Chapter 1: Vertigo

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of its related characters or story elements. I have simply twisted them to my own uses.

Summary: Bella & Rose have stuck to the plan for months, keeping a dark & frightening secret to gain the ultimate revenge. But when Bella falls for Edward, can she continue hiding the past? Or will it destroy them all?

I'll say a bit more at the end of the chapter, but for now I'll just say: Hope you enjoy this!

"He says you look like you want to kill someone!" she yelled over the pounding music. She was laughing at me even as she scolded me. "You need to smile, babe, these guys aren't gonna come near you if you look like you wanna chop their dicks off."

"I am smiling," I grumbled to myself. She was already gone, grinning widely and flirting with yet another useless tool. I'd have to keep an eye on her. Rosalie was not one to monitor her alcohol intake. Without someone to step in, she'd be completely blitzed and leave with whichever random "hot" guy happened to be nearest to her at closing time. She believed this was living freely. I, on the other hand, tended to stop drinking as soon as the floor began spinning and had a knack for running guys off. Apparently due to the murderous, cock-chopping look on my face.

Going out had been easier when Rosalie was still with Royce and I was still with Jacob. We'd have a few drinks, dance our asses off in the clubs, flirt and maybe do a little grinding with the tools and tourists, then crash for the night. We even made out with each other sometimes, just for kicks, and more often than not as just a way to give the guys on the floor an extra thrill. The barely-legal wannabes in their pussy-bearing miniskirts and fuck-me heels had nothing on us.

Since we both became single, however, the dynamic of "girls' night" had changed. Rather than just for blowing off steam, they became a single-minded mission: must get laid. The mission was more Rosalie's than mine. I mean, sure, it had been 6 months, and I was definitely looking for some penile interaction. But for Rosalie, a night out without peen was a night wasted. So it was likely that I would again be going back to the motel alone while she disappeared with Mr. Moment. I had tried on more than one occasion to point out the danger in going places with strange men, but she always laughed at me and told me not to worry.

"You're not my mother, Bella," she'd say. "I can take care of myself. I don't need you to watch out for me."

She encouraged me frequently to loosen up, to stop being so picky about men. But the truth was, I wasn't looking to get laid for the sake of getting laid. I'd been doing that with Jacob for nearly a decade, spreading my legs when he wanted me to or because I had a biological need rather than a real desire to be with him. Going months without sex was not a new experience for me either. I'd started naming my favorite toys just to give myself something to shout when I came. The two guys I'd been with since my marriage ended had been friends of Rosalie's that she'd all but forced on me, and neither had rocked my world. It didn't help that I felt like a mercy fuck to them, a favor they'd granted Rosalie in the hope of getting…repaid.

In fact, my night with Tyler, her personal trainer, had been the single most humiliating night of my life; he'd come to the motel hoping for Rosalie or at least a bit of three-way action and gotten stuck with me instead. He didn't want me and I didn't want him, but we'd somehow ended up naked together, and I found myself desperately sucking on his stubbornly limp cock, trying not to gag and wondering how the fuck I got there and why.

I knew the answer to both questions: Because that's what Rosalie wanted me to do.

"You want a drink?" I paused my deep, drunken self-reflection only long enough to glare at the gnome standing next to me and decline his offer. It never failed; if there was a short guy with no appeal whatsoever within a 10-mile radius, he would immediately be attracted to me. Rosalie and I jokingly referred to it as the "Lenny and Squiggy Approach": the taller guy, the Lenny, would automatically latch onto tall, beautiful, flirty Rosalie, who talked to any peen who ventured into her space, whether she was interested or not. I, on the other hand, would be stuck with the Squiggy—usually a short, weasel-faced friend who would try to compensate for his size issues by copping an attitude about "tall pretty girls" being snobs.

The current example wasn't taking the hint, so I walked off, water in hand, in search of Rose. I found her canoodling with a Lenny in a dark corner.

