Chapter Thirteen: Hold On, We're Going Home

BPOV

Edward is looking at me over Kate's shoulder. His facial expression is indecipherable, but we both know he shouldn't be looking at me when he's dancing with Kate. Also, I shouldn't be looking at him when I'm dancing with Jake.

If you could call this dancing.

Jake isn't interested in dancing at all. He just wants to put his hands on me, which is fine with me, I guess. But now his mouth is doing things. I can feel his lips and teeth on my neck, my hair covering what he's up to. It's a good thing too, because -

Edward.

I suddenly feel dirty as I continue to dance with Jake, but he's pulling me in, hands on my hips, lips on my skin.

I'm too young for this.

We're all too young.

"Jake," I whisper.

It takes him a moment to realize I've spoken and his head lifts, his eyes curious as he looks at me. "Hmm?"

"I want to go home," I tell him.

His eyes light up as if it's some innuendo. It's not. I just want to go home, but I don't say anything to contradict his thoughts, because I don't to fight about leaving. Thankfully, Jake agrees to go without much fuss.

He's the one who interrupts Kate and Edward's dance to say we're taking off, and I make a point of hanging back while he does. I've had enough of Edward and Kate for one day. Heck, I think I've had enough for one lifetime. If I never have to see them together again; my life will be perfectly fine.

I wave awkwardly at them when Jake is headed back to me, and then we're going. Jake drops some money onto the table; we grab our coats, and then we leave. I'm not really sure how I'm going to get out of, uh, making out with Jake, because I'm really not up to it.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Edward.

Edward with Kate.

Jake doesn't seem to sense my unease. I guess I hide it well these days. Or he's just not paying as close enough attention as he once did. We used to be so much better at this. Before -

Just before.

Before Edward.

It's my fault.

But, is it?

When we get to my street, Jake doesn't park in front of my house. It's a typical let's-make-out move, and I think I give in because I'd welcome the distraction. I give in because Jake is my boyfriend and I should want to kiss him.

I guess the one good thing about Jake's knowing what he knows about Ohio is that, when I say it's enough; it usually is.

Enough comes sooner than either of us expects, and he pouts. I absently note that, once upon a time, I might have found it cute or even endearing; but not today. All I can think about as I leave the warmth of his car is that Edward and Kate probably don't have the problem of enough, but I wouldn't know. Edward and I don't talk about that.

We don't talk about a lot of things.

I walk slowly towards the house, trying desperately to shake off the dirty feeling. I haven't felt this way in years, and I hate it. I just hate it.

When I get to the porch, I turn to look back at Jake, but he's already gone.

My brain registers that Edward would have stayed.

My tears tell me I shouldn't care.

It's a little weird after Winter Break. I think our 'double date' just put things in perspective or something like that. Jake and I fight about nothing, because he doesn't want to ask me what my relationship with Edward is really like. I wouldn't even know what to say to him because I can't describe what Edward and I have. We're friends, sure, but it's so much more than that. Nobody would understand.

Heck, I don't even understand.

I think he and Kate fight as well because he scowls whenever her name comes up in conversation. It's not often, but it's common enough for me to notice. It was definitely a bad idea for us to spend that time together, with our significant others. We couldn't hide our familiarity, and it's been chaos ever since. Jake is a little more demanding of my time, and I don't blame him. I was already spending more time with Edward, and that's not okay.

So, I subconsciously inject myself further into my relationship with Jake, though Edward and I still meet on Thursday evenings for our weekly pizza and homework session. I see Jake all the time, even at lunch during the week. We eat in his car mainly, or on the hood in the parking lot.

I'm so relieved when things settle down.

Just to pick up again almost immediately, but in an entirely different way.

It's the Thursday before Valentine's Day, and I'm headed to Edward's just after I receive a text from him, letting me know he just got home. It'll take about ten minutes to drag myself off my bed and head to his house. It's usually enough time for him to shower and get dressed, and we'll be able to get started on our pizzas as soon as I get there. I've convinced him to try more than pepperoni as a topping now, and he's refusing to give me the satisfaction of being the one who made him a little less than boring.

