~*~ Author's Note ~*~

Hey everyone, I want to give a great big thanks for your continued support and reviews. It means a hell of a lot, and to say thanks, this chapter's a long one... Like, ridiculously longer than my other chapters.

A big thanks to my wonderful beta.

Ahhh... Second helping of chocolate and OCDward.

~*~I Have Decided to Break My Rules ~*~

EPOV:

"So, a little bird told me you have a cooking date with that cute waitress tonight," Emmett said, smiling his goofy grin and giving a deliberate wink in my direction.

I spooned the mashed potatoes onto his plate, to the left of his medium rare steak, pressing the back of the spoon in the middle of the pile, just enough to leave an indenture for the gravy.

Sitting the bowl down and picking up the gravy boat, I ladled the brown beef stock into the hole I had made.

"And who might this little bird be?" I asked tiredly, as Rosalie snagged the bowl out of my outstretched hand, causing a hot drop to slop over the side and into my palm. I counted down in my head, trying to bite my tongue so as to not get into another argument with her.

As much as Emmett had insisted, and as much as I had glared, she still would not let me lay out her food as I liked, even though I was the one who had made the whole damn meal. Apparently she considered it degrading.

I considered it degrading to my food when she spilled all of the brown gravy over the entirety of her plate.

Ugh.

"Don't look at me," she shot, laying the bowl back down and tapping her fingers on the edge of the table.

"Rose," Emmett said softly.

Rosalie merely rolled her eyes and smashed her corn into her potatoes, then her cut steak into the mixture, and tucked it all into one steaming pile of ruined perfection.

Calm, calm breaths.

If I was going to spend an evening with Bella, the least I could do was test myself with the smaller things first. I could handle Rosalie's mess of a dinner, and I could handle myself.

Well, at least that was what I was trying to tell myself.

"Yes, Emmett, I'm meeting her at her place in around an hour."

"About time," he said shortly, cutting into his steak, spearing one of the pieces and taking a long, pensive bite.

I waited for him to continue his point as he chewed and then finally swallowed.

"It's just, you know, man, you've been alone for a while now."

I gestured to him and to Rosalie. "I'm not alone."

I wasn't. Really. I was just fine. Perfectly social and happy.

"Okay, man," he said in a somewhat patronizing way, at least as patronizing as Emmett could be. He winked at Rosalie and then went back to his meal.

Fuck. Now was not the time for him to go all Dr. Phil on my ass.

We spent the rest of the dinner in mere silence, Emmett ever-so-often glancing to Rosalie and giving her the same look I had envied for the past few months, while she just kept mutilating the plate in front of her. I, meanwhile, had decided to pout and glower into my perfectly pieced plate.

Stupid plate.

Stupid steak.

Stupid potatoes.

Stupid damn me. How on earth was tonight even going to work if I couldn't get through dinner without an anxiety attack?

I thought back to the conversation I'd had with Alice on campus earlier that day.

I had insisted on meeting her in the library, sick to my stomach with worry about every single little thing I could do to mess up the night, to mess up Bella. If there was anyone that I had found I could talk to, it had been her. Surprisingly, instead of wishing she and all of her knowledge of my problems would go away, I had started to cling to her advice.

She was, after all, the only one who had been with me through it all and could truly understand the inner fuck-uped-ness that was me.

"Look, she knows about everything now, Edward, so she'll work with you. I know she wants to understand. But she also wants you to trust her, to let her in. If you can do that, you'll be fine."

I breathed deeply into the palms of my hands as the panic began to subside slowly.

"And," she said, a mischievous smile crossing her face, "she's really excited about tonight. I've made sure the apartment's in order to make it easier for both of you—"

I cut her off at that.

"Alice, I really don't want any extra attention or anything. You didn't have to—"

"Hey... Hey, I said it would make it easier for the both of you, not you alone. This is about her as much as it is you. The more comfortable you feel, the better the night will go and the more relaxed she'll be. Bella didn't mind at all. In fact, she seemed to like the thought of making it right."

I felt conflicted. It made me considerably calmer to think that I wouldn't be walking into an apartment of chaos, but I still wasn't sure how I felt about Bella changing anything about her lifestyle in order to accommodate my own eccentricities. It would only be a short amount of time before I messed something up.

"But, Alice, what if I fuck it all up?" I asked, sounding younger than I had in my whole life. I felt like we were back in grade school, asking her if the younger kids thought I was as weird as the ones in my class did.

