Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns all recognizable characters, plots, etc. Only original content, characters, etc. belongs to author. No copyright infringement intended. Any errors contained herein, are expressly the fault of the authors idiocy, and not her betas.

Word Count: 10,327

A/N: So, I lied, but only a little bit. There may be more like 5-6 chapters left to go, but only because this chapter was getting way too long and I had to cut it in two. I'm a wordy bitch; it could happen again. My apologies. But on a positive note: Look a new chapter!

Sorry it took so long, but to assure continuity, I needed to get the next couple of chapters fleshed out before I could post. Also, we had a snow/ice storm here and I was without power for a four or five days. I wasn't able to work for entire week because I couldn't get my car out of the garage, so work has been insane busy.

Yes, I know I suck, but the next chapter or two shouldn't take as long to be posted. Don't hold me to that, though. Lord knows I can't stick to deadlines. My usual thanks to the amazing V, the fuckawesome RedVelvetHeaven, and all of you. You're the best.

Also, just keep trusting me. It's not as bad as it looks.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think . . . if you want.

Chapter 15 – This Love

Who are we to be emotional?
Who are we to play with hearts and throw away it all?
Oh, who are we to turn each other's heads?
Who are we to find ourselves in other people's beds?

Oh, I don't like the way I never listen to myself
I feel like I'm on fire and I'm trying to cry for help
Oh, I don't think you owe me much at all . . .

. . . Who are you to make me feel so good?
Who are we to tell ourselves that we're misunderstood?
Oh, who am I to say I'm always yours?
Who am I to choose the boy that everyone adores?

Oh, I don't see a reason why we can't just be apart
We're falling on each other like we're always in the dark
Oh, I don't think you know me much at all, at all

This love is be and end all
This love will be your downfall . . .

- Ellie Goulding

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~∞Ѿ∞~

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Previously

I pulled away a little, breaking the kiss. Gasping, I warned her, "Bella, if you want me to stop, you have to tell me now. I don't think . . . I won't be able to if we continue."

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~∞Ѿ∞~

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My lips were on his the second the last word left his mouth. I wasn't thinking about the consequences, the risk that I was taking, the people that would be hurt . . . none of it mattered. At that moment, everything outside of that room—outside of us—ceased to exist and, as wrong as I knew it to be, it was the most right I'd felt in nearly two years. Not since the last time we were together before he'd fucked me in that bar bathroom. Looking back on it, that night was the beginning of the end. The night his eyes—all warm and filled with what looked a lot like love—refused to move from mine as he drove me to never before reached heights, and then held me tenderly in his arms until dawn broke across the sky and, with it, the 'us' I thought had finally become a possibility.

Sure, we'd been together since that night, but whereas that time had left me full, each time after had left me feeling progressively emptier until that final day in the meadow that had left me hollow, barren and incomplete. Even the weekend before, which had, in a sick, slightly twisted way, felt a little right—a nice symmetry, if you please—wasn't comparable to what I felt in that hotel room when I kissed him. What had happened in the stairwell had been too aggressive, too vengeful on my part. I had wielded sex as a weapon, using it to get the upper hand in a competition in which he was clearly not trying to compete.

This time, however, was nothing like that. This time there was tenderness and worship, even if it wasn't as thorough as it could have been. Knowing we were on borrowed time and that the clock was ticking down lent it an edge of desperation, but every touch was weighted, heavy with meaning and words we couldn't say. His hand skimming the length of my thigh as he shifted my dress up was 'I cherish you'. My nails scratching down his back as I slid down on him, taking him fully inside, was 'You make me feel whole'. When he caressed my face, tracing my jaw with his fingers, it was 'I miss you'. When I returned the gesture, it was 'Me too – so much'.

Kissing quickly became not enough. He was everywhere at once, and I followed suit, hands roaming, clutching, grasping, tugging, pushing. Demands were made and acquiesced to, clothing shifted just enough to accommodate, and I found myself poised above him as he sat in an armless chair, our eyes and lips locked as I slowly lowered myself onto him.

With soft gasps, he reached bottom, and neither of us moved, just taking a moment to savor the feeling and feelings. Nothing was sweeter than when we were joined, and if we could stay like that always, everything would be perfect. It was only when we stopped obeying our bodies and hearts, letting our heads—jaded, and chock full of fears and doubts and subversion—guide our relationships with others that everything became fucked up, distorted, and eroded.

We moved together in an easy give and take, push and pull, completing the other's movements and each other. Even as our minds struggled to remember what it was like to be together in such a way, our bodies worked in tangent as if we had never been separated by the miles of land and hurt and betrayal. All too soon, yet a lifetime later, we fell apart together with soft exhalations against parted lips and connected eyes.

And then, just as quickly as it started . . . it all fell apart.

. . . everything that keeps me together is falling apart; I've got this thing that I consider my only art of fucking people over . . .

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~∞Ѿ∞~

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Something was wrong, but I couldn't say what, just that a strange feeling had come over me. At first it was just the sensation of unsteadiness, but it soon manifested itself as a shaking in my hands that quickly spread through my body in waves that had nothing to do with the orgasm I'd just had. My skin was crawling, and even though I couldn't make sense of my fragmented thoughts or focus on anything beyond the buzzing of my disquiet mind, I knew that I needed to not be touching him. I couldn't think when I was touching him.

In nearly a blind panic—get away, get away, get away, being the only thought coming in with any clarity—I rose up just enough to let him slip free of my depths before sliding off of his lap and stepping back to put between us the distance I inherently knew I needed. Almost instantly once I was free of the drugging effects of his skin touching mine, the haze began to clear. From somewhere within the receding buzzing, wisps of thoughts began to form. At first like tendrils of fog, they grew less diaphanous with the retreat of the noise, lucidity returning with its disappearance.

And with lucidity came everything that I had shut out when I'd kissed Edward. I was swamped by a guilt so strong that, just nanoseconds after it hit me, was already threatening to sink me.

Cheater, cheater . . .

How could I?

