Where Reason Stops

According to old Chinese tradition; If you save someone's life, you're responsible for them for the rest of their existence. Edward took the words to heart. Dark themes, mildly D/s-oriented. M.

***

Okay, so I've never really done this before. This is solely an experiment. I don't know if I will continue this or not, and if I do... I'm a slow, slow writer.

I do hope this little story is enjoyable, though.

Disclaimer: The names belong to S. Meyer and I don't know anyone at Goldman Sachs.

***

It was a bit windy up here, wasn't it?

She pulled the soft, wool coat closer to her body, even though she could care less about the biting cold that stealthily sneaked its way into her skin through the fabric.

It was early spring in New York.

She balanced unsteadily on the edge of the concrete, idly wondering if she wasn't a bit of a drama queen after all. Not that it would ever show, she mused.

She imagined her body, crushed by the sheer force of gravitation when she collided with the asphalt... perhaps on the sidewalk. Or the road. Would there be blood? Or just a disfigured, unidentifiable piece of skin and bones?

She turned her thoughts from the somewhat gory pictures that entered her mind. She had never been good with blood.

That was the reason that she rather appeared to be a drama queen and attention whore, than going the easy way with a few slits to her wrists.

She stared down at the street beneath the building, and almost felt... powerful. The big all-American cars and the yellow cabs were like little obnoxious ants down there. She imagined how it would look if she fell down from the skies and hit the windshield of some poor, hippie-driver's cab.

What a sight.

She giggled.

No one had ever accused her of being sane, had they? She sobered at the thought and sniffled in the cold.

This was it.

She felt a little dizzy, but other than that and the slight nausea it caused, she was fine. She wasn't scared, or excited or happy. Just numb. She really was past feeling anything put pain.

She squinted down again, and held herself against the rail she had climbed over with much trouble. She wasn't a very gracious girl.

Her hands were already cold, as if Death had already claimed them as his, and she released the fence. She was now balancing delicately on the edge to the abyss.

She wasn't poetic either. Not really.

Suddenly a very unwelcome thought sprang to mind. Would Goldman Sachs get a terribly bad reputation after this? She really didn't want to cause any trouble for them. Perhaps she should have chosen some place more isolated than this huge building on Broad Street.

But what did they say... that all PR is good PR? Was that true?

She supposed that they wouldn't be very pleased with her, though she would definitely not be in any trouble.

She wouldn't be at all.

But of course, just like with everything she had ever attempted, she failed with her plan of not being.

Two hands clamped down roughly on her shoulders and she let out a yelp of surprise.

"Are you out of your fucking mind, you stupid little girl?" a male voice spoke from behind her, a bit louder than necessary, despite the wind. In an awkward bend she was swiftly hauled over the rail, and set back on the steady concrete floor on shaky legs.

Her thoughts were jumbled and shocked as she was pushed against it again, hard.

She was supposed to be dead.

"What were you thinking? Of all the idiotic things I've ever-," the mysterious man suddenly stopped. She stared down at her flat-booted feet, not really willing to look at him just yet. This was actually quite embarrassing. He had caught her attempting suicide. She felt herself blush pink.

"You could use a good, hard whipping. This is insane."

Her eyes involuntarily darted up to meet his. What did he just say? She found herself staring into pretty, green eyes, even though they for the moment were blazing with anger. She shrank back as much as possible against the steel behind her. Whipping? Was he out of his mind?

A very pretty mind, if the outside said anything about the inside. He was handsome, she noticed through her shock. In that classical Mr. Darcy-way. All high cheekbones and sharp jaw and pouty lips. Perhaps he was around thirty years old.

He stared down at her, seeming transfixed on her face, though still furious, and looked like he considerated something. She wasn't good at reading people. There wasn't anything she was good at. Except for wallowing in self-pity.

She let out another yelp when he leaned down and hugged her thighs, just to fling her over his shoulder.

A dizzy while later down stairs and corridors, she was sat down on a black leather coach, surprisingly gently. The man towered over her, glaring down at her. He looked like an ominous scyscraper himself, in that black suit and an impeccably knotted tie in the same colour.

