AN: I'm not going to lie; this is the hardest chapter of fanfiction that I've ever written. I cried a lot, and there was more than once I didn't think I could actually do it-but I did, and so please, I ask you, be gentle. I'm in a fragile kind of state. Not that anyone is reading this who can't handle the angst, but I think we're reaching new depths with this chapter. However, there is a bit of a surprise in here. . .a scene that I think you've all been waiting for :)
Playlist updated.
Thanks go to JosieSwan, my beta, who was an unbelievable handholder through this, and Izzzy, my pre-reader.
Chapter 20: The Patron Saint of Lost Causes
Bella
"What happened? Are you alright?" I felt nearly lightheaded with relief as my hand caught Edward, and as I pulled him to his feet, he seemed more flustered than physically hurt. The last half an hour, while I'd sat alone in the cell -the bones and the flesh of my face aching with the force of Jane's blow- had been the worst so far because not only had I been forced into contemplating what had just happened to me; I'd had to think of the consequences of what could happen to Edward.
I'd lied to him before. That I didn't want him to save me wasn't only because it was ultimately my fault I'd gotten myself in here—or even because I didn't want him to take care of me like a helpless female.
The truth was, I couldn't bear the thought of him hurt or suffering. I was just beginning to understand why Edward was the way he was, and instead of holding onto my resentment for all the little cruelties, I only wanted to wrap my arms around him and leech away all those years of hurt and anger and bitterness.
"I'm fine," Edward said with a sigh as he collapsed onto the cot next to me. "Really."
"What happened?" I asked again.
He didn't answer right away, and as the silence stretched out between us, I knew whatever it was, it had been bad. Maybe not physical injury-bad, but bad enough that he didn't want to tell me.
"Emmett's gone," he finally said. "They went to search for him."
I felt suddenly and instantly nauseous, as if the peanut butter I'd only picked at had been rotten. Edward didn't need to elaborate on his statement for me to know that the one shred of hope that we'd had for getting out of here was now gone. We were officially stuck, completely at the mercy of the insane Aro and his even more psychotic handmaiden, Jane. And even though I only thought her name briefly, my mind sliding over her as quickly as I could, I couldn't help the shudder that went through me. If I'd been scared of her before, I was now fucking terrified of what she could do to me, and to Edward.
"And that's not the worst of it," Edward continued, his voice heavy and devoid of hope. "Niall told me that when they return, I'm to give him my answer about joining the Red Hands."
There was a dull roaring in my ears, and I knew this was it. There would be no turning back from the fate that was closing, like a noose, around our necks.
"Oh," I managed to croak out through my suddenly tight throat. I didn't know what else to say; what else was there to say? We could talk about our options until we were blue in the face, but in the end, there were only two:
Edward told Aro that he would join. He would probably do everything in his limited bargaining power to make sure that I got out as safely as possible. It was far from guaranteed, but it was foolish for me to ignore that this was my best possible scenario.
Edward told Aro that he wouldn't join the Red Hands. They'd probably kill him—after all he knew far too much now—and they'd likely kill me while they were at it.
"You know what I have to do," he said, interrupting my frantic searching for a third possibility. There was none, and so he was right; we both knew what he had to do.
"Yes," I croaked. My throat had tightened even further, as if it could already feel the noose.
"I know you hate it," he said bleakly, "and I have to admit I don't like it either, but there's no other options, Bella. You have to let me do this. I swear to you, I'll use every advantage I have to make sure you get out safely."
"Thank you," I told him softly. "I . . .I . . ." I paused, and then stopped completely. What could I possibly say to convey how much I appreciated his selfless action? There was nothing I could say, so I didn't say it. I figured that we were both nearly at our breaking point as it was, and there was no need to push us any further.
We were both silent for awhile longer. Finally, I asked the one thing that was left on my mind. "Do you think Emmett just escaped? Or do you think he went for help?"
"Does it even matter, Bella?" I wanted to cry at the darkness in Edward's voice, but there was no point in tears. Crying would only make it all worse.
"It matters," I insisted stubbornly. Emmett had cared for Edward, even though he had brought him to this place. I wanted to believe—I needed to believe, I decided—that he had done the only thing he could do to get us help, which was to bring it to us. "He wouldn't betray you."
This was only the position that Edward had been insisting was true during our entire incarceration, and I expected, stupidly, that he would agree with me. Except that things had disintegrated even farther than I'd thought, and Edward snapped at me instead.
