Hey guys!
Firstly, I own nothing to do with Twilight, of course! Secondly, I want to give you all a big sorry for not updating for over 3 weeks time! I have a horrible cold, and cough, so I kind of haven't been able to do anything other than rest. I apologize, so I'm hoping a new chapter will make up for it? I have a feeling it'll be one hell of a disappointing chapter, so please be kind, and please don't hate me!

Love you guys lots, I'm always so humbled by your responces to this story! I'm very flattered! :)

See you next update (in a weeks time, I promise not to take so long again). Hope you all are well! x

Chapter Fourteen

"Edward, just let her go!" Rosalie cries, trying to get past him. Gradually, her fingers loosen around my wrist, and she's placing it all on herself to refrain him back from me. He's not giving in, easily. His hands and arms are out in front of him, constantly blocking our way towards her red car. It's almost as if this is like some sick game to him; a game where he just can't get enough.

"No!" he hisses, "You can't take her away from me. You have no permission-"

"Edward, you need to let her go so you can cool off, all right?" Rosalie is trying to be reasonable, only he is being the most unreasonable person in the world right now.

"You take her away, and I'll call the police and put you up on charges. Understand?" He threatens loudly, pointing a finger right into her face. He is breathing hoarsely, his eyes bright and crazed. "You have no right, Rosalie! No right to do this to-" She pushes him away, arguing back, and I take swift advantage of his distraction to scramble past them to the car.

"Hey, you're not leaving!" He comes at me, fast, urgent- his icy voice the most scariest I had ever heard in my entire life, and, because of it, it sends me shivering all over. He reaches out and wrenches me into him by my elbow roughly. I do what I have to do, then.

"Edward, stop!" I yell, pushing and pulling to get my elbow free with all my might. "Stop it! You have to let me go! I can't be in the same house with you anymore! Please!"

Somehow, I feel a bit like a child caught in a bitter custody battle with her arguing parents. Only, the two are not her parent's and, in some sense, one of them I feel truly sorry for.

With a defeated whimper, he lets me go by pushing me away gently.

"Fine, then." The look on his face almost kills me. I haven't ever seen him look so vulnerable, so helpless before, with teary-wet eyes and his brows pinched together in despair, but he does right now. He doesn't want me to leave- but he's pretending it doesn't concern him, either way. "You want to leave, go! I'm done with this!"

I tread quickly past him to the car, listening to the sound of his loud, ragged breathing. But then, yet again, he goes and does it again, having a sudden, undecided spur of heart. He grabs me by the back of my shirt, stretching the material in his effort to hold me back from hopping into her car.

"Edward, please, stop," I murmur, whirling around to peer up at him desperately. I feel like I am on the verge of tears, and I didn't want to be. Not in front of him. "Please don't make this any harder than it has to be! Please! I think this is ultimately for the best. We just can't live in the same house together!"

I think he picks up on the high-pitched urgency in my voice, because, slowly, I feel him release me with an unevenly long sigh. "Fine," he pants, "Whatever you say."

I quickly turn and start towards the passenger side of his Rosalie friend's car, vaguely conscious all the while that he is one step behind me.

"Look, I'm sorry... I..." He stops abruptly, takes in another deep breath, then starts all over again. "I wasn't actually going to hit you in the kitchen. I'm sure I wasn't." There is both regret and aching anguish in his trembly voice. "After what happened, with our parent's, I feel like I'm kind of... losing touch with myself lately." I see the way his hands ball up into fists at his sides. They are shaking. "Everything is so stressful. I didn't mean to..." He falls silent again, at an obvious loss in explaining to me. "But, like I said... whatever you say. You want to go, then go. Maybe it's better that way, anyway? I don't know. I just wish things could have turned out... differently."

"Me too," I murmur, still not looking directly at him. I pull open the door on my side gently. "Thank you for everything, anyway."

"Yeah." His voice is as gentle as an emotionless whisper. "The funeral's coming up soon. Just thought I would let you know. Maybe this weekend, at the most. Uh, I'll... I'll call you, and let you know what's happening. We can finally manage to afford to send them off right, so that ought to ease the stress a bit hopefully. It took a few weeks to do it, but at least it's here." He looks past me, his mouth hardening into a thin hard line, and I know why. I turn to look at Rosalie, who is giving him a fierce look that says she won't be seeing him around anymore.

I nod silently, and turn to sit inside the car. He moves forward to close it gently behind me thoughtfully.

