*This chapter contains a trigger warning. If this concerns you, please scroll to the very bottom for a brief description of the scene prior to starting.*

'Hey, hey, you know what to do,
Oh baby, drive away to Malibu,
Get well soon...'

'Malibu' - Hole

Dearest Diary,

I feel like I'm walking on a tightrope… no, more like I'm watching myself walking on a tightrope. I'm looking up from below, and I can see myself losing balance but I can't say anything. I can't call for help or say 'look out!'

I'm just watching as I fall.

"Are you sure you should be drinking that?"

I roll my eyes.

"Leah, it's fine. It's one measly little coffee."

My companion raises her brows, giving me a steely look. I smile, the widest one I can manage, cheesing it up so she'll crack.

It works. She does.

"Fine... but, if you start having one of your little episodes, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Episodes?" I snort, taking a sip of my apparently dastardly vanilla cappuccino. "I'm not sure that's entirely PC of you."

"Sorry, you're right," she sighs. "Mom would have my head if she heard me talking like that. I guess they're called…" she pauses, flutters her lashes and places the back of her hand to her forehead. "Panic attacks."

I cover my mouth, trying to stop both my giggles and cappuccino foam from coming out.

"I've really missed you, Lee."

She smiles, reaching over the table to grasp my hand.

"Me too, Bells. Why haven't you called sooner?"

I purse my lips, accepting her hand and grasping it in mine. Why haven't I called sooner?

"I didn't want to bother you."

Leah rolls her eyes, squeezing tighter. "That's such bullshit. I wouldn't have said yes to this whole setup if I didn't mean it. You know that's not my style. I don't do anything I don't want to do."

"Are you sure? You definitely didn't want to do Jacob, but…"

She rolls her eyes and pulls her hand from mine, feigning anger but smiling nevertheless. I smirk around the rim of my large mug as I take a sip.

Leah purses her lips. I quirk a brow. She crosses her arms and shakes her head.

"Shut the fuck up, Swan," she laughs, and I giggle right along with her.

The Leah and Jacob story is… complicated. Unbeknownst to me, Jacob's sidekick Sam dated Leah for years until he cheated on her with her best friend, Emily. In retaliation, Leah slept with an old flame of Emily's - Jacob. I'd had no idea any of it had happened.

Thankfully for Leah, she figured out the real reason she'd been so upset pretty quickly - she wasn't heartbroken over the loss of Sam, she was heartbroken over the loss of Emily… who she'd been in love with for as long as she could remember.

"The best and worst moment of my life was telling my Mom I was gay, and her saying she'd already known," Leah had once told me.

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, gazing out the front window of her favorite little cafe right near the USC campus and people-watching.

"So…"

I look at her, raising my brows in question. She purses her lips, and my stomach drops.

"Uh oh," I mumble. "That's never good."

Leah looks at me for a long, long moment and doesn't say a word. When she does, I can't stop my incredulous gasp.

"You're doing it again, aren't you?"

I gape like a guppy for a moment, self-consciously hugging my sweater closer, cheeks flaming.

"Excuse me?"

Leah 'tsks', rolling her eyes and leaning forward, lowering her voice to a hushed hiss.

"Don't pull that shit with me. It's happening again, right?"

I clench my jaw, biting down hard and understanding for the first time just why Edward does it so often.

"I don't know what you want me to say here, Lee."

She shakes her head, long black hair a shiny curtain waving about her as she does.

"You don't have to say a Goddamn word. It's written all over you. When's the last time?"

I scoff, shake my head and look out the window once more. "Almost four months ago. You know that already."

"Bull-fucking-shit!" she snaps, and I jump - as do the patrons sitting in our vicinity. They look at us warily, most likely taking in the way I cower in my seat as Leah rests her forearms on the table and leans forward. "You not telling me the truth doesn't make it any better. There's such a thing as lying by omission, you know."

"I'm not lying!" I hiss. "I haven't… not since that last time. But, there's been…"

I hesitate, and Leah's stern expression drops. I'm nervous, and I don't really know why - not until she says it.

"I know you think I have an obligation to tell my Mother if you're… if you're using again," she says, looking uncomfortable with the word. "I don't. That was never in the rules of this little arrangement. In fact, there are no rules. So, don't be scared, Bells. You can trust me."

Trust. An interesting concept. Not something I have a particularly hard time with, if I'm honest. I trust easily - perhaps too easily. I trusted Sue the first time I met her, and Leah. I trusted Edward, implicitly and instantly.

My heart clenches at the thought of him, and I remember why I'm here.

'You're hurting us… hurting me,' he'd said. And I had.

It's been almost a week since his show at The Six, and almost a week since I last spoke to him. I've been too ashamed, too nervous to reach out first - though I know I should.

Alice had told me as much, stopping me on our walk to the lunchroom the Monday after that night.

"You need to call him, B," she'd hissed, her burgundy-painted nails stark against the ghostly pale of my skin as she wrapped a hand around my forearm. "He won't make the first move… he shouldn't have to."

She was right, of course - but how would she know? I asked her as much.

She looked almost sheepish as she fished her phone out of her bag and tapped around a few times before handing it over to me. His name was at the top of a text message thread. I read the words with greedy eyes.

Alice: It's not what it looked like. Give her a chance to explain.

I read his response eagerly, chewing my lip nearly to the point of pain.

What did it look like, then? I really thought after that night… Fuck, I don't even know.

I gasped, stumbling a bit as my breathing faltered. Alice gripped my arm tighter, leading us into the cafeteria.

You know it's complicated. There are implications. It's why you're not going public with her, right? Trust me, she's doing this for you.

My heart swelled with affection for my dearest friend and I reached for her hand as I read on, grasping it tightly. Alice had come over the night after the show, and I'd filled her in on the… arrangement I'd made with Jacob. She, understandably, wasn't happy. We'd stayed up until nearly two in the morning trying to figure out how I could get out of it.

There was no other way. This was blackmail at its finest.

"Very fitting… perhaps I'll call him Jacob Black-mail," Alice had snapped.

What? Jesus, Alice, can't you just tell me what's going on?

His frustration was palpable, even through text.

I'm sorry, Edward. It's not my place to say.

His response had my breathing shallow, my chest tightening unbearably until I felt as if I would break.

Fine. Tell her she'll just have to explain it to me herself. I'm done with always being the first to apologize.

