a/n: hey all! it's between the trees today… wanted to drop in and say hi and thank you for the reviews and the enthusiasm we've gotten about this story so far—it means a lot and is hugely motivating for us. so, yeah, thank you! and, of course, a huge thank you to our wonderful beta who catches all of our silly little we're-too-wrapped-up-in-edward-to-notice-anything-else mistakes lol. anyway… enough out of me. enjoy! –s

"Violet," I say and lean over the counter to smile down at her—my only friend in this horrible excuse for a business. And I need a friend right now to distract me from the morning from hell that Kara inflicted upon me.

"Have you decided what we're ordering for lunch?" she asks me from the top of her purple wire-rimmed glasses.

I point a finger at her. "We already went over this. It's your turn."

"Sweetheart," she says patiently and takes her glasses off, "you are the pickiest eater in the world."

"I am not," I protest.

She shushes me. "You are. Or, at least, much pickier than I am. People don't get hips like these by being picky eaters," she says with a laugh.

I roll my eyes but smile along with her. "How 'bout I run to the deli and get us some sandwiches?"

Violet nods and goes back to looking at her computer. I turn and begin to walk away but stop when she calls out to me.

"Oh, and Edward?"

"Yeah?" I ask, thinking she forgot something.

"Be quick about it. We have things to discuss."

I furrow my eyebrows but she has already dismissed me.

This day cannot end fast enough. I tap my foot impatiently as I wait on the sandwich line. Gary's Deli is always packed at this time of day—I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea to come in here.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, needing to make sure I haven't missed any calls or texts on my walk across the street, and then go back to tapping.

The only thing that has made this day even mildly bearable is what's coming at the end of it. Bella and I made plans to meet at FAO Schwartz tonight. And maybe I should feel a little bit of guilt because of my whole girlfriend situation. But I don't. I refuse to feel guilty about something that just feels so right.

We've hung out a couple of times since the Gardens. I've done more dancing in the past two weeks than I have in my entire life. I just feel so comfortable around her… so okay. And there's especially nothing to feel guilty about because we're just friends. We've never done anything physically that would constitute as cheating.

Well, unless you count that time we danced on the bar. But I dropped her. So it doesn't count.

I pick up my sandwiches and drinks, pay, and head back across the street. Four hours left of hell before I can be free.

I place Violet's sandwich and drink down in front of her and then sit down on the floor, with my back against the drawers of her desk.

"I don't understand why you sit there," she says as she begins to unwrap her sandwich.

I shrug and take a bite. "No one will see me and interrupt my break back here," I explain.

"Everyone knows you sit back here."

"It's the principle," I tell her and take another bite. "If I'm back here, on the floor, it means I don't want to be seen which means I don't want to be disturbed either. It works most of the time."

We eat in silence for a few minutes and it's the first time I feel truly peaceful all day. Well, if you exclude the times I thought about Bella doing a crazy ass-shimmy across an entire room filled with people.

"So," Violet says, interrupting my thoughts. I feel the smile on my face and try to get rid of it as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. "What is that about?" she asks.

"What?"

"That smile, Edward," she says patiently. "Who are you thinking about?"

"You," I say and grin at her.

She swats my head lightly. And then we both stop at the unmistakable sound of Kara's heels heading towards Violet's desk. I close my eyes and put my head back against the desk.

"This is sweet," Kara says and we all know she doesn't actually think so. "Just out of curiosity, Edward… do you get paid to sit on the floor telling stories to your substitute grandmother?"

I sigh and push up to my feet.

Violet goes to speak but Kara cuts her off. "I wouldn't push my luck if I were you. The boys upstairs mentioned something about only needing one more reason to get rid of you."

And with that Kara walks away.

I lean down and put my arm around Violet. "When I get out of here and start my own… anything, I'm taking you with me," I tell her.

And she smiles and pats my cheek.

And as I walk away I realize that that may have been the first time I've ever even entertained the thought that I may not be here for the rest of my life.