Then he dragged a hand through bronze locks, as if irritated and distraught. He now wore a blank expression that made her wonder what was going on. She blushed and straightened her coat, picking at invisible dust particles.

"Were you going to jump?" he asked quietly, controlled.

She nervously tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. It would be best to lie, wouldn't it? No, I was just admiring the view Mr... no, sir. She didn't know his name.

"No," she answered and grimaced at the taste of dishonesty.

"Don't you dare lie to me, girl," he growled, frustrated. "Answer me. Correctly."

Her jaw dropped, and she felt strangely like a gold fish in that moment, one without gills, choking on water. Correctly? She could understand 'honestly'... Maybe he was insane. Then they would at least have one thing in common, she mused.

"I think I have to go," she stated nervously and stood up, getting too close to the man for comfort. He pushed her back down with his hands on her shoulders. They felt almost breakable in his grip. It wasn't exactly rough, but not gentle either.

"Stay there until I'm done speaking to you," he hissed through clenched teeth, very obviously still enraged.

She swallowed hard and nodded, much too meekly. She took her time to look around the office she was in as he continued to try and burn holes in her with his gaze. It was a nice room, not too big and not too small. Not too old-fashioned and not too ultra-modern. An oak desk was the biggest piece of furniture, and on the edge of it stood a brass-sign reading:

Edward Cullen - Global Head of Compliance

She couldn't help but giggle... compliance. Hah. Her amusement was short-lived though, for she was very unceremoniously pulled back up from the couch, shaken with vigor and dropped down again.

"You are the most infuriating, suicidal little girl I've ever seen," he growled and pulled harshly at his hair. She winced. Then she stared down at her hands, wiping them on her coat. This was getting dangerous, but she just didn't have it in her to care. No fight or flight instinct. No sense of self-preservation.

But she certainly didn't enjoy being called infuriating, and couldn't understand what she had done that was so horrible that it caused him to fume with anger at her. She bit her lip to prevent any tears from forming. She hadn't cried for so long, and she wasn't about to start now.

"Are you going to answer my question like a good girl or do I have to put you across my knee?"

She flinched twice, the first time because of the icy, threatening tone of his voice, and the second because of his words. Who was this man? And in which century did he grow up? Apparently she was quiet for too long, and Edward sat down next to her on the couch with an irritated sigh.

"Okay, Little Miss Suicidal, if this is what you want. Bend over."

"No," she choked out as he reached for her. He wasn't serious, was he?

He was, she concluded, when she saw the cold determination on his face. Not until now was the situation clear before her. He really would... she couldn't even make herself think the word.

Two big, long-fingered hands clamped down firmly on her hips and she struggled against them

"No, no, no, I was going to jump," she rushed out in mild panic. She didn't know him and had no idea what he was capable of. Tears stung in her eyes when he didn't let go of her hips. "Please don't," she tried to plead with him. She suddenly found herself staring into bottomless, green eyes, holding such concern, for her, that she choked on thin air. He lifted her very gently and sat her down on his lap, keeping an arm around her.

She blushed and nervously fidgeted with a button on her coat. What did he want with her now? She was fairly certain that she was out of harms way, at least for the time being. But sitting on his lap...

"You silly girl. Why would you do such thing?" he asked her in a hushed whisper and hugged her closer. No one had hugged her for so long. For so, so long. She hesitantly leaned in closer to him and rested her forehead on his shoulder. He smelled good... clean.

"Tell me your name."

He hugged her tighter. She was starved for affection, of any kind. She had no idea who this man was, who had threatened to hit her and manhandled her. But she didn't care. Not when he held her like this. He had to be a good man to hug someone he barely knew.

"Bella."

"Bella," he repeated.

She almost waited for him to say 'beautiful', like slumdog Jacob with his greasy hair used to. Before everything went dark.

"Tell me Bella, how old are you?" he asked silkily and soothingly, and she felt one of his hands cupping the back of her head and press her face more firmly into his shoulder. It was comforting and her throat felt dry and all choked up.

"Twenty," she whispered, but regretted it when their whole situation seemed to appear that much more intimate. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She didn't want to feel. Not ever again. She wanted to be numb or dead for forever.

"You are so young, little Bella. Why would you try to kill yourself? It's insane."

