Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Twilight characters or the rights to "Heart Skipped A Beat" as performed by the XX or "Rain" as performed by Patti Griffin, and I will not be earning income from using these materials, although I will pimp them out and say that they should be listened to. Wonderful music. I do, however, own the storyline and any original characters. Thank you.

A/N: Keeping this quick, I promise. Just wanted to say a HUGE thank you to those who have taken the time to review. You are all awesome, and you make my heart sing. Most especially SapphireSage, your awesomeness and willingness to be the first reviewer, and keep reviewing, makes you a wickedly awesome person. Huzzah to you.

A HUGE thank you to the awesome, amazing, wonderful, talented, funny, gorgeous (don't deny it), and sweet woman who keeps my commas in line, and 'that' out of my southern twang ... clarabella75, you have been my lifesaver. Thank you for popping my beta-cherry and working me in slowly ... heh. If you haven't checked out her lovely work, you most definitely should. She's awesome.

Chapter Four:
Welcome to the Floor

"It's been a while
And you've found someone better
But I've been waiting too long to give this up
The more I see I understand
But sometimes … I still need you

Heart skipped a beat
And when I caught it
You were out of reach
But I'm sure, I'm sure …
Sometimes … I still need you"

"Heart Skipped a Beat" – The XX

"Five … Six … Seven …"

The dirty branches grabbed her shirt as she sprinted through the trees, tiny bare feet padding on the open dirt like a kitten at play. When her foot caught on a stray branch, she squelched the small cry of pain that rose in her throat and kept running, giggling to herself as his voice faded in the distance. His count slowed with each numbered yell.

"Eight … nine …"

Her breath came in small pants now. The top of her foot was stinging and brought tears to her eyes, but still she ducked behind the large pine to her right, dragging her fingertips along the bark. They started to sting like her foot.

"…ten! Ready or not, here I come!"

His voice resounded through the forest, bouncing off the trunks and around the leaves before finally making its way to her hiding place. Her heart pounded frantically in her ears. She stilled her breathing and shut her eyes, listening for his footsteps in the leaves. The only sound was the air sucking in between her lips, the steady chirping of the birds in the tree above her, and the faint soothing ripple of the river in the distance.

He always stomped harder when he got close to where he thought she was hiding. She panted softly, squeezing her eyelids together and counting to ten under her breath. Her eyes popped open and her brows furrowed in confusion. She really should have heard him by –

"Gotcha!"

His voice was loud in her ear, and she leapt from her place on the ground. Screams and giggles rained from her parted lips, breaking the noise as she slipped through the loose circle of his arms, racing off towards the sound of the river and the "safe" zone.

Fauna and flora were crushed ruthlessly beneath her bare feet, and her breath hung heavy in her chest, fighting with her body for the oxygen needed to maintain her dead sprint. She could still hear him behind her, gaining ground. So focused was she on placing him behind her, she didn't notice the cool moistening of the ground beneath her feet. Her legs splashed abruptly into water, her small legs enveloped almost to her knees, and she wavered, her feet fighting to keep her balance firm in the muck beneath her.

A passing warning sped through one side of her consciousness and out the other, her parents' recent conversation on how the heavy snow melting had raised the banks of the river – but she was so close. She could see the bench sitting on the rock ledge, a dry haven. A small tributary flowed between her and the bench, the only obstacle between victory and defeat.

And she had never lost a game.

She trudged through, the water rising to her waist. Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth in a show of frustration as her feet threatened to slide, but they managed to hold steady.

She really was the best. She would keep her record, no matter what.

"Izzy!"

His voice was distant, but the slightly incredulous air caught her attention.

He was surprised she could do it.

She turned to stick her tongue out in victory, only three steps away from reaching dry ground, and then she was wet, her head splashing hard against running water, though it felt more like slate. Her ankle stung as it twisted sharply underneath her and thrashed against the algae-covered rock.

Her arms flapped upwards, pulling the rushing water beneath her. She broke the surface and grabbed a lungful of air, while her hands fumbled beneath her, scrambling through the muck for something to grab on to. A loud crashing filled her ears, and her lungs burned from the water she had swallowed in surprise.

