A/N: You guys are so cute. Someone asked if I'm going to change PoV's, and yes, I am. In this chapter, actually. And don't get mad at me, please. Everything in this chapter had to be done.

Since I finished the chapter early, I decided to post it just because I can't wait for you guys to read it. Love me, my friends!

Playlist: "Under the Bridge"—Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Something in the Way"—Nirvana, "The World I Know"—Collective Soul, "Wake Up"—Alanis Morissette

Chapter Three: Something in the Way

I twisted the rose between my fingers. My cheeks were stained with dry tears. There was just one thorn on the stem of the vibrant red rose, and with a morbid thought, I pushed my thumb on top of it until it pierced my skin. The color of my blood matched that of the rose's petals. Before I could be affected by the sight or smell of my own blood, I stuck it in my mouth.

Edward had been silent for the last twenty minutes, staring out at the open water of the Pacific Ocean that his loft overlooked. The quiet room was only interrupted by the ticking of the silver clock on the wall by the hallway towards his bedroom. I kept my eyes on the rose he had given me before I had lied and broke his heart.

This would be easier, though. A lie was better than the truth in this situation. I had decided I didn't want a public relationship with him. Lie. I wanted him like I needed air to breathe. Truth. My father was going to end this whether we liked it or not. Truth. We couldn't make this work. I wasn't sure on that one yet. Perhaps we could. Just not now.

I stood, breaking the tension in the room, and picked up my keys. I headed for the door, stopping only to see if he would turn to look back at me. I slipped the key to his loft off the ring and dropped it to the floor with the tainted rose and my heart.

I had to get away. I turned my music up as loud as it would go in my truck, so loud it almost covered the roar of the engine. At a red light, I tugged my cell out of my pocket and called Charlie. I was sobbing by the time he picked up.

"Are you happy?" I yelled at him, hoping he could understand me.

"Bella? Bella, what's wrong?"

"Do you have to ask? It's over. I hope you're happy." I paused, taking a shaky breath and wiping my nose on the back of my hand. "I'm leaving. I'll see you when I decide to come home." I flipped my phone shut and spun my truck around, heading towards LAX.

Paparazzi met me there, blinding me with flashes. I knew I looked like shit, but for once I couldn't really care. I had no bags with me, but I kept my passport in the glove box of my truck.

"One, one-way ticket to . . ." I scanned the board for the next out-of-country flight, "Paris," I paid with Charlie's credit card—I had memorized the numbers in case of emergencies—and dashed through security, running to the gate, and getting on in time before they shut the doors.

The flight was not full, so I was able to get a window seat. I took a deep breath, pressing my forehead to the cold pane, and watched as the city disappeared beneath us. I slid the cover down and wrapped my arms around my chest in an attempt to keep myself together.

I had nothing. Edward was gone, I'd shoved him away. I had what cash I had left in my wallet—which wasn't much. I wasn't about to risk getting found with using Charlie's credit card anymore. I was alone, and I almost liked it. If only Edward could be here alone with me.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do once I landed in Paris. I would probably wander around until I had to find a place to stay. Luckily, I had picked on so many different foreign languages when I was traveling with Mom, French being one of them. I'd dye my hair, too. I would start completely over and hope Edward forgave me when I came back. If I did at all.

Edward Cullen

I heard the key and rose drop to the hardwood floor with a hollow sound. The door shut behind her. I was scared to turn around, hope still flickering deep in my chest that she would be standing there. It only hurt more to see the crushed petals on the floor, with the key that I had given her when we first started dating. How many times had she snuck in at night to curl up next to me? How many times had she fumbled with the lock from laughing too hard? How many times had she told me she dropped it in the rose bushes beneath her window at home and spent thirty minutes clawing around in the dark to try and find it?

I wasn't sure I what could do. I felt lost. What did most people do after a breakup? In movies girls got together and ate chocolate ice cream until their hearts were mended. What did the guy do? Go to a bar and drink until they were sweating alcohol?

I didn't want to pick up the discarded items at my door, for fear they would crumble under my fingers. My cell phone sat on the kitchen counter. I picked it up, my fingers dialing her familiar number of their own accord. I wasn't sure why I had her home phone number.

"Hello?" her sister answered on the third ring. I opened my mouth. Should I be calling her home? I was only going to ask if she was okay. I closed my mouth, deliberating. "Hello?" Alice's voice sounded more skeptical, frightened even.

I hung up, throwing my phone at the couch and pinching the bridge of my nose. My heart was beating erratic inside my ribs, as if it was trying to run away with Bella. It made sense, though, for it to want to follow the one who would always hold it. I wanted to follow her where ever she went.

Because I knew there was no way what she had told me was true. She had always been a horrible liar, but at the same time, I could see her up on the silver screen, portraying some tortured soul who found love.

