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"True love stories should never have a happy ending, because true love stories never end..." Unknown.

City and Colour – Little Hell: What if I can't be all that you need me to be? We've got a good thing going, we have some promises to keep. But my addiction, it can be such a detriment. Please believe in this my dear, I am more than penitent.

What if everything's just the way that it will be? Could it be that I am meant to cause you all this grief?

Chapter 27 – Sunny Side

It's like we're twelve years old again, sneaking sweets and telling secrets, hidden from the world in our own little existence built from imagination and, this time, desperation. We took every chair from the kitchen, and every blanket from the closet. We stripped my bed to the mattress and carried pillows, sheets, and stuffed giraffes downstairs. Mom called us silly. Dad said we'd better clean up our mess.

Alice and I made a fort big enough for the two of us. It's quilt draped and wood chair sturdy, lit up by multicolored Christmas lights I begged my mom to pull down from the attic. They hang above and around us, twirl-tied around chair legs and in between layers of blankets.

We use flash lights from my dad's garage to read to each other: she recites The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and I whisper from The Fault in our Stars. We take turns, page for page, reading chapters out of order, until Milan Kundera and John Green become the same person and a new story is born from our favorites.

Alice eats banana chips, and I chew on Tootsie Rolls. She drinks Smart water, and I stick to cream soda. Our legs are tangled and our toes wiggle together. My left arm is pushed against her right, and while I'm reading, her head leans on my shoulder.

"Okay, no more," she cries softly. Alice wipes tears out from under her eyes. "I can't deal with fake funerals right now, Bliss."

I point my flashlight from the book to Alice's face; her tears reflect in the low light. She fills her cheeks up with air and exhales slowly, smiling sadly.

It's been a week, and she's been here every day since he left.

I search her face, looking from her eyes to her nose, to her lips and chin. Her hair is faded pink and clean, left down and fanned around her head and shoulders. She's in black boy shorts, and I'm in yellow. She's covered in an oversized Deftones tee, and I'm wearing a peach tank. Her eyes are swollen, bloodshot and red. Mine aren't.

Maybe having Alice with me every day since Edward took off has kept me from crying, or maybe I just don't have it in me anymore, but since that night, I haven't shed a single tear.

I can feel them. They're built up behind my eyes and pushed up against my chest. My heart is wrapped in tears, floating in perfect fucking heartache. My sadness is under my skin, between my toes, and in my hair. It's there when I go to sleep, and around when I wake up. My despair is vengeful, so relentless, and mocking. It laughs in my face and says, "I told you so," before clenching my heart in its too-firm grip, knocking me off my feet.

Maybe that's it. Maybe I knew all along this would be our conclusion, and that's why I can't cry.

Probably.

Probably not.

I try. The only time I'm ever alone is when I'm in the restroom.

"Just let me pee, Al," I said yesterday, while I tried to close the door between us.

She stood in the hallway after putting up a fight. "I've seen you pee before, B." she whined. Her eyes were water rimmed, ready to spill.

Alice is clingy in her grief. And small. Unsure. Her parents are their own kind of crazy, and I knew without her even saying the words, she needed to be out of her house until they calm down. I love her here; she's the distraction my drifting heart needs. But nothing is my own with Alice around. She sleeps on me; she eats right beside me; she sits on the counter or the edge of the tub when I shower. Alice uses my pillows and buries herself in my blankets. She locks my door and hides from my parents.

All of her clothes are in my closet, and her skateboard is by the front door. When she isn't concealing herself from my mom and dad, she's hoarding them. She talks my dad's ear off and cuddles with Mom. They don't know about Edward and the drugs, but they know he's gone. We told them he went on a trip with his friends. He'll be back … maybe.

Not that it would matter. Edward's eighteen. He'll be nineteen in a few weeks. He's allowed to come and go as he pleases. That's what makes this so hard. We're helpless, and we can't make him come back. There's nothing any of us can do.

I could tell my dad. Esme's a fucking mess, and Carlisle isn't any better, and my chief of police father might be able to help them find their kid, but then what? Then my dad will know the truth about Edward. He'll know that he uses. He'll know Edward isn't the boy I've conned them into believing he is for the last seven years. He'll know I'm a liar. Telling my parents about Edward would make everything worth nothing. All of my effort and love will never have meant a thing because they'll be enlightened about who I really am, too, and I won't even have Edward at the end to merit any of it.

They don't wonder why Alice is here, anyway. She's my best friend. Simple.

"You're not peeing, Bliss," Alice said through the door. She knocked softly.

I turned on the water and splashed some on my face. "Alice, give me five minutes!" I needed those minutes so much.

Then I stared at myself in the mirror. With my hands on the sink and my face up close, I searched for it. I fucking begged for something. One stupid tear would have been good enough, but nothing happened. "Cry, cry, cry," I begged myself. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip. I dug my fingernails into porcelain and prayed silently for it to happen; still, nothing.

I let myself feel the impact of everything Edward and I have done. I thought about the first time I saw him kiss Victoria in junior high. I remembered when Kim told Alice and I that Edward and Vic had sex. I recalled Bree's bathroom confession, and every admission from whomever after that … when I heard him admit that Mixie sucked his dick. When he left the dance with the devil in the blue dress. When I kissed Garrett. Every time I said no. The look on his face when I told him I was dying to go to the concert, and I really wasn't. When it didn't even matter if I went or not. When I chose to hurt him because he was always hurting me.

