Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Thank you for the inspiration, SM. Everything else is original and belongs to me, Cosette Cullen.

A/N: Pickwicksociety deserves a big smooch from Edward for betaing this chapter in less than 48 hours so I could get it posted for you only one day behind schedule. Props to Mel/mcc101180 over at Project Team Beta for polishing this chapter up even more!


Chapter 9 – Epiphanies, Pickpockets, and Crazies, Oh, My!

After just thirty minutes into our journey to Rome, while staring out the window with heavy-lidded, red-rimmed eyes, I realized that trains are my new favorite way to travel. Not only are bullet trains fast, apparently they can also be therapeutic. The blurred colors of the landscape dancing across the glass, along with the haunting voice of Eva Cassidy streaming from my earbuds, created a hypnotic effect on me, easing the ache in my chest. I was lulled into that "almost asleep, but not quite" space, where I floated into my past.

The last time I had cried as deeply as I did after leaving Edward's room last night was when Jacob left me. Now, two and half years later, that life-changing moment was so surreal that when I replayed the memory it was like watching a movie, oddly detached as if it happened to someone else. Yet, the moment Jacob left me was seared into my heart and memory–each devastating detail, clear and vivid.

Jacob's hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening with the pressure as beads of perspiration dripped down his ashen face. His stare was glazed over as he looked straight ahead, his dark brown eyes on the road, never once meeting mine as I sat in the passenger seat completely bewildered.

Jacob had picked me up from work like he did every day. I crawled into the car, leaning into him for a hello kiss but was stopped cold by what I saw. He looked like death warmed over, and I was scared shitless thinking that somebody had actually died.

"Jacob? What's wrong?" I gasped, panic rising in my chest. He was silent as he drove out of the parking lot. "Jacob, you're scaring me." My tone became more insistent. "What happened?"

My husband spoke the shocking words with determination and simplicity, his focus still on the road. "I've decided that I'm leaving you. You can have all the money in our account and anything in the apartment you want."

It was an out of body experience, yet I could still feel my traitorous body reacting to the incomprehensible news. My pulse raced, and my heart thumped erratically as my stomach clenched. I was disoriented, almost dizzy, but worst of all was the fear that manifested physically. Panic, terror, and dread encircled me, originating in my chest, squeezing and spasming before darting out through my limbs, wrapping around me in a suffocating vice. The tears were instantaneous as I hysterically begged Jacob to give us more time. I told him that I loved him and pleaded with him to stay.

There had been no warning, not even a hint, that divorce had ever crossed Jacob's mind except for a trivial misunderstanding that escalated into a major argument just two days earlier. Jacob had then revealed to me the true state of our marriage, running through the list of each of my faults as he perceived them. He told me that if things didn't change, he would leave.

Prior to that moment, I had sincerely believed that Jacob and I were happy, that our marriage was solid. We hardly ever fought, but when we did, they were major fights, more than enough to make up for all the days we got along. But that's normal, right? Married couples fight sometimes, then make up and go on.

Apparently, over the two days following that fight, he'd changed his mind, deciding to bail without giving me any time at all to work on my supposed weaknesses. According to him, everything wrong with our marriage was my fault, and I willingly took upon myself all the burden and guilt. My safe and happy world, and the control I thought I had over my own life, revealed itself to be nothing but an illusion.

Now my tears were for Edward. Initially, as I'd cried myself to sleep after leaving his room, I blamed Alice for my heartache. If she hadn't invited the guys to come to Florence, I wouldn't have spent the last two days falling under Edward's enchanting spell. Though, I didn't particularly like saying goodbye to Edward in Munich after that first kiss, doing so hadn't crushed me. If we had indeed gone our own ways that night, I would have always remembered him as the handsome man I met in Europe, wondering what might have been without any regret or sadness. But Florence had changed everything. Though the pain of losing Edward wasn't as acute as it was when I'd lost Jacob, it was significant. After all, I was married to Jacob for over two years, whereas I had known Edward for just a few days. Yet the loss was substantial because I'd never before experienced such a profound, instantaneous connection, not even with Jacob.

Earlier I had I found myself wishing that I'd never met Edward, inwardly cursing our time together. But that was just a gut reaction to the pain, willing into non-existence the source of my sorrow. After a night's rest and time gazing out the window of the train, I'd had an epiphany of sorts, suddenly remembering a nugget of wisdom I had learned as a result of my divorce: look for the good in every experience.

Over the past couple of years, I'd evolved into a very different person than I was while married to Jacob. Initially, I blamed myself for his unhappiness in our marriage and for the failure of it, just as he did. I had taken a long and painful look at all of the faults he'd listed as mine, self-analyzing to determine if there was any truth to them. It was difficult to do, but I began to acknowledge that I did tend to be critical of others, just as had Jacob accused. I didn't need a psychology degree to recognize that this was a symptom of my need for control, stemming from the chaos and instability of my childhood.

