We do not own Twilight.

I would like to thank my treadmill and Sarah's candy apples for pretty much writing this story for us. Kanye West, Pusha-T, Florence and the Machine, and the always trusty Taking Back Sunday – you are all the music of my heart.

Thanks to Vladimir Nabokov for writing Lolita. It's fucked up and surreal, but so fucking thought provoking and epic. A true work of art.

"And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita."

To all of the readers who've stuck around through each chapter, (if there are any of you left) thank you!

YellowGlue: my inspiration.

LovelyBrutal: our beta girl.

Taking Back Sunday – This is all Now: You live in a shelter, built from your own truth. There's so many things you don't want me … you don't want me to know.

I am owed this now.

Chapter 28 – Strawberry Blonde

July 14th.

It's Edward's nineteenth birthday.

"We should just go there, right? I mean, I have to get some more clothes anyway." Alice turns on her side and faces me in my bed.

With a blanket over her head like a nun, she's cozied up and snuggled, Eskimo-style. Safe. Alice's toes find mine under the sheets. The polish isn't chipped anymore. We painted them last night: razzmatazz red-pink for me, and pale-turquoise for my girl. We shaved our legs and plucked each others eyebrows. We recolored Alice's hair. It's pink again, with dark violet tips and a little bit of green in her bangs. She even let me pin empty Coke cans in her hair to see if it would curl.

It did, and it was awesome.

"We should go," I encourage, pulling the sunrise colored sheet over my shoulder. "You should see your mom."

"She's probably drunk," Alice says. She rolls her eyes. "Like always."

"She's sad, Al," I remind her.

"Me, too." She sighs.

"Me too," I agree.

After Alice and I take turns showering, she dresses in a pair of yellow matelot shorts and a plain white tee shirt. I slip into a pair of black side-fringed denim cutoffs and a yellow button-up cami. I blow dry my hair and curl it after. Alice leaves her hair voluminous Coke-can-curly.

We're quiet the entire time.

Mom comes up and asks where we're going. She starts picking up our towels from the floor in my bedroom.

With eyeliner in hand, I stop applying it on Alice's eyelid to say, "Mom, I can clean my own room."

I smile. I try to make it sound genuine. Mom's happy I've been spending so much time at home. And it took her a couple of weeks to realize that Alice and I just needed to do our own thing and back off, but she still hovers.

She still asks too many questions. Like, "When is Alice going home, Bliss?" "How's Edward's trip going?" and "Have you thought anymore about school, Isabella? Because the new school year is about to start and I don't recall you sending out any applications. Bella, are you listening to me? Have you been crying? Why do I feel like you're always crying? Don't talk to me like that, Bella. Maybe Alice needs to go home. Maybe we need to have a talk with your father. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe."

"It's fine, baby. I like doing this for you." Mom pats the top of my head. "So, where did you say you were going?"

"I didn't," I say evenly, returning to Alice's eyes. With my girl, the thicker the better. The hard part is making the line level.

"It's my brother's birthday, Mrs. Cullen." Alice's breath smells like Crest Fairies Toothpaste.

Mom sits on the edge of my bed. My girl and I are on the floor in front of my full length mirror. We're sitting criss-cross and close. The Coke cans from last night are littered around us. We just kind of kicked them to the side.

"Oh, he's home?" Mom's tone is questioning. She brushes some sand out of my bedsheets.

Alice turns her head to look at my mom. She has one eye lined and the other bare. "You look really pretty today, Mrs. Swan." She turns back to me with a blank face.

Mom blushes. She smiles. She's really too easy. And Alice is really too condescending.

"Okay. But be home early, Bliss." Mom stands with a armful of dirty clothes.

"Okay," I say more than cheerfully.

After we're ready, Alice and I argue over who's going to drive today. And it's one of those moments when I'm not even thinking about him. I miss him always, and I feel his absence, but there's nothing in this argument that reminds me of Edward. It's separate from him. Until Alice says, "You're acting like a child, strawberry-blonde," and it hits me like a brick wall. All at once. So fast. So hard.

He's not here.

I would double over if she wasn't standing here. I'd probably drop to my knees. It's that bad. It hurts that much. My mind refuses to believe he took off.

Call him, call him, call him.

Pain gnaws at my ribs from the inside; this ache is internal and demanding to be felt. It ripples through my veins, thick and rich, from head to toe. It soaks in deep, making itself a home. It laughs at my expense, stab, stab, stabbing until I want to scream and stab back. At something. At anyone. At him.

I clear my throat and put my sunnies on. I separate a few of my berry curls to keep my hands busy.

"I'll just drive, Alice." I leave my hair alone and search through my handbag for my keys, happy for the distraction.

A few tears settle on the frames on my sunglasses. I groan and drop my bag.

"Shit, B. I'll drive. Calm down." Alice picks up my bag and heads toward her Jeep parked in front of my house.

I chase after her. "I can drive."

My chin quivers, but I don't let her see. I have my keys in my hand; I jiggle them in the air. "I'm already starting the car."

She looks at me skeptically.

"I have the top down," I say optimistically with a forced, fake smile. "You know you wanna."

Alice gives in and jumps into the Rabbit. I start up and drive away as fast as I can. I accelerate a few miles over the speed limit, shifting the car into third gear. I need the air in my face. I need the clarity it offers. Sweet summertime scented air sweeps through my hair, fluttering it around my head. Alice's sherbert colored assortment flies higher in the wind. We shake our heads and relish the sunlight. Our strands become tangled while they dance in the wind, but we don't care. We laugh. And when I have to stop at a stop light, we take quick pictures with our cellphones and laugh some more.

We're still giggling when we reach the Cullens' driveway. A small part of me expects to see the Continental in front of the house. And even though I know it won't be, I'm still disappointed when it's not there. His space is empty. An oil stain from a leak the Lincoln had a while back is stained on the concrete where he's usually parked. Esme's Mercedes is in front of the garage. Carlisle isn't here.

I park on the side of the house.

"We shouldn't stay long," Alice says, leaping out of my car. "Let's go to the beach and buy those corn on the cobs from that Mexican vendor. You know, the ones with all the butter, cheese and super hot chili."

I walk around the trunk of my car. I kick a rock and my toes get dirty through my t-strap sandals. Alice waits for me, and then takes my hand.

"Say yes," she says.

"Yes." I smile.

We take the steps, hand-in-hand, up to the porch. I keep my eyes away from the swing where Edward and I first made our rules. Where I've sat plenty of times before, watching my girl skate while my boys sat next to me. Where Edward rubbed my feet while my head was in Ben's lap.

We don't knock on the door, even though I feel like we should. Alice walks right in; the smell of familiarity and comfort sink right into me, giving me goosebumps. Everything is the same, utterly. The placement of the furniture, the pictures on the wall, the kitchen is where it's supposed to be, the stairs, the TV … I expected it to all look different. Be different.

The only thing out of the ordinary is the feel.

