Author's Note:

Did you catch Carlisle's little slip during the argument? ;-)

I'm so nervous posting this chapter! So many passionate reviews last week. Here we go...

BPOV

I wake up Thursday morning, still unnerved from Edward's drunk-dial the night before. Although I feel a little hurt by the way he spoke to me, I desperately want to know about the fight he had with Carlisle. Whatever they argued about, it must have really upset Edward if Jasper felt the need to cheer him up - to the point he was practically incoherent.

Maybe I should have a little talk with Jazz too, or Alice. Yes, I definitely need to meet this Alice.

Unfortunately, the drama back in Seattle is going to have to wait.

It's Thanksgiving Day, and after breakfast we pile into the car and drive an hour and forty-five minutes to spend the afternoon with Phil's family. As soon as we pull up to his parent's house, a small, red brick, one-story house just outside of Tallahassee, I realize today is not going to be the quiet, relaxing holiday I've grown accustomed to.

For the past three years, Thanksgiving in Phoenix consisted of Charlie and a few guys from the station setting up residence in the living room to watch a marathon of football games while they gorged themselves on junk food. I'd have the kitchen stocked with beer, chips, pretzels, cookies, nachos, and chilidogs. Seconds after kickoff, I'd sneak out and spend a quiet, uninterrupted afternoon at the dance studio. It was one of the few times I had use of a private rehearsal space, before moving in with the Cullens, of course. It was just me, the music, and the open floor – my personal heaven.

Phil's parent's house is the complete opposite.

Phil is the middle child in his family. His older brother and his wife have two children, a five-year-old boy and three-year-old girl. Phil's younger sister and her husband have a two-year-old daughter and are expecting their second child. From the look of it, they're expecting it any day now. So between three young children running around like crazy, plus me, my mom, Phil, Phil's siblings, their spouses, and Phil's parents, there are people crammed into every corner of the small house.

Even with the kids separated to their own table, lunch is still complete chaos. I try to make polite conversation with my step-aunts and uncles, but it's difficult as their attention is constantly diverted to scolding their children about climbing on the furniture or eating too much sugar. I can't begrudge them for it; my focus isn't on our conversation either. My thoughts constantly wander to Edward and how he might be spending his day.

I'm glad when we finally say our goodbyes a few hours later. I clamber into the sanctuary of the backseat of Phil's car, grateful for the silence. In an attempt to keep the kids from destroying my stuff, I left my backpack in the car. I unzip the front pocket and pull out my phone to discover a missed text.

I'm sorry ~ E

"How's Edward?" my mother pries. I raise my head to see that she's turned around, watching me from the front seat.

"He's fine," I assume. Actually,he's probably nursing a massive hangover.

"What are the Cullen's doing for Thanksgiving? Do they cook enough to feed an army like we do?" Renee chuckles nervously, but I'm not sure why.

I focus my attention back on my phone, trying to decide how to respond to Edward's message. "Um, I don't know, actually," I reply distractedly. "I'm sure they have to with Emmett around."

"Well, the food today was fantastic. Wasn't it, Phil?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, it was great," he mumbles.

"What did you think, Bella?" my mother asks.

I match Phil's bored tone. "Yeah, great."

"Really? You thought so? Cause you didn't eat very much."

There it is. My mother's not-so-subtle way of bring up this topic, again.

"Mom," I warn. Rolling my eyes, I drop my phone onto the seat. I know Renee isn't going to let it go, so my response to Edward will have to wait.

"Well, honey, you didn't."

"Seriously? So you're watching everything I eat now, too?" I argue.

"I've been worried about you, sweetie. Since you told me you stopped getting your… you know."

"My period," I deadpan.

"Whoa! Hey!" Phil comes to life for the first time since we got in the car. "Does this conversation really have to happen right now while I'm sitting here?"

"No, it doesn't," I protest. "It doesn't have to happen at all."

"But, Bella - "

"For the record, Mom, I just ate breakfast. Remember? So I wasn't really in the mood to gorge myself again only three hours later, OK? And you know my doctors said I was fine."

"No they didn't, Bella. You are not fine. They gave you specific instructions to raise your calories by twenty percent and decrease your exercise, and from the looks of it you haven't done either of those things."

"Fifteen percent," I correct. "And how did you know that? Who have you been talking to?"

"Your father."

"You called Charlie!" I yell.

"Of course I did! Someone needs to do something!"

"There's nothing wrong with me!"

"Hey, hey, hey," Phil chants. "Calm down you two. This car is too small for all that screeching."

My mother turns around to face the front of the car, and I slouch back against the seat. Folding my arms across my chest, I glare out the window. We are both quiet for several minutes, but the tension in the air doesn't dissipate.

"You got me in trouble you know," I grumble, sounding more like a whining child than I intend.

"In trouble? How?"

"I guess you could say your phone call to Charlie planted some kind of seed in his head. So Charlie told my advisor at school, and then Carlisle and Esme."

"Your dad didn't say anything about calling the school when I talked to him," she defends.

I groan. "He didn't call the school specifically about that, not at first. He called because… well, it's a long story."

Renee gestures to the windshield and the open road before us. "We've got time," she says mockingly.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for my mother's reaction as I confess to training, auditioning, and subsequently landing the music video job.