I was a terrible person – the worst kind of person: a cheater. An epiphanic moment, one that I didn't want, but couldn't keep from acknowledging, left me gasping. I was Edward. I had turned into the very thing that had damaged me so badly. Worst of all was that it wasn't the first time. Twice, within a week, I had done the one thing I swore I would never do to someone else, to someone who had done nothing wrong except fall in love with me and give me his unblemished heart. It didn't matter that I hadn't meant to do it, hadn't sought it out, either time; I had still done it and now he was going to pay the price.

He could never know, I thought in desperation, knowing damn good and well that those kind of things always had a way of getting out. It was bad enough that I'd committed such a betrayal; I couldn't allow him to be punished by it just as I had been. I hadn't meant to do it, came the weak protest inside my head. And it was true. What I said to Edward after the first time in the stairwell, that it was a one-time thing, I'd truly meant.

When the tingling that came from being with him had subsided that night and my emotions started to get the best of me, I had convinced myself that what I had done, fucking him, I had done for the sole purpose of putting Charlotte in her place. It was vindictiveness and a need to feel superior . . . she wouldn't be feeling so smug if she knew how eager he was to fuck me or that he did it right under her nose. Take that, bitch! . . . not the need to be with him, the want of him, that made me do it, and somehow, in my justification seeking mind, that rationalization allowed me to pretend that it hadn't happened. Mostly. Making the self-lie easier to believe was the added benefit of giving back to Edward just a little taste of what he'd given me for years.

They were terrible, shallow reasons—believe me, I know—but at the time, they had not only eased the ache of my knowingly committed betrayal, but also soothed my wounded pride. Knowing I had more of a hold on him than she did helped to lessen the hit my fragile ego had taken when I'd found out about her and who she was to him. It made me feel in control and held a certain darkly intoxicating thrill that I would never own up to. Wonder as to whether this was what Edward felt when he screwed around on me (if it could be called that considering we were never technically in a relationship) licked at the back of my mind, but I refused to let it take life, dousing it until it blew away in a puff of smoke. But the scent and embers of it lingered.

This time, however, there was no amount of rationalizing away what I'd done. Nothing I could convince myself of to lessen the gravity of it, because there were no pitiful attempts at revenge or comeuppance driving me to do it; there were no ulterior motives whatsoever. I had done it because I had desperately wanted him, neededhim—loved him —and couldn't walk away from him when he was looking at me with so much need, want, love, in his own eyes.

I had willingly had sex with Edward in the room where, hours earlier, I had helped one of my best friends prepare to make the ultimate commitment to the love of her life, while my loving and devoted boyfriend sat with my father and his, waiting for me to return to him. It felt like a mockery, and I felt like the biggest piece of shit.

The lowest of the low.

Vile and disgusting and so unworthy of anyone's love.

Backing slowly and carefully away from him, I snatched my wristlet from the floor where I'd dropped it, and then turned away from Edward, straightening and smoothing my dress before rushing to the mirror across the room to check my makeup and hair, all the while, trying not to collapse under the weight of my betrayal.

"Bel . . ."

Studiously avoiding looking at him, I focused intently on my task.

"I need to get back before Alice comes looking for me," I blurted, shutting him up . . . if only for the moment. I didn't want to hear what he had to say – couldn't handle it. Not yet, maybe not ever.

"Bel . . ." he tried again, only to fail. Again.

"I'm sure Charlotte has to be missing you by now," I claimed, a sledgehammer-like reminder of his obligations, "but you should wait at least five minutes after I leave before going back to her."

Apparently, his head was too hard for a sledgehammer, because he spoke once again. Maybe a diamond-tipped jackhammer would do the trick?

"Bella!" he snapped in frustration just as I pulled the lipgloss out of my purse to touch-up my now pale but still kiss-swollen lips. I looked at the gloss in my hands, noticing my shaking had worsened. Jesus-fuck! It was the last thing needed to make myself presentable before I could leave. "We have to talk about thi . . ."

"No!" I shouted, startling us both. I turned around to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time since that bare moment when we had come together. "We don't. Because nothing happened, and even if it did . . . it didn't mean a thing and it most definitely won't happen again." You mean it this time, you mean it this time, you mean it this time . . . I chanted in my head, clenching the tube of lip-gloss so tightly that I thought it would shatter.

I looked down at my hand, forgetting myself for a moment, strangely fascinated by the white of my knuckles . . . like bone. I shook my head of the macabre, slightly disturbing thought and focused on the mistake staring at me instead. Edward still seemed stunned—either by the vehemence of my outburst or the fact that he wasn't getting what he wanted, once again. I wondered if his stupor would last long enough for me to actually apply the gloss before I left, but decided not to risk it and just go.

Spinning around, I stormed towards the door, leaving a lost-looking Edward sitting on the throne of betrayal and lies. Fuck it. I'll have to learn to live without lipgloss, I thought as I made my escape.

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~∞Ѿ∞~

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Despite knowing I should keep on keeping on while the getting was good, I couldn't. The second the latch clicked into place behind me, I fell to the side, letting the wall hold me up while my knees let me down. I was a mess—breath coming in uneven gasps, stomach rolling and roiling, and so shaky I could barely keep myself upright. It felt like I was on the verge of a breakdown, my emotions were so out of control, and for the life of me, I couldn't explain the reaction.

Was it my conscience tying to reconcile the guilt of cheating on Jacob with the guilt of knowing that the last thing I wanted to do was walk away from Edward? Was it something more? Later. I'll think about it later.

I had been gone for too long; I needed to get back, but I needed to get control of myself first. In a desperate bid to get myself in hand, I pressed my fists as tightly as I could against my thighs, trying to quell their shaking, and concentrated on slowing my breaths. It wasn't until I was starting to calm, that I realized I hadn't heard a peep from the room at my back. I didn't know how much time had passed since I closed the door on him, but it was too long for the room to still be silent. He too needed to get back soon or there was no way his disappearance would go unnoticed . . . if it had ever.

His quiet was unnerving, but it also made me curious and I found myself turning my head to press my ear against the wall. Holding my breath, I listened intently, but all was quiet on his western front.

