A/N * 2/24/22 This chapter has been newly edited and revised. Changes made do not reflect on the overall plot or storyline. Any mistakes and crimes against grammar are mine and not reflective of my former beta and pre-readers.

Thanks to Octoberland and pre-readers Ania and Popola.

Lyrics below the chapter title (italicized) belong to the song Temptation by the Tea Party. Characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The rest is just me and my twisted imagination that loves to conjure up a dark Edward. ;-)

. . . . . .


Prey for the Wicked

Chapter 3

Frestelse

Temptation...

Temptation...

. . . . . .

The sun is her enemy. Wincing, Bella tries to get her bearings, blinking sleep grit out of her eyes. Her bedroom looks and feels foreign. Streams of light pierce through her flimsy, sheer curtains, emphasizing how late she's slept. She doesn't even want to know what time it is. What she truly wants is to pull the covers over her head and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, her screaming bladder isn't in agreement. Lifting her pounding head, muscles aching all over, she manages to roll over and gets rewarded with a nauseating wave of dizziness.

This is where she should be asking herself why she feels like a huge pile of crap, but since she quit allowing herself to ask useless questions decades ago, the best she can come up with is to think, what now?

Which isn't weird at all in her opinion. Her life has always been a chaotic storm. Asking why never gets you a suitable answer. A familiar feeling of anxiety prickles her skin. She exhales slowly and presses her eyelids shut as tight as she can. Adding a panic attack to her list of woes isn't appealing.

You're fine, she tells herself. This is your life. A chaotic storm. Not even moving to Forks to live with her father at sixteen changed that. Which didn't exactly make sense. Growing up under the care of an unmedicated bipolar mother meant Bella's childhood was a mess. Renee had been incapable of staying in one place or providing stability for a child. It was Bella who quickly learned to adapt, becoming the adult, caring for Renee as best she could. So, leaving her mother in the care of her shiny new much younger husband and settling into the dullest town in the pacific northwest with Charlie, the most stable person on the planet, should've heralded a new beginning.

Bella turns her aching head to the cool side of the pillow, letting familiar memories calm her nerves. Boring, she thinks with an internal laugh. That's what she expected. Simple, boring, predictable. All things she craved with a vengeance. Or thought she did.

At first, that's exactly what she got.

Charlie, a long-term bachelor with lousy housekeeping skills, and a diet in need of a serious overhaul, was content to let Bella take over. Being the Chief of Police meant he was busy and rarely home, which suited her independent nature. She started school and kept up decent grades. She even made a few friends.

Looking back now, she realizes dark clouds had been gathering around her. And not just the kind that heralded the consistent rain Forks Washington was known for.

A barrage of accidents and injuries started accumulating within days of her arrival.

Random things at first, like cuts that needed stitches, sprains, bruises. A concussion when a ladder collapsed under her. A broken leg falling down the stairs would've meant an ugly cast for prom; if she'd been the type to go to her prom, which she wasn't.

She chalked it up to being clumsy and worked at paying closer attention to what she was doing. She took up yoga and channelled her few classes in ballet at the age of five to try and be more coordinated. It seemed to work, for a little while at least. And then?

She nearly died in the school parking lot when a little ice sent Tyler Crowley's car skidding towards her like a heat-guided missile. A messed up knee, a shattered ankle, chipped vertebrae, and internal injuries led to a two-month-long stay in Seattle's Northwest hospital and months of physiotherapy.

She nearly died again when a casual shopping trip to Port Angeles with her friends turned into a nightmare when she took a wrong turn leaving a bookstore. She was attacked by four men with the kind of intentions that would've left her with lifelong psychological scars. In the struggle she escaped with her virginity intact, but not her spleen. A stab wound ruptured the organ and doctors called her lucky. Weak from loss of blood and pain, Bella still didn't miss the skeptical look on her father's pale face. If he'd believed in luck at all, his money would have been on the bad kind when it came to his only child.

That skepticism grew when they called her lucky again a few months later after she nearly drowned in a reckless attempt at cliff diving, and again when she totalled a motorcycle she wasn't supposed to be riding.