"Rose," I called, tapping her on the arm. "I'm done here, babe. Can we go?"

She pulled away and rolled her eyes at me.

"Bella, it's only midniiiiight!" she scolded. She never failed to make me feel like a buzzkill in these instances. Even when every instinct I had was screaming at me to bail, I would stay. And it would usually turn out that my instincts were right.

But Rosalie wanted to stay. Rosalie wanted me to get laid. Rosalie wanted to have some more fun.

So I went back to the bar and surrendered my water. I'd need something a lot stronger if I was gonna remove the colossal stick from my ass and manage to enjoy this night.

Two shots later, the floor was spinning again. Another Squiggy turned up at my elbow and pulled me in the direction of the dance floor, and this time I went. The lights blinded me and the music and movement made me queasy, but I grabbed onto my dance partner and let him have his way with me. Encouraged by my lack of resistance, his hands wandered my waist, chest, and backside freely, groping without purpose, or at least without skill, copping feels like a teenager at his first semiformal. When I tired of him I moved on, collecting random partners along the way.

So this was fun! This was living free! Hoo-fucking-ray!

By the time the lights finally came up and the music stopped, I'd had a few more shots and was no longer capable of standing upright or walking in anything resembling a forward motion. My current dance partner led me off the floor, and I stumbled and bobbled around the bar until I found Rosalie—now on the arm of yet another loser, this one at least slightly more appealing than the last—settling her tab. She seemed remarkably more stable than me, but she squealed happily when she saw me in my sloppy state.

"Bella! You got drunk! I'm so proud of you!" She clapped her hands and reached for me. I held onto her for dear life and leaned in the direction of her head, hoping I'd get her ear and not her eyeball.

"I neeeeeed to get out of here," I slurred at her under my breath. "I think my date here wants me to take him home and make a man out of him."

She looked up over my shoulder and then back at me.

"Uh, Bella, are you sure you don't want to go?" She sounded surprised.

"Rose, I donnn wanna fuck some Squiggy just to get my lady bits off," I slurred back.

"OK, I'll take care of it," she assured me. She set me up against the bar for support and disappeared. I begged the bartender for water. He shoved two enormous glasses at me and I sucked them both down quickly, hoping I could keep them down long enough to regain my equilibrium. After a moment Rose reappeared and took my arm, and we made our way out of the club. Squiggy was nowhere to be seen. I hoped she hadn't been too hard on him.

"C'mon, Bella, stand up, for Christ's sake." Rosalie was bitching at me, but I wasn't sure why until I realized her Lenny was following closely behind.

"Oh holy mother fuck, Rose, are you ditching me again?" I looked up at her, but the motion made my whole world shift on its axis. I could hear Rosalie complaining about something, but the swooshing sound in my ears drowned out the substance of her rant. I lowered myself to the cool concrete of the sidewalk. It felt good.

When I woke up, I was alone in our crappy room. Even though Rose and I lived together in an apartment just outside Phoenix, it was part of our tradition to get a cheap motel room close to the club if we were going to be out late and drinking. It also made it easier to "hook up"—we always had a close and available bed ready if needed.

It hadn't been needed often. Rose usually went home with her Lennys, and I certainly wasn't using it.

It took me several minutes to move without the bed spinning under me, but when I was able to turn over on my side, I found my cellphone on the nightstand. As I reached for it, it began vibrating, then Rosalie's ringtone started to play.

"'Lo?" I mumbled. "Rose?"

"She lives!" I squeezed my eyes shut in agony as her voice rattled around inside my head.

"For fuck's sake, Rose, whisper or my head will explode," I moaned. "Where the fuck are you?"

"No idea," she answered, mercifully lowering her voice. "But I'm starving and Mike hasn't woken up yet. Can you come get me? I want breakfast."

"How'm I supposed to come get you if you don't know where you are?" I asked. This was a familiar conversation. Usually, I would help her figure out her approximate location, grab her car keys, and drive in that general direction until I found her. Not today. "Take a cab, babe. I can't see straight and the world is spinning."

