Butterfly by theinfinitexsadness

Inspired by the songs Butterfly and Across The Sea by Weezer,

as well as the album they come from, Pinkerton.

Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer, I'm just playing with the characters. I also do not own the song used in this fic. The songs and album referenced here belong to it's writer, Rivers Cuomo, and his band, Weezer.

The set ends and the crowd goes wild, as they usually do. Tossing a few things into the roaring crowd, we all stand together at the front of the stage and take a bow. We blow kisses and smile at our fans, caught up in the euphoria of being idolized. Call me arrogant, or even conceited, but it's taken a lot to get to where we are, so I don't think there's anything wrong with reveling in the feeling of being adored. Looking to the side of the stage, I catch my work-hungry manager tapping his wrist with his finger, indicating that we're on a tight schedule. Right, wouldn't want to defy your precious contract. That's all we are to him, a contract…a business deal. This asshole is making millions off of our records, and we can't spend a few minutes to appreciate and connect with our fans.

After escaping the crazy crowd, we all load up the bus and make our way to the next city— Seattle. The place where I grew up and the one place I've always called home. I pull out my pen and notebook, feeling inspired to maybe write something.

I don't get the same happiness from writing songs that I used to. I feel naked and exposed when my music is put on an album; life on the road does that to you. I spend a year, at least, on tour after a new album of ours comes out. A year of living on a tour bus with 4 other guys, a year of the same girls throwing themselves at me. I used to enjoy sleeping with a different woman every night. I used to enjoy it all, but now I'm starting to resent it. I can feel myself going into a depression of sorts, but if anyone were to know, they'd use it as great incentive for a new album. That's what this business does to you— they use your talent, or in my case, my pain, to make millions. Our biggest song to date was written when I was mourning over the passing of my sister. My manager altered the lyrics and demanded an upbeat rhythm, and now the song is about a man who accidentally kills his ex-girlfriend after she cheats on him. If we miss one gig on a tour, we get sued. Who cares that my drummer overdosed in his bathroom 3 years ago, causing us to forfeit the show - we had to pay the venue owners for "wasting their time". There's nothing more lonely than being a full-time musician, and don't let anyone tell you different.

If I had to do it all over again, I would have made an honest living by being a doctor, or lawyer…hell, I'd be a gas station attendant. At least I'd be happy. The money I've made means nothing to me. The only thing that matters to me is that there are people out there in the world that are genuinely thankful for the music that I write. I may have saved a life or two for all I know. I can't take that away from them. After all, I used to be a fan, just like all the others.

"Hey, Eddie," my bass player, Emmett. "you need to get some pussy. This dry spell doesn't seem to be working for you that much, buddy."

I ignore his jab and continue to attempt to write. It's true though, I haven't had sex in almost a year. I have zero interest, and I probably couldn't even get hard if Mila Kunis was naked in front of me right now.

When you're famous, girls are all the same. They don't care about you as a person, they just want your dick. Its always the same thing: a screaming fan knocking on my door, telling me that they're dying to meet me. It's not long before I have them up against a wall, under me on a couch, or bent over a countertop. These women pant and scream like it's the best they've ever had, and I'm barely even there, waiting for it to be over so I can be alone with my thoughts. I just have no interest in this lifestyle anymore. I want more than tour buses and tabloids and women throwing themselves at me. I want to get married and start a family; I want a real life.

I don't care about the famous "friends" I have.

I don't care about my albums selling a million copies.

I don't care about being on the cover of Rolling Stone.

I don't care about any of it anymore.

I'm happy to be going to Seattle, though. I haven't been there since last year. I haven't been able to bring myself to go there. Every time I'm even remotely reminded of it, I feel those butterflies in my stomach that I always thought was a myth, written by desperate erotic novel authors. I feel those butterflies and I see nothing but brown eyes.

I'll always remember her.

She smelled like strawberries.

All I ever knew about her was that her name was Bella. Not only was her name beautiful, but it meant beautiful in Italian as well. I wanted to know more than that. I wanted to know where she grew up, what her passions were, everything. I found myself wanting to know every detail about her life, and if it took a damn hundred years to tell, I'd sit for every minute of it.

When I first laid eyes on her, I knew I had to have her, but it wasn't until I actually touched her that I tumbled down the rabbit hole. Her touch sent electricity up every last inch of my body. She was nervous, and I knew that it was truthfully because she wasn't that spontaneous. She wasn't like the others. But she wanted it, more than anything. I could see it in her beautiful eyes that she yearned for me to touch her, to make her forget about everything else that happened in her life before me.

"Hi, my name is Bella," she said shyly, extending her hand and I took it. That's all it took for my body to respond.

"Nice to meet you, Bella." I said. No need to introduce myself.