Over time, instead of hating myself for my weaknesses, I worked on changing them. What's that saying? Something about how you can't change the circumstance, but you can change the way you look at it, the way you perceive it . . . and that changes everything. My divorce was pivotal in pushing me into a place of self-awareness. I would not wish on my worst frickin' enemy what I went through when Jacob left me. I'm not going to sugarcoat the truth–it sucked ass. But pain and loss propelled me into a state of humility, enabling me to make changes in myself, bringing about the good. Eventually, guilt transformed into understanding that I had done the best I could at the time.

I dragged my glazed-over eyes from the window to see if Alice was awake. She sat next to me, her feet up on the seat across from her, earbuds in place, rhythmically tapping her fingers on her leg.

Feeling my stare, she gave me a cautious smile. Though I hadn't even so much as hinted to Alice that I blamed her for my heartache, I knew that she blamed herself. Alice acts all tough and spunky, but underneath it all, she is one of the most compassionate and loving people I know. I knew without a doubt that she was hurting for me and kicking her own ass for inviting the guys to Florence. I needed to ease her guilt, and sharing my recently changed attitude might do just that. I removed my earbuds and gently pulled on one of Alice's, getting her attention.

"Hey, chica."

She smiled, removing the other earbud.

I turned in my seat so I could face her. "Al, I don't regret anything that happened with Edward."

Alice cocked a brow questioningly.

"I'm glad you asked Emmett and Edward to come to Florence with us. I admit I didn't feel that way last night, but I've realized that my time with Edward was a gift. He gave me the gift of knowledge. I had no effing idea that what I experienced with Edward even existed. I thought I knew love, passion, and friendship–I've been married for christ's sake! But I realize that I've been blissfully ignorant. Now that I know such a connection with a man is possible, I won't settle for anything less. How could I wish Edward away when, without our time together, I would probably end up in a mediocre relationship and naïvely think that it's as good as it gets?"

"Holy shit, Bella. He really did a number on you." Alice turned off her iPod, securing it in her backpack. "You say you were blissfully ignorant before. So does that mean you didn't really love Jacob, looking back?"

"I did love Jacob," I answered without hesitation. "But now I know that there is more than just loving somebody because you have a lot in common or because they love you. There can be something deeper, something intangible. With Edward, it was like there was this invisible, magnetic energy always pulling me to him. And the sexual attraction was like nothing I'd ever experienced. I mean, Jacob is an attractive man. I was attracted to him–who wouldn't be? But I didn't feel all tingly and literally ache to touch him whenever I saw him. Never. Not even at the beginning of our relationship when most people can't keep their hands off each other. But with Edward . . . oh god, Alice. I can't put it into words how intense the chemistry and passion is with him."

Alice gasped. "Did you two fuck?"

"Alice!" I chided. "Could you please say that just a little louder? I don't think the people in the back of the train heard." I rolled my eyes dramatically.

"Oh, shit, sorry." She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

"No, Alice, we didn't fuck, but we did mess around a bit." Sighing, I ran my hands through my hair as I began an attempt to articulate the indescribable. "With Jacob, the sex was okay because I didn't know anything different. You know I was a virgin before Jacob, and he wasn't all that experienced himself, so we didn't really know what we were doing, to be honest. But I did love him, so sex was more about being close to him, not about orgasms or passion. Does that make any sense?"

"It makes perfect sense, Bella." Alice smiled warmly.

"And then after Jacob, there was Mike, my shining moment of true idiocy. We had a strong physical attraction to each other. I really discovered my sexuality during the time we dated. He was a wild man in the sack, that's for sure." My eyebrows danced suggestively as I giggled. "But now, having been with Edward, I can see that though the sex with Mike was great, it was rather mechanical. I was just going through the motions, and the motions felt ah-maz-ing, of course, but . . ."

Alice chuckled a little at that, and I smiled before I wistfully played with the zipper on my hoodie, dropping my voice to a whisper. "But when Edward and I were intimate, I was completely lost in him, lost in the energy, and in my desire. I didn't think–I just felt."

Alice attempted to turn in the cramped train seat, drawing one leg up and facing me before she spoke. "I've never experienced what you're describing with Edward, but I think I get it. Jacob was a good match for day to day living, except for the fact that he was a judgmental fuck, but I digress. The point is that you two really did have a lot in common–similar goals and interests. On paper, you were perfect together, but there was no chemistry or passion."

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"And with Mike, you had the sexual chemistry, but there was no real friendship or emotional connection." Alice eyed me, awaiting my approval of her analysis.

"Right, um . . . we had different goals, very different personalities, and we fought a lot. Definitely not a good match outside of the bedroom." I smirked.