I put on my shoes; grab my jacket, keys and purse, and then head downstairs. I walk past the living room, absently saying goodbye to my mom, who's sitting alone with the TV's volume on low, and her iPad in her lap.

"Where are you going?" she asks, and I stop in my tracks in the doorway.

"Hmm?"

"Where are you off to?" she asks, barely looking up from her iPad. She knows exactly where I'm going, so I find the question odd.

"I'm headed to see Edward," I say anyway, my tone slightly clipped as I hover in the doorway. There is something in her tone I really don't like.

"Oh?"

I sigh. "Okay... now what's wrong?"

She looks at me for the first time. "I just find it a little strange."

"What?"

"It's just, you know, why is it that you're always the one who goes over there, but he never comes to see you here?"

The question throws me slightly, and it gives me a moment of pause. It's a good question, sure, and the answer I want to give just doesn't feel right. It's about Jake and the rest of my friends, isn't it? We're always at his house because any of them could show up here unannounced, and then what would we do?

"Just something to think about," she comments, and I waste no time heading out, unsure what my response would have been anyway.

I try not to think about what my mom may or may not be implying as I drive to Edward's house. It's Thursday night, which is our 'date night.' It's always been at his house. Whatever my mom's hinting at; is it true? Why hasn't he ever come to my house? Why has he never asked? I mean, he's friends with Riley (sort of), and Max absolutely adores him, but he's never made the effort to come into my space to spend time with me or see my brothers.

My mom was implying something. It was about Edward, and it doesn't sit well with me. I don't like the fact she thinks Edward is bad for me. Sure, we've had our ups and downs, but he's good for me. He's been the best thing about this year, really.

And the worst, maybe.

Everything about him is confusing and overwhelming.

When I pull into the driveway, I'm feeling odd. Edward is supposed to be easy but, sometimes, things can get complicated. Okay, more than just sometimes. Particularly after the New Year. We've been struggling with our dynamic, I guess. It's the fact that we're more than normal friends, I think. We talk endlessly. We hug, we hold hands, we kiss cheeks and foreheads. We tell each other our deepest secrets, and we trust each other beyond measure.

It all boils down to the fact that, if he didn't have a girlfriend and I didn't have a boyfriend; we would probably be dating each other.

It's a truth that constantly hangs over us, begging to be acknowledged.

We're both studiously ignoring it.

I eventually get out of my car and make my way to the front door. I don't knock. It's almost a given that I'm here on Thursdays, and I'm able to stroll right in, absently waving at the patrolling security guard on the front lawn.

The house is quiet, which is normal. Maybe Esme and Edward's dad have already headed out. He wants me to call him Carlisle, but I don't think I can. He's my dad's boss; it's too weird. I head to the kitchen where I find Edward already sitting at the breakfast nook, chatting softly with Heidi as she prepares the dough for our pizzas.

He's freshly showered, hair damp and cheeks flushed as he drinks a protein supplement and a glass of Gatorade. He looks relaxed, and I like this look on him. He really is a beautiful boy. It's not lost on me that I've stopped needing Angela to remind me that Edward is stupid hot. She's constantly saying he's sweet as heaven and hot as hell. But, really, she doesn't even know.

"Hi," he says, smiling in that way that I'm convinced in reserved for me.

"Hi back," I say, moving towards him and placing a kiss on his forehead.

He leans into me, his hand sliding around my waist, and we hug for a moment. Tonight is supposed to be easy and simple and, for a while, it is.

Until it isn't.

I don't know how it starts.

Okay, I do, but I don't know why it starts. We're just sitting at his impossibly large desk, each of us working on something different, and I guess my brain just latches onto a subconscious thought, and stupidly decides to run with it.

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Are you ashamed of being friends with me?" I ask.

