A/N: Just a little food for thought and a hint to what Edward's afraid of—What do you remember of your "first love"? Did they break your heart, or are you still with them 'til this day?
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. We all know who does, and she's fab.
I awoke early afternoon the following day. My head was throbbing, and my stomach was queasy, but nothing, nothing, could top the mortification that consumed me when the hazy memories of the night before drifted into my sleep addled brain. It was like déjà vu of being fifteen again, getting drunk at a beach party and throwing up in Jacob's lap—only this was worse; so much worse.
I was a grown woman now, not some idiotic teenager who did stupid things just because her friends were doing them, too. I should've known when to put the bottle down. Hell, I should've known better than to have picked it up in the first place, but I didn't. I succumbed to the peer pressure of my brain telling me to make everything go away. Now there I was, no further distanced from the same stupid problems I'd had the day before, and to top it off, I'd puked on the object of my growing affections—my neighbor and best friend.
Fuck. Me. Running.
I could feel his weight in the bed beside me from the way the mattress dipped away from me, not to mention the fact that his hand was very close to being on my ass. I had no idea what to do, or how to act. I hadn't had to face Jake in the light of day, just hours after emptying the contents of my stomach into his lap, years ago. I hadn't had to face him for a solid week afterward because I'd been grounded and forced to take up residence on the couch in the living room so I couldn't hang out with him through our bedroom windows.
I tried to lay as still as possible so as not to wake him. Truth be told, I was afraid to. I could only imagine how juvenile Edward found my behavior the previous night to be, and I feared that between my telling him he should stay away from me and showering him with the case of beer I'd had to drink, he'd see the wisdom in those stupid words I'd drunkenly slurred. I didn't want my last memories of him to be of last night and him saying goodbye this morning.
Just the thought of it had tears burning my eyes, blurring my view of the rain pelting my bedroom window. I sniffled lightly, drying my eyes on my pillow. I didn't think it could be heard over the sounds of the storm churning outside, but the second I did it, Edward's hand on my lower back began to move. His fingers raked against my skin lightly for a moment or two before the bed jostled with his movement.
"Hey," he rasped, his voice hoarse and low. I felt his arm wrap around me and every muscle froze in my body as I buried my face further in the pillow. "Bella, c'mere."
My breath hitched, seizing in my chest when he gently tried to coerce me into rolling over, and I frantically shook my head. Tears leaked out of my eyes from squeezing them tightly shut while I fought down the sob building in my chest.
He returned to rubbing soothing circles on my back, and it calmed me enough to take a few shuddering breaths in.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"What for?"
I sniffled, again, and released a deep breath before answering. I didn't roll over, though. It was easier to stare out of the window than it was to look at him.
"Last night."
My eyes had fallen away from the window, focusing on my fingers twisting into the fabric of my pillowcase.
"Bella, roll over."
I closed my eyes, but otherwise remained motionless. A moment later he sighed and hooked his arm around me, effortlessly turning me toward him where I buried my face into his t-shirt, ashamed. Tears began to seep from my eyes again as he started running his fingers through my tangled hair, softly massaging my scalp.
"Why are you upset?"
"I'm embarrassed," I shrugged as I mumbled into his chest. I didn't want to confess my real reason for being so emotional—my fear of him walking away from me.
"So you drank a bit too much. It happens; it's not the end of the world. I'm more worried about some of the things you said, and why you drank so much when you so rarely drink at all."
I nodded, for what reason I hadn't a clue. Maybe just to assure him that I was listening, or maybe as some sort of confirmation that there had been a reason I'd partaken heavily in an activity I typically only imbibed in modestly. Very modestly. In all honesty, my limit was two, but I rarely ever finished the second. I was a lightweight—or a cheap date as Emmett occasionally joked; it didn't take much for me feel the effects of alcohol in my system.
Edward's voice was softer when he spoke again, just above a whisper as his fingertips caressed the back of my neck. It felt amazing and had me curling in closer to him.
"You're not a shitty person, Bella. Even if you didn't forgive your mother right away, it doesn't make you a bad person, and it certainly doesn't make you a person unworthy of being my—" His hand stilled on the back of my neck for only a moment before it resumed and he continued his thought. "—of being in my life."
For a split second my brain had begun pondering why he'd amended his originally intended words, but then he was speaking again and I was distracted.
