Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Twilight characters or the rights to "Remember Me" as performed by Lucie Silvas, 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: As this chapter is an absolute monster, I promise not to keep you any longer than necessary.

To clarabella75, you have an amazingness that cannot be named. I know you say you don't feel as though you do much, but you do much more than you know. Thank you.

To puppymama0909 ... I'm not even sure that what I want to say can be said. You're more to me than anyone else will probably ever understand. But I know you do, so that's what matters.

To all of you who reviewed ... YOU ARE MY HEART. You are the heart of this story, and I am sorry for not doing everything I could to get it up sooner. Life, unfortunately, tends to make us fail. But I WILL finish this, come hell or high water. You have my word. :)

To Ali, (better known as Flappergirl) - for this chapter, your music has been my inspiration. You're lovely, darling.

To hear Lucie Silvas's "Remember Me", which is the theme for this chapter and kind of the entire story, check out my profile, where I'll have a link to the Youtube video. I listened to it on repeat for the last section.

Be forewarned - tissues MAY be necessary.

I love you all, and kind wishes to each and every one of you. :)

Chapter Fifteen:
Please Remember Me

Restless is the heart that wonders, but for the moment you are passing through,
Like the sunlight reappearing, as the clouds withdrew.
Was it you who left me wondering where the world outside my window leads?
It's the strangest kind of feeling, oh so bittersweet.

Anyone can see the sorrow, but there's a tenderness behind your scars.
And I was there when you were laughing; I know who you really are.

You will go where you need to; I hope you will find peace,
And any time you start to believe that everyone in life just leaves your side

Please remember me.

"Remember Me" – Lucie Silvas

x0x0x0x0x0x

"Stop thinking. Just come with me."

And then he used his greatest weapon against me. The one word which had been both of our downfall, once upon a story.

"Please?"

I should never have looked into his eyes.

"Let's go."

Grabbing my crutches and my cardigan, I followed him out of the door and into the schizophrenic weather I was not dressed for, leaving a note with Janelle to redirect any calls from clients to my voicemail and to tell any family members I was in an all-day meeting.

I think she got the hint.

We hurried as quickly as I could crutch out to the parking garage where Eleanor sat waiting on us, her bright, shiny red paint and chrome a welcome sight. Treward threw my purse, cardigan, and crutch into the backseat after helping me slide in. I quickly rolled down the window and basked in the sunlight. It was hard to believe the daily temperature had been in the forties a few short weeks ago. I was quickly learning not to assume anything about the South.

It took over an hour to drive to, well, wherever we were going, but the ride was something out of an old romance.

The sun-kissed sky was perfection, cloudless and blue, limitless as it stretched into the horizon and beyond, an eternity of effortless cityscape reaching with it. I chattered nervously for the first few minutes, playing twenty questions with our destination, but Trevor just smiled, that characteristic, off-center grin which threw me in every direction. As we reached the edge of the city and took the highway north, I ceased my barrage, settling instead into that same comfortable silence from our Sunday afternoon, and playing with the satellite radio until I landed a station both of us could enjoy.

The road stretched before us and behind us, a never ending sea of concrete framed by a rolling river of trees, bare branches stripped by the coming winter and past cold, but still strong and sturdy in their own right. On such a sunny day, they weren't menacing or even depressing; they were reality, made unsightly by the simplistic cruelty which would bring blossoms of unspeakable beauty when the time was right.

I turned my attention to the landscape; the dense forests of wiry trees and brown speckled grass which still waved, mostly green, as we raced further from the city limits and into the wilds of north Georgia.

Regardless of the sun-drenched warmth, the wind still had a nip of cold in the air to cut through the usual humidity, evident of the coming change in season. Forty-five minutes into the drive, however, the nip became more of a bite. I rolled my window up, rubbing at my shoulders as Trevor grinned at me and rolled his up as well.

I was staring out at the cresting hills and rolling valleys when we suddenly pulled off of the highway and down an exit ramp. A thought struck me. We were in the middle of nowhere.

"Are we going into the mountains?"

Trevor's grin crept a little higher.

I was right. So that's why it was getting so much colder. I was suddenly glad I had brought my cardigan. Even if I wouldn't have frozen without it, life would be much warmer with it. But what in the hell could I do in the mountains? I stared forlornly at my cast.

"I hope you're not expecting me to hike."

Trevor laughed.

"Patience, Bella."

