A/N: This was written for the Cullens Incarcerated contest hosted by my girls over at WARehab. Congrats to the winners! I was tempted to re-write this little diddy to include some smexin' but decided that'll be saved for the second chapter, which will be an epilogue of sorts. You'll see. Enjoy!

EPOV

I'd known for years that it was bound to happen.

But still, every time a new customer walked through my door and handed me a fat wad of dirty money, they walked away with a pocketful of whatever narcotic I had on hand. I was a drug dealer. I was a sleaze, a sham, a loser.

And now I was paying for it.

It all happened on the eve of my twenty-third birthday. There was a throng of people packed into my apartment, every single one of them high or drunk on the booze and drugs that I had graciously supplied. There were guys doing shots of rye in one room -- I thought for sure I heard the muffled sound of vomiting through the wall, but I ignored it -- there were girls all over me, trying to get their hands in my hair and down my pants. I pushed them all off with a laugh, but damn they were persistent. One girl finally caught my attention -- much to my great vexation as I tried my hardest to keep my wild nights girl-free -- and she straddled my lap and started whispering slurred words in my ear. I laughed and took another long sip of my drink.

I felt on top of the world, having nearly a hundred people swarming me, giving me praise and love and adoration. I knew deep down inside of me that they weren't praising and adoring me, per se, seeing as I could only put a name to about a third of the faces that surrounded me, but I revelled in the happy, joyous energy that filled the room.

The girl on my lap started grinding back and forth and I couldn't help my reaction -- it felt fucking good. I wrapped my hands around her waist and pulled her closer to the pleasant ache in my groin. As she pressed herself against me I suppressed a satisfied groan. I could feel anticipation bubble within me and I knew, just knew, that I'd fucked up and was definitely going to bang this nameless chick.

That was until the door busted down and a team of police officers and teeth-baring canines flooded in, screaming at everyone to "put their hands up." I froze, unable to move even an inch; I was rendered completely speechless and unthinking.

The party dispersed quickly with crowds of people pushing past the cops to ensure a safe getaway. The girl who was on my lap squeaked and flung herself away from me so fast I almost missed it. I think she must have been the first one out the door. I watched as my apartment emptied -- save for my best friend Jasper and me -- and I prayed to a God I didn't believe in that I'd escape this debacle unscathed and free from arrest.

I didn't. And neither did Jasper.

I was placed in a small holding cell for three weeks with only the bare essentials. I had a bed with scratchy, wool sheets, a small sink, and a toilet -- all out in the open for my prison mates to see. It was anything but sterile, and the bars that surrounded me were grimy and disgusting. Lonely couldn't even begin to describe the way I felt in that cell. I knew I deserved it for the offences I'd committed, but it just didn't feel right for anyone -- myself included -- to feel that level of loneliness. I found myself weeping at night, praying and grovelling on my knees. I'd grab hold of the bars and shake them violently. I'd emit silent screams that choked me. And then I'd pass out from exhaustion in my decrepit, horrible excuse for a bed.

Every morning I'd wake to the nauseating smell of urine and mould. Immediately I'd rush to the toilet and expel anything that was left in my stomach, usually only retching up stomach acid painfully. And my day would progress exactly as the day before and the day before that. Wake, vomit, fall face-first into my pillow and cry silently until another day passed by with that same gut-wrenching feeling of loss of hope and loneliness. It was enough to drive me mad.

Jasper was held three cells down from mine, and for that I was grateful, because although I was confined to this tiny space, the walls were only bars, and every night Jasper and I could talk to each other.

One night about two weeks into my stint at St. Helen's, Jasper brought up a very good point.

"Your trial is in exactly a week from today," he reminded me, and relief and fear washed through me simultaneously. One week from today and I'd be able to fight my case with one of the most prestigious lawyers money could hire -- Mr. Carlisle Cullen. I remained silent, my eyes still on Jasper who leaned with his back pressed harshly against the bars of his cell. "How do you think it'll go?"

I heard a deep, booming voice from the cell beside me, muffled from what sounded like his pillow, say, "Shut the fuck up, some of us are trying to sleep."

I cleared my throat and spoke in the quietest voice I could muster. "I don't know," I admitted to Jasper. I saw him nod dismally. "It could go either way."

