A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I've found my newest role-playing couple obsession. Two lovelies by the names of Camerith and Whitley. Oh, they are made of win and love.

Well, it's been decided: There will be an intimate scene between these two, and I'll do my best to make it classy. There's only so much I can do when I just got some new naughty songs on my iPod. ;D

Shanda. Need I say more?

Credit: Jess for her lovely part in this story.

Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Constance, Texas is a fictional town created by yours truly. I'm taking creative license on this story.

Chapter Six: Please say No

Isabella Swan - Age Eighteen

Because of the damn stitches holding my chest closed, I couldn't take a shower or bath. Instead, I had to give myself a Whore Bath, as my grandfather, air force veteran, would say. He'd been stationed on the island of Crete during the Vietnam War, and often called sink baths Whore Baths. Apparently, that was how the prostitutes cleaned themselves up afterwards. I really didn't want to know why he knew that.

As soon as I stepped inside my house, I made my difficult way upstairs and into the bathroom. I pealed my clothing from me carefully, wincing when I would stretch my seams too much or my arm would bend too bar over them, wrinkling them and causing a pain that was unbelievable, even with the pain medication making my head do funny things. I started the sink, threw a towel on the floor beneath my feet, and retrieved my purple orchid bath wash, my soft purple loofah sponge, and razor from the shower. I'd gone through a purple stage about two months ago. I had no idea how I used to shave my legs before without snipping a tendon or skinning myself before, and now it was just going to be harder.

It was strange standing in the middle of the upstairs bathroom, the door locked, cold as hell, giving myself a sink bath. I grimaced the whole time at the ugly green stitching surrounded by pink from the incision. Soaping up the loofah, I sighed, running it over my shoulders, carefully around my stitching, coming back over the suds with a wet washcloth. When I was pretty sure I couldn't clean myself any better while not actually in a shower, I tugged some clean underwear on and slipped an insanely baggy Aerosmith concert shirt over my head, thankful that it didn't bother my raw skin.

My heart fell as I stumbled into my room, dropping my dirty clothes in the hamper by my door, and saw the fat raindrops hitting my window. Edward would never come over if it was raining.

Renee noticed my mood during dinner as I picked at my lobster bisque. Who knew Campbell's made lobster bisque?

"What's wrong, Bella?" She asked, and if I didn't know my mother, I would have thought she was honestly worried about me. Well, she probably was, but she sounded more upset that I wasn't eating than concerned about what was going on in my mind.

"Nothing . . ." I muttered, lifting myself shakily from the table, dropping my spoon into my half-eaten soup. "I'm just not feeling well. I'm going to bed early tonight."

"But it's seven --"

"Renee," My father interrupted, and nodded up at me. I gave him a weak smile, going to clean my place. "I'll get it, Bells, just sleep well and feel better." I smiled a real gracious smile down at my father, using the back of his chair until I hit the kitchen wall, and scaled my way around the living room until I made it to the stairs.

They must have forgotten how slow I was.

"Renee, what's wrong?" Charlie asked. I paused on the seventh step, just out of sight from both of my parents, listening.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Don't feed me that, Renee,"

"Alright. I'm worried. I'm always worried, you know that,"

Charlie sighed. "Renee, I'm worried, too. I've been worried since her third grade teacher said Bella couldn't write cursive without crying."

"But, Charlie . . . She's --"

"Is this about Edward and her?" He suddenly sounded offended, as if she had just insulted his own son, and not the kid across the street.

"Yes," Renee replied. I rubbed my thighs, scrunching my face at the fact that they were already tired from standing on these stairs. "I don't like it, Charlie."

"Renee, are you blind?"

"Excuse me?" Mom gasped, and I could hear the clink of silverware on our cheap china.

I bit my lip, wishing I could sit down; the arch of my feet were screaming at me to keep moving or get the hell off of them.

"Have you not seen how happy our daughter is? I don't know what that boy did, but he's . . . he's brought her back. Remember when she was a newborn, before we knew she had Friedreich's, we would take the kids out to the Y, the pool? Remember Emmett would try and untie Rosalie's bikini top without anyone noticing; Alice would cry about the tangles in her hair; and Bella? You would sit on the chair, Bella wrapped in a blanket, wearing those round yellow sunglasses, and she would laugh until she could barely breathe?" His voice had gotten increasingly quieter, and I strained, leaning on the wooden railing to hear. "She's back, Renee. I have never seen her like this before. And it's not obvious. She smiles more, Renee,"

There was a long silence, and I took the rest of the stairs, feeling like I was intruding on a private, nostalgic moment meant for my parents only. Chewing on my lip, I stopped at the hallway closet, popping it open and latching onto the pink lace at the very top.

