A/N: I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you so much for all of your comments on this story! I wish I could respond to all of them but any fanfiction time I have, I've used to work on this and "A Perfect Submissive" because I know there are soooo many WIPs that I need to finish. My goal is to go through all of the WIPs I have and finish them one by one. There are some shorter fics that just need a chapter or two left before I can hit "complete" so I'll need to finish those soon! I want to get all of my WIPs completed before I finally start posting "Lust for Life," the sequel to my fic "Chicago." Thanks for all of your support and for sticking with me!

Thanks, Sally! You always do such an incredible job editing these fics for me! I love and appreciate you!

12

Under the stars, I felt like a different Bella. Wrapped in cool air and the scent of flowers and cologne, I felt reborn. Those painful memories began to fade away … and I hoped they would stay gone. Did horror have to become me? Or were those gruesome memories something I could squash beneath my shoe as I carried on down this road? With Edward next to me, sipping on a Jack and Coke while watching the night sky, everything seemed to wash away. I was baptized in his scent, and with his deep voice heavy in the air, I found myself starting over.

A box of pizza was open on the table, and between the two of us, we had eaten over half. It came from the only shop in town, and while it wasn't amazing by any means, it had a taste that I would always remember. This mediocre sauce and fake-tasting cheese would quickly become nostalgic. I was sure this would taste like a home away from home whenever I chose to move on to the next city.

"I always come up here to think. It's so quiet … so distant from everything else. It's really mellow, and, I don't know, just perfect."

I answered him in the journal, which was now resting on the table next to the pizza box. "I feel so small up here. Whenever I look at the stars, I always remember just how small we all really are."

A melancholic note returned to Edward's face as he read this. "There's a lot in this world that can make a person feel small."

I always felt small. I wanted to write that but didn't. Every bit of pain I was met with reminded me just how small and insignificant I was. When I was young, before I knew of hardship or the crushing weight of reality, I believed I held the entire world in my palm. Nothing was out of my reach. However, time changed me as it changed most everyone. Before I hit puberty, I realized I didn't hold the world. Instead, the world held me. It gripped me and threw me around until I was dizzy, waiting for the perfect moment to throw me off into oblivion.

After a moment, I wrote instead, "I can't imagine someone like you ever feeling small."

Maybe I was trying to be nice. Maybe, deep down, I actually thought this was true. After all, he was providing me so much comfort I doubted he could be anything other than strong. However, I had seen him at his worst. I had saved him from himself. I knew, regardless of who we were or what we did in life, we always had a moment or two to feel insignificant.

"I feel small all of the time." He paused for a moment to stare up at the stars. "I heard once that the Milky Way was a huge city of stars, and even at the speed of light, it would take over a hundred thousand years to travel across it. The more I learn about the universe, the more I feel like a tiny speck."

Then, Edward emitted something that I was sure was meant to be a laugh. His chuckle came and went quickly, and then he turned his gaze to his Jack and Coke on the table.

While I didn't know much about the universe, just looking at it made me feel like a tiny speck of dust floating aimlessly. There were moments when I wanted to take up as much space as possible, breathing in all of the air I could until I felt dizzy, and there were other moments when I wanted to disappear entirely, wanting to become part of the air that I so desperately tried to swallow.

"We can feel like tiny specks together then," I wrote out before sliding the journal toward Edward.

He read this and smiled. "Tiny specks? You want to live as tiny specks together with an older, tired man like me?"

I nodded, almost confused as to why he would think I didn't want to be close to him. I pulled the journal back toward me and quickly wrote, "You're NOT old, Edward. Not even close."

Now, he emitted a real chuckle. "Okay. Maybe thirties aren't exactly old, but I am tired."

"Long week?" I wrote while pouting my lips in a quiet effort to show that I sympathized with him.

This week had been long. Hell, every week had been long for me.

"It's been a long life," he said, taking the words out of my mouth.

A comfortable silence fell over us as we watched the night sky. Sometimes, these simple moments meant more than anything else. It was always the quiet times that I remembered. The moments that felt effortless. Every moment with Edward felt effortless. I never had to try to be anyone else around him. He seemed to like me just as I was and already, he felt like my closest of friends.

"If you ever need to talk, I'm here for you."

He peered down at my writing for a moment before saying, "Right back at you." With his gaze on the stars again, he said, "Honestly, there's so much I've been wanting to get off my chest, but I don't want to overwhelm anyone with it. My baggage … It's just so fucking heavy."

"I understand," I wrote in response. "I understand more than you know."

"What brought you to this town in the middle of nowhere? Are you really just passing through?"