My curiosity proved to be sufficiently distracting; I was no longer shaking like a dog shitting razorblades. I sighed and shook my head. I didn't have time to worry over what Edward was doing . . . and you shouldn't care, either, I reminded myself. Worry that someone would notice we were both missing and make assumptions, guessing at the truth, was starting to consume my mind, and that was something that I couldn't allow to happen. Resolved to leaving, I reluctantly pushed away from the wall, nearly stumbling at the inhuman roar and deafening crash that came from inside the room, sudden and jarring.

I spun around to face the room with wide, fretful eyes. I wanted to go to him, make sure he hadn't hurt himself, but callously told myself he wasn't my problem. Going to him would mean . . . so many things, and I wasn't opening that Pandora's Box; the lid to it had barely been closed. Besides, I'd made my decision. Edward was hurt and betrayal and heartache (but could he be more?). Jacob was steady and faithful and loving. I'd made my choice.

And with that, I turned and walked away, never once looking back despite having left so much of myself there.

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~∞Ѿ∞~

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"There you are! I've been looking all over for you," Alice cried out, hands in the air in . . . exasperation? frustration? relief? Remembering that I didn't have the item she'd sent me to fetch, I started to panic.

"I was looking for Rose's garter like you asked me to, but I couldn't find it anywhere . . . even though I nearly destroyed the room looking for it." It just slipped out, my covering for whatever damage Edward had done to the room. I told myself I was covering for myself as well, and I was, but it was incidental, not the motivating factor.

Alice bit her lip and sucked in a breath. "Yeah, about that . . ." Something in her tone was off, and I nearly fell to my knees, to prostrate myself before her and beg her forgiveness. Luckily, she plunged forward before I exposed myself for the monster I was.

"Um . . . turns out I had it in my purse the entire time. Sorry. I would have come to get you and let you know, but I needed to stay here and oversee things." Alice, ever the control freak. "Plus, I honestly thought you would give up sooner than you actually did."

It was the relief over not having been caught, not the apologetic look on her face that caused the laughter to bubble forth.

She waited, a rueful smile on her face, for my laughter to die down before asking with a chuckle, "So, you're not mad then?"

I rolled my eyes in response. As I was about to assure her that I wasn't, a pair of arms snaked around my waist, pulling me against a broad chest and stealing my words. My body went rigid as dread and nausea washed over me. Could I face him just yet? I didn't think I was ready for it, and the smile on my face faltered briefly. Quickly correcting it, I locked that shit up and tried to relax in his arms. After all, his arms were where I belonged, but I couldn't deny the ping of longing, wishing they were another's arms.

Any hope I had of Alice overlooking my reticent, less than welcoming reception of Jake was dashed as she looked at me appraisingly, eyebrow raised and arms crossed over her chest. Attempting to fool her, I turned my smile up a watt or two and brought my arms up to wrap around Jake's around my middle. Alice didn't bite, cocking her hip and pursing her lips like, bitch, please!

Later, I said with an imperceptible shake of my head, praying that she would let it go, but Alice was like a dog with a bone sometimes, and my prayers were falling on deaf ears.

"Where you been, baby?" Jake queried, nuzzling my temple as he gently rocked me from side to side.

I played my part well, tilting my face to bring him into view, my mouth twisted up into a smirk. "Running a fool's errand," I looked back at Ali, wry expression in place, "for Alice and Rose." Smirk back in place, I chuckled, letting Alice know I was teasing. She acknowledged me by sticking her tongue out at me. Five year old.

"Well, now that you're back, why don't you come dance with me for a bit." It wasn't really a question as he was already directing me away from Alice and towards the dance floor.

I slowly shook my head. "Jake. No. You know I don't dance." My voice contained a hint of warning.

His held accusation, pleasantly disguised by a teasing tone. "Unless I'm mistaken, I seem to recall you dancing not that long ago . . ." He trailed off, not needing to complete the sentence since we both knew how it ended . . . with Edward.

"Because I had to, not because I wanted to," I stated, sounding defensive in spite of my best efforts.

"Well, you looked like you were enjoying it, but . . . if you don't want to dance with me then fine. Whatever." The feel of his shrug annoyed me to no end. My jaw clenched.

Turning in his arms, I attempted to jerk free of his hold. When he wouldn't release me, I leaned back instead, nostrils flaring as I put as much distance between us as his arms would allow.

"I wasn't enjoying it! Are you accusing me of something?" I asked angrily, my guilty conscience only partially to blame for my lashing out at him.

"No, not at all." One arm released me, moving from my lower back and taking one of my hands whereupon he unclenched my fingers and laced them with his own. Joined, he brought them to rest against his chest.

"And now, since we're already in position for dancing . . ." he paused and looked pointedly at the way our hands were joined and our bodies situated against one another, ". . . we might as well do it."

Looking oh so amused that I fell for his trickery, his lips lifted in a sly grin, but I was too irritated to return the smile. Still, as annoyed as I was—as much as I couldn't stand being in his arms after what I'd just done—I knew that any further attempts to get out of dancing would end in an argument that Rose's wedding was neither the time nor place for. Besides, my guilty conscience piped up, you did dance with Edward. It's only fair that you give your boyfriend a dance, too.

Gritting my teeth once more, we shuffled our feet for three and a half minutes to some generically sappy love song whose words I chose to ignore. When the song finally came to a warbling close, replaced by something more upbeat, I attempted to extricate myself from Jake's arms, but he wasn't having it. Refusing to let go of my hand, he twirled me around and said, "Where do you think you're going? I'm not done with you yet."

"Jake . . ." I started.

"Bells, come on – lighten up and have a little fun. For me?" He lips pulled into a pout and he batted his eyelashes. "Please?"

I caved. It was the least I could do after what I'd done.

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~∞Ѿ∞~

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Jake managed to keep me out on the dance floor for half a dozen songs or more, keeping me distracted and amused with his silly antics as he hammed it up. Eventually, after being forced to do the Sprinkler and Snorkle to the B-52's, the Runningman to Too Legit to Quit, and Jump, Jump-ing with Kris Kross, along with various other dances to the best of the eighties and nineties, I was able to do like Miss Mary sang it and leave my situations at the door. And once I let loose and set my body free, I not only felt alright, but I actually had fun.

