A/N I want to start this all off on a happy note....Thanks to everyone who reviewed, esp those self proclaimed lurkers who came out to represent. It's huge for us really, we love this story but knowing that other people like it is a big motivation and a fantastic ego stroke (which we could all use now and again). We love our reviews, BUT we are currently filling openings for new reviewers, we have unlimited positions! Apply now! lol

Again off-the-deep-end is primo beat #1. We love her!

***

This cab ride is just taking for-fucking-ever right now. I want to be in my bed with this woman below me and over me and just in every possible position to ever exist in this fucking world and instead we're sitting in a smelly ass cab with too much heat and not enough deodorant.

I crack my window because I can't breathe but Bella shivers and curls up against me so I put it back up. "Sorry," I whisper. "But it fucking stinks in here."

"I wish I could say it was just the cab, love."

Wait… I know she doesn't smell because my nose is all but pressed into her head so that I can find the coconuts. "Are you trying to say that I smell?"

She laughs and buries her face in my chest. "Bar smells have the nasty habit of rubbing off on people," she says.

"Is that so?" I put my hands around her ribs and start tickling her. She squirms and starts giggling but I hold her to me. "You're gonna have to take that back."

I press my lips to the spot right behind her jaw because I know it's where she's most ticklish. She squeals. "Take it back."

"I can't take it back!" she gasps and tries to squirm away from me. The driver is giving us dirty looks through his mirror now but I couldn't give a shit less. "It's already out there, I can't just put the words back."

I'm not gonna lie. The way she's squirming against me is seriously turning me on. "Apologize, Bella," I tell her and keep moving my fingers against her ribs. "Now."

"We both smell, love!" she says and keeps giggling against me before twisting and nipping at my ear. "That's the best I can do. I can't lie."

I love the sound of her laughter. I lick a straight line from her collarbone up to the bottom of her ear. "Not good enough."

The cab comes to a screeching stop and we both jerk forward. I wrap my arms tightly around her instinctively and glare up at him. "Get out," he says to us through the mirror.

I look out the window in confusion and then back at him. We're still at least 10 blocks from my apartment. "You've got another ten blocks to go," I tell him.

"Either get out or stop that."

"Stop what?" I ask him after he starts driving again.

Bella jabs me in the ribs so I just shut my mouth. I put one arm around her shoulders and the other hand on her thigh and rub the bare skin there.

"Aren't you freezing?" I ask her.

"I was fine 'til someone rolled down a window," she says and gives me a pointed look.

"You'd be more fine, windows and all, if you wore a jacket or something. Did I tell you how pretty you look tonight?"

Because she really does. I've been wanting to peek under this yellow dress for the entire night. Well, maybe more than peek.

She tilts her head up and rolls her eyes at me but there's a faint smile on her face. "Pretty is such a grandma word, love, but thank you." She nuzzles my neck a little and then says, "You always look pretty."

"Great. I'm a smelly grandma now. I didn't want to overwhelm you but fine… Bella, you look fucking stunning tonight."

I throw a twenty at the cab driver and pull her out of the cab because I'm going to explode in a minute. We walk quickly up to the entrance of the building and I look down at her. "By the way, I'm not pretty. Ruggedly handsome I'll take, but pretty is emasculating."

She laughs and it comes out a little crazy sounding before she says, "Only real men can be pretty, love."

I roll my eyes and guide her into the building. We take the elevator up and then we're finally in the privacy of my apartment. No smelly cabs, no friends, just us. Finally.

She kicks off her sparkly little flats and drops her sweater on the couch on her way to the window. God, the way she moves is mesmerizing. Particularly the way her hips sway when she walks. I can't focus on anything when she sways her ass like that.

I walk over to stand next to her and curve a hand around her waist. I pull her against me and she turns to face me, tilting her chin up. Her cheek's so soft and warm against my hand and her lips are impossibly soft when I close my mouth over hers.

She parts her lips and I slide my tongue into her mouth, tangling with hers and she sighs softly. I turn to pin her against the cool glass of the window. I bend my knees so that my dick is aligned with the V of her thighs and rub against her, wanting her to know how badly I want her.

I tangle my fingers in her hair, tugging until she's at the perfect angle. I can feel her tremble slightly against me as she sucks on my tongue. I feel her heart pounding as I slide my hands over her rib cage, down the sides of her dress. My mouth is open wide over hers, taking it in hot kisses as I mold my hand over the curve of her hip. It's a short trip to find the hem of her dress and I tug it up and over the curve of her ass.

