A/N: This is a one-shot I wrote for a story exchange on Facebook. I thought I'd convert it into a twi fic and let you all read. It's pretty angsty - apparently. This is what the person I wrote it for said. I must be becoming immune because I honestly didn't think it was that bad. Anyway, I hope it makes up for my updating suckage, and that you enjoy it.
It was originally titled "Heaven" but I already have a OS with that name, so...
Moonlight Sonata
On a graveled elbow of road along Ocean Boulevard, Edward guides his car to a stop and pulls the handbrake. Dusk is approaching and the sun is just beginning to sink below the horizon of the Northern Atlantic.
When we were kids we used to believe this same seemingly endless stretch of coastline where we spent our summers was the end of the world, and I guess, to a young mind, that's what it must have appeared; ocean as far as the eye could see.
Neither of us move. Or speak. Edward keeps both hands around the steering wheel, his brow heavily knotted and his eyes fixed ahead of him. I know that expression intimately and instinctively shy away from it.
My head bows and my eyes drift to my clasped hands stiff in my lap. Tangled in my right fist is the hem of my dress, and it suddenly occurs to me how haphazard my clothes are; cotton dress, over-sized wool cardigan, odd socks, Adidas slides and my father's bucket hat.
I don't even recall getting dressed.
With a soft clearing of his throat, Edward breaks the silence. I turn to him and he raises both eyebrows, his wide eyes flooding with silent questions.
Is here okay? Do you want to get out? Do you still hate me?
Nodding, I deliberately sever his gaze unsure what I'm replying to.
"Heaven—"
"Edward," I complain wearily, but my convictions are hollow and my anger falls short.
Don't call me that; that's not my name. We've already had that conversation.
Edward's shoulders raise, and expelling his breath, he pulls his keys from the ignition. That's the cue to leave, and grabbing the door handle, I shove it open.
The off-shore winds are cool and gusty, and planting my palm to the top of my head to keep my hat in place, I head toward the narrow pathway that trails to the small formation of tide pools down to the beach.
Edward's right behind me. He takes my elbow when I almost lose my footing on a steeper incline, but otherwise, he maintains a quiet distance between us.
While I love the shoreline, I hate sand. I hate that it gets stuck between your fingers and toes, in your ears and hair; I hate that it's almost impossible to get out of your clothes, but most of all, I hate sex on it.
Well aware of my sentiments, Edward stops me before we reach the beach, and without a word, I drop to a dry, elevated section of rock and draw my knees.
I'm cold; it's not something I can disguise and Edward notices.
"What the hell are you wearing, Bells?" There's a teasing hesitancy behind his tone that almost makes me smile.
"I didn't think about it."
"I've got a blanket in the—"
"It's fine. I-I'm fine," I stammer.
He scoffs to himself; he knows it's a lie as much as I do, and for the next several moments we fall back into silence. "Hey, Hevs..." He's apprehensive, but abandoning it, he stuffs his fists into the front pocket of his jeans.
My eyes follow before traveling down his long, denim-clad legs crossed at the ankle. He's so tall. He was 6'2 when he left high school, and he's grown at least another inch since. It's what I loved about Jay. At only 5'8 I never had to strain my neck to see his face. Still, it was one of his biggest insecurities, and whether he was aware of it or not, he was always comparing himself to Edward.
I assured him constantly that it was over between us, but I don't think he ever truly believed me. It's not that I could ever blame him, though. Edward was always waiting in the wings, larger than life, and then there was our history...
"You were always with those Cullen boys." It was one of the first things Jay said to me.
The Cullen boys, Mike, Tyler, and Edward, have lived across the street from me practically since birth, and always felt more like brothers to me and my older brother Jacob than they did neighbors. Our fathers are work colleagues, our mothers dormed together in college, and Jacob and Tyler are best bros. Edward's family were like an extension of mine, so Jay was absolutely right; I was always with them. Edward more specifically, but Edward never felt like a brother to me.
Edward was the quintessential boy next door. At not quite two years older than me, he was the boy I grew up with. The boy who was my childhood, my adolescence. The boy who took my heart before I was aware I had given it away—before I knew what it meant to give it away. And the boy who eventually broke it.
"Heaven," Edward attempts a second time before realizing his error,"—I mean, Bella."
"Edward..." With an internal sigh I let it go. He's been calling me Heaven for a decade, and old habits break hard, I guess. Still, hearing him speak my actual name sounds almost foreign.
I've been Heaven to him since third grade when I sang the song of the same name by Bryan Adams in our school's annual talent show. I won, and what started out as Edward's teasing quickly stuck.
For too long I loved it. Apart of me still does.
"I missed your birthday."
I don't make eye contact; I can't. My gaze remains centered on his hands, and I watch as he pulls a small box free from his pocket and holds it out to me.
I take it, my smile momentarily pulling freely to the surface despite how bitter-sweet it is. He painted the box pink; I'm fairly certain he's never given me a pink one before. For my eighteenth birthday it was yellow. I threw it back at him.
"Thanks," I mumble. I don't open it. I don't need to. I've known what's been inside these match boxes since I was seven; a small note rolled and tied with colored string that reads "Redeemable for one wish." Usually it came with an adage tacked on the end. Something along the lines of "I'll give you anything within reason". At least, that's what they became over the last few years. The first wish Edward gifted me wasn't as sophisticated. He was in second grade and I was in first. He'd drawn a crude green T. rex over the used match box and inside the paper was scrunched into a ball. On it he'd written "To Bells, I promise to do whatever you want me to do for your birthday because I spent all my allowance."
I asked him to give me his chocolate cake for lunch the next day at school. He grumbled about it, but he honored his promise and I ate his as well as mine, and ended up with a terrible stomach ache.
When I turned eight, I asked him to give me half his secret stash of popping bubblegum because my mother was one of those strange anti-gum parents who firmly believed I'd choke to death the instant I put it in my mouth.
At nine, I asked him to teach me to ride his skateboard without making fun of me.
For my tenth birthday, he had to tell all his friends that I was the prettiest girl in school.
For my eleventh, I wanted him to hold my hand on the bus on the way to and from school.
At twelve, I asked him to write me a song.
Edward's written me a lot of songs, but that was the first. Music was not only what connected us, but glued us together. It was something we both did well, and like our friendship, something that came naturally.