"Fine. Whatever." She hung up on me. I laid back on the bed and closed my eyes. The darkness felt good. It quelled the demons in my head and stomach.

"Bella, wake up." Rose shoved my arm. From the aggravated tone in her voice, I gathered she'd been trying to wake me up unsuccessfully for several minutes now. I groaned to let her know I was conscious.

"What happened last night?" I asked when I was able to speak. My tongue was thick and my mouth tasted like ass.

"Well, first you made like my mother and tried to bring me home before curfew. Then you decided to get your drink on, and from what I was able to tell you danced with what was probably the hottest guy in the club, then called him a Squiggy and ditched him before vomiting spectacularly all over my shoes." She reached into a trash can and held up the defiled footwear. "You owe me a new pair of boots. Thank fuck I wasn't wearing sandals last night."

I squinted up at her. The brilliant light pouring in through the miniscule crack in the curtains made my headache throb. "Sorry," I mumbled. I gently rested my head back on the pillow and closed my eyes again. "Ughhhhh, I feel like shit. Why do we do this stuff again?"

"Because it's fun!" she laughed. "Although I can see you're not enjoying it quite as much this morning," she said, whispering now in response to my obvious cringe. She patted my leg. "Come on, Bella. Let's go get some breakfast. It'll do you good."

It was some time later, over French toast and generous helpings of coffee, that I recalled Rosalie's summary of the night before.

One small detail hit me like a brick.

"Rose," I gasped, choking on a mouthful of coffee. "Did you say I danced with the hottest guy in the club?"

EPOV

The tall blonde came through the door like she owned the place, hugging the doorman and greeting the security guards as she headed for the bar. Heads swiveled to follow as she passed by, and there was a near stampede to be the first to buy her a drink. She was clearly a regular, which pegged her as a local—a rarity here at Denali, the biggest tourist trap in Phoenix.

I watched the show with amusement. Tourists were always fun to watch; they all loved the idea of becoming someone else while on vacation. Unfortunately, most of them were ill-qualified to take on the roles they gave themselves. Soccer moms in too-tight dresses had tried to make me their "cub" on several occasions, and I'd seen more than my share of dumbass guys happily grinding their hard-ons into women whose faces showed only disgust and revulsion.

Right now there were at least four guys fighting over the blonde, who was chatting them all up. When she put her hand on the shoulder of the tallest, the other three slunk away, tails between their legs. The alpha had been chosen, apparently. He leaned in toward her and said something that made her laugh. She looked to her right and laughed again, then spoke to someone just out of my view. At that moment, the crowd at the bar parted.

The brunette smiled artificially and with an air of irritation at the blonde, then turned back to her drink with a sour expression. She mumbled something to herself and rolled her eyes as she was jostled around by the crowd. Eventually she gave up trying to hold her place at the bar and wandered toward the dance floor.

She was beautiful. The flashing lights picked up highlights of red in her hair, giving her a shimmer that enhanced her dark eyes and pale skin. She was shorter than her friend, but only by a few inches. She was unhappy here; it was obvious from the defensive pose she held and that persistently sour look. She stared out at the gyrating crowd, brow furrowed, as though lost in thought. I surmised that she had likely been dragged here by her friend, probably on more than one occasion.

I knew the feeling. I was only here as a favor to my brother, who had disappeared some time since. I'd hung around for a while on the off chance he might resurface, but I suspected I'd been ditched for the night. I had been heading for the exit when the blonde had entered, and now here I was, hiding in shadows and stalking her friend like some creature of the night.

She was still staring, still frowning, and I wondered what she was thinking about. I noticed several men looking in her direction, assessing her, and I could almost hear their thoughts as they first admired her body and then were put off by her expression, which said fuck off in the loudest and clearest possible way. Most of the men moved on after that, seeking out friendlier vistas. But I was entranced by the enigma she presented. I was curious to see her really smile, to see if it were possible that she could be even more beautiful underneath all that misery.

