May, Kate, and Paige asked for an EPOV that goes with chapter 15... don't get used to this, ladies. Aight? (lolol) I appreciate all the feedback and love from you guys.

Hadley did a last-minute look-over. She's the best!

See you sometime Thursday!

Edward:

I'm so fucking screwed.

In way deeper shit than I was before.

I should've stayed away. I should've just kept my distance and not started any of this. And yet... here I am. In her fucking bed. She's laying on me. Her head is on my chest, her arm is draped across my stomach, and I can't seem to pull myself away.

I don't know what I'm going to do.

I mean, I fucking know what I should do. I should tell her I'm Masen. But I don't want to. She's gonna be pissed. And rightly so.

But it's not like any of this was my intention. I just wanted to talk to her without getting stuck in my head. So I did. I didn't expect her to actually reply on Instagram or to draw me in even more than she had. I didn't expect her to start reaching out to me. Or for our conversations to last longer and happen more frequently. I sure as hell didn't expect that talking to her would quickly become the highlight of my day.

With her curled against me, I try to think of a way for us both to get out of this without getting hurt.

I'm not proud of it, but my first thought is that I could ghost her. I could block her on Instagram and end all contact with her as Masen.

But, no. I can't do that to her. Morally I know it's fucked up. I can be a dick, but I'm not malicious. Besides, ghosting would only work if I have zero intention of really pursuing anything with her. Because if we keep hanging out, she'll eventually know the truth. Someone will call me Masen in front of her. Or she'll see my ID and realize that it says Edward Masen Cullen. It's not like I can hide my career from her forever, either.

There's zero way either of us can come out of this unscathed. Sooner or later, she's gonna find out. And she'll fucking hate me.

I don't want her to hate me.

I move my hand from her shoulder and brush back some of her hair. She stirs a bit but still clings to me.

"Masen."

I freeze. After a few seconds, I realize she's still sleeping.

Well, fuck.

She's dreaming about me. Again. When she told me she dreamt of Masen the other week, I wasn't sure what to think. Part of me thought she might've said that because I admitted I had a dream about her. But she was telling the truth because Bella's not a liar. Not like me.

She stirs again, but this time she's awake. She looks up at me. I get lost in her eyes and revel in the fact that she doesn't immediately pull away. Almost like she wants to stay right here in my arms. Her gaze lingers on my face. I want to know what she's thinking.

A beat passes, and she moves away. She looks through her phone, and when I see her go to Instagram, I wonder if she's disappointed Masen didn't reach out. I thought about messaging her while she was sleeping, but that seemed too calculated. Honestly part of me just wants her to figure it out on her own. Then it saves me the guilt and the uncomfortable conversation of coming clean.

But when she knows, she'll be done with me. So, selfishly, I want her to stay in the dark.

When she's done looking through her messages and has successfully added my number to her phone, I bring my hand to her forehead. It's just an excuse to touch her. I know her fever's long gone. When she closes her eyes at my touch, I smile. I let it fade before her eyes reopen. Then she catches me off guard and touches my forehead. It's so weird and cute and I just… I don't know. I like that she did that.

She excuses herself to the bathroom, and I hesitate. Without her lying next to me, I second-guess being here. In her bed. In her apartment. Should I go? She seems like she's feeling better now. But… I don't want to leave. I really don't.

Thankfully, she returns, and any anxiety I felt disappears. It doesn't seem like she wants me to go, either. So I stay.

"Can I ask you something?" she wonders, and I nod. "Why were you gone last week? Did I get you in trouble with our weird fight or whatever?"

"Was that considered a fight to you?"

"It felt a little more personal than our other interactions."

She's right. It was because I let jealousy get the best of me.

I tell her I kind of got in trouble. It's not a lie. I got called into the director's office and was given a "talking to" about professionalism. He asked if there was anything they needed to know. If anything was going on.

I kept my mouth shut. Then half an hour later, I left early to head to Portland. I don't tell her this part though. Because I'm an asshole.

"Nothing's happened between us like that," she says, and I smile a little when her cheeks go pink.