Alice's. Damn.

The next one was Emmett's, blue and green and overflowing. I grumbled at my parents, dropping Emmett's on top of Alice's on the floor. I balanced carefully on the bottom shelf, stuffed with towels.

Covered in dust and ducks and ribbons in the back was the thinnest one of all, about two inches thick. It was my baby photo album.

I quietly shoved my sibling's photo albums (doubling in size, easily) back into the right shelf and closed the closet. I retreated to my room, curling up in my pillows, ready for a nice look back on what my life had been.

It started with three pictures. The top one was of a much younger Charlie Swan, painting the walls of my bedroom, which were now an off-green that I absolutely adored. The bottom left was of Renee, giant and pregnant with me, looking absolutely tired and worn out, but a smile on her blissfully unaware face. The one in the bottom corner was the completed nursery - they kept up with the duck theme; there were little yellow puff balls all over the place.

The next three pages were of the day I was born, Renee completely wiped out, looking horrible, even for my mother, who was almost always beautiful. But she'd just had a kid, so it was alright. Charlie had been obsessed with taking pictures of my siblings and I, even if my photo album was the smallest. I was the third child, and the sick child. It was understandable if either of my parental figures didn't feel like taking pictures of me.

I looked like a monster, I'm not going to lie. Some babies are so adorable I just want to boil them alive and eat them with streamed rice. I would have punted me out a window.

"Holy shit, my fingers were small," I whispered, holding up my hand, happy to see that I could stretch all of my fingers out, without pain. "Jesus, they're still small," My hands were probably half the size of my mother's. At least Alice was still tinier than me.

The pictures continued, including my first bath, a picture of Renee eating an apple, reading a packet of paper, Emmett tugging at her hat, Alice sitting next to Mom, and Mom was nursing me, even with everything going on around her. She looked as if she had been crying.

They became thin, pictures where I was in the arms of relatives that I would need to ask who they were, pictures of me holding Emmett's fingertips as he helped me walk, of Alice tugging a comb through my hair when I was one or two, of me hugging Edward at someone's wedding, he was trying to shove me away while still keeping me close, of Esme babysitting me, of Carlisle handing over a lollipop after my first shot.

And then the abruptly ended, without warning. I just flipped the page and the last twenty or so were , that made me feel better. My parents couldn't even fill a full photo album of me.

The last picture was adorable, though. I would want it made into a shirt if I ever could.

It was one of the few that had Charlie in it - he was quite the photographer - and we must have been at a water park that I don't remember. He was sitting down, his lips exaggeratingly puckered, and I was leaning forward, my lips looking the same, and I held my hands curled just under my chin, as if I had been shivering.

I dosed off after that.

(11:32 PM)

I jolted awake, my photo album falling off the bed, as something knocked rather loudly against my bedroom window. I hugged a pillow to my chest, ignoring the throbbing pain, scared that someone was about to hop through and slaughter me. A hand manifested through the sheeting rain, knuckles tapping on the glass. And then a male cursed, his hand slapping down on the wet window.

"Oh!" I gasped, jumping up from my nest, and running to the window. There was Edward, looking like a soaked cat, his eyes as wide as the moon, teetering on a branch of the pine tree outside my bedroom window.

"Bella, let me in!" He begged. I lifted the glass, rain splashing onto my bare legs and feet, creating a pool of water on the hardwood floor. "Thank you," he sighed, squeezing through the square hole.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered, shoving the window back down.

"You asked me to come," He explained, roughly running his hand through his hair in an attempt to dry it out. I nodded, taking in his appearance. He wore his black pajama pants that he'd had since he were fifteen, he was barefoot, but wore a soaked sweater over his upper half.

"Give me your clothes," I held out my hand.

Edward stared at me, shocked, as if I'd just asked him to go into my parents room and let them know he was here. "What?"

"So I can put them in the dryer," I blinked at him, shoving my hand at him. He said "Oh," and stripped his heavy, waterlogged sweater and dropped it into my arms. I turned to my closet, tugging a pair of oversized sleep pants from a pile in the corner and tossed them to him over my shoulder, letting him change.

I blushed as I thought that Edward was nude behind me, if only for a second.

"Here," he muttered, handing over the clot of clothes that was his bottoms.

"I'll get you a towel," I whispered, and fled down the hall to the laundry room, carefully opening and closing the dryer door, setting it for forty-five minutes, and took two towels from the rack above the washer and dryer. When I returned, I locked my door.

Edward was still standing by the window, and I went and stood in front of him, throwing a towel over his shoulder and dropping the other to the floor, to soak up the spilled rainwater. He scrubbed his hair, hanging the fabric across his neck and over his shoulders once he was satisfied with his damp, amazingly sexy unruly hair.

