Disclaimer: I own nothing at all to do with Twilight. All belong to Stephenie Meyer. Hope you enjoy this chapter and that it isn't a dissapointment. :-) Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews, favourites, and alerts. I appreciate it so much and love you all for sticking with me. Thank you thank you thankyou! I'm really anxious about this chapter. Hope it isn't a dissapointment again lol, but hopefully it answers some questions that you've been wondering from the beginning!

Irina was joyous over Edward's recovery and arrival home from the hospital. Edward didn't even need to knock on the door; she was already there by the door within a minute as his Volvo glided smoothly into the driveway, and she flung the door wide open to hug him, her eyes leaking with tears.

After she released him, she stretched up on tiptoes and ruffled his hair playfully with her hand, and Edward rolled his eyes at me before entering the house, acting as though nothing had ever just even happened. I could tell he didn't want to make a big fuss about the whole thing, but Irina wouldn't seem to let him off easily. She seemed like an overprotective mother, and with good reason considering Edward almost... I couldn't seem to bring myself to admit how close he was to being gone.

In the kitchen, it is Irina who is first to break the silence. "Okay, Edward," she tells him firmly, her hands on her hips, her expression grim. "You can take two pills now, and that's all." She slips two pills into his waiting palms and then puts the bottle into the drawer; I could tell she was trying her hardest to keep up her new assigned job of watcher to Edward's medication dosages, honouring his foster parents and the doctor's request with fierce severity. "Bella, can you watch him, too. Make sure he takes them and only them."

I nod silently and Edward sighs loudly. He slips out of the chair and walks directly over to her. He pulls open the drawer, rummaging around loudly and takes the bottle of pills back out. "I'm eighteen, Irina," he says to her through clenched teeth. "I'm not some fucking child! I can take care of myself." He sets them on the counter, the pills rattling loudly against each other in the bottle.

I quickly avert my eyes, staring down at my hands at his sudden outburst. That was unexpected, and slightly uncomfortable and unnerving to be around him when he was like this, especially to Irina, although she hardly looked surprised at all; it was as though she was already used to it.

But still, Irina gives me an apologetic look, as though understanding what I was feeling completely. "Then stop acting like one, Edward," she warns him gently, unfazed, switching on the tap and filling a tall glass with water.

She hands it to him and he stares over at me, his eyes squinted in frustration. "By the way, Bella's staying here now." I gasp and glare at him meaningfully at his words, shocked by them and the way he all of a sudden said it, so harsh and thoughtlessly.

This wasn't the way that I had planned on asking her; Edward and I had talked it over briefly in the car on the short drive back to Irina's, and not once did it turn out this way. I twiddle my thumbs, swallowing nervously, before asking Irina nervously, "Would you, um, mind if I did... just for a little while?"

She thinks this through for a moment and this feeling of dread washes over me as I sense that she is going to say no. But then she shakes her head. "I don't mind." She smiles at me warmly, to my absolute relief. "So long as you give me your father's telephone number and address, and I'll give him a call to let him know," she adds sternly. She pulls out a small notepad and ballpoint pen from the refrigerator. I hesitate before scribbling down Charlie's number and my old house address.

As I did so, I could feel Edward watching me. All the little hairs on my scalp rose as I wondered what he was thinking in that instance. Was he suspicious? Would he soon put two and two together and realize that it was in fact Charlie that I was purposely trying to avoid because he hurt me?

I turn slowly after I'm done, to realize Edward isn't even looking at me. He is staring down at his sneakers, a pensive expression on his face, and his glass of water resting beside his elbow.

I think the paranoia of Edward discovering my new secrecies was starting to finally scare me...

After we had dinner with Irina and her boyfriend/neighbour Laurent, a very good-natured man with dark, long dangling dreadlocks for hair and a white radiant smile, who kept cracking me up with humorous jokes of Indians and cowboys, Edward and I at last excuse ourselves from them, to give them both peace and privacy.