Jasper didn't reply, giving me time to think. I pressed my head uncomfortably to my hard, polyester pillow and let my mind wander. I knew that if Carlisle Cullen, lawyer extraordinaire, could pull some strings in the legal department and pull off a stellar trial, my chances of getting out of this hell hole were pretty good. But on the other side of that, I knew it was going to be hard for him to make that happen. There was too much evidence against me; too many witnesses to my illegal behaviour and devious ways.

I'd been selling cocaine, Oxycontin and marijuana for nearly five years, which means I started when I was only eighteen years old. It was going so well and I was highly regarded in the drug-filled social circles that dominated the Chicago nightlife. There were countless parties thrown at my house, and countless people leaving there everyday looking very conspicuous and extremely red-eyed, I'm sure. Jasper my was partner in crime -- literally -- and I felt sad to see him go down with me since I was to one who pressured him into being my right-hand man. He was sceptical, which I had expected, but he agreed to do it nonetheless.

Poor bastard.

I knew it was bound to happen, too, and I knew exactly who had tipped off the cops the night it all exploded in my face. You see, I wasn't the only high profile drug dealer that dominated that Chicago nightlife. People always hear about drug wars and the shady lives that all drug dealers lead. That isn't all true, though. Although I did live a shady life by night when I was selling drugs to underage teens and single junkie mothers who needed their fix -- which, yes, I admit, is the shadiest thing a motherfucker can do -- I also lived a pretty average life outside of it all. I went to work from nine-to-five at a local diner from Monday to Friday, I walked the isles at the grocery store with my list in hand and a smile on my face. I helped old ladies cross the street. I opened doors for women. I donated money to a local charity. But the scheming bitch who ratted me out seemed to sidestep the fact that I was trying my hardest to make a normal life -- save for the drugs -- when she ran to the cops and busted me. She also forgot that I had just as much shit against her as she had against me.

Her name is Bella Swan, and she's my competition around here. Crowds of people, red-eyed and woozy, just like my customers, had been piling out of her shitty apartment every night for almost six years. She was my neighbour. She had even been a huge part of my life at one point. She was Queen Bitch in Chicago, and no one, and I mean no one, fucked with Bella Swan. She sold to the upperclassmen. The guys with expensive cars and genuine calfskin leather coats shipped in from Italy and Russia. Her customers were drug- and money-hungry mob bosses. Yes, Bella Swan sold her drugs to the mob.

The fucking mob.

And although she opened her pretty little mouth to the cops about me, I'll never forget the day I laid eyes on her.

It was late spring when the cool, fresh air was a permanent fixture around town. I had just moved to the neighbourhood, eighteen years old and feeling on top of the world. I was taking a mid-morning stroll to the liquor store to stock up for the party I was throwing later when I saw a crouched figure and a mess of long, shiny brown hair. She had dropped a box in the middle of the deserted sidewalk, her hair blowing wildly in the Chicago wind as she huffed at the ground and her belongings that were scattered in every direction. I tapped her on the shoulder once, startling her into a standing position.

Her eyes seemed to cloud over when she saw me and she pursed her lips, looking devastatingly furious -- and absolutely stunning. Her soft, pink lips pinched together in the most adorable of ways as her piercing brown eyes bored into mine with enough intensity to knock a horse into next Tuesday. I smiled politely at her. "Could you use some help?" I asked her.

Her features softened somewhat when she processed that I meant no harm. "I'm fine," she said curtly and swiftly resumed pick-up. I bent down beside her, picking up a weathered copy of Jane Eyre from the grimy sidewalk.

I placed the book into the large cardboard box at her feet. "You don't look fine," I laughed, picking up more books. This girl must really love to read, I remembered thinking.

Her eyes met mine briefly but she turned away before saying anything. Together we gathered up every last book until the box was full to the top once more. She nodded her head at me and started walking away. I let her go for a minute, but as I stood behind her, watching the slight swing in her hips and the way her shiny hair blew carelessly in the wind, I rethought the idea of letting her walk away. I briskly went to catch up with her and began walking by her side, whistling as I looked at her carefully through my periphery. She looked angry; her face was nine shades of red.

"Can I help you?" she asked, irritated, and seemed to quicken her pace. I quickened mine, too.

"I can carry that box for you if you'd like." And fuck you senseless if you don't mind.