He was right. It had always been him. Not just apologizing... but texting first, calling first. I had been letting him take the reigns, call all the shots. I was becoming a passive observer in my own life. I knew I had to fix things… fix everything.

I suppose that had to start with… well, with me. I'd been putting off meeting up with Leah for weeks, but I knew I had to do something.

Contacting Sue was a step too far. I couldn't fathom going back to the clinic, being so detached from my friends, from Edward. I couldn't go back there, not when everything was so uncertain.

Hence, Leah.

"Tell me the truth. What's going on?" she asks.

So, I do. For the first time in a long time, I tell the truth.

Well, my version of it.

Leah beams when I tell her about Edward, and cries when I tell her about Charlie and my birthday. She turns red when I tell her about Rosalie and the party. I leave out the drugs.

Most of all, she looks about ready to kill when I mention Jacob kissing me.

"I barely remember it, though," I weakly argue. "It's fine."

"Just because you don't remember it, doesn't mean it was right. Just the opposite, actually," she bites.

When I tell her about sneaking into my Dad's liquor cabinet and showing up to the show at The Six wasted, she purses her lips like she's trying to hold back.

"What?" I sigh. "Just say it."

"I may not be as knowledgeable about all of this as my Mom is, but I know enough to know… you can't swap one vice for another," she says, and I nod. I know she's right. "This is… this is really something I should be telling her."

"You can't!" I choke, reaching across to grasp her wrist. Leah looks down at my grip on her cautiously. "I can't… I don't want to go back there."

"Sometimes it's not about what you want, B. It's about what you need."

"I need my friends. I need to be at home," I sniffle, feeling pathetic as tears pool hot and sudden in my eyes. "I need… I need him, Lee. I need Edward. He's my medicine."

Leah shakes her head. "That's not good, Bella. You can't depend on him to fix you. He's only human."

I sniff again. "I know. I know that. He's just… he makes me…"

Her eyes soften as I stutter and struggle through the words and she flips her wrist, grasping my hand.

"He makes you what?"

I rub roughly at my face with the long sleeve of my cardigan.

"He makes me want to be better. For him."

Leah tilts her head, her smile a little sad. "That's great, Bells - but what about being better for yourself?"

I roll my eyes, sitting back in my chair and crossing my arms over my chest. I know she expects a response, but I don't have the one she wants to hear.

How do I tell her I don't deserve it? How do I tell her that she knows most of the story, but not all of it? That if she did, she'd probably think I was as much of a monster as I know I am. They all would.

Even Edward.

"I think you should see my Mom."

I choke. "But… but, I'm not… I can't…"

Leah shakes her head. "No, not at the clinic. At our house."

Being Jacob Black's arm candy for a night is more work than I expect.

Somewhere between the charity auction and the open bar, I find myself being backed into a corner by a tall blonde with a severe bob. Her shimmering blue dress is gorgeous, as is she, but the scowl on her face and the words that come from her mouth make her uglier than anything.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll stay the fuck away from Jake Black."

I'm shocked - so shocked, it takes me a moment too long to reply. A moment that, in her eyes, means she's won.

"I knew you'd understand," she hisses, twirling a lock of my hair around her finger.

I step away quickly, my back hitting the wall behind me with a definitive 'thud.'

"Don't touch me," I say, voice wavering despite myself.

"Aw… poor little Basket-case Bella. You're more fucked up than I thought, if you can't take a little friendly competition. I guess everything they've said is true," she smiles. It's sly and dark and makes my stomach churn. "Maybe I should call you 'Black-Widow Bella' instead, hmm? Poor Riley. He never stood a chance with you."

And just like it's a switch, like that one word flips everything, I'm done. I stalk past her, uncaring of the way my shoulder sharply connects with her arm as I pass; uncaring of the way she screeches and crows behind me as I push through the crowd and straight to the bar.

Jacob is already there, which is... typical. He smiles as he sees me coming, holding out his arm.

"Izzy! So nice of you to join us," he says. I stand beside him, arms crossed, not stepping toward him. He clears his throat and smiles tightly at the small group around him, waiting until their conversation starts up again before leaning down and hissing in my ear. "You know, I asked you here as my date for a reason. If you look like you're disgusted with me all night, people will talk."

"People are already talking," I spit, not looking at him.

"About what?" he asks, his voice sounding dangerous. His tone is so coarse, I chance a glance.

His posture is too-straight, a champagne flute clutched dangerously tight in his hand. He's scanning the crowd with furrowed brows and for a brief second, I see the Jacob I used to know - the one who would defend my honor, not tarnish it.

I take the long-stemmed glass from his hand.

"It doesn't matter. How much longer do I have to be here?" I say, bringing the flute to my lips and polishing off the remaining bubbly liquid quickly. It's good - sweet, but not cloying so, with just the right amount of fruity tartness. Expensive.

It makes me wonder if all the money they're raising tonight is really going to the charity they claim it is, if this whole thing is so extravagant. Who's footing the bill?

"A couple of hours, at least."

I place the empty glass on the bar behind me with a sigh, looking pointedly at it. Jacob follows my gaze.

"Then, I'm going to need a lot more of that."

Unsurprisingly, Jacob delivers. An indeterminate amount of time later - as after the fifth glass, time seems to become irrelevant - I find myself in the overly-luxe bathroom of this overly-luxe hotel, sitting atop the counter in lieu of standing on shaky feet.

My phone is pressed to my ear, the seemingly never-ending ringing loud and clear over the line. My heart is in my throat, and I feel like I can't breathe - not until I talk to him.

Silence for a brief moment, and I hold my breath. The answering machine picks up.

'Next up on Public Radio FM107, we'll be hearing the music of Edward Cullen with his 'Beep Serenade in C-Sharp Minor, Opus 17'…''

My laughter is full of snorts and stupid little giggles as the beep sounds, but I can't help it.

"You're so fucking cute," is the first thing I think, so it's what I say. "That was adorable. You're adorable. Who even thinks of that?"

I laugh again but it stops abruptly, because… he didn't pick up.

He's always picked up.

"You're… you didn't… you must be busy," I stutter, my dizzy head suddenly spinning too much. I feel sluggish and nauseous and awful, and I miss my boy. I miss his smell. I miss his arms around me.

I don't say any of that. Instead, I say:

"I miss you. I'm sorry. Call me back... please."