His head snaps towards me, a frown on his face. "What?" he asks. "Why would you ask me that?"

I clear my throat. "It's just, you know, you've never actually come to my house before... Well, not since the first time."

He regards me for a moment. "Well, I haven't exactly been invited back, Bella."

I stare at him.

"I figured you didn't actually want me around," he says. "It's not like I don't want to come to your house." He waits a beat. Then: "Is that what you think?"

I hesitate.

"Bella?" he questions, frowning deeper.

"Is it because my dad works for yours?" I ask, which is an even bigger mistake because his frown turns into something else. Confusion, yes, but anger too.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asks, and our homework is definitely now abandoned. Forgotten; pushed aside. We're doing this. Okay, we're doing this.

Bella, what did you do?

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asks again when I don't answer. What am I supposed to say? I don't even know what it's supposed to mean. He blinks rapidly, as if he's fighting something. A moment later, it's as if he's made a decision, his mind running with what I did and didn't say. "Do you really think so little of me?" he asks suddenly, his voice low and dangerous. "That I wouldn't want to come to your house because I think you're less than me?" He scowls. "Jesus, Bella."

I open my mouth to say something, but he starts up again before I can even attempt to fumble through words that probably won't even make sense.

"Is that really what you think of me?" he asks, clearly in disbelief. He looks shocked; as if this is something that has never crossed his mind before. "I thought - I mean - is that how I come across? I've never - God - after all this time? Is that - fuck."

I flinch, but he misses it.

He stands up suddenly, and this time he catches my flinch, though he doesn't look at all apologetic. There's such anger in his expressive eyes. And hurt. God, I've really hurt him with my stupid, misplaced assumptions.

"Edward," I try to say.

"Save it!" he snaps, and I flinch again. I really don't respond well to raised voices and curse words. "Maybe I would understand this opinion of me before we became friends, but - " he stops, his voice catching. "You were supposed to be different." Oh, God. "I thought you knew me," he says softly, sounding defeated. "I thought you understood me. I thought you lov - " He shakes his head, making another decision. "I think you should leave."

I blink in surprise. What?

He nods as if he's just accepting the suggestion in his own mind. "Seeing as I'm so fucking high and mighty, yeah; I'd like you to leave."

I just stare at him.

His gaze meets mine for a moment, and I have to hold back a sob. "Please just leave, Bella," he whispers. "Whatever else you want to say; I really don't want to hear it. What could you say anyway? I reckon we've both said more than enough tonight, anyway."

At that, he turns and walks out of his own bedroom leaving me a little stunned. Okay, a lot stunned. I really wasn't expecting him to fly off like that. I also wasn't expecting him to jump to so many conclusions. I mean, it was an innocent enough question, wasn't it?

It takes me an obscenely long time to pack up my things. I half expect him to come back so we can talk about this, but he doesn't. I don't hear another sound in the house, and so I take my leave in silence, feeling thoroughly put out. Sure, Edward and I have fought before - bickered, really - but nothing like that. I mean, there was the whole Emmett/Riley thing, but this is the first time it's really to do with us.

Well, to do with me.

I'm such an idiot.

And it's that idiot in me who doesn't text him an apology when I get home or even the next day. Friday feels like the longest day in all of existence, which is made even worse by Edward's silence. We sit side-by-side in Biology but say zero words to each other. I don't really know what to say, and it's doubtful he'll respond well to whatever I decide on anyway.

So, I stay silent, and the only words Edward says are to Mr. Banner when he answers a question about the make-up of a neuron. His velvet voice is like music to my ears, and I don't know how to fix this. I have to fix this.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of the lesson; Edward packs up his things and stands.

I turn to look at him. "Edward?"

He just shakes his head, gathers his things and then walks away, leaving me to watch after him. I swallow my own hurt and head to English. I'm distracted, of course, and Angela and Jasper definitely notice. Angela attempts to ask me about it, but I just shake my head. It's as effective at keeping her quiet as Edward's head-shake was with me.