She whimpered. It was pathetic, truly, grossly pathetic. If he didn't stop talking, she would cry. She closed her eyes tightly to prevent it.

Was she really so desperate that she would cling to this man like this?

"Don't make that sound. You're breaking my heart," he hushed her and began to stroke her hair. He sighed heavily. "Well, I still have a good mind to spank you red for that stunt. You'll never try something like that again."

She stiffened in his arms when he started talking about that again, and blushed a deep pink against his shoulder. He wouldn't do it...

In the meanwhile, Edward was troubled as he held her tightly. This little meek stranger-girl had tried to off herself. How could she possibly not want to live? There must have been hundreds of people that would miss her; she was lovely.

And he was angry, fuming really. As far as he was concerned, it was the most idiotic, selfish thing anyone could do. He seriously considered whipping her a few with his belt. Then she would at least let those tears fall. He wondered if she had tried to hurt herself before, and tightened his hold on her.

Stupid girl.

Stupid, beautiful girl. Because she was. She reminded him of a porcelain doll... with snow-pale skin and big doe eyes, in the loveliest colour... a deep, brown, dark chocolate-shade. And her long, mahogany hair... he could imagine wrapping it around his hands, controlling her movements as they... no. Don't go there.

She was a mess. There was no way he would take advantage of that. But still... he wanted. And it would be so easy; she was far too naïve for her own good. Why she even let him put his hands on her was a mystery to him.

She would be such a good little girl for him. She would do as she was told and she would enjoy his power over her. He could see it in her eyes, how she respected him and the authority he held through her panic.

Edward wasn't really that into the BDSM-scene. He didn't own a playroom, he didn't put collars on his girls and he would never consider going to a club like that.

Though he did enjoy submissive young women; the kind that was easy to control and would follow his orders... and he did hold a certain fondness for spankings. And a bit of bondage.

He felt perverted. She had just attempted suicide, and here he was, thinking about his own sexual preferences, preferably with her, this young girl he didn't know, in the female lead role.

He shook his head to clear it. She seemed too young and too damaged for him and his ways. He was a relatively patient man, but he didn't have the means, nor the time to handle someone suicidal.

Especially not someone he'd known for roughly 10 minutes.

He was just about to ask the young woman on his lap for her address, so that he could take her home, whip some sense into her, and then leave for the dinner with his parents tonight, when a whirlwind in the form of his sweet assistant barged in.

If he hadn't held on to Bella so tightly, she would probably have flown off his lap in surprise.

Alice, a short, slender girl with business-chic, black, boyish-cut hair and too much caffeine in her body, stared at them in surprise from the door.

He raised his eyebrows.

"Uhm... am I interrupting something Mr Cullen?" she asked and eyed Bella, who was now staring at Alice with her cheeks tinted pink. Alice seemed suspicious and just a little too curious for his liking.

"We were just about to leave, thank you, Alice. You may go home as well," he answered and gently turned Bella's face back into his shoulder by the back of her head. He could feel her trembling in his arms and frowned.

"O-kay," Alice said disbelievingly, eyes wide, and left them, quietly closing the door behind her in a very uncharacteristic move.

He hadn't had a woman who wasn't a business associate in his office in ages.

Edward stood up and released Bella from his hold. He disapprovingly watched her biting her lip roughly and intentionally avoiding his eyes. This girl was not alright. He pulled a hand through his hair and considered what to do now.

He could follow his plan and take her back to wherever she lived, and try to make sure she never attempted something like this again. Or he could... what could he do?

He released a frustrated sigh.

He felt responsible for her, for her life, her well-being, and it irritated him to no end. Why did he have to find her? That was a roof he would never visit to breathe and think and philosophy again. He glared at her and pursed his lips.

Stupid little girl.

"I should go now," she stated softly, visibly upset and stressed. He shook his head grimly. He wouldn't just let her go like that. What if she tried again?

And just like that, his decision was made.

"Let's get out of here. You need to go home and change. We're meeting my parents for dinner tonight."

She stared at him in shock, her little face pale, but he simply grabbed his coat from the hanger just next to the door and opened it for her. She was short, he noticed, and she would barely reach above his bicep if she stood next to him. Which she didn't, as she still seemed frozen in shock.

