Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

Author's Note: Sorry about the slight delay on this chapter...even though I said there wouldn't be one. It ended up being a little longer than I had anticipated. Thank you - as always - for your patience.

I'd also like to take a brief moment to recognize how awesome Feisty Y. Beden (or feistyyoungbeden on Ravelry and Twilighted) is, and to suggest that you all please read "Sleepers, Awake" if you have the time and haven't already. I don't read a lot of fanfiction, and after reading that story I probably never will. It destroyed me, in the best way possible. I hesitate to recommend it because, upon reading, you will all realize what a mediocre writer I am. But that's a risk I'm willing to take. That story is above and beyond fanfiction, I am not kidding. Go into it without expectations of reading a light fanfiction; go into like you would a serious, tragic, beautiful novel. Her ache is beyond words.

Without any agenda or suggestion - in case any of you care to know - this is my favorite chapter of this story so far. I don't say that to imply that it should be all your favorites. It's actually a pretty asshole-like plea for you to be gentle with your reviews.

One more thing in regards to reviews? I can't believe how many I have received and continue to receive. I am truly baffled, thankful, and embarrassed beyond words. The same goes for the incredibly lovely recommendations I have been given on various blogs and fanfiction websites, the banners that you've taken the time to make inspired by this story, and the life and curiosity of all those who discuss this fanfiction with remarkable regularity and passion on various forums.


The Choice

I stood outside the front door nervously, smoothing my hair again and again, biting my lip and shifting my weight. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, my entire body feeling weighed down by the pulse and tremor. A light sprinkle from the clouds overhead pattered against my face, dampening my hair and spotting my sweater.

I had been anticipating this day all week, finally getting the courage to call Edward yesterday when I had finished stripping the walls of the cold room. They were naked and colorless, ragged and rundown and begging for life. I stood in the room, paper littered around me like leaves in the fall, and turned around again and again. As I looked at the absence of color, I felt an inexplicable sense of dread build inside my chest until I finally flew down the stairs to the phone, lifting it and dialing Edward's cell number without hesitation.

The conversation was short and polite, he told me to meet me at Esme's house in the city around noon. He gave me the address and I agreed with an exhale, hanging up the phone without saying goodbye.

For the first time in weeks, it began to rain when I left the ranch house. I drove to Colorado Springs, the windshield speckled with raindrops, the clouds that rolled in the sky blocking out the sun and darkening the day. When I arrived at the address I had scribbled down messily on a small scrap of paper, I got out of the car without grabbing my jacket or an umbrella.

I waited outside the door, allowing the rain to fall to my skin, struggling with indecision and nerves.

Finally, I lifted my finger to the bell beside the door, pressing lightly until I heard the muffled chime inside. My throat was dry when I heard light footsteps sound from inside, growing closer. I straightened nonexistent wrinkles from my sweater and brushed a hand over my hair once more.

When the door swung wide in front of me, I felt the oddest mix of relief and disappointment, all my fear leaving me in an instant, overcome by a shock of the unexpected. I sighed out the release of tension as I looked into the face, not of my estranged, intense husband, but of his beautiful mother.

"Bella, darling!" she cried, her voice excited and not at all surprised to see me. "Come in!"

I smiled at her, mumbling my greetings quietly and politely as she motioned me inside. I stepped into the house past her and she closed the door behind me. I turned to face her, linking my hands awkwardly in front of me.

"Edward should be back any minute," she told me cheerfully. She walked around me, heading through the narrow hall, towards the back of the small house. She turned to look over her shoulder at me as she continued, "He's running a little late getting out of work today. He said you would probably get here before he did."

"That's fine," I replied, waving my hand and feeling a little more relieved, as if I had been given some small reprieve.

Esme led me into the small living room, walking over to the couch where someone was already sitting, waiting for her.

I halted in the doorway, my mouth falling open at the sight of the gorgeous, intimidating blonde woman seated across the room. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me, her perfect lips tightening into a straight, tight line.

"Bella," she said with a nod of acknowledgment, her voice flat and emotionless.

I swallowed loudly before stuttering out, "Hello, Rosalie."

The tension in the room was suddenly thicker than it ever had been in Edward's presence. The silence built quickly, with alarming speed, and it wasn't long before it was so thick that I felt trapped by it. Almost as if I tried to speak again, my words out get caught in the air like flies trapped in amber.

Esme looked between us, her expression worried and curious.

"Why don't you have a seat, dear?" she offered, the question and her words slipping from her lips with incredible ease. "Can I get you anything to eat or drink?"

