Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Twilight characters or the rights to "Don't Blame Yourself" as performed by Andrew Belle, and I will not be earning income from using these materials. I do, however, own the storyline and any original characters. Thank you.

A/N: *waves* Hi all! Before beginning, I'd just like to offer a huge thank you to everyone who is favorite-ing, alerting, reviewing, reading, and being just plain amazing. You all are what keep this story going, (well, that plus my incessant need to finish it), and I hope you know how much I appreciate you waiting, reading, and loving this as much as I do. I know I say it to those who review, but even to those silent readers, I hope you're enjoying just as much as the others are. :)

Before I let you move on, I must give a HUGE thank you to clarabella75, my fantastic beta-extraordinaire, and puppymama0909, my super awesome ficwife and pre-reader. I am lucky enough to call these wonderful, talented ladies friends. And I DO mean talented. If you haven't read "Home" or "Isolation", you are seriously missing out.

And lastly, a very special thank you to my wonderful friends and the women who hold my heart (and my writing) - Kd Masen, Mash, Ali, and Bexly, you ladies help me keep moving forward. Even amidst the distractions. :) Love you!

And now ... I present - The Aftermath.

Happy reading!

Chapter Thirteen:
A Slow Descent

Oh, don't blame yourself
Cause I know that you'll try
But you need someone to be
Someone better than me in your life

"Don't Blame Yourself" – Andrew Belle

x0x0x0x0x0x

If it were even possible, the room was suffused with an even more suffocating stillness as soon as Rosalie's presence dissipated from our view. My eyes were locked on the ring. Its small, silver surface sank, floating whimsically to the bottom of the glass, where it nestled gently, diamonds pressed to the side, the rest lost in a haze of red wine.

I couldn't look away. Eyes were on me, encircling me, and I didn't know whose they were, but I had a pretty good guess, and that guess had me mentally sprinting from the room, screaming. An eternity of mere seconds later, I flinched when wooden chair legs scraped noisily against the floor, Emmett's arm brushing mine while his hasty, crutch-filled exit stirred the loose pieces of my hair.

My worst fears and, I couldn't deny, greatest hopes were confirmed. My heart was pounding in my throat, silence pressing against my ears, when the soundless bubble came to a sudden and harsh pop.

High-pitched female tones mingled with a low-bass, words indefinable while their chairs slid across the floor and back again, a jumbled mess of pressed looks, warbled speech, and misplaced diatribes of excuses. A well-rounded minute later, Marilyn and Randall Hale were gone, vanishing almost as magically as their daughter, nothing but dirty dishes and a wine-soaked ring to mark their unimpressive presence.

I glanced over at Jasper from beneath my lashes, curious at the reaction of the only remaining Hale. His eyes were focused on Alice, his façade a perfect divide between the depths of laughter and the mortification of his relation to … well, that.

It seemed almost fitting that Carlisle Cullen's smooth voice would break the traumatized atmosphere.

"Well, that was certainly … interesting." He chuckled a bit, the uncomfortable diffusion of a bomb already blown to bits. "You are all welcome to stay for a nightcap, or feel free to head home at your convenience." His eyes flickered to his wife, who took his hand, both standing in unison. "Esme and I are choosing to retire for the evening. Trevor, I'm sure you can entertain anyone who wishes to stay."

"I'd be glad to."

I glanced over at his name to find him fixated. My entire body turned away, scalded. It took everything I had not to breathe heavily.

"Thank you, son." Carlisle gave a quick, formal nod to the three of us who remained. "I hope you can forgive the unpleasantries of the evening." His eyes lit on me. The flames from Trevor's gaze intensified in his adoptive father's. "I look forward to seeing you again. Good night."

As he turned away, every muscle in my body unwound, an overwhelming relief from the intensity which I hadn't even felt snaking through my system. I nearly sank into my chair before Alice's cold fingers on my overheated skin halted me.

"Bella –" Her high voice began, soft in my ear, but the sound was off, oddly syncopated with a much lower tone. Treward.

"Bella –" he began in the same interval as my roommate, both halting and glancing at each other, Alice in annoyance. I heard Alice's inhale and flinched, immediately prepared for the verbal lashing.

Instead, all of her breath blew by me, a rush of hot air.