When I said I didn't know and walked away instead of fighting my way into his room.

I dug deep into my house of secrets and let it all out.

"I can kiss you like she does."

"Smile, it's a rule."

"Tell me a secret."

"You're my fucking girl, aren't you?"

"Bliss. Baby, baby, baby..."

I couldn't breathe. My lungs compressed and my teeth clenched. My fingertips tingled and my skin crawled. I think I groaned. Alice knocked on the door again.

"I'm almost done, Al," I said, using every bit of effort I had to make myself cry.

And I was all of this: hurting, melting, burning, sinking, dying. But I was not crying.

My knees buckled and hit the cabinet; I started to slide, but I held myself up. I opened my eyes and they were deep dark like his, only not the same. Mine were not coke elicited, but Edward evoked. There was some kind of heartbreak in my eyes. It was deep. It was years built up. It was rifting.

My hair was air-dried and kinky. My face was colorless and makeup clean. My freckles emphasized the slight purple under my eyes. My lips were dry, but not cracked … just bare. It was me, completely fucking true and utterly dislodged.

And nothing has changed.

I set my book aside and sit up to get another one. We brought them all down: fairy tales and classics, fables and fantasies, fiction and biographies. I toss The Heroin Diaries aside because of the too-close-to-home content, and pass The Very Hungry Caterpillar because we read that first. I hold up Wuthering Heights, and Alice makes a face.

"So fucking boring," she says. She waves her hand; I drop the book.

They're scattered and dumped at our feet. Some are in piles, but most are knocked over and open. The air in our tent smells like book paper and ink and binding. Books are meant to be loved hard, used and abused, so I'm not careful in my search to make Alice happy. I toss this book over there, and another over here. I accidentally rip a cover; I get a paper cut.

"How about this?" I hold up a romance.

"No," she answers easily. "Gross."

"This?" Stephen King.

"Nah."

It's different with Alice this time. She isn't mad. She's destroyed. She's cracked and dispirited. And it's not the "my brother is my hero" bullshit. It's not dramatic like that. Alice is genuinely worried, and honestly upset. She's wounded and suffering. Stripped. Gone is her image—the tough, foul-mouthed skater girl isn't here. It's just Alice. No heavy eyeliner, no red lips … just a sister whose brother has hurt her feelings.

A best friend who needs her mind off of things.

"How about this one?" I smile, showing her the cover to Dirty by Megan Hart.

Alice bolts up with huge open eyes and takes the novel from me. "Is this … sex?" she whispers.

I take it back and look at the cover. It's an image of a couple in a bathroom stall. All you can see is their shoe covered feet, and their position. "I don't know where it came from."

"I bet it's your mom's, Bliss. Under all of that floral print and Birkenstocks is a freak!" Alice picks the book from my hands and lies back against our best-friend-made bed. "I mean, she probably likes Christmas Explosions as much as we do." Alice gives me side-eyes and a sly smirk, practically begging me to admit it.

I slip in beside her, with my elbow on the pillow and my head on my palm. I shudder. "Lets not talk about my mom and orgasms, Alice."

"Your dad's mustache probably tickles."

"Alice!" I let my face fall into cushy cotton.

"What?" She rolls away from me, happy, finally, turning into a giggling ball. She tilts her head back and laughs loudly, until her teeth show. Like his do. "Oh, fuck, Bliss. Your dad's mustache is so sexy."

I turn onto my back and cover my embarrassed flushed face with both of my hands. "Can you just read?"

"Fine," she says, still laughing. "But if this gets me all hot and bothered, you might have to touch me after."

I hit her with a pillow. "Touch yourself."

"Or we can do that."

"Alice," I groan, beyond mortified, and thriving in the first back-to-us conversation we've had in six days.

"Okay. Okay." She opens the book and reads, "'My belly jumped as I rocked my hips, pushing my cunt against his mouth and fingers.'"

.

.

.

We read from the book for a while, and by narrating the words in silly voices, we try to make it ridiculous. Alice makes sex sounds, and I blush like crazy. It gets plot thick at times, so Alice skips around, loving how uncomfortable it makes me. When she's sure she read every blow job, finger fuck, and love making scene, she finally puts it down.

We're swimming in sexual tension. I bite my fingernails, and Alice rubs her thighs together. We avoid looking at each other. It's awkward and funny, and embarrassing, but normal. We're able to be ourselves for an hour. For sixty minutes I don't feel the gaping hole in my chest. Everything isn't so raw. I don't miss him so much.

"No more books," Alice finally says. "Let's watch a movie."

So we open up the front of our tent and let out the scent of printed paper and turned-on teenager and turn on the TV. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is on. We watch it for about twenty minutes before the feeling of comfort shifts right back into apprehension. The hollow point in my body throbs, and Alice isn't smiling anymore. Her teeth don't show; her cheeks aren't red.

"Do you think that's how it is for him, B?" she whispers.

"Do I think he's in Las Vegas with Benicio Del Toro? No." My voice is low. My attempt at a joke isn't funny.