For Edward it's guitar, for me, piano. At ten I was labeled a prodigy, and at sixteen I was pre-accepted into Juilliard. Of course, like most parents of a gifted child, mine became oppressively overbearing and turned something I was born to do into a chore I inevitably began to resent. Piano class for four hours a day perfecting Bach, Chopin, Mozart and Beethoven when all I ever wanted to do was write my own scores and add lyrics with Edward.
We used to busk on the boardwalk during the summers when we were little, but what started out as our mothers' idea quickly became tradition. Usually, I played the keyboard, with Edward on his acoustic guitar, singing. He has perfect pitch, we both do, but Edward's voice is liquid gold, both rustic and smooth and sexy as hell.
It was his voice I fell in love with first, I'm sure of it. His smile was a close second, but he's too tall.
We've established that.
The precipice came on my thirteenth birthday; I asked Edward to kiss me.
That was when things started to change between us. When we moved beyond the point of no return as we transitioned from kids goofing around, singing and jamming in his room to doing a whole lot of stuff we weren't ready for. At least, I wasn't ready for it. Edward, at twenty-two months older, always felt a decade ahead of me.
"You sure, Hevs?" he asked after he read my wish—he always left space for me to write it beneath his note. He was dubious and maybe a little uncertain, but he'd never refused me before. "It's not something you do once, you know?"
I shrugged self-consciously and stared down at my bare feet against the dark hardwood of his bedroom floor. "I know."
"You kissed anyone before?"
I looked up into his more-green-than-hazel eyes and scoffed in emphasis. "How could I? Everyone thinks you're my boyfriend."
"They think I'm with this ugly mug?" He flicked my nose and threw me a cheeky grin.
"I'm not ugly—don't be an asshole." I masked my growing awkwardness behind irritation, convinced he was stalling, but he wasn't.
"Alright, get over here." His voice was exasperated but I knew it was feigned. He always caved, always, and grabbing my arm he pulled me to him and kissed me.
It took more than a few attempts before I could respond to him without descending into a fit of giggles, but by the time my mother called me home for dinner that evening I knew everything was different with us. And there was no going back.
At fourteen I asked him to kiss only me. By that time in between music that's what we were doing. It was my young, naïve way of keeping hold of him because at almost sixteen he'd caught the eye of just about every girl at school.
It was unavoidable; he was Elvis' reincarnation with a Boston accent and growing as good looking as he was tall. He won the talent show that year singing We Will Rock You on his electric guitar.
I didn't enter. The other mothers complained. I had an unfair advantage and no one likes a show off. The poor little child prodigy that I was.
At fifteen came the inevitable; I asked him to take my virginity, but by that point, it was more permission than it was a wish. It was the only thing we weren't doing, and I was constantly reminded about Edward's blue balls. I was over my head and beginning to feel as if I was drifting with the tide, but it was Edward. He'd never hurt me, never disrespect me. Edward was my favorite person in the world and if I couldn't trust him, I couldn't trust anyone.
By the time I was sixteen we'd crossed every single threshold possible. We had sex most days in every place you could imagine; sex on the beach more times than I could count, but that year I never gave him back my wish. It was the only time I was worried he'd refuse.
I asked him to be my boyfriend.
This was despite everyone just naturally assuming we were a couple. The entire school, our parents; his brothers; mine—everyone. My mother even took me to Planned Parenthood to get the pill. I mean, we were always together, and we were having sex, so why wouldn't they think we were dating?
That was also the year I got beaten up by the plastics. Lauren Mallory had been in love with Edward since Kindergarten, and he'd rejected every one of her advances to date. I often bore the brunt of it, but usually it was whispered intimidation and rumors. Occasionally she yanked my hair or shoved me as she was walking past in the halls, but it never got really physical.
Her and her cliques ambushed me after getting off the school bus. Most days Edward drove me home, but that day he was kept back. I couldn't wait for him; I had piano from four to seven. His parents bought all their kids cars as soon as they got their permits. Mine dangled a car in front of me as a bribe, subject only to my Juilliard acceptance letter. So, I had no choice but to take the bus until I graduated.
There was five of them and I got my ass beat. I have no idea how long it lasted, but it ended when Edward and Mike arrived.
When Edward wasn't with me, he was with Mike. They're twins, not identical and different in every way imaginable, but they're tight. Tyler, the oldest, was the brains, Edward was the musician and Mike the athlete, and out of the three boys, he was the one I legitimately saw as my brother. Mike would go head to head with Edward to back me up.
Edward threw Mike's basketball at Lauren's head so hard it knocked her sideways off her feet, and Mike grabbed Jessica Stanley's phone as she filmed and smashed it to the ground. That's when Edward yanked me into his arms, and it was over. I was a wreck, battered and bruised and bawling like a baby.
"Hev..." Edward's voice dropped with concern, and slipping his hand to my chin he coaxed me to look at him.
"Don't," I sobbed, pressing my face further against his chest.
He huffed with an odd mixture of concern and amusement. "Stop being a baby and give me a look." He forced my face free, and while initially his eyes widened with alarm, they quickly narrowed. "Those fucking bitches!"
"Is it bad?" I asked, clumsily wiping my tears dry only to immediately flinch. "Ow!"
"Yeah, you're gonna have a shiner. Still gorgeous, though." He winked and his smile turned tender, and that's all he had to do for the rainclouds to part.
He piggy-backed me home, like he often did anyway, and got his mother to patch me up so my parents wouldn't freak. My hands were unscathed, and to them, anything else would have been collateral damage.
They screamed at me for an hour straight, regardless. I should have avoided such a situation, and therefore, I was complicit as equally as I was careless and irresponsible. All I really heard though was "my career, my career, my career", but what career? I was already beginning to question Juilliard.
Later that night Edward climbed through my bedroom window, promised me the world, told me how much he loved me and how he'd never let anyone hurt me again, and then proceeded to fuck me.
We never made love, me and Edward, and I started to think there was no such term; that it was all Disney. While, Edward could make love to me with words, with his body it was always purely physical.
I told myself it was enough. I was young and stupid and blinded by the magnitude of him, and I was fully prepared to eat up every breadcrumb he tossed my way.
The second Edward left to return home, I descended into self-pity and cried myself to sleep. As much as I kept myself carefully immersed in my delusions of what Edward and I were, I knew not only was I lying to myself, but I was lying to him.
"Never tell our folks, Hevs, okay?" He always made me promise. "They'll never get it. They don't understand us."
