We do not own Twilight. New Moon was better.

All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer, Sublime, The Kills, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Taking Back Sunday, The Doors, Modest Mouse, Will Ferrell and Adam McKay.

Teambella is my babymonsterbaby and LovelyBrutal is my lovelilystar. Thank you both for keeping me on my toes.

The Naked and Famous - All of This: As the plans turn into compromise, the promises all turn to lies. The spite builds up and I can't get through. Passive me. Aggressive you. I know I nag. I moan, I know, but with a plan like this it's way too slow. In the time it took to get this bad, I could have made this work, but all I had was the hope that the pieces would take shape. And we could watch them all fall into place.

All of this is tearing us apart.

I don't know where us or this start

Chapter Twenty – Bella

It was just after two o'clock when I left Ally's bed. It's almost three a.m. now.

I stretch out on my back, sliding my arms and legs through cool gray. Edward's sheets and pillows encircle me, but I want him here. I want him surrounding me, moving with me.

Turning onto my side, I face his window. I haven't spent a night alone in his bed in so long, but I haven't forgotten this anxiousness or this longing. I'm fully aware of the battles I chose. I'm well acquainted with every ache and twist and tear that comes along with being Edward's safe spot.

I close my eyes and feel my heart beat, wondering how his is pounding in this moment. I wish so hard he'd come home.

It's summertime, but even if it wasn't, it's not unusual for him to be out two or three nights in a row. This isn't like that, though. I can't quite get my head around it, but this absence is foreign. Even when he used to go out for a few nights on end, he would still stumble in sometime the day after for shelter, rest and food, but not today.

Not yesterday.

I close my eyes tighter.

The last time I heard from Edward was Saturday afternoon. I was sitting on the sofa with Ally, watching Jeopardy and missing him. I hadn't heard from him since he left me for Pete's the day before.

Hey boy, I love you. Hey trouble, come kiss me on the lips, I texted.

And he replied so simply, so quickly: soon.

So, I thought he'd come to me that night, but he didn't.

And when I texted him Good morning, I miss you, yesterday, I never heard back. I was hurt, but I sucked it up and took it for what it was. Edward doesn't want to answer to anyone. I get it. I feel that.

I do.

But then I didn't hear from him all of Sunday either. Things were crazy for a minute, when he heard Alice and I talking about California, but he knows. He has to know I can't go anywhere without him. How can he not? He kissed me before he left and he said he'd be back… but this silent absence is stretching way too long.

Earlier today, I called and his phone went straight to voicemail. I told him I missed him. A lot.

I called again this afternoon, but didn't leave a second message. I was scared my voice would shake. We haven't gone this long without contact in almost two years.

I blink and try to relax my eyelids easily closed. I tell myself he's fine. He's with his friends and his phone is probably dead since he hasn't been home. He knows I love him. He has to know this is killing me. And he'll call. Or text. Or break in.

And surround me, just exactly how I want him to.

Curling tighter and smaller on my side, I press my lips together and scrunch all the muscles in my face to hold my tears back. I don't want to cry, but it hurts so deep because what did I expect? This is exactly how we are.

The truth is, I love a boy who can't get his shit together for anything, but without him I can't breathe. Edward is love to me. Something inside me deeper than my blood and stronger than my heart, needs him and has us forever connected.

How can I not wish he was here, always?

How can I not forgive him anything and everything?

I purse my lips and blow air out intentionally slowly.

Worry creeps up my back. The goose bumps it sends down both my arms feel prickly-painful, freezing cold. I pull my boy's flannel sleeves down around my fingers and swipe away my drops of sad and scared.

I'm here. I'm right where I'm supposed to be. I'm the only place I want to be. Why isn't he here?

I want him here so much that I'd take him in any state of mind or repair. Bloody knuckles and a dirty conscience. High as a kite in the clouds or in tears on his knees. It doesn't matter. None of that matters. I just want him here.

I pull air in cautiously through my nose. It burns. The hurt in my sinuses makes oxygen feel like fire.

Love is learning how to breathe.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

I take in a little more burning. I concentrate on it, on breathing. It's all I let myself focus on. I don't think about how I wish the air was shared, tinted with Double Mint and true love instead of fear. I don't think about what could be, or where he should be. I don't even think he has to be okay, because I can't. He's pushing me every minute he's gone, and I'm slipping to the point where I can't think about him in any capacity at all without starting to panic.