I would have been happy to stay sitting there all night, listening to his adventurous comedic stories, but then Edward began distracting me after a while. He was seated directly across the table from me so it wasn't like I could ignore him either way. And I didn't seem to want to; I could have observed Edward's face for years and never get sick of looking at him.

But I was beginning to feel absurdly self-conscious when I felt him staring at me, just like in the cafeteria at school and in our several classes together before we had even ever spoken to each other and... before the whole bathroom stall incident.

I had glanced up from my dirty plate in time to catch him watching me as Laurent was telling another one of his stories. "What?" I mouthed, my cheeks burning, before raising a hand and brushing my fringe back away from my face nervously.

Edward had shrugged, looking absurdly pleased with himself, and then – unconsciously or deliberately, I wasn't sure – he mirrored my movement, combing a hand through his bronze, tousled hair and then he gave me a breathtaking crooked smile.

I frowned at him, trying to concentrate on Laurent's storytelling, leaning my elbows on the table and turning my body into the direction of Laurent's audacious voice, though without success. I caught the movement in the corner of my eye, Edward leaning on the table with his elbows also, and still watching me. I think I turned as red as a beetroot just then.

And then I felt it, as light as a feather, someone's foot nudging against mine meaningfully from underneath the table. My eyes flitted back to Edward's face without consent as he mouthed: "My room."

It was then that we had both excused ourselves from Irina and her guest, and as I followed Edward slowly up the hallway and into his room, I could faintly hear them making soft, murmuring noises at each other.

I laugh as Edward carefully closes the door behind me. "Were you just trying to play footsies with me?" I ask, incredulous, shaking with laughter.

"No, I wouldn't dream of it," Edward says softly, feigning outrage as he leans against the doorframe and stares down at me. "That was me trying to distract you, love. It's not my fault if you are horrendously inattentive when your mind is elsewhere..." He shrugs.

It was my turn to feign outrage now. "Well, excuse me!" I cross my arms over my chest, and glower up at him. "It's not my fault if you are so self-absorbed that you assume you're the only interesting person in the world!"

He grins at me, like some kind of childish fiend, as he moves over to his drawers. "Oh, yeah," he calls behind his shoulder distractedly, as he starts searching for something to wear to bed. "Name one thing out of Laurent's stories that you found even remotely interesting, love?"

I think it through for a moment, but then my mind immediately goes blank as Edward pulls off his shirt. My eyes roam down the muscles of his back absentmindedly, and then he turns around to meet my gaze, probably confused over my sudden bout of silence, his brows furrowed.

"I give up," I surrender miserably, waving a hand in the air vaguely. Edward grins at me largely as he undoes the top button of his jeans and I quickly twirl around on the spot, looking anywhere else but at him. Why was it that Edward had the ability to make something as innocent as getting changed for bed into something deliciously seductive?

I shake my head a little, trying to clear the thought as I move around the mess that is his room. It becomes clear that he is one of those people that are overly fastidious about only the things he cares about, or uses regularly. Like his guitar, or his leather notebook that he is constantly jotting things down in, it is clear that his CD collection and player are one of those several things. Two shelves are covered completely in stacks of CDs and tapes and I glance around me quickly, making sure the coast is clear, before pressing down the latch on Edward's CD player to see what he has been listening to recently. The lid immediately jolts up, scaring me half to death:

Kings of Leon.

Edward is abashed, I notice, as he comes to stand beside me to see what I'm doing, at last fully dressed and not a hint of enticing. "They're one of my favourites," he says simply, before leaning over and pressing the top down and hitting the play button.

"Kings of Leon are great," I agree, modestly.

I listen patiently as Sex on Fire starts to play softly in the background. It was hard not to respond to their phenomenal sound. I move, shaking my head awkwardly to the baseline; dancing never was a strength of mine.

Lay where you're laying, don't make a sound,

I know they're watching, they're watching...

Edward stares at me, watching me, as I move ungraciously, the music coursing through me, vibrating straight down my spine and through to my toes. I quickly stop self-consciously when I see he is shaking silently with laughter. Great Bella! What a wonderful way to embarrass yourself in front of him!

