A/N- Early update? Yay!
Happy soddin' Monday.

Massive hugs to everyone who reads along, reviews, favourites and follows, as well as all the fabulous people who keep rec'ing the hell out of this rollercoaster. I love you all!

This chapter hasn't been pre-read, so it's all just ... me, which is worrying lol.

That being said, my fabulous Beta, SunflowerFran has made it readable.

I know a lot of you have been waiting not-so-patiently for this chapter, especially after you saw the Facebook Teaser pictures, so I'll let you get on with it.

Enjoy, and I'll see you at the bottom.

~oOo~

Chapter 11: EPOV

I can't breathe. I feel exposed, vulnerable. Bella has no idea; she can't have. But I do, I'm all too aware that she is unknowingly critiquing my work, and I hate every drawn-out second of it. But I don't know what to do. My whole body screams at me to run, to flee the scene. I don't care what people think, right? Except I clearly fucking do. I care too much about her opinion, and that's a terrifying thought.

I watch her, her delicate fingers as they trace the sprayed lines. I see the single tear glistening on her smooth, creamy cheek, and I want to wipe it away. But I can't. I stop myself by tightly clenching my fists inside my jacket pockets. I absorb every shuddered breath she releases into the night air, as though they will calm my erratic heartbeat.

She scowls at the far right of my work, at the jovial children who enjoy the bonfire, and then her face softens, and her eyebrows knit tightly in hurt when she looks towards the poor boy who clutches the flame. My flame. She has no idea this is my memory, my pain.

I think back to that night, the celebration—the air thick with smoke, the residual stench of fireworks, and grilled food. I was starving, cold, and desperate. I remember the sounds of the children who danced around; their high-pitched, excited giggles and their sing-song, angelic voices; their thick winter coats discarded behind them as they enjoyed the heat of the flames, without a worry, without a care.

I can still feel the biting cold on my back, the chill from the grass seeping through the holes in my shoes. For a single moment, I was calm, enjoying the dancing flames and the warmth they emitted. The echoes of the shrill, carefree laughing from across the burning, tall embers, whispered and echoed into the night sky. I fleetingly forgot about my hunger, I forgot about the chill in my bones, the emptiness, the despair. For a minute or two, I was bathed in light and heat, and everything was … peaceful. The fire was an escape, and I was mesmerized, lost in thought, and ... hope. I was ten-years-old. But like all hope and warmth in my life, it didn't last.

I was eventually forcibly removed from the scene by two police officers. They swore at me and pulled at my thin, neglected clothing as they dragged me across the grass and threw me into the mud. I didn't belong there, they told me. A single moment of joy was quickly shrouded in shame.

I had been sent out to steal food that night. I came home empty-handed, embarrassed and covered in mud. My dad beat me to a pulp for getting my clothes filthy

Thinking back fills me with anger. I wouldn't have needed to steal if my parents didn't spend every cent of their sparse money on heroin. Fuck the kid; we need our fix.

"It's getting late," Bella whispers, her eyes never leaving the wall. I nod silently, all too aware of how close to her I am. But I can't step back. She turns her head and looks up at me over her shoulder, her petite frame cloaked by my shadow. "Thank you for coming with me," she smiles weakly.

"I'll walk you home," I tell her, my voice cracking a little under the emotional strain. I didn't feel this amount of turmoil when I created the damn thing. It can only be Bella, her unnerving presence, and whatever the fuck she does to me.

"You don't need to," she shakes her head but quickly stops when she notices my incredulous, unimpressed expression. A quick, quiet chuckle escapes her lips. "Fine."

We walk for a while in comfortable silence. Both our minds are reeling, both of us are overwhelmed, though for different reasons.

"Who protects you?" She eventually asks as we walk side by side, the top of her head skimming my shoulder. I try to ignore how close she is, how she effortlessly fits by my side, subconsciously gravitating into my personal space. I don't like people in my personal space; I've shoved Victoria away for walking this close.

"Huh?" I shake my head to clear it. I don't step away or shove Bella.

"When you're walking the streets at night. Who has your back?" Her face turns up towards mine at the same time I look down at hers. I regard her silently for a second, biting the inside of my cheek.

"Me," I shrug.

"That sounds ... lonely," she observes, and I smile through pursed lips.

"It's fine," I tell her. "That way, I don't need to rely on anyone else." She nods, turning her face towards the ground and scowling, sadly. It's fleeting, but I catch it. "Don't look so distraught, Princess, I'm a big boy, I can look after myself." She rolls her eyes at my teasing.