"Are you ready?" Rosalie asks, weak from the struggles of the fight once as she slips in herself, starting up the car.

"Yes, I think so. Thanks." I don't even recognize the sound of my voice. Everything was so bad. I regretted that everything ended this way. I truly wished things were different, also. I really felt then, that I actually wished I had a brother out of him. Someone, who was there for me. Someone who I could talk to, about everything, about our parent's. Someone I could retell our best memories with them with. Only, what I got instead, was someone I didn't quite know. Someone, who had made these past few weeks quite difficult and upsetting for me. I think it was very clear on me now, that we both wanted different things from one another.

I wanted a supportive friendship with the guy that was supposed to be my older step-brother. Someone I could look up to, and truly respect. Someone with whom could offer moral support in getting over this tough time. Only, what I got was... this complex situation, where he wanted more from me, and I didn't think I could ever give it to him. Tears pool in my eyes, and threaten to spill. I didn't want to be weak; I didn't want to be vulnerable, and sad at all.

But, like Edward said...it was probably better this way.

We peel out of there, onto the street, and I don't so much as give him a fleeting look out the window. I want to put it all behind me right now.

Suddenly, once we head on down the road into another street, my whole body is lifted. Free of tension. All tension, and I'm floating. For now, at least.

"Thank you, Rosalie." I'm breathless, by the time I start giving her directions to Alice's.

And, just like before, she sends me a gentle, but stern tap on the hand with her palm. "I told you, no thank you is needed. Stop it, sweetie."

"Still, I mean it." And in that moment, I truly, really, did. Deeply from in the bottom of my heart, because this made things much easier to deal with. And, yes, it'll be painful to have to endure seeing him at our parent's funerals. We'll just have to act responsibly. I can't exactly avoid him at the funeral, it would be downright callous of me. But it can be done, without any type of family conflict. It has to be done.

"We are here today to celebrate the life of two inspiring individuals, who sadly passed away too early. Charles Swan, whose dedication to the Forks community as Cheif Deputy to the state will always be remembered and appreciated, and his dear wife, Esme Cullen-Swan, whose selflessness and endless generosity towards the community inspired hope," The balding priest begins, and everyone immediately falls quiet in the room and takes instant notice. As for myself, I am a little distracted when I realize I can't see Edward sitting anywhere in the room. "Both have left this world tragically soon. But during their time on this earth, we can only consider it a blessing, considering their amazing achievements..."

Panic sets in to my stomach, because I start to wonder if he has actually missed our parent's funeral today.

It doesn't seem plausible, though; He called me on the phone, once, while I stayed at Alice's for the week, explaining to me that the funeral was today, and that he had everything planned and paid for the day. Surely, he wouldn't have missed this for the world. I bite my lip, as I crane my neck behind me, searching, and worrying. It is with no success; I can't seem to find him anywhere, no matter how hard I look. I lean forward slowly, looking right and left at the people along the pews and, nope, nowhere to be found anywhere.

"...They leave, and have brought along into this world, two children whom they love deeply. Edward Cullen, from Esme's previous marriage, and Isabella Swan, who will both hold them close in their memories..."

Dragging my attention back to the stage, I almost moan loudly in relief, because, sure enough, Edward is sitting in a chair adjacent to the side of the stage. He looks nervous in his three piece suit, and green tie, tapping his shoes rythmically in an agitated way. At least, he hadn't missed their funeral, and that was all that mattered to me. I was certain he would have been distraught, if he had...

"Let their premature passings, not be a time for dwelling and sadness, but be a constant reminder to live life to the fullest, and to love one another generously." Quickly, I turn my wayward eyes from Edward and to the priest again. "Now, Esme's only son, Edward, has a speech he would like to make in honour of them. Please, all stand from your seats and remain kindly silent until his words are over."

There is faint rustle of noise, as everyone around the room briskly stands from their seats. It takes me a moment to recollect myself into standing along with them, because I hadn't the slightest idea he was going to make a speech. It makes me feel incredibly bad, because maybe I ought to have written one for them also?

Edward gets to his feet, and stands motionlessly at the microphone for several minutes, searching through the pockets of his suit jacket, while all in attendance wait patiently. He slips out a folded piece of paper, unfurls it, and leans down over the microphone. He is breathing heavily through it, as his eyes scan the entire front row of seats. When they fall onto me, they linger for several minutes, his eyes drained and empty.

It rouses a gut-clenching, heart thumping, pulse scattering sensation out of me.

