Previously: They discovered the root of Edward's physical deterioration was a malignant brain tumor, received while he was under the care of Dr. Banner. Banner was still missing. Edward underwent surgery to remove it. The surgery was successful.

"Where is he? He's usually not this late," Emmett says, drifting around the kitchen. He listlessly opens and closes the cabinets at random, as if Edward was somehow hidden in their depths.

I know. I'm not panicking quite yet, trying on this new identity—of the secure, independent twenty-something who just happens to be in a relationship. Totally normal. Other people's boyfriends go out for runs every morning. They usually come back after four hours though. Maybe longer, he didn't wake me when he left. Should I be worried? Emmett's definitely concerned, but that has more to do with whether or not he will have to settle for eating cold cereal for breakfast. He's totally spoiled now, and Edward doesn't seem to mind. Someone's got to eat all this absurdly delicious food he's been cooking.

Rosalie stumbles into the kitchen, still bleary eyed. "What's for breakfast?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," Emmett says.

"Seriously Em, what did you do for food before Edward came?" I snap, the words sounding harsher than I intend. I immediately regret how that came out, but Em, to his credit doesn't notice or chooses to ignore my bitchiness.

He shudders. "I don't remember. I've blocked it from my memory."

I can't help it. I am worried sick. My resolution lasted but a few short hours. Old habits, they say. But who goes out running for four hours and doesn't leave a note? Or call. I tried his cell. Twice. No answer. If I wasn't so anxious I'd be absolutely furious at Edward.

There's a new line of potted plants on the windowsill; thyme, parsley, oregano. I don't know why I was so surprised when he asked if it was alright. He's still so tentative about taking up any space. It kind of kills me. Rosalie has been surprisingly cool about everything, considering the circumstances. She's happily ceded the kitchen and all meal preparation to him, having no interest in the space in the first place. Even if she wasn't such a control freak, the things I've asked of her, she wouldn't be out of line if she tried to get me evicted, arrested even. Not to mention the fact that she didn't sign up for an additional live-in roommate when I moved in. Especially one that comes with so much baggage. Figurative baggage, that is. I'm pretty sure everything he owns fits into one sad duffle bag.

What she would never admit, I think, is that Rosalie secretly likes him. He's easy to fall in love with, but I might be biased. Emmett absolutely adores Edward, so that helps. And he's been great around the house, not just in the kitchen, but keeping himself busy fixing all the things our absentee landlord has neglected to take care of. He's quiet, hard-working, and brutally honest-all traits that Rosalie approves of.

"Hey B, according to my weather app, you know the full moon is like, in two days right?"

"Yeah."

"So...what is Edward going to do? I don't think Mike will let us borrow his van again. He needs it to take Jess out. And the garage is not exactly fail safe. Oh did you hear? They just got engaged."

"What? I thought they broke up?"

"Yeah, I know. Those two idiots. She's crazy about him, for some reason. Whatever. I'm happy for them, and he is way less obnoxious when he's with her. I just hope she doesn't ask me to be her bridesmaid. Anyway, full moon, what's Edward's plan?"

"I don't know yet. I'll have to ask him."

"Seriously, girl? What are you waiting for?"

"I don't know."

Part of me holds out just the tiniest sliver of hope that Banner was the good guy all along, that we've misinterpreted his actions and that he was really wasn't lying when he claimed to be "curing" Edward. That there won't be any transformation at all. I've quizzed Rosalie, many many times, exactly what she saw that night. She said his eyes turned milky, his hands...maybe there was something...But it was dark, and she was frantic and she only had a good look at him a few seconds at most, before dragging his body into the back of the van. She can't be 100% sure of anything.

"Even if Banner fixed him, we have to be safe. Just in case."

Sometimes I think Rose might be a mind reader. She's surprisingly good at reading people's faces. Or maybe she's just good at reading mine.

Speak of the devil. The back door opens and there stands a shirtless Edward, dripping wet, clad only in running shorts. Unreal. My jaw hangs open. I probably look like an idiot but I don't care. I'm frozen somewhere between relief and shock and anger and if I'm honest, a little turned on. Rosalie unabashedly gives him a once over, and then raises her eyebrows at me. Edward seems unnerved by all the attention, running a hand through his wet hair. He bends down to unlace his sneakers, placing them by the door before leaning over to kiss the top of my head.

