A/N It has been ages and we have no good excuses. you're feedback was amazing, better than red velvet, but life took over for a bit. Forgive us?

Here's the next piece along with a promise that we won't that long EVEr again. pinkie promise. Props to the fantastic off-the-deep-end :)

***

Flying is fucking ridiculous. I mean, how much time is wasted on those speeches on what to do in case of a crash? Honestly if we were crashing I would slip my headphones on, find Joni in my last moments and hope really fucking hard that it would all end quickly. Pessimistic I know but I would rather my last moments to be filled with good music than people screaming to put on life vests that I inflate with my mouth. How good can a life vest be that I inflate with my mouth?

I digress. I sit watching the stewardess pass through the plane once again with her open trash bag and wish that we would just land already. My fingers drum impatiently on the armrest and the man next to me glares before turning his head to attempt to sleep facing away from me. No big loss there. Harry there opted for a sleep aid called bourbon and it was being breathed all over me.

This flight never seemed so long. It could be the horrible reruns they are trying to pass as in-flight entertainment or it could be that I feel like every moment I am away from him, every extra second there's a bigger chance he won't be there. Like Edward is the invisible man and if I don't get there before a certain time he'll disappear forever or turn into a pumpkin.

And if he is gone….good for him. It's really too damn hopeful of me to think that I am going to be able to fix this. I left him in the middle of the night with nothing. In the middle of the night when he said those words to me. And I have answers for him now, at least some answers, but it doesn't make it better.

I glance at the notebook lying on the tray table in front of me and twist the pen between my fingers restlessly. The plan was to write things down, to make things go more smoothly. To have something to fall back on when my words get all tangled in my mouth like they tend to do. But, nothing is coming. Because I don't want to write down what I'll say. I want to say it, to him.

The possibility of him outright rejecting me isn't looming enough to erase the overwhelming need I have to be near him. And then the itch returns. The body consuming itch that I know will only calm when he is in front of me. And I feel like I might vomit again.

When Renee asked me to spend the day with her before taking the red eye it seemed like a good idea. To grasp onto the fleeting mother daughter moment we were having and hope to get even more hope or confidence or some other shit from her to take back with me. Because I really need it.

I didn't think about how it would just make it longer until I would see him.

I glance at the tiny screen in front of me which shows the plane over a cartooned image of the country. We're close.

I force my eyes shut and try to pretend to sleep. It's been almost 48 hours since I've slept, but I don't give a flying fuck. There are too many other things to do rather than sleep. Like think about the verbal beat down Emmett gave me when I called and asked for a ride from the airport. Apparently he doesn't think highly of me at the moment. But his overgrown ass couldn't say no, so that's one thing I have going for me.

The airplane jerks slightly and I reach for my phone. I know this is against all kinds of rules, but I can't help myself. My eyes roam the cabin making sure no one is going to be the wiser and I power it up. I instantly open my inbox and stare at the last message there.

'What happened to your hand?'

I didn't even turn my phone on til I was at the airport and there was only enough battery to call Emmett. I glance down at my hand and mutter a few choice words when I see that the blood has seeped through the band-aids yet again. This is never going to heal.

The captain comes over the intercom and I shove the phone back into my bag. No sense in getting a second verbal lashing today. Edward's question baffled me. I expected something more profound, more demanding after my night with Smirnoff. But the simplicity of it scares the hell out of me. The lack of irrational anger and worry makes me think that I really might be too late.

I force my eyes closed and they stop stinging momentarily. My mind swirls with the possibilities and the fear. I won't deny that the urge to run is still there. It's very much alive, but it has fewer motives now, less ground. So I am keeping it at bay.

The plane bounces a landing and my heart speeds up. I'm nervous as hell and time must know it because it speeds up all of the sudden and before I know it I am the only one left on the plane.

I almost lose a fight with the overhead compartment as I try to pull my suitcase down. I pull with all my might and narrowly miss losing an eye as it finally comes loose. I drag it down the aisle and try to smile at the stewardess. She glares back so I must still be missing that skill.

The noise and pace of the airport brings me a small amount of peace. It's impossible to focus to stand out when there are so many other things going on. This is why I live in the city.

I somehow avoid maiming anyone with my suitcase as I push towards the doors. The closer I get the slower I move. I want to do this, need to do this, but the bit in between, Emmett, is going to be painful. I stand in front of the automatic doors, not caring the people are bumping into me from all angles. I just watch the doors slide open and closed over and over.

