Chapter 2

The home I shared with Edward sat on the sand. The beach sloped upward, leading to a small, wooden deck that wrapped around the white-washed walls. There were two large, French doors that led from the deck to a large kitchen and opened up to a family/dining room. The paint was a cool yellow, the curtains and pillows much the same. We walked hand in hand into the kitchen, and I began making our dinner.

We talked some, mostly about work and the weather. I slowly let the melancholy I felt from earlier be replaced with the familiar routine and feeling of security Edward's presence provided. He was a few years older than me, completing the final year of his residency at the hospital where his father worked. He was handsome with his angled jaw, tousled reddish-brown hair, and mesmerizing green eyes. He was covered in lean muscle. But there was always a faint shadow beneath his eyes, almost bruise-like-evidence of his sleepless years of medical training. He smiled his crooked smile at me, and I felt myself let go, if only for a little while.

After dinner, I was elbow deep in warm soapy water when I felt his cool arms snake around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. He placed a few sweet, tender kisses against my temple, my cheek, and the curve of my neck. I felt myself relax in his embrace. A small part of me did love him, and so I'd let him love me tonight. Hoping to fill the hole in my chest, to keep the pain and the loss from consuming me tonight, I turned to face him, brushing my lips against his. He scooped me up into his arms and carried me into the bedroom we'd shared for the past two years.

For one fleeting moment, I left behind the broken Bella I'd become and became a girl that loved Edward. There were no fireworks, no promises of undying love. He whispered tenderly against my skin, but I couldn't hear the words. I could give him my body, share with him my days and my nights, my bed, the hum-drum things that made up our everyday life, but that was all. There was a part of me that would forever belong to another, a part of me that was a thousand miles away on the cold, rocky beaches of La Push, under a constant cover of clouds and rain, a part that ached for him, beat for only him… my heart. Edward's soft snores filled the room, and I lay there in his arms, longing for another's.

I don't know how long I lay there, feeling numb to all the emotions, to life itself. The temporary reprieve that Edward's presence allowed had slipped through my fingers, and now all I could feel was the sadness and the pain, the wishful thinking, mindless dreaming fantasies that only brought more tears. I left the comfort of our bed, grabbed my thin cotton robe off the chair next to the bed, and wrapped it around me. I stepped out onto the balcony, breathing in the salty, early morning air.

Instead of images of him, of Jake, my memories turned to her. My mother. She was carefree, careless even. She lived life without apology, without regret, with the kind of reckless abandon I longed for. I could close my eyes and still see her smiling face, hear her ridiculous laughter, her words of wisdom. But those warm, happy memories could only hold so long before I remembered the last time I saw her. She was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a million machines, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only semblance of life. I tried to ignore the blood that seemed to be everywhere, the team of doctors and nurses desperately trying to save her life, the way they had been all night. I just clung to her hand, whispering silent prayers. I knew when the activity that had been buzzing around her began to wane that it was only a matter of time. I heard the doctors saying something to my dad, but it sounded so far away, so distant. The whole scene was completely surreal.

It was an accident, they said.

I stood on the beach that day, after we buried her with my shoes in my hand and unshed tears swimming in my eyes. When I felt Jake's warm arms wrap around me, holding me together, I finally let the tears fall.

I was only eighteen the summer she died.

A few weeks later, I had packed up as much as I could into my rusty red Chevy that Jake had built for me and accepted a scholarship to USC.

Before I could stop myself, his brown eyes popped into my mind. They were full of indescribable emotions that day I said goodbye. We stood next to my truck as he had just finished loading the last of the boxes into the back. I kept my eyes focused on the ground, fighting the tears away. I hadn't said I was leaving him, that I was never coming back, that I was really running away from him before I lost him too. Every day I stayed, I fell a little more in love with him; every day I stayed, I was afraid I would lose him too and be broken beyond repair. I didn't say any of this when he cupped his hands around my face and forced my eyes to meet his.

But he knew. I could see the fear, the hopelessness, the pain, swimming in his dark eyes. I could see the desperate plea to stay, the love only he could promise flickering in those deep pools of almost black. But those weren't the words that came out of his mouth. No promises, no pleas. He lowered his head, tenderly brushing his lips against mine. Two tears slid from each of our eyes, trickling down until I could taste the saltiness on our lips. I closed my eyes. His lips left mine and pressed against my ear.

"Forever," he said in a broken, husky whisper before I felt his warmth leave my body. I climbed into my truck and chanced one last glance in the review mirror. He was standing on the curb, tears glistening in his eyes, and he let them fall, unashamed.

He had said that word to me a hundred times.

A thousand, maybe.

Each time as a promise, as an answer, as a vow, as a prayer.

I was wrong to have left, wrong to think leaving him then could hurt less than losing him later. I was wrong to believe leaving behind that little rain-soaked corner of Washington could rid me of the pain of losing of her. For a long time, I drowned in that misery.

And then I met Edward, and for a little while, the clouds seemed to part. I let myself feel the love of another man. But he never gave all of himself, the way Jake unabashedly had. It was only enough to keep me from crying into my pillow every night. There were moments when I could see him let his guard down, when the wine was free-flowing, during those tender moments surrounded by candlelight and soft music. Those were the times I could almost let myself love him back. I could see a full life with him and the happiness we could give each other.

But those moments were fleeting. And as the months crawled by, I found myself thinking of Jake, of home, more and more-dreaming of him, longing for him, crying over him again.

I stood there on that balcony that night, and I let the tears I had been fighting all day, all week, for five years, wash over me. I let myself feel the pain, the burning hurt that went so deep. My knees buckled, and I landed with a quiet thud on the smooth tile of our little balcony that overlooked the ocean. I cried for what seemed like hours, until the tears had dried and I was hiccupping and trying to breathe again.

I promised myself I'd let him go. I promised that I'd forgive myself. I promised myself I'd try to love Edward better. I made myself these promises that night and vowed to keep them.

Until the next time I couldn't keep the memories or the pain at bay. The last time I had made myself these same promises was only two months ago. I pushed that little fact from my mind and crawled back in bed with Edward. But as I fell asleep that night, my dreams were still filled with images of a russet-skinned boy, his poetic promises, passionate kisses, disarming smile, and soulful brown eyes.