"What happened dude?" Emmett asks.

"Went for a swim."

"You do know it's April in Chicago, right? And it's like, 40 degrees outside," Rosalie points out.

He shrugs. "I'm going to take a shower," he says, tugging lightly on my ear before leaving the kitchen.

"Damn girl."

I know. I know. He's been back home a few weeks now, and even Emmett, who can be exceptionally unobservant when it comes to this stuff has remarked upon Edward's changed appearance. Slim but no longer gaunt, far from it actually; he's filled out, lean muscles rippling with strength. He's making up for lost time by cooking the most delicious, decadent feasts. Even Rosalie, who is a vegetarian, caved when confronted with his short ribs, which he left on the stove for hours, to braise in veal stock and wine, filling the house with the most mouth-watering aroma. The hair, the auburn hair that I loved is back, long enough that I can run my fingers through it. You can't tell there was ever a little bald patch. He is the picture of health and virility. We were scheduled to go back for another barrage of tests, and Edward tried to skip out on them. I don't blame him, it was obvious he'd be given a clean bill of health. You didn't need an MRI or bloodwork to tell you that.

He's been going a little stir crazy. There are only so many hours in the day that you can spend having sex, and after a while, even I had to admit my body needed a break. So he's been burning off the excess energy by running, and apparently, swimming in the frigid lake. He runs hot, he tells me. It feels like a bit of a honeymoon still, not quite real life. He's here, he's safe, and he's okay now. That's all that matters. That and the fact that the full moon in two days. That's another thing we haven't discussed yet. Tomorrow I'll ask him.

He emerges from the shower a short while later. His clothes fit him so much better now. He strolls into the kitchen like nothing out of the usual just occurred. Tugging on my braid before turning away to pour himself a mug of coffee. As he didn't just disappear without warning for four hours. He pulls out a cast iron skillet and the bowl of eggs from the fridge.

"Are you hungry Bella?"

"No."

"How many eggs do you want Emmett? Rosalie?"

Emmett opens his mouth to answer, but then sees my face and freezes. "Actually...me and Rosie were going out for breakfast. We'll just...come on babe." Before she can protest, he pulls her out of the room.

"Are you sure you don't want anything Bella?"

"I'm sure." I'm seething. Too pissed off to even think about food.

As the eggs pop and sizzle in the hot oil, he smears a thick layer of butter on his toast. He slides the eggs onto a plate, with a dusting of sea salt and a few grinds of black pepper on them before sitting down next to me. He digs in with gusto, the four hour long run and swim in Lake Michigan clearly working up a huge appetite. He makes it through about three eggs before he notices that I've been silent and I haven't touched my computer.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm fine." I pretend to turn back to my laptop.

He peers at me for a moment, before returning to his plate. There's nothing but the sound of my keyboard, and the clink of silverware. How can he just sit there eating breakfast when I feel as if I could strangle him? I can barely stand it, and yet I'm paralyzed. I should say something, I know I should but I can't seem to get the words out. He puts down his fork. Closes my untouched laptop.

"Tell me. I know something's wrong Bella, but I'm not a mind reader."

My gut reaction is to deny it. Avoid confrontation at all costs. I'm mad at him and mad at myself for not being able to speak directly. He gently lifts my chin, raising my gaze to meet his eyes. It takes all of my resolve to get the words out.

"Why didn't you pick up when I called?"

"I'm sorry, I forgot my phone," he says carefully. "I'll bring it next time. Did something happen?"

I can't stand the way he's looking at me right now. Clearly he has no clue what is going on, and he doesn't quite recognize the nagging harpy girlfriend I've suddenly transformed into. Sometimes it seems like he knows what I'm feeling before I even cognizant of it. He can so easily anticipate my needs, my wants. Why doesn't he just get it now?

"You didn't think to maybe leave a note? Tell me you'd be gone for four hours?"

"I wasn't...I hadn't planned on being gone that long."

