Warning: Reference to physical and verbal child abuse in this chapter but no explicit details.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Stephanie Meyers. Aside from a few obvious parallels to the Twilight universe, this plot belongs to me.

"The injuries we do and those we suffer are seldom weighed in the same scales." – Aesop, translator unknown

Chapter 18

"Alice, people normally have housewarming parties right after they've moved in," Bella pointed out as she set out the chips and dip.

"But I wanted my place to be perfect before I let anyone see it," Alice replied, rearranging the dishes on the table to make room for the drinks.

"People are supposed to give you stuff to make it perfect. That's the whole point of a housewarming party."

"Yes, but this way they can give me whatever they want to. It doesn't have to be for the apartment."

Bella eyed her friend. "Then it's just an Alice party. Not a housewarming party."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

Shrugging, Bella started setting out the wine, ignoring the fact that Alice rearranged everything she set out on the table at least once.

Bella had just set down the last of the napkins and silverware (Alice switching the two) when the first of the guests arrived.

Bella smiled tentatively at the newcomers, two members of Alice's staff from the boutique, but as a debate over chiffon ensued, Bella retreated to the background. As more and more guests arrived, Bella did her best to seem amicable, but couldn't resist the temptation to invent chores in the kitchen. It wasn't that Bella was averse to socialization, she just felt like the contribution of set-up and clean-up ought to absolve her of chipping in and breaking the ice when things got awkward.

Fortunately, Edward arrived soon enough. And only a fool would imagine that the way he and Bella greeted each other went unobserved by certain interested parties. Eyebrows went up, sidelong glances were had, but Edward's siblings (and Rosalie) held their tongues, not wanting to interfere in the strange experiment unfolding before their eyes.

But as the party proceeded, Emmett found that he could hold his peace no longer.

"Hey, Statler and Waldorf," Emmett chided them from the sofa, "wanna join the rest of us?"

Bella and Edward were indeed putting on a fair imitation of two stodgy old men who hung out in the balcony of The Muppet Show, discreetly trading snide comments about the goings on as they observed the party from a corner, passing judgment on the other partiers as only two people bitter over their failure to fit in can really do well.

Bella tried to think of a clever comeback to Emmett's remark, but she'd already used up her quota of snarkiness quietly mocking an ascot-wearing, oblivious young man whose overtures were being blatantly rebuffed by an honest-to-God dead-ringer for Carly Simon.

"Hey Rosalie," Edward replied, "did Emmett ever tell you about the time he went skinny-dipping at La Push?"

"Seriously?" Emmett asked. "You're going to go there?"

Rosalie patted Emmett's shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm still holding onto a certain envelope for Statler and Waldorf. They start any trouble, I'll just bring it out."

Bella had forgotten about the envelope, and the confessions it contained as to she and Edward's intentions. She'd been having such a good time with Edward—the two of them taking comfort in their mutual discomfort in the party atmosphere—and now she felt a slight pang of anxiety. She wished that she'd been a little less truthful in that "confession."

"Am I ever going to get to find out what you put in there?" Rosalie asked.

Edward glanced at Bella with a smile. "Oh, I think the envelope's due to be opened soon. I can just feel it. I'm close to winning."

Chuckling uneasily, Bella edged towards the kitchen. "I'm going to see about getting some more salsa for the table."

In the kitchen, Bella was surprised to find Carlisle and Esme inspecting the wine bottles still on reserve.

"Bella!" Esme cried. "What a delight to see you!" She threw her arms around Bella for a quick hug.

"It's nice to see you, too," Bella replied cautiously, easing out of the hug. "And Carlisle." Bella had seen the two of them arrive at the party, but she had conveniently avoided greeting them. It wasn't that she held anything against them—or did she?—but it had been ten years since they'd seen each other, and Bella wasn't sure how she felt about seeing them again.

"Bella." Carlisle smiled at her. "How've you been doing? Alice said that you're getting your doctorate."

"Yeah." Bella ran a hand through her hair, nervously. "In history. I'm almost done."

"That's wonderful. I'm so proud of you," Esme said.

And Bella couldn't help feeling a stab of annoyance. It wasn't really Esme's place to take pride in anything that Bella, was it?

Of course, there was a period in Bella's life when she'd desperately wanted Esme's approval. Esme's opinion used to matter so much to Bella.

But now?

"I'm so happy that you and Alice found each other again," Esme continued. "She was so upset when you fell out of touch."

Bella smiled congenially, but she wanted to call bullshit. Oh, she knew that Alice "felt bad" about turning her back on Bella all of those years ago. But it wasn't easy for Bella to sympathize with the teenage version of her old friend.

Not that Esme and Carlisle knew anything about that. Bella had the foresight to realize that Alice's parents probably had no idea what had really happened.

It wasn't like Alice would have come home from school and boasted about scribbling "slut" across Bella's locker.

Then again—

Bella couldn't help wondering if Carlisle and Esme were entirely ignorant of what had happened.

It wasn't as if they would have wanted their daughter associated with the town "slut." Maybe they even told Alice to cut her off.

"What about your father, dear? How is he doing?" Esme asked.

And another shot of annoyance coursed through Bella's veins. "He's fine," Bella said, trying to keep her voice light. It was none of the Cullens' business how her father was doing, but she didn't want to cause a scene.

"How is his mobility?" Carlisle asked.

Bella thought about lying, but what was the point? "He's actually not getting around very well right now." More like confined to a bed and only semi-lucid. Bella hadn't been back to see him for a few weeks—trying to cram in as possible many hours in at her various jobs and struggling to finish yet another draft of her proposal—but the last time she'd called, the nurse told her that he had yet to fully recover from his last bout of pneumonia.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," Esme clucked, pulling Bella in for another embrace, a longer one this time.

