Days passed.

Weeks passed.

I waited to feel angry. Or miserable, at least. But all I felt was love. The hold Bella had over me was powerful, all-consuming. Every day was a struggle not to stumble back to that beach and call her back to me. There was no way of knowing if my hopeless devotion to a lying, murderous monster would ever fade.

The only way to combat my treacherous, lovesick heart was to distract my mind. I stuffed my life to the brim with activity to silence my heart. The second I woke up, I was down in the gym, even if it meant I spent an extra hour working out before Emmett and Jasper came down to join me. I threw myself into my job at the coffee shop; snapped up any extra shift they would offer. If I was forced to be alone, I studied piano just so I would have something to think about. After she spotted me attempting to lug the piano from the back garage up to my room, Rosalie offered me her keyboard. When school started up again, it was a blessing rather than a chore to have eight continuous hours blocked out.

No matter how hard I worked to distract myself, there was no way to ignore the emptiness in my chest or the queasiness in my stomach. Those were constants in my life now.

My family was keen enough that they never asked the question outright. My vacant expression and lonely days told them all they needed to know. The only changes were the few extra treats Esme left on my desk and questions of Bella's wellbeing circulated out of passing conversation. An entire month passed before Rosalie broke and demanded an explanation. There was no good way to frame the truth, so I lied and said Bella moved and wanted to cut off all communication, claiming a clean break would be best for both of us. Rosalie must have passed along the information, because no one else asked. Alice never mentioned it. Though we were both heartbroken, neither one of us went to the other to seek console.

I continued to trudge through life, the best I could with a stolen heart.

During a slow September afternoon in the coffee shop, I busied myself by deep-cleaning cleaning the hard-to-reach spots that tended to get brushed over. Up at the counter, Lauren dumped the coins out of the tip jar. They rolled and clinked across the surface. I watched her as she counted the change and switched dollar amounts to bills. As was her standard habit. She said it made it look like we got more tips, and that people would feel inclined to give more. I didn't care one way or the other.

"There are always more tips when you're working."

I said nothing.

"It's those sad, puppy eyes of yours. Got all the girlies swooning. Each one hoping a big enough tip would catch your attention so they could fix you." she pouted dramatically with the words. Then, snorted and laughed at her own joke.

Again, I said nothing.

She hopped up on the counter. It was something we weren't supposed to do. But because of her apathy for rules, lack of class, and closeness with the owners, Lauren did it anyway. "All jokes aside, Edward. You're a mess."

I didn't care. This was the best anyone was going to get until Bella loosened her grip on my heart. Which was likely impossible.

"You can't let that little freak have this much of a hold on you. She was insane and a liar."

The few people at school who cared about my love life were told the excuse that Bella moved. However, most of my classmates were more interested in gossip than my well-being and listened to whatever story Lauren came up with. I didn't know the details—nor did I want to—but from the snippets I heard, it involved a compulsive lying disorder, a rehab center, and my own pathetic foolishness. If any idiot chose to believe that story over my lie, that was on them. Though I had to admit, as asinine as it was, Lauren's story was more believable than the truth, which involved mermaids and curses.

For some reason, Lauren continued to talk to me, "Instead of saying that I told you so, I'm gonna throw you a line, okay? Against all odds, Jessica is still into you. The fact that she is still willing to be seen with you is nothing short of a miracle. You should ask her out. Dating other girls is gonna be the only way for you to get over your freak."

If I had the emotional capacity to be annoyed, I would have scoffed.

"Think about it. Jessica's pretty and fun and can actually talk with her mouth."

I swallowed my irritation. Insults aimed at Bella were none of my concern. Not anymore.

"No. Thank you."

Never the one to take a hint, Lauren opened her mouth again. Luckily, the door rang, and a large group of girls squeezed into the shop. Lauren hopped off the counter. We took turns taking and making the girls' orders. After I set the last girl's drink on the counter, I returned to my cleaning. When the girl picked it up, I watched from the corner of my eye as she beckoned Lauren close to ask her something discreetly.

"Oh, he is," Lauren answered, loud enough for me to hear. "Unfortunately, he only dates girls straight out of the asylum."

The girl stepped back, unsure of how to respond.