"When are you going to get it?" he sneered. "Emmett's abandoned us, like a rat leaving a sinking ship. We're fucking doomed, Bella. I can't even guarantee that I can get you out. I can't do anything."
I wanted to give up, but giving up was too easy. If Edward couldn't fight anymore, then I would have to keep some sort of faith so that I could convince him to keep going. "This whole time, you've believed in Emmett. Even when I told you that it was ludicrous to believe in someone who betrayed you. But what if he didn't betray you this time? What if he went to get help? We owe it to him, because of what he risked to do this, to hold on a little while longer and stall. Give him the time he needs."
I thought at first that Edward had just chosen not to respond to me, and I felt a little annoyed that I'd put all this effort into a speech that he wasn't even going to take seriously, but then I heard something, a kind of gasping noise, that made me change my mind.
I scooted closer to Edward, who was sitting with his head resting on his hands, and then I realized that the sound had come from him. Edward was crying.
As if I'd needed any more evidence that there was so many unplumbed depths to this man, here was inarguable evidence that he was better than the image he presented to the world; better, even, than he himself believed he was. I wished that Esme -who was apparently so convinced that her son was simply a hardened, jaded rock star that she refused even to share the same last name- could see her son now. But more than that, I wanted her to see the lengths he was prepared to go to to save me.
I swallowed my own sob, and wrapped my arms around him. Right now, he needed me a lot more than I needed him. In the end, it would be his sacrifice, his life on the line, and I was resolutely determined to do anything I could to comfort him when his need was greatest. "It's alright," I murmured, bending down so he could hear me, and rubbing his back. "Everything will be okay."
I knew far too well that the well of reserve hope I was drawing on to tell him this was running alarmingly low, but I couldn't tell him anything else. Not with him shaking underneath my hands. One of us had to have some form of positivity left, and at this point, I was fairly certain that person was going to have to be me.
After what might have been only minutes, or could have been hours, he finally grew still. He raised his head, and his face looked more ravaged than I'd ever seen it after nights of booze and women. Red rimmed his eyes, and his cheeks were still damp, though I could tell he'd done what he could to erase the evidence. Not that I would have ever judged him for the emotion—on the contrary, in fact. I respected him so much more for humanity he was showing me right now than I ever had for the tough as nails musician front he'd tried so hard to preserve.
"Feel better?" I asked, not moving, even though I was plastered all over him. Touching him helped me keep the fear at bay, and I didn't want to let go. Besides, he'd had his hands all over me only a few hours before; it seemed silly to try to preserve things like physical distance at this point.
Edward nodded, and he turned his face away, like he wanted to hide the rest of the evidence, even in the really dim light, but I reached out and turned it back, my hand sliding down his cheek. "No," I said unsteadily. "Don't. You're scared. I'm scared too. There's no point in hiding it anymore."
"You don't get it," he said again, his voice so raw it physically hurt to listen to it, but I did, because I was in his debt and I'd never be able to forget it. "I . . .I've never not hidden. That's what I do." He held up his hands as if he could physically pull the explanation out of the thin air and hand it to me. "I . . .I can't do anything else. I don't know how."
I couldn't speak. So I just pulled him closer, resting my head in the crook of his shoulder, and simply listened. "Bella, just tell me how," he whispered, his voice raw.
"You're not hiding now," I reassured him. "I won't let you."
He laughed now, a semi-hysterical little giggle brought on not by too much sugar, but by too much emotion. "Why do you think I hated your guts at first?"
"Because I wasn't going to take any of your shit," I said, joining in with a giggle of my own.
"And thank god for that. Bella?" he paused, and I pulled away, looking up into his suddenly serious expression.
"What? Is everything alright?"
"I want to give you something," he told me haltingly. "Something that I haven't given anyone else before."
"Damn it," I half-joked, "that means no sex for me from the great Edward Cullen."
A smile broke over his features, and I loved seeing the sun emerge from behind the clouds. In all the years of following Athair, I'd never once seen him smile like he was right now. At me. Bella Swan.
"There's time enough for that," he said in a teasing voice. "But I'm being serious here. There's something you should know. Something nobody else, except Esme, knows. Carlisle doesn't even know."
"Tell me," I said, not feeling guilty at all about the possessive way that I clung to his torso. I felt greedy for that part of Edward that nobody else had ever touched; I wanted to be the one and only, and the fear that he'd hurt me in the end was swept away in a sudden avalanche of need and maybe a little love.