What he was really saying was they'd never approve of how he was taking advantage of me. I knew it then as much as I do now.
For my seventeenth birthday Edward's wishes stopped meaning what they once did. I couldn't ask him what I really wanted, so I asked for something completely arbitrary; a purse. He came through, but I hated the sight of that damned thing from the day he gave it to me. It remains, to this day, in the dust cover it came with in the back of my closet.
By that time, Edward had left high school. Unlike Mike who was offered a full football scholarship to Ohio State, Edward didn't even graduate. He failed abysmally, but academics were never high up on his list of priorities. Instead, he packed himself up, grabbed his guitar case and started looking for gigs in clubs and bars in the city.
He was an immediate hit. Minimum wage, of course, but everything he made was through tips. The audience loved him; women mostly. I saw it firsthand myself one Saturday night. Women of all ages and social standing threw themselves at him; the crooner with the voice of gold and honey. He oozed James Dean, could sing like Sinatra, and smashed his guitar like Jimi Hendrix.
Within a year he had a million followers on YouTube. He posted videos weekly singing everything from Freddie Mercury to Ray Charles and Ed Sheeran, and sans record label, he recorded and released his own songs to iTunes and Spotify.
It was only a matter of time before he scored a record deal, though. Edward was the whole package; looks, talent and oodles and oodles of sex appeal. He was going places and steadily moving into another universe; it scared me to death.
I wasn't even sure who I was without him. My entire identity was always entwined with his.
He was gone every weekend working the bars, but on the weeknights he partied, and then came home drunk or high on weed, crawled through my bedroom window and into my bed. He always reassured me that I was his favorite girl—something he always insisted was a gaffe since it implied he had many—that he loved me more than the stars, and then he fucked me before going home to sleep it off.
For the next year, that's how it was between us. If he was awake in the mornings, he drove me to school. If he was sober in the afternoons he picked me up. When we were together, we made music but never love, even as Edward told me how much he loved me; how much I meant to him. He told me that almost as much as we had sex. He made me every promise under the sun that I soon began to suspect was nothing more than well-rehearsed lies designed to keep me from abandoning him. We had a codependency with each other that was unhealthy, but I would rather die than leave him, and he had me right where he wanted; in his heart and his bed.
But that was about to change.
A few months before my eighteenth birthday, I walked into Edward's parent's house to a warzone. Like Jacob, Tyler and Mike were home for Christmas, and Tyler and Edward were fighting—really fighting. Edward's nose was bloody, and Tyler's left eyebrow was bleeding just as profusely. Mike was attempting to pull them apart but was failing. They smashed furniture and dented walls before falling to the ground with their faces inches apart as they spat venom at each other.
That's when they noticed me.
"Tell her, Edward!" Tyler demanded through clenched teeth. "Bella—"
"Shut your fucking mouth!" Edward immediately interjected, shoving his forearm into Tyler's face. "I'll fucking kill you."
"Tell her or I will!" Tyler threatened, turning his head away from him, and wedging his knee into Edward's chest, he sent Edward sprawling across the foyer.
Mike caught him and the two of them fell against the stairs.
"T-tell me what?" I asked as my voice failed, but I knew. I knew.
"Hevs—"
"Bella, create a new account and follow Edward on Face—"
"You fucking cocksucker!"
"Ty, let him tell her," Mike spoke up, and he sounded...resigned.
"Edward?" I turned to him, the tears already streaming down my cheeks. I felt like I was caught in an endless cycle of déjà vu, or maybe I'd just been anticipating this moment for so long.
He only stared at me, his head shaking back and forth with more than an edge of desperation as blood oozed from his nose and over his lips.
"I'm sorry, Bella," Tyler began as Edward's head immediately snapped to his brother, his expression morphing with equal parts anger and alarm, "but Edward's been fucking around."
Edward exploded and charged at Tyler as Mike threw himself between them. I only watched, frozen to the spot with my hands over my ears like I was five, but I couldn't block him out, or this truth my subconscious had long since been whispering to me.
They say shock suspends you, and I guess that's what it felt like, except a part of me was relieved. Relieved that I wasn't imagining the scent of perfume infused with his clothes, or the smudge of lipstick that was often over the collars of his shirts.
"Edward..." I pulled myself together enough to speak his name, but that's all I had in me, and numb, I turned and walked out the front door.
I made it to the curb before I threw up, and that's when Edward practically collided with me.
"Hevs—baby, listen to me!" He grabbed my upper arms and yanked me to face him. He was still gasping, his eyes wide and overrun with panic, and his entire face red, swollen and strewn with still trickling blood. "It doesn't—"
"Is it true?" I put to him near inaudibly.
"'Course it's not true!"
"You're not fucking other girls?" I asked skeptically.
"I'm not with anyone but you," he deliberately avoided the question.
"That's not what I asked you," I said, my voice a flat monotone.
"Hev..."
"You're an asshole!" Shoving him from me, I took an unsteady step away from him when he immediately grabbed my hand. "Let me go!"
"Heaven—"
"My name's not Heaven!"
"Come on, Bells, it was just fucking. It means nothing. Not like you and—"
"Let me the fuck go!" I yelled as angry as I was hurt before roughly jerking myself free. His words stung more than the revelation that he'd been screwing around, because while he'd been fucking other girls that's exactly what he was doing with me. It was never different.
We only fucked; nothing more.
It was at my front porch when he again stopped me.
"Hevs." His voice was soft and responsive, his eyes beseeching as they searched mine. I refused to hold them. "Baby, let's go inside and ta—"
"I hate you, you whoring piece of shit," I whispered, fighting back tears, but it was another battle I was losing. They spilled over and ran silently down my cheeks. I didn't bother attempting to conceal them from him, and in defeat, I dropped my face to my hands and sobbed.
"Fucking hell, Bells, I'm..." He sighed heavily and drew me against him, but I couldn't bear it. When once his touch made my skin come alive, right then it was making it crawl, and I practically convulsed.
"Get your fucking hands off me!" I forced him back and slapped his face so hard, the impact splattered his blood all over the front door. "You fucked around on me, Edward! And you fucked me unprotected. You might not give a shit what you catch, but you didn't give a shit about me!" I was crying openly, but I didn't care that he was witnessing how much he'd hurt me. It was inconsequential. It was over. All of it.
