Lies & Secrets

Chapter 3:

The 3 Ps

Disclaimer: The plot is mine. Twilight is not.

Warning: This story contains mature themes.

BPOV

Thirteen hours, two missed flights, one hell of a lecture from a tired and grumpy Alice and more drinks than I can count and a pill that a guy called Mark told me would make me feel floaty later, I stumble into my apartment on the outskirts of LA.

The place is cramped, messy and not nearly well ventilated enough. The white paint is peeling, it smells like damp and my mattress is definitely screwing up my back. Only one person can fit into the kitchen, the shower is a slow spurt of mostly cold water and I can never properly explain why I don't move out, but I won't.

Part of me just wants to stay because it's quiet in this apartment block. Mostly, though, I like it because this is where it started. This was my first apartment when I moved to LA. One that I shared with Jasper until we made some money and his then (now ex) girlfriend Maria started getting snippy that he was living with another girl. So I moved out, into a nicer, more expensive apartment with Victoria, who was working in my uncle Aro's firm at the time, and he moved in with Maria.

I moved back in this shithole after the stint of therapy I did back home in Phoenix. It's a memory that I'm not ready to let go of – the memory of myself before James, before the big breakup that people still talk about today, and before I turned into whatever person this is.

I drop my bags by the door, slam it shut behind me and trip my way to my room, where I can't sleep but I force myself to stay in bed. I roll around, tossing and turning, until a reasonable hour to wake.

Then, as I'm dressing in yoga pants and an old t-shirt, I realise I have nothing to wake up for. The band is still resting after tour – we're back to work next week, although work is a generous word for my contribution – and I don't think they'd appreciate my company, anyway.

The friend group that I was a part of a few months ago gave me an ultimatum that I didn't abide by, so they've gone on strike as friends until I "get better" – whatever the hell that means. I shrugged it off when they told me, but it hurt. It hurt a fucking lot, because they don't see that there is no better for me. There is sober, but that's not better – that's a lot, lot worse.

Whatever. I can't think about it anymore or it'll give me a headache.

I pop my morning pills. They are prescription; it's just not my prescription. They make me feel fuzzy, far away and less terrible. They're great. I grab a water bottle, a change of clothes, my ID, my purse and my keys then I leave.

At seven am, I arrive at the gym I frequent. Or at least, I attempt to come here frequently. It's a rundown, unpopular place that some hipsters come to because it looks 'urban'. Otherwise, it's just the broke LA hopefuls – aspiring actors, models, singers, artists, writers and so on. Nobody bothers me. I'm not sure if they recognise me, or if they don't, or if they don't care either way, but I'm left alone for my two hours there. Which is nice and quiet, but also bitter and lonely.

Today, I choose to shower at the gym – because the showers here are better than mine and I don't want to go to Rose's for one today – then change into clean clothes that I brought with me – jeans, a t-shirt and some scruffy sneakers.

When I leave, I drive home and stop off at Royce's on my way, which is only a block from my gym. Royce King's off license is an open secret. It sells everything you could ever want to get fucked up. It's the Target of drugs. This is a place I actually do frequent, much too often.

Royce is stood outside smoking when I arrive, with a group of friends that are dressed much too neatly for the area. There are four men in pristine black suits, and then there's Royce, in his old, faded jeans that hang low and a holey t-shirt. He dresses like shit, but he still looks good. Royce always looks good, even though there's dust in his hair, oil splatters on his clothes, blood splashes on his arms, and the name of his ex-wife Shannon running down his forearm.

He recognises me by my beast of a truck and grins. When I step out, he shouts, "My Bella! Gentlemen, meet my Bella."

I raise a brow at him as I approach and he looks over my attire with disgust. "How does it feel to be twenty one, babe?" He throws an arm over my shoulders once within arms distance and yanks me closer than I'd like. But I don't really care, because it's just Royce.

"Bella, these are my new lawyers."

I furrow my brows at him, a tight panic in my chest. I can't afford another scandal, and if anyone catches me here – much less a cop – I'll be royally screwed. "Why do you need lawyers? I thought you were fine."

"I am, but I want to see my kids and that fucking bitch Shannon won't let me."

My panic deflates and I can breathe again. "Oh," I exhale.

"Well gentlemen, my lady Bella is a precious customer so I won't make her wait. I shall be seeing you all very soon." He does an odd tipping of his head and grins, chuckling. The lawyers climb back into a sleek black Mercedes and drive off. Royce ushers me inside, his hands a little too close to my ass for it to be okay but I'd never call him out on it. Royce is the most influential dealer on the West Coast. If I make an enemy of him, I make an enemy of them all.

He hollers at his guys at the back, "Bella's here!" The more familiar ones come out to greet me. A stranger gets my regular order ready. It takes them ten minutes because it's a pretty hefty order.

Royce packages it in a parcel so that it won't look suspicious if I get photographed carrying it into my house. When I leave, he kisses me on the cheek and yells, "You'll come back to see me soon now, my Bella, won't you?"