He's not home. My body knows it. I can sense his absence here more than I have the entire time he's been gone, and I hate it. I want to turn and run. I don't want to be anywhere near this place. Near his things. His room. His bed.

Alice calls out for Esme, but we find her before she answers. Esme's in the kitchen. Her hands are on the granite counter top. A mug of coffee steams in front of her. Her head is down and her eyes are closed. My best friend's mom is dressed casual: jeans and a black tank top. Her feet are bare and her hair is wet and left down.

"Hey, Mom." Alice walks in ahead of me. She pulls out a stool across from her mother and sits.

Esme's head lifts up. I kind of, sort of expect her to cry, but she doesn't. She walks around the island, takes her daughter in her arms, and hugs her. Then she cries.

"Mom, this is exactly why I didn't want to come home." Alice doesn't mean it, though. She returns the embrace.

After we spend a little time saying hello and hugging, the three of us sit at the dinner table to talk. Esme brings the coffee pot and three mugs.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I mean, was I supposed to buy him a cake in case he comes home? Do I call and beg him to come back?" she asks, not necessarily looking for a answer.

"Mom." Alice groans.

Esme continues, "What if he shows up and thinks none of us give a shit about him because I didn't buy a fucking cake for his birthday?"

"He's not coming home, Mom." Alice picks at her nail polish.

"That's why I didn't buy one," Esme says irritably.

We chat about nothing and fill in the empty space. Esme says I've gotten taller and my hair has gotten longer. "You both look older," she says. She tells us about her and Carlisle. "He's angry." She sighs. "He wants to toss all of Edward's shit out on the lawn, but I won't let him."

I'm not surprised. I know Carlisle's anger well.

"He talked to him," Esme says nonchalantly.

Mine and Alice's heads snap up. My heart starts beat, beat, beating. My girl sits forward and asks, "When?"

Esme takes a drink from her mug. "A couple of days ago. Dusty called, and your dad answered."

"What did he say?" Alice is getting frustrated. She's like her dad and brother in that way; they have short fuses, where Esme can handle a lot as long as she has a glass of Merlot in her hand.

"Nothing. What the fuck does Edward ever say, Alice? He's alive. He's not coming home." Esme runs her hair through her damp hair. "He told your dad to mind his own fucking business and hung up."

Alice's shoulders fall. "He called dad to tell him to fuck off?"

"I don't know why he called, Alice." She's getting defensive.

Esme has lack-of-sleep purple beneath her eyes. She looks older, like she's aged five years in a month. Her usually perfectly colored hair has roots and a few grays are showing. She isn't wearing any makeup, and her manicure is less than stellar. There's dust on the dinner table and dirty dishes in the sink.

The deeper I look, the more I see. There are empty wine glasses left all over the house, and the trash is full. No one is running up and down the stairs. No one is laughing. Baseball bags aren't dropped by the front door. The TV isn't on, even for noise.

One person did this. One boy changed the dynamic of this house.

"Your dad told him he was going to trace his credit card if he didn't come home," Esme says. "That's when the conversation ended. Your brother is nineteen years old, Al. He can do whatever he wants."

Alice scoffs. "Is he really going to trace his card?"

Esme shakes her head. "No."

When the topic becomes too depressing for any of us to say another word, Alice and I head upstairs. All of the doors are closed down the hallway: Alice's room, Esme and Carlisle's, the bathroom. Edward's.

I consider lying to Alice. I think about telling her I have to use the restroom so I don't have to follow her into her room. Self-preservation isn't a concern to me anymore, and I no longer want to run. I want to stay and search. I need to be sure there isn't a part of him he left behind for me to have. I think about opening his door and crumbling on to his bed. I debate whether or not it would make me feel better, or make this that much worse. Touching his sheets. Lying my head on his pillow. Being inside of those walls. Our dividers.

I go in with Alice.

Her room makes me smile. This place has remained untouched. Her bed is unmade, and our pillows still have our head-prints from the last time we slept in them thirty days ago. Two half-full water bottles sit on her nightstand, our pajamas we wore here last are bunched and piled on the carpet, and it smells like hairspray and dirty clothes. There's a picture of Jasper on her dresser beside her stereo. Alice knocks it over and plugs in her iPod. Twothirtyeight's 'sticks are woven in the spokes' quietly plays through the speakers, low enough for us to think and talk over.

My girl jumps into her bed. "Does it feel good to be here again, or what?"

I sit beside her. "Yeah." Lie.

"Should we stay here tonight?" she asks, bunching her pillow beneath her head.

I shrug, picking at a loose thread on her sheet.

"It's weird without him here, right? I'm not fucking crazy for feeling this way, am I?"

I shake my head. "No." Not a lie.

.

.

.

"Did you call Garrett?" Alice lifts her flat black and hot pink beach cruiser into the trunk of my Rabbit.

"Yes, Alice. I called him." I slip in behind the wheel. I start the car. She tries to shut the trunk, but the bike is too big. "It's fine, leave it. I'll drive slow," I call out.

She jumps in. "Are they there?"

I straighten out my rear view mirror and put the car in reverse. "Yes."

"Working?"

"Yep." I put the car in first and drive forward, away from the Cullens'. Away from his room. Away from his empty spot.

"Do you think she's there?"

I bite on my bottom lip. "He didn't say. I didn't ask about her."

Alice nods and sets her elbow on the door, gliding her hand, up and down through the wind in waves. "If she is, I'm hitting her over the head with my skateboard."

I roll my eyes and turn up the stereo. This week's annoying, can't-get-this-out-of-your-head pop song plays too loud. But it's cool. I shift gears and sing, and so does Alice.

We scream the lyrics in our most awful and out of tune voices. The wind captures our hair again, whipping and tangling it. The trunk of the car slams on the bike. My throat hurts, but I keep belting the catchy lyrics. We approach a stop light, and in the car next to us, a man and his wife laugh while we get the words wrong and pretend we know what we're singing.

Top 40 isn't usually our thing.

And as the song changes and we continue to sing along, it dawns on me that this is the first time in years that I've done this. Just been. I'm only Alice Cullen's best friend. I'm Charlie and Renee Swan's only child. I'm just a girl in a car, singing shitty music. I have nowhere to be, nothing to hide, no secrets in my pocket where my phone is.

I'm just Bliss.

During this clarity, I wonder, but who the fuck am I?

What do I want to be when I get older? What college do I really want to go to? Am I a good person? Being with Edward, I've taken on this second persona for so long that I don't even know exactly what I want if he isn't an option.

Nothing. I don't want anything.

What am I other than a liar? There has to be more to me than this secret. There has to be something.

Alice shakes my arm. "You're not singing."

I smile.

This smile is familiar, though. It's a lie. "Al?"

"Yes, my dear." She turns the music down.

The air begins to smell like salt water and sand, and the ocean looks like diamonds. We curve around the mountainside; wildflowers and shrubs grow, decorating its hard, dusty surface. The sky is beautiful, spotless and pristine. The sun is high, and cars are parked every and anywhere. We pass the jumping cliffs. We pass surfers walking with their boards and paddles under their arm, their destination: the Pacific. We drive by families, tourists, and people riding their bikes, stray dogs, and kids with beach balls.