I forced myself to move forward, sinking slowing into the armchair next to the couch. I tore my eyes away from Rosalie's glare to look back up at Esme kindly. "No, thank you."

She smiled back. "Well, I'm going to get myself something," she proclaimed before turning to look down at her motionless daughter. "Rosalie?"

Rosalie shook her mane of golden hair, curls bouncing and rippling slightly, catching the light and sparking white. "No thanks, Mom."

Esme placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder briefly before excusing herself and exiting the room quietly. I followed her with my eyes, wishing with all my heart that she wouldn't leave me alone. I wondered if she couldn't feel the tension emanating from Rosalie, or if she simply chose to ignore it.

"So…" I said lamely after a moment, turning back to face the severe woman sitting beside me. I could feel the ice and awkward in the room, afraid I would be crushed beneath it. Rosalie's eyes were sharp and blue, fixed on my face and giving me nothing. I began, "Shame about the rain isn't it? I mean, it's been so nice lately…"

"What are you doing here, Bella?" She cut me off suddenly, her voice cracking through the air like a whip. Her tone was clear and musical and I could imagine she had a lovely singing voice, even through her anger.

I paused, momentarily shocked by her question.

"Oh. Esme didn't tell you?" I asked, confused but attempting to keep my voice as bright and unassuming as possible. "I'm going to pick out some paint colors with Edward. You see, the roof was leaking and the wallpaper in the cold…I mean, his old bedroom was peeling pretty badly, so we're going to – "

She interrupted again. "I know why you're here." Her voice was venom.

My brow furrowed, baffled. "I thought you said – "

"What do you want with my brother?" Rosalie hissed over my doubt. Her eyes were leveled with mine, searching and demanding.

My jaw dropped open, my voice leaving me as all my uncertainty slipped away. I could see her waiting for my answer, my explanation. Every line of her posture was bent in Edward's defense, fierce and full of rage.

"I…" I began, unsure of what to say.

Suddenly, we both heard the front door of the house open from the other room. There was the low murmur of a man's voice and Esme's bright greeting.

I stood up from my chair as if I had received an electric shock, my head whipping around to the entrance of the living room. I couldn't see who had entered the house, but I knew just the same. Beside me, Rosalie also stood. Her movement, though, was slow and graceful, still angry and accusing. Her eyes didn't leave my face and when I turned back to look at her, she was watching me.

We stared at each other for several moments, locked in silence once more as we waited.

There was the movement of two pairs of footsteps, making their way towards the living room. I spun back around in the exact moment that Esme walked through the living room door, Edward behind her.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Bella. I was…" he stopped in the moment he noticed Rosalie.

His eyes slid from my face to hers, narrowing a little at her expression. I didn't look away from him to see if she was still glaring at me, or if she was attempting to hide her hostility from her brother. The expression reflected in his eyes told me that she didn't hide from anything.

There was quiet for a long time, Esme and I standing in the middle of some silent conversation between siblings. I shifted my weight, biting my lip and wishing that I could disappear, that the ground would open up and swallow me whole, that I had never come.

But then Edward was looking right at me, and the kindness in his eyes made me forget my doubt.

"Ready?" he asked, holding out his hand.

I didn't look at Rosalie when I stepped forward, towards him.

I could feel her eyes burning into my back as I took his hand.

"Yeah," I replied softly. "Let's go."

*

I was on my back, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. I had been lying on my bed for seconds, minutes, hours, years just waiting for the staggering pain to subside. Moments of numbness would flicker quietly, breaking up the hurt with bursts of apathy. But then my mind would take me back to his face, to losing him, to seeing everything I had ever wanted from my life walking away from me and I was in agony again.

"Bella?" I heard a gentle voice in the black. "Won't you eat something?"

I listened to Edward's soft footsteps make their way slowly across the room. I didn't lift my head to try to see him. I didn't want to see him. I wished that he would go, and I didn't know what I would do if he actually did.

The resentment and dependency twisted inside me, only amplifying the ache.

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled, my voice flat.

He was beside me then, his hand resting on my shoulder before dragging gently down my bare arm. Then it moved back up to the strap of my dress, playing with it lightly as he knelt down next to the bed. I heard his breath shudder a little at the movement before it was hot and steady against my skin.

"What about that dress?" He tried again. "It can't be comfortable."

I didn't respond.

When Edward had found me at the park, his only instinct had been to get me away, to get me inside. I remembered how tightly his arms were braced against my back, under my knees, how solid and comforting he had been in that moment. He had placed me in his car – not asking or caring where mine was – and had driven me back to my apartment. He carried me up four flights of stairs because the elevator was taking too long.

