I woke up.

I couldn't figure out why. There was sunlight pouring through Embry's window, and Alice's light snoring beside me, but none of it seemed disruptive. I groggily looked around me—Quil was already gone, and Embry was still asleep on the floor.

It was only when my phone stopped vibrating that I realized it had even been ringing in the first place. I glanced at it—James, it read. Of course.

I bit the bullet and called him back.

"Hello," He answered like he didn't know it was me.

"Hi," I said, stretching and looking for my shorts.

I could hear that he was driving—someone else was in the car. It sounded like Laurent and maybe a girl. It annoyed me, but I tried not to let it. After all, where had I slept last night?

"I'm about to come get you," He said, laughing at Laurent. I could definitely hear the girl, giggling in the background now. "I have to drop some people off then I'm coming through."

"I'm at Embry's," I said softly, unsure if he would be upset or not.

"Come outside then. I'm pulling up," He said and hung up.

I leaned over and kissed Alice's cheek, "I'm going," I whisper. "Do you want a ride anywhere?" She opens one eye and rolls it—I knew she didn't want to go anywhere with James but I had to offer.

I laughed, standing and pulling on my shorts. The shirt I had worn last night was wrinkled and looked slept on. I discarded it, looking through Embry's drawer for a suitable replacement. On top was a gray v-neck I thought Rose, Alice and I had worn numerous times. I threw it on, knotting it at my hip and grabbing my things.

It's only 11 a.m., and it's already hot as hell, I thought to myself, stepping outside right as James' car pulled into the driveway.

Laurent was in the front seat, so I started around to get into the back.

"Nah, nah, nah," James said, making Laurent get out of the car. He held the door open for me, and I tossed my bag in before sitting down. He shut the door for me, and I looked into the back seat.

The girl was cute—she had red curly hair and clear skin. She seemed sad—or embarrassed, maybe—but also like she was trying to hide it. And tired. She definitely looked exhausted. I tried to place her, but I didn't know too many of the girls Laurent hung around with.

I recognized that she looked vaguely like she had just had a baby. Her body reminded me of my mom's right after she had both of my baby sisters. I prayed that it wasn't Laurent's child, for no reason other than I was sure he would be a shit father.

James leaned over the center console and said, "Give me some, sugar." I laughed—he was high. He was only ever corny-goofy like that right after he smoked, but I kissed him anyway.

I turned around to look at Laurent—he and the girl weren't paying attention to one another. It was no wonder she was annoyed; I hated when guys acted like that—too tough for the girls they were talking to.

"Your hair is so pretty," I said to her, trying to smile or offer some solidarity, or something.

"Thanks," She said flatly, clearly completely disinterested in conversing with me. I shrugged—I wasn't looking for any new friends, either, so I couldn't really blame her.

"You can get out here," James said, idling in the middle of the street.

"Babe, that's rude!" I exclaimed in distaste, "Pull into the driveway."

The girl got out of the car anyway—she walked with her head held high, but if it had been me I know I would have been livid.

"How can you just let him do that?" I asked Laurent, sucking my teeth at him. He had been staring out the window, and he gave me an incredulous look. Of course, I thought. He doesn't even understand why it's fucked up.

"Me?" He asked, cocking one eye brow. "What the fuck was I going to do?"

I turned back around, "You're so fucking corny, Laurent," I said, crossing my arms. "If you're fucking with her how could you let him just play her?"

He started laughing his ass off, "This is why nobody likes you, Bella—you always have some shit to say but you don't know what you're talking about. I don't fuck with her. That's your dude's friend."

"Baby, I was just giving her a ride," James said quickly, before I could reply. He placed his hand on my knee, and his tone was too sweet—why was he being defensive? "And everybody loves you," he said, giving me three little pecks and smiling.

I laughed, completely relaxing as James' eyes returned to the road. This was the version of him that I had fallen in love with—a sweet talker, for sure, and a million other things I had yet to put my finger on, even after almost three years of being together. No matter what I promised myself when he was being a jerk, I never quite learned how to not be affected by the moments when he said exactly the right thing.

We dropped Laurent off somewhere. I knew the area, but I didn't know anyone who lived there. Usually, James would jump out of the car, instructing Laurent to do something or other that I wasn't supposed to know about. It used to irritate me—the secrets and the drug dealing—but I stopped caring so long ago.

I wondered how it felt to James—to be twenty years old and going to prison for two years. It wasn't a long time, compared to the stories I had heard over the years. People regularly got eight years, or twelve, and twenty-five year sentences. Some people were serving life for crimes they didn't commit. I wondered if he was mad at himself, or nervous—it certainly didn't seem that way.

