A/N - This was originally written for FSAA. The final chapters of Stigmata will be posted this week and next!

Stigmata Tomato: Edward's POV

The Diary of a Sexual Compulsive, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (because I suck at titles)

Banner: catonspeed

Betas: Mac214 and Jkane180

My prompt from Stigmata Tomato is Edward's Journal entry from his therapy Diary:

Banner asked me today if I think about anything other than pussy. Just like that, the guy uses the word "pussy," and I wonder if Dad knows the way his favourite therapist speaks to his patients. But it got me thinking about pussy, of course, since I never think about anything else anymore. I tell him I think about other things too, and I'm not really sure if I'm lying. He then asks me if I can think about a girl without thinking about fucking. I ask him if blow jobs count as fucking. He shrugs and says not according to Clinton, and I laugh because Clinton makes me think about having my dick sucked. Just like that, my cock is hard when I'm trying not to think about sex. So, yeah, I tell him I'm unable to think about oatmeal without thinking about pussy, let alone look at a girl and see her for anything beyond her twat. Well, then the asshole asks me about my mother, and I just about puke. No, I agree, I don't think about sex when I think about her... or my sister, thank fuck. Banner seems relieved. He asks me to look back and try to remember a girl, any girl, I could think about in a "chaste" way. Sure, there's plenty of girls I don't want to fuck... ugly girls. He asks me about my first sexual experience, and I can't remember. He then asks me about my first kiss, which I'll never forget. Bella Swan, I tell him. We were six. She punched me in the arm for pulling her ponytail and then kissed me because I cried. She was so pretty, and she smelled like vanilla ice cream. What happened to her, he asks. She moved away at the end of first grade. He tells me to hold onto that feeling. The kiss. The smell of her hair. Hold onto it and remember what it felt like to be exhilarated by the simple pleasure of an innocent kiss.

I've lost so much time. I want it back. I want her. But she won't let me be with her until I'm better. But fuck, I've tried so hard to be better. Banner asks me if I've really done all I could to get better for her, and I try not to glare at him as I consider the question. No, I tell him, but I'll keep trying.

Now I have fucking homework.

Therapy Log

Please answer every question honestly. Use this as an opportunity to be creative.

Children have longer memories than adults give them credit for. Prompt one: tell me about your first impressions of Isabella Swan. Get back into your six-year-old head.

Isabella Swan was nothing like the other girls. She was prettier. I liked her hair. It was brown and shiny. I wanted to touch it. I tried to touch it once, and she called me a creep.

She smelled nice. Like vanilla ice cream. Like my mother sort of . . . but sweeter.

She didn't say much. When she did, she spoke differently than other people, noticing things that other kids didn't see.

"I like Batman," she told me one day, pointing at my Batman Beyond T-shirt. "He's the only real super hero."

"Nah-uh!" I liked him too, but Superman was way cooler.

"It is true! My dad said he has no super powers, but he fights bad guys anyway. Superman's like an alien that can't be killed."

"So?" She was just a girl! How dare she say Batman was better. "He's indestructible - The Man of Steel! What's better than that?"

"A man who can die but is so brave he still fights evil. That's a real hero."

"I'm a real guy," I told her, staring at her shiny ponytail. I wanted to touch it so much.

"So you're not an alien or radioactive freak? Neat." She giggled, her hair bouncing along with her shoulders. Without thinking, I wound the end of her ponytail around my fingers and pulled it lightly. She squealed and punched me in the arm.

It hurt . . . not my arm - my pride.

"Ow," I whined, embarrassed, trying to hide the stupid tears from her.

"That did not hurt!"

I replied with a sob.

"Oh, Edward . . . I didn't mean to hurt you." She smiled at me, little dimples I'd never noticed before puckering her cheeks. "Let me see your arm?"

"Are you gonna punch me again?"

"No, I'm going to kiss it."

Gross! "No way!"

"Don't be a pansy," she ordered, grabbing my hand. Very lightly, she kissed my arm.

It made me feel very . . . strange. I wanted to yell at her and hug her at the same time.

"Better?" she asked.

"No."

"It has to be better! I kissed it."

"Yeah, but you kissed the wrong arm."

"Oh." She frowned. "Should I kiss your other arm?"

I smiled nervously. "I think you're gonna have to."

She kissed me again, and I fell in love.

Prompt two: first sexual experience?

Boarding school - and I don't like talking about it. This little cunt, Jane, deep-throated me. I mean, how the fuck does a freshman know how to do that shit? I came in about ten seconds and had my pants done up before she could finish swallowing.

