A/N- Once again those of you who reviewed....sour patch kids for all of you (a very high honor believe me). We LOVE the feedback, questions, frustrations, everything. Keep them coming......and we'll keep this coming. Deal? Sounds good.

If there is one thing you all have been clear about its this....you hate Hannah. And while we understand the hate (believe me if you knew the person who inspired the name...) we promise it will all make sense in the end and this..... is needed. Maybe not fun but needed :)

Once again the all matersul off-the-deep-end should be canonized for dealing with my lack of grammar/punctuation knowledge.

Feel free (please please) to let us know your thoughts on this. We want them, cleared out a space on the mantle just for all the reviews, so send them over :)

Enjoy!

***

If it were possible for me to go into work in wrinkled jeans and a sweatshirt, I would have just to avoid the inevitable disaster that's waiting for me on the other side of this door. Because I know that shit's gonna go from bad to worse and it's way too fucking early in the day for this.

I turn my key in the door and, with a heavy sigh, push it open.

A pot… or what I think is a pot falls to the floor. "Someone better have died," Hannah says and comes and stands in the doorway of the kitchen with her hands on her hips. "Or the office better have burned down."

I clear my throat and walk into the apartment. "I'm gonna be late for work."

She growls in protest and blocks my path. "I don't give a fuck what you're gonna be late for. Where were you?"

I sigh and shake my head. "I was out, Han. Leave it at that." I don't want to explain it to her partly because she won't understand and because I just don't want to share it with her. I don't want to tell her that I was with Bella. I don't want her to know about Bella period.

"Leave it at…" She narrows her eyes at me and then jabs me hard in the shoulder with her finger. "Leave what at what, Ed? Leave waking up to find my boyfriend gone at that? Oh, yeah, I guess that works."

I nod once at her. I can't deal with this right now. "Okay, good," I say and try to move around her but she grabs my wrist and squeezes it hard. God knows I'm an ass for thinking it would be that easy. Nothing is ever that easy with her. "I thought we just—"

"Where did you go?" she asks, drawing each word out slowly.

"Do you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't have asked—"

"Yes, you would have. I'm only asking you one more time," I tell her and shake my wrist free. "Do you really want to know?"

"I swear to god if you tell me you were with that trashy slut, Edward—"

"What?" I snap. "What are you going to do?" Her eyes flash. I've really pissed her off now. "And don't you dare call her a trashy slut. She's my friend."

I turn and walk away from her then. And as I'm walking towards the bedroom, I hear something slam hard into the wall. Whatever it is crashes and shatters. Like our relationship. Like this day. Like my life.

***

I would like to personally thank whoever created Chai. This tiny piece of heaven is currently the only thing keeping me sane. That and the balled up sweatshirt I am currently using as a pillow on my desk. My desk that was Edward's desk….Moment officially ruined.

I groan as I push myself away from the desk and move myself all my entourage of paperwork to the beanbag next to Angela's desk. I write off a few moments of complete nothingness to getting settled and then spread the papers out on the floor in front of me. My lip goes between my teeth as I scan over the number, projections for donations and estimates for the next event, but I can't focus.

The phone rings yet again and I don't even attempt to answer it. I am allowed to ignore the phone I am the boss. And that sounds horrible even in my head.

"Rebel Diamonds, this is Angela speaking."

Plus Angela sound much more professional on the phone that I do. I often forget we're at work an simply answering with a 'yeah?'. I lift my eyes to meet hers' and she gives me this pained look ad I try to disappear inside the beanbag. That look does not mean good things for me. That look means that she is currently relaying call number; I can't even remember how many at this point, from Edward.

"She is actually um, with a client at the moment?" her voice falters at the end I know Edward won't buy that for a moment. So far today I have been indisposed, out of the office for a meeting and my favorite, in the bathroom. I don't blame Angela for the lame excuses. I shouldn't make her deal with this, my personal shit, but I just can't.

I can't deal with hearing his voice and having him sound so devastated, or having him tell me again that what happened wasn't wrong. It sure as hell wasn't right. I know that my track record doesn't make me a saint, but I've never crossed that line before. And I hate myself for it.