He set me down on the bed in my beautiful, torn dress and I hadn't moved since.

My eyes found the clock that burned into the silence. It was almost midnight.

I remained perfectly still when I felt Edward pull at the dress's zipper. I rolled onto my side without comment and let him peel it from my body, shedding like the skin of a snake. It was dead now.

There was a rustle of fabric as he set the dress onto the chair next to the bed, and then I felt his weight dip the mattress slightly. I lay on my side, facing away from him, in nothing but my underwear and I felt the tips of his fingers brushing at the hair that cascaded down my back.

After a long while, I heard Edward's voice again, quiet in the dark. "What did he say?"

I flinched slightly at his question, closing my eyes against the images that immediately began to play out again before my eyes. Words echoing in my head that I couldn't shut out.

"You know what he said," I choked, unable to say more.

Edward was quiet again.

Then, "I'm so sorry, Bella."

It was an exhaled breath, the apology rolling out of him with all the sincerity he possessed. All the genuine feeling that he could muster. I hated him for his pity and for his compassion and for his love.

"Are you?" I asked him, my voice hard. I rolled over to my other side to face him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at me. The hand that had been barely maintaining contact with my back dropped uselessly to the mattress. "Isn't this what you wanted?" I demanded, bitterly.

He swallowed and shook his head, his eyes crushed and defeated. "I never wanted to see you hurt," he whispered.

I hated that I believed him.

It didn't matter though. No matter what he had wanted, then or now, I still felt the break with all the clarity and rawness of an open wound. My entire body, my mind was cracking beneath the weight of it and so he was here telling me that had never wanted it? Why should I fucking care?

I closed my eyes, trying to hold onto my anger a little longer. I felt the pain less when I was angry at him. But then I was angry at nothing, and it all led me back to Jacob anyway.

"What are you going to do?" Edward's voice breathed out.

I sighed, my eyes flickering open and fixing on the bright red numbers of the clock. I was glad he was at my back, glad I couldn't see the urgency that I heard in his voice.

"You know that, too," I told him simply, because he did.

There was only a brief pause before, "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am."

Suddenly his hand was on my shoulder. I felt my entire body lock down, flinch away from the contact, but his palm remained pressed against my shoulder blade firmly.

"Maybe you shouldn't make this decision now," he told me, his voice calm and reasoning. "We could talk about it…"

"I have nothing to say to you, Edward," I replied, dead.

"Well, maybe I have something to say to you." His voice was confident, but I could hear the nerves quaking beneath. Still, I felt myself focusing in on him, surprised at the force behind his words.

Then, he fucking said it.

"Bella, I'm in love with you."

At those words, I rolled over to face him, my arm shoving beneath my body to push myself up on my elbow. I could see shock register on his face as he watched my sudden, violent movement. My jaw flexed and clenched and I could feel heat in my skin and steel in my eyes.

"Don't fucking say that to me," I snapped, leaning towards him. "Not now. You know I don't love you. There's nothing I want from you." The last thing I saw of his expression was surprise sinking into hurt before I flopped back over onto my side, away from him. "So just…shut up," I finished, my voice quiet and wavering.

There was a pause that felt like it would last forever.

Then I felt him leaning over me. His hand once again smoothed over my shoulder, before drifting down to my bare waist. I felt the cotton of his shirt, the bone and muscle of his chest pressing against my back as he slowly wrapped his body around mine. I tensed, but made no move to stop him or to push him away.

When he stilled, I heard him breathe in my ear, "I know you feel like it's never going to stop hurting."

I could feel his lips on my skin, so hot.

"What would you know about it?" I retorted, unsure.

"Bella," he began as his fingers traced a lazy pattern along my hip bone. His voice was all empathy and velvet. "The only thing I want – the only thing I've ever wanted – can never be mine."

I felt a small pang in my chest that had nothing to do with Jacob.

I brushed it aside, ignoring it, as I stated firmly, "We're not the same."

Edward chuckled heat against the bare skin of my neck. "Of course we are." I could hear the sad smile in his voice. "We always have been."

I twisted in his arms, turning to face him abruptly. His hand slid easily over the skin of my stomach as I moved, and when my eyes met his he was looking down at me with only kindness. Only love.

"What do you want?" I asked him because I didn't know.

Edward smiled.

