'Disarm you with a smile, and leave you like they left me here to wither in denial,
the bitterness of one who's left alone...'

'Disarm' - The Smashing Pumpkins


Saturday, September 15th, 2016

I'm fucking up. I know I am.

There's a party tomorrow night - at Mike Newton's beach house, down in Laguna. Rose and Alice told me they'd stay with me if I didn't want to go… but they still asked. I never would've known about it if they hadn't. I know they want to go. I know if I don't go, they won't.

So I'm going. God help me, I'm going.


The smell of smoke greets me when I awake on Saturday morning.

It's pungent, acrid, and fills my mouth with an unbearable taste. I'm up and out of bed, running wildly, trying to suss out the source. Was the fireplace left on? An electrical fire?

Damn it, of course I would be the only one home when catastrophe hits.

Only I'm not.

Only when I finally step into the kitchen, waving my hand wildly in front of my face, I'm not alone at all.

"Dad?"

Charles Swan stands, dish cloth waving, in the middle of our kitchen. He's pressed slacks and a crisp button-down, a perfectly trimmed mustache…

And a bright yellow apron.

"Dad?" I call again, a little louder, trying desperately to stifle my impending laughter. "Dad!"

That gets his attention. He spins, peering at me through the rapidly worsening smoke.

"Damn it," he wheezes, coughing. "Good morning, Bella."

I hide my nose and mouth in the collar of my robe and move quickly, opening the back door, flying to the stove and turning the hood fan on. A cursory glance at the smoking pan before me shows what looks to be an assortment of coal.

"Jesus, Dad… what the hell is this?" I manage, swiping the offending object from the stove top and bringing it to the sink. I scrape the… whatever the fuck it is into the trash, and immerse cast iron in tepid water. It sizzles and releases a cloud of what could quite possibly be atomic ash. I grab a scouring pad and try to chip away at the remnants.

"It was supposed to be breakfast," he says and when I look up, he's fiddling with the end of his apron.

When he sees me staring, he quickly unties it and throws it onto the counter.

"You really hate me that much, you were willing to feed me…" I pause, looking into the garbage can. "That?"

Charlie reaches, turning off the stove fan, and his face is marred with a twisted-up frown.

"Hate you? Bella, what are you talking about?"

I turn the sink off, abandoning the sponge and the pan, and grab a couple of bowls from the cabinet above me.

"Isabella?" he says again - and again, I ignore him.

I busy myself with grabbing a pint of strawberries, a knife, and a container of vanilla yogurt. I hide behind the fridge door as I check the calories, not willing to let him see and give him even more to question me about.

He has to think I'm better, that I'm okay… or he'll never let me go out tomorrow night.

I don't really think I want him to, but the thought of not having a choice in the matter is entirely too abhorrent.

I slice up the strawberries and spoon out the yogurt, taking care to give him a bigger portion and arranging mine to look as similar as I possibly can.

The trick is in the bowls - his bigger, mine smaller. He'll never tell the difference. He never has before.

Charlie sips from a glass of apple juice, eyes anywhere but on me. I keep moving, wishing this wasn't so awkward… wishing we were making eggs in a basket instead, Mom beside us buttering bread and singing and kissing our cheeks.

I wonder if he even remembers those days. Am I the only one in the world who holds those memories anymore?

"Thanks, Bella," he says and I can't believe I thought for a brief moment there, he was going to say it - he was going to call me 'bug.'

If he had, I think I'd have broken down and told him everything.

He sits on a stool at the breakfast bar and I lean back against counter across from him, swirling berries into ivory-white yogurt until it all turns pink. When I take a bite, I can't hide my smile.

It tastes a little bit like Edward did last night - sweet strawberries and cream.

"Any big plans for this weekend?"

My head snaps up, my smile fades. Charlie looks at me over the rim of his glass, and I wonder if perhaps he knows. Maybe Jacob found out and warned him?

"I'm not sure yet," I say, and it's true. If he doesn't let me go, then I don't actually have any 'big plans'. "You?"

He sighs and smooths out his moustache, pushing his glass of juice toward me. I step forward, pick it up and take a sip.

"I'll be in the office."

I nod, taking one more gulp and replacing his drink before him.

Well, that just figures.

"All weekend?" I ask, because I'm already formulating a plan and I hate it. This is how we used to function - I'd gather intel about where he'd be, and work all my debauchery and sin around his schedule.

"Looks like it," he grumbles. "Why?"

That makes me start for a moment. He's never asked that before, 'why?' He's always just taken what I've said at face-value.

"Nothing. I just, um… I was planning on having Alice and Rose over this weekend. For a sleepover."

The sound of stainless steel against porcelain is all that fills the air between us for a long moment as Charlie scrapes his bowl clean, and I take the slowest and smallest bites I possibly can.

"They been over a lot, Alice and Rosalie?"

I shrug, eyes down. "A bit. Just after school and stuff."

"And they've been… they understand? About the, uh… the situation?"

The situation? Right, because that's all I am anymore - a situation. Something to be handled, swept under the rug if possible… Charles Swan's troublesome daughter. Such a scandal.

"Yeah, they understand. Don't worry, Rose isn't slipping me anything when you're not looking."

He straightens, slamming the glass he'd previously been polishing off atop pristine marble.

"Alright, I've had just about enough of your insinuations."

I smile, a wry little thing, and put my half-eaten bowl in the sink.

"What insinuations? That you think my best friend is a bad influence? That you think I'm going to fuck up and start using again?"

"Isabella!" he snaps, his face tomato-red, and I jump a bit. "That's enough."

I sigh, turning to quickly leave the room before this gets any worse.

"You're right, Daddy," I call over my shoulder. "It is."

When the rumble of his Jaguar is just a faint sound through my open window, I allow myself to think about how the way he shared his juice with me is just the same as we did when I was young. I'd refused to drink anything of my own - it had to be his juice, his milk, his water.

My mother didn't like it. I had always been a Daddy's girl, and she couldn't quite stand it. She was always asking me for more hugs, more kisses, and when I refused and gave them to Charlie instead...

I guess it didn't really matter much, anyway. Renee Swan found other ways to fill the holes in her black, black heart - and none of them included me.


Saturday night finds me alone - with Alice off in Malibu with her parents and Rosalie with Emmett, I'm by myself.

Really, truly alone.

I'm not entirely sure how to feel about it.

Scratch that, I do know how to feel about it - awful. Before I went to rehab, I always had somewhere to be. There was never a dull moment… always a party, and I had my pick. Always someone wanting me to show up somewhere, and always an endless supply of drugs and alcohol.

If I didn't have that, I would be completely lonely - with Charlie rarely home, it was more often than not an empty house.

Much like now.

This is precisely what I'd been trying to avoid. The silence, the almost stifling sound of quiet...

I pace for a while - weaving in and out of bedrooms never used, walking around the barely-touched yet immaculately maintained pool outside. I eventually settle, curled up in front of the raging fireplace with a cup of mint tea. It's hot outside but with the AC cranked, I try my very best to pretend I'm somewhere wetter, greener, more alive.

