A/N: I do not own Twilight, or any of its characters, it all belongs to Stephenie Meyer!

Thank you bookbag, and all you beautiful people in forums talking about this fic. How can I ever thank you?

Here's what Bella remembers about that New Years Eve.

Chapter Nine: Flight

Bella's heart had tripped and skipped for hours before the New Years Eve party. The Cullen Dimension was crammed full of strangers preparing the house. There were caterers in the kitchen, baking tiny appetisers in batches. There were florists arranging huge urns of flowers. The air smelt like blossoms and pastry.

Hundreds of tea lights lined the stairs to the house, flanked the stairs, waiting to be lit at last. There was a man raking the gravel in the driveway.

Bella had been overwhelmed by the hive of activity and had gone back to Charlie's house to get ready with Alice.

In the few months that Alice had been at Forks High, she was the only one who had bothered getting to know Bella.
She was Bella's new best friend by default- she was actually her only friend, other than Edward and Emmett.

Bella tentatively trusted her. She was fun, and light, and made her feel normal. She was quirky and deemed slightly eccentric.
It was no wonder she got along so famously with Esme when she came to visit. She greeted Edward for the first time with a polite smile and a firm handshake, and then crossed to Emmett to give him the same.

She therefore passed the test. She never fished for information about Edward, and was only interested in being outside, walking, talking and people watching.

Alice looked gorgeous as always that night, even though she had only given a cursory consideration to her appearance. She stood in a plain grey wool dress, and yellow ballet flats, no makeup and short, choppy hair. She looked like a sparrow. Bella analysed the outfit over and over, trying to put her finger on what made it work, before realising it was confidence.

Bella was wearing the red dress that Esme gave her for Christmas, but confidence was sorely lacking in her respect. The dress was exposing too much. Her arms and legs were lily white, and the feeling of the stiff silk tickling against her legs instead of denim was unsettling.

Still, as the girls talked, Bella gradually forgot about how much she was revealing.

Bella sat on the edge of the bathtub with her head tipped forward as Alice stood over her, winding her hair around a curling iron methodically.

"Have you made a decision yet?" Alice asked.

Bella felt sick again, and dragged breath into her trembling lungs.

There had been a meeting at school several weeks ago. The school counselor had submitted some of her school newspaper articles to an International student placement network, and Bella had been offered a three month scholarship in their Journalism and Communications program.

It would mean initially interning for a medical aid organisation, learning to write press releases and publicity articles. It was an amazing opportunity that could be counted as partial credit for college.

However, she was under no delusions as to why she had been so conveniently nominated.

Edward had become increasingly unstable in the last few months and the strain was showing on both of them.
It was as if her resistance was eating at him. He was constantly furious, on edge. Testosterone trickled, seemingly undiluted, through his veins.

He had been recently suspended for a week for a knocking out the upper incisor of a foolhardy male during gym. Edward's defence was that he had made an undisclosed remark about Bella's gym skirt.

"A notoriously hard tooth to knock out, so they say," Edward had said afterwards as he lay on her bed, busily tearing a deck of cards to shreds.

"Of course, it's not that difficult if you have enough motivation," he mused arrogantly.

Edward, thoroughly disgraced, had been placed under house arrest. He was restless, roaming the hallways, his hands desperate for sensation.

He stroked the picture frames he passed, and scratched the banisters as he descended. He took no pleasure in his photography.

He slid into rooms soundlessly, making Esme spill her coffee on the white needlepoint tablecloth.

He used all the hot water. He ate everything in the refrigerator.

Being imprisoned and being apart from Bella was not an entire loss. His schedule was now pleasingly free to dream up new ways to toy with her; to give full consideration to various Machiavellian blueprints, which if executed correctly, would almost certainly result in her passionately kissing him in front of the basketball team.

Carlisle, arriving home from the hospital into the fog of male hormone, had gently suggested that Bella decamp to her barren, impersonal bedroom at Charlie's. Edward watched from the window like a ghoul as she climbed into the car.

At the school conference, which Carlisle and Esme attended without question, Bella was asked to wait outside.

She could still hear through the wafer walls the other reasons for her to take the internship.
It would enable her to break free from this unhealthy co dependence. Anyone could see she was a good girl being taken over entirely. Her excellent grades were starting to slip; she was obviously unwell and exhausted. Attempts to send her to another school had failed.

Tears made the florescent lights starry as she had heard the Cullens' murmured apologies to Charlie. Their promises to pay for her flights.

Bella told Alice that she hadn't decided yet. Charlie was letting her decide, but her passport had arrived that morning. It lay in her bedside drawer, glowing, radioactive.