Bella tried not to given into the instinct to pull away.

She remembered how much she used to crave Esme's hugs. At the same time, she'd always hated how they made her feel so fucking inadequate.

"Are they thinking about doing any more surgeries?" Carlisle wanted to know after Bella disentangled herself from his wife.

"Not right now."

"But they have made some recent advancements, you know. I could—"

"He had a complication during his last surgery," Bella cut Carlisle off. "They're looking into non-invasive therapies now."

Who the fuck did Carlisle think he was? Riding in on his white horse to save the day after everything the Cullens had abandoned her?

Bella was going to take care of her father all by herself. She had a plan. She didn't need any one's help.

"Well, you let me know if you need anything," Carlisle told her.

She almost scoffed—because come the fuck on—but he just looked so damn sincere.

Suddenly, Bella remembered a Saturday afternoon she'd spent at the Cullens. Alice was busy finishing up a paper, and Esme had invited her into the kitchen to bake cookies. Carlisle had sat at the counter, reading a journal. And while the cookies were baking, the three of them played a card game.

Bella and her parents never spent time together. They never played cards or baked cookies. Bella usually ate by herself. When her father was home, he mostly watched sports. He'd ask her if everything was alright every now and then, but he wasn't exactly talkative. And as for Bella's mother, well, she wasn't exactly a home-body.

Bella suddenly found herself wishing that she was anywhere but Alice's kitchen. She didn't want to stand there trying to make small talk with two people she'd once loved like parents—two people she had secretly wished were her parents—two people who'd turned their backs on her.

That's right, turned their backs on her. Because where were they when she needed them?

Unable to take it anymore, Bella pivoted towards the door, and was brought up short by the sight of Edward, standing in the doorway and glaring at his parents.

She didn't know what had put him in such a bad mood. Maybe he was angry at his parents for something. But she couldn't escape the suspicion that he was annoyed to find her talking to his parents. Like he was offended by their relationship—just like so many years ago, when he would complain that she was over all of the time.

Nodding adieu to Carlisle and Esme, Bella pushed past Edward and made her way to Alice's bedroom. She needed to be alone, just for a few minutes.

CI – CI – CI – CI – CI - CI

It would have been difficult to pinpoint who fired the first shot. Within the first few days of Edward and Bella's initial meeting as teenagers, it was clear that they despised each other. But it would be hard to determine who or what started it all.

At the time, Bella was just thirteen and Edward was a year older. She had returned to Forks for the summer, as she had every year since her mother had first taken her away.

Edward had only arrived in the town a few weeks earlier, at which point he met his father and stepmother and step-siblings for the very first time; a whole family that he'd just found out about.

The truth was, Edward was lucky not to be going to jail. Or so he thought. His mother had come at him again, screaming such awful things. And he just lost it. He couldn't take it any fucking more. He pushed her.

When her head hit the table, Edward realized that he'd fucked up. He'd pushed her too hard. He could already see the blood.

He was going to go to jail for murdering his own mother.

So he ran.

Unbeknownst to Edward, a neighbor had called the cops, sick and tired of all of the yelling from the apartment next door. The police found Edward's mother unconscious, and the neighbor told them how "the boy"—Edward—had fled the apartment.

When the police picked Edward up for sleeping on a park bench, he was sure that he was going to jail. The police tried to question him, but he refused to talk. He was smart enough to know that that shit wasn't legal—the cops couldn't talk to him without a legal guardian present. And Edward's legal guardian—his mother—was dead because he'd killed her. If Edward was going to go to jail, then he was going to make them work for it.

A social worker was called in then, but Edward still wasn't saying a fucking word. Why should he talk? No one ever gave a fuck what he said, so why should he try now?

With Edward holding his tongue, the social worker filled him in on a few details. She explained how the neighbor had called the police. And that this neighbor had also reported that Edward's mother was screaming some pretty awful threats at Edward before the accident.

The "accident." That was what the social worker called it.

Because Edward's mother wasn't dead. She was alive and kicking and insisting on seeing Edward.

That got Edward's attention, alright.

Because Jesus fuck

He didn't want to be a murderer. But he had been consoling himself with the belief that he was finally free of her.

And now?

And now they were just going to give him back to her.

She would be so fucking fucking fucking pissed.

"The police asked your mother who pushed her," the social worker said, and Edward began to feel a glimmer of hope. Because maybe they were going to prosecute him for assault after all. He'd go to jail, at least juvie. And when he got out, he could run. He would just disappear and he'd never have to see his mother again.

"Do you know what she said?" the social worker asked.

Edward didn't so much as move a muscle.

"She said that you pushed her. Now, why would you push your mother, Edward?"

Right. Like Edward was going to say a word.

"Did she hurt you?"

And suddenly Edward wished that he was anywhere but there. Anywhere but sitting in that room with that social worker. Wasn't it enough that he was going to go to jail? Did she have to humiliate him too?

"Your mother's admitted it."

Edward's eyes snapped to the social worker's.

He wondered if she was lying. He knew that the police were allowed to lie to suspects.

"The police asked your mother why she was threatening you, and she said that you'd eaten the last of the cereal."

Fucking bitch! It was all Edward could do to hold his temper and go on sitting there, to pretend that he wasn't seething inside.

There was no other food and he hadn't eaten in a day and he was starving. Wasn't it his mother's fucking job to feed him?

"The police asked her if she wanted to press charges, but she refused."