He rolled his eyes.

"If you don't come here right now, I'll punish you before dinner, instead of after, and that won't be pleasant."

"What?" she squeaked, and immediately raised a hand to cover her mouth. She was adorable, Edward thought.

"Do you really think a suicideattempt is going to go unpunished?" he asked her, rhetorically of course, and pointed to the floor in front of him. He didn't even want to think about what could have happened if he hadn't been there. "Come here, now."

She obeyed and let him lead her by a hand on her lower back, down to his car. He buckled her in, and felt angry that she didn't protest. He clearly wouldn't let her go, but she was stupid enough to get a ride with a man she'd known for less than twenty minutes. Hell, did she even know his name? It made him mad.

He drove as fast, and quietly, as possible through the streets until he stopped outside his brownstone house. He got out and walked around to open Bella's door. She was already half-way out and he scowled at her. That behavior would need to change.

"Come here," he insisted and dragged her up the steps and through the door by her very small and very white, but soft, hand. In the old-fashioned vestibule, he smiled and tried to calm down a very stressed Bella.

"I should go home, really, Mr Cullen. This isn't a good idea," she said, and stared down at her feet. He frowned. He was responsible for her now. And she did know his name.

"You will leave when I tell you to leave, Bella. And that won't be until you've proved that this will never happen again."

She peaked up at him from under her lashes, and her eyes were watery with tears, but she blinked them away. His heart ached for her.

"Bella," he said, a bit softer now, "I won't hurt you, and I will most definitely not let you hurt yourself. Now behave yourself and take that coat off."

He broke out in a full, broad smile when she blushed and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"Bella?"

She mumbled something unintelligible, and fidgeted with the shiny, golden top button. Bella was suddenly scared out of her wits. Here she was, in a strange man's home. A man who had threatened to whip her and then take her to dinner with his parents. And her earlier adventure on the roof was not forgotten.

If she hadn't hesitated, this would never have happened. She would have been gone.

She wouldn't have been at all.

More tears stung her eyes. She didn't want this, but Edward's voice was compelling and bewitching, and the way he so easily commanded her what to do was confusing.

"Bella," he sighed warily, using her name as if he had known her forever, and took a step closer to her. He gently grabbed her hands that were nervously twisting the button from left to right to left. He placed them at her sides and squeezed them tightly, as if to tell her to keep them there. She felt apathetic as he unbuttoned her coat slowly.

But when he started to pull it off, she fully panicked.

"Please don't," she cried out and hugged her arms around her torso in futile protection. He stared at her in shock as she shivered and let a single tear fall down her cheek. She furiously wiped it away.

What was happening to her? She never cried, and she never felt anything. Now she was hurting. She stepped back when he stepped closer; it was a delicate dance that ended with her up against a wall. She tried to look anywhere but at him.

"Bella? I won't do anything to you..."

She glared at him. How dare he say that? He was a stranger, someone who brought her to his home and would do godknowswhat to her. It was a horrible thing to do when she wasn't inte her right mind. And threaten to whip her? Crazy son of a...

She froze when she realized that her fight or flight instinct had kicked in. And suddenly she was even more of a confused, despairing mess. She didn't want to live, so what was the point in running from him?

Because he had said that he would keep her from hurting herself?

"Bella. I won't hurt you. Fuck it... I won't even touch you, okay?" he exclaimed exasperated and pulled at his hair, something that seemed to be a common action in him. He held up his hands in surrender after another tug.

She nodded. What was she to do? Get out of here and find another suitable skyscraper...

She stared up at him, nodded again and swiftly pulled off her coat. He blew out a long breath and took it from her. She felt empty again, the threat her instincts apparently feared gone.

Just numb.

Her empty expression after the panic attack scared Edward. He held her coat, but made no move to place it on a hanger. How could she panic one minute and be this limply empty the next? His gaze travelled down her body, over the lovely blue blouse she wore to the little, though far from slutty, black skirt she had matched with flat leather boots.

She wouldn't need to change, he concluded, still very hesitant about bringing her with him to dine with his family. But in this situation, he wouldn't take his eyes off her. He huffed and sighed, proceeding to put away her coat.