And then Edward tentatively moves closer in toward me, grasping me around the waist and positioning my body directly in line to his, and then he gently takes my hand. What the hell is he doing? I look up at him, confused and anxious, as he raises our joined hands and then starts twirling me around once, twice, three times as the music drifts loudly into the mind-blowing chorus.

Has people talking, talking...

You!

Your sex is on fire!

The way Edward dances, so professionally and elegantly like a ballroom dancer, doesn't quite fit the fast-paced beat, but I wasn't complaining. Soon we have moved on over to Edward's bed and in place of dancing, we have taken to jumping on it in sync, as though it is our very own personal jumping castle.

The springs creak loudly, Sex on Fire on repeat, as we jump higher and higher, almost touching the ceiling with our heads, and sometimes we go pitching so high that we almost collide into each other. And then Edward collapses onto the bed and onto his back, panting, sprawled out and I carefully lay next to him, trying to catch my breath, our shoulders touching.

My hair is damp with sweat, thick dark ropes that stick like glue to my face and neck and back and arms. My heart is pounding from our sudden bout of joyous, unexplainable childish activity and I raise a hand, pulling my hair out of my eyes and back against my scalp.

I am suddenly overcome with regret as I remember Irina and Laurent are probably trying to sleep in the other room, and we were making so much careless noise... I wonder idly if this is how it feels to have Bipolar, where everything is sudden, something done in the spur of the moment without much thought of feeling, and then afterwards, the recognition suddenly hits you like a thunderstorm, weighing you down...

I turn my head and look over at Edward. He is staring straight at the ceiling, and I wonder what it is he is thinking about. "Fuck," he says underneath his breath suddenly, as though realizing about Irina and her guest in the next room, too. He sits up on his elbows quickly and stares down at me. "Irina probably assumes we're doing something else in here right now, love - considering the music choice..." He looks horrified.

I giggle at his expression; I can't seem to help myself. "Not to mention all the noise," I point out, grinning. "All of that... bed squeaking."

"Oh, well." He waves a hand dismissively and gives me a smile, and then lies back down next to me, stretching out his arms above his head, pondering. "Oh, yeah. Do you want to go back to your house tomorrow morning and pick up a few things, love? Some clothes, perhaps?" He asks softly after a moment as he curls a piece of his bronzed, tousled hair between his fingers. "Or you can keep on wearing mine. Either way, I don't mind. You look adorable in my clothes, frankly..."

I review my options. I would have been glad even if I never had to step foot inside of Charlie's house ever again. But then, something told me, that you couldn't keep running away from the things you feared the most. Charlie was my father. What was the worst that could happen if I did return and gathered a few of my things?

Irina had called my father straight after I had given her his number, so that cleared the bag, as far as telling him I was moving out goes. At least now that he knew, he could take a few days to calm down and rethink everything through. He shouldn't be mad if I returned quickly to gather my things.

I hesitate. "Okay," I agree, anxiously. "Tomorrow morning would be great..."

But then, I had this sudden unsettling feeling, an intuition perhaps, that something unpleasant would inevitably happen if Edward showed up with me. Either Charlie would do something that will provoke Edward, or Edward would do something to provoke Charlie. Either way, something very bad was bound to happen on my return.

Yet, peeking over at Edward, who is still, silent, handsomely unaware as I do so, it felt treacherous of me to even assume such assumptions. Things seemed better now. Not only between us, but between Edward and his foster parents. He seemed better now; although it was still probably too early to tell. These things didn't just happen overnight, after all...

"Bella?" Edward's velvety voice breaks me out of my own pondering. I glance over at him, surprised by the use of my name and how he spoke it, full of urgency. He is still staring up at the ceiling, though slightly distracted as his hands fumble around, as he tries to undo the buttons on his shirt. "Like I asked before in the hospital, don't you ever think about being with someone... normal?"