A roar started sounding in Edward's ears. They were going to give him back to her. They were going to give him back to her. They were going to—

Edward closed his eyes. Because maybe if he wished hard enough, he could will himself out of existence.

"Edward, if you won't agree to a medical exam, I'm going to have to agree to one on your behalf."

And that roaring in Edward's ears became positively deafening. There was no fucking way he was going to let anyone touch him.

But what was the point in trying to stop them?

Why bother fighting back? They would get what they wanted one way or another.

It wasn't enough that they were going to put him in jail. They wanted to take away his last shred of self-respect.

The social worker gave her consent for the examination. By the time the doctors finished taking photos of all of the scars, Edward was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

He still hadn't said a word.

The social worker tried one last time. "Did your mother do this to you?"

Why deny it? They knew the truth. In his imagination, the doctors were all laughing about him in the break room. What a loser? His own mother—

Who the hell did they think they were?

And this bitch social worker—exposing him to the eyes of strangers, all of them poking and prodding at him. Taking fucking pictures, like he was a fucking zoo exhibit.

This was it. The end. Edward's story was over.

He nodded.

But Edward's story wasn't over. Having condescended to answer one of the social worker's questions, Edward figured he might as well give her everything that she wanted. Get it over with as quickly as possible. So when she asked if he had any other family, he gave her his father's name—or at least the name of a man that he thought was his father.

It took some digging, but the social worker tracked the Cullens down. Before Edward had time to process what was happening, he was being sent to live with a family he never knew existed.

None of that mattered though, because he had a loving family now, and everything was fine.

Only not.

Edward arrived in Forks thoroughly fucked up and not quite able to believe the change in his circumstances. Because it had suddenly dawned on him that he'd suffered all of those years for nothing. Why didn't the authorities step in earlier?

Edward had other questions, too. Carlisle, his father, said that he had no idea that Edward existed until the social worker contacted him. Was that true?

And how was Edward—a fucked up punk from the inner city—supposed to fit into this perfect little family in this perfect little town?

How long would it take the Cullens to figure out that he didn't belong and send him away?

Edward took some comfort in the fact that they couldn't make him go back to his mother, at least not any time soon. She had changed her story about Edward's scars; she was now saying that Edward got them from rough-housing with his friends. With Edward refusing to cooperate, the DA had difficulty pressing charges. In the end, his mother got a sentence for negligence.

Edward knew that he should probably feel some sort of vindication seeing his mother go to jail. Strangely, he didn't feel anything at all.

The therapist said that it was natural for Edward to feel confused about everything. Edward wasn't confused. He just didn't care.

The therapy was Carlisle's idea, not Edward's. Edward agreed to go only because he didn't think that he had the option of refusing.

After two months and no progress, the shrink announced that Edward had problems making an emotional connection, whatever the fuck that meant. By the time that summer rolled around, Edward had stopped talking to the shrink altogether. He'd go to his appointments and sit in silence for an hour.

And then Bella came to town.

Edward already knew that Alice was an outsider. His step-sister didn't seem to have any close friends.

Edward could understand that. Forks High was inundated by zombie sheep. They were welcoming enough to Edward at first—but he wasn't having it. They were mindless drones, and Alice was the only one who seemed to notice.

Even Forks had bad seeds, kids from the so-called wrong side of the tracks or jock wannabes who thought that they were hard. They all tried to cozy up to Edward, like getting the inner city punk on their side would be proof positive of their gangsta status. Edward wasn't interested. At all. And he made sure that everyone got the message loud and clear.

A few ladies seemed to think that his reputation made him all the more alluring, and he wasn't quite as harsh towards them, but only because he was a fucking pussy (he could admit that to himself), and still a little terrified of the opposite sex after all of the shit his mother had put him through.

Though he never would have admitted it, Edward found it somewhat comforting to find that his step-sister was a loner like him. He wasn't exactly ready to get them matching friendship bracelets, but he was slowly warming up to her.

But then school let out for summer. And Alice changed. It was like someone flipped a switch.

It was all because Bella came to town.

Not that Bella was any more popular than Alice. If anything, she was even more of a social pariah. Being the daughter of the Chief, everyone seemed to assume that she was a narc. She wasn't exactly fashion-forward either, always going around in baggy sweatshirts and old jeans, in the dead of summer, with her hair a mess. Edward wasn't the one who gave Bella her nickname. "Beast" was an obvious go-to for a girl named Bella who didn't quite live up to the standard of Belle from the Disney movie. But he couldn't deny that it seemed to fit.

Because who was this bitch to just roll into town and ruin everything?

It wasn't just his sister fawning all over Bella, it was his entire family. They were practically in love with the girl. It was Bella this— and Bella that—, all of the time, like she walked on fucking water.

Who the hell was this stranger to show up and get all of the love and affection that was rightfully Edward's? Never mind that Edward spent nine-tenths of his time pushing his family away. They were his, goddammit.

This bitch was an interloper. Her friendship with his so-called sister didn't give Bella any special privileges so far as Edward was concerned. He was going to treat her the same way he treated everyone.

There was another, more fundamental problem when it came to Bella. It was subtle. An instinctual recognition of something not quite right. It was enough to set off Edward's alarm bells, even though he didn't understand why.

He recognized something in Bella. Something broken. The same damn thing that was broken in him.

He couldn't have that. He couldn't sit around and watch this broken thing laughing and joking with his family, like she fit in when he didn't. It was like looking in the mirror, but not. And it was like a knife to the chest, seeing this person who was so very like him succeeding where he was failing. Getting what he wanted but couldn't have.