Life goes on.

For everyone else, life keeps moving.

With both hands on the wheel, I laugh out loud. "I don't know what I want to do after I graduate from high school. I've never thought about it."

She waves me away with a scoff. "So fucking what? We have our entire lives to think about it. We'll study stupid shit like Botany or Meteorology."

I smile. Not a lie. "Logic," I offer.

Alice laughs loudly. All of her teeth show, and she holds her hands over her stomach. "Yes, we'll major in Logic since neither of us seem to have any."

"Folklore and Mythology!" I say with a giggle.

Alice stops laughing. "That's a good one." She's dead serious.

.

.

.

I leave my phone in the car when Alice and I get out. He won't call.

The day is so nice and the sun is so far up, so the beach is overfull and thriving. I can't see much of the shore because I had to park so far back, but I can see the lifeguard towers. I just don't know who is sitting at each one. Garrett said he was working today; I just didn't tell him we would be coming by.

"Do you think Jasper will be mad we're here?" I ask Alice, straddling her bike.

She drops her board to the ground and holds it still with her bare foot. She gathers pink and violet and ties her hair in a pony tail at the top of her head. Her greenish bangs hang over her right eye.

"Who gives a fuck? This isn't his beach." Alice jumps on her skateboard and pushes away to roll. "I don't see his name on it."

I pedal and follow her lead.

I immediately feel guilty for leaving my phone in the Rabbit.

What if Edward calls and needs my help? What if his call goes unanswered?What if he needs me to come get him?

I should go back.

No.

I'm pedaling slowly behind a so-good-on-her-board Alice. She bends at her knees and holds her arms out at her sides for momentum. People on the sidewalk move out of her way. A few people complain about her skating on the sidewalk.

"What the fuck is it for, then?" Alice screams out with a laugh.

I'm riding faster to keep with my my four wheeled girl. I'm more polite, though. "Excuse me," I say. "Coming though," I warn.

We roll down the beach, getting closer and closer to the dock I've spent so much time avoiding. I don't even look in its direction because I know it's there. I turn, turn, turn my bicycle pedals, keeping up with my best friend. Her ponytail has fallen to the side; the bottoms of her feet are already dirty.

She spots the corn man and stands up to point. She isn't looking and her wheel gets caught on a rock; she flies off.

Alice is a gliding-though-the-air mess of pink and green and purple and scream. She hits the sand with a loud thump. Her board flips end over end until it lands on the other side of the sidewalk. Someone picks it up for her. I skid to a halt and jump off the bike.

"Stop the corn guy!" she yells, holding her bloody elbow.

"Alice." I sigh, helping her up.

Everyone is kind of, sort of looking, but they're not. She's fine. "The stupid girl skater shouldn't be skating here anyway," someone says.

Alice claims her board and jumps back on. Sand is stuck to her knees and her right elbow is dripping blood down her forearm, into her palm. Instead of going straight to the vendor selling the Mexican corn, we go to the window where they sell the food. The same place Garrett bought me fries and a coke a few weeks ago.

The girl behind the counter takes one look at us and freezes.

I recognize her from the last time I was here with my skater boy. Brown hair, deep brown freckles, green eyes.

"Can I have some napkins, please?" Alice turns her arm over to get a better look at her injury.

I'm looking at the girl, who's nodding. She knows who we are.

There's a line of people behind us, so Alice takes the napkins and walks away. The brown haired, freckle-faced girl watches until we sit at the dirty, been-carved-into plastic table with the cheap red umbrella over it.

"That was so awesome." Alice dabs her bloodied wound.

I've seen this girl fall more times than I care to remember. This is nothing, and fazes me none. But that girl at the counter...

"You know who that was, Alice, right?" I ask. I steal one of her brown recycled-paper napkins and help clean off my best girl's arm and hand. Some of it won't come off, so I lick a clean spot of the napkin and rub some more.

"What? Who?" Alice is looking around. She pulls her arm out of my grip, but keeps her cut covered with her hand. "Do you see Jasper or something?"

I sit back in hard plastic. I shake my head. "The girl at the window."

Alice looks back toward the food place. "No."

"Riley."

"Shut the fuck up!" She stands, earning us some more dirty looks. "Are you kidding me, Bliss?" Alice turns toward me with hysteria behind her eyes.

"I think so." I collect the blood soiled napkins. "I saw her when I was here with Garrett, but he didn't say anything."

"So, how do you know?" Alice is back to looking for the girl who stole her not-in-a-relationship-boyfriend.

I'm about to shrug and tell Alice that it's probably not her. We should just go, I want to say—I should say. I should never have said anything at all. But fate is an evil bitch, spiteful like the suffering in my chest left from my boy. They probably work together, fate and suffering, changing expected outcomes and killing teenage dreams, rupturing hearts and hopes.

Fate blanks the disappointment in my chest with suffering, and then slaps Alice right across the face with it.

It takes a moment for Alice to realize that it's Jasper at the window talking to Freckle-face. Like, her mind can't process that the boy who has always been hers, might not belong to her anymore.

Even though she hasn't been completely his for a long time. Maybe she never has.

She makes a noise. A whimper. Alice's entire stance changes from slack and loose to stiff and firm.

"Let's just go, Al." My heart is a hummingbird, fluttering nervousness.

I welcome this, though. It's a distraction from my life and the date. My heart flies for her, not for Edward. I feel her anxiety, not my own. It's so fucked up, but I want this—I need this confrontation. Alice's disorder mutes the chaos going on in my own head. And it's feeding some kind of dysfunctional urge I have. The excitement I feel when I fight with Edward, or when I deal with his drug binges and come downs, I feel now. It flows frigid through my veins. Sparks and triggers and electric currents set off in my brain. Endorphins swim and spread and ease.

This supplies my addiction.

Jasper sees Alice and he kind of, sort of moves away from the food window. Riley disappears from sight, only to reappear when she exits a side door and starts walking toward us. Her hair is longer than I thought: sheet straight and parted down the side, it's waist length and lustrous. She's tall, thin and normal. Boring.

She's so dull looking, and Jasper is an idiot. Or incredibly intelligent.

My girl ripples with anger. A tear falls from the corner of her left eye, but it's not from sadness. She's not sad about this. Maybe she's upset and thinks she's upset, but Alice has no idea how it really feels to have the person you love more than anything not be with you, or be with someone else.

Jas approaches us. Alice takes a few barefooted steps in his direction and knocks the rescue can out of his hand.

His expression is uncharacteristically put off and bothered. He picks up his can and shoves it under his arm. "What?" he asks.

Alice pushes her fist into his chest. Jasper lets her.

I don't know what to do, so I pick up Alice's board and try to give them some space.

"I'm not talking to you about this here, Alice," Jasper says lowly, but loud enough for me to hear.

Alice disregards anything and everything he says. "You're with her? Out in the open, everyone knows … you're with that girl?" She points over Jasper's shoulder toward Riley.