"Do you think he's lost like that?" She covers her face and cries. I turn the TV off.

"He isn't looking for the American dream in the Red Shark, Alice. Edward … " I swallow. "he's fucked up. He's addicted. He's an addict."

It's like speaking fire and flame. The words burn. But we've spent years tiptoeing around the truth: Edward has problems. Not once has anyone come out and said it.

But the truth doesn't make us feel any better. Alice falls asleep, and I'm wide awake, surrounded by children's books, in a tent lit by Christmas lights in June. My mind won't shut off: What's he doing. Where's he at? Why hasn't he called anyone? When is he coming back?

Is he with her?

Is he with Victoria?

With anyone?

I worry over and over and over, until my stomach flips and tumbles, and stirs. Until I'm clutching all ten fingers into my chest and screaming into my pillow. I kick my legs, pushing all of the blankets away; I get rug burn on my knees. I bend my toes until they ache. I scratch into skin, trying to break through to the bone and blood and veins and arteries that's between me and where it hurts the most. My heart beats his name; his touch; his smell.

Cry, cry, cry, cry.

I sit up. . I hold a palm over my mouth and another over my forehead. I'm sweating. My body is too warm. I gasp-breathe, in and out, in and out. My face tingles. My jaw hurts. I sit on my knees. My head hits the top of the fort. I shuffle over books and knock down one of the blankets that played our roof.

Alice doesn't wake up. She dosed herself to sleep after crying didn't work.

Out from beneath the blankets, and away from the girl who laughs like my boy, I stand up and walk to the kitchen. Cool air touches my skin, forming goosebumps. My sticky feet form to unwarmed tile, making a soft suction sound with every step. I go to the sink and turn on the water. I hold my hair over my shoulder and cup my other hand under the liquid, bringing a mouthful to my lips.

I rinse off my forehead and press wet hands against my panicked cheeks. I remind myself how to breathe. Easy. Steady. Normal. I stand there until I calm down, with both hands on the counter like I had them in the bathroom yesterday. Water drips from my lips, my forehead, my chin. I look at the clock; it's a quarter past four in the morning.

My phone rings.

My head snaps in the direction of the ring tone. It's under my pillow, so it's muffled. Alice won't wake up; she's chemically altered. But my parents might.

I don't know if it's my legs or my heart that rush back to the fort. I stub my toe on East of Eden and catch my right wrist in holiday lights. My phone stops ringing.

"Shit. Shit … shit." I untangle myself and push my pillow away.

Alice's eyes open. I look at her, but she isn't there. They close again. She's sleeping.

My cell lights up, singing his song: I never knew daylight could be so violent.

Dusty.

Decline or Answer.

I silence the ringer, but I don't answer it. I listen for my parents, but it's hard to hear over the echo of my heart pulse.

My phone stops, just to start right back up again.

Dusty.

Decline or Answer.

"Edward," I whisper into the receiver. My hands moves the phone unsteadily against my face.

"Hi, baby." Like nothing ever changed.

Then it happens.

I cry.

I put the phone down and bunch a sheet under my arm and bolt out of the blanket made home. I step through the kitchen, unlock the backdoor and walk out into the early morning night. I wrap myself up and sit in a sun-bleached and cracked, green plastic patio chair. My eyes drip freely now. My chin quivers. My nose stuffs up.

"Where are you?" I whisper, heartsick and moved.

"Princess girl … baby, baby, baby," he says gently. His words are thick and drawn out. Wherever he is, it's quiet. I don't hear anything on his side of the phone but the sound of his breathing and soft speaking. "My girl."

I sit back in my chair. I hold a hand over my mouth to keep my cries soundless. "Edward,"—I squeeze my eyes shut—"please come home."

"You're mine, right, sunny side? You'll always be mine?" Little tap, tap, taps litter the silence behind him. I know what he's doing. She's there. He's cutting her up, forming little lines.

I listen to him breathe cocaine in through his nose.

He groans.

He laughs.

Tap, tap, tap.

"I've been looking for you," Edward says.

"I'm where I belong," I answer and pull my feet up. I set my forehead on my knee and use my sheet to wipe my face. "It's you I can't find."

He laughs loudly. I think of Alice with her head tilted back and her teeth showing. My face crumbles, and I sob.

"I'm right here, Bella!"

"I'm supposed to always know where you are, Edward. Remember? Remember our rules?" The stupid dog next door starts to bark. The sprinklers in my back yard come on. The sky is beginning to turn colors with the start of the morning.

"Are you smiling, baby?"

"No."

"Rule breaker." I can hear the smirk in his voice. I can see it in my mind; but it's blurry.

Then it's not so quiet where he is anymore. Someone is knocking on a door. Edward tells them to get lost.

"Go away. I'm on the fucking phone," he yells.

Tap, tap, tap.

They manage to get into the room. There are so many voices, I can't tell who is who. I don't recognize any of their tones. I can't hear what they're saying. Edward's laughing. He's still telling them to leave.

"I'll be right out," he says before the phone drops to the floor.

Now I can't hear his words, either. They're muffled. He's laughing, fighting for his phone. They're tossing it around, but no one says anything to me. Maybe I pick out Petey's voice. Maybe.

"Give me my fucking phone, Dim." Edward's voice is clear again, unmistakable. He has his phone back. "I'm talking to my girl," he says.