I let her go down on me again a few times because, I mean, fuck . . . that was sort of my gateway drug. Did you know blowjobs to a sex addict are like weed to a drug addict? A simple, innocuous activity, just a little taste, and suddenly I needed to get my dick wet every fucking day.

Prompt three: how did you feel after you lost your virginity?

Fucking awesome.

Prompt four: first time you felt romantic love?

See response to prompt one.

Prompt five: explain how you felt when you saw Isabella Swan again.

There are no words.

Actually, that's a cop out. There are lots of words.

I saw her again in the parking lot at Newton's Outfitters. Nothing could have possibly prepared me for the affect she had on me.

She was a bolt of electricity to my dead heart. That's what it felt like, looking at her. I'd had so much random pussy over the last year I didn't think I could feel anything other than my dick hardening in my pants at the thought of a girl.

But looking at her, even from a distance . . . my chest constricted and my pulse raced like I'd just done a line of coke (only tried it once, I swear!). I think I would've recognized her even if she wasn't with Chief Swan . . . her hair was just like I remembered: thick and shiny, reds blazing through rich browns like chili-infused chocolate. It fell loosely down her back and again, I felt that strange compulsion to wrap the tendrils around my hand.

Our eyes met, and she seemed pissed off . . . maybe embarrassed about something. She covered her eyes with that beautiful hair, fidgeting awkwardly while her father rifled through the back seat for something.

Could I approach her to introduce myself? She didn't look like she wanted to talk to anyone. I got out of my car slowly, trying to steal another glance at her. I suddenly regretted not brushing my hair properly when I left the house; it looked a wreck. She probably cared about nice hair, what with hers being so perfect.

Maybe that's why she stared at me so oddly.

I had to figure out a way to speak with her without freaking her out. Hi, I'm Edward Cullen, and I've been cyber stalking you for the last year because I think you might be my true love. Yeah, no. Probably not a good opener.

I tried to swagger into the store but nearly lost my pants in the process. Hi, I'm Edward Cullen, and here's my cock. Again, not great for a first impression.

My dick twitched, idly wondering if she'd shake him if I introduced them.

Whatever. I needed to freak out inside of the store for a minute. Then I could search my jeans for my balls, since obviously, I'd misplaced them.

She was just a girl. What was wrong with me?

"Hey, Mike," I said casually, as the ringing bell over the door announced my entrance.

"Dude! Is that her?" Mike asked, face pressed to the window.

"Her?" What the fuck did he mean by that?

"The Swan chick. Is she hot? Fuck, I'm dying for some new pussy."

"Don't be an asshole," I spat. "The Chief's outside, and I'm pretty sure he'll shoot your junk off if he hears you talking about his daughter like that."

"Yeah, right. Thanks, man."

As if on cue, her father opened the door and approached Newton. I really hoped he'd overheard our conversation. Mike was a little cunt.

"Morning, Mike," Chief Swan mumbled. "Did you get the lures in that I ordered?"

"Uh, yeah. They're in the back." Mike grabbed a step stool from behind the counter and winked at me. As soon as the Chief wandered out of earshot, he whispered, "I wanna fuck her when you're done with her."

Go near her, and I'll cut you!

I bolted, jogging to the front of the store to avoid punching him in the nose. I'd been in enough shit with my dad lately. And fuck if I could remember what I came in to buy in the first place! Pushing the door open a little aggressively in my rage, I felt it collide with something solid and noticed a brunette laying in a heap on the sidewalk.

Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck! "Holy fuck, are you okay?" I offered her my hand quickly, but she just stared at it in a daze. Did she have a concussion? "May I help you up?"

"I'm fine," she said, shaking her head.

She wasn't fine though. Her nose looked banged up, blood falling in steady, crimson streams down her mouth and chin.

"Shit, your nose. Come to my car, okay?" I begged pathetically while she contemplated me with a wary expression. "I'm not a psycho; you're perfectly safe with me, I swear," I qualified.

"I'm fine," she repeated stubbornly, obviously wanting nothing to do with me. The rejection felt like a kick in the gut as she stared at me with those wide, gorgeous eyes. But shit, I couldn't just let her sit there and bleed. I tore my shirt off and wadded it up under her nose, praying that it didn't stink too bad.

"Tilt your head back."

"I'm so sorry!" she stammered.

"Are you apologizing for bleeding?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

It was time to nut up and introduce myself. I mean, I wouldn't tell her how deep my obsession for her ran or anything. I'd play it casual. "You're Isabella Swan, right?" There. Totally breezy.

"Bella... but, yeah." She coughed.

"I'm Edward Cullen." My shirt was practically red on the one side already, so I turned it around, offering her the clean side. Losing this much blood so quickly couldn't be good. "I'm calling my dad, okay? He'll come see you."