"Forgiveness isn't something that every person can just automatically give. Some people can, but for others, it's something that has to be earned. Maybe in becoming your only companion, your mother earned your forgiveness, or maybe it's just that it took time for you to see how truly sorry she was. That doesn't make you shitty, or coldhearted... if it did, then I'd be a monster."
"What do you mean?" I finally pulled my face away from his shirt to look up at him, only to find a guilty hint of a smile.
"Remember when you asked me if I had a flaw that repelled women?" he asked. I nodded, remembering it clearly. He shrugged then. "I'm a grudge holder—a bad one."
"How bad?"
His lips pursed to the side for a moment, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I don't know why I'm admitting this, but when I was in the tenth grade, the girl I'd been dating for two years kissed my best friend-"
"If you're going to say you broke up with her, that doesn't make you a grudge holder," I snorted, rolling my eyes.
"I didn't. We dated for a few months longer, until she left me because I kept throwing what she did in her face, but it's not even her I was telling you about." He shook his head, guilt marring his features. "I never talked to my best friend again, Bella. We'd been inseparable since we were practically still in diapers, and I never talked to him again after he told me what she did."
"Remind me never to get on your shit list, then."
"I'm not quite as rash now," he chuckled, but it was strained as he resumed running his fingers through my hair. "Point is, though, it takes a lot for me to forgive someone, and even when I do, I never forget."
It was quiet between us for a while as I absorbed his honest words. Could I fault him for being that way—for being so reluctant to give away his trust after it'd been broken by someone? With all I'd been through in my life thus far between my family and people I'd considered lifelong friends—no, I couldn't.
I just hoped I'd never do anything to break his trust in me. But if I ever unintentionally did, I prayed I'd have the strength to withstand whatever backlash he had to give to earn it back from him over time.
"So are you going to tell me what Charlie did, or said, to set you off yesterday?"
Ugh, so much for evading that topic.
One of the best things of working at Mrs. Harris's craft store was that the hours I spent there were always greeted as a welcomed reprieve from having to think about anything; anything at all. It provided enough of a distraction that I didn't drive myself crazy thinking about the past, or my father and his continued calls and apologies, or even about my escalating—and sometimes seemingly unrequited—feelings for Edward.
Our interactions since the morning after my night of drunken debauchery had been platonic at best. That one night he'd spent in my bed had been his last, and since that long afternoon of cuddling, he'd been acting a bit... off. Hot and cold, hot and cold; kiss on the forehead one day when he left, a pat on the shoulder the next; sharing a blanket with me on the couch while we watched movies one night, sitting on the loveseat by himself the next.
Being at the shop was definitely a welcomed change from all of the thinking myself in circles and wallowing I'd been doing outside of the place.
As much as I loved my job, though,—and working with Mrs. Harris truly was a pleasure—I couldn't imagine doing it forever. It was fulfilling, yes, but not to the degree that I felt I wouldn't be settling or failing to meet my full potential. It was with this in mind that I'd begun looking into taking classes at the local community college. I couldn't go full time, not with working full time and not wanting to bother taking out student loans until I'd decided what I'd like to earn a degree in. It just didn't make sense to put myself in debt without first having some sort of direction toward a career that would pay off said debt, and the list of possibilities was daunting and endless.
On a Wednesday night, just an hour after I'd gotten home from work, I'd been in the middle of filling out the paperwork required by the community college's application process when Edward strolled in through the front door. I knew it was him simply because he always knocked the same way before opening the door and letting himself in—two quick raps followed by a single one as he turned the knob.
"Bella?"
"In the kitchen." I put my pen down and went to check on dinner to have something to focus my attention on—anything to keep me from overanalyzing whatever mood he found himself in today.
"You hungry? I made extra."
"As long as it doesn't come out of the microwave, I'm starving."
I snorted and shook my head just as he entered the kitchen. I hadn't eaten a microwave meal since the day I'd emptied my freezer of them all into the trash. He knew this, too, but he continued to tease me about it.
"And what if I make you wait so it cools and you have to reheat it?"
He grinned lopsidedly, throwing an arm around my shoulders.
A hot day it is, then.
"I'd eat it, you know that."
"How was work?"
"Didn't go to work today, but speaking of it, think there's any chance you can get off the twenty-eighth through the first?" I tilted my head to look at him curiously.