She made him anxious, too. He didn't know just why that was, but a savvier fellow would've known that it was because he was afraid that she would see through all of his carefully erected walls. Easy as it was for him to see through her, it only made sense that she'd have the same ability when it came to him. But the thought of having someone see him for what he really was turned Edward's stomach. It was a little too much like being back in that hospital, with all of those fucking doctors poking at him and taking pictures, seeing him. Edward didn't want to be seen.

Most of all, Edward feared that sooner or later someone would figure it out. Would recognize the resemblance between the two of them. Then it wouldn't just be Bella seeingEdward for what he was, it would be everyone.

In attempting to diagnose the source of the problem, though, it would be unfair to blame everything on Edward. Bella was by no means eager to welcome Edward into her surrogate family. She'd secretly dreamed of becoming a Cullen for years. Not that her father was cruel—but he wasn't especially loving. And her mother—well, she was a disaster. To Bella, the Cullens were everything.

But here was this interloper. This long-lost son. This stranger.

To Bella, Edward was a Masen, not a real Cullen.

To Edward, Bella was an even bigger outsider than he was.

Such are the vagaries of human emotions that a person can desperately crave the very thing that he or she seems to reject. Edward and Bella desperately craved the affection of the Cullens at the same time that they recoiled from it. They even despised the Cullens a little for offering that affection so freely, so easily, like it meant nothing.

Edward and Bella hated each other not only for the ease with which they inserted themselves into the Cullen clan, but for their obvious discomfort with the same, for rejecting that which they had been given. Because who the fuck was Bella to turn down the love that Edward wanted so badly? And who the fuck was Edward to shit on the family Bella longed for?

It didn't make sense. It was completely fucked up. But it was the way it was.

So it wasn't clear who fired the first shot. They probably would have blamed each other. But who knows—they might have taken some pride in claiming the credit. Because who cares if you started the fight if that means that you aren't the one who took the first hit?

Unfortunately, as far as Edward's shrink was concerned, Edward's failure to get along with Bella just confirmed Edward's inability to make an emotional connection.

Things only got worse when Bella moved to Forks to live with her father year round.

By then, Edward was going to therapy once a week. He'd just go to his shrink's office once a week and sit, not saying a word. Eventually, Carlisle got him another therapist. But it was no good. Edward went through shrink after shrink, each one in turn giving up, because if Edward wasn't going to make an effort then they said that there was nothing that they could do for him.

On the surface, Edward seemed to be doing fine. He was a bit skittish—but who could blame him? Yet he was getting good grades for the first time in his life. He had even managed to make a few acquaintances that occasionally passed as friends.

But Carlisle was afraid that Edward was just shoving all of it down—all of his problems—and that one day he'd blow. So Carlisle made Edward an offer: A six month commitment to genuine therapy and Edward would be able to get a car. Edward had to make a real commitment, though. He couldn't just blow his therapist off again.

Intellectually, Carlisle knew it was a mistake. You can't make a person get help; he has to want it for himself.

But it seemed to work. Edward accepted the offer and he appeared to be trying.

Of course, Edward was just running a con. He would spin his therapist some bullshit about self-worth and how hard it was trying to fit in all of the time. Every once in a while, Edward would make an effort to make it look like the therapy was working—play a football game with Emmett, help Alice with her homework, bake cookies with Esme. His fooled his family. He fooled everyone.

Everyone, that is, except Bella. "How's the therapy going?" she'd ask him, laughing, right in the middle of the fucking parking lot at school, too softly for anyone else to hear, but still. Who the fuck mocks someone for trying to get help? "You're the one who needs help," Edward would snap—which was true, it was obvious that she needed therapy—but she would just laugh even harder. "You might have pulled the wool over everyone else's eyes," she'd say, "but I see you for what you are."

Edward lived in terror that Bella would tell his parents the truth.

He told himself that there was no reason that they'd take her word over his, but Edward had a good reason for believing that they would do just that. She was practically a second daughter.

Then there was the fear that Bella would spread a rumor about him seeing a shrink around school. He had to shut that shit down. So yeah, he spread some rumors of his own. It probably would have made more sense to just back off—call a ceasefire—but Edward wasn't thinking rationally. People believed him, too. After all, his step-sister was Bella's best friend. Who better to know some dirt?

Whenever it occurred to Edward that his efforts might actually be hurting his step-sister—that she might be suffering by association with Bella—he rationalized his efforts by telling himself that Alice had made her bed when she chose Bella over him (because that was how he saw it, nonsensical as it may sound).

Not that Edward was completely heartless. He stepped in whenever it looked like Bella's bad reputation might be affecting his step-sister. "Alice just feels sorry for her," he'd say.

Meanwhile, the therapy appeared to be working. The therapist said that Edward was making real progress.

Which was just proof, in Edward's opinion, that shrinks weren't worth the paper on which their college degrees were printed, because if a sixteen year old could fool a so-called physician, then something was seriously out of whack.

But Edward got his seal of approval and he got his car.

Consequently, Edward never really gotten the help he needed.

All was not lost, however, when it came to healing the divide. For a brief moment during the late spring and early summer of Bella's sixteenth year—Edward was almost seventeen—they were given an opportunity to mend fences. They might have even become friends.

It so happened that Edward and Bella secretly shared a fondness for First Beach, particularly first thing in the morning, when it was deserted.

Edward would run on the beach before school. Running on sand was much harder than running on pavement or a trail. Every slip of his feet was a kind of 'Fuck you.' In fact, Edward's life was pretty much a giant 'Fuck you.' Every day, every time someone got in his face, every time he remembered his mother, it was like slipping in the sand. It made Edward try even harder. He'd force himself to put one foot in front of the other.

