A/N: Okay, this is my first-time ever writing my own Fic, so give me a break! Hahaha. I will try to post a new chapter everyday, and it will alternative POV between Bella and Edward. I clearly have weird humor, so just go with me LOL. (I'm v insecure about my writing, don't judge me!)

I don't own any rights to Twilight, Stephenie Meyer does.

Chapter 1

As a child, I had always wondered what elements gathered together to compose a single living person. Not the molecules I learned in Biology my Sophomore year of community college, nor the bones and muscles I learned in Anatomy and Physiology. I never could get out of bed those mornings. Fuck science. Instead, I wondered what creates warmth in people's hearts and the souls that seek the true meaning of life. If I had known how to create my perfect human, perhaps my life would considerably much less miserable. Less alone. Less depressed. Less Bella.

Since age 13, I had gone to countless therapists regarding my irritability, anxiety, and unwillingness to do pretty much anything. Don't get me wrong, I'm a pretty happy person – on the outside. I love to smile, to laugh, and to make others sincerely, unapologetically, flagrantly happy. Truly, there is nothing in my heart that loves anything more than others who are pleased and fulfilled. Yet, if I feel such a strong desire to make others happy, where's my chance? How do I find this for myself? Can I do it by myself, or do I need someone else?

It's true. I'm a 23-year-old woman with a bachelor's degree in social work and absolutely no social skills. While academia was always my strong suit, aside from science and chemistry, I failed to get my head out of the book long enough to focus on something other than the true source of oppression facing African Americans who experience mass incarceration at a rapid rate throughout the United States. Nerdy, I know, but I'm a "woke" nerd, as the kids say. While I'm absolutely no virgin, I have managed to royally fuck up every relationship that I've had by either ghosting them or being too ashamed to show my face following my horrible performance in bed. It's true, I am a performance. Why did NO ONE tell me that gymnastic flexibility is only okay in porn? Screw you, Pornhob…

While I seek human contact, and some kind of connection with a freaking male specimen, every sexual encounter I've managed to have, which I can count on one hand, has been nothing but cringe worthy. My mom has told me, "Belly, you need to find what you like before you can expect others to do that for you." Okay, aside from the Belly nickname, I know she's right. It's true. I need to spend a long evening in bed with a bottle of wine, sexy lingerie, and a damn good vibrator.

But, truthfully, being alone scares me. I want someone to hold me, to comfort me, and to show me how it feels to be utterly adored. But, I know that isn't a realistic expectation as I can barely say "Hello" to my sexy eight-pack-having neighbor, John, without squeaking and running away. Granted, he's practically 40 years old and has 2 kids with his equally attractive wife, but damn. What I wouldn't give to have social skills around that man... who actually sort of resembles Jesus when I take a moment to think about it. Gross.

So, here I am on my lunchbreak on a Monday afternoon, nibbling at Panara's famous bread, and scrolling through random men's Tinder's on Alice's phone.

"Thank you so much for meeting me, Alice. I really appreciate it." I look up at her and give her a meek smile. I'm not proud of how low I've stooped, but I'm sick and tired of everyone around me having boyfriends, getting engaged, having babies, while I can barely get a penis'ed-human to stick with me long enough to call me anything other than that girl that looked like the exorcist that one time I slept with her. Okay, granted, it's true. But I can't help it if all the knowledge I have regarding sex is from Pornhob! They do weird things like that, okay? Don't judge me.

Anyway, since that incident, I've begrudgingly spoken to Alice and my mom regarding the proper ways to sexually satisfy a man. And yet, the only comment I've received back is, "Please who? Who says you have to please any man? Start with yourself, Belly." While, to others, perhaps this comment would be helpful; but for me, what if I don't even like myself? What if the thought of experiencing my own pleasure alone disgusts me to the point of considering true cat-lady status?

While, it's true, I do have a lot to work on, here I am on a break from my new job as a school social worker, scrolling through Alice's tinder as I search for handsome single men.

"THERE!" Alice yelps. "That one."

I look down at him and bite my lip. He has a tanned complexion with a bright smile and dark hair. The whiteness of his teeth against his mocha skin provides a beautiful contrast and I have to squeeze my legs together at the thought of an evening alone with him.

"No, Alice, I can't," I shake my head. "He's too much. Way too good looking for me! I mean, why is he even on Tinder? Shouldn't he already have enough vaginas flying at him without seeking validation from Tinder girls? Mmm-hmm, nope. Not for me." I hand her the phone and cross my arms.

"Bella, it's not a big deal who you sleep with, just that you get the experience that you've been wanting! Anyway, no one is telling you that you need this anyway. I like what your mom said: You need to discover what you like, before you can even focus on the pleasures of others." The look Alice gives me isn't as much pity as it is disappointment that my own indulgence isn't enough. She has always been protective of me, even though our first year living together I could barely muster out the word "Hi".

In my defense, I had just arrived at a real University following my two years at a community college and I didn't know what to expect! Would she want me to play beer pong? Go out to a party? Get tag-teamed by the football team? Okay, maybe I took that a little too far. But still! Ew.

Also, people scare me…. Enough said.

"I know, Alice. But, at this point, I know I have nothing to lose. I've slept with two people in my 23 years of life: The guy that called me the exorcist, and my High School boyfriend, Peter, who I had stupidly assumed that I would marry." Shortly after losing my virginity to him, I found him making out with one of the cheerleaders, Mary, behind the football field. Fuck you and your tiny dick, Peter. Suddenly, riding mocha-man sounds much more tempting.

"Fine. But do you at least want to know his name?" Alice asked, looking annoyed.

"Sure! Give it to me." I smiled, devilishly.

"Jacob"