Author's Note: Thanks again to moosals for pre-reading. Stephenie Meyer owns all characters. Also special thanks to edwardisaputz for pre-reading from the male perspective!

My favorite review to Chapter 3: "Honestly...dude has a HOLE in his guts & still thinks about Bella being naked!"


Sunday, September 16, 2012

When I open my eyes, it's morning, judging by the sun shining through the curtains. My head feels so much less fuzzy than it has the past couple of days. I stretch a little, working myself up to getting out of bed.

Before I can move, I see Bella walk into the bedroom in her pajamas, then begin digging around in one of the drawers in her dresser. She opens the closet doors and I catch a glimpse of what looks like men's shirts hanging there before she closes them again.

When Bella turns around and glances toward the bed, I snap my eyes shut, not wanting her to know that I was watching her. I hear her footsteps leave the room, then open my eyes again.

What the ever loving fuck? Who the fuck do the men's shirts belong to? There was no sign of a man around here! Why the fuck would she use her girly shampoo on me if there was another option?

Maybe they're her dad's, but she said something about him coming down here to fish. Those looked like the kind of shirts my lawyer wore — not something you wear to fish.

I really need to take a leak, but I can hear Bella is in the shower. She hasn't mentioned picking up any clothes for me on her Walmart trip, but if she had all these here, I guess she didn't really need to buy anything. Slowly, I crawl out of bed and open the closet, looking over the various shirts hanging there. I notice the size in the collar: 18 ½. These belong to a pretty big dude. Now I really hope they're not her dad's.

Not seeing anything casual, I move to the dresser. Bella was looking in the top drawer, so I start at the bottom. Bingo! A stack of men's boxer briefs — ugh, how gay — a few pairs of jeans and a half dozen t-shirts. I choose one of each then sit back on the bed, waiting until I hear Bella banging around in the kitchen before moving to the bathroom.

I remove my boxers — God, they were starting to fucking smell — use the toilet, then turn on the water in the shower.

I frown when I step into the small shower stall — she just has one of those shower poof things and something girly marked Creamy Body Wash in a scent called "Twilight Woods." At least it could be worse — it could be more fucking strawberries.

I feel a little dizzy the longer I stand so I shower and shampoo my hair quickly, then step out and dry off with one of her towels, tossing it into the hamper when I'm done. I step into the pair of navy boxer briefs I grabbed from the drawer, then the pair of jeans. Wow, the owner of these is fucking tall. I need to roll them up a couple times so I'm not stepping on them, and I'm 6-foot-2! They're a size too big but not too bad. Letting your underwear show is the style these days anyway. After shrugging the t-shirt over my head, I open the bathroom door and head toward the kitchen.

"What are you making?" I ask, seeing Bella standing over something on the stove.

"Pancakes. Have a seat — they'll be ready in a couple minutes." Mmm, I fucking love pancakes.

"How are you feeling this morning?" she asks, glancing at me over her shoulder. A moment later, she spins around and just stares at me like I'm an exhibit in a zoo. The longer she stares, the redder her face gets — until she almost reminds me of a cartoon character. I can practically see steam coming out of her ears.

"Where the fuck did you get those?" she asks angrily.

"What?"

"Where did you get the clothes?" she asks slowly through clenched teeth.

"In the drawer," I answer with a shrug. Where the hell does she think I got them?

"You were digging through my dresser?" she screeches.

"No! Well, yeah, sort of. I saw the men's shirts hanging in the closet when you were in there this morning, so I figured there had to be more somewhere."

"Take them off!" she yells.

"What?"

"I said, take them off! Those are my husband's clothes — you can't be wearing them!" Her husband?! Well, fuck, no wonder I haven't made any progress at getting in her pants.

"What's the big deal? He's obviously not here to see me in them." Where the fuck is he? Why didn't she tell me she has a husband?

"Now, Edward! Take them off," she screams. She seriously looks like she's gonna go postal on me. I don't know what the big fucking deal is, unless her husband is coming home today — in which case, we have bigger problems.

"All right, all right," I huff, pulling the t-shirt over my head and folding it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Bella glares at me as I open the button fly on the jeans and begin pulling them down. I add them to the chair with the t-shirt then wonder if she really wants all of the clothes off. Well, she asked for it, I think as I grasp the waistband of the boxer briefs and begin pushing those down, too.

