A/N- i'm so sorry this has taken me so long to update :( this chapter was a struggle. i only hope you all like it :)

once again your reviews are fantastic. i try to reply to each and every one because they mean that much to me.

my fabulous beta sah has gone above and beyond this time around. talking me down and setting me straight in addition to her usual spelling/grammar duties. couldn't do this without her. *love*

the fantastic erica_lopezy has made a playlist for the story. i'm going to post a link in my profile for anyone who is interested. (and you should be its AMAZING)

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Saying and doing are such different realities. It's one thing for me to say that I can mold my feelings for Edward around my sister's preference. To insist internally that now, even though they are no longer together, there is still reason for me to stay away, to resist. But all those triggers that used to bring me a prick of pain, now light a fire of curiosity. I've finally let myself consider the possibilities.

Before, I forced myself to forget all the looks and touches. But now, I'm analyzing all of them. Searching for meaning, for an answer. With Emma back in Chicago, the distance allows me to wonder.

"You're going to do permanent damage to the counter top if you don't stop," Jessica warns. I still my hands and look down at where the tip of my pen has worn through the paper and is now creating meaningless patterns on the wood. I groan and let my head fall forward.

"Take this away from me," I insist, shoving the pen into her hands. She rolls her eyes and pushes it into her back pocket. Jessica hovers around me, waiting for me to send her home, but I need her here. I need the distraction from my thoughts. I don't even want to know what would happen if I were left to my own devices.

Suddenly, I'm picturing Edward's name spelled out in daisies. This has to stop.

"Jess, watch the front of the shop for me?" I ask. I don't wait to see the look of disappointment that I'm sure is written across her face. Maybe I'll send her flowers to make up for it. A chuckle slips out at the thought.

My body slumps into my desk chair and everything slows down for just a moment. Any hopethat things would be better once Emma and Edward broke up is now a foolish memory. If anything, the possibility is worse than the complete impossibility. At least then there was a sure answer. Now, who knows?

Every part of me hums with the need to release this feeling, these pent up emotions. My fingers grasp a pencil like it's the answer. I press it to a blank sheet of computer paper and watch as it fills with ahalf legible scrawl. It's therapeutic, the words coming without thought or force.

My hand slows and I feel lighter. I fight the urge to read over the words. The feelings are still too raw to relive.

"Everything's all locked up, I'm going to go unless you need me….."

My head pops up at the sound of Jessica's voice. I may just be the worst boss of all time. My smile comes more naturally than I thought it would, the release making everything easier.

"Yeah, of course. Why don't you take tomorrow off Jess?" I offer. It's a small penance. She lights up and nods vigorously.

Once she's gone and I'm left alone with my words, the urge to read them creeps up again. My fingers start tracing the paper, feeling for the spots where the pencil pressed hard enough to cause a ripple. And then my eyes follow.

Each word is given its moment. I read it again and again. The feelings well up from the page.

'Edward,

I realize that I should probably start with small talk and ask you questions that I've been taught are polite, but forgive me for skipping all of that.

I'm not sure what to say, mostly because I'm not sure what you're thinking. There are a few things I know.

I know that you have fantastic taste in music. I know that you somehow get the incredible irony in the Twilight Zone. I know that when you came to see me, I wanted you to hold my hand.

I would say I'm sorry for keeping you at arm's length, but I'm not. I had to do it. You were pulling bricks from my wall faster than I could put them back up, and I wasn't ready for that, for you.

But I wanted to let you. I wanted to watch days of Twilight Zone with you, wanted to hear your opinions on all my favorite songs, wanted to keep you around until you were etched into every part of me.

This is coming out all wrong. I don't know how to write something like this, how to put these feelings to words. It's either sounding like too much, or not enough.

But, there was always Emma. And there still is Emma.

But in this moment, I don't care.

This letter might be late, it might even be unwelcomed, but I had to write it. I couldn't hold all this in anymore. And after finding out, that you're no longer tied to her, I thought maybe….

If you still want to share headphones and watch late night TV, I'm in.

What do you say?

Bella'

The words feel final, even in their imperfection. Before I can overanalyze, or talk myself out of it, I fold the letter into thirds and shove it into an envelope.

There's a rush associated with the letter. It moves through me, giving me energy I didn't know I had. Now that my mind is set, I'm working on the finishing details. I promised him a mix CD.

I flip through my musical library in my head, picking songs that tell him more than just 'we're from Seattle'. Modest Mouse, Sunny Day Real Estate, Band of Horses and The Decembrists make the cut. I even add a little Death Cab For Cutie, for pure sentimental and obvious reasons.

There's momentary bump in my plan and confidence when I realize I have no idea where to send this. A quick call to 411 and I've scribbled his address to the envelope.

It's almost midnight when I stand in front of the mailbox, a manila envelope clutched in my hands. All the doubt that had been held at bay throughout my morning slams into me like a freight truck.

My fingers dig into the thick paper and almost press straight through. The reasons I shouldn't be doing this invade my mind and I gasp for air. The last of my bravery fights through and I quickly shove the package into the box, far from my twitching fingers.