So, I curve my knees even closer to my chest and burrow deeper under his blankets. I hold my inhale for one, two, three needy heartbeats before I let it go.

Slow.

Steady.

An action that should be thoughtless and natural has become one I have to constantly measure out.

.

.

.

My alarm wakes me at five-fifteen.

Glowing blue before-dawn-light surrounds me.

Love does not.

My eyes hurt before they're even all the way open. I reach under Edward's pillows for my phone and I know before I look, and God –

I just want to love him.

It hurts. Everything hurts.

I close my hand over my phone screen and press my lips together tightly. Every fiber I'm made of clenches in on itself and all my muscles pull, and I'm so scared.

It's Monday morning and he's still gone.

I'm always here for him, and I need him now. This isn't fair. This isn't right, and I can't even nurse my hurt. I have to bite and swallow all of it down like a poison. I have to push his covers away and leave his bed. I have to take his flannel off and put it back on his desk chair.

Please, come home, I text him, burying my hurt and anger and fear with every step I take away from his desk, toward his door and down the hall.

Alice is on her stomach with her arms out when I return to her room. Her summer blonde hair is everywhere and she's snoring lightly. I take a breath to push my distress deeper away and toss my phone into the pile of our clothes before crawling in with her.

She doesn't budge or miss a beat of sleep. I smile, grateful for and envious of her at the same time. She's literally the heaviest sleeper ever.

I tug the blankets and she sleep-snorts. I giggle and her sleep-snort curves into a sleep-smile as she rolls onto her side, pulling me close. I wrap my left arm around her and hum, combing through her blonde.

"He texted me," she whispers, and I know right away she means Jasper. I'm also crazy-nervous suddenly she noticed I was gone.

"While you were in the bathroom. He texted and said he wants to see me again."

My nervousness dissipates and I smile because I can feel how full of hope her heart has swelled. It offers comforting hope to my own heart. She loves Jasper so much. She loves him madly and he has to know that. He's perfect for her. He has to forgive her.

"He has some stuff to do with his dad this morning, but later," she continues, her voice still dream-lilted and restful. She says it again. "He said he wants to see me."

"He loves you," I tell her, because I know. Sometimes love just needs to really, truly see you to know you're real, and for real. Jasper knows that. He just needs to remember. Everyone was around the other night when they came over. He needs to lay his eyes on just her, then he'll see.

I hug Alice closer under her blankets and kiss the top of her head. "He loves you so much," I say again. "Maybe even half as much as I love you," I tease, and I do. I'm doing wrong, but I love her so much.

Ally laughs and we curl on our sides facing one another. The blue glow of morning isn't half as bright in here as it is in her brother's room. Beaded curtains in the pattern of Mexican blankets hang in front of both her windows, letting only rectangle outlines of dawnlight in.

"I love you like Ramona. Am I the only one? Tell me," Alice yawns and smiles.

I smile too and kiss her nose. "I love you like you're not the only one, but you're the best, Bradley."

She gives me a whispered "boom, boom," and relaxes into her pillows. I stretch with her and give myself what rest I can.

I hit sleep so fast I don't even know how long we're out when there's a knock on her door sometime later.

"Alice, I'm sorry, baby," Esme gently greets as she opens the door. Fully risen sunlight glows hot around Ally's windows as she sits and rubs her eyes. I lean up onto my elbows and blink to bring Esme into focus. She stands in the doorway looking kind of, sort of painfully out of her element. Her robe is untied and she's still in her ivory night gown. Her eyes are slightly sleep-puffy and her face is un-made-up. She looks like I feel, like it's taking everything she has to push-swallow down all her unease.

"Have you heard from your brother?" She asks. Her tone was meant to be nonchalant sounding, but I hear concern she can't help.

My heart shivers and cracks around a beat.

Alice yawns and shakes her head. "Nope," she says, sounding half-sorry and half-annoyed. She watches her mother nod and close the door behind her when she leaves.

When we're alone again, she rubs her barely awake blues and pulls a hair-tie from her bracelet covered right wrist. "He's such a dick." She loops the hair-tie back and forth around her fingers. "He could at least fucking answer her."

