Author's Note: Hey everyone checking out my story! This is my first go at writing anything, so be easy on me. If you like it, let me know. I have several chapters written and can get them out pretty quickly. Just a warning, this story contains drug use, violence, language, lemons, and all sorts of bad things. If you are under 18, turn back now. These first few chapters will be dark and angsty, but there are also fun times ahead.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money from any of it.

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Everlong

-Last Call for Sin-

I woke lazily from my slumber. I had fallen asleep on the couch to the latest episode of Monster Quest on the History channel. He wasn't home, and I took every opportunity I had to do things I enjoy, like watching silly television or napping in the afternoon. Never mind that I work until nearly three a.m. every night. No, I should be up and at 'em at sunrise, just like he was. Every morning I had to have his breakfast fixed, lunch packed, and coffee in the thermos no later than seven. Even on weekends.

Of course after he left I would sneak back to bed. I flipped my phone open to check the time. I had a little over two hours until I had to be at work. With any luck I wouldn't have to see Edward at all today. He had been bitchier than normal lately, and most of our time together was spent in a petty argument over something like the brand of fabric softener I used or the flavor of toothpaste I bought.

I glanced down at my leather bound journal lying open across my chest. I read the words I had scribbled across the last page just before I fell asleep and rolled my eyes at myself.

I've been cheated, been mistreated, when will I be loved?
I've been put down, I've been pushed around, when will I be loved?
I've been made blue, I've been lied to, when will I be loved?

I was in a desperate funk of a pity party. Since relocating to Austin, Texas with my long-time boyfriend and now live-in lover, my mood had become increasingly melancholy. I bought my first journal after living here only a month, and found the process so therapeutic I wrote something every day. And no, I'm not some pathetic teenage girl writing all that Dear Diary bullshit. I would usually just scribble a few words or sentences or lyrics that described my mood. It's not like I had anyone to talk to. I had almost no friends; and Edward couldn't be bothered with my silly needs like love, affection, or attention.

Edward. We had been together for nearly ten years. We started dating in high school, though I'm not quite sure why. I was never his type, never good enough for him. Edward's father, the great Dr. Carlisle Cullen, was one of the most famous physicians in the country, frequently making appearances on Oprah and CNN. I was the lowly daughter of the Police Chief in the tiny town of Forks, Washington. Edward and his family had moved to Forks from Seattle when he started high school His parents thought small town life would give him some sense of normalcy. Whatever. How normal can it be when a sixteen year old boy gets a new Mercedes and an Audi for his birthday?

Edward never fit in, but neither did I. Perhaps that's why we were drawn to one another. We started dating shortly after he moved to Forks, and had been together since. It had never been an easy relationship. Edward was always brilliant. He excelled in school, as well as music and art. And like most geniuses, Edward was tortured by his internal demons. He constantly battled his own fears of failure. His parents and I did everything we could to be supportive and encouraging, but it was not enough. Edward's father recommended he start taking antidepressants shortly after his sixteenth birthday, and it escalated from there.

Antidepressants made him anxious, requiring him to take anti-anxiety medications. Anti-anxiety medications caused him to have insomnia, requiring him to take sleep aids. By the time he was eighteen, Edward had to take a handful of pills a day.

I became angry with Edward's father. I felt like he was the one feeding the addiction, always prescribing some new wonder drug. When it got to the point Edward could no longer function without the medications, I had a private talk with his parents. Until this point, they had treated me like their daughter. Needless to say, things changed quickly. I was politely told to mind my own business; that Edward was their son and they knew what was best for him. Our relationship never recovered from that.

When we graduated high school, Edward went to college at the University of Washington, Seattle. I had always dreamed of going to college and becoming a literature teacher. I loved to read better than anything else on earth. No matter how bad my reality was, I could always escape to the fictional world of the book. I couldn't afford to go to college, of course. My father, Charlie, didn't make enough money to pay for it, but he made too much for me to get necessary financial aid. Figures.

So Edward left me to move away for college, yet we still stayed together. And I am completely embarrassed to admit the reasons why. Edward was my ticket out of Forks. He had promised me all along that when he left for medical school, he would take me with him. I would finally be free of my pathetic existence of living with my father and working at the local sporting goods store. Even when I caught Edward cheating during his senior year, I stayed with him. He had an affair with some sorority girl named Tanya. I found numerous emails, text messages, and pictures, but he still denied it. And I chose to believe him. Because I thought Edward was going to save me. Turns out, things are worse than ever.

