? She tells me the
exact, honest answer to everything I ask her; she�s not trying to hide anything.
The problem is that I don�t know how to approach this. She�s like�something
fragile. I feel like I can�t be nonchalant with it, at the same time that I feel
like maybe I should be, because this girl could seriously break my fucking heart.�
Emmett eyes me quietly, and looks into the distance every now and then as if he�s
giving what I�ve told him some very serious thought.

�I guess you just have to ask yourself if she�s worth it, Edward. I don�t know the
girl, so I couldn�t tell you.�

�I think she is. I mean, I don�t know if I know it for sure, or if it�s because I
want it so bad. It�s so fucked,� I say, hitting my forehead on the steering wheel
in disconsolation.

�My only advice is to tread lightly. That�s probably all you can do at this point.
But Edward, listen to me. Stop shutting everything out, ok? It�s alright to be a
person sometimes, you know? You don�t have to be a fucking statue. You have to at
least try. For once. You�ve never even so much as mentioned a girl to me before,
so I think that means there�s something here, if only for that fact alone. Just
make sure you get all the facts. Don�t jump to conclusions, don�t go assuming
shit, and by all means, do not let her see you acting jealous or insecure over
some dumb fucking shit like her mentioning Jasper, or him calling her, or anything
like that. No matter what happens. Do�not�let�her�see�that�shit. Do you
understand?�

�Yeah,� I groan into the steering wheel.

�Go home, Edward. Stop over-thinking it. Get some rest. And for christsake, answer
your phone when I call.�

I turn my head, resting my cheek on the wheel still, and smile at him, �alright,
Emmett. I will.�

�Yeah, well. I won�t hold my breath,� he grins as he opens the door.

�Thanks, Em.�

�No problem, Edoroni.�

�Don�t ever call me that again. It doesn�t even make sense,� I say with a grimace.

�Yeah, was just trying it out. Don�t think I like it either,� he shrugs.

Right as he�s about to shut the door he stops, and ducks his head back down into
the car, �if that Jasper guy gives you any problems, you know you can call me,
right?�

I laugh and shake my head at him, because he�s such a big dumb teddy bear.

�Yeah, alright, I�ll keep that in mind, Pacino. Goodnight�

�Night, Edward.�

He closes the door and walks back into his safe, warm house. He walks back to
someone who loves him, who cares for him, who worships the ground he walks on,
despite what she may say to the rest of us. I drive back to stark white rooms. I
drive back to a firm mattress with only one, slight impression to its far right
side.

It�s funny to think � it�s funny to know � that I was always a filthy liar when I
said this is how I wanted it.
--
Bella

The phone is lying limply in my hand.

My eyes are red.

My face is a patchwork of pale and pink.

My mouth may be hanging open slightly, and I�m really frustrated about a simple
fact.

Fuck his high cheekbones. I�m sick of the round curve of them. Sick of the
straight jaw, the full lips, his bottomless eyes.

I pick the phone up, I click that button, and I wait for his answer.

�Why do you � it�s� it�s fucking stupid, why do you have dimples? Dimples are for
nice people � sweet, nice, pleasant people! It�s not right, you don�t need them,
you hear me? You�re not a fucking nice person.�

Only even, steady breathing.

�I hate your dimples. Fuck you, fuck you and your face.�

I throw the phone onto the floor, slap my knees with frustrated grunts and do
something between a laugh and a cry and walk down the hall to my room for no
reason. I pace and I pace and I pace some more, and finally I throw myself onto
the bed and fall asleep to the steady symphony that is a droning ring, a sweet and
taunting ring of modern day technology; a blue light flashing and buzzing
somewhere on the living room floor.

I wake up in the dark, my throat dry and body heavy with some reminiscent feeling.
A train wreck. Something running over me. My limbs don�t feel right.

Everything has become so bittersweet in the span of a week.

When Edward left my house on Friday my brain turned into a puddle and I turned
into some kind of ridiculous flower, all fluttering and trying to be light and
pretty. He has this distinct effect on me, the ability to turn me into something
so singularly feminine. I feel some small power with him that I have been
oblivious to until now.