I nod. I know. Not exactly the same, but I know.

Ally stands up out of bed and shakes her hair out before flipping it all over her left shoulder. She doesn't have to say a word for me to feel how much she doesn't want to be here, and I can't blame her. I want to be here in case Edward does decide to come home sometime today, but the thought of watching Esme worry hour after hour knots my stomach something awful. Keeping my own anxiety in check feels like it might be impossible next to her.

My best friend sits at her make-up and magazine covered desk, and pulls her knobby knees under her chin. The black polish on her toes is chipped and the roots of her hair look a little shampoo-thirsty. Her heart is equal parts hurting and hopeful, and she's so many kinds of beautiful. It's in her un-cut-ness. Ally is innocence and brashness together. Always, she's unrefined perfect.

I sit up and hang my feet over the edge of her bed. She throws a pink paper plane made out of a months-old-detention slip at me. "Let's go to the beach."

"What about your mom?" I ask as I stand, making my way to her dresser as she does. Her second drawer from the top is nothing but swimwear and we dig through it together.

Alice shrugs as she pulls her tee-shirt up and grabs a black bikini halter top. "She'll call me if she needs me," she answers simply, plucking a pair of neon pink bottoms from her drawer and heading toward her bathroom.

While she gets ready, I tie on a bright turquoise two piece and pull a pair of jean shorts up my legs. I tug a white tank over my top half and my thin white sweater from yesterday over that. While she brushes her teeth, I grab two towels and she puts them into a bag while I brush mine. Downstairs, we make peanut butter jellies and pack a mini-cooler of passion fruit juice boxes and fresh peaches. We apparently intend to be gone all day.

The sun is June-noon bright and the breeze whirling around us in her Jeep is just right. She turns The Kills up and lets her left hand wave out her window, and I'm so glad she doesn't really hate this car. This is what I needed. Fresh air and sunlight and beats and waves and life. I need to live. I need to feel alive.

We find a spot to ourselves at First Beach and get right into the summer-warm water. We swim deep and far, and float together for a long time.

She tells me her parents are crazy.

She tells me she doesn't understand who her brother thinks he is. "He's being stupid," she says. "Not even Pete knows where he is."

"You talked to Pete?" I ask, jealous that she can ask him such things while I cannot, and a little surprised after his intoxicated apology the other night.

I guess it makes sense, though.

"Yeah." Alice shrugs. "He's Petey." Her tone is warm and forgivingful, and for the first time since I saw them on the beach, I maybe actually sort of get it.

I love Ally so much. I've known her for what feels like forever and I'd truly do anything for her.

And Pete has been in her life even longer than I have.

And I know in my heart of hearts there's not a tingle-turn-on in the whole world like trust, and I know Ally trusts that punkass with her life. I know she trusts Jasper too, but doing so doesn't just negate the trust and closeness and kind of naturally easy loyalty she has with Petey, or him with her.

"Sometimes you just get caught up," she tells me, moving her arms through the water, closing and opening her hands.

We're quiet for a minute and I glance over at her, squinting my eyes against the sun. There's uncertainty in Ally's sky that makes her look exactly seventeen. "They have a game Tuesday," she says. "I highly doubt Edward's going to miss that."

My struggling-to-stay-intact heart aches for her to be right, but her voice sounds every bit as doubtful and self-convincing as I feel.

He's messing up really bad this time.

He's scaring everybody, and it hurts.

Everybody.

I know this, but all I say is "yeah,"because what else can I say?

Alice dunks under and comes back up sparkling-soaked. I do the same and when I resurface, I hear her phone the same time she does.

It's Down on the Corner.

It's love.

Alice dips under again and swims quickly for the beach. I follow in less of a hurry.

I'm tired. I'm dazed.

I focus on the cool-warmth of the wind on my bare skin as I step out of the water. I watch my best friend answer love's call and my heart stings, but I push it down.

I can't even think about it.

I swallow and drop it all to my chest. I double and redouble the weight of fear on my heart with hurt that has nowhere else to go.

"They'll be here in a little bit," Ally says, shifting her weight from foot to sandy foot.

