Dear Friends,

THANK YOU to all of you who have borne witness to my transition this past fall and winter from married and mildly complacent middle-aged woman to single and scared *#!+-less middle-aged woman… it wasn't pretty, but hopefully it will make my life more useful to others and more meaningful to me in the long run. It certainly has made my life more interesting!

I am grateful not just for the amorphous (and perhaps misleading, or at least transitory—but that's okay) sense of companionship that comes from posting private thoughts in a public forum, but for the intelligence, caring and compassion in the words of readers reacting to my stories, and sometimes to my own life's story too. Internet intimacy is a curious beast, but this I know for certain: I am better and stronger today than I would be without you, whoever you are. If there is a way I could help you be better and stronger too, I hope you'll tell me.

Meanwhile, I look forward to continued conversation with whomever's willing, and I count as many blessings all those who have taken the time and effort to support me in word and action on here.

And to those who have tolerated all the bold type getting in the way of their fanfic reading, I truly am sorry for your inconvenience, even though I can't bring myself to be sorry for posting like this. Just so you know, I do realize I am a big fat weirdo, and am only getting bigger, and fatter, and definitely more weird. But I hope the fact that I'm okay with that, as bizarre as that may seem to you now, may someday echo in your own mind when you're deciding whether to hate yourself or not for failing to meet society's expectations for you, or your own expectations for yourself. As hard as it may be to see it sometimes, there truly is a loving choice awaiting us even in miserable circumstances, even in our worst fears, even in our shame—it's just that sometimes it takes much effort, time and failure to see the choice, let alone to make it. And then to make it again. And again. And again.

There's an old Tori Amos song quote in this chapter, one that makes me laugh as I remember how I used to sing it to my roommate when I returned from the shower and was getting ready in the morning (or afternoon—ah, college living). If she didn't know before that she was living with an emotional 4-year-old, she figured it out fast then I'm sure. Luckily, she loved me anyway ;).

Much love to you too. I know this chapter is short and painful, but I'm writing Edward's next and I think his will move us along a bit—although we'll probably have to tolerate at least one more chapter of pure Bella misery and self-hatred. Ugh, that is so hard to write! I'll try to post faster, and I'm sorry for the maple syrup quality of my output. You know, lots and lots of sap that takes forever to drain out and then has to be boiled for a long time before ending up with a small quantity of sweet stuff. I hope it's sweet anyway; it would suck to go to all that effort just to find out I'd tapped a rancid tree!

On the other hand, I'm sure we'd figure out something else to do with it. Like maybe fixing the leak in my car tire, or creating a new formula for facial wax. (See? I knew there was a reason I'm growing out my mustache besides sheer lack of time and money. It's for research purposes. Maybe I should make a t-shirt: "That's not a mustache-it's a public service. You're welcome.")

Speaking of public services, all hail Stephenie Meyer, Queen of Twilight and great benefactor of many a middle-aged American woman. May all her facial hair be invisible, and all her sap be syrup of the sweetest kind.

XxXxXxX

It was the strangest feeling, watching Edward Masen descend on me, then against all probability and rational thought cheerfully sitting down next to me and informing me I had to "choose" whether to leave with him right away, or stay for class and leave with him later. If anyone had told me such a thing would happen, that it even could happen, I wouldn't have believed them of course—but then I also would have assumed that if it did happen, as impossible as it seemed, that it would make me really happy. Like float off the ground, smile from ear-to-ear ecstatically happy.

So I was surprised to find that when the impossible indeed happened, and Edward Masen tracked me down in math class and cornered me—in a highly public and embarrassing manner—like the big brother, or rather the overprotective cousin, he had promised to be to me, the main feeling that surged through me wasn't happiness, or even relief: it was anger. Followed closely by fear.

I stared up at him, speechless with horror at the public spectacle we were making. That he was making, going to extreme lengths to shape my behavior not because he cared about me, but because of Alice. He was doing this for Alice.

I had felt the stares of other students in class as Edward entered the classroom and slid into the seat next to me, and I could sense their continuing wonder at what someone like him was doing wasting time with someone like me. "I know!" I wanted to scream out to everyone around me. "I know I don't belong with him; I don't belong to him; I don't belong! I didn't ask for this, I swear!"