"What for?"
"Just a little getaway," he shrugged. "I was talking to Kate the other day and her sorority is throwing some fundraiser event for Halloween. Since you never went to your high school prom, I figured it would be a great way for you to experience all the glam and glory you missed out on."
Now I was just confused. Never mind the fact that I hadn't even been interested in going to my Senior prom, though I might have had I still been living in Forks with all of my friends, it still didn't make any sense to me what one had anything to do with the other.
"What does a Halloween bash have to do with prom?"
"It's 80's prom themed." He laughed and pulled a boxed corsage out from behind his back. "So whaddaya say? Will you be my date?"
"I'd love to," I snickered. "I guess that's one thing more thing I can cross off my list of things I never got to experience."
"Speaking of that, what do you think of maybe going to a concert while we're up there? Hit two birds with one stone again kind of thing... that smells fucking phenomenal by the way."
This man was just too much sometimes.
In the weeks that followed, Rosalie, Alice, and I searched high and low for dresses that would suit the occasion. We checked stores in the mall, and bridal shops, but while we found some really gaudy garbs, we didn't find anything that screamed 80's era. The guys had it so damn easy. All they had to do was go to a tux shop, grab the ugliest ruffled shirt they could find, and pair it with a hideously colored suit. Emmett chose some powder blue monstrosity that had me laughing so hard I nearly wet myself when he modeled it for us, complete with shiny white dress shoes. Jasper's outfit was a bit more reserved in the burgundy color he'd chosen—just a bit, though.
Edward, however, wouldn't show us what he'd bought no matter how much we'd pestered him, but he did ask me to tell him what color my dress was once I found one. I thought it to be an odd request, but agreed to it nonetheless.
It was a few days later when I'd wandered into a consignment shop, figuring it was at least worth a shot, and I hit the jackpot. Crammed onto a rack in the very back of the store were gowns with puffy shoulders in ostentatious colors too numerous to count. The girls met me up there and we laughed hours upon hours away while trying on each and every garment until we left with our ensembles, replete with ridiculous accessories and matching shoes.
On the evening of the twenty-seventh, Edward and I packed up his truck and made the three and a half hour journey up to Seattle. For the sake of ease we'd decided to book a room at the Sheraton Hotel where the bash was to be held. From what I had gathered, the funds raised would be contributed to a university related program that provided scholarships and educational grants to its students. Kate was part of the foundation's student selection committee, but that was about as much of the details of the event as I'd absorbed during our few short phone conversations. It was for a good cause, and I was more than happy to pay the fifty dollar ticket price—not that Edward had allowed me to. He hadn't allowed me to pay for my own room when it turned out that they'd overbooked their double occupancy rooms, either. Stubborn ass.
I'm not quite sure what had sparked Edward into turning our little getaway into a first experience extravaganza, but that's exactly what he did. It seemed as though if there was something within a reasonable driving distance that I'd never experienced, he made it his mission to ensure that I didn't go home without doing it. We explored Pike's Place Market, went on a dinner cruise in the Puget Sound, ate at the Space Needle restaurant, ventured through an art museum or two, and even caught a musical at a local theatre—these were my favorites of the tourist attractions we visited.
Friday night our friends joined us in the city for the Rascal Flatts concert Edward had bought us tickets to. I'd become so familiar with the band since I'd met him that I'd been able to sing along with the majority of the songs—mostly his favorites because he listened to them so often. I'd had an absolute blast, but the more time we spent together, away from Forks and away from all the things that frequently allowed me to distract part of my attention away from him, the clearer it became that what I felt for Edward was far more than just a schoolgirl crush.
With each smile he sent my way, each laugh that burst forth from his chest, and each affectionate, yet platonic, physical interaction between us, I fell for him a little bit more. It scared me to realize how deep my feelings for him ran because I wasn't sure if he felt any of it in return for me. Rosalie was insistent he did, but I had absolute zero experience in the love department to work with in forming my own opinion on the matter. I didn't know what to think about how he felt; I only knew that I was approaching head over heels status at lightning speed, and the possibility of falling flat on my face was decidedly considerable.
"Girl, I'm telling you, just make a move on him. He wouldn't spend all of his time with you if he just thought of you as a friend and nothing more. Trust me on this one. I speak from experience here."