"You know my real name isn't Edward. It's been my name since Esme and I came back to America. I was two years old, and for a long time I didn't even remember what it was. But when I was 18, I forced Esme to tell me what she knew about my father, and what my real name is."
"You'd trust me with that?" I asked, stunned that he'd be willing to make this kind of overture. The rock star persona that he'd occupied for so long seemed to have fallen away in scaly layers, as if he was shedding his skin, and I couldn't lie, I liked what was underneath it so much more than was safe.
"I don't think you understand. I wouldn't have . . .made it, in here, without you. You kept me sane, Bella. And I didn't think anyone could do that."
"So tell me already, Cullen," I whispered, awed by his revelation.
"It's Finn," he said awkwardly, and I noticed that he didn't say 'My name is Finn.' He clearly didn't feel comfortable with calling himself that, and yet he'd told me regardless.
"Finn." I tested the name out on my lips, and it felt strange. Edward had been Edward to me for so long that I didn't know how to equate the man that I knew with Finn. "It doesn't sound like you," I finally admitted.
"I know," he sighed. "I've been Edward for too long. It's who I am. I'm not sure I could ever really be Finn again. Or if I ever could have been."
And I understood; maybe better than he realized. "My dad called me Isabella," I confessed, my voice thick. "My mom still calls me Isabella, but I hate it, because it doesn't seem right, her using it. I. . ." I cleared my throat, hating the sudden influx of tears, "I hate it because it makes me think of him, and that always makes me wish that he hadn't died." And left me all alone, I thought.
"So, does that mean when I called you Brit Bitch, that wasn't the worst thing I could come up with?" Edward's smile was more than a little bittersweet, and I couldn't help a little watery laugh of my own. "It's not much," he continued, "and I don't think of myself as Finn, but it's more than anyone else has. And you deserve that, Bella Swan."
The conversation felt final, like a drawn-out, protracted goodbye. I should be glad that I was theoretically getting out of here, but I felt strangely divided on the prospect. Leaning my head against Edward's chest, I realized that I would miss him. It had only been a handful of days since I'd figured out I didn't hate him, but even in that short amount of time, I'd grown more attached to him than was safe. No matter how sad it was, I decided, it was better that we were going to part ways. Any more time together, and I was probably going to mistake Edward's slowly-revealed humanity for something else entirely.
He'd said he wanted to give me something he hadn't given to anyone else—but that something wasn't going to be love. Edward Cullen, no matter what he'd shown to me in the last few days, would never volunteer his heart. His name was all I was going to get, and I'd have to be satisfied with that.
"Thank you," I whispered in the cotton of his t-shirt. Sometimes the simple words said it the best; how could I possibly thank him for what he was going to do for me? Words themselves couldn't convey my gratitude, and without even thinking, or rather, overthinking, I reached up and let my fingers slide through the strands of his hair. Edward went still, and I knew from the way he tensed under my touch what was about to happen. In the end, I decided, it had been inevitable. I should have always known that I'd sleep with Edward Cullen.
Who the fuck are you?
At least, I thought more than a little fatalistically, I was doing it on my terms.
Hi. I'm Bella.
He knew my name. He actually liked me. He wasn't drunk or distracted. All of the above, I knew, would have to be enough for me. I'd never been the sort of girl who slept around, but as Edward lowered his head to kiss me, I decided that it didn't matter. Regardless of who I'd been before this experience, I was irrevocably altered because of it, and because of Edward. It was fitting then, that I do the thing that I never would have done before with the man who had changed everything.
We kissed, and I couldn't help but remember that first time I'd met him. Up until this, I'd cherished the first time I'd ever heard an Athair song; I'd considered it one of the turning points of my life. I'd always believed that meeting him would be one of those, but after it had happened, during that everlasting puke-filled car ride, and the ensuing horror of the next few days, I'd decided it wasn't a fateful moment after all. Instead it had been the worst decision of my entire life. But as we kissed, our tongues meeting, his hands sliding down my back, I changed my mind yet again. It hadn't seemed that way at the time, but Edward had actually had it right the first time.
Nevermind. It doesn't even matter. Take off your clothes.
"Edward," I said breathlessly as I pulled back, looking into his eyes, trying to calm the frantic pounding of my heart.
He smirked at me then, and it was then I realized: I was knee deep in shit, and the only person who could pull me out was him.
I'd been about to ask if this was really a good idea, because, as always, I'd already started to overthink, but the smirk erased the last vestige of rational, coherent thought from my brain. "Nevermind," I told him with a rush of adrenaline as I pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his lap. "It doesn't even matter. Take off your clothes."