Jasper attempts to walk around his furious girl. "I have to get back to work." His eyes meet mine as he tries to walk away. And I know. He's hurting, and he loves Alice, but sometimes it's too much. Being second choice is not effortless.

It's so much easier choosing the alternative.

But I can't.

Can he?

Alice pulls on Jasper's shirt. It splits at the neck.

The sound of stretching cotton gives me the chills. I've done that same exact thing so many times to Edward—pulled and tugged and torn and ripped until he finally paid attention to me.

Unlike Edward, though, Jasper carefully places his hand on Alice's hurt elbow and guides her away from the crowd. He takes her to the sand. I stay where I am and watch them talk. I watch Jasper verbalize with his eyes while Alice screams and points and yells. She kicks sand and punches Jasper a few more times. He holds onto her wrists and speaks so slowly, quietly, I can't even read his lips.

But I can read Alice's. "I fucking hate you," she sobs. "You're doing this, not me. Not me, Jasper!"

He shakes his head.

Then he says, too frustrated to stay quiet, clearly enough for me and everyone else to hear, "But you're fucking Petey."

Alice smacks him. Riley runs past me. I chase after her.

I drop the skateboard by the bike and rush toward my friend. Jasper's trying to keep them apart, but Alice is too squirrelly and Riley's limbs are too long. The same people who were giving us dirty looks earlier, aren't even looking in our direction anymore. They can't be bothered with a handful of rowdy adolescents.

I try to help by pulling Riley away since she's closest to me, but she fights me off and elbows me in the chest.

"Hey!" I cough, and then I laugh because it hurt. I've spent over a month feeling nothing but emotional torture, but I feel this.

I feel where the point of her elbow bone hit my thorax. It throbs and aches. I might even have a bruise in a couple of hours. I have tears in my eyes, not caused by being left.

I stumble back, trying to catch my breath. Tears blur my vision, but I see Riley swing at Alice, though. I see Jasper push his new girl away, trying to protect his old one. Alice manages to get past Jasper and hit Riley in the cheek, but Riley has at least a foot on Alice length wise. No effort at all is made when the girl with the freckles pulls her fist back and lunges forward, decking my best friend right in the mouth. Hard.

Alice falls on her bottom. Her mouth is bleeding down her chin, onto her white tee.

That gets everyone's attention. Gasps and screams and sharp intakes of breath come from the crowd of people who are slowly circling around us. Down the sidewalk, security guards on their bicycles are making their way to us. An older man in bright blue swim trunks points in our direction.

Alice spits into the sand. Jasper's bent down to see if she's okay, but she pushes him away and sprints toward Riley. I motion in to help, to do something, but my wrist is pulled and I'm being pushed back.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Garrett says as he moves past me. His disappointment does nothing for me.

A few other people eventually take the liberty of breaking up the fight. Some man holds my girl back by her forearm. With a red lip, she tells him he's hurting her, but he doesn't let up.

If the boys were here, this would never have happened.

"Let her go," I say, trying to pry the man's fingers back. He pushes me away. "She said you're hurting her!" I yell.

I look around for Jasper and Garrett; they're with Riley and the two security guards who were on the bicycles.

Riley's hair is pulled and knotted. Her arms are crossed over her chest. The left strap of her charcoal gray tank top is torn and hanging loose. Security's asking her questions and she points at Alice, but shakes her head. She doesn't use her hands when she speaks. Her face doesn't really change.

Jasper sighs and shrugs and says, "It was a misunderstanding."

The man holding Alice finally lets her go when one of the security officers beckons her over. We hold hands. Alice spits more blood.

"I'm going to kill that bitch," she mumbles under her breath.

"What happened?" Brad, the bicycle security guy asks us.

While Alice explains, I notice Riley has wandered back to her job. The person who must be her boss has met her by the side door she came out of. He's wiping his hands off on his white apron, looking over at us.

Jasper and Garrett are both standing back. I feel like calling them traitors, but I don't want to cause any more problems.

"What's your name?" Brad asks me.

I look away from the treasonous boys and into the brown eyes of the fake-cop. "Isabella Swan," I say hesitantly.

He takes his sunglasses off and takes a better look at my face; he has raccoon eyes. "Chief Swan's daughter?"

My shoulders fall. I'm going to be in so much trouble if he tells my dad. "Yes."

He stares at me for a while. Then he looks at Alice. Our joined hands are sweating, and the crowd is beginning to thin. Alice wipes blood away from her mouth with the back of her other hand. Brad sighs.

"Get out of here before I call your dad to come get you," he says.

Alice and I straighten up. I smile widely. Alice squeezes my hand.

Brad points a finger in my face. "I don't want to see you here for the rest of the day."

"Okay!" I laugh.

Alice and I don't wait for him to warn us again. We run through the sand, past Jasper and Garrett, and grab our things. She hops on her board, I jump onto the bike, and we go. I stand up, with my feet on the pedals and the salty, sandy air breezing through my strawberry-blonde. Alice is quick with her feet. She pushes and rolls, pushes and rolls.

I pedal ahead of her so she can grab the back of my seat. People move out of our way. She grabs on. I look back and she's smiling.

"Alice!" I swerve but correct myself. "Your tooth is chipped again!"

"What?" She holds onto the cruiser seat with one hand and touches her mouth with the other. "No!" she yells with a smile, all chipped and swollen and bloody-ruby.

When we get to the parking lot, Alice goes off the curb and rolls toward the Rabbit. I get off of the beach cruiser and carefully push it over. I walk it the rest of the way.

By the time I make it to the car, Alice is already in the front seat looking at her mouth and broken tooth in the sun visor mirror.

"I can't fucking believe this happened, Bella," she yells, kicking her feet.

I laugh and unlock the trunk. I'm trying to figure out how Alice fit the bike in on the way here, because I don't see how it will fit at all.

"Al—" I call when Jake Black comes out of nowhere and takes the cruiser from me.

"Need some help?" he asks. Not that he should have bothered; he took it upon himself anyway.

"Thanks," I say, taking a few steps back.

Jake maneuvers the bike into my trunk even better than Alice did the first time. I look at his face; he's wearing a hat, but his blonde hair is sticking out from beneath it. It's sun-bleached and sea-thirsty. His skin is dark from days spent under the rays. His neon green and black board shorts hang low, and his feet are bare.

He has a scar on his eyebrow where Dusty hit him last year.

"Good?" he asks, closing the trunk as much as he can.

"Thanks, Jake," I say. I smile and open the driver's side door.

Alice turns in her seat. "Hey, have you seen my brother around?"

I close my eyes and take a breath.

I haven't really thought about him since before the fight with Riley. Hearing his name in this context splinters my insides. My heart caves in, the hole throbs … my jaw aches.

"Nah," Jake says. He lifts up his hand and runs it through yellow hair. "I just saw Pete at the gas station with Ben, though."

My girl practically stands in the seat. "Petey? He's back in Forks?"

Jake laughs. "Yeah, I guess."