French is worse. I can't technically see Edward from where we both sit, but I can feel him. He's behind me, and I just know he's not looking at me. Somehow, I manage to get through the lesson without turning around and begging him to forgive me.

I'd have to apologize first.

When the bell rings, I steel myself and turn around to look at him, but he's already out of his seat and leaving the classroom. Well. He's clearly not ready to talk. I guess that's okay. I'm not quite ready either. I don't know.

But it does make my Friday evening quite sad. I hate the silence from Edward. It's terribly unsettling, and I can't get myself to sit still. I pace, and I try to do anything I can to distract myself, but I'm so restless. I barely get to sleep, tossing and turning the way I tend to do when things get a little too much to handle.

By morning, I don't feel much better. I spend hours working on my homework, even reading ahead like the loser I am.

It's barely gone two-thirty when I give up.

I grab my phone and sigh heavily. Okay. I get it. I'm in the wrong, I know. I open up our message thread. I hate this. I hate it so much. It's been radio silent for so long, and I miss him. I just miss him He's much better at the silence than I am.

I give in.

Beaufort: I'm sorry.

Beaufort: I don't think any of those things I did or didn't say. I'm just letting people get in my head.

Beaufort: Come over?

Beaufort: Please.

Beaufort: This is an (in)formal invitation to have dinner with my family and me. Tonight.

I'm tempted to send more messages, but I don't. I really don't want to overwhelm him. I just stare at my screen for the longest time. He's usually good at replying, and I know this is going to be a long wait.

There's also the possibility he might not even text back.

I busy myself with other things, trying to distract myself from the wait. Because I'm going out with Jake for Valentine's Day tomorrow, we're skipping our regular Saturday date night. Instead, I work on my Physics Problem Set that's due in two weeks' time, my ears tuned in for any sound other than the soft music playing from my dock station.

When my phone buzzes, I practically leap at it. I lie on my stomach on my bed and open Edward's message.

As I read it, my relief very quickly turns to mild panic.

Edythe: What time?

It's awkward.

As soon as he steps through the front door, I pull him aside, hug the life out of him and tell him that my dad is home. If I weren't so off-balance already, I would have laughed at the alarmed look on his face.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't know he would be."

His eyes are wide. "Okay... Am I supposed to be worried or something?"

"No," I rush to say, my right hand touching his chest. "I just - it's a little tense in the house because of it. I know you and I have things to talk about, but I want you to know the tension isn't because of you, all right?"

He blinks.

"Should I come back another time?"

"No!"

Despite his slightly dazed expression, he smiles. "Oh, okay then."

I grab his hand and lead him through to the kitchen, where we find my mom and Riley just finishing up with dinner.

"Oh, Edward," my mom says, smiling at him. It's a genuine smile, which I'm relieved about. Really, this whole mess is her fault; busy putting all sorts of thoughts into my head. "I made seafood pasta just for you."

Edward's grin splits his face, and I can't help my giggle.

Riley steps up, watching him warily. I don't really know what's up between the two of them, but I hold my breath until Riley starts speaking. "Do you play FIFA?"

Edward's hand releases mine as he takes a small step forward. "Do I?"

Riley grins, and Edward smiles back. "Are you game?"

Edward glances at me, asking the silent question.

I exaggerate a sigh. "Go on, then," I tell him. "But behave."

He laughs, and I can't help thinking we'll be okay. Whatever happens, we'll always be okay. "Yes, ma'am," he says, turning and leaning back. He places a soft kiss on my cheek, and then he walks away, following behind my brother.

I watch him go until he disappears, my smile fading into a look of contentment. I'm just so glad he's here; that he isn't so mad at me that he would stay away. My eyes drift away from the door, towards my mom, who's looking at me curiously. "What?" I ask.

"Nothing," she says before she continues doing whatever it is she's doing.