When he turned back to her, she was still as stone, and met his eyes tiredly.

"You should just take me home. I have no idea what's going on or what I'm doing here."

He shook his head. Stupid girl.

"Just so you can jump from another building?"

"Yeah," she answered and wiped her forehead and rubbed her eyes.

Snap.

He'd had enough. She had over-stepped the limit of his patience, and he was fuming. He wouldn't be surprised if steam rose from out of his ears. He clenched his fists and jaw to keep from starting yelling at her.

He had other... methods to deal with this kind of defying behavior. He determinedly slung her body over his shoulder and stalked off to his bedroom, where he sat down on the bed and tilted her sideways over his lap.

She was strangely quiet, but he was too far gone to be concerned over that. She was good and compliant when he pulled her skirt up and tights down. He smiled slightly through his fury when he saw the polka-dotted panties she wore.

She didn't make a move to stop him from pulling down those to. Did this girl have absolutely no common sense at all?

... But she did yelp when his hand connected, hard, with snow-white skin.

Again and

again

again, even harder this time.

She sobbed after that one, and he continued with the harder smacks, alternating places, as she did nothing to stop him.

White became pink and pink became dark pink during several minutes until one particular harsh smack at which she cried out loudly.

"No more!"

He quit and released a deep breath. She was sobbing loudly, muffling the sounds in the comforter. His palm stung as he pulled up her underwear and tights again. She didn't deserve any soothing rubbing.

Bella concentrated on nothing but that dull, burning throbbing on her behind as she lay sobbing over his lap.

It was glorious, the pain so relieving and... un-numbing...

And for the first time, in so long, she felt content. Alive, almost.

"Thank you," she breathed, exhaustion sweeping over her, and somewhere far away, she heard disbelieving chuckling.

Stupid girl, Edward thought as he picked her up and put her down properly on the bed, her head resting on the decorative pillows on top of the covers. She was completely out of it.

He was relieved, that she hadn't thrown a complete fit or barged out of the house, calling the police. She had thanked him... stupid little Bella. She wouldn't sit down for a day or two, he concluded, thinking about her almost-red, throbbing cheeks. He had been a bit hard on her. And the poor girl was exhausted.

He sat on the edge of the bed and skimmed his eyes over her body. She was petite, and her curves still didn't look womanly, just slight, teenage forms that made her look far too young. He grimaced. She was.

Smouldering flames of guilt and shame licked their way up Edward's spine, and he groaned. What he'd done to her... it wasn't right. It had been in the cloudy mind of fury. Hell, he should never even have brought her here. He should have taken her to the hospital, or called her parents or friends. Perhaps a boyfriend?

His fists clenched. If she had a boyfriend, he certainly wasn't taking very good care of this poor girl. This poor, stupid girl he wanted nothing but to help.

He should just have taken her to a goddamned hospital, he thought with irritation. Jesus, why did he always have to do things the hard way?

He hesitantly reached out and stroked her hair lovely, mahogany hair softly, now musing over her reaction to the spanking. She had thanked him and fallen asleep... He had expected yelling, kicking and screaming. Not a 'thank you'.

She was so bewitching, so unpredictably confusing. One minute she was numb and as malleable as clay in his hands, the next she's yelling at him to stop touching her. And then she thanks him for causing her pain. He shook his head; her actions made his thoughts curl around in messy twists. He had no idea what he was doing.

Resigned, he picked up his Blackberry from the pocket in his slacks and walked out of the room. He pushed a few buttons, and then waited impatiently for someone to pick up.

"Edward?"

"Hi, mom," he smiled in spite of himself. Esme did that to him.

"Don't say that you won't make it. Your father and I haven't seen you for eons," she scolded.

He groaned inwardly. It was true.

"I'm sorry, there's a situation..." he trailed off guiltily.

"At work? Because seriously, do you know how many times you've stood us up-,"

"It's not work," he interrupted, sighing deeply.

"Then pray tell me what it is!" she answered, rather angrily, and he felt like eight years old again.

"It's just... it's personal, I'm sorry," he said, and before she could say anything back, he added, "why don't we meet up for brunch on Sunday? My treat, mom."

