Author's Note: It's been a long while guys, and I am so sorry. I don't even have a lot to show for it. Writing this fic has become harder for me for one reason or another and I'm trying to work through it. I think I've lost the vision in the hectic turn RL has taken, but I hope with some adjustment I'll find it again.
I've felt bad leaving this unupdated and instead of letting you guys wait longer, I'll post what I have. It may not be the full chapter I intended, but it's about half and it's a whole scene. :)

More Author's Note: I just want to address some the reviews concerning Jacob and Bella's feelings for him. I'm not going to lie; I love Jacob, I do. I am totally aware that a lot of people in the fandom do not, especially some fellow Edward/Bella shippers. But I think Jacob is a huge part of Bella and I just knew he couldn't have not been in this story. And as for Bella's feelings for him and how fixated she's been on him: I just want to explain.

It hasn't been long, maybe a little over a month since the attack. And Bella is or was, or truly believes she is in love with him. The fact of the matter is, Jacob has been the only thing Bella has had, for herself, her entire life, and she's not just going to forget about him, even though she's drawn and attracted to Edward (at this point). Come on, guys. You can't wake up one day and stop loving somebody. It's unrealistic. And you can't just give up on someone you care about. It's cruel, and Bella's not cruel. Even if she wasn't or didn't think herself to be in love with Jacob, she'd still try to find him.

Every story has its conflicts, both internal and external, and this is the conflict here. How even though you love and care and depend on someone so deeply you feel empty without that person, it's possible to cope with such pain, that it's possible to be selfless even when it's too much to bear. And it's possible to find solace and comfort and love in unexpected places. That it's possible to find something extraordinary and be torn between things like loyalty and friendship and love and trust. Bella has a choice to make, and I'm not going to make it easy. Sorry, but I'm not. It's not an easy choice and I'm not going to pretend it is. I hope you guys understand. :)

There was no sun to coax her awake.

Her eyelids simply opened, released her from her night terrors, her memories, her dreams. And she was heart-wrenchingly lucid, staring at the stormy pale skies from beneath mounds of covers.

She shut her eyes against the instant tears, her first thoughts plain and forever altering in their austerity.

Jacob's gone. He could be dead.

Seizing herself, she raised, absentmindedly feeling for her slippers, because it was expected of her. The coolness of the house rose goosebumps on her skin but she didn't mind.

She thought it fitting.

The old stairs creaked as she tiptoed down and hugged one of Charlie's thick robes to her, petite in his wide frame, the blue cloth sliding along the floor.

Her eyes swept across the silent living room and rested on Edward's still lying form, his lashes against his cheeks in a mime of sleep, his head tilted to the side and unnaturally still.

The dam of her thoughts burst forth, last night playing unbidden for her mind's eye.

His arms, his strength, his lips grounding her, awakening whatever was left inside with a fury.

His lids lifted, and those golden orbs pierced her, beckoned her closer, her footfalls soft against the hardwood floors.

"Did you sleep well?" he muttered, and she lied.

"Yes."

Her heart entered her throat as he shifted, reached for her, pulling her down without permission into his cold embrace. And she welcomed it, relenting to the asking question in his eyes and his large palms against her waist.

She laid herself down and nestled close, burying her face into the slope of his shoulder.

"You had nightmares," he whispered, and her body arched exquisitely, naturally as he pressed her tight to him in the small space. His marble lips touched her forehead and lingered. She tried to breathe and clutched at the thin fabric of his unchanged shirt, scratchy against her cheek. "I wanted to hold you."

And her mind answered without deliberation, without her consent, without realizing the implications.

Hold me whenever you want. Please, I want you to.

Her eyes misted and guilt filled her, chastising her.

All the lines she had construed were getting blurry and were fading away. She closed her eyelids and breathed him in, taking comfort in him even when she should turn away and never look back.

"Bella." His voice was tight, controlled and beautiful. "I'll do whatever you ask of me."

Her jaw clenched so firmly she could see stars, and a few errant tears escaped as she squeezed her lids against her cheeks. Her chest pushed into his with each laborious exhale and ungracefully she twined her leg over his to somehow get closer, his hand smoothly detouring over her side, to the crook of her knee and back again, over and over.

She shivered.

I need you. It's wrong, but I need you.

Softly, he kissed both sides of her temples, the innocent gestures somehow sensual as the friction of his touch increased.

I want you, her mind professed. I want you to comfort me.

He was silent and the guilt ate her alive, the truth of her confessions twisting her up.

And then he was pulling her neck back and sliding a closed mouth to her jaw and feathering his lips over the sensitive curve of her ear.

"You're so warm… and soft," he murmured, and she heard the thin line of his control wavering in his tone. "Bella," he moaned. "I want you. In so many terrible, unforgivable ways."

"Please," and her voice cracked.

She thought she felt herself dying when his lips slipped to her throat, and a soft growl vibrated against her chest. He shook as he kissed her pulse and she wrapped her arms around his neck, ushering in the danger with a soft whimper.

He pulled back stiffly, his gold eyes narrowed and pained, the purple circles beneath his eyes deepened with thirst. She touched them, and then with her lips, feeling a surge of concern and affection that seemed to bathe her in warmth.

