Warning: naughty bad language in this chapter, but not the fun naughty bad, you know, wink, wink, nudge, nudge, the other kind of naughty bad. Like sweary bad language. Not Twilight kind of language. Then again, I didn't write Twilight.

Greetings from Niagara Falls, Ontario.

I completely forgot last week to mention the song Bella wrote with Charlie was Say Hey (I love You) by Michael Franti. Also, the song Edward and Bella wrote was Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) by Green Day.

I will never forget how much I owe JulieToo and Beachcomberlc, for editorial help along with mental help.

Chapter 5

In the present…..

"What the fuck, Cullen? Just how far are you going to take this moody, broody bullshit? Not once, you get me, not once did you smile during that whole autograph signing. You couldn't even break persona to smile at the kids. Little fucking kids and you couldn't even smile for them. You could've made their day, shit, made their year with just a little smile. But no, you're too involved in being the grumpy rock star that you couldn't take one fucking minute for your fans. This shit used to be great, but now it just sucks ass, Cullen. You're an ass."

After witnessing Edward's usual behaviour at yet another meet and greet, Emmett could no longer take it. He had put up with Edward's melancholy for far too long. Nothing and no one ever made Edward happy, not the band's success, not his family's happiness, and not millions of screaming fans. When the band first started to become successful, Emmett thought Edward would be satisfied all the hard work had paid off. Emmett's degree in psychology and years of personal experience told him that Edward was not clinically depressed. From his own father, he learned the signs of depression. What Edward had was different. This was more an ennui, an air of privilege and expectation, almost wondering why the silver spoon he was born with was not gold or platinum.

The culmination of his anger and resentment towards Edward was compounded by a nine-year-old girl. She had stood patiently waiting for her turn to get an autograph from the band. She was wearing a homemade Uncovered t-shirt. She was gorgeous, and cute, and the epitome of their band's youngest fans. Emmett and Jasper both gave her a kiss on the cheek and Rose gave her a pair of her own drumsticks. This was the kind of validation they had always dreamed of, not just the sold-out stadiums and chart-topping record sales but people, real people wanting to hear more of the music they made. Everyone else in the band fell in love with this girl. Except Edward. He could barely spare a glance for the girl. He scrawled his name on whatever it was that she wanted signed and slid it back to her. Her smile faded but she still looked at his autograph as if it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Just leave me alone, Emmett. I give the crowd what they want." Edward pushed his way into the group's green room. This wasn't the first fight they'd had on this tour. The multitude and magnitude of these fights was getting more intense every day. Everyone got on Edward's case for one reason or another. Edward was fucking tired of it.

"Fuck you. You gave the crowd what they wanted years ago. It's getting stale and stupid. You're a one-trick fucking pony. What the fuck happened to you? Where'd you go?" Emmett flung himself onto one of the couches in frustration.

"What the hell does that mean? I'm here, performing, playing like always." Edward stood facing him, one hand clenched in a fist at his side, the other stuffed into his jeans pocket.

"No man, you haven't been here for a long time." Jasper sidled into the room with Rose in tow.

"Fuck, not you too, Jasper. What is this, gang up on your friend day?"

A snort of derision came from the perfectly straight nose of Rosalie Hale.

"Friends? You're not a friend to anyone, Edward, not any longer. We're work acquaintances, colleagues at best. You haven't been a friend to me for years. I'm not sure we were ever friends, really."

"What the fuck does that mean, Rose?"

"What part didn't you get?" She tapped her foot and waited. Edward gave nothing but silence. She continued, "When was the last time you called me, or Emmett, or Alice and Jasper? When was the last time you listened to what was going on in our lives? When was the last time you noticed anything new or different with us? The last dinner or night out together? When was the last time you gave a crap for anybody but yourself?"

"Well….I've been….."

"All you care about is you, Edward. You've been that way since high school; most people are like that in high school, and we've all grown out of it. But not you. You're the same angst-ridden teen you've always been and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you." Rosalie turned her back to him.

