jandco: this one was hard to do. WTVOC unleashed her genius in the last chapter and trying to write after that and to justify the following was ridiculously hard. I hope it works. It wouldn't be possible without WTVOC, Bittenev and Jimmy Gnecco, whose song Darling provided the perspective I was searching for.

WTVOC: dude. we had an actual argument about this chapter. no, no, no. shut up. i cannot express enough that we're irrevocably bound at the keyboard and right atrium and will never break up.

i mean… we argued because jandco was like "how am I supposed to follow that up when I suck so hard" and I was like "dude. yer jandco for one thing. and secondly… DON'T YOU EVER LEAVE ME" etc.

ps… i listened to portishead's "third" when writing the thunder nonsense. chiggity check it, yo. "machine gun" works perfectly with this part.

Bella

He didn't say it.

He didn't say it.

Why the hell couldn't he just say it?

God, it was there, I felt it in his fingertips, I tasted it on his tongue and I heard it in the thunder and everything he didn't say.

He cared.

Just not enough.

Not enough to give up on his bet, or everything he was before I came to Forks.

What did I think I was gonna do? Save him with pussy?

Kiss him so hard that he couldn't not say it?

Grind on him until all he could see or ever love was me?

No.

But I didn't regret it.

Even when he was holding on too tight and not saying it, even when I whispered his name and thought for certain it would be the last time I ever did, even when I was crying while he moved inside of me and moved me and still didn't say it—even then, I didn't regret it.

You can never regret loving someone—and that is the one true and honest thing I learned from Edward that night.

Even when you should hate, or hit, or run like hell from that certain painful heartbreak—you just can never regret truly and purely loving someone.

No matter how it ends.

So…when the most beautiful and hurtful thing that has ever or will ever happen to me was over…there was nothing left.

I gave it all—he asked for more, and I gave it.

But nothing came back my way—so I wouldn't stick around to marvel and cry at what just happened. I could do that at home.

I sat up reconciled.

I was in love.

I wasn't loved back—enough.

He simply—he just, he couldn't do it. This place ruined him for someone like me. I needed to be loved back the way I wanted to love.

Most of me pitied him, because he simply couldn't see, he just wasn't capable.

And then I felt his fingers on my bare back and I had to jerk away, because if he kept touching, almost would be good enough, and I'd never forgive either of us for that.

"There," I whispered thickly, hoping he'd think the tremor in my voice was just a residual from the sex. "Now you can go win your bet."

His hand dropped and I hoped the lightning was over; I needed to get out of here in the dark, no flashes of light to give me away.

"What?" His voice came low, out of nowhere, much like him.

"Just…it is what it is. I can't just take less."

"You don't want me."

I don't want half ass.

I don't want secret, covert sex.

I don't want almost.

"I won't be back. So…" I whispered, sliding off the bed, my hands trembling and searching for clothes—his, mine, Rosalie's—didn't matter, just as long as I was covered enough to get out of there.

"Bella…it's because I made the bet, isn't it?" he asked, but he hadn't sat up and he hadn't even moved at all.

"Yeah. It is."

I heard a sharp intake of breath and I found a shirt.

"You won't be back," he murmured, and it sounded stoic, like he was mulling the idea over in his mind.

"I'm…I'm going to miss you," I said, pausing with the shirt halfway over my head, pressing the cotton into my eyes to dry the tears.

I had to tell him that—I was being honest tonight, I needed tonight to be the night when I did and said everything true and real.

"Don't. I mean, you could stay."

"No…"

I can't be someone's not quite good enough.

Not even Edward's.

I'd go back to the unfortunate side of town, and Edward could go back to being Edward and this…this would always be the best thing that almost happened to me.

"No? You…I guess. I guess I understand why," he said, his voice raspy and quiet and tight.

I nodded and somehow slid my numb legs into pants, then numb feet into shoes and then I was stumbling forward in the dark and I heard his teeth snap, biting the silence.

"The window…it sticks when it rains. I'll open it—"

"I think I'll use the door," I whispered.

I shouldn't use that window.

I was walking out after all…I needed a door to shut on all of this.

"Bella?"

"Yeah."

"I'm going to miss you, too."

My eyes squeezed and my lips mashed together and my teeth dug painfully in—and why couldn't he be capable?

Or rather, why was I too capable?

Why did I still love him as hard as I did?

I tried to choke out a goodbye, but it never came…and then I left, my only regret being the one thing he couldn't say.

And I as much as I wanted to, I couldn't ask him to—I couldn't beg him to try.

I wouldn't ask him not to cash in on his bet—hell, I gave him the win.

Instead, I'd work very hard at retaining the memory of every touch and every sigh and every smell and smile and sob—and I would always remember tonight as the night where I loved hard and whole and honest…and I was almost loved back enough.

Edward

Blink.

Blink blink.

"What?" What? Bet…

She thought…

I lost her.

I was lost.

She wouldn't be with me. The bet… the fucking bet.

We were lost. No more. Gone.

Because of a…

I could salvage this.

I could make her stay.

But not if she didn't want to.

She wouldn't even look at me. Because I was filth. Because I played with people's lives. Because I allowed my life to be played with.

Really and truly, I didn't deserve. Didn't deserve her. Any of it.

I suppose this is what is meant by growing up.

When you realize your actions…

It hurts.

It just… hurts.

My eyes closed. The thunder was gone. The lightning was gone. All of it, just… gone.

"I guess I understand why." No, I understood perfectly. She couldn't be with someone who had such disrespect and disregard and disaster and other words that began with "dis".

Couldn't blame that.

I would miss her. I would miss this.

She wouldn't even use the window. Our window. The opening to… us. It was closed now. I might have to nail it shut.

She walked out of my room and my more and I was left there, naked and symbolic and really fucking cold.

I had to shower yet couldn't bear the thought and I just rolled over and flipped the covers over my body, unable to make the shivering stop and I hated myself and her just a little bit but most of all I hated that stupid…

"Now you can go and win your bet."

As I felt the words gouge little paths into my brain and imagined the letters and nuances breaking up and creating holes, I hardened a little and decided I wanted to feel empty and devoid. Chuckle, chuckle. Laugh out loud. The great Edward Cullen has been defeated by a bet, and I knew inside that this was exactly what Rosalie Hale had intended for both me and for Isabella Swan. Well played, Hale. With one lightning-hot night, I won my bet while she lost hers… and if I fucked Rosalie or didn't, Rosalie still won. An excellent opponent.

If I were capable of tears or laughter, I would have gladly done both.

But I was a stone cold motherfucker, so I just closed my eyes and willed the thunder to return, to prove to myself and everyone else that I would get over this.

Of course it didn't. The storm was over.

So I fell asleep.