I was laughing as I stumbled over both my own and Jake's feet while we twirled around in a piss poor attempt at doing the swing when I saw him in all his furious, clenched fists, messy-haired glory. It was like having a bucket of ice water thrown in my face. My indiscretions were standing in front of me, not thirty feet away, glaring at me while I enjoyed myself with my blissfully . . . thankfully . . . unaware boyfriend.

Withering under the weight of Edward's stare but unable to look away, I stopped mid-step, causing Jake to crash into me and nearly knock me to the floor; he caught me before I made contact.

"Awww, shit, babe! We were doing so well!" Jake lamented as he set me back on my feet. Maintaining his hold on my upper arms, he leaned back to assess my well-being, his eyes methodically working their way up starting at my feet. I only just managed to look away from Edward by the time he made it to my face. "You okay?"

"Yeah – yeah, I'm fine. Sorry for just stopping. Can we take a break for a few; I'm parched," I lied, fanning my face for effect.

"Sure, sure. We have been seriously neglecting taking advantage of the open bar, and it's about time we rectify that."

He kept me close as he led me off the dance floor and toward the nearest bar, Edward's gaze burning into my back the entire way. Once at the bar, Jake wasted no time bellying up to it.

"Pick your poison, princess," he told me.

"Nice alliteration, there. Um . . . I'll have—"

"Bella!" boomed a deep voice, close and to my left. I was so startled it wasn't until the person continued talking that I realized it was Charlie. "There you are, kid. I have been looking for you all over the place."

"Oh, sorry . . . Jake and I were dancing."

He looked at me in disbelief, and then stepped back, looking both of us over.

"And no one's – no one's hurt?"

Turning to face him fully, I smacked him in the shoulder. "Oh, ha-ha. Very funny. Now, what did you want? I assume you came over for more than just having a laugh at my expense."

"Hey, don't make me haul you in for assaulting an officer of the law," he teased back before growing serious. "Actually, I was coming over to let you know we're gonna take off. Billy isn't feeling all that well –" Jake tensed behind me, drawing Charlie's attention and he raised his hand to keep Jake quiet.

"Before you go off half-cocked," Charlie said, addressing Jake, "Doc Cullen says it's nothing serious, but it's a long drive back, so we thought we'd get on the road. You know how it is."

"So soon? I feel like I've hardly seen you today, but . . . I understand. You know you could just stay here for the night, right? The Cullens' room offer still stands."

"I know kid, but I've got an important meeting down at the river first thing tomorrow and, besides that, a man likes to sleep in his own bed if he can help it. Don't worry about not getting to see much of me today. You had shit to do." He opened his mouth, as if he had more to say, but nothing came out. His mouth closed and he looked to the floor, shifting his feet as he scratched the back of his neck, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"You, uh . . . you looked real pretty today, kid. Prettier than the bride even . . . just don't tell Rose I said that. She's kind of scary. Who knows, maybe one day soon that'll be you up there in the white dress?" He finally lifted his head, looking over my shoulder to Jake with a beaming smile on his face before looking down at me with a kind of stoic proudness. It was obvious what he was thinking.

I blanched, and then averted my eyes and bit my tongue to keep from saying something I would regret. It was like I was chattel, being given away without my permission, and it made me feel powerless, kind of icky, and just . . . wrong. Silence hung in the air for what felt like a bit too long before someone finally spoke.

"You know, I don't look too shabby in a tux, if I do say so myself," Jake joked as he struck a pose, seemingly oblivious to the weirdness that I could feel hanging oppressively over our heads.

Cracking a grin, Jake stopped preening and shared a chuckle with Charlie. It was as if they were already family, and I felt like an outsider as I nervously joined in—my laugh just a bit too loud and staccato—before awkwardly and belatedly adding, "Not too soon."

Either they didn't hear me or they chose to ignore me, but neither of them said anything. I felt the steel band of their expectations tighten another notch or two, constricting my chest and further robbing me of air. Panic flared in my eyes as my breathing grew shallow. Once again, neither seemed to notice.

"Well, kiddo," Charlie started when they were finished with their little hee-haw moment, "I'm gonna get going."

He leaned in to give me an awkward, one-armed hug that I returned stiffly. "I love you and be safe tonight. You got your pepper spray, right?"

I snorted and then huffed out a little laugh, saying, "I hardly doubt I'm going to need it here. Who am I going to use it on, Nana Cullen?"

Charlie crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at me while Jake muttered something that sounded like, "I know a Cullen you could use it on."

When Charlie's eyes snapped to Jake's for a moment, one corner of his mouth lifting despite himself, I was positive that was exactly what he'd said. My snappy comeback died on tongue when my eyes met the stern, disapproving face of Forks' Chief of Police. Swallowing it down, I looked at the floor and muttered, "Yeah, Dad, it's in my purse. I love you, too. Drive safe."

His expression serious, he lifted his hand to my shoulder and squeezed it as he said, "Always do, kiddo." With that, he walked away.

Behind me, Jake rocked indecisively from foot to foot. Charlie had only made it about five strides before Jake called out to him, decision made. "Hey, Charlie! Hold up a sec, would ya?"

I was spun to face Jake before I could see if he stopped. "Hey, I know I planned on staying with you tonight, but I was thinking I should probably head back with Charlie and my dad. I don't feel right about sending my father home with yours when he's not feeling well; he's not the Chief's responsibility. I know Dr. Cullen said it was nothing to worry about, but I should be there, just in case, you know?" He scratched at his neck and shifted around nervously (the gesture eerily similar to what Charlie had done only minutes earlier).

I don't know how much time passed before Jake's voice—hesitant and anxious with worry over my reaction—made me realize that I still hadn't spoken. "Is that, um . . . is that okay? You're not gonna be mad at me or anything, right?"

It was actually . . . kind of perfect, but I didn't say that. "Yeah – no . . . that's, um . . . fine. It's your dad, of course you should go with him. I completely understand," I rambled in reply, trying not to sound overeager or relieved.

"You're sure?" he asked again, skeptic and wary. I nodded and he let out the breath he'd been holding before leaning in and planting a swift kiss to my head. "Thanks for understanding. I hate just leaving you here."