I close my eyes, and it should be no surprise… but the only thing I can see is Edward.

Where is he tonight? Is he at home? Does he have his own place, or is he with his parents? I never thought to ask him.

Is he drinking? Smoking? Maybe he's at the practice space with Jazz… will he spend the night there? Would he let me stay with him, if I asked?

My phone vibrates beside me. I eye it with disinterest, upset that it's interrupting my lonely musings… until the one name I've been rolling around in my head all day flashes on the screen.

I scramble, trying to calm my heart as I pick up.

"Hello?"

"Bella, Bella, Bella…"

I smile and close my eyes, cradling hot tea to my chest.

"Hello, Edward."

"How's the only girl in the world doing tonight?"

"Sad," I sigh, trying for a joke in front of some thinly-veiled honesty.

He hums - that warm, low sound. My toes curl up a bit beneath fuzzy pink socks.

"Oh, no… we've got a sad-baby on our hands? That just won't do."

Baby, he said baby!

I could hardly believe myself, my reaction to him and how he spoke to me. Pet names, an interesting concept. Never really personal enough, in my opinion. How many other boys out there call girls 'baby'? Thousands, if not millions.

But the way Edward says it, his voice and his heart wrapping around the word, makes it all our own.

"What's wrong?" he asks, and in the background I can hear a roar of laughter, clinking glasses and music.

"Where are you?" I say instead.

"The Six," he answers. "Do you know it? The rock club downtown?"

"Mhm, I know it."

"Have you ever been?"

"I might have."

"Oh, so she's a sneak-baby now?" he laughs. "You do know it's twenty-one and over, right?"

I smile a wry little smirk. "That's never stopped me before."

He's silent for just a beat too long. I wince.

"I think I miss you," he sighs. "Which is fucking crazy, and I won't beat a dead horse but…"

I thrill, my heart beating double-time.

"But you don't even know me?"

"Yeah."

I take a sip of tea, pulling my blanket-covered knees up tight to my body.

"It's okay. I think I miss you, too."

"Do you?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, that's alright then," he chuckles. "I'm a little bit out of my mind here, but you perhaps miss me. So, it's okay."

"You said you thought you missed me," I shoot back.

"I lied."

"Don't do that."

"You do it."

"That's… different."

"It's really not."

I still, listening to his breathing and the din of the club behind him.

"I have to go."

Edward groans, and I can picture him perfectly... running a hand through his hair and tugging, maybe smoking a cig.

"No, don't… I'm sorry."

I scoff a bit and curl in further, watching flames dance.

"For what?"

He breathes out a little half-laugh, and my tummy does a kick-flip.

"I don't even fucking know. I'm just sorry," he sighs. "I'm not a liar, really. I promise."

I swallow around the bitter doubt. Promises are for people who deserve them. Not someone like me.

Promises are made to be broken - it's inevitable.

"You are, though. You just did."

"Did what?" he says, and he slurs a bit.

I wonder if he's had anything to drink?

The thought makes me bristle, and I know I'm a gigantic fucking hypocrite but I don't like it. I don't like the thought of him drinking, of him being drunk.

That's me - intoxicated and stupid, stumbling and faded. It's not him - a perfect prince of a boy.

Some people say your body is a temple and if it is, mine is The Temple of Aphrodite - the bare-bones ruins of depravity and excess, just a few crumbling pillars of stone.

Edward's is something else entirely… pristine and clean, without fault or lewdness. It should stay that way.

But you'll be the one to ruin him, won't you?

I swallow around the lump in my throat.

"Have you been drinking?"

"A bit," he says, so unsure.

"Hmm…"

"What? What does that mean, 'hmm'?"

In the background, I hear someone calling his name.

'Cullen! Get your sweet ass over here and take this shot with me!'

My tummy turns. For some reason, I want to vomit.

No, not for some reason. For many reasons, but namely… because that was a distinctly female voice.

And then I feel crazy, because of course he's around females. Did I not watch women flocking around him at Muldoon's? For good reason, too. Edward is undoubtedly the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Of course he'd know girls, be friends with them.

Drink with them.

My stomach flips again.

"I should let you go…"

"No!" he says. "No, just… just wait. Bella, are you okay?"

Ha! I am a lot of things, but I am most certainly not okay.

"Sure," I say, playing nonchalant.

"Liar," he breathes, and I'm not really sure if he meant for me to hear it or not. "Where are you?"

I already know by now that 'where are you?' in Edward-speak directly translates to 'I'm coming to get you.'

"Nowhere you want to be."

Why am I fucking with him like this? What's wrong with me?

"What does that mean?" he says, and I can tell he's getting...

Oh. Oh, he's upset.

I love it. I love that I can make him upset, and I hate myself for loving it.

"Where are you? I'm not playing around."

"Neither am I. I'm at home, Edward," I sigh. "Alone, if you were wondering. Don't worry."

"Oh my God, what the fuck does that mean?" he groans. "Baby, you've got me so fucking confused right now. What… what do you want me to say here?"

I take a sip of my now lukewarm tea, drumming my nails along the porcelain mug.

"I want you to say you'll come over. That you'll drop everything you're doing and leave, right now."

I play it off like I'm kind of half-joking, because I want it more than anything… but it's so ridiculous, I know he'll laugh it off. I'm prepared for it.

He doesn't.

"Done. What's your address? I'll go catch a cab now."

Wait, what?

"Excuse me?" I say and Jesus, I was not prepared for this scenario.

What, the scenario where someone genuinely cares for you? Get a grip, stupid.

"There's only a few cabs out here tonight, and they're going like hot cakes. I have to snag one before… oh, shit! What's your address?"

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

And he is.

I can hear the sounds of a bustling L.A. evening in the background - horns honking and loud chatter, laughter. He's outside. He's really trying to hail a fucking cab right now.

So, I panic.

"No."

"No?" he says, a little winded. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, no."

He's run, from the sound of his rapid breaths, and I feel even more awful - if at all possible.

"Okay… I'm trying not to feel a little hurt here, but you're making it kind of hard."

"I know, I just… it's… now's not a good time."

I don't want to lie to him. I feel terrible lying in general but it's an awful, physical ache when I lie to Edward. I don't want to lie.

But, I do.

"My Dad just got back, I can hear him in the garage."

"Ah, I see. That's why you're being so…"

Bitchy? Rude? Stubborn? That's why you're lying, even though he doesn't deserve it?

"... Quiet?"

Quiet. He thinks I'm just being quiet.

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

The sounds are changing - no longer cars and hustle-bustle, but glasses clinking and idle chatter. Mellow rock and female voices.

'Cullen, what the fuck? Are you leaving already?'

He's back inside, and I've missed my chance. I had it, had him, and I fucking blew it.

"Nah, I'm back. Sorry, Heidi," he sighs, and who the fuck is Heidi? "Baby? Are you there?"