When she ran into a pack of huge timber wolves on a casual walk in the woods during her senior year, she started wondering if Charlie was right.

If it wasn't for Jacob Black, Bella's first and only serious relationship, she was certain she'd have been on some kind of house arrest. She still remembers the day she caught Charlie glaring in a mirror, rifling through the gray hairs on his head.

"I love ya, kid, but every damn one of these has your name on it," he told her gruffly. As he went to leave, he kissed the top of her head and muttered something about it being lucky she had someone like Jake to look after her.

He wasn't entirely right about that. Charlie was pretty biased on the situation, seeing as how Jake was the only son of Billy Black, his long-time fishing and poker buddy. But an on-again-off-again volatile relationship that ended with several broken windows, and Charlie forced to throw Jake in jail to sober up, should never be called good luck.

Realizing this trip down memory lane has her drifting back to sleep, Bella pushes her hair out of her face and tries to summon enough energy to leave her bed.

Sunlight glaring through her flimsy curtains doesn't help. It hurts her eyes and makes the headache worse. What time is it? she wonders. It has to be afternoon. Even so, if she didn't need to pee so badly she'd probably pull the covers over her head and give up the fight.

It takes a couple of tries but she manages to untangle her legs from the sheets and gets up, the room tilting in a dizzy rush, legs feeling like Jello. She kind of wants to throw up but she makes it to the bathroom and gets her business done, trying at the same time to piece together what she did last night that has her feeling this bad.

Oh, right. The Twilight Tavern. With Mike and Ben. Except Ben bailed early, leaving her with Mike, which wasn't ideal. Mike's kind of an asshole.

She grabs for the toilet paper with her eyes closed.

She remembers the bar was packed and the band was really good, the music allowing her to escape the boring, aimless state of her life. She remembers flirting with the lead singer a little before deciding hooking up with someone in a town the size of Forks was bound to lead to gossip. The last thing she needed was more drama. Not when her life was finally settling after her break up with Jake. Besides, she's never been impulsive. She's rational, reasonable, responsible.

She absorbs the list of letter R adjectives and wonders why they all sound like insults to her lately.

Sucking in a deep breath she flushes and stands, headache screaming, still dizzy. As she stumbles her way to the sink, she remembers she had a few drinks. She's hazy on how many, but this doesn't feel like a typical hangover. She remembers talking to a few people and trying to stay away from Mike who was acting like he wanted to stake some kind of claim on her. As if.

Forcing her eyes open, she squints at her reflection and grimaces.

The tangled hair, smeared mascara and super pale skin are expected. She obviously didn't bother washing her face last night, and she's always pale so it's not a stretch that would be worse. But what's happening with her lips? She touches them gently, noting they feel hot in addition to being swollen.

A sudden and alarming image of black eyes with irises rimmed in red spins through her mind. She hears an echo of a voice whispering something in her ear... A voice like velvet, and sex, and sin...

Her stomach clenches in anxiety and arousal, two emotions that have no business being together. She tries to tame the mess of hair around her face and notices her hands are trembling.

The pain in her head increases.

She remembers leaving the bar, wanting to use the crowd as a way to blend in and hopefully escape Mike's notice.

It didn't work.

The memories come faster.

Mike calling out to her, coming up and grabbing her arm, trying to convince her to come back inside.

Right?

And then…

"I believe the young lady is not interested, Michael."

"Hey, ah, ahhhh, shit. What the fuck, asshole...?"

Mike's wrist in a vise lock created by a strong hand that looked somehow elegant and lethal at the same time. The protective way Mike cradled his wrist when it was released.

"Whatever. I'm going inside, Bella. You do what the fuck you want."

Mike's surly voice fades away from her thoughts, leaving her dizzier than ever, her saviour's face floating just out of reach. Exhaustion digs its claws into her, nausea creating a film of sweat on her forehead.

The sick overwhelming fatigue feels familiar, triggering a new memory from long ago, one she'd rather not remember at all.