"Oh Jesus," she yelps, turning around so quickly she nearly falls over. It's all I can do not to laugh.

"I assume you wanted these, too," I tell her, stepping close enough behind her that I can dangle them over her shoulder. As she snatches them out of my hand, I realize that she really is freaked out over something. Her breathing almost sounds like someone having a panic attack.

"On the chair," she pants.

"What?"

"The clothes I got you. They're still in a bag, on the chair in the living room."

Well, fuck, why didn't she just tell me that before. I head out to the living room, easily finding the Walmart bag on the chair. I pull out a two-pack of boxers and quickly tear open the plastic, then step into a pair. It looks like she bought me both jeans and black lounge pants, so I rip the tag off the lounge pants and put them on, before grabbing one of the t-shirts from the bottom of the bag.

"You can turn around now," I tell her as I step back into the kitchen, still trying to get the fucking tag off the shirt. "I'm not naked anymore."

She turns around slowly and I notice how pale she is. I don't understand why she's so freaked out about me wearing her husband's clothes; he'll never know. I don't think she's faking her reaction though.

"Are you all right?" I ask quietly.

"I'm fine."

She doesn't sound fine. I'm still trying to figure her out when I smell something unpleasant. "Is something burning?" I ask.

"Oh shit," she yelps, turning toward the stove. "My pancakes." She hurriedly takes the griddle off the heat and attempts to scrape the burned mess into the sink. Then she runs the griddle under the water before placing it back on the stove.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly. "I didn't mean to make you ruin breakfast." I throw the t-shirt over my head and watch her waiting for the pan to heat up — she's fucking shaking. All this over fucking clothes?

"Bella," I place my hand on her shoulder, startling her. "You're shaking. Why don't you sit down and let me finish these?"

"You know how to make pancakes?" she asks skeptically.

"Yeah," I reply, "I'm not totally helpless."

Bella nods then pulls out one of the chairs. She leans her elbows on the table and holds her head in her hands.

As I pour more pancake batter on the griddle, my curiosity about her husband starts to get the best of me. With the button-down shirts in the closet, he seems to be one of those corporate types. Maybe he's on a business trip, but those don't usually last more than a few days, right? This is my fourth day here, so I wonder if he's due home soon.

"Where is your husband?"

"None of your business," she replies quickly.

"I don't see what the big deal was about—"

"Drop it!"

"Someone got up on the wrong side of bed this morning," I remark. I immediately feel a little bit bad for my comment, given how she's still breathing pretty heavily.

"Here you go," I say quietly a few minutes later, sliding two of the pancakes onto the plate in front of her. I add the other two to my own plate then pour more batter onto the griddle for the next batch. When Bella is finished with the butter and syrup, I take them and work on my own masterpiece. As I eat, I glance toward the stove often to make sure I don't burn the new batch.

"Where'd you learn to cook?" Bella asks when I stand up to flip the pancakes.

"I started cooking most of my own meals when I was about five," I shrug.

"Five?" she asks in shock. "Was your mother a terrible cook like mine?"

"Drop it, to quote your answer to me." Fuck, I didn't really intend to tell her something so personal; it just kinda slipped out.

"Fair enough," she whispers.

When the pancakes are done, I slide two more onto her plate and then my own before sitting down to eat again. We continue eating in silence, and when I'm finished, I get up and rinse my plate off in the sink. "Are you done?" I ask, reaching for Bella's empty plate.

"Yeah, but you don't have to wash these. You probably shouldn't be up and around so much yet. Go sit somewhere and I'll take care of the dishes. Oh, and the bottle with your antibiotic is by the PC."

Nodding, I step out of the kitchen, sitting down at the computer. "What's the name of your local newspaper?" I ask.

"It's called The Daily World," she replies. "Looking for what they're saying about you?"

"Yep," I nod, finding the website. Of course I'm the fucking top page news, but today's story doesn't seem to have a lot of information beyond the headline: "Escaped Prisoner Still On The Loose." I click the links at the bottom and find the original article from last Friday, scanning it quickly. Fuck, Bella definitely knows what I was accused of; I don't understand why she believes me. Feeling like a masochist, I hit up the Seattle Times website for their perspective.

