A/N: Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net), and Denise.

Edward

If I call Dad he'll kill Mike. I'm sure there's some reason why that would be a bad thing, even if I can't think of one right now. Jake might also kill him. At the very least he'd tell Dad who would then proceed to kill Mike. If I call one of the AF everyone will know by the weekend, including Dad. Fuck.

I need someone who won't tell anyone... someone who doesn't talk to anyone would probably be perfect for that. Someone who doesn't talk to anyone but has some mysterious interest in me that causes him to drive out of his way to take me back and forth to school. I really fucking hope SWCIFD's not the I told you so type. I am not in the mood for that shit.

I tug down the zipper of my jacket and reach into the inner pocket for my phone. I scroll down to the S's in my address book, and make the call.

It rings a lot, and I'm just starting to panic a little because I really don't have a plan B, when he answers.

"Hello?" He sounds surprised.

"Hey... it's Bella."

There's complete silence for a couple moments.

"Hello?" They better not have dropped my call.

"Oh, yeah, hey... um, what's going on?"

"I need a ride." I sound pathetic. I probably am pathetic, but I guess that can't be helped right now.

"Where?"

"Home."

"Are you still in Port Angeles?"

"Yep."

"Where's Mike Newton?" The million dollar question: Where the fuck is Mike Newton?

"Umm... he's not here."

"Where is he?" He sounds a little annoyed, which makes sense I guess. Who wants to get bugged for a ride by some girl from school at eight on a Thursday?

"Well, I don't know, do I? Obviously I'm not with him."

"But you were?"

"Yeah, and then he left."

"What do you mean he left?!" He's definitely angry now.

"Don't yell at me! I didn't do anything!"

"Alright calm down." His tone is placating, but it only pisses me off more.

"If I wanted to be calm, I'd be calm!" I look up to see some guys eying me from across the street. This also pisses me off. I seem to be in a bit of a mood. "What the fuck do you want!?" I yell, unleashing the full brunt of my anger at them. They seem a little startled for a moment and then they wander off down the street.

"I don't want anything," SWCIFD replies in confusion.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Who were you talking to?"

"Some nosey fucks across the street that wouldn't mind their own business. They're gone now."

"Jesus Christ," he groans. "You're outside alone?"

"You know you're asking a lot of questions when you could be driving."

"Right, okay. Just... be careful alright? Where are you?"

"Down the street from La Bella Italia."

"I'm on my way."

I can't believe he actually agreed.

00000

I doubt Mike's going to tell anyone. If nobody knows and I were to accidentally run Mike over, then nobody would know I had a motive. I could pass it off as an accident. Mike's torso meet Steve's bumper. Mike's head meet the pavement. I bet his big fat head would bounce like a beach ball... a stupid blond, overinflated beach ball.

"Bella?"

I lift my head off my knees enough to see jean clad legs standing a couple feet in front of me. When I sit up properly the rest of him comes into view, including a very amused smirk. Oh God, was I talking out loud? Was I sitting on the curb, head on my knees, playing with my shoelaces, and muttering to myself about hitting Mike with my truck? Maybe I'm the scary weird one.

"Hey," I respond with something between a grimace and an embarrassed smile.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting?"

"You kind of looked like you were having a breakdown or something."

"Was I talking out loud?"

"No," he chuckles.

"Oh."

"You're just sitting funny... kind of rocking."

"Yeah... I'm cold," I mutter quietly. I hadn't actually realized that I was rocking, so I don't really know why I was doing it, but the cold seems as good a reason as any.

We're both quiet for a moment, and then I blurt out, "Why did you come?"

He looks at me like he's starting to worry about my mental state and then replies, "You called me."

"But... why did you come?"

He crouches down on the road in front of me. "What's the other option? Leave you to brave the big bad city all on your frail and clumsy lonesome? Even I'm not that much of an asshole."

"You're not, are you?" It comes out with a lot more meaning behind it then I'd intended, and I feel a bit foolish until he smiles softly and taps me on the knee with his fist.

"It depends on my mood. I happen to be in a fairly good mood at the moment."

"Lucky me. Where's your car?"

"Over there." He vaguely gestures behind him, and then moves to sit down next to me on the curb.

"Are we going?"

