(Eleven)

I should let it go.

Forget she ever existed.

But that would be like trying to forget the taste of Jack and Coke.

I give her another week. It's painful, and the days merge as the clock drags. I work overtime. Tyler tells me to go home. I go to the gym instead. Riley tells me he's got to lock up. I walk the streets, pass the restaurant. I call her, but she never answers. I leave a couple of voicemails, then her phone gets disconnected on Tuesday.

Maybe she doesn't want anything to do with me, but something doesn't sit right. I don't know why or how to pinpoint it, but it's there, and I can't walk away until I know she's okay. I'm too wrapped up in the way she makes me feel to pretend any different.

Em told me to forget about her and get on with my life. I asked him how that was going for him. We haven't spoken since.

I push open the door to The Red Lantern, and tell myself to ignore the drinks behind the bar—I'm chasing a different kind of high tonight.

A curly-haired blonde balances a tray of bottles in one hand, like it weighs nothing. She gives me a once-over when I ask if Bella's here.

"Who's asking?"

"A friend."

"Bella doesn't have any friends," she says, and it's not with malice, only bare facts.

"I haven't seen her for a while." I shouldn't let myself care. But fuck it. I do. "I'm worried about her."

She lifts the tray up to her shoulder. "Well, I'm glad someone is." She sweeps her eyes over me again. "She doesn't work here anymore. She quit last week."

"She quit?"

"That's what I said." She turns and deposits the bottles to a table of rowdy businessmen. I wait for her to get back, and she takes her time, testing my resolve. She has no idea how far I will go.

When she returns, she looks annoyed I'm still here. She barely glances over but fires a question at me as she pours out glasses of wine. "Are you friends with Sam?"

"Who's Sam?"

She doesn't warrant my question with an answer, but she relaxes a bit. I immediately tag the name to Tahoe.

"How do you know each other?"

"We hang out sometimes."

"You got her number?"

"I did, but it's disconnected."

"Shit." Her response only adds weight to my concern.

She presses her lips together and then puts down the tray, pulling a napkin from the bar. She hands it to me with a pen. "Write your number on there. I'll let you know if I hear from her."

"Tell her Edward was looking for her."

"Will do."

I stand outside and light up a smoke. My fingers itch to call her number again. Another dead end.

It takes three more days to hear from the blonde, and all I get is an address.

The door to the apartment building is wide open. The hallway is littered with leaves and junk mail and an old bike propped up against the wall. I search the mail boxes for a name to confirm I'm in the right place, and for a second, I can't see anything that fits. Then I spot the name I'm looking for. S. Uley. Sam. Tahoe.

I should think this through. When I was drinking, I lived in the moment, had no consequences. I tell myself I know better, but I can't shake the old ways. They've become part of my nature. Reckless. Thoughtless. Impulsive. They're the unstable cells in my body.

I take the stairs two at a time.

505 has peeling paint and a busted door handle. Confidence that she's here is instantly replaced by concern. I knock once, and the door creaks opens, the flicker of a TV visible in the darkness.

I call out Bella's name and knock again, giving her five seconds before I let myself in.

I'm already over the threshold when she answers, her voice rusty. "I'll be there in a second."

I take a step back into the hallway. A jagged piece of wood has been ripped from the door, black marks further down could have been made by a boot. I don't like where my thoughts take me.

When she appears, her hair's a mess. I take in the oversized T-shirt touching her knees, the socks protecting her feet from the tiled floor. She looks soft—warm and sleep-creased. As tempting as it is to imagine my hands all over her, I focus on the fact she was in bed at 6:30 p.m. on a Saturday and what this means.

Her hands fly up to her chest when she sees me."Edward. What are you … how did you?" She wraps her arms around herself, tries to cover up her state of undress.

"Your friend at the restaurant gave me your address."

A door slams in one of the apartments below us, and the sound chases her confusion away with fear. "Did anyone see you coming here?"

Footsteps grow quieter as whoever it is heads down the stairs. "No. Why would it matter if they did?"

She reaches out and grabs on to me, pulling me through the door. With a last glance into the stairwell, she shuts the door, dragging a box behind it.

"What happened to your door?"

"Nothing … it's not important," she adds when she sees my expression. "Can I get you anything to drink?" She stumbles on the last word like most people do when addressing an alcoholic.

"No, I'm good. What happened to your door?" I ask again, a dog with a bone. I reach out and twist the lock back and forth. It just spins, latching onto air where the catch should be. "This isn't safe. Anyone could walk in."

"Like you?"

"Exactly like me."

She looks away and walks farther into the apartment. It's a mirror image of mine. Unmade bed, clothes everywhere, no light, TV on low, window open to the loud street below. The only difference is hers smells a hell of a lot better.

"I'm guessing Blondie didn't mention I was looking for you."

"Who?"

"The waitress at the Red Lantern?"

"Jessie? No." She perches on the edge of the bed, draws her knees up, wraps her arms around them. "I haven't spoken to her in weeks."