But instead I remained silent, my mouth hanging slightly open, my eyes rising just enough to take in Edward's expression as he continued to look knowingly at me, a warm smile on his face, his green eyes alight as he waited for my answer. Seeing this made me nauseous, and I quickly dropped my head to stare once more at my open notebook, absolutely speechless. And terrified.

In addition to the fearful variants of further public humiliation and private shame that I anticipated, I became afraid I would be sick right on my desk, the nausea having escalated to swallowing back bile. Thus the urge to flee became more desperate, and I could feel my body teetering on the edge of movement as inside I screamed at myself to Just move, you idiot! Just excuse yourself and go to the bathroom and don't come back in! Just get out of there—

But then the professor walked in, the sharp-tongued, judgmental and extremely frightening professor, and as I vaguely heard Edward's voice saying something I realized I was trapped-at least for the next 50 minutes.

There was some small emotional relief in having the burden of immediate decision-making taken away from me by Prof. Varner's entrance, so in a couple minutes I was able to stop panicking and start work on focusing on my breathing and ignoring everything else. When I had managed to make myself unaware of anything other than the professor in the front of the room and the notebook in front of me, I scribbled like mad, catching up on the whiteboard notes until I was recording as he was writing.

I wasn't actually understanding a thing he said, or a thing I wrote, so it took me a while to realize that he was concluding the day's lesson and starting in on the homework assignment from the day before.

Then, to my horror, I heard with all too much clarity the words, "You there; in the back. Let's see if you did your homework this time," while he stared at me with a gleeful sort of aggression that made we want to cower and cry.

I had forgotten all about Edward in that moment of anxiety, and so jumped in my seat when his voice rose from the seat next to me and—and—and told the professor off! I was even more horrified than I had been before class, so I turned towards Edward, trying to think of something to say, some expressive look to give him, that would communicate my urgent desire for him not to intervene on my behalf, not to draw any more attention to me, not to get me in trouble! But he was oblivious to this urgent desire, as well as to my need to melt into the seat and fade away into the background, because after a terse exchange with the professor, he was turning to me and telling me we were leaving the class. In front of everyone. In front of the professor!

I was incredulous, and the only thing that allowed me to move at all was the absolute authority in Edward's voice as he spoke to me, and the unapologetic command in his eyes as he raised his eyebrows at me and inclined his head and ordered me with his very being to get moving. So I obeyed, of course.

I even put my arms in the jacket he had pulled off of the back of my seat and was holding out for me, not thinking until later how much I must have looked like a child, doing what her father told her to. As I realized this, the shame cut though me like a red hot knife, no less because I realized as well how much I wanted to be his child, to be treated like that always.

Well, not his child exactly. But something, something precious and important to him. And something he dearly wanted to keep safe, safe for its own sake—for my sake, not just for the good of his cousin.

But what he had been doing now, in my math class, speaking rudely to my professor; it wasn't safe at all. I watched the professor's face go white with rage before I had to cast my eyes down; I saw the other students' surprised and shocked faces as my eyes fled the front of the classroom, and I sunk further inside in shame and embarrassment, realizing that somehow, this was all my fault. Always, always: all my fault.

Somehow, my ears burning with shame and my eyes burning with the tears I was desperately holding back, I moved my body out of the classroom. Edward's hand was heavy on my lower back all the while, nudging me, guiding me through the maze of desks for what seemed like a silent eternity. Finally, I could see the dark and blessedly anonymous hallway ahead of me as Edward opened the door and shepherded me out.

I found as I crossed the threshold that I was holding my breath, and had been for some time. So as Edward closed the door behind us with a decisive click, my whole body caved on a relieved exhalation.

Next I instinctively crouched to the floor, my arms coming up to cover my head, Edward's hand finally evaded. I was both pleased and panicked to have that commanding hand off of my body.

Likewise I was both angry and ecstatic to feel his hands—both of them—descend on me again, this time closing around my hips as he bent over me, inquiring in a worried tone whether I was alright. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry in response to that question, so I did both, sounding as crazy as I felt in that moment I'm sure.

Edward made shushing sounds, and didn't seem at all surprised or upset by how I was acting—at least not so as I could see it through my tears. He had crouched down next to me, and had one of his comfortingly-large hands running up and down my hunched-over back while the other one came to rest on the back of my head. That seemed a little strange; his hand was heavy, and my neck started to hurt just a bit from the effort of holding up the extra weight.