A hospital in Port Angeles. An I.V. bag full of dark-red blood. A nurse clucking her tongue while adjusting the tape keeping the needle pierced securely in her vein. "Another unit and you'll be feeling more yourself, dear. You lost a lot of blood. It's normal to feel weak and disoriented. We need to stabilize you for surgery to remove your damaged spleen. Try to be still and relax. There, there now, dear. Don't cry. It's an awful thing that happened to you tonight. An awful, awful thing, but you're safe now..."

Bella shudders. She's usually really good at suppressing traumatic crap. She's had a lot of practice. Why think of that now?

Desperately thirsty, she fills the small glass she keeps by the sink and guzzles water until the tepid temperature from the faucet turns cold enough to make her teeth ache. A trickle escapes her mouth and slides down her chin, cool and soothing. Her mind supplies a new image.

Her living room. A gorgeous face, strikingly masculine. Her heart racing in excitement and fear and need.

"You don't want... a... a drink?"

"Oh, yes, Isabella. I very much desire a... drink."

Edward.

The name burns away the last of the fog in her head, spilling all the details. Her skin prickles and tingles in every place as she feels the ghost of those cool, firm lips, kissing, brushing, demanding as she...what? Begged for more?

Edward.

She drops the glass and it shatters against the porcelain bottom of the sink. Not that she notices...

Edward.

The not unpleasant ache between her legs, tells her she isn't imagining the things that happened.

Oh, God! Not her. That couldn't have been her. She never acted like that, ever!

She looks down, taking in the familiar sight of her body, realizing she's naked and not surprised. Unfamiliar fingerprint-shaped bruises dot her thighs and hips. Every part of her feels overly sensitive, abraded in a way that should be terrifying but instead feels...liberating.

Edward.

Edward with the dark, odd eyes and the velvet voice and the beautiful chiselled jaw and body. Perfectly defined muscles like sculpture beneath her greedy hands.

Edward...

Edward who?

She never asks why, but she had to have asked who?

Didn't she?

Did she really invite him in?

A new wave of dizziness makes her knees buckle, and Bella knows she can no longer stand, no longer think. Repercussions of her actions bounce around in her head, tangling with the confusion, the dizziness, the dead tired feeling getting worse the longer she tries to keep upright.

Did he use protection? Was he clean? Oh, shit, please let him have been clean.

Who was he? A guy passing through? Yes, he said that while they were walking.

A roadie! He had to have been one of the roadies for the band!

A roadie wearing weird as hell contact lenses.

Oh, God. She didn't think he was a roadie, not really. She can't think about what he was though, not now. Hopefully not ever, because her confused head is screaming things she doesn't want to absorb.

So, who was he then? A gallant, dark knight who rescued her, walked her home then… screwed her brains out? He definitely did that. Her brains are not working.

Christ, Bella! What were you thinking? What did you do?

Cursing, she staggers away from the mirror and makes it back to bed where she collapses into the sweet-smelling sheets and blankets. The scent is weirdly comforting, plummeting her hard into sleep and oblivion and dreams about red-black eyes, pale skin and kisses that sting in a twisted, delicious way...

. . . . . .

When she opens her eyes next it's to the sound of someone coming into the house. Keys jingling, the front screen door banging. A muttered curse. Heart instantly beginning to pound, Bella lurches up in bed and tries to focus but it's pitch dark, clearly no longer daytime. The room spins. Someone is definitely in her house. She grips the covers, flight or fight trapping her in indecision, physical weakness making both impossible anyway.

Something rustles. Plastic? Multiple muffled thuds like things are being dropped. More muttered cursing. Bella's ears strain to decipher what she hears but the pounding of her heart makes her blood whoosh behind her eardrums. She sees a sliver of light radiate under her bedroom door like whoever it is has a flashlight. It vanishes but is instantly replaced by a brighter light. She recognizes whoever is in her house has turned on the living room light. Trying to get her legs to move she drops her death grip on her comforter.

"Who's there?" She barely manages to get the words out, her throat shrivelled dry.