"Ow!" I yelped, my hand flying to my hair that Rose was currently teasing to gravity defying heights.
"Sorry. If it makes you feel any better I burnt my ear with my curling iron." It didn't, but it was kind of funny. The spot on my scalp where she'd just nearly torn a chunk of my hair out still smarted. "Anyway, if you ask me, he'd be a fool if he didn't have feelings for you, 'cause you're kind of awesome."
"Aww, thanks, but seriously, I think I'm being an idiot for even entertaining the idea. I'm too young for him."
Her hands fell to her sides as she stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
"What the hell does age have to do with it? It's not like you're a minor. You're an adult, and he'san adult... well, most of the time anyways. So what does it matter?"
I shrugged. I didn't really have a response for that other than stating the obvious.
"He's eight years older than me, Rose. Eight. He'd graduated high school when I was in the fifth grade. That's kind of... disturbing, don't ya think?"
"Ew!" her face scrunched up as she pushed my shoulder. I laughed. "Don't think about it that way."
"It's true, though. I've thought about it a lot—not in the pedophile-ish way, but still—our age difference is something I've put a lot of thought into," I admitted. "He's probably ready to settle down, start a family and all that, and he'd be best matched with someone who was at the same point in their life. I'm still floundering trying to find my chickens to get them in order or whatever."
"You make the weirdest analogies sometimes, ya know that? And it's geese in a row, by the way. Or ducks."
"Yeah, yeah. Leave my chickens be. The point is, my life's a mess and probably will be for a long while. That's not what he needs, and most likely not what he's looking for."
She sighed as she put the finishing touch of a hideous, green, polyester flower clip on the side of my hair and turned to sit on the edge of the sink. It was hard not to feel disappointed by the truth of the matter, but it didn't make it any worse to have said it aloud. It was what it was.
"Bella, Bella, Bella," she shook her head, reaching forward to tap the center of my forehead with her finger. "You're over thinking things. Sometimes the heart just wants what the heart wants."
"And if his heart wanted me, don't you think he would've taken advantage of the whole only single rooms available thing this weekend? It's not like it would've been all that much different from us sharing a tent, or sleeping in the same bed together like we did a few weeks ago... granted I spent most of that night puking my guts out."
"Ha! I knew his ass was lying when he said he spent the night on your couch because you were sick. And yes, it is different. He's a man, Bella. He might be able to keep his hands to himself for a single night, but he's not a saint. Four nights in a row of spooning you would be more than the poor guy's gentlemanly restraint could take."
She hopped off the sink counter then, and turned to walk out of the bathroom, letting her words trail behind her.
"Now come help me stuff myself into this fugly ass dress."
At seven on the dot there was a knock on my hotel room door. I'd gone back to my own room to finish getting ready after my talk with Rose, and while I was no less skeptical of the possibility of Edward feeling something for me in return, I was a little more hopeful. Just a smidge. That hope, however, swelled to almost desperate proportions the moment I opened the door to find him standing there.
He looked incredible.
I'd never seen him dressed up. Even the night of my birthday he'd gone casual with a pair of jeans and an un-tucked dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. For tonight he hadn't gone for the frilly tuxedo shirt, as the others had, but instead chose a plain white dress shirt paired with a matching bow and cummerbund in hunter green—the same color as my dress. The white blazer and black dress pants to go with it brought the whole ensemble together perfectly.
"Wow."
He smirked. My face burned. I hadn't meant to say that aloud, but yeah, wow.
"Wow right back," he grinned, stepping forward to slip a corsage on my wrist. "You're an absolute vision in green."
"I feel like a tree." Could my brain possibly form anything more deranged? I sincerely hoped not. If my face could get any hotter, I'd spontaneously combust; I was sure of it.
"Well you certainly don't look like one," he laughed, holding his elbow out for me to take. "The prom awaits, m'dear."
If there's one good thing to be said about sateen arm gloves, it would be that they eliminate the embarrassment of sweaty palm syndrome. I'd know; mine felt as though all perspiration from everywhere else in my body had been rerouted to my hands. It was hard to say whether it was my nerves, or because of the gloves themselves, but I didn't dare remove them.
