The Decision

Bella folded the most recent letter from Edward and carefully placed it back in its envelope. She set it on her nightstand before flopping onto the bed. She would add it to the rest later. Right now, she wanted to reflect on what he had written.

Edward always came across so sweet and kind in his letters. Of course, Bella understood written words could be deceiving, but she also felt that she was beginning to develop a fair idea of who Edward really was.

She believed he wanted nothing more than a second chance, and if given the opportunity, he would prove himself worthy of his freedom. He struck her as someone who was devoted to his friends, maybe even to a fault. It was apparent that he was grateful for the support she had shown, and in this last letter, she had really gotten a feel for how ferociously he would fight to make their friendship work. When he had said he wasn't the same man he was seven months ago, she believed him; the change was evident in the tone of his letters.

As she recalled his most recent words, her face began to flush. She had experience with boys—college kids her age—but Edward was in a class all his own. She had a hard time deciphering whether he was just very grateful for her presence in his life or if he was harboring romantic feelings toward her. He was obviously growing increasingly attached, something Bella had been concerned about lately. She could understand why. If she were truly the only person showing him any support, it would only be natural for him to cling to her. Bella liked being important to him, but she knew the level at which he doted on her was unhealthy. However, each time she attempted to distance herself, Edward managed to close the gap.

Her uncertainty toward his feelings only solidified the fact that Bella didn't really know him. The little voice in her head kept reminding her that, despite her gut feelings, Edward could very well be dangerous. She had a hard time reconciling the version of him she thought she knew with the young man he described himself as, who abused drugs, got into fights, and carried a gun. She had always been a strong believer that people can change, and she hoped this situation would prove her right. If she were to ask Charlie, she'd get a much different opinion. "People don't change," he always said. "Once a bad apple, always a bad apple."

Charlie wasn't happy about Bella writing to a man in a state prison, especially one who happened to be more than ten years her senior. Throughout his career he had seen the worst of the worst, and he held no illusions that Edward was any different. He also knew Bella was stubborn once she set her mind to something, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. Because she had promised not to make a hobby out of corresponding with prisoners, he decided to let her continue writing Edward without further interference.

Bella knew her father didn't approve of her friendship with Edward. When they were together, both avoided discussing the subject. It would have been a waste of effort as neither of them would budge on their opinion of the matter.

If there was one thing Bella was absolutely certain of, it was that she was doing the right thing. It was hard for her to continue cautiously when what she really wanted to do was throw caution to the wind and open up to him completely, and she probably would have already if it weren't for that pesky little voice constantly bringing her worst fears to the forefront of her mind.

Bella closed her eyes and rubbed them with the heel of her palm. She knew the stress she was feeling now was nothing compared to how she would feel if Edward were released on parole.

How often would he contact her? Would he insist they meet in person? Would he try to track her down? Bella knew she had a hard time saying no to him. If she asked for space, would he respect her wishes? Or would he interpret such a request as rejection? Was he really as good a person as she thought? Or was he good at hiding his real intentions? What if Charlie was right after all?

Bella didn't know how to answer the myriad of questions in her head, and that was what terrified her the most.

Her cell phone rang, pulling her from her thoughts. She scrambled from the bed and frantically dug through her backpack. On the forth ring, she found it.

"Hello?" she answered breathlessly.

A familiar recording played, notifying her that the call originated from a correctional institution. Bella's heart fluttered in her chest. She wasn't expecting another call from Edward so soon, especially after he had made the comment about expense and time limits in his last letter. It could only mean one thing.

"Edward?" she asked when the call connected.

"Bella." His voice broke. She couldn't tell whether he was laughing or crying.

"Are you okay?" Bella heard paper crinkling on the other end, and she knew immediately he must be holding the response from the parole board. "Edward, what does it say?"

Edward didn't answer. Her heart fell.

"Oh, no," she whispered. Even with her concerns of the unknown, she wanted him to be released. She felt he deserved it. "Oh, Edward."