"I want you to eat something," he said, leaning down and pressing a kiss against my cheek. Then he sighed and continued, "I want you to let me hold you." His arms tightened slightly, my owns hands snaking up to rest against his chest. "I want to make sure nothing ever hurts you again." His eyes were bright. "Bella, I want you keep this baby. Our baby."

"It's not yours." My voice was a whimper.

"It can be," he said as if it was obvious.

Suddenly, I could feel the heat and salt of tears tracking down my cheeks. The pain and the numb subsiding into the physical as I clung to Edward's shirt. I buried my face into his chest, sobs shaking my entire body as warm arms pulled me closer, tighter. I gasped and spluttered for breath and I felt Edward's lips press against my hair once, twice, three times.

Then, against the tears and the silence, "Marry me, Bella."

*

We were quiet in the car for a long time. I ran my fingers along the leather seams of the door, sliding them across the metal of the door handle and twisting around the lock. I counted the seconds between telephone poles along the curving road as we made our way to the store.

The silence was heavy, loaded, but not tense. I could feel in the air the combination of crackling nerves and energy. The hostility that I used to feel when Edward would take me in his car to buy groceries had dissipated, replaced with the lightness of our new, tentative relationship; leaving words unsaid but not unfelt.

"So," Edward's voice cut through the quiet at last. I was startled by the sound, so sudden after the silence, and I flinched slightly in my seat before turning to him. "Have you given any thought to colors?"

I was confused by his question for a moment, before I remembered where we were going.

"Oh, um…" I stuttered, caught off guard. "Not really. I just figured that since it was your room, you'd want to pick."

He glanced at me quickly, his expression curious, before turning back to focus on the road. His mouth hadn't moved at all, remaining straight and emotionless, but his eyes were smiling and surprised.

"Why don't we just see if we can't compromise?" Edward suggested, his lips twisting into a smirk slowly.

I smiled.

"Sure," I said with a nod.

We lapsed back into an easy silence. I shifted my gaze to the road ahead of us, straightening slightly in my seat. I hadn't even realized I had felt uneasy until some of the pressure suddenly lifted.

Compromise was not something that we did.

It was about him or it was about me. Most importantly – and most often – it was about sacrifice.

Even with the trivial things, we were changing.

Several minutes later, I glanced over to see Edward's entire body go slightly rigid. He tensed subtly, his expression darkening with the turn of his thoughts. I watched him curiously, until he spoke.

"Was Rosalie bothering you?" he asked the question I had not been expecting at all.

"Oh…" I breathed, my heart suddenly racing in my chest, not knowing what to say. At last I replied as honestly as possible. "No, of course not. I mean, you got there so soon after I arrived…we didn't talk much."

Edward turned to look at me again, his eyes leaving the road ahead of him for a moment before flicking back away from me.

"I'm sorry if she said something rude to you," he said quietly, his words sincere and understanding perfectly the tension that he had walked into in the living room.

I couldn't stop my eyes from snapping to him immediately. His face was twisted with concern, his eyes on the road were deliberately fixed and unmoving. In his expression I could see a strange, foreign spark of guilt.

I shifted uncomfortably.

"She was mostly just worried," I told him, thinking that he had everything all wrong.

He shouldn't be upset with Rosalie, shouldn't be concerned about my feelings, and shouldn't feel guilty if they were hurt.

Still, at my words of assurance, Edward chuckled humorlessly and shook his head. "What could she possibly have to be worried about?"

My eyes dropped from his face, knowing the answer as I looked at my hands, twisting my fingers together in my lap.

"You." I answered him in a whisper.

Edward was silent for a long time. I could feel his eyes moving to me every few seconds, but I didn't look up to see what he was thinking. I could see his hands tightening on the steering wheel in my peripheral, the lines and muscle of his arm flexing with the movement.

I heard him heave a sigh. "Rosalie's always been a little…" he paused, searching for the word. "Protective."

I swallowed and forced myself to look up at him, lifting my head. He was watching me, his eyes flicking from me to the road and back again at the turn of every second. When he saw me raise my chin to meet his glance, his face expressed only concern and apology.

"I understand why she is," I told him firmly, wishing he wouldn't look at me that way.

Edward's brows rose slightly, surprised and skeptical.

"Do you?" he asked me curiously.

I shrugged with a nod. "You're her brother," I explained. I hesitated for a moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath before I continued shakily, "And I can't even start to count the ways I've hurt you before…"

I could see pain flash across Edward's features and I allowed my words to trail off into silence. I watched him carefully as he slowly began to understand that there was no reason to hide anymore. Not from Rosalie or from anything else.