She thought pensively for a second, and then a small smile crept across her face.

"If anyone fucks anything up, it won't be you."

Huh?

********************************************************************

My feet pounded out a resilient beat on the hard concrete below me.

Three more flights.

Oh god, I can't believe I'm actually going through with this.

Two more flights.

I hope I'll be able to control myself, for her sake.

One more flight.

I can't wait to see her, to see her expressions, her hair, her face, her smell, her adorable clumsy self.

Then one deep breath and three knocks on the door.

"Hey," she said, and the voice that surrounded my ears was fucking spectacular. The agitation I had felt before was worth it.

Now suck it up, Cullen, and push yourself through that door.

She seemed to be struggling with something inside, and I ran my hand through my hair, trying to dispel the last of my anxiety with the sweeping motion as I replied with a "hi."

With that word, and with all of the strength I had, I placed my right foot through the threshold and was standing in the middle of Bella's apartment. She was babbling on about ingredients and steps to making cookies and god knows what all else. I was just breathless at the immaculate, well, right-ness, of the place.

My stomach unknotted itself, and I chuckled lightly from pure happiness at the entirety of the situation.

"What?" she said back to me, a slightly contemptuous look on her face.

I tried to stifle my laughter, knowing I wouldn't be able to rightly explain the level of relief I was feeling at the moment, and opted to explain with,

"Nothing, Bella, it's just, well, you're really cute when you're nervous."

And God, I hoped that was the reason for the rampage of words coming from her mouth. I was brought back to the last time on the doorstep, and her talking and explaining and apologizing, and the way our lips met as I buried them into her...

Wow, really need to stop thinking those thoughts or else it'll start to become physically apparent what I'm thinking about.

If my crazy-ass eccentric self hadn't scared her off yet, I'm pretty sure little Eddie standing at full attention might.

"Oh," she breathed, so close to me. Her cheeks blushed, and it took all of my strength to keep control of myself.

For once I was fighting for the normal, ever-present control any guy my age would need in a situation like this. I liked fighting this type of problem for a change.

"Now, about these cookies," I said as I cleared my throat, because for God's sake, I really did need to get my mind out of the fucking gutter. I reached for the recipe, her nose becoming momentarily buried in the fabric against my chest.

Ugh. Cookies, must think about cookies.

I rattled off the ingredients, happy that she was letting me take charge of the whole cooking business. Not only did it get my mind off of the obvious, but it also helped me to remain comfortable and in control.

"Oh, yes, Dr. Cullen," she interrupted my voice with a snarky undertone, "ten CCs of flour coming right up."

My eyes snapped to hers as she cocked her head and grinned mischievously at me.

"Very funny. I happen to take chocolate chip cookies very seriously, Miss Swan, and I don't have time for any of your lip," I quipped back. For good measure, I grabbed hold of the chocolate chip cookie bag behind her and began to shake it at her.

Shake it at her? Seriously, I think I'd downgraded my game to first grade.

And obviously I had. The look she gave me was confusing and... concerned? Probably concerned for my sanity. I tried to recover, making myself wink at her as I placed the bag back onto the counter.

Next to the other cold goods, to the left of the eggs, at a parallel edge... Of course.

"Erm," she said, as I finished replacing the bag, "I didn't really want to attempt trying to make a martini for you, so I got this, if you'd like a glass."

I smiled at her, looking at the label of one of my favorite merlots and trying to hide the sadness that had welled up in me. Damn, I was grateful that she'd supplied something alcoholic. I was pretty sure we both needed something to take the edge off, but I wondered just how scared of me she was if she didn't think I'd gladly drink any martini she gave me.

And I would, the right amount of olives and incessant sloshing be damned.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" I asked, attempting once more to diffuse the awkward situation.

"No!" she nearly shouted in my face, and I broke out into laughter again.

The sheer sincerity of her words, of her actions, was enough of a drink for me.

"Bella, just relax. I think you need the wine more than I do."

She took the bottle by its neck, and attempted to spear the end with the corkscrew. I say attempted because she was splintering the crap out of it. If she kept at it this way, there was no way in hell that bottle would be opened correctly, and the merlot would be filled with a flotsam and jetsam of ruined cork bits.

I tried to wait. I tried to say it didn't matter. I tried to think only of her little hand around the bottle's edge.

I tried, and succeeded, in wrestling the bottle out of her hand.

"Here, let me," I said. My breathing subsided as I replaced the screw in the correct place, feeling it hit the very middle of the cork and curling inward at the perfect one hundred and eighty degree angle.

