DISCLAIMER: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer
All lyrics belong to Breaking Benjamin – "Unknown Soldier"

AUTHORS NOTE: I had a major case of writer's block when writing this; so don't hate me too much for this chapter being a drag. It's important, but may be a little boring. I also am in a tough program at school, one that requires lots of time and effort and is extremely draining, so I think that the updates may be a little slow on this one. Just remember, the faster you review, the faster I will update. Right, so… here it is.

CHAPTER 5: FEEDING THE SICKNESS

BPOV

I didn't know what to expect. I knew that something had happened between us, but I didn't know how to react to it. All day the next day I watched Edward, even from a distance, to see if he was any different.

He didn't act it—still extremely quite and intense with an edge glinting in his eyes. He moved quickly and gracefully through the halls, ignoring me completely. Part of me was disappointed, another part grateful. I wouldn't be able to handle Lauren and her bitchiness if he paid even the slightest attention to me—it was pretty commonly known that when she masturbated, his face was what made her cum.

At lunch, he sat at a table with his siblings. Emmett had showed up today, along with his girlfriend Rosalie and her cousin Jasper, Alice's boyfriend. He didn't look over at me once, and though I tried to push it off, a feeling of rejection came over me, making my eyes tingle and my heart sink.

In Biology, he was silent. He didn't speak to me, didn't look at me.

I went home that day feeling worse than I had in weeks.

I was almost finished with Trigonometry homework when Charlie came in. Whistling cheerfully, he hung his belt in the closet and slipped his shoes off near the door. "Hey Bells," he chirped, waltzing into the living room. He plopped himself down in his plush recliner and turned on the TV, flicking through the channels.

"Hey, Dad."

I stood up, ready to make my way to the kitchen. I didn't know what I wanted to make—it was the same every night.

"Hey, Bells?" Charlie asked. I turned to see him looking up at me from the top of his armchair.

"Yeah Dad?"

"We're going to be having some company tonight. Could you make enough for four?"

"Who exactly is coming?"

"You remember Billy Black?"

I gulped. "Jacob too?"

He nodded. I sighed.

"I'll make enough for six."

Jacob had gotten bigger since the last time I saw him. He now towered over me, his long black hair cascading down his back and his arms were so much bigger. I had never seen im to be anything other than the lanky, awkward, my-voice-still-squeaks Jacob, and this was such a surprise that I found myself gawking when he stepped through the front door.

"Hey, Bella," he said. His voice was deep!

I continued to stare. "Hi," I could barely get out.

Before I had time to think about anything, I was wrapped in a tight hug, my feet hanging in the air. "Jake," I spluttered. "Jake, please put me down." Breathe, I told myself. In and out. Think of Edward; his eyes. Dammit Bella, think about his eyes.

I was back on the ground in a matter of seconds, and I looked up to see Jake smiling like a fool. "Gosh, I've missed you Bella. It's been forever."

"A while," I agreed, turning back to the stove. I was about ready to take out the casserole, and then dinner would be ready. Charlie and Billy were sitting at the table, eyeing the steak with hungry eyes. Of course the salad was going unnoticed, but that was to be expected.

"So, Bella," Charlie said. "Tell Billy about Phoenix."

"It's hot and crowded," I said, mindlessly, sitting the steaming dish on the table. "There's never any rain," I paused, thinking of something I could say that they would relate too, "And no fun fishing."

I had no idea if this was true or not—I hadn't actually tried fishing in Phoenix, if that was even possible, but was desperate for something to say so that they would stop trying to strike up a conversation with me and talk about something else. While they prattled on about the Diamondbacks, I went into the garage—followed by Jacob—two get cans of soda.

"So, how old are you now, Jake?" I asked, rifling through the Cokes to find a root beer.

"Just turned fifteen," he said. I handed him a root beer. His face lit up. "You remembered!"

I chuckled. "It's not something that I could easily forget."

Renée had brought me on a trip to see Charlie when I was about nine, and he had taken me on a picnic to meet the Blacks.' Jacob and I hit it right off, playing on the swings at the park and taking turns playing hopscotch. Then, he accidentally spilled his root beer on my shorts, making it look like I peed my pants. Two little boys started making fun of me, and after spitting in their faces, Jacob let me where his shorts while he ran around in his underwear.

