Disclaimer: I do not own anything that has to do with Twilight. Unfortunately. Nope, it all belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

A/N: First of all, I'd just like to say this is my first fanfiction, not like I want any kind of special treatment for that. I've attempted before but never posted, and I've read plenty, more than my fair share. I've definitely written other things before so it's not such a big deal, but playing around with other people's characters is still a little different than creating and developing your own, so just try to be a little lenient with me, 'kay? Haha. Thanks.

Okay, so this is an All Human story, just to let all of you know. There are no vampires/werewolves/whatever. This plotline came to me randomly while I was watching a movie. It was horribly unrealistic with a terrible plot and bad actors (I'm such a critic, I know!) but it did spur this on, and then later this is what came of it, so yay for bad movies! I don't think I'm going to bore you and ramble for hours, so let's just get to the good part, shall we?

Just read it, please and thank you. :)

Life wasn't like the movies.

In movies people got miraculous second chances. They got re-does and if things didn't go right the first time they were always able to pick themselves back up. They made mistakes all the time, they hurt people and pushed them away and they were always forgiven, and things just didn't happen that way. In movies people are given amazing opportunities against near impossible odds, and they always end up succeeding in the end. Good triumphs over evil and somehow it all works out, not leaving out one single person. Life is perfect in movies, fake, often unreal. People don't react right, they don't experience things the way they should. My life was certainly not a movie, and for a moment I considered if I wanted it to be one.

I had no way to rewind the day the car had swerved off the road, and the only thing I could have done was watch as it happened right before me. I couldn't jerk the car just perfectly like in the movies and stop it just in time. There was no relief that night, because it was a simple reality. The last words my best friend said that night were not inspiring and they did not keep me open, because they were words of anger and depression. I had screamed at him that night, and I did not have a chance to take back those angry words. I was not a perfect story character written into a script, I was a human being, and I was horribly imperfect. I told him I hated him that night, and part of me will always wonder if he knew that I love him. Part of me, I know, will always love him, and there's no way to change that.

In movies it seems simple to move on and find someone else after a loved one dies, because it is all supposed to be that way. In screenplays there is a beginning, middle, and an end, but life just isn't like that. Sometimes it felt like I was always stuck hovering in the middle, never quite finding a resolution. I did not move on after my friend's death, and I hung onto it. For a very long time I wished to be able to rewind and play that night over differently, but I know it's an impossibility now. I can't take back the way that car swerved off the road as I screamed at him, and I remember exactly how I shouted for him to get out of the car. If he hadn't been an idiot and opened the door while I was driving it might not have happened, but that's completely debatable. Most days I don't want to think about it.

Every noticed a change in me after that, but unlike in the movies no one seemed to know what to do. Even my closest friends and my family began inching away, not pulling me closer like movies made it seem like they should. It was not their fault, though, it was mine. I didn't let anyone in after that, because I was afraid. I'm still very much afraid, I admit, but it's not nearly as bad anymore.

In a movie, at the end, there's supposed to be a resolution. A lesson, a moral, a concrete solution, but life often didn't have those. There was never any certainty in reality, and you never knew how long something would last. I didn't know how to count my blessings back then, too young to realize how young I was. My best friend has also been the love of my life, I was certain.

I had never been too sure what I felt about Jacob, not in the beginning. He had been my best friend all through childhood, someone I could hang onto, someone just as constant as the stars and the moon in the night sky. He was more like the sun to me, though, that one person in my life who always seemed to light it up. He was my sun, back then, and it had seemed natural to glide into a romantic relationship at the time. 'I love you' flowed off the tongue more easily than I had thought it would, and I realized that was because it was absolutely true. I did love Jacob, and all I hope is that, wherever he may be, he knows that. There was never a point in time when I could ever hate him.

I haven't moved on from him. I'm very much a person who believes that everyone has one person who they belong with, and mine, I am certain, was Jacob Black. There is not one person who can make me feel the way he did, that I am sure of. He made me laugh and cry and smile and dance and sing and love, and he was everything to me. It didn't make sense to me back then why I got to live while he died, but I tried to think positive. Most of the time, though, it was a losing fight.

There was one person, however, that helped me through the period where I didn't even know where to begin to put the pieces back together. He wasn't quite the sun, never bright enough in my darkened world, but like the moon. He illuminated things for a while, allowed me to see, and there would never be a time when I would not be grateful for that one person. My friends and family inched away and I screamed for him to do so too, but he never listened. I kicked and yelled and cried and threw fits, sometimes I even bit him, but he never turned away. I told him I hated him, told him he could never make me feel better, but he only said that not trying would be a sin, every time. He was my moon, my stars, my reason. He was what kept me grounded.

He was Edward Cullen.

