After watching Bella start to brush and then start to blush with the inevitable formation of toothpaste foam in her mouth and on her lips, and worried that she was more likely to swallow it all than be willing to spit in front of him (he is right), Edward—with twinkling eyes and a smile on his lips—deftly excuses himself from the bathroom with a kiss on the top of her head and a quiet, "I'll be right back, sweetheart. Finish brushing and then into bed, alright?"

The last instruction is issued with his back to the partway-open bathroom door and his eyes on his girl, a sternness in his tone that sends shivers down Bella's back which in turn make Edward flinch—not in fear, but in recoil at the sheer willpower it takes him to pull away from such a beautiful, responsive, absolutely pliable body and mind.

Reassuring himself, and lecturing his libido, he chants Not tonight. Not tonight. Not tonight! several grim times as he marches himself out of Bella's bedroom and into the hallway where Rosalie is prowling like an anxious panther.

Looking up at him as he closes Bella's bedroom door firmly but quietly behind him, she even grimaces in such a way that her teeth are bared, letting him know that she knows that he isn't the saint Isabella believes him to be. Far from it.

He is, however, Rosalie has been forcing herself to admit and admit again in her worried circuit up and down the hallway, the seemingly best shot Isabella has ever had at finding a man able to manage her emotions and willing to take care of her in the way she deserves. If he is a little too willing, well, maybe—maybe, Rosalie reassures and exhorts herself—that could be fixed with some oversight from her.

Maybe.

Although watching Edward Cullen exit Bella's room with a shit-eating grin on his face isn't making her feel better about the situation. Which means her first words aren't kind, or even polite.

"Pleased with yourself, asshole?" she spits.

Edward is unfazed, having completely expected a knock-down drag-out fight, and is just hoping Rosalie can keep it on a verbal level. With an eye to that goal, he tries to defuse the situation.

Wiping the grin off as best he can, he opens his hands out in front of him and says, "Rose, I swear, I haven't touched her."

Now, that is technically a lie, and they both know it, but that wasn't how he meant it and they both know that too.

After a little huff of angry air, Rose backs off her attack enough to respond in almost-civil terms. "Lucky for you," she mutters before starting for the door to Bella's bedroom.

Edward knowingly risks violence then by stepping in front of her, blocking her access to the doorknob. "Wait, Rose, we need to talk first."

Rose is about to lose her grip on her defensive rage and is mentally measuring the circumference of Edward's neck in preparation for strangling him, when Edward surprises her by touching her first.

Placing his open palms gently against her upper arms, Edward says earnestly, "Please, Rosalie. She's mine no matter what you do, but I'd much rather do this with you than alone; she'll be happier that way."

Rose instantly forgives him too for the lie of his preference for her involvement–for she's not fool enough to believe Edward Cullen would ever welcome the participation of anyone else, other than professionals consulted solely for their expertise, in directing the behavior of someone he cares about; someone he wants very much to control.

She is, however, grateful that he cares enough about Bella to recognize the importance of Rose's friendship with her, and selfless enough to inconvenience or constrain himself in order to maintain it.

Not to mention relieved for her own sake that she won't have to choose quite so clearly between her friend's happiness and her own. Rose does not make friendships easily nor trust people lightly, so the loss of intimate contact with Bella would leave an enormous void in her life, one that would be very difficult to fill.

Sighing her resignation as well as her relief, Rosalie says, with markedly less animosity than before, "Well, I suppose I'll consider helping you, but only if you make certain promises."

"Of course," Edward answers easily, grateful himself for her quick capitulation.

"In writing," Rosalie clarifies with acid back in her tone and arched eyebrows, letting Edward know both her awareness of certain other written agreements he's made with certain other young women, and her intention to make things as difficult as possible for him for as long as she can.

"Naturally." Edward's not surprised that Rose has ferreted out some of his secrets from his sister and near brother-in-law, and he's not upset by it. Just because he values and protects his privacy does not mean he feels he has anything to hide—at least not in the area where Rose has been snooping.

Proving this to her, he continues unperturbed, "Shall we delay this conversation for another day to give you time to prepare the contract?"

Starting to enjoy the exchange in her usual lawyerly way, Rosalie tips her head to the side, pretending to think for a moment, then bites back with, "I wasn't thinking of it as a contract, so much as a blood oath."

Edward grins; he likes her fight, especially knowing he's going to win. "I prefer contracts; they're less messy. In multiple ways."

Rose snorts a little, backs down a little more. "I can do a contract," she says somehow both petulantly and defensively.

"So I've heard," Edward rewards her with wry humor, approval of her professional skill intentionally implied. Luckily for both of them, his respect for her legal work is genuine.