"Holy shit! That was you?" Phil blurts out. Renee swiftly punches his arm.

Ignoring Phil's interruption, I go on to describe how Charlie found out about the video, how he threatened to sue the producers, and finally revealing how I forged his signature. My mother's mouth falls open, clearly shocked that I'd done something so rebellious. Before she has a chance to scold me, I keep going, telling her about Charlie's demand that I return to Phoenix.

"He told me he was calling school to have my records transferred. I guess the subject of my poor health," I spit the words at my mother in a sarcastic tone, "must have come up as part of his argument to my advisor. That topic must have become the focus of the conversation because the next thing I know, I'm being led into some ridiculous intervention."

"Intervention?" Mom repeats.

"Yeah. Carlisle asked to speak to me. When I walked into his office, he had Victoria and Charlie on a three-way conference call. I assumed they were making arrangements to transfer me back to Phoenix, but they immediately began grilling me about my weight and my eating habits. I had no idea where it came from." I give my mother a pointed look.

She disregards my glare. "And?"

"And I told them I was fine, because I am fine. But thanks to you, they are going to be watching me like a hawk from now on."

"Well, I'm not going to apologize for that," Renee says indignantly, turning back to face the windshield again.

I chuckle.

"What's so funny?" she asks.

"Actually, I should be thanking you." Renee twists around in her seat again, surprised. "The only reason Charlie is allowing me to stay in Seattle is because Carlisle convinced him I would 'receive the best care under my personal supervision.'" I try to impersonate Carlisle's voice as I mockingly repeat his words.

Phil pipes up. "What does that mean?"

"He's a doctor, dear," Renee explains. "So what's his plan?"

"His plan?" I repeat.

"Yes. How does he plan on treating you? Does he have any experience with treating anorexia?"

My mouth falls open, and I stare, wide-eyed, at my mother for a long moment. "I am not anorexic!" I scream. "There is no plan! There's nothing to treat! Why don't you believe me?"

"Sweetheart, have you looked in a mirror lately? You're practically skin on bones."

"I am not!"

"Renee," Phil scolds, "that's a bit extreme, don't you think?"

Renee twists in her seat to face him. "But -"

"She's been with us all week. Have you seen any signs to back up what you're accusing her of?"

Renee glances at me over her shoulder. I widen my eyes at her, my expression challenging her to answer his question.

"But she eats like a bird!" she defends.

I groan and toss my arms up in frustration. "Thanks for trying, Phil, but she won't let it go until I'm two hundred pounds."

Seeking escape from my mother's criticism, I dig my headphones out of my bag and drown out the adults in the front seat as they continue to analyze everything I've eaten in the last four days. Resting my head against the cold window, I watch the towering Florida pine trees fly past in a blur of green. It's the wrong shade, but it still reminds me of the evergreen forests of Washington.

I resume thinking about how I'm going to answer Edward's text. A tiny part of me wants to make him sweat it out a little, to punish him for the way he talked to me. But I would never do that to him, especially not right now. Even though I'm desperate to know what happened, and if he's OK, there's no way I'm calling him with my nosy mother sitting inches from me.

Therefore, Edward has to wait another hour until we get back to the house. I pull my phone from my pocket the second I'm alone and dial his number.

Voicemail. Crap.

I wait another fifteen minutes and try again, still receiving no answer.

Feeling grimy from the day and the long car ride, I decide to take a shower. I figure it's a more productive use of my time than pacing around the room, waiting for Edward to call back.

Thirty minutes later, I'm clean and dressed for bed. I check my phone but there are no missed calls and no messages. I dial his number for the third time tonight. This time, when his voicemail picks up, I leave a message.

"Hey, it's me. I got your text. Sorry it took me so long to call you. We were at Phil's parents' all day for Thanksgiving and it was, well, whatever… anyway, call me back, OK? I'm - I miss you. I love you."

I place the phone on the pillow next to my head and turn off the lights.

A loud buzzing assaults my ears, causing me to wake with a start. The bright Florida sun is streaming through the windows, and I groan and bury my head under the pillow. My phone buzzes again, and in a sudden moment of clarity, I remember that Edward is supposed to call me. I sit straight up in bed, grabbing my phone.

Hey Bells! Sorry I couldn't call yesterday. the res and cell service sucks! Wanted 2 wish u Happy Turkey Day! Miss u! When R U coming home? ~ Jake

My shoulders slump as I hit reply.

Miss U 2. Be home late Sunday. We still on for rehearsal Monday after class? ~ B

Ten seconds later, he responds.

Yup! Gotta work off all this turkey. Bring me a seashell. C U Monday. ~ Jake

There is no indication that I have other messages, but I check anyway. Nothing.

I consider calling Edward again, but it's three hours earlier in Seattle, and I know he isn't awake yet. Setting my phone on the charger, I head downstairs to join my mom and Phil for breakfast.

Over the course of the day, I call Edward three times. I try twice more before bed and two more times the following morning. Every time the call goes to voicemail. The last time I try it doesn't even ring, indicating the phone has been turned off.

As my calls continue to be ignored, I slowly pass from annoyance to irritation to anger. I try not to let it show, but my mother picks up my sullen mood during dinner.