My tea is cold and suddenly, so am I. I discard it off to the side and sit back, pressing the phone tight, tight, tight to my ear so I hear only him.

"I'm here."

He's smiling when he speaks again, and I wish I could jump through the phone and kiss his little grin.

"When can I see you again?"

Well, it would've been now if I wasn't so fucking unstable.

"Whenever."

"Tomorrow night?"

The party. If I tell him, will he be upset? He doesn't really know I'm not supposed to be there, right?

"I… kind of have a party I've got to be at."

He inhales, a sharp little breath. "A party? Are you sure you're… that you're allowed to be there?"

It's my turn to gasp now, because he fucking knows. How does he know?

"Who told you?" I manage, and it's weak and thin.

"Told me what, angel?"

"About… about me, and…"

"Oh," he sighs, reluctant. "It was Jasper."

Jasper. Right.

"Jasper. Right," I squeak. "Listen, I've got to go. Enjoy your night, okay? Be safe."

"Wait, wait, wait. What's wrong?"

Everything. Fucking everything. I'm scared and more fucked up than you could ever possibly imagine and it's just not fair - for you, or for me. Jasper told you, and now when I see you I'll know that you know… and I just don't want to see that look in your eyes that everyone else gets.

That 'oh, what a shame, she's so young' look. That 'what's wrong with her, why would she do such a thing?' look. That 'she's dirty, tainted, dangerous' look.

I just want you to look at me like you did that first time. Like I'm everything. Like I'm an endless possibility. Will you ever look at me like that again?

The thought that the answer could possibly be 'no' is enough to completely choke me up.

I wipe angry tears roughly off my heartbroken face, and try not to let my voice break as much as I feel like I am right now.

"Nothing. I just have to go, my Dad is… he's… I have to go. I'll be missing you."

I hang up. I turn my phone off. I curl up tight, too tight, so tightly I feel as if my ribs will crack.

I don't fall asleep until he stops calling back, just before the sky starts to sing electric blue.


I'm a pale green baby-doll dress and Docs to Alice's all-black turtleneck and belted wool skirt. She's classy and timeless, her bob curly-cute wavy and winged liner sharp. I feel under-dressed beside her, stepping through the doors of Mike Newton's family beach house with only a slick of mascara and cherry Chap-stick. My only confidence is in the way Alice has done my hair - blow dried bouncy-soft, framing my face.

Something I don't recognize is pounding through the speakers, all bass-heavy beats, and it makes my nose wrinkle.

"Certainly not to our tastes, is it, B?" Alice says, linking her arm with mine and maneuvering us around the throng.

I'm stopped more than once, hands grabbing and voices speaking like they know me. I'm sure they do but when I turn to face them, I don't know them from Adam. It's not hard to guess why. I've met a lot of people, but I've been fucked up for the majority of those meetings.

I'm in the middle of trying to pull away from an over-eager blonde guy in nothing but boardshorts when I hear her.

"Pass me the fucking Jack, Tyler!"

I spin, meeting Alice's eyes. We don't have to say it before we're both off like a light, cutting through sweaty bodies to the kitchen.

She's standing atop the kitchen island, barefoot and messy but still somehow beautiful. Her short, short, short pink dress is satin and lace, nothing but a slip of a thing, and her golden hair is loose and wild. She's got one hand on her hip, and the other clasped around the neck of a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Alice and I move as one, a unit, more practiced in the art of 'Corralling Rosalie Hale' than we'd like to be. Even in the thick of my own highs, calming Rose has always been my top priority.

"Rose, get down from there," I say, tugging on the bottom hem of her dress. She's gathered a crowd all her own, and the last thing I want to do is give them something more to talk about.

"Bella, my Bella!" Rosalie crows, all grace and poise despite herself as she first kneels on the island, then swings her legs over the side. She cups my face and plants a wet kiss on my cheek that smells of liquor and excess. "You came!"

"Yes, Rose, she did. Now, can you come with us, dearest?" Alice says, all soothing and even, and I'm so fucking glad she can speak because I sure as hell can't. There's someone taking a hit from a gigantic, blue glass bong in the corner and if I have to look at it for one more second, I'll vomit.

"Where are we going?" she slurs and just like that, she's crashing. Her arms loop around my neck, heavy and warm, as she slips off the counter. Between Alice and I, we're just able to hold her up as her legs begin to give out.

"The bathroom. We need to get you cleaned up," Alice says, eyes on me as we weave toward the stairs at the front of the house. "Can you tell us what you've taken, Rose?"

Rosalie shakes her head and lets out a hiccuping little giggle, before her head sags forward.

"My shoes," she groans. "Where the fuck are my shoes? They're Louboutins, Alice… Louboutins!"

"We'll find them, sweetest. Won't we, B?" Alice says. I can only nod, apparently unable to find my voice, swallowing hard.

We round the corner, and the stairs loom like a giant before us. Alice and I share a look - Rosalie is light, and usually we would be able to manage… but she's completely limp. There's no way just the two of us will be able to make it.

"Where's Emmett, Rose?" I finally say, clearing my throat as my voice wavers.

"Emmett…" she sighs in response. "Where is Emmett?"

I nod toward the stairs with my chin and Alice follows as we slowly, carefully lower Rosalie to the steps. I catch her just as she begins to sag to the right, wrapping an arm around her and feeling too-hot skin, slightly damp with sweat. Her head is heavy on my shoulder, and I can smell the patchouli-citrus-rose of her Coco Mademoiselle beneath the pungent musk of marijuana.

"I'll go find him, Rose, alright? You just stay here with Bella and try not to fall asleep. Can you do that, dearest?"

"Mhm…" she mumbles, tucking further into my hair, one arm slung heavily over the tops of my thighs in a drug-lazy half-hug.

Alice slips off into the crowd, and I follow her with my eyes until I can't tell the difference between black wool and shadows. There are stares on us, whispers that I choose to ignore as I rub up and down Rosalie's back, trying to smooth her tangled hair.

"Bella?" she whispers a long moment later. I startle, my ministrations halting.

"Yeah, Rose?"

With sluggish movements, she reaches down the front of her dress. When her hand re-emerges, it's holding my own personal Hell on Earth.

"What the fuck are you doing, Rosalie? Get that shit away from me."

My voice is bordering on hysterical but I can do nothing to help it, not when she's holding out a little half-full baggie of cocaine and imploring me with her eyes to take it.

"I don't… don't want you to use it, B," Rose slurs. "Just want you to take it from me. Em can't… he can't…"

"No," I choke out, shaking my head, eyes shut. "No! Rose… please, stop."

She struggles to sit up, and I would help her but I can't open my fucking eyes. I can't look at it. My heart is in my throat, my brain is buzzing and my skin feels like it's made of molten lava.

"Listen, listen… don't use it. You just need to throw it… throw it away for me. Okay? Just throw it away."

