A/N- t&a- first off the reviews are AMAZING. They blow us straight back onto our asses and we LOVE it. We apologize for not replying before posting this, but we figured you'd forgive?

As usual, we don't own, sadly, just borrow and mold for our own amusement…

I heard you found some pretty words to say

You found your little game to play

And there's no one allowed in

Then just when we believed we could be great

Reality, it permeates

It conquers from within again

These days we go to waste like wine

That's turned to turpentine

Till it's 6am and I'm all messed up

I didn't mean to waste your time

So I'll fall back in line

But I'm warning you, we're growing up

Turpnetine- Brandi Carlile

I've always had the most vivid dreams. Vivid and unforgettable. During high school I had reoccurring dreams about being artificially inseminated by all the members of NSYNC. Given the fact that my dreams have always held much more action than reality, I'm always reluctant to leave them. Apparently this morning and this dream are no exception.

I'm warm. Too warm really. My whole body feels on fire, but unable to move from the source of the fire. The odd thing is that as much as I hate being hot when I'm sleeping, I don't want to move. The fire is moving, mostly against my back. It's solid and heat and friction. I push my body back into it and relish the burn.

And then the heat begins to move, its still covering my back, but then it creeps forward, up my sides, across my stomach. Instinctually I press back into the heat once more. The heat emits a noise, half groan, half moan.

My heart races, my breathing picks up and I want to see, need to see. But my vision is filled with hazy colors, the fiery reds and blues that match this heat. I can feel my eyes fight this lack of stimulation. I've never been unable to see before. When the heat encases my boobs everything changes. My eyes finally snap open, the dreamy haze and fire melting away.

I'm still pressing back into the fire, which is still humming and moaning in my ear. Slowly everything comes into focus. The grey paint on the wall across from me, remnants of clothing across the floor. And suddenly the panting in my ear seems less like a fire and more like….Edward.

My body tenses and it awakens even more. The heat, the fire wasn't my dream. It was my wakeup call. I push my body back once more this time more out of curiosity than the need for heat. I can feel all of him. Mostly the hard stiffness against my ass. For a moment I panic thinking a small pair of feet could enter at any moment, but then my mental calendar kicks in. Its Saturday. No Finn.

"Right there girl," he pants near my ear and I swallow thickly. The knots in my stomach argue whether they are from shock or the need to uncoil slowly. His hands knead my boobs again and I bite the inside of my cheek to fight the moan that wants to pour out from me. I clench my eyes shut and fight off the need to push back again.

Apparently I don't need to push back because Edward presses forward, his hips circling and pressing and urgent. One of his hands reaches up and turns my head towards him just enough that he can cover my mouth with his. And then I'm swallowing his moans. As much as I want to be shocked. As much as my mother would want me to be horrified, I open my mouth and take in his moans willingly.

His tongue reaches out for mine and I'm only slightly horrified that I haven't brushed my teeth. I press my tongue against his and the pressure increases. My heart matches the urgency of his hips and then he tears his mouth away from mine.

"Shit little girl, you have no idea how god damned good that feels," he groans, his lips then staking claim on the back of my neck. My panting is mirroring his and then I feel him tense behind me.

"Shiiiiiit," he hisses and his hips are flush against my ass, his dick twitching. His breathing slows down and his kisses return, soft and lazy against my still open mouth. His hands trail back up my stomach to palm my boobs before trailing slowly downwards.

"I needed to wake up like that. We should wake up like that every day," he chuckles. His lips move to the shell of my ear and I try to pull away. I hate my ears. His lips follow.

"Don't try to run from me, I have you trapped," he teases. My heart races again as his fingers trace the edge of my sweats, dipping lower to feel the lace edge of my boy briefs.

"You know the best part of getting off?" he asks, his breath heavy on my ear. I shake my head and try to calm my racing heart and shaking hands. His fingers dip barely into the lace and my whole stomach clenches.

"Returning the favor," he answers his own question. The racing of my heart makes it feel like I might be falling of a cliff or at the very least having a premature heart attack. His fingers reach the curls guarding the holy land and now I'm really awake. I push my feet against his calves and shimmy out of bed. One arm goes to cover my bra less chest while the other attempts to calm my bed head.

"I'm just gonna grab a shower," I announce. He smirks up at me, ready to make some comment, but I grab my bag and rush into the bathroom, slamming the door. I lean up against it and curse my still racing heart and the tightly wound coil in my belly. I twist the nozzles on the shower, grateful that there isn't a trick to his shower. The last thing I need is to have to call him in here.