Outside her door, the rustling stops. A beat of silence, then, "Bella? Is that you?"

Jess.

Bella sags back against her pillows, relief and a feeling that might be disappointment, if that made any sense, causing her vertigo to increase, whirling the entire room around her like she's on a carousel.

A rapid knock on her door makes her jump.

"Bella? Bella, what the hell? Are you in there?"

Closing her eyes, Bella rolls to her side and burrows back down into her bed. She wonders if she doesn't answer if Jess will leave. Jess is her friend. Probably her best friend. Maybe even her only friend, but she's a lot to take even on the best days. This is not the best day.

"Answer me. I'm coming in there."

Of course, she is.

A second later the light flicks on, casting red striations behind her tightly closed eyelids.

"What is happening? Are you sleeping? It's not even nine o'clock?"

"I was. I am not now," she manages to answer sarcastically. Her vocal cords are tight making her sound like a croaking toad.

"Damn, look at you," Jess remarks, and Bella forces one eye open to give her friend what she hopes is a glare, but is probably more of a squint. Luckily her right hand isn't under the covers so it's easy enough to give her the finger.

"Back at ya, bitch," Jess says, followed quickly by, "Why are you in bed so early? Did you forget we were supposed to have dinner tonight in Port Angeles? I drove all the way out there. I sat in the parking lot for like half an hour! I've been calling you repeatedly all afternoon. I was just getting ready to call Charlie and Jake."

Bella pops her head up. "What? Why? God, Jess. Tell me you did not call my ex and my dad."

"Relax. I didn't. As I said, I was just about to. Can you blame me? I get here, the whole house is dark. You didn't answer the door when I knocked. I was freaking out. I let myself in just to make sure you didn't get killed by some psychopath."

Bella rolled her eyes. "Wow, dramatic much? I'm just trying to sleep. I feel like crap."

"Oh, my god, are you hungover? I know you went out last night, but damn. I can't remember the last time you got wasted. So not like you." She grins as if she approves.

"I'm not hungover."

Standing in the open doorway, her gaze going from Bella on the bed to the scattered remnants of her clothes all over the floor, Jess's grin fades. She blinks, confusion crossing her face. Reaching down, she picks up Bella's bra, dangling it off her finger. Or what's left of the bra. The material looks shredded. "Christ, Bella. What did you do? Bring Edward Scissor-Hands home?"

The shock of hearing his name goes through Bella like a lightning bolt. She gapes at Jess as her mind tries to make sense of what was just said.

Edward with the cool hands, eerily beautiful with the ability to make her abandon all sense of right and wrong.

Edward Scissor-Hands. A make-believe character from an eighties movie. Belatedly, her mind coughs up the time she and Jess indulged in a marathon of Johnny Depp movies back in high school.

Not the same. She doesn't know. Calm down.

Luckily, Jess has the attention span of a gnat. She misses Bella's reaction, drops the bra on the floor, and heads for a window. Cracking it open, she shoves the curtains aside to let in some of the muggy night air, complaining about the heat. She sniffs suspiciously, still utterly oblivious to the panic attack gripping Bella in her bed.

Swallowing in an attempt to unstick her dry mouth, Bella blots her damp hands on the hem of Jake's shirt. The familiar feel of the worn jersey soothes her nerves and lets her grab some composure.

Jess sniffs again, louder. "What is that smell?"

The abrupt subject change throws Bella. "What smell?"

Jess sniffs again, picking up one of the candles from Bella's dresser. Her nose wrinkles faintly before plopping it back down. Obviously, it isn't the source of whatever she's noticing.

Bella sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed. She lifts one of her leaden arms and sniffs suspiciously at her armpit. Well, it isn't any bed of roses, but it's hardly ripe enough to have Jess stalking around her room like a bloodhound.

"Maybe it's me," she offers anyway, as Jess discards yet another candle and picks up Bella's solitary bottle of perfume. "I probably need to shower."

Jess approaches, and Bella is a little startled when she literally leans in and sniffs at her.

"Jeez, Jess. Get away from me."

