All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. April 2010.

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A Drunkella POV. Let's see how things look once the buzz wears off shall we?

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BPOV

Chapter 15

Edward stares down at me, leaning against my front door, his jaw set, his eyes clenched together, his hands balled into fists...its kind of a turn on in my completely drunken state right now. Holy fuck…hang on…Edward is in my house. I think I'm speechless, or dreaming. I pinch myself and it hurts…definitely not dreaming.

"Are you fucking sure his name was James, Bella?" he growls, keeping his eyes shut. He looks like he's actually shaking. I'm pretty sure the vein in his forehead is going to pop out any second.

I burst out laughing, 'cause that's just the way I roll when I'm drunk, apparently. "No, I'm not sure about anything right now, other than I'm really, really drunk." I lean on the back on the couch, trying hard to will the room to stop spinning.

He opens his eyes and the corners of his mouth turn up, like he's amused with me or something. Jesus he's fucking hot. Maybe it's too many shooters, or the fact that this is the first time I've had a man in my house in...well…a really long time, or maybe its the way his black shirt is clinging to his chest...yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what it is.

He takes a step towards me, giving me some sort of awe inducing stare, that makes every nerve in my body suddenly launch into hyper drive, or it could just be the tequila. "Where do you keep your aspirin?" he asks. "You're going to need it."

I blink up at him because, right now, I'm not sure where anything is, other than my nipples, which have decided to practically burst through my sweater.

"Umm." I look into the kitchen, because of course, that's where the fucking aspirin should be...Jesus I'm an idiot.

"The bathroom, maybe?" he asks, his voice low, soothing, and kind of intoxicating...or perhaps that's the gin.

Right, the bathroom! "It's down the hall." Which looks like its four thousand kilometres long right now. I push up from the back of the couch and take a step towards him, and of course, I trip because the stupid bruise on my other leg has decided now is the time to start pulsating uncontrollably and setting me off balance...or that may be the Grey Goose.

I start giggling...like I'm eighteen or something…eighteen and really drunk. You know, drunk like those dreadful high school dances where you would go with your friends into the woods behind the school and drink the entire mickey of peach schnapps and a two litre bottle of WildBerry Vodka Cooler. After which, you would saunter back into the dance and spin around in circles with said friends in the middle of the gym, until you threw up all over the chaperone…that kind of drunk.

His smile widens at me. Clearly, he's enjoying the fact that I'm wasted. If I wasn't drunk, I'm sure I'd be mad at him for looking at me like this, and I'd banter back and forth with him in some heated exchange...but right now, all I can do is giggle. I must sound like a complete idiot. I need to sober up because Edward in my house is something I think I want to remember.

He's staring down at me waiting, his eyes dark and kind of intense. I wish I knew what he was thinking right now...actually, maybe I don't. I'm sure he thinks I'm some sort of lightweight that can't handle liquor...which is only partially true. I can handle it...just maybe not so many different shooters, back to back, so close together. I'm still standing and talking, and I don't feel like I'm going to throw up, so take that, Edward! I can handle my liquor.

"Bella?" God, my name sounds really good when he says it...it reminds me of warm melting chocolate, or something equally as delicious. I think he could recite the phone book and I'd be happy for the rest of my life.

What? Steady, Bella! Take it down a notch. It's a good thing I'm not a guy, cause if I was, my dick would be coming through my...Whoa, hold the phone, his dick is looking rather uncomfortable and strained in his fucking hot jeans. What the hell is it with guys and jeans like this, hanging low from his hips, making me squirm?

Supposed to be focusing, Bella! Remember, this guy fucked Lauren in the stairwell.

Somehow, that unwelcome thought sobers me up considerably. If I'm being honest, it's hard for me to wrap my drunken head around the Edward who would ensure the skinny, drunk, white dress fembot got home safely, and the Edward who would bring skanky Lauren to orgasm in my stairwell. It just doesn't make sense to me, but then, I'm sure not much is making sense to me right now.

I shake my head and walk as straight as I possibly can down the hall to the bathroom. He follows closely, and it would be really, really easy for me to pretend to fall and have him catch me again, but each step I take to the bathroom reminds me that I shouldn't.

I stop in the middle of the hallway and turn around to him, almost crashing into his chest, which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. Focus Bella! "Music…I think we need music. Would you like to listen to music, Edward?" I ramble, because even though I'm sobering up, I'm still feeling a buzz, and therefore, unable to stop talking.