"You can't just...disappear and not tell anyone where you are. I didn't know if something had happened to you, if maybe you were hurt, or if someone had kidnapped you, or if you, if you..." I can't bring myself to finish the sentence. And I can no longer look at him.

"...if I left." He sighs. "Oh fuck...I'm sorry baby, I wasn't thinking."

"After the past couple weeks, the past few months, I don't know if I can handle any more surprises."

"I know baby, I'm so sorry."

"I mean, I don't want you to think that I'm...clingy, or trying to keep you locked down or that I don't want you to have your own life, go where you please."

I might be lying even now. Because if I'm honest, really, truly honest, the smallest weakest part of me is afraid to let him out of my sight. It's sick and irrational and I'm ashamed for feeling this way. Sometimes, I fear that if you looked inside my soul, there would be nothing but this ugly black hole. Endlessly wanting, needing to be filled. Nothing would ever be enough.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again. I swear." He touches my cheek lightly, turning my face.

I raise my eyes to his and I'm furious at my body for betraying me, even now. I can't hold on to the anger, not when I look at him. He's unlocked something in me, the depth of emotion that I did not know my body was capable of. I did not know it could be like this.

It's always constant, that pleasurable ache, the longing. How can you miss someone when they are right there with you? Sometimes it feels like loving someone and missing them is the same thing. He's right here, I can feel his rough palm on my face, and yet I can't escape the constant fear that he will be wrested away from me, whether by his own choice, or some unforeseen event, many scenarios that I've replayed over and over in my mind. I could still lose him. He's mine and he's not mine. I don't know how much time must pass, what do I need to hear, what do I need for him to do to believe that he's not just passing through.

"I'm not going anywhere Bella. "

I want to believe him.

We are going to Esme's house. I don't know why, they're not home and Edward is unusually silent on the matter. They just left this morning for a "surprise" romantic weekend trip to Michigan that Carlisle sprung on Esme. I could almost see her rolling her eyes over the phone, as she informed me. Edward won't tell me the reason either, just that he had something to show me and that he'd explain when we got there.

We go through the back entrance, using the secret key hidden in the ceramic turtle in the garden.

"Why don't you just get a copy made?" I ask. Esme has a key to his house, after all.

"Not my house."

He digs around in a drawer in the kitchen, until he finds an envelope. In it is a key. He turns to me, and for a moment hesitates. "There's a...I want to show you something."

He opens the door to the basement, and heads down the stairs, indicating that I should follow. He flicks on the light and it is eerily silent down here, save for the low hum of the electric bulb. It is unfinished, there are no windows, only a cold concrete floor, and cardboard boxes stacked in corners under a thick blanket of dust. I look around for Edward.

But he is not looking at me, he's pulling a large storage cabinet back about three feet. Behind it sits a metal door. It has a small window built into it, taped over on the outside with layers of duct tape. Edward unlocks the door. It opens with a low metallic groan, as if it had been sealed for many years. He stands at the entrance, glancing briefly in and then averting his eyes. He does not go in. It is a small room, a closet really, just barely high enough for him to stand. Soundproof, I'm sure. Completely empty, save for a bare twin-sized mattress.

"I'll go in a few hours before sundown Monday afternoon. I'll call, before I'm locked in. Carlisle will let me out when he gets back. And then I'll take the train to your place."

"Esme said they weren't coming home until Tuesday evening."

"I can wait."

"Edward. That's ridiculous...You shouldn't have to spend 24 hours locked up in here. I can come let you out."

"No."

"I'll wait. Until late morning if it makes you feel better. I'll bring Emmett with me."

"No. I've already talked to Carlisle about this. I'm not putting you in danger again."

"I'm not leaving you in there."

"It's fine. I've done it a million times before."

I know he has. That almost makes it worse. I hate that I'm the reason he's had to come back here.

"I don't want you anywhere near this house when it happens. No matter what."

"But I won't be-"

He cuts me off mid-sentence. "Bella, I almost killed you, more than once. I'm not taking any chances with your life. Promise me. Please. I'm begging you. Promise me that you won't come near here."

"I promise."