I called my mother, and she urged me to practically stalk the poor girl, but I shot her down every time, though every fiber in my body wanted me to agree. "Then, come home. Angela misses you as much as I do,"

I smiled sadly. Esme and Carlisle lived in Seattle, Washington. Angela was my younger sister by two years who had married Ben Cheney when she was eighteen. They'd been tutored together since they were five, and somehow everyone knew they were going to end up married. Esme was overjoyed to say the least when, last year Angela had said that she was pregnant. And so now I had a nephew that I loved to death, and I hadn't even seen him since he was two months old.

"I'm booking a flight," I said. I quickly told Mom that I loved her and that I would be up to Seattle as soon as possible, meaning tonight, hopefully.

There were photographers everywhere, shouting questions at me as I tried to shield my face from the flashes. They asked if they knew why Bella had purchased a flight to Paris. No comment. They asked if I was following her, but when I paid for a ticket to Seattle, they stopped asking those questions. I sat between one of my biggest fans, and one of my biggest haters. The girl on my left was at least fourteen years old with natural maroon hair with a nose that wouldn't have worked on anyone's face but hers.

She smiled up at me, her small lips glossy from lip gloss. I could smell her cinnamon gum that she quietly chewed. Thankfully, she wasn't annoying like I was expecting her to be. She stayed quiet through the flight, hiding her adorable laughter in a book while she listened to the man in the window seat complain about something he was reading in a magazine. I didn't think it was a coincidence that he was reading my issue of GQ.

"Um, excuse me?" The girl next to me asked, touching my arm to get my attention. I smiled kindly down at her. Her eyes widened and she swallowed. That was one of the many things I loved about fame: The star struck look people got in their eyes when you smiled at them. "I read that issue . . ." she said, composing herself, "Is it true that you're dating Bella Swan?"

I sighed, rubbing my palm over my face. "I was," I admitted. "but she didn't want to continue when they started talking about me,"

"People are jackasses," she spat, turning back to her book and brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. My mouth popped open at her language, and a quick survey of the plane made me think that she was alone.

She shook her head, looking back up at me. "I'm rude, sorry," her mouth turned up in the left corner, creating a cheeky half-smile. "I'm Dalia,"

"It's nice to meet you, Dalia," I smiled.

"You know," she started slowly, slipping a receipt into the book where she was and closing the cover, "People say I'm a good listener," Dalia hinted.

"Really?" I played along. She nodded, her navy eyes big, doe-like, and completely naïve. I swallowed, suddenly nervous for this girl. Who was she with? "How about I ask you where you're parents are right now, if you don't mind?"

She looked down at her lap suddenly. "I'm an orphan," she admitted.

"Oh, I'm . . . I'm sor—"

"No, no," she shook her head, smiling again as she turned back to me, "I'm not an orphan anymore, I guess. I was adopted yesterday,"

She was extremely lucky, then. Rarely were older children adopted. "Well, congratulations," I said, unsure.

"Thank you," she laughed, sensing my nervousness. "If I were you, I'd call her,"

"What?"

"Bella. Call her." She played with the hem of her shirt. "If I know anything about wanting something, but having to give it up, I'd want that something to follow after me. So, call her."

"You're getting dangerously close to being smarter than me, Dalia," I teased, chuckling.

We talked about trivial things for a while, she explaining what kind of family had adopted her. Her new mother had been unable to conceive, and they'd even gotten her a fish named Ted as a welcoming present. I watched as her new family greeted her at the gate, her running into her new mom's arms.

I saluted her with two fingers as I walked by, and she waved shyly.

|==:==|

"Esme," I coughed as my mom wrapped her arms around my neck in an unbreakable hold. "Can't breathe!" I gasped.

She pulled away, only to leave lipstick marks all over my cheeks and forehead. Carlisle came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her off of me. "Let me hold my son," she complained, pouting. Carlisle chuckled, kissing her temple before coming over and hugging me.

"It's good to see you, Edward,"

"You too, Dad," I pursed my lips, hoping I wasn't about to sound rude. "Alright, I can't help it. Where's my nephew,"

"Sleeping," Angela said, carrying the child in her arms. His left arm was hanging over her arm, his eyelids twitching with his dreams. "Hold him, but be careful, he's a little heavier than when you saw him last."

Angela had caramel hair like my mother and I, taking Mom's dark eyes as well. I'd always been insanely protective of her, and with her decision to stay out of the spotlight, it just made my job that much easier. I didn't have to worry about stalkers and insane fans. Ben was her perfect match in everything. His hair was darker, his eyes a striking blue behind his thin glasses. He was the son of two English models, but when he was thirteen, his father ran off with a male French model named Jak, leaving his mom to take care of a pubescent teenage boy.

Luckily, Angela had kept him in line.