"It's a little more complicated than that," Edward said at last, his grip on the steering wheel shifting and loosening slightly. His voice was sad. Then he said plainly, "She doesn't know everything."

I blinked at him.

"What have you kept from her?" I asked him with surprise.

The way that Rosalie looked at me, watched me, ignored me, spoke to me – I had always just assumed that Edward had confided in her every turn of our marriage and its slowly increasing entropy.

Edward's jaw tightened and he remained silent, not answering me.

I told him quietly, "I promise you that whatever it is wouldn't make her hate me any less."

His eyes narrowed and shifted to mine suddenly. He hissed out, his voice desperate, "How can you possibly know that?"

I shrugged at him, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly on one side. "Because I know myself."

Edward looked at me for a long moment.

When he looked back to the road, he was forced to swerve slightly to stay in his lane. I watched him for a moment, hearing the words I had spoken repeating over and over through the sudden quiet, sounding true and undisputed. I knew he wasn't going to respond again.

There was nothing to say.

I nodded and looked away from him, a pained smile stretching itself across my mouth. My eyes drifted to the buildings, cars, people, flickering by outside the window. I watched the city speeding past with a fascination and happiness that was derived from months of isolation.

I was reminded of New York, of the way that I had loved that city with every piece left within me that could love. If I had missed the trees and the rain and the lush green of my west coast home, I ignored the feeling because all it meant was that I missed Jacob. He was the home I had left behind. My love for New York was meant to fill the void Jacob had left; the void that I couldn't fill with love for my husband.

This city, though, this was pure. This was people and work and brilliance and life. My appreciation for it was still born from the sudden absence of pain, but it was different somehow.

This was not an escape. This place was where I was meeting everything without flinching.

I felt nothing of misery or longing or anger or pain when I looked out at this city. I didn't think of Forks or Jacob or all that I had left behind. I didn't think of my failed marriage or my lost child or my perpetual unhappiness.

I looked at this city and I felt only Edward's silent presence sitting beside me.

*

I was getting dressed when I heard the front door slam against the wall.

"Bella?" His frantic voice called out. "Bella?!"

I didn't respond as I pulled my shirt over my head. I could hear him crashing through the apartment. His briefcase thrown onto the ground, the bedroom door opening and closing in a flurry, his stumbling steps hurried in his attempt to find me.

When the door to the bathroom swung open, he stopped.

I could feel him looking at me, his breathing ragged and deep. I glanced up as I sat on the edge of the bath and pulled socks onto my feet, careful to keep my face expressionless as I looked back at him silently. His eyes traveled up and down my body, over and over, as if he was committing it to memory.

"You're here," he said at last, his voice raspy and surprised.

I shook my head in annoyance. "I was just leaving."

I stood up, narrowing my eyes threateningly as I made a slight move towards the door. He stepped towards me in response, his hands lifting from his sides, ignoring my glare. I froze and backed away from him warily, not wanting him to trap me in his arms, irritated and startled by the sudden intensity in his face.

"Don't do this," he pleaded, his voice imploring.

"It's my decision," I snapped immediately. "It's my choice to make."

"As long as you know you have a choice," Edward replied, surprisingly hard. "Because you're doing a pretty good job of acting like you don't." I could hear the desperate, helpless frustration in his voice.

It pissed me off.

I felt my cheeks flush and I took a large step forward, poking my finger into his chest angrily. "So what, Edward?" I demanded, mocking. "You think we can just become some big happy family? I hate to break it to you, but that's really not in the cards for us."

He gazed down at me and I could see his arms raising slowly, could feel the anticipation of tenderness in his embrace before he even touched me. I flinched back, resisting the urge to be comforted by him, turning and taking a large step to the sink. I bent over the porcelain, my hands on either edge, and looked at my own face in the mirror. I didn't recognize the person staring back at me.

"All I have is this fucking hole in my chest," I hissed. "This fucking agony. There's nothing else."

Edward looked at me for a moment, then followed me into the bathroom and grabbed my left hand, prying it from the cold sink and pulling me to face him. I looked up at him reluctantly as he pressed my palm up against his heart tightly, crushing my fingers into his sternum.

"I can make you happy," he told me then. "Just give me the chance."

I barely paused before I jerked my hand away from him, violent and tearing. "Get out of my way, Edward."

I pushed past him before he could say anything in response, forcing my body away from his without turning back. I strode over to the front door of the apartment, grabbing my shoes up off the ground and yanking them onto my feet.

Edward followed me, watching as I tied the laces with flustered, clumsy fingers.

