A/N

Sorry for the wait!

A massive shout out for a few people that helped with this chapter: Meg, Lizzie, April and Jo, for prereading and holding my hand.

And Mel for her INSANE beta skills. She is an eagle-eyed saint and makes me think hard. I love her for it.

Enjoy!

February hits with an icy blast that cripples the city. I've never felt cold like this. Sometimes the sky is clear and blue, filling me with a false sense of security from inside the house, as though I'm looking out onto a calm spring day. But then I step outside, and it's not long before I'm back indoors, blowing warm breath into my cupped hands and rubbing them together so thoroughly I swear they're permanently red-raw.

Snow comes and goes, creating a deep freeze that never truly thaws, only thickens. It's brutal, but the locals still go about their business, so used to Chicago winters that they don't seem to notice the deep freeze. It's all I seem to notice.

The buildings look greyer, taller; the streets darker though they're not wet. The trees are bare and thin—the bark like leathered, worn skin that doesn't offer much protection from the elements. Even the grass seems to be losing its battle against the cold, the small pockets of greenery losing their saturated color.

"Residents of the city are being warned to prepare for the incoming storm, which will potentially bring over twenty inches of snow."

I stop at the door to the living room, where Mom and Dad are sitting on the sofa, sipping coffee and watching the news for information on the imminent storm.

"Are you still staying at Alice's this weekend?" Mom asks, pointing to the TV in warning. She suspects I'm not going to Alice's and she'd be right to, but she doesn't say anything in front of Dad. I'll thank her one day.

I nod, fastening my thick jacket. "We won't be leaving her house; just going to huddle inside and have a girly weekend."

Dad side eyes me warily but says nothing, and Mom nods. "Be careful," she says, throwing me a pleading glance.

"I'll keep in touch," I tell them both.

"You better," Dad warns, his eyes glued to the TV.

Mom stands, smirking at me, all knowing but not saying. "Come on, let's go."

School passes in a blur, and we're let out a little early due to the threat of the storm.

Every senior is excited; the school is rampant with celebration, a joyful electric buzz of college acceptance letters and promises of bright futures. But not me. My Harvard acceptance letter arrived yesterday, and I should be celebrating—I should be ecstatic, but it only means one thing to me now: doom.

Of course, I'm happy I've been accepted. It's what I have always dreamed of, always aimed for, but when the cold air hits my face as soon as I exit the school building, it feels as though a bucket of ice water has been poured over my head.

"So you're staying at mine," Alice says as we descend the concrete stairs, laughing and shaking her head. "Sure, sure."

I can't hold back my smile. "You're the best, you know."

"I do know. I keep telling people that!"

Smiling wide, I hug her as Edward appears in his car, looking like sin and good enough to eat. "It's a shame no one listens," I tell Alice, whose attention is no longer on me. Like always, everyone's attention is on my boyfriend. Heads turn as he exits the car, whispers begin, and fingers are pointed. He's a celebrity around these parts, the bad boy every female student—and some of the males—want a piece of.

"Girl, that boy is … everything." Her voice takes on a wistful note as Edward waits, lighting a cigarette and leaning against his car.

"I know." I can't hide my wide grin; I'm just as affected by his presence as everyone else. Waving goodbye to Alice, I make my way toward Edward, only vaguely aware of Rosalie's presence as she approaches.

"Hi," Edward greets, his voice low and sexy as hell, his smirk just as good.

"Hi." Leaning up, our lips meet, and Edward doesn't hold back, pushing off the car and spinning us, so I'm caged between his hot body and the cold metal. He tastes like cigarettes and smells like leather—I love it.

"I've missed you so fucking much," he says, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak and not giving me any time to reply before his lips are back on mine. I can't help but smile against his mouth.

"Your fans are watching."

"Don't care," he says, kissing me quickly once more and then again. "Let them."

"They're getting closer." That does the trick. He straightens himself, pushing off the car and sighs.

"Fuck that. Let's get outta here."

Laughing lightly, I jog around the car and throw myself into the passenger's seat, placing my backpack at my feet.