I dropped my carry-on, not caring if I had anything breakable at that moment, and carefully took my nephew into my arms. His tiny fist rose to his eye and he let out a little grunt before falling fast asleep again. I loved this kid like he was my own.

"Hey there, Jayden," I cooed, tucking him closer to me. Esme almost fell over as she swooned over the sight. She wanted nothing more than for me to have my own children one day. There was only one chance of that ever happening: If Bella was the mother. That option wasn't looking to up right now. She was all the way across the world, probably eating croissants and sitting on a prince's lap.

No, I told myself sternly, Bella isn't like that. Knowing the real Bella, she was probably tripping over the sidewalk as she tried to find a place to stay.

How I wished that place was next to me, where she belonged.

Isabella Swan

I put my face in my hands. It was almost midnight, and I still hadn't found a place to sleep. In all honesty, I didn't want to find a place to sleep. Sleeping would mean being alone. If I had to sit on this wooden bench all night so I wasn't alone, I'd do it.

France was extremely beautiful, even with frigid weather. It was the middle of October, but I refused to buy a jacket, for fear I would need the money for more important things. Like food or a plane ticket home. When the sun was setting, I had seen a boy sit by his window, staring out towards the Eiffel Tower, some red flower lining his windowsill. He'd caught me staring at me and smiled politely before turning his gaze back towards the iconic building, its top touching the clouds.

His eyes had been sad, as if he was longing for so much more than a view from his window. I had had a similar feeling when I was around his age—I was guessing he was thirteen. I wasn't sure what the hell was going on in my life. I could have anything I could ever want, but I wasn't happy then. I wanted a relationship so bad it hurt . . . and then I met Edward two and a half years later, and the rest is history.

Quite literally.

But now I was alone in the most romantic city in the world, in the middle of October without a jacket. My life was fucking great.

There was suddenly a mug in front of me, steam rising from the liquid inside. I followed the arm up to the person who was providing it to me. The street lights provided little light, but I could clearly see that he had dark, russet skin, long, pitch black hair, and a smile that was utterly contagious, even in my state of mind. "You looked cold," he explained, urging me to take the steaming cup.

I gave him a half smile, cradling the mug in my hands, the extremities screaming with delight at the warmth. Before he sat down next to me, he tugged a thick wool blanket that he had over his arm and wrapped it securely around me.

"Thanks," I shuddered.

He grunted in response as he sat down next me, taking a sip of his own mug. "I'm Jacob," he introduced, smiling as he looked at me.

"I'm B-Bella," I returned his smile, shivering.

"Yeah, I know," he said, causing me to shake my head. Everyone knew who I was. "No, what I mean is, I really know you. Don't you remember me?"

I looked back at him, hoping some feature in his face would jog my memory so I didn't sound rude. "Where you in . . . that one movie? Clone or something?"

He laughed, a light, delightful sound. "Sure," he bargained, "But your mom directed it, that's for sure. You were on set, and I asked you to act a scene out with me—"

"—and it just happened to be the kissing scene," I finished for him, finally remembering. "You're that Jacob."

"The one and only Jacob Black, at your service," He teased, grinning from ear to ear. Jacob looked down the dark street, picking at the lip of his mug. "So, why are you in France?" he asked.

After I decided that he probably hadn't spiked the drink he gave me, I took a sip, pondering what I should tell him. The silence between us was not uncomfortable. "I . . . decided to get away," I sighed finally. He looked at me with a questioning glance. I grimaced, but explained myself. "I broke up with my boyfriend because my dad told me to,"

"Ah, Edward Cullen," Jacob said, looking away with a scowl on his features.

"Do you have something against him?"

Jacob turned back to me and shrugged. "I've never liked his movies . . . I've never met him, but he just annoys me." I crack my head back and laugh because his accusations are ridiculous.

"But maybe I'm biased," I bargain, taking another sip of my drink.

He shows that smile that I'm beginning to grow fond of. "Maybe just a little,"

|==:==|

A purple butterfly landed on the sunflower in front of me. How a sunflower could grow in the middle of winter was a mystery to me. I stood atop Jacob's family apartment—at least until he was finished filming his lasted movie—in France, watching as the sun clambered out of its bed, bathing my face in valuable Vitamin D.

My phone rang yet again, sitting on the edge of the brick wall. I sighed, picking it up, already knowing who it was. I felt bad as I ignored Mom yet again, but I was slightly less sad than I had been yesterday, and I didn't want to ruin my mood. France made me happy.

I didn't hear Jacob join me on the roof. He brushed aside my hair from my neck, slipping the thick blanket slightly lower on my shoulder. And then he kissed my bare skin.

I did not stop him.

A/N: Since I love my Jacob, I decided to let him have some fun with broken-hearted Bella. Aren't I horrible? I know. :)

Please review! I'm so happy you guys like this story and I want to keep it going. Your reviews and comments keep me going.

-R.I.