***

Everyone should have a 'place'. Somewhere they go to feel totally grounded, completely safe and just simply comfortable. Thinking about it, for most people their 'place' is probably their home, where they grew up, with their parents. I guess I should be worried that my home may actually be the place where I feel the most out of place. I mean my mother turned my room into a yoga studio when I went away to camp when I was 13. I guess it was Zen, but not exactly what I would have picked.

I pull my coat tighter around me and slow my pace. It's the perfect time of day when it's almost dark, but the light still reflects off the windows just before it disappears. There isn't a good reason why I'm looking for comfort today. Nothing unbearably shitty happened. I mean one of my schools did lose a huge donation of tambourines unexplainably and Jacob accidentally shredded a budget I worked on for three days.

But overall, not a bad day.

And yet I can feel the emptiness growing in the pit of my stomach, threatening to take over if I don't force to down quickly. I can see the familiar blue awning and I feel better already. I pull the door open and instantly feel a little better.

"It's about time you dragged your ass back in here."

This is why I love this place. I make my way to the counter and lean against it looking for the owner of the voice. The wooden beads leading to the back room rattle and the familiar grey head appears.

"Simon, how did you know it was me?" I ask. He drops a box of records on the counter and grins at me.

"You're the only one who sighs like that when they walk in the door. Most people coming in here these days are lost or think they can get the newest Britney Spears album here," he replies.

"To which you said…" I urge.

"Get the fuck out of here before you taint the good music with that name," he states. I laugh. He smirks at me and I lay my head across my arm of the counter. This is what I needed.

"You here alone today? What happened to 22?" I should have never brought Emmett here. Not only did the miscreant almost break a vintage Dylan record, he also informed Simon of my not too pleasant history.

"No more 22," I sigh. Simon raises an eye brow and once again I wish I could do that. I can't raise one without raising the other. Fucking frustrating.

"He didn't last long. I thought you might actually let him stick around, especially after he bought you that Zeppelin album."

Ahh yes the one crowning moment of Mike and my relationship. He only bought the album after I drooled over it for half an hour. His idea of good music was Linkin Park.

"Yeah, well I can't let any ONE person have too much time. That would just be selfish," I joke.

Simon smiles sadly at me and for a moment I regret telling him as much about my past as I have. He knows that the humor is my sad attempt at a defense mechanism. It's easier for me to turn it all into a joke than actually acknowledge that I have yet to have a serious relationship lasting longer than two months. I know I have issues, I just choose to ignore them.

"It's just as well. We'll hold out for the one who buys the Joni Mitchell album huh?" Simon asks. He tilts his head and offers me a peace smile. He knows I like to keep my dysfunctional love life tucked away. And besides, that album, that person, would mean something.

"It's like the glass slipper Simon, it's how I'll know," I tease. I push myself up and off the counter and make my way to the rows of records. I let my fingers trail along the well worn sleeves until I rest upon the most familiar place. I pull the record out and embrace it like an old friend. I should just buy it already, but I like that it's always here, waiting for me. A constant in my life.

When I get back to the counter Simon reaches out knowingly and takes my friend from me and places it carefully on the turntable. The familiar strumming begins and the emptiness is all but gone. I sink down against the counter and by the time I hit the floor I'm all but a pile of mush. Joni does this to me.

"There are perfectly good chairs all over the store you know," Simon scolds lightly. He is not capable of real scolding it would go against his laid back persona. I take deep breaths and block everything unpleasant from my mind. Like the tambourines and the fact that I was supposed to be at a really fantastically juvenile place with Edward right now. I hate texting. I hate how easy it makes it to blow people off.

"I guess your lack of answering means you'd rather sit on the floor that I haven't mopped in weeks," He laughs. I look down the floor, it doesn't look that clean, but I could care less. You sit on the floor at home and I sit on the floor here. It all makes sense to me.

"You think I could live here Simon? I could just set up a cot in the back and no one would ever have to know, plus I could be like a free security system."

The argument makes sense. I could have this feeling all the time and I wouldn't have to spend any more money on records. Double bonus.

"Iz, you would be as good as a security system as a sign on the door saying 'please don't steal'," he replies. I furrow my brow. I wouldn't say please. It would be more like, 'Don't fucking steal or I'll call someone else who could beat the shit out of you', yeah, something like that.