I take a couple of deep breaths and try to not be pleased about what just happened. I should be pissed. He used me to get off. He was willing to repay, but still. This is, too much. I place a hand on either side of my head and clench my eyes shut. All we've done before is kiss. Kiss and back scratch and that all can be neatly listed under the 'friends maybe more' category, but this. This is a whole new category, requires a new definition.

The room begins to fill with steam and I take it as a cue to make use of the shower. I pull open the frosted glass door and step beneath the stream of water. The slight pain from the searing heat of the water takes my mind off the throb below. My hand rests low on my stomach, twitching against the slick skin. It would be easy to fix this problem.

"You sure you don't want my help with that? It looks like you do," His voice causes me to drop the soap in my hand. The steam and the frosted glass make it hard to see his face, but I can see his hazy form leaning against the sink and staring. I turn away from him, my hands covering the bits that he can't see in his current category. My eyes fixate on the rubber ducky in the corner and I'm mortified I almost tainted the toys painted eyes.

"You're looking a little too much. I've never had anybody else worry about that. I mean they didn't need to. Just don't think about it anymore," I spit. I hope I sound pissed, like someone who demands being listened to. His chuckle echoes off the bathroom walls and I tense as the sound bounces off my skin. I glare at him over my shoulder and try to think of the best way to get out of this.

"But I want to help you, I can't just forget about it," He insists. At least he isn't moving to come into the shower. I don't know what I would do if he made that move. At least I have the glass between us. Not that it's much of anything.

"You can't just want to do that. I don't let just anybody into the holy land," I answer. My face flushes, but he can't see that. I really just told him the name of my girly playground. I press my forehead against the surprisingly cool tile of the shower. I need to get out of here. He clouds my thoughts, my judgment. I need clarity.

"It's common courtesy baby love. I got off and so should you. Plus, I wanna play more in the holy land," he laughs. I shake my head against the tile. The throb continues and I send a message downwards that I know it's a traitor. Suddenly the lack of classification for what we are begins to drown me. Where else does he play?

"There is restricted access to the holy land. One at a time and things like that," my voice comes out shallow, weak. I'm angry it sounds like I feel. I'm torn between wanting him no matter what and feeling like I need to know more. That more of the story needs to be defined, set to words, before I can move in any direction.

"What do you mean? There's only one of me, first of all. And second, you've never fantasized about being with more than one guy?" he asks. His voice is still sure and sound and I'm crumbling. I've been going about this without thought to it catching up to me. I shake my head and switch off the water. I reach my hand out of the shower and listen to him chuckle before placing a towel in my outstretched hand. I snatch it back in with me and wrap it tightly around me before stepping out.

"No. I only want one. I only need one. But that one has to be a lot of things and I just don't think….we should be talking about this. I should go," I stammer. His fingers trace the edge of the towel and I swallow hard under his gaze. I am frozen as his eyes take me in. Not that I would move even if I could. This is the best kind of trapped there is.

"I just want to make you feel good. There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel good," he argues. I clench my teeth against the moan that is trying to work its way out of my mouth. In a different world, a different time, a different chapter maybe I could just enjoy the simply sensation of his fingers on me, but my head is already on overload. Trying to calculate and organize the influx of foreign feelings currently reeking havoc on me.

My clouded mind prevents me from seeing his lips approach my own. The pressure is sure and measured. He presses his lips against mine several times waiting I can only imagine for my natural instinct to kick in and my mouth to fall open. I fight against the reflex and open my mouth only slightly and enough to suck his bottom lip into my mouth. Despite the war of words and feelings currently raging in my mind, this will always feel right, safe.

I can feel his smile against my lips as I release his bottom lip and pull away slightly. His breath is heavy and hot against my face. I can't even find it in me to care that he still hasn't brushed away his sleep. My thoughts finally begin to take coherent shape and I look up at him through wet eyelashes.

His eyes are dark and hooded as he looks down at me. I push him gently away from me and towards the doors, hoping my eyes are saying the right things. Telling him that I want him, but I'm not sure in which way. For once his follows my silent instructions and back out of the room, leaving me panting and confused in a room full of fog.

I lean my head against the tiled wall and breathe purposefully trying to gather all my thoughts. Some more responsible, instinctual part of my brain takes over and I'm going through the motions without thought.