Saturday he kissed my hands, and I stroked his hair as he lay in my lap, sleeping
in the middle of the afternoon as though it were commonplace � as though we spent
every Saturday exactly this way. Sunday he asked about my car, and as I explained
that I had it towed away, back to its owner, he held his smile tightly while his
eyes made incremental changes in size. His eyes are the green of charm and
hesitation. His eyes stay glued to me as I move, as I change positions on the
couch, as I shift in my chair at dinner, as I remove my earrings and place them on
my dresser.

It was Monday, the day he sat at the end of my bed and watched me place the small
diamonds on the wooden surface. He had followed me into my room without a word,
instead of remaining in the living room as I expected. He simply followed. I
turned half way across the room when I realized he had entered, and he only stared
at me with a soft smile, barely evident.
�I just wanted to be comfortable. I need to change,� I explained, sweeping a hand
toward the wedges on my feet, and the material clinging to my legs.

He nodded, walked toward the bed and sat looking up at me intently.

Maybe it should have felt strange, but it didn�t. I turned my back to him and
walked to the heavy dresser opposite the bed. As I reached behind each ear I
glanced at him in the mirror. His eyes never left me, not once, as he trained them
on my hands, my neck, my back as I unbuttoned my blouse and walked to the
bathroom, throwing it in the hamper. I knew his gaze had followed me, and still,
nothing felt strange. I kicked the shoes into the closet; I unbuttoned, unzipped,
and found a worn, faded black t-shirt.

As I walked from the bathroom, he tilted his head to the side, �stay right there.�

I stopped, my foot on the carpet between the door frame and the bed. I
straightened my neck, and rolled my shoulders back involuntarily as he stared at
me, trying to be a graceful bird under his inspection. The shirt sat just above my
hips, the black cotton of my underwear forming a straight line below the bones,
and there his gaze fell.

I started blinking rapidly. There was a certain curiosity making everything inside
me go fuzzy and strange.

He stood and walked toward me, wrapping a hand behind my head and smoothing down
my hair as he pulled me closer. He turned to my ear, right against me, �you�re
very beautiful.� He kissed the spot just above my right temple, and walked back to
the living room with that same soft smile.

He made me believe it. He makes me believe it.

Tuesday after class I walked down the street to the bookstore for my first day of
work. Work which includes unpacking boxes, standing at the counter waiting for a
customer, rummaging through the shelves, sorting, wasting time, sucking that
comforting scent of old, worn pages into my lungs. The manager, Angela, is a girl
I knew from school years ago. She doesn�t ask many questions, always smiles, and
usually leaves when I come in. The bookstore smells of nostalgia, and that�s the
only way I can describe it. It calms me.

I found Edward waiting outside in his silver car. As I walked under the yellow
street lamp I noticed he was reclined in his seat, head moving slightly to the
steady rhythm of something I hadn�t expected. I didn�t want to disturb him; he
looked so peaceful there with his eyes closed gently, his mouth turned slightly
up. I tapped lightly on the window, and his smile grew even wider. The click of
the locks sounded, and I opened the passenger side door. Sitting down I smiled as
innocently as I could at him, because there it was again, that feminine perfection
that flooded me � that bubbling I had never known before.

He turned the volume down.

�I didn�t want you walking home in the dark, I�m not stalking you,� he said.

�I wouldn�t mind if you stalked me,� I said, looking down at my feet.

�In that case, I�ve been here for an hour already.�

�Why didn�t you come in? I�ve just been sitting at the back on the floor,
reading.�
�I didn�t want to bother you.�

�You�d never be bothering me, Edward.�

He kissed me then; he�s always kissing me now. I don�t know how to respond to his
affection at times. I think of pushing him down onto the floor often. I wonder
what he would do if I unbuckled his belt, sometimes. But then he kisses me, and I
don�t think, and we just feel safe. I�m waiting for it, and I�m leaving it in his
hands. I may still be a little terrified at the prospect, if I�m being honest. Of
feeling this new body under the sheets with me in the dark.

Wednesday afternoon I walked into the store, my face flushed a little with the
sudden and unexpected chill in the air. Angela seemed to be smiling nervously, and
I�m not sure how I could tell. It could have been in the way she stared from
behind the counter instead of busying herself with anything else as usual.

