DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.

Thank you to my betas Scorp112 & LightStarDusting for their help. I edited a chunk after they gave it back to me, so all mistakes are mine.

::For anyone who has been waiting or wondering, I apologize for the extreme delay. Sometimes RL doesn't cooperate.::

Chapter 15: Woody Johnson Protects Isabella Chickenshit

BPOV

As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. Yeah, pun intended, and what an end it was. I wasn't even embarrassed that I whispered Edward's name in the middle of a string of curse words as my orgasm hit me. His touch was the little push I needed to take the plunge.

We'd made a deal: he would masturbate while I watched, and then I'd do it while he watched, so I knew he'd be nearby. After all, Edward Cullen was the king of the personal space invasion—too close for comfort wasn't close enough for him. In this case, that was to my advantage. By reaching out to me, he showed me that he was okay with what was happening, and I felt relieved. I'd buried my worries that watching me might affect him negatively; otherwise I wouldn't have been able to go through with it.

The worst part of the experience was letting go of the connection between us once I was finished. While it was happening, he was as into it as I was, and what we were to one another—the labels—didn't matter. I didn't want to let go of that bond, regardless of what it resulted from.

Of course, now he was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, curled into a ball with his knees drawn tightly into to his chest. As disconcerting as it was to see him that way, I knew withdrawing was his way of dealing with whatever was going on in his head; that was just how Edward worked. He'd share his thoughts with me if and when he was ready to and probably only if it had some bearing on the remainder of the experiment. I was taking small victories where I could get them. We'd accomplished the goal for the afternoon, Edward had been into it, and I'd gotten the biggest thrill of my seventeen-year-old life.

I quickly covered up, adjusting my bathing suit top and retying the bottoms, and tiptoed over to him. "I'm just going to go change," I said softly.

He suddenly sprang to his feet and dashed into the bathroom without a word. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for his comfort level. I pushed my doubt away, deciding to stick with my plan to let him figure things out on his own, and went back to the pool to change.

Edward still had not come down by the time I'd finished dressing. My heart was screaming at me to go find him, but my instincts knew better. This wasn't something I could help him understand until he was willing to open up to me, and forcing him to face me before he was ready was just asking for trouble. I had to respect his choice and assume he preferred his space. I decided to give him even more space, so I grabbed my coat and went outside to soak up some rare Forks sunshine.

I sat on the trunk of the Volvo for thirty minutes before Edward came out.

He stopped when he saw me, looking at me for a moment before he approached. "After you first left the bathroom, I thought you'd run away. This was one of the places I thought I might find you."

"Sitting on your car?" I asked curiously. The image of him having his way with me on the hood flashed in my mind. Like that was ever going to happen.

"Yes, but on the hood." I smirked, barely containing the giggle that his reference to my latest fantasy summoned. His face puckered in confusion. "I thought watching me might have been too much for you and figured you would have been more comfortable out here, if you were reluctant to fulfill your part of the agreement. The car was about as far away from me as you could get, since I drove you here... We both know how stubborn you can be."

"It wasn't too much for me," I assured him quietly, doing my best to ignore his dig. "But we don't have to talk about it yet. I'm not going to push you. Obviously we need to discuss it at some point, so we can figure out where to go from here, but it can wait until you're ready."

His green eyes hardened and fell away from mine. "I wasn't expecting the experience to be so powerful."

Despite the vastness of his statement, I recognized the hidden promise in it, hoping it was a positive-powerful and not an overwhelming I-don't-know-what-the-fuck-we-were-thinking kind of feeling. I swallowed roughly, choking on my desire to ask him to explain further and refocused on being honest since it was the only thing I could offer.

"It was powerful for me, too—both watching and being watched. In a good way, I mean… at least, it was for me. Hopefully your experience was similar." I sounded like such a dork. Hopefully your experience was similar. I may as well have asked him if his body had been adequately lubricated or if he was pleased with his performance.

"This wasn't a step I'd given any thought to so I didn't have any preconceived notions about how the experience might affect my level of arousal or enjoyment. I was surprised by the instincts that surfaced, though. I anticipated having to be taught appropriate responses, but that wasn't the case at all."

Of course he wasn't going to tell me which instincts he was referring to. That would be too easy and potentially bring me satisfaction. He wouldn't want to do that when he could torture me with a vague response and leave me to drown in my own curiosity. All I had to do was ask him to be more specific, but I couldn't, not without the very real possibility of pushing him too far. There were times I wanted to—and did—push, moments where I'm sure he needed me to do just that, but this wasn't one of them. What we'd done was big enough, in and of itself.