We held hands as we drove south. I had no idea where we were going. I didn't ask, because I knew I had no control over it. James held my hand as he drove—it had been so long since he did anything like that. And even then, it was usually only because he wanted something. I couldn't shake the feeling like his behavior was too good to be true,

"Do you want to see a movie later?" James asked me. I just stared at him. "What?" He asked me, laughing at my expression. "It's our day."

"Sure," I said, squeezing his hand. My heart was soaring, even though I knew better.

"When I get out, let's move to Mexico, baby," He said randomly. I arched one eyebrow—this was not going to go anywhere good.

"Why?" I asked. Fuck it, I decided. I'll bite.

He shrugged, "You know better than to ask whys."

I rolled my eyes—usually I didn't even give a fuck about asking why, but moving to Mexico, a country I'd never stepped foot in, was significantly different than waiting in the car for ten minutes. "I'm not moving to Mexico with you."

James blinked, "Yes, you are."

"Neither one of us is even Mexican!"

"You're close enough," The comment came out of nowhere. I glanced up at him, in shock. He was focused on the road, and silence fell over the car.

He said it like he wanted to piss me off.

And it worked—anger wash over every inch of my body, as I tried desperately to contain it.

Growing up, we were surrounded by many Mexicans. It didn't matter, for the most part—but I was proud of being Salvadoran, just like anyone would be. It was annoying when people assumed that I was Mexican just because I spoke Spanish. It was offensive—and the fact that my boyfriend of almost three years didn't respect me enough to be sensitive was crushing.

"You know how ignorant that is? All Latinos are Mexicans…really?" I asked, jerking my hand away.

He looked at me and shrugged, "You have all blended together—it's a good thing."

"No," I said—so irritated by this point. "It's not a good thing. It's my culture, and it isn't fucking Mexican."

"Okay, girl," James said, reaching for my hand again. I clenched it into a fist. "Forget I said anything—we won't move to Mexico."

I stared out the window. It was like the dream ended—he was back to being himself and I couldn't stand him.

"I don't understand why you're so upset," He said, finally breaking the silence.

"How would you feel if I said that every black guy was a drug dealer and violent?" I asked him flatly, still looking away.

"Baby, I'm a black man going to jail for selling drugs, so that's not exactly the best example you could have come up with."

I saw stars—I literally saw fucking stars. "Fuck you, James. Seriously." I said, laughing. I didn't know what else to do.

"Plus," He added, "There's nothing wrong with being Mexican."

That pissed me off even more—how dare he try and flip it on me? "I never said there was."

Why was he doing this? I thought to myself. Is this just how he is? He did this all the time—found something that worked my nerves and just pressed and pressed until I was livid. I didn't know if he did it on purpose or if we honestly just could not get along. One way or another, I was fucked. You're in constant denial, you idiot. I thought to myself.

"You just compared it to being a violent drug dealer," He quipped.

Time to disengage. "It was just an example of a stereotype, James."

We didn't speak until we got to the mall. I didn't know what we were doing here, but I got out of the car quickly and walked ahead of him towards the entrance. He walked behind me for awhile, and I wanted desperately to know what his facial expression looked like. He probably didn't care—he probably thought I was being irrational and was waiting for me to calm down.

Finally, I stopped and waited for him to catch up. He threw one arm around me, and we continued walked. He didn't apologize, and I didn't say anything else.

"I gotta get gifts," He explained, stopping to look at the store directory. "I need to blow some money anyway and I want to give people some stuff before I go."

"Your mom told me that she wanted those red Roshe runs," I suggested, still feeling a little standoffish but willing to help. I couldn't lie—his mom was my girl. James was an only child, and Mary had him when she was young. She was a lot easier to relate to than my own mother was—easy to talk to and get advice from.

"What about Grammy?" He asked—I had a feeling this was the majority of the reason why I was with him. He just needed help.

Fortunately for him, I also loved his grandmother, Charlotte. Unlike Mary, she was exactly like my own grandma who lived in El Salvador. Jake and I both missed her—but it was too expensive to visit either way. "Grammy said that she needs a new pocketbook," I offered, laughing. Charlotte was so cute.

He kissed my forehead, "This is why I fuck with you girl."

We wandered around the mall—he bought me new Steve Madden boots and a pair of white Vans for school, as well as various miscellaneous items one of us had liked. I tried to accept as little as possible without being a bitch. He couldn't buy my affection—I wanted to make sure he knew that.

His mother and grandmother he absolutely went crazy for—he got Grammy a new toaster, the bag she wanted and two light sweaters I promised that were going to perfect for fall. I picked out the Roshes his mom and wanted, as well as an absurd amount of stuff from Bath and Body Works. He got her gift cards, a jacket and socks just because he thought they were funny.