Edward was accepted to medical school at this father's alma mater, the University of Texas, after his father made a generous donation to the school for a new research center. We moved to Austin a year ago, and things had gone downhill since.

After moving in together, I quickly discovered Edward's addiction had escalated from prescription pills to full-on illegal substances. His late night study sessions were fueled by a steady stream of cocaine or crystal meth. And when he needed to come down, he would smoke marijuana or take some benzos. Of course, I would dabble in the substances here and there. But I was never addicted. I tried to talk to him about this, which led to a huge fight and me being homeless for nearly twenty-four hours.

We lived in an apartment paid for by his parents, and he simply kicked me out with nowhere to go. After several hours of pleading and begging, he agreed to let me back in with the condition I must never mention his drug use again. And I kept my word.

My end of the bargain was that I keep a meticulously clean house. I did all the cleaning and laundry. I did all the grocery shopping and cooking, though Edward rarely ate anymore. I was little more than a live in servant. A woman should know her place, after all.

Six months ago I was fed up. I never left the house, except to go to the market or run an errand for Edward. I had no friends and no interaction with the outside world. So, I did the most unthinkable thing possible in Edward's eyes-I got a job. The only place that would hire me with my lack of education was a saloon, Southern Comfort. It was only two blocks from our apartment, which was good because I didn't have a car. Edward currently had a new Cadillac Escalade and a Porche housed in the tiny parking garage attached to our apartment building, but he refused to let me drive either of them.

Working in the bar had brought me back to life; as much as possible, anyway. It was owned by two brothers, Peter and Jasper Whitlock, who were close to my age and the only friends I had made in Austin. We weren't extremely close, but we got along well and I enjoyed their company.

Going to work had quickly become my favorite part of the day. I always went in early, usually before the bar opened, and stayed late to help clean up. It's not like Edward cared where I was or when I came home as long as I had his breakfast and lunch ready at seven a.m. sharp and kept the apartment in acceptable order.

I glanced at the clock once more. I decided to go ahead and get ready to leave for work. I would go in early again and see if they needed any help setting up for the night. I quickly showered and dressed. And don't think just because I work in a saloon in Texas that I dress like a pathetic cowgirl reject. No, the brothers never tried to force me into any silly uniform. My wardrobe always consisted of some form of blue jeans, a t-shirt or tank top, and boots. Sometimes I would wear a hat, just for fun. Tonight I put on my most comfortable low rise jeans, a black fitted t-shirt that showed just an inch of my lower stomach, and my favorite black boots. I dried my hair, which was brown with newly added red and caramel highlights, letting if fall loosely around my shoulders, and finished with some powder, mascara, and lip gloss. I turned to admire my ass in the mirror, which looked fabulous. I was satisfied with what I saw, and I knew the tips would be plentiful tonight.

I carefully left the house in perfect order for Edward, and set out for work. Some nights I would take a cab, but it was a warm spring evening and I decided to walk. I arrived to work just before five p.m. It didn't open until six, which is when my shift was supposed to start. I saw the familiar cars of Jasper and Peter, a black Range Rover and a new black Camaro, parked outside which brought a small smile to my face.

I opened the door to the employee entrance and was stopped dead in my tracks. Jasper was standing in front of the employee lockers removing his dark denim jacket. Under it he wore a fitted gray t-shirt that showed the hint of his perfect body underneath. He was wearing my favorite pair of faded Levis, which made his legs look longer than they already were. He was well over six feet and had the body of a man. His sandy blond hair hung in messy curls around his ears with strays falling over his eyes, which were the clearest blue. On his right forearm was an elegant tattoo, written in Latin script with a black nautical star underneath it. He exuded pure sex and manliness. He turned to face me, smiling my favorite smile, displaying a pair of panty-dropping dimples and his perfectly white teeth. I was red as a tomato.

"Hey, Bella. Coming in early again?" he said, his voice thick as molasses and equally as sweet and southern.

"Yeah. I hope you don't mind. I won't clock in or anything until six," I answered nervously.

"Don't be foolish, honey. We love havin' you come in to help us like this. Just don't think that you have to."

"No, no," I replied too quickly. "I mean, it's not like I have anything better to do."

"Alright, then. I'm gonna go on in and check on Petey. See you inside."

I nodded and he turned to walk away. His scent hit me like a brick wall. Jasper always smelled like soap and sunshine. I sighed as I turned the combination to my lock, tossing in my purse and removing my waist apron, tying in tightly. I took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves and walked into the bar.