The realization hit her as hard and as sudden as the pain in her ankle – she was headed for the river.

As soon as her brain processed her direction, a firm hand caught hold of her wrist and she felt herself being pulled against the current. Her clothes tugged at her, pulling her further into the steady flow of the water, until an arm wrapped around her waist. The water swirled around her as she was dragged against its natural flow, and the weight lifted. She landed roughly on the rock, her mouth flying open to gasp for air.

Immediately, she turned and buried her head in the shoulder of her rescuer, whose arm was still tucked firmly around her shoulders. Warmth radiated out from him and into her chilled skin. His lanky body was so much taller than hers – the upper half of his torso wasn't even wet. Sniffling, she tried not to burst into tears as he pulled her up and into his lap.

"It's okay, Izzy, you're safe. I got you," he murmured. She tried to turn over, but a sharp pain laced through the lower part of her left leg, and she winced.

"Edward," she mumbled, coughing, "my leg … it really hurts."

She heard him hiss through his teeth.

"We need to get you home and to a doctor." He shifted under her weight. "Will you be okay if I pick you up?"

Even the slightest tinge of movement hurt. She nodded and squeezed her eyes shut. He lifted her in one smooth motion, but her ankle still stung. Every step he took was like a small knife working its way through her skin.

"Edward …" she resisted sticking her thumb into her mouth. Instead she cleared her throat and looked up into his bright green eyes, her smile as wide as she could make it and her chin quavering bravely. "You found me."

He chuckled, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, I found you, for once." He planted a kiss on her wet forehead and adjusted her weight in his arms. "That just means next time, it'll be your turn to find me."

"Edward?"

"Hmm?" I vaguely heard Alice murmur beside me, but her attention never truly turned her towards me.

Woodenly, I willed my neck to turn, my gaze falling on the girl beside me in a trance worthy of any Buddhist monk. My vision slowly filtered through, until my focus narrowed on the self-satisfied blonde behind her. The scene abruptly rocketed back into real time.

The air exploded into a massive crash of catcalls, whistles, and applause. Alice began to jump up and down, joining the crowd in her enthusiasm. Rosalie sat back, warmly smug and rightly proud.

I slid off of the bar stool unthinkingly. My knees gave underneath me, and I caught myself, the heels of my hands digging into the sharp wooden rim of the bar.

Oh.

So that was why I couldn't feel my legs. They were completely numb.

The drummer began another count and the guitar strummed.

I shut my eyes and mentally screamed, unable to move from the one place I never wanted to be again. It was like replaying the most gruesome murder in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre – only this time I was in the movie, the fully perceptive victim.

I was paralyzed.

I swore in an instant to sacrifice my camera, my firstborn, and my original Ansel Adams if there was only some way for me to wake from the hallucinatory nightmare I was currently living.

A lilting, and distinctly feminine, voice wove its way into the music and through the cheers of the crowd.

Heaven-sent release, as thought I was being dunked in ice water, washed through me. Unfortunately, the breaking of the trance left a shaft of nausea stabbing through to my spine, working into my every pore, until I swallowed and felt the gin rising up my throat.

I shoved myself away from the bar and almost fell again as my world began to tilt, but I couldn't stop. Pushing my way into the throng at my left, I ignored Alice's faint call from behind me and the mingling sounds of indignation from others in the crowd as I shoved past them. I might not have been a Moses like Rosalie, but I sure as hell was going to force my way through the water.

My hands hit the bathroom door with a hard smack, and I shoved past the annoyed skank who looked as if she had been going for the exit. My stomach and head spun in synchronous motion.

"Excuse me?" her nasal voice rang in my ears, not assisting me in my goal of never hearing again. And yet, all I wanted was to hear, everything and nothing at once, a swirl of memories distant and fresh, all juxtaposed and backwards until I couldn't see, hear, think, or speak.

"Move," I growled, the only word I could push through lips that felt as though they had decided to represent the way the rest of me felt – dry, cracking, and peeling against a total rejection of every other sense.