It was oddly reassuring too, though, and after a moment's panic when he withdrew his hand as my head rose up, I knew relief when his hand returned to my body, this time circling my waist and drawing me, with a firm grip around my hipbone, into his embrace.

His other arm then moved to slide under the backs of my thighs and catch me right behind the knees, as if he were about to pick me up. Panicked by the intimacy of his touch, and by the humiliating-if-also-intoxicating idea of being carried—on campus, no less!—as if I were a baby, I rose quickly, pulling entirely away from Edward Masen's body.

In the next heartbeat, he rose too, beating me to picking up the backpack he had carried out of the classroom—my backpack—and slinging it over his shoulder as he said, cheerfully, "All right then, home we go."

I was frozen in place again, but Edward solved that by grabbing me firmly by the elbow as he strode by me, and unceremoniously towing me down the hall. I stumbled after him, having to almost-jog in order to keep up with his long stride. He stopped when he came to the old cement staircase up to the main floor, pausing for me to catch up to him, then transferring my elbow from one hand to another while the arm nearest me wrapped about my waist.

"Easy, now," he said in a quiet, serious tone as he half-lifted me up the first step. I was undone by the intensity of his focus on me, so of course I tripped.

It didn't matter; he just tightened his arm around me and righted me before I had so much as dipped my head. Holding me still on the second step up for a moment, he leaned his cheek down and pressed against the top of my head, saying "Shhhh, take it slowly, sweetheart. I've got you. I'm right here."

Hearing those words now, words of safety the like of which I'd been so desperate to hear for as long as I could remember, even knowing that he didn't really mean them—that they were just kind nothings he was throwing away on the friend of his sister in order to alter my behavior so it better fit the Cullens' lives and expectations—still, having those words wash over me broke down the last resistance of my wounded pride, obliterated the last remnants of my feeble self-respect. I was now absolutely defenseless, standing naked before him (metaphorically-speaking) with nothing to fight him with and nowhere to turn.

As I surrendered, I started to sob. Great, heaving sobs that soon left me blind with tears and deaf from the guttural noises I was making. He said some things; I don't know what. I do remember the tipping feeling as my head fell back when he scooped me up in his arms, cradling me against him the way he had begun in the hallway outside the classroom a short time before.

Now beyond humiliation, my reaction was simply to hide—and since he had me firmly clasped in his arms, it was his body I hid in, and on. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I turned into his chest and buried my face there, tilting my head in order to breathe but making sure to pull my arms tight enough around my face that I couldn't see or hear the world around me. The pulsing of my blood and the heaving of my sobs helped with that too, as did the pounding of Edward's own heart. I didn't think about it then, but I suppose he must have been exerting himself greatly to carry me up the stairs of the building, and then down the outside steps as well and all the way back to Jasper's car.

I didn't know Jasper was anywhere around until Edward was settling me in the front seat of the red car I'd seen Jasper pick Alice up in the week before, when they went for coffee on their first date. It wasn't supposed to have been a date; Alice had sworn they were just studying—they shared a Mass Media & Communications class, and were already excitedly plotting out their midterm project together.

It took me a minute to recognize the car from the inside, but I was helped along when I looked up and saw Jasper smiling gently down at me, concern in his eyes, from the driver's seat. Instantly, the humiliation was back, and my face flamed as my head dropped for the countless time in the past few minutes. Blinking back more tears (my sobs had dissipated with the soothing motion of Edward's gait across campus, paired with the simultaneous movement of one of his hands up and down my back), I managed to stutter, "Hi, Jasper."

He said warmly back, "Hello, Miss Bella," then turned the car engine over and backed out of his parking spot with nothing more being said. I wasn't one hundred percent certain that Edward was in the car, and couldn't gather the courage to turn around and look, though part of me thought it had registered the sound of the backseat door opening and closing a few moments before.

Edward's presence was confirmed one heartbeat later when he said, calmly and cheerfully, "Straight to the girls' apartment, if you would please, Jasper."

"Whatever you say, boss," was Jasper's quick and easy reply.