Peter was behind the bar drying glasses, and his lips were moving along to the country song playing on the juke box. I gave him a smile and a wave, which he returned. He was slightly shorter than Jasper, but his body was just as perfect. His hair was lighter blond and shorter, sticking up perfectly messy on top of his head. His eyes were green and framed with long lashes. He was wearing fitted Wranglers and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his tattoo that was identical to Jasper's.

While Peter was equally as attractive as Jasper, I always felt more comfortable him. He was funny and laid back and easy to talk to. Plus, I just didn't lust after him as strongly. Peter had a fiancée, Charlotte, who I had met a few times at the bar and really liked her. She was very much the female version of Peter, which made her easy to get along with. She had recently moved to Houston for work and I could tell Peter missed her greatly. He would talk about her some nights when we were alone in the bar cleaning up after closing. And rarely I would talk about my relationship with Edward; which I didn't do very often because it always led to the 'you're too good for him' speech that I could never believe.

I picked up a tray and started to go around the bar filling up the salt and pepper shakers. Next I would do the ketchup bottles. It was a comfortable routine. Jasper emerged from his office and was standing behind the bar talking with Peter. They motioned me over, and I obliged praying the whole time I wouldn't trip and fall on my face. Luckily, I didn't.

"Gonna be busy in here tonight, Bells," Peter smiled.

"Yeah, I guess so. It is a Friday night, right?"

"Yeah, but the rodeo is in town. It's gonna be way busier than normal. And judging by the way you look, I'd say will make a killing in tips," he joked.

I blushed, naturally. "Peter, please don't flirt with the waitresses. I'd hate to have a sexual harassment suit on our hands," Jasper joked, punching Peter in the shoulder.

We sat and talked a few more minutes. Jasper and Peter both took a shot of Jim Beam, and I sipped a rum and Coke. It was sort of a nightly ritual to have a drink before the craziness started. These were my favorite moments of the night. I loved watching the interaction between Peter and Jasper. They were like two opposite side of a coin. Jasper was the business-minded one, serious, mature and intelligent, but still fun and laid back. Peter was clearly the entertainer, constantly making jokes and telling crazy stories. They balanced each other perfectly.

My bubble of happiness burst as Jasper's phone buzzed and I heard the familiar ring tone start to play. Angel by Aerosmith. It was Alice, Jasper's longtime love. Peter made a gagging motion with his hand and Jasper flipped him off, smiling and retreating back to his office. I had never been a huge fan of Alice, even though I had only met her a couple of times. She had grown up in Texas with the boys, and she had been Jasper's childhood sweetheart. She moved to New York two years ago to work in the fashion industry. One night when she was in town visiting Jasper, I was helping close up the bar and she decided I was her new BFF. I think she just liked to talk and brag. She rambled on about how she worked for some magazine styling the models and how she found it fulfilling and creatively stimulating and blah blah blah. The amazing thing about Alice was she had no trace of a southern accent, whatsoever. Peter liked to say she had gotten above her raising. I liked to say she was just a bitch.

Jasper emerged from his office, ending the call on his phone.

"What the hell did she want?" Peter asked, not even attempting to hide the disdain in his voice.

"Fuck if I know. She was in some bar in Manhattan and was telling me about some new flavor of Martini they were serving. Said we should start making them here." I detected a hint of resentment in his voice. I got the feeling Alice always made Jasper feel like he wasn't good enough.

"Does she think we need her fucking advice on how to run a bar? Looks like we have done just fine without her." Peter made no secret of the fact that he couldn't stand her.

"Yeah, I guess so," he scoffed. "By the way, Pete, she's coming to town tomorrow."

"What! No, Jasper! Why?" Peter whined. It sounded like a little boy but it was oddly endearing.

"That magazine she works for is doing some photo shoot in Mexico and she'll be passing through on her way. Her flight has an overnight layover here in Austin." I sensed that maybe Jasper was not happy about this. Or maybe I was trying to read too much into his words.

"Dude, do you know how gay you just sounded?" Peter teased.

With that, Jasper flung his wet towel at Peter, and Peter jumped over the bar to get away from him. They playfully chased each other around the bar for a few more minutes. Watching them made my heart fill with joy. It was a strange feeling; I hadn't felt happiness since I left Forks.

Too quickly the night picked up, and Peter was right; it was extremely busy. He was also right in assuming I would make a lot of money. The rodeo cowboys were having fun drinking and dancing, and the tips were plentiful.