He'd run until he was panting and dripping with sweat. With no one around, he didn't have to worry about anyone seeing his scars. So he would pull off his shirt and plunge into the water to cool off.

Bella wasn't fond of running. She loved the ocean, though. She loved the melancholy nature of the contrast between grey sea and grey sky. She loved the quiet, the loneliness, arming her—as it did—for the vulgar trials of school (and the less trying task of keeping up with the whims of a flighty Alice). She loved the surge and the froth. The wild, uncaged energy. She'd run full tilt into the water, and dive into the wave, and come up sputtering and teeth chattering. She didn't mind freezing. She even loved it a little, the numbing sensation, like all of her cares drifting away. Bella would lay back and float, closing her eyes and rocking back and forth, back and forth.

"Hey!" An angry voice broke through Bella's reverie, one morning as she floated. "What are you doing here?"

She opened her eyes to confront the intruder, only to find herself facing one Edward Masen—Edward Cullen.

"Screw you!" Bella replied instinctively, arms curling protectively around her torso. Normally she would have worn a t-shirt over her bathing suit. But she wasn't expecting anyone to show up.

"You need to go!" Edward declared.

Bella noticed that he wasn't wearing a t-shirt either. And he always wore one, even when they went up to the pool up in Port Angeles.

"I was here first!" Bella announced.

"Bullshit," Edward snapped, even though her statement was in a sense true, Bella had gotten into the water first, while Edward was still running. "I come here every morning," he said.

"I've never seen you."

"Just because you didn't see me, doesn't mean that I wasn't here."

They glared at each other.

"Are you going to get out of the water?" Bella asked.

"You first."

They glared at each other some more.

This was no mere boundary dispute. Neither would cede their ground because turning to go meant exposing themselves in ways that they were loath to do. Edward never let anyone see his scars. Ever. Not even Carlisle. And as for Bella, well, there was a reason she wore such baggy clothing. The thought of anyone running their eyes over her form—it made her skin crawl.

Alas, their mutual refusal to seek the shore meant that left them to the merciless chill of the icy waters. Both had submerged themselves up to their necks. And they watched each other silently, waiting for one of them to crack.

Bella, having been in the water the longest, was suffering dearly. Her lips were already turning blue.

"Your teeth are chattering," Edward pointed out.

"So are yours."

She was right. Normally, Edward would've been swimming by now, and that would've kept him warm. But just sitting in the water like this had him struggling to adjust to the sudden temperature change. In fact, Bella's custom of swimming (and not running) every morning meant that she was actually much more accustomed to the cold than him. "I like it," Edward lied.

"So do I," Bella (likewise) lied.

And so they stayed in the water, glaring at each other.

"Just get the fuck out already," Bella said (or tried to say, the shivering made it difficult).

"You first."

"Why me?"

Edward smirked. "Didn't you say that you were here first? So you get out first."

As much as Bella wanted to argue the logic of that, she couldn't help but admit that he had a point. Moreover, she was far too cold to hold her ground much longer.

She held out for another minute, but then she had no choice but to give up.

As she started creeping to shore, Bella issued a warning. "Don't look!" She instantly regretted her words, knowing that they gave her away.

"As if," Edward barked a step or two behind her, because he was only too happy to be following her in, almost as cold as she was.

Bella stumbled out of the surf and towards her towel, trying to hurry. But the cold slowed her movements. She shakily wrapped her towel around herself. If anything, she was colder now that she'd left the water than she'd been in the surf, the cool air like ice on her wet skin.

Peeking over the top of her towel, Bella spied Edward crouching over his things, his back towards her. She saw the scars.

Bella looked away quickly, not wanting to see any more. It was none of her business. And she didn't want confirmation for something she'd already expected.

But Edward was finding it just as difficult to maneuver as Bella, the cold slowing him down. He gave up on trying to pull on his t-shirt. Instead, he wrapped himself in his towel and turned to face Bella, realizing too late that he'd turned his back on her.

Noticing his gaze, Bella glared at him again. "Why didn't you see my things?"

"Maybe because I didn't think anyone would be stupid to come out here this early in the morning."

"You're here."

"That's different."

Bella rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"So long as you don't come back."

"You can't tell me what to do."

Edward rolled his eyes. "Gonna get daddy to arrest me?"

"Maybe," Bella shrugged.

"Look, I'm gonna keep coming here. You can't stop me."

"And you can't stop me."

"Whatever," Edward said, conceding without conceding.

"Yeah, whatever," Bella snapped. Grabbing her things, she began trudging her way towards her truck.

The next morning, Bella drove around a bit, looking for Edward's car. She wasn't too surprised when she found it parked at the trail head.

Well, Edward was in for a disappointment if he thought that he could keep Bella away.

Bella drove back to her normal spot and parked. When she reached the sand, Bella felt a flicker of hesitation.

Normally, she'd take off her t-shirt when swimming alone. She didn't like the way the wet fabric dragged against the skin. And it actually made her colder.

But Bella really really really didn't want Edward to catch a glimpse of her in just her bathing suit. Bella didn't like the way that she looked. She secretly wished that she had Alice's figure—a rail thin frame with almost no curves. Bella didn't like the prominence of her breasts or the sway of her backside. She had heard far too many filthy comments from her mother's "boyfriends" over the years, a few of their more lewd remarks addressed to the way Bella was developing.

And Bella had developed significantly since then.

Plagued by unhappy memories, Bella started off for the water, t-shirt firmly in place.

But she was back out of the water a second after she'd entered, pulling the t-shirt over her head and throwing it on the ground.