I realized suddenly that I wanted to make her smile. It was a bizarre impulse, yet I found myself approaching her nonetheless.

A short kid in a superhero t-shirt bumped into me as he rushed past and slid into the empty place beside her. Shaken out of my momentary insanity, I turned away and fled to the bar, where I downed a shot and tried to get a grip. What the fuck was I doing? I never approached women. Ever. They came to me, usually, which was a blessing only in that it spared me from ever having to make the first move.

First moves terrified me.

Yet my eyes were drawn to her again, and I watched as she stalked away from the superhero and headed toward the bar, obviously searching for the blonde, who had disappeared. Soon she vanished as well, swallowed by the crowd, and I sighed in relief. Puzzled by my strong and immediate reaction to this stranger, I tossed back another shot and leaned heavily on the bar, letting the alcohol fog my brain and erase her image from my conscious.

"A shot of vodka," a voice called out, not far away. When I looked up, she was standing just a few feet down the bar from me. The bartender brought her the drink, and she powered it down and asked for a second. Her eyes soon glazed over, and her face relaxed. Another superhero wannabe came to the bar between us, and she followed him out onto the dance floor. She was unsteady on her feet at first, but as she danced and the alcohol in her system took hold, her moves became rhythmic and far more sexual than I would have expected. I seethed inwardly as the boy began to grope her and she let him, offering no resistance whatsoever; she just kept on dancing as though he wasn't there. He tried to keep up, but she grew tired of him and moved on. Men brought her drinks and she accepted them. She even smiled occasionally, but instead of enhancing her beauty it seemed only to emphasize her unhappiness; it was the amused smile of someone simply too drunk to care anymore.

She was too good to allow herself to be disrespected in this way. I wanted to take her away from this place. I wanted to take care of her.

When the music changed again, I found myself on the dance floor with her in my arms. She barely glanced in my direction as she pressed her back into my chest and ground herself against me. I held her, trying to resist the temptation to touch her as the other men had, even as she made it almost impossible to avoid. I settled for keeping my hands on her hips as we moved together. The first touch of her skin against mine had burned hot, like a circuit had been closed and an electrical current had surged between us. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I needed more.

I held her and maneuvered us away from the others, arguing with myself that I was protecting her, keeping her from the circling vultures who would no doubt take advantage of her. Yet deep down I knew I was taking advantage of her as well, even I as stood there holding her upright and trying to maintain a gentlemanly distance. I was taking what I could get from her without so much as an invitation or an introduction. I was no better than any animal who would drag her off into the dark, than any of those men who would have taken her body without giving a thought to her mind or her spirit.

Torn between the need to touch her and the clarity of mind to know I shouldn't, I danced with her, kept her near me, and stared down other men who tried to cut in. Back off, my expression told them.

Mine.

When the lights came up, she pulled away from me abruptly and mumbled something about roses. I caught her as she nearly fell and half-carried her toward the blonde, who had resurfaced with a different alpha male. Blondie screeched and clapped as she reached for the girl.

My girl.

"Bella! You got drunk! I'm so proud of you!"

Her name was Bella.

Bella leaned into Blondie and spoke in a stage whisper that I was close enough—too close—to hear.

"I neeeeeed to get out of here," she garbled. "I think my date here wants me to take him home and make a man out of him."

The blonde looked at me. I was mortified.

"Uh, Bella, are you sure you don't want to go?" Clearly the blonde was not opposed to random drunken sexual encounters. Did that mean Bella was like that as well? And did that bother me or turn me on? My mortification amplified as these thoughts passed through my brain.

"Rose, I donnn wanna fuck some Squiggy just to get my lady bits off," Bella answered, effectively deflating my ego even as it reassured me that Bella was not, in fact, that type of girl. And although I wasn't sure exactly what a Squiggy was, I could read between the lines. The blonde—Rose, apparently—said something and then shifted Bella up against the bar. She motioned to the alpha to watch her. Then she turned to me.