"I-I wore condoms with them," he said in a small voice as if he knew how paltry and pathetic it was.
I laughed dryly and completely without humor. "What a fucking gentleman. Get away from me before I call my father and tell him everything."
"Heaven—"
"My name is NOT HEAVEN!" I roared so loudly he cringed subtly away from me. "NOW LEAVE—GO!" I thrust my finger toward the road as my voice echoed up and down along it.
"Okay, I'll go, but this isn't over. I love you. I always will," he murmured, meeting my eyes briefly before he turned his back on me and headed toward his house.
My mouth fell open in complete and utter disbelief, and without a word, I watched his tall frame as he walked away. His head was bowed, his shoulders slumped, but all I could conceive of was how the hell could he possibly call what he felt for me—what he did to me—love?
The next morning, as if nothing had happened, he pulled his car alongside me as I was heading to the bus stop, and leaning over, he shoved open the passenger side door.
"Get in, Hev, I'll drive you to school."
"Fuck off!" I snapped and continued walking, even as my hands shook and as I discreetly angled my tear-streaked face away from him.
"Hey!" He hit the brakes and jumped out with his motor still running. "Come on, Bells, let's talk."
I snorted at the absolute audacity of him. "What do you want to talk about?—how you expect me to get over the fact that you were sticking your dick in anything with legs while you were also sticking it in me?"
"Hev..." he complained softly, reaching out to grab my arm, only to immediately second-guess himself and withdraw it. "It's a fucking mess, I know, but we just got stuck in this...routine."
"What routine? The routine of me being your booty call? Go fuck yourself, arrogant asshole," I muttered, attempting to push past him when he immediately stopped me.
"Heaven"—he yanked his fingers back through his hair in an obvious fit of frustration—"I can't just walk away from you. You're in my fucking heart forever. You always have been."
"Bullshit." I'm not even remotely convinced. "If I was in your heart then why didn't you ask me to be your girlfriend?"
He paused and his gaze momentarily fell to the ground. "That was never us, Hevs. We never had labels—"
"Fucking bullshit, Edward!" I blurted, imminently close to tears again. I got it; he couldn't look me in the eye when he lied to me, but it still ripped my heart out. "That's just a sugar-coated way of saying booty call, and I don't want to do it anymore."
"Then maybe we can—"
"No, we can't," I insisted, I wasn't sure what he was offering, just that I no longer wanted any part of it. "I don't know who you even are anymore. Maybe I never did."
"You know me, Heaven," he countered lowly as his eyes reached out to me with every one of his broken promises. "You know me better than anyone."
I shook my head adamantly. "Any faith I ever had in you is gone—and stop calling me Heaven. You no longer have the right to call me anything."
"Hev—Bells, Jesus! Okay, I fucked up, but I can't lose you like this." His remorse was obvious, but whether it was because he hurt me or he got caught, I wasn't sure. He'd become a stranger to me.
"You've already lost me," I said softly as his expression smoothed out with dismay.
"—No!"
"Yes," I snapped, my anger flaring. "You honestly want me to just cave and go back to fucking you? Are you really that much of a selfish asshole?" He opened his mouth to answer when I quickly added, "What would you do if I did this to you?—how would you feel?"
He scoffed to himself and flashed me a rueful smile. "You wouldn't. You're better than me."
"Yeah, I am. I'm going to Juilliard," I threw in his face like a bitch, but right then he deserved every word of it, "and you're a just a sleazy fuckboy selling your songs for sex."
It hurt him. Deeply. The pain of it burned behind his eyes and marred his face, and clearing it from his throat, he severed my gaze. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as I thought it'd be, though. It broke my heart that I broke his, but that's exactly what we were now; broken. As if we were ever whole. "Okay, I deserve that."
"You do," I whispered, fighting back fresh tears. "I waited for you, Edward. I waited for you to want me, but you never did, so let me go. I can't do this anymore."
"I'll always want you, Hev," he vowed softly, more to himself than to me.
I didn't reply; I didn't believe him, and when I walked past him a second time, he didn't stop me.
Still, I knew there was no escaping him in the short term. While I could hide from him at school, there was only two more days left until winter break, and like we did every year, our families had Christmas dinner together.
It was tense, conversation was sparse, and for the most part it, was spent in silence with nothing but the sounds of silver scraping on china. Edward's parents had obviously found out about what happened and their demeanor toward him was cool. Jacob was still none-the-wiser, and I was thankful for that at the very least. Jacob and Tyler had been close for as long as me and Edward had, and I didn't want anything to cause a rift in their friendship, least of all Tyler's cheating, scoundrel of a brother.
Still, Edward's eyes rarely left me.
I ignored him. At least, I tried to anyway, which only raised more questions in regards to us. We were usually the cheerful ones. The ones who kept conversation going even if it was between ourselves, so our silence was stark. My mother assumed we'd had a fight, and I let her think that's all it was.
I escaped before I snapped and outed him, and returned to my room for the rest of the night. The boys left not long after, Jacob with them, even if it took our parents a bit longer to throw in the towel. And while no one mentioned it, it was obvious the long-standing holiday tradition between our families had reached its conclusion.
. . .
During the winter break was when I realized the aftermath of investing all my time in one person. I had no friends and I was lonely and desperate for distraction.
The weekend following Christmas, while my parents were out of town, I contacted a girl from my Math class I was sort of on friendly terms with. There were a few parties taking place, and deciding to stop drowning in tears and pull my lame ass out from under Edward's shadow, I went.
I regretted it immediately. Drunk idiots making even bigger idiots of themselves when they weren't puking or having public sex.
Someone shoved a beer in my hand upon entry, and taking it with me, I made my way through the house to the back patio and sat down on the porch steps. Bringing the can to my lips, I deliberated how much time I needed to put in before it passed the threshold of pathetic.
I almost choked. I was a lightweight; it was something I found out only a few months before with Edward and Mike. Plus, I hated the taste of beer.
"Yeah, Brewskis are shit. Wanna cooler?"
I looked up and straight into a pair of sky blue eyes.
He was in my calculus class. I knew him. I mean, as much as I could know anyone whose surname wasn't Cullen. "Hey, Jasper."
"It's just Jay," he said, before moving to sit beside me.
"Jay," I amended with a smile.
"Try this." Screwing the top off a bottle filled with alcohol as blue as his eyes, he passed it to me.
"Thanks." I took a sip and discovered it was actually pretty tolerable.