As soon as Edward starts the engine, I close my eyes and let my head fall back. I love Fridays and the promise of a weekend spent with him, even though there's the lingering worry that won't dissipate—that probably never will. We're still ignoring the elephant in the room, and every day, it grows larger and more foreboding. It's even more suffocating now that I know I'm Harvard bound. Sometimes he looks at me, opening his mouth to speak, and I think he's finally going to open up and talk about my impending college years, but then he thinks better of it and purses his lips tightly closed. Every time he does, I die a little more inside.

It's the reason I've decided to finally broach the subject this weekend. We can't go on like this. I can't go on like this. Not anymore. That dark cloud that hangs over us is only growing gloomier by the day.

"How was school?" he asks, openly mocking me.

Rolling my eyes, I look at him quickly, still smiling, knowing I won't be smiling much soon. "Fine."

"So there's this building, and it's a fucking monstrosity, but the rich people love it, and it has this perfect concrete base and no windows until the second floor …" Edward talks excitedly as I sit on the sofa, legs tucked up under my body, beer in hand, trying to listen. He's so animated when he talks about his art, so caught up and passionate about what he does under a veil of darkness. I can't help but smile as he waves his hands around, motioning erratically like a kid on Christmas morning. "And I had this idea as I was watching the suits come and go, obnoxious fucking briefcases swinging by their sides, right?" He doesn't wait for me to acknowledge him before he continues. "They must think people like me are worthless, like rats … disgusting, vermin …" I scowl, opening my mouth to argue, but he waves a hand dismissively. "I don't give a shit. Anyway … so … rats."

"Rats?" I ask, my face screwing up in confusion.

He nods. "Like a collection. Most artists release collections, right?"

I nod, unable to hide my humored expression."Right." I almost tell him he's adorable.

Jumping over the back of the sofa, he lands beside me with a huff, managing to keep his beer upright. "So … I'm gonna release a collection of artworks. Rats."

"Rats." I'm trying not to convey how utterly confused I am, but I don't think it works; Edward sees right through me.

"Holding signs."

"Of course." Now I am chuckling.

"The signs say stuff."

I nod. "Otherwise they're not signs."

"Right."

He watches me as he sips his beer, his eyes sparkling with excitement. I can't help but love this side of him. He gets an idea into his head and he runs with it, so eager to get started, so animated and open. Nothing will stand in his way, and I respect that about him.

"I love you," I tell him, seemingly out of the blue; he throws me a look, narrowing his eyes warily.

"I love you too." I'll never get tired of hearing him say those words. "What's going on?"

Maybe it's my sad smile, or the way my eyes water, or the way I'm suddenly studying my beer, but it tips him off and now he's suspicious. I guess it's now or never, and holding off this talk is tearing me apart.

"I …" My words trail off, and I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, looking anywhere but at Edward. "I got accepted into Harvard." My face scrunches into a grimace as I tell him, slowly relaxing as I'm met with silence that seems to stretch on and on. Looking up at him slowly, I brace myself for what he's about to say.

"Yeah?" His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. I nod. "Congrats." He quickly touches the neck of his beer bottle to mine and then takes a long drink. I watch his Adam's apple bob.

That's it?

"Thanks." My voice is weak, hurt. He's going to do this again—shrug it off and change the subject. I'm well versed in Edward's diversion tactics now.

"I got some new paints." There it is. I sigh, trying to blink away the tears that threaten to spill.

"Edward," I plead, hoping he hears the desperation in my voice. "Can we talk about this?"

"About what?" He's distracted again, standing quickly to make his way to the window, looking out as the snow starts to fall, thick flakes that settle heavy on every surface of the city. Usually, I'd find this situation and environment cozy, curled on the sofa in a warm apartment as winter rages outside. But nothing about this situation is warm or comforting. My heart is thudding, my throat feels tight, and my vision is blurring.

"About … what we're going to do when I leave for Boston. About … us."

He keeps his attention on the buildings and the snow outside, but he's rigid; his shoulders are tense, and his fingers are gripping his beer too tightly.

"What's there to say?" he answers eventually, tilting his head to look up at the heavy sky, still refusing to look at me. "You'll go to Boston and be great … become even more amazing than you are now."