"I'm, um… I'm a really big fan of yours. I really enjoy the music you write. Your last album got me through my grandmother's death…well, I know you must hear that all the time…" She was nervous.

And she was right. I did hear that all the time. Most of the time I'd hear a sob story about some latest breakup and how they wish they could get their mind off of it. Women think they're smart if they suck me in by using a tragic story. It's not that I was stupid enough to believe the stories; for me it was mostly a shrug of my shoulders and "meh, okay, whatever, I get the hint, get on your knees."

"That really means a lot, Bella, and I'm very sorry for your loss." Her big beautiful eyes looked back up to me and I swear I melted on the spot. This girl didn't say much, but she already had me. "Would you like to hear a new song that I just wrote?"

She bit her lip as she studied my intentions.

"Sure, I'd love to."

She was the only thing I've ever been sure of in my life. I felt as if the two of us were alone in the world and I never wanted our time together to end.

The way she felt in my arms…

The way she felt under me…

Most girls I slept with in the past would utter the famous line "I don't usually do this…" but I knew it was a lie. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her chocolate brown hair flowed down to the middle of her back. Her big brown eyes made you wonder what kind of stories they held. She was…what most people would call a "plain jane", but I was captivated by her natural beauty. She was pure and innocent to me, angelic even. I felt like I needed to protect her from every bad thing in her life. Being inside of her was more than heaven, something so much more…I felt like I was home. We fit together as if we were each other's counterpart; she wasmy salvation.

She was the reason I was alive, the reason I existed.

I fell in love with Bella for a night and I haven't been the same ever since.

"Wow, that was beautiful. You're such a powerful writer." I could see the hint of a tear in the corner of her eye. Don't cry, angel. "I've been such a huge fan of yours over the years. I missed your last show here and I made sure to catch this one. I'm glad I did."

"I'm glad you did too, Bella." She blushed, and my heart skipped a beat.

"Is that song going to get onto an album? It's so…compelling." Her feedback meant the world to me.

I shrugged. "I don't know, every time I write something really meaningful, I feel like it loses it's value when it's publicized, you know? Or maybe, I guess I've just lost the interest in doing what I do. The whole rock star thing is getting a little old for me. I want more than that."

"Just because you're a famous musician doesn't mean you have to play the part of the rock star. You're great at what you do. You inspire so many people. Surely that must bring you happiness?" Her words hit me hard, and she was right.

"It does, believe me. My fans are the only reason why I'm still doing this. I just…don't have any inspiration left."

"Yes you do," she whispered. Her hands cupped my face, and I looked up at her. I could almost feel the intensity of her pulse through her fingertips. When she leaned forward and kissed me, I lost the ability to breathe.

I took my time undressing her. Every inch of clothing I removed from her was replaced with a kiss. When I reached her erogenous zones, she moaned out what I felt was music to my ears. I took my time, worshipping her body as she moaned beneath me. I was drooling for her, needing to taste her. I needed to inhale her so deep that the scent would never leave me, and to this day, it hasn't. She thrashed her head around as I lapped at her folds, savoring her sweet juices. I had passed the part of wanting her— I needed her.

I've been with many women, but I've never been with or touched a woman so intimately. I was exploring her with my hands; I was getting to know her. If this were any other girl, I would have stuck my cock in her and fucked her good and hard. But when I inched my way inside her, something in me snapped. I made passionate love to Bella, something I had never done in my life. I moved in and out of her slowly, savoring every inch of her perfection. I took note of how her pretty little mouth formed an 'O' shape every time I'd push myself back in.

"Mmm, Eddie…ah, you feel so good."

"Bella," was all I could moan over and over again. She loved the sound of her name coming from my lips. Her breathing became shallow when I started whispering in her ear.

"I don't know where you came from, but I've never felt the way you make me feel."

"You're so beautiful, Bella, you're perfect."

"My Bella."

Not much else was said, only heavy moans and pants. I interlocked my fingers with hers and I leaned my forehead against hers as we both came together, falling at the same time. I knew that she felt it too, that connection that we both had and clearly longed for. I knew that she was thinking the same thing that I was. I wrapped my arms around her, not saying a single word, but thinking a thousand thoughts. It hit me like a goddamn freight train—

I was in love with her.

As she slept, my fingers danced in her hair and on her skin. I wanted to memorize every inch of her. While my fingers danced, they came across a little butterfly tattoo under the left side of her left breast. Tracing my fingers over the small tattoo, I couldn't for the life of me wrap my head around it: for the first time in my stupid, pathetic little life, I was in love. But I had never been in love, what was I to do? My mind played it's usual tricks on me.

What if we get close and I fuck it up?

Would I be able to give it all up just for her?

Am I good enough for someone like her?

She's too perfect, will I ruin her?