Fuck Edward Masen! He could just stay the fuck away from her.

Returning to the water, sans t-shirt, Bella tried to pretend that she was all alone on the beach. For all she knew, Edward wouldn't show. After all, the two of them had managed to avoid each other for quite some time.

What was more, Edward could very well have decided to skip his morning swim altogether. Or maybe he had decided to go to a different part of the beach.

Telling herself that Edward wasn't worth her energy, Bella tried to relax.

But it wasn't working. She couldn't help glancing at the sand every now and then, watching and waiting for Edward to show his face.

So Bella had a full view of Edward as he appeared out of the distance, ducking around a rocky outcropping and heading down the beach. She watched as he finished his run, coming to a stop by the edge of the water and dropping his backpack on the sand. Covertly, she spied as he tried to catch his breath, his hands on his knees, and she watched as he pulled off his shoes and socks. She watched the way he fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt, obviously trying to decide whether or not to pull it off. Following his line of vision, she realized that he was staring down at her t-shirt, thrown so casually on the sand. A moment later, he pulled his t-shirt off and threw it down on the sand too.

As he turned to start his sprint towards the water, Bella turned away, feigning disinterest.

And Edward ignored her in return.

They didn't speak. They avoided eye contact. They each went about their business, pretending as if they were completely alone, while in fact they were painfully aware of the other's presence.

They went on in this fashion for days.

Bella always left the water first, darting for her clothes and dressing as quickly as possible, choosing to believe that Edward wasn't watching.

He was, though. Not that it meant anything. It was only fair—she got to watch him before he got into the water. He was only replaying the favor. He certainly didn't give a fuck about Bella. Or her curves.

Not that she looked bad, not by a long shot.

But it wasn't any business of his.

And he wasn't stupid. There was a very good reason that a girl that pretty would choose to hide her body. Some scars weren't visible.

Two weeks passed, with Edward and Bella never once speaking and both pretending not to know that the other was even there.

Then, one day, as Bella was leaving the water, she was brought up short by the sight of a seabird standing on her towel.

Another person might not have been bothered by this. Another person probably would've just shooed the bird away.

But Bella didn't like birds. She had been attacked by a bird when she was four years old, and she'd never gotten over it.

"Go away," she cried, her voice an anxious order. Waving her hands, she tried to scare the bird into fleeing.

It simply ignored her.

Bending, Bella picked up some sand and she threw it at the bird, quickly crouching with her hands over her head in case it attacked.

Nothing.

Watching all of this unfold, Edward wasn't quite sure what was going on. The bird was invisible from his vantage point. So when Bella crouched down in the water, it looked like something was attacking Bella.

"What the fuck?" he demanded, charging out of the water.

"It won't move," Bella explained, still crouching as she watched the bird.

"It's just a fucking bird," Edward pointed out, having realized the problem.

"Birds attack people!" Bella exclaimed.

Unimpressed, Edward nevertheless saw that Bella wasn't going to proceed unless someone intervened on her behalf. Shaking his head at her melodramatics, he took it upon himself to try and shoo the bird away.

"Go on," Edward said to the avian interloper. "Get out of here."

But to Edward's surprise, the bird turned to face him, its wings opening as it squawked, looking for all the world like it was in fact going to attack.

Edward stumbled back, cursing.

"Told you," Bella said unhelpfully.

Edward narrowed his eyes at the bird. "What the fuck is its problem?"

"How should I know?"

"You got something over there that the bird wants?"

"Like what?" Bella asked.

"I don't know. Food?"

"No."

Keeping his eyes on the bird, Edward crossed over to his backpack. He pulled on his t-shirt and—in a moment of rare generosity—threw his towel to Bella.

As much as Bella didn't want to accept the towel—the jerk—she was freezing. Her teeth were chattering, and she was getting progressively colder.

Surrendering to the pressure of circumstances, Bella wrapped the towel around her frame.

"Throw your backpack at it," she suggested (her chattering teeth garbling the message a bit).

"You think?"

"I can't just stand here in your towel all day."

Accepting the wisdom of her statement, Edward picked up the backpack and returned to her side. "It's watching us."

"It's global warming."

Edward looked at her.

"It's true," she said. "Climate change has fucked up all of the birds' brains and they're going to kill us off, one by one."

"Are you fucking crazy?"

"Haven't you seen The Birds? It's based on a true story. It fucking happened."

Shaking his head, Edward looked back at the bird. "Get ready."

Bella held her breath, cold and anxious. And when, on the count of three, Edward threw the bag at the bird, Bella was surprised to find Edward's arm blocking her body from a potential bird attack (but not touching her) as the two of them crouched, waiting.

Instead of attacking, the bird flew off, squawking in anger.

Cautiously, Edward rose to his feet, Bella behind him. A beat later, she darted for her things, quickly exchanging her towel for his.

"Thanks," she said, not looking at him as she returned his towel, her clothes clutched to her chest as she turned to go back to her truck.

"Whatever," the gallant hero replied.

Strange as this incident was, it was enough to establish a tentative truce between the two. They even went so far as to exchange a few words here and there, commenting once or twice on the weather, and a few times on Alice's antics.

Had they been asked, they would have denied it vehemently, but the fact is, they began to look forward to seeing each other. Or rather, they began to look forward to the newfound company, however unwelcome. It was somewhat comforting to find that they weren't all alone, for once.

Most significantly, neither had resumed wearing the dreaded t-shirt. They respected each other's privacy enough to keep their eyes to themselves.

Unfortunately, it was bound to come to an end.