"But Edward wasn't with him?" My heart is pounding so hard and so fast, I can feel it in the tips of my teeth.

"I haven't seen Cullen in a while." He steps away from the car. I open the door with heavy arms. Alice flips onto her butt and types away on her phone.

She doesn't even do a good job of keeping her relationship with Petey a secret anymore.

"Hey," Jake calls for me. "Come to my house tonight." I shake my head, about to decline when he stops me. "I'm having a party. Just cruise by. Free beer." He smiles, and he's kind of, sort of beautiful.

"We'll be there," Alice says from inside the car. She holds her hand up and wiggles her fingers.

"Sweet," Jake says as he runs away.

I slip into the car and stick the key into the ignition. "Really?"

Alice hides her phone between her legs. She shrugs. "We can ask around about my brother."

I shift the car into reverse and sigh. "Where to, Al?"

"Let's get ready at my house." she answers, back to typing on her phone. "Your mom is starting to freak me out."

I feel like screaming.

.

.

.

"Do I look stupid, princess Bliss?" Alice asks.

She smiles in the mirror and there's no hiding her chipped tooth. Her lips are swollen and look they've been injected with botox. She has a small bruise on her chin, and her elbow is still pretty raw. But my girl looks bold-beautiful and tough in her ripped up leggings and old Ramones band tee. Her hair is straight and bright colored, and her lips are red and her eyes are kohl-black-lined.

Almost like this afternoon didn't even happen.

I slip my feet into my black heels and straighten out the red belt on my black romper. My hair is up in a loose bun and my makeup is perfect.

Alice grabs her Docs and gets up from the floor. "I have to pee," she says as she walks out of her bedroom.

I sit on her bed until I hear the bathroom door close, and then I get up and tiptoe down the hallway. I'm in front of his bedroom. I don't hesitate to walk in, because I don't have time to waste on shaking hands and my too-heavy heart.

Once inside, I close the door and press my back against its cool wood. I shut my eyes and inhale.

I've missed this. I've missed this room. But even here I can feel his lack of presence.

After a moment, I open up, but unlike the last time he ruined his things, Esme and Carlisle haven't cleaned up for him. They've patched nothing. There are holes in the walls where Edward's fists went though over and over. His dresser is knocked over. His TV is broken. The computer chair is upside down, and there's broken glass on the carpet. It's like reliving that night again … like it's stuck in time.

I don't dare go near the bed. I take one more look around and leave.

.

.

.

There's nowhere to park. The street Jake Black lives on is bumper to bumper parked and stuffed. And there's no missing which house is his. Small, red, lit up and loud, his home is overflowing with bodies. There are people all over his lawn, and in the street. They move out of the way so I can slowly roll by.

I look for the Lincoln, but it's not here.

Ben's Benz is, though. So is Victoria's piece of shit Sentra.

"Just park on the fucking sidewalk." Alice laughs.

I find a spot at the very end of the block. My girl helps me put the top up, and after we're done locking it in place, she slips back into the passenger seat and digs through her bag.

Alice pulls out an orange prescription bottle and shakes a few green and white jagged little pills into the palm of her hand.

"They're my mom's. She's depressed, or whatever," she says, dry swallowing. "I just need to chill for a while, you know."

I lock the door and meet Alice on the sidewalk. She has a bottle of her dad's rum in one hand and holds the other out for me to take. My heels tap, tap, tap on the concrete. It's uneven in places, but I'm good in these shoes. The humidity in the air from the sea being so close dampens my skin and flattens the little bit of curl in my hair, but it feels nice.

I'm nervous.

Two houses down from Jake's, Alice stops and screws off the top to the bottle, tossing it over her shoulder. She takes a larger-than-her swig and passes it to me. I sip.

She asks me to lead the way into the house, so I walk ahead. I recognize a few people on the lawn, and smile, but I don't stop to talk. Wiz Khalifa's heavy beats and low-slick lyrics fill the dampened air. Inside the walls that belong to Jake's parents, it smells like spilled beer and bud. I can feel the bass from the stereo through my heels and up to my knees. Bodies are too close and compacted, and I have to push my way through, pulling Alice along.

"Do you see anyone?" she yells over the music.

I look back and her eyes are already darkened and hooded, high-slanted and beyond. She's smiling like an idiot and looks more like her brother than ever before. She passes me the bottle. I take another mouthful.

I stop in the middle of what must be Jake's living room to scope around. This is the youth of the nation: torrid, displaced, slutty and drunk. It's the same people doing the same thing every weekend, promising themselves they won't grow up to be like their parents and swearing that one line won't change shit. This person fucks that person, only to sleep with their best friend next weekend. Disease spreads, physically and mentally. Their laughs are corroded and their skin is melting.

It's boys in men's bodies and girls doing grown-up things. We're all clueless and seeking, taking a chance on that bitch called fate.

It's unrefined and repugnant, and I hate seeing it. I hate knowing that Edward is the epitome of this lifestyle. He is the motherfucking king of right here and now. He is the reason why my parents are the way they are. He is the reason why we lock our doors at night and run away from dark back streets.

Right now it's fun. Right now ... fuck it we're young, but when things get serious, when it's time to grow up, then what?

Edward won't be the king of shit, and Victoria will be the girl who got fucked through high school. Mixie will always wonder about the baby she didn't have, and Dimitri will have to live with the guilt of introducing all of these kids to the big, bad scary world.

I press the palm of my hand to my forehead.

Where the hell are you, Dusty?

I'm a different kind of monster than these people. I'm crafty. I'm sneaky. I don't fuck around, but I fuck around. These people rot from the outside in; I'm the opposite. My insides are made of tar and oil, blended with a little love for my boy. My heart lacks compassion for everyone but him. I'm selfish. I'm a master manipulator. I'm the enabler, and when we get older and these lost people need to be found, they'll probably come to a person like me for answers. I'll be their therapist or their doctor … I'll be their judge, when all along I was the girl who sat back and let it all happen.

"There's Jake!" Alice yells over the music.

Ripping away from my thoughts, I head in his direction. Someone spills beer on my shoe, another almost burns me with their cigarette. Every foot of this house is occupied by a body, making it nearly impossible to get to the kitchen untouched.

It's easier to breathe when I'm where I need to be. The sliding glass door is open, making way for the ocean air. It feels good on warmed skin, and shoos away the scent of sweat and disillusion.

I take another drink from Alice's bottle of sorrow.

Through the open glass, I can see that there are as many people in the back yard as there are in the front. I thought I recognized a few faces, but they're all blending together now. Everyone looks the same. Acts the same. Sounds the same.

"Who are all of these people?" I bend down and ask in Alice's triple pierced ear.

She shrugs before taking another swig. She cringes and speaks, "Must be kids from Quileute Tribal. Maybe PA High, too."

Jake Black spots us from the other side of the kitchen. He calls my name and waves us over. Thankfully, but unfortunately, Kim and Mixie run into us first.