"It is you," she declares triumphantly. Bella tries to bat her away when she comes closer, encroaching on her personal space. Jess evades and reaches for her sheets, gathering and sniffing them. "Or it's your bedding, I guess? Wow! What kind of detergent are you using? That's amazing!"

"God, you're so weird," Bella snaps, getting up as quick as she can manage. Her nerves stretch wire-thin as it dawns on her that the smell of her bedding is not detergent, but sex and mystery Edward's... cologne? Must be that, right? She propels herself forward, forcing Jess to drop her handful of sheets and get out of the way.

When the room stays steady, Bella takes full advantage to leave it as fast as she can without tripping over her scattered clothes, wanting to get Jess away from the scene of her crimes. Luckily, she follows, muttering something about PMS under her breath.

In the living room, Bella flops on the couch and yanks the threadbare afghan over her legs, chilled despite the fact her house is stuffy and hot. Her heart pounds like she just ran a marathon, tingling exploding in her fingers, face and legs. A bizarre pins and needles sensation she isn't sure what to make of. Jess throws open more windows, verifying whatever is up with her personal thermostat it doesn't have anything to do with the temperature around her.

"God, it's hotter than Hades in here, no wonder you feel like crap, girl," Jess says crossly, batting her hair away from her perspiration damp forehead. Finished wrestling with the ancient windows, she crosses the room and begins opening containers and laying out utensils.

"When you didn't show up, I was starving so I ordered takeout. Here, I'll share." She shoves a styrofoam container Bella's way. "Mushroom ravioli. And there's bread and salad, too."

Bella is about to state she isn't hungry, believing it to be true when her stomach rumbles loudly.

"Was that your stomach?"

Sighing, Bella reaches out and snags the container of ravioli. "Yeah, I guess I should eat."

"Do you think?" Jess says with a huff of laughter.

She hands Bella some plastic silverware and pushes her hair back. "I swear if this frigging heatwave doesn't end soon, I'm going to spontaneously combust! Why the hell don't you have AC by the way? You've gotta be nuts to not have AC these days. Or some kind of masochist."

The aromas of mushroom ravioli and crisp garden salad fill the air, and Bella's stomach lets out another snarl.

Jess snorts and hands her the container of garlic bread. "Here, eat. Preferably before that thing attacks," she demands, scooping up her own container and plopping down at the opposite end of the couch.

For a while, the only sounds are plastic tongs scraping and spearing and the almost comforting sounds of chewing and swallowing. Jess gets up and goes to the kitchen, returning with ice tea. Before she even sits down, Bella guzzles the entire glass, rinsing a huge mouthful of ravioli down in the process. Jess arches an eyebrow at her.

"Do you want more?"

Bella nods sheepishly. Jess rolls her eyes but dutifully takes the empty glass and refills it.

When she settles back on the couch she reaches for the remote and snaps on the TV, flipping channels until she finds a local news station. A bleach-blonde news anchor drones on about two men missing for over a week. Both of them were known members of a biker gang with ties to a sex-trafficking ring, their police 'rap' sheets longer than their combined arms.

Unable to focus, Bella doesn't bother to pay attention. It's all an incomprehensible buzz in her ears. Jess, however, stops eating to watch, making a tsking sound with her tongue and rolling her eyes. "Are you seeing this? She asks. They think there's some kind of vigilante roaming around. There's a bunch of missing people, most of them are criminals."

Bella shrugs and Jess huffs, gesturing at the tv. "Two weeks ago, a girl I know in Port Angeles, her uncle goes missing. Says he's going fishing. He's seen at the Marina getting his boat ready, then poof, no one sees him again. Supposedly his boat never even left the dock. But you don't hear a word about it, do you? A couple of scumbag biker gang dudes who deserve to vanish, that makes headlines." She makes a noise in the back of her throat that reminds Bella of a disgruntled cat. "Sorry, stuff like this just…makes me mad. I say good riddance, and if it is a vigilante I hope he gets away with it."