She's miles ahead of me in a way. Sex has given Alice something I still don't quite understand, but here and now, she looks Valentine's day shy again.

"It'll take them a while, though," she adds, glancing around before looking at me.

So, we put our sunglasses back on and head a little higher up the beach. We spread our towels out in the sunshine and Ally lays down on her back. I fold a small towel even smaller for a pillow and lay on my stomach.

I focus on the sound of the waves and the change in my chest-pressure as I breathe in and out. I draw circles in the sand in front of me and concentrate on the feel of it between my fingertips. I listen to the birds call to each other while tears continue to swell behind my shades. I hold every one of them back as the sun shines bright on every inch of me. From my neck and shoulders to the bottoms of my feet, it beats hotter with every passing minute. I feel drained. I feel worn out under its heat. My eyes are closed and I'm flat on the sand, but I'm so tired I feel dizzy.

I breathe slower, steadier, and just as I almost nod off, I hear a car. I tilt my head and look to see Garrett's old blue and white pickup. Alice stretches and sits all the way up, so I do, too. Still sleepy-dazed, I shift slowly to sit criss-cross applesauce on my towel while Garrett parks across from us.

Hooking his keys on his belt loop, he gets out with a sucker stick in the corner of his mouth. He has on dark aviators and a Danger Mouse tee-shirt, and his hands are casually dug into the front pockets of his khaki cut-offs.

I feel all my straining muscles go weak. Garrett looks like cool welcome comfort. Without even thinking, I want to run to him.

Guilt sharpened with shame hooks and pulls at my heart. I almost wince. I just barely contain it. I hold it in with everything else.

My attention turns, though, as Jasper opens the passenger door and gets out. He's not wearing any sunglasses, but I can't see his eyes, and he's looking down.

I glance to Ally. She hides it well, but I can see it just as certainly as I can feel it―she's petrified of the still unfolding repercussions of her actions.

It's more than I can take.

"Go to him," I whisper, combing my fingers through my semi-dry water-wavy hair. And I'm glad she moves because I hate seeing her in pain, and they're supposed to be together. Right?

Black and pink and blonde, Alice grabs a peanut buttery jelly from our cooler and makes her way barefoot to Jasper. She leaves her flip flops, her towel, and the rest of her clothes behind.

I look up from my red-blonde ends and Garrett's walking over. He smiles with his sucker between his back teeth and his cheek. "Hey," he says.

I say "hey," back, and I think that's going to be it. I guess we're going to sit here on the beach and quietly wait for our friends, but then he turns and looks over his shoulder. I try to follow his glance, but I'm not sure what he's looking at.

"It's a few hours away still, but there's a storm coming," he says, facing me again. "You can see it over the pass."

Which explains why I can't see it from where I'm sitting. I nod and nudge my hair over my shoulder, letting it all fall down my back.

Garrett pulls his right hand from his pocket. He nods too, but his head goes back a little, toward the horizon. "Wanna go for a drive?"

All my tightly-twisting muscles go weak again, more so this time. But I'm ready to relax, just for the littlest bit. And guilt pulls again, but what can I do? What am I supposed to say, no?

I just want not to hurt.

And I want to go see the storm and be in his car, and that's not wrong. It can't be wrong to want comfort from hurting.

"Yeah," I say, dusting my hands off. I stand carefully, leaving my shorts and flip flops by my towel. Pulling only my white sweater over my two blue pieces, I tug the sides together and belt it around my middle. I follow Garrett back to his Chevy and hang back while he opens my door, and when guilt pulls this time, it doesn't even matter.

I can get in the car with another boy, or with anybody right now and it doesn't matter because my boy isn't here. Because this is Edward's way of showing me exactly how little he actually cares.

This time when I swallow, guilt burns bitterly and I can taste resentment replacing hurt. But the moment I sit down in Garrett's truck, it's easier to dismiss. The scent of bonfires and hot chocolates and clean rain surrounds my senses and consoles my nerves . I breathe in and know the smell of rain is actually in the air all around us, but it smells sweeter, cleaner in his car. I feel safe here just like I knew I would, in a way that I don't really feel anywhere else.

I feel a kind of safe when I'm with Edward. I know he'd protect me with his life from anyone and anything, but he can't and doesn't protect me from himself.