Lost in my thoughts and not really listening, it took me a moment to realize that he had stopped talking and another to grasp what he'd said. "Not a problem," I belatedly murmured as I looked up at his face only to find him staring over my shoulder with a scowl.

I looked over my shoulder, following his gaze like you would a rainbow, and wasn't at all surprised to find Edward, glaring right back at Jacob, instead of a pot of gold when I reached the end. My eyes narrowed as I looked from one to the other twice, and then I shook my head and focused on the one that was my immediate concern just as his attention returned to me.

"You know, you could always come with me," he offered. "That way I wouldn't have to worry about leaving you here all alone."

I rolled my eyes with an annoyed sigh and crossed my arms. "No, Jake, I can't. Just go – take care of your dad. I'm a big girl and I'll be just fine without you babysitting me."

"Right, right, I know. It was just a thought." He wisely didn't argue. "Well, Charlie's waiting. I should go."

He started forward, briefly glancing over my shoulder again, and then hesitated, not even having taken a full step. A spark flashed in his eyes and the corners of his lips lifted in the barest hint of smirk just before he crushed me to him and covered his mouth with mine to give me a showy, over the top kiss. He was sporting a full fledged smirk by the time he released me. He glanced behind me once more, and suddenly looked like the Cheshire Cat, all smugly devious. I stiffened in indignation, grateful when he walked away, tossing a dismissive, "Love ya, babe," over his shoulder.

"Yeah," I replied through gritted teeth, not even bothering to look at him, but happy to see him go.

Keeping myself tightly in check, I took several deep, cleansing breaths, before turning around to see turned Jake just as he made it to my father's side. They briefly conversed, Charlie patted him on the shoulder, and then they both waved goodbye to me—my father looking apologetic for stealing my date away and Jake guilty for choosing his father over me. My annoyance over his posturing in front of Edward vanished, leaving behind a miasma of self-loathing and remorse.

. . . condemnation . . . tried . . . here on the stand with the book in my hand and truth . . . (not) . . . on my side . . .

Jake had nothing to feel guilty for. I didn't want his guilt; I had enough of my own. It made me hate myself just a little bit more, impossible as I thought it to be. And Charlie . . . Well, he had just done me a favor, really. Which made me feel guiltier. Compelled to give them what comfort I could, I offered them the biggest smile I could manage and waved back.

. . . she's not the kind of girl who likes to tell the world about the way she feels about herself . . .

"Love you, babe," Jake called over his shoulder again—this time, more sincerely—as they started to walk away.

"I love you, too," I replied honestly. Feeling tears pool in my eyes, I turned to face the bar and blinked rapidly, trying to both contain and quell my tears; I didn't deserve to cry.

. . . she takes a little time in making up her mind; she doesn't want to fight against the tide . . .

I had to fix things, but I didn't know how. When had everything gotten so complicated? Someone was going to get hurt no matter what I did; better it was me and him than him and her.

. . . now everything's about to fall apart; I won't be the one who's going to let you down . . .

I was so tired suddenly, exhausted. I let out a deep, shuddering sigh and leaned on my elbows, dropping my head down onto my crossed forearms to keep my face off the sticky bar top.

. . . the trick is to keep breathing . . .

I needed a fucking drink—stat—but first I just needed a moment to clear my head.

"You sleeping or just having a bad night?"

My head popped up. "Yes to the latter, but I was hoping for the former. It would have been really nice to sleep through the rest of my bad night. Guess that won't be happening now. Thanks for that, by the way," I replied flippantly.

"My apologies, mademoiselle," he said with a courtly bow. "Why don't you let me make it up to you – buy you a drink. What'll it be, pretty lady, on the house?"

I snorted; couldn't help myself. "First of all, it's an open bar, but even if it wasn't, you're the bartender. And second, I'll take a double Grey Goose on the rocks."

"Well, you can't blame a guy for trying to charm a girl. Coming right up, beautiful." He smirked and then set about preparing my drink. I watched him as he worked, noticing the way his muscles moved under his well-fitted white button up. He was attractive—extremely so, I could admit—but I had no interest in him as anything other than the purveyor of the spirits essential for my inebriation. A sudden charge in the air made me forget about the enticing, but not enough, bartender. I held my breath, waiting, waiting, waiting, refusing to look.

A lifetime or a minute later, the Flirty Drink-mixer-man handed me my drink with a wink, saying, "Here ya' go, honey." He looked over my shoulder. "Looks like you have some company." Way to point out what I was trying to ignore. "You know where I am if you want me to buy you another one later."

"I'll be sure to remember that." I laughed with a humor I didn't feel, took a deep breath, a generous swig and then turned to face him, talking before he was even in sight.

"What do you want, Edward? I think we said everything we needed to say to each other earlier."

"Where'd your date disappear to?" he questioned, ignoring me.

"None of your business. Why are you bothering me?" I demanded testily and then turned back to the bar and my drink.

"Alice sent me to get you." I turned back around to face him, skepticism written all over my face. Alice wouldn't dare . . . Edward shrugged. Or maybe she would. I was starting to feel dizzy from all of the back and forth – both the physical and the mental turning around I was doing. "Anyway, Em and Rose need to leave to catch their flight in—" he looked at his watch, "—just over an hour, so they want to get the garter thing and bouquet toss out of the way. I don't really know why they need us, but whatever . . . I don't ask questions, I just do as I'm told."

"Yeah, that's probably smart," I agreed amicably, forgetting for a moment that we weren't on speaking terms. Fucking terms, but speaking . . . no. Whatever.

When he was just being himself, and not trying get back in my good graces . . . or pants, whichever . . . it was easy to slip back into old habits, and we'd always bantered well. We just got each other. Well, we used to. I think. We were friends once upon a time, back before we added sex to the equation and screwed everything up. We were even able to be friends some of the time after we started fucking around. Maybe we could be friends again? I found myself pondering as I sucked down the rest of my Goose.

"Can I get you another one, Pretty Lady?" asked Flirty McFlirterson, the cute bartender, sidling up to the bar across from me with an ease professing a familiarity that he clearly did not possess since we had only just met . . . and not even officially.