"And then there's Edward. You know you have sexual chemistry with him, but what about goals and values? And the emotional connection?"

"We definitely have both sexual and emotional chemistry. God, when he looks into my eyes, Alice . . . I swear he's looking into my soul. I know that sounds corny as hell, but I just feel completely stripped, like he knows me . . . like he's always known me."

I paused, reflecting on what I'd come to know about Edward as a person but coming up with very little. "Honestly, I haven't been around him enough to even know if we'd be compatible on a daily basis. I don't know anything about his goals or his values, but we definitely enjoy each other's company and have some interests in common. Not that it matters."

The sad ache in my chest began to bubble up again, and I sighed, burying my face in my hands. "He made it clear that he doesn't want a relationship," I muttered through my fingers.

"Yeah, well, he does seem to be a nice guy, but he's a fucking stupid, nice guy for giving up the chance to have you in his life."

"Thanks, Al." I couldn't help but smile, even though I knew she was somewhat biased in her opinion of me.

"Obviously, you decided to relegate Operation Nun to inactive status–had Edward been open to a relationship, that is. So where does Operation Nun stand now that he's gone?"

"I seriously thought about what you said before. How I didn't want to end it early because of my need to control. But, you're right–Operation Nun served its purpose. I don't feel so needy or dependent on somebody else for my sense of self-worth anymore. So when I find another Edward, I'll be ready for him, waiting with open arms." I paused, contemplating my newest fear. "That's the thing though, Al. What if there isn't another Edward for me? I mean, I'm grateful he opened my eyes to what is possible, but what if that kind of connection doesn't come along all the time? Which obviously it doesn't considering I'm twenty-five and have never experienced anything like it before. What if I never find it again, and I have to settle for something less? I'm not sure that I could be happy, knowing what I was missing out on. I want it all."

I looked at Alice and was shaken when I saw sadness there. "So do I, Bella," she nearly whispered.

"What?" I blurted, not even trying to hide my surprise. Did she not have it all with Jasper? "But you and Jasper–"

"Jasper is my best friend, my rock, my constant. We rarely argue, and we have the same goals and interests. He's a good man, a really good man. I know he will be an amazing father someday. Any woman would be lucky to have him."

"But?" I asked cautiously.

"But as good-looking as he is, I have never felt a strong sexual attraction to him. I'm with him because everything else is so perfect, but I don't feel any passion. Sort of like with you and Jacob, I guess?"

She nervously twisted a section of her spiked onyx hair around her finger. "I know the initial intense chemistry lessens with time, but it was never there to begin with for us. And if you don't feel a strong urge to jump your boyfriend's bones, then isn't that what friendship is? When you love spending time with somebody but there isn't any sexually attraction–that's friendship."

"I had no idea, Alice. Why didn't you ever tell me before?"

"Because it's fucking embarrassing, that's why! Do I just blurt out in between classes – 'Hey, Bella, my sex life is shit'?"

"Don't be embarrassed. I'm glad you confided in me." I took a swig from my bottle of water, clearing my throat. "Um, I've been meaning to ask you about your day with Emmett. You know he has a thing for you, right?"

Alice's face suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree. Holy crap, she's smitten.

She smiled almost bashfully. "Um, yeah, I know that. We haven't actually talked about it, but we don't have to. I guess it's like what you said about Edward. When Emmett looks at me, it's like this silent communication flowing between us. We both know there is something intense going on without verbalizing it." Her grin swiftly faded. "And I feel guilty as fuck."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"No, Bella! What the fuck? I would never cheat on Jasper." Alice's mouth hung open in disgust.

"Sor-ry! I didn't think so, Al, but–"

"Emmett hasn't tried anything. He knows I'm in a serious relationship." Alice took a deep breath, exhaling dramatically. "I feel guilty because I am inexplicably drawn to another man, because I am tempted to cheat, and because I can't help but think about what it would be like to have sex with said man." Alice spewed so rapidly I could barely keep up. She paused briefly, taking a needed breath. "So it's a damn good thing he's gone now. That's why I didn't invite them to come to Rome with us. I knew I was playing with fire, just by being around him."

"God, I'm so glad you didn't invite them," I groaned. "For both of our sake's."

We sat, surrounded by pensive silence, lost in our own thoughts. If Alice wasn't happy with Jasper, why was she still with him? Why had she stayed with him for nearly five years? And how long had she felt this way about their relationship?

"Al, you were unhappy with Jasper before you met Emmett, right?"

She nodded.

"So why have you stayed with him?"

"Because Jasper is comfortable and safe. I see so many couples who fight like crazy fucks all the time, but Jasper treats me like a queen. And what if I left him and then I never found that magical combination of passion and friendship? I can't know for sure if I could have that with Emmett, unless I left Jasper. So it would be a huge risk, walking into the unknown."

