Author's Note: So, this chapter was supposed to be longer, but I have this irrational superstition of the number thirteen and I just needed to get a fourteenth chapter up ASAP or else.

Or else what? IDK, but I didn't want to find out. I said this was irrational.

That night I couldn't sleep.

I stared at my ceiling, my covers up to my neck, and I didn't sleep.

I could hear Charlie restlessly banging around in the kitchen downstairs, the soft hum of late night/early morning infomercials playing from the living room.

He was probably hungry; we hadn't eaten anything all evening.

We spent the entire time sitting on opposite sides of the couch and hardly speaking, until I couldn't take it and went to bed.

I kept my cell phone on and resting against my stomach, in case Edward called. We never spoke on the phone before, but I knew he had my number. I was hesitant to call him and I knew I shouldn't have been, no matter what the clock said.

For the tenth time I maneuvered under the covers; my eyes watered at the glare of the cell light, but I scrolled through my contacts and stared at the pixels of his name.

I closed my eyes, told myself to grow up, and pressed send.

The ringing blared in my ear. I counted each one, praying he would answer.

He didn't. The call went to his voicemail, and I shivered at the sound of his voice.

"Hey, this is Edward. Leave a message."

Followed by the beep.

"Hey… it's me." I paused to lick my dry lips. In the small space, the air was turning hot and there wasn't a lot of oxygen. "I mean, it's Bella. I wanted to call and… see how you were. Maybe talk about what happened today…" I sighed and closed my eyes, burying my face into my pillow and twisting onto my stomach. "I'm sorry for the weird call, I just wanted to… I guess I just needed to hear your voice. Charlie's been really quiet… but he doesn't seem mad, so that's good… Are you okay? Did you talk to Carlisle anymore? Not that… it's personal, I know. You don't have to answer that. But I want to know." I exhaled. I felt the emotion rushing over me, the aftermath of the entire day spilling over the sides. I couldn't dam it up, and my voice was raspy from the effort. "I'm sorry, Edward. I wish you were here. I haven't even mentioned your mom or… just anything all week. You deserve so much better than that. I was just so afraid. I don't even have an excuse… but you're so… so personal and I just wasn't sure what I could ask you and I didn't want to say anything wrong."

There was no one to answer me, but I paused anyway.

"Please forgive me. I… care about you. So much."

I pulled the phone away and ended the call just in time to muffle my sob against the pillow. I clutched at it as the next heave assaulted my lungs, and I twisted and folded my legs up, pressing my thighs against my shuddering torso.

I cried out everything: my worries, my insecurities, my hopes and fears. I cried for Edward and Esme and Carlisle. I cried for my dad. I cried out the last turbulent stormy months of my life until there was nothing left to cry about.

I don't know how long I cried, but eventually the tears abated and I stared off into the shadows on my wall. I studied their dips and turns. I watched the phantom leaves on the tree outside my window sway in the nightly wind.

It was around three in the morning that I felt my phone vibrate next to my head.

I grabbed it and answered, my voice cracking on an urgent "hello?"

"Bella," he breathed.

"Edward," I sighed, "are you okay?" My voice was hoarse; my throat ached. I probably sounded an inch from death.

"I'm fine." He said the words quickly, not wanting to mull over the specifics. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I sort of lied.

"I just listened to your message."

"Oh." I deflated. I knew it was cowardly, but I didn't want Edward to address it because I afraid of his reaction. I didn't want him to hate me, and as ludicrous as that sounded, it felt like a very real possibility.

"Bella…" he trailed off. He sounded tired, like my confession had wearied him.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out. "I didn't mean to dump that on you. I shouldn't have. It was stupid."

"Bella, stop it," he said. "Let me speak."

I closed my mouth and felt my cheeks heat with shame. I was being ridiculous, and the worst part was I wasn't clear why. I didn't know what he wanted from me.

"First of all, don't be sorry and don't say that it was stupid." He exhaled and paused. I wanted to see his face to gauge his reaction better. "You were right. I haven't been… available."

Now that he was agreeing with me, I felt the urge to argue my own defense. He'd gone out of his way and against his every instinct to show me the center of his entire world. How more available could he have made himself?

"I told you… I showed you my mom, but I didn't open any avenues for you to feel comfortable asking anything… I'm not sure I wanted you to." I felt a pang. "It was just… easier," he explained, grudgingly. "It's not that I didn't want you to know, Bella. I just didn't want to talk about it. But… I guess I did. I do. Otherwise I wouldn't have blown up at you like that." He scoffed. "I wouldn't have kicked Newton's ass if it really wasn't bothering me."

I closed my eyes and rested back into the plush mattress, listening to his voice.

"I am sorry, Bella. For today. For everything."

"So am I," I whispered, "but I don't think you should be the one apologizing."

"Silly girl," he muttered, teasingly. I felt a smile creeping over my lips; everything really was going to be fine. "What are you doing right now?"

I blushed. "Uhm, just lying in bed."

"Under the covers?"

I blushed harder. "Yes. What are you doing?"

"About the same." I could hear the smirk in his voice. My imagination ran rampant.

I laughed nervously, but sobered quickly. I had to at least try. "Edward?"

His answer was nothing but a soft throaty "hrm?" It sort of did things to me.