I kiss his cheek in return through my car door and then shut it. "Of course I will," I murmur, then I back out of his dusty lot and drive to the outskirts of the rough area, where my apartment block is.
There are paparazzi waiting outside, lurking in their vans. They spring from their seats at the opportunity to see me and are crowding my truck within minutes. I carry my parcel and my clothes and all the rest of the bits and bobs I need to take in. They love that I have clothes with me, it makes it so easy for them to make it look like something it's not.

"Bella, did you spend the night with a boyfriend?"

"Where have you been, Bella?"

"What's in the parcel, Bella? Bella!"

"Have you contacted that man from Vegas, Bella?"

"Bella! Bella! Is it true that you're sleeping with Emmett?"

I scoff and elbow my way into my apartment. Once I reach my crappy apartment, I toss the dirty clothes in the corner, drop the parcel on the kitchen counter and mix up a lethal cocktail of crushed pills, a few choice powders and a big slosh of tequila.

It tastes absolutely disgusting, but it feels amazing.

And by amazing, I mean numb, which is the best it ever gets for me.

"Get up."

I groan, rolling onto the empty, cold side of my bed.

"Get up!"

Again, I shuffle away when the voice screeches at me. A scratchy, angry voice that I should know better than to ignore. My older sister.

"Do you have a death wish? Get up, Bella! Get the fuck up now!"

The blanket is snatched from me. I peek from my sleepy eyes and crane my head to glare at Rosalie. I'm caught off guard by her watery eyes, but I try not to show it.

Instead, I grab a hoodie from the floor near my bed and pull it over my tank top. Somewhat satisfied that I'm not going to fall back asleep, Rose throws the blanket back down at the bottom of my bed.

"What's happened?" I ask, my voice still thick and slow from sleep. I blink at her, wiping my eyes and yawning. It's still dark outside – or as dark as a LA ever is.

"Just get dressed," she whispers, her voice cracking and her cheeks dampening. She turns on her heel and flees my tiny little bedroom before I can stop her.

Obediently, I strip and change into some relatively clean clothes – some jeans, a grey t-shirt and a leather jacket. I drag my hair up into a ponytail, disappear to brush my teeth and then find Rose sobbing softly on my couch.

It's scary, because my sister never cries.

"Rose?" I call softly, walking over, wet toothbrush in one hand and some white sneakers in the other. "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head, sniffling, and tries to wave me away. I toss my toothbrush down onto the coffee table, drop my shoes on the floor and settle down next to her on the couch.

"Rosie?" I whisper. "You can tell me. I'll be okay."

Suddenly, her eyes flash to mine and she spits out, "Am I supposed to believe that? Really? After what I've just found in your fucking kitchen?"

Oh.

Shit.

I duck my head and look away, reaching a hand up to awkwardly cup the back of my neck. "Is that what this is about?" I ask, gesturing vaguely to my eyes, not daring to look up at hers.

"I flushed it," she snaps, wiping her nose and under her eyes. "All of it."

All of my three hundred dollar order. Great. I'll be revisiting Royce sooner than I anticipated, then. The idea sets my teeth on edge, because while Royce is a nice enough guy, I can never be comfortable around him. He's too unpredictable.

"But no," she sighs, rubbing her eyes again. A sob chokes her and she hunches over, collapsing into herself. "It's something else," she says quietly.

"What is it then?" I ask, growing impatient out of nowhere. I want to know what's made the ice queen melt – it's hardly unreasonable.

"Oh Bella," she groans, reaching her hand for mine. I lace my fingers with her's and squeeze.

"Whatever it is, we'll be okay," I say firmly, because we will. I'll make sure of it. My sister has always looked after me, and I owe it to her to do the same.

Her eyes close, then flash open again. They're the same icy blue they've always been, so light that they tilt on the verge of looking silver. Right now, there are sharp red lines pencilled around them.

"I'm pregnant."

My jaw drops. I don't know if it's shock or horror, or an even mix of both. But whatever it is, I don't like it. This isn't bad. It's terrible.

"Shit."

She rambles, "It's Emmett's. I haven't told him, and I've destroyed the two tests I did. I need to get out of here before Uncle Aro gets back from Italy. I can't lie to him Bella, you know I can't. And Emmett, I don't know how I'll tell him. He couldn't even keep a goldfish alive!"

The first thing out of my mouth, which is stupid considering all of the things I know about Rose, is, "Are you going to keep it?"

Somehow, she doesn't get mad even though I know how she feels about this subject. Mainly because she was born, despite our parents being encouraged to abort her. "Of course I am, Bells."

"Okay," I draw out the word, grasping for something to say. "What do you want to do?"

She chuckles humourlessly, flopping back against the couch. "I came here because I need you to go and buy me one of the expensive tests – the ones that tell you how far along you are."

"Okay." I'm scatter-brained at best. I don't know what the time is, where the nearest pharmacy is, or what to tell her to make her stop crying. "I'll be really quick," I mutter, running back to my bedroom to grab my purse and my phone. Then I snatch up my keys, take one last glance at her sniffling on my couch, and jog out of the door.