"Your girl?" a stranger says.

Edward snorts. I bet he rolls his eyes. "Fuck off." He isn't laughing anymore. "It's just my dad. Right, Dad?"

I don't say anything.

"I think my dad hung up on me." He's daring me to. I won't. He tells whoever to get the fuck out. "You're being rude. I'm on the phone with my fucking pops," he says.

His side is soundless again.

He clears his throat. Twice. "So."

"Come home." I'm not crying anymore. I'm more desperate than that. I'm sitting at the edge of my seat. I'm biting my nails too low. I can feel my heart beat in my face … in the tips of my fingers. "Right now. Please."

He's breathing. "I'll be home."

"When?"

Edward laughs. "I don't know. Whenever. Why?"

I'm crying again. I'm crushed, suffocating under the weight of our position.

Let him go, my conscience whispers. Tell him you don't need him. You don't love him. Lie to him like you lie to everyone else, you crying liar.

"Because I love you. I miss you." Tears slip over my lips.

Tell him his degree of difficulty isn't worth it. Tell him his addiction is such a detriment. Tell him you can no longer be what he needs you to be.

"I'll be your girlfriend, but swear you're coming home, Edward." The sky is more orange than blue now. The sprinklers have turned off; the air smells like wet grass and dirt. I feel light headed from lack of sleep, unsettled. My eyes burn. My skin hurts. My hair aches. Every part of me suffers in his absence. My jaw. My elbows. My knees. I'm not a person without him here.

"Yeah?" He's amused. "Like that, Bliss?"

"I just want you back."

"And I didn't want you to fuck Garrett!" he yells. He punches something. A wall. He curses. "Fuck!" He's breathing too hard. Edward's mumbling things I don't understand.

I know what his eyes would look like if he were here: massive … no blue, past black. Abysmal. Convulsive. Inconsolable. If he were here, he'd be standing tall over me. His teeth would be grinding. His hands would be fisted. He would be so fucking beautiful, and I would be airless.

But he's not. I'm alone, and I don't have any idea where he is.

Rule breaker.

"I didn't, Edward. I didn't do that!" I sob hysterically. The same feeling of being trapped I had earlier is quickly creeping back in. It slithers up my spine and curves around my neck. It's as if my arms are pinned at my sides and my ankles are tied together. I can't breathe out of my nose, and more air is coming out of my mouth than in. My shoulders lift and fall. My throat burns. My sight is spotted.

"You should have," he says in a calm, scarily clear voice.

"I don't love him."

"Stop loving me."

"No." Crying is painful. It's exhausting. It's taking everything I have left.

He's quiet, listening to me cry too hard, breathe too hard, love too much. The sounds I make are unnatural and scary, body rocking. I can't take a breath. I can't catch up with myself. All of the tears I have saved on him are out, drowning me. Holding me under. Years worth.

"Calm down," he says, sounding annoyed.

I try. I try, but I can't. And I know someone is going to hear me if I don't stop. They'll ask me what's wrong. I won't have an answer. I know. I need to stop. But I'm pouring. Draining. Depleting.

"Baby." He's a little more concerned. "Bella, listen to me."

"I can't!" Not a lie. I can't hear anything over the sound of my own panic.

"Tell me a secret, Bliss. Come on, tell me something." He's soothing, but slurred. He's focused, but not totally here. I still don't know where he is, or how to fix this. I don't know how to be without him. I need our secret. It's all I know. It's my backbone, he's my heart, and I'm alone.

So I say the only truth I know: "I'm scared."

.

.

.

"How late did you girls stay up? " Mom asks. She's helping us fold up our fort, one blanket at a time.

Mom's pitch is too high. Her eyes are too weary. What she's really asking is, what were you doing that I need to know about? Why did you sleep until three in the afternoon?

Prying bitch.

I feel like I just went to bed. Like I shut my eyes and opened them right back up. Along with the rest of my body, my eyes ache. They water and burn. My bones feel soft. I have a headache. It's like I'm looking through a fishbowl.

"Late. We read a book, Renee," Alice answers. Her voice is uppity-happy.

And I already know where this conversation is going.

But I don't have any energy to stop it.

"You did?" Mom stacks my pillows on top of my comforter.

I think about my dad's mustache and shiver.

"Yeah. I'll show you which one." Alice picks through our stacks of books on the coffee table. The one she's looking for is at the bottom of the second stack, but like my inability to interfere, I also lack the willingness to speak.

I fold the stupid sheet I cried into all morning long and daydream about lopsided smiles and taps while my best friend, who reminds me too much of my boy, fucks with my mom.

"This one." Alice holds up the sex book. "Have you read it?" She flips through the pages, smiling.

She woke up before me. I don't know by how long, but when my eyes opened, Alice was in the kitchen eating cinnamon waffles and drinking chocolate soy milk.

She looks different, though. She's standing differently. Her eyes look more alive and vibrant blue than they have all week. Alice doesn't seem to be so disappointed anymore.

And then I know.

She spoke to Petey.

Mom's face turns red as her cheeks fill with blood. I smile, and it drains my energy, so I toss the sheet I folded to the side with the rest of them and lie on the couch.