"So, what are you doing out here in the cold on your own?" he asked simply.
"Putting in an obligatory amount of time before I can leave," I said truthfully, eliciting a chuckle from him. "You?"
"Hiding."
"From...?" I asked raising my brows.
"Alice," he answered quietly with a not-so-conspicuous scowl.
"You two fighting?" I was pretty sure Alice and Jasper had been dating for as long as Edward and I weren't.
"Broken up," he corrected.
"Uh-oh." I took a sip of the cooler, deciding I liked it a lot more than I originally thought. "Well...same."
Not really, but for the sake of small talk...
"You and Edward?" He was in disbelief and that really spoke volumes. The misconceptions people had about us...
"Yep, me and Edward," I echoed dryly.
"What happened?"
"You first."
"She was fucking around," he admitted, lowering the tone of his voice even as it darkened. "How about you?"
I opened my mouth to answer when I paused. Did I really want to lump some poor random guy with the tedious story of me and Edward? "Same," I eventually went with, scoffing to myself this time.
If only.
"Fuck, sorry," he offered, sounding genuinely sincere, and it occurred to me that I didn't even get an apology from Edward.
"You too."
"Yeah..." he mumbled, taking a sip from his drink, and the guy was really struggling, I realized.
"It's shit, right?"
"It's shit alright. I wouldn't have come if I knew she was going to be here," he muttered, throwing his half-full bottle across the snow-clumped yard.
"Wanna hatch an escape plan?" I joked, and turning to me he laughed. It was one hundred percent fucked up, but it came easily.
For both of us.
Over the next few hours, Jay and I chatted, commiserated together, and sat huddled beside each other to preserve our body heat, and it suddenly struck me how easy it was to talk to another guy. My whole life was so consumed by Edward that I missed the rest of the world as it turned around me.
"You know, I kinda had a crush on you in middle school," he fessed up courtesy of his alcohol loose lips, and he was well on his way to drunk, "but you were always around those Cullen boys."
I laughed for want of a more accurate response. "Yeah...I grew up with them. They were more like my brothers. Well, except for..." I didn't say it, and I wondered whether it gave me away. I wasn't even tipsy. In fact, I was still coasting on my first drink, but so far, my feigned sips had gone unnoticed.
"Fuck!" he suddenly snapped, dragging his fingers through his hair, and that's when I realized he was crying. "I just... She's beneath my skin and I can't stand it. I need to get her out!"
"I'm sorry," I said gently, placing my palm on his shoulder. He was leaning forward, his dark blond hair falling in his eyes, and as the compulsion struck me, I reached out and wiped it clear.
He turned to me with a sad smile, before his eyes drifted back to the drink in his hands. He was nice-looking I realized, and it surprised me. For too long I'd wore those Edward-colored glasses...
"Yeah, so am I," he replied more or less to himself. "You know what I wish? I wish I could fuck someone else just so I knew the world wouldn't end, and maybe I'd get her out of my head." I gazed at him, seriously contemplating it while he tossed his sixth bottle to the grass and pushed the heel of his palm roughly into his eyes. "I just can't fucking stand feeling like this."
"Jay, I...I'm no longer on the pill, so do you have condoms?" I asked as my voice practically failed, but even as it did, I didn't regret those words.
He turned to me with wide, slightly horrified eyes. "I—Bella, I didn't mean it like that. I... Shit, I—what did you just say?"
"I'm not on the—"
"I wasn't propositioning you—I swear to god!"
He was practically falling over himself in apology, and before I was aware of it, I was smiling. "I believe you."
"...Are you sure?" I'm fairly certain he wasn't. At the very least, he was in a state of shock.
"Positive. Are you?"
He stared at me for a moment, deep into my eyes as if he thought I was pranking him. "I'm sure. Did you drive here? I-I didn't. I'm drunk," he stated the obvious while continuing to sound as dumbfounded as he looked.
"Nope, no car for me until I leave for Juilliard," I said bitterly.
"Okay, shit..."
"Got enough money for a cab?"
"I...yeah, I think so." Pulling himself to his feet he hastily yanked his pants pockets inside out as coins and dollar bills flew everywhere.
Laughing, I dropped to my knees and helped him retrieve it.
"Where to?" I asked after he stuffed it all back in his jeans.
"My folks are gone for the weekend. We can go there," he suggested, and he appeared to be sobering by the minute, despite how manic his eyes remained.
"Let's go." I held out my hand with the intention of marching him straight past Alice with his head held high.
It worked. As we left the house, she caught sight of us. Her mouth immediately gaped open, and stunned, she promptly vomited.
. . .
"Bella..." Jay began apprehensively.
"Don't call me that," I said on impulse, before I realized.
"I-I'm sorry?"
"I mean. Fucking hell..." I murmured. Talk about having Edward on the brain. "I thought for a moment you called me something else."
We were in Jay's bedroom, stalling, but surprisingly it was everything but awkward. Jay was so easy to relax around.
"You sure about this?" It must have been the tenth time he asked me in as many minutes.
Taking a deep breath, and along with a whole lot of fuck it, I released it. "Tell me what you want?"
"Huh?"
"What did Alice do that you hated? Or what didn't she do that you always wanted?"
"Oh...god, how much time do you have?" he quipped with a quick grin.
"All night."
His face immediately flushed, and I'm pretty sure he gulped. "She never let me see her naked. What about you?"
"He..." I shook my head, deciding to keep the focus off Edward. "I'll let you see me naked, if you want," I promised, and inching closer to him on his neatly made bed, I curved my hand to his neck and planted my lips to his.
He immediately responded, but it wasn't something he could maintain. "Jesus, Bella, how are you not a basket-case?" He appeared surprised by it.
I pulled back and considered it for a moment, but I already knew the answer. Just liked Edward said, it was just fucking. It was so commonplace for me it had lost all significance. "I don't know. Jay...do me a favor?" I asked, my voice falling to a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Tell me I'm worth more than just sex." Emotion hit me like a sledgehammer, and before I knew it, tears were slipping down my face.
"You're more than just sex," he blurted, immediately anxious as he attempted to wipe my face dry. "Jesus, you're so much more."
"So are y-you," I stuttered, unsure how to take a guy who was so sincerely sweet.
"Can... Can you tell me you love me?—she never—"
"I love you." I didn't hesitate, and as he drew breath to repeat it, I quickly clamped my palm over his mouth. "Don't say it. He always said it. It was a lie. It meant nothing."