Muting the television when the anchor turns the camera over to the sports commentator, Jess puts her half-eaten meal on the coffee table and lights a cigarette. Her gaze is steady and speculative as she stares at Bella like she's trying to put together a puzzle in her mind.

"So. Want to tell me what happened last night?"

Used to Jess's mood swings, Bella shrugs and adds her half-eaten meal to the pile of discarded food containers. She lays her head back wearily against the couch cushions, contemplating asking for a cigarette even though she doesn't smoke. She wants something to hold onto to mask how her hands are still trembling.

"Nothing happened. I went to the bar, hung out for a bit, then came home." She stares at the TV screen, the walls that need paint, the faded red wine stain on the floor from a party she and Jake threw a year ago. Anywhere but at Jess whose eyes she practically feels burrowing into her.

Jess snorts in derision, and Bella snaps her eyes back open to regard her friend, curious what the attitude is about.

"Come on, Bella. I wasn't born yesterday."

"What are you talking about?" Playing dumb, Bella flicks imaginary crumbs off her lap.

The TV flickers light over the dim room and the sheer curtains shift in the heavy, moisture-laden breeze. Outside the night is silent and heavy. Not even the crickets that tend to congregate in the neglected hedges at the side of the house are chirping.

"I've known you for a long time. And I know when you're hiding something. You go out last night for the first time in forever…"

Bella cuts her off. "I already told you, I'm not hungover."

"Yeah, I believe you. Remember Angela's going away party last year? You tossed your cookies for twelve goddamn hours straight and I had to look after you. So, I know what you're like hungover and this isn't that."

"What's your point?"

"My point is," Jess continues, shifting her weight till she's leaning forward, pinning Bella with that gaze that says she isn't about to let this go. "Something happened last night to create this." She waves her hand in a circle around Bella. "Sleeping at nine. Looking like an exhausted hot mess. Blowing me off and ignoring your phone. I think you need to share some details."

Bella sinks further into the couch, grabbing one of the decorative pillows and wrapping her arms around it like a shield. "There aren't any details to share," she lies. Well, it isn't a lie. How the hell do you share details that aren't completely clear in your head? She can practically hear herself trying to explain…

Well, see, Jess, it's goes something like this. I picked up a guy last night. Or, he picked me up, the details are unclear. Regardless, he was insanely hot, but also very odd. Gorgeous, nearly black eyes, but different, with like, this red ring thing around his pupils. He talked in a sort of old-fashioned, proper way that was also weirdly hot. I got so turned on by him, I forgot everything I know about being sensible and making good decisions, and let him screw my brains out. It was the best sex I've ever had, and Jake was no dud in bed, so that's saying a lot. I woke up today with bruises, and a feeling I've only experienced once before on that night you convinced me to go shopping with you and Angela in Port Angeles. Remember that? When I got jumped and stabbed by that pervert and his buddies, and almost died from losing too much blood? Yeah, this feels like that.

Bella swallows back the words and shrugs again.

"Well, let's look at the evidence, shall we?"

Bella opens one eye and watches Jess hold up her hand. Her pointer finger extends with the others curled tensely against her palm, as though eagerly awaiting their chance to stand at attention.

"One. Your bra is in shreds on your bedroom floor. Two." The next finger pops up aggressively and Bella almost flinches at the action, her nerves on edge. "Your sheets smell like the best cologne I've ever smelled in my life. I saw the bottle of Tide in the kitchen, Bella, and last I checked Tide does not smell like that. And three? You've got a hickey on your neck the size of a silver dollar." Jess drops her hand, barely allowing that third finger to have its time in the spotlight. "So, I repeat. What the hell happened last night?"

Bella's fingers, not nearly as steady and competent as those of her friend, instantly find the place on her neck that Jess must be referring to. She's only now realizing that there has been an uncomfortable little ache in that spot since she woke up the first time. She easily relegated it to the back of the bus in the overwhelming mix of other aches and pains far more present than this tiny discomfort.

Cool fingers slide over her scalp and tangle in her hair, pulling her head back... Cool breath on her skin, lips icy hot and sinful on her throat, the scrape of teeth, teasing, nipping, and then...