The boy that slides in next to me, though, the one checking all his mirrors and buckling his seat belt before he turns the key in the ignition―this boy with streaks of scarlet begonia red and snowdrop white paint on his so-faded Levis―this boy, literate and stylish, kissable and quiet―this boy with his eyes on east coast art schools and his heart wide open―this boy would never hurt me.

I feel so grateful. It's a little overwhelming, how strong my thankfulness suddenly is.

Buckling my own seat belt, I look over. Behind his aviators, Garrett's eyes are on the road. The radio is connected to his iPod, and when he reaches to turn it on, Love Me Two Times starts halfway through, low and warm. We don't drive very far, just a few minutes back up to a higher, more open spot where he backs into a row of parking spaces facing west.

He was right, you can see the storm coming in, and even though it sort of crept up out of nowhere, it looks like it's been building for days. Maybe longer. Dark gray, too-puffy clouds roll toward us. Miles away, their movement looks slow from here, but I know they have to be moving so fast for us to see them move at all. Some of them are so dark they look black, and as they move, they slowly cover other green-gray storm clouds, stuffed full of rain.

Garrett cuts the engine off, but leaves the music playing. LA Woman has started and he leans back in his seat. I do the same, pulling my long sleeves down over my hands.

"So," he starts after a moment, taking his sunglasses off and setting them on the dash. I push mine up to the crown of my head and look over as he looks at me. "Is Alice going to take Jasper back?"

I snort-laugh before I can catch or stop myself. "What?" I ask, because really, what?

Garrett furrows his dark brows over his darker eyes. Russet and fallow brindle sincerely around his irises like warm autumn. His look is pure sepia-toned benevolence, but there's confusion there. He's seriously asking if Alice is going to take back her true love.

"Are you kidding?"

"No." He pauses and smiles a little, sliding his hand down his face. "No, Jas―

I don't know whether to shake my head or nod. On one hand, logically, he's right, but on the other, when is love logical? It's so often the complete and total opposite. People make mistakes, and maybe Alice and Petey making out wasn't even a mistake. Maybe it's just a thing that happened.

So, instead of nodding or shaking my head, I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know," I say, still thinking on it. It's strange because I have felt the same way he's describing about Edward. Like, if Edward wanted me, how could he touch anybody else? Did being with Victoria negate how much he wanted me?

No. Not really.

I know he wants to be with me. It's visceral and undeniable, and he's trying so hard...

My stomach twists.

At least he was. Until this. Until now...

Guilt rehooks my heart, but not like before. It's not the same guilt I felt on the beach, for wanting comfort, but for the fact that I could have said yes to Edward and I didn't. I could have said yes any of the hundred times he asked me to be his girl and maybe he'd be here, or I'd be wherever he is. If I had said yes just once over the last few months, how different could right now be?

Lighting crawls through the clouds in front of us, drawing me back to the present. Thunder, so far away I barely hear, follows, and I trade thinking about what could be for what is. "Of course she wants to be with him," I say. A yawn comes up with my words and I stretch through it, relaxing in the well-worn seat. "They're so meant to be it's insane," I tell him. "How long has it been, ten minutes? Fifteen?"

Garrett chuckles, stretching and leaning like I just did. It brings us a little closer, leaving just a few inches of space on the bench seat between us. "Give or take, yeah. Why?"

I blink and feel my lips turn up, wanting optimism, needing it. "They're probably already having make-up sex."

Garrett exhales a full laugh into his chuckle. We're both looking ahead and though we aren't touching, we're close enough that I feel his shoulder rise a little with his intake and let go of air. I smell his mountain spring clean boy-soap and fresh fabric softener and the slightest hint of strawberry from his sucker. The clouds grumble louder and roll closer, but are still so far. It'll be evening before they're on top of us.

I yawn again, from deeper in my lungs this time, and we're quiet after that. Meadowlarks and The Doors keep us comfortable company. The breeze blows easily through both our open windows, and I'm so exhausted that it takes nearly no time for my eyelids to sink.

The sleep I find is solace, a soft sojourn into much needed rest and relief. I sleep so deeply I don't feel the rain start to fall or hear the thunder rumble deeper. I don't dream or ache, or wonder or worry; I just sleep.