"Ali." Jasper's deep baritone was low, almost humming her name. "It's not his fault. Why don't we give them a few minutes?" His deep blue eyes flickered to mine, hints of warning playing in their depths. "We'll go, and you can let me explain."

She wavered, her eyes fixed on me and then Trevor, flickering back and forth between us a few times until finally giving in to the blue-eyed bartender's hand on her shoulder.

"Okay." She turned, her small arms barely making it around my shoulders. "Be careful, Bella." Her voice brushed against my ear. "Don't jump in before you're ready."

If you only knew.

Alice's heels clacked across the wood. All of the air disappeared, sucked from my lungs at the same time it fled the room.

We were alone, and it was silent. I slid behind the chair, my hands sliding over the top, a subconscious barrier. Trevor's fingers tapped against the table, rhythmic, until he looked at me. He stilled completely when his eyes met mine, and I felt a pull, the indescribable draw of polar opposite magnetism. My hand slid down the front of the chair.

"Bella …"

I laughed.

It flew from my mouth, the beginnings of a hysterical chuckle, and I pulled my hand from the chair and pressed the back of it to my mouth. I shook my head, swallowing the sound, eyes fixed on the parquet floor and the pretty Persian rug as I took a few steps back.

"I –" I tried to speak, to tell him I had to go, to find Alice, because obviously my mental state was deteriorating in front of us both, but short, sharp giggles interspersed with hiccupping-coughs were all that would bubble up from behind my self-made barrier. "I – I just – I can't," I managed, now steadily backing towards the wood frame door, my speed increasing. His eyebrow rose slightly, dark green eyes watching me intently.

I couldn't meet those eyes, knowing.

I spun on my heel, taking two steps toward the door when a sickening snap vibrated in my eardrums, and then suddenly, I was a crumpled pile of red satin, golden heel dangling from my oddly twisted ankle by a frayed strap.

Shit. I liked those shoes.

It was my only thought before the pain hit and I sucked air in through my teeth, hissing. The aching throb in my ankle was intense, swallowing my concentration so that I nearly jumped from my skin when a warm, soft, electric hand wrapped around my shoulder. Instead, I flinched backwards, ready to hit the door frame – only to be wrapped in the same current.

"Bella, are you –"

"No, no, I'm fine, I'm … I'm sorry," I stuttered. A remnant of a hiccup rocked me, and I pressed my hand back to my mouth.

"Here." His voice was low, his hand reaching around to remove the remnants of my shoe and then sliding in front of my face to offer assistance. I waved him off, attempting to right myself on my own. Stabbing pain shot through my heel and up my calf from my ankle as I fell right back onto my ass. "Come on, Bella. Don't be so stubborn."

"Fine," I glowered. Did he always have to be right? Reaching forward, I took the hand which had reappeared in front of my face, bracing myself against the oak frame and standing to balance on one heeled foot.

His hands fell to my hips, hovering over the fabric of my dress, never quite touching, but I could feel the heat on my skin. If I had stuck a match in the space, I bet I could have lit us both on fire. I inhaled deeply, hoping the oxygen might make me a bit less edgy. I should have known better.

Every bit of him filtered into my lungs, from the sharp, warm scent of his cologne, to the leftover remnants of soap, to the warm musk that was his alone, the complexities imprinting his scent on my brain.

Christ … this was not going as planned …

"You have no reason to apologize –"

"Yes, I do." My eyes were squeezed tightly, hands fisted at my side as I turned and attempted a weak hobble towards the dining room table. His hands hovered over me, waiting for me to fall.

I will not touch him.

"Didn't I ask you once not to apologize to me?" It was nearly a growl, so close to my ear I sucked in a quick breath, bringing more of him into my system, saturating my senses.

"Mmhmm," I nodded, inhaling again. God … it was a better high than snapshot and muscle-car driving combined … man-scent high.

"Good."

At that one word, I wobbled.

A small shot of adrenaline ran through me when his hands found purchase, turning me to face him. My arms almost flew into his chest. I looked up at him, breathing in more. I couldn't get enough. He studied me, his green eyes flicking over my face, off-center lips tugged down in a half-frown.