Like what? I want to say. Like me grabbing your face with both hands and kissing you? Laying you back onto the bed and crawling between your thighs? Using my mouth to make you come undone?

I have to stop. I can't think about things like this when we're lying in bed together.

"From what Marcus said, it definitely sounded like that," I say instead. Yeah. That's safer.

Her cheeks go pink again. I want to know what she's thinking. If her mind is going there, imagining me and her doing… that.

She changes the subject, thankfully. Asks if I like teaching the class. And I do. Extra cash is nice, and the kids aren't so bad. But when I mention Jasper getting me the gig, she brightens.

"Oh! I met his girlfriend, Alice."

My heart stops.

But I somehow keep my face neutral. At least, I hope I do.

"You did?"

"Yeah. I ran into her at the show. And I met her at—"

She pauses, and I'm confused why. Then I remember. She told me she went to the tattoo shop, looking for me. She probably ran into Alice there. Now she's holding back mentioning it because… well, I don't know why. I'm not sure why it would need to be a secret. It's not like she knows that I know who Masen is. But I almost like that she has her own secrets, her own reasoning. Makes me feel like less of a dick for having mine.

I decide to change the subject this time and ask her what she does for work. I already know. She's mentioned it during our Instagram conversations. But I want to keep her talking because I love hearing her speak.

She tells me she's a florist and explains her favorite flower. Her expression is gentle, almost dreamy. I can tell she loves her job and that she's passionate about what she does. When she describes peonies, I just stare at her. She's beautiful. I don't tell her this. I also don't tell her peonies were my mother's favorite flower, too. Instead, I make a mental note to draw something involving the flower in the coming days. Maybe that'll be just the thing to have her realize I'm Masen.

"Tell me about your tattoos," she says quietly.

I love that she wants to know about me.

"Which one?"

She reaches for my arm. I'm not expecting her to touch me again, and it makes my body vibrate. Her fingers are cool on my skin as she inspects my arm. She brings it so close to her face, almost near her mouth, I nearly think she's going to kiss my arm. But she doesn't.

And then I'm thinking about kissing her again. What she'd feel like underneath me. If she's ticklish.

Her fingers move to my other arm and trace the letters that ink my skin. It's such a comforting feeling, having her hands on me. Caressing me. There's a tenderness behind it, something I haven't felt in so fucking long. Something I hadn't realized I needed or even wanted.

It wasn't this way with Rose. It's never been like this with… anyone.

"This was my first tattoo," I tell her. "My mother's initials."

Elizabeth Masen.

Then I tell Bella that she's no longer around. I don't tell her how I ran away from home for a while after she died. I don't tell her about getting expelled from school or getting arrested for vandalizing. Or that I made my dad's life a living hell until I turned 18 and moved out on my own. That's not what people want to hear. They don't want the grit. Bella comes from privilege. I mean, I do too. But she's accustomed to a different life. I don't know how she'll react to hearing about this side of me.

Her face falls after I mention my mom dying, and I look away. It's an expected reaction. The sympathy. The uncomfortable silence. Then she tells me she lost her father too, and I realize Bella wasn't uncomfortable or feeling sorry for me. She was probably reliving her own pain.

I'm torn with hating that she had to go through it, too, and feeling some sort of relief that she understands.

When she asks if I'm close with my dad, I try to remember the last time we even spoke. Maybe three months ago. And the time before that, maybe six? We rarely check in. But I don't necessarily mind. That means he's not on my case about finding a real career. That means he's not putting me down and making me feel like shit for doing something I love.

When I tell her he doesn't approve of what I do, Bella looks surprised.

"He doesn't like your art?"

Right. She thinks I'm an artist. I mean, I guess I am. Technically. But she doesn't know what I actually do. And it's really fucking ironic that I want this girl to see me, to know who I really am and yet… I'm holding back. Keeping myself from her.

It's a mind fuck.

When she yawns, I yawn too. And when I tell her she should sleep, I hope she'll ask me to stay in bed with her again.

She thanks me for talking to her, and I thank her for listening. And when she smiles, my chest cracks open. Because I know she won't be smiling for long. Not once she finds out the truth.

Like I said.

So fucking screwed.