A/N: Happy Mothers Day to all, here's an extra chapter :)

Thank you to cullenlvr83 for always pre-reading so quickly, you're amazing. Check out her stories, she's brilliant!

You are a little soul carrying around a corpse~

We're lying together on the couch; I'm mostly on top of him, my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. He's trailing his fingers up and down my back, goosebumps forming on my skin from his touch. No words are spoken between us—just a comfortable, blissful silence.

I'm tracing the ink on his skin, surprised by how many times I've seen him naked; I'm still discovering new tattoos. Black and color swirls blending into each other, some so detailed they look as if they could come to life. So much mystery behind the meaning of them. Many questions fill my mind, but I don't want to ruin the silence.

Does his artwork tell stories? Is that another way I can find out more about him? Are his secrets and struggles there—open, exposed on his skin, and I've just never looked deep enough to see—to understand?

My fingers reach beneath his armpit; tiny cursive words trail down the side of his ribcage that are hard to read unless you're incredibly close to it. I squint my eyes, trying to make out the words.

You are a little soul carrying around a corpse.

My chest tightens, and an ache forms when I see those words. So morbid, so heartbreaking if he feels that way. Well, he must. Why else would he get those words tattooed on him if they didn't mean anything?

Tears prick my eyes, and sadness rushes over me in waves. I feel his pain and his hurt, but I want to understand it more.

All the words he's ever said to me surfaced in my mind.

I was so fucked up before I met you.

Before you, I was nothing. I wasn't alive.

Before you, I fucking hated everyone, everything—especially myself.

I can't help the words that fall from my lips, not wanting to ruin this peaceful moment between us, but also needing to understand every part of him.

"This is so sad. Do you really feel this way?" I question, my voice barely above a whisper.

He peers down to see what I'm talking about. Once he sees the tattoo I'm curious about, a frown etches on his face, his eyes dark and heavy. He's silent for a moment, thinking hard about his response, being careful with his words, not wanting to give too much away.

"Doesn't everyone?" He responds with a humorless laugh

I think about his words and he's kind of right. We all play the game, pretending we're all satisfied with our mundane lives, hide our misery with a smile on our faces and make everyone believe we're happy, but is anyone—really?

Edward just doesn't hide it. That's what makes him different. He doesn't pretend he's fine when he's not. He doesn't trust people and has his guard up, so no one else has the power to break it down. He calls people out on their bullshit and doesn't bother getting close to people. What's the point if they're going to break you anyway?

That's how he was with me in the beginning, but I was the only one he let in—the exception. And I let him down, but I won't—ever again.

It reminds me of a quote I once read. The world is full of monsters with friendly faces.

I want to know who hurt him so badly. Who broke him into pieces for me to piece them back together.

He reaches down and lightly grips my chin to look up at him.

"You are the first thing to make me feel a little more than just a corpse." Although the words are somber, the smirk on his face contradicts them, trying to make light of the situation. The sex must've really eased the tension in him, or that we're back together after he thought he lost me.

I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of his words. Edward is the most inauspicious, romantic person I've met if that even makes sense.

We're sure a fucked up couple because those words warm my heart. We may never fully heal from our pasts and life will never be perfect, but I think we might be ok. As long as we have each other, our open wounds will hopefully fade to dull scars.