"Um . . ." While I hesitated, his attention was drawn to the asshat behind me and he stood up a bit straighter, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Knowing what I was going to see, but doing it anyway, I looked behind me and found—surprise, surprise, surprise—a glowering Edward Cullen. The expression on his face reminded me of the erroneousness of my errant thought about friendship. Never gonna happen. I looked away. "No, I'm fine thanks. Maid of Honor duties call. Nice to meet you and thanks for keeping me company."

"Any time. I'm here all night if you get bored," he offered with an easy smile that I might have found enticing if I'd never known one of Edward's smiles. And if I didn't have Jake, I reminded myself.

Edward growled behind me and I decided that it would be a good time to go before he did something stupid. Fucking caveman.

"Thanks," I mumbled with a small smile. Hopping off my stool, I walked away, grabbing Edward by the sleeve as I passed and yanking him to follow.

"What the fuck was that, Edward?" I hissed, stepping close to him for privacy. "That was completely inappropriate. You have no right . . ."

"Right. Thanks for the reminder," he muttered coldly, shaking me off. I felt something slam down between us, something that, even when I hated him the most, when he hurt me the most, I had never felt before. I have to admit, I was a little offended, possibly a bit hurt, but I stopped it and me in my tracks, chastising myself since I had no right to feel that way. Edward didn't wait, but he hadn't made it far, so I followed along behind him, maintaining the distance that had come between us—both the physical and emotional.

.

~∞Ѿ∞~

.

The second Alice had given us our instructions, letting us know what was expected of us, I slipped off to the nearest bar—not the same one as earlier—and grabbed another double Grey Goose on the rocks. Combined with all the champagne I'd imbibed throughout the day, it was probably going to put me one foot over the line or in the bathroom puking (If beer before liquor makes you much sicker, what does champagne do?), but . . . it was a celebration and I was celebrating. Even if it felt more like mourning. How can you mourn something you keep saying you don't want? The vodka did an admirable job of drown my thoughts out.

No one was surprised when Emmett disappeared, diving head and shoulders beneath the skirt of Rose's dress when he went to retrieve the garter. What was surprising was the way Rosalie—Rosalie!—blushed a shade of scarlet heretofore unreached by anyone not bearing the surname Swan. I don't think anyone was confused as to the cause of her squirming or the sharp squeal she gave, but like me, I don't think anyone wanted to think about it.

Seconds later, Rose began smacking the portions of Emmett that were hidden below her skirt, furiously whispering, "Emmett! My Nana's here, you ass! Would you quit that and get out here, please?"

She tried to sound and look angry, but her giggles, barely contained smile, and glittering eyes gave her away.

Emmett emerged with the frilly garter in his teeth and a mile wide smile on his dimpled face (which was slightly red from exertion). He rose to his feet, giving his bride a wink as he turned to face the assembled bachelors, and raised both arms above his head victoriously to an accompaniment of hoots, hollers, whistles and catcalls while Rose hid her face in her hands. They were so loud that I barely heard her smug, slightly proud, that's my monkeyman.

Monkeyman? What the fuck? I didn't want to know. I turned to look at Alice who stood at my right, and judging from the look she gave me, she had also heard and also didn't want to know. I turned back just as Emmett prepared to toss the garter. Even though I didn't think she meant it literally, as he hooked it over the thumb of one hand and the first finger of the other, stretching the garter tightly between the two, I found myself squinting his direction, trying to imagine him with more hair, a wider nose, and more prominent brow. Hmm! Monkeyman – I can see it. I still don't want to know, however. I shook my head and zoned back in just as Emmett slingshot the garter into the crowd of men and . . . straight . . . into . . . Edward's hands.

The bouquet toss was no less raucous than the garter toss, but certainly less borderline pornographic. All of the unmarried women—Alice and I included—were herded to the dance floor, Rose turned her back to us, looked behind her once before tossing the damn thing, and it was just like a movie. And not a romantic comedy, either. Shrill squealing erupted and girls all around me began shoving as they jockeyed for position. Almost in slow motion, I watched the bouquet fall in a gentle arc, slipping through the matrix of arms and hands all reaching to grab it as it headed directly towards my face. Staring in disbelief, my hands didn't come up until the last possible second, just in time to catch it as it bounced off my face and headed to ground.

What were the chances that both Edward and I would be the ones to win our respective tosses? I was no statistician, or even a bookie, but I was pretty sure the odds weren't in our favor. If I hadn't known our friends were so against Edward and me being together, I would have thought that they had arranged for it to happen, but I did know, so I wasn't sure what to think.

I barely heard the applause from everyone watching or the grumbles of the gathered women who had lost, I was too dazed as I stood there staring down at the floral arrangement that I still held clutched against my chest. And I was only vaguely aware of everyone dispersing as Alice bounced beside me, clapping her hands like a seal in her excitement. An automaton, I was led to sit in Rose's former chair, still in the center of the room, with a nervous looking Edward standing beside it. His eyes focused on the garter in his hands, never once looking up. I wasn't sure what was happening, but my throat felt too tight to ask. I wasn't sure I really wanted to know, anyway.

Still dazed, I mostly tuned out the heated whispered conversation between Alice, Emmett, Rose and Edward.

"Alice, I really don't think this is a good idea."

"Edward, it's a tradition! Jesus, just get down there and get it over with. Charlotte will get over it; it's not as if you planned it or anything."

"That's not . . . Al, this has . . ."

I started to feel slightly dizzy under the leering gazes of the people surrounding us—some still at their tables, while others stood in order to get a better view. It was like being in a fish bowl, and in my vision, their faces started to distort and blur . . . all except one.

"Jesus-fuck! What the hell is going on here?" Rose demanded.

Charlotte stood out in sharp detail. She stood stiffly several feet away—separate from the crowd, but not with us, either—arms wrapped around her and hands clenched tightly. Her eyes flicked rapidly between where I was sitting and Edward, her expression was a mix of irrational anger, distrust and concern, yet she seemed to hesitant to interfere or become involved in any way. When she saw my gaze on her, her eyes narrowed.

"Ed-ward," Alice spit his name out in two hard syllables, her gaze moving from Edward to Rose, "doesn't think this is a good idea. He thinks it might upset Charlotte. I told him it would be fine, but . . ."