I fill my hands with her and my thumbs brush against the silky scrap of her underwear. She's not wearing a bra though, I can feel her nipples pressing against my chest. I fumble with the buttons of my shirt but then I just rip it open so I can feel her. I need to feel her. And I need to show her that I'll never run from her. I need to show her how I feel.

"This dress has been driving me crazy all night," I tell her. I want her naked. Now. I want to feel every inch of her body against mine. I push the straps of her dress off her shoulders and watch as the fabric pools at her waist.

I need the bed. After I get rid of her dress, I lift her up and walk into my room. I lay her down on the bed and then lie down behind her. I slide my hand over stomach and up her ribcage to cup her breast. I rub lazy circles over her nipple with my thumb and press my hips into her ass.

"I think you're amazing," I tell her and kiss her shoulder then her neck and then nip at her earlobe. She shifts and tries to face me but I hold her firmly in place. "This way," I whisper. "Trust me."

I wrap my arms around her and use one hand to rub and pinch her nipples, the other slides down between her legs. I groan when I feel how wet she is and slide a finger inside of her.

I part her legs with my knees and slip a second finger inside of her. God, she's so tight. Her body clenches around my fingers as I stroke and pump them inside of her.

When I slide my fingers out, she reaches between her legs, grasps my dick in her hand and starts stroking and rubbing me against the slippery skin of her inner thigh.

"Fuck," I groan and press my forehead into her shoulder. "God, this is so perfect." I pull her tightly against me and push her leg down, closing her thighs over my dick and adjusting myself so that it rests right against her slit.

I've never felt anything like this before in my entire life. Her hand is wrapped around me, stroking and pumping the head of dick as I thrust against her.

I reach down and start stroking her clit. She moans and tightens her thighs around my dick, and I shift until I'm riding even more firmly against her.

Bella's free hand fists in her pillow. Hungry, needy sounds claw their way out of her throat. Sweat blooms on her shoulder.

I leave it, reluctantly, just long enough to reach for a condom. Then I roll her onto her back, spread her legs, slip the condom on, and thrust inside of her.

She gasps, her back arches as her body stretches and struggles to accommodate me. I love the way she fits around me, the way her body gloves and grips me perfectly with every thrust and withdrawal.

"God, Bella," I groan when I feel her body clenching around me as her orgasm builds. I still my thrusts. I want to wait, want to make it last. Want her to know how much she fucking means to me.

But I'm too late. She wraps her legs around my waist and rocks against me in quick, desperate thrusts with her hips.

"Oh, god," she moans. "Please. I can't—" her voice breaks on a low moan and she clamps down hard, her body pulls me deeper, ripping my own orgasm from me.

I squeeze my eyes shut and come so hard I think I almost black out. I pull her to me. She's breathing hard, shaking, and I can't help but wonder if she feels the way I do.

"Bella," I whisper against the damp skin of her throat. Only one way to find out. "That was incredible."

She nods and rubs her cheek against my shoulder. And I want her to know. I want her to know that I want to hold on to her and never that her go. I want her to know that being without her makes me feel like I'm drowning, like I can't breathe. Like nothing is worthwhile if she's not around to experience it all with me.

"Bella," I say again because I love saying her name and I want her to look at me. She lifts her head slightly and opens her eyes. "I fucking love you."

***

Those words are the only thing I can hear. There are a hundred random sounds in the room. Edward's slow even breathing, a cat meowing on the fire escape, someone in the apartment above us pacing, even the gentle tick of the clock and I can't hear any of it. And I can't close my eyes either because then I see his face, his eyes burning with sincerity as they fall from him mouth. I wanted to be able to write them off to his little fling with the Captain, but the look on his face makes that impossible.

A shuddering breath escapes my mouth and it shakes me so violently I worry for a moment it's going to wake him up, but he simply takes a better grip on my waist. I swallow a few times trying to slow my heart, trying to hear anything else. And then my vision clouds with tears.

How did we get here? How did I allow the one person I really have no intention of hurting get to the place where he is inevitably going to be destroyed? I force my fist into my mouth and bite down on my knuckles to keep my sobs at bay. I should have told him a long time ago. Warned him that I am genetically unable to commit. That my mother passed on a flaw that prevents me from allowing anyone to be a constant partner in my life, much less mutter those words.