Even more than I hate myself for the actual act, I hate that I didn't hate it. That more his incessant calls are distracting me; the real distraction is the moment replaying in my mind followed immediately by internal scolding and berating.

"Can't you just talk to him? He sounds worse than shit," Angela pleads. I clench my jaw and shake my head adamantly.

"Then at least tell him to just call your machine. I'm about to break down and drag you over there," Angela huffs. I pick at the seam of my white t-shirt and sigh. At least I don't have a cell. I can't even imagine what damage that would be reeking on me at this point.

"I know this is awkward and you don't know how much I appreciate you doing this for me," I offer. I glance up at her and smile the best I can. She returns the smile, but I don't miss the concern in her eyes.

"What the hell did he do anyways? I mean one day your in here all giddy about the zoo and everything else ridiculous the two of you do and now this? I mean he's Edward is he even capable of doing wrong by you?" she asks. I chuckle humorlessly. I'm not ready to say it out loud, maybe because then it will be real. It won't just be something in my mind, but it will be out there for everyone to know. And I don't want her to think that about him.

I force myself to look back the papers and I attack them with the highlighter I am holding, not really caring if I am doing more harm than good. Angela thankfully lets it go and I reach for my iPod slipping the buds into my ears and doing my best trick of ignoring the world. I whirl my finger around on the wheel and find my favorite girl. Joni can be my solace today. The piano chords drown out most of my thought and I feel safe for a moment.

I pushed him away. He stayed and tried to make peace, but I ripped that away from him. I could have given him peace of mind, made him feel less like shit, but I didn't. Instead I laid it all out for him with the worst possible tones and intentions because that's the way my mind works. I want to find regret in my words, but I don't because they were true. As dirty and mean as they were they were true.

And I have to protect him from that. Protect him from thinking that I would be better than his girlfriend. Because as awful as Godzilla bitch is she probably isn't capable of doing what I would inevitable do to him. The things I am capable of.

I slide my eyes closed and Joni is suddenly blocked by the face of a 17 year old boy with a tear streaked face and angry eyes. He had every right to be angry. I was less practiced then. I thought the best thing for him was to move on, but I showed him that the wrong way. I knew he would see me kissing his best friend on the soccer field. I wanted him to see it. I wanted him to hate me instead of the opposite. And it worked. It worked so perfectly that when he said his final words I knew he wouldn't think fondly on me in the future.

That's the kind of damage I can do, the kind of thing I refuse to see happen to Edward.

Even with the ear buds in I can hear the phone ring again. I look up at Angela and her eyes plead with me to answer, but I stand and walk to the bathroom. I clutch the thick black marker in my hand and when I shut the door behind me I rip my t-shirt over my head and spread it out on the bathroom counter. I don't think much of the damage I am doing to my favorite shirt as I write out the letters on the front of it.

I gaze down on the words and feel satisfied. As I pull it back over my head the strong scent that identifies the marker overwhelms me for a moment. I walk back into the room just as Angela is stammering through another excuse. She looks up at me and her eyes widen for a moment.

"She's not here," she states. I feel a small smile creep over my face. That was the point. I settle back into my chair and feel slightly better. I am doing him a favor. He just has to see that.

The phone is placed back into its cradle and Angela sighs.

"Dramatic much?" she asks. I look up at her innocently. She gestures to my shirt and I look down on the words like I didn't just put them there. 'I'm not here.'

"I just thought it would make everything easier for you," I explain. She cocks an eyebrow and shakes her head.

"Making things easier for me would be answering the damn phone and not ignoring the poor boy like a spoiled teenager," Angela all but hisses. This time my eyes widen and my mouth drops. She's right in a way. I haven't taken this approach since number one, when I was a spoiled teenager. I thought I had grown so much since then, put so much space between me and that moment, but I guess not.

"I'll make sure he doesn't call here anymore Ang, I promise," I state. She shakes her head again like I missed the point. The silence crawls back between us and I glance at the clock. Lunch. Edward is predictable enough that this should be safe.