He laughs quietly, probably one of the single sexiest sounds I think I've ever heard in my entire life. "You want to listen to music now?" he asks, because obviously, that's a ridiculous thing for me to want to do. I mean, seriously…what do I think we're going to do here? Sit around in my living room, sipping back Keith's, and talking about our feelings, while Arcade Fire plays in the background? That's definitely not happening…at least not with Edward Cullen.

And suddenly, the buzz from however many shooters I haphazardly consumed has faded, and I'm left standing here, toe to toe with Edward…in my hallway…his eyes burning, his chest rising and falling heavily, though why he's still here, I'm not really sure. So, because I can, I ask him.

"What are you still doing here, anyway? I mean, I'm home safe. Your super hero duties have been fulfilled for another night. You would probably feel more comfortable back at your painting cave."

"Painting cave? Is that like the bat cave?" he asks, smirking at me.

"You know what I mean," I say, waving my hand dismissively at him.

"Do you want me to go?" he asks so quietly that I can barely hear him. I look up at him, his chiseled jaw pronounced under the subdued lighting of my hallway, and the only thing I can think is, no. I don't want him to go. Ok, so that's not the only thing I'm thinking. But, whatever insane ideas I may have about Edward dragging me into my bedroom and ravaging me all night are not going to happen anytime soon…and especially not when I've had this much to drink, and probably not in this lifetime.

"No, actually I don't want you to go." I hear the words coming out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. A look of relief comes over his face, which kind of confuses me. Doesn't he want to go? I mean, I'm home…clearly nothing is happening here. I'm sure he's got a not so little black book that's two feet thick of much more interesting and beautiful women he could be with right now. I wish I was in that book. Fuck! I hate that this is awkward, and so, because I'm still partially drunk, I guess, I start apologizing.

"I'msorrybouttheflowers." What the hell? Am I even speaking English? He furrows his eyebrows together and cocks his head to the side.

"What?" he asks, laughing at me.

"The flowers. I'm sorry," I say, staring at my hardwood floor, which reminds me that I need to vacuum before the gang comes over on Sunday.

"Why did you send them back? I thought this morning…" His voice trails, and he sounds…sad, disappointed?

"I'm a bitch. That's why." It's amazing the reality that comes out of your mouth when you're drunk. I'm fully aware that my behaviour with Edward is worthy of the title of bitch of the year, and I just really wish I could turn back the clock and start all over again.

"No, Bella. You're not a bitch. I don't believe that. I know that there's a reason you massacred them and sent them back. I just don't know what it is."

"I had a talk with Lauren," I say, leaning against the wall. God, my leg hurts. I can only imagine the bruise that's forming there. His eyes grow wide, and then he shuts them…clearly he's guilty as charged.

"This is about the other day? When you saw us outside?" he asks horrified.

"No. Although, that probably is a good enough reason. This is about your little Stairwell Rendezvous. I mean, Edward, really? Fucking someone in a stairwell? Right outside my office? How do you think that makes me feel?"

"I didn't fuck Lauren, Bella," he says with determination, his eyes scorching, his voice low and in control, and I believe him. "We fooled around, but I didn't fuck her." He shifts towards me. "How did it make you feel?"

"Sick to my stomach." This revelation is a massive wake up call for me. I do feel sick about Edward and Lauren and whatever it is "fooling around" actually means to him. I feel sick because it happened in my stairwell, and I feel sick because it happened with Lauren who I now have to face every single day, and who secretly wants to take him to the auction, most likely to finish whatever it was they started. I'm sick at myself because secretly, I want Edward to push me up against a wall and loose control. God, I'm pathetic.

"Why?"

"Because it's just wrong, Edward. You can't just go around and ask me out, and then 'fool around' a millisecond later with somebody else." I put the words "fool around" in air quotes, because that's what you do when you're coming down from being inebriated.

"Why not? I mean, you turned me down, very clearly if memory serves." Ouch. But, once again, I'm impressed with Edward who isn't afraid to call me out when I clearly deserve it. I mean, seriously? I did turn him down. Why shouldn't he go off with someone else?

"I shouldn't have turned you down." Oh, no. Did that actually just come out of my mouth?