Or maybe I was just a huge coward. Isabella Chickenshit. Bock bock.

This was as much about him figuring things out on his own as it was keeping everything positive and moving forward. The exchange of information had to be voluntary for that to happen. I was playing with fire if I tried to force him to open up to me.

"Instincts are good," I deadpanned.

"What did you think?"

His simple question afforded me with so many opportunities to put my foot in my mouth. There was a fine line between being true to what I felt and giving Edward more honesty than he could deal with. If he knew every thought in my head, he'd be running for the hills, screaming.

"The truth?"

"Why would I want you to lie?" he asked incredulously.

Jack Nicholson's voice from A Few Good Men echoed in my head. Because you can't handle the truth. Though, in all fairness, I wasn't handling it that well either. At least not well enough to say out loud and own it. There was no time like the present to take that step.

"I really enjoyed watching you. You are…" The words I wanted to say cycled through my mind. Gorgeous… drool-worthy... incredibly good-looking. I mentally rolled my eyes at myself. Admitting I was that attracted to him was probably too much honesty. Not that what I'd decided to confess was any less honest or revealing, maybe just more situationally apropos. "I wanted to touch you today. I have since the first time I saw you shirtless. Your body is… beautiful." He didn't need to know it was more than two years ago, of how many times I'd fantasized, or how far I'd played that fantasy out in my mind.

"So your instincts surfaced too, then?" he asked, ignoring the most intimate part of my admission. "The innate reactions and inclinations to respond accordingly were there for you, as well?"

"Yes." I smiled at his wonder, happy, for once, that his inner scientist had surfaced. I'd come to expect his emotional obtuseness. It was almost a relief that he didn't acknowledge the rest of my statement, except now it felt like he was daring me to one-up the honesty. Just how much would it take to shock him into a response?

"I'm not sure why I keep underestimating my instincts. By definition, they're inherent, yet I continue to be surprised when they emerge. I suppose it's due to the fact that they're virtually nonexistent when it comes to social situations. This is, after all, just a deeper social interaction. It just goes to show that instinctual behaviors are variable and environmentally influenced. Their complexity obviously has both instinctive and learned components."

It was one thing to anticipate that he would pull away from the experience we'd shared, but it was totally another to witness it firsthand. Each invalidation and rationalization intentionally distanced him from his emotions and me. He wasn't really even talking to me; he was thinking out loud. I inserted myself into the conversation to remind him I was still there.

"You don't say…"

"Freudian psychoanalysts believe instincts are really just motivational forces rooted in a basic need to maximize pleasure and minimize physical pain. Only our unsatisfied needs influence our behavior, not the satisfied ones. It explains why I've never bothered with friends. I simply haven't had the need."

I bit my bottom lip while I thought about what he was proclaiming. We'd studied Abraham Maslow's paper A Theory of Human Motivation in my AP psychology class. Edward's theory was inherently flawed, and as much as I knew I should keep my mouth shut, it wasn't very often that I knew something better than he did. "Maslow suggested his-"

"You know Maslow?" he asked with an insulting mix of surprise and skepticism in his tone, as if interrupting me wasn't insulting enough.

"As I was saying, Maslow's hierarchical theory suggests that you have to satisfy all of your lower level needs to progress to the next level. You've already progressed to the esteem level, past the social level-"

"Exactly, my social needs are met." His smugness wasn't helping. It only worsened my desire to prove him wrong.

"No, it means you're ignoring them. Isn't that what this experiment is about? Meeting your social needs and finding that sense of belonging and intimacy that you can't find on your own."

"That's preposterous." He rolled his eyes and shook his head, refusing to consider my statement.

I knew I should drop the subject. He was dangerously close to shutting down because of what I was saying. But that was the problem with not avoiding the truth. Sometimes honesty cuts brutally and painfully deep. "Is it? Many psychologists believe that a significant portion of human behavior is based on unconscious motives."

I could see shock move across his features as my words registered and felt the remaining few threads of the connection from our afternoon disintegrate.

"I should probably drive you home now. I've got someone coming over for some tutoring in a little while, and I need some time to prepare." The subject change didn't surprise me, but his excuse did. I had no idea if he was being truthful.

"Oh, okay." Despite the fact that everything I'd said was honest, I didn't want to leave things between us unsettled. "Are you sure you don't have more time? I thought we could catch a movie or something."