"Bella …"

Releasing my hips, he cleared his throat and stepped back, placing inches of distance between us, almost as if he were afraid of being burned. My chest clenched at his reaction. Turning, I finished the distance of my wounded limp and dropped into a dining room chair, bringing my injured ankle up to rest on my knee. He followed and slid gracefully into the seat beside me.

We were inches apart, not touching, and I could literally feel the ants beneath my skin. Everything in me wanted to leave, and fast. I fidgeted with the tips of my fingers.

The silence was awkward, more uncomfortable than not, and I was ten seconds away from standing and asking why he had brought me here when he reached his hand over and splayed his fingers across my ankle.

I was surprised by the gesture, and while the visceral part of me wanted to shove his hand further up my leg, the tamer, more conscientious part of me simply watched, fascinated, as he began to rub small circles around the joint, the motion equal parts callused strength and gentle fervor.

"Are you okay?"

The words slipped from my lips before I realized they were gone. He snorted, his thumb stilled, eyes lifted from my leg to the crook of my mouth.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

I couldn't bring myself to answer; instead, I merely watched him, my eyes hovering over his face, over the creased brow wrinkling the long scar that disappeared into his hairline, and over the small, unnoticeable nick of white flesh stamped directly underneath his eye. After a moment, he looked down and back up again.

"I won't say it was expected." A weak smile stretched across his lips, rueful. "But … yeah," he paused, eyes meeting mine, "surprisingly, I'm a lot better than you'd expect me to be." He laughed, no joy in the sound, hand leaving my leg and running through his hair. "Shit, I sound like such a prick." His hand remained relaxed while his entire body leaned towards me, eyes closed.

I just wished his hand would make its way back to my ankle.

"It's not like I asked for it, you know? I just … I can't believe it – it's over. Like that. And me. God … it's so screwed up, but in the middle of everything, all I can bring myself to feel is … relief."

And the gods saw fit to grant my request. His hand drifted absently from his hair and back to my steadily swelling ankle, the pad of his thumb rubbing slow, gentle circles on the sore spots while his eyes reached beyond my head, searching the wall.

"Why in the hell should I feel relieved? It doesn't make sense. Hell, I'm not even completely sure why she broke it off, I mean, I know women do crazy things, but Rose … well, that wasn't her crazy. That was planned. I kind of wish she'd have thought to clue me in, but still … it's almost like … like I knew it was coming." Small tremors wracked my body as I fought to keep my lips sealed. Just because he was free didn't mean I could break my promise."I guess I don't understand. I love Rose … I know I do. But I just don't …"

"You're not in love with her."

The words had faded from his lips, finishing easily on mine. His gaze focused and came to rest on me, surprised.

"Yeah. How did you …"

I nearly bit my tongue. In my mind, everything made perfect sense. How could anyone ever know how to be in love if they didn't even know who they were? Of course, making that pronouncement here … well, I had the distinct feeling it wouldn't go over well.

"I – I just … guessed," I shrugged. The crashing sound of ceramic on ceramic effectively popped our bubble. I glanced over at the tiny woman cleaning the table and reluctantly pulled my ankle away from his grasp.

Treward's hand shot back immediately as he pressed the palm of it against his jeans.

"I'm so sorry, Bella, fuck … I've been rambling, and you need to get ice on that ankle and get it home." He turned to look over his shoulder at the woman all in black, currently retreating towards what I assumed to be the kitchen. "Sara, will you please bring an ice pack back with you for Miss Swan." As soon as the woman nodded her acquiescence, he turned back to me, rising and offering me his hand. "Why didn't you stop me?'

The black and purple slowly spreading across the injured joint didn't allow me to avoid touching him this time. Instead, I sucked in a breath and concentrated on not falling and providing him with the best answer I could give.

"I guess … you just looked like you needed to talk. And I know what it's like to need someone to listen."

Neither of us spoke again as he tugged me, unsteadily, to my feet. Sara appeared an instant later, dropping the cold plastic wrapped in a plain white towel into Treward's hand and shooting me a sympathetic look before retreating to her job.

I sucked in an unsteady breath as his hand wrapped firmly around the top of my waist, finger tips brushing innocently across my ribs, directly underneath my breast. Fuck … this man either had exquisite timing or absolutely no control over his hands.