"Of that, I have no doubt," she smiles up at me, and I don't know why; I don't know what possesses me, but I nudge her shoulder playfully. I don't do 'playful.'

Ever.

On the verge of an anxiety-riddled meltdown, Bella's happy smile calms me instantly and my shoulders slump, relaxed, and I exhale in relief.

"How old are you?" I ask her out of the blue.

"I turn eighteen soon," she answers. I nod.

"So, you're seventeen?" I smirk when she rolls her eyes.

"Yes, smart-ass, I'm seventeen. How old are you?"

"Twenty," I tell her truthfully.

"I knew you weren't much older than me," she observes, rather smugly, and I chuckle.

"I damn-well feel it, sometimes. You're so fucking innocent." I keep my voice light, remembering how little she appreciates verbal jabs at her disposition.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, turning her head downwards again, and I inwardly kick myself.

"Don't be," I tell her, looking ahead. "I kinda like it." There I go again. Fuck me.

"Kinda?" Her voice holds an undercurrent of hope, and I'm so far out of my depth. What the hell do I say to that? My face must mirror my confusion because she quickly closes her mouth, stopping the words that were about to be spoken.

"Just a little bit," I decide to joke, holding my thumb and index finger about an inch apart, just in front of her face. She scowls playfully and slaps my hand away. I chuckle, placing my stinging hand back into my pocket.

We reach her street, much too quickly for my liking, and she stops, turning to face me.

"I'm planning to go see the rest of Inferno's work tomorrow if you want to come?" Her question catches me off-guard, as does her boldness. I groan, without thinking; the thought of standing by and watching Bella scrutinize more of my work makes me want to vomit. "Okay, never mind," she interjects quickly, taking my reaction to her question the wrong way.

I sigh. "Bella, it's not that I don't want to ... I just ... it's not my thing, you know?" It's a lie. Of course, it's my thing; I fucking created them. I'm so torn. Against my better judgment, I want to spend more time with Bella. But the artwork is me, laid bare, and what if she hates them?

"You seemed to appreciate the one we saw tonight," she pushes, lifting an eyebrow.

"Not really," I groan again, running a hand through my hair.

"But, you were so silent. You got just as absorbed as I did, I could tell."

I roll my eyes. If only she knew. I don't think I looked at the damn wall for more than a minute. All I saw was her.

"Admit it, you appreciated the art," she teases in a sing-song voice, her smile widening, her words coming at me hurriedly, almost as fast as my heart thumps. "It drew you in, just as much as it drew me in. I noticed." Her smile is wide, cocky. She's pushing, and I feel like I want to hyperventilate. I want to tell her why I can't bear to watch her as she experiences my work. "You were just as mes-"

"You drew me in!" I snap, through clenched teeth, my instinctive need to change the subject backfiring royally. I screw my eyes shut, berating myself silently and too damn scared to see the look on her face.

She's silent for what feels like hours, but in reality, it's probably only ten seconds. My heart continues to thud; I'm sure she can hear it. The street is too fucking quiet.

Screw this street.

"Edward?" She calls silently. She's close, but I can't look at her. This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid. Admire her from a distance, remember?

I'm screwed.

"Hmm," I acknowledge, my eyes still closed, the need for a cigarette overwhelming.

"Look at me," she commands softly, and I can't deny her. I don't think I ever can. Since when was she the confident one? And why is she so confident all of a sudden? How? Isn't she falling apart as much as I am? She's usually so vulnerable and naive.

Slowly, I tentatively open my eyes and look at her, releasing a defeated breath through my nose. She's so beautiful, and she has no idea. In the dimmed lighting of the street, her hair glows in a dark veil over her shoulders, and her eyes shine with life. Her smooth, unblemished complexion looks angelic and flawless. My jaw is clenched, and it aches.

She takes a step forward, so we're almost touching; our bodies are almost perfectly aligned. Her face tilts upwards, the top of her head level with my chin. I swallow hard as she raises herself on to her tip-toes. Instinctively, I angle my head downwards, meeting her halfway. I don't know who closes the distance, but at the same time, our breaths hitch, as our lips touch for the first time. It's soft, her lips so beautifully plump and smooth. We don't make a sound as I lift my hand from my pocket and raise it to cup the back of her head. She opens her mouth to me, her body shaky, her breaths uneven.