"I can't do it today. Maybe some other time."

Without another word, he dug his keys out of his pocket and got in the car. He was silent during the drive, even when I tried to lighten the tense atmosphere with a few jokes. He gave me a tight smile once we were in my driveway, letting his eyes dart between my face and the door. It was clear he wanted me to get out so he could go.

"Can I ask you something?" I tried to keep my tone casual; although I wasn't sure I accomplished it. He nodded stiffly instead of speaking, remaining in his withdrawn state. "Why did you go to the dance last night?"

Staring straight ahead, he took a minute to think before he answered. "I wanted to see what it was like… why it was important to you."

"Why did that matter to you?"

He shrugged, conveying his lack of desire to discuss the dance or anything, for that matter. I was starting to feel panicked, like I'd screwed up everything earlier by pointing out what seemed so obvious to me. If that was the case, I was going after the answers I needed for closure.

"So it was just curiosity that made you go? That made you do something that you said wasn't your thing?"

"Dancing isn't my thing, and I didn't dance," he clarified.

"Well that explains why I never saw you on the dance floor, but why not come say hello and let me know you're there?"

"I'm better at observing, and I didn't want you to expect me to dance with you. Besides, you seemed pretty busy with Jasper Whitlock anyway."

It was irritating that he was blaming me instead of taking responsibility for his actions, but I refused to take the bait. Refuting his accusations would only cause a fight, and it certainly wouldn't get him to be honest about why he didn't approach me at the dance.

"If you didn't want to dance with me, it shouldn't have mattered who I danced-"

"It didn't matter to me," he assured me, finally looking at me. The intensity of his gaze was almost disconcerting. He obviously wanted me to believe him, but whether or not he was telling the truth remained to be seen.

"Then why bring it up?"

He turned away from me and sighed loudly. "I really need to get home."

"Of course you do," I replied sarcastically. I opened the door and slid out the seat, still feeling uneasy about the strange vibe between us and hating that I didn't know if he was being truthful about having something to do. Once I was out, I turned back to him. "I realized something today."

"What's that?" he asked, glancing over at me with a cautious expression.

"When you suggested this experiment, you said that you thought fulfilling sex was based on technique, not love, and I couldn't really see your point. It was impossible to imagine wanting to have such an intimate connection to someone that I didn't have feelings for. But in the midst of what we did today, the labels of our relationship didn't matter to me. We were both into it… enjoying ourselves, I mean. I can understand now how someone could be fulfilled by good sex, even without love. I still think love is important, but maybe it's not a requirement."

He nodded slightly, his impassive expression not revealing anything. God, what I wouldn't have given to get into his mind to hear what was going on in there.

I gave him a small smile and stepped back from the car. He drove away without a word.

EPOV

Once I'd dropped Bella off, the solitude of my car was familiar and consoling. I drove home slowly to take advantage of the quiet, needing it like never before. My brain was a jumbled mess of information; just questions and answers that related in foreign and unwelcome ways.

If I'd known that watching her touch herself was going to affect me on so many levels, I probably never would have gone through with it. Yes, I would have missed her sensual display, a sight so utterly overwhelming and sexy that it brought me to my knees, but I would also still be sitting contentedly in my ignorance instead of trying to forget all of things I'd realized.

My problem began when I'd understood my desire to touch her. What I thought was a wish to help her get over her self-consciousness was more about my selfish inclination to be a part of her pleasure. It went against the informational nature of the experiment and forced me to acknowledge that I did, indeed, have real feelings for Bella. The insight left me scared, overwhelmed, and confused, and I had no idea how to process it. As soon as her orgasm finished, I turned my back on her and retreated into myself.

The afternoon only got worse from there.

It felt like I'd been hit by a truck. The moment of impact was bizarrely surreal. Reality crashed my thoughts and two independent lines of thinking were irrevocably twisted and mangled into an indivisible wreckage.

In laymen's terms, I was fucked.

The experiment and the desire to understand what I felt had coexisted on two separate and distinct planes in my mind. My feelings for Bella irrevocably muddied the separation, if not entirely demolishing the boundaries between the two. At best, they would be an ever-present distraction, at worst, a force that could permanently skew the direction and results of our experiment.

It was beyond my realm of capabilities, a disaster of epic proportions.