I nodded, knowing I should just be passing through. How long I'd stay, I had no way of telling. Every day, I wanted to lay down a foundation here. Wouldn't it be nice to have someplace simple to call home? Already, I was tired of running. I was tired of motel rooms and police interviews. I was tired of being the center of attention. That couldn't be safe for me too. I needed to run—I knew I needed to run—but I couldn't move. With Edward here, the risk of being found felt worth it.

Of course, I was saying this now. If Mike ever found me, I would surely regret whatever decision I had made. Surrounded by Edward's energy, it was hard to be logical. Despite the trauma that was chasing after me and the horrors I had experienced in this town, I didn't want to keep running. In a strange way, this place felt like home. Maybe that had to do with Edward. I could like him far more than I'd ever care to admit. He felt like home. He made me want to stay.

"I wanted a change."

This wasn't entirely untrue. I did want a change, but that wasn't why I left. It had been do or die. Leave or struggle to live. In that moment, I had chosen life, and every so often, I regretted it. I didn't regret running though. Rather, I regretted being alive. Living was more difficult than dying, after all. To live, to really live, took more sacrifice than I had in me.

"And that landed you in a boring place like this?"

I shrugged. "I needed a break from traveling."

"So, you'll keep moving then?"

Another shrug. "I have to. Eventually, I'll have to keep going."

"But not right now?"

I shook my head.

To my surprise, Edward breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you're sticking around for a while."

My eyes searched his then, silently asking why.

"I like having you around," he said nonchalantly. Although, there had been more weight to his words than he was probably aware of. "I feel like I can open up to you."

"Same," I quickly wrote as I smiled at him.

"Where are you from? Where were you before this?"

"Nowhere."

"Nowhere? How can a person be from nowhere?" he teased despite seeming a bit worried about what I might say.

Even though I never divulged my past, he must know that there was trauma there. As much as I hated it, my walls were still up. We both knew that. We both knew a lot of things even though we never spoke about them. Still, I wondered whether he remembered me from that night on the rooftop—the night I saved his life. Did he still think of my voice, singing to him so softly against the quiet of the night? Did he remember those tender moments we shared as strangers?

Still, I didn't have it in me to ask. Although, I hoped that one day soon, I would find the strength to. Even if it was embarrassing, there were words that needed to be said. Even if I had to force them out of me.

"A lot of people are from nowhere. I'm from nowhere important. How about you? Where are you from?"

"Washington State," he answered as his face twisted as if he had tasted something unpleasant.

"Washington State … That's a long ways away. How did you end up here?"

"I moved when my wife was pregnant with our son. We wanted to be closer to family. Well, closer to her family. Her mother lived here."

"Where's her mother now?"

"Her mother passed away a few months after we arrived. I guess we came at just the right time. We didn't even know she was sick. When we arrived, she was in bad shape. She lived in one of the apartments in this building actually. My bookstore used to be hers. After she passed away, my wife was a mess. She hadn't been close to her mother growing up, but as soon as she got married to me, their relationship improved.

"Margaret, her mother, had been so happy about the pregnancy. She went with my wife to pick out clothes for the baby and helped her decorate a nursery. Despite being sick, she wanted to be strong for her daughter. She wanted to make the last months of her life count. She died … and then a month later, Anthony was born. Anthony Mason Cullen. Six pounds and seven ounces and without a single hair on his head. He was born completely bald with the bluest eyes you'd ever see."

I wanted to ask something like, "What happened to Anthony?" It might be easier to pretend that I didn't know. My fingers itched to pick up the pen, but I held myself back. It was a small town here, after all, and everyone knew everything about everyone. Surely, Edward knew that I knew about his life before now. Gossip like that sort that spread around town was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing that you never had to say more than you wanted to, but it was a curse that nothing could ever be kept as a secret.

As I waited for Edward to continue, my eyes teared up. Hopefully, the night sky could shield me somewhat. Edward didn't need another person crying over his pain. In front of him, it was impossible to play ignorant. This pain was so evident on my face, even the darkness couldn't hide it. When Edward turned his gaze to look at me, he noticed the tears right away.

"You know everything, don't you?"

It wasn't really a question. I nodded before dropping my head, feeling somewhat ashamed for knowing things that he probably didn't want me to.

"I lost my wife and son a while back. Car accident. Anthony didn't even reach his fifth birthday. He was so close, too. We had been planning for it."

His voice was heavy now, and while I didn't have the courage to look up at him, I could hear tears in his voice. It must have taken all of his strength to prevent those tears from falling. When I finally looked up at him, I found bloodshot eyes and dry cheeks. If only he knew that I had seen him break down once before. Maybe then, he would feel comfortable doing so now.