"Something wrong, sweetie?" she asks, watching me intently as I push the uneaten food around my plate.

We are marking my last night in Florida with a lavish dinner at The Pier. Our table on the second floor of the restaurant, overlooks the Atlantic. The full moon casts thousands of silver sparkles on the black water below as a gentle sea breeze floats through the open air terrace, causing the candlelight to flicker and dance on the tables. The whole scene is entirely romantic, and my frustration with Edward is completely overshadowed by the longing to be with him.

I slouch back against the padded booth and stare at the water. "I'm fine," I reply, but even I can hear the defeat in my voice.

"You're in love with him," my mother says softly.

My eyes snap to hers. My mother has always been perceptive, so I'm not surprised by her statement, just the uncanny timing of it. "Yes," I answer, even though it isn't a question. "What made you say that?"

Renee smirks. "It's hard to explain. I guess it's because I've never seen you like this before. It's like… you get this little glimmer in your eye when you're talking about him or thinking about him."

I smile, but it quickly fades, and I stare down at the table.

Renee ducks her head into my line of sight. "It's even there when you're… upset with him?" she asks carefully.

I chuckle humorlessly. "Have you taken up mindreading, Mom?"

Renee shrugs. "I like to call it mother's – no – women's intuition," she states proudly. "Do you want to talk about it? Why you're upset?"

"It's just that, well, I haven't really talked to Edward much this week, and that's not like us. I can't remember a day where I haven't at least talked to him. It feels like he's avoiding me, or something."

"Bella," Phil interjects, "can I just say, from a guy's perspective, he's not avoiding you." He and Renee exchange a knowing glance before he continues. "When I was on the road, I'd get so caught up hanging with the other guys on the team that I'd… well, I'm not gonna say I'd forget, but I'd go days without checking in with your mom. I didn't do it on purpose. I was just being a guy, ya know? Does that make sense?"

"No," my mother and I answer in unison. We all laugh.

"Look," Phil continues when we compose ourselves, "try not to let it hurt your feelings. He's probably just spending time with his friends. And if his friends are anything like mine were at that age, they'd probably give him hell if he stopped to call his girlfriend every twenty minutes."

Renee elbows Phil in the ribs. "What?" he objects.

"We're not asking for a call every twenty minutes, but would twice a day kill ya?" Renee scolds.

"Wait a second; I'm just trying to look out for the boy. He's the one who didn't call. I've learned my lesson. I've done my time," he teases.

I smile at their playful banter. "Thanks, Phil," I say. "I'll be sure to tell Edward you had his back - after I kick his butt."

By the time we make it back to the house, my sour mood has dissipated. Phil's insight didn't really influence my mood as much as the knowledge that I would be with Edward in less than forty-eight hours.

I change quickly for bed, thinking the faster I get to sleep, the faster tomorrow will get here. Plugging my phone into the charger, I nestle under the covers and switch off the lamp. I deliberately avoid calling Edward. Based on the evidence from the last few days, the odds are he won't pick up anyway.

After twenty minutes of restless tossing and turning, the nagging sensation that I forgot to do something overpowers me. I roll my eyes in the darkness, sit up, and switch on the lamp. Pulling my feet up, I balance my phone on my bent knees and glare at it. I refuse to call his number, knowing I'll just be disappointed – again. Instead, I dial the number to the house.

"Cullen residence."

It isn't the voice I want to hear, but I make sure to hide my disappointment. "Hey, Emmy."

"Bells! How's Florida? When are you coming home? I miss you!"

I giggle. I love how everyone, myself included, now thinks of Seattle as my home. "Florida is great. You'd love it. It's sunny all the time and chicks walk around in bikini tops twenty-four-seven."

"Oh, yeah? Sounds like my kinda place."

"Down, boy. Don't make me call Rose."

He laughs. "You wouldn't dare. So when are you coming back?"

"I fly in tomorrow night."

"Good," he says decisively.

"Emmy, is it me you miss or my cooking?" I tease.

"Um, both?" he chuckles. "And I'm dying to know what happened with McDreamy and Meredith on Grey's. I waited for you," he states proudly.

I fall back on the bed and laugh out loud. "I hate to break it to you, Emmy, but Grey's was a rerun because of the holiday."

"Damn it!"

I laugh again. "So what else has been going on around there?"

"Not a whole lot. Esme and Rose went to that shopping thing yesterday. Ah… what's it called?"

"Black Friday?"

"Yeah, that. And Carlisle and I watched football. We're the typical American family." He chuckles again.

I hesitate for a second. "I can't picture Edward watching football," I say, trying to keep my tone causal.

Emmett takes the bait. "Oh, he didn't watch with us. He's too busy acting weird again."

"Weird? What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know, being a loser again. I thought he was over all that emo crap, but I guess not. He didn't even eat Thanksgiving dinner with us."

"He didn't? Where was he?"

"With Jasper, I think. Actually, I'm not sure."

I decide to push a litter harder. "Well, when I ah… called the house Wednesday, he answered," I lie. "It sounded like he was pissed at Carlisle."

"Well, that's nothing new. Those two haven't been on good terms since the accident."

"Accident? What accident."