Where I once wanted to be certain whether I had feelings for Bella, I no longer wanted to know at all. I wanted to forget that I'd ever wanted to know, forget what I now knew to be true. I wasn't sure that I didn't need to forget the experiment all together at that point.

In no way, shape, or form was I ready to deal with Bella, so I did what any red-blooded teenage guy would do: I hid. I was in a full-blown panic by the time I made it into the bathroom. My internal freak-out aside, the erect penis I was sporting was exceptionally inconvenient; like a neon sign advertising the chaos in my body. Or maybe a white flag; the terrycloth towel wrapped around my waist certainly looked like one. Not that I was trying to signal a truce or surrender. If anything, I was in full-on retreat mode. In any case, the towel was reprehensibly inadequate in its ability to conceal the evidence of my arousal; arousal, I might add, that had no reason to be present in the midst of a panic.

Nothing made sense to me, not what I was thinking or feeling and especially not how my body was reacting. This wasn't me. I was calm and indifferent. I was withdrawn and distant. I was not prone to roller coaster emotions or feeling out of control. If this was what an emotional bond felt like, I wanted no part of it.

I didn't even like the sound of being bound to someone, regardless of the reason. The mere idea made my stomach churn. What good was a connection that left you feeling discomposed and distracted? Or even worse, vulnerable and helpless? The hearts and flowers nonsense that was spouted by romance novels and naïve girls couldn't have been more opposite to the way I felt. In fact, I was calling bullshit. There was nothing even potentially pleasant about knowing I had feelings for Bella.

Not the gripping fear.

Not the urge to vomit.

Not the tightness in my chest.

The way I felt was detestable. It was depression-inducing. I did not want to feel like this.

And why in the hell did I still have a god damn erection? I groaned and smacked the back of my head against the door in frustration. Even my body was betraying what I wanted.

I closed my eyes and willed away all of the things I was feeling. I pretended I had a protective force field around me that prevented everything from getting to me, like Susan Storm from the Fantastic Four, except I was a guy, of course. Truthfully I was more Reed Richards—brilliant scientist and gifted engineer—than Susan Storm, if you ignored his whole Stretch Armstrong capability. I was not pliable in any way and certainly not able to contort my body into any shape I wished, as convenient as that power might be. We did have the tendency to focus on a challenge and forsake other things in our lives in common. His superhero wife understood his limitations. Of course, if my wife looked like Jessica Alba, I don't think I would have been thinking about electrical engineering or aerospace technology. She wasn't nearly as appealing to me since she'd gone blonde. I liked her brown hair better, but I did prefer brunettes in general. Bella was evidence of that.

Grumbling in protest, I let my body slide down to the floor as soon as I realized what I'd done. All thoughts led back to Bella, even with my invisible force field and my desire to forget that I had feelings for her.

I was doomed.

I was also afflicted with a never-ending erection; even feeling as foolish as I did didn't diminish it. However, priapism was no laughing matter. My curiosity had gotten the better of me after I'd heard the warnings during a commercial for the infamous blue pill. No guy should have to read about having his penis injected with drugs or aspirated with a needle. For that matter, the words penis and needle should never be used in the same sentence, as far as I was concerned. I didn't even read about the shunting procedure. Quite honestly, at that point I'd rather just die from it. It would be so humiliating that no one would ever want to have sex with me again, and my self-esteem would be so negatively affected that I'd live out the rest of my life as a monk anyway.

Maybe I had more in common with The Thing than Reed Richards. Of course, he was orange and rocky from head to toe. I only had that problem in one particular area, and my dick was most certainly not orange. I opened the towel and peeked at it, just in case. No, it wasn't orange. It was rather purple, if I was being honest. I guess the term blue balls was a misnomer. The condition should be renamed Byzantium balls, although technically I was talking about my penis, not my testicles.

Maybe this was my contribution to the superhero world: a perpetual hard-on. I failed to see what kind of super powers it would give me; certainly no offensive capabilities, and I didn't really want to think about defending myself with my cock, even if it was as hard as granite. It might be useless as a means of reproduction, pleasure or even urination, but it was still a source of male pride. I didn't want to risk having it injured, or worse, removed.

What would they call me? Captain Stiffy? Bonerman? Woody Johnson?

I rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness of my thoughts. This erection wasn't permanent, and I was going to whack off to prove it.

I jumped into the shower and quickly adjusted the water. Wasting no time, I grabbed the soap and lathered up my hands. I ran one over my shaft a few times. It was ultrasensitive and nearing painful. I proceeded slowly with a gentle touch but even after several minutes, there was no build-up happening, barely a hint of pleasure amidst my caution. Of course, that made me feel even more self-conscious and anxious.