The tears fall: slow, steady droplets that feel like hailstones on my cheeks. I can't look away from him, but he can't look at me. I feel as though I'm talking to the wall under Edward's palm.

"Look at me, Edward. Please?"

He sighs and drops his head but turns to face me, his face a blank mask.

"Come to Boston with me?" I ask, relief coursing through my body, lifting a weight from my shoulders. There, I've said it; I've put it out there.

His eyes widen and he inhales deeply through his nose, a sharp sound, like I've slapped him, and maybe I have, verbally. He doesn't look happily surprised or even as though he's considering what I just asked. Instead, he scoffs—an instant dismissal that feels like a punch to the gut.

"Fucking Boston." He's laughing, but there's no humor in it. "Yeah, okay," he deadpans. "And what would I do in Boston, huh?" With every word he speaks, he grows angrier.

"Anything you want to," I offer desperately. "You can do anything."

Shaking his head, he looks over his shoulder, toward the outside world. "I'm not leaving Chicago."

I shouldn't be surprised; I can't imagine him ever leaving Chicago, but it's the way he says it, so void of any emotion. It feels as though he isn't even trying, and I think that's what is worst of all. He's not remorseful for the way he feels; he's not taking his time to explain his reasoning. It's a closed case—not up for discussion. End of story and I'm just supposed to deal and accept that. It makes me feel like he doesn't care, at all. About me, about us.

"Ask me to stay," I beg, the tears still flowing, my voice cracking, sobs eager to break free.

"I'd never ask you to do that."

"Why?"

"Because Harvard is your dream!" His voice gets louder as he speaks, his hands curling into fists and his eyes narrowing. "Because I can't imagine ever asking you to change who you are, or what you love … the places you love, for me. I'm not that selfish."

Ouch.

I shake my head, though the gesture is timid. "I'm not asking you to do that."

"Aren't you?" He's sneering at me—and I hate it—spitting his words, lacing them with venom as he accuses me of being selfish.

I try to keep an even head; I'm battling with reason, trying to see things from his perspective without my own bias, but it's hard, and it's tearing me apart. If he won't come to Boston and he won't ask me to stay, I don't know what else there is. I don't know how this can continue—I'm losing him and I've never felt crippling agony like this before. I've never felt panic and desperation like this as they all blur and rage within me.

Why doesn't he care? I don't understand, but I want to. I need to.

Eventually, I hear him sigh, but I can't look up, not even when his footsteps approach and the sofa dips as he sits down, so close I can feel his body heat and smell his cigarette-and-leather scent. Instinctively, I want to lean in, drop my head to his chest, and forget everything that's just been said—but I can't. There's no going back from this; the cards are on the table, and there's no order to them. There's no strategy—they've been dropped, face up—and it's carnage.

"Bella?" His voice is softer now, almost sweet, tentative. If I look at him, I'll only cry harder and I don't want him to see. I want to run and hide, but there's a storm raging outside, and the snow is blanketing everything in its path. We're trapped here, with our card hands shown, and they're bad. "Look at me, please?"

Shaking my head, I sniffle and bite my lip, acting like the sulky teenager I am. I can't face our reality right now.

His fingers on my cheek make me jump, but his touch is soft as he pushes my hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear. "I love you," he whispers. "Please believe that … but, you need to do this, for you. Harvard is a massive deal, and I'll only hold you back."

"You won't—"

"I will." There's a faint trace of humor in his voice, and I know he's smiling. "I can't do that to you."

"I can't lose you."

"Maybe you won't?"

Confused, I finally raise my head to meet his eyes, and they're so vibrant and green, so intense and open, so soft that it takes my breath away. He's so beautiful, and broken, and I don't want him to be. I don't want me to be either.

"We've still got"—he looks toward the ceiling, calculating—"six months, right?"

I nod, swallowing hard.

"A lot can happen in six months." At my incredulous expression, he continues. "Maybe Harvard will burn down?" We both chuckle at that, only stopping when his thumb moves to wipe my fallen tears from my cheek. "Maybe I'll wake up one morning and decide I hate this fucking city." I roll my eyes and he smiles, his expression turning playful. "Maybe I'll knock you up and decide I wanna be a stay-at-home dad while you study." I snort, and he does too. That's a ridiculous thought, but it's nice to joke after so much tension.

