A/N: This was meant to come out last Friday, but my MIL had a series of strokes. She is okay - which is a miracle in itself - and she has zero lasting side effects. She was back to her normal self a few hours later.

Hope you are all doing well! See ya down below.

Edward.

My mind can't process how he knew to come or how he managed to get in, but my body is not concerned with things of such little consequence - it only cares that he's here.

I throw the pillows off of my face and hurl myself into his chest. He pulls me into his lap, staring at me with an agonized sympathy.

He speaks before I can.

"I'm sorry. I should have stayed away, but once you came upstairs, I couldn't."

I sniffle disgustingly. If I wasn't so wrecked, I'd probably be self-conscious. "Once I came upstairs?"

"I've been here a while," he admits, guilty.

"What?"

Long fingers drift over my wet cheek. "Alice saw you and Charlie. That's not why I came," he says hurriedly, "I swear. I had every intention of waiting for you to come to me-,"

"I don't have your number," I cut in. I meant to fix that at lunch… but he'd been so distractingly, devastatingly pretty.

He nodded. "I remembered that. Still, you've been to the house before. I figured if you wanted me, you'd find me. I wasn't trying to invade your privacy or over-step, Bella, I swear. But then you disappeared again and I was… afraid."

There's something very child-like about his expression. I realize that fear is probably not something someone like him is used to feeling.

I catch the hand still moving over my face and press it to my cheek. A crooked smile appears and my battered heart skips a beat.

"I followed your scent out of town-,"

Despite my best efforts, my eyebrows raise at that one because, well, it's odd. Edward's face morphs to chagrin.

"I know, I know. It's terrible. I just wanted to be sure that everything was okay. I couldn't go into La Push, though, and so I came back here to wait. I was leaving when you started crying and then I just… I couldn't stand the idea of you not having me if you wanted me."

Tears fill and fall. "You'll never be able to leave then."

"We can arrange that," Edward says and his voice rings with promise.

"Were you here when I pulled in?"

The guilty look comes back. "Yes. Outside - in the tree in your backyard."

Something about the image of Edward, all six feet and three inches of him, cramped in my tiny backyard tree like a squirrel is so unbelievably funny that a startled laugh works its way out of my chest without permission. Another follows, then another, until I'm cackling loudly, and then without warning, sobbing again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, love," Edward murmurs into the top of my head. He keeps up his cadence of comforts as my tears leak out in a steady, seemingly never-ending stream.

They run out eventually, though, and as I quiet, Edward asks,

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Insecurity keeps my lips closed. Will he think I'm crazy? Stupid? Naive? I certainly do…

While I think, Edward's hand lifts to my hair, fingertips rubbing gentle circles into my scalp. I let my head loll, knowing he can hold up its weight without effort, and wanting for just a moment to be carried after all these years of carrying myself.

"We don't have to talk at all if you don't want to," he assures me after a few moments of silence. "I can just hold you. Or I can leave-,"

"No!" I shout much louder than is wise, given the late hour and the boy who shouldn't be in my bedroom. I flinch, but the house stays quiet.

Edward shushes me soothingly. "I won't leave." His red lips begin dropping kisses on my cheeks and forehead, pushing away my panic. Their cool temperature helps soothe the burning heat produced by my crying jag. I tilt my head back, increasing the area he can reach.

He starts to move then, rearranging us so that I'm laying flat on my back while he hovers over me. Despite how closely he's pressed against me, I feel none of his weight. His leg slips between mine and his hands take root in the hair on each side of my head. Gently, he moves my face and begins his pattern of kisses again. He goes around the perimeter first - my forehead, my jaw, my chin - then works his way to the middle. Cheeks, eyebrows, eyelids, my nose, and finally, my mouth, though the contact there is far too brief. I get just the barest pressure, the faintest taste before they move away.

Once he's finished the circuit, he begins it again. I feel treasured, adored, cared for, and the cocktail of tenderness loosens my lips.

"I wish you could meet her," I murmur, breaking the stillness.