"But what are you going to do about Edward?" Alice asked, and Bella had been glad that her head was upside down and that her face was hidden by half formed curls. She pretended ignorance.

"Well," Alice had said, "He's not going to let you go."

This was not news to Bella.

"Why don't you want Edward?" Alice asked, genuinely interested. "He's supremely gorgeous, and he adores you."

"He'd eat me alive," Bella had replied. "It's complicated enough already. If we had sex, it would make him even worse."

Alice had laughed. "It's so romantic." She kept curling. "I wish I had someone who felt that way about me. He's darkly, desperately in love with you." Her voice had a strange note in it, and Bella's brow creased.

Alice was as always undeterred by Bella's silence. "If someone loved me like that, I wouldn't know how to handle it."

"I still don't know how to handle it," Bella told her. "It's too much. Besides, he doesn't feel that way about me, exactly. I don't know what he feels."

"What about you?" Alice asked, sitting her upright and pinning the curls up onto the top of her head. "Are you in love with him?"

"God, no," Bella told the one lie she could actually deliver convincingly.

"We were raised together. He's practically my brother."

The familiar knot of panic settled in her stomach when female acquaintances wove Edward into conversation.

Alice wasn't so much subtly weaving. She was spray painting. Bella turned up the stereo in an attempt to signal that the conversation was over.

"Be truthful," Alice persisted, shouting over the music as Bella misted herself with perfume.
"You can't tell me you haven't thought about it. You sleep down the hall from him."
Bella said nothing. Of course she had thought about it. Every day, for years.

Charlie drove the girls to the party. He muttered as he pulled up in the Cullens' drive that he would come to the party after his shift ended. He hated parties. He probably would go straight home and make an excuse.

Bella walked up the stairs into the Cullen house, the same house she had been in virtually every day since her mother's death, yet she hardly recognized it. It was beautiful; finally achieving its full potential. The house was full of people, elegantly dressed, handling crystal glasses and taking morsels from passing wait staff.

There was Ella Fitzgerald music playing. Bella, in her red dress, curls and red lipstick, suddenly felt like they were all in wartime, closeted together to make the most of each other's company and any pinch of luxury they could find. To live, and love, before the air raid sirens started.

Bella was pierced by the image, and felt young and impossibly happy. She was able to walk into the room with more confidence, with Alice's arm linked through hers. The atmosphere was suddenly filled with possibilities. There were some classmates there, and as Carlisle smilingly handed her an inch of champagne, Bella locked eyes with Edward.

He looked like the devil in the tuxedo that Esme had insisted on. His hair was ruffled and twisted, and his eyes stripped the dress from her curves as she shivered.

Bella leant against the wall for support, chatting with Alice, and watched him surreptitiously throughout the evening.

He sat directly opposite her, across the room in the centre of a small grouping of chairs against the wall, slouched in boredom, his detested bowtie already dragged loose. He hadn't even bothered shaving. He had his camera with him, but was not taking photos of the guests as requested by Esme. He shook his head at all offerings of food by the wait staff. He ignored everyone around him.

He did nothing but sprawl in his seat, motionless, except for his eyes.

Edward looked at her once in about every twenty seconds. Bella timed him. She stole another glass of unattended champagne, attempting to quench the fire in her chest. He frowned as he saw her tip the glass back, yet his eyes hinted at a perplexed amusement.

She saw him ignoring girls who tugged at his sleeves, her breath catching in her throat every time his lamplight eyes caught hers. Her pulse felt like a fingertip softly tapping at her throat. Faster now.

She smoothed her dress down, and his eyes followed her hands as she adjusted the low neckline. He raked his eyes down over her dress and her exposed limbs.

His jaw flexed as she spoke with one of Emmett's male friends, but he made no move from his seat.

Carlisle beckoned to Edward. He reluctantly stood and walked directly towards her, cutting through the crowd, and her knees trembled.

He snapped his eyes away from hers and veered towards Carlisle.

Suddenly shaky, shy, she went to the bathroom, locked herself in and studied herself in the mirror. Wondered what he was looking at.

She realised she looked like a different person. Alice had somehow sculpted her into a more beautiful, more alluring version of herself. Her skin was milk white, her dark eyes sultry beneath their black feathery lashes. Her body was an hourglass, wrapped in silk; unadorned by jewellery.

She checked her lipstick and stepped back out. Her stomach was suddenly sweetly sick.

She closed the bathroom door behind her as Edward walked past, carrying some bags of ice up from the cellar. She took his sleeve on impulse, feeling bold.

"I need to talk to you," she whispered, her nerves skittering through her.

"I need to tell you something, in private."

He arched away from her as she tugged on his lapel. She looked down at the dripping bags of ice between them. "Meet me upstairs?"