Alice traded her hair for her earring, twirling it between her fingers. Clearly, her contradicting emotions were weighing her down with anxiety. "I am extremely fucking attracted to Emmett sexually . . . like I wanna hump like bunnies with that boy. Even though I haven't known him long, we talked quite a lot, and I think we definitely have the friendship thing down. It's easy with him, just like with Jasper. We have our love of writing in common, we both enjoy traveling, and we even share similar political views, which is always a good thing. But who knows–we could end up at each other's throats if we were around each other all the time. If I left Jasper, I would need to do it knowing and accepting that it may not work with Emmett and that I might end up alone. I have to make the decision about Jasper as if Emmett isn't even in the picture, which, of course, he's not. I don't even know how to contact him. He asked for my email address, but I told him it was best for us to go our separate ways. Fuck, I'm regretting that now."

All the tension and heavy introspection bubbled out of me in the form of loud laughter, complete with a snort. Alice looked at me as if I'd sprouted a second head.

"Oh, shit, we are quite the pair, aren't we?" I giggled uncontrollably. "We are completely effed up because of two random men we met. Who would've thunk?"

Alice grinned, shaking her head at my crazy outburst, but as best friends do, she quickly joined me with her own giggle fit. "I like your approach, Bella. I'd much rather laugh than cry."

Once we arrived in Rome, we left the melodrama on the train, intent on fully enjoying our time in the ancient city. Being even further south than Florence, the air was brisk, but not biting. We found the nearest Metro station and caught the subway to Vatican City. It was a five minute walk from the station to St. Peter's Basilica, the crown jewel of Catholicism.

At the top of my to-do list was to see the famed ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, painted by Michelangelo in the 1500s. You don't have to be Catholic to get excited about something so beautiful, so old, and so famous.

There was a line of probably thirty people waiting to enter the Vatican Museums, which were en route to the Sistine Chapel. I was happy with our relatively brief wait because during my travel research, I'd read that during the busy summer months, the line to the Vatican Museums–or "queue" in British speak–wraps clear down the street and around the block. Hell to the no on that!

Once inside, we wound our way through the various rooms, enjoying the ancient works of famed painters like Raphael, Giotto, and Caravaggio, as well as admiring Roman sculptures and tombstones. Entering a long passageway known as the Gallery of Maps, I was rendered speechless, gazing at the walls covered in fresco paintings of maps of Italy. Who knew maps could be aesthetically pleasing?

But it wasn't so much the maps on the walls that silenced me–it was the frickin' amazing ceiling that went on and on for the entire length of the hallway. Alice and I ambled along at a snail's pace, heads back, eyes wide, while periodically mumbling, "Oh, my god" or "Wooow!" Our lack of articulation was due to the fact that there simply were no words adequate to describe the beauty, the talent, or the awe that overwhelmed us. The images on the ceiling almost looked 3D. Periodically, I rubbed my eyes in an attempt to focus my vision because those fresco paintings were playing tricks on me.

Is that painting flat? Yes. Wait . . . no, it looks like it's raised, like a carving. No, wait, it looks flat again.

Alice seemed to be having the same problem. "Bells, is the ceiling painted and carved or is it flat?"

"I have no idea, but I really am enjoying analyzing it."

"I am too, but I'm going to have a hellacious neck ache by the time we leave. I just can't stop looking up. I might miss something." Alice giggled quietly.

Smiling, I said, "Yeah, but a neck ache is worth it."

Arriving in the Sistine Chapel a few minutes later, it was smaller than I'd imagined, but Michelangelo's famed ceiling was glorious, the collage of colors so vivid and alive. The scenes were divided into panels by what looked like moldings, but some reading in my book explained that they were not actual moldings. In actuality, they were two-dimensional divisions, skillfully painted in by Michelangelo to demarcate separate compositions, which were various scenes from The Bible.

I'm not a church-going gal, but I could easily identify illustrations of the creation, the story of Noah, cute little cherubs here and there, and the famous image of the hand of God reaching out to touch Adam's hand, giving him life. Gazing at the images, I wondered if Edward was particularly religious. Why the hell that little gem floated into my consciousness, I have no idea because it didn't effing matter. He left, he's gone, get over it, I chided myself.

After completing the tour of the Vatican Museums, we ventured over to St. Peter's Basilica, just down the street and around the corner. We approached the church by walking through this ginormous open plaza, aptly named St. Peter's Piazza. Partially framing the courtyard, massive columns began on each side of the basilica, curving outward, embracing the piazza in an elliptical shape. On top of the column structure sat statue after statue after statue, running the whole length of the curved formation. I had no idea who the statues represented, but my educated guess was that they were Catholic saints or prophets.