When I push open the bathroom door Edward is sitting on the edge of his bed and fighting with a knotted sneaker. He glances up at me in the midst of his efforts and shoots me a smirk. I smile softly back him as I pick my way through the room, gathering my things methodically. I can't help but smile when I see one of Finn's shoes under Edward's bed.

"Thanks for eating the nasty food I tried to cook. And don't worry about the holy land. I'll see you later?" I say as I back towards the door. He drops the shoe to the floor and starts towards me. I take a step back for each of his steps forward and I watch as his frustration slowly creeps across his features.

"Why are you leaving?" he asks. I could be honest. I could tell him that he has my mind is such a frenzy that I don't want to think about what could happen if I stayed. Tell him that all the tender kisses and soft touches mean something to me that I can't define. But I can't.

"There are things I need to do at home today," I offer. Not a lie, but not the truth. Some vague place in-between. The look on his face tells me he knows that I'm holding back.

"If you go home and finish yourself off I'm going to be insulted," he grumbles. My mouth drops open and I shut it quickly. The throb that I had so delicately ignored now rears its angry head again. I almost cross my legs to hold it in. His words stop our game of chase and he moves close enough to touch. I take a deep breath and try to seize control. I clench my eyes shut for a brief moment and then open them once more to look up at him. I press myself up on my toes so that I can brush my lips against his delicately.

I don't know what's going to happen when I leave. My mind is a traitorous place and I don't know if I will allow myself this simple pleasure later. So I savor the touch and his taste before I push through the door.

For once his words don't chase me down the stairs and by the time the sun warms my skin my mind has already begun to work furiously, trying to put everything into place. I take the walk slowly, letting the sun abuse my skin as I try to gain clarity. My words have to be prepared for when I share them with my sounding board.

I push against the door of my studio and look at the computer sitting vigil in the center of my futon. I bring my thumb to my mouth and chew on the nail as I try to resist the urge to run towards my solace. The routine of taking off my shoes and straightening my tiny space is an act of restraint. To prove to myself that I do have some kind of self-control. Despite what it seems with I am with him.

After pushing my limits I finally settle in on the bed and pull open the computer. The hum and light calms me instantly, like knowing all my problems will soon be solved, or at the very least acknowledged. I tinker on my homepage and acknowledge several posts on my wall, but I'm really waiting. As soon as her name appears I sigh in relief.

Isabella Swan- thank god.

Alice Brandon- did we have a date?

I lean over my computer and feel comforted by the sound of my fingers tapping the keys. Already my mind seems like a friendlier place.

Isabella Swan- no I just really need to talk to you.

I'm not going to even mess the small talk. The last thing I need is to get caught up in the drama Alice constantly creates in her life. Laundry can be a world-changing event in the life of Alice Brandon.

Alice Brandon- so talk. what's going on?

Her words flip a switch in my mind and I can feel it all rushing, bubbling forward.

Isabella Swan- how far can you go before you're more than friends? do friends kiss? with tongue? do the bases still apply after college?

My chest feels lighter and I wiggle impatiently as I wait for her answer. My mind has already begun to lean in one direction, partial to one outcome.

Alice Brandon- well…..

My breath catches at her delayed answer. I should be able to work this out on my own, without the aid of my virtual friends, but I like my crutch too much to stop leaning on it.

Alice Brandon- repeated kisses definitely lean towards more than friends. tongue is usually more than friends. as for the bases…..they still exist. just not as concrete. why?

I read and reread her words feeling my lips twitch into a smile. My mind triumphs in its new ally. But before my tingling fingers can reply, her name appears again.

Alice Brandon- BUT be careful. sometimes people who throw shit around like that don't give a shit about who they hurt. he could be a massive dick and a player.

Everything crumbles around me. My mind once again wrapped in the same argument. It's hard for me to shine that kind of light on Edward. He's my adventure, my page turner. Seeing him as the villain doesn't settle right. The two Edward's stand opposing in my overactive mind and my chest constricts as I realize it doesn't really matter which one he is.

Isabella Swan- I know. I just….i want it to mean something, but I don't want to get in too deep. And it's complicated. So complicated.

And there is it. My true fear. The fear of being a tragic hero, of being left alone, or returning to the beginning of my story alone again, but worse for the wear having known what it feels like to be filled.

Alice Brandon- quit being such a drama queen. take a chance. even if it is just a fling, you could use a good roll in the sheets. you need to loosen up.