He nodded, his face completely blank, but said nothing.

She went upstairs, the champagne suddenly hitting her bloodstream, making her feel light as air. She concentrated on her feet, and watched her beautiful shoes climb each stair. One step closer.

She didn't know exactly what she wanted to do, but she was glad she had nice underwear on.

She mentally gasped at the thought, telling herself that nothing was decided, that she could change her mind at any moment.
But she knew the moment Edward realised what she was considering, the zip on her dress would be sliding down.

She felt ashamed of herself as she realised that it was possibly the prospect of a separation that was making her act.
Though, she reminded herself, that decision wasn't entirely made either. Her thoughts were fluttering. She would have to put it out of her mind, otherwise he would get upset.

Her body was assuring her that the decision was made. She felt herself growing hot, sensitive.

It was amazing how free she felt, she mused giddily. She should stop fighting him, fighting this pull. To give her body what it had been craving for so long. Maybe Alice was right; maybe he loved her enough that it could work. Maybe he just needed to be shown that he loved her, and how much.

Fate and destiny layered in her bones as she looked down from the top of the stairs, saw Esme and Carlisle steal a quick kiss before parting to check on the kitchen and their guests. The warmth and energy of the house seemed to steam upwards, making her flush.

Her blood throbbed thick in her veins. She walked to the end of the hallway, and sat on the end of Edward's bed.

After about ten minutes of agonised waiting, Bella emerged.

"Edward?" she called.

She felt foolish as she realised he had probably been waiting in her room. She ran her finger down the wall as she approached the white door.

She paused, and could hear noises from within. With a sick kind of slow motion, she touched the door handle and for once it opened without creaking. The door slid open like a theatre curtain.

Edward was kneeling over Alice, thrusting into her. Her dress was pushed up her thighs, and his tuxedo pants were undone. Alice was laughing softly up at him, her hands grasping his shoulders.

Bella could do nothing but stand and stare, her hand clutching at her throat. Nausea roiled and she thought she would throw up.

Both Edward and Alice turned their heads at the same moment, like mirror images of each other.

Alice looked stricken. Edward did not look remotely surprised to see Bella. He pushed himself away from Alice, turning to do up his pants. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

A sob broke free from Bella's throat. She slowly stepped out of her high heels, and ran barefoot down the stairs.

"Bella?" Esme called as she lurched past, out onto the stone steps, across the gravel drive, every step biting and crippling.

The air was cold and cut her flesh to pieces, but she was glad of it. She ran across the fields. It was a clear, full moon. She could hear Edward in pursuit, his harsh breathing. She slipped on the frosted grass, landed on her hip, ruining her dress. She staggered to her feet, her breath rattling in her lungs.

She ran like she was running from the hounds of hell.

She ran until she burned where once she was ice, and could not feel anything; the bruising on her side, the numbing cold, the broken heart.

She could hear his steady footfalls growing closer and closer. He was panting her name with each exhalation.

She ran up the stairs to her house and into the kitchen. Charlie was standing there in dress slacks and a button up white shirt. There was a bottle of wine on table. He had been planning to come to the party after all.

Charlie gaped at her in complete horror. Bella grabbed his shirt, ruining it, covering it with dirt and mud.

"Edward's following me. Don't let him in! Please. Just make him leave," she begged. He took her icy shoulders and demanded to know what had happened, asked if he had hurt her.

No- yes- no- she stammered. Her feet were in agony; cut from rocks and so cold that the warmth of the room was lancing them with pins.

"I'll deal with him. Go upstairs and shower." Charlie's face was grey.

He picked up his service revolver and stood on the front porch.

Bella stood numbly under the spray of hot water, watching the mud swirl away down the drain. The cuts on her feet stung so much her moan echoed off the tiles.

She washed away the lovely curls, rubbed off the lipstick, let the perfume run off her skin. She washed away that momentary, foolish decision. She made her eyes stare and would not let herself cry. The thought of her father downstairs, taking care of things, was too much. One acid tear leaked out.

She came downstairs, her ruined feet tender. Charlie sat impassively in his armchair.

"He's gone," he commented curtly, observing her limping. "Disinfect those cuts."

"Please, I want to go away." She said softly, looking at the floor. "I have to get away from this."

He nodded, and they existed together in the room for several minutes of awkward silence, until it was obvious he would say no more, and she crept back up the stairs.

She just wanted to vanish.

She wanted it to be as if she had never existed.

As she huddled in bed, she finally cried.

This was what she got for making rash decisions. This was what she got for trusting, for believing that a dress and some lipstick could make all the difference. With every sob, the layer around her heart tightened.