And she grabs one of my hands in both of hers and places the small baggie in my hot, clammy palm. She curls my fingers around it. I can feel the ridges of the plastic digging into my flesh and when I clench my hand around it, I can feel the powder inside shifting. I can feel how soft it is, and I know it's the good shit. Rosalie doesn't buy anything but the best.

"You'll throw it away... won't you, B?"

"I'll throw it away," I say, as I tuck it into my bra. Lie.

"Promise me? I'm sorry, I just can't… can't let Em see it. He'll be so upset. Promise me?"

"I promise," I say, as I lay it atop my heart. Lie.

"I trust you... you're good now, Bella. You wouldn't. I'm so sorry."

"Me too," I say - and this time, it's not a lie.


I have to wash my hands five times before they stop smelling like vomit, but the nauseating cucumber-melon hand soap does nothing for the stains on Rosalie's dress. She wouldn't allow Emmett into the washroom, and it took some heavy convincing to assure her he didn't mind if she wore his letter man jacket.

It's from his school in Chicago and I wonder if that's where his brother went, too. Did Edward also play football? Was he in any clubs?

The funny thing is that somehow, even with her hair tied back haphazardly into a mess of a ponytail, mascara smudged and lipstick non-existent, a jacket three sizes too big draped on her supermodel-slim body… Rosalie is still beautiful. It's almost as if she becomes more alluring, floating through the party under Emmett's arm with Alice and I flanking them.

"Do you need anything to drink?" Alice asks, eyes wide and worried as Emmett settles himself and Rose down on a low couch.

"Ugh, fuck no. The last thing I need right now is more alcohol, Allie."

"I think she meant water, Rosie," Emmett sighs, trying for a smile. It twists into more of a grimace, his baby blues focused on nothing but the blonde tucked into his side.

For a moment, I see so much of his brother in him, I could weep.

"Oh… then, yes," Rose nods, eyes closed, body weary. "Thank you."

"I'll get it," I pipe up, feeling comfortable with leaving her now that she's begun to come down. I'd never really believed it when my Mom said things like 'it's better out than in' when I was younger, but now I do.

I should've believed her, though. It took me a few more years to realize that she really, really knew what she was talking about.

I see Mike directly in the middle of my path to the kitchen, and take a sharp left into another long room filled with couches - that is one confrontation I am definitely not ready to have. I hop down two short steps into a lowered living room, not packed nearly as tight as the previous.

If there's one thing to be said for Mike Newton, it's that he has a hell of a party space.

The entire back wall of the room is glass, showcasing the ivory sand and midnight blue of the ocean just down a short, private path off the side of the house. I gravitate forward, drawn as if by a magnet, but stop short.

Because it's not the view that was pulling me.

It's the boy.

Edward Cullen sits, all cool-confidence, on a couch tucked up against the wall of glass.

He steals my fucking breath.

He's a soft grey long-sleeve and worn jeans, a hole at the knee, Chucks on his feet. His crooked grin is all sexy-sweet, posture relaxed. I move to step toward him, but then I meet his eyes…

They're fire, hitting straight to my soul. His brow is furrowed over blazing jade and in an instant, I feel as if my knees are going to give out.

I don't even wonder why he's here, because it just makes sense for him to be wherever I am. Or maybe it's me that's wherever he is? It seems like a foregone conclusion, and I can't believe I told him to stay away from me last night. There's nothing more I want in this world than to be with him, on him - everywhere.

I freeze.

And it seems to be just the pause the universe needed because it gives a tall, statuesque redhead in a cherry-colored bodycon dress an opening to seat herself directly on his lap.

If I thought I'd felt sick before… I didn't. It's nothing compared to this.

My skin is fucking crawling with the need to… to… I don't even know what. To scream? To cry? To purge, purge, purge?

And then I feel the press of a plastic baggie against the soft skin of my chest, and it feels like some sort of sign.

I'm turning, spinning on my heels and whirling from the room like a bat out of Hell. I hear him, hear his panicked cry - my name on his lips. It makes me falter, but not enough to stop me. I'm half-crazed, mad with the need to use and abuse, to have a moment - just a single fucking moment - where I don't feel as if I could explode into a million devastating little pieces.

I feel like I'm floating as I soar up the stairs, my eager feet not missing a single beat. The bathroom is in sight and I swear, it's glowing and calling out to me - like a beacon, like my own little sanctuary. The marble countertop is the altar where I'll find my release.

"That wasn't what it looked like. Bella, stop. Stop!"

I'm steps away and I can nearly taste the acrid relief on the back of my tongue, feel the glorious numbness on my gums when I'm yanked backward.

"What the fuck is going on with you?"

His hands are tight enough to bruise, clamped around my upper arms as they are, but I welcome the ache as he presses me back against the wall. His breath smells of peppermint and smoke, the tip of his nose brushing against mine with his proximity.

In this dusky half-light of the hallway, his face is the only thing I see… and he looks like an angel.

"Answer me!" my savior hisses, squeezing me harder, harder still and I thrill.

The smile that curls my lips upward confuses him for the briefest of moments before I'm on him, tilting and leaning just so until I can taste him. And, when I do…

There's nothing that could stop the moan I let out as our lips meet, and I don't realize until that very moment how cold I am. Not until all his warm and soft is on me, not until the way he groans and laces his fingers into my hair heats me from the inside out. His lips are plush and sweet, and his kiss is everything - everything.

I'm wild and crazy, grasping his shirt in my fists, tugging his hair. He takes all I've got and gives it right back, and my chest feels like it could cave in with what I'm feeling for him. He wraps a hand around the back of my knee and hitches my leg over his hip, and I inhale sharply through my nose.

He pulls away first, panting and gasping for breath, and my blood sings. He rests his forehead against mine and I watch his tongue peek out, watch him lick his lips and whimper.

"Cherry Chap-stick?" he says, breathing out a laugh, the pad of his thumb rubbing against the smooth skin of my thigh as he holds my leg up. "You're really trying to kill me here."

I say nothing, unable to form words for the way he's got me feeling. My hips roll, all my warm and wet beneath soft cotton pressing flush against his zippered denim. I will him to feel me, and the groan he laments into my neck tells me he does.

Edward swears and sighs and nips at my skin, and I throw my head back and try to breathe. He lays kisses all along my throat, my exposed collarbone, just along the neckline of my dress.

"Fuck," he says and he rolls his hips, hitting there, right there. I let out a shaky little mewl and he makes that infuriating, gorgeous, warm hum deep in his chest. "Like that? Right there?" he breathes, lips brushing against mine as he speaks.

"God, yes…"

He grinds again, and I cease to fucking exist when I feel him - hard and big, straining against soft denim.

He grunts, pressing harder, harder.

"Is this how you like it, girl? Against a wall, quick and dirty?"

'I'd like anything with you, anywhere,' I want to say. 'Only with you.' But I can barely string two thoughts together or even breathe, let alone speak.