"She made it sound like I should be worried about you."

She chews on her lips. "I'm fine." A lie. She pauses like she can't decide what to say or do with me, so I take the decision away for her.

"I wasn't planning on staying."

"Right. Well …" She shrugs, and plays with her socks, pulling them up over her knees. A second later, she rests her cheek on them and looks at me. Really looks at me. And I let her. I want her to see me. See inside me. See through me.

"Why did you come?" This girl could dodge raindrops in a storm.

"Why did you quit your job?"

"I didn't."

"Fired?"

"Something like that."

"And the door?" I ask again. I need the answer to give me a substantial reason to get her out of this place. To give substance to my other reasoning. I need her near me. I want her.

"It's nothing. Like I said."

I lean against the wall and cross my arms. "Bullshit." Her cheeks heat, and I have to ignore the vision that flares in my mind involving her and the unmade bed behind her.

She unwraps herself and stands up, running her fingers through her hair with a sigh. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"I'm not worried."

She doesn't believe me, and I'm not sure I do either.

She walks over and holds out her hand. "You got a smoke?"

I hand her the packet, and she shakes two out, trapping one in her lips and reaching up to put the other between mine. I search her face for something and nothing. Insomnia, or one of his friends, has left cruel bruises on her skin. I have another vision then, one I crush immediately before it can escape. Of us lying side by side, filling empty hours, exchanging stories and ourselves. A bad idea. A very bad idea.

Bella heads over to the balcony and turns the key, giving the door a final sharp kick to open it. "He'll really kill me if he knows I've been smoking in here."

We both pretend we didn't hear it—her accidental slip. I let her think she can fool me for a little longer and follow her out. People don't say things they don't mean, even if they think they do.

Part of me would welcome him coming home. To find me here and have to deal with someone big enough to fight back. I flicker with excitement at the thought of my fist and his face.

I lean on the balcony edge, and watch the trails of lights below. Bella shivers and blows smoke into the sky. I shrug off my jacket and hand it over even though she shakes her head.

"Put it on," I urge.

"You'll be cold."

"I think I can handle it."

She throws it around her shoulders, burying herself into the warm leather. "I've been thinking about you, you know?"

I don't know what to say, so I try her tactic, watching lights flick on and off in the apartment block opposite. I change the subject. "Have you found another job yet?"

"No. But I've been looking. I'll land something soon."

She's lying through her enthusiasm, numbers circled in red pen that will never get called, opportunities not followed up. I've been here. I know the signs.

"You okay for money?" I expect a fight or flight response, but she just chokes out a dark laugh.

"Money, money, money." She laughs again, making me look over. She's as expressionless as the bricks behind her. "It makes the world go around. Except I want to get off."

I go back to watching traffic. I can't push her for the answers to the questions in my mind. I feel like we're balancing on the edge of this balcony. I don't want to lean too far.

Her eyes are on me again. She's waiting for the inevitable concern, the probing. When it doesn't come, she continues like I knew she would.

"I borrowed a lot of money from Sam." She stubs her smoke out on the brickwork then reaches up and hides it in the guttering. Her T-shirt rises enough to draw my eye. "I can't pay it back, so I'm here and there and wherever else he wants me, doing whatever he wants me to."

I think of them by his car. His hands all over her. "What does he want you to do?"

I've hit the trigger and she shoots back at me. "Nothing like that. I won't do that." She folds her arms across her chest.

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't need to."

The sound of a siren draws closer, flashing lights in the distance. She waits until it's passed, her fingers tracing a crack across the wall until she comes to its end. It leaves her nothing else to do but talk to me.

"We met at school. God, that seems so long ago now." She smiles and it's softened by the thought of her past. It doesn't stay for long. "A lot of stuff has happened since and Sam was there. He's always been there." She shrugs like this is reason enough for him to be there now. From where I'm stood, it's not . "He's always been into ... stuff. I thought it was exciting, dangerous." She trails off, but her eyes flick to the door. Anger sparks under my skin. "But things change. People change."

"You can't stay here."

She shakes her head and reaches for the door handle. "It's easy for you to say that, Edward. But I haven't got a choice." Then she disappears inside.

I stay on the balcony a few minutes.. Let the heat drain from her pride. I find her on the couch, flicking through the channels, her eyes staring at nothing.

"I'll take you wherever you want to go."

She ducks her head, hides her face from me. "I don't have anywhere else."

There's only so long I can tread water before the rust sets in on my good intentions. "You can stay with me … for tonight. Then tomorrow, we'll sort something out."

The nod of her head is almost imperceptible. I get the answer I want, but I feel torn between the good guy I want to be and the bad guy I am. I'm getting what I want, after all.

AN: I've missed hearing from you all! You still with me?

Kim, Choc and Cat sort my mess out. I've carried on messing around too so any mistakes in this chapter are allllll mine.

Kim this one's for you. My 505.

See you next week.

Sparrow xx