"Maybe I'll kidnap you and take you to Boston against your will?"

One of his eyebrows hitches. "Only if it involves tying me up."

I can't help but blush, rolling my eyes too, and then I shrug because the idea makes me hot all over and I'm definitely not against it.

"Yeah?" There's playfulness in his tone now, and I want to hang on to it.

"It …" I don't know what to say, or how to say it, but now I'm picturing Edward tied to his bed as I have my wicked way with him, and crisis averted, because I'm so turned on I can't think of anything else right now. "Sounds … fun."

His breath hitches, and quick as a flash, I'm off the sofa and thrown over his shoulder. Squealing, I drop my beer, but Edward couldn't care less as he walks me to his bedroom.

My breath leaves me in a whoosh as he throws me onto the bed, his gaze predatory as he stands above me, looking down, taking his time to commit every inch of me to memory.

"That went from zero to one hundred in no time," I say through a girlish giggle, my whole body prickling in anticipation. He hums as he watches me, making me squirm. "What are you planning?" I ask warily, not moving.

"I'm going first," is all he says, before swooping down and capturing my mouth with his, pushing me farther into the mattress as he climbs onto the bed, hovering over me. I whimper, allowing him to take the lead, like always; putty in his warm hands as he kisses me like it's his last.

Suddenly, I sit up, terrified. He moves back as I push forward, sitting on his heels, watching me confused. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"Tell me this isn't goodbye," I plead, suddenly panicked and helpless. The way he kissed me, the emotion I felt, it felt … too heavy, too much and now my mind is reeling and my heart is thudding for all the wrong reasons.

"What the fuck, Bella?" Reaching up, he grips his hair quickly before letting his hand fall heavily onto his thigh. "Why would you think that?"

I swallow hard, moving onto my knees, reaching out to touch his face and hold it. "It just felt …" I don't know what I felt; I don't know what I can tell him right now. I'm confused and upset, torn between my heart and my head, and for the first time, I'm not sure this is a good idea. "It felt like … goodbye." Even saying the word hurts, and my voice cracks right alongside my heart.

"Hey," he whispers, cradling my own face in his hands and forcing me to look at him. "What did I say? We've got time, remember? We'll figure this out."

I nod, trying to let his words sink in and stay there, hoping they'll calm my erratic pulse. "Yeah." I sigh heavily before pulling his face toward me and kissing him, softer this time, almost pleading, but no less desperate. "I love you," I tell him as I take a breath.

He's no longer mischievous as he returns the kiss, all thought of light bondage discarded; this is much softer, much more controlled, as though we're savoring each other and there's no rush. Over and over, I repeat his words in my head.

We'll figure this out. We've got time.

It becomes a mantra as he pushes me onto my back again, moving over me. My hands find his strong shoulders, working their way down until I can grasp his shirt and pull it over his head. For a moment, I do nothing but look at his face. He watches me just as closely. His hair is more mussed, tousled by the removal of his shirt; his eyes are darker, but softer, calmer. When I arch up, rubbing our groins together, his eyes close and his jaw slackens. I find myself studying him closer than I ever have before, unable to shake the feeling that we're on borrowed time.

There's a cloud of impending doom above us, dropping thick flakes of snow onto the ground outside, but for now, I just want to forget. I think Edward does too; his hands are slow as he undresses me, his eyes intent on the skin bared to him, inch by inch. He's relishing. I am too. I never want to forget this—the way this feels, the way he feels, how he makes me feel.

His lips are soft as they explore my body, making me whimper and mewl as his hair tickles my sensitive skin. His tattoo glows in the dim lighting, the storm outside raging and bathing us in a light, white hue. The wind sounds ravenous against the windows, making them rattle as it whistles through the worn cracks in the brickwork. With every kiss of his lips, and flick of his tongue, my body grows hotter, begging for more, holding on to all it can, vowing to remember—always.

My fingers shake as I undo his jeans and push them off his hips, my hands itching to touch every part of him. If he notices, he doesn't say.