She shook her head. "I told you, I'm fine." Her voice was brash and filled with anger.

Feisty. I liked it.

I stepped in front of her, giving her no where to go. She didn't stop quick enough and the box pressed against my stomach. She stumbled to a stop and I lifted the heavy box from her hands. "My pleasure," I assured in a purr.

She was either so angry she couldn't speak, or she was just letting my charm wash over her. Nevertheless, as I started walking, she fell into pace next to me, remaining silent but still carrying that same void look on her face. I wanted to strike up a conversation with this beautiful girl, but I couldn't for the life of me think of anything to say as we walked together in uncomfortable silence. I was happy when she pointed to a run-down bookstore and ushered for me to go inside.

We walked into the bookstore and I was instantly in awe. It was like a fairytale library from the 19th century. It had leather-bound books with shiny gold writing stacked to the very top on one wall with the other three walls packed tightly with old, weathered paperbacks. Shelves upon shelves of old books covered nearly every surface of the store. I was in heaven. She began taking books from the box, carrying way too many in her arms and placing them in their respective sections. I watched in amazement.

I started working there three days later.

Bella was the owner of the bookstore, and although the only thing we had in common -- or so we thought -- was the fact that Tolstoy carried the title of Favourite Author for both of us, we got along surprisingly well. We were the only two people who worked there, and for nearly two years, I spent every day of my life with her in that little store.

Slowly but surely, Bella and I started to fall in love, though neither of us would come right out and say it. We would shamelessly flirt with each other as we trotted around the store, working and laughing and embracing each other whenever there was no one around. She was a nice girl, so sweet and innocent looking but with a mouth like a sailor and an attitude that could put a grizzly bear to shame. She was beautiful in every single way and I found myself yearning for her touch when I went home to serve my own customers at night.

When I'd close my eyes at night, the only thing I'd see behind my heavy eyelids was Bella's enchanting face. The way her full lips would press together in the most adorable way when she was angry, the way her brown eyes shone in the soft overhead light, the way her hands felt against my skin, sending electricity through my entire body. I yearned for her presence like I needed it -- like it was as essential as the oxygen pumping through my blood.

She wouldn't voice it, but I knew she felt the same for me. It occurred to me the day my hand first found hers and we held each other. She was scurrying through the bookstore, trying to make everything perfect for the customers she thought so highly of. She'd dropped an old copy of some John Fante novel that I'd never read, and just as her fumbling hands went to reach for it, mine reached out and caught her hands. Our palms pressed to each other and I wound my fingers around hers, squeezing gently. Our eyes were locked. My heart thrummed happily in my chest. Bella's eyes glazed over.

I reached down and picked up the book, my fingers still intertwined with hers. I stood and placed the book on the shelf, bringing Bella up with me.

"Thanks," she muttered lamely.

I smiled wide. "You're welcome." I rubbed the soft skin on the back of her hand with my thumb. She blushed furiously.

I think that's the thing I'd miss most about my Bella. That crimson flood that appeared on her face when she looked at me. Her rosy cheeks always made a smile reshape my face; it brightened my day and brought me more happiness than anything else. It was beautiful, bringing another layer of radiance to her already perfect face. I adored that blush. I lived for that blush.

I pulled my hand away from Bella's and watched as her face twisted slightly, not liking our sudden lack of contact. I sometimes wondered if she felt the same sting I did when she touched my skin. I wondered if she thought about me as she lay awake in bed. I hoped she did. I hoped she would someday love me as much as I loved her, though I sometimes had doubts of that particular wish's possibility.

I found out about Bella's closet-full of skeletons on her twentieth birthday. I was planning on surprising her that night. I'd went to the local grocery store and had a birthday cake made for her and I was even planning on cooking her an elaborate, romantic meal for us to share. I showed up at her apartment, dressed to the nines in a dapper black suit and finely polished dress shoes, carrying a box full of ingredients for dinner and the cake. I carried her birthday present -- a twenty-four karat gold bracelet with her name delicately woven into the gold -- in my breast pocket. I was proud of myself for putting my so-called 'business' on hold for one night and I couldn't wait to spend it with the woman I was slowly falling in love with. I knocked on her door with butterflies dancing in my stomach.