He looks up at me briefly, to make sure I'm taking it as seriously as he is, and then goes back to not meeting my eyes. The door closes, locking automatically. I follow him back up the stairs. I should say something, anything. I think we're both relieved to be out of the basement. Edward keeps his eyes cast down at the kitchen island, tracing the grain of the wood.

"I need to get something from upstairs."

I don't follow. He needs to be alone. And maybe I do too. His face is blank, impassive as he walks past me. I feel sick to my stomach. I can't get the image of that awful little room out of my mind. I think about what he told me, about how Carlisle drugged him. The idea of waking up locked in that cage, no memory of the previous night, in pain. And just waiting, waiting, until his father let him out.

Years of this. And now it's happening all over again, history repeating itself. It seem so unfair, this endless infinite cycle of pain and destruction, death and rebirth. How can a person endure this much misery?

I let out a low, shuddering breath. I need to compose myself before he gets back. The last thing he needs, the last thing he wants from me is pity.

He comes back empty handed. He's still not looking at me. Finally, I snap out of my self-absorption. This is not about me.

"Edward."

"We should go."

"Wait."

"I just, I fucking hate this place."

"I know you do."

Underneath that bluster, the closed exterior, lies the reason he won't meet my eyes. Shame.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," comes the automatic reply.

I laugh. I don't know why I asked. Of course he wouldn't. I'm surprised he showed me that room at all. The old Edward would probably have told me he'd take care of it, if that even, and just disappear for a few days. He's trying. I can only imagine how hard this must be for him.

He runs his hands through his hair, edgy, unnerved. Looks out the window for a while, and then back at me. Finally, he slumps down onto a bar stool. "I really fucking hate this place. I haven't been down there in years."

"When did you leave?"

"Eighteen. After he married Esme. He told her it was the wine cellar."

"And he just let you go?"

"Didn't have much of a choice. I think he was glad to be rid of me."

"Edward. That's not true."

He raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

"You were just a kid."

I know why Carlisle did what he did, why he made those terrible choices. I don't agree with his methods, but I understand. I saw it only once, Edward's transformation, but the image will stay with me forever. The sound of bones breaking, the slick, undulating flesh, his inhuman screams. I don't know what else his father could have done. If I could spare Edward the pain, I'd do it in a heartbeat. What choice did he have?

"I told you I was thirteen when it started right? I wasn't as...consistent back then. Sometimes it would come early. Last for days. I'd be in my room, broad daylight, and the pains would start, the sweating. I'd try to get downstairs in time, but it would be too much, and I'd wake up, days later, no memory. The house would be destroyed."

He smiles then, but it comes out looking more like a grimace.

"I almost bit him once. Scratched him a few times. He thought for a whole month that he'd turn into a monster too. He started locking me up earlier, and keep me in there for days, sometimes weeks."

Days. Weeks. Years of this. He looks at me then, at the sheer horror that must be written all over my face. Shakes his head. He places a heavy hand on my hand, resting there for a while.

"It wasn't always like that. I evened out after a while, as I got older. Just like it is now."

Oh Edward. My heart breaks again and again and again. Edward. He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around my waist, and pressing his cheek against my breast.

"It wasn't easy for him. I wasn't an easy kid to raise. All by himself."

"Edward, it's not your fault."

"I know. And it's not his fault either. I don't blame him for what he did to me. He had no choice. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore. I don't care about any of that shit."

He's looking up at me now, with those clear green eyes. There is no bitterness, no anger. He squeezes me a little tighter. " I'm letting it go. It's past. It's done. I'm the luckiest motherfucker alive."

I count them off on my fingers. Werewolf, traumatic childhood, charlatan doctor, brain tumor. Jasper and Alice. Some luck. "I think that might be a stretch."

"No. I am lucky. Every morning, I get to wake up next to you." He holds my face in both his hands and kisses me softly. "And every night, I get to make love to you. See? Lucky."

I don't know how he does it. After all he's been through. Some might have given up a long time ago. "I think I'm the lucky one," I say.

He leans forward. We are so close, his skin so warm. His big hands drift down to encircle my waist, pressing me to him, as much as our bodies will allow. His eyes close, long lashes fluttering against my cheek.