But I was too god damned selfish to do that. I got so caught up in the feel of him. The way his words filled my head, his hand filled mine that I forgot. Or at least I tried to forget. I bite down harder on my fist not caring that I am close to drawing blood.

My burning eyes find the clock and 4:15 glares back at me. It's been hours since he whispered the words and then slipped into a fitful sleep and I am no closer to knowing what to do. He nuzzles his head into my shoulder and his hair tickles my nose.

I take another selfish moment to just look at him. His lips slightly parted in sleep everything about him is soft and lovely and perfect. Not perfect as in without flaws. His nose is slightly crooked and there is a slight scar above his left eye, but perfect in the way he molds to me; in the way he makes me feel.

This is the ultimate problem. How can someone who doesn't know what love is possibly love? Because the closest thing I've ever felt to love is my unhealthy attachment to my IPod and this feels nothing like that. There's a need and a burning that I can't place. I swallow hard and pull my fist from my mouth.

It's time. Time for me to do what I should have done a long time ago. Time for me to do what I would have done if I hadn't only been thinking of myself. If I had taken the time to think about what someone like me could do to someone like him. Usually at this point I am overwhelmed with the feeling that the man in the situation would be better off with someone else, but I can't manage that feeling.

All I know is that he deserves to be loved. Loved by someone who knows what it means and can show him every day. And I can't do that. I don't know how. I lean down and press my nose into his hair inhaling deeply. Something for the road.

I slip carefully from his arms, shoving a pillow into the hollow where my body was. If he hadn't been aided in his sleep by his fondness of alcohol I would never have gotten away with this. I reach for my clothes, but settle on a t shirt and a pair of his sweats.

When I reach the doorway I can almost feel the cord between us straining and when I push through it the snap is resounding in my ears. And the backlash brings the tears back to my eyes. It's better this way. For him. This is for him. I keep those words on repeat, trying to keep my momentum going towards the door.

I grip the doorknob and can't move. I keep my back to the room, not willing to turn around. I am screaming the words in my head, hoping to believe them at some point. I should have left earlier this will hurt him more than I intended, but better now than later. Better now than in the morning when he remembers what he said and waits for me to respond.

Because I can't lie to him. I may be able leave him, but I won't lie. I won't pretend I know what it means to say those words to someone. I won't pretend that I can have the same feeling in my eyes when I say the words I've never said together.

I push the door open and stumble down the stairs. I hail a cab because it's too late for the subway and wrap my arms around myself once it begins its movement forward. When my building comes into sight I toss the driver a bill I hope works and he doesn't yell after me so I'm guessing it does.

I pull myself up the stairs and it takes the very last of my energy to push open my door. And in that moment I know I can't stay here. He'll be here in a matter of hours. And he'll come bringing those eyes and that mouth that could drop those words again at any moment.

And he's everywhere here. He's in the copy of Forest Gump still sitting on the coffee table. He's in the French roast in the pantry. I enter my room and he attacks me from all angles. There's the dent on his side of the bed. A couple of his dress shirts, the only thing hung neatly in my closet. And then there's his toothbrush, stoically keeping mine company.

I reach for the bottom of my closet and rummage around for the suitcase I know I own. My hands grip its hard edges and I pull it out, filling it with anything that looks like it has been washed recently. It fills quickly and I zip it shut not worrying about if anything matches or if I have enough underwear.

The temptation to look once more around the room is trumped by his shadow ghosting around me, tempting me, urging me to stay. I drag my suitcase out the door and don't try to keep it from hitting every stair on the way down to the living room. I am almost out the door when Emmett appears at the top of the stairs.

"What the hell are you doing Iz?" his voice is pained. Probably because he knows exactly what I am doing. He's seen this routine before. Been on the receiving end. I look up at him and feel my eyes mist once again and I'm looking forward to the moment when the moisture will dry up and it won't happen anymore. Does that moment exist?

"I'm going home for awhile Em," I manage to croak out. He bounds down the stairs and takes a hold of my suitcase, trying to tug it out of my hands. I hold on tight, my knuckles turning white. His face is fierce, his jaw clenched.

"You are home, Iz," he insists. I shake my head and wrap my arms around the luggage, making it a part of me.

"No Em, back to San Francisco," I correct him. He tugs again and the suitcase bursts from my grasps and the contents tumble to the ground. I kneel down and begin methodically shoving it all back. He stands over me, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Don't do this Iz. Don't fucking do this to him. Don't do this to yourself. He's different. You're different with him," he argues. I shake my head and rezip the carry on. This was part of the problem. They all love him too much, too much for me to ultimately destroy him. Maybe this way they can help him.