***

When Isabella Swan woke up, it felt like only minutes ago since she had practically passed out from exhaustion and emotional overload. There was no doubt in her mind where she was, or if today's actions had really occured. The dull pain of her behind served as the biggest reminder.

She was placed on a beautiful bed with golden covers in an equally beautiful, dimly lit room. All dark panel walls and champagne-colored carpet and a huge mahogany bedframe. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, yawned and stratched, and just then, she caught the movement of the doorknob turning in her sleepy haze.

"Bella," Edward greeted and stepped in, looking slightly more relaxed, though still a little disheveled, than before. And inevitably, she blushed, trying not to let her mind stray to what he'd done to her.

And of course, he had to ruin it. Like he did everything, she thought bitterly.

"How's your behind?"

"Fine," she mumbled embarrassed and sat up quickly, hiding her wince. Rather unsuccessfully, for Edward rolled his eyes at her and sunk down on the edge of the bed.

"You deserved it," he muttered, but was more concerned of reassuring himself of the fact. He wasn't quite sure any longer. He couldn't remember having taken such a rash decision... ever. He didn't know this girl, had no idea what she needed, who she was or what he was supposed to do now. The lack of control agitated him.

"Do you have someone to call?" he asked, but guilt was burning his conscience. He had been an irresposible fool. He noticed the girl's bottom lip trembling before she answered.

"No."

"No?"

"No one." She paused. "I thought we were supposed to go to dinner."

"Bella," he sighed. What was wrong with this girl? "I don't know you. I was upset and angry and wasn't as aware of my actions as I should have been," he tried to explain. She couldn't be serious. There must have been something seriously wrong with her. She was just so... unbelievably naïve it was ridiculous.

He pulled a frustrated hand through his hair before speaking again. She was passively watching him with glistening eyes.

"Do you go to school?"

She shook her head slightly.

"Work?"

"No. My parents..." she trailed off, blinking rapidly.

He frowned. What did she mean? Had he gotten a spoiled little rich girl on his hands? A suicidal one, as well. Why weren't they making sure she got the help she needed?

"They're gone. I mean... missing."

He raised his eyebrows. What the hell was going on?

Bella blanched at his cold expression. He seemed angry with her again, and more tears formed in her eyes: a salty, bitter liquid.

"Daddy is a diplomat... he disappeared in... in Yemen. Mommy too. Two years ago."

He clenched his jaw at the childish choice of words. Jesus Christ... she was just a damned child, her parents missing, and now he had... he swallowed hard and stood up abruptly, making Bella flinch.

"You must have a guardian?"

She shook her head, raising a trembling, pale hand to wipe her forehead. He was making her nervous, and his questions...

"I'm twenty. I told you that." She sat up straighter and hugged her knees to her chest, forgetting she was wearing a skirt for the moment. She didn't want to go home to that big, empty apartment... She hadn't talked to anyone for so long. And he was nice, and he cared, she thought.

"Can I please stay here? Only for tonight? Please?"

He merely shrugged, surprised though he probably shouldn't be; she seemed to be starved of human company.

"If you wish," he said, his thoughts running wild with pictures of her in different parts of his house. Asleep on the rug in front of the fireplace... on a chair at his kitchen island... resting on the couch in his office... in this bed, underneath him, warm and soft and compliant.

He internally shook his head. Too young, too broken, he tried to tell himself. Twenty, twenty, a grown woman, another part of his body screamed.

"Tell me your full name, address and social security number," he told her firmly and reached for one of the drawers in his nightstand. Ignoring the pack of condoms, he pulled out a small notepad and pen. He could have used his Blackberry, but this was personal. Too personal.

She obediently told him what he wanted to know.

"Isabella Swan," he mused quietly and took in her petite body and doe eyes. She looked beautiful in the soft, golden light. Her wide cheekbones were covered in a light blush, and her chin was just a bit too narrow to match them.

But she looked too sad to be a twenty-year-old diplomat's daughter in the heart of New York. He almost felt a kind of tenderness towards her.

His own life was simple, he didn't have what one could consider personal baggage, and he lived quietly and contentedly. Until this little girl showed up, at least.

"Come here," he told her and patted the space next to him.