I don't miss the glee in Angela's eyes as I grab the phone and dial the number.

"Stein and Meyer, how can I direct you call?" I can picture the woman behind the desk and I smile thinking of her kind eyes.

"Violet? It's Izzy Swan. I was wondering if you could pass a message on to Edward for me," I ask.

"Oh honey, you two have the worst timing!" If she only knew the half of it. "He just stepped out to grab lunch, but call back in ten and he'll be here."

I wince as I hear the eagerness in her voice.

"No, I just need to you to give him a message please." I hope I sound desperate. It's how I feel.

"Oh, ok sweetie if you're sure," she relents.

"Tell him that we're all set here as far as accounting goes and he doesn't need to worry about following up or calling any more." I know it sounds harsh and my weak efforts to veil my real meaning probably aren't lost on her.

"Are you sure?" she asks softly. I nod even though she can't see me.

"Yeah, thanks so much Violet." I slam the phone back down before her disappointment can change my mind. I raise my eyes and Angela is looking at me like I just called a hit out on the guy.

"Don't say anything Ang, please. I'm going to take the rest of the day if that's ok," I whisper. She nods and I know she's probably relieved that me and my funk of a mood are leaving. I press the buds back into my ears and make my way to the door. This is even worst than the first time.

***

Here's what I know: desperation makes people do weird, crazy things. Like call somebody 28 times in one day. Another thing I've learned is that just because I went to sleep for a few hours, doesn't mean that any part of that shit storm that began yesterday has stopped at all. No. I just got a few hours of rest so that I could be more aware of how completely fucked up everything still is today.

I had to get out of the office for a few minutes. I couldn't focus on anything. All I could think about was Bella and Bella not answering my phone calls and how badly my fucking back hurts because I slept on the couch.

"God damn it," I snap when somebody bumps into me and I drop my coffee.

"Sorry," the girl says and smiles before walking away.

And you know, I wonder how often we actually mean it when we apologize. I think maybe that aside from I love you, I'm sorry is the second most important thing we can ever say. But just like with I love you, how often do we mean it and how often do we just say it out of habit?

There are things that I've done that I could never apologize enough for.

And I've told Hannah that I love her. And I do. There are different levels of love, I think. And I've grown to love her but… it's lacking. Something's just missing. And I didn't realize it until I kissed Bella.

I walk back into the office and Violet motions me over. I put the bag with her lunch down on her desk and lean in. Something's wrong.

"Aren't you eating?" she asks and pulls the container with her sandwich out.

"Not hungry."

"Well, come and sit down with me," she says but she doesn't meet my eyes.

I walk over and slide down until I'm on the floor. "What's up?"

"I have a message for you," she tells me quietly.

I feel the tiny flutter of hope as it begins to bloom in my chest. I look up. "From?"

"That nice girl, Izzy Swan," she says, and the flutter turns into a full fledged pounding. "She asked me to tell you that they're all set as far as accounting goes and that you don't need to worry about following up or calling anymore."

And all at once the pound and the flutter stop entirely. I think it's the stopping that hurts the most. The flutter is exciting. Maybe a little bit uncomfortable but it's there because of hope, and hope is just… it's exciting. But the stopping… the stopping means that it ended. It means that the hope died.

"Did she say anything else?" I finally manage to ask.

She looks down at me and the pity is strong in her eyes. "No, sweetheart, that's all she said."

I nod. "Thanks, Vi."

I lean my head back against the desk and close my eyes. "Edward?"

"Yeah?" I ask without opening my eyes.

"How's Hannah doing?" she asks but I don't answer her. She's not a fan of Hannah's and has told me on numerous occasions. She sighs. "Edward?"

"Yeah, Vi?"

"Have you ever been this upset when Hannah blows you off?" she asks softly.

I open my eyes and look up at her. I shake my head, no, because it never phased me before.

"Then, sweetheart, don't you think there might be something wrong?"