She couldn't get warm and the cuts were so deep.

"I left the next day at lunchtime. Charlie drove me to Seattle, and I went and stayed with my grandparents for a week before my flight out of the States. You didn't try to contact me. I didn't hear from you for five months." Bella said, aloud, exhausted.

She slipped her hand from his. The wind whipped at her hair. The storm was getting closer.

His eyes were still hidden behind his glasses.

He said nothing, and the feeling of embarrassed hopelessness clogged her throat. She had just told him everything, and he didn't say a word.

"I ended up going to South Africa first. I drafted press releases for Medecins Sans Frontieres."

Still, nothing.

Bella hated being stranded on this beach with him, with her worst day laid at his feet.

He walked, kicking away stones that crowded his boot, making her flinch.

The Hole in the Wall loomed up ahead, surprisingly close.

"Can I tell you my version of that night?" He asked suddenly, pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head. He swung her around to face him.

"Is there any point?" She asked, and he looked at her with real disappointment.

"Bella, I am an asshole, but you cannot deny me this: I listened to you. Would you extend me the same courtesy?"

She opened her mouth, could not find the words, and he just looked at her for the longest time. He then turned and continued walking.

Fury knocked her down from behind, stamping up her spine, and the control on her patience snapped. She was tired of making allowances for him, for his behaviour, for handling him like a difficult child. He had effectively just dismissed her, and as she strode after him, the uneven sand and stones gave her a slight wobble, enraging her further.

She caught up with him and grabbed his wrist, dragging him around to face her.

He pulled his hand back as her anger sliced at him, but she held him so tight, he could not extricate himself.

Bella stared up into his eyes, her own narrowed and pitiless. And remembered.

She remembered flinching away from the touch of a male colleague as he accidentally brushed the back of her palm, the look of horror on the man's face, evidently wondering what had been done to her. Not being able to explain herself.

The panic attack she had half an hour before Michael was due to pick her up for their first date. The feeling of the bathroom floor's tiles beneath her cheek as her heart pounded until she thought it would implode. The adrenalin boosting and poisoning her blood, blurring her eyes and weighting her down. The weak sickness that pervaded afterwards, robbing her of her appetite, the ability to smile and be normal as she sat across from Michael in the restaurant. The constant reflex to look over her shoulder.

Edward pulled back his hand harder now, stepping back, blinking hard, but she stepped forward and dug her nails into the back of his hand. She grabbed a hold of his belt, the leather warm beneath her hand, and held him still with all of her strength.

His face was pinched, and she continued slapping him with the images, faster now, all out of chronological order. The cuts on her feet. Standing on the sidelines, always avoided and alone, the feeling of always being watched. The snide whispering behind her as she passed in the halls.

No privacy. No secrets. The locked door. Charlie's look as she stood at the foot of the stairs, asking to leave. The sheer terror of arriving in a foreign country, so alone, feeling like the last remaining human being on Earth. The strangeness of being able to meet the eyes of other people; people who didn't know who she was, who Edward was, his gift and her unrelenting weakness.

Sleeping in silence for the first time in years.

The first female friend she made when starting at the newspaper in Portland; their regular ten o'clock coffee and cookie ritual.

Feeling anonymous, faceless in the city, cut adrift, hating it, loving it.

Being fifteen years old, watching an old black and white movie at the Cullens, watching a squirming heroine tied to the tracks as a train predictably loomed closer, billowing white smoke. Looking over at Edward and thinking, with a sick, strange fascination, that this dramatisation was exactly what her life was like. But the only person who could rescue her was the one that bound her.

The night she slept with Michael for the first time, after eight months of his persistence and patience, the feel of the cotton sheet beneath her cheek afterwards as he ran his hand up her arm, her secrets safe.

Edward reared back in horror, his breath caught in his throat and his belt cutting into her fingers.
She released him. They both stood, breathing heavily, staring at each other.

Bella would think later, that the strangest thing was this.

She had rehearsed this exposition of the New Years Eve fiasco more than any other fantasy when cocooned in her bed. She had dreamed of hurting him, knocking the breath from him, exerting cruelty and power over him.

It had gone exactly as she had always dreamed it would. Even better, in fact. She had told her story, finally gotten him to listen to the events that had been the catalyst for the severing the ties that bound them. She had made him understand the pain he had caused, she was sure of it.
She had seen the look in his eyes as she finally released him, had seen him flex his fingers in pain as he staggered back.

But she watched him walk away from her, his camera swinging useless from his hand, she felt no victory at all.

As she studied his hunched shoulders, she imagined she had almost felt his deep shock and grief through the palm of his hand.

A/N: Reviewers get to hold Edward by the belt.