His face darkened in what looked like a blush as he chuckled. "I guess I'll never live that down."

"Nope. Never."

We joined our fathers at the table, and I began to find it easier and easier to join into the conversation. I piped in when Charlie started talking about the party, throwing a glare at him every time he laughed about something he had told the natives.

"And then," he said, snorting around a piece of lettuce, "Mr. Crowley said to me, 'Gee, Charlie, that's a fine kid you got there. Where've you been hiding her?'"

I choked on the noodles in my mouth—the only difference was, I was choking in disgust, while everyone was laughing their asses off.

"Excuse me," I said, standing from the table. I made my way to the stairs and climbed up, darting to my room and out the window onto a small balcony I had discovered a few weeks ago. The cool air hit me like a bucket of cold water, but I didn't mind. I wrapped my arms around myself and sat there, looking at the stars and trying to calm down.

Suddenly, there was an extra amount of body heat behind me. "You alright there, Bella?"

I sniffled. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You kind of took off there. Charlie's getting worried."

I shrugged. "He knows I didn't go anywhere."

Jacob grew silent. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders but I flinched away from him.

"Bells? What is it?"

"Nothing," I grumbled. I wrapped myself tighter.

"That's a bunch of shit," he said, his voice taking on an authority I had never heard. "You've been acting weird since I got here. Is it me?"

"No, Jake."

A choked sound came from his throat. "Bella, what is the matter with you?"

A lump in my throat formed about the size of a golf ball. It was difficult to talk around, and the burning in my eyes and nose didn't make it any better. I sniffled again. "Jake…"

"What happened to you?"

And so I told him everything.

EPOV

The next day was strange. I wanted to give Bella all the attention in the world. Every single adoring glance, precious breath and loving words possible I wanted to direct at her, but like the single thought of jacking off into a knothole in a tree, I just couldn't do it. There was some sort of block in my brain, and though I wanted to look at her, wanted to talk to her, wanted to lose myself in her, I just couldn't do it.

And it tore my heart in two.

My siblings had caught on to the fact that I was infatuated with her the night before, and though I had willed for it not to happen, Emmett teased my as if we were Tom and Jerry. Over and over again, he made eyes at me, blinking flirtatiously or putting his hands over his heart, and once he even dared to cup his balls and throw his head back in a fake moan. I wasn't about to go up and hit him, but I was pretty damn close.

All through dinner I kept my feet firmly planted on the ground—my left one so that I could resist the temptation to run it up Bella's leg, the right so that I could resist the temptation to smash it into Emmett's knee. I talked to Esme about school, Carlisle about cross-country sign-ups, Rosalie about my car, Jasper about the Xbox and Alice about the magazine I had found in my car and thrown away. Bella remained silent, and though I tried to bring up topics of discussion that might be of interest to her, she remained silent, only smiling at me once.

The drive to her house was silent. I fiddled with the radio, commenting on songs and announcers that I found interesting, but she said nothing, responding only when I asked her a question. When we pulled up to her house, she turned to me and smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you," she said softly. "I had a lovely time."

And then she was out of the car.

My cock hurt that night, because I refused to touch it. I probed on everything that had happened over the last few months and came to a very unsettling conclusion—I was in way over my head. I had yet to come to a decision on how I felt about her—aside from the unnatural lust I felt—and I still didn't know how she felt about me. And if I wasn't able to figure it out, then maybe this wasn't the right choice for me after all.

The next day was pure torture. I wanted so badly to show her how much I cared, but I could not. And I saw how upset she was, how she watched me with sad eyes at my avoidance of her, how she hurried out of the room in Biology without even waiting for me. I wanted to go to her and tell her how I felt, how I was sorry, but couldn't bring myself to do it.

I felt like shit.

"Edward," Alice sighed, sitting down next to me on the couch after school that day. "Look. I know how you feel about Bella, and if it's any consolation, I don't think she's totally ignorant of you."

I glanced at her. "That doesn't help me, Alice."

"It should," she snapped. "She's a shy girl. Maybe she just doesn't know how to approach you about it."

"Please, Alice," I begged, averting my attention to the heroine addict on TV, who was sobbing her eyes out about how horrible her addiction was. "Just drop it."