Once I cross that threshold everything changes. I have to change. There will be no more running. No more hiding behind my mother, her flaws or my newly dubbed irrational fears. I'm going to have to give him every part of me, even the bits I don't like very much and hope he still thinks that he might be able to think about still wanting me.

One final shove from behind and I'm through the doors. I start walking down the sidewalk towards Emmett and my meeting place. I hear the obnoxious honking of the horn before I see him. It's too bad I really don't embarrass easily because he is going to all this effort for nothing.

I finally raise my eyes towards the noise. He's all but standing on the roof of his car waving one arm like an idiot while the other is wound inside still pounding his undeserving horn. I wave like a fool and he looks mildly defeated. Stupid oaf will never give up trying to humiliate me.

I open the rear door and shove my suitcase in before pulling open the passenger door and slide inside. I reach across the center console and pinch Emmett's leg. That does the trick. He finally lets the horn rest and slides back into the car.

"There you are. You find me ok? It's crazy out there," he breathes. I roll my eyes and bring my knees to my chest. Emmett's pulls away from the curb and begins weaving through the traffic, throwing the bird and his new favorite, his horn frequently.

"It's a small miracle I found you. You just blend in SO well," I quip. He smirks and glances over at me quickly. I shift my weight towards the door.

"You look worse than shit Iz," he states. So tactful. It's a small wonder he doesn't have the women lining up for a chance at him. I sigh and resist running my finger through my hair. It's braided and that's the only thing keeping it from being revealed as the greasy mess it is.

"Awwww thanks Em. You look pretty shitty yourself," I answer reaching over to pinch his cheek. He growls and pulls his face away from my fingers. Silence settles back in and I let it warm me, bring me comfort. Quiet is the better option in this case.

It's a small shame the drive is scenic because my bleary eyes turn every street corner to mush. He turns the car towards our place and I gasp.

"No, I need to see him," I argue. Emmett sighs heavily and keeps the car on course. I turn my body towards him and cross my arms over my chest. I am not stupid enough to reach for the wheel. Some common sense will never fully abandon me.

"Just come home Iz. Take a shower, sleep and then go see him," he argues. At least he doesn't think he is going to stop me from completely seeing him. One obstacle down.

"You can take me there, but I'll just take the subway over. I can't go home. I have to see him now, it has to be the first thing I do," I ramble. I feel my hand start to shake and it could just be the lack of food and sleep, but I'm sure it has more to do with the fact that I am terrified.

Emmett jerks the car over to the side of the road ignoring the blaring horns and turns to face me. I cower against the far door again and wait for his words to hit me.

"You fucking left him, Iz. You had such a good thing going and you left. And you know where he came first? Do you?" he demands. I can only guess. It would be where I would expect him to go. I chew my lip and nod.

"He was a mess. Trying to call the fucking hospitals and the cops because he didn't know. You didn't even give him a sneak peak of your best act. I had to tell him, and then watch him fall apart."

I hang my head. I knew it would be bad, but it wasn't supposed to be like that. Hadn't I tried to tell him? Not that I'm not ready to take the blame. I am. Willingly.

"Doesn't change anything. I still need to see him," I reply. Emmett shakes his head and then leans it against the wheel queuing his favorite sound effect of the day. He turns his head, but the background blare is still persistent.

"Even if it won't do him any good?" he asks. I shake my head. This is what he wants. He needs to hear it from me, deserves to be my first priority.

"Even if he breaks me in two," I answer. Emmett sighs and pulls back into traffic and towards Edwards. Someone, something, anything help me through this. I'm hoping for a tiny leprechaun or something of that nature, but I am no position to be picky.

***

Being home again only reminds me of exactly how alone I am. There's no little footsteps running towards me, there's no Alice to give me Indian rubs on my forearms. There's no Bella.

There's just me in an empty apartment with an aching chest.

This, being alone doing nothing, is the most dangerous I've come to learn. Your brain and your heart both become far too vulnerable to the thoughts and feelings and memories that you've been trying to keep at bay.

When I close my eyes I see one of two things: Bella's brown eyes or Skye's blue ones. It becomes a game of brown versus blue until they blend and just morph into a combination of both until I can't breathe from the pain of it.

I suppose I deserve it. Skye lost Jasper because of me before she even got the chance to know him. I lost Bella before I had the opportunity to really love and be loved by her.

There's only one place I should be right now. Only one song I should be listening to.