One afternoon, Edward happened to stop at the gas station in town at the very moment that Lauren Mallory and her crew were passing through.

Now, Lauren was among that cadre of fresh young things who considered Edward a catch. There was just something about him that made him seem irresistible. No doubt it was his unfriendliness. His obvious disinclination to socialize made him seem all the more delectable. He would be invited to parties, because (knowing something of his past as an "urban youth") people thought that he lent a little street cred to their soires. Edward accepted more of these invitations than he would have preferred, knowing that his parents would be pleased at this evidence (however meager) of a social life. To the despair of many a fine young lass, Edward would spend most of his time at these parties drinking alone in a corner. Every once in a while, Lauren or Gianna or some other girl would sneak up next to him and try to start a conversation, slip a hand on his knee or around his neck. If they were lucky, they'd get a kiss. And after a while, they realized that a drunk Edward was a friendlier Edward, so they would go out of their way to supply him with drinks. Pursuing this strategy, Lauren had managed to work her way up to a few heavy petting sessions with Edward. But her progress had stalled, her willingness to pull off her top and to let Edward feel her up being unreciprocated, Edward pulling her hands away whenever she tried to slip her hands under his shirt. Their last make-out session ended in a huff, with Edward walking out when Lauren tried to pull his shirt off.

Edward had pretty much ceased all contact with Lauren after the t-shirt incident. So, seeing him at the gas station one afternoon, Lauren decided that it was her lucky day.

Putting on her most coquettish smile, she strolled over. "Haven't seen you for a while," she said, leaning up against the gas pump.

Edward glanced at her and then away, fiddling with the pump. "Been busy."

Lauren sighed. "I know, right. Summer's always just so jam-packed. I never know if I'm coming or going."

He didn't reply.

"So the girls and I are headed to Port Angeles, today. Wanna come?" Lauren asked.

Edward scratched his head. "I kind of have stuff to do."

"Oh yeah, of course. I just meant if you were free or whatever." Lauren waited. "Okay, see you around then."

Disappointed, Lauren headed back into the convenience store, ignoring the cackles that met her, Gianna and the rest of her so-called friends having taken a little too much pleasure in watching Lauren crash and burn.

A minute later, Edward headed inside, too, annoyed because he didn't want another run-in with Lauren. But he was out of defroster.

Rushing, Edward was happy to reach the register without incident, only to hear someone address him.

"Hey."

Edward turned and saw Bella right behind him in line, a container of oil in her hands.

And just over her shoulder, Edward could see Lauren and Gianna and Makenna and Emily and Leah—the whole damn clique—silently observing, just waiting to report back to the school about everything they saw and heard.

And God forbid Bella should slip and say something about the scars—the scars he knew that she'd seen.

Fuck that.

Sneering down at Bella, he scoffed. "What the fuck are you doing talking to me?"

And turning, he paid the cashier, telling her to keep the change as hurried out of the store as fast as he could.

Running from Lauren. Running from Bella. Wanting to get as far away from both of them as possible.

As for Bella, she had no idea that Forks High's reigning bitches had witnessed the entire exchange from the back of the shop. She stood there, her mouth hanging open, watching Edward's back as he retreated.

"Who the hell do you think you are, talking to Edward?" a voice asked.

Spinning, Bella saw Lauren, standing with her hands on her hips a few feet away.

"Do you honestly think that you're good enough to speak to Edward Cullen?" Lauren asked.

Bella blinked. Was this bitch serious?

Seriously, who the fuck did Lauren think she was?

Because, come the fuck on.

But then, it was like someone pushed a button, and Bella suddenly realized that she'd just been given a beautiful opportunity. It was like the universe was handing her a gift on a silver fucking platter.

Bella smiled. "Actually, I know Edward very well."

Lauren and her fellow bitches cackled at that.

"I doubt that," Lauren said.

"We go swimming almost every morning together."

"Bullshit."

"Come see for yourself. He'll be there tomorrow. Six o'clock. First Beach. But don't be too early. Edward will turn around and go home if he thinks that anyone's already there. He likes to be the first one in the water. It's like a thing."

Turning back to the register, Bella handed her credit card to the cashier.

"I don't believe you," Lauren said.

"I told you, come see for yourself."

"Maybe I will."

Shrugging, Bella grabbed her credit card and fled—her work done.

Meanwhile, Edward was racking his brain for a way to fix the problem he'd created.

He knew that he'd fucked up. He should have just greeted Bella and gone on his way. She was friends with his sister, after all. It was to be expected that they'd be cordial to each other.

But Bella had seen too much. Edward didn't want her anywhere near Lauren. It was very important to him that his worlds remain separate.

And now he knew that Bella was pissed, because she wasn't there. She should have been in the water, waiting for him, but she was nowhere in sight.

Annoyed and a little uncomfortable with the fact that he was annoyed—because why should he care if Bella got her nose out of whack?—Edward pulled off his t-shirt and dived into the waves.

The cold surf helped relieve some of his anxiety. But he still felt like a dick. He was even toying with the idea of apologizing.

That would be a first. He and Bella never apologized to each other, even when Alice was begging them to bury the hatchet, or when Carlisle and Esme was cautiously suggesting that they might have carried things a little too far.

This time, though, maybe Edward would say that he was sorry.

He had just about decided to go through with this plan when he saw them. Lauren and Gianna and Makenna and Emily and Leah. All of them stripped down to their bikinis, and all of them heading down to the water. Heading towards him.

Where he treaded water, sans t-shirt, his torso bare and scars on full display.

Edward would have given anything right then to be wearing that damn t-shirt.

He stayed in the water as long as he could, long after the ladies had returned to the sand.