Edward laughed lightly in the backseat, and that was the end of the conversation. It was a very long ride home, in which I felt every turn and braking and acceleration with an unusual intensity, and in which I kept waiting, breath bated, waiting to see and to hear what would happen next.

Nothing at all happened that I could tell beyond Jasper's careful use of turn signals until he parked the car once more, and turned off the engine. There was a heavy moment then when we all sat quietly, the weight of anticipation bearing down on me and seemingly everyone else in the car too.

It was broken by the loud squeak of the back passenger door opening, making me jump, and then slamming shut, making me jump again.

I looked up at Jasper, who remained curiously unmoving in the front seat, his seat belt off but his body angled towards me rather than starting out his door. "Thank you, Jas-" I began, but was interrupted by the sound of my own door opening.

I turned to see who was there, and was not surprised to come face to face with Edward for the brief moment I could maintain eye contact with him. He laughed, a deep low rumble, as my head dropped again, then reached across me and unbuckled the seat belt he'd fastened earlier. I froze as his hand invaded my space, relaxing a little as it pulled back, returning the buckle carefully to its place beside my head.

Then his hand moved across me again, grabbing me at the hip, and I squeaked. He made no response but started to rub circles against my hip with his thumb.

A few more moments passed before he said, "Isabella. Look at me."

I lifted my eyes briefly but let them drop again quickly. He still rewarded my automatic attempt to do what he asked with a "Good girl," and I moaned, then bit my lip in shame.

My eyes welling with hot tears, Edward leaned in so I could feel his breath on my face and said in the most matter-of-fact tone, "There are two possibilities here, Isabella. One is you get out of the car now and walk up to the apartment with me and climb into bed until lunch. Two is I carry you out of the car now and upstairs to the apartment and put you in bed until lunch. You pick."

Beginning to feel as if I must either start screaming and shoving my way out of the car and run so far away from the situation that Edward Masen could never find me or go stark raving mad, I trembled with the tension of the moment but said nothing, merely biting my lip as I waited for the earth to open up and swallow me or God to lean down from His heaven and say, "Just joking."

Neither happened, although to my speechless wonder Edward did follow through on his implied threat; his promised involvement; his natural consequence to my unwillingness to choose. I knew he was treating me like a recalcitrant toddler again, and I knew I should be insulted, even outraged. Instead, all I could think about was how much it would hurt when he left me, his job done, myself returned to the apartment I was supposed to be living in with his cousin.

There was no doubt but that I would leave again as soon as his back was turned; his actions of the morning only underscored how incompatible I was with Edward and Alice's lifestyle. In his kindness, he was breaking me more completely and thoroughly than disregard and unkindness ever could have managed; in his forceful caretaking he was absolutely ensuring my immediate departure from his sphere of influence, no matter how desperately I longed for exactly what he was doing. In highlighting my need, he had made living without the affection I yearned for impossible—so I had to get out of here and someplace where the difference between what I wanted and what I had any right to expect was not so glaring, and where I would not be so painfully reminded of it on a daily basis.

I thought briefly of the room I had arranged at the motel, feeling relieved it was there for me to run to, and then turned to planning how best to phrase to Charlie my request that he ask the Cullens to leave me alone. It was clear I couldn't manage this situation without Charlie's help; Edward knew where all my classes and jobs were, and even if I could change my entire course schedule, there was no way I could manage to change both my places of employment as well.

Glad to have figured out my next course of action, and having effectively blocked out Edward's progress with me heavy in his arms up to the apartment and down the hallway to my old room, I finally became aware of my surroundings again as Edward set me down in the middle of my bed.

Tolerating his removal of my shoes and jacket, his turning down of the bedcovers and finally his lifting me onto the exposed bottom sheet before tucking the covers around me by pretending I wasn't really there, but was watching a t.v. show in which this was happening, I went rigid as my head turned and my eyes alighted on two items sitting on the floor in the middle of my room: my duffle bag and my suitcase.

I felt the blood drain from my face and the panic flood my body, and I heard the scream though I don't remember producing it; it was more like a disembodied voice than anything I had control over. I heard other voices afterwards, but I refused to register them; I felt hands upon my body, but I refused to acknowledge they were there.

Finally, I did the only thing left I could think of: I closed my eyes, lay down, and went to sleep.