Bella quickly scooted over to him, and rather eagerly pressed herself against his side. He chuckled and tucked her under his arm.

She was deeply inhaling his scent as he seemed to contemplate something. He smelled good. All soapy and... manly. She blushed but unashamedly rubbed her nose against his ribcage through the white shirt he wore. She hadn't been this close to someone for ages. Only slumdog Jacob's greasy hugs...

"I have rules in this house, Bella. You need to know them if you are going to stay here," he lied smoothly as he squeezed her shoulder.

"Okay," she answered, expecting nothing less. From the little she had learned about him, he seemed to do things his own way.

"You will eat healthy, sleep soundly, treat me with respect, and... if you as much as think of hurting yourself I will not hesitate to use my belt on you."

Bella thought about it for a while, and concluded that this wouldn't be hard. The 'sleep soundly' part perhaps... She shuddered when she thought about the belt and became confused when she remembered how relieving the pain from his hand had been. Maybe... no, that was just wrong.

"Okay," she answered softly and Edward sighed.

"You need to get professional help, Bella. You can't repeat that roof performance again. It's not... God, I don't even want to know what would had happened if I hadn't been there." Edward said the first part reluctantly, out of responsibility. He wasn't sure if he wanted to leave her alone in some kind of mental institution, and he doubted that just a weekly meeting with a psychologist would help her.

Bella stiffened next to him and tried to get free from the arm draping her shoulders.

"No," she told him with as much bravery she could muster.

He held her tighter, crushed to his side, and an almost-growl escaped his lips.

"You need it, Isabella."

She shook her head stubbornly.

"If you think I'm just going to sit back and watch you kill yourself, you're damn wrong, you stupid girl," he told her angrily and shook her a little.

She huffed, an angry little kitten with her claws drawn, Edward thought, but was abruptly interrupted by a strange sound coming from Isabella's stomach. He smiled involuntarily when she blushed.

"I usually have dinner out, with business associates, but we'll order take-out tonight," he told her, his anger gone as fast as it had surfaced. She was difficult to stay mad at.

***

There was an awkward silence as Bella was pushing her risotto around on her plate, fidgeting, and considering if this was really such a good idea. What had she been thinking when she asked if she could stay?

Edward did nothing to make her more comfortable across the long, formal dining table in the ridiculous dining room he hardly ever used.. He simply observed her, her movements; and the soft light reflected in her shiny hair. He ignored their bizarre situation for just a minute.

She dropped her fork with a tinkling sound, smiled apologetically and picked it up again.

Edward wasn't a cold person, but he was pleased with his life as it had been before she had entered it a few hours earlier. Peace came with age, he thought. He was torn between wanting to kick her out to take care of her own problems and helping her heal her sad soul.

And also, she fascinated him. She had taken her punishment well, thanked him even. She had accepted his fake rules with no hesitation... he shifted on his chair.

The thoughts from earlier resurfaced. He wasn't interested in having a labelled relationship with the titles, with the defined limits and other things that were included in a BDSM lifestyle. He wanted a girl who respected him, who understood his need for control and wouldn't mind some... sexual activities which strayed a bit off the usual path.

And therein lay his problem. Ordinary women wouldlike the kinky things, to an extent, but when he acted authoritative in other, everyday things, they would put down their foot. And women who lived the real, hardcore lifestyle would want an agreement, contract and all.

There was no middle ground.

He was getting older, and the need to... kind of settle down was getting stronger every day. He wanted to come home to his wife after work, and maybe a cute kid.

The few people that knew him well always said that he should have lived in the fifties.

Control was a strange measurement of the love or attraction he felt; the more he loved someone, the bigger the need to control was.

He smiled softly at the suicidal girl across from him, who was chewing slowly, keeping her eyes glued to the plate.

He could take care of her for a while. She was beautiful and broken and needed his help. He wouldn't take advantage of her, and he would ease up on the threats of spankings.

She could be his new project.

"How to heal a beautiful, young woman's soul in 14 days."

And this was probably where his reason stopped and something else took over.

***

And... cut.

He is kind of... taking advantage of her... I think. Pervert.

Did I tell you that English isn't my first language?

Do forgive any mistakes.