We entered the basilica, stopping just inside the doors to let our eyes adjust from just coming out of the sun. I swear to god…er, maybe I shouldn't swear to god in a holy basilica, but seriously, I swear that every time I visit a cathedral or church, it is the most beautiful to date. But then I say the same flippin' thing at the next cathedral.

"Oh, Alice, this is . . . gorgeous!"

"Holy Fu–" Alice paused. "Oh, my, I almost said a really bad word in a house of God." She scrunched up her features, grimacing. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to refrain from swearing because this place is stunning and certainly worthy of a few F-bombs to highlight that fact."

"Alice, you kill me." I giggled heartily.

Once again, my neck was angled back, staring at the curved ceiling, covered in fresco artwork, of course. But it wasn't just the paintings that contributed to the awe factor–it was the architecture. Columns, arches, angles, and curves were everywhere I looked. Even the floor that my filthy feet were desecrating was covered in marble mosaics, colors, and patterns. There was not one single square inch, I kid you not, that was just bare. Everything was an artistic masterpiece, overwhelming my visual abilities as my eyes darted around, struggling to take it all in. "C'mon, Alice, let's find the Pietà."

We wandered around, eventually finding Michelangelo's sculpture of Mary, the mother of God, holding Jesus in her arms after he was crucified. Protected behind a panel of glass, I gazed nostalgically upon the original full-sized version of the Pietà, actually created by the hands of the master, Michelangelo.

I knew the piece well. My mother had a small knick-knack version of it displayed on her dresser for as long as I could remember. I don't know why she owned something like that because she never taught me about God or religion, and I had never asked her where she got it or why she owned it. I was always fascinated with it as a little girl, often picking it up, tracing the carved lines and curves, imagining Mary's sadness, and sometimes wishing she was my mother. She obviously loved her son, cradling him in her lap, loving him one last time.

Growing up, I'd never felt loved by my mother. She said the three magic words–I love you–sometimes during her "normal" moments, but their validity disintegrated the next time she swore at me, calling me filthy names for no reason whatsoever, before hiding herself in her bedroom for days. I must be worthless, a bad little girl, unlovable, if even my own mother doesn't love me, or so my ten year old self believed.

Thirty minutes later we were out the door of the basilica in search of food. It was well past lunch time, and my stomach let me know it, gurgling loudly. We explored the streets near St. Peter's, and after about ten minutes, we stumbled upon a little place called Ristorante dal Toscano. I'll be honest–we frickin' pigged out. Fortunately, we didn't look like pigs because in this part of the world lunch is the largest meal of the day, and we took full advantage of that fact. We ate pasta, of-freaking-course. What else would we eat in Rome?

After waddling to the subway station, we caught a train to the station nearest to our next destination, the Coliseum. It was a short walk, the exercise sorely needed after our porkfest of pasta. I could still taste the garlic in my mouth; no doubt the odorous fumes were capable of rendering a small child unconscious if I opened my mouth.

Remembering the breath mints in my backpack, I quickly found them, popping a couple in my mouth, and then offered some to Alice. As she reached out to take one, thanking me before she put it in her mouth, Alice's face faded from my view, replaced with a vivid vision of Edward taking the mint I offered him . . . just yesterday. Good god, was it really just yesterday?

I sighed inwardly. It felt like a hundred years had passed because the second I'd walked out of Edward's hotel room, the connective energy always flowing around us had evaporated, creating a chasm of emptiness where the passage of time was meaningless. It could have been one day or a hundred days–I missed him the same. And, naturally, I couldn't think about the mint offering without imagining the tenderly luscious and minty kiss that followed as we sat on the bench in our Pemberley Park.

"Bells, hey, I lost you." Alice wrapped her arm around my shoulder, pulling me against her and away from my daydreams. "Don't go there, okay?

Focus on that chunk of Roman antiquity in front of us instead."

Geez! I couldn't hide anything from that perceptive little pixie. Eff my wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve personality! Sometimes I hated that I couldn't conceal my emotions any better. Sure, Alice and I confided in each other on the train about Edward and Emmett, but that didn't mean that I don't sometimes need privacy with my own flipping thoughts. I shot her a lame-assed smile before concentrating on the large structure just ahead. As we got closer to the elliptical Coliseum, I decided that "large" was an inaccurate description–it was massive, and frickin' ancient, and cool as hell!

"Oh, holy mother of all fuckhawt policemen–fucking Roman guards!" Alice shrieked. I followed her line of sight to three young, good-looking men dressed in full Roman garb, posing for photos with tourists in front of the Coliseum.

"C'mon, we have to get a picture with them." Alice grabbed my hand, picking up her pace.

Who would have thought a skirt on a man could be hot? Not me. Maybe it was because they were brown leather skirts. Leather is almost always sexy, unless overdone. I wasn't too keen on their red-feathered, plumed helmets that resembled a rooster's head, but the gold breastplate, leather bands encircling their forearms, and red cape, with sword and shield in hand, created a nice picture of ancient masculinity.