Walking through the doors into the room where Gloria Estefan was flowing through the speakers, felt a little like walking into the prom scene from 'Footloose'—only because there were balloons, streamers, and glittered confetti everywhere. Couples entering stopped to pose beneath a balloon arch to have their picture taken for a five dollar donation, and, of course, that's where Edward led us first. Between the eight of us—Rosalie, Emmett, Alice, Jasper, Kate, Garrett, Edward and myself—we must have shelled out at least a hundred dollars or so for all the pictures we took. The girls and I bought a copy each of the girls and guys only shots, and the group shot, as well as our own couple shots.
The tables set up in the hall seated eight, which was perfect for our group. We weren't split up, and we didn't have to share a table with people we didn't know, either. The only unfortunate thing about our seating arrangement was that Rosalie had chosen to park herself within kicking distance of my legs, and she took advantage of this frequently. Every time I'd glare at her, she'd give me the wide eyed look that said 'Do it. Make a move already.' What'd she expect me to do, mount him right there in a roomful of people or something? I could almost hear my knees sigh in relief when Edward stood from the table and asked me to dance.
Throughout the evening we danced, ate, drank the spiked punch, and laughed. We acted silly and tried to show off our best—or worst depending on how you looked at it—dance moves. Being that I'd been born in the late eighties, unlike most of my immediate company, I wasn't as familiar with popular dance moves from that era. The best I could do was the 'Roger Rabbit' and the 'Running Man', but at least I pulled them off better than Edward's rendition of the 'Can-opener'. Seriously, the man can't dance, but it was fun watching him try.
Rosalie's persistence continued throughout the night relentlessly. After a lot of liquid courage, the idea of making a move on Edward became more and more appealing. The appeal factor might have been intensified by how good and right it felt to be in his arms, swaying slowly on the dance floor. Then there was the way he looked at me with such warm eyes and soft smiles, and the way his fingers would caress my back every now and again so tenderly.
Somewhere between what I felt for him, Rose's urgings, the alcohol in my system, and the way he was looking at me and touching me, I grew a pair.
"You know," I began hesitantly, nervously. "I think I've experienced more firsts in these last few days than the last few years combined. Thank you for that."
"You're welcome," he smiled, turning us on the floor. "I was happy to be able to share them with you."
"There's, uh..." my face began to heat just thinking about the words I hadn't yet spoken. "There's still something I've never... you know, with anyone... I mean..."
"Bella, what is it?" he asked, his expression turning to one of concern as our movements came to a slow halt.
I couldn't dredge up the courage to put what I wanted into words, so instead, I just went for it. My heart took off racing as I raised up onto the tips of my toes and pressed my lips to his. They were so soft and warm and sweet... and then they were gone.
I felt his hands on my face, but refused to open my eyes as my heart lurched and sank to my stomach.
"God, Bella, no. Don't ask me to be your first for that. Please, I'm begging you."
My heart gave another painful lurch as I took a step back from him, covering my lips with my fingers as his hands fell away from my face. They came to a rest on my shoulders, burning them with his heat and making me take a step further away from him as tears filled my eyes.
"I'm sorry... I'm s'orry," my voice cracked, my throat constricted by my tears and the maelstrom of emotions crippling my ability to breathe.
"Bella, no. I'm sorry," he responded, agony marring his features. I held up my hand and shook my head, trying to be strong.
"It's okay, I get it. I'm not..."
I wasn't what? His type? Good enough? What he needs?
It didn't matter.
"I have to go."
I had to leave. I couldn't... I just had to get away from him. His rejection hurt worse than I'd been able to conceive it ever could. I thought I'd been prepared for it, but I wasn't.
I couldn't bring myself to look behind me as I ran off the dance floor and toward the exit as quickly as my watery vision would allow. I didn't know if he was following or not, but I couldn't face him again—not in the state I was in—so I did the only thing I could think of. I slipped into the nearest stairwell and ran up as many stairs as possible until my chest felt like it was being ripped open by the sob that tore through my throat.
Edward was nowhere to be seen when I slipped into my room. I shut and latched my door as quietly as I could, not knowing if he had made it back to his own room next door yet or not, but not wanting to alert him to my return if he had. I'd never been so thankful for a lack of availability in double occupancy rooms in my life than I was that night, or that he'd refused sharing a single. I wouldn't have been able to share a room with him after how I'd foolishly just thrown myself at him, believing for even a second that I could have ever been someone he'd want as anything more than a friend. I didn't want him to witness my heartbreak, but more than that, I didn't want to make him feel worse than he evidently already did.