I was greeted by a middle-aged man in a dirty t-shirt -- and a splash of vomit on my clean white Reeboks. There was a party going on in Bella's apartment, if you could even call it a party. There were people on nearly every surface of the apartment, and all of them were either covered in their own vomit or higher than a kite. For a few fleeting moments it reminded me of some of my parties, but none of mine had ever gotten this out of control. There was a young girl sitting at the kitchen table who seemed to be the most coherent person in the room. I dropped the box and stepped towards her with trepidation, seething with anger on the inside but keeping my face controlled. "Is Bella here?" I asked her.

She hiccoughed and looked at me with rolling, red eyes. "Bedroom," she slurred before her head fell to the table with a sickening crack.

Our apartment buildings were in the same area and I could already tell by the layout that her apartment wasn't much different from mine. I walked down the hallway and stepped into what I thought was the bedroom. I opened the door and found two people on the bed -- neither of them Bella -- completely naked with their hands in places I really didn't want to see. I stumbled on an apology and stepped into the next bedroom soundlessly. What I saw shocked me.

The room was sterile, not a bedroom at all, with steel cabinets lining the walls. Small scales were in front of Bella with a small pile of white powder in the center. A young man stood before her with a wad of cash, passing it between his sweaty hands. I balked, not believing what I was seeing. "Bella?" I said lamely. My palms began to sweat and my head spun.

My shiny-haired Bella was selling cocaine. The one person who was able to render me breathless with a caress of her gentle touch was a drug dealer. I wanted to vomit -- and then I wanted to scream. Anger flared within me and I nearly collapsed under the weight of it. I wanted to punch something. I wanted to berate her. She'd been lying to me for God knows how long. She was a disgusting liar. She deserved none of the love and affection I had ever showed her.

She was a dealer.

And I was a fucking hypocrite.

Bella and I didn't speak to each other much after that incident. Instead, we became rivals, fighting behind each other's backs for customers, going from lovesick teenagers to corrupted drug lords on the verge of a sick war in the span of only a few months. I didn't want any of this to happen, that was for sure, but Bella had definitely showed me her true colors after I'd caught her in the act. She was a bitch. She knew how to work all of the right people in all of the right ways, and made a shit-ton of money in the process. She was a schemer and a liar who tormented and controlled innocent people in her blatant lust for money.

And my love for her beautifully cunning ways and her ability to control grew every single day. No matter how much I tried to push those feelings away, I simply couldn't. I loved her. Everything about her. And it was sick.

I shook my head, coming back to the present. Jasper had evidently fallen asleep in his tiny bed as I hadn't heard from him in what felt like hours. I remained awake in my cell for an immeasurable amount of time, wonderment and despair taking over me as I recalled the last five years of my life. I wanted to cry and scream at the same time. Instead, I closed my eyes and fell into a fitful sleep on top of my wool blanket.

…

Before I knew it, the day of my trial had arrived.

The entire day was a blur, and every time someone spoke badly of me in the courtroom, I flinched. They really did have a lot of evidence against me with the all of the paraphernalia that was found in my apartment along with the dozens of people testifying against me. I didn't listen to the words Carlisle spoke throughout the trial, but I could tell from the way he spoke near the end that he was beginning to doubt himself. I was, too.

I can't even begin to describe the feeling I had when the judge ruled that I had indeed been found guilty. It was a mixture of nausea, defeat, and just a hint of relief to know that I finally had my future laid out in front of me; I was tired of guessing. I was sentenced to ten years in a federal prison on charges ranging from drug trafficking to assault with the intention of murder. (That was bullshit; I knew I would never be capable of murder.) I was ushered out of the courtroom in a flurry of camera flashes and the screaming voices of middle-aged women, probably mothers of the underage teens I'd sold to recently. They were furious, and I didn't blame them one bit. I was furious at myself.

I was cuffed and shoved roughly out of the double doors of the court house, and although there was a mob of people around me screaming sickening profanities in my ear, I somehow caught sight of something staggering. Her brown hair was like two curtains around her beautiful face. Her hood was pulled over her head haphazardly and her lips were set into a hard line. Tears lined the gorgeous pallor of her face. Bella.