We chatted briefly with the "guards" while one of them snapped a picture of Alice and me with the other two. They posed dramatically, holding their swords menacingly as if they had taken us into custody. I had a feeling that this photo would be the star of all our pictures taken with policemen across Europe. We thanked the very friendly guards and headed to the entrance of the Coliseum.

"I know this place is old as fuck, but check your book, would ya? I want to know exactly how old it is," Alice mumbled.

"I don't need to look. I read all about it on the train. It was built between 70 and 80 A.D."

Alice's eyed grew wide as we gazed into the center of the arena. "Holy fucking shit! That boggles my little pea brain, seriously."

We walked down some stairs to get a better look at the center floor of the Coliseum. Actually, there wasn't a "floor" anymore at all, having been destroyed over time, but the underground labyrinth of stone tunnels was preserved. Green moss blanketed portions of the stone walls, creeping out of crevices and meandering along the pathways. The combination of new living green with old, ruinous brown was its own kind of unique beauty.

Alice lifted up her sunglasses, pushing them to rest on the top of her head. "So this is the oldest thing we've seen so far, huh?" she confirmed.

"Yep. I can't believe this place is nearly 2000 years old. Really, it's amazing that it's still standing for the most part. The book said it's not completely intact because of earthquake damage and people stealing some of the stones."

"They did gladiator shit here, right?" It was a rhetorical question, apparently, because Alice didn't pause for an answer. "Yeah, I can see Russell Crowe out there right now, kicking some ass." She bounced on her toes, laughing.

"Remember in the movie how they'd let the lions out of the gates into the arena? They were held in those underground tunnels before being released," I explained as I pointed to the tunnels. "They also held executions here and even performed plays."

Alice began chattering away about the barbarism of it all before wandering some distance away, snapping pictures as she went.

Edward would be completely entranced with this place, I thought, releasing a heavy-hearted sigh. I imagined him standing next to me, excitedly sharing fascinating details about the Roman Coliseum. My history dude probably knew more about the Roman Empire with all of their world-conquering than even my fact-filled guidebook. My history dude?

I quickly corrected my erroneous inner dialogue, sadly reminding myself that Edward was not my anything. I wondered if he would come to Rome at another time, when he knew I wouldn't be here. He had said they planned on another two weeks of traveling before returning to the States. I hoped he would because a 2000 year old structure, built by an empire known for its military prowess was about as "historical" as it gets, making it something that would entirely enthrall Edward. God damn it. I miss the hell out of him.

I scanned the area for Alice, spotting her clear on the other side of the arena. I leisurely made my way over to her, taking some pictures along the way. We left the Coliseum and walked about three minutes down the road to see more Roman antiquity.

The Forum could be compared to a city's downtown area in our day; government offices and some of the city's most important buildings, like Roman Temples, were located there. Some of the temples had nothing left but the front columns or the foundation, but others were more intact, like the Temple of Vesta.

We didn't spend a lot of time at the Forum because we needed to catch a bus over to the Pantheon before the buses stopped running. The subway didn't go to that area apparently, and cabs were too rich for my blood, so the city bus it would be. That is, if we could get through the mass of people gathered at the bus stop, most who appeared to be locals. I momentarily wondered where all the tourists were before realizing that most tourists aren't as cheap-assed as I am and probably actually paid for a taxi to get to areas not serviced by the Metro.

When the bus arrived, we watched in astonishment as people pushed, shoved, and scrambled like psychotic scurrying ants, trying to secure a spot on the crowded bus. Within seconds, it was filled beyond capacity and speeding away with people literally hanging out of the open door, holding onto the exterior railing.

"What kind of freaking fuckery is this?" Alice bellowed.

"Oh . . . my . . . god," I squeaked, my mouth hanging open in shock.

Now that we'd seen how the craziness worked, we determined that we wouldn't stand like statues when the next bus arrived. We strategized, working our way to the front of the group, resolute to be as aggressive as necessary to get on the next bus. We waited anxiously, ready to be pushy American bitches, if need be.

The next bus arrived, coming to a stop right in front of us. Ten seconds later, the bus pulled away from the curb and away from us.

"This is un-fucking-believable," Alice groaned.

"Um, what just happened, Alice?" I was stupefied.

"What happened is we were overpowered by a swarm of Italian-speaking, bus-riding bullies." Alice ran her hands frantically through her hair, letting out a sigh of stress. "Bella, if we don't make it on the next bus, we are hailing a fucking taxi. I will happily pay for it myself. This bullshit bus fuckery is giving me a headache."

Fortunately, learning from our two failed attempts, we managed to push our way onto the third bus. It dropped us off close to the Pantheon, a temple to all the gods of Ancient Rome, commissioned by Marcus Agrippa. The Pantheon was the epitome of Roman architecture with huge granite Corinthian columns supporting a triangular granite face with a Latin inscription.