Touching myself wasn't nearly as exciting as it had been when Bella was watching, which was ludicrous. It's not as if I could ask her to come over every time I wanted to masturbate. She'd be here so often that I'd have to ask her to move in. I was a healthy seventeen-year-old whose sexual experience began and ended with my hand. Requiring a third party just wasn't going to cut it.

I closed my eyes to focus on the sensation, and the minute I did, Bella's face popped into my mind. I did my best to erase it from my thoughts by purposely thinking about other women I was attracted to, but they always somehow morphed back into Bella. It was frustrating and irritating until I realized that her image was helping to build some momentum in conjunction with the movement of my hand. With sudden clarity, I realized it was tied to what I'd just witnessed. Watching Bella masturbate a few feet away from me had been the hottest thing I'd ever seen. It made perfect sense that my mind wandered back to her; she was the cause of my hard-on to begin with.

It was simple after that. Once I understood why she kept appearing in my thoughts, it was easy to stop fighting and go with it. I welcomed the images of her pillowy lips, tense fingers, and thrusting hips. Though the clarity of the images was already fading, it was more than enough to speed my body's response. I remembered the sound of the words she muttered as she came, incoherent to my ears, but that was to my advantage. I made them louder and more demanding as my orgasm approached. In my head, she was begging for me, and my hand just approximated the movement I saw. Within moments I exploded with a low, raspy grunt.

It was simple biology, really. I saw a pretty girl touch herself and recalling the experience lead to an orgasm. I was relieved in more ways than one. Not only was my erection gone, I was able to maintain my masturbatory self-sufficiency. Now I just had to figure out what to say to Bella.

After dressing, I went to find her and did a double take when I saw her sitting on the trunk of the Volvo. The image was oddly comforting, at least in the sense that I knew her well enough to predict her behavior. It made me feel more confident, even if I still had no idea what to say about the afternoon.

Our conversation was a little awkward. I wasn't expecting her accusation that I was using the experiment to satisfy my social requirements. The potentiality in her statement felt too intimate. I wasn't willing to admit anything until I had more time to process the events of the afternoon. Hearing her say that she felt some of the same urges I'd felt made me wonder about the idea of situational emotions again. Maybe I was jumping to conclusions about my feelings for her, although deep down I knew I was more likely looking for a way to invalidate the truth.

I was thankful for Emmett's early morning request for calculus tutoring. It provided me with an excuse to end the afternoon politely. Plus, it gave me time to think because I could do calculus in my sleep.

~8~

"Yo, dude, are you even in there?"

I looked up at Emmett who was staring at me and chuckling.

"Are you done that derivative example?" I asked, ignoring his question.

"Like five minutes ago," he retorted, laughing again. I had no idea that calculus was so comical. "I've tried everything I could think of short of farting on you to get your attention. I snapped my fingers in front of your face, called your name. Hell, I even sang some Lady Gaga. What's got you so deep in thought?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, it's not nothing. There are only two things that a guy our age thinks that hard about: failing a test and sex. So who is she?"

"What makes you think this has to do with a girl?" For a moment I wondered if he could help me sort out my confusion. With experience on his side, he likely knew a whole lot more than I did about women in general.

"I just assumed it was a chick. I'm down with it, if you bat for the other team." There was no judgment in his tone, even if his statement couldn't be further from the truth.

"I think my hands are full enough with girls, one in particular, thanks."

"Did you and your girl have a fight? Did she cheat on you? Go out with your best friend?" Clearly he had no idea who I was referring to. Bella wouldn't do anything of those things.

"Nothing like that."

"Is she pregnant?"

"God, no!"

"Does she like the ladies?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, obviously amused by his suggestion.

"Emmett, get your mind out of the gutter. First of all, she's not my anything, nor has she done anything. It's just…" I didn't know how to finish my sentence. There weren't words that would adequately explain that I was an emotionally retarded almost-adult engaged in a sexual experiment with a girl that I'd recently determined I had feelings for, without sounding like I was completely insane.

He took another guess. "You don't know how to tell her you like her?"

"I'm not sure how I feel," I lied. There were too many details that I wasn't ready to share to simply agree with his inquiry.

"What's the problem? Wait, is she ugly?"

"No, she's quite pretty, but I..." I was beginning to feel exposed, like I'd already said way too much.