She sighed and snatched the remote from my hands, switching the TV off and dropping the control onto the couch. "Look," she growled, turning to me. "Bella is a special girl, not like any of the girls in this town. She's sensitive and shy and sweet and has more compassion than anyone I've ever met. She's not like anyone else, I swear it. And she's tough on the outside but… well, she's just special!"

"Maybe you should date her, Alice."

The tips of Alice's ears turned red. "I'm trying to help you!"

"You're not helping me, Alice, you're patronizing me."

Her mouth opened to form a small O.

"Look," I said, standing up. "Bella doesn't care for me like I do about her, okay? She's proven it many times and though I've tried to overlook it, I just can't stop thinking about it anymore. I've come close to kissing her numerous times, come close to lots of things many times with her, and she doesn't reciprocate. She doesn't show any feeling. She pushes me away."

"She doesn't, she's just—"

"Alice," I choked back the lump forming in my throat. "She doesn't want me."

I was slowly beginning to realize that as much as I had denied it, I needed my piano. Mainly, I had been focusing on my guitar, because that's what Emmett and Jasper wanted me to focus on. Hell, I don't even think Jasper knew that I played piano. But the feelings that were coursing through me were too much for me to handle, and I didn't think I could put it down with guitar strings, the feelings I needed to let go of.

I needed a piano to do it.

I pushed open the door to my small studio. Various computers and recording equipment was pushed up against a wall. Guitars were hung on the wall, along with Emmett's collection of autographed posters and knick-knacks—he had gotten Sebastian Bach from Skid Row to sign a toilet seat, because he was passing on the street one day in California and Emmett didn't have time to grab anything other than the nearest garbage dump accessory.

A drum kit was set up in another corner, and as my eyes swept past it, they settled on my baby grand piano, perched on top of a small set of risers. I stepped up next to it and ran my fingers over the dusty keys. Pressing on one of them, I winced as the sound of loose strings filled my ears. It needed to be tuned, bad.

Once I sat down to the bench and placed my hands over the keys. Pressing down lightly, a soft, minor chord filled the room. I closed my eyes and pictured Bella's face. The music began to play.

Over and over and over I ran my hands up and down the keyboard, pressing my feet into the pedals and playing her song. Her face drove me past the point of inspiration—I wasn't even sure what I was doing. I just played how I felt, what I felt about her, what came to mind, and hoped that someday I would be able to look back and know how I was feeling.

The night wore on, and I still played. And though I did not know it, the printer printed page after page of music.

BPOV

Jake and Billy had left about an hour ago. Charlie had gone to bed thirty minutes ago.

I had been on my roof for three hours.

There was no water left in my body—I had cried for the first time in three years, and Jake had let me, listening to everything I had to say and comforting me. He hadn't made me feel stupid or slutty like I thought he would, and instead of saying, "I'm sorry," like at someone's funeral, the first words out of his mouth were, "That fucking bastard," and then next phrase was, "How are you feeling?"

I told him about the nightmares.

He had clutched me tightly to his chest, telling me that everything was going to get better. Not that everything was going to be alright, because he and I both knew that it wouldn't. But he said he knew it would get better. And he said that if it didn't, he would be there.

Jacob was the kindest person I had ever met.

But I still wanted Edward.

I had a bad headache the next morning—worse than when Renée suddenly broke the coffee kick we had been on for three months solid, worse than after I came home from a rock concert that smelled of cigarette smoke, worse than being dizzy from an insanely fast, circular spinning ride at a fair.

This headache was worse because it was fueled by heartache.

I was emotionally drained. The huge abyss was reduced to a tiny black area in my brain where all the images of that night were placed, but it was easier to hide away now and I just felt numb.

I stayed in bed, drifting in and out of sleep. There was almost a peacefulness that settled over me, and in that peacefulness came a numbing feeling that caused me to want to close my eyes. I felt strangely dead inside, but not in a completely horrid way—just devoid of any feeling.

It was unnatural, but somehow a relief to feel that way. All emotion was secure behind a gate that I didn't have to open if I didn't want to. I was safe, I was comforted. I was finally protecting myself.