"Come with me," she said. I cringed. I could sense that I was either getting the brush off or about to be subjected to a best-friend tongue lashing. Thus I was surprised when she offered her hand.

"I'm Rosalie," she said. "And you are?"

"Edward," I answered, perplexed. "Edward Masen."

"Edward," she repeated. "Well, Edward, as you can see, my friend Bella over there is quite drunk. This is relatively new territory for her, so I'm gonna take her back to our room now." She paused and frowned. "Come to think of it, I don't know where our room is, but hopefully I'll be able to get that out of her before she passes out." I looked over in Bella's direction and realized she was leaning more and more on the bar. I didn't think she'd be upright much longer. Rosalie was still talking, so I returned my attention to her.

"…you see, Edward, we have to leave now. You understand, right?"

I understood. I nodded, unable to speak. They were leaving, and Bella was going with them. It was time for me to walk away. Break the connection.

"Good night, Rosalie," I said, as politely as I could manage. "It was very nice meeting you both." I turned and walked toward the door.

"Oh, and Edward," Rosalie called out. I stopped and looked back. "We come here every Thursday. It's our regular night out."

I beamed at her and nodded before taking my leave. Thursday was suddenly my favorite night of the week.

BPOV

Rose had been tormenting me all week as punishment for ruining her boots. The most I'd gotten out of her was that his name was Edward, and he was—to use her term—fuckhot. She'd also warned me several times to make a move quickly or she'd steal him. She was enjoying having the upper hand. It went well with her determination to school me in flirting, sex, appropriate and inappropriate bar conversation, and safe "wingwoman" signals for get me out of here he's an ass versus get a room of your own, I'm getting some ass.

The latter involved several gestures I wasn't sure I could pull off secretively without looking like I had an obscene tic. But as I wasn't planning on using it, the former signal—rolling my eyes in her general direction—seemed sufficient.

"I'm there for you tonight, babe," Rose assured me for the umpteenth time. She was applying copious amounts of liner around my eyelids; I'd never quite mastered the art of eye makeup. "Tonight is about getting you some seriously good fucking!" She was giddy with the prospect. I didn't have the heart to tell her I was most definitely not getting fucked tonight, especially by the faceless mystery man. Fuckhot was a term Rose used liberally, especially when drinking, and I knew I couldn't trust her assessment until I'd seen this Edward through my own almost-sober eyes. (What? A girl needs a buzz before a club night…)

"And what exactly will you do with yourself if I take off with Bedward?" I asked. She laughed, and I feared blindness as her eye pencil wavered near my pupil. I was only half kidding; last week's escapade aside, it was usually my job to keep an eye on Rose, make sure she didn't leave her phone anywhere, closed out her tab at the bar, had enough cash for the cab, and so on.

Come to think of it, it was a miracle I made it back to my room last week.

"Seriously, Rose. Do you at least know the name of the hotel? Do you have your ID and your cards? What about—" She glared at me and I stopped midsentence.

"I will be fine, Bella," she frowned at me, emphasizing my name with irritation. "You're not my—"

"—Mother," I finished. "I know, I know. Fine." I told her. She finished with my makeup, and I took a look in the mirror to see the damage.

Damn, I looked hot. Even by my standards, which were admittedly almost impossibly high. Rose really wanted me to get laid. Probably so I'd shut up and stop bitching about it. She'd loaned me a top that fit my curves really well—so well that after I put it on, she declared it mine forever, admitting it looked far better on me. My jeans were new, tight in all the right places, and an expense completely outside my budget.

"But Bella, this is an e-merrrrrr-gen-cy," Rose had wailed at me in the mall. "Your budget allows for emergency funds, right?"

Of course she was right. Rose was always right. About sex, anyway. I bought the jeans. And the lacy ladywear she'd insisted on. And the dangerously high heels I was teetering in. If Edward didn't show, this night would go down as the most expensive waste of time ever.