"It sounds to me like you've got it bad. Have you kissed her? Have you fuck-"

"God, Emmett, will you shut up? Not only is that none of your business, bragging to people about your sex life makes you a douchebag. We both know I'm no douchebag; that's Mike's department."

"Mike Newton?" he asked.

"The one and only," I mumbled, realizing that I could kill two birds with one stone. I'd been planning to ask for Emmett's help anyway. Doing so would get him off my back at the same time. "He's actually part of the problem."

"Him and your girl?"

"In a matter of speaking, yes, but not the way you're thinking. He tried to force himself on her twice." I watched as Emmett's expression morphed from shock to anger. "A few months ago he drugged her, and then last night at the dance he cornered her and put his hands on her. She's too afraid to press charges, so I really want to teach that son of a bitch that it's not okay to manhandle a woman. I'd be willing to trade a few hours of tutoring for your help."

"I've got your back, bro, no trade required. I happen to love a good fight." He nodded at me, wearing a smug smile. "Besides, you might get your ass kicked if you go after him on your own, no offense, and I couldn't let that happen to a friend. I am curious, though. Do I know her?"

"It shouldn't matter who she is," I replied, hoping the rightness in my words would be enough to convince him, adding, "She's worth it."

"If you say she is that's good enough for me."

Emmett told me that it was customary for a few local families—Emmett's and Mike's included—to have Sunday brunch at the Port Angeles Country Club and invited me to go with him. After brunch, the kids usually hung out at the tennis courts while the parents played golf. There were plenty of secluded areas between the clubhouse and courts where we could corner Mike. I questioned why we couldn't just approach him at school, but Emmett explained that even threatening someone on school property could get us suspended. Mike certainly wasn't worth a permanent mark on my school record.

When Emmett picked me up the next morning, I was anxious and edgy. I was not one for violence, even though Mike kind of had it coming. Since Bella didn't want to press charges, I couldn't come up with a better way to handle the situation, and something had to be done. I couldn't stand the idea of Mike hurting her again. If this was what it took to protect Bella, then so be it.

Emmett's parents were polite and pleasant. I purposely went out of my way to make conversation when they spoke to me so they wouldn't think I was a poor choice of friend for their son. Not that Emmett and I were close friends, but if his parents caught wind of what Emmett and I had planned, I would be the obvious person to blame. Then again, Emmett was a physical guy. His biceps were the same size as my thighs, and I was pretty sure they didn't get that way from playing video games or watching television. For all I knew he ran a secret fight club and had an alternate personality named Kellan Lutz. Ok, not really, but if Mike overpowered me, he was definitely strong enough to step in and squash Mike like a bug.

I am Jack's smirking revenge.

The Fight Club references floated in and out of my mind for the next hour. I was beyond ready to deliver the retaliation Mike deserved.

It happened just like Emmett described. After a conventional meal filled with urbane conversation, his parents left to play eighteen holes while we escaped to the tennis courts. Emmett took it upon himself to corner Mike with no prompting from me at all. I think he planned to enjoy this one way or another.

"Hey, dickface. I heard you like to corner helpless girls." Despite the fact that Emmett's hulking form towered over him, Mike didn't seem put off by it.

"I wouldn't exactly call you helpless girl, Emmett," he replied, punching Emmett's shoulder playfully. Emmett stood stock-still, an immoveable mountain, glaring down at Mike. Once Mike realized Emmett was serious, he looked around and spotted me. "What the fuck are you doing here, Cullen? This is a members-only club."

"Sadly, they seem to admit even the lowest forms of life," I retorted. Leave it to Mike to poke the bear. I stepped up next to Emmett, and though I didn't look nearly as menacing as he did, I stood tall with my shoulders squared.

"Nobody wants you here, Eddie."

"I want him here," Emmett growled, scowling at Mike's smug expression. "Though I can't say the same for you."

Mike held his hands up in protest. "I don't know what Cullen's been saying, but he's full of shit. He's just jealous because I got into Bella's pants, and he can't."

"You're the one who's full of shit-" I began, ready to call him out on his outrageous claim and defend Bella's honor, but Emmett interrupted me.

"Wait a second!" Emmett's head turned toward me. "That stuff you told me about… he did that to Bella?" he asked. Crap. I nodded, and Emmett immediately advanced on Mike, throwing a right hook that connected solidly with Mike's jaw. The force of the blow made Mike stagger backwards. He kept his eyes locked on us as he straightened up, one hand rubbing the red mark left by Emmett's fist.