"Why won't you run away from me?" he asks.

"Do you want me to?"

He shakes his head. Grips me tighter. "No. I never did. I always hoped you'd stay, even though I knew it was selfish of me. I wanted you to stay forever. I wanted you."

"I want you too Edward...Besides, running away is kind of your thing," I joke, but he doesn't laugh.

"I'm done running. After all this...I'm not hiding anything from you anymore."

There's something that's been bothering me for a long time. And if he's opening up about his past...I didn't know when the best time to bring it up would be, and now might not be the most appropriate time, but when is it ever?

"Edward, can I ask you something?"

He nods.

"I read your file...All those women I read about, I know it was before you met me, and I'm not like, jealous or anything."

This is a lie. I am completely, insanely jealous of every single nameless woman in that file that he ever slept with. It's irrational, I know it. I wasn't a blushing virgin when we we met. I had slept with plenty of guys before Edward, but not with as many partners as he'd had apparently. "Did you ever date any of them?"

"No."

"I'm not like, there's nothing wrong with not...dating, I just wondered, all those years..."

"I didn't date. I never thought that...this," he gestures towards me, us, "was possible. For me."

"But Jasper and Alice…"

"Jasper was crazy. If you met him, just once, you'd know. He was a wildman, he wasn't careful like me. He liked being a wolf. Loved it. And Alice...Alice was crazy too, in her own way. She used to give me so much crap for sleeping around. But I was just tired of being alone all the time."

I've thought about what Edward's life must have been like with them. It couldn't have been easy, living with another couple. As much as I like Rosalie and Emmett, when I was in the depths of my depression after leaving Edward, it was almost intolerable at times being around their joy, their happiness was so palpable. It just made the absence of that kind of love in my own life ever more apparent.

"You never had feelings for anyone?"

He hesitates. Looks down at his feet.

"Once...She didn't love me back. Not like that."

It takes a moment for that word to sink in. Love. He said love. I need to know who she is. This nameless girl out there that he loved that didn't love him back.

"I tried not to...I didn't want to feel that way about her...Especially not her. I thought, I thought maybe it was just physical, that I'd been alone too long. That if I slept with enough women, I could just get her out of my system…" He lets out a long breath.

And with creeping suspicion, the knowledge lurking in the back of my head, this hazy, half-formed thought suddenly transforms into something solid, opaque in my mind. Something in the way he spoke of her, reverent tones, the slight hesitation in his voice. Almost undetectable unless you were looking for it.

"I never did anything at first, never tried to...but she always knew."

"Did Jasper know?"

"I didn't want to feel that way. I loved Jasper too, like a brother. But yeah, he knew, eventually."

Alice. He was in love with Alice. All the air has left my lungs. I don't know what to do with this information. It changes everything. And it changes nothing.

"They used to have these fights, you could hear them for miles. Jasper had a temper on him-he would never hurt her though, he loved her. He was just loud. No filter, that guy, this constant stream, drove me crazy until I got used to it. Alice…" He laughs quietly, shaking his head. "She liked it I think, the noise, the rowdiness. She always gave as good as she got. And they'd been fighting for a while about her wanting a baby. One night, he took off in the truck. He usually came back the next day, after he'd cooled off. She didn't think anything of it because he was always doing this, always running off, stealing my truck. After the third day, she was sure he wasn't coming back. She was pissed off and we started drinking that night, and...it just happened."

"You slept with Alice."

He nods.

"How many times?"

"Just that night. We were drunk, and we shouldn't have, I should have controlled myself...we both regretted it immediately after."

The images, unbidden, flash before my eyes. Him, holding her in his arms. Making love to Alice in his bed. For some reason, the endless parade of anonymous hookups doesn't bother me, not as much as this one time.

"Is that why Jasper came to Chicago?"

He nods. "He came back, and they made up, and she found out she was pregnant a little while later. We told him then."

Just the one time. That's all it takes.

"Was it yours?"

His face darkens. He swallows thickly, as the question hangs heavy between us. "I don't know."

"How did he react?"