That's how it happened. Slowly, with each of us guiding the other through the fallout of our brokenness and healing wounds as we did. I let him see me naked, totally completely naked. He told me Edward was a fucking idiot for letting me go. I was on top, because he was sick of sex with Alice in the same position. I kept eye contact as long as I could, and he broke it to kiss me and whisper silly, inconsequential things in my ear.
Everything we desperately needed.
It wasn't just sex or some drunken one night stand, it was therapy. There was no regret, no walk of shame, just something we both needed to help put the landslide of hurt and self-doubt that had become our lives behind us.
After, I fell asleep in his arms. There was no hasty "I love you, Hevs" before he climbed out the window. There was just him and the constant, reassuring warmth of his naked flesh against mine.
We woke just before six the next morning when my phone buzzed.
Ok, I'm cool about this, just let me know you're still alive.
It was Jacob, and it was what inevitably broke the spell. As I typed my message back, Jay pulled his clothes on to drive me home. It wasn't something either of us articulated, but our moment together had come to an end; we both understood that.
"I don't want to be anyone's bragging rights, Jay," I began when he pulled to a stop in front of my house.
Nor did I want to give Edward an excuse to beat the hell out of him when he found out.
"Bella, I'd never—"
I nodded and expelled an exhausted breath. I believed him, but the enormity of sex with someone other than Edward was beginning to hit. He was still only across the street, but he'd never felt so far away. "Hey, let's not be awkward around each other, okay? When we see each other in the halls at school, let's smile and say 'hello'."
His expression warmed. "Okay. B-Bella...?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. Last night was... It was fucking amazing."
I smiled in return. I wanted to cry and scream and throw up, but I didn't, because it was amazing. And so was he. Jay was sweet and cute, and sweet... "Yeah. It was."
He broke into an almost boyish grin and leaned toward me naturally, but as my lips met his briefly in goodbye I grabbed onto him for my life.
I couldn't let him go.
Our goodbye lasted almost eighteen months, and when we eventually parted, it was forever. He died beside me. I was trapped in the wreckage of his car with him for almost forty minutes with only a concussion.
It was Edward I saw first when I opened my eyes in the emergency. Edward's face so intensely ravaged by fear I almost didn't recognize him. He was crying. He wasn't just crying, he was completely sobbing.
"Hevs, I thought I'd lost you."
Edward hadn't lost me, I'd lost Jay.
The next few weeks passed in a fog. I was no sooner home from the hospital than I was sitting in the front pew at Jay's funeral, and after, there was nothing left for me to do but attempt to wade my way through this tsunami of heartbreak I'd found myself in. Edward spent almost every second with me in the beginning, but just as suddenly he was gone again and I was alone. Alone with only my thoughts. Alone to stare at the walls of my bedroom as they closed in on me, while this waking nightmare continued.
That's when regret started plaguing me. One regret in particular; that I didn't break up with Jay when Edward apologized.
The lead up to it came a few days after that first night with Jay. Edward banged on my bedroom window at two am, but I refused to open it. Instead he wrote "I'm sorry" in the condensation and left.
Right from the beginning, Edward took my relationship with Jay badly. He refused to accept it was over between us, let alone believe I'd moved on. It wasn't even that I'd moved on with Jay. I'd just found a person I could breathe around, and enjoy their company without constant question marks and uncertainty; without feeling like the ground was going to drop out from beneath me. And Jay was the sweetest, nicest, most genuine guy I had ever known.
But he wasn't Edward, and that drove me as crazy as Edward did himself. He was so relentless that I almost caved and considered leaving for Juilliard as soon as I could after graduating for my sanity alone. But then he went quiet; quiet like the eye of a storm. For almost three months he went zero contact, until I came home from school one afternoon to find him sitting on my bed.
"What are you doing here?" I didn't even have it in me to be angry; by that point I was exhausted. And confused. And while I'd have never admitted it, I was so damn happy to see him.
"Just listen to me, Hevs, okay?" He pulled himself to his feet and gazed anxiously down at me.
Edward's the embodiment of tall, not-quite dark and handsome, but right then he looked like a little boy, lost and vulnerable.
I expelled my breath and let my head hang low, and without a word, I dropped to the side of my bed.
He sat beside me and draped his arm around my shoulders. I didn't stop him; I missed him. I missed just being with him and the sensation of his closeness. "You happy, Bells?—does he make you happy?"
I looked up and met his gaze, and as he held mine, I nodded. "Yeah."
He smiled, but it was disheartened; something his eyes immediately echoed. "Good. I'm happy." Taking a shaky breath, he leaned toward me and pressed his lips to the side of my head. "I'm sorry, Hevs. I'm so sorry I let you down and hurt you."
"Edward..." I whispered, and just hearing the pain in his voice brought mine right back to the surface.
"Just shut up for a moment," he said even as he kept his nose grazed to my hairline, flooding me in the warmth of his breath. "Hevs, I never felt good enough for you—"
"What?" I blurted, pulling back to eye him cynically.
"Come on, you're a fucking genius and you know it."
"Edward—"
"You name me one other girl still in high school who has a four octave vocal range and can play the third movement of Moonlight Sonata blindfolded."
"You can play it on electric guitar," I quickly reminded him, and it's mesmerizing to watch. His long fingers practically blur over the strings. We jammed it together once. All afternoon. It was better than the sex we had after.
"Juilliard doesn't want me, do they? They want you—even if you're being a little brat about it." He smirked, and pressing his first two fingers to my brow, he shoved me playfully back.
"Okay, yeah, I play the piano well," I mumbled, attempting to downplay it, but Edward's compliments always blindsided me. He talked me up so much, I always felt it was somehow self-deprecating.
"You play it more than well, Miss. Modest. You're not going this year, are you?" It wasn't a question, and one he already knew the answer of. I always planned on taking a gap year whether my parents liked it or not. Juilliard be damned.
"Nope."
"Idiot." He nudged me with his shoulder. "Go, Bells. Just fucking go."
I shook my head stubbornly. "I wouldn't be going whether I was with Jay or you."
He sighed pointedly and shook his head along with me. "You're the only person I've ever known who'll fight your own best interests."
"What can Juilliard teach me?" I retorted defensively. "My piano teacher hasn't been able to teach me a thing since I was twelve."