"How did things go with your dad?"

"Let's talk about that tomorrow, okay?" he murmured. "I promise. As long as we're both okay tonight I just want to talk about nothing. It's been a long day. You are okay, right? You said Charlie wasn't mad?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Charlie's just been quiet." I paused, frowning. "You're not avoiding the subject or something, are you?"

"No, Bella," he placated me with a soft chuckle. "I'm just tired."

"Oh. Do you want to go to sleep then?"

"No." He laughed again and I heard the rustling of blankets. My heart skipped a beat.

It was nighttime and Edward and I were both in a bed. Separate beds and only connected by a cell tower, but still.

"What… do you want to do?" Wow, the tone of my voice probably couldn't have sounded more obvious.

"Interesting way to phrase that," he drawled. Was it possible to go weak in the knees while lying down? "What do you want me to do?"

I pulled the covers over my head in a swoop of air. My blush seemed to spread everywhere. "Uhm." My breath was shallow.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" He sounded amused.

Actually, he was just evil.

"A little," I replied. My hand was sweating around the phone. I was also trembling from bursts of unexplainable coolness that were chased away by the heat of his voice. "I kind of like it, I think."

"Do you now?"

"A little."

"I'm going to tell you what I want to do."

Oh dear god.

"I want to read you something."

Huh? "Huh?"

Evil.

"It's long, so pay attention." He sounded like he was enjoying this too much. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," I sighed out, equal parts relieved and disappointed. Gosh, I lived in the gutter and he knew it.

He cleared his throat comically, but when he began his voice had lost all light-heartedness. "Every day you play with the light of the universe," he started, and I recognized it immediately.

My breath caught.

"Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water. / You are more than this white head that I hold tightly / as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands. / You are like nobody," he paused and I let my eyes flutter closed, waiting, "since I love you." I pressed my hand over my heart and curled onto my side; I felt the rushing of his breath. "Let me spread you out among yellow garlands. / Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? / Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed. / Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window. / The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish. / Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them. / The rain takes off her clothes."

He stopped and I heard him shifting. I took my bottom lip between my teeth, letting his words possess me, letting the bittersweet desire of the prose, the imperfection of the yearning lyrics caress me.

"The birds go by, fleeing. / The wind. The wind. / I can contend only against the power of men. / The storm whirls dark leaves / and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky." His tone had darkened; his tenor trembled with the ghost of pain. "You are here. Oh, you do not run away. / You will answer me to the last cry. / Cling to me as though you were frightened. / Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

"Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle, / and even your breasts smell of it. / While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies / I love you," he whispered, "and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

"How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, / my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running." The double meaning in his words seized me, touched me. I wrapped an arm around my folded legs, clinging to every syllable. "So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, / and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.

"My words rained over you, stroking you," and they did. "A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. / I go so far as to think that you own the universe. / I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, / dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. / I want / to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees."

I let out an exhale that quivered. I clutched the cloth over my thrumming heart and overheated skin.

"Bella?" My name was roughened and husky on his tongue.

"Yes?"

"Good night."

"Edward?" He was silent, but I could hear his shallow breath. "I love you too."

I made breakfast for Charlie in the morning.

I basically cleaned out the kitchen preparing fruit and waffles and pancakes and yes, even French toast. I laid everything out on the kitchen table, his plate already full. He had a glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, a glass of water, and a cup of coffee. (And more in his thermos.) I had even warmed the syrup.

I was desperate.

I sat at our overflowing table and waited for him to walk down the stairs. I could hear him shuffling around and getting ready. It was only a matter of time.

I rested my heavy head on my tired arms. I hadn't slept, even after that phone call. Actually, I hadn't slept partially because of that phone call.

God, that phone call.

"Bells?" I shot up like a wound jack-in-the-box. "Is this all for us?"

Charlie looked confused. Mostly I felt triumphant because he said more than three words. "Uhm, you, really," I answered, trying to smile.

His eyes narrowed and he shifted onto one leg. I knew that look. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

Naturally I wanted to lie. Under any other circumstance, I would have claimed a few hours of unconscious bliss. I knew better than to fib now, however. "Not at all."

He heaved a sigh and fell into his chair. "Bella, I'm not mad at you," he told the floor, sounding as exhausted as I felt. "I'm just disappointed you lied… but I can understand why you would have."

I could have jumped up and danced. I could have sung hallelujah and found Jesus or something.

"To be honest, I'm angry at Carlisle. I think I'll head over to the hospital to have a talk with him today."

He turned to eat his food. And that was it.

That was all. I was floored.

"That's it?" I gaped at him.

"Yeah," he said, digging into his pancakes, "just don't lie to me again, Bella."

So, the I love yous just sort of slapped me in the face. No joke, they just happened. Basically I wanted to include the poem (which is one of Pablo Neruda's love poems and it is for real the most divine amazing erotic love poem ever and I recommend it to anyone who can read), and obviously it required Edward to say those three words more than once and I just thought ~fuck it, they're teenagers~ Teenagers go too fast sometimes. Do you think it was too fast?

ANYWAY. Next up is more Emmett. I can promise this much.

Also, a lot of reviews keep asking if the other Cullens are going to pop up soon. Truthfully I have no idea if they will or not. If they do, it'll be a surprise to me too.