A low growl, the feeling of being consumed and wanting it, wanting more... A sharp pain and exquisite consuming bliss...impossible to tell where one began and the other ended.

"Mine. You are mine, Isabella."

The possessive, dark voice glides out of her subconscious, and she feels her mouth make a sharp oh shape as she throws off the blanket and stumbles to her feet. Ignoring Jess's new questions, she darts to the small mirror by the front door and tilts her head, trying to get the weak light to illuminate her neck.

There.

A dark, bruised patch, violent and obvious against the white backdrop of her throat. She stares at the tiny puncture marks hidden in the swirls of purples and blues and red, raised skin. She stares and stares, and wonders if she hasn't gone a little insane.

"Mine." That's what he said, repeatedly in fact. His voice was a growl, low and made of sex and power and something raw. Even now, full of fear, she feels it igniting right between her legs.

"Remember who you belong to."

Oh, no...

Jess appears behind her, a worried frown on her face. "Bella, don't freak. You can tell me, you know. I'm your best friend, and I'm not about to judge you."

Bella shakes her head, her hair falling back down to cover the mark before Jess can get a better look at it and see that it is so much more than a hickey. Her image stares back at her frozen in disbelief as more visuals flood her mind, coming back quickly now combined with the awareness of so many things she cannot believe she's been ignoring.

Oh, Jesus, what the hell have I done?

"Was it Jake? Bella, please! Tell me it was Jake and not Mike!"

As if Jess's words are a bucket of ice water dumped over her head, Bella exhales with a hard shudder. Her limbs unfreeze and she begins to shake.

"It wasn't Mike," she manages, her mouth suddenly dry again. She tries to say something else, but nothing comes out. Still facing the mirror, she wouldn't have been surprised to see sand spilling out over her tongue that's how dry her mouth is. Sahara Desert dry. Behind her, oblivious to everything, Jess looks to the ceiling and lets out a sigh of relief.

"Thank, god! You had me worried for a minute there." Shaking her head with a small laugh, she turns and begins collecting the leftovers of dinner, piling them neatly in a stack and deftly carting them into the kitchen. Bella continues to stare at her reflection.

Edward. Mystery man, gallant hero? Not damn likely.

Who the hell was he then? Or, better yet, what the hell was he?

From the kitchen, she hears water running and the sound of the silverware clinking together as it's placed in the dishwasher. Normal sounds in a whole lot of not normal memories. She manages finally to move and makes her way with feet made of stone back to the couch where she sinks down. Leaning forward, she puts her head on her knees and concentrates on breathing in, out, repeat.

"So. You and Jake again, huh?" Jess yells to be heard over the slosh of water rinsing glasses. "Is this a one night for old time's sake kind of booty call thing, or are the two of you getting back together, or what?"

Bella lifts her head and places her ice-cold shaking fingers over her eyes. "Or what," she answers robotically, aware of how the words mean so much more to her than they will to Jess.

"You know. Not my place to judge what you get up to with Jakey boy. You're not the first person to get a little inebriated and fall back in bed with an ex. And let's face it, this is Jake we're talking about. He's capital F fine even if you guys do have a crapload of baggage, so I get it. But a word to the wise, you might want to lay off any kinky acrobatic shit if it makes you so messed up and exhausted the day after you can't even function."

Bella chokes out a sound she hopes makes some kind of sense, like a laugh or whatever. She looks up as Jess comes back in the room wiping her hands on one of her old Disney dish towels. Mickey's smiling face is twisted into something unrecognizable, his ears bending and turning with each wring until they look like devil's horns. Mushroom ravioli burns the back of Bella's throat as she hears his voice again in her head.

"You are mine, Isabella. From now until death claims you, until I claim you."

"By the way, Bella, before I forget. Did you know your lock is broken on the front door?"

She barely makes it to the wastepaper basket in the corner, the purged contents of her stomach burning past her throat and rushing out of her mouth in silent heaves. She wishes she could purge the things in her mind as easily.