***

Weeks passed in a blur of inconsistencies. It was as if I was watching my life from afar, the daily grind becoming a somewhat norm but also taking on a strange tenure that I had never lived before. The pattern was becoming a solid. James, a sporadic yet constant presence. Edward, a tentative relationship filled with awkward touches and moments. Carlisle, failed prescription followed by failed prescription followed by vague progress. Even Charlie, another relationship consisting of moments of brief comfort, but mostly careful interaction. The three men in my life followed consecutively in the day, most often starting and ending in the respective pattern.

There were days when James or Edward would stay far too late, or James and Edward would stay far too late. Charlie didn't seem to mind James much - at least, that is how it seemed. Edward, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Strict deadlines on time and space, no dates away from the house (save for Edward driving me to and from school every day). I couldn't really blame him. I mean, Edward was bigger and therefore more intimidating to Charlie. Not to mention every time confrontations between us took place they were in precarious positions.

But overall my relationship with Edward couldn't even be titled as such. It was more of an agreement of sorts. The agreement contained an understanding. It was unspoken, but we both understood it.

'Do not fuck with each other.'

Which is why I was incredibly surprised when Edward, waltzing towards me with his usual charismatic gait at the end of school, stopped me in front of his car and asked me to be his girlfriend.

"So I was thinking. Maybe, would you want to go out sometime? Or, I mean, we always hang out at your house so, I was thinking, want to be my girlfriend?"

Just like that.

"Um," I had responded.

"You don't have to," he had cut me off abruptly. "I mean, I know titles always mess shit up and all, but I was thinking that maybe -"

"Sure, I guess." I had stopped his rambling.

It was very romantic. Especially when Tyler Crowley's van swerved haphazardly on a bit of ice and dinged Edward's bumper. Of course, that was proceeded by Edward yelling curses at Tyler, who sped off in the direction of the highway. He had run his fingers along the dark red gash in his precious Volvo (once again, snort, a Volvo) and mumbled profanities under his breath. His face had burned up in anger, his red cheeks matching almost exactly to the color of the offending paint. He had looked up at me afterword. Ashamed.

Just because Edward and I were officially in a relationship didn't mean that the forecast for Forks was constantly sunshine and rainbows.

In fact, it was the opposite.

Edward and I fought. A lot.

We fought over the fact that I was pronouncing poinsettia wrong. We fought over the fact that he thought Russell should've won Survivor while I thought Natalie was best. We fought over the fact that Edward drove a Volvo, for God's sake, and he wouldn't let me wear anything dirty when I sat in the passenger's seat. But we always made up. We would settle (though compromise made us both uncomfortable, being two foolhardy headstrong people) and then we would touch or grope or kiss. There were lines crossed, new lines drawn. Yet there was an interesting, peculiar correlation.

It was James.

James must have had an internal Edward-and-Bella-are-fighting radar, for whenever we were fighting, James would become closer with me, spend more time with me. But, whenever we weren't fighting, James would disappear. Sometimes it was hours, sometimes it was days. Weeks. There was a time in late February that James disappeared for fourteen days. I left the window open for him every night, but he didn't show up. The headless doll was left in a haphazard heap on my floor, accumulating dust in his absence. Forgotten.

*

Twenty questions was beginning to seem like the bane of my existence. It was, quite literally, the worst game every thought up. Sure, it was great when getting to know someone for the first time, I guess. Questions like 'what's your favorite color' or 'what was the name of your first pet' never hurt anyone. But questions like 'do you believe it was your fault that your mother left you' and 'is progress something that truly interests you, or do you believe I am forcing this on you' did hurt someone. And that someone was me, dammit.

I knew Carlisle had a PhD and everything. I mean, he was Dr. Cullen. PhD. Blah, blah, blah. Well, I wasn't trying to discredit the fact that Carlisle had a PhD, because, damn, that's a lot of school. But the twenty questions bit? Please. It was as if he picked up the first 'how to be a psychiatrist' book he could find, and read the first technique under the chapter 'teen'. I wasn't having it.

I wasn't having it to the point that Carlisle decided it would be a good idea to pass a ball back and forth. It was a little basketball that Carlisle stole from Edward's room (or so he admitted on one of the questions that I asked him). See, twenty questions was great when you had equal questions back and forth. But I had to ask Carlisle stupid shit like his favorite color, while he hounded me with the big ones. It got to a point where I was so annoyed that I ended up throwing the basketball at the wall instead of towards Carlisle's awaiting hands.

He then jotted something down on his notepad.

Punk.

"Had enough?" he asked in a sickly sweet voice. Thankfully, instead of being forced to answer his empty question, Edward tapped on the door. He was early. I wasn't complaining.

Carlisle, though, was. He huffed in annoyance. Edward was impeding on our sessions more and more as of late - choosing to spend the rest of the allotted hour away from Charlie's eyes and instead tucked away in his bedroom. Dark, dank bedroom. Thankfully, instead of verbally protesting, Carlisle allowed my immediate departure. I knew I was becoming ungrateful. After all, Carlisle didn't even make me pay for the sessions. But I still couldn't bring myself to throw my whole being into his effort. I felt the intense need to hold back. I had to keep as much as possible under lock down; else I would surely fall apart.

I opened the door to find Edward standing close, a daring smirk on his face.

"What?" I silently mouthed, only to have him shake his head in response and shut the door behind me. He took my hand and pulled me into his room, barely taking notice to the bewildered Esme that we all-but flew past. His room was darker than usual. I was now meeting an hour later with Carlisle, spending the last of the new spring daylight hours locked away in his study. Afterword, Edward and I were left with the beginning of night, the last slivers of sun sneaking away over the horizon.