I go into the spare room and set the player up. It starts playing and I close my eyes and let the music seep into me. This was always his favorite song.

"And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cool comfort for change?" I let the lyrics wash over me and hug Jolene closer to my chest. "And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage? How I wish, how I wish you were here."

I hear the doorknob turn and my head snaps up. Nobody should be here. I curl my fingers into fists and squeeze tightly as the door opens slowly.

And then there she is. And I almost feel like I'm hallucinating, like I just wish she were here so badly that I'm imagining her now.

She steps inside and her eyes are so sad and represent every single little thing that I've ever lost.

***

The door opens and hits the wall, bouncing back at me, but I can't move. I just look at him looking at me. My eyes scream in protest as I force them to stay open, unblinking. I'm not sure why I thought he would look different.

I rip my eyes from his and glance down at the silent guitar in his hands and over towards the record player. And that song. God that song. Wishful thinking wants it to mean something literal, to hope I may have inspired the choice, but I'm not allowed those kinds of thoughts right now. I should have let Emmett just take me home.

Time drags on and he just stares, obviously not going to say the first words. I swallow trying to prep myself for what needs to be a monumental explanation, an earth shattering apology.

"Hey," Is all I can mutter and I have already failed at this. Shit. That was hardly the moving moment I wanted it to be. His eyes finally tire of me and lower to his guitar. I watch as his hands tighten their hold and want to reach out. I want to pull his hands from the guitar and let them take their aggression out on me. I deserve that much.

"I'm back," I stutter. Strike two. Who knew I could be this eloquent? I grit my teeth in frustration and glare down at my toes. This was not how this was supposed to go. My feet take several steps forward, but my eyes hold onto their fix on my toes and I hit a tower of boxes, but they take me out rather than the other way around.

I tumble towards the ground and once again my palms take the abuse. They slide along the hard wood ad I can feel the blood. I take a couple of deep breaths and let the tears come. They were bound to make an appearance. Slowly I move backwards, leaning back on my legs. Resting on the backs of my calves as I watch the blue and yellow band aids change to purple and orange. A lesson in color right on my hands.

I keep my eyes down and away from him because I think more clearly that way. I can do this. I have to do this.

"I'm not going to insult you by even using the word sorry, love. That word doesn't even begin to describe what I feel about what I did," I say. Because I don't think the word exists. I wipe harshly at my face no doubt leaving blood in the place of tears.

"There are so many things I want to say, God I wish I could just let you see things through my eyes. Like a projector. I would make things so much easier," I ramble. I don't know how to do this. The leaving was easy instinctual, but the coming back is a first. I hear his sigh, but it does little to calm me down or push me on.

"When you said those words, told me how you felt, I couldn't deal with that. I couldn't imagine them being true and I didn't want you to feel that way." This is not working damn my mouth and mind.

"Not that I didn't want that from you, it made me feel indescribable. Treasured and appreciated like I have never felt before, but I wanted more for you. I wanted more for you. Better even," I press the words towards him. I finally raise my yes and can barely make him out through the tears still falling. But I can do this the right way.

"I should have told you so long ago. Hell, I should come with a disclaimer 'does not know how to love' because it's true. I don't know how. I wouldn't be able to label it if I tried. And you're just, so you and full of this amazing care and warmth and it shouldn't be wasted on me," I argue with his silent words. I raise the bottom of my shirt to wipe at my face and hear his breath hiss out. I shove the shirt back down. That wasn't dirty play. I wasn't flashing my bra to better my case, I promise.

"It's a shitty excuse. It sounds just as bad from my end, but it's the truth. I'm not going to get into my mother and my trust fund baby sob story because it's just more of the same excuses and that's not what I want to say here," I grit. Deep breaths are key, in and out, in and out, repeat.

"The reason I felt like I could come here is because of the future. The mother issues, the sob story, the 22, it's all the past, but I'm here because I am hoping like hell you'll want my future," I offer. And it feels like I am laying my soul in front of him.

"I came back for you because I am going to fight my past and my problems like hell to have you. Because those words are new and scary, but I want to say them. I want to mean them," I state. This is hard. Harder that running. Everything is there for him to see. Details aside, he knows now. Knows what I want and it's in his hands.

"I call bullshit," he sneers and I sink even closer to the ground. All my words are shattered at his response, sent flying across the floor like discarded trash.