So, we were back to this again? He turns on his side, resting his head against his palm as he props himself up with his elbow on the mattress to look at my face while I thought this through.

"What's normal, Edward?" I ask after a moment, trying to keep the anger I felt at his question from spilling out into my words. "There's no exact textbook definition of normal. Ask a million people – and everyone's answer will be different. But, to me, you are normal!"

I knew what he probably wanted to hear; he probably wanted me to agree, to tell him he was right, that he was anything but normal. But I didn't believe that myself. To me, he was just like everybody else, but a little more... interesting.

"I could think of million men who would be better for you. Normal men, love." Underneath the stubbornness there is fright, as though he was terrified that with all of his pushing and prodding, that I would finally relent and see the light.

"I've never wanted normal, Edward."

At least, normal was what Edward was to me, even if he didn't see it himself. Considering dating someone else – even if there was the slightest possibility than anyone else could found me attractive in the way that Edward does – felt completely un-normal to me.

I'd never taken much stock into labels. Normal. Strange. Crazy.

All I knew was that I couldn't ever imagine myself being with somebody else, except Edward.

Normal. Strange. Crazy. He was all the same to me.

I force myself to look directly into his eyes as I roll onto my side. I wasn't as afraid to say it as I thought I would be this time around. This time it felt completely right, and heartfelt, after everything we had been through lately. I suppose, when you come so close to losing someone you care deeply about, you ultimately realize how much so that you like them and need them.

I take a deep breath, before asking, my voice coming out small and wobbly: "What would you say if I told you I loved you?"

Edward stares at my face for a moment, his body absolutely still and for a moment I start to panic, assuming he has stopped breathing once again. But then, a second later, his smiles a wide jubilant smile, his green eyes twinkling, and I realized then in that moment that he was very appreciative over what I had just told him. I feel relieved, weightless, as he leans into me, pressing his mouth against my forehead, and then he whispers against my skin: "Thank you. I love you, too. You have no idea how much so, love!"

But then I already do.

EPOV:

I stand for long moments staring down intently at my only chance for a happy and bright future as she drifts off into another better, conventional world without me. She sleeps tightly balled up, knees to her chest, wound up in a sea of blankets, her mouth somewhat open. The early morning sun begins to gather around her, and I listen warily each and every time she exhales and inhales, making me feel more animate as every moment passes by.

I am overwhelmed with desire, this sudden ear-splitting need to awaken her, to haul her back into my devastating world, where everything is exactly like it is in hell. But she doesn't deserve this. I wish there was somehow some way that I could make her see clearly, but she refuses to believe...

One part of me, one lone little piece of me, wanted to take Bella by the shoulders and tell her to move on, to live her life without me. I'll only be weighing her down. I'm only tainting her existence. Yet the other part, the part that said that if I wanted to keep her mine forever, was telling me to try hard for her.

To try harder.

No matter how hard I try, it'll never be enough...

Simply by looking at her face, at the gradually healing bruise there on her cheek, it's another constant, treacherous reminder that I've somehow failed her in some form or another. I can discern how much she is fighting to hide it from me, the very reasons behind what happened to her. And yet I couldn't seem to blame her.

Who knows what I will do when she finally enlightens me with the truth. Simply put, I wouldn't hesitate to kill the very person who did that to her. Did that to my love. I would restrain them down and strike hard until their very last breath.

No, I would never do that, I decided right then and there as my Bella turns her head and lays her bruised cheek against the pillow as she dreams of many exciting new worlds without my interfering presence.

Before, in those dark blue days, where I didn't feel entirely myself, I had seen her face so very clearly, the repulsion in her eyes as she had witnessed what I had done when the anger and violence I had repressed all of a sudden took over. I could never bear to let her see me like that again, so far gone and well beyond saving. I could never bear to see her look at me in that way again...

Yet she was still here...

Despite everything, despite my mistakes that I seem to do day after day, she is still here, and why? What reasons could she possibly have to justify what I did so monstrously while I was who I was before? There are no possible explanations, no reasons...