"I should come with you." His voice was quiet now and incredibly tender.

I couldn't force myself to lift my eyes to see his expression. I could hear the pain in his voice, the wrenching turn of his words as they thrummed through my blood. I could feel myself holding him just as wholly as Jacob had once held me.

What else could I do?

What else did I know how to do?

"It'd be easier if you didn't." I spoke to the ground.

After a moment, when I was sure he wasn't going to speak again, when I was positive he wouldn't try to follow me, I turned on my heel and grabbed the door knob, my fingers twisting around the cold glass.

"You always have a choice, Bella."

I stopped moving, stopped breathing, my hand still on the door.

His voice was soft and clear, his words truthful and afraid. It wasn't important to him that I stayed, that I listened to him, that I kept the child, that I married him. It was only him, wanting me to know. It was desperation for me to understand that the choice was there, and that it was mine.

For the first time I felt as though he spoke to me without expectation.

I waited there, unsure of why I did. All I knew was that when I heard him step towards me, I couldn't stop myself from turning to face him.

He was in front of me in that instant and I remained stone when his hand reached out, my silence permitting his fingers to brush the length of my cheek. I felt my blood rise to greet his skin, delicate pink under white, and I waited.

I saw him breathing, looking at me, as I breathed and looked back at him.

"This child may not be mine," he began at last, his voice shaky and controlled. "And you may not be mine…but you need to know." He took a deep breath. "I want this and I want it with you."

His eyes burned into mine for a moment, before he dropped his gaze in embarrassment or the intensity of emotion.

"I've never wanted anyone but you." He spoke to the wall beside my head, his voice quieter. "Saying anything else would be a lie." He swallowed and then he his eyes were back, tangled with mine. "I want you to keep it, but you don't like the way those words sound when I say them."

His voice died in his throat and he surrendered it easily, staring at me with uncertainty.

I shuddered slightly, feeling my entire face fall.

"Then don't say them," I begged him, even though it was already too late. "Don't say anything."

I pulled away from him and walked out the door, fighting tears and the desire to look back.

*

"Blue, Edward? Really?"

I held the small tab that Edward had handed me, glaring between his smiling face and the little square of color he had pointed to.

It had only been moments after we had walked into the store that all the tension, all the strange honesty in the car had disappeared completely. It may have had something to do with the sudden flash of excitement that shot through me. I had seized Edward's hand without warning and had dragged him over to the wall of colors, feeling a strange anticipation for the project I had undertaken, images suddenly rising up before my eyes of the room when it was finished: my hands covering Edward's eyes as I walked behind him up the stairs, revealing the room to him with pride and accomplishment; presenting it to him like a lover's token.

"What?" he demanded, pretending to be offended. "I like blue."

"But that's really…pastel." I said the word like it was disgusting to me. He had chosen the lightest blue on the little tab of five colors. "It looks like a color for, like, a nursery."

My mouth snapped shut after I had said the word, my face heating immediately in horror, wishing with everything in me that I could take it back. I had meant only playfully insult him, to imply that he was childish and sentimental.

His face paled suddenly, white as bone, and he remained silent for a long time.

I shifted my eyes away awkwardly, looking back down to the colors in my hand, pretending to be suddenly fascinated with the various blues that I held.

After a beat, I heard Edward's voice, strained and forced. "Which one do you like?"

I cleared my throat and put the blue tab back, grabbing at the one I was looking at before. I glanced up at his face, not surprised to see his expression had become tense and indecipherable. Still, he didn't look angry when I held out the tab, pointing to the middle color. "I was thinking maybe this green."

"Bella," he said, taking the tab from me and studying it before looking up at me with a smirk. "That looks like pea soup."

I smiled at him gratefully and then shook my head. I grabbed at another tab with darker, forest greens and pointed to the deepest one at the bottom.

"But we could trim it with this. You know?" I said, imploringly as I tried to explain. "Around the molding, along the edges of the wall?"

Edward took the other tab, holding the two greens side by side. "I don't know…"

My face fell a little, my mouth dropping to a disheartened frown. "You don't like it?"

"I do," Edward said, shaking his head a looking back up at me. He looked earnest and at ease once again. "But painting the molding?" he asked me skeptically. "Neither of us are exactly skilled painters."

I crossed my arms with a huff and a small smile. "Speak for yourself."

"Oh?" he grinned, his eyes widening as he pretended to be surprised. He teased, "You have a skill set that I am not aware of?"

