People I couldn't live without: ShearEnvy, stephk0525, ilsuocantante and bashfulfan. These dudettes are my heart.

Also, you. Oh, yes. You.

You can't completely erase someone from your life. They're still there, hiding in spots you can't quite reach.

Somewhere they have a little of you, too.

It makes me feel like I'm not whole.

Edward took a lot with him when he left. He took his sketchbooks. He took his toothbrush. He took sex. He took laughter.

I counted on all that, but I didn't realize he would take entire people with him, too.

It was my decision, though. I got so buried under hurt and shame and an overwhelming, latent need to feel like I'm not a total fucking doormat that I lost sight of us.

After the sketchbooks we didn't fight. We said we were sorry until the words lost meaning.

I watched him shut down. It threw me back years, into uncertainty and insecurity I thought I'd moved past. I started to provoke him, wanting anything, any passion or real feeling, even if it was anger. Sex was the only reprieve. He was rough and so was I, but afterward he was the one with guilt on his face.

I told him we needed time apart and he fought, but not hard enough. It made me bitter. It made me say things that he didn't deserve. It made me say things that I can't take back.

When I saw him again I started to think I made it all up, that I fabricated his impassive expression and his indifference. He looked me in the eye again. He said he was shitty and he meant it. He was present in his own life, and the only real change he'd made was that I wasn't a part of it.

I felt the breakup then...too late. It felt like visiting a grave.

Months slid by like liquid, in a way that I would have killed for at a different time in my life. I would come up and take a breath, only to submerge myself under again.

For a long time I wouldn't drive down seventh because of a mural he did there, and I stopped going to my favorite coffee shop. I found a semblance of a life but it felt pale and thin like a movie screen- like my fist would punch right through the picture if I could have gathered the strength.

Of course, at some point I stopped being so melodramatic. I made friends and when I smiled it didn't hurt.

Those sad, little platitudes that people spouted at me actually did start to come true. Things do get better. Tomorrow is another day. Time does heal all wounds.

I'm reasonably content. Good, but not great. It would probably be a whole lot easier if I didn't remember what 'great' felt like, but I look around me and determine that everyone has some pain that gives them character. I'm sure my pain is Edward Cullen. I'm sure I'll run into him one day and we'll share a meaningful look and I'll ache for a week afterward, the way I still ache each and every time I let myself remember.

I'm sure of that until my dad gets sick. Survival rates and medical terminology get stuck in my throat, but when I ask Rose to tell Edward it's the easiest thing. I say it in passing, like it's nothing.

She catches my eye and for a second I feel the gravity of what I'm doing. Tears hit my eyes, but I think of my dad and how strong he is. It's what keeps me together.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

I nod.

My old room smells the same, just stuffy like the door's been closed for months. It probably has been.

I slide the windows open and sit on the bed, looking out at the view that I memorized over the years. It's amazing how very much the same it is, like time slowed to a stop while I was gone.

I know that's not true, though. Everything keeps on whether or not you're there to watch it happen.

My phone buzzes on the bed next to me. Rose's face and middle finger fill the screen.

"Hey," I say, leaning back against the headboard.

"How is he?" she asks automatically.

"Doped up. He keeps singing Night Moves and trying to grab my mom's boobs. I'm hiding out in my room."

"What is it with him and Bob Seger?" We laugh.

"It's so weird being here. It's like I could wake up tomorrow, put on my cheerleading uniform and go to homeroom." I can see my old uniform from here, dry cleaned and wrapped in plastic, hanging in my closet.

She pauses. "Oh my god, you're just sitting there reminiscing, aren't you? Thinking deep thoughts... waxing nostalgic... staring wistfully into the distance and sighing."

I'm quiet. Too quiet. She starts laughing.

"You suck."

"Aww, I love you." She says it affectionately and I can imagine the look on her face right now, smiling and only a little bit sarcastic. "But you seriously need to stop acting like you're in a Nicholas Sparks novel."

"My life is tragic and unfulfilling," I say, deadpan.

"I know you're kidding but that is, like, so depressing, B."

I shrug and sigh. "This whole thing just reminds me that there's something missing."

When she finally speaks her voice is gentle. "Why don't you call him back?"