"My office, 10 a.m. Monday," Rosalie spits, daring him to contradict her but hoping he won't.

"Done," Edward agrees easily once more, knowing his agreement to Rosalie's terms of timing seals his victory on the infinitely more important issue: Isabella.

Rose sighs. She knows she's winning the battle and losing the war. "I suppose you're going to want to see her again before then."

Edward smiles at this and says: "I'll be spending the whole weekend with her, and escorting her to work Monday morning on my way to go see you. Would you like to be included in some of those plans?"

"All of them." Rosalie challenges him with her eyes to try and stop her.

Edward ignores the challenge, knowing Rose's career alone will ensure he gets Isabella to himself soon and often.

"Fair enough," he announces, matter-of-factly. "First up tomorrow is a visit to the Zoo."

Rose jumps on this apparent failure in Bella-planning. "Bella hates zoos; they make her sad."

"Even the gift shops?" Edward clarifies, not surprised at Bella having strong emotions towards anything.

"You're going to take her to a zoo gift shop?" Rosalie is surprised, not having expected Edward Cullen to be a relationship-shopper anywhere other than Tiffany's, or maybe Harry Winston's.

"I have another contract I have to complete," Edward willingly explains, "although this one's only verbal, and given the other party is a minor probably unenforceable. But honor dictates I buy the boy a stuffed gorilla, 'the big one' to be precise, from the Central Park Zoo, and I thought it might be a pleasant outing for Isabella. But I suppose if she hates zoos…" and Edward trails off, considering the internet shopping possibilities and making sure to give Rosalie plenty of opportunity to hang herself with her own rope.

Rose's shoulders drop at her loss of an opportunity to show Edward up in his knowledge of her friend; she forces herself to admit the truth of the matter as hard as it is to get the words out of her mouth.

"Actually," she says slowly, "she'd probably love that. As long as you stay away from the real gorillas."

"Got it. May I ask why?"

"She's convinced they're suicidally depressed. We went once and she talked about it for weeks; how miserable they all clearly were, especially the big male all alone. It really upset her."

"We don't want that. I don't suppose it occurred to her why the big male was all alone?"

"No, she doesn't usually think in those terms. She thought they were just being cruel to him."

"I can't argue; zoos do seem cruel in principle. Was she really bothered by that for weeks?" Edward enquires, loving Bella's strong emotions and trying to understand them better in order to control them, for her own sake as much as his.

"She still brings it up sometimes; she says it ruined Central Park for her because she feels guilty enjoying herself someplace where helpless creatures are so miserable," Rosalie replies, a bittersweet quality to the reminiscence about her friend whom she knows will not be her roommate and de facto sister much longer.

"How in the world has she survived so far?" Edward wonders aloud, awed at his Isabella's amazing reactivity and disturbed at how vulnerable it's made her, before him.

"I do my best," Rose answers with both defensiveness and pride.

"That much is clear," Edward says with a respectful nod in Rosalie's direction.

"I better get back in there and say good night before she wonders where I've gone," Edward continues. "I'll be here in the morning with breakfast. Any requests?"

"Just…don't start something with her you can't finish. She won't get over it." Rose's tone is more pleading than angry now.

"I hope not; I know I won't."

He waits a moment for a response, then follows up with, "You don't believe me."

"I just find it hard to believe; the great Edward Cullen being interested in my roommate."

"And yet, you love her so much I'm quite certain you'd kill me for her if you had to," he points out.

"You're right," Rosalie affirms with one emphatic nod.

"So our Isabella brings out strong reactions in people," Edward summarizes, as if he's said all there is to say on the matter of his extreme and near-instantaneous attraction to her. "Anyone else with strong reactions I should know about?" he adds, both data-gathering and leading the discussion off of himself.

"If you're asking about other relationships, no, she's never been in one."

"Never?" Edward's not surprised Bella's single; she is, after all, the living definition of "high maintenance" in emotional terms. But he didn't expect to be fortunate enough to be her first…everything.

"Why is that so hard to believe? You've met her."

"Yes, but what I can't understand is how she's yet to meet even a somewhat-intelligent predator with just a modicum of good taste. How could she be so lucky?"

"I don't know; but I'm not sure I'd call it luck exactly," Rosalie answers slowly, giving Edward's question some serious thought. "She scares most men away and she runs away from the rest. Probably any predators she's crossed paths with have figured she's not worth the trouble."

"I'm certain she's worth the trouble."

"You're a smart man. But remember that other part as well."

"You mean the part where you're willing to kill me to protect your friend?"