I'm not quite sure how it happened, our relationship. I always felt like we were teetering, never quite in one place, but it had seemed natural, and it still did. My life was never in one place, constantly moving with my feelings, my emotions, and my grief. I didn't want to let go, and he didn't make me. Slowly, with his help, I let others back into my life, and eventually I let him in, too.

The pain from Jacob never went away like in movies, though. It was rather like a band-aid on an open wound – it didn't hurt for the moment, and it didn't bleed, but it was always there, and I was always aware of it. I wasn't sure if, when I finally pulled that band-aid off, it would be healed. I knew, unlike in the movies, it would leave a lasting scar I would never be able to ignore.

--

It was a cold December afternoon and I had no clue what I was doing here, standing in front of the door to his condo. I knew what I had planned to say, what I wanted to ask, but it all seemed ridiculous now, not right. It had seemed like the perfect idea when I had thought it up, but now that I was actually doing it I wasn't quite so sure. It happened a lot to me, I knew. I didn't have time to re-think or rewind, because the door opened and suddenly he was staring at me, a smile tugging at his lips at the – pathetic, I was sure – sight of me.

My hair was tangled and frizzy, pulled up into a loose bun because I had nothing else to do with it this morning, as was the case most days. My outfit was simple but warm; a beige turtleneck, jeans, a long black coat and a scarf to keep my neck warm, but he was still wearing his flannel sleep pants and a tee shirt, his hair disheveled. I could only guess that he had been writing music. Edward liked to stay up until early hours of the morning and often through the afternoon composing music and then actually playing it. He claimed that the midnight hours were the best time for inspiration and art, but I had always scoffed and accused him of being an insomniac. Either way, he looked exhausted, and it made this seem even more pointless.

"Bella," he greeted me with a smile, but it wasn't weary as I had expected it to be, rather bright and crooked, only one side of his full lips pulling up. It was the crooked smile that I knew so well, the crooked smile that had nearly singlehandedly brought me out of my depression. "This is a nice surprise," he murmured, and then gestured for me to come into the house. I knew where to go as he disappeared into his small kitchen, coming back with exactly what I wanted, because he knew me just as well as he knew the back of his hand.

"Hot chocolate with marshmallows, right?" he asked anyway, as was custom, and I only nodded my head with a bit of a smile as I removed the gloves from my hands, taking the steaming cup as I sat down on his couch. I didn't have to ask him what he had made for himself, because I already knew. It was black coffee. Edward always liked to inform me that it was best that way, when the bitter taste wasn't taken away by sugar or milk or cream, even though he had told me about a million times. I hadn't talked to him before, so he had simply talked to me.

For hours, and hours, and hours. For a very long time all he did was talk and not expect me to answer and I screamed and hated him for it. Now there was not anything in my entire life that I was more grateful for – the fact that he was stubborn and persistent now seemed like a wonderful thing to me, and the thought brought a smile to my lips.

"I haven't talked to you in a while," he spoke up as I took my first sip of hot chocolate, blowing gently on it before bringing it to my lips. He tilted his head to the side in question, his eyebrows arching just the slightest bit as he ran his hands through tussled bronze hair. I always knew exactly how he was feeling by his body language and his eyes. "Is there something wrong? I called you last Thursday but you didn't call me back."

"I was…" I bit my lip as I fought to come up with an explanation, but nothing seemed right to say. I knew that this was the point where I should tell him there was a reason that I was here today, but there was something stuck in my throat, preventing me from doing so. I knew if I told him he would laugh at me, turn me down, turn me away. I wasn't sure I could bear life without the moon when I had already suffered the blow of losing my sun – I considered shaking it off and moving on, but I wasn't sure I could do that either.

"Bella."

His voice was reprimanding, scolding even, like that of a parent, but unlike what reaction it should have stirred in me, would have stirred in anyone else, I simply smiled. He knew when I was drifting, knew when I was panicking. He knew my emotions and my thoughts almost as well as I did, sometimes even better, and though anyone else would find it irritating – and others had, I knew – I could not be happier with that one fact. It made me feel secure, actually. It made me feel safe and protected, even though I knew I should be protecting myself.

And because of this, because he was Edward, I knew I had to ask him. I couldn't ask anyone else this, even though it was probably for the best. I knew that this did not count and was only lying to my parents and, quite honestly, to myself, but I had to do it. There was no way that I could prolong this any further.

"I want to go to my parents this Christmas," I stated quietly then, looking down at the floor, and I couldn't bear to look up and see the surprise, among obvious other emotions, just swimming in his green eyes. Silence fell over us for a long while and I knew he was carefully considering his words, so I let him do so. I fiddled with the threading in my sweater, biting down on my lip as I waited.

"That's wonderful, Bella," was the only response that he seemed to come up with, but there was something besides surprise in his tone, something I couldn't quite place. I smiled nonetheless, but didn't look up, and I was sure that was why he sounded confused as he spoke again. "Is that why you didn't call me?"