"I was thinking you could tell me how you ended up here first." Shit. I put my head back down against my knees.

"I came with Mike, and we got in a fight." It's a bit muffled by my mouth's close proximity to my legs, but it's clear enough.

"And he left you here?"

"Yes."

"He left you... here on your own."He's starting to sound annoyed again.

"It's really not that big a deal, can we just go?" Okay, it is. It's a huge fucking deal, but I really don't want to talk about it anymore.

"No, it's pretty normal. I know one of my favourite pastimes is leaving teenage girls alone in the middle of the night in unfamiliar towns. I mean you never know what's going to happen. It's like gambling, but with people. So much more fun."

"Are you done?" I turn my head slightly to peek at him and find him looking at me.

The hard lines of his face relax slightly, and he sighs. "No, but I could probably take a break."

"I'd appreciate that."

There's a long pause, but it's surprisingly comfortable.

"So, I guess the wedding's off then," he says quietly.

"The wedding is so fucking off."

"That's too bad, I really thought you kids had a shot together."

"You know I actually find that really offensive."

He laughs. "Good. About fucking time you showed a little sense."

"I'm perfectly sensible."

"Or so you think," he counters.

"You know that expression about thin ice? Well you're on it."

"Oh really, and what's the metaphorical equivalent of hypothermia?"

"Well..."

"I'm listening."

"I could hit you with my cast," I say, raising the purple wrapped plaster between us.

He knocks on it with his fist. "Yeah, that'd probably hurt."

"Yes, it does."

He looks at me suspiciously and asks, "Do you know that from experience?"

"Why would somebody hit me with a cast? I'm not an asshole."

"I was thinking maybe you hit yourself... accidentally, of course."

"I'm not that clumsy," I mutter sullenly. I'm pretty sure the blush gives away my lie.

"Alright, sorry." He smirks like he knows he's right, but he doesn't call me out on it. I might've actually hit him if he did.

"Yeah, you look really sorry." He turns to me with an exaggerated look of remorse, but it isn't long before it breaks into a laughing smile. I laugh too and look away. "How is it you always seem to appear out of nowhere?"

"Didn't you already ask me this?"

"I believe this would be the third time, and you haven't answered me yet."

"I'm just paying attention is all."

"I was led to believe you didn't do that."

"It's all a matter of interest. Are you hungry?"

"I ate."

"Well, I'm starving. Come on," he says, rising up from the sidewalk and brushing his hands off on his jeans. He offers his hand to me and pulls me up when I take it. "When's the chief expecting you back?"

"We didn't really set a time."

"Alright, then we're going to Roy's."

"Who's Roy?"

00000

I settle into one side of the red vinyl booth in Roy's Diner and take off my coat. It's so warm in here that the large plate glass windows are fogged up almost all the way to the top. The air smells heavily of grease and pie, which is a surprisingly good combination.

I look around us while SWCIFD orders. The place is basically empty except for a few scattered diners. There's a lot of chrome and vinyl, and an extensive collection of old, weather-beaten licence plates on the walls.

"And for you?" The waitress asks, turning towards me.

"I'm not hungry." My stomach feels like a tight ball of knots, there's no way food is going to settle well in there. SWCIFD gives me an appraising look.

"Do you have any apple pie?" Of course he'd ask about apple pie.

"Yeah."

"Bring her some of that, will you?"

"I'm not hungry."

"That's the beauty of pie. You don't eat it because you're hungry." He hands the menus back to the waitress. "That's all, thanks."

"Sure thing."

I'm definitely not imagining the way her hip twitches towards him as she turns, or the exaggerated sway of her hips as she walks towards the counter. SWCIFD, on the other hand, doesn't even seem to notice. He's staring at me.

"That's not very nice," I say teasingly.

"What's that?"

"She's putting on a whole show, and you're not even watching." I gesture towards the girl.

He looks over for a moment with an amused expression, and then he chuckles. "You sound like Emmett... that's a little disturbing."

"Emmett, your... brother?" Does he think of him as his brother?

"That's the only Emmett I've ever met." Apparently he does.

"What's he like?"

"Loud."

"Just loud?"

"Yeah that pretty much covers everything. He's just... he has a loud personality. Does that make any sense?"

"I think I know what you mean."

"Well, that's Emmett aka the significant other of the Ice Queen."