His lips were parted and she took that as an invitation, licking carefully between them, hitting his closed teeth.

"Slow," he hissed through them, and her heart thudded frantically against him as she gently sucked and soothed and kissed, each action softening him to her.

And then he was kissing her back with the utmost care, pressing back into her, chasing each touch. His palm cupped her cheek and there was no way to describe what he was doing to her.

And then all too soon she sighed into him and he stiffened and pulled away, his chest still.

"Edward," she breathed in awe, and rested into his arms.

He was quiet and rigid and she waited until his fingers wove into her hair and his head fell back into the cushions.

"Why are your eyes different?" she wondered aloud, because it was easier to ignore the torment bubbling up again, the remorse and choking shame.

"Animal blood," he whispered in response, and the pieces fell into place in her mind, one by one.

Her chest filled with ardor, and she held him tighter in gratefulness, the guilt scratching at her for a different reason, for him and everything he was sacrificing, everything she was unfairly asking. "Thank you."

-

It pained him to know that she was grateful.

She was a slip, a breakable little thing warming him even as he chilled her. He could scoff at the analogy, at the truth there—she made him feel, and she clung to him because he leeched her of the same.

But she still clung to him. She still nestled herself into his arms and accepted his cold embrace.

She still whispered to him under the cloak of thoughts and granted him permission to indulge himself.

And what else could he ask of her? What else could he imagine to glean from her shattered lost soul, her confused and beautiful heart that beat so close to his chest?
He was grateful.

"Edward?" she spoke his name, throat clogged with drowsiness.

"Yes, Bella?" He prompted evenly, looking out into space, already knowing her question.

"Tell me about your family," she requested softly. "You mentioned—didn't you mention they lived close to here?"

"I did," he confirmed.

She was silent, waiting, and doubt crept into her bones just as swiftly as hesitation crawled through his. "You don't have to," she whispered in a small voice.

She sighed, letting out a rush of air as he reached to bury a hand deep into her tresses, lightly scratching her scalp. He inhaled her scent and let it rattle his composure, pressing his lips to the messy head of hair within his reach.

He could almost feel the pleasure of her instant thoughts, their frayed edges rough with disgust for herself, and guilt. "Tell me about your nightmare." His mouth brushed the line of her forehead. "I'll tell you about my family."

Her mind instantly protested.

"Please," he whispered.

"Why do you want to know about that?" she stalled, and he smiled grimly.

"Because it's not just a nightmare, Bella, and you've had it before."

"It's about—it's about what happened," she offered vaguely, caught in his trap. "Can you—you can see my dreams?" He felt her stirring of discomfort as she stiffened infinitesimally, and he heard the pain in her tone, her stifled memories awakening.

"Sometimes, fleetingly. When they're vivid and sometimes when you're close to waking," he explained curtly.

There was silence, only her mind turning. "How much do you know?" she whispered.

"Enough," he murmured back, pulling her closer. Her thoughts prodded him, her mind reaching for his. "I know you were running from home. I know vampires attacked you and I know the wolves saved you. I know some of them were killed, and I know you blame yourself."

Her eyes shut; her face turned into his neck, lungs taking him in. "Yes," she said brokenly. "Jacob—" Her voice caught. "He brought me back to La Push and ran for Seth and Leah. For the ones that got away."

"More than one?" He stopped her.

"Two. They were small and looked young. But the girl…" She shuddered violently in his arms and he felt stray tears escaping to wet his skin.

He looked into her mind, quietly watching the images chaotically rushing through her. He suppressed a growl when she thought of the right one. Alec.

"My dad must have known I was gone… no one was there to stop him." From taking me away. And I haven't seen Jacob since. He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw in agony for her, in possessiveness. To be torn from the ones you loved after being so brutally maimed, torn from your only true family after the other half had been slaughtered. "I tried to get away, that night you saved me… but I had no money… I had nothing. And then he locked me up." Her voice caught.

"Bella," her name tore from him; he felt everything that made him pour into those two hastily uttered syllables.

He thought about who lay so trustingly in his arms, so fragile and pliable. He thought about the dangers stalking her shadows and her blind foolish willingness to meet them. And he knew he'd follow her anyway; he knew he'd protect her for an eternity without a thought, without a doubt.

"Tell me about your family," and there was a pleading desperation in her voice. She didn't want to speak of hers anymore.

Even though he knew it was coming, he felt the instant burning of guilt. He felt the creeping cold sadness wash over him, poisonously coating every inch of his insides at her carefully hidden curiosity that teemed with a crashing force inside her mind. His family.

And she wanted to know everything.

So he told her, because she asked. He told her about Chicago and Carlisle. He told her about Esme and her bright loving smile.

With each word he felt her relaxing into him. He felt her trust deepening and her breathing leveling. He felt her amazement, her wonder. He felt her love and life coursing into him, welcoming and warming his dead soul.

Edward felt her, and it was all he ever wanted. She was the salvation he prayed for, and now could touch—but her goodness was his hell, as if only the devil had heard his pleas and took pleasure in his pain.

She was the heaven he didn't deserve.

The heaven he could never have.