"No," I answered truthfully, my voice coming out as a breathy exhale. I didn't have the courage to look up and face him, the plain white plush carpet suddenly seeming amazingly interesting to me. "It's part of it, though."

There was a silence as he waited for me to speak, but when it did not happen a quiet sigh escaped him and he finally spoke again, breaking the silence. "I can't read your mind," he reminded my quietly, and I sighed, nodding my head. "I know that it's hard for you to talk about your parents, but I don't understand unless you tell me."

"It's not so much my parents," I sighed, looking at the wall now as I tried to gather my thoughts, tried to think of what to say next and exactly how to say it. It had seemed so easy in the drive over, but now it seemed like the most difficult feat in the world, one I wasn't sure I could actually go through with. "I'm more afraid of what they'll think, what my old friends will think, really. They all want me to be over him, Edward. They want to see me moved on and happy."

I knew he hesitated before he spoke and carefully chose his words, but after a few moment's pause he replied slowly and quietly, "You're different from the time you last saw them. You know that. You've gotten better."

"Because of you," I pointed out in a whisper, not sure if he'd hear it.

He was silent.

"What I'm trying to say is," I continued, biting down on my lip as the words began to blend and rush out of my mouth, sending like a jumble, "is that I'm not fully healed yet, but I just don't want them to know. I'm not… I'm not like this with anyone else but you, not really. It's only when I'm around you that I'm better, and at the same time I know they want me to put Jacob behind me, to love again. To get married and have kids, eventually. It's time, they think, but I can't do that, Edward. Not yet."

"No one's asking you to," he reminded me patiently, and I knew there was that same gentle smile playing on his lips as there was the night I had met him.

"That's jus the thing, though," I mumbled, shaking my head as I turned my attention from the wall back to my feet, "they are."

"What are you saying, then?" he asked quietly, his tone uncertain. "Are you suggesting you try to move on? Find love? Bella, it's not just a thing you wish for. It doesn't just happen, not if it's real. Even if you were ready, you don't just give your heart to the first man who asks for it. The person who earns your heart will deserve it, I will personally make sure of that." The pure determination and protectiveness in his voice made my head snap up, and the conviction on his face just made me feel like I was making the right choice. My words came choked up as I shook my head.

"I know. That's not what I was saying." I watched in satisfaction as his jaw unclenched and a relieved smile spread across his face, making me smile a bit in return. There was hardly a time when I did not smile around Edward, a fact I would never get used to. "I was saying I should make them think I've found love."

"You mean pretend?" he repeated incredulously. "Hire someone to be your boyfriend?"

"Well, not necessarily."

"You've lost me, Bella. Would you mind explaining?" The look of utter frustration on his face made me want to continue on as quickly as possible, so I quickly rushed out the next words.

"Well… we were going to spend Christmas together anyway, weren't we? I figured that if you still didn't have plans," I rushed, looking down as the words rushed from my mouth in a mess I hope he understood, "that maybe you could come with me. I mean, I know it's not such a glamorous Christmas, but you being there will make it so much easier. I know that if I need you you'll be there, not miles and miles away. Plus, I know that -"

"Wait, wait, wait," he interrupted me quietly, shaking his head in disbelief as I looked up, feeling nearly disgusted with myself. Of course it was a bad idea, and of course he had caught onto my true meaning already. I sank further into the couch, the cup of hot chocolate long forgotten and getting holder by the second in my hands. I should never have gone in the first place.

"You're saying that you want me to be your boyfriend for Christmas? You want me to lie to your parents and pretend I'm in love with you, so your parents and your friends think that you're happy when, in reality, you're not? You want me to go against my morals and my gut feeling and get on a plane, on a whim, to Arizona to spend Christmas with your family when I could have a nice little Christmas right here? Is that what you're asking me to do, Bella?"

I couldn't find words, so I only nodded.

I watched as his lips pulled up into the crooked, nearly childish grin that I loved so much, utterly taken aback and bewildered.

"Count me in, then."

A/N: So, what do you think?

I'm going to tell you right now that I love critcism and actual feedback. I know a lot of reviewers tend to just write 'Update!!!' with an excessive number of exclamation points, and I will be absolutely fine with that. Just the idea that somehow would stop and care enough to ask me to continue is great, but when you actually give someone advice and a little bit of 'If you did this next time...' or just a suggestion, you don't know how much that helps a writer. Even just pointing our a grammatical mistake helps them the next time they write, even if you don't think it does.

So, give me your thoughts, suggestions, whatever you want. :) Or just tell me to update. Either way, I will be beyond thrilled!

Woo. I ramble. A lot. Just a side note. My author's notes are eventually going to be longer than the actual chapters if I allow myself to write as much as I want to, and that's hardly an exaggeration.

Anyway, review, please! It will definitely make my day.

Yours,

nikkiplays

Nikki