I didn't go to school that day, but stayed at home, continually drifting. Not much thought passed through me, only the fact that Edward was out there somewhere. He flitted through my mind, but when his face came in front of my eyes, my heart thrummed and butterflies stirred in my belly, which distracted me from my peacefulness. So, I stopped thinking about him.

I ignored my phone when it ringed. I turned my alarm clock around to ignore time. The sun was nowhere to be seen, so the day seemed completely endless. Morning blended into midday, which faded into afternoon. And I lay quietly in my bed, feeling nothing.

Until there was a knock on my front door.

Rolling out of bed, I slipped my feet into old slippers and tied a robe tight to my body. Pulling my hair into a bun on top of my head I trudged down the stairs. On my way, I passed by a window and saw a silver Volvo parked in the driveway. The hinges on the gate creaked. I leaned against the wall, pressing my fingers into my temples, willing the feelings coursing through my veins to go away.

Gathering my courage—and pissed as he knocked twice more—I moved to the door. Placing my hand on the knob, I took another deep breath, trying desperately to rein the feelings in, and opened the door.

He took my breath away. It had been drizzling—how had I failed to notice that?—and beads of rain clung to his bronze hair, darkening it to a chestnut brown tinge. His emerald eyes sparkled, though a smile did not set on his full lips. His tight gray, long-sleeved sweater that emphasized his muscular chest was wet and clung to him like a second skin. His jeans hung low on his hips. His pale skin glowed.

"You weren't in school today." His voice was low and husky.

"No, I wasn't," my voice responded. My throat burned. It was dry. My voice cracked.

"Why?"

"I'm sick."

He looked at me, his eyes seeing something that I wasn't noticing. Like he was seeing through me. Instinctively, I pulled the robe tighter around me. My hand reached back to relieve some of the tension in my neck. I fidgeted under his strae, until he decided to say something.

"I brought you the Bio homework."

He didn't have anything in his hands.

He caught my glance at his hands and pointed behind him. "It's in the car."

I nodded again, not saying anything. His mouth turned down in a frown.

"Is that it?"

He nodded.

"Well," I said, crossing my legs together. I felt myself tilt and grabbed the door. "I have some stuff to do for Charlie. I guess I'll see you—"

His next words chilled me to the bone. Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. His voice was pleading, begging, choked, strangled. "Bella, don't you want me?"

I looked up at him, meeting his eyes. Something happened when I did. The gate hinges in my brain creaked, and then were burst open. Everything rushed at me and hit me hard, like a running train. Every memory, every image of his face ever crossed in my mind flashed before my eyes. I wanted the feelings to go away. I wanted to feel numb again. Before I could say anything, "No, I don't." Popped from my mouth.

I instantly regretted it.

His face dropped. His eyes deadened. Everything in him went slack. And I couldn't bare to see him that way.

It tore my heart in two.

Because, in truth, I wanted him. I wanted him more than air or water or food or life itself. I wanted him more than the deadening, numbing feeling in my body. I wanted him badly. But I had fucked it up. I couldn't get it back. I lost my chance. I told him I didn't want him and now he didn't have any feelings for me. Any prayer I had about im feeling for me was gone.

I turned, ready to close the door. I heard a smack and turned to see Edward's hand on the door, stopping it. "Dammit Bella!"

I took a step backward and he followed me. Walking towards me and backing me into a wall, he pressed his hands on either side of my head. I looked into his eyes, loosing myself in them. But the more I looked at them, the more I wanted to get lost in him. To sink into his body and live inside him, moving with him under than pale, strong skin. To think what he thought, see what he saw, breathe every breath he took.

"I need you," he whispered, a moment before his lips came down and pressed softly into mine.

Another strong gust blew emotion across my sky, blinding me to a point that I reached up to wrap my arms around him and kiss him back. I pressed into him, clinging onto him as if he were my only lifeline keeping me on earth.

And as I kissed him back, I was pulled under the tide.

And I didn't know how I was going to make it back, but for the time being, I didn't want to.

Not at all.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: One last quick one to appease your thoughts. The story from here will get more romantic, I promise. I want to write that part so bad, and it may have been reflected in my writing (I hope not!) It will be way less emo (and for all of you who want to know, I certainly am not!) I just needed to get the psychological point across before I could go anywhere else with this. But now that I've done what I think I need to do, I can get on with my favorite part of the story.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!