�Um, Bella, someone stopped by for you earlier and left this. He was pretty
insistent that I give it to you as soon as you came in, so�� she held out a large
white envelope to me.

My stomach fell to my knees, because something told me this had nothing to do with
Edward, and that only left one other possibility. I looked around me as though I
was being watched, as though I had been caught. How could he have known I was
there?

I reached for the envelope with a tight smile on my face, �oh, thank you Angela.
Did he um, did he say anything else?�

She shook her head as though she could feel my own heartbeats, erratic and tense.

�I�ve just got a few things to put up, and I�ll be out of here. Still handling
everything, ok? Are you comfortable here?� she added.

�Everything�s fine, I really appreciate you giving me this job. I just want you to
know that. I really like it here.�

�It�s not a problem at all. Well, I�m going to finish up�� she walked from behind
the counter, switching places with me.

I waited until she had finished, making casual conversation as she milled around,
rearranging a certain shelf and giving me a worried smile as she walked out the
door. I felt angry as I opened the envelope, not knowing what to expect as it
obviously contained something solid, bulging slightly from one corner.

A set of keys.

A folded, thick sheet of paper.

State of Washington Vehicle Certificate of Ownership.

My name.

My address.

A small note attached by paperclip.

It�s yours. Sell it if you want, it�s paid for. I thought you understood me.
-J

One of those quick, three second flash floods hit my eyes, and I banged my hands
on the countertop, putting my head down on the smooth surface.

I was furious, insulted, confused, and helpless.

Was this my consolation prize? Was this a purchase of guilt, or something to hang
over my head? Was this a fucking payment? Oh, Bella, I�m sorry for all the
torturing we�ve done to each other, won�t this giant chunk of sleek metals make up
for it?

This was a �There, there. Settle down.�

This was a slap in my face.

The car had not been parked outside. I had gone to work straight from my last
class. I could only imagine it would be parked outside of my apartment. I felt
suddenly in an even more awkward position, imagining Edward driving me home to see
the car there again. I couldn�t pretend this hadn�t happened. So I decided to tell
him as soon as I saw him, though I wished this were something I could throw a
sheet over and make disappear.

Just like almost everything else.

As I locked up that night, Edward standing behind me at the door, I turned half
way and pushed the envelope to his chest. I caught his eyebrows raise as he
clutched at it.

�What�s this?�

�Someone�s death wish,� I murmured.

His eyes were wide as he opened the envelope. He stood under the street lamp and
read it while I stared at his car, my jaw set.

�Ah..?� his mouth slightly opened then as he shook his head in confusion.

�I assume it�s parked at my house, I don�t know what to say. I didn�t want you to
think I lied when I said I sent it back. I did.�

�Did he come here?�

I nodded my head.

�Oh,� he looked at the ground.

I felt guilty then, though I had done nothing. Once again, my past had forced me
into an awkward position with Edward. These were things that should never be
discussed. These were things he shouldn�t have to see or know about, it should�ve
all been separate.

�I wasn�t here. He left it with Angela. I don�t know how he knew to find me here.�

He looked up then, �you didn�t tell him?�

�I haven�t spoken to him,� I said with a confused expression.

�What are you going to do with it? The car?�

�Consider setting it on fire? Selling it? I don�t know right now.�

As we drove home Edward squeezed my hand, and stayed focused on the road. The car
was there in its old spot, and as I walked to my door I pretended not to notice
it. I kept my eyes steady on the door.

Thursday we met at the theater again. Edward did not speak throughout the entire
movie, and I had no idea what to say, because nothing ever came to mind. I was
still angry. I started to feel all hope slipping. I felt like I had done something
wrong. Edward never even glanced at me once. He seemed always to be grinding his
teeth, or sighing and closing his eyes. My worry grew and turned into that shaky
throat that warns of inevitable tears.

We had an early dinner before he drove me to work. He stared at the table. Finally
I decided to talk about the weather, and everything in me was dying with every
stupid word I said, because what a pathetic conversation that was to even start.

He looked up at me then and smiled a little.

�Is everything alright?� I asked, my eyes scrunched slightly.