I hang up, holding my phone in both hands and staring at it. I feel sad, so sad - and tired and messy, too. All at once, I'm reminded of why I never used to drink: it makes me feel too out-of-control.

"Are you alright?"

I jump, holding a hand to my chest, and look up at the girl in front of me. Her hair is red and long, curly and pretty and she looks put-together and perfect.

I look over my shoulder, studying myself in the mirror. My hair is loose and wild, framing my face in big, tangled curls. My mascara is smudged. My lipstick is gone, left on the rims of too many champagne flutes.

Am I alright?

"I wouldn't say that, no."

The girl smiles, nodding knowingly and placing her little clutch on the counter as she rifles through it quickly, expertly.

All at once, I know what this is.

"I don't have any cash on me," I say, already moving to hop off the counter. I know what's in her bag, and I don't want it anywhere near me. Not now, not when I'm already so fucking weak. If I saw it now, I'd…

"I don't want anything for it," she says, putting her hand on my upper arm and stopping me from moving any further. Her eyes are kind, a warm hazel hue, and I shouldn't trust her but I think I kind of do. "Really. This is strictly off-the-books."

"I can't have it," I say, my voice louder than I intended. The girl's eyes widen. "I… I'm recovering."

She regards me with a wry smile, and her critical eye makes me feel uncomfortable. Like she's really seeing me.

"You're doing a pretty shitty job of it, to be honest," she sighs, pulling a pill bottle out of her clutch. "Don't worry, this isn't anything illegal. Just a little something to get you back on your feet for a few hours."

"A little something?" I repeat, narrowing my eyes. I can see they're pills, not powder, but that doesn't mean much here.

"An upper... Ritalin," she says, rolling her eyes. "I've told my parents I don't have an attention disorder but they refuse to believe me. It used to annoy me, until I realized they're a great little pick-me-up when you've had a bit too much to drink."

She hands me the pill bottle. I eye it warily, and she shakes it in front of my face. The little light-yellow pills sound like a maraca as they bounce around inside the clear plastic tube.

I take it from her, scanning the label.

Dr. S. West
West, Renesmee
Methylphenidate, 5mg.
(Ritalin)

"Let me guess… your Dad's a doctor?"

She smiles. "My Mom, actually. Dr. Sulpicia West… and people think my name is weird. You can call me Nessie."

I shouldn't trust this girl. Nothing about her particularly screams 'clean-cut', least of all the way she knew what I meant when I said I didn't have any cash.

Trust. I trust too easily.

"Old habits die hard," I sigh, opening the bottle and shaking a few pills out into my palm. I pop them, swallowing with the last dregs of champagne from my glass and grimacing at the feeling as they slide down my throat.

An hour later, I feel like I might die.

Nessie was right - for the first little bit, I'd felt better. Not great, but good. Passable. I'd been able to walk back into the party and socialize normally. I'd hung off of Jacob's arm as he chatted up this business man and that entrepreneur. I'd even had another glass of champagne.

As soon as we left to get into the limo, it all crashed down.

"Jacob…"

"Yeah, Izzy?"

I'm hot, too hot. My heart is beating nearly out of my chest, too fast, and I can't fucking keep my eyes open. I need to keep my eyes open, because the divider between us and the driver is up and Jacob's hands are on my waist and his lips are on my neck and my arms are too heavy to push him away.

Panic rises quickly, an overwhelming surge.

"Jacob… get off…"

I'm slurring - fuck, I'm slurring! Can he even understand me? He hasn't stopped, so he must not have.

"Jacob…"

"Shh, just shut up and enjoy this. Shit, you don't know how long I've been waiting…"

We take a sharp turn and I slide across the leather seat, closer to him. He groans and my stomach twists, turns, and tumbles - in the worst way.

I feel his hand go up my skirt. I try to hold my knees together but he just pushes them apart, and I'm reminded so suddenly of the way my boy did the same thing. But it's not the same - it's so, so different. Different because it was Edward, different because I wanted it.

Different because I love him.

This isn't Edward. I don't want it. And I don't love Jacob Black.

"Don't," I say, pushing at his hands. I'm too quiet, he can't hear me - especially with the way he's got his head buried in between my breasts. I feel myself start to sweat, my heart slamming so hard against my rib cage, it's painful.

You need to do something. You need to stop him.

Stop him.

Bella, stop him!

"No!" I cry, using every ounce of strength I have left to bring my knee to my chest and kick out.

Everything is blurry and dark and I can't see much, but I can certainly feel and hear. I can hear Jacob's grunt as he makes contact with the side of the limo. I can feel my small clutch on the floor beneath me, feel when the limo stops.

I can hear the driver shutting his door and coming around to our's.

I can feel Jacob's hand on my ankle, pulling me toward him, and I feel when I swing and make contact on his body with my clutch.

I can hear his voice... a hiss of pain, then a dangerous whisper.

"You fucking bitch…"

And then she's there's light, street light, as the door opens.

"Miss Swan, we've arrived," the driver says, and I'm up and out of the car before he can even finish speaking.

"Just a little bit of foreplay, you know," Jacob is saying, his excuses falling on deaf ears as the limo driver steadies me, one hand on my waist and one under my elbow.

"Yeah... sure, kid," he mumbles, turning us away and speaking under his breath. "Fucking scumbag. Are you alright, Miss Swan?"

No, I am definitely not alright. I don't know if I can even speak to thank him for what he's done. If he hadn't come around when he did…

"Thank you," I mumble, struggling to keep my eyes open. "Thank you. I'm…"

The front doors are open. How did that happen? I'm stumbling into the foyer, my heels making uneven click-clack sounds against the floors, and the air-conditioning feels so good on my overheated skin.

"Will you be alright to make it upstairs on your own?" he says.

"Yes, yes. I'll… I'm fine," I stutter, starting to say 'I'll get my Dad to help me' but knowing it's in vain. He's not even home. He'd have come out if he were home.

If he did, I'd have this man tell Charlie everything, everything he saw and heard. He would have known, then… he would have seen.

"Alright. I'll leave you to it," the man says, leading me to the stairs and placing one of my hands on the railing. "And don't worry, Miss. I won't… I won't tell a soul."

Tell them! I want to scream. Tell everyone!

But I can't get the words out. My mouth is dry and my body is slow, even if my brain isn't, and by the time I can finally form the words... he's gone.