Does she feel obligated, as though she is at fault? Does she feel as though she made me who I was before and therefore feels this compelling obligation to stay and repair the situation? Stay and repair me? There was no denying my Bella made me absolutely crazy for her at times, but still there was no comprehension into why.

And yet, because of my lack of understanding and because of her seemingly endless sympathetic abilities – which left me with a higher appreciation of her - I felt that I loved her more than anything else in the waking world. Of course, and still to the exact same extreme measures as before, because that part would never seem to want to wane.

But, right now, I have to get away. Before I disturb her and wake her from her beautiful slumber.

At least, when she's sleeping, I am unable to hurt her anymore. I can't risk her life and tinge it with despair and heartache and all of those other gifts that I seem to bare while I continue on existing in hers when she's awake.

I feel the intense need to tell her about her now.

I gather my sneakers and my notebook, and take one last look at my beautiful love, at her adorable face that seems to leave me evaporating into soft putty at the mere sight of her, and then leave.

Although she cannot speak to me, sometimes I stay in the meadow at hours on end, writing to her in my notebook, proving to her that it is actually possible that somebody can love me despite my perilous faults and fixations. Nature seems very forgiving of her death. While to me, the earth in the meadow smells as it truly is underneath, where she lays, moist dirt and worms and other ghastly pests eating at her flesh, and where everything surrounding us smells exactly like death, she doesn't seem to taint anything...

The cicadas continue to chant in the trees, and the daisies never cease to blossom.

But her tree, always with its branch snapped off and hovering low at the weight of her limp body as she floated in the air stationary, is always there as a constant, dismal reminder of what happened before.

Of what I did to her. Of what I caused her to do...

"Edward's strange, Mr. Cullen. He... he looks at me very weirdly and talks about really deep things. It scares me sometimes. Like, we're just hanging out and getting to know each other at school, and he starts saying all these really creepy things about marriage and love. I'm fourteen, I mean – I seldom think about guys that way right now!"

Let it be quick, I told myself constantly as I drove my car down the ruler-straight highway and to our meadow. Just agree to meet her there, act as though you never heard a single thing between her and Carlisle. Let her leave. This will be a good experience for you – you can start focusing on more important things...

The sky was dark and overcast as I arrived there. I left my keys straight in the ignition. I didn't want to risk anyone stealing my car - that would have given me enough incentive to leave quickly. Only it turns out she had made different plans.

At first, I didn't think there was anything bizarre about it. Everything was still, silent. There were no birds singing in the trees. There was only darkness... and then something eerily white, ghostly pale ahead. As I reached her, I tried not to crack at the sight of her: this surely had nothing at all to do with me, or so I kept on reassuring myself.

The swell of the heavy breeze rotates the noose of the rope connected around her neck and subsequently her motionless body around, her arms and hands dangling loosely at her sides as she sways. How could she leave me like this? In a world that's so cold and dark and dismal?

I loved her more than my life itself, and yet this was how she repaid me?

I was an animal ready to die in that instance.

Only she, my Bella, brought me back to life...

"Edward! You have to snap out of this!" My mother Esme cries, although everything then was distant, an undistinguishable blur of sadness and blue. "I don't know what's wrong with you anymore! Your father and I are seriously thinking about setting up an intervention here!"

The wind in the meadow seems to flatten everything, the daisies and the grass. A string of saliva depilated from her wide-open mouth. The rope gives out.

"I don't know what to think anymore!" Esme takes me by the shoulders and tries to shake me out of it. If only things were that simple...

And then in gym class, this beautiful girl smacks me straight in the face with the volleyball, and it was suddenly as if in that instance she had swiped my whole mind clean of Tanya. Of all my guilt and worries. Of what I had caused her to do... how I caused her to kill herself... over my overbearing obsession.

Please don't let it happen twice, I think to myself, and the very thought leaves a painful stabbing feeling in my heart as I think of my Bella at home, beautifully oblivious and deep into her dreaming. Please don't let her leave me like Tanya did over my... disease.