"That's not it . . ." Edward started.

Rose spoke over him. "I don't give a fuck about Charlotte. It's tradition and we're doing it. So, to quote Nike, just fucking do it."

"Babe, I'm pretty sure that Nike's slogan didn't contain the word 'fucking'." Rose glared at him and he raised up his hands, palms forward, beside his chest. Putting them down, he looked at his brother. "Come on, bro . . . don't be a dick at my wedding. Char seems pretty cool; I'm sure she'll get over it," Emmett contributed.

Charlotte looked almost feral—and possibly slightly desperate, too—as she held my gaze for just a moment before abruptly and angrily pulling away to scowl at the wall.

"Fine, I'll do it, but don't say I didn't warn you when this all blows up in our faces."

Charlotte's eyes snapped back to me, incredulity written on her face and in her big blue eyes. It was then that I noticed Edward was reluctantly kneeling in front of me, his eyes apologetic when they met mine, and it became all too clear what was going on.

I stiffened, my first instinct telling me to bolt, but I managed to stay in my seat. Had I been paying more attention during all the months of wedding planning, or even when Alice had spoken to Edward and I earlier, I wouldn't have been so surprised by what was happening, and I could have tried harder to avoid catching the bouquet, but I hadn't been paying attention.

I jerked reflexively when I felt Edward's fingertips on my ankle, his touch feather-light with uncertainty. My reaction caused him to jump, and his eyes flew to mine as his fingers left my skin for a moment. Apologizing, he returned his hand, this time his touch firmer, determined like the expression on his face. I held my breath, biting back a moan, as his fingers slid across the thin skin of my bare ankle, wrapping one-by-one around the bones, and then he tugged.

Puzzled, I asked, "Wha . . . what are you doing?"

"If this is gonna work, you're going to need to uncross your ankles. Please." A hint of amusement passed over his face like a shadow before he tempered it.

"Oh! Right." I blushed, almost kicking him in my haste to uncross them. Biting my lip, I mumbled my own apology. Edward's eyes darkened as they dialed in on my lip, before slowly moving back and locking with mine. Despite wanting to, I found myself unable to break their hold.

Our eyes never faltered as he slipped the garter over my heel-clad foot and slid it up my leg, not stopping until it was inches above my knee. Releasing the garter, his fingers splayed out, one hand hovering above the garter and holding the fabric of my dress away from my skin while the fingers of the other stretched up, briefly sweeping his fingertips—once, twice—across the flesh of my inner thigh before retreating. My skin was on fire and my breathing had grown shallow and rushed. Edward didn't appear to be at all affected. His hands slid out from under my dress, and he stood up, facing our audience and bowing to a mix of laughter and applause.

Dr. Girlfriend materialized beside him, shooting me a proprietary glance before wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing herself against him while I sat mute and passive in the chair, trying to calm myself, my heart still racing and my blood still boiling. I couldn't seem to stop staring as Edward draped his arm over her shoulder and then . . . my heart pounded harder . . . turned into her, eyes closed, and tilted his head to drop a kiss to the top of her head . . . lava flowed through my veins.

His eyes snapped open, locking with mine. His face was impassive, stoic even, but something flickered in the emerald depths of his eyes. He turned his head before I could see what, if anything, materialized. Calming myself proved futile. My heart still pounded loudly against my chest and my blood continued to boil, only for a different reason now.

What the fuck is he doing? He's going to touch her, kiss her right in front of me? After the way he just touched me and . . . earlier? A slew of emotions ran through me and I tried to keep them from playing across my face, praying for the numbness to come back while holding onto the anger because it was easier to do with than the hurt. I had to somehow survive the night. I can do that.

The impending departure of Rosalie and Emmett diverted the attention from the three-ring circus that had just taken place, Edward and I in center ring. No longer under the microscope, my shoulders sagged as I let out the breath I'd been holding and blinked back tears for the umpteenth time that day, unsure why I was crying over that. Oh, maybe because Edward could touch you like he did while looking at you like he was, and then walk away—cool as a fucking cucumber—and immediately get all lovey-dovey with Dr. Perfect-For-Him Girlfriend right in front of you.

It perturbed me that I was so upset about it considering I had pushed him away earlier in the evening. After fucking him, my inner bitch reminded me, to which I agreed. That thought just made me more upset, and a lone tear trickled down my face at the exact moment that Edward chose to look over his shoulder. He looked remorseful and panicked when he saw me, and began to disentangle himself from Dr. Girlfriend, but a sharp shake of my head stopped him. He still looked as if he wanted to come to me, but he was distracted by Charlotte turning to him. I averted my eyes and stood. Rose was about to depart, and would need both Alice and me to help her change out of her wedding dress.

.

~∞Ѿ∞~

.

Alice and I helped Rose and then, after heartfelt hugs for both her and Em, and maybe a couple of happy tears, joined everyone in seeing the newlyweds off. Although the bride and groom were gone, they had encouraged everyone to stay and enjoy themselves, so the party was still going strong. Partying was the last thing I was in the mood for. What I really wanted to do was go home, take a nice, hot shower and try to scrub the filth from my soul, but Alice, Jasper, and Ma and Pa Cullen wouldn't hear of me leaving so early.

I could have easily refused Alice and Jasper—I'd been saying no to Alice, and Jasper by extension, for years—but I never had been able to turn Esme and Carlisle down. So, I stayed, but hated every minute of it. It was disgusting watching Dr. Girlfriend hang all over Edward. She was fucking clingy, something the Edward I knew despised, yet there he was fawning all over her. I wasn't totally buying it though; no one changed that dramatically in just a year and a half. For the most part, his behavior was believable, but there was something in his eyes that told me it was all an act . . . that, and he'd fucked me only a couple hours earlier. Happy, in love men don't do that, doting boyfriends don't do that.

Deciding that if I had to stay and be miserable I might as well be drunk . . . that's right, treat depression with a depressant; that'll work out well . . . I moseyed over to one of the bars and ordered two more double Grey Goose . . . Gooses? . . . Geese? . . . doesn't matter. The first one I drank at the bar for fortification, and the second I took with me for maintenance as I rejoined my adopted family . . . and Charlotte. Yay, me!