"We only just met," she protested, squirming uncomfortably.

I laughed. "He's a doctor."

"Right." She jumped to her feet and threw my shirt back at me as if it disgusted her. "Actually, I'm fine. Really." She glanced at the road, rearing up like a horse preparing to run.

Shit, she hated me.

So much for first impressions.

Prompt Six: how did Isabella find out about your condition?

I decided to tell her. I really had no clue how to go about doing it, but my dad made it pretty clear I shouldn't mess with her.

I wouldn't have, by the way. Being with Bella wasn't about getting laid.

No, that's not exactly true. I wanted to fuck her. Actually, I'd really like to fuck her right now, but it's not an option.

After I saw her at the hospital, I knew I couldn't just date her. I tried to pump my dad for information about why she was in the ER, but he wouldn't say shit. Only that she was troubled.

Troubled.

Yeah, I knew that already. Every post on her blog read like an open suicide note.

I picked her up after therapy one night. We were supposed to get something to eat - and before you think I'm terrible for not listening to my father, for not leaving her alone, understand that I tried. I really did try not to see her.

But she was everywhere. She was all I ever saw.

She waited for me outside of the Victorian house our therapist practised out of - a century home converted into office space.

"Hey, beautiful." I panted like a dog, trying not to ogle her rack. Her tits looked awesome in that shirt. I wondered what her nipples looked like. I bet they were small. I hated huge nips. Oh, fuck, what was wrong with me?

"Hi," she replied carefully, cocking her eyebrow curiously. She sat down carefully, and I kicked myself for not getting out to open the door for her.

I watched her squirm a little in the passenger seat and wondered what the fuck she was thinking.

"Why is my ass sweating?" she asked finally.

"Seat warmers." I tried not to laugh. "Are you hot?"

"So hot... I mean, uh, yeah. Sorry, I just don't like being overheated. Could you crack a window?"

"Sure thing." I couldn't stop smiling. She looked so fucking adorable as she chewed on her sleeve nervously, her huge eyes darting quickly from my face to her lap. I wanted her to look at me so badly. I watched, fixated by a little bead of sweat that rolled down her neck. My balls ached as I imagined licking it off her skin.

Oh, shit, she was looking at me. Did she notice me eye-fucking her?

"Put your seatbelt on," I said, grabbing the gearshift and wishing I could take myself in my hand and come all over her tits.

No! Fuck, I'm such a pathetic pervert.

"Why? Is it a law in Washington?"

"Yes, but that's not why. You're very precious cargo." My voice sounded strained as I squeezed the shift harder.

"Dude, is that a compliment? Because you just insinuated I was property."

"Not property - cargo, and sadly, not mine."

Oh, fuck me and my word vomit!

"You, er... what?" she stuttered and, I swear to fuck, looked at my dick.

"You're fucking beautiful, Bella." I glanced at her face, her full lips mesmerizing me like a sensitive pansy. "If only this wasn't so fucked up."

"Keep your eyes on the road," she whispered, ignoring my compliment. Not a good sign. I gripped the wheel hard, looking at her from the corner of my eye. I'd probably freaked her out by gaping at her like a spaz.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she added, biting that puffy lower lip. My cock became solid. Fuck me, the girl had a cock-sucking mouth.

I will not jizz my shorts, I will not jizz my shorts...

"Yeah, I'm sort of counting on that," I replied.

"Could you be a little more cryptic?"

I snorted. "Yeah, probably."

"What do you mean by things are fucked up?" She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing her legs onto the seat like she was trying to fold in on herself.

"Well, for one thing, you have a boyfriend." Lucky bastard!

"What else?" she mumbled, her face flushing.

"Why are you in therapy? Why did my dad have to give you Ativan?"

"Because I tried to kill myself." Her voice seemed to echo through the small space of the car. How could she be so nonchalant about wanting to die? I didn't know what to say. My chest constricted, aching. I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her.

But that might have been weird.

"Did you want to die?" I asked carefully, keeping my voice casual.

"Not really."

"Then why did you do it?"

She shrugged again like it didn't matter. "I was looking for an exit strategy... look, can we talk about something else?"

"Yeah, sorry . . . do you have any hobbies?"

"Yeah, I write terrible poetry about killing myself." She laughed, her entire face lighting up.

I wanted to to make her smile more. I wanted it to be my job to make her happy, not her douchebag boyfriend's. Alright, it was unfair of me to assume he was an asshole, but at least he could spend more time making her happy. If she'd been mine I'd . . . I'd spend every second reminding her how amazing she was.

"You're awesome," I told her, wanting to repeat it a few times because she really was. I could spend hours just looking at her, listening to her talk. Because that's not creepy . . .