"You okay?" he murmured, arm wrapping more tightly around me as I hobbled another step. He had taken my labored breathing for pain. I almost laughed, but instead I merely nodded.

We continued this way into the sitting room, me taking one hesitant step, Treward practically carrying me through the rest of the motion, me in one arm, my shoe and ice pack in the other.

However, even his careful treatment of my leg and corresponding body weight didn't hamper Alice's squeak when she noticed me hobble into the room.

"Bella! What did you do?" Her voice rang in the high ceilinged room. I cringed.

"Alice, I'm fine," I hissed, half in annoyance and half from stepping off-kilter out of Treward's gasp.

"What do you mean you're fine, your ankle is twice the size of the other one and your poor shoe is in shreds! I can't believe even two inch heels are too dangerous for your poor body –"

"Alice." Jasper, ever the narcotic for his miniature devil, pressed a hand gently against her lips. "Hush. Bella's fine." I watched as his blue eyes glanced over Treward's hand against my rib cage, one eyebrow lifting minutely before falling back into place. "Although I'm sure she needs to get home as soon as possible and get it elevated."

Alice glared, clawing her boyfriend's hand away from her face.

"Look, I don't completely understand what's going on between you two, but just know – you better figure your shit out, and fast. I'm tired of my friends ending up burned in your crossfire."

With one last petulant glare, Alice disappeared down the hallway, presumably in the direction of Jasper's car.

"Well," I nodded, pushing lightly against Treward's shoulder to release the pressure, as his hand had grown tighter around my waist with each of my roommate's words, "three points for Alice."

Trevor simply glanced up at Jasper.

"She thinks this is my fault?"

Jasper sighed sharply through his nose, fixing Trevor with an amused glance.

"Not saying that it's all bad, man, but, in the scheme of things … would she be completely wrong?"

One knowing eyebrow-raise later, Jasper shoved his hands into his dress pant pockets and followed his girlfriend, hopefully with the intent to pull the car to the front of the walk. I glanced over to find Trevor's chest rising and falling heavily, his eyes fixed on my steadily swelling ankle. Well … Alice certainly knew how to make an exit.

"Hey," I mumbled, shoving the elbow closed to his side into his ribcage. "Pretty soon I'm gonna sprout roots."

"Hmm," he glanced up, clouded eyes shifting to recognition. "Oh, shit, Bella … fuck, this ice is gonna melt in my hand. I'm sorry, I'm such a dipshit."

We hobbled forward.

"It's okay." I resisted the temptation to lay my head on his shoulder in comfort. Alice's bad side was never a pretty place to be. "I'll work on getting the spoiled child to release the claws from your neck later. She's just worried about Rosalie. Alice tends to lash out."

He chuckled through his nose, the sound not quite happy. "Thanks."

My heart sank. I wanted him to smile again. It was wrong, so very, very wrong, and I had no right to even ask for that one grace, but the need for the sight of his lips curling upwards, eyes alight, just for me, just like they used to, burned like a ball of granite in my chest.

I hesitated and then opened my mouth.

"It's not your fault, you know."

"Yeah."

I glanced upwards and then at him from the corner of my eye, halting my step forward. He jerked against my sudden stop, his arm still latched around my waist.

"I'm serious. Just because your fiancée kind of fell for ou – my best friend, it doesn't make it your fault."

"Excuse me?"

"Look, I'm just saying what I know – well, what I think I know. You can talk to her about it later. I just," I paused, sighing. "You're a good person, Treward. A great person, in fact. Even with all the … shit, between us, you stopped it. You were good to her. And her choices, what she did? None of it was your fault."

It was all mine.

I glanced up to find him staring at me, green eyes slightly wide, lips parted in a thin line, confusion and disbelief written into every line of his face. I counted the seconds, all the way to twenty, before I got really uncomfortable.

"Um, you know, that whole myth about your face sticking that way?" I flicked my finger in a wide arc around his face. "I think we're about to find out if it's true."

"I – I," he stammered before pulling his gaze away and stepping again, my feet automatically following his. "Okay."

Speechless again. I was beginning to see a pattern.

We finished the hobble to the doorway in silence, Jasper's car patiently idling while overly generous hand gestures were erupting from the small child in the passenger seat. Neither of them were paying attention to us, and so they didn't flinch when Treward halted, this time jerking me to a stop.