But I did look hot. So maybe not a complete waste of time.

A couple of preparty beers, a serious toothbrushing, and a cab ride later, we were on our way to Denali. I was getting increasingly nervous as we got closer, and it didn't help that Rose was still spewing random tips at me even as we climbed out of the cab.

"…and remember, Bella, do NOT look for him. Let him come to you. Find yourself someone to dance with maybe, or a hot guy at the bar to talk to. Be distracted. Be fun. And for fuck's sake, smile!" She poked my side as she said the last part. After several tries I apparently found an acceptably pleasant expression. I held it as Ben, the doorman, greeted us and waved us forward, opening the door to what I hoped would not be the second most humiliating night of my life.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

It had been 3 hours, and I'd all but run out of small talk, false laughter, and patience. The preparty buzz had long since died, and I was about 10 minutes away from either a shot or a cab ride back to the motel. Rose, after about half an hour as my "wingwoman," had gotten bored and found herself a pack to flirt with. I had tried my best to hold my smile and act "fun," but now I was back where I'd been the week before, sober and miserable. Whatever attraction to me Rose had sensed from this Edward must have been purely a figment of her drink-addled imagination.

"I'm leaving," I told her after fighting my way through her admirers. "This is stupid, Rose. He's not coming."

"Belllllllaaaaaa!" she drawled at me. Uh oh, Rose was a goner. So much for being there for me tonight. She turned and giggled at the group around her. "So boys, who's taking my Bella home tonight?"

"Rose!" I growled as a few hands shot up. "No one is taking anyone home tonight, except me taking you back to the motel." I reached for her and pulled her up. Holding onto her waist to keep her from wandering, I waved to Eric, the bartender, for the tab. Tonight's fun had at least been cheap, I noted; Rose's binge must have been supplied by the wolves.

"Come on, wingwoman," I grunted as I pulled her along with me. Several guys tried to convince her to stay, but apparently she wasn't entirely wrong about my cock-chopping glare. They backed off quickly. We wobbled through the door and out to the taxi stand. A cab was just pulling up, mercifully, and the attendant waved us to it as two tall figures climbed out in mid-argument.

"Em, if you hadn't spent so much time flexing in the mirror, we'd have been here hours ago," I overheard. The voice came from a tall man who was walking backwards as he spoke.

"Screw you, man," his companion answered, laughing as he came from around the other side of the cab. The Voice laughed and started to turn toward us, still looking in the wrong direction. I saw the inevitable collision coming and prepared to go around him, but at that second Rosalie stumbled. The three of us crashed into each other.

"Fuuuuck!" My leg ached where I'd hit concrete, and there was a lovely new hole in my very expensive jeans.

"Son of a bitch!" I glanced over at the moron who'd knocked me down. His friend was helping him up, blocking my view. Not that it mattered. "Fucking asshat. Watch where you're going next time, huh?"

I brushed myself off, then leaned down to check on Rosalie, who was giggling. She appeared unhurt, so I pulled her up.

"I'm s-so sorry," the Voice stammered out. I rolled my eyes.

"Whatever." I dragged Rose to the cab and helped her in. She was still giggling as she slid across the seat. I gave the driver the name of our motel and slammed the door. Rose laughed harder.

"Rosalie, what the fuck is so funny?"

She paused to look at me. "You're a dope, Bella Swan!" she cackled, then started laughing again. "That," she gasped between fits, "was Edward."

Fuck. My. Life.

Thanks for reading! This is my first Bella and Edward story, and most of it is already written. I intend to update once or possibly twice a week. I'd like to thank o_Oza, MsKathy, KayCannon1, and emmward for agreeing to be my prereaders and sharing their thoughts. You can find me as well as all of them on Twitter, probably talking about something smutty. Speaking of which, this story will contain some lemons and should be kept away from those too young to vote.

I'll have a few things to explain as the story develops, but for now I'll just say "Thanks!" and "Hope to see you next time!"