I stand there for a long time, waiting for my battling emotions to declare a victor, but in the end, I feel numb. Emotionally exhausted.

As I trudge back towards my apartment, the emotion winning out is relief. A weight lifted from not being pressed down by guilt or obligation any longer.

And now, all I can do is wait.

The first week…

Two events this week. Not sure why anyone would ever willingly use baby's breath.

Mail takes time. Sometimes too long. Maybe I should have used email. Or not have written at all.

The second week…

Am actively avoiding all songs and bands on the CD I sent. Even resorted to letting Jessica control the music in the store. Will never be able to listen to Taylor Swift ever again.

What kind of response did I really expect?

This is the answer to the question people are always asking me. Why don't you put yourself out there? Take a risk?

Because it's not in who I am. And now….now I'm wishing I had listened to my common sense.

The fourth week…

Why must everyone get married in the spring? Am set on never having a spring wedding. Jessica is in love with every groom.

I guess the answer could have been no. I didn't know that this is what rejection felt like. Kind of like being really hungry and never getting full…

The sixth week…

I stare in into the filling bathtub and my muscles call out for the hot water. Business is getting better, being busy is fantastic for keeping my mind off things. And yet, my mind won't leave certain 'things' alone.

This is the breaking point. Now I have to admit that he's not going to respond. Not by mail, or email, or phone, or any other way my overactive imagination can devise. It should serve as a sense of closure. But I can't cut my attachment to it.

Once again, I am taking out my feelings on my sister. It's hard to talk to someone he wanted, even if only briefly, knowing he doesn't want me. My old friend jealousy has taken to whispering in my ear and has convinced me that texting is just as good as answering my phone. Even though I know that's not true.

I sink lower into my bathtub, trying fruitlessly to disappear for just a moment. Maybe the bubbles can shield me from the ache of rejection. Today was the first day in over a month I didn't wait for the mailman to come. That will be considered my first step.

Can't think about the next step. Not quite ready for that.

I linger in the water until it starts to chill. When I step out and pull the drain, I watch the water swirl away and try to make my hopes go with it. But they cling and hold on. I slide into my bed, my robe still on.

I stare at the stark ceiling and wait for it to pass. Like it would be that easy. I start considering methods of erasing him when my phone lights up. The tiny picture shows Emma, her lips pressed into an exaggerated pucker. The little green monster on my shoulder tells me to roll over, but I pick it up, eager for comfort, distraction, anything.

"Hello?" I should have cleared my throat, taken a drink of water, something to help disguise the sadness in my voice.

"What's wrong?" Emma asks immediately. And this is why she holds the place in my heart that she does. Who else can read my mood from a single word, a brief inflection?

The concern in her voice finally summons the tears I was holding back and I instantly feel silly. Who cries over something that never really existed to begin with?

"Nothing," I sniffle. I don't know why I'm denying it.

"Don't give me that. I had the day from hell and I will not pretend that you're not crying. Who do I need to hunt down?" Emma demands. I laugh through a sob.

I'm torn. I want to tell her, want to share this feeling with someone else in the hopes that it will lessen the ache, but I don't know how she will react.

"It's no one's fault. I did something stupid and I thought it would turn out better," I sigh brokenly. Apparently, I've decided to tell her. My body tenses in anticipation, wanting to protect the information, the memories.

"Bella," she warns. I choke on the final resistance.

"I wrote Edward a letter," I blurt. Not really a starting point, but it's what falls from my mouth nonetheless. I pick at the edge of my quilt.

"Why would you do that?" Emma asks. There's no accusation in her voice, no anger, just curiosity.

"You know how you kept telling me how much I would like Edward, how alike we were?" I press. Her words roll through my mind like I summoned them. All the references to our mutual likes, the insistence that we would get along.

"Yeah. You two have freakishly similar taste in odd things," she answers simply. I bristle, looking for her anger, but it's not there. Her words are brisk, like she's waiting for the other shoe to fall. Waiting for me to tell her more.

"Well, you were right," I admit. It's probably too little, doesn't cover the extent of my feelings, the grandeur of my potential betrayal. Emma is quiet for a while.

"Ok. So you're friends? And you wrote him a letter? Why the hell does that have anything to do with you crying B?" she rambles. I wish I could just show her, project my memories up on a wall and let her see it, rather than pulling it out like this. I can hear the panic in her voice. Partly caused by the fact that I'm still blubbering and partly because she doesn't understand what I'm saying.

"We were never really friends. Not that he didn't try to be nice. He was always so nice," I begin. The last thing I want is for him to look bad. None of this is his fault. He wasn't the one with the ties.

"I wrote him a letter because I was hoping that maybe we could be something more than friends. That maybe all those things we had in common were enough to make him look at me differently," I sigh. I want the best of both worlds. I want to keep my sister and help her understand what I felt, what I was feeling.