"You shouldn't have?" he asks, looking confused. I shake my quasi-drunken head at him. "I don't understand…"

"You don't have to understand. I don't understand myself, especially right now. Did I tell you I had seven shooters in a row tonight?" Yes! Change the subject, Bella!

"No, you didn't tell me that. Maybe we should get you that aspirin so you can lie down," he suggests.

"Ok, Dad," I say, poking him in the chest with my finger. I turn and make my way, on shaky steps, to the bathroom. Actually, Edward is right; aspirin is going to be my friend…if I can find it.

I stop just before the bathroom door and turn back to him because I want to make sure I understand him correctly, and that I'm not just imagining things in the quarter-drunken phase that I'm currently in. "You really don't think I'm a bitch?" I ask seriously…well as seriously as I can right now.

He shakes his head slowly at me and leans against the wall. "No, Bella. I don't think you're a bitch. I think you're struggling. I think maybe you're a bit lost. I think you would like everyone to believe that you're a bitch because that's easier than letting someone into your life," he says purposefully, like he's thought about this for a while.

"When did you get your psychology degree, Freud? I thought you were an artist," I challenge, issuing him the patented Bella stare.

"I am an artist. I don't see things the way everybody else does. That's why I can see what you're trying to hide." Well fuck, I don't think I have a come back for that right now, so I turn on my heel and walk into the bathroom.

I switch on the light and open the vanity mirror…which takes me a couple of tries before I can actually open it. Edward is just standing beside me, taking in my every move and is clearly amused, so I plant my hand in the middle of his chest, which makes me take a sharp breath in because, just as I thought, it's hard as a rock and feels really, really good under my fingers.

His eyes widen and I push him against the wall. "Edward, why did you come back?"

He gulps. "Wha…What do you mean?" he asks tentatively.

"Why did you come back to the bar? Was the random white dressed tramp not interesting enough for you?"

"Bella, I didn't do anything with Angela. She was wasted. I put her into a cab, and sent her home to sleep it off," he admits.

"You know her?" Of course he knows her! She's probably lucky enough to be in the big black book of Edward's conquests. Fuck, what am I thinking? I don't want to just be a conquest. Not of Edward's, not of anyone's.

I really need that aspirin. The shooter buzz is gone completely, and my head is starting to get annoyed with the fact that it's not on a pillow right now.

"Angela and I used to live together," he says quietly.

"Used to?" Fuck, it's more serious than just a random name in a black book. Who would have thought that Edward would live with someone? The idea makes me simultaneously jealous and curious. "Of course you did," I say sourly. I wonder if she made him breakfast in the mornings, whether she ever posed for him, why they don't still live together.

"What does that mean, 'of course you did?'" he asks.

"Nothing. It doesn't even matter." I try to turn from him to get the aspirin, but his hand is on my arm, twisting me back to him. What is it with him and twisting my arm? Does he want me to fall again?

"Of course it matters, Bella. Talk to me. We can't keep doing this." He stares down at me, his eyes pleading and hopeful, and of course, I retract my arm from him because there's a bolt of energy that has decided to radiate through my body from him touching me.

"Where did I put that aspirin?" I reach around him and pull out the bottle from the tiny shelf. I manage to knock down several other items into the sink in the process, including, of course, my birth control pills, which I only take to regulate my stupid cycle…like I'd need them for anything else, and four old, I'm sure outdated condoms that Rose bought me ages ago on one of her 'I'm-going-to-get-Bella-laid' quests. I turn back to him, trying to hide the contents of the sink with my body. I hand him the bottle of aspirin and he opens it, shaking out three of the lovely tablets into my hand.

He squeezes beside me, effectively pushing me out of the way, and raises an eyebrow when he looks in the sink. I feel myself turn red and I swipe the contents of the sink out, pushing them back into the cupboard while he chuckles at me.

I watch as he nimbly extracts one of the Dixie cups from the counter and turns on the water. His fingers are long, lean, and skillful, with the faint remains of colour splotches under his nails. I wonder what he's been painting today. I'd like to see more of Edward's paintings. What little I did see intrigued me. I'd like to ask him how he goes about deciding what to paint. Is it some methodical, step by step process, or does he just paint from his heart? I think from what I've seen, it's the latter, but I'm not entirely sure.

He lets the water run off of his fingers and into the sink, testing it for how cold it is, I guess…like it matters, but it seems to matter to him. When he's satisfied with the temperature, he fills the cup, and then licks the stray droplets of water from his fingers. Holy crap! I think my heart just stopped.