I don't know what caused her to obey, but obey she did, leaving me gratefully alone as I grabbed hold of the first porcelain sink I could find and proceeded to watch everything I had eaten in the last twenty four hours swirl down the drain in a dizzying array of colors.

I felt my stomach hollow out. My fists slipped against the hard surface; a cold sweat wrapped itself around my hands and coated the back of my neck. The sink began to shake under my fingertips, a vibration that nearly forced me backwards into the wall behind me. It wasn't until my shoulders pressed into the cold metal of the stall I realized I had been the one shaking. I willed them to stop, but my traitor hands continued to tremble, unresponsive to any will I might have had left.

Alive.

No, dead.

His name clogged like a lump in my throat. I was unable to create even the sounds inside of the commotion steadily rising to a tremor in my mind. I swallowed the hard lump down, shoving myself inside of the stall and firmly locking the door behind me. My hand remained pressed against the wall in an effort to keep my body upright. Bile rose in my throat, a burning acid that complimented my throbbing head and rolling stomach.

Dead.

I had seen it.

The memories rolled in like waves, night black in a tempestuous ocean slamming upon my fragile consciousness.

"Isabella … there's … there's been … an accident."

Edward Anthony Masen

Beloved Son.

June 20, 1984 – September 30, 2001

Grey granite. Grey coffin. Grey ground. Grey sky.

"You … you … lied! You … promised!"

"Isabella, you should come home." Silence. "Isabella."

"No."

Rain. Cold, hard, wet. So much rain. All salt, beads on my tongue that dropped, one by one. Pierced my shoulders, sank through layers of cotton. Rain.

Hollow. Empty. No more.

"Izzy?" Emmett.

"It's Bella now, Em."

The hollow aching began again, weaving its way up my spine. I felt the tendrils of fear begin to spread through my veins, ice cold spikes that aimed directly for some place in the center of me.

Everything I had worked to hide, everything I had buried began to clamber to the surface. Pain, waves and waves of pain. An ocean of pain to dip myself into and only come out scalded. That's what it had become now, my suppression, years of hiding released in a scalding geyser of pain.

Sometimes it's all you can do to make it to the end. The end of whatever – the day, the task, the moment, the emotion, the thought.

The pain.

I was at the end – the end of my rope.

Dead.

No, alive.

Hacking coughs ripped through my body, one word swimming in my head and sinking into my stomach. It had been so many years, trying years I had spent hiding from the pain … so long since I had heard the name. So long since it had passed across my lips. My throat opened. My mind spun until my eyelids slid shut. Focus.

"Edward."

Barely a whisper, and yet the pain began to retreat, back to the place I had buried it once before. I felt it there, still throbbing, still scratching at the inside, but bearable … manageable … livable.

The bile stained the back of my throat, but the water I sipped in handfuls from the sink washed most of the acridness back where it belonged. Taking one deep breath, I raised my gaze to the mirror, expecting the ravaged beast of war that should have come across in my reflection.

But it was only me. Hair, makeup, jewelry still intact. A look on a disembodied face that was oddly … disappointed.

Where were the gaping wounds on my heart, the inner places torn to shreds? Where were the guts hanging out and the spine, twisted grotesquely from pain? Where were the scalding burns, hot and wicked, wrapping twisted, angry red marks across my skin?

Where were the tears?

There were no lines, no streaks, no shreds – nothing but the inner wreckage to represent the pain, to tell the world that I suffered.

There was just … me.

"Bella …"

I started at my name, the hand that had absently wondered to my cheek dropping to my side. Alice's face was creased with worry in the mirror. Her hand was cold against my bare back.

"Are you feeling okay?" she murmured, the sides of her mouth pulling up in a weak smile, encouraging me, but I could hear the true concern in her tone. Alice wasn't all southern sugar and shallowness.

But even she wouldn't know the truth, my truth.

A weak smile I prayed was convincing enough reappeared on my lips.

"Yeah," I grabbed a disposable towel from the wire bin on the counter top. "I guess I downed those martinis faster than I thought." Automatically my hands dabbed at the corners of my mouth, drying the remnants of water. Alice smiled, relief written on her face. Her hand found my arm.