What if…

And like a moron, I got out of bed. Her body already noticed the lack of warmth around her, and half asleep, she moaned, "Where are you going?"

"Shh, love. Go back to sleep, I'll be back soon."

But I lied. I got dressed and went out for a cigarette to clear my head, but I never went back.

I was a fucking coward. The whole ride to whatever town we were going to, all I could think of was what I'd just done. She woke up alone, probably by the housekeeper. I left her there, just like I had done for years prior to meeting her. She woke up alone, and I caused her to feel used.

The details of that evening flood back to me and I pick up my pen again. I don't even need to think, the words are coming to me, coming at me. I berate myself for being a spineless jerk and can only muster up the words, "I'm sorry". I guess I'll leave the apology to the end of the song.

Just thinking about her makes me insane: insane with lust, insane with guilt, insane with…love.

Her scent comes at me like a brick to the face.

Her eyes are rolling to the back of her head in pleasure.

"So good," she moans.

She bites her lips to keep from crying out.

Her little butterfly tattoo taunts my every waking thought.

God, I'm such an idiot.

I blink and I feel wet. Tears.

I'm crying. I'm crying because the one shot I had at happiness is ruined.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"

Eyes still wet, I read over the page in front of me, amazed at how quickly my words came to me in the form of lyrics.

Yesterday I went outside
With my mama's mason jar,
Caught a lovely butterfly
When I woke up today
Looked in on my fairy pet
She had withered all away
No more sighing in her breast

I'm sorry for what I did
I did what my body told me to
I didn't mean to do you harm
Every time I pin down what I think I want it slips away
The goal slips away

Smell you on my hand for days
I can't wash away your scent
If I'm a dog then you're a bitch
I guess you're as real as me
Maybe I can live with that
Maybe I need fantasy
Life of chasing butterfly

I'm sorry for what I did
I did what my body told me to
I didn't mean to do you harm
Every time I pin down what I think I want it slips away
The goal slips away

I told you I would return
When the robin makes his nest
But I ain't never coming back
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry

The bus stops and we gather our things to get off. I'm not going to sleep tonight, that much I know. I stay standing while the others move towards the entrance.

"Ed, man, where you going? The hotel's right here. It's after eleven and it's raining!" I ignore Emmett again.

"I'm going for a walk," is all I say, handing my bag to Jasper, my lead guitarist.

There's not a day that goes by where I don't think about her. I wonder where she lives, I wonder what she does every day. I wonder if she ever thinks about me. Probably not, to her I'm just another asshole who used her. I took full advantage of her and then bailed on her. The thought of it makes me physically ill.

It was for her own good, though. I'm not a good person anymore. Fame has completely ruined me. I try to rationalize it, but there's no use in trying.

Still, Bella will always be the star in all of my fantasies.

I tried, I really tried, to be with other women after her. I thought that I could do what everyone else does and fuck her out of my system. It didn't work, and all I did was compare every woman to her, which made every experience not even remotely enjoyable.

Because they weren't her.

I look ahead to a diner on the corner. Open 24 hours.

Upon opening the door, an older woman turns around, frightened by the sound of the bell hitting the door.

"Oh! Sorry, dear, you startled me a bit. Wasn't expecting anyone to be coming in!" Her face takes in my appearance, and for a split second, I prepare myself and dread the inevitable question of who I am.

Aren't you that guy from that band—

I dread it every time.

She looks me up and down, and she frowns. "You're going to get sick, honey. What were you thinking, being out in the rain so long? I'll go grab you a towel." I'm relieved that she doesn't bring up the subject. Then again, she might not even know who I am. Or maybe she does, but she won't mention it.

She brings me the towel and I thank her. She has a motherly look to her, just like my own mother.

Pouring me a coffee, she chuckles lightly to herself. "You know, my daughter is going to freak when she finds out you were here." There it is.

"Oh, so you do know who I am," I say, not trying to sound full of myself, because I'm not. She nods.

"I know very well who you are. It's hard not to know when your face is all over my daughter's bedroom. Or, at least it used to be until she moved out. She's absolutely obsessed with your band…at least I think she still is." I smile at her choice of words. It's nice to hear that I'm not just a typical teen heartthrob to everyone.

"I guess you must be hungry, yeah?" I nod, sipping my coffee. "Well, since it's 11:30 and this place is deserted, I'll make you whatever you want. What would you like?"

I shrug. "I'm not really sure, what's really good here?"

The woman smiles brightly. "You know, my daughter loves waffles and chocolate ice cream. When she was growing up, whenever she was upset, it was like…that was her cure."

I take another sip of my coffee and put the mug down. "You know what? That sounds great." She smiles, and I can't help but think of Bella. I don't know why, and I can't put my finger on it. I reach out my hand to her with a smile. "I'm Edward Cullen, by the way."