I take another deep breath and suddenly I'm home and my mom is dancing across the kitchen and making grilled cheese; the only thing she can cook. She sings some horrible version of the Pretenders and I smile at the memory. It all ends just as quickly as nameless, faceless man number 1245 walks in and she forgets about the now burning grilled cheese and her daughter at the table.

I choke a little as I come back to reality. It's dark out now and suddenly I have to leave. Leave and take the tainted memory with me. I stand slowly, sliding my back up the counter. My t-shirt snags and I'm sure there is a hole as a result, but I couldn't care less.

"I better get going Simon. I don't want Emmett to come looking for me." It's a lame excuse and I know it, but Simon simply smiles.

"I'll hold on to Joni for you," he says. I nod gratefully and push my way out of the shop. I get out just before the memory tumbles from the back of my mind. The sound of sobbing on the other side of our door and my mother blasting music in her room to drown it out and me peeking out the window to see man number 1245 begging my mother to open the door.

And people wonder why I don't have a peephole in my door.

I push open the door to my apartment and want to walk right back out. Something must have died in here. Emmett has finally gone completely Neanderthal on me and killed an actual animal in our apartment. I ease the door closed and eye the space with caution. Nothing normal smells this way.

Every footstep is careful, there is no way in hell I want to step in whatever this is. I wish we had a dog or something that would make this smell logical. I pull my t-shirt up and over my mouth and nose. This is it. I am calling an exterminator or someone who specializes in defunking places. Is there such a person?

Whatever the hell it is it's definitely in the living room. I seriously consider just rushing by the room all together and hiding in my room, but then it will be waiting for me when I come out.

"Emmett!" The yell sounds muffled through my shirt. I don't try again, if he were here there would be thundering down the hallway immediately. I hesitantly enter the living room and get closer to the funk against all common sense. It's coming from the couch.

Damn Emmett. I really like this couch and it sure as hell better not be tainted for life by this awfulness. I reach out my hand and flick up the cushion. Nothing. I swallow thickly and lower myself to the ground. Please let this not be a dead rat. Please Please Please.

I close my eyes as they become level with the floor and wait. Where the hell is Emmett? I open them slowly, holding my breath. All I see is green and immediately I'm taken somewhere I don't want to be. Edward's eyes. I gasp and the funk hits the back of my throat and Edward's eyes disappear. The only good thing the funk has gone.

I squint my eyes trying to decipher exactly was the funk is, but all I can tell is that it was probably edible at some point. There is no way I am touching that with my hand.

Ten minutes and a pair of rubber gloves later I have the funk secured in a plastic bag and I lay it neatly in the center of Emmett's bed. That will teach him to drop a vendor hot dog under the sofa and letting it rot. I pull my shirt back up over half my face and reenter the living room. Armed with febreeze I attack every surface with a vengeance before falling down on the ottoman, the couch is not safe yet, in a fog of Citrus and Light.

There are probably warnings against sitting in this, but I can't be bothered to move. And then my mind is back on 1245. I do my mother a disservice by counting that high. I'm sure it never broke 100, but when you're young and one man doesn't stay around long enough for you to learn their name…numbers are just easier.

But there is a difference. A difference between my 22 and my mother's hundreds. I never let them get close. She let them in, instantly welcomed them into her heart and our lives and made them believe that it would last. And then as soon as they decided to leave a toothbrush, she was done. No warning, nothing, just stopped. Like she could open and close her heart at will.

I may not remember all their faces, but I remember the sound of their cries and begging. It was not something I would allow to happen. No one would be subjected to my faulty heart. It was my favor to the world.

I let out a choked sob through my shirt and suddenly I had to leave. I had to be somewhere where the memories couldn't touch me. I stumble through the room grabbing a sweater from the back of the couch before pushing out the door.

When I finally made it outside I take deep, heavy breaths. My lungs expanded painfully and I pull the sweater across my body tightly. I had already made plans for the night before I was brushed off by a few abbreviated words. No reason I can't still make good on them, even alone.