The trip upstairs is arduous and grueling, and I ditch my heels halfway and make the rest of the journey with bare feet. I just barely make it to the bathroom before I vomit. It's so familiar, I should be concerned.

I'm not. I can't feel anything but hot and tired and dizzy.

I gag and gasp, gripping the toilet bowl with both hands and purging a night of mistakes into porcelain. When I'm done, I follow the usual steps: flush, rinse, brush my teeth. Repeat until all the evidence is gone.

The rest of the night goes, almost as if I'm on autopilot. Like this is all muscle memory.

Really, it is.

I strip out of my dress and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the floor. I'm so caught up in how thankful I am that my underwear were still on, I don't notice how hot the shower is until my skin is nearly scalded. I scrub and scrub and scrub some more, until my skin feels raw and my face is quite literally squeaky clean. I towel off quickly and throw on the same big t-shirt I slept in last night, not willing to make the extra trek to my dresser.

My phone is on my bed beside my clutch, still lit up from the text that just came through. I sink under my covers and scramble for the device, unlocking it and staring at the screen with bleary eyes.

I just saw your message. I don't even know what you did, but I forgive you. Maybe that makes me a fool. I don't care. I miss you, too.

I just manage to text Edward back before sleep overtakes me.

I adore you.

If there's one good thing that comes out of that horrific night, it's my car.

When I came downstairs the next morning, Charlie was in a fantastic mood, grinning at me from over the top of his morning paper. The reason why had my skin crawling.

"So… you and Jacob, huh?"

I choked on my water, coughing and sputtering.

"What?" I'd huffed.

"You and Jake? I heard you had a nice time at the gala."

All at once, I understood.

"Oh, yeah? Who'd you hear that from?" I asked, dumping the rest of my glass down the sink, stomach rolling. "Billy?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," he'd grinned.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Dad, but there is no Jacob and I."

Charlie put down his paper, frowning.

"Oh… well, you know, it's just a matter of time."

I swallowed hard to keep back my gag.

A matter of time, my ass…

"Either way, I'm glad you two seem to be spending more time together. In fact…" he'd said, reaching into his pocket. He placed something shiny atop the counter, sliding it toward me. I gaped. "You're going to need an easier way to get around, if you guys will be seeing each other often."

My car keys sat in front of me like some sort of strange peace offering. I hesitated. Did taking them mean I was encouraging Charlie's ridiculous notions? Did not taking them seem like an insult? Was this what I needed in order to repair our relationship?

Although, I reasoned, he wouldn't really know if I was going out to see Jacob when I left… or someone else.

I picked up the keys. Charlie grinned.

I knew my first destination almost instantly.

As soon as Charlie left for the day, I was on the move - packing a bag, calling Alice and asking her to cover for me.

"Can you just… please tell me where you're going, B?"

"I'm staying with a... a sober companion, from the clinic. Trust me, I'll be fine. I'll be safe."

"What will I tell Edward?" she'd said, switching tactics and hitting me right where it hurt. "He's going to go crazy if he doesn't know."

I threw on the Northwestern hoodie, breathing in the faint remnants of his warm honey and lilacs and boy, and sighed.

"Tell him the same thing I'm telling you. I'm fine, and I'll be safe. I'll see you in a couple of days."

If it seems like it's easy to be so flippant about Edward, about my love-screaming heart, it isn't. I want more than anything to hop in my car and drive straight to wherever he is.

But, this is good. This needs to happen, for both of us. He might be a little upset, but it'll be... better, when I'm back.

It's a mantra I repeat as I drive along the PCH toward Malibu, windows open and music blasting. My hair is loose and the sun is high, and it smells like ocean water and sunshine and possibilities. Every mile away from Beverly Hills feels simultaneously freeing and constricting: freeing, being further from Jacob and school and that little baggie of powder; constricting, because every mile I go is a mile further from my friends and my boy, my heart and soul.

I've never been to The Clearwater's beach house before but as I pull up, I seriously start to wonder how it is that any of them ever leaves.

The front looks like something straight out of Cape Cod, two stories of brick and chimneys and white wooden siding, a grey tiled roof and blue shutters. The front door is painted canary yellow and just around the side, I can make out a seemingly endless stretch of beach.

Standing on the small front porch, hands clasped over her heart, is Sue Clearwater. My own heart feels like it might burst.

I've just shut off the engine and stepped down onto the driveway when Sue's arms are around me, holding me so, so tight. She smells just the same - like cinnamon and clean laundry.

She smells like a Mother.

My eyes fill with tears and I choke out a sob before I can stop myself, burying my face in her neck.

"Don't cry, mija," Sue soothes, rubbing my back in big, even circles. "Do not cry, dearest. You'll be okay. Everything will be okay."

I cry harder, wondering if she remembers that first night… how she said almost the exact same words to me as she washed me and held my shivering body in a bathtub not too far from here.

'It'll be alright... everything will be okay,' she'd said, rinsing shampoo from my hair. I'd watched the water as it swirled down the drain, staring blankly at the light pink color of it.

"Come, Isabella," Sue smiles, pulling back and holding my face in both of her hands, staring at me fondly. "We have so much to talk about."

"He calls you what?"

I laugh around a spoonful of what Sue told me is called 'sancocho', an absolutely delicious, hearty soup she explained her Mother used to make when she was feeling poorly. I surprised the both of us when I finished the first bowl and immediately went back for a second.

"'Baby,'" I giggle. "Sometimes 'Baby Girl'... sometimes just 'girl.'"

"And you actually like that?" Sue asks, her voice raising an octave. I cover my mouth as I laugh again, nodding. She 'tsks' and shakes her head, and I now see where Leah gets it from. "You young people… very strange."

"Just wait until you meet your boy," I smile, wiping my mouth with a cloth napkin and sitting back in my chair. "You'll see."

Sue shakes her head, tucking hair behind her ears and looking out to the water. I know she's not upset or sad - it's been just about five years since her husband Harry passed and though she inherited his wealth and fortune, it's no substitute for having him here. Despite all that, she's assured me time and time again that she's ready to move forward.

"To live my life for the both of us. I know that's what he'd want," she'd once told me.

We're quiet for a moment, just watching the waves roll along the shore. Sue's beach house has two large outdoor seating areas - an upper deck, and another below it. That's where we sit now, eating our lunch and watching the tide roll out, the brick of the ground blending seamlessly into the sand and the stretch of beach leading to the water.