"Oh, ah… I guess no one ever told you. I'm really not supposed to talk about it," he adds quickly.

"Emmy, it's just me."

"Sorry, Bells, it's not my place to tell."

For being a stereotypical dumb jock, Emmet could be rather insightful - at the most inopportune times. "But if they finally had it out," he continues, "then that might explain why Edward's been locked up in his room all week."

"Maybe Carlisle grounded him?"

"Ha! Carlisle ground Edward. Get real. I think Edward is past the point where grounding him would do any good."

What did that mean?

"Oh, well… is he home now?"

"No, his car was gone when I got up. Actually, I'm not even sure he came home last night. Shit, come to think of it, I haven't actually laid eyes on him since…" Emmett pauses to consider, "last Friday at school. He chuckles. "I just assumed he was upstairs the whole time."

"You mean the Friday before Thanksgiving break started? Emmy! That was over a week ago!"

"Chill out, Bells. Why are you getting so freaked out?"

Shit.I need to cover my tracks. "Well, I would be worried about you too if I found out you were missing for over a week."

"He's not missing." I could almost picture Emmett rolling his eyes. "He's probably with Jasper, getting into trouble again. Besides, you said you talked to him Wednesday."

I open my mouth to ask another question, but Emmett cuts me off. "So, who's picking you up from the airport? Want me to come get you?"

"Um, sure, I guess… if Carlisle and Esme are busy."

"I don't think they're busy, but I'll come. Let me get a pen and I'll write down you flight info."

I give Emmett my arrival time, and we talk for another few minutes before saying goodbye. I flop down on my bed, trying to piece together the little bit of information Emmett gave me.

"Those two haven't been on good terms since the accident."

Accident? What kind of accident would drive a wedge between a father and his son?

"He's been acting weird again. He's with Jasper, probably getting into trouble. Edward is past the point where grounding him would do any good."

As I search my memory for any other clues, I remember Jake's warning all those months ago.

"I don't know Edward that well, but I do know he also has a reputation. What I'm trying to say is, just be careful, OK?"

Then I think of Edward, trying to make any of this fit.

"When you get back, I'll explain everything. You need to know everything, Bella."

I sit up and shake my head to clear my mind. I remind myself that jumping to wild conclusions isn't going to do me any good. I trust him, and he promised to tell me everything when I get back - when I get home. It sounds like we need to sit down and have a long, serious talk.

~o0o~

A strong sense of déjà vu washes over me as I walk through the crowded terminal toward baggage claim. Only this time, I know who is picking me up. I spot Emmett easily in the swarm of people surrounding the baggage carousel, but I'm disappointed when I recognize Rosalie standing next to him. It isn't that I'm unhappy to see Rose; it just means I have to abandon my plans to pump Emmett for more information during the ride home.

The three of us make our way to the parking garage. The light sweater I'm wearing does nothing to stop the cold wind from cutting though the flimsy fabric. Emmett wraps one burly arm around my shoulders and his other arm around Rose, pulling us both into his sides.

"Missing that Florida sun already, huh?" he teases.

"I left all my winter clothes here," I confess.

He loads my bag into the trunk of his car as Rose and I climb inside.

"It's a good thing I signed up to run carpool on you," Emmett says as we exit the parking lot. "Carlisle got called in on an emergency surgery, and Esme has a migraine."

"Oh, that's terrible, but I am glad to see you guys. I brought you something."

"Yeah?" Emmett glances at me in the backseat, sounding like an excited kid.

Rosalie smacks his head. "Eyes on the road!"

I reach into my backpack and produce a small, square package wrapped in purple tissue paper. "Here, Rose, you first."

She looks genuinely surprised. "Awe, Bella, that's so thoughtful. You didn't have to bring me anything."

I shrug. "It's not much. I just saw it and thought of you."

She gently tears away the thin paper to reveal the bracelet. It's made from hemp thread braided in an intricate pattern with a silver rose charm dangling from the center.

"Awe, Bells, it's beautiful. I love it. Very tropical," she giggles.

"You can wear it as a bracelet or around your ankle."

Rosalie lifts her right foot onto the seat and hikes her jeans up her calf. "If I put it on my ankle, I never have to take it off."

"That's hot," Emmett says, watching as Rose ties the strings around her ankle before lowering her foot back to the floor.

Rose twists around in her seat to face me again. "I love your necklace. Did you get it that in Florida too?"

I finger the tiny starfish that hasn't left my neck since Edward placed it there exactly one week before.

"Um, no. I – it came from the aquarium here." It isn't a complete untruth. "Wanna see what I got Emmett?" I ask, trying to change the subject.

"I do," Emmett says, looking toward the backseat again.

"Eyes on the road!" Rose and I scold in unison.

Reaching into my bag again, I produce Emmett's t-shirt. I unfold it, and hold it up for Rose to see. She covers her mouth to control the fit of laughter that erupts.

"What? I wanna see," Emmett protests. He brings the car to a stop at the next red light and turns around to face me. I hold up his shirt again.

A tough looking teddy bear is airbrushed in the center. He's wearing a backwards hat and a football jersey with Emmett's number on his chest. The words "Emmy Bear" are printed in black graffiti above it.