Crying was one of the most freeing things you could do. To feel so many emotions pouring out of you was unlike anything else. Sometimes, a breakdown is the most healing thing a person could do.

"Anthony died two weeks before his birthday. A few days before the accident, my wife and I had gone to a grocery store to pick out a cake for him." Tears were falling now, trailing down his cheeks before they slid off his jaw. He wiped them away, seeming almost ashamed for being emotional. "I remember it even now. He was so obsessed with superheroes. Every moment that I wasn't working, he wanted to watch superhero movies with me. We watched all of the Marvel and DC movies, but his favorites were the Spider-Man movies. After watching those, he'd jump around the house and pretend to crawl up the walls.

"For his birthday, we had Spider-Man-themed everything. Of course, the town was just as small then as it is now, and Anthony didn't really have any friends. Usually, he played with me or his mom. Sometimes, one of his cousins, Nathan, would come up, and they'd have a play date. Typically, he was alone, playing with his action figures by himself. Even alone, he was always so happy. Every day, he woke up with a smile. Fuck, Anthony was even born with a smile on his face. How rare is that? So many babies come out crying, but he came out just happy to be alive … happy just to be with us.

"After the accident, everyone told me it was such a miracle that I was alive. It never felt like a miracle though. I'd give anything to trade places with my wife … or trade places with Anthony. Every day, I'd wonder why I survived. Why did I have to live? Why were they the ones to die? The world is a fucked-up place. Nothing's fair. I was in the front seat, and that truck hit us head on. How could I have walked away from that? Was it really a miracle? Or was it just a curse?"

There was so much I wanted to say, but every word felt selfish. I wanted to write about how glad I was for him surviving. However, I didn't grab the pen. Those words felt strangely selfish. If he'd rather be dead, why should I ask him to live for me? Why should I say that I'm happy he has to keep going when he doesn't want to? Instead of writing anything, I reached out and covered his hand that was resting on the table. I just wanted him to know I was there for him.

He needed to know he wasn't alone in the world … even if he regularly felt like it.

Could he feel how sorry I was? Would that feeling be enough?

"I'm sorry for dumping this all on you. I just … I don't talk about it much."

He pulled his hand from mine to pick up his drink and within seconds, he finished off his Jack and Coke and placed it down on the table. He wasn't going to drink tonight but maybe the pain was too much for him. I understood that. As he pulled out a Coke from the cooler at his feet and reached for the bottle of Jack that he'd brought up from his apartment, I drank the rest of the water in my plastic cup before pushing it toward him. With an expression that said, "please fill my glass, too," I waited for him to pour.

His brows rose in surprise. "I thought you didn't drink?" he asked.

I shrugged, hoping my expression read something along the lines of, "It's been a while."

With surprise still clear as day on his face, he poured Jack into my glass before topping it off with Coke. He did the same to his empty glass and once he was finished, we both picked our cups off of the table for a quick "cheers."

"What should we cheer to?" he thought out loud. "Shared pain? New beginnings?"

I nodded at the latter, and he saw my eager expression and nodded, too.

"To new beginnings then."

Another nod from me and we tapped our cups against each other. I brought the cup to my mouth, trying not to cringe at the strong smell of the liquor. While the Coke didn't mask the scent of the Jack, I prayed it would mask the taste. I took a sip, and felt a shiver shoot down my spine.

Edward chuckled at this, asking, "You're really not much of a drinker, are you?"

It was barely a question. Of course, I wasn't much of a drinker. I could barely handle a single sip. With a polite smile, I put my cup down, knowing I'd take the rest of the night to finish it off. Edward's mood seemed to shift. While he was still melancholic, he seemed intent on not bringing me down too. We were up here to make new memories, after all, not wallow in the past.

"Why don't we do something fun?" he suggested after a few sips of his drink.

"What?" I wrote.

"Hmm …" He thought as he tapped on his glass. "Have you ever played twenty questions?"

I shook my head, feeling almost embarrassed about not having played such a common game.

"You know what it is though, right?"

I nodded as I perked up in my seat.

"It might be nice. I mean, we work together—I'd like to think we're friends—but we barely know much about each other."

"I'm down. Ask anything."

While I wrote, "ask anything," I hoped he would keep to easy topics. Tonight had been heavy enough. Why add to the weight?

There was something about the lighthearted nature of this game that felt exhilarating. In this moment, I felt like a normal girl. At least, the sort of girl who wasn't scarred from the past. On this rooftop with him, I could pretend that I was the sort of smiling girl found on commercials and television shows. The type who was happy for no reason other than just being alive. I liked to pretend, but in this moment, it barely felt like I was pretending.