We did our touristy thing there, afterwards stopping at a café located in the piazza across from the Pantheon. We picked up a couple of deli sandwiches to go because we didn't have much time to get to the train station to catch the night train to Paris. I know, I know! I swore I wouldn't do another sleeper train, but when I found out the trip from Rome to Paris was like fifteen hours, it was a no-brainer. Even if I slept restlessly again, it still had to be better than suffering through fifteen hours awake in an upright seat, unable to sleep at all.

We caught a bus near the Pantheon on only our second try, but all the seats were taken so we stood in the aisle with about a hundred other people all packed in like frickin' sardines. Rows of handles dangled from the ceiling, which I gratefully grabbed onto, clutching the paper bag that held my dinner with my other hand. Alice stood facing me, also hanging on for dear life as the Mario Andretti wanna-be bus driver speedily took corners as if on a racetrack.

Two Italian women with babies strapped to their chests in one of those baby carriers stood on each side of us. The women faced each other as did Alice and I, sort of forming a circle, all the while bumping each other and thoroughly invading personal space throughout the trip.

Arriving in front of the train station, we politely allowed the two mothers to exit before us. As Alice and I stepped onto the sidewalk, she scared the living crap out of me, loudly shrieking, "Shit. Shit. Shit. Fucking shit!"

"What's wrong?" I gasped, looking to see Alice pivoting around, scanning the area as if looking for someone. "Those motherfuckers!"

Motioning to her fanny pack that was belted around her waist, I saw that it was unzipped. "I've just been pickpocketed, Bella. My credit card is gone."

"Holy hell! We've got to call your bank immediately, Alice," I hollered in a bit of a panic. I grabbed her by the elbow and took off running into the train station.

We found a public pay phone inside, and Alice began the process of contacting her bank to report her credit card as stolen.

Leaning against the filthy wall, I warily took in our surroundings. The station hallway was littered with trash, and Creepy Station Guy was hanging out down the corridor. He had tried to accost us when we ran into the station, reaching for my arm and asking us with slurred words if we were American. Of course, we'd ignored him and continued our search for a telephone.

Though he was some distance away, he kept looking over at us, making me nervous. I covertly checked my wad of bills tucked securely away in my bra. God, that sounds so redneck, doesn't it? It's not like I normally carry my money there, but when I'd read during my travel research that pickpockets are common in large European cities, I decided my love pillows were as secure as Fort Knox. After all, they hadn't been touched in almost a year if I didn't count the through the clothes fondling from Edward, but I digress.

Apparently, expert pickpocketers can lift items from a tight jeans pocket without being detected, but there is no freakin' way I wouldn't feel an invasion of Bella's boobs–those puppies are highly sensitive.

Of course, I'd told Alice what I learned and where I planned to keep my money before we even left Phoenix, but she was certain she would feel it if anybody touched her fanny pack. In her defense, she kept her credit card in the zippered compartment that was on the back of the pack, so it was flush against her abdomen. You'd think you would feel that shit going down, but as I replayed the chaotic situation on the bus, it all made sense. I shared my conclusion with Alice, while she waited on hold on the pay phone.

"It was the women next to us, the mothers with their babies in the carriers," I stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I know!" Alice blurted with an irritated tone. "That's why they are quite literally mother-fuckers!" God, leave it to Alice to make jokes during a crisis. Just another reason I love the hell out of her.

"I just can't believe I didn't feel anything," Alice went on. "I had no idea until I stepped off the bus and looked down to find my pack unzipped."

"They're professionals, Alice. Picking a pocket is easiest on a bouncing, crowded bus or subway. The jostling and bumping into people makes it seem okay when somebody touches you. You expect to be bumped and have your space invaded on a crowded bus. Also, they used their babies in the carriers to hide their hands as they got into your pack. We were smashed so close together, we couldn't even see the floor. The babies were there in the middle, obscuring your fanny pack from view."

"Okay, can I just say, it is just wrong on so many fucking levels to use children to commit crimes!" Alice scoffed.

I laughed because what else could I do? It was a jacked-up situation. "Welcome to Rome, Alice."

"Yes, I'm here," she said into the telephone. "Um, it was stolen about fifteen minutes ago. Yes, Alice, A-L-I-C-E."

A blur of orange passed my peripheral vision, pulling my attention away from Alice. I turned quickly to see Creepy Station Guy approaching us.

"Hey, pretty lady, where are you from?" He grinned, flashing his yellowed teeth. His tattered and stained orange t-shirt hung loosely on his lanky frame. He was tall, like probably even taller than Edward, who I knew was 6'1" because I asked him at one point. And even from five feet away, Creepy Station Guy's odor drifted into my space.