He recoils a little, pulling his head back and hovering over me. I register the hint of shock on his face before he manages to cover it up. "Your mother?"

I drop my eyes, feeling silly because I know it sounds crazy, I do, but-

"She's a whole person, you know? She's not some cartoon villain. She has good parts, too."

Edward tilts my head up with a hand under my chin and when I bring my gaze back to his again, they are filled with nothing but devotion and acceptance, and another release of emotion I hadn't known was there in the first place rushes out.

"It would be really easy to pretend like every minute of my childhood was pure agony, but it just wasn't. I have really good memories, too. They're rare," I temper, "and they don't make up for the other stuff. But still. They happened. She made them happen."

There's no expectation in his voice when he says, "Tell me about them." It's just an invitation that I eagerly accept.

It's easier to talk about than I would have expected, and while there are a lot of reasons that could be the case, I think it's mostly because it's Edward I'm talking to.

I tell him about the Saturday tea parties we had with my grandmother when I was very little; the way we would all dress up in fancy clothes and how excited I was every time Renee let me wear her lipstick.

I tell him about my deep obsession with The Princess Diaries, and how Renee set up a paint-balloon wall just like the one in the movie for my ninth birthday.

I tell him about the first time she ever let me drive, the manic giggles we both burst into when I almost hit the neighbor's mailbox and how strangely encouraging she was.

And then the tears threaten again and I have to stop, which is okay because there's not much else to share. My good memories of Renee are sporadic and not enough, but they shine brightly enough in my mind that they distract me, confuse me, make me want to use them to justify or excuse her bad behaviors.

Edward waits patiently until I recompose myself. He strokes my hair, my face, my arms, and I feel so safe I can hardly stand it. There's something so welcome about his prolonged silence. He's not pushing or prying. He's not offering solutions or fixes, or even trying to placate me. He's just there; strong and solid and dependable.

"I'm glad those memories exist," I explain, "I'd rather have some good than none. But at the same time…all of those things almost make it worse than if she had just been her bad things. That's why I wish you could meet her; because I can't reconcile it. Maybe if you could hear her…," I stroke my finger across his forehead and the hint of confusion painted across his face clears.

I look down at my fingers fiddling with the strings of the hoodie he's wearing, feeling too pathetic to bear looking at his face while I say,

"Maybe you could tell me how the person who did those good things could be the same person who called me fat on my sixteenth birthday and told me I was a mistake more times than I can count."

"Bella," Edward murmurs, voice trembling with heartache.

"I just want to know if she- if she cares about me at all." My voice is tear-soaked again. "If there was something I could have done to make things better or-,"

Edward cuts me off, gentle, but insistent. "There was nothing you could have done. Nothing. I don't need to meet her to tell you that."

Something about that answer makes me feel powerless, like a victim of circumstance, and I've never thought about it like that before. I know if anyone else had said what Edward just did, I would shut down, get defensive.

But it wasn't anyone else. It was Edward, and he's holding me, touching me, staring at me like I'm the greatest thing he's ever seen. And I am safe.

"You can't know that," I whisper. "You weren't there."

"That's true," he acquiesces. "I wasn't there. But I have been here, with you and with EJ. And the way you are with him…," He shakes his head in something like awe. "You're good to him, Bella. Always patient, always anticipating what he needs. Kind and warm and loving."

He puts his hand on my cheek and presses a soft, adoring kiss to my mouth.

"That's how I know that there is nothing you could have done to change what happened. Because there is nothing EJ could do that would make you stop caring for him the way you do."

And he's right. My behavior was never the problem. I was a child.

And Jake is right. It was never about who I was. I was a child.

And Dad is right. Her love should be unconditional, automatic. I am her child.

I am not at fault. I did not do this.

So, why does it feel like I did?

"Because," Edward says, and I realize then that I've been speaking out loud. "She told you you did."

"Yes, she did." The words are barely a whisper, but I'm sure he hears them perfectly. "Every day for years. She told me horrible, nasty, mean things about myself until they were all I could hear or see or think - until I believed them. Now, I can't seem to make myself stop believing them."