Edward laughed as his hands steadied me, his fingers toying with the waist band of my donated boxer shorts. "My clothes?" he asked. "I think you're in more of a position for clothes removal."
"Already criticizing my positions, Cullen?" He was hard in his jeans, and I couldn't help but rub against him almost helplessly through the thin material of the boxers. The pleasure that crashed through me was reminiscent of what I'd felt earlier, when I'd driven Edward so crazy that he'd come in his pants. "Oh, whoops," I said with a giggle, "maybe I shouldn't do that."
"Witch," Edward playfully glowered at me as he grasped me hard against the waist, and then flipped our positions so that he was the one perched over me. His lips connected with mine, and we kissed again, and this time, there wasn't that haunting bittersweet aftertaste. All I could taste and smell and feel was Edward, and I realized then that there wouldn't ever be a next time. This time would have been burned into me, seared into the very fiber of my being, so that I wouldn't ever forget it.
"I thought I was the Bitch," I panted as lips moved from across my cheek and down the column of my neck.
"No more talking," he growled as he moved one leg, and then the other, to rest around his hips, all while he attacked the increasingly sensitive skin of my neck. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and the rough stubble on his face rubbed insistently against me, the pinpricks of pain melting into something hot and insistent at the base of my spine.
"What about moaning?" I asked, retreating, as I always did, to the comfortable banter that kept everyone at arm's length. Not that Edward was any distance from me right now. We were wrapped up so closely together that it was hard to say where his body left off and mine started. I tucked my feet together and pulled his hips closer against mine, finding the perfect spot that made my eyes cross as my cotton-clad core met his jean-covered cock.
"Fine. You want to do this the hard way?" Edward grumbled, but his expression was light and his eyes impossibly green as they twinkled at me. "I'm going to make sure you're not even capable of speaking."
I was about to say that this was a rather egotistical boast, but then he bent down and his stubble met the soft skin of my belly, and suddenly it wasn't anything like pain at all, only unbearably hot searing pleasure. As he nuzzled my stomach, the coarse hair gently abrading me, he was right; I was beyond words as he worked his way up, past my belly button, until his tongue met the underside of my breast as I shuddered.
"Please," I panted, as he traced teasing criss-crossing lines over one breast and then the other.
"Still able to talk. Must not be doing a good enough job," Edward ground out, and as if it were a personal mission he was determined not to fail, he rededicated himself to learning every inch of me—except, of course, the very places that I was dying to have him touch.
When his mouth finally found a nipple, I felt as if I'd been electrocuted by the power of his touch. My skin felt unbearably hot and about two sizes too small for my frame. I was being stretched, one painfully pleasurable inch at a time, on a rack of Edward-torture.
My mind was washed in fuzzy, incoherent thoughts as his teeth joined his lips, and he nibbled his way back down my stomach. I thought I might have heard him groan when he finally reached the elastic waistband of the boxers again, and my fingertips dug into his shoulders at the white hot needles of pleasure that sank into me as his fingers skated over the damp crotch of the boxers.
I thought I might have wailed as those magic fingers disappeared again, and there was only his mouth at my waist, teasing me, but not giving me any more of what I wanted—no, I needed—so desperately. Searching for what he'd deprived me of, I raised my hips and groaned as I found him, hard inside his jeans. Shamelessly, I rubbed against him again, but this time, he pushed me back.
"Bella," he muttered, "don't you fucking dare."
"Afraid," I taunted, my breath coming in pants as if I'd been running a marathon. Though he'd barely touched me, I felt like a rocket with the fuse already lit; I could go off at any time-I just needed the right touch. And Edward's had already proved to be more than up to the task.
"You mean about earlier?"
I yanked his shirt off, pressing my damp chest against his bare one, and I dug my fingers harder into his shoulder blades, my hips bucking but finding only air. "Not funny. Just fucking take me now. I know you want to."
"You're right," he agreed, and I was barely able to register just how rough and guttural his voice had become. If I hadn't seen him come in his pants less than a day before, I would be astonished that it was me having this effect on Edward Cullen. Hadn't he once sang that he was tired of sex and what it could offer? He sure as hell didn't seem tired of it now—in fact, he seemed just as into the moment as I was. "Is this what you're looking for?" he taunted as he finally pushed aside the useless scrap of fabric covering my needy core, his thumb resting on my clit. "Is this what you wanted?"
"God, yes. More," I demanded greedily as he slid an experimental finger inside me and his thumb continued to work a hitherto-unknown magic on my clit.