"It's so beautiful here," I sigh, tugging the sleeves of the Northwestern hoodie down as a breeze rolls through. "I'd never imagined Malibu could be this…"

"Quiet? Serene?" she smiles.

"Yes to both. I can see why you love it. It's peaceful… and, this house," I breathe, looking behind me. Just through the glass floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see the rustic country kitchen with its fireplace and copper farmhouse sink, brick floors and cozy breakfast area.

"I know. I can't believe I get to live here."

"You deserve it," I say.

Sue purses her lips and holds out her hand, and I grip it quickly.

"I didn't always think so. It took me a long, long time to work up the courage to buy it. First, it was hard letting go of Harry and I's home and then it was hard justifying spending that much money on something I wanted," she says. "I'm no angel, mija. No one is. But, I was using the things I'd done wrong in my life as excuses. I was selling myself short, even though it wasn't right."

"Somehow, I think we're talking about something more…" I say, a bit weary.

She sits up, grasping my hand in both of her's.

"You're very smart, Isabella, almost too smart for your own good. You overthink. Just because you've done bad things in the past, it doesn't mean you don't deserve good things now."

I purse my lips and look away.

"I respectfully disagree. There's such a thing as karma, but sometimes… sometimes, it's a little too easy on you. Sometimes, you have to take things into your own hands. To even your own score."

Sue sighs, shaking her head. "I can see I won't be getting through to you today. You are a tough shell to crack."

"So I've been told."

"Just remember," she says. "We accept the love we think we deserve."

I stare at her for a long moment before bursting into laughter.

"Oh, hush!" she smiles, throwing my hand back at me.

"Did you… did you just quote 'The Perks of Being a Wallflower' at me?"

"I said hush, Isabella!"

"Oh, I most certainly will not!"

"Why, do you not enjoy the film?" she says, standing and gathering our bowls. I get up as well, grabbing our glasses and following her into the kitchen.

"On the contrary… I absolutely loved it. The book and the film. I just can't believe you know it, too."

Sue shrugs. "Got to keep up with the kids somehow. Besides… that Sam, she reminds me of someone."

I turn away, busying myself with dumping our water down the sink in lieu of looking at her knowing expression.

I spend three wonderful days at Sue's home, one day longer than I'd intended, but by the time Tuesday morning rolls around I feel lighter than I have in… I can't even remember how long.

I wake up every morning to the sound of waves crashing on the shore, sun shining through the bay window in the guestroom and through the gauzy white curtains making everything glow. Sue and I drink coffee - decaf, with a big spoonful of condensed milk - on the back porch every morning. We eat three meals a day - keyword, we. I can only eat half of what's dished for me and I feel uneasy after each meal but they're all so delicious, I can't help myself.

We walk along the beach and I play catch in the sand with Sue's Jack Russell Terrier, Rio. We watch 'Selena' the second night I'm there, and cry so hard we start to hiccup. Sue plays me all her favorite songs, and I learn an easy version of 'Como La Flor' on Seth's acoustic guitar for her. I don't know the lyrics but Sue does, and she teaches them to me. My accent isn't the greatest but by the end of the night, we're both singing it loud enough to make Rio howl and jump around us.

I have time by myself too, which is something I didn't think I would like.

"To make up for all those times I had to be glued by your side at the clinic," Sue says.

I read, by the fireplace or out on the deck. I write in my journal, filling pages and pages with words. I snag Seth's guitar again and practice a few songs, learn a few more.

I keep my phone off the entire time. It taunts me from the bedside table each night. I want nothing more than to switch it on, to call Edward and hear his voice and tell him all about my day… but I don't.

I leave on Tuesday morning, early enough to make it to school for most of the day with promises to come back soon - and bring Edward with me next time, or else.

"I mean it!" Sue says, wagging a finger in my face. I roll my eyes, smiling. "Ah, ah! Don't you roll your eyes at me… I'm serious, Isabella. I want to see your boy with my own two eyeballs."

"Yes, Sue."

"And, the next time after that, you can bring Alice and Rosalie. We'll have a girl's weekend… I'll even convince Leah to come!"

I laugh out loud at the image of Leah at a sleepover. "Good luck with that."

"Hush. Tell Jasper I said 'hello', and don't forget to give him his besitos!"

I shake the Tupperware container in my hands, the little coconut cookies inside rattling around.

"Now, get going before you're any later for school," Sue smiles, wrapping me up in her arms and kissing both of my cheeks. For a moment, everything feels so… normal. Like this could be my Mom sending me off in the morning, like it could be any other day.

But, it's not. Sue isn't my Mom, no matter how much I wish she was.

My Mom is somewhere in Seattle, with powder in her nose or a needle in her arm, forgetting that I ever existed.

"Thank you, for… for everything."

"Any time, mi hija."

My bag is still in the back seat as I drive into the school parking lot, hair still wet from my shower at Sue's. My face is free of makeup. My dress is a-line, ¾ sleeved with black-and-white polka dots and a collar, hitting just to my knees. My Doc's are still black and scuffed and well-loved.

I'm me, but a little bit different. A little bit lighter, perhaps.

I loiter in my car, letting the music play - my soundtrack on the way back had been the entirety of 'Gish', and I'd played 'Crush' over and over again until the bass line had been thrumming in my bloodstream. For some reason, the song just sounded like Edward. Pushing my nerves aside, I reach into my bag and grab my phone, powering it on.

Texts and missed calls come through one after the other, in a seemingly endless stream.

Alice: Oh, B... this was a bad, bad idea. Your boy is going crazy.

Rosalie: Where the fuck are you? Allie won't tell me shit. Are we keeping secrets now?

Dad: I expected you home from Alice's last night. Where are you, Isabella?

I hesitate to open the one name that shows up more than any other, taking a deep breath before I do. I read the most recent text first.

I'm fucking losing it, Baby. What the hell have you done? Where are you? Please tell me you're okay. Just one call or text.

My breath stops altogether. There are so many, I can hardly keep up. I keep scrolling, reading from newest to oldest and pausing at the ones that have me feeling like my chest is caving in.

One of Monday evening's texts has tears welling in my eyes:

Bella, please. What's going on? I'm scared out of my mind here.