Thirty minutes later found me annoyed, mostly drunk and back at the bar nursing another double Grey. I needed a moment away from all the happy couples. Well, one happy couple, really. Do you really need maul him every time I'm nearby . . . which is all the time since the people you insist on hanging out with are my friends (go get your own). Why the hell was I letting it bother me so much? Who gave a fuck if she was with Edward? It was just seriously distasteful of her to shove her tongue down his throat in front of so many people. I mean, have a little class. And stop looking so fucking smug, bitch. She needed to check herself . . . before I was forced to wreck her . . . self. And I needed to seriously consider slowing down on the drinking.

I had tried to be understanding, knowing that Char knew virtually no one in attendance, but her clingy, PDA-filled behavior grated on my last nerve.

"Are you sure you need another one, Bells?" Fucking Edward!

I turned and glared at him. You really want to go there, pal?

"Don't you think you've had enough for one night?"

Apparently, he did.

"No, I most certainly have not, thank you very much . . . not that it's any concern of yours. Don't you have a girlfriend to go keep upright? I mean, with the way she's clinging to you, I'm not so sure she is capable of standing on her own."

At first, he smiled cruelly, a scathing retort on his tongue, but then it was almost like he deflated as his shoulders slumped, his head fell forward, and he heaved a protracted, aggravated sigh. Reining in his frustration, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Bella . . . I'm not going to fight with you," he declared in a tightly controlled voice, but it sounded as if he was saying it to himself, a reminder.

Whomever he was speaking to, it was the wrong thing to say because apparently I was going to fight with him. To hell with what he wants.

"Good. Why don't you run along back to your warden . . . I mean to your girlfriend," I sneered. "You've been gone for all of eleven seconds now, I'm sure she's nearly frantic wondering where you've gotten off to. I'm surprised she hasn't put you a leash yet."

"Bella . . ." he growled in warning, but I just kept going.

"What? Oh – you do have a leash? How cute. It was awfully nice of her to let you out tonight without it. You've got a great girl there, Edward. I bet you'll be very happy as Mr. Charlotte Cullen. Naturally, I expect an invitation for her big day."

"Ha! Really, Bella? You're gonna go there? You're honestly going to act like you have any fucking right to get pissed at me for having a girlfriend? Don't even fucking start that shit with me. What was I supposed to do, huh? Spend the rest of my life miserable and alone as penance for being young, stupid and scared, and fucking everything up with you while you moved on?"

"No, but you could have waited a little while, maybe actually acted like you were a little hurt instead of hooking up with the first piece of ass that comes along!" Even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I knew what I was saying was irrational, that my accusations weren't entirely truth-based, but I just couldn't seem to stop the crazy that was spewing.

. . . pouring like an avalanche coming down the mountain . . .

"Five years, Edward—five fucking years—and the most I ever got from you was a good shagging whenever the mood struck and you couldn't find anyone else to scratch your itch. And the closest you ever got to declaring how you felt about me was when you blurted out, "I love fucking you!' in a dirty bar bathroom." I stopped when my voice broke, and swallowed. That wasn't entirely true. He had told me he loved me in the meadow the day I left Forks, but it doesn't count since it was said under duress as he was about to lose his sure-thing booty call.

. . . I don't mind the sun sometimes, the images it shows . . .

"'I love fucking you'," I quoted for a second time. "Looks like you found someone new that you love to fuck even more."

. . . I can taste you on my lips and smell you in my clothes . . .

"Come off your high horse, Isabella. You act like I ran out and hooked up with Charlotte the moment you left when that's far from the truth . . . unlike some people . . ." The last part was muttered to himself; I don't think I was supposed to hear it. But I did.

. . . cinnamon and sugar-y and softly spoken lies . . .

"What was that, Edward?" I forced out from between my clenched teeth, my voice a dark threat.

"Nothing," he bit out.

"No, what were you going to say, Edward?" If he thought I was going to let it go, he had another thing coming. I had a pretty good idea of what he was going to say, but I needed to hear him actually say the words.

"Just forge –"

"Just fucking say it!" I snapped. Come on, you judgmental ass, grow a pair and say it.

Somehow we drifted nearer to one another, and now were standing toe-to-toe, him attempting to level me with his glare, or at least make me back down, and me, returning his glare and not giving an inch.

"Fine! You want me to say it, so I will . . . I was going to say, at least I didn't act like a cheap whore, snorting, smoking and popping whatever I could get my hands on before fucking anyone I could get to hold still long enough to mount!"

I barely managed to keep from wincing when he said it. Even knowing what was coming, it hurt; I was surprised by just how much it hurt. Ice water flooded my veins as his truth filled words hovered heavy and loud in the silence between us. The volume grew and grew, taking over until it was all I could hear.

. . . you never know just how you look through other people's eyes . . .

I was done with this shit. My demeanor iced over, and Edward seemed to realize he fucked up, but I didn't give him the opportunity to backpedal.

"No, Edward, " I started in a low tone, "you did it the entire time we were fucking."

Without another word, I brushed past him and walked away, leaving him standing behind me, gaping at my departing form.

.

~∞Ѿ∞~

.

Songs Used*
(In Order of Appearance):

Third Planet, Modest Mouse
Condemnation, Depeche Mode
The Trick is to Keep Breathing, Garbage
Pepper, Butthole Surfers

*All songs are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Notes:

". . . shaking like a dog shitting razorblades . . ." - first line from the Alkaline Trio song Radio

The Sprinkler, the Snorkle and the Runningman are all dance moves. The B-52's are a band from the 80s, known for such songs as Love Shack and Rock Lobster, Too Legit to Quit is a song by M.C. Hammer, and Jump, Jump are lyrics from the song Jump by Kris Kross

. . . Miss Mary . . . - Mary J. Blige

. . . leave my situations at the door . . . let loose and set my body free . . . – slightly altered lyrics from Mary J. Blige's song Family Affair

Rec's:
Snapdragon, prettykittyartist
Ashes, Records and Windowpanes, Christie Hart
The War is Over, MariahjilE
Of Pleasure and Pain, GemmaH
Going Under, Sparklnfade
Downward Spiral, content1