"Rosalie?"

"Yeah."

"She seems a bit..." I was going to say something along the lines of like a major bitch, but that's probably rude, so I just let it trail off.

"Icy?" That'll work too.

"Yeah."

"Well, she's not completely one-dimensional. I mean she's all ice on the outside, but inside is a deep, endless ocean of lava."

"And lava would be...?"

"Hate."

"I see... so she's ice filled with lava?"

"Yeah, it's really hardcore ice," SWCIFD replies with a smirk.

"Ah."

"Although there are times when the lava melts its way through the ice, and then... I guess she's like a volcano."

"That's a lot of metaphors."

"It got away from me a bit... I was trying to find a nice way of saying she's a hateful bitch, but..."

"I doubt that's possible."

"You're probably right."

"What about the other two?"

"Jasper and Alice? Jasper seems like a stoner, because he's always so calm, and Alice seems like a meth head because she's always so... well, she's a scary little ball of energy."

"She's scary?" I'm trying to imagine the petite girl that twirls around in the parking lot as scary. It's not working.

"She can be... often is, actually. She's like a cute little doll that'll bite your head off in an instant."

"Did you just compare your sister to Chucky?"

"I don't think Chucky ever bit anyone's head off, small mouth you know. Plus he was an ugly little fucker."

"True enough, but you did compare her to a murderous head-eating doll."

"Yes I did, and she's never going to know I did," he says with a pointed look.

"How about this, I'll keep that little comment of yours between us and you don't tell anyone about this whole Mike thing." His eyes narrow at me, his jaw tensing as he stares straight into my eyes. I fight with myself not to look away, but he seems to have reached a whole new level of eye contact intensity.

"Because you want to tell your father yourself?" he asks tersely. He clearly already knows my answer.

"Because he isn't going to know."

"He should know, Bella."

"If he finds out about this, he'll kill Mike."

"And?"

"I don't think they let people keep their jobs in law enforcement after they kill teenage boys."

"Justifiable homicide," SWCIFD says with a smirk. It's supposed to be light-hearted, but it comes out a little forced.

"He's not gonna know."

"He could bury Mike in the spot he scouted out for me. I'll have company."

"Does that mean you're planning on causing trouble?"

"I'm not really the plan type. I prefer spontaneity, at least as far as specifics go."

"Yeah, well, intentional lack of foresight aside, you might want to consider that your company would be Mike Newton, and you don't seem all that fond of him. Think of it like this, you could end up buried on top of him. You'd be spending the rest of eternity lying on top of Mike, your rotting flesh and bodily fluids mingling with his. Then you become skeletons and your ribs are all mixed up with his, and your pelvises are touching, and eventually, you become dirt and you can't even tell the two of you apart anymore."

"You've really got a way with words, you know that?" he quips. I almost laugh at his grimace of disgust. I've got to say, I feel a little proud.

The waitress comes back and puts our food down in front of us. She's just about to turn away when she notices SWCIFD's expression.

"Are you alright? You look like you're gonna throw up."

"He's fine," I answer when he fails to acknowledge her question. "I think he's just in shock."

"From what?"

I open my mouth to reply, but SWCIFD cuts me off. "Don't say it again."

I use my good hand to stifle my laugh, SWCIFD looks like he's fighting not to gag, and the waitress looks at us like we're deranged before she walks away.

"Are you going to be alright?" I ask, trying not to laugh, because he really does look like he's going to be sick.

"Why would you say that?" He looks down at his cheeseburger and fries forlornly.

"You're the one that brought up burial arrangements."

"Yeah, but I'm not the one that decided to get all graphic about it."

"It wasn't that bad."

"Pelvises touching!"

The guy sitting at the counter with a newspaper turns around to look at us in alarm.

"Umm... maybe you could not yell."

"That's what you said, pelvises touching. You made it dirty in a really nasty way."

"I didn't mean it that way. I was just talking about dead bodies."

"Pelvises touching..."

"Would you stop saying that," I snap.

"... lying on top of him, mixing bodily fluids... bodily fluids."

I stare at him in horror for a few moments, mouth hanging open, before I gather myself enough to speak.

"That was not... I didn't... ew."

"Exactly!"

"That wasn't where I was going with that at all."