He rolled his eyes blatantly and tsked liked I really was the baby he always accused me of being. "It's not what it can teach you, but what doors it can open for you, dummy."
"Shut up. I'll go eventually." I glanced down and did something that was once so completely natural; I grabbed his hand.
He squeezed it, and without letting it go, he brought my knuckles to his lips. "Hevs, you don't need me to hold your hand. You never did, but if I have to drag your skinny ass all the way to New York, you better believe I will."
I scoffed wryly to myself because we both knew he wasn't bluffing. "Yeah..."
His grin broadened and then fell, and for the longest moment he stared down at my hand he was still clutching in his own. "I'm never going to give up on you, but if you're happy—if you're really happy—then I'll let you go. Just don't hate me, okay? I can't fucking lose you knowing you hate me."
"I don't hate you," I assured him, because I don't think I was even capable of it back then. Or ever.
"You should," he muttered, frowning to himself. "I...I knew what I was doing, but...fuck, Bells. I had all these women shoving wads of cash at me—I didn't even know people still carried around that kind of money. I just went with it, you know, and I felt like fucking garbage afterwards. It sounds like a copout, but the only time anything ever made sense was when I was with you. You were right, I am a piece of shit." Releasing my hand, he squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed his heavily knotted forehead. "I was a fucking asshole and I ruined us. I threw it all away."
"Edward..." He was reducing me to tears as much as he was succumbing to them, but while he's always been good with words, I'd never heard him speak with so much conviction. It was compromising mine the longer I sat beside him.
"I deserve to see you with him. I deserve it, okay. So don't feel bad. Don't, baby, okay?"
I nodded hastily but it was more in an effort to prevent my tears from spilling over than in reply to him. "Okay."
"And if he ever hurts you like I did, I'll rip his balls off," he added, as I broke into completely fractured laughter.
"Edward...?" I asked as he raised his brows in question. "Don't call me Heaven anymore, okay?" Hearing him continue to say it as if nothing had changed between us was becoming unbearable.
He opened his mouth as if he were going to argue, but closing it, he bowed his head and conceded. "'Kay."
"I..." My tears brimmed over and all words left me in their wake.
"Baby," he teased me gently, wiping my face dry even as his expression steadily crumbled. "I love you, Bells." His voice softly caught, and before I could react to it, he pressed his lips once more to my brow and held me a little too tightly in his arms.
In the next instant, he was on his feet and walking out my door.
I wanted to call out to him—so much. To tell him I forgave him and could never even think of living without him, that I loved him too, but I didn't. I didn't, not because I felt something real for someone new, but because I'd lost too much faith in him.
That's when I should have ended it with Jay. It didn't matter that the longer I was with him, the more in love with him I fell because I could never quite put Edward to the back of my mind. Every day I felt torn down the middle, but I buried it beneath my growing feelings for Jay and prepared for graduation while rationalizing away the ache in my heart every morning when it made its presence known.
When Jay died, my deepest instincts to hold onto Edward immediately set in. Unwilling to lose another person so close to me, I clung to him the same way I'd once clung to Jay, but with Edward it was always like trying to hold onto sand, and I knew I had to let him go, as well.
I planned on leaving for Juilliard without saying goodbye, but I should have known he'd never allow that.
After two weeks of no contact he messaged me earlier today: I'll always be here for you, Bells. If you ever need me, I'll be right there.
Get me out of here, I replied.
My parents' concern for me had become suffocating, and it wasn't solely over Jay. They were worried I was going to put Juilliard on the backburner again. I'd promised them repeatedly that this year I was going. I'd sent my acceptance letter, it was all finalized, and I'd packed my bags, but I knew they wouldn't breathe easy until I stepped foot on campus.
Edward was on the doorstep in ten minutes.
. . .
I stare out over the midnight blue ocean as the final rays of the setting sun burn on its surface. Jay and I never came here; I made sure of it.
"Hevs, if I'd just treated you better. If I—"
"Jesus, Edward, don't say that!" I burst, because I know what he's hinting at and I can't bear to hear it. I've already gone down that path, and what-ifs tend to end in dark alleys.
The wind picks up and blows my hat free. Edward catches it, but instead of placing it back on my head, he pulls me against him and presses his nose to it instead. "You're going to get sick."
"I'm fine," I repeat that same word blankly.
"Hevs...?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry I stopped coming by. I didn't want you to think that now Jay's gone... That I was making a move on you."
"I never thought that."
"I know, but..." He abandons it with a sigh. "Bells, you never came back to me. I thought you would, but you didn't, but no matter how hard it was for me to see you with him, I never—"
"I know." I don't let him finish. He'd never wish death upon Jay. He doesn't have to say it, but people tend to say these kinds of things when someone dies. I never understood why. "Edward?" I speak up after several long moments of fighting back tears.
He only angles his head to gaze at me, his eyes openly afflicted.
"Do you know how much I used to both love and hate the fact that Jay wasn't you?" The tears run over and blind my vision even as I brush them impatiently away. "You know how much that fucked with me?—I should have ended it. I should have—"
"Hey!" His voice is firm but as equally choked. "Hevs, baby, don't do that to—"
I only shake my head, my tears coming hard and fast and seemingly without end. "I should never have been with someone I could only give half my heart to. I hate myself, Edward—I can't stand it!"
"Heaven!" He grabs both my arms and pulls me to face him, even as anxiety overruns his face. "You did nothing wrong!"
My only response is through tears. Horrible, painful, gut-wrenching tears that wrack my shoulders and burn their way through my chest.
In a single moment, Edward pulls me against him and on his lap before enclosing his arms around me. I cling to him desperately, my arms tight around his neck and my knees squeezing against his sides. "I loved him. I really did, but it was never as much as you," I cry, completely succumbing to the guilt that's been laying my heart to waste these last several weeks. "Oh god, what have I done?"
"Hevs..." He turns his head and rests his nose and lips against the side of my face. "You did nothing but find someone who made you happy."
"I-I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. What do I do?—please tell me, Edward!"
Taking my face between his palms he pulls me back to meet his gaze, and those intense eyes of his are resolute. "What you do is you get your ass off to Juilliard and you become as great as I know you are. I'll be here waiting for you when you come back, but I want you to promise me something."
"W-what?" I ask as my breath shudders from my lungs bringing a momentary smile to his lips.
"Find the faith you once had in me, okay?"