"Awesome!" Emmett snatches the shirt from me and holds it against his chest for Rosalie to see. She bursts into another fit of laughter, fanning her eyes with her hand as tears threaten to spill over. I'm laughing uncontrollably myself.

"Thanks, Bells!" he says.

There's hardly any traffic this late on a Sunday night, and we make it back to the house in record time. As we turn onto the Cullen's street, I'm so anxious to see Edward I'm practically bouncing in my seat. I don't know how I'm going to keep myself from jumping into his arms the second I walk through the door, but I recognize we still have to keep up the charade.

We pull into the driveway and my heart sinks; Edward's car is gone. Emmett notices the change in my mood as he lifts my suitcase from the trunk.

"Bells, what's wrong? Aren't you happy to be home?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, of course. Just tired," I lie.

Emmett carries my bag to my room as I say goodbye to Rosalie. They leave soon after so Rose can make it home before curfew; it is a school night after all.

As soon as I return to my room, I strip out of the thin layers I'm wearing and pull on a heavy, cowl neck sweater and leggings before unpacking my suitcase. Renee washed all my clothes before I left Florida, so it's just a matter of putting everything back where it belongs. Within thirty minutes, my room looks like I never left.

I don't need to check my phone to know there aren't any messages waiting for me. I've completely given up on the idea of Edward actually returning any of my calls or texts. The fact that he isn't here to welcome me home is more upsetting. What happened to being a wreck without me?

Quietly, I sneak down the hall to his room. I push the door open, flick on the light, and gasp. It looks like a bomb has gone off in here. The bed is unmade, and piles of clothes and books scatter the floor. His desk chair is lying on its side, and I idly wonder if that was the crashing sound I heard during our one phone conversation Wednesday night.

I walk slowly, carefully, around the bed as I survey the destruction. My foot strikes something hard buried under a pile of clothes. I lift a black t-shirt and discover the object my foot collided with – an empty fifth of Jack Daniels. Still holding the t-shirt in one hand, I pick up the bottle and walk to the desk, intent on setting it somewhere off of the floor. That's when I notice the lighter and the half empty pack of cigarettes. Warily, I lift the shirt in my left hand to my nose and sniff. There is no mistaking the odor, and I toss the offending shirt to the floor.

What the hell is going on!

I slam the bottle down on top of the smiling camel logo, effectively crushing the remaining contents of the pack, and stomp back to my room. Without thinking, I fire off a text.

Where are you? ~ B

I tap my phone against my leg angrily, pacing back and forth. Five agonizing minutes later, it buzzes in my hand.

On my way ~ E

EPOV

Exactly twenty minutes later, I turn onto the gravel driveway and park my car in the usual spot. Surveying the other cars, I quickly determine that only Esme is home – besides Bella, of course – and she's likely asleep, recovering from her migraine this afternoon.

I kill the engine and shut off the headlights, but make no move to exit the car. On any other night, the house might have appeared inviting; the warm glow from the windows would have been a welcome sight from the cold, dark night. Not tonight. Tonight, I'm terrified by what awaits me inside.

I rub my hands roughly over my face and into my hair.I can't do this.

For the last two hours, I've been aimlessly driving around the city, trying to get control of myself before I see her. I couldn't be home when Bella arrived. Even though I've resigned myself to what must be done, I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep from throwing my arms around her the second she walked in the door. So, like a coward, I ran.

I can't do this.

Since the confrontation with Carlisle, his words have been a constant, repetitive echo in my head. I hear them every time I think of her, every time she calls or sends me a text. It's like his words are set as the fucking ringtone on my phone to purposely stop me from answering.

"This is your punishment to bear, not hers."

All week I've been wracking my brain, trying to find a solution where Bella and I can be together. No matter how hard I try, I come up empty. In every scenario she gets hurt - in one way or another. The option Carlisle presented me with, that I end our relationship and remove myself from her life, appears to be the only answer.

Folding my arms across the top of the steering wheel, I lean forward and rest my head against them. The absolute terror of what's about to happen grips me, and I let out a ragged breath. I've had a week to prepare myself for this moment, an entire week where I've thought of nothing but this. But even after a week, I still have no fucking clue how I'm going to force myself to go through with it.

At first, I planned to tell her the truth. I'd start from the moment she left, tell her how Carlisle discovered us, and that he confronted me. She already knows that Carlisle told me to stay away from her, so I would go on to explain why. I'd tell her about the drugs, the accident, the arrest, and how Carlisle kept me out of jail. I'd tell her about Esme, and how my actions almost destroyed her career, and how, if we were together, I could do the same to hers. Then, if she was still listening, if she hadn't walked away at this point, I'd tell her that I love her more than anything in this world, but that I understood why we couldn't be together. And then I would let her go.

That was the plan, and I imagined the conversation in my mind a thousand times – until the night I slipped.

Last week, when I dialed her number in the middle of the night, ready to plead with her the second she answered, the plan changed. Because when I hung up the phone, I realized that she would give it all up for me. She already had. She offered to walk away from the music video audition for me. She turned down the job for me. She is selfless and self-sacrificing, and I remember how those attributes fascinated me the first time we met. She always put her wants and needs behind everyone else's – behind her parents', behind mine.