"I know you love Angela and Emmett and even that stupid tool Jake. I've seen you love people so whatever this is, whatever your hesitation with me is, it has nothing to do with your mother or your past or whatever and everything to do with me," he argues. My memories of my mother's words lace with his and I wonder if they know me better than I do. I feel like a façade that people are filling in without my consent. I sake my head violently and clench my fists, not caring about the pain.

"I meant every word. You have no fucking idea how hard that was for me to say," I snap. Because if he is going to destroy my words I will at least bite back. And anger is filling.

"And the thing is, I'm not willing to risk losing anybody ever again. I've done it and I just…I fucking can't. And obviously you're not sure enough about this for me to feel even remotely comfortable loving you," he breaks through my thoughts and I am deflated. The tears take on new force because this is worse than I thought.

"Don't tell me what I am sure about. I spent a week in hell trying to do right by you, trying to let you leave me behind and it fucking kills me that I am here. I hate that I want you so badly that I am being the selfish ass I try to not be. I hate that every text you sent me ripped a hole through my heart and I hate that you get to decide whether or not my truths or good enough. Because even if you don't want to believe them, even if you don't like them they're still my truths," I manage. I try to stand, but my legs are weak and slightly asleep from my position and I fall back to the floor.

"And if I'm not someone you're 'comfortable' loving I guess it's for the better. Maybe I did the right thing by leaving because if all it takes for you to change your mind is a week away from me maybe I'm not ready to give you everything I have like I thought," I whisper. The walls are coming back up. The walls I had torn down to come here tonight are now being carefully reconstructed.

"I don't know about this emotion that has newly been named love in my mind, but I know for it to work it has to last for more than a week," I add.

His movement is deafening in the quiet room, the record player long since done playing its song. His hands appear in my line of sight and I inch backwards not wanting to add physical pain to the mental beating he has just given me, but his hands are persistent and he grasps my hand and pulls it towards him.

The blood has created little paths off the sides of my palms and down my wrist. Its horrible looking, but I can't feel a thing. His fingers gently pick at the band-aids, revealing the source of the blood slowly and methodically. The run defense is gaining strength inside of me, but as long as he is touching me I'm not going to move. I'll savor each moment his searing hands are on mine because it could be the last time.

"I didn't change my mind because of the time you were away. I'm not comfortable because of how you left. Because if you can get up and leave me in the middle of the night after I've said something like that to you, what's going to stop you from doing it again? You have to understand something. I need to protect myself, I'll die if I lose anybody ever again the way I lost….well, whatever. I just can't fucking do it. I just can't fucking do it, Bella. It can't be my fault again and it will be my fault. For pushing you into something that you're not ok with. I just can't. I can't.," he explains. I pull my hand from his grasp and scramble into the corner.

"Then we can't do this. Nothing about this is going to be comfortable Edward. It's going to be messy and a fucking mini battle every day, but I'm willing to do that for you. I'm willing to risk myself for you because that's what I think I should do. What everything inside of me is telling I will do willingly to have you around. I can't tell you it's going to be ok or that I won't still run out. All I can say is that I am going to try. Try harder and want it more than anything else. If that's not enough, then I need to go," I stammer because I don't want to fucking go. He reaches for me again, a sigh heavy on his lips.

"Come into the bathroom so I can clean that," he commands, but I hold my hand at my chest.

"No Edward. Don't hide behind my hand. I'm not going to let you fix me up and send me on my way so your guilt will be sated. I'm here for all of you not for medical care. I need you to need me the way I need you. To want me more than yourself, because if you don't feel that way I can go home and Emmett will take care of my hand there," I demand. My chest heaves with the effort of the words. I won't take this leap, make this jump for someone who doesn't know if he wants me. It's already taken too much out of me. He rakes his hand through his hair and adjusts his glasses.

"Someone who doesn't want you? Are you fucking kidding me, Bella? I, voluntarily, changed my entire life because of how fucking badly I wanted you. And I would do it all over again. Don't sit there and tell me that I don't want you and all of that other crap. I want to clean your hand so it doesn't bleed all over my floor not to clear my conscience. I just don't fucking know if I can handle being with you if that means second guessing everything for the rest of my life. I need you now and I'll need you even more later and if you fucking leave me, if you're gone, it will kill me. I know it will."

He moves closer to me with each word and I can't make myself move, plus being in a corner there really isn't anywhere to go. My body being the natural traitor it is leans into him, hungry for the warmth radiating off him. My hand moves from my chest to his, heedless of the blood I am continuing to spread.