"What the fuck are you guys doing here?" Kim looks different. Her hair is longer and less silk-like. She's lost weight; her clothes hang unfirmly. Kim's eyes are dose-open and beamy. I haven't seen her all summer, and like everyone else, this season aged her.

"Ugh. Bitch," Alice rolls her eyes and takes another drink from her bottle.

Kim fakes a smile and asks, "Really, though, why are you here?"

"We were invited," I say. Someone bumps me from behind.

"Have you seen my brother or not, Kim?" Alice is trippin and slippin on her feet without the help of anyone else.

"Not." Kim looks bored.

Mixie pulls apart her split ends. She looks the same as she always has: washed up and bittersweet.

"You should ask Lolita, though," Kimberly adds.

Mixie rolls her eyes and drops the ends of her hair. She's in a short black and white striped dress. "Let's find Dim," she says.

"Who the fuck is Lolita?" Alice asks. She steps in front of me, like she subconsciously knows I'm going to need to be guarded from this conversation.

Because I already know. I've always fucking known. I always will.

Kim laughs spitefully. Her eyes are wild, long gone. Her fingernails are bitten down and sore looking. "Just want to ask her where he is."

I close my eyes and breathe. I know how to do it now. I can do it by heart: in and out … in and out.

"Where's Petey? I'll ask him." Alice grabs my hand and moves us past Kim.

Kim grabs her bad elbow. Alice hisses.

Kim lets go. She steps up on her tippy toes and looks around the small house with a silly smirk on her face. "Lo goes to PA, but we know her, you know. She's around." Her head turns and her eyes search. "Over there," she points. "Her boyfriend is the black guy with the red shirt."

She's not hard to find. Her presence screams, LOLITA—innocence hiding rot, temptation pout-playing—fate.

It's almost so typical and expected I want to cry.

In a blue and white striped bandeau and navy high-rise matelot dark denim shorts, she has red heart shaped sunglasses over her eyes and a red Blow-Pop in her mouth. Her hair is thin and long and dark. Her skin is white and unblemished. She smiles at nothing, but she doesn't look upset or fussed. She just is. She's just here, going through the hoops. Looking for the same thing everyone else is.

Her boyfriend's skin is dark to her light, and the contrast is beautiful. He kisses the side of her neck and holds her by her hips. Lolita kind of, sort of smiles, but it's gone before it registers. She sits back in his lap and curves her neck for him, but that's it. She's emotionless.

"Are you Lolita?" Alice asks, entering this girl's circle.

Lo doesn't move her head, and even though her eyes are blocked, I know she's looking at my girl.

"Yeah," she says. Her voice is low and even, and so fucking perfect.

"My brother is Edward Cullen. Have you seen him?" Alice blinks too many times.

This is stupid, and I want to walk away. I don't want to hear this tale. I already know how it started, and I know how it ends.

Lolita pushes her glasses to the top of her head; her face is a blur. It's so static and unaffected that it's hard to look at her. She's beautiful, but kept away, like looking through a veil. She is tenderness and shame.

She's just like him.

"I haven't seen that dirty boy since October. It was nothing. Who are you?" she asks, dimpled brightness played.

Someone bumps into me again.

"I'm his sister. I told you, he's my brother." Alice moves a little closer. I grab her arm.

Lolita kind of, sort of smiles again. Her glasses drop back over her so-like-theirs eyes. "Can't help you."

"But you saw him?"

"Not since then," she says.

"You fucked him, but you haven't seen him since?" Alice yells. She drops the bottle of rum and tries to shake me off.

My best girl's outburst grabs the attention of everyone within five feet of us. They're all looking, waiting, and I've already been in one fight today. Besides, I don't think my body will even work on command right now.

I'm unconnected and floating.

Of course. Of course he was with her … of course.

The girl, who took advantage of my disadvantage and didn't care to see him after, points her sucker at Alice and says, "Get the fuck away from me. "

Alice, pill happy and alcohol soaked, pulls down on my wrist until I let go. She turns away from me to go after the creature of infinite melancholy.

But she bumps right into Petey.

He secures her to him by gripping her shoulders, holding her at arms length. "Hey, pretty in pink, getting into some trouble, or what?" He reaches up and rubs his thumb under her punched-plump bottom lip. "Let me see."

The relief I feel by hearing Pete's voice is too much, but not enough. I want to scream, this is not fucking fair! Why does she get him while I'm still left here, seeing Lolita … seeing this, all of it. Why me?

Why is he putting me through this?

I've done everything I'm supposed to. I've kept every secret, told every lie … I do everything for Edward, and this is where I am: alone and resentful, in a room full of monsters just like him, but not as bad as me.

I'm literally shaking when Alice smiles and shows Petey her tooth. I can't do it anymore … I can't pretend anymore.

I'm full to the rim and decaying.

Tears pour down, unconfined. They just fall. I don't make a noise or move, I just let them slide out of my eyes and down my warm cheeks.

Lolita laughs, and I want to smash her face in with a beer bottle. I want to ask her if she felt it while Edward fucked her, because I feel it every single time he fucks me.

In my chest.

In my lying soul.

In my eyes and my arms and my knee caps. I feel it in every single fiber of my being.

I wish I was cold like her.

I wipe cries away and look around, searching for nothing. What I need isn't here. What I need is doing his own thing without me. What I need didn't care enough to take me with him.

He wants me to stop loving him. Fine.

Done.

I'm done.

Ben's suddenly touching me. I pull my arm away from him. He looks concerned, and I detest him for it.

"What?" I ask, trying to sound indifferent. "Where did you even come from? Where have you been?"

Petey's still looking at Alice's tooth. She broke it fighting for Jasper, I want to say. I want them all to be as pathetic as me. Hate her because she doesn't love you wholly, Pete, I want to scream until my lungs bust. She's like him, so fucking beware.

The truth is not easy to ingest. My truth: I love a lost cause. I love a failure, and I lost myself in him when I was nine years old.

How am I supposed to recover? Why is he making me?

I can't breathe. I'm hot. Too hot. There are too many fucking people in this shitty little red house.

Run.

Ben puts his arm over my shoulders. "You girls shouldn't be here," he says. He hands me his beer, probably just to get me to do something other than stand and stare.

I take a drink. I drink the whole bottle.

"Where's Edward, Ben?" I ask. I hold a hand over my chest.

Should I ask Ben to feel it too? Is it beating too fast?

Am I dying?

This feels like dying.

Now Petey's in front of me. He's pulling me through the crowd with no problem at all. Everyone moves out of his way. Alice and Ben are behind us … I just know.

"Hold this to your face." Pete hand me his red plastic cup. The side drips condensation over my trembling digits.

I do as he says, but it doesn't make me feel any better. "Pete," I groan.

I can't fucking breathe!

Someone whistles from the kitchen. "Hey, Peter, come here!"

Pete drapes his arm over my shoulders. "Keep walking, little girl. Lets find somewhere to hide for a while," he says. We're in a hallway. He's checking bedroom doors, but they're all locked. He cusses, "Fuck."