There was a minute of strange, awkward silence as we stared at each other, Edward wearing only the gray sleep pants, and I only in my black Aerosmith shirt.

Suddenly his right hand was on my hip, though, and my breathing hitched. "Is this what you wear to bed, now?" He asked quietly. Before I could respond, he kissed me, a light peck. "What happened to the shorts and tank top you used to wear?" Another kiss, this time longer.

I couldn't understand him, my mind losing total focus as he pulled away. My eyes fluttered open, and I stared at him for a moment, memorizing how he looked in the gray, stormy light from outside. Edward was probably the most handsome male I had ever seen in my life. His eyes were lidded, a sparkling dark bottle green, watching me as I watched him. His skin looked ghastly white in the filtered light from my window, his cheekbones high, his nose perfect and long. His lips were curved and full, perfectly masculine; his jaw was strong, his ears just slightly turned out. His hair glistened and fell onto his forehead.

We leaned into each other at the same time, pressing our lips together, and both of his hands were on my hips now, pulling me closer as he took a step forward. I leaned into him, moving my lips with his, turning my head to the side and opening my mouth. Our tongues danced, and when we broke apart to breathe, I smiled and sighed. Edward kissed me once, twice, thrice, his hands bunching my shirt under his palms as they moved up my sides.

I slid my hands up his chest, feeling the angled planes of his muscles that had come about when he was thirteen and he'd become vain. I held my lips to his, moving my hands over his shoulders and neck, the towel sliding from his skin and into a cotton puddle on the floor. I rested my elbows in the small hollow of his shoulders and neck, threading my fingers into his soft hair. I wondered for a brief moment if he knew I wasn't wearing a bra, because he was about to find out.

I felt his chest jump as his breath caught inside his throat, his fingers not finding a fabric along the skin of my sides. He pressed his lips feverishly to mine, a low moan vibrating deep in his throat. It sizzled down to my core, his large hands moving to my back, right between my shoulder blades, holding me tightly to him.

Sucking in a breath of air, I pulled away from his lips, panting, gasping. His mouth moved to the corner of my jawbone, kissing down my throat, at my clavicle and then, in the little dip between the two of them. I gasped and let out a breathy moan at the feeling of his lips there, of all places. My knees buckled when his hot tongue swirled in that depression of my flesh, but his hands shot down and caught me by my rear, holding me against him.

"Bella," he groaned into my throat, running the tip of his nose from my shoulder to the point of my left collarbone. I moaned in response, unable to make my tongue work correctly. It seemed to have turned to pudding along with my legs. Edward shook his head, slowly. "We can't do this,"

I felt like I wanted to cry. He'd just climbed into my room, kissing and nipping at me, and now he wanted to stop? No!

"No," I blubbered, knotting my fingers in his hair so he wouldn't pull away. "Why?" I gasped.

Despite what I thought was a death-grip in his hair, he straightening up. I took notice to the fact that he hadn't released my ass. "Bella . . . I -" He looked tortured and hurt, like a boy whose dog had just died. He opened his mouth to continue to speak, but closed it when he found no words.

"Is it because I'm a freak?" I asked, my eyebrows pulling together in anger.

Edward's eyes grew wide, and he yelled "No!" before he could think better of it. "No, Bella," he whispered, dipping his face so he could look in my eyes. "Of course not,"

"Then why not?" I breathed, leaning forward to break the inch of separation our lips had. He moved away, though, and my mouth landed on his shoulder. Not to be discouraged, I kissed him there, moving up towards the soft skin of his throat. His muscles were tense, his hands moving up my back again, to pull me closer, though I could hear him saying Stop, stop, stop over and over. I sucked lightly on the flesh I found, creating a little cherry on his throat, and licked over it. Edward was mine, no matter how many girls he'd screwed.

He through caution to the wind when I blew onto the skin behind his ear, one of his hands going to my arm under my shirt, the other to my bottom, and he lifted me up. Following him, I spread my legs and wrapped them around his waist, hoping he didn't expect me to be able to stay like this for too long. Edward's mouth was heated on mine, sucking on my bottom lip and raking his teeth over it. I gasped, locking my arms around his neck. He'd pulled all rational thought from my mind through my mouth, passing flame and spark and breath between our connected lips.

It was just when my legs were getting weak around his body that he started to move towards my bed. My heart soared, because maybe he did want me, despite how my body was. My stomach dropped, because this was it, and it was with Edward. My lips trembled, because I couldn't get enough oxygen to my lungs, but I didn't care.