"I'm not going to leave you," I say solidly because it's true. Because at this point I am in no position to leave him ever again. My whole knowledge of love and need and want are wrapped up in this man and I'm just waiting for him to tell me if that's ok. His eyes drift down to my hand and he takes it carefully from his chest and wraps his fingers around my wrist drawing me into the bathroom.

I trail behind him happy to let him take the lead. We leave the room and suddenly that action makes everything said in there more real, like I'm hearing it all clearly for the first time. Hearing the little bits and pieces about losing someone, again.

The sound of running water draws me back to him and I wince as he holds my hand under the scalding water. The silence in the room makes me want to fill it, not because it's awkward, but because things need to be said.

"What do I need to do to make you understand? What can I say to make you feel the way you felt before I left?" I plead. Anything he wants, needs. I'm there now.

"I…" his voice trails off and he sighs focused on my hand and the trail of pink my blood is leaving in the sink. "How did you do this to yourself?"

I want to clench my fist because he's doing it again. But, this is about him so I'll let him have his moment.

"It was a group effort really. The glass in my mother's window, the pavement and I think I might have helped it along at some point," I sigh. It doesn't really matter how it happened. He removes my hand from the water and begins drying it carefully, barely touching it with the hand towel.

He pulls away to reach for something under the sink and I almost whimper like the dependant puppy I am. I should be embarrassed about being this way, but it feels good. Makes me feel like maybe I'm not the only person looking out for me, like I have a partner in crime.

"I lost someone that was really close to me a few years ago. And... well, it was my fault. And god, Bella, I can just see myself getting in so deep with you because, yeah, I love you. And you left and now I'm just fucking scared, okay? I just... I need some time and some space to think about all of it."

He keeps his eyes down, focused on wrapping gauze around my hand. All I can think is that he's opening up. He's going to show me all his broken parts and I want all of them. I want to gather them up and spend years putting them back in place with nothing but bubble gum if I have to.

"Think about what love? Who do you keep talking about?" I press gently. I don't want to be greedy about my collection of broken pieces, but I want to start making him whole.

"Think about if I can actually do this. If I can risk it," he whispers and just like that all my hope is gone. I feel the pieces I almost had slipping through my fingers. Even worse I feel the broken pieces I was ready to give him retreat back inside of me cutting deeper grooves in my insides.

I take my hand carefully from his, willing his eyes to rise to mine, but he keeps them on the ground. I can't make him let me love him, but I can keep pushing. I pull my broken pieces back out, not letting them retreat. I lick my lips several times.

"I, uh, I guess I'll go then," I say. I turn to leave, but twirl around at the last moment. He won't be allowed to doubt me.

"You can think about it love, but I've already decided. I'm going to be that person for you. The one who pushes when you don't want to be pushed and sees you at the absolute worst. So let me know when you're ready for that," I tell him. I bolt from the room before he can say otherwise because I am going to be optimistic. I have to be. It's my secret weapon in this fight.

***

I don't want to move from this spot. I want to sit here on this floor with this music for the rest of my life. Bad things don't happen in here. Nobody else can get in here. It's just me and the songs and whatever memories I choose to remember.

The good things. Like the way Bella used to smile up at me. And the way she looked when she put my ring on, like it belonged there, and she belonged to me. For once it felt like someone belonged to me. It was the moment I fell in love with her.

But her smiles morph into tears and bleeding palms. She shouldn't have come in here. She shouldn't know this. I should've known better all along that people like Bella could never be with someone like me. I'm messed and I don't deserve her. Not after all I've done.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight because even if I don't deserve it, I can remember the good things.

I can remember Jasper flying off the stage into the open arms of a screaming crowd. I can hear his crazy insane laughter when I crouched down, drunk, to yank my snow boots off and accidentally pissed all over myself.

I put my hands on the sides of my head and shake it violently. I don't want to remember. I feel the tears slide down my cheeks, hot and fat.

I don't want to remember.

It's Bella's fault that I'm remembering. Bella and her sad eyes and her love and her bleeding hands and her fucking leaving me. Bella who brought me back to life to leave me stranded. Bella and her little hands and her fierce hugs and her kisses.

The sobs rack my body now—all sense of reason gone. I fall over and curl up on my side on the hardwood floor.

I wrap my arms around my knees and let the music lull me to sleep.

I need the contact and this is the only kind I can get. The safest kind, anyway.

***

A/N hit the little green button to give edward a good shove towards forgiveness....we all know he needs it.