"Here, drink up." He holds the cup out to me, and watches like some sort of overbearing, scolding, dominating…whoa, ok need to stop this line of thinking. I can't even begin to contemplate a dominating Edward right now. Holy fuck, is it hot in here?

I gulp back the tablets and drink down the water dutifully, handing him back the empty cup. I feel like I should get a reward or something for listening to him. God, it's been a really long night.

"I'm tired, Edward. I just want to go to bed." I know it sounds like I'm whining. I'm almost annoying myself at this point. But, like always, since the accident happened, I can't just go flop down on my bed and pass out in a fading drunken haze, even though that's exactly what I want to do. No, because, I have a routine to do. A routine that I think I'm going to need some help with. It will either make Edward realize that I am a complete and total waste of his time, or…I'm not sure I want to think about or right now.

I turn and sit down on the edge of the tub, while he looks back at me like I'm crazy; probably because I just said I want to go to bed, and now, I'm sitting on the tub like some freakish loser.

"I can help you get to bed, Bella," he says quietly. Jesus, this man is beautiful. He's got no idea what I'm about to ask him to help me with. I feel mortified about having to ask. But I need help. It's amazing to me that it took getting shit-faced and rescued to admit that I need help.

He's just standing there, holding out his hand to me. I'm sure he thinks he can just take me to the bed, tuck me in, and leave me to sleep off the final remains of my night of semi-debauchery. That couldn't be further from my reality, and suddenly, I'm really afraid.

This is probably the single most personal thing I could ever let anyone see or help me with. A constant reminder of what my life has become. How I'm always going to be different from everyone else, and how I just want someone to accept it; to accept me, to try to understand this without passing judgment. I know that's hypocritical of me, especially since I've done nothing but pass judgment on Edward since the day I met him. That's not the person I want to be.

"Come on," he urges, taking another step towards me.

"I can't go to bed," I mutter.

"You need to go to bed, Bella. You're drunk, and you need to sleep this off. Come on, I'll help you lie down." Oh, if only it was that easy.

"Edward, I can't just go lie down," I say forcefully.

"Of course you can. Come on," he urges. Oh my God. I don't know if I can do this. I can feel the tears threatening. Only Renee and my surgeon have ever helped me with this. Jake has never even done my nightly routine with me. My heart races in my chest, and I'm sure I feel the colour drain from my face. This is it. This is the precise moment when he's going to bolt from this room and my life, and never look back.

He squats down beside me, looking up at me, his eyes searching, looking for something to tell him what to do. "Bella, I'll help you into bed. It's ok."

I take a deep breath. "Edward, I can't just go lie down like a normal person and fall asleep. I need...I need to..." Oh God, I feel the damn break, and the tears stain my cheeks. "I need to take care of my leg first." My voice sounds small as it echoes in the confines of my bathroom. There is only silence while I stare down at him, gauging his reaction and waiting for him to run.

I wouldn't blame him if he did. This is a hell of a lot to deal with, especially for someone like Edward, who is, I'm sure, used to beautiful people and flawless skin. There's nothing beautiful or flawless about this. I've learned to live with it and accept it, but can he? Do I want him to?

I rack my brain for a backup plan. Rose and Alice are out. They've probably had more to drink than I have, and as such, would be useless. I'm also extremely pissed off at them for their lame excuse of a plan tonight, and even though I know their hearts are in the right place, I can't imagine asking them for help right now.

I could probably do a quick and messy version of the routine, and fix everything in the morning, but then, getting to my bedroom when I'm coming off my drunken buzz, on a leg that is fucking bruised beyond belief, pulsating and shaking, is not going to be easy for me to do by myself. If I take another fall, I'm actually a little concerned about what damage I might do.

I hold my breath and watch as he looks down at my leg, and then very deliberately, back up at me, his eyes clear and focused.

Never breaking his gaze, he very gently places his hand on my waist, and then runs it slowly over my jeans, down my thigh, stopping precisely where my prosthetic begins.

He takes a deep breath and sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip before his calm, smooth voice rings out to me. "Just tell me what to do."

XXXXX

Chapter End Notes

Hmmm…what next? EPOV.

Some of you were wondering about James-he was introduced a few chapters back-he owns the art supply store and is a budding artist himself. Jane also represents him.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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