Alice is drunk and giggling. Her and Ben are fucking around. He picks her up and spins; she swears she's going to puke if he doesn't stop. Pete turns on the hallway light. He asks me if we should kick in one of the doors. I laugh.

Ben's eyes are so fucking black.

"Hey, motherfucker, I was calling you," Dimitri says. He and Victoria step into the hallway, too.

I step behind Pete. He holds my hand in his warm, calloused one. His grip is too-binding and stuck.

Victoria kills Alice with her look. Ben says, "Babe," and I don't fucking get it, but I guess I do.

Alice stops laughing. She steps away from Ben and up to Dimitri. He towers over her, all skinny and heinous. He's a fucking slithering snake, and him, I hate. He circulates evil, and flourishes over others' bad choices. He's the root. He's the cause. He's the fucking germ.

The snake, when he walks, holds his hands in his pockets.

"Where the fuck is my brother?" Alice asks. She's not afraid of him.

He laughs at her.

Pete tries to pull her by her shirt, but she pushes him away.

Victoria, expanded and twirled, rolls her too-black eyes and crosses her arms over her barely covered chest. She's not even pretending to like us anymore. Her expression says it all: she's too fucking gone to care about anything other than her next fix. We're in the way.

Ben cares about her, though. They're having their own conversation while Alice questions Dim. It's too much to keep up with. I don't even want to.

Dimitri laughs out loud. "What the fuck is this?" He points to Alice dismissively but he's speaking to Petey.

Pete stands taller. Ben and Vic stop fighting. He holds her hand. The hallway's too small, and I still want to run. Loud music makes it hard to hear and hard to concentrate. A few people try to enter the hall, looking for a bathroom, but Dimitri tells them to move the fuck on.

Petey coughs into his fist, and then he smiles, but it's not real. It's cautionary. "My little sister," he says; his chin is held high.

"Teach her some fucking manners, my man." He tries to move past my pill-brave friend, but she doesn't let him by.

"Move," he says. His eyes become more serious, but the most fucked up part is that they're normal. He might be drunk, but he isn't coke-slanted. He doesn't do what he sells—his eyes are brown and shallow. At least for now.

"Where is he?" Alice asks again.

I can't stop crying, so Dimitri probably thinks I'm afraid of him. I'm not. I'm overwhelmed and beat. The empty spot in my chest doesn't hurt anymore; it's not even there. I'm empty, and these tears are all I have left.

But even those are leaving me.

"What am I, his fucking baby sitter?" Dimitri's still trying to make light of the situation, but he's getting mad.

"No, you're his fucking drug dealer, motherfucker."

Alice spits in his face.

Time stops.

Dimitri doesn't react; he doesn't do anything but stand motionless with saliva on his face. Petey pushes Alice behind him with a shove; she hits the wall. Peter stands up for her—head to head, chest to chest, with Dim.

"She's drunk," Pete says with heavy breaths and fisted fists. He's prepared and willing.

Dimitri wipes his face off on his green shirt and smiles. He bites down causing his jaw muscles to flex. He breathes out of his nose and smirks at Petey. They're so close, and I know that any wrong or misunderstood movement from either one of them could turn this hallway into their battle cage.

Surprisingly, though, Dimitri is the first to stand down and back. "I don't know where the fuck your brother is, Alice."

And I can't breathe again, because I don't believe him. A liar knows a liar. And he knows where my guy is.

I don't wait around for an explanation or reenactments once Dimitri walks away; I turn and leave.

I dial Edward's number on the way out the door, but someone bumps into me and knocks the phone out of my hand. Some guy I don't know steps on it, and since the cell is face down, I can't tell if it called Edward or not.

The stepping boy, with the all white DCs, bends down and picks it up. He hands it to me and mumbles an apology, "Sorry."

I take it without a word and attempt to push my way through the sea of people standing at the door. I can't get outside, though. The porch is too crowded, and I think there's a fight.

I say excuse me, but no one pays attention. So I push harder, but everyone pushes back. I can't turn around because I'm surrounded. I'm about to scream when someone grips my wrist and pulls me out.

It's Jake Black.

"Are you leaving already?" he asks over the music. Jake doesn't seem to notice I've been crying. He keeps looking at my chest.

"Um," I answer, still too upset to really speak. I just shrug.

He smiles charmingly. "Want a beer?"

He offers me his cup, but I don't get the chance to accept. Petey pushes me away, though the door and out to the lawn. He hugs me, and I hug him back. I cling to him. He rubs my back, but doesn't say anything. I don't worry about appearances, because there are none … I am totally stripped of everything but the complete agony I feel.

Then my phone starts to ring. I know it's him.

"You going to answer that?" Petey asks, pulling away from me. He stays close, though.

I wipe my face with the back of my hand and slip my singing phone into my pocket. "No. It's probably just my mom or something."

Petey nods.

My cell becomes un-ignorable as the ringing continues—over and over. I feel uncomfortable, like Petey knows my parents wouldn't continuously call me this way.

"Past curfew?" he asks. Some guy walks by and Pete shakes his hand, but he doesn't give him more attention that that. "You need to get home?"

I plead with my eyes, please don't make me tell you.

"I can take Alice home. If you want." Petey reaches forward and wipes my eyes for me. "It's so fucking sad when little sisters cry, you know."

I let my face fall into his chest and cry again. Petey might know about me and Edward, or he might not know anything at all; he might understand all of this, or he might think I'm crazy, but either way, I need him. I needed someone to hold me up like I held Alice.

I don't feel any better as Pete walks me to my car, but I don't feel so … abandoned.

My phone starts ringing again. Not that it ever really stopped.

Petey and I share one more small hug, and then he walks away.

With my heart in my throat, I drop my car keys twice before finally getting the door unlocked. I shut myself in and sit in silence for a few seconds between Edward's call going to voice mail and the time it takes him to dial my number again.

I pull it out of my pocket and look at the screen.

Accept or decline.

My heart is running … so fast. I know what I need to do. I know what I need to say to him. I just have to do it.

I ignore his call. He calls back. I ignore it again.

This time he texts, answer.

Then again, answer the fucking phone.

I toss my cell onto the passenger seat and tap my fingers on the car's horn. My phone lights up again.

This time I answer it. "What?" I take a couple of breaths. "What do you want, Edward?" I cry.

"You called me!" he raises his voice, but then says in a more calm voice, "Where the fuck are you, Bella?"

"Jacob's," I answer.

"Why?"

"I don't know." I cry again.

We're quiet, but I'm crying. I can't stop. He's listening, but he doesn't want to. He's sighing and groaning. He cusses a few times, but there are no real words.

"Stop," he says. When I can't, he says it again. "Stop fucking crying, Bliss."

"I can't!" I yell. "I can't."

With the phone on my ear, I drop my forehead on the steering wheel. Stop, I tell myself. Stop and tell him what you need to say.

"I can't be this person anymore, Edward," I say into the phone; teardrops drip onto my thighs. "I'm done."

He laughs.

My heart shatters.

"We're not good together. And you don't think enough about me." I cover my mouth with my hand and sob.