"You do look a little green around the edges, sweetie. A little water should fix you right up, though."

She patted my hand, and I allowed her to lead me from the restroom, grasping at the last few straws of myself in the moments I had left. A mantra formed, almost reaching my lips before I sealed them shut.

He is dead. Trevor is alive. He is dead. Trevor is alive.

With each step I could feel the sentence vibrate through my body, becoming reality. It was the truth. He was dead, and no wishing on any living rock stars could bring him back again. Trevor was here, and no matter the resemblance, I would not let myself come to such ridiculous conclusions.

I was so caught up in my mantra, it wasn't until we reached the bar that I noticed the music was no longer live. The band must have finished their set. And Rosalie was nowhere to be found.

I slid into a bar stool, breathing a mental sigh of relief, and looked up into the brilliant blue eyes of the kindest bartender. He was also my new best friend and lifesaver.

"Figured you might could use this," he drawled, sliding a towering glass of ice water and two Advil over the bar top. I didn't particularly need the Advil, but I figured playing along to keep Alice happy wouldn't hurt.

"Do you always come in this handy, or is it just the friends of the pretty ones you cater to?" I smiled, tossing back the medication. Jasper's chuckle was deep, and I saw Alice look away out of the corner of my eye. Her hand on my arm tightened imperceptibly.

"I cater to all pretty girls," he leaned across the bar top. I saw his eyes flicker to Alice's turned face. "But I must admit, I guess I have been caught. I do take special care of the beautiful ones' friends."

In an instant he swept away, moving to a new customer who had appeared down the bar, just as Alice's head shot back around faster than an elastic band, her eyes wide as tiny moons.

"I –" she stuttered. I wanted to laugh, but the rest of me hadn't quite recovered from my own battle. My vision cleared on the glass in front of me, and I took another long draw of the water, my new found mantra regaining the foreground in my head.

Just in the nick of time.

"Hey."

I choked, the water spilling from my mouth and back into the glass. Alice recovered from her stupor faster than I, and her instant social graces saved me for a few moments.

"Hey, Trevor, you guys were fantastic tonight!" she gushed, throwing her arms around his neck and planting a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Cause we suck every other night …"

Alice's laugh was a high pitched ring. I heard the slap of a hand on cloth.

"Oh, come on, you know what I mean. You're always great."

He is dead. Trevor is alive.

He chuckled. The sound ripped through my gut. Rosalie cleared her throat.

"Bella, I'd like to introduce you to my fiancé."

My time was up. Her voice was saccharine sweet, and I could hear the overtones of her attempts at politeness from where I sat. She was trying to be nice. I couldn't play the bitch card. Damn her.

He is dead. Trevor is alive. He is dead. Trevor is alive.

I stood, planting my feet, wobbling slightly in my heels. But somehow, I did it. I turned around. I did not fall. I stepped forward.

"Hi."

A young man, clad in a fitted, blue cotton shirt and jeans, one hand clenched in his fiancée's, smiled softly, crookedly. My heart stopped.

The dark reddish-brown hair spread out in messy waves, pieces falling haphazardly into his eyes, somehow limp and yet alive. Electric green eyes smiled into mine, their color fading into to a glowing brown that glistened with golden specks flickering in the low light. A rough shadow made places of his chin and cheeks grainy, rough. The smile. The face.

The smile.

He is … dead …

The words echoed between my ears, everything occurring in mere milliseconds so only the briefest gap occurred between my words.

"Hi … I–I'm Swan," I stumbled. I cleared my throat, and felt a deep blush that must have come from my toes. I smiled. I recovered. "Bella Swan."

His smile grew.

"Cullen," he leaned over, conspiratorially. The hand previously holding Rosalie's reached out to clasp mine from where it hung, halfway in front of me. "Trevor Cullen."

Alice and Rosalie's laughter at his mimicry became mere background noise.

I flinched away from his skin, but his grasp was so tight, my hand only slid out of his minimally at my rough motion. Heat coursed through my flesh and wound its way around my wrist, temporarily stunning me. I looked up, and his eyes caught mine.