�Yeah, everything�s fine,� he said, and I didn�t believe him, but I did not know
how to proceed either.

�Ok,� I said, because his averted eyes closed the conversation for me.

�Oh, listen, I won�t be able to pick you up tomorrow night. It�s my mother�s
birthday and I haven�t seen my parents in a little while, so� we have this dinner
thing.�

�Oh. Ok.� And there went the last piece of my hope that day, plummeting from my
knees to my toes.

The trip to work was silent, the drive home from there even quieter, almost
deafening in it�s lack of enthusiasm or interest.

He kissed me softly, and did not come in for a little while as usual, did not even
move to get out of the car. I hoped he could see that I was crumbling, that his
silence was choking me.

I sighed heavily as I opened the car door, and turned to him, �Edward, are you
sure everything is ok?�

�Bella, everything is fine, why don�t you believe me?�

I wanted to laugh in desperation. Why didn�t I believe him?

He leaned over and kissed me again, giving me what was supposed to be a reassuring
smile, but fell flat anyway. So I walked into my apartment and decided to direct
all my anger at visions of Jasper�s face. I felt stupid to have ever tried to do
things normally. To think anyone would want to follow this act.

So I called him and spit my piece at his stupid breathing, his annoying and calm
and confident breathing. There were so many things I could have said, and all that
came out was how much I hated his face, and how much his features confused me. It
sounded insane, it didn�t make any sense, but it�s all that came out. Opening my
mouth always felt like a waste of time, right? And this only served to further
prove that.

This room feels like a coffin, sitting here in the dark and feeling sorry for
myself, trying to pinpoint what I could have done to keep from ever being in this
position, to keep from feeling this dread and panic.

I decide to forego classes today.

By one o�clock I call Edward, even though I usually leave it to him to do the
calling.

�Hi, Bella,� he sounds a little more pleasant today and my entire body jolts.

�Hi. How are you?�

�I�m good. Getting ready to go out to my parents�.�

�Oh. So, will you be back tonight, or?�

�Yeah, I will. I was thinking about something, actually. Listen, do you think I
could stop by on my way home? It may be late, I�m not sure how late, but do you
think that�d be ok?�

�Yes!� I say embarrassingly loud.

But he doesn't laugh, or chuckle, or let on that he noticed, or that it was

amusing. Something in me sinks back down again.

�Ok, good. Great. Bella, can I just�� he sighs loudly, �can I just tell you
something?�

�I really wish you would.�

I picture his smile, even if it is wishful thinking.

�I�m trying very hard to be a grown up about this. That�s what you want and need,
I know that. I just don�t want you to worry, alright?�

I�m not sure I understand the meaning of what he�s saying, but I say I understand
anyway, and bite my lower lip not knowing if I will ever be able to make sense out
of myself. Maybe I should just give up now.

I walk to work. The tree limbs are arms that want to push me and knock me down.
Every person I see gives me some awful look. The world is perfectly re-imagined
according to my moods. It�s this way everyday.

I pace back and forth down the aisles of books for what feels like an eternity,
mumbling things to myself like:

You knew you didn�t deserve him from the beginning.

Call your father.

Tuck your tail and run, you have burned every bridge.

I walk behind the counter, sit on the old green bar stool with its ripped leather,
and spin in my seat, making high pitched squeaking noises with my hands pressed to
my face. I am probably scaring away the few customers that are sipping coffee in
the back corner of the store, writing in their notebooks, being intelligent and
thoughtful. I hear the soft jingle of bells as the front door opens.

I look up.

His stance is wide, his left arm still outstretched as the door leaves his
fingertips and closes. He looks as though someone has pressed the pause button in
the middle of some awkward sideways run. His hair seems longer and pushed
everywhere. A cigarette is still in his hand, the smoke leaving his mouth in a
fast cloud, dissipating above him. His black suit is slim, tailored, and dripping
with some innate condescension. He flings the door open again for a moment,
tossing his cigarette out, and looking wildly back to me again.

The room around him suddenly looks older, dank, as though it may gather itself up
and cower away.

I can�t move.

He has never looked so out of place.

�I had to see it to believe it,� he states in a low voice.

--