I can hear myself crying, but it doesn't exactly register that it's me who is making these noises. My lungs burn, my throat hurts, and I can feel my face swelling around my eyes. My skin is soaked in heartbreak, and my knuckles hurt from having my fist closed so tightly. I don't even know if my heart beats anymore.

"Shut up," he says.

"All I ever asked for was the whole truth," I whisper-cry. "But you never give it to me. I never know anything."

"Bella—"

"I can't anymore, Edward."

He sounds desperate. Panicked … hysterical. "You know me, baby. You know how it is."

"You don't even know yourself. How can I know you?"

Desperation turns into anger, and his anger I know so well. Something breaks in the background. I think he's crying, too. "Don't fucking do this," he yells. "I'll burn that whole motherfucking town down, Bella. I fucking swear. I—"

His attempt is hollow and falls on surrendered ears.

.

.

.

After I hung up on him and turned off my phone, I had no where else to go but home. The thought of my parents being there and questioning me about why I looked the way I did, or why I was coming home so late didn't even cross my mind. I didn't care. I wanted my bed. I wanted the safety my room gave me. I wanted to sleep and never wake up.

I got lucky. Mom and Dad didn't come home at all. They left a note on the table, which said they were going over to the Ateara's for a couple of drinks. And the message on the answering machine from my mom, only ten minutes before I got there, said they wouldn't be home until this morning because a couple had turned into too many.

"I tried your cell phone, and I don't know if you'll even get this, Bliss, because you're staying at Alice's, but I love you," my mom said, ending the message.

I went to bed, still dressed in my clothes. I could hardly get my shoes off, but I got under the blankets and closed my sore eyes.

And now it's five in the morning, and I haven't slept at all.

At least I stopped crying.

Every thought I have is of that boy. Every memory I have worth remembering can be tied to him somehow. He was always in my back pocket … or I had always just left him. Anything I did revolved around Edward and our relationship. I spent time with Alice to be with him. I went to school to be near Edward. I stayed on the phone all night to talk to him. I told my dad I accidentally broke the lock on the back door, but it was actually my boy. He lit my sparklers, he played hide and go seek, he gave me my first sip of alcohol. Edward showed me why three joints are better than one. He was the first boy I ever slept next to.

He was my first kiss. My first love.

Memory after memory plays like an old film behind my closed eyelids—broken, scratched, not completely clear. One after another. Good and bad.

I can't deal. I can't.

I jump out of bed and open my closet. I dig through all of the clothes on the floor, until I find it.

The first present he ever really gave me. My favorite thing, ever.

With half-shut eyes and tired tendons, I take the sweater downstairs. It smells like him … even after all of this time, smoky-vanilla, uncheckable-trouble lingers on the washed-worn cotton. It twist turns my stomach and only causes me to miss him more.

I open the washing machine and throw it in. I twist off the top of the detergent and pour half of the bottle on the navy-blue baseball hoodie. I turn the water on. I set it on heavy.

But I can still smell him.

The washer fills up with hot water and I keep waiting for the smell of cigarettes and gum and disorder and crazy love to go away, but it's not. It's pore-deep in my skin and thread-tied in the sweater.

I open the bleach and pour that in, too.

I empty the whole bottle into the water.

The fumes choke me, but that doesn't stop me from looking into the tub just to make sure midnight-blue is turning patchy white. I cough, and my eyes painfully start to run. I reach into the washer drum and submerge the sweater completely. Hot water and bleach stab at my broken cuticles. Tears drip off of my nose, into soapy liquid. When it's full, it begins to spin.

And I fucking hate myself for ruining the best gift he ever gave me.

With wet burning hands, I turn off the washing machine and pull out my sweater. I fall on my bottom with my back against cold white metal. I hold Edward's sweater against my chest, bleach spotting my black romper, and cry … because I can't smell him anymore.

.

.

.

A day has gone by since the party. My parents are home discussing plans about the basement. They want to make it into a gym. Dad's getting older, my mom says. He needs to start working out, she adds. Dad grumbles and says, whatever.

I haven't turned my phone back on. It's still on the floor in my car. I told Alice I lost it at the party. She believes me. I'll tell my dad, she said. We need upgrades for this year anyway, she explained.

I act like everything is right. It's not hard. Lying is simply a craft, and I'm an expert.

I'm perfect.

I sit between the people who made me and solidify into exactly what they want me to be: everything I'm not.

Something I don't even know.

.

.

.

Two days later my fingers still smell like bleach and my heart remains motionless. I'm attempting, though. I woke up early this morning and got on the internet. I searched colleges all over the country. I requested a few applications. I'm trying to make plans of my own.

I took a shower and scrubbed my skin until it hurt. I put on a dress I've never worn. I straightened my hair, but lost motivation after that.

"Do you need my help?" I ask, putting the orange juice back into the refrigerator.

Mom ties her hair into a ponytail before pouring herself a cup of coffee. She's dressed in one of dad's old flannels and has excitement in her eyes. She's crazy about the gym. She'll use it too. She told me so last night while we stayed up and watched TV.

"You're all dressed, it's okay." She passes behind me to get the creamer out. "Where did you get that dress anyway?"

She slips her finger under the halter. I step away from her before she spills black java on my white dress.

"I bought it a while ago." Lie. Esme got it for me.

"It's pretty. Do you have plans?" She takes a hesitant sip from her mug.

I shake my head. "I don't know yet."

Mom smiles. "Okay, then. If you need me, your dad and I will be down below all day." She waves over her shoulder on her way out of the kitchen.

They have to tear down old drywall and rip up ugly carpet.

I take my orange juice up to my room and lay stomach down on my bed. I wiggle my toes in the air and take the 'How Do You Know He's The One' test in Seventeen Magazine.

I push the issue off of the bed and call Alice from the house phone. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Drinking milk from straw glasses. It's awesome. I got you a pair." She slurps.

"I'm bored." I sigh.

"Ugh. Me, too. Come over and drink out of these with me."

"Maybe later," I say. The idea of making any kind of effort to be "normal" sounds exhausting. I just wanted to hear her voice.

"Oh," she raises her tone. "I talked to Jasper. He wants to hang out. Like, to talk."

I get up and sit back against my pillows. "And?"

"And I'll probably go. I love him." She slurps some more. "I have another call. I'll hit you back."

"Love you."

She laughs. "I love you like your dad's mustache."

"Shut up."

"Bye." She hangs up.

With nothing else to do, I decide to be with parents in the basement. I can hand them tools or sit on the floor and read a book. I'll just be near them, not alone.

I toss the phone and get out of bed to change out of my dress. I'm pulling out a pair of cut off denim shorts from my dresser when I hear a familiar engine's rumble.

My heartbeat flies. My cheeks redden. My skin rises. My shoulders straighten.

I know.

I drop the shorts to the carpet and quick-step to the window.

I unlock and pull up, and stick my head out.

And he's here, standing in front of the Lincoln, ready to burn everything down … just like I knew he would.