"'Cause when you're in too deep you wake up when it's too late,

You've fallen in love in the worst way,

And if you don't go now then you'll stay

'Cause I'll never let you leave, never let you breathe,

'Cause if you're looking for heaven, baby it sure as hell ain't me." Walk Away, The Script

All rights belong to their rightful owners.

Thursday, November 1 – Edward/Emma's house

It's been tense, really tense.

Edward's been back for almost a month now, and it's still weird—hard—to be around him. I've tried distancing myself (doing my own thing), but it always somehow leads me back to being around him. He moved back in during the last week of October; I did it as more of a favor to Emma than anything else. The final book for Traffic Lights is being finished up in final editing right now, and then it goes to the publishers.

I'm sitting outside on the back porch of Emma's place—Edward's old house—and just enjoying the breeze. It's cold out, considering it's November, and it's the ocean, but the sky is beautiful; amazing colors of oranges, pinks, purples and blues mix together in the soft glow of the setting sun. I look out at the water and watch as the waves roll onto the shore and then back, repeating the same process. I take a sip of coke and then hear someone behind me; I think it's Edward until I hear them speak.

"Hey."

No, it's Elizabeth; I immediately stiffen as she sits down next to me. What is she doing here?

"Hi," I say shortly.

With her hands clasped together in front of her, she looks up at the sky.

"Pretty night," she says.

I say nothing.

"I uh . . . I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here, right?" she guesses, looking at me.

Again, I don't answer her; she's never been stupid, and she'll talk if she really wants to—Liz is one of those people who enjoys talking.

"I get it, you're upset, I completely do," she starts. "I would be too; but you, you have to understand something – I didn't do anything," she says calmly, but even I can hear the urgency in her voice.

I side-glance her, not believing a word she just said.

"Right," I say sarcastically.

She huffs in response.

"I'm telling the truth Bell, I didn't do shit!"

She takes me by surprise by swearing; she's never been one to foully speak, and if she does, it's for a reason—like emphasis.

"So, what're you saying, then?" I ask, not really wanting to know.

She sighs and runs a hand through her dark blonde hair.

"He told you that he cheated with me, right?"

I flinch-wince, and I guess that's enough for her because she nods.

"Yeah, well, I don't know exactly what he told you, but all he did was kiss me—and I suppose that yeah, technically that's cheating, because he did come onto me; I told him no, and to go fuck himself when he kissed me. I also said that he never changed one bit, even with four years going by," she tells me.

I'm quiet as I let her words sink in.

"Why should I believe you?" I say quietly.

"I—look at me, please?" she asks.

I do; I turn my head and she looks me right in the eye.

"Have I ever done anything to you, Bell?" she asks.

Well, I can think of one time, but that was high school, and we were both wrong on many levels, so I shake my head.

"Right," she says. "And I would not do this, especially with somebody like him! He . . . Bell, he means everything to you, and I watched while you went through hell as he stayed away for almost four years—selfishly, I might add. I watched the process throughout high school happen (you've always known my opinion on that, your relationship); why, why in the world would I fuck-up what you love, can hardly by without?"

"Besides," she continues. "I met someone two months ago—somebody who treats me well—unlike James did."

She went through a similar situation with an ex of hers, James; only with him, his threats of suicide were real; he actually committed the act. It's taken her years to get over it, and it happened when we were seventeen.

I nod, suddenly feeling anger setting in.

"I-I'm happy for you," I whisper. "Who is he?"

"His name's Jas, as in Jasper," she says, and she smiles.

I purse my lips.

Odd name for a dude, but okay.

"And he treats you right?" I ask.

She nods.

"Yes, so good; we met through a coworker last year, and became friends."

I nod.

"Does he know . . . anything?" I ask.

She understands what I'm getting at.

She sighs.

"Um, well, he knows that I went through something when I was in my teens. I told him that somebody extremely close to me took himself away from me, and he you know what he told me?" she asks.

I raise my eyebrows in question.

"Well first, he hugged me, and then told me that that's like the ultimate 'fuck you'. That it's the last thing to do to someone, but it's also the worst because they don't realize that it's gonna tear people up," she tells me.

I bite my lip and look out at the dark water.