In her own, ridiculous way, Lauren was right. I couldn't spend the rest of my life pining after the monster who stole my heart. I looked over at the girl. She had straight, brown hair and brown eyes, similar to Bella. She didn't take my breath away like Bella did, but no one ever would—Bella made sure of that. Even though I picked her apart, I could stand back and admit she was rather pretty.

I flipped over an extra ticket, wrote my number down, and wordlessly handed it to the girl.

She studied it for a second. Her eyes lit up when she realized what it meant. "This this yours?"

"Yupp."

"And I can text you?"

I attempted the best smile I could manage. "Please do."

That began the first, official attempt at getting over Bella. I started with girls like Rebecca with brown hair and pale skin, similar to Bella.

However, I found myself prone to nit-piking. Rebecca hadn't been the perfect height like Bella was, and I was unable to put my arm over her shoulders comfortably. Another petite brunette didn't blush when I complimented her, which I found off-putting.

Dating girls that reminded me of Bella did not work, so I tried dating people exactly opposite of her. Brown where she was white. Blonde where she was brunette. Large where she was small. No matter how similar or how different my dates were to Bella, they all had one crucial thing in common: they weren't Bella.

It was hopeless.

During a Friday afternoon shift in the coffee shop, Angela asked if I would close. I said yes, of course.

"You don't have another date with Michelle?"

When Michelle asked for my number at the shop, I thought she would be my safest bet to get over Bella. She was large and loud—nothing like my ex-girlfriend. On our third date, I discovered she had the most painful similarity to Bella of all of them: her teasing style of flirting. I couldn't bear it and ended up leaving the date early.

"No, I don't think I'll see her again."

"That's a shame. There's plenty of fish in the sea, I guess."

"Yeah," I agreed. It was a damn shame there was only one fish I would ever want.

I peeked at my friend, whistling to herself as she worked. Perhaps the way to get over Bella wasn't through dating people I compared to Bella—whether I looked for similarities or differences. Instead, maybe I had to try with someone I genuinely enjoyed.

"Ang. Would you want to go out?"

She dropped her half-finished macchiato on the floor. It spattered milk all over the floor, her shoes, and the cabinets. Immediately, I grabbed the nearest towel and wiped the ground around her. As I cleaned, she remained perfectly still, too shocked to move. Most likely, because over the past six months, she witnessed my downward spiral and then, like someone had flipped a switch, date dozens of people.

When I stood, I was almost toe-to-toe with her. She looked down, but I could still see a blush slowly blossom over her cheeks.

"Oh, Edward…" her voice sounded mournfully regretful.

"Forget it. I'm sorry." I stepped away, giving her space. "I know it would be weird…"

"No, it's not that…" I started rinsing out the rag I used for the spill as Angela found the rest of her words. "It's just that… I'm dating Ben."

I dropped the rag in the sink. "What?"

She blushed a deeper shade of red. "I'm so sorry."

"What? No! Don't be!" I turned off the sink and gave her my undivided attention. "That's great, Angela. When did that happen?"

She flinched with her response. "June."

"June!?" That meant they had been going out since the end of last school year. "Why didn't you say anything?"

She shrugged. "You never asked."

I chuckled out of sheer disbelief. "You were waiting until I specifically asked if you were dating Ben to tell me?"

She laughed with me. "No. Well, yeah. I mean I meant to tell you, but then you broke up with Bella, and it felt like telling you would be rubbing it in… and then it never came up naturally…"

I shook my head. Angela. Only she would have kept incredible news like that to herself to spare my own feelings.

"You're sweet for doing that, but you didn't have to. Obviously, I would have been happy to hear that, if only because it meant you were happy."

"Are you sure?" she squinted as her eyes roved over my face, "You look like a rug had been swept out from under you."

"Only because I'm shocked. I never thought…" I shook my head.

"You never thought what?"

"Well. I knew Ben was hesitant to ask you out because he's shorter than you. He didn't want either of you to be teased. I figured he decided that a relationship wouldn't be worth it if either of you had to suffer."

"You thought that?"

It sounded silly coming from the boy who preached that tearing your away across the grain was worth it for love. The boy who damaged his own social status, got thrown into a pool, and suspended from school all for the sake of his girlfriend. I told everyone that love was better than whatever consequences I had to face. I watched that advice blow up in Alice's face. And I learned too late that I hadn't been a follower of my own advice—all the things I did for Bella were only because she manipulated my heart.