They were taken aback for the briefest moment, narrowing imperceptibly when he leaned backwards. He was still not letting go.

I flexed my hand once. Instantly the pressure was gone, but not the heat. My flesh burned, and I dropped my hand to my side, resisting the urge to clench my fist. Trevor wasn't quite as stealthy. I watched as he slid his hand down the side of his jeans and slipped it into his pocket, noticeably flexing his fingers. He watched me, hints of confusion showing in his gaze until his fiancée retrieved his attention.

"Are you coming tomorrow?" Her look was not overly pleased. She knew he had been distracted – by me. Shit.

"I – um," he muttered. Rosalie rolled her eyes. Alice became his savior, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings.

"I don't think he wants to come to lunch with us again, Rose," she smiled. Her face dropped suddenly in horror, as if she had done something unforgivable like forgetting to invite dear Aunt Margaret to the wedding. "Oh, Bella, I never even thought to ask you to come along!"

I smiled as naturally as I could, focusing all my energy on my roommate. I would exit this situation gracefully … even if I fell on my face and died on the way out.

"Considering that you've already dragged me here tonight against my will, I think I'll have to take a rain check."

Her face began to slip into a pout, until Rosalie, of all people, became my savior.

"I think giving Isabella some time alone to settle in would be only polite, Alice." She tore her cutting glance from me and turned her attention to my roommate. "Besides, you and I haven't had time for us in a while."

The biting undertone was no more hidden than a celebrity's baby bump, but her statement cheered Alice and successfully removed me from their lunch plans, so I couldn't begrudge her much.

"Was it worth it, though?"

His voice was quiet. Tinges of an accent that didn't sound like any I had ever heard highlighted his low tenor. My eyes caught his for only a moment, but even the moment was too long.

He was staring at me intently, almost unabashedly now, and I could see the calculation in his eyes. He wanted to see my reaction. For some reason this knowledge struck a sudden chord of anger within me. I stifled the sarcasm on the tip of my tongue, not wanting to endanger my situation as Alice's roommate.

"Yeah, sure," I bit out, choking on the words that my natural defense pressed against my lips.

"I know she had a great time, Trevor, she's just a little jet-lagged at the moment. Mean old me, dragging her out into all hours of the night after she just flew in this morning," Alice glossed over my inherent rudeness, but the pointedly hidden look she shot my way was full of wary questions.

Smiling dolefully at Rose, she stepped over to the bar top and called after Jasper. I turned back to face the bar, leaving the happy couple to themselves. The blonde bartender appeared in a moment. And even though I still had yet to take my eyes off of my friend, I could feel his eyes … still watching me.

He. Is. Dead.

"I'll see you Tuesday, right?" Alice's voice was quiet beside me.

"Of course, babe," Jasper smiled, winking at her and absently brushing her knuckles with his fingertips as he cleaned out a glass. Her eyes seemed so fixated; I almost hated to pull her away. Almost.

"Alice."

"Okay, okay, we're leaving. Diva," she murmured under her breath.

"Fairy," I shot back, flicking her against the shoulder, distracting myself in the familiar repertoire.

"Princess."

"Dwarf."

"Shut up."

My tongue flew out in victory before I could stop it. I almost bit it off when he started laughing. My heart double timed as the sound filtered in and out of my brain. Dead …

I heard Alice and Rosalie behind me, finalizing plans to meet at the sushi bar downtown. His eyes still stared into mine, curiously. They trapped me, leaving reality in a blur of background noises, until a hand clamped itself around my wrist, tugging me from the club and into the thick, muggy night air. I slipped from my trance at the loss of contact, grimacing the instant sweat layered my skin.

Swimming through air was not something I planned on getting used to.

I ran one hand down my arm, attempting to dislodge the liquid, while Alice marched in front of me, silent. Jesus. She was pissed.

Well … whatever. Twenty questions wasn't exactly my game of choice right now either.

Both of us slid into the car, silent. Alice pulled away from the club, her continued silence fair indication to me she still didn't want to talk. Which is why I nearly jumped out of my skin when Alice turned on me.