I nod once and close my eyes as the tears continue falling beneath my lashes. "Okay."
"You're gonna be all right," he promises me, bringing my forehead momentarily to his before he encloses me back in his arms.
He still smells the same, still feels the same, but he's not the same guy I once knew. He grew while we were apart. He grew more than the maturity in his face and behind his eyes suggests.
"I was never good enough for you, Heaven," he repeats the same sentiment he once did behind a heavy sigh before burying his face to the side of my neck. "Not by a long shot, but I will be. I've got some stuff lined up... I'm gonna make you proud of me."
I draw back, clumsily wiping my eyes with his assistance. "I've always been proud of you."
"I know you have, but I never deserved it."
"Edward...?" I glance down at the matchbox in my hand.
"Hmm?"
"Whatever I write on this, you'll agree to, won't you?" I ask subtly shying away from him even as a smile again tugs on his lips.
"Hevs... This time... I wrote something on it instead..." he admits, and releasing an arm to scratch the back of his head, he subtly breaks my gaze.
"Huh?" I only stare at him for too long a moment. "What did—"
I move to open it when he immediately closes his hands over mine to stop me. "Don't. Not yet. Don't open it until you've found your faith in me, okay?"
"...Okay." I hesitate to agree as my brow heavily furrows.
"Promise me." He's deadly serious, I realize.
I immediately nod, a little taken aback by the raw intensity behind his eyes. "I promise."
"It doesn't matter how long it takes, either. Just..."
"Edward..." I whisper as confusion overtakes me, but I'm not sure I recognize this guy before me brimming with so much doubt.
He smiles almost self-consciously and removes a stray strand of my hair from my face, where the breeze carried it; tugging on it playfully. "It won't mean anything if you read it now, and..." He quietly clears his throat, "I wouldn't do that to you, either."
"Shall I read it at Christmas?" I venture with as much uncertainty as his eyes are reflecting.
He half shakes his head, his eyes turning downcast. "You'll know when."
. . .
I leave for Juilliard the next morning with Edward's matchbox at the bottom of my suitcase. He kissed me goodbye the night before under the ocean's moonlight. It was brief, tender and almost chaste, but my thoughts, cynical from the pain of our history, kept whispering its suspicions to me until I began to believe them.
Now that Jay's gone, Edward wants to continue what we once had.
I have no intention of opening the matchbox in the short term at least. With Jay's loss still so new, it's an inevitability I simply cannot face. I carry it with me everywhere I go, though; in my backpack to and from class, or in my purse outside of school hours. It's the only piece of Edward I have left, and a link to a future I dare not hope for.
The piano department is the second largest division in Juilliard, and thankfully, I have a lot of distractions. I smile when I have to, I socialize when needed, and I play piano. A lot. I perform in solo recitals, with chamber ensembles, and as a concerto soloist with an orchestra, but it's all a façade. I'm a ghost, a shell, fighting to forge a path through all the heartbreak and uncertainty toward a future I was never sure I even wanted.
Without Edward, at least.
Occasionally, we chat over the phone or social media, and all it does is remind me how much I miss him; how much my heart aches from the absence of him. He constantly promises he'll always be here for me, but he never asks whether I've read his note, and I don't mention it. It sits between us like the very same ocean that was once the backdrop of our childhood.
He's still working clubs and bars, still making his own music and performing on YouTube as his popularity grows exponentially every day. One of his most viewed videos is of him singing Heaven on his acoustic guitar. The same song I sang all those years ago at the school talent show. I still haven't been able to bring myself to watch it, though.
I return home over Christmas and summer, but Edward doesn't. "He's touring the East Coast" is the cryptic answer my brother gives me, and it's better I don't know any more than that. We were always different planets orbiting the same sun; always worlds apart.
I start my second year of Juilliard selected in my class to be a guest pianist with the New York Philharmonic.
Opening Night is two weeks later at Lincoln Hall, and I'm performing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, all three movements, arranged for piano and symphony orchestra, at its conclusion. My family fly in to be present, and I'm received to a full house.
It's just as Edward once said; I can play it blindfolded, and I essentially do, but it feels empty. Guided by the conductor, my fingers glide over the keys effortlessly, but I might as well be deaf and blind.
This one moment is what I've worked my whole life to achieve, yet I feel nothing.
That's when I understand; I can play this instrument well, but only with Edward can I make music come to life.
The piece ends, the theatre erupts with applause, and without warning, tears are unleashed on me. I don't fight them; I fully succumb right there, center stage in the David Geffen Hall sitting at the grand piano. To those around me, they're perceived as tears of happiness. They're everything but.
I'm instructed to take my bow, and pulling myself clumsily to my feet and hastily wiping my tears dry, I face the audience for the second time. My parents are in the front row, applauding enthusiastically, their proud grins ear-to-ear, and beside them is Jacob. That's when I find myself gazing at a pair of ocean-deep green eyes welled with the very same emotion.
Edward, front and center to the right of my brother, dressed in a black tuxedo with his hair neatly combed, and his smile as broad as it is overrun.
My expression smooths out in surprise before it steadily mirrors his, even as I fight to keep my composure.
His smile softens and he inclines his head slightly in acknowledgement as his lips form three silent words: "I miss you."
"Edward..." I utter in shock, and barely beneath my breath, as I stare at him, almost unable to comprehend him before me. It's been too long since that afternoon by the sea, after all, and I started to believe I'd never see him again.
I'm directed off stage behind the conductor. It pulls my attention from Edward, and with my heart echoing in my ears and my knees threatening to buckle beneath me, I make my way backstage.
With my mind racing, I pass through the corridors being congratulated by people I barely see and all but ignore. Tears are continuing to engulf me as I struggle to hurry my step in heels and the long, black evening gown I'm wearing. I hate to think how I appear. I must seem like I'm about to throw up, and in reality I just might, but there's only one thing I can focus on; Edward's matchbox.
I reach the dressing room where I prepared earlier this evening, and grabbing my purse, I practically upend its contents on the carpet. I soon find the small cardboard box where I placed it this afternoon; bright pink and misshapen over time.
I deliberately pause and take an unsteady breath in a futile attempt to calm myself, before with hopelessly trembling fingers, I open it and unravel the small piece of paper inside.
Come back to me and I will be whatever you want me to be. There is no heaven without you.
~Finis~
A/N: thanks for reading.