"You're really taking the word of this loser science-freak over mine?" he asked dubiously.

"He has no reason to lie to me," Emmett replied. "You know, it's bad enough that you did the shit you did. The fact that you did it to Bella makes me want to kick your ass on principle. She's a nice girl who would never hurt anyone. Of all the low-life, creepy-"

"You were fucking giddy when you took Rosalie's V-card. Don't try to convince me you wouldn't have worked overtime if she'd played hard to get with you."

"We both know Bella wasn't playing hard to get," I interjected.

"Shut up, Cullen. You've never even kissed a girl. Like you'd have any idea what a girl meant with all of her mixed signals."

"I'm not stupid enough to misunderstand the word no. That's about as unmixed as a signal can be."

"Spare me the semantics! She's hot as fuck and a virgin to boot. Any one of us would gladly pop her cherry, given the chance. I was just helping her get over her reluctance."

"It sounds like she was more than reluctant, Newton," Emmett decided.

"Bullshit. She's just like every other chick her age, playing head games with the short skirts and vague responses, except she likes to give no response at all. You know what they say about the quiet ones." Mike kept his eyes trained on me, baiting me on purpose.

"What do they say about the quiet ones, Mike? That they need to be drugged to sleep with you? That you need to pin their arms to their bodies and cover their mouths so you can publicly grope them?" My disgust for him twisted angrily in my chest.

"At least I know where her pussy is located. Do you even like girls?"

"You just couldn't stand that she wouldn't give you the time of day. You thought she'd drop to her knees like the other bimbos you've dated, and when she didn't, you couldn't handle it." I knew I'd hit the nail on the head when he scowled, but as quickly as his chagrin registered, it disappeared under a smug smirk.

"Well I haven't had the pleasure of a blowjob from her yet, but I'll be sure to let you know what you're missing out on once I do. I bet she has no gag reflex. She'll probably deep-throat my dick and swallow every last drop I give her."

Something inside me snapped, and, for a millisecond, everything in my field of vision went white. Call it a protective instinct, if you will. It told me that the only way to stop Mike from hurting Bella was physical force. He needed to learn that his abuse would not be tolerated in any way, whether it was the lies that threatened her reputation or his hands on her body. I intended to make it clear that she was completely off-limits to him.

I charged him, using my momentum to tackle him the ground. When he tried to push me off of him, I grabbed his wrists and wrenched them away from his body until he yelped in pain. The distraction gave me enough time to climb on top of him and pin his arms with the weight of my knees. I hit him time after time, my fists moving without my order. I only had a vague sense of what was going on around me, as if my body and brain were disconnected. Blood spattered as my knuckles burst open. Or it might have been Mike's lip, which was also split and bleeding. I had a distant sensation of pain but it was entirely overwritten by the sheer vindication of every punch. The crisp snap of my fist against his skin was almost soothing, proof that my message was being delivered. Mike was too stupid to believe the verbal threat I'd already given him. Physical violence was the only way to force him to take me seriously. It was the only way to ensure he'd leave Bella alone.

Somewhere behind me I heard Emmett laugh and then call my name.

"He's not fighting back."

His words registered in my ears, but their meaning did not.

"Stop, Edward."

Did Mike stop when Bella said no? No, he didn't, and Bella wouldn't fight back. Mike had to pay for what he'd done.

"Edward!"

Eventually I felt Emmett's fingers gripping my elbows, coaxing me to stop. Mike was below me bloodied and battered, either passed out from the beating or unable to open his eyes because they'd swollen shut. He was almost unrecognizable.

And I didn't regret a bit of it.

Emmett offered me a hand and helped me up. Once I was standing, he clapped my shoulder and chuckled. "I didn't think you had it in you, bro."

"Punching Mike?" I asked. It was fairly common knowledge that I had punched Mike before. A connected guy like Emmett surely knew about our scuffle in December.

"No, dude, banging Bella Swan."

A/N: The quotes I used were from the movies A Few Good Men and Fight Club, respectively.

I'd love to hear what you think about the questions Bella asked Edward. Do you think she pushed too hard? Should she have pushed harder? What would you have done in her shoes?

What about Edward? Do you know why he finally acted on his desire to get even with Mike? Were you surprised by how far he took it? Did you enjoy his mental blathering?

And isn't Emmett adorable?

Let me know what you think. Just click the review button and let it rip.