"I'm out," he finally choked through his tears. "I'm getting out."

Relief flooded through Bella, her fears momentarily forgotten. "Oh, Edward, I'm so happy for you!"

"I can't believe it," he said, and then he laughed. "I'm getting out!"

Bella sat down on her bed. "When?"

"Monday the eighteenth. Twelve days."

Bella was speechless. Edward breathed deeply, trying to control his emotions.

"I can't believe it," he said again, more reserved this time.

"See? I told you no news was good news. Where are you going to go?"

"The halfway house I applied to back in May has a spot for me. It's right outside of Seattle. I'm not looking forward to more communal living, but the rent is subsidized and I can't afford anything else. It's stupid of me to complain," he added quickly. "I won't be here and that's what matters. God, I can't believe it!"

"I'd offer you a place but, you know . . ." The words were out of Bella's mouth before she could stop herself.

"But I'm a criminal."

"No," she said, not wanting him to think the worst of her comment. "I just mean it's a small apartment. You wouldn't have any privacy."

The silence that followed was charged. Bella could feel her heartbeat throughout her entire body as she waited for him to respond. She wished she could take it all back, but it was too late.

"Bella," Edward said sharply, "you're talking to someone who hasn't had privacy in almost twelve years. Don't talk about how you would give me a place to stay because you think it sounds nice. And don't offer it with the expectation that I'd say no, because I wouldn't."

"You wouldn't?" she asked, surprised that he would accept help if she were to offer it.

"No," he answered softly.

Bella felt her grasp on common sense slip away as she thought of Edward sharing her one bedroom apartment. It would be crazy—absolute insanity on her part. She knew this, yet she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like. "You really wouldn't have any privacy."

"Neither would you. Your apartment would be subject to search without notice."

"You'd have to sleep on a couch."

"You couldn't have any drugs, alcohol, or weapons."

"My dad would kill me."

"Your dad would kill me."

"Edward—" Bella started but stopped abruptly. A loose thread on the comforter caught her eye, and she tugged at it mindlessly while she gathered her thoughts. She was torn. She wanted to help, and she wanted to protect herself, but she didn't know how to do both. "I don't know what to do," she admitted in a whisper.

"Do what's best for you."

"I want to help you, but I have to protect myself."

"I would never hurt you, Bella," Edward said sincerely, his voice laced with sadness. "You must know that by now."

Bella battled to hold back her tears. More than anything, she wanted to believe him.

"But I understand," Edward continued. "Trust is earned."

"Edward," she began in a shaky voice, "this is against my better judgment, but—oh my god, I can't believe I'm doing this." Bella took a deep breath. "You're welcome to stay with me."

Her offer was met with silence.

"Edward?"

"Are you being serious?" he asked finally.

"Yes."

"You don't sound so sure."

"I am," Bella insisted.

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't want to?" Bella felt both relief and hurt at the thought of being turned down.

"I do, but Bella, this is serious."

"I know."

"Is this really what you want?"

Bella thought carefully before she answered. "What I want is to help you." She tightened the grip on her cell phone, trying to tame the trembling in her hands. "I'm willing to trust you." Please don't make me regret this, she added silently.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Thank you, Bella," he said reverently. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"You're welcome."

"You have one minute remaining."

"Um, Bella? I'll need your address and probably your last name. For the parole office," he clarified. "They'll need to approve it."

"Oh . . . right."

As Bella rattled off her full name and address, the reality of what she was offering suddenly became real. Not only had she given Edward her personal details, but she had offered to open her home to him as well. She struggled to remain calm as the weight of the situation hammered down on her.

"You have thirty seconds remaining."

"Thank you again, Bella. I'll call you later next week, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you again."

"Me too." There was barely enough strength in her voice to make it audible.

"Goodbye, Bella."

"Bye." Bella wasted no time disconnecting the call.

Oh, my god, she thought as she dropped her phone to the floor. What have I done?