Before I knew it, it was last call and time to start cleaning up. It was another waitress' turn, but I volunteered. Apparently it had been a very successful night all around, as Peter and Jasper, who bartended, were also very happy with the night's take. Their moods were better than normal.

I was clearing off and wiping down tables and I saw Peter out of the corner of my eye. He gave me a sly grin as he dropped some coins in the juke box and punched the numbers. I giggled as I heard the song start to play. He knew I hated country music, but it was impossible to resist Johnny Cash. Peter walked toward me, offering me his hand. I giggled and took it. He was no more coordinated than me, and we twirled around the dance floor doing some awkward version of the two-step. I caught a glimpse of Jasper standing a few feet away. His expression was something that I couldn't recognize. I was distracted long enough to step on Peter's boot, causing me to trip forward and land chest to chest with him. We were both laughing uncontrollably when I heard the sweet, deep voice behind me. Then I felt his hand on my waist.

"It's not fair that Pete gets all the fun. May I cut in?" Jasper asked.

I turned to face him, turning redder than I thought possible. He took one of my hands and wrapped his strong arm around my waist. Before I could spontaneously combust, the song ended. I reluctantly squirmed out of Jasper's grasp, as I tried to smile.

"Song's over," I sighed. I turned to finish my tables and Jasper disappeared into his office. Peter finished drying and putting away the remainder of the glasses, and we were done.

We gathered in the small back room retrieving our things from our lockers.

"Oh shit!" I exclaimed.

"What's wrong?" they asked in unison.

"Oh, nothing. I just forgot to call myself a cab. It's alright, I can walk."

"Bella, it is three in the morning and the streets are deserted. It could be dangerous," Jasper replied.

"Really, it's fine. I walk home a lot of nights like this." The looks on their faces said I wouldn't be walking home alone anymore.

"I'll take ya home, Bella. It's no big deal," Peter spoke up.

"No. I've got it," Jasper answered too quickly.

There was no point in arguing. Jasper opened the passenger door to his Range Rover, and I reluctantly climbed in.

When he was behind the wheel, I spouted off directions. The short ride was spent in silence. Jasper pulled to the sidewalk in front of the apartment complex and I hopped out, giving a quick 'thanks' over my shoulder. He waited until I was safely inside the building before he pulled out.

I came home to find Edward already in bed. The door to his room was shut tightly and all the lights were off. I turned on a lamp beside the couch and sat my things down on the kitchen table. Edward had left a list of what he expected to be packed for his breakfast and lunch tomorrow. I wadded it up and threw it in the trash. I was so wired from the busy night and then the ride home with Jasper, that I knew it would be nearly impossible to fall asleep. I opened the cabinet in the kitchen where I knew Edward kept his stash. I pulled out a plastic baggy, taking just a pinch of the marijuana inside, and carefully rolled it in the paper.

I retreated to my bedroom, washed my face and put on my most comfortable pajamas. I laid back on my bed, lighting and inhaling the joint. I found a Family Guy marathon on television and got my journal out of my nightstand.

Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you?
Why can't I speak whenever I talk about you?

I woke to someone pounding on my bedroom door. I glanced over at my alarm clock. Oh, fuck! It was seven and I didn't have Edward's things together. I jumped out of bed and opened my door. Edward's face looked like he might literally explode.

"Do you know what fucking time it is?" he screamed.

"Sorry, Edward. I just didn't get home until late and I forgot to set my alarm. I can still get your stuff ready. I-"

"Save it. Honestly, Isabella-how hard is it to have my things ready to go at seven? I don't think I ask very much of you. It looks like you could remember. I guess it is out of your scope of comprehension. Some of us have real lives and responsibilities. Not everyone lays around the house and sleeps all day and then works at a glorified brothel at night," he spat, in the condescending tone that he knows I loathe.

"Edward, I'm-"

"I fucking said to shut up!" He grabbed both my shoulders, shoving me back onto my mattress with all his strength.

I laid there, shocked and terrified. Things had never been physical between us before. The tears came uncontrollably.

"So what? You're gonna cry now? Save it for someone who gives a shit." He stomped out of my room slamming my door so hard it caused my picture to fall from the wall.

I scurried to pick up the shattered frame. It was one of the only pictures I had of my mother, who died when I was just a baby. I clasped the broken glass to my chest, as the uncontrollable sobs racked my body.

Five hours later, I peeled myself off the floor.