"Come on now, Rose. You're being a little harsh." Jasper tried to intervene. Edward was his family, by marriage, but family nonetheless. Someone had to defend him.

"Harsh?," She whipped around to glare at Jasper, "I'm just saying what everyone's been thinking."

She sat down on the coffee table in front of Edward who was sprawled out on the other couch. "You need to get off your high horse, Edward. If you can't write, if the words aren't coming, then allow us to get another writer. It's still the same band even if you aren't the sole songwriter. Stop taking it out on us and our fans."

Jasper and Emmett held their breath. Edward usually exploded at the mere suggestion of another writer. It was one of his more strange habits. He was immovable in this regard, and it was affecting everyone. The label execs were breathing down their necks to produce the next great hit.. Chatter on the internet was that they were done. They were this close to being washed up and it was all his fault, according to sources.

"So, instead of being friends, we come to the studio or the concert venue, put in our hours of work and go our separate ways. That's fine. I don't need you. I work with two other guys who do give a shit about me, about my life and how I feel. And I'd like to think I give that back to them. So, no, we're not friends, Edward. Just co-workers. But I'd be your friend if you just gave a little, acted like a human once in awhile. You've always been self-centered, Edward, ever since I've known you, but you've been getting worse lately. It's almost unbearable."

The argument that started loud and fierce quieted until Rose was almost whispering and tears came to her eyes.

Edward looked at the three people in the room. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't put words to it.

So, he left.

He returned in time for sound-check and stayed on his own until it was time to take the stage. He didn't say one word to any of them unless it was directly involved with the concert they were performing. When the encore was finished, he didn't hang around but went back to the hotel room alone, to think. From his suitcase, he took the plain black bound notebook that he carried with him everywhere he travelled and set it on the table in front of him. There was no need to open it for he knew the contents by heart, every line and every word. He had even counted the blank pages at the end. They taunted him.

In the beginning, there had seemed to be so many it had been difficult to select which one to use. Now he only had one left. The last one she left him. He had used them all and, like he did her, used them well. The last was a reminder of that night and his deplorable actions. A reminder of her he kept even from himself.

He was hesitant to use it because he thought it was the best of the lot. But then they'd all be gone. Then she'd be well and truly gone from his life. He would have to face up to what he had done to her. What he continued to do to her. Day after day and year after year. A special slow torture he had devised, with her in his mind. Only, the torturer became the tortured as his pain increased day by day.

No one else knew. It was just one of his dirty little secrets. It was only fitting, she had been his dirty little secret too. No, not little, she was the biggest, deepest, dirtiest secret he had. He kept her away from everyone who was important to him. Held her at arm's length. Treated her like crap. When he had gotten what he's wanted from her, he tossed her out. Made her leave unwanted and quickly forgotten until time ran out for him.

Well, not quite forgotten.

In moments of regret and reflection late at night, her memory haunted him. Those moments seemed to happen more and more these days. He heard her laugh in crowded rooms and saw her face behind closed eyes. If he used it, his memory of her would be out there for everyone and it would haunt him even further.

He had almost everything he had ever wanted. More than most men ever dreamed of having. He had what he had aimed and worked years for. But it wasn't enough. The money, the accolades, the respect and the fame. At first, he loved it. How could he not? But each time, it tore a small bit from him, it picked away at his very core.

He would have to come clean; he knew he should come clean and tell everyone what he had done. They had all believed the lie for so long, what would they think of him now? What would they think when they found out that the words they thought were his were not his own. What would happen when they found out just who he had stolen them from? They were her words, he had stolen them and so much more from her. Like a parasite he had fed from her dying flesh and he not only survived, but thrived. What would be left of her?

Maybe if he found her first, apologized and begged for forgiveness. Maybe if she absolved him of his sins. Maybe if she let him grovel at her feet, the demons that plagued him would stop knocking around his head. But how do you track a ghost from your past? And where do you even start?

AN: Thank you for reading. I have also neglected thanking tarbecca for adding Uncredited to her fic dive post on A Different Forest.