Emma's breathing is a little more pronounced now, coming through the phone like small gusts of wind. It's the sound of her anger gearing up. The noise her emotion makes when she's trying to hold it in.

"You wanted to be with him. You wrote him to ask if he wanted to be with you," she clarifies slowly. Her words hit me solidly, pushing me back into my bed impossibly further. It's like she's trying to convince herself of the truth of her words rather than me.

"Yeah," I admit. There's no use in mincing words or trying to deny what is so clearly the simple truth. The silence between us stretches on for so long, I have to check my phone to make sure she didn't hang up.

My heart hammers in my chest. If she is angry, hurt, upset, anything, I can't argue with that. This is what I wanted to avoid. But I can't hide it any longer.

"I don't know what to say," she finally breathes. I swallow the lump in my throat, grateful that she's listened this long. I can feel myself losing her, feel her pulling away. The words pulse through me, anxious to make her understand, to explain.

"I didn't do anything, even say anything, while you were together. I swear, I would never even think about doing that to you, but when he was around I just felt….God this is hard to explain," I grasp for the words. "He made me feel like I was the most interesting person he'd ever met, like he genuinely wanted nothing more than to be around me."

My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips. This is why I never brought it up. My words don't feel adequate enough to heal a betrayal. I'm hoping that's not what this is. Her silence is my only answer once again.

This is what I deserve. If she wants to get angry she can, I'll take her anger and ask for more. But, if she could understand, forgive….it's too much to ask.

"So, you really like him," Emma concludes. I nod even though I know she can't see me. The anger has receded from her voice a bit. My fingers clutch at the blanket below me, my knuckles white from the anticipation.

"And you wrote him a letter. And he didn't answer," she finishes. The tears well up again. Hearing it from another person just makes it all the more real.

"Basically," I stammer. Again, the silence. I should have just told her when she was home. This would be so much easier if I could see her face, make her see mine. Even better if we were in our childhood hiding place.

"I understand if you're mad Em. I should have never even let the thought enter my mind. I should have kept it to myself. I'm so sorry. And I won't contact him again, won't try again. I promise," I state firmly. No reason to repeat the same mistake again. I can fix this between us, salvage something from this mess.

She sighs, filling the silence briefly.

"You're right, you should have, but God B. I wish I had known," she says. My whole body goes on alert. These words don't fall under the expected category of anger. I hear defeat and possibly, a small bit of understanding?

"Known what? That I was pining after your boyfriend? That I broke the ultimate sister code?" I ask. Maybe joking will make this go down easier. She laughs, but it's hollow. I take it as a good sign nonetheless.

"That you felt that way about him. The things you said, that's not just a crush Bella. That's, that's something more," she breathes. Hope slips into my mind, I hold it back, scared of what it could mean.

"It didn't matter, doesn't matter. I should have just treated him like all your other boyfriends. It's my fault," I insist. I made my mistake and I will take the penance. She groans and I can hear her frustration.

"The reason I was drawn to Edward was because he reminded me so much of you. It was like having a little piece of you with me, even though you were so far away," she begins. I knew this, at least in a sense. I stay quiet, feeling her impending words coming.

"We talked about you a lot. I would tell him stories about you and your shop and your music and he would always ask for more. It was easy to talk about you, you're my most favorite person," she chuckles lightly, and the sound ushers the hope in even further, offering it a seat.

"He all but asked to come home with me for Christmas. Not that I minded. He was never anything but sweet and caring and fun. Just like you. So I brought him."

There's a pause and I try to process everything she is saying. I can hear her mind working, putting things together, categorizing.

"It wasn't long after that that I realized we really didn't have much to talk about outside of you. And then I started seeing all the things that didn't remind me of you, and I wasn't so attached to those parts."

"He should have written you back Bella," she states firmly. This time, I don't fight the sob. I can't have it all, it's not logical. Why would she let me have him? After what I did?

"No, I should have just left it alone," I stand firm.

"Don't be such a martyr. You could have told me. Especially after I told you about Andrew. Not that I would have thrown you a party, but I know you Bella. And I know that what you fee lwas important," she offers. The tears slide down my cheeks uninterrupted.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I sent him a letter and a mix CD and he just didn't reply. That's a pretty solid no I think," I state. Her blessing, while unexpected, doesn't change the outcome.

"Oh Bella, if you sent him a mix CD and he didn't respond, he's a bigger idiot than I could have ever imagined. Your mix CD's are the stuff legends are made of," she assures me. And I actually smile. At least I came out of this with my sister and best friend in tact. No losses. That has to count for something.

"I don't want to talk about him anymore Em. Tell me about Andrew," I plead. She pauses for a moment and then peppers me with cute stories and antidotes. Their budding, real romance both tugs and appeases me.

She talks until my yawns become so loud she can hear them on the other end of the phone. We hang up, unbroken by my admission, and I choose to see that as a victory. I shouldn't really be surprised. She's my sister, my best friend. Of course she would take my side, hear me out. That's what you do for people you love.

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so? let me know....

and if anyone is interested in the mix CD bella made edward...i can send you the list....