"Yeah," I say quietly. "It is the ultimate fuck you—it sounds like he understands, Liz."

She nods.

"He does, and he's willing to take it slow. Honestly Bells, I want him, his help to finally move on. It's been almost eight years, you know? I don't want to spend forever hanging onto somebody who took himself away."

It's quiet for a bit after that.

We both stare out at the water, and the sky is almost dark now.

"You know I love you, right?" she says out of nowhere.

I look at her, and nod.

"I love you, too, Lizzie."

Liz left a little bit ago, and I go inside after spending more time out there, thinking. The anger comes back as soon as I set eyes on Edward, and hear his voice.

"How's Liz?" he asks quietly from the island.

I'm on the other side of it, gripping its edges so that I don't reach out and do something to him.

"Oh, um, she's fine," I say.

"What'd she say?" he asks, eating a sandwich.

I tilt my head to the side a little.

A part of me wonders if he's worried that she might've told me the truth; that he led me to believe more occurred than it really did.

"Why, Edward?" I ask, ignoring his question.

"Why what?"

"Why'd you lie about what happened?"

"I didn't," he says, looking confused.

I scoff.

"Yeah, no, all you told me was that you cheated on me—with Liz," I say. "But all it was, was a fucking kiss, wasn't it? Which she pushed you away afterwards, told you no."

The words spill from my mouth, but I don't hold back.

He looks nauseas.

"You . . . You made me think something else—something more—went on! Did it? Is she the one lying now? 'Cause really, that's not her style," I say, eerily calm, even to my own ears.

He swallows and looks like he wants to throw-up the food he just ate; he also looks to the stairs, and then to the backdoor.

"Don't even think about it," I say, rolling my eyes. "It's a cop-out, a way to run from the truth, the shit you need to deal with!"

His eyes dart from me to the backdoor again, and I reach into the pocket of my jeans where I have a small, white pill; I pull it out and hold it up for him to see.

"Want it?" I ask. "Go ahead; throw everything away—oh wait, you already almost did that last month!"

His brown eyes are locked on the pill that sits in between my finger and thumb; he wants it, I can tell, but he's also fighting it.

"Take it," I taunt. "Why won't you?"

I walk over to him to stand right in front of him, and look up into his face; he gulps.

"Go ahead, I'm offering it to you. Why won't you take it? Shit, maybe it'll finally be enough to knock your ass into a fucking coma, and hell, maybe even death!" I say. "'Cause after all, that's what you're after isn't it, to finally be able to tell me 'fuck you' in a big way?" I smile sarcastically.

He doesn't answer; he's too busy swallowing and trying to stop visible tears from falling.

"Oh, maybe I should take this then," I say, nodding in faux realization. His eyes open wide, alarmed. "Maybe I'll finally see what you see when you're high, what the big rush of it all is."

He shakes his head frantically.

"D-don't you fucking dare," he says his voice full of threat.

I smirk, because it's too bad for him that his threats don't work on me anymore, and neither does his begging-pleading.

"Why not." I glare at him. "What, you're allowed to fuck yourself up, and almost kill yourself in the process, but I'm supposed to just sit back and take it, 'cause it's what I've always done?" My voice has risen in volume, and he flinches.

"Why do you wanna take yourself away from me so badly?" he asks through gritted teeth.

I snort and set the non-toxic pill down on the island. It's actually just a pill made out of sugar; I got it from Emmett the other day as a joke.

"Y'know what," I say, backing away. "You're hilarious. You talk about me going away, taking myself from you and leaving, when all you do is stuff your system with drugs, and almost die? So guess what – you take that fucking thing," I say, pointing to the fake pill. "And guess what, I promise you that I'm done."

His eyes burn into mine, daring me.

"You've said that before and yet here you are still," he says confidently, but his eyes tell a different story. "You said that all through school, too."

I fold my arms and dig my nails into my skin.

"Try me; go ahead and take it, and I promise you—on my books, on my poetry and writing—that I will be gone for good."

I walk to the backdoor, and then turn back around; he watches my every move.

"But hey, it's your choice. We all have choices, even if it kills us inside to make them, we still have them." I turn and walk outside.