His hair was almost dry as he pulled back my covers and slipped me under them. I let my legs fall, but latched onto his ears, bringing him over me, and he encased us in the warm threads. Edward hitched my knees over his hips, running his palms up the back of my thighs, over the thin strap of my panties, over my hips, all the way to my ribcage, where he suddenly stopped. I could feel him through the sweatpants and my underwear, and I whimpered, wishing for more friction. Edward was skilled and understood, grinding his hips into mine, and a strange noise left my chest, a mix between a growl and a moan. He licked along my throat, and I suddenly wished I had worn my usual tank top and shorts to bed.

"We're not doing it tonight, Bella," he said against my skin, and I let out a cry of desperation. He slapped his hand over my mouth, silencing me. I stared at him with wide eyes, sure I was about to cry because we were in my bed, he was there, right there, between my legs, with an amazing hard-on, and I was so ready for this to be the night and his hands were so warm and big and if he would just take off my underwear and shirt and his pants, we'd be ready to go. "You just had surgery," he whispered.

"Mmmt mas ah minth ago!" What I meant to say was 'it was a month ago,' but because of his hand, it was slurred. He shook his head, removing his hand. "Edward, please," I begged, leaning forward on my elbows to try and kiss him, but he backed just out of my reach. So I shoved him away, and he sat back on his ankles. "Leave," I demanded, clenching my teeth in a desperate attempt to keep the furious tears at bay.

"Bella -"

"Edward, what did you think I wanted when I asked you to come to my room tonight?"

He stared at me for a moment, his shoulders slowly slumping forward, and he bowed his head. His hands were still on my thighs and I didn't have the heart to slap them away. After what felt like an eternity without either of us making a sound, only the rain rapping on the pane of my window and the roof let me know that this was real, Edward spoke.

"Is the only reason you're with me like this because you want to have sex?"

"No," I answered too quickly.

He looked up at me, his eyes hurt and betrayed. "Why?" the boy asked, because he knew I was lying.

I looked away, out the window, and he didn't question me further. Edward took my left leg and moved it to the other side of his body, so I was laying on my side and he wasn't between my legs anymore. He took my left wrist in his hand and laid down behind me, squishing himself close to me in my bed. My bed that was too small for two, and too big for one.

I fell asleep with his breath fanning over my neck, his arm around me, his fingers cradling my wrist.

(8:12 AM, the following morning)

There was a loud crash downstairs, the house shaking with the force. I jerked awake, Edward muttering something beside me before nuzzling his face into my neck.

"Hello, family!" Came the booming voice of my older brother. "There's a little one wanting to see you!"

I sat up in bed, already hearing the squeals from my nephew downstairs, Renee's coos, and Charlie's uncomfortable gushes over the little Emmett. I couldn't hear Rosalie, and I wondered for only a second if she was here.

Edward reached up for me, wrapping his arm around my waist. I grabbed his wrist and shook it. "Edward, wake up," I whispered urgently. He licked his lips, but otherwise remained unconscious. "Come on, Edward," I pulled on his arm, and the force caused my weak body to flop back next to him, and his hand traveled up my hip and under my shirt to my stomach. I gasped in surprise, pondering if he was really awake and was playing me.

"Hey, Sissy!" Emmett yelled, throwing my door open despite the lock. When his eyes landed on Edward and I, Edward's hand under my shirt, my startled face, he took a surprised step back.

Three, two, one.

Emmett turned Brother Bear, squaring his shoulders and puffing up like a blow fish. "What the hell?" He asked, his breathing rough. I could tell he was trying to not make a scene to bring attention to our parents, and I thanked him silently.

"Emmett . . ." I squeaked, shoving Edward's hand away, and - finally - he jolted awake, letting out a little "Huh?"

"Get out of my sister's bed," Emmett growled, and Edward jumped away, stumbling as he stood. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Edward tried several times to explain, and when it looked as if he was about to catch fire from Emmett's glare, I spoke: "I asked him to come." I looked sheepishly away, "I didn't want to be alone my first night home."

An uncomfortable silence settled over us in my room. Finally, Emmett talked.

"Well, fuck," he rubbed the back of his neck, looking so insanely uncomfortable that I wanted to hug him, "this is awkward,"

"What is?" Came my mother's voice behind him.

Oh, shit.

A/N: I had to stop here. Sorry. I couldn't get anything to sound right. : / And I went to a concert last night. If you have the time, check out Air Raid Anthem, Weston Buck, and Verbatym on MySpace. God, they're amazing.

Would it be too much to ask to get to 80 reviews this time? We're already at 65 - honestly, I can't believe it.

Please review! Thanks!

-R.I.