"Where did you find that?" Mom grabs the book from Alice and tucks it under her arm. She flips her grayish-blonde hair over her shoulder and waits for her answer.

"It was mixed in with my books." I curl up on my side and close my eyes.

"Bella, were you crying?" Mom asks. Her embarrassed, defensive tone transforms into legit concern. It hurts my stomach.

I open up; both Alice and Mom are looking at me.

"Your face just looks puffy, baby." Mom comes closer. She tries to touch me, but I move away. I sit up and run a hand through my hair.

She's scrutinizing me. The sex book is forgotten; her poor Isabella Bliss is hurting and she doesn't know why. It's too constricting. More binding than not knowing where love is. It's in my throat, turning in my stomach. I have to be away from her.

"Mom, stop looking at me like that."

Alice's eyebrows rise up. She covers her mouth to keep from laughing.

"Don't talk to me like that, Isabella," Mom scolds. I hurt her feelings.

I scoot off the couch, step over blankets and head up the stairs. "I'm taking a shower."

"I'm coming!" Alice shouts, following my lead.

.

.

.

It's been two says since Edward called me. Alice is still over. Esme calls. My best girl won't go home, though. Esme begs for us to come stay with her for a while. She misses us. She's alone. Carlisle's buried himself in work.

"Well, have you talked to your brother, then?" Esme asks through the speakerphone when Alice tells her she had no intentions of coming home for a little while longer.

Alice rolls her eyes. "No, Mom. I haven't."

"Neither have we. We call him everyday, but—"

"Mom. I don't want to hear it, okay? I can't deal with all of this drama. I have a life. I have problems. Don't you ever worry about me?" She's crying. I've seen my girl cry more times in the last week than I have our entire friendship.

"At least I know you're safe, Alice," Esme answers sharply.

Alice hangs up the phone. She sits beside me on the bed and stares straight ahead. We're still in sleep clothes. We haven't been dressed once in nine days. Our hair is fucked up and our nails are chipped. It's like we forgot there's a world outside of my house. And even though I know she's hurting, I can't help but feel that she doesn't have it anywhere as bad as I do.

She doesn't totally get it.

"We should do something today," Alice finally speaks, wiping tears away from her watering blues. "Get out of the house. Call the boys. Do something."

The boys. I haven't spoken to Garrett once. I don't know if it's because I've been too embarrassed after what happened between us in Jasper's room, or if it's because I kind of, sort of blame him for Edward leaving. It wasn't his fault. It was all me. It would have been worse if it wasn't for Garrett. But the bitter heart is unreasoning, and I haven't wanted to deal with the other side of this sad true love story.

I've been too wrapped up in myself to think about him. Selfish, but real. There is only enough room for Edward. Even thinking about Garrett hurts, and pulls, and twists.

Traitor.

Cheating, lying, traitor.

Remembering how we were. How Garrett saw me: open, begging, just do it. I touched him. I smelled him, and laughed with him. I let him kiss me everywhere. I breathed in his warmth, and dug into his skin. Right then, I wanted him so bad. And if he had not stopped us, I would have given him something that was never his to begin with.

But that's not even the worst part.

The worst part is that I felt something.

Something that does belong to him. Something in me that's not Edward's, but my skater boy's. Some need for genuine kindness and care. Something soft. Something that is tired of always wondering, and crying, and guessing, and assuming. Something that does not ever want to say yes to too much black and smirking lips.

Nothing near as coercive, or as overwhelming, or as concrete as what is Dusty's, but it's there.

And I hate it.

I hate it so much, because I want it.

Some peace.

"What do you have in mind?" I ask, sitting up. I hold a hand over my chest to keep it from falling apart.

I look for my cell phone, hidden in my sheets, because I need him. I need something. Something to make that other something go away.

Tell me you love me, I text. Edward, tell me now.

"Maybe we can make a lemonade stand," Alice suggests. She goes into my closet and pulls out a piece of poster board I had left over from a science project last year. "Do you have lemons?"

Don't make me, his reply reads.

"Um..." I try to keep myself here with Alice. I hoped he wouldn't reply at all. He hasn't been in contact with me once since he called.

"Is it a dumb idea?" She lays the white poster board on my bed, scented markers in hand.

I shake my head and smile, looking up. "No. Sounds like fun. Mom probably has some Minute Maid or something."

Tell me, I type in.

"Good, because I can't stay inside anymore. It's summertime." Alice pulls her sleep shirt over her head, leaving herself topless. She goes through the clothes in my closet, looking for something to wear. A few tank tops fall to the carpet, but she keeps searching.

I wait for my phone to beep.

Alice chooses a geo print tube dress her mom bought for me a few months ago. She lets her hair down from its messy ponytail and shakes it out.

"Baby, get dressed," she tosses a similar dress my way.

I hate the way she says baby. It's like he's here. Their voices are alike, and I can almost feel the way he would whisper it against my skin, in my ear … on my lips. Like he means it. Like I'm everything to him.

"Let's be barefoot, like we used to do when we were little." She runs her fingers through washed-out pink strands and sprays some beach waves on her ends. Alice uses my chap-stick and pinches her cheeks until they're beautifully crimson. "Let's get dirty today."