***

More times in my life than I'd like to count I've heard that running from your problems doesn't solve anything. And while I agree that it is mostly good advice and something I can see myself saying to other people, sometimes it doesn't apply to me. I get that that's hypocritical, but I'm working for the greater good.

I sit on the floor of Simon's backroom and divide the records in front of me into even piles based on year and then artist. The mundane task is keeping my mind occupied. I wiped the dust of the covers and took my time focusing on my breathing and the smell of the records.

My mind wanders slightly as I wonder which is Edward's favorite, but I push the thought from my head by pulling another towering pile towards me.

"You know I pay people to do that," Simon chides form the doorway. I force a grin and him and wrap my arms around the record I am currently holding.

"Like any of them would do it as well or treat these beauties better," I answer. Simon laughs and glances back into the store to make sure it's empty before coming more fully into the stockroom. He squats in front of me and forces me to meet his eyes. Not good.

"Hey, what are you hiding from?" he asks. I bite the inside of my cheek and stand quickly taking a sorted pile of records with me. I push through the beads separating the stockroom from the sales floor and being putting away the records. I hear Simon sigh behind me, but I ignore it.

"Is it number 23 then?" he guesses. I can't explain the emotions that well up inside of me at the thought of Edward having a number. I put the records down as to not take out my anger on them and turn to Simon.

"He is not 23," I insist. Simon rears his head back in reaction to my words. I take a few shaky breaths and feel my knees shake under the weight of it all. Suddenly the even breaths I have been working so hard at all day begin to waver. I reach for the shelf next to me to hold myself up.

Suddenly Simon's hesitant hand touches my shoulder.

"Doll, what's going on with you?" His tone is even and calming. I turn my watering eyes up to him, but force the moisture to remain contained.

"It's so fucked up Simon," I answer. He nods like he understands even though I know he doesn't.

"Whatever it is there is no way it's worth tears," he argues. I nod hurriedly and wipe at my eyes. I steel my jaw and force another smile.

"It's just hard I guess, life," I offer. It's a generalization to say the least. I'm saved when someone wanders through the door and Simon is forced to do his job and ignore the nut job that is his surrogate daughter. I continue to put away the records and retreat back to the stockroom.

I sink back to the floor and resume my task. Even though I didn't tell Simon everything it feels good to admit that I'm not ok. Cause I'm not.

The beads rustle again and I know Simon is back. I keep my eyes down and my hands busy.

"But it is about a boy, a man?" he questions. I nod surely. Maybe he can just figure it out and I can just nod.

He reaches down and stops my hand.

"Did someone hurt you Iz?" His question is serious, but I can't help but laugh. Like Edward would ever hurt me. At least physically.

"No, no, Simon, it's nothing like that," I reassure him. The panic in his eyes eases just a little.

"You are always so careless about your relationships, so nonchalant, what's different?" he presses. And there lies the problem. It is different. It was already too much, I had already felt too much and that was all before his lips ever even met mine.

"I made a mistake. I just don't want to hurt him," I try to explain; my eyes plead for him to understand without having to reveal more. He nods slowly knowing I don't want to say more. He eases away from me slowly and I feel relief.

"You're mom has been calling here pretty regular lately," he says trying to change the subject. Fantastic, from my fault to its source. I groan loudly and Simon chuckles. I made the mistake of brining my mother to the shop on one of her infrequent visits and Simon would have made her list had it been up to her, but I had warned him before and made him swear he would resist. And yet that hasn't stopped her from calling her often under the guise of looking for me. And yet I know she isn't looking for me.

"Oh yeah? Has she talked you into going out with her yet?" I ask. He rolls his eyes like I am exaggerating. There probably is a small amount of truth to his claim. It's been at least a month since I have indulged her and returned her calls, but that's not the longest I have gone.

"I may have told her that I would force you to call the next time you came in," he admits. I gasp in mock horror.

"Simon, why would you do such a thing?" I demand in mock anger. He laughs, but then hands me his cordless phone. I wince and being to dial the familiar number. Only Simon could make me do this.

The phone rings several times and I find myself hoping for voicemail to pick up. At the last moment I hear my mother's voice and I cringe again.