"Tried to kill me." His mouth quirks up slightly. Edward lifts his shirt, revealing the scar the bullet left. Not the one I gave him, but a slightly older wound. I'd seen it before, wondered where he'd gotten it. "With my own gun. I deserved it, pretty much."

"Yeah, I think so." Alice and Jasper. And a baby that was maybe his. Jesus Christ. When did life get so complicated? "Then what happened? Did he ever forgive you?"

"Yeah, that's the thing with Jasper. Short attention span. He hated me, until he forgot why." He smiled at the memory. "He didn't really want to kill me. If he did, he wouldn't have missed. I'd have let him kill me."

"And Alice?"

"He couldn't stay mad at her long. Not Alice. He said he didn't care, it was going to be half-wolf either way, and we were like brothers. That it was probably would happened anyway. The old pervert."

My eyes grow wide. "Did you ever…?"

He catches my expression and quickly corrects my assumption. "No no, it was never like that. I wouldn't have…And Alice would have shot Jasper if he'd suggested it."

Well, that's a relief. A person can only take so many revelations in one day. I almost get now why Edward was so secretive.

"He used to joke about going on Maury. Alice didn't like that, but she was just happy that he'd gotten over it so quickly. And then as she got bigger and bigger and the baby was about to come, he got spooked and took off for Chicago. You know the rest."

I do. And now I know the whole story. We sit in silence. I wonder how this changes things, if at all.

"I don't know why he forgave me. Jasper chose to forget it."

"He must have really cared about you."

He nods. We are quiet again.

Somehow, the fact that the person he was in love with was Alice, my irrational jealousy dissolves as quickly as it materialized. I want to be mad at him, or feel something other than shock. For betraying someone he called brother. For being so reckless. But the only person wronged here was Jasper, and Jasper forgave him. I decide that it is not for me to judge. The way he holds his body now, it's as if he's waiting for the blow, the rejection. He can wait forever, it's not going to happen.

"You didn't read my book, did you?"

"What?" Edward looks up, surprised at my sudden change of subject.

"My book. When I first came to your house, I thought you knew my full name because you'd read my book."

He shakes his head. "No, it wasn't mine."

"It was Alice's book."

He nods. "She left it open, face down on the coffee table, and I didn't move it for weeks after she...I used to stare at it, stare at your picture on the back cover. When you showed up, it was like...like seeing a ghost. You scared the hell out of me."

"I scared you?' I laugh. "I was absolutely certain that you hated me. You didn't speak to me for weeks. And after days and days of nothing, the first words out of your mouth were, "Take off your top."

He smiles then. I do too. I blush at the memory of that first night. God, that was so crazy, so out of character for me, but I was still hiding. I think I was trying to be another person. He was such a stranger to me then. I didn't even know what his face looked like yet.

"I've hidden things from you Bella-"

"You were trying to protect me," I interject.

He shakes his head. "You ended up getting hurt anyway. Do you remember that night you kissed me?"

How could I forget? I remember him pacing the room, his eyes constantly darting to the window. I put it together a few days later. He had shown me the workshop, the moon would be full the following night, and he had to make me leave so he said the worst possible thing. It was the only way he knew I'd be safe.

"I lied to you."

"I know."

"I don't know when it happened. We were strangers...and then one day we weren't. And I knew...I knew one day you would have to leave. That it couldn't last. Not with me."

"Edward…"

"Every time, I'd wake up and I'd expect to be alone again. But I wasn't. You stayed. I never believed that...that anyone I loved could love me back."

I stroke his face, trace the line of his cheek, the rough stubble along his jawbone. He's so beautiful...and he's mine. I pull him closer, kiss the closed eyelids, his soft lips. I run my nose along his neck, breathing in his scent.

"Have you always been this quiet?"

He nods. "Alice used to say that Jasper talked enough for the both of us."

"I like your quiet. I like that you don't speak unless you have something to say. I see you...trying so hard to be open with me. I know it can't be easy, that it goes against everything you've had to do to survive all these years."

"There's one more thing...I don't think I ever told you," he says.

He leans in. Whispers it in my ear, but I don't need to hear the words. I already know. I've always known.