I was so damn close, and he must have known it too, because he pulled away then, his hand suddenly missing, the pleasure spiking one second, then gone the next.
"Do you really want more?" he asked, his own breath harsh in the otherwise-silent room. At first, I was too swamped in what had almost happened to follow what he was trying to say.
And, duh. He was trying to be sensitive and sweet, though the point was obscured because he was either not used to asking or I was too far gone to be able to decipher anything but the bluntest of statements.
"Yes," I insisted. "You know I do."
"But Bella. . ." he hesitated, as my hands reached for his arms, for his chest, for any part of him that I could reach. "You know we don't have protection."
"I'm on the shot, it doesn't matter," I said recklessly, though I'd never been reckless about protection in my life. My own existence had resulted from a broken condom, and I'd never trusted them.
"Bella," Edward said again, slowly, as if I was stupid and needed it explained. Which, at this point, I probably did.
"What?" I snapped. "I thought we were in the middle of something."
"Bella, you know me. You know what I've done. . .what I did."
It hit me like a hammer in one of those carnival games. Bing, went the tinkling hammer in my absent brain. I was high on the possibility of Edward Cullen sex, and I couldn't think clearly. To say the least. "Oh," I said softly.
"I'm clean though; I mean, I get tested all the time."
In the end, it came down to trust, and though I was probably crazy to, I decided I did. I didn't think he would lie to me, at least not about that. Yeah, he'd spent the first few days trying to blackmail me into sleeping with him, but this was different. This Edward was different.
"Alright," I whispered. "I trust you."
Edward's expression was serious as he bent down and kissed me so hard, melding his body to mine. I thought he might be unbuttoning his jeans down, but my eyes had drooped closed with each persistent, drugging kiss that Edward gave me.
His fingers were fire on my skin as he tugged down the boxer shorts, and I heard his sharp intake of breath. "Beautiful," he said, almost reverently, as he caressed my naked hip. I heard Edward's zipper, and opened my eyes to see his pants falling to the ground, and I felt my own wordless sigh of reverence. Me, beautiful? Doubtful. But Edward was gorgeous naked, just as I'd always known he would be. The only ugly thing about Edward had been his attitude, and he'd shed that like a skin over the last few days, leaving only the vulnerable, hidden core that he'd shown to me and to me only.
"Want you so bad," he groaned as he bent my knee and curled my leg around his hip. I felt him pause at my entrance, like the calm eye of the storm, and I held my breath, my eyes fluttering closed as he slid inside me.
It had been awhile for me since I'd last had sex, and he was big. I tensed, overwhelmed by the taste of his mouth and the feel of him inside of me. "Bella," he crooned, his voice a rough approximation of every fantasy I'd ever dreamed about Edward Cullen from Athair seducing me. "Look at me."
Like Pavlov's dog, my eyes opened on his command, and the intensity in his pinned me to the bed. "You want more?" he crooned, sliding out a little, and then back in with a motion that sent me reeling.
I could only nod, and he repeated himself, asking between each movement if I was alright, in that wet dream voice of his. Maybe it was just my imagination, or maybe it was real, but each time he spoke, his tone was lower, rougher, as if he was being forced to dig to new depths of self-control.
"Bella," he ordered as he sank the last bit of the way into me, and my breath caught in a sob as he paused. "Tell me you want me to fuck you now."
I wasn't sure I could even form actual words, nevermind an entire sentence. My brain and my voice were scrambled, like I'd been on a rollercoaster for hours. "Please," I managed, unashamedly begging for him to finish what we'd started so long ago. "Edward. Now."
He didn't need any more direction than that, and he started moving inside me, the rhythm syncopated and unique, leaving me breathless and wanting more as my body desperately tried to predict his movements. So I just clutched at his shoulders, wrapped my legs around his hips, and let him carry me on wave after wave of pleasure.
There weren't even individual thoughts, only feelings, tastes and the gold spangled explosion behind my eyelids as tilted me and took me even higher, until I couldn't help but disintegrate into an orgasm that seemed like both the end and the beginning, all wrapped up in one.
He gave me one last savage, uncontrolled thrust and exploded after me. Collapsing onto me, we lay together, unmoving and silent for a long time.
Stupidly, I couldn't help but wondering if what we'd just had compared to his usual bevy of supermodels and professional groupies. I might have pretended to be the latter, but I didn't have their breadth of experience, and I was afraid that it had shown. He'd seemed engaged enough, and his shout of triumph as he'd unraveled proved that he'd enjoyed it enough, I supposed, but the thought wouldn't stay buried, and finally it rose, demanding to be spoken, to the surface.