It's not nothing, and we both know it. Edward kissed my cheek. He did it with purpose, and I can still feel his touch on my skin as it lingers. We're in deep, though I'm not sure what we're in, and I'm not sure I want to know.

The longer I play dumb about this whole thing; the more it's going to end up hurting.

Him, me, both of us.

All of us.

When we do finally sit down to eat; I'm feeling marginally better. Edward looks relaxed, my brothers are eating up his attention, and my parents aren't talking to each other. I mean, I know I should be worried about that but I'd rather they not talk right now, anyway, given that they are more than likely to start yelling at each other at some point. Nobody needs to see that. Especially not Edward.

I notice that my mom sets a bowl of pasta right in front of Edward, but says nothing. He shoots me an amused look.

'Eat up,' I mouth to him, and he does. He's a growing boy and all that but, damn, the boy can eat. I'm just relieved he feels comfortable enough not to worry. I mean, I'm sure he can feel the tension that we're all studiously ignoring. Edward and I are professionals at that.

Maybe it's in the blood.

"So, Edward, any plans for the future?" my dad asks, speaking up after a lull in the conversation, and Edward shifts in his seat.

"At the moment, my focus is on swimming," he says carefully, almost diplomatically. "It's going to decide which college I end up attending."

I make a mental note to discuss college with him at some point.

Wait.

I should be discussing this with Jake. I do find it a little weird that my boyfriend hasn't even brought it up yet. Surely, he's thinking about college. He must be getting hounded by colleges who want them to run for them.

"Swimming," my dad says. "So, you're quite good then?"

Edward's eyes flick my way, and it takes me a moment to figure out what's going on. Oh, my God. Is he seriously vetting Edward right now? "Uh," Edward starts; "I'm decent, I guess."

"That's not true," I immediately say. "You're brilliant."

He flushes as if on command.

"He's a nationally recognized swimmer," I continue. I want Edward to be proud of his accomplishments. "On track for the Olympics, aren't you, Cullen?"

He grins at me, and we momentarily forget there are other people at the table.

"The Olympics!" Max squeals. "That's so cool!"

Edward's head snaps towards him. "Uh, not quite yet, Max," he says gently. "I'm going to have to work very hard."

Max nods in understanding. "But that's still so cool."

"So, you haven't thought of what you might study?" my dad asks, and I shoot him a look. What is he doing?

Edward shifts uncomfortably. "No, sir, I haven't," he admits, and I admire him for it. "I'm still a junior. I'm more concerned with where I go. There's no one thing that I'm more passionate about than swimming. I'd study it if I could."

My dad looks thoughtful. "Sports' Science is an option," he offers.

"Charlie," my mom says, and that shuts him up. I don't know if my dad is acting this way because Edward's my friend or if it's because he's my dad's boss' son. I mean, even Jake didn't get this kind of interrogation. Edward also looks a little confused by it, but he accepts the change in topic, prompting Max to talk about Spider-Man, and I roll my eyes at the naughty smirk on his face. What a little instigator.

After we've eaten, Riley, Edward and I clear the table and do the dishes. The boys joke around, absently teasing each other as if they've been friends for years. Edward's eyes meet mine a few times, and he looks light, full of mirth. It's in such contrast to the anger that was burning in him just two days ago. Has it really only been two days since I royally put my foot in my mouth?

Once we're done, I steal Edward from Riley - who pouts - and take him up to my bedroom. I half expect my dad to say something, but he doesn't. I leave the door open anyway. I reason it's just safer for all of us.

My bedroom isn't as big as Edward's, but it does have a lot of stuff. I'm a hoarder, you see. I collect things, and I just never get rid of anything.

Edward looks like he loves it. I watch him as he takes it all in, studying the posters on my walls and the various pictures I've put up. Most are family pictures, but my Seattle friends are present as well. None from Ohio though. I don't have friends in Ohio.

Not anymore, at least.

Well.

Maybe I never did.