I figured since I had been wrong, things wouldn't have worked out for Ben and Angela, either. "Yeah."

She snorted, then went back to remaking her macchiato. "Ben took so long because of his own damn nerves. He was willing to pin the blame on anything." She glanced at me briefly, as if to say including you. "The opinion of anyone who tries to judge us for something as trivial as height is worthless."

I grinned. That was the closest to anything mean I had ever heard Angela say.

When she finished the drink and set her at the end of the counter, I grabbed her by the shoulders to pull her in for a hug. "I'm so happy for you, Ang."

She returned the hug and tightened it. If there was one person in the world who deserved a happy relationship, it was Angela.

oOo

Around midnight, I picked at the leftover Chinese food in the fridge. I hadn't been able to eat during dinner, and now I was starving.

The house was so quiet, that I could make out the soft, slow tread that could only belong to Esme at the top of the stairs. Knowing exactly what Esme would be looking for this time at night, I reached in the fridge for the leftover steamed dumplings she had eyed all throughout dinner. I set them on a plate and put them into the microwave before my food.

When Esme stepped into the kitchen, her surprise at my appearance softened as I handed her the plate. "Aren't you sweet?"

Without much to say, I simply smiled at her before I went back to work on arranging my plate of leftovers. She stuck a dumpling with a fork and ate it in small, dainty bites. As I went to push my own food into the microwave, Esme shook her head. She kept her second dumpling with her as she walked to the fridge.

"This trick is adding an ice cube to the rice," she said with a full mouth, "so the steam makes it fluffy again."

"Thanks, Mom," I mumbled as she pushed an ice cube in the middle of my fried rice.

Esme grinned, patted my cheek, and took another nibble. I place my plate in the microwave and set the timer.

"Today was hard for you, huh?"

Earlier that day, Rosalie brought her official girlfriend, Leah, over to meet the family. The house fluttered around the addition to the family—just as it did when Bella met the family. I tried my best to act like a normal, supportive member of the family. I helped my siblings work Esme down to a normal amount of excitement. I participated in the Welcome Dinner. I even sat at talked with Leah for a while when they ran into me during their tour. I was in my room, and Rosalie wanted to prove to Leah she did know how to play the piano, but she had donated it to her little brother.

The conversation was as awkward as I expected it to be. Leah knew who I was, just like everyone at that high school, so there was no need for a formal introduction. I had no idea what gossip circles Leah had been a part of, or what rumors she might have heard about Bella's disappearance, if she heard any at all. All I knew was she wore the same pitied expression everyone else at the school.

"It's the crazy ones that get you," she said, her version of condolences. Very direct. I could tell why she and Rosalie got along.

"Thank you," I said, unsure if that was the correct sentiment.

She punched me on the arm and grabbed Rosalie around the waist and that was that.

It had been an especially difficult day. The pitied looks. The unintentional flaunting. The warm welcome of another girlfriend.

"It was fine," I said to Esme, back in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the light under the microwave.

My mother made a soft sound of sympathy. "There's no reason to be a martyr in this family."

"It sucked."

"Oh, I know," She rubbed the length of my forearm a few times. "I'm sure you thought about Bella all day long."

"Not any more than I usually do," I admitted.

The soft, heartbroken gasp was cut off by the beeping of the microwave. "You still miss her that much, honey?"

"I know. It's pathetic." At this point, we had been apart longer than we had been together. Any hope that Bella's influence over me would diminish over time faded with every passing day.

"No, no. Not pathetic at all."

I frowned at my re-heated, fluffy fried rice, unable to find my appetite.

"Have you tried contacting her, Sweetheart? I'm sure she misses you as much as you miss her."

"I can't," I said, before I realized that was probably too honest.

"Why not?"

"It's not worth it."

"I know you don't think that's true, Edward."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you're a member of this family. We tend to go against the grain when it comes to love. And because our love for each other is unconventional, it makes it stronger."

I wanted to point out that Alice and Jasper's relationship shattered due to public humiliation, but then I realized she wasn't talking about them. My entire family was made up of unconventional love. Esme adopted a flock of teenagers despite the public norm, holding her head high against the nasty rumors that spread about her simple kindness. By merely dating a woman, Rosalie essentially held up her middle finger to anyone who deemed her relationship unworthy. My father cut ties with his Christian family for his love for a Jewish woman.