"Is this what you want our first time to be, baby? Me fucking you against this wall, out in the open where anyone could see us… Right here, right now?" he says, lips at my ear, and there's something in his voice… if I could only let my mind clear enough to figure it out…

And then I do, and I want to hit myself.

Disappointment.

And finally, mercifully, I find my voice.

"No," I whimper, pressing kisses to the heated skin of his neck, stilling my hips and his. I wrap my arms around him, feeling his warmth and breathing in all his honey and lilac and boy. "No, not here. Not now."

His body sags and there's such relief in the way he rests his forehead against the side of my neck, I could cry.

"I would have, you know," he says, his voice whisper-soft. "If that's what you wanted, I would have. I want it to... to be special, the first time. I try to be a gentleman, Bella, but I'm still a man. And you've got me so fucked up…"

Edward lifts his head and his eyes are soft, his cheeks just the slightest bit pink.

"I'd give you anything you want, and that scares the shit out of me."

Anything I want?

Bright red hair and a sly grin dance in my mind, the imagine of a flaming vixen poised on his lap making my skin crawl.

"I want you to tell me who that woman was."

It's not what he expected, not at all. The way his brows furrow, his gorgeous bottom lip jutting out a bit, says it all.

"Who, Victoria?"

"Do I look like I know her name, Edward?" I say, and I'm surprised when my voice comes out sounding so cool - nearly unaffected. It's the complete opposite of the battle raging inside me.

"She's nothing," he says, shaking his head, still confused. "Nothing. She's a nuisance. I didn't even know she'd be here tonight."

"But you knew I would?"

His arms around my waist squeeze tighter, pulling me against him, not an inch of air between our flushed bodies.

"I did."

"How?"

He purses his lips but holds my gaze, and I love it. It lets me know he isn't lying.

"I asked Alice. Last night, when you told me you were going to a party… I knew she'd know."

"You're here because of me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Edward swallows, hard. "I wanted to make sure you were safe."

I nod slowly. "Right. Because you know about… about everything."

It's not a question, and the way he looks at me - so even, never wavering - he doesn't even have to answer.

It's my turn to gulp now, and I do - audibly. My arms, looped around his neck, loosen just the slightest bit. Not enough to let go - not even close.

"Yeah, I know."

"And you're still here?"

His furrowed brow softens, his face becoming so serene all at once, it throws me a bit.

"I'm still here."

"Edward?"

It isn't my voice that says it, and the way he breaks away from me so quickly…

I know who it is before I've even turned to see her... a tight, crimson red, vampy seductress - Victoria.

I feel the loss of him so acutely, I wince. He's looking back and forth between us - me, her, me, her, me. Me. Me. He tries to catch my eye, but it's already done and he's not just my Edward anymore - he's her's and his friend's, and all the people who would judge him for being with me.

"Who is this?" the woman says, arms crossed, heels click-clacking evenly along hardwood floors.

She's long legs and confidence, chin held high, gazing down her nose at me… and I know what I look like in her eyes: a silly little girl, moon-eyed and love-crazed for this dashing older boy.

Maybe I am. Maybe I'm more than that. It certainly feels like it, when everything in me is tuned to his frequency and I feel the pull between us like a live-wire of energy.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Victoria is so far into Edward, she's lost herself. Perhaps if I were a better person, I'd be able to use common sense - how many times has he told you he's crazy about you, and only you? Does he have to fucking spell it out for you? He feels it, too.

But I'm not a better person, and in that moment - standing between my prince and the woman that covets him - I feel exactly my age. I feel like a stupid, love-sick, sixteen-going-on-seventeen year old girl and I hate, hate, hate it.

People see many things when they look at Bella Swan: addict, liar, sinner, siren - but never has anyone's perception of me made me who I am. I may be all those things, but they were of my own volition.

Victoria looks at me as if I were a fool, and I will not be made a fool of.

"I'm no one," I say, that faux cool-confidence straightening my spine and giving me strength enough to turn and walk away - leaving only my heart behind, bleeding and pounding, at Edward's feet.


If I thought for a second walking away from Edward would mean not seeing him for the rest of the night, I'd be an even bigger idiot than I thought.

Everywhere I turn, he's there. He's never alone, of course - Victoria or some other girl is always around, trying to grab his attention. When it's not them, it's Taylor or Wren. I pull Alice aside and ask her if she's seen Jasper tonight, and she says he was supposed to come but hasn't shown.

He lets Victoria sit on his lap again. He drinks amber-colored liquor on ice out of a crystal tumbler. He plays pool with his boys and laughs, and he looks at me the entire time. I look right back as I finally let Mike catch up to me, as I let him hug me and rest his hand on my waist.

There are more boys than just Mike, too. There's Kevin and Blaine, Wes and Danny. They talk in low voices to me, tell me how good I look and say they've missed me all summer. Some of them know where I was, others don't. They all touch me like they've had me before.

They haven't. None of them have. A couple of them have told people they have, but it's all lies.

I wonder if Edward's heard any of them?

I'm not deluded enough to think he isn't affected by it all - not by a long shot. That ruddy pink dash of color low on his cheeks tells me everything - it's warm inside, but the Newton's are loaded and air conditioning is in no short supply. With every touch, every long and lewd look from a boy, I see Edward being pushed further and further. He's like a coil, wound too tightly.

I sip on a chilled glass bottle of cherry Coke and wait for him to snap.

I'm not being intentionally cruel. I'm only giving in equal measure to what I get. Edward lets a girl lay a hand on his chest; I let Matthew or David or Mark grip my waist. Edward does a shot of vodka with Wren; Mike sits me on his lap.

Rosalie is still too blitzed and Emmett too concerned for her to notice, but Alice does. Her perceptive violet eyes track our every movement, bouncing back and forth between us like she's watching a tennis match. She lays a cool hand on my shoulder, bending down to speak into my ear as I perch primly on Newton's thighs.

"Careful, B," she says, brushing my hair over my shoulder. "Don't push him too far."

When Mike lays a wet, sloppy hiss on the side of my neck, I can tell that I already have.

Edward slams his glass atop the red felt pool table, blindly handing his cue to Taylor, scrambling to pull out his phone.

"Allie, would you hand me my cell, please?" I say, eyes still on my boy as he taps away. It's infuriating how easy and cool he still looks, despite what I know he must be feeling.

She giggles quietly and pulls my phone from her small black, faux-fur cross-body bag.

"Now you've gone and done it," she whispers.

With Mike preoccupied, chattering away to a group of guys about fumbles and stats, I unlock my phone and check what I already knew would be there.

Edward - 1 New Message

My heart threatens to leap out of my chest as I greedily take in his words:

Are you done yet?

I arch a brow and this time, I refuse to look up - even as I feel his eyes on nothing but me. I reply:

Are you?

Chancing a cursory glance up, I take in the new scene before me - with one man down, the pool game has disbanded. Taylor and Wren lean back against one side of the table, eagerly taking in the attention of two girls; Edward sits atop the table, facing my way, long legs hanging off the side as he types.