As I'm reading, Bella walks past me, carrying her husband's clothes back into the bedroom. She comes out a few minutes later with a pile of sheets and heads toward the mudroom off the kitchen. Shortly after that she peeks into the bathroom, then I see her carrying my old boxers like they're some kind of hazardous waste. They're not that bad.

I'm startled when Leo jumps up onto my lap out of nowhere, rubs his face against my hand a few times then climbs up onto the keyboard tray. He sits down right in the middle of the keyboard, looking at me in that way that cats have. I laugh at his antics, really wishing I could read his mind. I scoot the chair back, cross my arms over my chest and glare at him, trying to convince him to move.

Bella appears in the living room, shaking her head at my predicament. "Sorry," she says, picking up the cat, who squeals in protest. "Just shoo him away if he bothers you."

Now that she seems calmer and is talking to me again, I suppose I need to tell her about my case. "So you know what I was arrested for," I begin quietly.

"Yeah."

"I didn't do it. I've never hurt anyone," I insist.

She raises an eyebrow and I can't help laughing; fuck, she has my number. "Ok, I may have gotten into a bar fight or two, but I've never hurt an innocent person."

"Ok." Why does she keep fucking saying "ok"? I can't tell if that means she believes me or not.

"On that note — where's my gun?" I ask.

"Your gun?"

"You know what I mean."

"I put it away for now. If you're not going to hurt me, you don't need it."

"Fine," I sigh. "But I'll need it back when I leave." Though the longer I'm here, the more I wonder if I should try to leave town after all. How can I hitch a ride when I'm front page news? I saw some old rusty truck through the bedroom window earlier, but it doesn't look like it even runs, let alone look like reliable transportation. Not to mention — I have no fucking gas money. I'm also not even sure I want to leave, but I don't really want a confrontation with Bella's husband, either.

"Are you ready to tell me about the case now?" Bella asks, pulling me away from my thoughts.

"Not really, but… yeah." I stand up slowly and walk toward the couch. Bella follows me — minus the cat — taking a seat as far away from me as she can get. Jesus Christ, I don't have fucking cooties — what are we, in second grade? Or does she believe what she's read? Is she afraid of me now? Does she think I'm going to hurt her?

"I guess you already know the basics," I begin nervously, running my hand through my hair.

"Yeah, Reverend's wife, robbery gone wrong," she recites.

"Yeah," I nod. "I don't know much more of the circumstances than what the article said."

"If you're innocent—"

"I am innocent," I interrupt.

"If you're innocent, how did the police come to suspect you in the first place?" she asks.

Sighing, I close my eyes. Well, that's the million dollar question. What if she thinks I'm guilty once she finds out what evidence the cops have? "They found my fingerprints in the house," I admit.

"You were in the house?" I nod. "To rob them?"

"What? No!" Fuck, so she doesn't believe I'm a killer, but she thinks I'm a thief? You're a hypocrite, my subconscious screams.

"So why were you there?" she asks.

"To fuck their daughter."

Bella's eyes widen and she stares at me like I spoke in Chinese again.

"You had sex with a teenager?" Oh Jesus Christ, is that her problem? She thinks I'm a fucking pedophile?

"I didn't know she was a teenager!" I protest.

"Just… how old was she, exactly?"

"Seventeen," I answer. Hello, the age of consent in Washington in 16.

"All right," Bella sighs, looking totally disgusted with me, "From the beginning, please."

"I met Angela about three weeks before everything went down," I begin. "At a bar. She was dressed to kill — tight low-cut top, short skirt, fishnet stockings, sky high heels. She told me she was 21 and she looked it. I fucked her in the alley behind the bar that night. She was hot, so I gave her my number when she asked for it. She called me a couple times to come over when her folks were out."

"You didn't realize when you went to her parents' house that she was underage?"

"Lots of kids live at home while they're in college. I didn't think anything of it," I shrug.

"Ok, so the police found your fingerprints in the house and contacted you." I nod. "I assume you told them why you were really there."

"Of course I did. But the bitch lied and said she'd never met me." Just thinking about it is starting to piss me off again.