Of course, I hid anything that could be classified as 'embarrassing,' but I know I have nothing to be embarrassed about with Edward. He doesn't look as if he's judging anything he sees. But he is looking, and he's learning things. I don't know what, but he's definitely interested. I watch him move towards my bookcase, and I suddenly feel self-conscious of the books he's going to find.

His long fingers trail across the spines, and I can't take my eyes off the movement of his hands.

"So," he says.

"So," I echo, moving towards him. I know I left my door open, but it doesn't stop me from wrapping him in my arms and holding him tight. "I am so sorry," I whisper against him before letting go and looking into his eyes. "About everything I said on Thursday, about being too proud to apologize right that very second and about - "

"Bella," he says, cutting me off.

"Edward?"

"How are you a fan of Stephen King when you don't like horror movies?" he asks.

For a moment, I'm stumped. What? Then: "No," I say. "I'm going to apologize, and you're going to listen to it, and accept it."

He grins at me. "Okay."

My eyes narrow. "I'm sorry," I say again. "I truly am. I didn't mean any of it. I was just - actually, I don't even know what I was. But I'm sorry. Okay?"

"Okay."

I wait a beat. "And, I'm not really a fan of Stephen King. I just like The Green Mile. I first watched the movie with my dad, and I wanted to read the book, and I loved it."

He frowns slightly.

"It's not really a horror. It's actually quite moving."

He blinks.

"Have you never seen it?"

He nods.

"Well, now we know which movie we're watching for our next movie night," I tell him, just now realizing how close to him I'm standing. I take a small step back and mask it by turning towards my bookshelf. I suddenly feel a little nervous, and overwhelmed.

"I see the obligatory 'J.K. Rowling' novels," he says quietly. "How much of a fan are you?" He sounds so serious, and I'm left to wonder why.

"Pretty big," I tell him.

"How big is 'pretty big?'" he asks.

I watch his face intensely, noting the tightness in his lips and the slightly mischievous look in his perfect eyes. "Uh, as big as the average person, I guess," I tell him. "Why?"

His face falters slightly. "Oh."

I frown. "Oh, what?"

"Nothing," he mumbles, turning away from me.

"Hey," I say, lifting my hand to turn his head back, my fingers light on the skin of his chin. "Tell me."

His blush is a surprise. "I just - I guess I just really love Harry Potter," he says; "and I kind of thought that - " he stops.

I can't help my smile. "You're a bit of a fanatic, are you?"

His blush only deepens.

"Are you disappointed you haven't found a fanatic in me?"

He waits a beat before he shrugs. "A little, yeah."

"I'm sorry," I tell him, and I mean it. Sure, we've discussed Harry Potter before, but he looks oddly forlorn about the revelation that I clearly don't like it as much as he does. "Look at the bright side though." His eyes perk up slightly. "I don't not like it."

He lets out an amused breath. "Thank God for small mercies. That's a deal breaker right there, Swan. This friendship would end this very instant."

I've never admitted to him that I secretly like it when he calls me 'Swan.'

His eyes drift back to my bookcase, Harry Potter temporarily forgotten. "Jeffrey Archer, Malorie Blackman," he reads. "Anthony Horowitz, John Green, a lot of John Grisham... Huh?"

"What?"

"Quite a bit of courtroom drama you've got here," he points out.

I shrug. "Most are hand-me-downs from my dad," I say. "He loves them. Also, the Crime, Mystery, Thriller kind of stuff."

He raises his eyebrows. "Oh, so it's inherited them? Your love for the thriller."

I laugh lightly. "You know, now that you bring it up - we didn't actually finish watching Prom Night, did we?"

He masterfully avoids my gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbles, his attention elsewhere. I'm tempted to lean forward and kiss his chin, but I control myself. These responses are merely a result of the fact that we haven't spoken in a few days and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to fix it.

But have I? He won't really let us talk about it, but even I know avoidance of this isn't the answer. Goodness only knows I'm a well-experienced avoider. There are so many things I'm able to ignore, only seeing what I want to see, and I seem to be rubbing off on Edward.