"That's the one." Rose is actually much more insecure than she sounds, in some ways almost as vulnerable as Bella. Edward, with his uncanny ability to read people and his background knowledge of Rosalie's circumstances, realizes this, but is gentleman and strategist enough not to call her bluff.

Instead, he reassures his newly-acquired girlfriend's anxious soon-to-be-ex-roommate, "I won't forget," leaving out the fact that he's not afraid of her at all. "Do you want to walk me to the door when I'm done?"

"No, I think you can see yourself out. I'll count the silver later."

Edward tips his head back and laughs at this, then leans in and kisses Rosalie on the far side of her cheek. She is surprised by this act of affection on his part, and actually blushes slightly, something she hasn't done since the first year of law school for far less pleasant reasons.

Trying to recover her bitch-face, she mutters, "Tell Bella I'll be in to clean up after you later." She's snarking at Edward over her shoulder as she moves off towards her room, though the bravado is lacking conviction.

Edward notes this and smiles, replying, "Fine, but if I do this right she'll be asleep. Good night, Rose," as he opens Bella's door behind him, slipping inside while he's speaking.

The Rosalie formalities dealt with, he closes the door and turns around to find: an empty room. He's not exactly surprised, and quickly assesses the equally empty and dark bathroom before checking out the window which is mercifully closed and locked.

At the relief he feels not to see the curtains blowing free, he realizes he's going to have to do more than talk a good game if he's going to keep Isabella from being her own worst enemy, and hurting herself, perhaps irreparably, in the necessary courtship dance, (or shark attack he thinks to himself a little ruefully), of her repeatedly running away from him—or trying to—as he circles inexorably closer and closer to her struggling body and mind.

Disturbed by his own comparison of his ultimate and complete claiming of Isabella with a shark's bloody and fatal consumption of the innocent hiding somewhere in the room, he decides to set aside thoughts of the future, including such dark possibilities as Isabella jumping out her window to escape his attentions, for later dispassionate analysis and logical problem-solving.

Bringing himself back to the concerns of the moment, Edward grins at the cracked closet door; he is quite certain it was all the way closed when he exited the bedroom.

Walking swiftly over, he pushes the closet door further open as he inquires, "Isabella?" into the darkness.

He doesn't get more of a response than some clothes rustling, but it's enough to make him ignore the rest of the hiding places and move into the closet himself, feeling for the light switch as he opens the door wide.

"Isabella, sweetheart, tell me where you're hiding please," he asks, as matter-of-factly as if he's asking a waiter for more wine or an after-dinner coffee.

She doesn't answer per se, but she does emit a small squeak, to which Edward responds just as if she had stood up and waved her hands while saying, "Over here! I'm over here."

"Good girl," he croons while moving straight for the back left corner. "Good girl for answering me," he echoes as he crouches down next to some totes on the floor (Bella has far fewer clothes, especially shoes, in her closet than Rosalie) and peers under some hanging skirts to find Bella curled up in the corner, her back to him.

Pulling her out across the closet floor, Edward has his arms around her sides, his hands laced under her knees as he drags her into his lap.

Bella curls up further into herself as he removes her from her hiding place, like a human pill bug—which becomes a term of endearment Edward uses with her later.

But when she hits his lap she uncurls enough to curl into Edward instead, her arms going round his neck and her face pressing up against his chest. And of course, she starts to cry, though there are very few tears left in her to be shed.

So she sobs a couple times, shuddering against Edward and in his arms… then goes silent as he comforts her, his hands sliding against her, his chin tucked against her head, his arms tight around her body, his voice buzzing softly in her ear, saying things like, "That's my girl; that's my good girl, my very good girl. You're safe now, Isabella; you're with me."

They sit there a little while, Edward enjoying the sweetness of holding her and Bella slipping into an emotionally-exhausted sleep.

Edward finally notices the growing regularity of her breathing, and inwardly chastises himself for not getting her to bed sooner while he says, rising up off the floor with her in his arms, "To bed then, sweet girl. To bed until tomorrow."

He navigates easily the short distance to her double bed, a hand-me-down from Rosalie's childhood bedroom or Bella would still be sleeping in the twin bed from her own childhood. As it is, the double feels small to Edward once he has her tucked under the blankets and himself stretched out on top, and he considers for a moment having a new, larger bed delivered there the next day but quickly decides against it as not being conducive to his ultimate goal of getting her into his own bed in his own home.

Sighing at the realization he would have to leave her soon, Edward says quietly as he runs his fingertips gently across her cheeks, "Sleep now, Isabella. Sleep, and I will be here in the morning."

"Thank you, Edward," Bella says so softly it's little more than a humming noise.