"Angela didn't corroborate your story? Why not?"

"Best I could figure, she had them all fooled into thinking she was some sweet, innocent virgin. You should've seen her testifying in court," I remember angrily. "She had everything but fucking pigtails to make her look young and innocent while she lied through her teeth about knowing me. The bitch was kinky, she was so far from fucking innocent…" I try to stop the mental image of Angela bent over her bed, begging me to spank her while I fucked her from behind, from taking over. Stay on track, Cullen.

"Um… ok. So the police believed Angela over you?"

"Sure. Like I said, she had everyone fooled and I have a record." Shit. Fuck. I didn't mean to tell her that.

"You have prior convictions?" she asks in a shaky voice.

"One, one prior conviction," I clarify. Goddamn me and my big mouth.

"For?"

"I held up a liquor store when I was 19," I admit. "And got caught."

"Did you serve time?" she asks quietly.

"Yeah," I nod, "Three years." Those three years behind bars ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me. I look over at Bella when she doesn't say anything, and she's staring at her hands in her lap.

"What, are you scared of me now?"

"What? No, no, I'm just… processing it." Yeah, sure. "All right, so… there must be something more. Were there any other fingerprints found in the house?"

"Just mine," I reply, shaking my head. "Well, except for family."

"Didn't the police suspect the family at all? It's usually the husband, right?"

"The good reverend and Angela had airtight alibis," I explain. "Apparently, after his sermon they went out for lunch with a few members of his congregation. Several witnesses said they didn't leave the restaurant until around 2pm. The medical examiner determined she'd been dead for several hours, so it was impossible for either of them to have done it."

"I'm guessing you had no alibi?"

"Well, I had one — I was sleeping it off in my bed."

"Alone?" she asks.

"Eventually."

"Huh?"

"Of course I wasn't alone — it was Saturday night." Unless I had to work too late, I've almost always had company on weekends. "But she had to leave at like 6am to go to work," I add.

"On a Sunday morning?"

"She worked at Starbucks."

"Oh," Bella replies with a frown. "Did you have a job?"

"Yeah, but I didn't have to go in to work until 3:30."

"So no one can confirm where you were between 6am and 3:30pm?"

"Pretty much," I sigh.

"That's still not enough to convict anyone! The real killer probably wore gloves and didn't leave any fingerprints."

"Probably. But I was the only suspect they ever had." Fucking police couldn't do their jobs properly and find the real killer.

"Surely they had more evidence than that?"

"There can't be more evidence, since I didn't do it!" I exclaim.

"Well, circumstantial evidence then, you know what I mean."

I run my hand through my hair angrily. Yeah, there was circumstantial evidence all right — so ridiculous it shouldn't have even been allowed in court. "There were the bullets," I finally admit.

"Bullets?"

"They searched my place and found bullets for a 9mm. That's the type of gun Mrs. Weber was shot with," I explain.

"So you have a 9mm gun."

"No. I did, but I'd gotten rid of it after… well, after I held up the liquor store. Forgot about the bullets though." Sorry, I had a little too much on my mind, getting arrested for fucking armed robbery.

"That's not enough to convict someone!" Bella cries.

"Maybe not you."

"Me?"

"A good girl. Fuck, you almost look as innocent as Angela did that day in court," I remark, looking at her turtleneck sweater and baggy jeans.

"I'm not innocent," she protests.

"Whatever," I reply, rolling my eyes. No, you're just a Pollyanna. "The prosecutor managed to convince the judge to allow testimony about my prior conviction, claiming it showed a pattern of behavior. Add to that my not-so-innocent appearance and a jury of my peers convicted me on circumstantial evidence."

"That's… that's…"

"Bullshit," I finish her thought, nodding. "I know. My lawyer immediately launched an appeal, on the grounds that disclosing my prior conviction was prejudicial, but it was denied. Now he's working on getting me a new trial. In the meantime, I'm sent off to the state pen for 25 years to life."

"You survived three years behind bars before, surely you could've lasted a few months? I mean, why try to escape?"

"I saw an opportunity and I took it," I shrug. "That's the way I've always been." I already know it wasn't my brightest idea.