Another from earlier that day makes me choke:

Did Jacob have anything to do with this? I swear to God, I'll kill him.

But, it's the one from early Sunday morning, just as I was on the road to Malibu, that makes me lose it:

I'm sorry, Baby - I just woke up, I wish I'd seen this sooner. I adore you, too. Every part of you. I need to see you today.

I tap on his name, bringing the phone to my ear. It rings once before he picks up.

"Bella?"

He's all panicked, out-of-breath boy.

I did this to him. I fucking did this to him.

"Edward," I cry, holding a hand over my mouth.

"Shit," he chokes. "Shit. Bella, you're… fuck!"

His voice is a roar, but I hear him whimpering. Breathing hard and fast, he sounds…

He sounds terrified.

"I'm sorry," I croak, nearly on the verge of wailing.

"Bella, you have no idea. No fucking idea…"

"I'm sorry," I say again, my forehead on the steering wheel, eyes closed as tears drip into my lap like a faucet. "So sorry."

I listen, holding my breath to hear him better. He whimpers, I shudder. He sniffs, I choke. After so long, I start to feel like I might pass out, he speaks.

"You know what?" Edward snaps, voice hoarse. "Fuck your 'sorry.' You have no clue, do you? What you did to me? I thought… I thought you were…"

"I'm okay. I'm fine, Edward."

"I thought you were dead!"

I gasp. He groans, a never-ending string of curse words flowing from him between broken sobs.

"Where are you?"

"What?" I say. "At school. What are you…"

The line goes dead.

I sit through my classes on the edge of my seat. At lunch, I see Alice and Rosalie for the first time. It takes a long time to convince them I was at Sue's, and I have to show them a picture she took of Rio and I on the beach to solidify it.

Emmett pulls me aside and asks what I did to his brother. I'm too guilt-sick to answer.

It's during my French period with Alice that it happens.

The classroom phone rings. I jump. Alice looks at me, eyes wide.

"Oh, mon dieu…" she whispers.

"What?" I breathe. "What?"

"Miss Swan?" Mademoiselle Goff says, placing the phone back on it's receiver. "Your Father's assistant is in the front office to pick you up."

"He actually did it," Alice squeaks, packing up my papers and books for me. I'm frozen stock-still, unable to move. "I can't believe he really did it. Holy shit, B."

"Who?" I ask, taking my bag from her with shaky hands. It's a stupid question - I already know. "Who did what?"

Alice just shakes her head, lips pursed.

I make my way through the halls slowly, foolishly trying to draw out the inevitable. I didn't have to ask Alice 'who', because I really did know. Even if I hadn't had the feeling all morning that something was going to happen, I could feel him.

I knew he was here.

And sure enough, as I round the corner to the front office, I hear him before I see him.

"Her Father is a very busy man, Mrs. Cope. Away on business a lot. It's rare that they get to see each other."

"Oh yes, I've heard as much. Mr. Swan is just wonderful, and so very generous…"

His back is to me when I walk in but I know he's felt me, too. His back straightens and arms strain where he rests them against the tall counter top, hands in fists. I think I can actually see his breathing stop.

Cope's eyes land on me, and I know I'm not imagining it when I see a flicker of disappointment cross her face.

"Miss Swan! I was beginning to think we'd have to send a search party out for you," she laughs, loudly.

Edward's back tenses even further beneath his t-shirt. His shoulder blades lock. Then, he turns - slowly, so slowly - to look at me over his shoulder.

His eyes make me gasp.

Rolling, burning, churning green... so vibrant and blazing, angry. He's a forest fire. He's all smoke and ash, my fire and flame.

And he's beautiful.

Even in his anger, in his distress, he's the most beautiful thing - ever.

Everything comes rushing forward at once, so suddenly it shakes me.

"I… I have to get something. From my locker."

I take a step back. Edward straightens to his full height, shoulders back. Mrs. Cope eyes him, brows raised.

"I'll just be a minute," I say, fully intending to be much longer than a minute. I have the route in my mind already - from here, I'll head toward my locker but turn down the Arts wing and cut through the currently empty music room. The back door will put me right by the parking lot, and then it's just a short walk to my car.

I'll apologize later, in a million different ways, a million different languages. I'll grovel at his feet, if he wants me to. Anything.

I just can't do this. Not right now.

I take another step back. He takes two forward.

"I…"

"What are we waiting for? Your Father is waiting. Lead the way, Miss Swan."

The way he says it makes me clench my fists. When I take another step back, he moves so quickly I barely have time to react. In just a few short strides he's beside me, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind him.

"Thank you so much for your help, Mrs. Cope," he says over his shoulder, voice rough. Our skin isn't touching, but I feel him through the fabric of my dress. I can smell him, that maddening scent that makes my head spin.

"Any time, Anthony!"

"Anthony?" I breathe as we round the corner.

"My middle name," he mumbles, and I stumble. He steadies me.

I didn't even know his middle name.

"Where are we going?" I whisper, watching his face as his eyes dart around. We're moving further into the English wing, past classrooms full of students. I'm asking stupid questions.

It's fairly clear.

When he finally finds an empty classroom, more than five rooms away from any occupied one, I'm a mess - half-hoping it's locked, and half-hoping it isn't. He tries the doorknob.

It's unlocked.

I wilt. Edward's shoulders relax as he rushes us through the door, and I walk forward hesitantly. I'm truly not sure if I'm relieved or not.

My back is to him, but I can still hear when he locks the door and pulls the little screen down over the small window.

Then, it's just us - us and the strange blue afternoon light streaming through the windows, us and the dust motes and the empty desks. Everything smells like old books and stolen moments and him, him, him.

The silence is stifling.

I grip onto the strap of my bag with both hands, twisting the leather in my grip over and over again.

"Stop it."

My hands still. My breathing halts.

"Put your bag on that desk, the one to your left."

I hesitate for the briefest of moments before, slowly, I do.

"Look at me."

I close my eyes, biting my tongue against the pitiful sounds that want to escape like I want to grovel and beg for his forgiveness.

There's a bang, and I jump nearly out of my skin. When he speaks this time, it's a broken shout.

"Look at me!"

I turn, barely breathing, and take him in.

Leaning back against the door, shoulders hunched, my boy is crying crystalline tears, his face splashed with angry splotches of red high on his cheekbones. His hand is still in a fist, still against the door where I know he must have slammed it. He's clenching his jaw and his chest is heaving, and all I can think is: he's mine.