I let out a slow breath, my stomach belying my true feelings. I didn't tell Rose that Edward called. Since we broke up she's been very careful about what she says, edging around his name like it's sharp. Now I know they talked about it... about me.

I'm fucking seventeen again.

"I don't know what to say to him."

"He's not so different. Neither are you." I flash back to the weeks before we broke up, and wish I could show her. She was still in treatment. "You wanted him to call, right?"

The sun starts to set and I catch myself in another moment. Rose would shake her head if she could see me. "Yes. I'll call him back."

I hear Emmett say something in the background. "Em says 'hi'. I'll stop over tomorrow, okay?"

"'Kay."

We hang up and I let my phone hang heavy in my hand before I set it on the nightstand, ignoring a text from Alec.

Downstairs, my dad is asleep in his makeshift bed in the living room while my mom sits in the armchair watching him with the TV down low. I curl up on the floor in front of her, resting my head on her knee.

She runs her fingers through my hair with one hand, a glass of wine in the other. I match my breathing to my dad's and close my eyes. I send him every good thought I have, all of my light and love.

I'm a coward, so I text Edward. He suggests meeting for coffee. I pull up to the same meter I parked at three years ago and sit there for a second, looking at the neighborhood. I felt like I was a part of this once, but now I don't recognize the kids on the street and some of the businesses have turned over into new ones.

Stepping out of the car, I tug the hem of my short skirt down to a more appropriate length. I shouldn't have worn it. It's a cheap move. He always loved me in skirts.

The girl behind the counter keeps squinting at me like she's trying to remember my name or something. I don't recognize her. I pay and take a table by the front window, flipping open the book I brought as armor.

I do my best to get lost in the words on the page and just before he touches my shoulder I get chills.

I startle and knock my phone onto the floor, almost losing my coffee over the edge as well.

"Shit." I still my mug, and he picks up my phone. I get a look at him while he reaches under the table, his brow furrowed.

My skin flushes. I'm not ready for this. I'm not fucking ready for this.

I brace for impact as he straightens, setting my phone next to my book. He keeps his eyes down, looking up as he sits in the chair across from me. He leans back and takes off his hat and sets it on the table. I forgot that he does that.

"Hi."

"Hey," he says.

We stare for too long. I break it first, glancing at my book and closing it slowly. My heart beats too fast.

I frown down into my coffee. When I look up he's got his eyes on my lips. His gaze bounces back up and he drags his teeth over his bottom lip. My reaction is instant and visceral. I run my palms down my thighs nervously. His gaze follows.

Fuck.

We stare for way too long this time. I can feel him, like his hands are on me. I swallow hard.

"This is so awkward," I whisper, unable to look away.

He surprises me by slowly breaking into a wide smile and laughing. I can't believe I let myself forget what that sounds like.

"I know," he says, shrugging like it can't be helped. He's right - it probably can't.

I relax a little and can't help smiling. He leans back further in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face.

I tilt my head and watch him. He's got paint on his hands and shirt. He's tan and there's a quality to his expression that I had forgotten about. I think it's contentment. It looks good on him.

"How are you?" he asks quietly, appraising me in the same way.

I give him the abridged version of my dad's ordeal. He nods, watching me closely.

"How's your mom?"

For some reason that bit of kindness makes me want to cry. I smile through it, though, sure he can see that I'm struggling, but unable to stop it. "She's okay. She says 'hi'."

We run through the list of people we know mutually. It's hard to hear about Esme and all the boys, Leah and Rachel, but I smile and nod. He asks about Jasper, Alice and Claire.

I can feel when we hit the wall where polite conversation ends. He bites his lip again and I want to kick the table out of the way so I can straddle his lap. The thought makes me cross my legs and squeeze my thighs together. I look down to regroup.

Focus, Bella.

The shop is mostly empty.

"Listen, Edward. I need to apologize."

He frowns and looks away for a second, his knee bouncing. "If we start that we'll be here all night."

I'm not sure what he means. I doubt it's what it sounds like but I squint at him, trying to read his face. When he looks at me he shakes his head.

"No, I meant... I have so much to apologize for. I was messed up, and I didn't realize how bad it was until later. You deserved better."