"Well…not yet," I admitted with a sheepish smile. Then I set my face in determination and added, "But if I can peel all the godforsaken wallpaper off the walls, I can develop a skill set. Because I am not letting all my hard work get wasted on a simple, boring paint job." I nodded firmly. "It's got to look perfect."

Edward looked amused by my rant, his posture no longer tense.

"Then maybe we should hire a professional," he suggested, his eyes falling back down to look at the two greens again.

"Absolutely not!" I cried, without even thinking about it.

He looked back up at me, surprised by my outburst. Then he relaxed into another soft smile when he saw my hands had propped themselves indignantly on my hips as I glared at him.

"Alright, we can do the room ourselves," Edward surrendered simply, with a shrug. Then he glanced at me slyly, "But how about to repaint the outside of the house?"

I opened my mouth to refuse, to insist we could do all the work ourselves, but then my jaw snapped closed as I realized what he had said.

"You want to repaint it?" I asked him, confused.

"Well, not pea soup," he said with a grin and a roll of his eyes, handing the tabs back to me. Then his face grew serious and slightly nervous as he continued, "But the paint on the outside is peeling badly and that'll rot the wood pretty quick."

I could see the apprehension in his face, and I wondered curiously if he thought I would refuse him. Of course, it wouldn't matter if I did; it was his house. Still, for some reason, it seemed to matter to him that I approve of the changes.

"Makes sense," I shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe someone here can point us in the right direction."

I was sure that if no one here knew of any quality painters, that Jasper would certainly be able to help us get into contact with one. I smiled at him encouragingly.

Edward smiled back, slightly strained. "Maybe," he said quietly, nodding vaguely.

I cocked my head at him curiously when he refused to meet my eyes. Suddenly, I choked out a laugh and hit him lightly on the arm, understanding is sudden reluctance.

"You totally want to do it yourself, you hypocrite," I smirked with a grin.

Edward met my eyes then, grinning and relieved. He gave me a little, innocent shrug in reply and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Changing the subject tactfully, he asked, "So no blue, then?"

The smile faded from my face slowly and I looked back at the wall of sample colors, torn. I knew that my comment about the color had tainted it for the both of us, and if the room was saturated with it, it would always look like the nursery that we never painted.

Still, I could hear the words he had spoken in the car as clearly as if he had just repeated them now.

Why don't we just see if we can't compromise?

I had never wanted anything more.

"What if we painted the ceiling blue?" I asked him, pulling the tab out from the wall again, looking at the color as if I had forgotten what it looked like.

"I'm sorry, Bella," Edward said with a smile in his voice. "But that just sounds ugly."

My eyes snapped back up to his, taking in the lightness of his expression with relief.

"I wasn't finished," I huffed back, insistent. "What if the ceiling was blue...wait for it...with white clouds?" I asked him, imagining the what the finished room would look like, a grin crawling across my lips. "I could totally master clouds."

Edward crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. "Are you twelve?" he demanded to know, looking very much like an adult.

I waved my hand at him in dismissal. "Tell me it doesn't sound like an adorable idea," I dared him.

His lips twitched when he admitted, "It sounds great."

I gave him a dazzling, pleased smile and in that instant I could see a piece of him that I, in our entire friendship, marriage, life, had never seen before. It was the Edward that would have demanded rocket ship wallpaper in his room if he had been given the choice. It was the Edward that used to love bugs and trees and the outdoors and didn't care about that girl Tanya Denali because he just didn't want her. It was the Edward who was a child, who I had never before known or cared existed, who had been hidden and forgotten and ignored by both of us for years.

And now I looked at him and I could see no one else.

*

Everything was dark when I returned.

I stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind me lightly before leaning back against it. I could feel weakness creeping throughout my body, making me wish I had asked Jessica to stay with me. But the look on her face when I told her she could leave assured me that I had made the right decision in sending her away. She didn't want to be near me. She didn't care or she couldn't be bothered or she wasn't looking for the responsibility of being there.

Even when I had my friends, I had no one.

I didn't turn on the light. Instead, I breathed in and out, my back pressed against the door, my shoulder blades digging painfully into the wood. I could feel the pang of my empty stomach, reminding me that I hadn't eaten anything all day. Had I eaten yesterday? I couldn't remember.

I pushed myself upright and straightened before walking to the room. I glanced at the refrigerator for a moment, the thought of eating sending a wave of nausea through me. I shook my head in annoyance and headed towards the bedroom, walking slowly as I navigated around the table and chairs in the dark.

When I opened the door, I halted.