I can't hold back any longer; I move my mouth against hers, pushing my head towards hers gently. Our lips move together in perfect sync. It's slow; it's explorative and so different from what I'm used to. It's unhurried; she's so gentle, I'm so overcome. I want to add my tongue; I want more. I refrain, basking in her strawberry-laced scent, the softness of her hair under my palm. After a beat, her arms raise, her fingers finding the nape of my neck, and I shudder when her nails scratch my skin and hair lightly. Her lips against my own, moving languidly, in harmony, is the single most calming experience of my life. I forget about my apprehension; I forget about my exhaustion. Right now, she's all I can think of, and I never want this kiss to end. It has to, but I hold on for as long as I can. There's a fight internally, and I know this should be a one-off, I know I can't let her draw me in. But her kiss is a whisper, our lips barely touching; it's gentle, almost timid, and I want more.

She breaks away, much too soon for my liking, and takes a steadying breath. Nothing is said; her hands are still in the hair at my nape. I've pulled her as close as she can get, and our chests rise and fall together, flush.

"I don't want to let you go," she whispers, her lips deeper in color and more enticing than ever, her cheeks warm.

"Then don't," I whisper back, my voice vulnerable, and I cringe inwardly at myself. My hand is still in her hair, against her head.

"I need to go," she sighs sadly, taking a step back. My hand falls from her at the same time she unwinds her fingers from my hair. I think I'm fucking pouting. I nod, using my own hand to grip my hair, to cover the spot her hands grasped moments ago, to fill the void she left behind.

"Tomorrow?" I ask. She smiles; it's almost smug.

"I thought it wasn't your thing?" She grins widely, lifting a brow.

"I've had a change of heart," I chuckle, she does too.

"I bet." Her face is glowing; she's happy.

It's a relief.

"Can I see your phone?" I ask, reaching out my hand and wondering what the hell I'm doing. She nods and bites her lip, rummaging in the pocket of her coat and handing me her iPhone once it's unlocked. I put my number into her contact list and hand the device back to her. She smiles and presses a button; I feel my own phone vibrate against my ass. "Is that you?" I ask, lifting a brow.

"Yup," she smiles shyly. I smile back. What do I do now? What the fuck am I doing?

"Goodnight, Bella," I whisper, reaching out towards her face and brushing my thumb against her cheek. I'm such a fucking sap with this girl, but I can't help it. She smiles softly and turns her face towards my hand, brushing a gentle kiss against my palm.

I think my knees buckle.

"Goodnight, Edward," she breathes into my hand, and with one last look, she turns and walks away, leaving me standing alone and breathless. "Text me when you get ... to wherever it is you're going," she calls over her shoulder, and I chuckle, sending her a wink in acknowledgment.

I hesitantly turn and walk away, in desperate need of a drink.

I battle with myself as I walk quickly through the streets, retracing my footsteps. Bella isn't the type of girl you can kiss and then ignore in a desperate attempt at damage control. I repeatedly told myself that I couldn't make a move and couldn't pursue anything remotely romantic with her. I can't offer her anything romantic. I'll ruin her, and I'll hate myself for it. I didn't bargain on her making the first move.

Oh, God, I've led her on.

She's not the type of girl you can string along, either. I cringe, wondering if she expects hearts and rainbows. She's so fucking perfect and obviously lacking experience in ... everything. I bet her only concept of romance derives from Disney movies and fairytales, and no doubt, the perfect image of her parents' relationship.

I aggressively pull a smoke from my pocket, wasting no time lighting it and taking a long, fulfilling drag of nicotine. I groan, resisting the urge to punch myself in the face.

I'm in trouble, mostly because I'm annoyed with myself, but also because, I want to kiss her again.

I'm fucked.

I pull my phone from my pocket and send James a text, asking where he is. He'll be drinking himself into a stupor, and for the first time in a long time, I want to do the same.

I smirk when my phone vibrates with a reply, and I tell him I'm on my way, picking up the pace of my feet.

I'll drink until I forget my thundering heart, I'll drown myself in alcohol until I pass out.

Still, despite my defenses telling me to run, to forget, I text Bella, telling her that I arrived safely. I don't tell her where I am or what I'm doing, but I text her anyway, because ... I can't not.

Yup.

Fucked.

~oOo~

A/N- Soooooo? Let me know what you thought of THAT! Did we all see Bella being brave enough to make the first move?

Poor Edward really struggled with all those emotions, Huh?

Don't forget, for teasers, head over the Facebook group, It All Started With Twilight.

Thank you for reading!