"But you still implied it."

"What? Dead sex with Mike? Oh God,that's disgusting." Now I'm the one fighting not to gag. Why the fuck are we having this conversation? "Why did you have to bring that up? I was just talking about rotting corpses."

"I'm sorry."

"You are not."

"No, I'm not," he laughs. Bastard. "I actually feel much better now."

"You know what? I may have said some... questionable things, but you're the one that made it nasty. That was not my brain jumping to necrophilia, okay? That was you."

SWCIFD rolls his eyes at me, and says, "Eat your pie."

"I'm not hungry." I wasn't hungry before and I'm certainly not hungry now.

"I already told you, you don't eat pie because you're hungry."

"Then why do you eat it?"

"Pie makes people happy."

"Oh wow. So, all we need is enough pie for everyone on earth and we've got world peace. No wonder beauty queens never accomplish it."

"I said happy not peaceful. Some people enjoy violence." I cock an eyebrow at him. "Not me... other people... crazy people. People who are not me. Eat your pie," he instructs, pointing a fry at me in a surprisingly menacing fashion.

"I don't want to."

"It's not a request."

"You're ordering me?"

"No, it's more of a suggestion. You should really eat it if you want a ride."

"Oh, so it's blackmail."

"For your own good."

"How very considerate of you," I reply snidely. I pick up my fork with my left hand and start picking at the slice of pie in front of me. It's actually really good, and the cold vanilla ice cream seems to be helping my unsettled stomach.

A couple minutes later SWCIFD leans forward and says, "You know that's you right?"

"What?"

"The ringing... that's you." It takes a couple seconds before my brain finally puts what he said together with the muffled ringing that's been going off just outside of my awareness.

"Oh!" I grab my coat and dig my phone out of the inner pocket. I get it in my hand just as it goes quiet. "It stopped."

"They tend to do that when you don't answer them," he laughs.

"Smartass."

My phone starts ringing again almost immediately. I stare at it.

"Do you need me to press the answer button for you?"

"I think I've got it, thanks." I feel like sticking out my tongue at him, but I answer the phone instead. "Hello?"

"Oh, thank God!"

"Jess?"

"You nearly gave me a heart attack! Why the fuck didn't you answer your phone? I thought you were dead. If you hadn't picked up this time, I was gonna call the police. Jesus Christ, Bella!"

"Calm down, I'm fine."

"You're fine? In what sense are you fine? I swear to God I'm gonna kill Mike tomorrow. I've got half a mind to go over there right now and wring his fucking neck."

"Wow, you're scary when you're mad."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be venting all this at you, but as soon as he told me what happened I hung up on him to get a hold of you, so I didn't get to let it out. Do you need me to come pick you up?"

"No, I've already got a ride. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I promise I'm fine."

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Mike, on the other hand, may never be seen again after I get through with him."

"Wear gloves." SWCIFD looks at me questioningly. I shake my head.

Jess laughs lightly. "Good looking out."

"No problem. Just... don't tell anyone about this, alright?"

"You realize you're asking me to go against my very nature, don't you?"

"Come on, you can do it."

"Well of course I can, but do I have to?"

"Please, Jess."

She sighs heavily, and then makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. "Fine, but only because you've had a crappy night."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. I have to go kill a certain idiot now. I have a curfew, you know."

"I promise I'll give you an alibi if they ever find the body."

"You better. Alright, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Bye."

"What was that about?"

I look up at SWCIFD. Maybe I should've given him the phone and made him talk to Jess. I do feel I should do something for her after she offered to drive an hour each way at nine on a school night. That might've given her a heart attack though.

"Mike told Jess something about what happened. She was calling to check on me."

He nods and takes another bite of his burger. I'll pay the bill. Now I just have to figure out what to do for Jess.

"Can I ask you a favour?" He looks up at me wearily, scrutinizing my face while he finishes chewing.

"What kind of favour?"

"Simple, very simple."

"You can ask, I can't guarantee I'll agree."

"Okay... you know my friend Jess that walks me to your car after school?"

"Yeah."

"Umm... tomorrow when she says hi to you... do you think you could say hi back?"

"You want me to say hi?"

"Yep."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"That's it?"

"Uh huh."