He continues to study the books, and I continue to study him. His jaw tenses periodically, and I reason he must know I'm watching him. Despite it, I don't stop. At a certain point, his steady breathing changes.

"Cynthia Voigt," he whispers, and I look. It's the Tillerman Cycle Series. "I read these when I was younger," he explains, his voice so low that I strain to hear him. "I read a lot of books about parental abandonment. My counselor recommended a few, just to show me that whatever I was feeling was okay, but I kept up with it as I got older. I thought maybe - I guess I thought I'd be able to figure out why she did what she did."

I swallow audibly.

He looks at me. "Maybe it's why I like Harry Potter so much," he says. "There are so many orphans in that series."

I have to point it out because what else can I do? "But you're not an orphan, Edward," I say, my tone matching his in how forlorn we both sound.

"Aren't I?" he asks. "My mother left, and my father followed. When he came back, he was different. Worked all the time; didn't - " he stops. "I think he saw her whenever he looked at me and it was too hard for him. When he met Esme, he could focus on something else. And then the boys arrived, and I guess - " he stops again.

I reach for his closest hand and squeeze gently.

"They're a happy family without me," he says.

"You don't honestly believe that, do you?"

His silence is enough of an answer.

"I only know what I see, Edward; but your family needs you. Of course, they love you. I mean, if you could only see the way Peter and Liam look up to you; their successful, super cool, big brother. Heck, even Max and Riley look at you with awe. It's actually a little irritating."

He looks like he wants to argue.

"It's nothing to do with the swimming," I tell him seriously. "It's you. Everything you are and everything you're not." I squeeze his hand again, almost tugging him towards me. I wait a beat before I wrap my arms around him and absently hum against the skin of his neck.

There's a moment of hesitation before he returns my hug and just lets me hold him. I've never considered myself as someone who's particularly comforting - I've always been quite hard, I guess - but Edward seems to find comfort in me, so I give it to him.

I'd give him everything, if I could.

Edward is the one who brings us out of our morbid topic, and we settle down on the carpet at the foot of my bed with our backs pressed against the mattress, absently discussing the books in front of us as our eyes settle on them. I'm surprised by how many of the books I own he's actually read, and he seems to be making mental notes of the ones he hasn't. We'll definitely have more to talk about soon, I'm sure.

We're sitting side by side, our bodies close. He's cool to touch, but the contact is making me feel warm. This boy is so special, and I think the world of him. I just wonder if he thinks the world of himself. Tonight showed me that there are still things he needs to deal with when it comes to what he feels about his mother, and his dad. And Esme. Really, his entire family.

He mentioned seeing a counselor.

I saw a therapist in Ohio before we left, and then another when we got here. I saw her throughout my freshman year, and then until I finally agreed to date Jake. We discussed ending our sessions a few times, and she used the way I handled approaching a new relationship as indicative of the fact that I was ready to face life without her.

I believed her then, but I think she was wrong. I need her help with the boy sitting on my right side, animatedly discussing his thoughts on the Gone Series. I like to think I'm helping him - Esme and Jane clearly think I am - but I think I just help distract him. I listen to him when he talks, and I hear what he says. He does that for me too, but we both know there is one very big thing I'm not telling him.

"I shudder to think about what this place would be like if all the adults just disappeared," he says.

I drop my head onto his shoulder. "You do realize that, in that world, we would be gone as well, right? We're older than fourteen."

He drops his own head onto mine, and I feel myself relax. I've been so tense, thinking that I ruined everything. But he's here now, and my body is at ease. Sort of like my mind, I guess. "There you go with your logic," he teases. "If you could have any superpower, what would you have?"

"Hmm," I sound, visibly thinking. "Is there something like self-defense?" I ask.

He breathes out. "Uh, like, some kind of shield?"

"Yeah," I say; "exactly like that." We're quiet for a moment, before I speak. "What about you?"