"Should you go first?" he asked as he nudged the pad of paper toward me.

I picked up my pen and tried to think of a clever question. There were so many things I wanted to know about him that I wasn't sure where to begin. After a few moments, I settled on a topic surrounding a love for something that we both shared: books.

"What's your all-time favorite book?" I wrote, feeling a tinge of pride for coming up with something that wasn't totally generic.

"God, you're coming out of the gate with heavy questions," he teased. "My favorite book … That's like asking someone to pick their favorite child. There are too many to choose from."

"Come on," I wrote, hoping my teasing tone would come across in my lazy handwriting. "There has to be one that you like more than any of the others. One that is meaningful …"

"All right … I guess, if I'm thinking of the book that means the most to me, it's probably The Little Prince. I used to read that to Anthony all the time. That was always our special time together—me reading to him at night." He paused as if he were soaking up the memory before turning to ask me a question. "I'm going to ask you the same thing. What's your favorite book and why?"

"That's two questions," I teased.

"Okay. What's your favorite book then? I'll ask you why next round."

Books had always been an escape, meaning I read too many to even remember all of them. So many of the stories blended together, and I mainly remembered them by how I felt while reading them. My focus had always been on fantasy and romance—something to pull me from the darkness of my everyday life. Austen had been one of my favorites. Her sweet, classic rom-coms let me forget about reality for a while. Engrossed in a book, nothing in the real world mattered.

"Ummm … Maybe Pride and Prejudice? I always loved that novel. Or maybe Jane Eyre?"

"Hey now. You can only choose one."

While one gave me solace, the other, I related to on a deeper level. Reading Jane Eyre had been as difficult as it had been meaningful. Reading a story centered around a heroine who had lived through the darkness of life while managing to have a somewhat happy ending, provided me with a glimmer of hope.

"I am no bird," I wrote, quoting Eyre. "And no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will."

"So, Jane Eyre then?" Edward asked, obviously recognizing the famous quote.

I nodded, satisfied that we shared a knowledge of a book that meant so much to me.

"Have you read it?" I quickly wrote, barely able to shield my excitement. Wasn't it strange that sharing something common like a love for reading could mean so much? "Did you like it?"

"Is that your next question?" he teased. "Have I read Jane Eyre?"

I nodded. Fuck it. I had eighteen more questions to ask. After all, the question didn't feel like a waste.

"I have read Jane Eyre. Now, it's my turn again. Why is that your favorite book? I told you why The Little Prince was mine."

I shrugged, not knowing where to begin. As I held the pen in my hand, letting it hover above the paper, I tried to think of something clever to respond with. However, I could only be honest. I loved the book because it spoke to a part of myself that I rarely wanted to share with anyone.

"When I read it, I felt understood," I settled on saying. As I wrote this, I realized it was the only answer that felt right. In Jane's character, I saw myself. While reading that novel again and again, I felt like I was the lost girl, venturing off on her own to be met with so many disastrous things. She ended the novel with an understanding of herself that I could only hope to have one day. Trauma made her stronger, and I prayed that one day, I could say the same.

Edward read my answer, and despite being full of questions, he didn't say another word about my choice of favorite novel. "It's your turn," he said before peering down at my paper as he waited for me to write.

"Did you like Jane Eyre?"

He was thoughtful for a moment before answering, "At first, I didn't have much of an opinion—it was really different from the sorts of books I'd usually pick up—but after reading it a second time, I decided that I liked it. My wife had a huge collection of the classics, and I decided after she passed away that I would read as many of them as I could. I thought it would help me feel closer to her."

With every question I asked, Edward answered with so much. I felt sort of guilty for giving him such short responses. This game was meant to help us get to know each other better, and so far, I'd learned far more about Edward than he'd learned about me.

"Your turn!"

He smiled at my rushed handwriting before his face became playfully serious while he thought of a good question to ask. "If you've been moving around a lot, what's been your favorite place to live?"

That was an easy answer.

"This one."

Edward made a face, looking as if he almost didn't believe me. "You can't be serious. This middle-of-nowhere town is your favorite place you've ever visited?"

I shrugged. "Is that another question?" I teased.

He rolled his eyes at this and waited for my response as if he were certain I'd give one.