When I feel Garrett shift, reaching over me to roll my window up to keep the rain out, I blink a tiny bit conscious, but I don't come all the way up.

"It's okay," he whispers, shifting back into the position I didn't realize we were in until he left it. The second he leans back, though, my body instantly recognizes how we were: sort of in the middle of his truck seat with my head on his shoulder.

He rests his left hand on his stomach, and I curve my left arm around his right. I press my hands together again between my bare mid-thighs, and Garrett lays his right hand over the outside of my right knee.

He doesn't stroke his thumb or apply any kind of pressure. He doesn't slide or push or circle. He just holds onto me, gently and just barely, but there's security there. His palm feels so warm. His touch is clean and and carefully strong. His hand feels trustworthy.

I nestle a little deeper into comfort.

"Is this alright?" I ask without looking up or really knowing why. My eyes are already closed again and my heart is beating sleepy-slow. I'm drifting back under before I hardly hear him answer.

"Yeah," he says above my head, his voice air-light and his tone kind. Rain falls and thunder growls, and the world keeps turning outside, but we're still and safe here. I feel Garrett's voice more than I hear it. "You can sleep, B."

.

.

.

I don't wake again until Alice is knocking on my window. Again, I don't know how long I've been out, but there's no light left in the sky. It's gone from raining to pouring and Ally is laughing while she soaks it up.

"Wake the fuck up, sleeping beauty," she teases through the glass. Jasper is behind her, holding his hands over her forehead to keep the raindrops from her eyes. I catch the corner of his smile as she moves. "Don't you know it's raining out here?"

I laugh as I sit up, rolling my window down a little bit. "What's up?" I ask, still half asleep. "What's the plan?"

"We're starving!" she says, reaching her left hand behind herself, tickling the side of Jasper's stomach. They're both totally drenched, which is fine for Ally because she's still in her swimsuit, but Jas is soaked from his messy blonde mop to his untied Chucks. "And we want real food."

I give her the double thumbs-up and roll my window closed while they turn together, jogging back down toward the beach.

For a minute, I'm smiling. I yawn and stretch as I turn in my seat, and for a minute, nothing twists or strains. Garrett rubs his left eye with the heel of his left hand, flipping through his iPod with his right. He glances over and his sleepy eyes are as kind as always. He just barely smiles, like he's keeping something so strong in check behind his lips.

I smile too, because just for a minute, nothing hurts.

But then my heart beats.

And it's two syllables that make every bone in my body tremble-shake.

And I remember I have no idea where my love is, and once again, everything hurts.

Ever conscious of keeping our secret a secret, even when love could care less about it, I don't let my smile fall or my worry show. I work the microscopic muscles in my lips to curve them even higher, reaching deeper inside for more strength, and I rub my eyes too, embellishing my just-woke-up-ness while I gather my grip.

The World at Large starts and Garrett sets his iPod in the space that's stretched between us again. He slips his sunglasses into the collar of his tee shirt before reaching for his keys.

"Guess that answers that," he sort of says, kind of asks, his left eyebrow a little higher than his right.

For a second, I'm not sure what he's referring to. I raise my own eyebrow.

He looks down, shaking his head a little, concealing his subtle smile. "Ally and Jas," he says, starting his truck.

"Oh." I feel like a moron. "Yeah, I guess it does." I grab my sunnies from the dash and push them on to the top of my head while Garrett turns the windshield wipers on.

He reaches for his seat belt and looks left and right, and into the rear view mirror. He looks straight ahead and flips his headlights on, then slows the wipers.

When he gives me a glance and asks if I'm ready, I am. So, I nod. He looks left and right again, cautious of other cars. He turns the music up and shifts from park to drive, but he doesn't actually start to move until I reach for my seat belt, too.

.

.

.

Turns out, that doesn't really answer that at all.

Alice and Jasper are next to each other on the love seat. He's writing something on the bottom of her left shoe and her lips are hard-kissed dark pink, but they're not "together."

She told me so upstairs, while we were changing. I thought I kind of understood, but I don't know.

"We don't need to call it anything," Ally said, lining her bottom lids with a black pencil while I pulled jeans on.