Esme was right; it ran in the family.

I only thought of Alice and Jasper's failure. I used it as my main evidence to prove that my relationship with Bella was nothing but her desires that forced my actions. I fought back a wince as I recalled my early days with Bella, and how desperately I wanted her. The images were tainted with the fact that I had no idea whether I did those things of my own volition, or merely because Bella wanted me to do them. Did I want to rescue her the day she almost got thrown into the pool? Did I want to spend almost all my free time learning a new language merely to speak with her? Did I want to cast my self-preservation out the window when I discovered the truth about her?

I liked to believe it was my love for her that encouraged me to do whatever it took to be with her, just like the rest of my family. But I truly had no idea.

"I know that we're an odd family. I know that people look at a woman my age with grown children and decide that we're a spectacle instead of a family. And so, when I adopted my children, I looked for kids with strong hearts. Kids who wouldn't crumble under animosity. I would never adopt a child knowing I would put them in a difficult situation."

I didn't feel strong.

I felt terribly weak.

"How did you know I would be strong enough?"

Esme regarded my face for a long time before she picked up her plate of dumplings as well as my bowl of rice and brought both to the kitchen nook. I had no choice but to follow her. She patted the seat beside her, indicating where she wanted me to sit. Instead of across from her, I slid in beside her. Her soft, sympathetic eyes slowly trailed down my face.

"When Carlisle and I were looking to adopt again, we had social workers reach out to previous foster parents for letters of recommendation, to make sure they would be a good fit with the family. In the letters from all your previous foster parents, each one of them begged me to adopt you."

I closed my eyes. At the mention of my previous foster parents, my hand instinctively went to my iPod in my pocket, where my precious memories of them were stored.

"Please, they all said. They all wrote about how they wished they had enough stability to adopt you, because of how loving you were. Every letter was a tribute to how you had so much love in you, and how readily you would pour that love into anyone who would accept it. I looked at your father and I said, 'Carlisle, I want to pour love back into that boy.'"

I felt my ears warm from embarrassment. Esme noticed their change in hue and traced a finger along one of them with a fond smile.

"We knew your heart was strong enough for this family before we even met you. And we were right. You melded right in like you've been here the whole time. And on top of all that, you poured your love into that beautiful, broken girl. That first time you heard Rosalie speak her name, I could see that you were gone. Hopelessly in love at first sight. And again and again, I watched you do everything in your power for that love, no matter how much grief you gave your mother," she sighed and shook her head in exasperation.

Despite myself, I chuckled. Esme smiled at the sound. She reached up and guided my head down to rest on her shoulder.

"It's not pathetic that you still love Bella. It's in your blood—the Cullen family blood. Until you know what you want to do, I will take whatever love you have and give it right back."

"Thank you."

We sat there for a long time, my mother and me.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Mom." It was wonderful to learn that Bella hadn't stolen all my heart—there was plenty of love left in me for Esme.

It wasn't until the next day at work, when I was washing out one of the coffee makers in the back, that a small detail of my conversation with Esme stuck out to me. I didn't know why I hadn't realized it before. Perhaps it was because Esme's reassurances placed a balm over my heart, allowing me to think freely for the first time without pain.

The night at dinner after I had been pushed into the pool while rescuing Bella, Rosalie had been the one to finally tell me her name: Isabella Swan. Esme said it was that moment she saw my love for Bella on my face.

Weeks before she kissed me.

My love for Bella was genuinely mine. The weeks I spent earning her affection were of my own accord.

There had to be another explanation as to why I was under her spell and able to hear her sisters' voices. Perhaps it didn't matter how I came to love her, only that I did. If I were to fall in love with her without her influence, would the spell still hold? Would my heart still react the same way as if it had been given to her, not stolen?

The epiphany wasn't as comforting as I wanted it to be. All it meant was that I was hopelessly, ridiculously in love with a killer and a liar.

Just as I was about to drown in my own hopelessness, I chime on the door rang, indicating the arrival of a customer. Knowing Allison, Angela, and Lauren took the lull to take their lunch break outside, I shut off the sink, dried my hands, and stepped out of the back kitchen.

My standard greeting caught in my throat as I recognized Douchebag Ponytail at the register, waiting to order.