"So, was it the challenge of winning Rose over that made you into a total bitch tonight, or do you really just enjoy ogling other girls' fiancés for fun?"

Her hands were clenched around the steering wheel as she pulled off onto the interstate.

"I – I," I stuttered, her irate question an unexpectedly abrupt change from the shallow, self-pitying stupor I had previously been occupying myself with. Alice let out a sharp sigh. The sound brought me to my senses.

"Excuse me? Like you gave me a chance!" I turned towards the driver's seat, rolling my hand onto my hip. "'Little miss virginal here. Bella's never been past first base with all fifty-five'," I intoned, pitching my voice at the exact, nasal tone I knew imitated Mrs. Brandon – and bringing Alice face to face with her worst fears.

"I do not sound like my mother!"

"Well, you sure as hell do gossip like her!"

"Better to be my mom than yours! 'I'm Renee, I abandoned my daughter, and sleep with as many men under age twenty-five as I possibly can before I'm old and crusty!'"

"You whore!"

"Slut!"

"Skank."

"Bitch."

"Fine."

I had to give her that one. I sank lower into my seat, pouting and glowering at the dashboard.

"Look, I'm sorry … that was … well, it was a really low blow … I know you can't help your bitch moments … truce?"

I shrugged, indifferent and petulant. Alice took my silence as a yes. I didn't care. I always let her. And both of us knew better than to hold the other's violent temperaments or annoying traits against them. It was just who we were. Her tiny hand tentatively reached across the car and sat on top of my forearm.

"What was up with you tonight, Bella?" Her lips flattened into a line. "You were acting like … like you'd never seen a guy before …" she paused, "… or like you had seen him before."

My stomach rolled uncomfortably. I could feel the gin rising in my throat. Again.

"No, I-I … I just …" I sighed, pushing myself upright. It was time. My self had been torn off for too long tonight. The walls slid upwards, clamping firmly into place. I patched the broken pieces, pulled up the torn insides that had been slowly bleeding out. With one more breath, I laid my other hand over Alice's on my wrist.

"I'm sorry, Alice, it's just the jet lag. I swear it's bringing out the worst in me, and God knows how bad I am when I'm normal," I squeezed her fingers. "I promise, I'll make it up to you and her next time … okay?"

A whispered "thank you" was her only reply. But I saw the light smile, and I was surprised to find my own lips curving upwards naturally.

After returning home, Alice and I exchanged a light hug before we parted ways, her promising not to wake me before she left to meet Rosalie, since she had to leave early and slip by her interior design office before lunch.

I performed my nightly ritual and followed it up by shoving any boxes from beside my bed that I knew would impede late night bathroom trips. I slipped quickly between the cool, cotton sheets. My eyes shut immediately, recognizing the time for sleep had come; however, my brain wasn't quite as well-trained.

Finally, I rolled onto my side, tucking my hands underneath my cheek. My eyes opened, transfixed on the dim lights and traffic that still roamed outside of my third story apartment window. My body was fighting a full out civil war.

Brain, intellect, and reason – all three longed to dissect every moment of the evening: the eyes, the hair, the voice, the body, the hand … the heat.

Stomach, heart, and emotions firmly disagreed.

My vote went to heart. I didn't want to analyze anything. I wanted to hide. I had been happy hiding. Maybe my plans for hiding hadn't made me many friends, but that worked for me.

Hope was only a weakness at this point. Love was worse. I didn't need love. I didn't want love. Love only made you drop your guard … and that made you hurt. Again.

One solitary raindrop splashed against the window.

Like the sky was crying for me.

Dead … or alive? I didn't know. Thoughts scattered with every slow breath as the rain began to fall, a slow drizzle that splattered against the window, finally lulling me to sleep. There was only one thing I knew for sure.

I never wanted to see Trevor Cullen again.

The ending of this chapter was specifically inspired by "Rain" by Patti Griffin. Because it is perfection. Thank you for your thoughts and your love. Till next time … je vous espère une bon vie. Á bientôt.