"I've reasoned that messing with time is always going to end badly," he says quietly; "so I'd think I'd like to read peoples' minds, to - " he halts.

"To what?" I question his hesitation.

"To know, I guess," he confesses. "To know if they're true; to know if they really mean what they say; to know that, when they leave, they're coming back."

I lift my head, jostling us both, to look at him. "Edward," I say seriously. "Did you believe me when I told you I was coming back?"

He waits a beat before he nods.

Our faces are so close to each other; I can feel his breath on my skin. "I know we had a rough week, but you're stuck with me," I tell him. "I'm not going to abandon you." I use the word he's terrified of because I need him to hear me. "I won't abandon you."

He surprises me by pecking the tip of my nose. "I hear you, Bella."

"Good," I say. "Because I won't. I mean it, Edward." I take a breath. "I won't abandon you," I repeat.

I lie.

Sunday is Valentine's Day, and Jake has us celebrate our one-year anniversary on it. It's not really our anniversary, but it is the day I agreed to see him, which he reasons was the beginning of it all. He'd worn me down enough, and I'd exhausted myself testing to see if he was the real deal.

It's also the day that Jacob Black tells me he loves me for the first time.

I'm so caught off guard that I choke on my Coke. Wait. What?

Jake looks at me, his puppy-dog eyes wide and vulnerable. "Bella, did you hear what I said?"

I blink, my mouth opening and closing. Did he just...? "Jake," I squeak. "Are you - did you - what - "

"I love you," he says again, his smile hesitant.

Love.

He loves me.

I've had a boy tell me he loved me before, and that didn't really turn out all that well.

Jake's smile falters the longer I remain silent. "Uh," he says awkwardly, his eyes darting around the restaurant. "You don't have to say it back if you don't want to."

I definitely don't want to. I remain silent, Jake just watching me for the longest time.

Eventually, I think he accepts that I'm not going to be saying it back. I note the look of disappointment in his eyes, which quickly turns into something I don't recognize. Confusion, maybe. Determination?

Somehow, our evening gets back on track, and we're able to temporarily shelf the topic of my feelings to see the night out. I can't tell him I love him because I'm not convinced I do. I'm comfortable, I guess. I'm safe in this relationship that I sometimes think will be it. So, why can't I tell him that I love him?

It's been a year. Surely, I should love him by now.

Jake's mood lifts when we order dessert. He's an entirely different person when we take a walk after dinner, his hand in mine. It's... warm, and it unsettles me. Edward's hands are colder than mine. It's something I've grown used to.

Does that mean I hold Edward's hands more than I do my own boyfriend's? I mean, I do see him more, so that makes sense, right?

God, this is all just such a mess.

Sunday night curfew sends us home earlier than it would on a Saturday, and he grumbles about it good-naturedly. I'm just glad he seems to be over his earlier confession and my lack of response. I mean, it's usually a comedic moment in movies when one person says 'I love you' and the other person doesn't say it back, but nothing about this is funny.

We make out until the last moment, which is all I can really give him right now. Maybe he realizes it, because he takes what I give. He takes, and he takes, without asking for more. I never thought that giving physically would be easier than giving emotionally.

Something is wrong with me.

When the light starts to flicker on the front porch, I pull away. He's grinning naughtily at me, and I wipe his mouth with my fingers, hiding the evidence. I straighten myself out because he has straying hands.

I kiss him once, bid him goodnight, and then climb out of the car. I try not to think about the events of this night as I make my way towards the front door. I try to settle myself as I stand on the front porch and turn to look back at the street. I'm not surprised that Jake has already left.

I can't really tell if he's mad about tonight. He was his usual accepting self, so I can only assume he realizes what my silence means because I definitely don't. He was understanding about it, without my having to explain.

It just never occurs to me that his telling me he loves me makes him think he now deserves things from me.

My mind, my time and my body.

Somehow, I managed to convince myself he would be different, but I know better now.

They're all the same.