"He's different Em and that's the problem. I shouldn't have let myself have him. I can't have him. You KNOW this. You know I can't have anyone," I ramble. He falls to the floor in front of me and takes me face in his hands, hold it firmly in place. I notice now that he is in his boxers and it just makes me feel worse. I should have been quieter.

"That's Bullshit Isabella and you know it. You CAN do this. He will help you. Don't do this. I don't think either of you will come out of this," his voice breaks and I reach up to cup his face in my own hand. I knew there was a reason I liked him.

"I've let it go on too long. It's better for him this way. Help him Em. Make him understand," I plead. It's too much to ask, but I have to leave him in someone's hands and Emmett will do.

"What the hell are you two doing?" Angela demands from the top of the stairs and I sigh. This has become a party that no one was invited to. I take the distraction to break from Emmett and trudge towards the door.

"I'm going to be out of town for a bit Ang. Email me if you need something," I state. I can hear her mouth fall because I know her that well. Know her well enough to know that all the shit she talks to Emmett is a clever cover for their relationship they think I know nothing about. And to know that she will take care of everything and ask very few questions. It's why we're such good friends. She knows when to push and when to step away.

"Please, please don't do this Iz," Emmett breaths still on the floor. I swallow and meet his eyes. It's too late for that. The mantra has already been embedded in my mind.

"Tell him I'm sorry."

I slam the door behind me and flag the first cab to JFK and curl into a ball in the back seat. I close my eyes and hum Joni Mitchell until the cab stops. Once again I push money at the cabbie and trudge into the airport. I approach the nearest desk and slam down my mother's American Express.

"I need the first flight to San Francisco."

I'm fifteen minutes into the flight before I realize that I am wearing his clothes. I bring the collar of his t-shirt to my nose and inhale deeply. Everything I just left floods to my mind and the misting becomes full out balling. The poor woman next to me watches me in horror as I fall apart in my window seat.

I can't breathe, I can't speak, I can't even move. I am frozen in my sadness. All because of what I wasn't strong enough to avoid. I had to leave because I don't know how to stay and I ran because it's what I do. I don't stay long enough to pick out sheet sets or even to establish a mutual favorite song or movie. I leave because it's what I was taught because I don't understand the ache building inside of me right now.

So I'm going back to my roots. Back to the woman and the place that taught me all I know. Hoping that being there will solidify my decision and turn my regret and utter pain into surety. But at this moment I can't imagine that being possible because as the plane gradually ascends and the sun begins to tint the sky a hazy orange all I want is to still be in his arms, in his bed, but that's my selfishness talking.

His bed may be cold for a few days, but he'll bounce back and he'll forget about the quirky girl who helped him shrug out of a bad relationship. I was just a rebound. He was just drunk and caught up in really good sex, he didn't mean those words.

The woman next to me reaches for the call button and asks to be reseated, but I continue to sob. I lean against the window and relish in the cold air radiating from it. The tears stream down my checks, but I feel my breathing even.

This feeling will go away. The hole opening in my chest will close back up and it will be fine. Like it has been before. And he'll be better for it. He'll be ok. If that's the fucking truth then why do I want to turn this plane around? It was never this hard before. Nothing a little ice cream and peanut butter couldn't fix, but the tears keep coming and I know no amount of sugar and salt are going to fix this.

I dip my head back into his shirt again and instantly know what would make this better, but I can't. I don't know how.

***

I groan when I feel the sunlight beating down on my face and clutch Bella closer to me. God, when did she get so mushy? Whatever. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to force myself to sleep for a few more minutes.

I groan when the sleep doesn't come. My brain just starts clearing up and everything from last night starts to come to the surface. My eyes snap open. I told Bella that I loved her.

And I'm hugging a pillow.

And fuck.

I jump out of bed and almost trip on the sheets that get tangled around my ankles. I go into the bathroom first because maybe she's in there. And even if she's not, she generally leaves notes for me on the mirror if she leaves before I wake up.

But there's nothing there.

I walk out to the living room and her dress is still there in a pile on the floor. Not that that says much because she goes out in my dress shirts all the time.

Maybe she went for breakfast. I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart. A certain, probably extremely irrational panic has started to settle in my stomach. I go to the kitchen and check in the fridge because she likes to write notes on the milk carton sometimes.