"Sorry," she muttered, and all concentration with the wine had gone out the window at her word. Guilt poured through me just as I poured wine into the glasses. I looked disgustedly at the wine in my hand, then swallowed my self-contempt down, and met her eyes.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. You don't have anything to apologize for."

I clinked glasses with her, praying for better control than this.

"To you," I said with a pause, "woefully tactless in all the right ways. You're perfect."

"You are," she said in a serious voice back at me, and I felt my Adam's apple bob as I moved closer to her.

Cookies, Cullen, cookies.

And so I reached for the directions, not giving two shits about the baking project in front of us.

After a short amount of time I could feel Bella begin to relax, becoming more comfortable with me. I hoped it was me, but maybe it was the wine. We touched base on everything. Ex-boyfriends... She had had one, the small number surprising the hell out of me, and by what little she'd said about him, things hadn't ended too well. That really surprised the hell out of me.

If I could have her, I'd hold on and never let go.

I only slightly mentioned Tanya, and left out all of the other small, feebly stupid attempts that I had made relationship-wise. We talked about her family, about her mother splitting from her father. We talked about mine, my dad's expectations of me and my mom's unwavering approval, no matter what I got myself into.

And colors. We talked about colors.

"Red," I said, after she had said her favorite.

Bright red, like her cheeks, the way they got when she was embarrassed or excited or swept by the wind, and like the insides of olives. Blanketed by green. A burst of flavor hidden by a mellow exterior... The way Bella was; an unassuming package with an interior that was simply electrifying.

I poured each of us another glass, and noticed that the bottle was emptying rather fast. I was pondering this, wondering whether we should stop, when I felt the weight from the egg cradled in my other hand disappear.

I looked over to the bowl as I heard an ominous crack.

As Bella's hand raised from the middle of the bowl, I saw a mixture of bright red blood amidst a sea of sticky yellow yolk and shredded pieces of shell.

The first instinct of mine was to panic, to leave the situation right then and there. One of my feet had actually stepped up and was trying to make its way toward the front door.

But the look on her face was so... So goddamn torturous... And the tears swimming in her eyes were tears of fear, of disappointment. Her long eyelashes fluttered furiously, trying to keep the liquid from spilling. This reaction, because she'd broken an egg.

I wasn't even thinking of the batter. All I wanted to do was make everything better, make her tears go away. Make her smile.

"Like I said, you never need to apologize."

Every bit of me wanted to reach for her, to hold her. But that wouldn't make my point. She needed to stop being scared of me, stop being scared of her own actions around me. With a small smile I reached for the bag of flour.

"Are you ever going to be able to just be around me without worrying about upsetting me?"

I didn't know what the answer would be, but I was pretty sure it wouldn't be yes.

"I don't know."

"Wrong answer," I said with a smirk, and as I let my fist unclench around us, releasing a plume of flour, we were surrounded in a sea of white.

To my surprise, she blinked once, grabbed for the bag herself, and powdered me in the cool flour.

With that action, with her hair swimming with white and her breathing ragged, I grabbed onto her small waist and pushed her up onto the counter. I threw more powder. We needed to be concealed. We needed to break all of my rules. We needed this.

God, and I kissed her, and she was sticky sweet with the taste of wine and chocolate, and I felt as if my lips were burning from her hot mouth.

My fingers, on their own accord for the first time in my life, and not by any preconceived plan, went for the buttons on her shirt. I popped them off without thought of rhyme or scheme or symmetry and heard them clink lightly on the floor.

Her bra was gone in seconds, tiny flecks of flour peppering the light pink color of her breasts. And holy God, her breasts. I couldn't help but reach out to touch them, to make sure all of this was real and I wasn't in a fantastic dream.

Those were definitely not a figment of my imagination. I don't think I could've ever dreamed up something so delicate, so right.

Her small hands whipped around to the back of me and struggled to get my sweatshirt off and over my head.

And the way she felt against my chest, the way the flour slipped between us, causing an unbearably cool friction, was the most chaotically perfect thing I had ever felt in my life.

She was unbuttoning my pants, panting and smiling and unwilling to let go of my lips, and then she was tugging at her own.

That was when I realized I was just standing there.

How long had I been paralyzed? How long had I been unmoving against her lips, her hips, her body?

What with the wine, and the whole damn situation, and her being scared of my reactions, and me needing to prove by way of a food fight that she could trust me... It just wasn't right.