He's mine. I've pissed him off, scared him and I think I'm slowly wrecking him - but I'm not afraid he'll leave. I know he won't. He's mine and I'm his, and this is so fucking scary and big but it's our's.

"I was in Malibu," I say, my voice shaking in time with my body.

"Don't," Edward says, closing his eyes.

"I was with Sue. She's... she's from the clinic. You know, the one I was in this summer?"

"Bella… stop."

"I got my car back, and I needed to see her. I drove there on Sunday morning. I have pictures to prove it, if you don't believe me - "

"Enough!" he shouts, and I can't hold myself back from flinching. When he speaks again, it's through clenched teeth. "Stop talking. You need to listen to me."

I swallow hard, but say nothing.

A wry smile spreads across his face, humorless, and it makes my chest feel heavy.

"Well, that was easy. Is that is, then?" he says. "That's how to get through to you? Who knew... all this time, I was doing it wrong. Turns out being the nice guy gets me nowhere, huh?"

"That's not - "

"Don't. I don't want to hear it," he chokes, his composure crumbling for the briefest of moments. It's enough, though. I can see everything he's trying to hide - the hurt, the confusion, the fear. "Do you even know... I thought you were mine that night. But then, watching you throw yourself all over him…"

It hurts, this truth from him, because it may be obvious to me that everything I am is his... but, not for him. The thought makes me want to wrap myself around him and tell him how much I belong to him, how I'll only ever belong to him until my throat is raw.

"I…"

"Damn it, Bella, let me finish!" Edward growls, striding forward. In one quick movement, he's got his hands around my upper arms and he's so close, I can smell cigarette smoke and peppermint gum on his breath.

I can recall, not too long ago, being held in a similar position by Jacob - funny, isn't it, how the only thing I'd wanted then was for him to let me go. Now, though… now, I want Edward to hold me tighter, squeeze more, mark me, bruise me with love. It makes me wonder if I'm sick, if there's something wrong with me.

It doesn't matter. I'll be sick for him.

"You don't tell me anything. You do all this shit and just expect me to understand. I don't, Bella. I don't fucking get it, because you won't tell me," he cries. "Alice said you and Jacob... that it wasn't what it seemed, and you had a reason."

Edward releases me, stepping back and running a hand through his hair, the other resting on his hip. He turns his back to me. I whimper and wrap my arms around him, resting my forehead between his shoulder blades.

"I don't even know if I want to know why anymore."

He's shaking. I can feel him, my hands flat against his chest, his heart beat thrumming double-time beneath my hand. His shirt is soft and smells like clean laundry and him.

"I'll tell you why," I whisper. "I'll tell you anything."

I hear him swallow, and I hold him tighter. He still feels so good, even trembling beneath my touch as I run my hands along his cotton-covered abdomen, tracing all his perfect definition.

"What is it?" I say. The shiver that runs down his spine travels through me, too. "Tell me what to do to make this better."

"It's not that simple."

"I'm not saying it is. I'm saying…" I hesitate before slowly stepping around him. Only once we're face-to-face and he's looking at me, really looking, do I speak. "I'm saying… that I want you to tell me what you need."

His stifled grunt is unmistakable, and his lips pout the tiniest bit when he closes his eyes again. His brows furrow, and he takes a step back.

"You. I just need you, without all the bullshit and lies."

I reach up before I lose my nerve and tangle my fingers in his hair, feeling silky-softness and reveling in the way he groans for me.

"I can do that," I murmur, raising to my tip-toes to press a kiss against the side of his neck.

"Don't say that if you don't mean it," he mumbles, tilting his head down. I feel his nose in my hair as his hands come slowly to my waist.

I don't want to lie to him. It makes me hesitate - only for the briefest of moments, but it's enough.

His growl sends a strange thrill down my spine, even as he steps back and disentangles my fingers from his hair. His hands move to my wrists, and I trap my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from saying something wanton and stupid.

"Stop trying to distract me," Edward snaps, releasing his grip on me. But, it's too late. I've tasted him after too long without, and I want more.

I wait until he has both hands in his hair before I move, slipping beneath his shirt and feeling smooth, perfect skin - his sides, abs, back and chest. He inhales sharply, hands flying to my shoulders, trying in vain to push me away.

"Bella…"

"Don't tell me to stop," I breathe, wrapping my arms fully around him and holding him to me.

"Baby, please. I can't…"

I loop one arm around his neck, the other still firmly locked around his waist, and he bends as I strain upward until finally, finally… our lips meet. His are soft and warm and sweet, and he tastes just like he should. My brain short-circuits, a constant loop of just a few words: mine, boy, good, home, love.

When he pulls away, I hear his whimper and it breaks me. I'm crazed, high on him as I leave kisses anywhere I can reach.

"Bella, I need to talk to you."

"We'll talk," I manage, my lips brushing right atop his racing pulse-point. "Later."

"You have to know... I was so scared. I was going insane," he breathes, tangling his fingers into my hair and tugging, exposing my neck to him in one smooth move. When he speaks again, it's a muffled groan against my skin. "Don't ever do that to me again. Don't you fucking dare."

"I won't," I cry, as he backs me up against the large teacher's desk.

"Promise me. Swear it. I can't do that again, Bella. I won't."

"I swear, I swear. God, I swear."

I know he notices I didn't promise. I know it, because when he grabs my hips and lifts me easily onto the desk, I can feel him buzzing electric-heat anger.

"You do this to me. You turn me into this… this…"

I hear what he doesn't say, as he runs his hands up my bare legs and along the top edge of my panties. His long, strong fingers rub right over the dampest patch of cotton, right over when I need him the most and it's still not enough.

For the first time, I reach out and stroke my fingers along the hard, solid bulge in his jeans. He bucks and hisses, pressing closer.

"Like this?" I whisper. "Or like this?" Using my whole hand to press against the shape of him, I rub my palm all the way down his denim-covered length. He's big, and I know before taking even one look that he's perfect.

Edward's forehead drops to my shoulder and the hand not currently driving me insane slams down on the desk beside me, bracing himself.

"Say it," I sigh. "Tell me you want more."

"Fuck, Baby, yes. I want more."

His fingers slip into my underwear at the precise moment I undo his button and fly, and it's white-hot heat and fucking magic when he runs his fingers all along me, from top to bottom.