That's when I realized simply telling her the truth wasn't going to work. I was going to have to convince her that she doesn't want to be with me. I was going to have to push her away, make her angry with me – make her hate me.

I began to imagine different scenarios that would drive her away. I pictured myself provoking her into an argument, or lying about being unfaithful while she was gone, or simply telling her that I was wrong – that I don't love her. But no matter how I played out the conversations in my mind, I couldn't force my imaginary self to say those words to her. I couldn't even pretend to hurt her like that, and that revelation surprised me.

I allowed myself to dwell on the thought that, had I been presented with this obstacle six months ago, the Edward I used to be wouldn't have given a second thought to how to deal with it. The Edward I used to be was a malicious, merciless, callous monster. He would have done just what Carlisle suspected, conquered Bella as part of some of disgusting game, the sole objective to rebel against his father. That Edward would have reveled in the challenge, toyed with her emotions, and manipulated his way into her bed. He would have taken everything he wanted, and when the game grew tedious to either himself or Carlisle, that Edward would have discarded her without consideration to the damage he left in his wake.

I wasn't that Edward anymore. I hadn't been that Edward since I met Bella. Would she ever know the impact she has had on my life? Sadly, that thought caused me to remember the impact my presence would have on hers.

Carlisle's allegation wasn't far from the truth. I had used Bella in an attempt to provoke him, just not in the manner he accused me of. However, the reminder of that offense gave me ample ammunition to devise a plan. In order to carry it out, I had to resign myself to the fact that, for one night, I would have to be that Edward again. Because tonight, I would have to lie, I would have to be mean and cruel - I would have to hurt her. And while the Edward she knows, the one she helped me become, could never do it, the Edward I used to be could. He had pushed my own father away, enough to compel him to cut me out of his life; he would certainly do the same to Bella.

"I can't do this," I say aloud, my words nervous and unsteady.

The voice in my head answers. "But do you see that by being with her you could be hurting her? Hurting her chances at the life she's always wanted? The life she's worked so hard to achieve?"

I sit up abruptly and slam my open palm against the steering wheel. My hand stings from the strike, but the pain is minor compared to the vice that's gripping my chest.

With one last deep breath, I open the car door and step out onto the gravel drive. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I stare down at the ground as I walk slowly toward the house, only to turn abruptly and pace in the opposite direction at twice the speed.

"Fuck!" I yell. My fingers dig into the back of my neck.

"What's wrong?"

I whirl around toward the sound of the voice. Bella is standing on the front porch, leaning against the column supporting the overhang above, her arms folded across her chest, her face guarded. She's wearing a heavy sweater I've never seen before. The collar is large, and the gathered material that hangs around her neck looks more like a scarf than part of the ivory sweater. Her hair is swept back, away from her beautiful face, and I can clearly see the anxiety in her eyes. My breath catches in my throat as I stare at her, completely frozen.

Gritting my teeth, I attempt to reinforce the resolve that slipped at the first sight of her. I squeeze my eyes shut as I push away the lump in my throat and the crushing pain in my chest. I concentrate on burying the memories that surge forward: every memory of our time together, every memory of her smiling at me, every memory of her telling me she loves me. When I open my eyes a second later, I'm certain they are cold and empty, just like the rest of me. She watches me warily, and her posture tenses slightly as she takes in my expression.

"How long have you been standing there?" I grumble. My voice is menacing, but Bella doesn't flinch.

"I was in the kitchen when I heard you pull up. I walked outside just as you turned off your headlights."

I continue to stare at her, clenching and unclenching my fists at my sides. After a moment, Bella shoves off the column and steps down onto the top of the porch stairs. Instinctively, I break our gaze and take a small step backward. Bella gasps softly, but I don't look up.

"Edward?" she whispers. "What's wrong?"

I let out a deep breath and fix my eyes on the ground. "Something happened while you were gone," I begin.

"The fight with Carlisle?" she asks nervously.

My eyes flash to hers. I'm caught off guard by her accurate assumption, but I quickly compose myself. "It wasn't really a fight," I explain, keeping my tone indifferent to deflect her away from the truth. "We just… disagreed on a few things. But I've thought about what he said, and I've come around to seeing his side of it. He was right; I was wrong."

"Oh," she says, wringing her hands anxiously. "I was worried. I guess I got the impression it was more than a simple disagreement when you said Jasper needed to cheer you up afterwards."

"Jazz and I didn't go out because he needed to cheer me up," I lie.

"But you said - "

"I was shit-faced, Bella. I have no fucking clue what I said."

My harsh tone makes her wince. I try not to let it register. This is only the beginning, and if I can't tolerate her reaction to my cruel disposition, there's no way I'll make it through this.

I need to get it over with quickly, like ripping off a bandage, or the prolonged torture will eat away at my resolve. "Look, I did some thinking while you were gone, and I realized that I - I can't keep pretending to be something I'm not, because this," I gesture in the space between us, "is not me."

Bella stares at me, and her eyes narrow in confusion. "I'm sorry. You're not making any sense to me."

I groan and try to plaster an annoyed expression on my face. "I'm honestly surprised you haven't figured this out already, but I guess I'm just going to have to spell it out for you."