"You start talking about a favour, you act like you're about to ask me for a kidney or something, and then you say you want me to give someone a one word greeting?"

"I feel the kidney comment was fairly hyperbolous, but I agree with the rest."

"Hyperbolous isn't a word."

"It is too... I think it is anyway. It sounds like it's a word."

"I think you're supposed to say hyperbolic."

"I prefer hyperbolous."

"That's not a word."

"I don't care. You knew what I meant, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I'll say hi to your friend." Well, that's a subtle subject change.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm sure I'll manage somehow." He says it mockingly, like he hasn't been avoiding saying a single word to her since he started driving me.

We go back to eating in silence for a while, and I start thinking about the argument I had with Mike. I avoided this while I was waiting by indulging in violent revenge fantasies, but I'm really not in the mood to imagine running him over with my truck anymore, so I'm kind of stuck with it.

I suppose I haven't said anything particularly revealing, and I can't really think of any serious conversations we've had. How exactly does one segue from I watched a great movie this weekend or I really hate math to sometimes I worry that I'm going to end up spending the rest of my life alone because I take after my reclusive father more than my gregarious mother? Maybe that's deeper then he was thinking, but I can't really see myself blurting out that my mom is my best friend or that I'm starting to think I prefer this rainy climate because I don't have to constantly worry about sunburns. I can't think of anything personal he's told me, but maybe that's because I never offered anything. Although that's completely circular logic, because I could say that I never said anything because he didn't offer anything.

Maybe they don't really know me. Does anybody?

"What's that face for?" SWCIFD asks with a bit of a laugh.

"What?"

"Your face is all scrunched up."

"Oh, I was... umm... do you ever wonder if you're surrounded by people who don't actually know you?"

I can't believe I just asked that. He was in the middle of lifting a fry from the puddle of ketchup on his plate and now it's frozen in place like the rest of him; the only thing that changed was his expression. I have no idea what his expression is supposed to be saying though.

"Forget it, it's stupid," I mutter quickly, feeling that infuriatingly familiar heat creep across my cheeks. I look down and start portioning what's left of my pie into bite sized pieces. It's possible I'm a bit anal-retentive.

"I don't have to wonder, I know," he responds a couple moments later.

"Oh, right." Of course he does.

"My family's pretty good about... knowing me, though." I guess blurting things out is how you start a serious conversation, because I seem to have gotten myself into one. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"My mom usually gets me, in her own crazy way... I think. I'm not even sure anymore. My dad too, sometimes."

"Where's this coming from?"

I let out a deep breath. "It's recently been brought to my attention that I speak without actually saying anything."

"That's quite a feat."

"Well, I'm special like that. See that, right there? That's the problem. I never say anything important, because I'm being facetious all the time. Maybe I should stop doing that."

"Just because you don't say it, doesn't mean it isn't there to be learned." What the fuck does that mean?

"That was really cryptic."

"Alright, you want me to be blunt, I'll be blunt. I think it's kind of ridiculous that you would consider changing the way you talk because some asshole told you it makes it difficult to know you. If he really wanted to know you, he'd put the effort in. Also, there's more to knowing a person then listening to what they say; if he can't figure that out it's his problem."

I look directly at him and he holds eye contact with me. I'm getting this feeling like maybe he gets me, which is stupid because he barely even knows me, but it's a comforting feeling nonetheless.

"You're just worried I'll stop being amusing," I tease. I've had enough serious for one night.

"Well, there's that too," he replies with a smirk. The tension in my body seems to just drain away with the close of that topic. "Finish your pie."

I stick my tongue out at him. He just shakes his head and laughs at me.

I'm actually glad I called him, Dad's protectiveness and possession of a loaded gun aside. Anyone else would've just driven me home, and probably felt sorry for me. I really hate pity. He's just hungry, and honest, and... angry, which really doesn't bother me. I can empathize, and so can he apparently. He actually seems really good at that.

Fuck, I don't think I can call him SWCIFD anymore. I'm going to have to start calling him Edward.

That's going to take some getting used to.

A/N: Just so everyone knows, I'm going to be away from Friday to Monday with little, if any, access to the internet, so if you leave a review or visit one of the threads and I don't reply until Monday or later that's why, but I will catch up.

Addresses for this story's Twilighted and Ravelry threads are on my profile page.