"Can I call you?"

"Um – I – uh. What?"

The corner of his mouth lifted at my lame finish.

"You know, that new technology we have nowadays. It kind of rings, when someone wants to talk to you. I could have sworn I'd seen you with one."

Oh my God. He was mocking me.

Well … it was a step.

"Har har," I intoned, rolling my eyes.

"Bella, I'm serious. Can I call you?"

His eyes searched mine, gold-specked green growing to a deep hazel in the soft entry light. He seemed almost … desperate. But his fiancée had just broken it off. And he was … well … he was him. Treward. Trevor and Edward. Two people, with no memories, in one body.

How the fuck had the complications of my life multiplied in mere hours?

At the same time, with those eyes, and my best friend's face … shit. I was doomed.

"How about we start with a text?" I muttered, eyes fixed on his lips, which perked up a little more at my statement. I edged closer to the door, hand swinging to rest on my shoe and the ice pack. His fingers tightened and released, brushing the underside of my breast.

Jesus, man …

"Okay. I can do that."

"Then why don't you," I smirked a little. Christ, I was flirting. I moved one step out the doorway, half of me suddenly sheathed in the freezing winter air, leaning against the side for support. His warm hand wrapped around my wrist, tugging the other half of me back into the warmth of his home.

"Can I have your number?" His tonality made it seem as though it should be obvious.

I wasn't that easy to get.

"You can find it." I smiled, sliding my wrist from between the loose grasp of his fingers.

"Tease."

His last word washed over me while I leaned against the doorframe and peeled off my other shoe. I glanced up, and my heart skipped a small beat.

A teasing hint of a smile, almost happy, rested on his face, and for a moment I was twelve, my heart fluttering in my chest as I waited for Edward to come find me, scoop me up in his arms and toss me into the wet moss of a rainy April day, his hands buried in the throes of my hoodie, reaching places and teasing giggles no one else could find.

My breath caught, chest compressed, and I tugged my eyes away, limping in the direction of the car.

"Goodnight." His voice was as balmy as the muggy Southern summer, warming my chilled legs as I hopped twice and stopped, hands pressed against the damp, rain-specked car door.

"Goodnight," I muttered, to no one in particular, nearly sighing in simultaneous relief and despair when I heard the wood meet wood behind me.

The ride home was silent while Alice stewed in her irritation, the habitual dismissal of a true Southern belle. When we reached our apartment, Alice allowed Jasper a quick goodbye before hastily retreating to the sanctuary of her room, while Jasper carried me to my bed and elevated my yellowish-purple ankle with the golf-ball sized knot, leaving a new ice pack, my preferred pajama bottoms, and a tank top on the side of the bed.

After a curt response to his inquiry after my comfort, Jasper's tall figure slipped out the door, leaving me in a coffin of my own thoughts.

My mind was everywhere, lulled to a semi-conscious state by the ice-heavy rain slamming against the glass of my window. I was lost on the events of the evening, wandering over my every move and word – our every word. I had been flirting with my amnesia-ridden best friend.

All I really wanted was normalcy.

Numbness, discarded grief, hidden memories and walls of boxed and boarded-up emotions … all of it was easier than this. Hiding, a patch-work girl with insides made of stone – that's who I was, who I had grown up as, who I knew.

Now … I was feeling.

I was wracked with guilt for wanting him to disappear again. I was shot with pain for the years we had missed each time I saw his face, the smile behind my eyelids which would never fade away. I was swelling with the absolute need to have him near me again, to fit back into the Edward-shaped hole he had created in my heart so many years ago.

My mind was a swirling black hole of vapid emotionless mass, sucking each thought into a swelling circle of depression I could feel brewing near the back of my chest, tightening my shoulders.

A lonesome tear slid over the crease in my eye, across my temple, vanishing into the depths of my hair.

I must have willed myself into a black, dreamless sleep, because in the next moment I found myself being literally prodded awake. The sharp pain digging itself into my side drew a grunted groan from my lips.

"Fuck … off."

"Oh, come on, Bells!" I glanced up from the corner of a sleep-fuzzed eye at the pitch of the whispering voice. "I don't have time for your grumpy morning ass!"