Tell that motherfucker to get his hands off you, and I will be.

My breath catches.

"You good, Izzy?"

Mike's breath is too warm and smells of stale beer and limes. I shift, deliberating.

"I'm fine."

He doesn't ask again. Edward would've asked again.

Come over here and kiss me, right now, and we've got a deal.

I know he's read it when I watch one hand tugging relentlessly through his bronze-brown locks as the other grips his phone. He looks up and meets my eyes, and I don't need him to tell me his answer - I feel it.

He's saying no.

I stand abruptly, and Mike's chair tilts backward dangerously far before he catches himself - but not without sloshing beer from his red Solo cup all over the front of his Ralph Lauren polo.

"Woah, Izz, what the fuck?" he says, trying in vain to wipe the froth from his chest. "What's your issue?"

"What's your issue, Mike? Did you happen to forget about Jessica?" I say, cool as a fucking cucumber as I cross my arms and stare down at him. "Where is she tonight?"

"What… she's in San Diego with her parents for the weekend. I-I thought…" he shakes his head, too drunk to process what's going on. "You sat on my lap! You let me - "

"I didn't, actually. We've known each other for years, Newton. I didn't think you were… that you wanted…"

I'm an awful, terrible person because I do know that's what he wanted. Mike Newton isn't a bad guy - a little slow sometimes, perhaps a bit of a meat head, but not a bad guy - and I'm playing him.

"Izzy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" he rushes, getting up and swaying on his feet. He puts a tentative hand on my shoulder. "We're friends, right? Shit, you're like… one of my best girlfriends." He stops, chokes a bit. "As in, girls that are friends. Friend-girls."

I smile and nod and let him pull me into a hug. I know Edward hasn't heard a word from all the way on the other side of the room. He'll see a small confrontation and this embrace, and make his own assumptions.

"Yeah, Mike. I'm your best friend-girl."

I'm not. When we graduate and go our separate ways, it'll be years before Mike ever even thinks of me. But he's drunk and sentimental, and saying things he doesn't mean. I've used him tonight, and this moment is the least I owe him.

"B, we've got to go."

Alice's voice is quick and deliberate, and I break away from Mike in a flash. She swallows and looks back to the couch - the now very empty couch.

"Where's Rose and Emmett?"

She shakes her head, eyes wide, and I don't need anything more. We're out of the room and in the front yard in moments, just in time to find Emmett holding Rosalie's hair back as she vomits into Mrs. Newton's azaleas.

"Damn it," I hiss. "What happened?"

"I don't know. One minute she was fine, we were sitting back on the couch and she was telling me about her last trip to Paris. The next, she…" Emmett clears his throat, rubbing her back as another wave hits. "She said she had to go, that she needed air. I brought her out here, and then… this happened."

"We need to get her out of here," Alice says, already pulling out her keys. "Shit… she can't go home, though. Bella?"

I shake my head. "Charlie. He'll be home tonight, he never misses…"

I can't finish the thought.

Alice swears, pacing along a sand-covered path. "You're right. My parents are home, too. I don't… we can get a hotel room?"

"She can come home with me."

Everything stops the moment Emmett speaks.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Em. Your parents…"

"Won't care. I hate to break it to you, little one, but the only ones that really care about this little family feud between the four of us are the Swans, the Brandons and the Hales," Emmett says, gathering Rosalie easily into his arms and scooping her up in one swift move. "Besides, I don't think it's physically possible for my parents to turn away anyone as sick as Rosie is. My Dad is a doctor, he can take a look at her."

"He's right," I sigh. "That's the best place she could be right now. Take her, Em. Just… let us know how she is, alright?"

"Of course, Bella-Bella," he grins, all dimples and kind blue eyes. He wraps his jacket just a bit tighter around Rosalie's body, and then they're gone.

My phone vibrates in my hand.

Where did you go?

Alice and I look at each other, and no works need to be spoken. We take off down the path, too weary to attempt going back to the party. My heart beats violent, begging me to turn back even as I type a quick reply.

Rosalie needed to leave. Your brother took her. Alice and I are heading out, too.

Alice's Mini starts with a quiet hum, and I sink into the seat with a bone-tired sigh.

Wait for me? I'll take you home.

I swallow around the bitter regret in my mouth.

I have something I've got to do, I'm sorry. Please be safe.

His reply makes my heart jump.

For you, always. I'll be missing you.


"Dad?"

The sound of the door shutting behind me echoes, bouncing off dark walls and polished hardwood flooring.

"Dad, are you here?"

The dull thudding of my boots is all that I can hear as I tread slowly, cautiously through this house that feels nothing like a home.

"Daddy?" I try once more, pushing open the door to his study.

Nothing.

'You get one of your presents every year at midnight, bug,' Dad smiled, setting me on his lap and tugging on my pigtail. 'Been that way since you were a baby.'

'Just one?' I'd pouted, gingerly ripping into wrapping paper the color of buttercups and sunshine.

'Don't get smart!' Dad said. 'Why, is there something else you'd like instead?'

I pursed my lips, wracking my brain for something. Finally, finally - I had it.

'Blueberry pancakes,' I'd nodded, absolutely certain. 'I want blueberry pancakes instead.'

Dad laughed and teased me about it, but eventually relented.

'Alright. Every year at midnight on your birthday, you'll get blueberry pancakes. Wanna shake on it?'

I held my little hand out and he wrapped it in his larger one, giving a small shake.

'You promise?'

'I promise, bug.'

Every year since then, without fail, Charlie had cooked up a big stack of blueberry pancakes with all the fixings. We'd sit at the kitchen table with two forks and a single glass of milk and devour the whole thing. I'd go to bed with a happy-full tummy and a smile.

Every year for ten years, without fail.

Until tonight.


I awake in the morning to Alice Brandon and cupcakes.

"A dozen Hummingbirds, straight from Magnolia's," she chirps, brushing back sleep-tangled hair from my face and kissing my cheek, right over the indent from my pillow. I peer up, taking in her sky blue sundress and the big box cupcakes poised in her arms.

"Who let you in?" I rasp, rubbing sleep from my eyes and sitting up against the headboard. I don't even think about how potentially gross it is that I'm eating before I brush my teeth, because banana-pineapple-pecan heaven is all that speaks to me.

I take a huge bite, unable to hold back my squeal of contentment.

"Clara," Alice sighs, and my bubble is burst.

My Dad isn't even home. My first inclination is to break down in tears. My second is to scream.

I do neither.

"Oh, alright," I smile, licking cream cheese icing from my fingers.

Alice isn't fooled in the slightest.

"B…"

"It's fine," I'm quick to reply, even though we both know I'm not. "Really."

But I try to be - I really, truly try to be. Alice assures me that Rosalie wishes she could've been here, but she's being carefully nursed back to health by Emmett. I don't mind, not really - Lord knows Rose has taken care of me more times than I'd care to admit. Clara offers to make us breakfast, omelettes or crepes or fruit and yogurt. Anything but pancakes.