Bella sits twisting her fingers for a few minutes, not speaking. I wish I could know what she's thinking about so hard over there. If she doesn't believe my story, will she turn me in? "Do you believe me, Bella?" I finally ask, unable to take her silence a moment longer.

"Yeah. Yeah, I believe you." Thank God. "Did your parents believe you?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "They'd totally believe I'd rob the place, but not that I'd kill someone. I was on probation though, so I was really trying to do most things by the book since I got out of prison."

"Most things?" she asks with a small smile.

I shrug. "Weed is still illegal in Washington, as are other things I may have sampled. I make no apologies for who I am. I'm out for a good time. End of." If she can't deal with that, it's her fucking problem.

"Why did you hold up the liquor store?" she asks.

"Story for another day," I reply with a grin, standing and stretching.

"You took the bandage off?" she asks suddenly.

"Oh. Yeah, it came off in the shower." I'd completely forgotten about it.

"I should replace it," she insists, jumping up off the couch. "Sit, I'll go get the antibiotic ointment and a new bandage."

Not more of the stinging ointment, fuck… I sit back down, picking up the remote control from the end table. I turn on the TV, flipping the channel a couple times until I see a football game. "Is this all right?" I ask Bella when she returns.

She nods then kneels on the floor. "Lie down for a minute." I try to act tough while she spreads that shit all over the tender wound and then replaces the bandage. "All done. Um, I'll just be at the computer."

I sit watching the game, glancing back a few times to see Bella still at the computer. What the hell is she doing on there? The only thing that would keep me in front of a computer that long would be porn.

I wonder if the Packers are playing later, so I can watch my brother, but then during halftime the commentators mention that they won their game on Thursday night. Well, shit, I could've been watching that on Thursday instead of that chick movie Bella made me watch. At least the Seahawks are on later this afternoon.

As the fourth quarter starts, the game is pretty much a blowout. And I'm getting fucking hungry given that it's after noon. "I'm starving, what's for lunch before the Seahawks start?" I ask her.

"Um, I usually just make a sandwich. And I have some soup left."

I can handle that. I nod at her then head to the kitchen, finding some deli meat in the fridge and a package of bread in the bread box. I heat up the leftover soup in the microwave while I slice up a tomato and assemble our sandwiches. "Lunch is ready," I call out when everything is ready.

"What did you make?" Bella asks as she joins me in the kitchen.

"Soup and sandwiches, just what you said," I shrug, taking a bite of my sandwich.

I've been spilling my guts all morning, so I figure it's Bella's turn to talk now. I want to know more about her. I'd really like to ask more about her husband, but that just seems to piss her off. And I should probably broach the idea of me staying a bit longer.

"Do you have a job?" I ask, breaking the silence. "I know you said you're a vet, but you didn't go to work on Friday. And since you don't drive…"

"No, I don't," she replies quietly. "I mean, I answer questions on an animal blog, but I don't get paid for it." Is that what she was doing over there for so long?

"How do you live?"

"I have money," she answers, not elaborating.

"You're awfully young to be retired," I remark.

"I'm not retired, I'm just… taking a break."

"Why don't you drive?" I try again, but she doesn't reply. "Does that piece of shit run?"

"What?"

"That old truck. I saw it out back through the window in the bedroom."

"Oh. Yeah, it does," she says.

"Could we take it out?"

"For what?"

"I need to get a few more things."

"Like what? I thought you said you'd leave if I removed the handcuffs and got you clothes?"

"How am I supposed to leave? My picture is all over the news, so I can't exactly hitchhike. And if you won't drive, you can't drop me off somewhere."

"So you want to stay here?" she asks in shock.

"Well, not forever… just until I can figure something else out. In the meantime, it'd be nice to get my own soap and shampoo, so I don't smell like a woman. And a razor," I add, rubbing my stubbly chin.

Bella stares at me again like she's trying to find the answer to the fucking universe. She's gotta realize that I can't leave without being caught right away. I'm the top story in this fucking small town, and I don't have any fucking money. I really did not think this through before I ran off that bus.

"All right," she agrees with a sigh. "We can go out tomorrow, maybe. I want to make sure you're close to 100% first."