They're not the words I wanted. Not the obvious command to go after it. That he would be a fool not to want me, but they are enough. Enough to give in to myself. Enough to give myself permission to go back, to step even further into this. I feel only slightly guilty for still hiding Finn from the picture. I know it should change things, but he only adds to the draw.

Isabella Swan- you're right. It doesn't have to be anything more than it is.

I ration with my own mind. I can do this. I can wade in deeper into Edward. I can enjoy his intriguing child and read Harry Potter without getting attached. I can give him more and still be ok. I'm strong enough to pull out without getting hurt. I repeat this to myself several times, my will increasing with each internal chant.

My face stretches with a smile now that I can indulge in my fascination without anything pulling me back. Everything points in the direction of more and that's enough of a classification for me. For now.

I only feel mildly silly about the fact that I actually thought about what to wear. I mean he's seen me in every version of myself and yet I wanted to be….more. More than the sleep clothes and more than the work skirts. I twist in front of the small mirror and see the dress from all angles. It's not a huge stretch. I wear skirts a lot. This is just a bigger, longer skirt. At least that's how I am reasoning with myself to get out the door.

The night air has a slight bite and I shiver a little as I walk. My flip flops scrape the ground in the beat of some slightly familiar song that is pulling me towards him. My hand reaches out to pluck a leaf from a low branch and I feel content. This is what I want. Him. The possibility of something more and his mouth on mine, as often as he wants.

It's later than I usually enter the bar and the noise is heavy, hanging in the air making it thick. I push through it, resolved in my new found determination. I know its just my imagination that makes the door heavy, harder to push. The room is packed with bodies. The small groups clustered together making a small maze between them.

I don't have to see him to know that he's in the bar. There's a pulse in the air that reaches to my bones, I can feel him. The pulse pulls me along and I take note of all the people, the expressions on their faces and wonder about their stories. Wonder where they are. If their story has just begun or if this is the twilight of their adventures.

His laughter reaches me before I see his face and the sound starts a slow fire inside of me. The memories of this morning still fresh in my mind and the pressure low in my belly picks up again, refusing to die down. Maybe I should have let him untwist me like he offered.

A smile plays on my lips at the thought and then the crowd parts like something out of a cheesy romantic comedy. But the scene it reveals is hardly something worthy of that classification.

The profile of the scene is laid out for me, like I was the intended audience., My eyes take it all in slowly. The arch of his back as he leans over the table, the flex of his arms as they hold his weight. The dip of his head and then his lips. His soft, sweet lips moving slowly and surely over another's. I take so long watching him that she's almost an afterthought. My eyes examine her quickly, hoping against hope that her image won't be burned in my mind. That I won't have it to scrutinize later, but I know that won't be true.

I drag my eyes back to their lips, where they are connected and wish that it was over already, but he tilts his head, slanting his lips further over hers and I want to collapse. Their mouths are open and I can see glimpses of their tongues. I swallow hard and try not to fall back into the crowd.

Suddenly all of my self-assuredness and Alice's seemingly friendly push seem wrong. Of course it wasn't anything to him. He owns a bar and has stories written in his skin. Those kind of characters don't pine and fall for the ensemble.

I want to tear my eyes away, but I have to see it finished. After what seems like an eternity he pulls away slowly, sealing her lips shut with a chaste kiss. His smile is slow and easy and he turns to the rest of the table talking like he didn't just suck off her face. She smiles and rubs a familiar hand down his arm.

Her touch is what pushes me over. The gentle touch wasn't something new. I wonder if Finn knows her name too. I back my way through the crowd reluctant to break gaze from the table, worried that my mind might try and make sense of it. To write him a way out of it. But I don't want to give him a way out.

Maybe this is better. To know this now. To know that all the stolen kisses and long touches were just part of who he is. They didn't mean anything. Just one person's way of connecting to the world around him.

Maybe he just brings random girls home to serve as part time babysitters. Maybe I'm just one of many who have attempted to sound like Snape and Ron. Like it's some sick game to him. The walk back to the studio is a blur of street lamps and foliage.

When I shut the door behind me I slide down it, finding a strange comfort in being on the floor. Nothing can shake or move me from the floor, I'm already at my lowest. Eventually, I don't know how much later, I drag myself to my futon, my body still wrapped in the dress that was supposed to make his eyes light up.

I push my computer carelessly to the floor, not caring what damage may befall it. I feel betrayed by all the pillars in my life. My overactive mind, my sounding wall and….him.