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I wanted to help her so badly. I wanted to take the pain away.

But does she even want help?

BPOV

Tears had seemed to flow from my face without a sign of stopping. I had bottled so much of my emotions that they were only coming out now. It bothered me how much emotion I had to let out. I never was very expressive. A month of nothing left me a lot of tears to shed.

After what seemed like hours passed I was able to stop the gush of tears and take a real gulp of air. I was now in a clear minded state. I took in the events of the past couple hours.

I had walked my way in the middle of the night to La Push to jump off the edge of the cliff at its highest point. I was planning to die and spare others pain as well as me. Then a bronze haired man pulled me in mid leap. Now I had just finished crying into his chest for only the lord knows how long.

I pulled back enough from the man to see the cliff. It was only twenty or so good strides away. I could probably make it. But now my time is gone. From the position of the sun I could tell it was around ten in the morning. My chance was gone; poof. I found it funny how only five seconds could change so much.

I pulled back further to see the face of the man I felt so much hate and shame towards.

It was easy to see now the scars along his face. It looked like he had a rough life. But none of it seemed recent. His hair was falling into his eyes which seemed to be a worn green color. Almost like cat barf that had a good polishing.

He gave me a weak smile but I couldn't return it. Now that the tears stopped, no more emotion flowed. He seemed to grow uncomfortable with the silence so I backed up.

"I'm Edward," he said in a low wispy voice.

"Bella," I said, trying not to be cold towards him.

He got fidgety and started to twiddle his thumbs.

"Why did you save me?" I asked, adding a little sigh to the end to make it clear that living was not what I desired.

"I couldn't help myself. I didn't think it was possible for someone that is as pretty as you are to want to end her life," he said, gaining some confidence and holding his head up.

"And what does looks have to do with suicide?" I asked a little annoyed. I knew it would have been polite to say thank you but I didn't feel like lying. I just wanted to shed my façade.

"It has nothing to do with it. I just couldn't believe that anyone could want to jump from a cliff. Life sucks sometimes but it gets better. All you need is a little time," he said as if lost in a day dream.

"My life isn't getting any better than my death," I said.

He looked stunned for a few moments before he turned away to compose himself. Upon turning back he had a cooperative expression.

"What could possibly be worse than death?" he asked a bit dumbfounded.

I looked away to the ground where the roots of the tree were poking up from the soil.

"Why should I tell you?" I asked, dropping all malice from my voice.

"I… I… I… I don't know. You shouldn't. I'm sorry," he said and begun to stand.

"No!" I shouted while reaching out and clasping his hand. It was warm and soft, very different than I would have thought. "My mom doesn't want and my dad can barely stand to look at me. I lost one friend to a rumor and the other because I didn't see him as more than a friend."

I sat their pleading for him to sit. I couldn't go back home yet; I just wasn't ready. I didn't want to be alone.

He took a hesitant step towards me and looked at me with sorrow and pity. It wasn't my favorite look from a person but it was better than being avoided. He sat down next to me; our hands still linked and gave me a weak smile.

"I know this is weird and you don't want to be around a psycho but will you stay here, at least for a little while?" I asked, looking to his face with a beseeching expression.

"Yeah," he said softly and made no other moves towards conversation. The silence wasn't awkward but it wasn't the most comfortable.

"Tell me something about you?" I asked.

He looked at me and stared for a moment. I was truly starting to wonder what he thought of me. It was becoming a bit weird at how he looked at me.

"I moved here from Chicago a year ago and have been here ever since. I live with my parents and my brother Emmett. I'm not a very exciting person," he admitted with a shrug.

I found myself growing to the sound of his voice. It was soothing and I missed it. I also missed the warmth of his chest and how he rubbed circles in my back as I cried. He was very selfless and it only made me want to be closer to him; to know him.

"Do you like to read?" I found myself blurting out before I could do anything to stop it.

He chuckled softly and said, "Yes. Just the classics though."

I smile meekly; the first positive emotion I had self in so long.

"Same here. I could just read them over and over. From dawn till dusk," I cringed at how poetic I was sounding. It seems quite obvious to me that I was still in a depressed state.

"Edward," I asked, letting his name roll off my tongue.

"Bella," he replied sweetly.

"Will you hold me?" I asked, a blush rising to my cheeks.

"Yes," he said opening his arms for me.

I walked over and sat in his lap and let his arms lock securely around me. I felt like I actually was wanted by someone to live. Suicide didn't feel right in Edwards's arms. But how long will it last?

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