Edward doesn't text me back, but reminiscing about unclean toes and playing outside until we smelled like puppies makes me smile. I open the top drawer of my nightstand, toss my phone in, and close it.

While I change into my summer dress, she separates my braid and smears lip gloss on my lips. It gets on my teeth, and we laugh. And I don't know how, but my dress is backwards. Alice and I both try to fix it, but we bump heads. So I straighten out yellow cotton while she applies some more gloss on my small smile. Only she puts too much, and it's gross.

"Alice!" I look for something to wipe it off on.

She kisses me instead.

And I kind of needed it; kind of, sort of like him, but smaller and not as deep. She holds my face in her hands and presses our lips together. Alice opens slightly, but only enough to soak up shimmery color.

It's over as soon as it started, and it's not weird or awkward or unusual. We're best friends. Simple.

Maybe our time isn't running out, after all.

In front of the mirror, Alice and I stand side-by-side. We're a fucking mess. Her hair is much worse than mine. Up higher on the left than the right, Alice refuses to brush out the huge tangle at the back of her head. My hair is crimped at the ends from the braid, but the top is lifeless and flat. I have strawberry flyaways and too much static. But this is good. This is carefree and fun, and just who we really are.

This is how we started out.

With the board and markers in hand, Alice opens my bedroom door and heads downstairs. I'm right behind her, until I hear my phone.

Standing in the door away, I consider not answering it. I know it's him. Every part of me kick-starts and reaches for my boy. I would usually never hesitate, but he made things different. He's forcing me to be without him.

And even though I should keep walking—I should go, and be, and not think about him while we sell lemonade—I don't. I turn and step toward my nightstand. I open the drawer and pull out my phone. I swallow my heart while I slide the lock on my cell.

And I smile while I read exactly what I needed to see: you are the hole in my head.

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"Where did you get a sling-shot, Al?" I place my feet in Alice's empty chair and extend my toes, soaking up the summer sun.

It's hot today. So hot. The air is noon-time muggy and smothering. We've had our lemonade stand up for a couple of hours, and the only people who've come by are a few deputies my dad probably forced over and a couple of my neighbors. We've made five dollars, though.

Ally slings another lemon wedge over my head. "Jasper bought it for me for my birthday, duh." She rolls by on her skateboard, shoeless and sweaty. Her rumpled hair is in a bun, and she holds her dress up when she skates, showing too much thigh.

"Speaking of Jasper," Alice says with bad intentions in her tone. She brings her board to a halt behind me and kicks it up into her hand. "He called me, and I answered."

"Yeah." I tilt my head back and watch her upside down through green-rimmed, star shaped sunglasses.

"They're working at the beach all day. They want us to come by after we're done selling Minute Maid." She shrugs, like she doesn't care.

She hasn't really spoken to Jasper since that night we went over there and they were laid up on the couch. Something is up … not only Petey, but another something.

"We can go," I say, not sure if I mean it or not, but knowing that I should.

Alice drops her board, but doesn't jump back on. It rolls into my parents' lawn. The willow tree branches are already so long, brushing a foot or two above the grass. Alice sits on my lap and looks at me; all playfulness is set aside.

"Do you think if we drive around … maybe ask Kim or Victoria—"

"Al," I stop her, even though the idea accelerates my heart pump.

She bites on her bottom lip and nods her head. "Yeah. Let's just go to the beach." I can tell she doesn't want to go.

So I say, "Maybe tomorrow."

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Seven days turned into nine, and nine turned into eleven, and now it's been fourteen days since my boy has left, and he hasn't shown up. My best girl is still hiding under my covers, but it's getting better for the both of us. We stick to ourselves, but we're getting out the house more. We bought a slip n' slide from Target, and we've climbed trees in the forest behind my house.

My mom taught us how to make blueberry pumpkin muffins, and dad took us to see a movie in Port Angeles. Alice lets me take showers by myself, and even offered to go back to her own home. I wasn't ready to let her go back, though.

We watched the fireworks on the Fourth of July like we do every year. The typical smells of funnel cakes, corn dogs and popcorn swirled around us. The entire town was there, as usual. It was all utterly the same, but so fucking different. We watched the Little League baseball game; the same team the boys used to play on. I thought about how Kim wore her sunglasses through the fireworks show my first year here—the year of the lizard. I watched the fireworks in Edward's eyes; I was so captivated by him then. I remembered writing my name in the air with sparklers lit by my boy. I recall how scared I was when Alice's hair smoked with sparks.

I remember being invited to Edward's thirteenth birthday party on the car ride back to the Cullens' house.

He had blackberry cream cake.

I miss Carlisle and Esme, but I feel like they need to work on themselves before kids are thrown back into their mix. Alice says time alone has been good for them. They're dealing, just like she and I are. Being alone, together, reliving how it used to be. Alice's mom calls and questions about Dusty every day, but it's just the concerned mother in her. She isn't crazy like she was the first few days. Maybe they've somewhat accepted the fact that Edward is of legal age to make his own mistakes. Maybe that allows them to sleep at night. Maybe not. I don't know.

I haven't accepted it, but I've been able to talk to Edward a few times; they haven't. I know what he's up to. What he's doing. What kind of condition he's in. I don't know where he is, but sometimes I think it's better that I don't. It's him keeping me safe in his own little way, because Edward is up to no good. He's snorting the days away, spun and running.