I wanted to reach out to her and hold her to my chest. I wanted to wrap her hands in mine and kiss my way up her porcelain arms. I wanted to feel her soft, warm lips collide with mine. Instead, I was shoved into a police cruiser roughly, the door slamming painfully against my leg. I turned my body once I was inside and looked out the rear window. She was standing alone, far away from the raucous crowd still berating my existence. Her hands were wringing and her eyes were on me. Another lone tear streaked her pale cheek as the cruiser was thrown into gear and I began my journey to the Chicago Regional Penitentiary. I tried futilely to push away the realization that I'd probably never see my Bella again.

…

Jasper was released unscathed. The only evidence they had against him was the fact that he had been with me at the time of arrest. They'd searched his apartment and found no traces of drugs or paraphernalia, which was good for him. I was a bit vexed, though, because I knew the truth. Jasper had just as much shit going on as I did -- except he kept it hidden better than I did, apparently. I idly wondered where he kept his stash as I shovelled gluey potatoes into my mouth like it was a feast prepared for a king.

My cell was a bit bigger than the one at St. Helen's, but not by much. I was happy -- if you could call it that -- that I had a lot more privacy at Chicago Regional Penitentiary. My cell wasn't linked to other cells by bars this time, but enclosing me this time were thick concrete walls that made me feel claustrophobic. At least now the other inmates couldn't hear my strangled sobs late into the night and into the wee hours of morning.

Thursdays were my favourite. Every Thursday morning the guards would take us outside and let us do whatever we pleased within the electric fences. Most of the men lifted weights or played basketball much too roughly, often getting chastised for their violent ways. Me? I steered clear of it all. There was a small picnic table on the edge of the overgrown, grassy enclave, and I'd sit there for the entire hour, smoking cigarette upon cigarette, my mind always, always, wandering to Bella. I wondered if she was okay and if she missed me, too. I wondered if she had found somebody to replace me at the bookstore, although I'd stopped work there the day of her twenty-first birthday. I wanted her skin against mine. I wanted to see her gorgeous face light up again like it used to when I'd touch her silky skin. I wanted her so bad it nearly incapacitated me.

Back in my cell, my thoughts finally left Bella and returned to Jasper. He hadn't visited me in quite some time, the last time being just over a month ago. This worried me, because Jasper usually visited every second day. I'd been at Chicago Regional for nearly four months, and seeing Jasper every second Friday had become somewhat of a routine.

Just as I pondered over Jasper's sudden disappearance, a guard showed up at my cell and unlocked it. For one fleeting moment I contemplated running and seeing how far I got before my legs were shot out from under me, but I pushed those thoughts away as fast as they came.

"You have a visitor," the guard told me in a thin voice.

I stood up and brushed stray pieces of lint from my navy jumpsuit, cursing its existence and hoping they'd someday offer us something a bit more… accommodating. I adjusted the front of my jumpsuit inconspicuously and followed the guard -- who I came to know as Johnny -- down the hall. The eyes of the other inmates bored into me and made me feel uncomfortable. I wondered if my eyes held that same empty, void look. I shook my head and opted for staring at the floor instead.

Johnny led me into the visiting room and ordered me to take a seat behind the thick glass. I obeyed. As I was waiting, my mind focused on Jasper. I wondered if he'd finally cut his hair in the month he'd been away. I wondered if his face had changed at all, because as much as Jasper was a pain in the ass, I loved him like a brother, and I didn't want to see him looking thinner or more pale than usual. You're such a woman, a small voice in the back of my head whispered. I chuckled, bringing my head up and looking through the glass, happy and almost joyous that I'd get to see Jasper again.

When Bella walked through the doors with a guard by her side, my stomach lurched and I was positive my eyes were deceiving me. Her silky brown hair looked mousy, pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her face was thin and pallid, her lips pale but still bearing that sexy, natural pout. Her eyes were downcast.

"Bella," I whispered. She couldn't hear me yet through the glass barrier that now felt like a wall of lead keeping me from touching the woman I loved so much.

She took a seat and I could almost see the exhale of breath she exulted. The guard left us alone, and suddenly I was speechless. I stared at her, unthinking, my overdriven emotions getting the best of me. Bella looked up at me, then, and the sadness in her eyes overwhelmed me. Her glorious brown eyes were swollen and red. One lone tear left a trail down the pallor of her beautiful skin, and I followed its line from her eye all the way down her neck. I hastily grabbed the phone beside me. She followed suit.