"Please, by all means, enlighten me," she says with a sarcastic wave of her hand. Good. She's getting irritated, now I just have to build on that.

"You're partly right, about Carlisle. I mean, it's no secret that we don't get along. It's been that way for a long time, a long before you came here. To say the guy was making my life fucking miserable is the understatement of the century. Then here you come." I roll my eyes as I gesture toward Bella. "All he could talk about was what a good person you are. How you're kind and compassionate and innocent - "

"I'm not - "

"Oh, please," I huff. "I bet forging your father's signature was the worst thing you've ever done in your naïve little life."

Bella looks at the ground, sheepishly biting her bottom lip.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," I say sarcastically.

My words come out in a rush. "So when Carlisle couldn't shut the fuck up about how perfect you were, I got this crazy idea. I thought I could learn a thing or two from you; maybe I could get you to like me, maybe even go out with if Carlisle saw I was with someone like his sweet little Bella, maybe he would get off my fucking back.It was easier than I thought, fooling you into playing my little game, and don't get me wrong the… perks were nice too." I chuckle, darkly, to mask the stabbing pain that grips my chest.

I glance quickly at Bella, trying to gauge her reaction to my cruelty. She's still standing at the top of the steps, her arms folded around her chest, her eyes glued to the ground.

"But you know what I realized?" I continue, steeling myself to carry on the assault. "I realized I really don't give a shit about Carlisle. I'm moving out in a few months, and I won't have to put up with his crap anymore, so why am I putting in all this effort? It's such a hassle, and it's just not worth it."

"I – I don't understand," she says in a small voice.

"Wake up, Bella!" I shout, stepping closer to her. "I'm trying to tell you this is all bullshit. I've been trying to tell you for weeks but you would never let me!"

Bella finally looks up, the fury I've been waiting for blazing in her eyes. Clearly she's reached her breaking point – thankfully – as I don't know how much longer I can keep up this charade.

"Oh, so this is my fault!" she shouts, marching down the stairs to stand directly in front of me. She pokes me in the chest with her finger as she continues to yell. "It's my fault that you've been, what… faking it the entire time I've known you? That's what you've been trying to tell me? You really expect me to believe all this," she waives her hand in a large circle, "has been some kind of act?"

"Well, it's about time you got to know the real me."

"Oh, you mean the 'me' that ignores his girlfriend's phone calls!" she spits sarcastically. "The 'me' that drops off the face of the earth for an entire week? The 'me' that drunk-dials his girlfriend at three in the morning to yell at her? The 'me' that drinks entire bottles of whiskey and smokes cigarettes? Because if that's who you're talking about, then you're right, I don't know that 'me' at all."

I don't respond. Instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out the pack of Camels I purchased during my pointless drive around the city. I picked up the habit from Jazz last week; he told me it would mellow me out. So far, I'm not convinced it works.

Leaning back against my car, I flick the lighter to life and ignite the cigarette dangling from my lips. I take a long drag, the smoldering tip glowing bright orange in the darkness, and then exhale the thick cloud of smoke out my nose. I cross my ankles as I look up, the cigarette bobbing between my lips as I speak. "I'm Edward. Nice to meet you."

Bella snatches the cigarette from my mouth, tossing it angrily to the ground.

And then she slaps me.

We are silent for a long time, neither of us looking at the other. I continue to lean against my car, and Bella stands a few feet in front of me, her arms wrapped around her body. She's close enough that I could reach out and touch her. I could carry her inside, out of the cold night air, and up to our room. I could hold her, and kiss her, and tell her how much I love her. I could tell her that I'm sorry and that none of it is true. But, unfortunately, some of it is. And now, I've taken the truth and stretched it in such a way that she will never believe me if I try to amend it.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispers.

Once again, the fucking voice in my head answers her question. "This is your punishment to bear, not hers."

As the words echo in my mind, the hardened facade returns, firmly rooted in place once again. I sigh, feigning frustration. "I told you. I'm tired of this, tired of pretending."

Bella doesn't say anything, and I avoid looking at her. After several excruciating minutes, she mumbles something under her breath so low I don't hear it.

I roll my eyes. "Speak up. I can't hear you."

She looks up, locking her eyes with mine. "I said I don't believe you," she announces firmly.

I narrow my eyes at her. "You don't believe me?" I repeat, disbelief flooding my tone.

She scowls, folding her arms tightly across her body. I begin to panic as she scrutinizes me. "No, I don't. I don't know what you think you're going to accomplish with this little performance tonight, Edward, but this," she waves her hand toward me, "is a bunch of crap. I don't believe for one second that you've been pretending for the last four months. You're lying. You know it, and I know it. Now, why don't you cut the crap and tell me what's really going on."

The panic is instantly extinguished by the flood of anger that surges inside me. Why was she doing this to me! Couldn't she see how difficult this was for me? Why couldn't she just accept this and walk away? Why was she trying to make this harder for me?

I shove off my car and step forward, towering over her small frame. Bella doesn't even flinch. She remains fixed in place, her arms folded and her eyes daring me to challenge her. Her defiance causes the rage inside to boil over.

"You want me to cut the crap?" I seethe.

"Yes."