Standing, I look over at Bella for a long moment. I'm not completely sure she's saying "all right" to letting me stay here until it's safe to leave, but she's agreeing to go out at least. I don't know how I'll ever pay her back for all of this.

"You don't mind doing the dishes?" I ask. She shakes her head. "Ok, gonna go watch the football game," I tell her with a smile. "It's the Seahawks' home opener."

I make it back to the living room just before the game starts. I missed the beginning of the season while I was up in Shelton. Shortly after I sit down, Leo jumps up onto the couch, coming over to sniff my hand.

"You've been holding out on me, bud," I tell him. "You didn't tell me your mama has a husband." She doesn't seem like the type to cheat on her man, which means my chances of ending this dry spell are pretty much zero. Leo responds by yawning at me, then curling up into a ball on my lap. As I pet him gently, he starts purring, finally falling asleep.

I look up and smile at Bella when she comes to join me on the couch — again sitting as far away as she can. She ignores me, either watching the game or staring into space, I can't tell.

When the Seahawks win the game, I start cheering, happy to see the hometown team off to a good start. When I look over at Bella, she's again staring at me in that way she has. "What?"

"I don't get you," she replies. "Shouldn't you be freaking out about getting caught?"

"What good is that going to do? I intend to enjoy every minute of my freedom. Worrying about things you can't change is a waste of time."

"A waste of time…" she repeats so quietly I can barely hear her. I grab the remote, turning to NBC for the Sunday night game.

"Another game?" Bella asks.

"Yeah, Sunday night football. This is the pregame show though." Looking over at her, I notice just how stiffly she's sitting. I guess I have sort of commandeered her TV all day long. "We can watch something else if you want," I offer reluctantly.

"No, you're fine. I need to get up and start on dinner anyway. I was thinking of making lasagna, is that ok?"

"Yeah, that's fine. I like lasagna." As long as you don't use sauce from a fucking jar again.

"All right — it should be ready in about 90 minutes," she says, heading to the kitchen. I sit watching the pregame show with Leo, eventually hearing her come back into the living room, though she sits down at the PC again.

When the oven timer goes off, Bella returns to the kitchen. "What would you like to drink, Edward?" she calls. "And I don't have beer."

"Whatever you're having," I answer back. "That's something else we'll have to get tomorrow." Man, I could use a beer.

I head into the kitchen when Bella calls that everything is ready. Picking up my fork, I mentally cross my fingers that the lasagna tastes good. I can't eat shitty Italian food after two years working in an Italian restaurant; the spaghetti was an exception, since I was fucking starved for something other than prison food.

I take a bite and hallelujah, it's good! "This is good," I speak up in surprise. "And I'm pretty picky about my Italian food."

"I told you my mom is a horrible cook, so I learned to cook growing up with her."

"In Forks?"

"Mmm?"

"You said your dad is Chief of Police in Forks, right?"

"Yeah, he is. I was born in Forks, but my parents divorced when I was a baby, and I grew up with my mom in Phoenix. When she got remarried and moved to Jacksonville, I came to Forks to live with my dad. I was a junior in high school.

"He couldn't cook either," she laughs. "Until I showed up, he ate all his meals at the diner."

I can't help smiling at her story; Bella seems to really love her dad. I still have no plans to ever meet him, however.

"What about you?" she asks. "Where did you grow up?"

"Seattle." Not that I want to get into my childhood.

Once we're finished, Bella wraps up the leftover lasagna and sticks it in the fridge. Now that I'm feeling up to it, I help her with the dishes, then we head back to the living room. Bella sits petting Leo while we watch the rest of the evening football game.

"Is there anything you want to watch?" I ask when it's over, handing her the remote. I'm trying to be a better guest. She flips channels until she finds some show I haven't seen before. We watch TV together for a few hours until I can't hold back my yawn. That seems to be Bella's cue to get up. She hands me the blankets and pillow from on top of the chair, then wishes me goodnight.

Fuck, she was serious about relegating me to the couch.


A/N: I have to admit that when I first contemplated writing this from Cheeky's POV, I had planned to skip this one and the next two chapters. They're so dialogue-heavy that I wasn't sure how much we'd gain from being in Edward's head instead of Bella's. I tried to put enough of his thoughts in to make it worthwhile… let me know if I succeeded! :)