Turns out the nearest legitimate pharmacy is not that near at all. Even at 4 in the morning, the LA streets are far from empty. It takes me twenty minutes of driving around and Googling on my phone to arrive there. Then when I get there, it's shut, so I wind up spending another half an hour running around looking for a 24 hour one.

Eventually, I find an open pharmacy that doesn't look too sketchy and then I curse myself for not bringing a hood or a hat or some sunglasses.

I park in the back of the lot, slip from my car, shrug my shoulders up and duck my head. Walking, I sling my purse over my shoulders and drop my keys into it. I rush into the pharmacy.

I don't hang around to look sheepish, instead grabbing a basket and then loading it full of gauze, antiseptic, pain killers and whatever else I can find that I think might come in handy at some point. When my basket is almost brimming, I force myself into the pregnancy aisle and pretend to be checking the sanitary products, searching the tests out of the corner of my eye.

I don't know why I'm being funny about it, it just feels like I'm going to be caught out any minute now and every tabloid everywhere will be reporting a pregnancy that isn't mine. Even though I can't see anybody else around, it's just one of those paranoias.

Blindly, I grab the top shelf, most expensive tests, pick up five and then bury them underneath all of the other things in the basket.

At the check out is an elderly lady that hardly glances at me as she's scanning the items. That is, until the tests are in her hands. Then she squints at me.

"You know who the daddy is?" she asks, holding it up.

I glare at her, bring my hand up to cover the bottom half of my face and spit out, "It's not for me."

The corner of her wrinkly lip twitches up. "That's what they all say, doll. Full of actors, this city is, at least you're half decent."

I glare harder, pay for the two bags worth of shopping, and then leave.

The sun is peeking out now, just light enough that I don't have to squint to see the curb just before I trip over it.

I screech, "Shit!" as I'm falling and manage to stick my hands out in front of me just before I slap the ground with a loud thud. For a few seconds, I lay in the plank sort of position, then eventually shove myself back up so that I'm crouching and review the damage done to my stinging palms.

A flash of embarrassment heats up my cheeks and I mutter a thread of curses as I push myself up to stand.

And then I hear a voice that just makes everything so so much worse.

"Bella? Is that you, Isabella?"

Squeezing my eyes shut, swallowing what's left of my dignity and stamping all over whatever bitter feelings I have towards him, I turn to face Carlisle Cullen. He's smiling gently at me, looking more friendly than I deserve. I was less than kind to him last time we bumped into each other – which was less than bump and more of a tackle. His eyes are the same nursery blue and they crinkle at the sides, his hair is a pale, pale blonde. He's still handsome, which is no real surprise.

"Oh hi, Carlisle!" I choke the words out of my mouth, sputtering.

"It is you!" he says, his smile growing to a grin. "I thought I recognise you and your clumsy feet," he chuckles, throwing his arms out and pulling me into a hug. I stumble slightly into his chest, hurrying to hug him back so that I'm not rude.

Over his shoulder, I see where some of my stuff has scattered too, and seeze up at the sight of the tests. He pulls back, so I step away. My smile falters, but I force myself not to try and reach to hide them.

"What are you doing here so late?" he asks, furrowing his brow.

"Oh, I just needed to pick up some things." I shrug lamely. "How about you?"

He nods. "Well, Esme and I are out here visiting the boys. She's not feeling so well after the plane, so I'm just picking up a few things."

The boys. Their boys. Who, I once called my boys. But not anymore.

"Let me help you," he says, crouching down, grabbing one of the spilled bags and beginning to pack my things in. To his credit, he doesn't say anything, but he has to see them. The long blue boxes.

I drop to a crouch beside him and stuff them into a bag.

"Is everything okay, Bella?" he asks gently, not stopping packing.

"Yes," I answer, sharper than I intended. "Sorry."

"Are you sure? I know those tests are good, but I can get a blood sample checked for you if you want-"

"No, no! It's not for me," I interrupt, sputtering, blushing harder than I ever knew I could. "It's for a friend."

Unconvinced, he eyes me for a moment before nodding and returning to packing my things into his bag. Once we've gathered everything, he insists on walking me to my car, then insists on helping me put my bags in the boot. He hugs me goodbye, mumbling, "You know, we've missed you Bells. Next time you're in Forks, feel free to drop in. Esme'll be so upset she missed you here."

I bob my head and don't make any promises. I just hug him back, then get into my car and drive.

And by drive, I mean, like, really fucking fast.

A/N: Chapter 3 is here! This is by far the longest chapter I've done for this story so far. Would you like them longer and less frequent or shorter and more consistent updates? Let me know.

So, we've met Royce who I don't plan on making a very important character, but I haven't fully decided. What are your opinions? More Royce or no? Rosalie is pregnant and we have our first Cullen appearance. Let me know what your thoughts are. For any of those wondering if there will be a HEA for B&E, know that there will, but we're going to have to work to get there. Anyone wondering what the 3 Ps are - they are Pills, Prengnancy and Pharmacies. :P

Next chapter, we'll get some insight into Bella's work and maybe see a glimpse of Edward?

Leave me your thoughts, whatever they may be. I need to know or we'll never get anywhere with this.

- Laylz :)