But Edward, all his senses tuned towards her, catches it and smiles, his own eyes filling for a moment as his heart overflows with a gratitude so poignant and vulnerable it hurts him physically, though in the most welcome—if frightening—way.

Fighting back the emotion of the moment and regaining his customary control, Edward leans down and places the lightest kiss possible on her forehead, whispering, "You're most welcome, sweetheart—to all I have and more."

Then he reaches over and turns out the bedside lamp he had turned on earlier, plunging the room into darkness except for the street lights sneaking through the curtains at their edges.

Edward lies next to a sleeping Isabella for longer than he meant to, half-asleep himself, until a text from Taylor reminds him of his need to return to his own home and tend to various matters so as to re-claim Isabella tomorrow.

He hates the necessity of his exit, and even contemplates forgoing it—but his long-dominant business mind overrules the vague misgivings and selfish complaints of the rest of him and insists on separating for the moment in order to clear his head and proceed as efficiently as possible.

He will regret his favoring of efficiency and business-like expediency before the new day is even half-way started, yet he forces himself to leave the sleeping girl, assuring himself as he does so that there is no way she can get into any trouble before he returns bright and early in the morning with whatever breakfast he chooses to make her eat.

He is wrong.

XxXxXx

Not much, but better than nothing? Hope this update finds you all healthy and safe and more happy than not. Will try to keep this one cooking while I sort out the rest!

Be well,

liza

p.s. I know I'm playing with facts here—the Central Park Zoo apparently hasn't had gorillas since the 1980's, thank goodness. But pretending they do worked for the story, so please forgive me the fabrication—just add it to the list (of things to forgive me for, not of fabrications…as I've said before, emotionally-speaking, I try very hard only to write truth, or things that could be true if we allowed for the existence of an Edward Cullen in the real world).

On another note, I have been stuck in a debate with myself on whether or not to include a postscript consisting of one of those stories I've started but have no strong intention of finishing, and haven't fleshed out with background or motivations or diddly squat. These are the "drabbles" that I turn to for my own emotional comfort when I'm drained from the day and too tired to try and write sensibly (snorting noises understood and forgiven). I feel like I'm cheating when I do that, as well as profoundly ungracious, and I don't like either feeling, so want to share.

HOWEVER…the older I get and the more I read about how so many women like me/like us—vulnerably relational and maybe high-feeling too—but in geographic areas and economic/social categories that allow for or actively encourage their exploitation rather than their protection are used and abused in the most horrific ways for years and excruciating lifetimes by people as manipulative as any Edward I write but without the compassion or caring or loyalty…well, I wonder sometimes if I should just delete the lot of what I've written.

I always conclude that is overkill; that we're as entitled as anyone to both our fantasies borne of unmet need and to the process of detangling our psyches that exploring those fantasies facilitates. But then I take a closer look at my storylines, and wonder, "Is this one okay, or will it do more harm than good?" And I look at my author's notes and think, "Is it a mistake to discuss internet communities or BDSM-conceived ideas of sexuality when I am convinced neither—as a general rule—are safe places for people like us to be?"

So I dither, and fail to post, both unwilling not to share that which makes my heart feel better and equally unwilling to add fuel to the desperate fires of painfully alone and overwhelmed high-feeling vulnerable-relational women with the sense they have nothing to lose, as naïve as that sense may be.

I had hoped typing this would help me come to a conclusion, and I guess I will post without the postscript of a Bella behaving very typically of the vulnerable-relational type of young woman I used to be, and maybe you too, and definitely like so many unfortunate and suffering victims of manipulators that care for people like us only as goods to exploit and profit from… because no matter how many times I caution that trying to find someone to take you over and keep you safe is most likely to lead to being hurt and devastated or even worse horribly abused, and not to the emotional nirvana or at least peace we all seek, I suspect that most of us will be unable to believe that true without finding out the hard, or almost-hard (as in my case) way.

So maybe I'm a hypocrite and ridiculously obtuse; it's certainly not breaking news that there are on-line communities available with people willing to say whatever they need to say to get access to your bank account or your body. And maybe someday I'll post the story I'm leaving off today as an illustration of just how we get talked into doing things we're not comfortable with by people aware of our relational wiring and adept at exploiting this.

Until then, please be as well as you can possibly manage, because the world needs you. It needs your emotional energy, and your affection, and your capacity for forgiveness and empathy and relational understanding. I wish I knew how to give you more, something useful…even if I am too big a coward to read my personal messages (working on that, as usual). Here's to us, and the work ahead of us to make it easier for those coming behind. XOXO MUSH, liza