She takes my hand in hers and shakes it. "Renee Swan, nice to meet you." She skips away happily, preparing my pre-midnight snack. I take a minute to look around the deserted diner. I remember coming here when I was a kid, even a teenager. Remember those drunken nights in high school when you drive around with your friends to find any place open? While everyone went to McDonalds, this was the place we'd always come. It's changed a bit, mostly I guess since the passing of it's original owners, Mr. and Mrs. Cope.

As quickly as she left, she comes back with a plateful of waffles and chocolate ice cream. The child in me is excited.

"What's that you got there, if you don't mind my asking?" she asks, nudging her head to my notebook.

"Oh, I wrote a song on the way here. Kind of a touchy subject…"

"So, it's Edward, not Eddie?" She asks and I catch the hint of amusement in her voice as she leans her elbows on the counter with her coffee cup in both hands.

"Yeah, when our band first got signed, our manager decided that Eddie Cullen would sound a lot cooler. He said that my name was too old fashioned," I scoff and shake my head. "I was named after my grandfather. He was a good man, and I'm proud to have that name. So, when I introduce myself, I use my real name."

Sympathy radiates off of Renee's face.

"I wish you could give my daughter a lesson about that. Izzy hates her full name, or any variation of it. She enjoys the short form and nicknames more. Like, your parents gave you a name for a reason, why butcher it with short-forms?"

I let out a laugh at that. She reminds me so much of my own mother, they could be best friends. She looks at her watch, shaking her head, while I clear my throat.

"I hope you don't think that what I'm about to say is weird or creepy, but I'm really enjoying our little conversation. It's nice to talk to someone real, you know? Someone who doesn't want to hear about if I have a girlfriend, if I'm planning to go solo or stay with the band, when the next album is going to come out…"

She nods, empathetically. "I can't imagine what it must be like for you. Do you even see your family?"

"Well, my brother, Emmett, plays bass in the band, and my sister, Alice, died 2 years ago. I think that, and our upcoming tour, made things between us and our parents more estranged. If we see each other, it's mostly on holidays, but that's about it. I really miss them though."

"I'm really sorry to hear that, Edward. My husband's overseas right now, stationed in Afghanistan. My daughter and I are really all each other has right now. Every day I have that fear, you know? That fear that I'm going to get a phone call, or worse, a knock on my door. It's tough being separated from the ones you love, isn't it?"

The bell at the door rings, and in comes a girl. Her face is covered by the hood she's wearing on her jacket. The bottoms of her jeans are wet, and she's wearing Converse shoes that squeak with every step she takes. She shakes the rain off of her and I can see that her earphones are in, and she's not bothering to look around. She goes behind the counter and into the back room.

"Well, hun, it appears that my shift's over. Sorry about that, that was my Izzy. When her music's in, she's in a world of her own. Don't feel that you have to leave, though. She's working the 12-7 shift. She could probably use the company. Excuse me for a minute." I nod, as Renee goes into the back. I hear muffled voices and the sound of Renee gathering up her things. She comes out with her purse and car keys and comes to give me a hug.

"It was really great to meet you, Edward, and don't worry, I won't be gossiping to any magazines that you're here. And I told my daughter that she'd be interested to know who's been keeping me company tonight." She winks at me and I laugh as she walks out and into the rain.

I can't imagine what it must be like to work a 12-7 shift in an empty diner. She must get bored…and tired. It probably doesn't even pick up til 5 in the morning.

I hear some fussing in the back and the girl, or, Izzy, comes walking out. Her back is immediately to me, as she puts her hair up and plugs in her iPod to the docking station.

"I hope my mother wasn't too terrible of company, she tends to get a little carried away sometimes," she says, still not turning around.

I freeze. That voice.

She turns around and as soon as she lays eyes on me, she freezes as well.

My mouth must be on it's way to the floor as I utter the only name that's been on my mind for the past year.

"Bella…"

I stand up from my stool and she hesitates. She's still not saying anything.

I look down at my notebook, then back to her. I grasp it and lightly slide it towards her direction.

I swallow, loudly, before I work up the courage to actually say something half intelligent.

"I wrote you a song."

So basically, this is how this oneshot came about:

I fell asleep one night, listening to the album Pinkerton by Weezer (If you haven't heard it, it's amazing). That night, I had a dream that Edward (or I guess Rob, whichever) was on a coach bus and writing in a notebook, looking perplexed. The album, Pinkerton, was recorded while Rivers Cuomo was studying at Harvard. He was very lonely and that's the theme of the album.

I kind of put two and two together, and then this was born. I also thought about maybe turning this into a full story, but I'm not sure that I'd have enough plot ideas to expand it.

Hope you enjoy, feel free to leave feedback!

xo