"I can't get you out of my head," he cried on the phone last night. It was the third early morning phone call he'd given me in the two weeks he's been gone.

"Stop trying." I yawned. His convulsive intensity didn't affect me like the first two phone conversations we had did. Like when he was home, I expected it. I talked him down. "Come be with me."

"I'm not coming home, Bella!" he yelled. "Don't you get it, baby? Don't you understand yet?"

That's the problem; I do. I understand. I have all along. I knew from the first time I knocked on his bedroom door when I was eleven-years-old this was wrong. But it didn't stop me from going back. And after everything he put me through—the girls, the drugs, the absences—I never gave up on him, and now he's practically begging me to do it.

I should.

"You can't force me not to love you, Edward," I said in a bored tone, which only made him more angry. But I didn't care. I needed his anger to keep my own fueled.

Because I'm past being sad and feeling guilty, like I had some part in this stupidity. I'm livid.

"You sound so fucking heartfelt." He seethed.

"Whatever." I rolled over to stare at the ceiling. Alice was sound asleep.

"Don't be in love with me!" he shouted.

"Like it's that simple, Edward."

The conversation went on like that for over a hour, accompanied by little taps and inhales through his nose. Eventually, though, I got tired and agreed not to love him anymore, which didn't go over too well, and resulted in him crying like a fucking lunatic, begging me never to stop.

"You could never, right? You'll love me no matter what, right, baby? Right? We're forever." He sobbed. "Say it to me, Bliss. Say forever."

I wondered to myself, when will we get out of this little hell, before promising, "forever."

"Hey."

Pulled away from my thoughts, I look up at Garrett. He's a slight-silhouette with the bright sun behind him; his rescue can is in his left hand, standing in the standard orange-red shorts all the lifeguards in the summer wear.

I hold my palm over my brow and smile, grateful he can't see my watery eyes under my sunglasses.

"Hey, Garrett," I say.

"I haven't seen you in a while," he says, shifting his footing.

I drop my hand and look out to the ocean. Alice is beside me, face down, sun-soaking. She turns her head at the sound of Garrett's voice and asks, "Where's your friend?"

Garrett shrugs. I internally clap, happy to have gotten out of that conversation with my skater boy.

"Around," he answers.

Alice leans up on her elbows. "With that girl Riley, or what?"

Garrett doesn't say anything. Alice lies back down, mumbling curse words under her breath.

"Can we talk?" Garrett finally asks. "I'm on my break."

I pull the strap on Alice's black halter bikini top and ask her if she's okay to be by herself for a little while.

She waves her hand and doesn't bother to look up. "Whatever."

I stand up. Garrett takes a few steps back. He looks out to the water while I brush sand off the back of my legs. I adjust the tie-sides of my bottoms and pull a white tank over my red and blue striped top. The sand is hot, so I slip my feet into my flip flops and tell Alice I'll be back soon.

Garrett and I don't talk on the walk over to the food stand. Girls look at him, and it makes me smile. He's so oblivious and lost in thought. This boy has an intellectual mind, and he's probably thinking about art or religion, or something just as complex: love.

Even in a place like this, surrounded by sun and sand, his mind is dissecting more important things.

Boys like Garrett alter the world with their brilliance.

"Do you know what you want?" he asks, setting his rescue can on the table. Garrett still isn't looking at me. He searches at the menu, contemplating.

I pull out the red plastic chair from under the blue table and sit. "What are you getting?" I ask.

Finally, I get his eyes. He smiles a little.

"Fries. A Coke." And that's all.

"I'll have that, too."

He waits for our food by the window instead of sitting with me while our fries cook. He says a few words to the girl who took our order. I try not to look at him. I stare at the graffiti engraved on the plastic table. I look at the people walking, riding, and running by the boardwalk. I definitely don't look down at the dock. But after a few minutes, my eyes naturally fall back on my skater boy.

It makes total fucking sense he's a lifeguard, saving lives. It's completely in his character to put others before of himself. He's errorless. He never speaks too much. He's nice. He's unselfish. He's dexterous and patient. He is absolutely everything that Edward is not.

Why can't that be enough?

There is a future with this person if I wanted it. Nice and neat, tied with a bow. Drug-free, drama-free, honest.

"I got you some ketchup if you want it." Garrett sets my fries and soda down in front of me, passing me a handful of ketchup packets.

"Thank you," I say softly.

He pulls his chair out and sits across from me. Garrett eats his fries four and five at a time. He chews with his mouth closed and uses his napkin. He gets a drop of ketchup on his white tee shirt and actually cusses.

"Fuck." He smears it with his napkin.

I take the lid off my soda, slip a piece of ice between my lips and suck on it until the only thing I taste is cold water. I drop it into the palm of my hand and get up to help Garrett. I circle frozen liquid on his stain until it fades from red to lightish-pink.

"Want to talk?" I ask when I sit back down in my seat across from him.

His dimples are fucking beautiful.

"Yeah."

I eat a fry. "About the last time we were together?"

He nods and takes a drink from his soda. "Yeah."

I eat another french fry. I drink from my straw. I wipe my hands on my thighs. "I was upset."

"I remember." He smiles.