When we're both naked, we do nothing but look at each other for a long time, his arms effortlessly holding him up, his body hovering over mine, his legs nestled between my own. No words are spoken as he dips his head to kiss me and lines his cock up to my entrance. I moan, and he swallows it, pushing his hips forward, achingly slow with his movements.

It's like the first time all over again, a torrent of emotions driving our movements as my legs lift to wrap themselves around his waist, urging him forward, deeper.

His mouth is everywhere: my neck, my collarbone, my breasts, and my nipples; his ministrations drawing forth desperate whimpers from my mouth as he thrusts his hips and flicks his tongue in perfect sync.

It feels like time is standing still, but at the same time, it's flying by. I don't want this moment to end, but my body is beginning to ache for release.

"Please," I whimper, needing more physically. Emotionally, this is too much. His eyes watch me; his mouth burns; his fingers grip me like they never want to let go, even though I know they will. Soon. It makes it hurt more; my heart is breaking, knowing he will let me go, unsure of whether or not it will hurt him half as much as it will hurt me. I'm on a one-way track, and the destination will destroy me.

Suddenly and effortlessly, he flips us over, so I'm straddling him as he lies back.

He smiles softly up at me. "I can see more of you this way." Eyes still locked, I begin to rock my hips over him, moaning into the air, desperate to keep my eyes on him, but finding it too painful to do so. His hands are soft as they glide up my thighs, toward my clit. The soft pressure of his thumb causes me to cry out and drives me closer and closer to climax, making me work his cock harder and faster. His head falls back, his groans making my warm skin tingle and my heart beat heavily.

"Fuck, Bella," he moans, moving one hand to my hips, guiding my movements for a moment, setting a rhythm, before it works upwards, to my breast, squeezing. One thumb works my clit expertly as the other takes turns on my sensitive nipples. His chest is strong and smooth under my palms, his heart thudding, spurring me on.

"I'm so close," I tell him, biting into my bottom lip.

He smirks. "I know." Sitting up suddenly, he brings us face to face, one hand moving to cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer until we're breathing into each other's mouths between soft, lazy kisses. I feel him tense inside me as his orgasm approaches; I hear the change in his breathing, feel the change in his body and his movements, see the strain on his face as he tries to hold back.

It's no use, and the sight of him in such a way, his thumb on my clit and his cock large and punishing inside me, is more than enough to throw me over the edge. The build is quick, a tightening in my belly, a tingle, an urge; a coil that begs to be released within me and without warning. I feel as though I explode, calling his name, dropping my head and biting his shoulder as he pulls me closer to his chest. One, two, three erratic thrusts as he follows, his cock pulsing and spilling inside me, his body shuddering with every spurt of his release.

And then silence. Nothing but our staggered breathing and sweating bodies as they fight to regulate themselves.

"I need a smoke," Edward says finally, chuckling, breaking the heavy tension. I smile and kiss his shoulder. "Come with me?" he asks, moving to wrap the comforter around my shoulders, creating a warm cocoon.

"It's really cold out. It's snowing."

He shrugs. "I'll keep you warm." Kissing my forehead, he shifts himself, both of us groaning as his cock slips out of me.

"Put it back," I whine, making us both laugh, missing the heat and feel of him inside me.

"I will, I promise." He winks and then stands, taking me with me as he navigates through his small apartment toward the fire exit. We fumble, trying to keep us both wrapped tightly as he steps through the open window.

The air is like ice, the snowflakes large as the fall relentlessly. The city sounds quiet, so peaceful, so different to how it usually sounds.

"I love it here," I say as I settle into Edward's lap, leaning my back into his chest and pulling the comforter tighter, making sure we're both covered. We're naked, but we're hidden—the metal staircase above offering a breezy shelter—cold but warm as Edward lights a cigarette over my shoulder, snaking his free hand around my waist and pulling me into him.

"I love it when you're here," he whispers into my ear, both of us looking out into the city ahead. A moment of reprieve in our lives, a stall in the emotional rollercoaster. For a moment, we're peaceful and calm, and so is the city around us.

I wish I could stay like this forever.

A/N

I know, I know ... college acceptances don't usually arrive so early in the year, but this is my story and I'm asking you to just ... go with it :)

Thank you so much for reading!

I can't wait to hear your thoughts.