Rolling further sideways to snatch at my alarm clock, I glanced at the time and flinched when my ankle twisted, sharp pains ricocheting through the nerve endings all the way to my knee.

"Shit fuck!" I shot up off of the mattress, hands swinging down to clasp at the injured limb, Emmett staring at me in obvious confusion. Instantly, I ripped the comforter and sheets from the bed. Well … didn't they always say things got worse before they got better?

"Holy hell!"

I heard Emmett's exclamation in the back of my head, but I was still focused on holding back the tears of pain. My foot and calf throbbed, all the way to the tips of my toes. My ankle was slightly smaller than a tennis ball, an ugly circle of purple so deep it was almost black, stretching into thin layers of green, and then finally a vomit-yellow whose tendrils reached to my big toe.

"You need a doctor. Now." Emmett scooted closer to me, reaching to wrap his arms around my torso when I pushed him backwards.

"Em, what's today?"

He paused.

"Sunday?"

"I'm not sitting in an emergency waiting room till my ankle could have spontaneously set and healed itself, when I can go to an actual doctor tomorrow and find out what's really wrong, beyond being dosed up on morphine and vicodin." I sniffed, reigning in tears, knowing Em would never let me wait if he thought I couldn't handle it. "I'm fine." I collapsed backwards onto my pillow, drawing my eyes shut. "Now … what in the hell did you wake me up for at 6:45 on a Sunday morning?"

Emmett snorted. "And you say he has amnesia."

My eyes snapped open.

Oh … yeah. Emmett knew.

"Okay …" I drew the word out. Emmett glared.

"What the fuck! Isabella Marie Swan, what in God's fucking name have you been keeping around here? What kind of secrets are brewing in your fucked up brain? What did you do, fine comb the adoption records, find some guy that looks like Edward, and put on a fucking show, just to mess my shit up? You're screwing with my head, Bells, and that is not cool!"

"Emmett, slow down." I dropped my hand to his good leg and squeezed this shit out of his knee. He stopped and smacked my hand away, running the other across the sheets of my bed, his nervous habit.

"Look, Bella, I don't know what the hell I've walked into here. I gave you what you wanted last night, and now I need full disclosure before I make any more decisions, capiche?"

"I know, Em, I know."

But where to begin?

I glanced up at the closed door. Well … it was as good a place as any.

"In my closet. Can you bring me the black box?"

Emmett glanced at the white wood door and back at me before hobbling over with one crutch and pulling out my memories – our memories. He set them between us wordlessly, an unnaturally silent moment for Emmett. Usually, he wouldn't shut up. I guessed everything had freaked him out more than I'd realized.

Prying the lid halfway open, I glanced over at my best friend. His eyes were fixed on my hand, and ready or not, he was gnawing at the bit to be released. I could imagine my face had probably looked similar … maybe with a dash more terror.

His hand was in the box before I could move, shoving the lid the rest of the way backwards, his nearly too-large knuckles scraping against the sides.

"Holy mother of … Bella … how long have you had these?"

On top was my favorite, the fall picture that had broken me the first time I managed to make my way into the box. Underneath lay more pieces of our shattered, shared past, the children we used to be before time changed everything.

"I buried them the day we put him in the ground, Em." My thumb rubbed lightly over the image, over Emmett's face, before I fell silent, allowing him to reach the bottom of the stack on his own. The end to change everything.

A portion of my life slipped past me, a slide show, presented by Emmett's thumbs, age shining through the impure images and outdated styles. I knew it would be obvious when he reached it, the final picture of the stack. The one I had stolen from the manila envelope.

His hand stilled before his fingers quickly shuffled backwards, through four, five, six photographs before he found it. The same one as I had.

"What –" it was breathless and loud, a combination uniquely Emmett, and was followed by a string of expletives and a very confused rush of angry air.

"You can't deny it, can you?" I shook my head, collapsing onto the pillow behind me. "It's him."

"But it's not. He's Carlisle and Esme's son … "

"Yeah, Em … he's that too."

"But – I – he – they – I – " he spluttered, finally landing on the ever-lame, "huh?"