I politely refuse, because all I want is sweets. I have three cupcakes before Alice has to forcibly pull the box from my hands, and when I tell her I want a piece of New York cheesecake with strawberry sauce, she gets the whole cake delivered for me. I have two full slices.

I'm binging. I'm aware enough to know that, at least. But if I stop for even a second - if I zone out in the middle of the third movie we've watched so far, or allow myself to think for just a moment whilst Alice paints my nails nude blush-pink - I'll break down.

She promises we'll do something this upcoming weekend - a party, bowling, swimming, whatever I want. She says all I have to do is say the word, and she'll take care of everything. I love her more and more by the second.

We alternate between my bed and the couch all morning and into the afternoon, and Alice runs her fingers through my hair and tells silly jokes and gives me the biggest, best and tightest cuddles she can. It's probably the nicest Band-Aid for my wounded heart I could've asked for, truly - her love sometimes makes me feel like I could burst. She's unconditional, my Alice, and I'm so happy to have her.

But sometimes a girl needs her Daddy.

Sometimes, though she's loathe to admit it… she needs her Mommy, too.

I wait in vain all day for something from either of them. I get a call from Rosalie, a series of messages from Mike, and I screen Jacob's calls. It isn't until Edward texts with a 'good morning, baby girl' that I realize I haven't even told him it's my birthday. Unless…

"Allie?"

"Hmm?" she says from the couch behind me, brushing out my still-damp and just-showered hair as I sit on the floor at her feet. We're in the middle of our fourth movie, 'Roman Holiday'. It's been oldies all day, at my request.

"Did you… tell Edward about today?"

She freezes.

"I didn't. Did you not?"

"I didn't."

"Do you… want me to?"

I shake my head vehemently. "No. I don't want him to think I'm even more of a mess than he already does."

Alice sighs, wrapping her arms around my neck and resting her chin on the top of my head.

"Why would he think that, B?"

I play with the thin diamond bracelet on her wrist as I answer, needing to fidget with something.

"He knows about rehab. He knows about… about the panic attacks - I've had two in front of him now. He's met Jacob. I just can't… I don't want to ruin this." Whatever this is...

"The only way you could is by not being honest with him."

She's right, I know she's right. But I'm irrational and crazy on the best of days, so why stop now?

"I'll tell him when I'm ready."

"Okay," she says, going back to brushing my hair, but I know she probably doesn't believe me.

That's okay… because I don't believe me, either.

Alice leaves just before Charlie gets home. He's earlier than I expected for a Monday, and I begin to hope.

"Why aren't you dressed yet?" he says, hands on his hips as he strides into the living room. I'm so confused, the first thing I do is apologize. He shakes his head. "Bella, we don't have time for this. You know we have to be there for seven o'clock," he grumbles, turning and striding from the room.

"Be where?" I call after him, jumping up and following like a fucking lost puppy. It isn't until he turns at the door to his study that I notice he's wearing a tuxedo.

Hope blooms again. Maybe he did remember? Are we going out?

"The Black's Charity Gala. We've known about this for months, Isabella. Go get ready, we can't let them down."

The Black's Charity Gala.

We can't let them down.

We've known about this for months.

'You've known about my birthday for, oh… about seventeen years?' I want to shout. 'What about letting me down? What about me?'

I say nothing. I turn, go upstairs, and pull the first dress I touch from my closet. I smooth my hair back into a loose chignon, brush on some mascara and powder. I slip on a pair of heels and tuck my phone into a little clutch.

I do not cry. I do not make a scene. It's halfway through the evening before I even realize where I am - I've gone through the motions for close to two hours, shaking hands and standing idly by whilst my father talks business and forgets I'm even there. I feel as if I'm walking in a dream.

I say nothing at all, and no one notices.


We're in some kind of ballroom and once the typically long and drawn-out dinner is over, they open two sets of double-doors and let the late September air in.

The dance floor begins to fill and I eye the doors, seeing my escape. I wonder... is there an area closed-off enough, no one will hear me if I scream?

I'm almost outside, the cool breeze just kissing my skin, when Jacob steps in front of me.

I nearly start shrieking right then and there.

His smile is cocky, his overly-cool countenance fake and derived. I can't hold myself back from comparing him to Edward.

Fuck, there is no comparison - none at all.

I push past him, and he lets me go. I'm in shock and a little bit of awe until I feel him at my back, his breath against my exposed neck.

"Happy birthday, Izzy."

I ignore him.

Jacob hates it when I ignore him.

He grasps my arm and pulls, tucking us away in a secluded corner. I still do not speak.

"What, are you upset that Daddy forgot?" he scoffs. "You shouldn't be. My Dad and I have him so wound up, he can't think of anything else but the business."

I should've known. There's been talk for a while of bringing the Black's into the fold, and I've heard it's been coming to a head. Apparently, friendship and loyalty means fuck all when there's millions of dollars at stake.

I'm silent. His face screws up into a twisted frown.

"What the fuck is with you tonight? You need to loosen up a bit, Izz," he grins. "In fact…"

A waiter passes by with a tray full of tall champagne flutes, bubbly golden liquid fizzing away. Jacob snaps his fingers and he stops so quickly, I'm afraid they'll all topple over.

"Mr. Black?" the young man says, his voice cracking. "I mean, sir…"

"Leave the tray," is all Jacob says.

"But, sir, I'm not supposed to - "

"Serve to minors? If you enjoy having a job, you'll leave the tray."

Jacob reaches into his wallet and pulls out a crisp Benjamin Franklin, tucking it conspicuously into the waiter's palm. With a small bow and a nod of his head, he places the tray on a small empty table just to the right of us before briskly taking his leave.

Jacob turns, raising both eyebrows and gesturing to the glasses with a flourish.

"Libations for the lady?"

Silence.

"If you're scared I'll tell Charlie, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

Even if you did, why would he care?

"Come on, Izzy. Live a little," he says, picking up a glass and holding it out to me.

I take it. He smiles. I drain it in three quick gulps.

If I'm going to Hell…


"Hello?"

"The stars are beautiful tonight, you know?"

"Jesus, Bella… I've been trying to reach you all day."

"I love the stars. Have you ever been to the Griffiths Observatory? I'd love to take you someday."

"The… what? Bella, are you okay?"

"I wish you were here right now. It's cold tonight, Edward. How silly is that? Los Angeles is never, ever cold but it's cold tonight of all nights. I'd ask you for a hug if you were with me. Would you give me one?"

"Baby, where are you?"

"Oh no, no, no. You can't come here. Jacob is here, and he'll be very angry if you do."

"Jacob is… fuck. Isabella, where are you?"

I flinch, squeezing my eyes shut tight, tight, tight.

"Don't call me that!" I yell, and my voice echoes out into the night.