"Firstly, I'd like to thank you all for coming here today to celebrate what was two lives that ended unfortunately too soon. One, of my beautiful mother, Esme, and another, of my step-sister's cherished father, Charles," he starts, his voice small and uneven. His eyes flicker up to mine again. He pauses for a moment to clear his throat."Now, while I only knew Charles for several years, I know the ways in which he inspired my mother greatly, and made her last few years on earth pleasant ones."

He pauses again, sniffling loudly into the microphone. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand, and I can tell he is trying to keep strict control of his emotions in front of everyone. I remember faintly him telling me before that he didn't like to cry in front of other people, and that maybe it made him feel self-conscious whenever he did. I presumed now it must have been particularly hard for him to keep those emotions bottled up inside.

I feel an aching sadness for him standing up there all alone, trying to choke out his words, and it hits me agonizingly that I really ought to be standing up there with him, for support. They were my family, too. He is the only person I have left. Really, I should be up there with him, honouring them and his spoken words, regardless of how uncomfortable and complex our situation was right now.

I rise slowly from my seat- but it hardly seems quiet enough, when I feel every single person's eyes in the church looking at me.

I coax myself into smiling slightly, as I step forward towards the stage to join him. I have my eyes planted solely on the ground, cautious not to slip while I start treading up the small set of stairs in my dressy heels to where Edward is standing center stage. A swarm of relief warms me, when he reaches out and takes me by the hand, carefully pulling me up.

My mind is too muddled and set on other things, that... for a while there, I start to forget it is him that I am reaching out to, letting him cling tightly onto my hand. But at that moment in time, him holding onto me doesn't feel quite so bad or discomforting at all.

Breathing in nervously through my nostrils, I try to position myself halfway behind Edward's shoulder, just so that I sort of fade out of people's line of eyesight. I don't much like the idea of people watching me on stage and scrutinizing my every reaction because I am the step-daughter and biological daughter to our deceased parents, even now.

Throughout the corner of my eyes, I can see the way Edward's head is tilted into my direction.

I know that he is probably surprised that I decided to join him, and I think that maybe it has even left him speechless a little bit, because he has to clear his throat again, very loudly through the microphone. I can feel my entire body shaking, from my skull downwards to my knees, but somehow he is able to go and soothe it all away magically by giving my hand a firm, but gentle squeeze with his own.

This. This is what I want right now.

This is all I could ever possibly want. Support, like we are two normal step-siblings that lean onto one another, building each other up and making one another stronger. Not any funny, concerntrated looks, or disturbing remarks. Just purely... this.

He raises his other hand, fingertips rubbing flat against his forehead, as he continues slowly, "But he inspired me in the same way that I am sure he did with my mother. I remember, throughout the years, asking him for advice in which he gave through selected, observantly quiet wisdom. He was never without advice, or a keen ear to listen to."

I feel my eyes run along his face, soaking everything in, while he speaks. He definitely was a good public speaker, that's for sure. A seamless liar, too, with what he declares next, which was probably the most absurdist untruth of all:

"He also presented me the gift of this young sister-like figure to me, Isabella, who was living in the house along with us, which was never easy sailing, believe me." A few people laugh sadly around us, and a stab of embarrassment and shame pierces through me. Well, he was certainly right about that part... Still, I catch him smile mildly, and I think that was his purpose all along; To cheer me in some way. "She inspires me also, if not more so, than her wonderful father did. And, for that, I will be forever grateful." He turns to look at me as he says the last part, something there in his bright eyes, "To our dear parent's, we pray that you find peace above..."

Without thinking, I automatically push into his side to get to the microphone.

"And we love you, and you'll be in our hearts, forever, and ever," I manage to get out, in a quick hesitant croak.

There is another silent look exchanged between us, and then we are backing out of the way to the side of the stage while the priest starts with his farewell sermons. And, finally, I go to slip my hand free from his, folding my hands together out in front of me. He darts me a questioning look. But he should have already known, I don't particularly like him touching me, even out of an attempt at comfort.

So far, I have managed to remain composed in keeping the tears in. But once the music starts all around the room, the selection that Edward had chosen for their send-off, it gets to me the most.

I am coming undone, bawling loudly and uncontrollably, when everyone in attendance rises from their seats to bid our parent's their final farewells.

Three men in suits, a few of my father's colleagues, come to stand by his coffin with their badges pinned to their jackets; It is a sign of honour to them, I think, and of deep-seated respect to the way in which he chose to live his life working for the community all those years, as both a quietly caring father to me, as well as to Edward, and as Chief of the state.