In the version of this conversation that played out in my head, I only heard my apologies, not his.

I'm a rapidly melting ice sculpture, my eyes watering and my skin on fire.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I fucked up," he says.

I want to say something reassuring, but I can't. "You gave up," I say, correcting him.

He scans my face before looking away again. His knee bounces. His mannerisms haven't changed. I can smell his soap and under that, skin that I used to know better than my own.

"Yeah, but so did you." He's still, our eyes locked.

I hate this past tense. I hate that he's right. My instinct is to be defensive, but I push that down. I try to remember what I planned to say. My mind flashes back to a scene that I try not to think about. The first night we were together he watched me like I was the only other person in the world. I don't know how I could let go of someone who looked at me that way.

"That's why I want to apologize. I'm sorry. For everything."

The words come out studded with tears. I wipe my cheeks. He pulls a napkin out of the holder on the table and holds it out.

"I forgive you if you forgive me."

I nod. Reaching out, I take the napkin from his hand. Our fingers touch.

The air is cleared, in theory, but he still seems unsettled. He stares at his hands, frowning. It's not the reaction I hoped for, but I have no right to expect anything more.

"I don't know if we can be friends."

His head snaps up and he leans forward.

"Please don't say that."

The intensity in his face makes me want to reach out and press my palm against his cheek. I want his lips on mine so badly it hurts. This is why we shouldn't be friends. Every time I see him I'm going to want to touch him. I picture us at Jake's, another girl's hands on him and it makes me feel sick.

No, this can't work.

He speaks before I can. "I want to show you something."

I hesitate. "Okay."

He stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets, stepping back to give me room.

"Where are we going?"

Frowning, he looks at the ground. "It'll only take a minute."

My bag feels heavy. The girl at the counter looks between us as we make our way to the door. I focus on his back, the muscles under his t-shirt familiar and foreign at the same time.

He holds the door open for me so I can walk out first. I stop, waiting for direction. He nods toward the alley and I fall in step next to him, listening to his shoes on the pavement. He keeps his head down.

A half a block away I look out between the buildings and see my car on the street. We're behind the record shop. There's a group of kids standing in the alley. They look up as we approach, nodding when they see Edward.

"What up, E?"

He stops, exchanging handshakes and words I don't catch. He looks at the wall they're standing next to and presses his fingers to a fresh tag, holding his hand out to one of them. The kid protests, but finally hands him a marker. Edward pockets it, shaking his head.

"Come talk to me tomorrow." I'm surprised by the authority in his voice.

"Aw man, come on. You know how it is."

"Tomorrow," he says. The kid looks at the ground and Edward squeezes his shoulder. He ducks his head and says something in a low voice.

A throat clears and I look over at the rest of them, clutching the straps of their backpacks and looking me up and down. There's recognition and approval on their faces that I don't understand. I smile and they smile back.

I look at Edward.

"Get out of here," he says to them, a slight grin on his face. They laugh and walk away as a group, a few of them looking back at me when they walk away.

He leads me further down the alley. I look around, trying to figure out where we're going.

We turn into an alcove behind the building. There are chairs, an ashtray and a few beer cans. This is where the guys at the record store hang out after work. Now I remember that we hung out here a few times when Paul worked here. Edward turns to face a wall, a flickering street light bringing it into focus in pulses, then flashing bright for a long moment.

My jaw drops and I blink, fighting tears.

I recognize the style of his curves - the weight of his composition. It's jarring and perfect, the contrast between the color and the black and white.

The colorless face is mine, smooth and aloof, eyes looking out at the beholder, which at this moment just happens to be me.

Bright stripes angle out, hair in bright pinks and yellows... blues. The light dims and pulses again.

There's a date in the corner. It bears the year, but not the month. There's an 'E' next to it.

"It's legal. Permit and all that."

My hand covers my mouth.

He's a step behind me. I'm stuck still, trying to make sense of what's in front of me.

I can feel his eyes on me, but I can't look away yet.

I think I found the part of me that was missing.

All I want in the whole world is for these two to come correct. And so shall it be done.

Thank you so much for reading! Let us clink our glasses and swerve like pimps.