He pressed his lips to mine, which was followed by a light thud as my back hit the door. His fingers wound around my waist as I reached up to push my own through his hair. It was thick and tangled, needing a trim. Yet, I loved the way that it felt, running along the skin of my fingers, locking in the knuckles, winding. When we moved to breathe I saw the extent of my abuse on his hair, the reddish-brown locks spiking this way and that, ignorant to the laws of gravity. I smiled and brushed my lips lightly against his. Not a kiss, just a breath, just a whisper, just -

"I love you."

I heard my sharp intake of breath after Edward's words, but I didn't feel it. Edward paused, his teeth locked on to one corner of his bottom lip, the pink slowly transforming to white. After three exhales, I watched Edward's mannerisms take shape. He removed one hand from my waist and ran it through his hair. He then swallowed hard - Adam's apple bobbing up and down, up and down. Three blinks to the right only to stare at the ground, still no words. His eyes met mine again.

"It wasn't supposed to come out that way." His words were abrupt, clipped.

"Oh," was all I could manage. Oh.

"It wasn't supposed to... shit. You're not going to... say it back... then."

Edward hardly ever stuttered. He took measured pauses. Measured pauses before each word. Contemplation.

"I don't know what love feels like," I finally confessed. "I wouldn't know. At least, I don't think I would know... even if I was in love with you now. How do you know?"

The last question threw him, made him pause. He took a breath, spoke.

"I know because of the way you make me feel. I mean, you make me feel like I'm whole or complete or something. You're a distraction. Well, wait, distraction isn't the right word. But you're a good distraction. Does that make sense?" - he paused, but only briefly - "And every time you're away from me, I want you here with me instead. I don't want you anywhere else except for with me. I think - at least I'm pretty sure - that that's love." He breathed deeply after his tirade, his chest heaving like a runner after a race, tired and spent but accomplished.

"I was waiting, I think, for what they say it's like in movies, or in romance novels. It makes it sound so all-encompassing, so unbelievable, so immediate and unforgettable." I couldn't remember the last time I had spoken so eloquently.

"There's no soundtrack to life, Bella." Normally, if someone were to say those words they would be harsh and insincere. Yet when Edward spoke them, so reverently and patiently, it was made clear that he, too, thought of the concept. Contemplated us, together. Contemplated whatever the fuck he was feeling, like I should have contemplated whatever the fuck I was feeling. I knew that I was feeling strange, different, new. I knew I was feeling need and want, but I couldn't seem to match it with what I had come to understand love should feel like.

I wanted Edward. I needed Edward. He was... he was Edward. But was Edward my love? Was he even mine to claim in such an unforgivable way?

"Will you wait for me?" I asked. I had to let him know that I needed time. I could tell by his expression - one of hope, not of hurt - that he understood the sentiment.

He nodded his consent.

And then I nodded my own.

He kissed the tip of my nose and both cheeks, running his lips, a bit chapped from the change in weather, along my soft jaw line. I whimpered and pressed myself into him, all of him flush against my chest as we walked backwards to his bed. I knew that we only had a limited amount of time, and I knew that nothing serious was going to happen between us tonight, but I also knew that the shift in our relationship was palpable. Even though we were young, relatively, I was completely sure that Edward knew the way he felt. I wished I could be his equal, his partner, and part of me knew that I had to heal before that could every fully happen. The other part of me knew that he was with me now, and somehow I had to hold him.

His fingers trailed like sparks of fire underneath my shirt, lifting it higher with each pass. Sucking on the sensitive skin of my neck, I allowed him to raise it to the point where he cupped my breasts, gentle kneading. I pushed myself closer to him. My nerves were ecstatic, and it was intentional. I didn't give myself to him fully. I kept myself in check. I knew when I was going to stop, and when he began to push the lightly padded fabric of my bra away, I clutched my hands to his wrists to still him. It took three forceful pushes to pull his mind back to me, but I saw the clarity flood his eyes when I succeeded. His touch lessened to only a fluttering wind of fingertips, dragging the cotton of my shirt back over the sensitive skin of my stomach.

"I have to get you back home now, yeah?" His voice was muffled by lust, paired with my hair where his lips were pressed. I felt them take one more circuit along my neck before he pulled me to the door of his room. Clearly disheveled, we narrowly escaped the suggestive eyebrows of his parents as we made our way to his car. I smoothed the fabric of my jeans and shirt when we sat down. He turned on the headlights and his silhouette was immediately illuminated with a milky yellow glow.

I had never admired the simple motions of his muscles as I had that night. The way his biceps flexed as he pushed the car into reverse and drive, or the way the tendons in his wrist became more prominent when he turned the steering wheel. He occasionally cast glances to meet my gaze, throwing a wayward smile in my direction. I checked the mirror above my seat only to find a bloody bruise displayed for all to see on my neck. Love bite my ass.

Covering as much of it as possible with my hair, I watched in silence as the rain pelted the windshield when we pulled up the drive.

Edward leaned over the gear shift and pulled up my chin to meet his, his lips only briefly meeting my own. I pouted at the obvious lack-luster.

"Your dad's at the window," he smiled, pressing his finger quickly to the tip of my nose.

"Oh," I sighed, wrinkling my nose in disappointment.

"But I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause. The pause held a missing phrase. The phrase couldn't be spoken until my true consent.

"Goodnight, Bella," he said instead. I hopped out of the car, dodging the rain like bullets falling from the sky. Charlie opened the door for me, his head tilted slightly upward in thanks for Edward's chauffeuring. I watched Edward peel out of the driveway from my spot on the porch, noticing how, in the darkness, I couldn't see his face anymore.

***

delay. i was on vacation. aka i suck. i know.
happy holidaaaaaze