I could see a black, looming shape sitting in the chair beside the bed, perfectly still and silent in the darkness. I could see the angles of his shoulders, hunched in defeat; elbows propped up on thin legs; long, graceful fingers tangled in the wild hair of a bowed head.

It was a pose that spoke only of anguish.

I stood there silently, frozen, my eyes locked on the tortured man across the room. It didn't take long before his head lifted to face me, hearing my gasping breath and shifting weight. Our eyes locked, even through the veil of night, green sparking grey.

"Are you okay?"

I didn't know who I had expected to speak first, but when he finally asked me the question, my entire body jerked back in shock. He noticed the movement, his eyes trailing up and down my body without expression.

My voice quivered when I replied, "I don't know."

He stood up, his hands running through his hair once more before releasing the chaotic mass. I could feel my entire body shaking as my eyes locked on the waves and points of his hair, silhouetted against the faint light coming from the street lamps outside.

He took a step towards me, his motions slow and cautious. "Can I get you anything?"

His inquiry didn't register. I heard nothing except for his voice.

"You're still here," I breathed, incredulous.

I watched as he shifted uncomfortably, glancing down to the floor, then back up at me. The lines of his face were faint in the dim, but every movement in his posture was apologetic.

"I just wanted to make sure…" he began to explain. He cut himself off and shook his head. His words were quick when he spoke, "I can leave."

Without waiting for a reply, he closed the distance between us, brushing past me to the bedroom door at my back. I whipped around, my eyes fixed on him, unable to utter a single word of protest in my surprise.

When he reached the entrance to the living room, he paused and turned back, looking at me over his shoulder.

"I'll call you later?" His question was so timid, almost pleading.

I opened and closed my mouth several times before I finally choked out, "Why?" My voice broke on the word and I took a step back, into the room and away from him.

"Bella," he said softly, his entire body twisting back around to face me. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head, but he moved towards me again slowly.

I could see one of his arms lifting slowly, reaching out to touch me like I was a wild animal that he didn't want to frighten.

I shied away from him, feeling my eyes start to burn and sting.

"Why do you love me?" I gasped.

Confusion flashed across his face, even in the dark. I could see his brow furrow with concern and he continued to move forward. "Bella?"

"I'm not a good person, Edward," I choked out, tears splashing against the skin of my cheeks as I struggled to breathe evenly. "I'm wretched and selfish and awful and ugly. I've never been kind to you. Never been a friend to you. There's nothing…" My words caught in my throat when Edward's hand wrapped gently around my arm, holding onto me like he wasn't really expecting me to be there. "Nothing in me that's…" I fought, the tears falling rapidly, uncontrollably, as his other hand smoothed up my arm to my shoulder, pulling me close to him so that we were inches apart. I whispered desperately, "Why are you still here?"

Edward shushed me quietly, his thumb caressing my jaw through the tears. I could feel the warmth radiating from his chest as he smiled down at me sadly. "I can't leave you," he said, like it was an answer.

I took a deep breath. "Do you want to?"

Edward moaned quietly, as if he was in pain. Then I felt him pulling me the last few inches into his chest, pressing me close and wrapping his arms around my back. I inhaled, still quivering and ragged.

Then I heard a whisper of hot breath against my hair. "Never."

I drew away from him slightly, my eyes lifting to meet his. The green was bright through my tears.

"After everything…" I began, tasting the salt on my lips.

"It doesn't matter." He cut me off, his voice insistent.

His arms tightened around me and he was guiding me to the chair where he had been sitting. He said nothing as he lifted me into his arms like a child, sitting down with me stretched across his lap. My hand locked behind his neck and I leaned against his shoulder.

I felt cool lips against my forehead. "None of it matters," he whispered. "I'll love you as long as you'll let me."

My eyes fluttered closed, lashes brushing against the skin of his neck.

I could feel the tension and the contentment of his body beneath mine, could feel him needing me as much as I needed him. It didn't matter that our need was different and separate, only that it consumed us with the same intensity.

"I couldn't do it," I told him quietly, no longer crying.

I could feel Edward's head shift to look at me. "Couldn't do what?" he asked, confused and comforting.

Without looking up to meet his eyes, unable to say the words, I dragged one hand from his neck, down his shoulder, along his arm. The muscles in his forearm flexed as my fingers danced across skin slowly, making my way to his hand that was resting firmly on the small of my back.

I tangled my fingers with his and drew his hand around, pressing it against my stomach lightly.

I felt his entire body go rigid immediately, understanding.

Finally, I let myself look up at him.

"Stay with me?"