"Hello mother," I sigh.

"Isabella Marie. You have better been dying in a dumpster for taking this long to call me back," she warns. I roll my eyes and scoff.

"Things have been hectic. I'm sorry I didn't call." The response is emotionless and automatic. She begins to rattle on about the new drapes in the great room and the amazing man who sold her the latest car. I murmer appropriate responses and go back to organizing. This doesn't require me to be present.

"Isabella!" I shake my head and reenter the conversation.

"Yes?" I reply.

"What about you? Any new men in your life?" The question is innocent enough and I know there is no possible way that she could know anything about Edward, but I feel my defenses go up.

"I don't have the stamina for that like you mother," I reply. I hear my mother gasp in shock. I don't have the energy to bullshit with her today.

"Don't start in on me again young lady. I am your mother," she hisses. Good lord, this again. And yet I can't complain anger is a welcome break from the other shit I've been feeling today.

"Genetically, maybe. Listen mother I am kind of busy. Can we do this later?" I ask. I hear mumble things under her breath.

"This is not something you are too busy to do. Don't pull your high and mighty act on me again," she replies harshly.

Maybe what is wrong has everything to do with you, I want to tell her, but it won't do any good. I feel my resolve weaken.

"So what did you do with the couches again?" I attempt to distract her. It works and she prattles on about decorating and I let her say what she wants to say. It's never been about me anyways.

"It was so good talking to you," she gushes when she finishes. I shake my head and exhale through my nose.

"You too. Have a good night mother," I say and hang up before she replies. I let me head fall into my hands and toss the phone away from me. That pose only lasts for a moment before I really just feel undone, completely unraveling. I twist my arms around myself and for a brief moment crave another set of arms, but I am keeping him away for his own good, so I push those thoughts away too.

I hold back the sobs long enough to get out of Simon's store and home, but as soon as I'm behind my anteroom door and the lock is in place, I slide to the floor and let the tears fall because I can't hold them in any longer. I bite my lips to keep the sobs in, but I don't make an effort to stop the crying. I'll get this out now and tomorrow I'll be fine, or at least that is what I am telling myself.

***

I wonder if penguins know what a bad deal they got. I mean, they have wings, right? But they can't fly. I wonder if they know it though. Do we actually know what we're missing if we've never had a taste of it before? I can see how maybe this little guy that's waddling back and forth with me might get pissed if he'd been able to fly as a baby but then, as he grew, his wings were too weak to carry his body.

It's the same old adage—you don't know what you've got till it's gone. And once it's gone, you don't know how to live without it.

The thing about me is that I lost my theoretical wings a long time ago. And I was fine without them. It took some work, but eventually I forgot that I couldn't fly anymore. Or maybe just that I wouldn't; maybe I just developed a fear of heights and to protect myself, to cover this newfound fear, I just convinced myself and everyone else that my wings simply could not carry me up that high anymore.

And here I am, staring at these oblivious penguins because what made me find my wings again won't take my calls. She disappeared. And this time, well, I can't force myself to forget what I've lost. And lost because of what? Because of Hannah? Because of a woman who takes more pleasure in squeezing me inside of a perfect little box? Because of a woman who makes no effort to understand who I am? Because of a woman who hasn't even realized that my record player actually works or that I hide a guitar in the closet that I just hold and never play?

I went to Rebel Diamonds and Angela looked at me with so much pity and I think remorse because she was the go between today. She said I'd probably be able to find Bella at home. So I went to her apartment but Emmett said he hadn't seen her and he'd been home all day. I fought the urge to go and check her bedroom for myself, but he didn't look like he was lying.

So then I came here because even though I doubted that I'd be able to find her, it was the closest I could find to being near her. In this germ infested zoo with animals screeching and twirling around on display in their cages. And we get to walk around out here under the guise of freedom but we're not ever really free are we? Not from ourselves and not from each other.

But she loved it here. She held onto the bars and spoke to the animals as if they were the best of friends. And the smile on her face had been truly astounding. And I just needed to feel her.