This kind of escalated quickly from the last chapter. Sorry. ;)

AGE 17

"Open wide, Bella," Edward commanded and I smirked at him, defiant but also entranced by his dominance. He's always had this liberal control over me, one that I let him have.

So I do as I'm told; I open my mouth wide and clos my eyes, anticipation rolling off my tongue with each breathe. I could hear the sounds of the paper burning between his fingers as he inhaled.

Suddenly, he sucked in the largest inhalation and pressed his sealed lips to my opened ones, not yet releasing the captured fumes begging to be freed within the walls of his mouth. So I kissed their middle, slowly and tantalizingly until he released.

These small moments – the ones where I could control him – they balanced us out.

I sucked in the fume directly from his mouth and tasted the bitter and the sweet, the tobacco and nicotine and the weed, and the Edward – his green eyes, too.

Slower than I had breathed in his air, I blew the vapor out and it created a marble grey, transparent curtain around us. And then, he kissed me. But this kiss wasn't one that we had shared before. It wasn't just us.

No, it was our souls mixed with our lips, marijuana and cigarettes, cheap beer and stolen Bacardi, and certain setting of higness. And I had never wanted him more than I did in that moment. I wanted him take my body and just pound into it.

I wanted him, right there and right now. But we couldn't because we weren't the only ones in the room.

"Shit – stop sucking each others' faces off." Jake complained but we all knew he was just tired of seeing me with Edward. His ever intoxication proved so.

I moaned half in spite of Jake and half because Edward was squeezing my ass tight and firmly. This is what we do: we put on a show for people. We make them hard and give them something to fuel their fantasies.

But quite literally, it's paradoxical because they fuel us with their gasps and the whispers they think are inaudible to us.

And I'm tired. I'm tired of their thirst making him just as hard as my touch and body could.

Sometimes, he doesn't even fuck because he wants to, instead because it's expected of him to do so. The way it's an expectancy for him to achieve steep levels of importance, now and later, when all he really wants to do is get high.

I remember when we first starting dating, we would talk, more so than anything. It wasn't because we hadn't had sex yet, but because there were secrets involved that were comparable to the dopamine effect sex has on you.

Now, it's drugs and fucking, and the literature we discussed is a distant memory, the plans we wanted executed are no long visible, and art I saw in him is fading the way oil paint deforms on a canvas.

I'm tired of the fact that I know he's going to change even furthermore and I'm still going to spread myself open for him.

At first, it was cannabis every few parties, then it turned into smoking herat every one. Now, it's touching pre-made joints with his perfect hands, before he puts thembetween his lips and pulls every few hours.

He feels blunts up the way he feels my body – cautiously, seductively, and precisely. He's making me hurt because I know she'll become more and more prominent in his life and suddenly, on day, he won't want me the way he did before he inhaled that first smoke months ago.

It hurts because he's still the same Edward with me but a motherfucker to others. But that's all right. Because I still get him while I can.

What's hurting me even more than Edward is, is that I want him now and I know I'll want him then, when he'll seek drugs more often than release inside my body.

I'm selfish and he's needy. He makes me wanton and I give him innocence he'll lose somewhere along this fuck up, so we can create sin.

I don't know how or when but I felt my back hit against a wall and my legs wrapped around his hips, with his strong hands pull my ass towards his groin.

And their whispers. I felt them, too.

"Bella…" Edward slurs against my mouth and continues on grinding his hips against mine.

I know he felt my desire because it's as open about its waterfall stream in between my legs as I am about my love for him.

I wanted him to fuck me hard - just pound into my body. But not now, not here in a random person's house and Jake starring at us, not with a hard dick that's the product of people talking about the show's we've put on for them before. Not when he's elaborating on a physically inhaled high.

I want him to change for the sake of a wave of high gotten from virgin sex and Whitman and music with a bass that reaches your core.

I want him to change so I no longer have to doubt whether I'm enough to get his cock up or it's people's talk and drugs, too.

I want him to change so I won't have to.

Somewhere in between my back hitting a wall and Edward landing on top of me because he'd just came, I had realized that I didn't want him to change, I needed him to.