He stayed until he was so fucking numb that he was worried that he might actually be coming down with hypothermia.

At last, when he couldn't take it anymore, he forced himself to go ashore.

And they watched him the entire way, their eyes running over his skin, taking in the evidence of his past.

Edward wanted to snarl at them, tell them to keep their fucking eyes to themselves.

But he didn't want to give himself away. Didn't want them to know that he cared.

Bella was bad enough. But she at least understood.

Or so he thought.

Later, that afternoon, Edward was at home, playing a stupid video game with Emmett (mostly because it would make his parents happy), when Bella happened to pass through the living.

"Enjoy your swim this morning?" she asked, laughing as she skipped by.

And all at once, Edward saw the truth: Lauren didn't just stumble onto First Beach by accident. Bella had told Lauren about his swim. Bella had betrayed him.

Edward avoided First Beach after that. He stuck to trail-running in the woods.

He began skipping out on parties, too, hesitant about seeing Lauren and the others again. Unwilling to face their ridicule. As far as he knew, they had kept their mouths shut, but he was worried about testing it.

Finally, he decided to just get it over with. If they were going to humiliate him, at least he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

Hell—he could even start changing with the rest of the guys in the main locker room.

Invited to Tyler's for beers, Edward wasn't surprised when he quickly found himself cornered by Lauren.

"Wanna go upstairs?" she asked, twirling a piece of hair like an idiot.

"Nope."

"Oh come on. I'll make it worth your while."

Edward was sober enough to know that she was probably setting him up, but drunk enough to figure that he might as well go for it.

"Is it because of your scars?" she asked once they were alone in Tyler's bedroom. Crawling up behind him where he was sitting on the bed, she began to massage his shoulders (which tensed at the word scars). "Because you know that I don't care about them."

Edward snorted.

"Really," she said. "I think they're sexy."

Sexy?

Sexy.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

Couldn't she tell how he'd gotten them?

"Prove it," he said, because Who the hell thinks scars like that are sexy?

She began nibbling on Edward's ear and he pulled away.

"You don't like that?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"You want something else?" Her hand slid to his crotch.

He pushed her hand away.

When Lauren moved off of the bed and kneeled in front of Edward, he almost laughed in her face. Was she really going to give him a blow job?

She was.

Which was just so very fucked up. So fucked up that he could hardly handle it.

And when, afterwards, she asked him if he wanted to reciprocate, Edward just stared at her for a minute before getting up and walking out.

Which was probably a shitty thing to do. But such is life.

CI – CI – CI – CI – CI - CI

Eleven years later, Edward found himself standing in his step-sister's kitchen, watching his stepmother embrace Bella. And it was all he could do to quell the surge of jealousy.

He'd always been envious of his parents' feelings towards Bella.

But now he was envious of Bella's affection for his parents.

Not that he wanted Bella to look at him the way she had clearly always looked at them—it was obvious that she saw them as surrogate parents—but because Edward envied the familiarity and comfort that his parents seemed to enjoy with Bella. He wanted her to feel that way with him.

Except that he was also watching when Esme moved to embrace Bella. He saw the way Bella stiffened in Esme's arms.

And it set off an irrational wave of annoyance in Edward's chest. The same annoyance that Edward used to feel when he would see Bella rejecting one of Esme's overtures, back when they were teenagers.

Couldn't Bella tell how much Esme just wanted to love her? Didn't Bella realize how much she was hurting Esme?

Edward hated seeing the pain on Esme's face whenever Bella would pull away from her. It was the same expression that Edward saw whenever he would pull away from Esme. And as much as he hated to see it, he couldn't stop himself from pulling away.

But rather than blame himself, he blamed Bella. Because she ought to have known better.

Seeing his parents at Alice's party was something of a surprise. He didn't know that they were going to be there. It was the first time that he'd seen them since that disastrous weekend he'd introduced them to Tanya—the same weekend that his father had told Edward that his real mother, Victoria, was dead.

Edward wasn't really ready to face them again, not yet.

So he was glaring when Bella turned and caught his eye.

Edward knew that she was upset when she fled the kitchen, but he wasn't sure how he felt about her obvious distress. Reverting to his teenaged self, Edward almost felt as if Bella deserved to be upset. She'd hurt Esme. On the other hand, he couldn't help wanting to comfort her.

After a brief word to his parents—during which he stuck to the basics (I'm fine; Work's fine)—Edward went in search of Bella.

He didn't have much trouble finding her. There wasn't really anywhere to hide in Alice's apartment.

She was sitting in Alice's bedroom, clearly enjoying a moment's solitude.

"You okay?" Edward asked.

"Yeah, of course," Bella said, putting her hands to her cheeks.

She wasn't quite sure why she'd let herself get so worked up. What was done was done. There was no going back.

Bella could hear Jasper taking song requests in the living room. It sounded like they were going to play karaoke.

The mattress dipped as Edward sat down next to her.

But he didn't speak. To Bella's surprise, the two of them sat there in silence for a few minutes. And it wasn't awkward.

"The thing about them," Edward said at last. "The thing about Esme and my dad, it's just hard to be around them sometimes."

When Bella didn't reply, Edward continued. "Not that they aren't nice. They're just fine." He paused again. "Actually, maybe that's the problem. They're too nice. All of the time. So fucking nice. And you ask yourself, what's wrong with me that I can't just enjoy it. Can't just accept what they're giving me and be happy."

There was another minute of silence. And just when Edward decided that Bella wasn't going to say anything after all, she agreed. "Yeah, it's like that."

AN: Revelations in the next chapter, I promise.