"That was good," I broke into the silence between us.
"It was," Edward agreed, and there was an odd tone of awe in his voice. As if something had surprised him. And that made no sense whatsoever because there hadn't been anything particularly groundbreaking about the sex we'd shared. Yes, it had been good, maybe even great, but it hadn't exactly been novel.
I didn't want to move, but now I was curious, so I lifted myself up, my hands sliding a little on Edward's damp skin. I wanted to see his face, to see if he looked as flabbergasted as he sounded.
He did. He looked as if someone had just broadsided him with a tree branch.
"I have to ask," I said, trying for a half-joking tone of voice—my usual snarky safe zone—"you weren't a virgin, were you?"
He chuckled, as I'd been expecting him to. Because what could be more ludicrous than me asking the greatest womanizer in modern history, Edward Cullen, if I'd just taken his virginity?
"I'm serious," I said lightly, wrapping my arm around his bicep, and settling into my head into the crook of his arm. "Are you alright?"
"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" he asked, and I thought it might have been a rhetorical question. It didn't seem like he really wanted an answer, so I didn't say anything, I just waited for him to break down and tell me what was really on his mind—a week ago I wouldn't have known to wait him out, but now I knew that if I was patient, Edward would usually end up divulging the information I wanted to know. I didn't know what it was about me that seemed to be the key to Edward's particular lock, but he told me all sorts of things that I knew he'd never revealed to anyone. My brain told me that this was only because of the situation, and that I could have been anyone.
My heart wanted to believe that the situation was only part of it, and that the other half was the electrical tension that crackled between us, and the way I'd begun to be able to finish his sentences.
"You know," Edward finally said, in a casual tone that I knew belied just how important what he was saying was to him, "I've never slept with a woman that I actually really knew before. At least one that I knew as well as you."
"But you've slept with hundreds of women," I objected.
Edward gave a dry cough of amusement. "Probably," he agreed. "But the truth still stands. And," he paused, as if he couldn't believe he was actually saying this out loud, "it's never felt so . . . good. I'd begun to wonder why I even did what I did. It felt like I was just going through the motions, doing what I'd always done. I'm not even sure it felt good anymore. But god, Bella, that was amazing. I think we should do that all the time."
I wanted to laugh and cry and beat my fists on the concrete floor with the utter frustration of the situation we were in. "You know we can't," I tried to tell him logically, blocking the sluggish pulse of hope in my stupid, naïve heart. "They'll be back soon."
I didn't want to bring up Aro and Jane—the outside world had stayed outside for the last hour and it had been a magical, transcendent hour—but it stupid to ignore the realities of the situation. Besides, I wasn't sure Edward was even serious. He rarely slept with the same girl twice, and he was never faithful. I'd really only done this because I knew even if I wanted to, there wasn't a way we could ever repeat it.
"Right," Edward agreed, in a pseudo-logical voice similar to my own. "That's right. How could I forget?"
I watched as the skin Edward had been so busy shedding only minutes earlier grew back, and his green eyes shuttered against all the emotion that he'd always refused to embrace. And nothing had really changed, I realized. Everything was just as it should be. Edward was still Edward, and I was still Bella Swan. Aro and Jane would come back to the house, and in the end, Edward and I would be forced our separate ways.
I couldn't possibly expect—or hope—for anything else. To even begin to go there would only be folly, but there was still things, minuscule particles of what-could-have-been's, that I could still take with me:
1. Edward Cullen could remember the lyrics to every song he'd ever heard.
2. He might not admit it publicly but he loved Nine Inch Nails. Even the cliche songs like "Closer."
3. He didn't like talking about Aiming to Misbehave, and I was fairly certain he was ashamed of it.
4. His favorite Athair song was "Tessie."
5. His father had died when he was 2 years old.
6. His mother was the Ice Queen, Esme Platt.
7. He thought Bella Swan was more beautiful than Renee Swan-even if that was impossible to believe.
8. He'd never had sex with a girl he liked, until me, Bella Swan.
9. His real name -the name nobody knew- was Finn.
10. Edward might like to pretend that he was an asshat, but I knew better now. He was a good guy, under all that pretentious crap, and even more, he secretly wanted someone to let him be the hero.
So, because I was teetering on the precipice of caring about him far more than I should, I would let him. Someone, after all, had to let him be the person that he was capable of being.