"You don't believe anything I just told you?"

"Nope," she fires back, her tone even more insolent than before.

I can feel the adrenaline, fueled by anger, pulsing in my veins. "You think that everything I just said was a lie?"

"Yes."

"You honestly think the last four months was real?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then tell me this… if it was so real why did I spend the last week fucking someone else, huh!"

The question – the lie – flies out of my mouth without a conscious thought. Yes, I imagined pushing her away with some wild story in which I'd been disloyal, but only briefly. I was certain I wasn't capable of doing it. Not only incapable, I had absolutely no intention of doing it. I was determined not to hurt her like that. For a long, silent moment, I consider that maybe I'm a bigger monster than even I believed possible.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I think of Carlisle and how, in the heat of our worst argument, he ordered me, his son, to leave and never come back. Since that night, he's lived with the guilt of that reckless, impulsive statement. Now, as I watch Bella process my thoughtless, unintentional, fabricated confession, it seems I am destined to follow in his footsteps.

Bella is completely still, staring straight ahead with a stunned expression on her face. If I could read her mind, I'm certain I would see the pieces falling into place. My words have hit their mark. The lie has broken through her stubborn shell. She believes it. She believes everything.

I step forward and lift my arms slightly to reach for her, but Bella steps back. She squeezes her eyes shut as she raises one hand, her palm facing me, to stop my advance. The other remains tightly wound around her body.

"Bella, I - "

She shakes her head briskly to silence me, and I drop my hands to my sides. An agonizing minute passes before Bella finally opens her eyes again. She won't look at me, but I can see the tears threatening to spill over. I grit my teeth and ball my hands into fists, my fingers digging painfully into my palms.

I can't do this. I can't do this!

Just as I'm about to reach for her again, just as I open my mouth to confess that it's untrue, Bella's eyes snap to mine. The clear, undeniable hate that radiates from her expression causes the words to catch in my throat.

"You're a monster," she says with absolute certainty.

I flinch. If Bella hadn't chosen that word, the exact term I had used to describe myself, the exact image I was trying to portray, I may not have reacted. I pause, studying her face, and this time it's not Carlisle's voice I hear in my head – it's mine.

"I'm not going to ruin her future – her life because of my bad decisions."

I continue to study the hatred swimming in her eyes. The damage has been done. It's over. She is free of me; she can move on. I can't hurt her anymore.

With a deep breath, I try to recall the toughened pretense from before, praying Bella can't hear the uncertainty in my voice. "I'm sorry I let this go on for so long when I…"

I let my words trail off as Bella wrenches her eyes shut again. One hand comes up to cover her mouth as the tears spill over and run down her cheeks.

Bella takes a shaky breath, opening her eyes again to look at me. "You said… you told me you loved me."

My heart shatters into a thousand pieces in that moment, and I pinch the bridge of my nose to hide the tears forming behind my eyelids. Bella probably interprets the gesture as frustration.

I have to clear my throat before I can speak. "Yeah, I said a lot of things."

Bella closes her eyes again, forcing more tears down her cheeks. "This is it, isn't it?" she mumbles. I'm not exactly sure what she is referring to, or if she's even talking to me.

"Look, I won't put you through anything like this again. You can go on with your life without any interference from me."

Bella raises both of her hands to cover her face as she cries. My eyes begin to well up again, and I know I have to get out of here, fast. My determination is eroding with every tattered breath she takes.

I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I hope you'll be able to forgive me one day." My words are so soft, I doubt Bella can hear me over her sobs.

Turning back toward my car, I walk to the door and open it. Just as I place one foot on the floorboard, I hear her speak.

"What's her name?"

"What?" I ask, certain I misunderstood her question.

"What's her name?" Bella repeats.

I close my eyes and shake my head. "Don't do this."

"I need to know."

"Why? What does it matter?" I say defensively.

"You owe me this much. I want to know her name."

Unconsciously, I turn my head to look at her and regret it the instant I meet her eyes. Tears continue to run down her cheeks and her arms remain coiled tightly around her body, as if she's holding herself together, but her eyes retain the same determined, defiant stare as before.

Terrified, I look away. I can't handle any more. If she challenges me, if she contests my lies again, I won't be able to maintain the deception. I have to give her something – anything – to solidify the story, just so I can escape. I spit out the first name I can think of.

"Jessica – Jessica Stanley."

Bella doesn't say anything else, and I climb into the driver's seat and shut the door. I start the engine and slowly back my car toward the street. The garish headlights illuminate the driveway as if it's the middle of the day, and Bella raises one hand to cover her eyes. She doesn't remove it as I angle the car into the road, the beams moving away from her. Just before she's plunged back into the darkness, I see her chest heave with a violent sob.

I leave her, the love of my existence, standing alone in the cold night air, sobbing in the shadows.

Eight miles later, I pull over and throw up in the underbrush on the side of the road.

Authors Note:

:::cringe:::

Yes, I know. I know! He broke up with her for her own good. I know this plot line has been done to death in the Fic world, but my intention has always been to weave small aspects of canon into this story. So here's where I 'New Moon-ed' it up. :::nervous laugh:::

Just trust me. There had to be a catalyst to bring about what's to come. Please be gentle.

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