I thought it was cute—the fact that he wanted to spoil his mother. But I also thought she would see right through it. James would never do this if he wasn't going to jail—he just knew he had disappointed her and was trying to kiss ass.

"I'm hungry," I told him as he threw the last of the bags into the back seat of his car.

I could tell that James' mind was elsewhere, because he didn't protest as I steered him towards a sushi restaurant connected to the mall. Still, he was there enough to refuse to try any edamame. I ordered eel rolls and he got some boring teriyaki on the hibachi menu.

Our conversation remained light—he didn't want to irritate me again and I was just sick of his company. I began to dread the rest of the night, knowing I was in it for the long haul.

We did end up going to the movies, and when we came out, night had fallen. I felt tired—emotionally, more than physically. It wasn't like I had a great day, but like James wore me out. Even when we weren't fighting, I constantly felt on edge—it probably wasn't healthy, but it was our relationship.

He took me to his mom's apartment. I knew it almost as well as I knew my own home—my mom never cared when I didn't come home and Jacob stopped coming to look for me years ago. The entire front room was pitch black, except for the light in the kitchen.

James walked through flicking on lights before he disappeared into the back. I turned on the TV and settled into the couch, waiting for him to return.

"Roll this," He demanded, tossing a baggie and a blunt wrap into my lap.

I obliged absentmindedly, thinking about how much I didn't want to smoke and hoped he wouldn't protest. In the early days we had always smoked together, but now I hated the way it made me too docile and easy to please around him.

He smoked and I laughed at Family Guy, breathing carefully to avoid a contact high.

Suddenly, he was kissing my neck. I realized I hadn't been paying attention, but I felt like it had come out of nowhere. I barely had time to figure out what was going on before he was pulling my shirt off over my head, and undoing my bra.

So that's how it's going to be. I thought myself. I tried to catch up to him, reaching over to undo his belt and unbutton his jeans.

I felt robotic—we'd done this so many times, on this very couch. It didn't feel any different than it always did, even though he was leaving tomorrow. Nothing told me I should be savoring the feeling, or trying to get as much of him as I could.

My pants were off and his mouth was on me. "Dioooos mio," I exclaimed, grabbing the back of his head and arching my back. This was good—he so rarely gave me head.

His hands held my hips down, and I remembered that I liked the way they looked on me—big and strong; like they belonged there.

He traced letters against my clit—was that a B?—but it was so good that I wanted to scream. I ached in the best way, wound so tight I couldn't wait to explode. I heard myself begging him for more—and he gave it to me.

"Asi me guuuusta," I cried. It was perfect, exactly the right spot. My ache spread out, rolling over like waves and coming back into me. I felt like my nerves were colliding, and he kissed all the way up my body as my orgasm subsided.

He pulled me on top of him and I knew what he was going to do before he even did it. I surprised him by rolling my hips and pushing him inside of me slowly.

"Shit, Bella," he said, grabbing hold of my waist. I watched his face as I moved back and forth slowly. He licked his lips, his breaths short and haggard. I increased my pace—I knew I was good, and I knew what James liked better than he did. I shifted against him and started to bounce up and down. The sound our skin made as it came in contact with eachother was positively porn-like—I knew he loved it.

Exactly as I expected, James lifted me off of him and flipped us around so I was on my knees, before entering me swiftly from behind. His thrusts came hard and fast, directly to the point. He smacked my ass and I pressed back against him, looking saucily over my shoulder. Just how I knew he liked.

"Si, si, si, si," I moaned with every thrust. His speed increased again, and I knew he was close. Time for the last trick I had in my playbook, I decided. "Ay papi, siiiiii!" I cried, and he came.

He stood and I climbed back onto the couch, reaching for my shirt.

"You tired?" James asked, handing me my panties.

I nodded, pulling them up my legs. "Exhausted."

"You should go to bed then," He said, getting fully dressed again. "I'm going to step out for awhile."

All I could do was blink. It was so typical of him, but I was sort of surprised anyway. He was usually so selfish when we had sex—now a days, it always never missionary and he usually liked to hit it from behind. Sometimes he would give me head, but he almost never went until I came. It was so calculated—all about going through the motions, the steps, to get him to come. I don't know what I expected to be different—maybe I let myself get too hopeful after he went down on me. I didn't know, but I did know there was nothing to even argue with him, so I stood and walked to his bedroom. Flopping down onto his bed, I pulled out my phone to text Rose.

Just had minute sex. I typed.

She responded almost immediately—I had a feeling she and Alice were on stand by in case I needed him. Like usual?

Rosalie was right—and for some reason, it made me want to cry.

James is such a dick, right?