"Thanks." She closed her eyes, her face scrunching up like she was in pain, her cute little nose wrinkling. I had to remind myself to watch the road . . . my hand itched to touch her. I took a deep breath to steel myself, then realized my breathing sounded like panting.

I didn't want her to know I was a pervert. I bet she'd look so fucking hot bent over the hood of my car while I pounded into her tight little-

She gasped, and I surreptitiously attempted to adjust my hard on without palming my dick.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked, reaching for her hand before remembering we couldn't really hold hands while I drove stick.

"Yeah… I'm fine. Tired…"

I didn't want to let go of her. Just touching her fingers made me crazy horny. Without thinking, I placed her slender hand over the gearshift, watching her fingers circle the shaft and, god help me, jerk the shift a couple times.

Bella moaned, making my cock throb against the zipper of my jeans. Oh, fuck, I bet she'd suck my dick. I imagined her mouth wrapped around me, her hair draped over my hips as she stared at me with half-closed eyes, sucking and whimpering.

Wanting me inside her.

"Shit," I groaned, my thoughts poisoned once again by my disease. "Bella?"

She bit her lip so hard I thought she'd bleed. Her eyes were wide, glistening. I couldn't tell if she was embarrassed or freaked out. "Fuck!"

"It's okay. Don't be nervous."

"I'm… mortified."

"No, baby... don't be." I squeezed her hand in what I hoped she'd perceive as an affectionate gesture and looked for a good place to pull to the side of the road.

"Oh my god! What are you doing?"

"Pulling over."

"Why?" She squeezed her eyes shut. Why did she seem so freaked out? I'd never hurt her . . . well, not on purpose. The hard on in my shorts disagreed; he wanted to split her like wood.

"Because I think we're both a little over-excited, and I need to come clean about something." I cut the engine and let the car drift to the side of the highway. Not my brightest moment but whatever.

"You're excited?" She sounded surprised by this fact.

"Yeah."

"Like, um... aroused?"

Time for the moment of truth. "I'm hard as a rock."

"I want you," she said timidly, pleading at me with her eyes.

Yes! the monster in my pants cheered while my mind whimpered, shit shit shit shit shit!

She reached for me; I had to stop her from making a move before I lost control.

"I..." My voice faltered, and I grabbed her hand. "This isn't a good idea."

"Please?" she begged, "Please, please, please..." She said the words over and over again, begging for me to touch her. And fuck, I wanted to. If I was normal, I would've pulled her into my arms and kissed the shit out of her . . . but the beast in me was out for her pussy.

I fucking hated myself so much.

"Oh, shit, Bella. I can't do this."

"Please?"

It hurt me to do it, but I pushed her away. "I need to take you back to your car."

"Why?" Her lower lip trembled. "You said you were... hard."

"I'm pretty much always hard." I laughed bitterly. "And you're too good for me."

"I'm not," she insisted. I hated the tears that streaked her face - the tears I caused her to cry.

"This was a mistake, Bella... I'm sorry."

She undid her seatbelt and curled up into a ball, folding her arms around her knees as if she wanted to disappear. She looked so small.

"I'm sorry," I repeated lamely.

"You said that already."

"Please don't cry. I couldn't stand it."

"Fuck you!" she screamed, sitting up straight and rubbing the tears away from her cheeks with her fists. "How dare he tell me how to feel? So this was obviously some sort of elaborate ruse you concocted to humiliate me. Consider me fucking destroyed!"

"No, it wasn't..." I said miserably, not knowing how to explain myself. I pulled into the parking lot slowly, searching in vain for the right thing to say before she fled from my car and my life forever. "I know you're not going to believe me, but I'm trying to protect you."

"From what?"

"From being used . . . I like you too much."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she snapped, punching the dashboard, her tits bouncing in a way that distracted me from thinking logically. "I'm getting whiplash from your mixed signals. You like me... You want to protect me... I make you hard, but you don't want to fuck me."

Oh, yeah, baby. Say "fuck me" again.

"I want to... fuck you. Just resisting you right now is practically killing me." My dick nodded in agreement.

"What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

I lowered my head into my palms and admitted, "I'm a sexual compulsive, and your pussy is like a drug to me."

Prompt Six: is being with Isabella different than the "random pussy" you've had before?

Yeah, it is. I fucking love her.

Will she be okay?

A/N - Big love to Aylah50 & Coldplaywhore for organizing this wonderful charity. Thank YOU for reading. JSYK, my phone is in my husband's pocket right now because we're on our way out and I'm not bringing my purse. Every time you review, it buzzes and pisses him off!