For an immeasurable amount of time the only thing I could hear was Bella's soft breaths through the receiver. Neither of us could speak, and although there was nothing in the world I'd rather hear than her smooth voice, this was enough. Just hearing her breathe, knowing that she was alive and knowing her heart was still beating, gave me the most reassuring feeling. I knew in that instant that I couldn't live in a world where Bella didn't exist.

"I'm sorry," she whispered finally. Her hand held the phone receiver for dear life as her other hand fingered the fabric over her oversized Chicago Bears sweater nervously.

I didn't know what to say. She was apologizing for ratting me out to the cops and sending me to prison. What could I say to that? Could I forgive her? I thought about that long and hard, and decided that I could forgive her. No matter what she did, I could always forgive her. She could stab a dagger through my broken heart, and with my last dying breath, I'd whisper that I loved her and that everything would be okay.

"I love you," I said, deciding it was the only answer I could give her. Even this proclamation felt lacking, and I tried to find the right words to tell her. Nothing would ever be enough for her. "You're my everything. I love you. You will never know how much you mean to me. You are my reason for breathing, Isabella Swan." I inhaled a shaky breath. "Ever since that day on the street, I've loved you. Always. Forever." I don't know when I'd started crying, but hot tears ran down my cheeks and I fought to keep my breathing controlled.

Bella's eyes were spilling tears like a waterfall. Her head was bowed and her hands shook as both of them clutched the receiver. I pressed my palm to the cold glass. "Bella…" I whispered.

She looked up, her hands moving immediately to my hand on the glass separating us. She pressed her hand against it, too, and as she did, her breathing faltered and a choked sob erupted from her. "I love you, too," she sobbed brokenly, her entire body convulsing against the weight of her cries. "Edward, I'm so sorry," she blubbered.

As I watched her body shake and jerk uncontrollably, my heart broke into a million tiny pieces. I wish I had her in my arms, running my hand soothingly through her smooth hair, bringing her body flush against mine and whispering to her that I'd love her forever. I needed it. I'd die without the feel of her skin against mine.

"It will be okay," I deciding, surprising even myself. Bella's eyes stared into mine and I could tell in an instant that she didn't believe it one bit.

One more sob shook her. "No, it won't."

I closed my hand into a fist. She mirrored it. "Yes, it will. Bella, life will go on. You'll find somebody who deserves you. I'll get out of here one day and my life will be changed." I thought about that last statement and the reality of it hit me like a freight train. My life was changed. Bella changed my life, made me realize so many things about the future. Drugs would no longer rule me. I'd never find myself back in the predicament I was currently in. I'd be a new man, an esteemed person who would go home every night to a family, to a wife who would cook me dinner and tell me she loved me. Because of Bella.

The tears had returned, and Bella looked perplexed. "Thank you," I said vehemently. My heart clenched and I sobbed. "Thank you," I whispered again.

I stood then, and pressed myself against the glass. I probably looked crazy to anyone else who could see me, but I couldn't stop myself. I clung to the glass like it was my anchor to the world. Instead, my anchor was just beyond the glass's impenetrable barrier. She stood with me and pressed her forehead to the glass. I mirrored her. We stood like that forever, it seemed, and although I couldn't feel her skin against mine, it was perfect. Our breath fogged the glass; our tears spilled down it like a waterfall. We whispered to each other that we were so in love it was painful. We listened to one another's soft breaths through the phone, and I could only imagine Bella's sweet breath fanning across my face as I made love to her.

When it was time for us to be torn apart, the sobs coming from Bella's end of the line were heartbreaking. She fought against the guard, flailing violently, making me wish there was something I could do. Bella was escorted forcibly from the visitor's room, and as I watched her retreating form through the cage-enclosed glass windows, I felt… okay. For the first time in a long time, I felt as if a colossal weight had been lifted from my tired shoulders. Bella knew that I loved her, and I knew that she loved me.

I sat back in my chair and took a long, deep breath. Suddenly, after the events that had transpired in this tiny, dirty visitor's room, I felt like I could do this. I could serve this sentence in prison and emerge as a better person. I silently thanked Bella from afar and places a soft kiss against my own knuckles where hers had been earlier, even pressed against cold glass. I stood, proud and valiant, and let Johnny lead me back to my cell, back to the beginnings of a better man and an awakened future.

A/N: Thanks for reading, and although reviews aren't necessary, they're certainly appreciated!