***

I sigh and rub my eyes. Isn't the whole concept of home supposed to be some sort of comfortable refuge? Somewhere you can go to just be? My day has been officially shot to hell. I came home to change quickly before I met up with Bella.

And instead, I came home and Hannah was sitting at the kitchen table with a vegetarian meal laid out in front of her. She always "punishes" me when she's mad by not cooking. She really outdid herself tonight though, with this vegetarian crap that she knows I fucking hate.

So I had to send Bella a quick text to cancel… a text that she didn't even respond to so that I could sit here and stare at this fucking disgusting food while Hannah huffs and makes a bunch of other unintelligible grumbling angry sounds.

This has been going on for two weeks, which is why I've been avoiding her as much as possible. No such luck tonight.

"Hannah," I say tightly, "is there something you'd like to say?"

She shakes her head, sending her perfect shiny blonde hair swaying back and forth and continues eating. "Is there something wrong with your food?" she asks, and points at my plate with her fork.

I put a piece of tofu in my mouth and swallow with what I hope is a disgusted face. "No, it's delicious. The only thing that could be better than this is getting on all fours and eating grass directly from the ground."

Cue the huffing again.

I drop my fork down onto the plate noisily and cross my arms. I shouldn't have to subject myself to this just because she's my girlfriend, should I?

"Hannah." I run my fingers through my hair and she gives me a disapproving look over the rim of her water glass. "This cannot go on like this."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says and continues to cut her food.

"I'm talking about this," I tell her and try to clamp down on my frustration. "This situation right here."

She looks up at me then, probably because of the tone of my voice, and her eyes are sharp and pissed. "I already told you, I'm not going to forgive you if you don't apologize."

"And I already told you that I have nothing to apologize for." I slip my hand into my pocket and wrap my fingers tightly around the ring there. "I'm not going to apologize for going out with my coworkers. If anyone at this table should be apologizing it's you."

Her eyes widen at that. "I didn't do anything wrong."

I shake my head. "You did though. You stalked me down, barged into the bar, treated me like a belligerent child, and then insinuated to the woman that paid for this meal that she was a whore." Well, I'd be lying if I said that didn't feel good.

She doesn't seem thrown off at all though. She just stares at me patiently until I've finished and then begins speaking again. "I'm not asking you to apologize for going out, Edward. Even if you were participating in juvenile immature behavior. I'm asking you to apologize for not having the sense or consideration to tell me where you were. That's not the man I fell in love with… that isn't you."

For a moment I want to tell her that she doesn't know me. That the man she fell in love with and the… man that I am, are two completely different people. But I don't.

I can't fault her for not knowing that part of me—I had even forgotten that it existed until Bella. The thing is… I don't think we can ever really know each other completely—everyone has secrets—but isn't it possible, can't I hope that the woman who claims to love me accepts that there's more to me than this? This steady, easygoing, boring, comfortable man that eats bananas because she wants me to?

I think I made the past four years far too comfortable and easy for both of us. And I think that maybe I don't want to be easy and comfortable anymore. Maybe I want her to surprise me sometimes and to be okay with me surprising her.

"Hannah," I say softly, patiently, "there are things, I'm sure, that I don't know about you. And there are things that you don't know about me. Things that we're still both learning about each other."

She shakes her head again and huffs. "You don't know what you're talking about. You know everything about me. And I know you. And I know that that wasn't you."

I push away from the table. I've had enough of this.

"We haven't finished speaking," she says, a look of pure confusion on her face.

I stand and slip my sneakers on. "I'm finished," I tell her. And maybe this isn't fair, maybe leaving her here isn't the right thing to do. But fuck if I'm tired, exhausted—mentally and physically. And there's only one place that I really want to be right now. "Don't wait up for me."

"Edward," she says and stands up, following me to the door. "Where are you going?"

"Out," I snap and spin around. "I can't be here right now. I can't breathe or think in here." And with that I slam out the door.

end note: so yeah… ouuuuch. i know, i know. hannah's a miserable bitch and she needs to be eliminated. she's threatening to stick if a few more of you don't tell us how you're liking this ;-) new chapter is soon soon :D