After we left La Push, Garrett and I followed the two of them to Jasper's before we came back to Alice's so she and I could shower clean. It was so hot today out in the sun, and I'm thankful Esme has the air conditioning on. But while there's still heat under the surface of my skin, it's sort of freezing in here. Even Carlisle has a hoodie on. Esme's the only one beside Garrett in short sleeves.

I have one of Alice's sweaters zipped up and the hood over my hair. The sleeves are down around my hands, but my nose is cold. And so are my toes.

I lean my head back on the couch, making an intentional effort not to check my phone. Next to me, with more than a few inches between us, Garrett leans back, hands together in his lap. Across from the two of us, Alice audibly lights up at whatever Jasper wrote on her shoe. She reaches for the marker, and her not-boyfriend's left foot.

"The label doesn't matter," she said upstairs, pulling an oversized gray sweatshirt on and nudging it off her shoulder. "We still are what we are."

And she's smiling. And that makes sense, I guess. I get it, but I don't know. Their happiness doesn't look disingenuous, but it's not like before. How can it be?

I push my hand through my middle parted hair, letting the blue-gray hood fall back.

Is that bad? That it can never go back to what it was?

My entire awareness is immediately clearer with my hood down.

Eerily loud thunder growls outside, and the rain sounds like it's falling in dangerously thick sheets. We're trying to cover the storm with the television like Esme is trying to cure her worry with a made from scratch dinner. It's not really working. It sort of helps a little, because she's not freaking out, but that's it.

Lightning cracks with thunder. Ron Burgundy cries out loud in a glass case of emotion. My phone vibrates in my back pocket and my heart holds its beats, but it's just my mom.

"As much as I want you home right now, I don't want you out in a car to get here," she tells me, her tone all love and care. "Are you okay?"

I nod. I fib. "Yeah, I'm fine. We're just watching movies."

"Safe and sound, Mrs Swan," Alice says from the love seat.

"I just wanted to be sure," Mom replies. "I love you, Bliss. I'll come get you tomorrow?"

I want to shake my head. I want to scream. "Ally can bring me home."

"Baby―

"Okay, Mom. Okay," I interrupt her and feel bad, but I don't want to fight. I don't want to argue. I just want Edward to come home. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Kay, I love you," she says, softer.

And in less than an instant I go from being frustrated with her, to wanting her here. I want her to hug me and tell me everything's okay. I want her to make everything okay.

"I love you too," is all I say, though, because she can't. No one can, except the one who's making everything the opposite of any kind of okay.

I repocket my phone and force a smile when I feel Garrett glance over. I bring my legs up and cross them under myself, keeping my eyes on the television. I can barely hear it over the wind and rain, but it's enough of a distraction. I try to dig my cold toes deeper between the sofa and my own legs for warmth.

Carlisle comes in from the kitchen and sits down. He eats a torn piece of tortilla he brought with him and smiles when I look. There's worry buried deep in his dark blues as he holds out the other half of the tortilla to me in offering, but I shake my head politely. The house smells like cilantro and carnitas, and I am hungry, but the thought of putting anything in my so-wound up stomach makes me feel ill.

I glance around the room. Alice is drawing on Jasper's shoe, but she's sort of spacing out. I can hear Esme keeping busy in the kitchen, and Carlisle is staying calm, but I think I can feel his uneasiness. Even Garrett's vibe feels unstable. I turn my focus back to the movie. I rest my chin in my hand and lean against the side of the couch, and try not to think about Edward, but it's impossible.

Four days.

Four.

Days.

Without a single sign of any kind that he's okay. That he's coming back. That he didn't just fucking leave―

My spine freezes. Fear I've carried since the first night I snuck to his room wraps around both my lungs and makes breathing the most painful work, because he's finally done it. All my muscles are frozen, but I want to move. I want to go up to his room and see what if anything is missing, because what other explanation could there be? He finally left, and he left me here―

For a second, there are no words for how deep the hurt in my heart cuts.

Then it beats.

And another possibility splits me.

Burying my hands into my sweater pockets, I brace myself as fiercely as I can inside. All my panic and frustration and questioning disintegrates, leaving just two acutely clear likelihoods behind. Neither one hurts less than the other. Both of the only two possibilities left at this point, pierce me soul-deep.

Edward's either left without me, or something is very, very wrong.

