A/N: I'm maaaaybe sorta kinda back. And I've done a lot of changing in the way I write. I know I abandoned BAF (which is probably a good thing!) but I've gotten back into the hang of actually WRITING now, and this idea came on a whim. I feel like I should give a warning right now, this will be adulterous. There's lemons, maybe limes, maybe some drinking, smoking (of the assorted variation, wink wink) and a buttload of other stuff that I've yet to finish. If that sort of stuff offends you, don't read it blah blah blah. I know, it's a complete turn-around from innocent little EA.

Anyway, this chapter WAS longer, but I felt like it's a sin to make your first chapter really long, so I condensed it for now. If I get good feedback on this, I'll post chapter two and even finish this story. I swear I will. But I'm taking a leap of faith and hoping this isn't complete crap. So your reviews really help, guys! Oh, and I swear this is a E/B story. Just not right now, duh.

PS, anyone wanna help me around twilighted? I just made an account over there and I'm totally clueless.

Anyway, thank you guys, if you read this. Thanks for sticking by!

There are a lot of emotions that pass through humans during their lifetime. Some are good, some are bad. Some are neutral.

Some are shit, and some make you want to puke with joy.

Some people are capable of feeling more than one emotion (on two different ends of the emotional spectrum), and some people, well, let's just say they don't have to deal with it.

In the end, too much emotion = one massive headache.

This is why poet's end up killing themselves (and the reason why I stuck to literature).

Because there are just so many emotions one can put out there.

Love.

Hate.

Anger.

Happiness.

Elation.

Lucidity.

Numb.

Pain.

Hunger.

Thirst.

Fear.

Calm.

And then right back to love.

So many emotions, and I didn't even complete my list. But everyone's got their one weakness.

Mine just so happens to be loneliness.

Yes, loneliness.

(A): the state of being alone in solitary isolation.

Solitary isolation sounds like capital punishment to me.

I don't want to be isolated.

But not just any isolation.

Emotional isolation.

I've never not been in a relationship for more than two weeks (and in those two weeks, I'm almost positive I ran up my psychiatrist's bill high enough for her to skip out on three weeks of work for some nice beach resort vacation) because all my life, I was raised to believe that I needed a man in my life.

Or woman. When you're desperate, it doesn't matter.

Don't get me wrong, my fear wasn't that I needed sex constantly, oh no. It didn't even spring from the need of having someone who'd listen to me, fuck, for all I cared my current significant other could sit there and stare and smile at me. So long as there was someone there.

Not that even I know where "there" is, because I know I'm not "there" either.

My mom tells me I'm just testing out the waters of the dating world, trying to find out what kind of person I need in my life. I roll my eyes.

Because, hey, like mother like daughter right?

She even goes as far as trying to set me up on blind dates when certain relationships don't work. The worst one was after Eric.

I don't know why, but I still get that sour, "Jesus-Christ-I-don't-want-to-remember-that-bullshit-right-now" face when I think about him. I don't know if I want to kill myself in embarrassment for him or for myself.

But anyway, he's the past.

Mike's the present.

And he's currently sleeping with his back to me in bed. Snoring like oxygen was scarce and he planned on getting as much as he could in his sleep.

Fuck, I sure know how to pick 'em.

It never occurred to me, and it's not like I had this epiphany spurred on because I was thinking about Mike, but I've never accompanied the words "love" and "relationship" together. Not yet, I should say if I wanted to stay optimistic.

I've never loved my relationship.

There I said it.

As many as I've put myself in, let myself reduce to them, I still haven't broken my L-word virginity.

Someone call the zoo, it looks like another walrus is starting to blubber!

I'm an honest person, or so I like to think. I can say what's on my mind and not feel embarrassed about it.

"I'm lonely."

"I like you."

"You look like someone I could be with."

"Can you not touch my toothbrush? Sorry, it's a personal thing."

So really, it only makes sense that if I don't have "I love you" on my mind, I'm not going to say it.

And so far, there hasn't been anyone I've loved yet outside of my family and friends.

And yet, even when I look over at Mike, sounding more like a dog with a cold than ever, I see anything but love.

Lust.

Companionship.

Comfortable.

Nothing.

But not love.

I pull the covers off me, throw on the shorts and sweater I had on before I got into bed two hours ago and step out of the room, closing the door behind me.

Mike's apartment was small, messy, and smelled like something had died in it and the manager hadn't had the cleaning a big priority of his. Part of the reason why I had to step out onto the miniscule patio too.

I had to admit, it did kind of have a nice view of Seattle at 5 AM.

This wasn't my home, not this dinky little scrap of space. But I've been on this patio enough times to claim it my little space in the span of the month and a half I've been seeing Mike.

And by just thinking of his name, I threw myself into the little plastic (and on the verge of cracking in various places) chair and grabbed my pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and lighting it the best I could with the morning wind whipping around like crazy.

Yeah yeah yeah, everyone preaches to me that I shouldn't, but I do it anyway. Especially when it's off season.

Off season, aka when S.O of the moment snaps. And I'm alone again.

It's a first, but I'm finally contemplating the idea of, what if just once, I broke up with someone?

And almost instantly, I tense. Like really, really tense.

Who tenses?

I have to push the thought away, because I can't handle it. The five letter word pops back into my head.

Alone.

No thanks.

Not for me.

Five minutes later and I realize I'm taking drags from my almost finished cigarette like it's an oxygen mask, so I slow down. I blow out the last puff of smoke and stub the rest out.

But I didn't go back in until 6:30, and only because Mike woke up. He doesn't seem disturbed by the fact that I was awake and on the patio so early. In fact, he barely seemed to have registered it.

I go back in, turn on the coffee pot for him and go back in to grab my stuff. I don't even feel like showering before leaving. Suddenly, I really just want to back home and sleep in my own bed.

That's like one of my unspoken rules. Never my place. Never. I'd truly feel like a whore, the whole "notch on the bedpost thing". It irks me.

Of course, Mike offers his place for me to sleep. I smile and say that my sheets smell better, in turn causes him to laugh.

At least I'm funny, and he's got a sense of humor enough to not realize I was being serious.

I'm not crass, I'm not purposely rude. Like I said, I just speak my mind.

It's a gift and a curse.

I change from short to jeans, leaving the sweater on and slipping on my sneakers.

He hands me a mug of coffee when I walk out of his room, and I accept. I'd need it for the drive.

We stand around his kitchen and talk and I down my coffee quickly. I make for the door but he's on my heel.

He grabs my arm, and though he's still smiling, bends down enough to give me a light kiss goodbye.

Of course, a girlfriend who wasn't preoccupied with thoughts of "I hope this guy doesn't leave me today" would have done that in a heartbeat.

Bella Swan needs to have things done for her.

But like I said, I've never been in love and I don't care to be in love.

I just can't ever be alone. Ever.