"I shouldn't have taken advantage of you." I sound stupid.

Garrett coughs on his Coke. He laughs. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and says,"Don't make me seem like I'm some victim," he jokes.

I blush. "I'm saving myself," I blurt out. "for marriage."

He nods, and that's it.

"I like you." Chew, chew, chew. Swallow. "But I kind of need some time. Maybe."

The right corner of his mouth lifts. He opens another packet of ketchup and squirts it on his fries.

"And I feel like maybe we've been going in circles since we were fourteen years old." I drink my soda until it slurps at the bottom of the cup.

"So what now?" he sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. He's really asking me.

I change the subject. "Is Jasper really dating that Riley girl?"

I simmer under Garrett's stare. His face never gives anything away, but I can feel his dissatisfaction. I could so easily ask Garrett what he wants from me … what he expects. But I don't. I'm afraid of his answer. I'm afraid I might want to give it to him.

Garrett clears his throat and drops his arms to the table. He rips up a napkin. "She's just a girl," he says.

I roll my eyes and laugh. I shake the ice in my paper cup."Lauren said she saw them at the mall. Who is she?"

His brown eyes search my face. He takes the top off of his drink and slides a piece of ice into his mouth. "Riley."

"I know her name, Garrett. Who is she to Jasper?"

"Nothing. They talk. They hang out." He piles all of our trash together and gets up to toss it out.

I follow with his rescue can. "Where did she come from?"

He rubs his face with the palms of his hands. "She's here for the summer. Staying with some family in La Push or some shit. It's not a big deal."

Garrett and I walk back to Alice in an awkward silence. It's stupid, but I feel like he owes me more. Like, he should have told me about this Riley girl and Jasper before Alice had to hear it from someone else. But that's dumb. He doesn't owe me shit.

When we get back to the beach, Jas is with my girl. She's standing a few feet in front of him. Her arms are at her sides; her hands are fisted. She's crying again. She's yelling at him, on the beach, in front of everyone.

"Explain her to me, Jasper!" she cries. Tears fall down her cheeks from behind her glasses.

Jasper just shakes his head and crosses his arms. His eyes are sad; so verbal and broad. He's in cutoff shorts and a green tee. His skateboard is on Alice's towel, thrown upside down. He's not here to work. He's here for Al. Either to inform, or break things off.

"Jas," she cries harder, taking a step toward him. "Use your fucking words, J! Who the fuck is she?"

A few passer-by watch the confrontation. Mothers move their kids along, while others stop and watch. I walk faster. Garrett reaches them before I do.

"You're a fucking punk, you know that?" Alice laughs through her cries. She tries to hit him, but I catch her arm.

"He's with her, Bella." Her tone is edging hysterical. She talks to me like he isn't even there. "He's been with that girl and he won't even tell me."

I wrap my arms around her and turn her away from Jasper. The stress in her tone, the groan coming from her chest tells me she can't handle much more. I sit her down own her towel and push Jasper's skateboard away. He takes the hint and picks it up.

"Al," Jasper tries. He seems wounded.

"Get the fuck away from me!" she turns and screams, frustrated.

He goes.

Garrett says goodbye with his eyes and follows his friend.

I sit behind my girl and wrap my legs around her waist. I lie my chin on her shoulder and let her cry. Maybe I do a little too.

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It's been about four weeks since Edward's been gone and time is slowly beginning to become normal again: minutes, hours, days, weeks. I'm sleeping better. I actually brush my hair. Last night Alice and I invited Leah, Lauren and Rosalie over. We made caramel apples and looked up porn on the internet. It was strange, but so easy.

The girls spoke about their experiences after we got grossed out, and I listened for the most part. Alice talked about Jasper like he hadn't just broke her heart, and Lauren spoke about Paul. Leah told a few different stories, and I think we were all kind of, sort of surprised to learn that shy little Leah was more experienced than any of us.

They eventually asked me about Garrett, so I told them what I knew: he's warm, and big, and smooth. He's an excellent kisser. I like his smile … and his lower back is to die for.

Alice squealed.

Rose, dressed in teal knit overalls and a purple lace bandeau, told us about her boy from New York. She flew to see him at the beginning of summer, with plans to go one more time before school starts.

"He wanted to stick it where the sun don't shine," she said, "but I said no." Rose waved her hand like it was nothing when we all cringed. "Then I said yes, and it wasn't so bad."

I laughed until I cried. I ate junk food and slept beside my friends. I was comfortable.

I've been feeling okay. I'm handling myself. The thought of Edward's absence doesn't pang so much. I think about him every five minutes as opposed to every thirty seconds. Alice can say his name without my chest caving in. I wonder where he is still, but the sting has numbed a little.

I haven't talked to Edward since the last time. No texts. No new messages. Nothing. I tried him once, but he didn't answer. I haven't tried again. I have weak moments, though. Sometimes I just need to hear his voice, so I listen to old voicemails and cry a little. I love his sweater at night after Alice has gone to sleep. I look at pictures.

I might be able to do this. I might be able to handle the distance. I might be able to be what he needs me to be until he gets back, even though every new day he's gone is longer than the day before. I can be here at the end of this.

Love takes effort, and I love him more than I did yesterday.

But tomorrow is his birthday, and I don't know how I'll deal with that.