I couldn't do this. Not yet. I grabbed her wrists and felt the tears start bubbling up from the back of my eyes.

"Bella, I have to go."

"Now?" she gasped. Her expression was only that of mild disappointment. Maybe it hadn't mattered to her either way... And that stung more than the tears wanting to burst out of me.

"Yes," I said, trying not to look at her as I threw the shirt back over my head. I didn't think I could handle looking her in the eyes without bawling like an idiotic child.

I gave some sort of explanation, gave her a peck on the forehead, and was out the door. The cold wind hit my face as I ran down the steps, panting furiously. I slunk down to the bottom of the floor when I had finally left the staircase. I brushed my hands furiously through my hair, smattering my shirt with the remnants of flour left in it.

And I cried. I fucking cried everything out. I hadn't cried since, well, I don't even fucking know when. I was tear-stained and white with powder and looking like I should be committed.

I don't know how long I stayed out there, and I was only alerted of the fact that I was outside, curled up in a ball in the damn Chicago cold when my phone lit up.

Alice.

"Edward? Edward, are you okay?" her voice crackled, worried and high on the other end.

"I don't know," I said, my own voice giving me away. It was dry and hoarse from crying.

"Hey there, hey. Where are you at, honey?"

"Bottom stairs."

"Huh?"

"At the," I breathed, trying to control myself, "at the bottom of your staircase."

"How the hell did I miss you? Hey come back up, I'm home, and Bella's in bed."

"I dunno."

Part of me wanted to be back up there in the apartment, to see Bella, to tell her that everything would be okay. That I didn't mean to walk out on her. The other part of me just wanted to crawl back into my hole of academia and music where I didn't have to talk to anyone, didn't have to deal with this shit, with life.

"Edward Anthony Cullen, come upstairs. I'll see you in a few."

With the small click of the other line going dead, I dragged myself back up to the apartment, and pushed on the door without even worrying about what the wreckage in the kitchen would do to aggravate my OCD.

Luckily, it had been wiped completely clean without a trace of the disaster I had caused.

"Oh, Edward," Alice said, hugging me and holding out a warm, wet towel. She dabbed at my face as she ushered me to the couch. With whiskey in hand, she poured me a generous amount; then poured herself the same.

"Bella asked me to come back to the apartment, and I figured something had gone wrong."

I downed the liquid like it was my last drink. The warmth of it heated my stomach and made everything slow down. My mind quieted, and I was able to look in the face of the sister I had abandoned all those years ago.

All I could do was shake my head and look down into my hands, twiddling my fingers.

Pointer. Ring. Middle. Pinky.

"So, Bella was a little bit smashed when I got back home... Okay, a little bit would be an understatement. She was wasted. And trying to eat the contents of what looked like red-dyed cookie dough with egg shells all over it. I confiscated the bowl, and the last bit of wine, cleaned her up, and sent her to bed."

"Can I just... Can I just look at her for a second? Just see that she's okay?"

My voice cracked yet again, and I was surprised by the desperation of my tone.

"That's a bit creepy, brother," Alice quipped, smiling at me.

"Really?" I asked. All I needed was to see her, to make sure she still even existed—that she wasn't lost to me forever.

"Oh... Not really," she said, shrugging and tousling her hair. "Go, go. But let yourself out, I'm dead tired from all of this drama."

"Night, Alice," I said, making my way to Bella's door.

"Night, Edward. I love you."

"I love you, too," It had been years since I'd said it to her, and her face broke into a grin as I opened the door to Bella's room.

I closed it tenderly after me and reached out to touch her face, but thought better of it, remembering Alice's "creepy" comment. Instead I curled up on the edge at the bottom of her bed.

Her hair was freshly washed, strewn all around her pillow, and smelled as it always did; light and airy and scented with strawberries. Her eyes were a bit puffy. I'm sure that had something to do with me. And her lips were tainted slightly purple from all of the wine.

Her arms were grasped tightly around one of the pillows from her bed. She seemed to have it in a strangling embrace, laying on her side and hugging it as if it was a tree she was climbing.

She was gorgeously, ridiculously Bella.

That was when I heard it, a small and almost indistinguishable noise, but it was music to my ears. As I craned my ear closer to the front of the bed, I heard it again.

"Edward."

Bella was saying my name. And as shitty as the night had gone, and as much pain as I had caused her, I downed the last of my whiskey and thought to myself,

"This is the only place I ever want to be. Cullen, it's time to start making up for some serious fuck-ups."