"The U.S.," I mumbled, trying to be polite but not too friendly. My eyes darted nervously away from him–eye contact might encourage him.

"The U. S. of A. Woo-hoo!" he bellowed.

Alice placed her hand over the phone, mumbling quietly to me, "Why is it that I've seen police on almost every fucking corner today, but there isn't a goddamn one to be found in this trashy place to round up the loons?"

I nodded silently, trying to keep an eye on Creepy Station Guy without staring, just in case he tried to get closer to us. He was still too close for my comfort, standing very still and muttering nonstop under his breath. Clearly, he was operating five cans short of a six-pack.

"Miss?" Creepy Station Guy stepped closer. "Have you seen my briefcase? I lost it here, and I have to find it. There's 10,000 pounds inside."

"Um, no, I can't help you. We have to leave soon," I said as emotionless as I could, not wanting to convey fear or my growing irritation.

Alice shot daggers at Creepy Station Guy while covering the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand. "Shhhh!" She scowled at him.

"Listen, can you go back over there, please?" I spoke with a little more venom than I had before, letting him know I meant business. "She's on an important phone call."

But instead of leaving, he got louder. "You took my briefcase, didn't you? You found it." He pointed a finger at us. "That's why you were running," he accused, becoming agitated.

I ignored him, silently wishing that Edward and Emmett were with us. We probably wouldn't be dealing with this crazy asshat if they were.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you," Alice said into the phone with a finger stuck in her other ear, trying to drown out the distracting noise.

"Give me my briefcase back right now!" Creepy Station Guy demanded menacingly.

Before I could decide on the best course of action in this disturbing situation, Alice spoke politely into the phone, "I'm sorry. Hold on just a second, please."

Covering the mouthpiece again, she took a step toward Creepy Station Guy. Oh, my–it appeared that he had just stepped on Alice's very last nerve.

"Do you see a fucking briefcase? Huh?" she screamed at him, her flushed face contorting in anger. "Look around! If we had your shit briefcase, it would be right the fuck here. Now . . . you are going to turn around and walk away from us, or I'm going to scream so fucking loud your eardrums will break, and you'll be curled in a ball on the floor crying like a fucking baby! And then the police will come and take your crying ass to jail!"

Creepy Station Guy stared at her, void of any expression or emotion. I'm not gonna lie–I was scared shitless. This was one crazy bastard who could get angry and pull a knife out or something. If he didn't kill Alice, I just might because how effing stupid could she be, screaming in the face of an unstable homeless guy?

Alice was the queen of stare downs, and after about ten seconds of silence, he abruptly turned away, muttering about needing to get to an appointment. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Only Alice could snap somebody out of a schizophrenic haze. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, I chuckled to myself as Alice returned to her phone conversation.

After what seemed like forever, she got her credit card canceled, and we found a waiting area where we sat down and ate our sandwiches. Afterwards, we retrieved our luggage from a holding area where we'd checked them in upon arrival, and then we boarded the train en route to Paris. After we got ourselves situated in the sleeper compartment, we lay on our beds chatting. We were the only passengers in our compartment this time, which was a phenomenal thing to happen, considering the shitty day we'd had in Rome.

"Bells, I have to say that Rome was somewhat disappointing for me." Alice sighed, stretching her petite body, toes pointed and arms above her head.

"And not because I got pickpocketed," she quickly added. Letting out another tired sigh, she explained, "Except for a handful of ancient buildings scattered around, it's just a big, dirty, busy city, much like Los Angeles."

"I absolutely agree. But I'm still glad I came, and I think everybody should visit Rome at least once, just to see those ancient buildings that are scattered around the city, as you put it. They were pretty spectacular."

I tried in vain to fluff the cracker-thin pillow, snuggling into it and covering my yawn with my hand.

"Yeah, the Coliseum alone was worth the trip."

Alice switched off the light, and I flipped and flopped for a few seconds, trying to get comfortable. The darkness and the low hum of the train encircled me, relaxing my tired muscles and thoughts.

Without anything else to focus on, Edward's presence entered my stream of consciousness. I wonder where he is right now? I felt completely disconnected, lost, and anxious not knowing where he was in this big world.

"Al? You still awake?" I whispered.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Did Emmett happen to mention where they were headed next?"

"Madrid," she muttered sleepily.

"Okay . . . thanks. Night."

"Night-night."

Why the hell knowing what city Edward was in had a calming effect on me, I have no effing clue. It made no logical sense, but there it was, in all its irrational glory. Most likely the guys would spend no more than a few days in Madrid, and then I'd be lost again, not knowing where he had gone next. There was only one place where I knew I could find him, so I closed my eyes, eager to embrace him in my dreams.


A/N: I know you probably missed Edward, but it is what it is. If it makes you feel any better, Bella misses him, too.

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