And so I began. I told him everything, from our first encounter at the club, to the meeting at the gym and the creation of my new addition, to the party and the photo shoot and right back down the winding circle to the dinner of last night – leaving out a few minor details, of course. I regaled him with the tale of my encounter with Esme two nights ago, before finally coming to the denouement of the past four months of my life – Treward's tale of heartache, woe, and unconsciousness.

I think it was the first time in my life I'd ever seen Emmett speechless for more than fifteen minutes. He couldn't even shut up in a movie theater. Five minutes after I had finished and he still wasn't speaking, I popped him in the bicep.

"Hello?"

"I just … I can't … shit, Bella, I think my brain's too fucked up from pain meds, or jacking off, or something. I don't –"

"Ew, Em, that's a visual I don't need right now, thanks." Scrunching up my nose, I picked up the box and set it on the other side of the bed, sliding the two photos beneath Emmett's leg. "Why don't you take those with you. Just … get used to it."

"Yeah," he fingered the two images, "okay."

Great. The lummox was too stunned to take a hint. And I really had to pee.

"Emmett," I shoved the leg which was crowding my space. "I would like to at least get a shower and pee now that you've fully awoken me from my beauty sleep. Think you and your crutch can help me limp to the bathroom?"

"Oh, shit, yeah, of course, Bells." Laying the pictures on my desktop, he stood and moved to be my own giant crutch as I slid off of the mattress, jostling my ankle again and nearly hissing through my teeth.

Yeah … it was definitely worse than I'd thought.

After five minutes of painful hobbling, I managed to pick out fresh undergarments, grab some sweats and a long sleeved tee, and find a non-catastrophic way to return to my bed when I was finished. Emmett promised to leave me a muffin, a few of his vicodin, a glass of juice, and a new ice pack in my room before he left for the day. He wouldn't tell me where he was going, but it didn't mean I didn't have a sneaking suspicion of my own.

Sitting on the bottom of my tub and bathing, I decided that while the water felt great to my grainy skin, waxy scalp, and unwashed face, I would have to find some way to either invest in a plastic stool or find something else to support me higher up in the shower.

The next thirty minutes were some of the most challenging of my life. After heaving myself to the toilet and toweling dry, I pulled on my clothing and squeezed as much water out of my hair as I could manage, wrapping it into a messy bun to keep it off of my neck. However, during the trying feat of moving back into my bedroom, I broke out into yet another cold sweat, somehow feeling as though I had reversed some of the progress of my shower.

I collapsed onto my bed, sending mental thanks to Emmett for the food and pain pills, when a sharp stab in my hip caught my attention. I dug into the massive amounts of sheets and pillows, coming up with my very lonely cell phone.

It was off.

Memories from last night came flying at me in a rush. There was no way he could have gotten my number that fast … was there?

I almost didn't want to turn it on, stomach knotted tight in fear and anticipation, but I guess my subconscious felt differently. Without a thought, my thumb held down the power key, the happy chimes of my phone's start-up screen vibrating in my hand.

I held my breath, waiting for the telltale vibrations accompanied by a chipper little series of bells. I waited … and waited … and finally released my breath, dropping my hands into my lap. Disappointment littered my mind, a shockwave of bad thoughts and heavy strain that pressed against my chest.

It hadn't even been twelve hours. I knew my hopes were ridiculous, but was I so wrong to hope? In the light of last night's events … probably.

My neck sagged against the mass of pillows, my hand reaching across my lap to take the muffin, the apple juice, and the vicodin off of the bedside table, when I felt it – the chirpy, two-tone ring and the vibrations coursing through my legs.

I froze.

No way. Had I been too impatient? Had I summoned his written words?

Oh, come on, it could be anyone, I argued with myself.

Except that I wasn't exactly popular enough to receive even twenty texts a week, much less on a Sunday. Renee never texted; it was a process much too technologically advanced for her senility.

There was no way.

I wouldn't know if I never picked up the phone.

It was in my hands before I knew it, fingers sliding past the locking mechanism. A number I didn't recognize.

The pad of my thumb pressed down. Read now.

I almost dropped the phone, my heart fluttering into my throat and stomach sinking into my chest.

Don't challenge me, Bella. I told you I would find you.

Remember, if you feel so inspired as to tell me what you think, I'd love to share a bit of what's next with you! Until next time, a bientot et bonne vie!