"Things are different here. Good different. I know it's a small town, but I don't know anyone, and I don't have a history here. I mean … lately, things have changed, and not everything has been good …"

It took everything in me not to write the one thing that felt obvious: he was the reason I loved the town so much. I couldn't bring myself to write it because it must sound crazy. In the short time I'd been here, this small town had chewed me up and spit me out. I had become another horror story—the sort of fable people tell young girls, following the lines of "watch your surroundings" and "don't dress too provocatively or you could regret it". Still, this town managed to feel like more of a home than anything I had ever known before. How fucking sad was that? A place that had caused me so much pain and grief was better than the life I had run from.

"I don't really have a lot to compare this to anyway," I continued to ramble on through my writing. "Before here, I had really only been living in one place. Compared to that, well, anything would be better."

"Where did you come from?"

His voice was soft, as if he were trying to coax a wild animal back into its cage.

"Nowhere," I answered, not teasing him this time. I didn't know how many questions we had used up, and I didn't care. It felt too good to open up.

"Is nowhere far from here?" he asked, playing along for my sake.

"Not far enough." I paused for a moment before asking, "Is it your turn or mine?"

"Let's say it's your turn. I just asked a handful of questions without even following the rules of the game."

I thought for a moment, but my mind was empty. So, I decided on asking the same question. "Where's your favorite place that you've ever lived?"

"You're not being very creative tonight with your questions," he said with a friendly half-smile. "Well, let me think. I don't know … I really loved Washington. But now, I wonder if it would be different than how I remember it. I have so many good memories there … I'm almost afraid to go back and ruin that."

"Have you been back at all since …"

I couldn't write out the rest. Thankfully, he knew exactly what I wanted to ask.

"Since my family passed away? No. I haven't really had the chance. And like I said, I don't want to mess shit up. I had experienced so much happiness there. If I go back there … what if the entire experience feels hollow?"

"Do you really think it will? Maybe if you go with someone, things won't be so bad."

"Go with someone? Who would I go with? It's not like I have any close friends anymore." His gaze turned toward me then. "I mean, would you want to go, Bella? Would you really want to deal with my shit?"

It felt strange to hear him curse. He was so nerdy and stoic and rarely uttered a harsh word. Maybe it was the energy of tonight or maybe the drink in his hand was causing him to really open up. Whatever the reason, this was the most I had ever heard him curse in one sitting. Seeing him adjust his glasses as he uttered the words fuck and shit was almost funny in a strange way. Knowing he had a mouth on him almost made him seem even more human.

"I've dealt with a lot of shit in my life. Your past wouldn't be burdensome. No more burdensome than my past."

A sad smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as part of his jaw trembled. Against the moonlight, Edward looked more vulnerable now than I had ever seen him.

"Let's not talk about the past anymore. Let's leave the past in the past for tonight, if that's okay. Unless … unless you wanted to talk to me about something."

I quickly shook my head. I was more than happy to leave my past trauma in the dark. Tonight, I wanted him to know the Bella I was now … not the Bella I had been.

"There's nothing I need to talk about tonight. The past isn't going anywhere. It can wait."

He smiled at this. "I like that. You're right. The past isn't going anywhere."

"It's your turn, I think. What do you want to ask me?"

Now, he seemed playful, making him appear far younger than he usually did. If it weren't for the few gray hairs around his temples, I'd think he was in his twenties—maybe my age or a year or two older.

"Why don't I ask something that isn't super heavy?" he thought out loud. "What's your favorite color?"

There was a playfulness in his demeanor that made me smile.

"Green. It reminds me of growth. How about you?"

"Brown," he said, seeming as if he didn't have to think about it at all.

Brown? Who liked brown? It was so dull. So boring.

"Brown? Out of all the colors, brown is your favorite? Why?"

He shrugged, and if my eyes weren't playing tricks on me, I was nearly certain there was a blush forming along his cheekbones. What about my question should make him blush? Was he merely embarrassed for liking such a dull and boring color?

"I can't say."

His "I can't say" sounded far more like "I shouldn't say."

"You have to. It's twenty questions!"

"God, things will be so awkward after tonight," he said as he wiped his face as if he were just waking up from a long sleep. "The answer is so corny. I don't even want to say it. When I said brown, I just blurted it out without thinking."

"Come on!" I pouted at him as I wrote. "Tell me! I swear I won't make fun of you!"

"Promise?" he asked, although, he seemed unconvinced.

"Promise."

"Well, brown's the color of my new friend's eyes," he said as he looked at me. "I never realized how nice a color brown was until recently."

"I made you realize this?"

"You've made me realize a lot of things, Bella."

My breath caught in my throat. His voice was so serious it felt like all the air around us was sucked away. Even on the rooftop, I felt like I couldn't get enough oxygen.