A four letter word that starts and ends with a D circles my consciousness, but I refuse to think it. I'll lose everything if I think it.

Esme comes in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Dinner's almost ready," she says, her half-smile full of desperate effort.

Carlisle smiles back at her and Alice gets up. She follows her mom into the kitchen and comes back with a piece of white cheese. The house phone rings, but it's just the neighbor from down the street, asking if we still have power.

I breathe out, slow and steady, struggling through the breath I know I have to take in, because I know it's going to burn.

"You okay?" Garrett whispers, his voice barely audible over the movie and the storm. We're not touching. His hands remain in his lap, but he's leaned his upper half a little closer.

I didn't even feel him move.

I nod. "Yeah," I lie, meeting his so-earnest auburn eyes. The genuine goodness there pits my anguish deeper. "I'm fine." I try to smile. I shrug. My shoulders fight. "I just don't like storms."

He doesn't say anything else.

Thunder growls so loudly I flinch. Alice turns the movie up.

I feel dizzy-dazed again, so scared and racked and restless inside I can barely think straight, let alone see clearly.

I'm terrified, and I'm shattering, and I hate him. I hate him for making me so afraid, for inflicting this torture on me.

I want to fucking hate him.

My eyes water. I look up at the ceiling and swallow, and silently beg God for mercy, strength, please―

I clench my fists in my thin pockets and concentrate on breathing, but this is bad.

This is so bad.

This is hurt I never, ever expected. Not ever. Not even for a second.

He's supposed to take me with him. He's not supposed to leave me.

How can he leave me?

I swallow again, and my chest strains against the pressure. I hear Esme in the kitchen, the sound of glass on glass as she pulls plates from a cabinet. I hear her setting the table.

I press my lips together until they ache and dig my fingers into my palms until I'm positive I feel them break skin, and even then, nothing helps.

He loves me. He's not supposed to make me feel this way. Love's not supposed to make you feel afraid, ever.

Ever.

I blink, and I want his baseball hoodie. I want to be in his bed, safe and warm with him.

I blink, and I remember the first night he shut the light out and wrapped his arms around me. I remember the feel of his whisper and the way I was certain my heart was going to pound right out of my chest.

And inside, I crack all the way open.

Inside, I sob and scream and plead. I wail and curse and bargain with God. I swear in total secret silence that I'll do anything, anything, anything, just please bring him back.

Glass breaking on black and white kitchen tiles lifts my lids. I didn't even realize they were still closed.

I completely missed the last few seconds, but Esme did not. I look over at Ally who's looking past me at her mom, who rushes around the corner as soon as I hear a key turn in the front door.

I go from frozen to completely enfeebled. I'm paralysis-pierced and I wonder if this is what going into shock feels like.

Before the door is even all the way open, Esme drops the towel from her hands and pulls her soaking wet son inside. She clutches onto him and buries her head in his chest, but I can hear her crying from here, over the storm behind him. Over the too-loud movie. Over my own thundering pulse.

Her words aren't even words. She weeps foreign cries that warn and threaten, and promise, and thank, and love.

Edward holds her, and when he looks up from the top of her head, over to all of us, there's no blue in his eyes.

Just ice-cold, marble-hard black.

Alice snorts, beyond pissed. In my peripheral vision, I see her stand up and walk out, and I know. I know I should go with her.

Jasper does.

I feel Garrett shift his legs slightly, but he stays put with me.

My eyesight goes a little gray around the edges and I blink, remembering to breathe. My head spins. Struggling to get a handle on everything, I look at Edward again.

His eyes are on mine for a second, and there are a million things there that can't be spoken, but then he looks past me.

I turn my head to follow his gaze and find Carlisle staring right back at him, right into so-spun black, and I know without a doubt Edward's little white secret isn't a secret at all anymore.

Carlisle knows, and when he shakes his head and stands slowly from his chair, all the air in the room moves with him. He doesn't say a word, but I can feel the tension in my lungs when I breathe. I'm a whole different kind of nervous now, so much so that I can feel my veins shaking.

Edward watches his dad. He has to know how bad this is, how crazy everything is about to become, but he doesn't say anything either. He doesn't lower his stare, and he doesn't look anything even close to concerned.