"Shit," he groans, open-mouthed and panting as I push his jeans down, boxers following right after. I can't stop myself from looking at him as soon as he's bare.

"I knew it," I whimper, repeating his words from the first time he saw me right back to him.

I was so right, and so wrong - he is perfect, but also so much more than I was expecting. I want to tell him it's pretty, because it kind of fucking is, but I can't breathe let alone speak when I touch him. He's soft, soft skin atop hot and hard, the tip of him glistening in the dull blue-light glow.

I grip him in one hand, giving a slow, firm stroke. In an instant, my panties are gone - but I don't have time to marvel at the speed with which white cotton falls to the floor before he's got two fingers inside me and his thumb is pressed firmly, perfectly on my most sensitive spot.

"Oh, God…" he cries, breath hitching as I begin stroking him in time with his fingers moving. We're so perfectly in sync. He uses his free hand to hook under my knee and spread me even wider, and thrusts harder into my hand. "I want you... so fucking badly."

"Then have me," I groan, gripping his shirt and pulling him closer as I continue my rhythm. It brings him so near, I can feel the heat of him, feel the outside of his thighs against the inside of mine.

He gasps, hiding his face in my neck, breath hot and warm and wonderful.

"Bella, tell me to stop."

"No," I whine, pumping hard once, twice before rubbing my thumb along the tip of him. He groans, curling his fingers inside me just so. My heart stops.

"Baby, I'm not that strong. I'll take you right here if you don't."

Edward leans forward, lips brushing against my ear, and the movement brings his hips ever-closer. He brushes against my thigh and hisses; I burn.

"Please... please, Bella. Not here. Not like this, not the first time," he says, voice rushed. "Tell me. Tell me to stop."

He's so desperate, so sincere, and I'm wild with wanting him but I know he's right.

So, I do.

"Stop," I say, just a breath, and he does. His hand stops and pulls out from me so suddenly, I have to bend forward to quell the empty ache, so deep inside.

"Are you okay?" he says, hands on either side of my neck, the tips of his fingers tangled in my hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't…"

I would feel bad about cutting him off, but I don't - I can't, not when everything feels so right and good the moment I wrap my legs around him and pull him forward, resting my hand at the base of him and running his slick, hot head from my clit right to my entrance.

"Ahh, fuck," he gasps, his head falling to the crook of my neck.

Desire heats every inch of me so quickly, I'm dizzy with it. My heart beats so hard I feel it in my throat, and it's like the world will end if I don't have him.

"Edward… oh, shit. Please."

His hands move from my hair to my hips, gripping so tight I hope they'll leave a mark. My body thrills at the idea. He moves the slightest bit closer, a minuscule amount, but it's enough for him to settle right at my entrance for the briefest, most shining moment.

It breaks us both.

He pulls back, angling his hips away from me as we both come apart endlessly, unendingly.

It's not our first time together, though it very nearly was. I understand why Edward asked me to stop.

If that had been our first time… I wouldn't have regretted it, because I could never regret anything I do with him.

I would have been sad, though.

We deserve more. Our love is Earth-shaking, Heaven-bound love. Love that deserves more than a clandestine fuck atop a dusty old oak desk. Love that deserves more than a bashful boy, wiping himself from the floor with my panties as I adjust my skirt and laugh at his flushed cheeks that match my own.

I don't know when our first time together will be, but I know it'll be everything. How could it not?

There's so much left unsaid between us, so many questions unanswered - but we're both lazy-boned and heart-eyed fools, riding high off each other. Wordlessly, we agree to put the heavy conversations off for the day.

School is, predictably, a write-off for the rest of the afternoon. I find out that Edward posed as 'Anthony', Charlie's personal assistant, feigning picking me up for a lunch date with my jet-setting Dad. I commend him for his ingenuity, and reward him with a kiss that has us both flushed once more.

Edward's Mustang smells like leather and sunshine, and we return to Sonic - the scene of the crime - to redeem the most recent bad memory.

He gets a strawberry milkshake. I get a Cherry-Vanilla Coke. He gives me his Maraschino cherry. This time, I really do lick the whipped cream from his bottom lip.

We end up at the practice space, Edward's guitar in my lap as he teaches me the unmistakable opening riff from 'Alive'. When I run out of patience and he dissolves into the most adorable giggles, I crawl into his lap and plant a million and one kisses on his face.

"Well…"

A voice and a throat clearing has us breaking apart quickly, my heart pounding as I peer over the top of the couch to see Jasper standing in the doorway. His smile is mirthless, his eyes narrowed.

"I can't say I didn't see this one coming."

uh oh. i think it's funny i keep ending on these semi-cliffhangers, because i despise them whilst i'm reading other stories. oh well - we've come this far, why stop now?

so, last chapter… overwhelming consensus is that jacob is the absolute worst, and i'm inclined to agree. i didn't really foresee him becoming the villain he is now, which makes all the hate for him that much better. if you can believe it, he was originally much nicer but douche!jacob kind of has a mind of his own, you know? he really writes himself.

thank you for all of your lovely reviews and messages here and on tumblr. i look forward to seeing what you have to say more than anything - please don't be afraid to reach out and tell me what you're thinking! i answer every single review, question and message. again, you guys are the fucking best.

fic rec this week is another old fave (what else is new?) and it's 'ethan church' by dryler. so interesting, detailed and well-written. it has this kind of... sophisticated feel to it, if you know what i mean. bella gets an offer from a famous, reclusive author to stay at his creepy-cool mansion and write his biography. i don't think it's a stretch to think of who that author could be. featuring a bella that's entirely too relatable and an edward that'll have you weak in the knees, i can't recommend this enough if you're looking for a good vamp au.

so... what did we think this week? let me know. until next time, you can find me on twitter (belladelabarre) and tumblr (bellaofthebarre) where i post music and aesthetics, and occasionally sneak-peeks for future chapters and stories. xx

chapter 9 mixtape:
track 1 - 'malibu' by hole
track 2 - 'crush' by the smashing pumpkins (pretty much all of 'gish', really)
track 3 - 'medicine' by the 1975
track 4 - 'alive' by pearl jam

*TRIGGER WARNING: Bella attends a party with Jacob and becomes inebriated. On the drive home, Jacob unsuccessfully attempts to become intimate with Bella, in spite of her protests. Strong language is used.*