Nothing.

God. I run my hands through my hair. Think, Edward, think. But there's no note in my coffee cup either.

I walk over to my discarded pants and fish my cell phone out. No messages, no texts, no missed calls. I press her speed dial but it goes straight to voicemail.

What the fuck is going on?

I try again and then I try her house line but there's no Bella anywhere.

Shit. I have to take deep breaths. Hyperventilating won't accomplish anything. She's probably asleep or forgot to charge her phone when she went home.

I go into my room and throw on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and some shoes and run out of the apartment.

Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I'm overreacting. I don't care. I've had this feeling only once before, this horrible nauseating knot in the pit of my stomach. And something bad happened that day. I trust the feeling.

I realize once I'm outside that it's way too fucking cold to be in a t-shirt and sandals but I don't care. I hail a cab and keep dialing her number.

What if something bad happened to her on her way home? What if she's lying in a ditch somewhere? No, no, no. Bad idea. Thinking up worst case scenarios is a bad idea.

I throw some money at the driver and jump out at her building. I take the stairs two at a time up to her apartment and bang on the door. Why don't I have a key?

God, where the fuck is my Bella?

I run my fingers through my hair and over my face over and over again until a haggard looking Emmett swings it open.

"Is Bella here?" is the first thing that comes out of my mouth. There isn't any time for manners. "Emmett," I snap when he doesn't answer me and force my way inside. "Is she here?"

"Edward, sit down for a minute," he says and wraps his hand around my arm but I jerk away and start for the stairs.

"Is she here?" I ask again but this time to Angela who's wrapped in a blanket on the couch.

"No," she says softly. "She's not here. Edward, sit down."

"We should call the police," I ramble over her. "She could be hurt. She left my place late last night and her phone's off. I'll call the police. Emmett, call the hospitals. Maybe there was an accident."

My words are coming fast and in no particular order as I whip my phone out and start dialing 9-1-1.

It's snatched from my hand before I can get to send though. "What the fuck are you doing?" I ask Emmett angrily. "We need to find her."

"Edward," he snaps. "Sit down."

And it's then that I realize that it's pity and not fear on their faces. They're not scared for her, they feel bad for me.

"Can somebody tell me what the fuck is going on?" I ask and rub my face.

Angela looks at Emmett who sighs and flips my phone shut. "Bella's gone," is all he says to me.

"What? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Gone where? Is she hurt?"

"No," he says sharply. "Nobody's hurt. Well, not physically anyway. Bella left."

I hear my heart pounding in my ears. None of this makes any sense. "Where the fuck could she go at 6 in the morning?"

Angela's arm wraps around my waist now and she leads me to the couch. She sits down facing me and takes my hand in hers. "She went home this morning," she says softly.

"I don't understand. I don't… why? When is she coming back?" I ask and feel the tears stinging my eyes but push them back.

She shakes her head and her eyes are filled with tears now. "I don't know. She came here a few hours ago and packed her things and left."

"What did she say?" I ask and look at Emmett. "Emmett, what did she say?"

He shakes his head and drops his shoulders with a heavy sigh. "To tell you that she's sorry."

And I feel it now; I feel the world as it crashes down all around me. The tears spill over and I'm standing up. "No," I say and repeat the word over and over again. I press my back into the wall and sink to the floor. I can't do this again. I can't lose someone again. "It's all my fault. It's my fault again."

I press my face into my knees and lock my fingers behind my head. "It's not your fault," I hear Emmett say. "Edward, it's not your fault."

"Yes it is. I told her…" but I can't get the words out because I can't breathe.

Emmett hauls me up by the back of my shirt and sits me down roughly on the couch before he pushes my head in between my knees. I'd be embarrassed but I can't think beyond the panic and the pain in my chest.

"Take deep breaths," he says to me. "Just take deep breaths and calm down."

I finally do. I sit up when my breathing is stronger but still shaky and my eyes are mostly dry. Angela hands me a glass of water.

"I think, um, that I'm gonna upstairs for a little while," I say quietly. "If that's okay."

"Yeah," Emmett says and squeezes my shoulder. "Whatever you need. We'll be around."

I nod and take the steps up to her bedroom. The smell of coconuts brings fresh tears to my eyes. The mess makes them spill over.

I kick my shoes off and crawl into her bed and just hug her pillow to me. I let her smell and my tears lull me to sleep.

***

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