As I collapsed in my bed I told myself I'd just give myself a few days after we returned to Forks to get over the rejection, and my feelings for him, and then we could go on being friends as though nothing had happened. I prayed to God I'd be able to manage it, because I couldn't imagine my life without him in it in whatever capacity I could have him.
With each fresh tear that fell against my pillow, though, my doubts that I'd be strong enough to do just that doubled.
I hadn't been in my room long, at least I didn't think I had, when I heard what sounded like someone pacing up and down the hall in front of my door. I froze, praying to everything holy under the sun that if it was who I thought it was, he'd give me at least the remainder of the night without having to face him.
He didn't. He knocked; more than once.
"Bella, please open the door."
I could deny him nothing, no matter how much my heart and brain screamed at me to bury myself beneath the blankets and never emerge. I slid from the bed and wiped my face with the neck of my tank top, praying my eyes could stay dry until I was able to shut the door again. It was a futile attempt; the second I opened the door and peeked through the opening the chain allowed, the tears came forth and spilled over again.
Stupid prayers... don't know why I even bother. They never work.
"What, Edward? I'm tired." I ducked my head behind the door to fist away the moisture as I spoke. I hatedthe fact that he tsk-ed his teeth and sighed the second he saw me. I hated that he looked just as distraught as I was even more.
His soft spoken voice was heartbreakingly sad when I heard him again.
"Open the door, Bella. Let me in, please."
I closed the door and undid the chain, but opened the door no more than it had been before. It didn't matter, he pushed it open gently and stepped inside. I hadn't even had the chance to turn away before my face was in his hands and his lips were ghosting kisses over every inch of it except my lips; not once on the lips as he spoke.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... please, I'm so god awfully sorry." He pulled back, his thumbs caressing my cheeks as he gazed into my eyes intently. "I need you to listen and really hear what I say to you, okay?"
I nodded, the movement forcing another set of tears to stream down my face.
"I've fought this as hard as I could—told myself a million and one times that it was better to stand by, watching and waiting, no matter how much it hurt me to do so, than it would be to be your first love that you only thought about once in a blue moon years from now."
His thumbs stroked my cheeks as I looked up at him and saw the sheen of his own unshed tears glistening in his eyes.
"I'd rather be your last than just a part of your memories."
A strangled sob hitched its way out of me as he placed a few more kisses upon my face.
"You're young, baby. You're young and inexperienced, and that's not a bad thing, but it's enough to terrify me of losing you one day because you look back and wish you'd dated more people-"
"I-" His thumb rubbed over my bottom lip, effectively quieting me as his eyes danced across my face.
"Is this—being with me—what you really want?"
I nodded, tentatively kissing his thumb as it passed over my lip once more. I wanted it, him, more than anything in the world.
"Are you sure? Because I don't want to be your first, Bella. I don't want to be your first unless I can be your only. Do you understand?"
I nodded again, fisting the sides of his shirt in my hands.
"I want you, Edward, no one else."
I was unsure of where that left us because all he did was continue to stare at me with conflicted eyes, but then, he ducked his head and his warm lips brushed against mine tentatively. A faint whimper left my lips when he pulled back slightly and his eyes opened, looking directly into mine as our mouths remained just a hairsbreadth apart. I could feel each and every unsteady breath he released as it washed over me. I was lost in his eyes, captivated by the beseeching look in them.
"Don't hurt me."
His eyes closed as soon as his breathed words were spoken, and in the next moment his lips were on mine; loving, demanding, pleading, giving, taking, taking, taking.
There were still so many unknowns where my future was concerned—who I'd build myself up to be, what I'd do with my life, whether or not the people who were legally considered to be my family would become just that, my family, or if they wouldn't be part of my life at all. All of these things I had yet to discover, but I knew one thing for certain in that moment.
I knew who I'd be with at the end of the day I found the answers to every unknown that still lingered. I knew that at the end of every journey down a beaten down, bumpy road, the person I'd be standing next to would be Edward.
I knew this without question because I knew I'd never do the one thing he asked me not to; I'd never hurt him.
A/N: Do you think Edward has reason to be afraid of being hurt? Do you think he should have continued to sit idly by until she'd "sowed her wild oats"? I'm interested to hear your thoughts. Come chat with me on the forum ^_^
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