"She lied to you, Bella. You are… you're-," he stops, looks at me like I'm the best thing he's ever seen, then says, "You're just everything that's truly good in the whole world. And I know you don't - can't - believe that. Not yet. But I see you. Your strength, your kindness, your warmth. All the time, in everything you do, I see it. And I'm going to spend the rest of forever making sure you see it, too."

His tone leaves no room for argument. Cool fingers swipe at the tears that have begun to slowly leak again, and then he resumes his circle of kisses once more.

In between sweeps of his mouth, he promises, "If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to replace her voice in your head that tells you all those hateful untruths with mine, telling you all the wonderful things you so obviously are."

"Edward," I half-sob. I want so badly to tell him how much he means to me, how his words are the only thing holding my fragile self-esteem together, how no one in the world has ever - could ever - make me feel the way he does, but I can't seem to get them out. All I can do is say his name, over and over again, like a prayer or a plea or maybe both.

"I'm right here. I'm right here, sweet girl."

Then he kisses me, slow and deep and sure. His mouth drags across mine with purpose, slipping and sliding, opening and exploring. I follow his lead without question, yielding entirely when his hands reach up to cradle my face. Thumbs sweep across my cheekbones at the same time his tongue traces across my lips. A whimper sounds from somewhere deep inside of me as the taste of him registers and he molds his lips to mine harder in response. I try desperately to keep up with the movements of his kiss, but it's no use- it feels too good and the too-goodness combined with my emotional state makes me slow.

Edward, for his part, doesn't seem to mind. He kisses me over and over and over again, grunting softly into my mouth and using his hold on my face to explore different, better angles. I lose all track of time, drenched in the feeling of his attention.

He hasn't said it, not yet, but I can feel love pouring from every piece of him.

There's a hunger building in my belly, less frantic than the one from the car this morning, but deeper, more intense. It's not purposeful, the way my hands drift to the bottom of his shirt, slipping under and pushing up - it's pure instinct.

Edward moves his lips to my jaw, my neck, my ear.

"Not tonight." His voice is tight and throaty. A cold hand catches mine and moves it to his hair. "You've had a long day."

My brain and my heart know he's right, but my body is angry at the way life keeps getting in the way of my want.

Man, do I want.

Edward must want, too, because when he pulls his face away from my neck, his expression is enough to make me blush.

"You're gorgeous," he mutters roughly. "God, look at you." A cold thumb drags across my bottom lip and sends a jolt of electricity straight through me. "Your mouth is bruised. I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not."

"Me either," I assure him breathlessly.

Edward smiles, boyish, happy, then he rolls onto his back and drapes me across his chest.

He starts humming a lullaby - my lullaby - and combing his fingers from the crown of my head to the tips of my hair, and it takes almost no time at all for the weight of the day to finally hit.

"Edward," I whisper before I succumb to the drowsiness. "Let's be normal tomorrow."

The humming stops.

"Normal?"

"I don't wanna talk about my mom, or my dad, or the fact that you wanted to eat me."

I'm tired enough that the idea that my words could offend him comes only after I've already said them, but he laughs softly underneath me.

"Okay."

"I just want to do all the normal things that normal people do when they start dating someone."

"Which are?"

"I don't know," I slur, sleep coming too fast to fight off. "What does Cher do when she falls in love with Josh?"

Edward laughs again, louder this time. "I'm not sure dating your step brother counts as normal, Bella."

I want to laugh, too, but I can't manage more than a slow, sloppy smile.

"You know," he starts, "a normal boyfriend wouldn't stay the night."

I grab the fabric of his shirt in my hands. It would be a pointless endeavor in the best of circumstances and it's altogether useless given how tired I am. To supplement the attempt at keeping him still and here, I whimper pathetically.

His arms squeeze around me. "I was just teasing. Sleep. I'll be here."

Edward starts humming again and that's the last thing I register before I fall asleep.

A/N: Sigh. These guys.

Lots of gooey content to come! There was supposed to be quite a bit more in this chapter, but I wanted to get it out and I didn't want it to be too long.

See you soon!