I feel Edward wrap an arm around my waist, pulling me in tightly against his side, and my eyesight is all blurry and my heart is stuck in my aching throat, but I still am deeply thankful for the reassuring gesture, none the less.

Wiping my eyes quickly, I lean over to give him a swift, grateful peck on the cheek.

I feel his eyes burning holes into my skin as he stares down at me, probably stunned by my actions. But, by then, I've already forced myself to look away, and back down at Charlie and Esme's coffins. Apparently, it couldn't be an open casket, because the accident was very detrimental to their appearance. I sniffle loudly. Someone has been kind enough to lay white stemmed roses on each of their coffins, and I knew, despite it all, that they would have appreciated everything, and that they were looking down on us right now.

I take in a refreshingly deep, steadying breath through my mouth, bringing it all the way to the back of my lungs.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel somewhat pleased with how this has all come together; All the effort made in making our parent's funeral a beautiful, last farewell to them, is very fitting. It is a nice one, I think. And, most of all, knowing that Edward could actually act this way, not bothering to say anything or do anything disarming and off-putting, and just being able to be with him now, like this... in both equal measures of sadness and support, it is truly the best feeling I've ever known.

But only just as I'm getting too complacent with this newfound amiable, sort-of-siblingship between us, it is mildly ruined when I sense, as well as feel, his hand slip lower... and lower, gradually loosening, until his palm sits precariously close to my backside covered in my long black skirt. And, just like every other moment before it, I'm instantly hit with unease and left a reeling, bundled mess of nerves and tension.

Rather instead of even attempting to discourage him or make an embarrassing scene that anyone could see from where they were sitting, I disregard all that is him with all my might, and try to forget the simmering caution left brewing inside of me over what exactly his hands were doing, in touching me. I focus on solely what is in front of me instead; Our beautiful parents, in those coffins. The day was all for them, not for anymore drama, or concerns.

Just for them.

After the burial has taken place, I find myself sitting and staring-off vacantly in the funeral home, while tea and biscuits are offered afterwards for all in attendance. Everything is a loud shimmer of noise; Elderly ladies honking their noses into their handkerchiefs as they blow them. People laughing fondly over some untold story of what my father did, when he was younger. I know I really should have been walking around, mingling, and indulging eagerly in their stories, and yet, I can't seem to bring myself to.

As of right now, I just want to sit here, all by my lonesome, and wallow. It sounded sort of stupid, but it was just how I felt. I was in no mood to try and act excited or happy, with what anyone was telling me in rememberance, about anything.

Someone plops heavily into the cane chair beside me, bringing me out of my slow-minded slump.

I catch sight of the polished shoes they are wearing, while they stretch out their long legs near me, and I know it's him. It's impossible not to, though. He knocks his shoulder into mine gently, but I still can't bring myself to look over at him.

Everything, the whole atmosphere of the funeral, is too depressing. In some ways, I just want to curl up inside myself, and hide from everyone for weeks and weeks, until this whole entire thing passes. From Edward, in particular.

My nose is running yet again, and I really need a tissue. Perhaps he catches onto that too, because next thing I know, a white long hand is shooting out, and he has a plaid handkerchief scrunched up between his fingers. "Here, think you might need this," he whispers, pressing it gently into my hand.

"Thank you," I murmur tonelessly, bringing it up to my wet nose. I wipe, and then try to blow my nose into it, as gently and politely as possible, so that no one around me can hear it. He does though, of course.

"Someone let an elephant into the room," he tries to joke, lightening the atmosphere somehow. It doesn't really work all that affectively for me though, but still, I cannot hide the small pitiful smile that comes across my face over it. He was trying to make me smile, and I could appreciate that for what it's worth. I can feel him watching me, like always. "Did you like my eulogy? Do you think it did them justice?" he asks, sounding very worried. "I've never had to actually write something like that before. I feel like I messed it up."

"No." I toss my head, forcing a smile for him. "It was very good." I pull my nose out of the handkercheif. "Thank you for doing it, I really appreciate it, and I know that they would have, also!"

He grins widely, pleased as ever in my assessment. "Thank you," he whispers, quietly, looking as though he truly meant it.

It occurs to me as such a bittersweet surprise, that when we're not around each other in the same house together, when I don't see him as much, or have to experience any outlandish looks or remarks from him, he wasn't as dramatically unlikable as he could be.