Static, and his heavy breathing. I take another sip of champagne, and it just tastes like sugar water now - one glass after another, after another. I stopped tasting the alcohol after my fifth one.

"Bella… what are you doing with Jacob Black?"

"It's my birthday today, Edward. Did you know that?" I say and God, my tongue is heavy. I giggle and let out a little snort, because… "No, you didn't, silly me. I never even told you."

He swallows roughly, and I can hear it. It makes my skin tingle.

"It's your birthday?"

"Mhm," I hum, leaning back against a railing and taking another long sip. Sugar water, bubbly sugar water. "I'm the big one-seven. Seventeen… see, that sounds better, doesn't it? Older? Will you kiss me in front of our friends now, Edward?"

"Bella…"

"No, no, you won't. It's okay, I understand," I say, then I hiccup and shake my head. It makes me feel like I'm spinning, spinning, spinning so I do it again. "No, I don't, actually. I want to kiss you all the time, and I don't care who's watching. I'd kiss you right now if you were here."

"And where is here, love?"

"Uh, uh!" I say, wagging my finger even though he can't see it. "Who's a sneak-baby now, huh? Trying to figure out where I am…"

"Bella, why are you with Jacob? Where are Alice and Rosalie? Where's your father?"

I snort loudly.

"My father…" I say, and my tongue feels like it's coated in venom. "My father forgot it was even my birthday. Seventeen years, and he chooses today of all days to forget I exist."

He sighs, shaky-rough, and I polish off the rest of my champagne.

"Oh, Bella… I'm sure he didn't forget."

"He did," I hiccup again. "I knew he would when we didn't have pancakes last night. Every year… every fucking year, Edward, since my sixth birthday, we've had blueberry pancakes at midnight. That's why I had to leave you last night. I didn't want to, but I thought… I thought my Daddy would be there when I got home and he wasn't."

He sniffs and something in my chest lurches so painfully, I stumble. I land on my backside on the cool tile below me, resting back against wrought iron fencing. Bushes brush against my back and neck and arms, and everything smells like roses.

"And you know what… you know what really fucking gets me, Edward? What really makes my… makes my heart just ache?" I choke, and my cheeks are wet. I press a hand against my chest, right over where it beats.

"What, baby?" he rasps, his voice broken.

"He remembered that today was this stupid fucking charity gala… for the Black's. He told me we've known about it for months, and I should've remembered. He was upset when he came home and I wasn't dressed already."

"Fuck, Bella. I'm so sorry."

My chest is so, so tight and it feels like there isn't enough air in the entire world for my lungs. I gasp and wipe roughly at my face.

"I love it when you say that," I breathe. "You say it after we kiss sometimes. And I love when you call me baby. I love the way you taste, the way you smell, how you feel…"

"Hey, listen to me. I need… I need you to tell me where you are. You're in trouble right now, sweetheart. I have to help you."

"I think I'm obsessed with you, Edward Cullen," I sigh, smiling up at the sky. I wasn't lying when I said the stars are nice tonight. They'll never be as big and bright and beautiful as they are back in Forks, but they're still so pretty. "I never want to kiss anyone else for the rest of my life but you."

"I want that, too."

I sniff, wiping my nose with the back of my wrist.

"Isn't it so funny, then…" I swallow, bile rising quickly at what I have to tell him. "Isn't it funny that… that I'm saying that, but someone else kissed me tonight?"

"What?" he snaps, and oh God… I love it when he's angry. "Who… fuck, don't answer that. I already know."

"He was being so nice to me. I was on my third… no, fourth… no, no, I think it was my fifth glass of champagne, and he was letting me talk about you and Charlie… and my Mom. He knows all about her, you know? We were just talking and drinking, and he was making me laugh, and then… and then he leaned over, and he kissed me."

"Motherfucker," he growls. "Are you drunk right now? Is that why you sound like this?"

"I think I am… I know I am. Are you angry with me? Please don't be mad. I was just so sad…"

"I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at… son of a bitch. He got you drunk and then he kissed you. Don't you see how fucked up that is?"

"I know, I know. I walked away, though. I told him I only want you, but he said I was being foolish. He said that you're ashamed of me, that's why you won't kiss me in front of anyone else. Is that true, Edward?"

"No, it's not. Of course it's not, Bella."

"So, why won't you, then?"

"It's not that simple."

"It is, though! I didn't like seeing those girls all over you last night. If they knew you were mine, they wouldn't be."

"I am yours, can't you see? It's fucking… impossible and crazy, but I am. We don't need anyone else to see it to make it true."

"Yes, we do. I've never… I've never had a real boyfriend, you know? I know you'd be a good one, though."

"I'd be the best, baby. I still can be. We just can't tell - "

"You know what? Forget it. Forget I said anything," I say, my voice thin and wow, there really is no air out here tonight. "I have to go. I have to… I need to find Jacob."

"No! No, don't - "

"It's okay. You don't want me right now, and that's fine. I can wait."

"That's not… Bella, please."

"When's your birthday, Edward?"

"Bella…"

"When is it? Tell me."

A long pause, and I think he's hung up. I check. He hasn't, so I wait.

"June 20th."

"June 20th... I swear, I'll always remember. I'll never, ever forget it."

He whimpers and hot, fat tears stream in rivulets down my cheeks.

"Please tell me where you are. I can't... I can't..."

The stars twinkle like so many diamonds, and I wish I could just float away. I'd take him with me, though. I don't want to be anywhere he's not.

"I have to go, but I'll see you soon. Don't worry about me, okay? I'll be fine."

I hang up and the cold ground calls to me, my overheated skin begging for relief. I curl up tight and dream of constellations - Geminis and Virgos, my blazing-bright boy and me.


yikes... don't be mad? full disclosure: i cried whilst writing the pancakes scene, because i'm an emotional mess.

first and foremost - the response to last chapter was just... unbelievable. thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reviewed and pm'd me. you're all angels, and i'd eat blueberry pancakes at midnight with each and every one of you. mwah.

this week's fic rec is an old fave: 'my sweet variable' by lifeinthesnow. you want mystery, intrigue and romance all wrapped up in a quasi-dystopian bow? an uber-intelligent edward and bella that will completely knock your socks off? a super-solid plot and heart-achingly powerful love story that will make you cry (i promise)? you got it, dude. (fun fact: i don't actually like 'full house') this is a fic that will leave you wondering how in the hell it hasn't been published as a full-fledged novel. try it, i know you'll love it.

until next time, you can catch me on twitter where i flit around talking about coffee and rob and ice cream. (haagen-dazs and i had an interesting conversation the other day - yes, the actual verified haagen-dazs twitter... i don't even know). i'm also on tumblr, where i answer your questions, post story aesthetics and inspo and (gasp!) sometimes talk about my next upcoming wip. i'm bellaofthebarre on both. xx - b

chapter 5 mixtape:
track 1 - 'disarm' by the smashing pumpkins
track 2 - 'high' by sir sly (the party scene)
track 3 - 'sugar water' by cibo matto