"I'm just saying." I crossed my arms and slumped a bit further into my seat.

Trevor continued to drive, the concrete drawing closer together while the brush and forest pressed in from either side, as though it were slowly ingesting the road, until all of the asphalt was gone and we traveled on nothing but gravel. I was silently wondering if we were going to be swallowed by the foliage and never seen again when the trees suddenly cut away on either side.

As Ellie rumbled her way over the small hill and out of the dense forest, I gaped.

A smoothly sloping valley spread into rolling hills, carpeted with generous layers of thick, sweetly-scented grass, a vibrant green with sparse hints of brown for flavoring. Nestled in the depths of the valley was a rustic, river-stone lined and oak paneled cabin, two stories of pastoral peace, probably bigger than anything my childhood fantasies could even contain.

But the crowning jewel, the ripe, red maraschino cherry on top of the nut-covered, whipped cream-smothered, caramel-fudge filled banana split sundae, was the lake. It stretched off, about fifty feet away from the house, a shimmering slat of smooth waves stirred up by a fall breeze.

The sun mirrored the shining surface and I couldn't see the end as it stretched further on, around a bend of trees and into oblivion.

We had been dropped into a painting, a fucking episode of "Little House on the Prairie – Rich Kid Style."

And I began to wonder for the first time exactly how Trevor had grown up.

Nearly halfway to the house, the pressure of his hand against my jaw released me from my trance. Sucking up spit, I pulled my gaze to his and pointed.

"Is this –?"

"My dad's, yeah." He turned to smile at me as he pulled the car to a stop, and I was nearly blinded by the pride and obvious thrill he took in bringing me here. "Mom and Dad only come out here during the summer though."

He turned back to the sunlight streaming through the windshield. His eyes slid shut. "But this place is my sanctuary."

After a few more moments, he jumped out of the car and came to my door, lugging my crutches behind.

"I've been coming here since … well, as long as I can remember."

A bitter laugh nearly slipped through my pursed lips. More literal than not, huh?

He took a few steps and turned back to me. "Can you crutch in the grass?"

I tested my instruments of death, sticking them into the ground, and threw him a thumbs-up as they pressed against the dirt, crushing blades of grass. We walked to the front door in silence.

Inside, everything was slightly warmer, the air heavy on my skin, but the light smell of coconut, grass, and dusty sunshine slipped through my senses. Everything was broad, open, and airy, but the atmosphere of the space was weighty and intense, with a faint sense of disuse which cast a tangible presence on the walls and dusty furniture.

The space practically longed to be lived in.

Sudden heat shot through my arm and I sprang sideways, nearly losing a crutch.

"Jumpy much?" Trevor laughed, but he still pulled his hand back when I shot him a dirty look.

"Sorry, I'm not really used to strange men dragging me forty-five minutes into the country to a house in the middle of nowhere where I'm positive no one could hear me scream."

I watched as he sauntered to the fridge and pulled out a small wicker basket.

"You call that being dragged?"

"Fine, eloquently coerced. What is that?"

"This?" He gestured with the basket in his hand. I raised an eyebrow. "Lunch." His lips twisted into his signature smirk, lifting a scarred eyebrow.

"You're seriously taking me on a picnic?"

I was shot through with disbelief, not because it didn't sound wonderful, but because it was insanely implausible and old-fashionably Southern. Sadly, my comment probably came off more disdainful than I intended.

Trevor's smile faded.

"I just thought it might be nice to get out." He shrugged. "We can just eat something here if you'd rather."

Shit …

It figured, my friend was trying to do something nice for me and I managed to crush his spirit with the sarcasm I couldn't get off of my tongue.

He set the wicker basket on the countertop and turned towards the fridge, but I was behind him in two crutches, reaching for his hand, grabbing his fingers before I could think. The heat tingled up my arm and Trevor started at the contact, but I kept hold while I realized that this was the first time I had ever reached for him first.

I took a deep breath and blew out the words before I could think too long and lose my nerve.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way, I'm just the Northerner from a small town who has never been on a picnic in her life." I offered a smile. "It's too pretty to waste the day. Let's eat outside."

His fingers shifted under mine. "Are you sure?"

I pushed as much confidence as I didn't feel into my grin. "Yeah, I'm sure."

It was all we needed to set the afternoon right. I followed Trevor out of the house and on a short walk, down to the edge of the lake where he spread out a huge throw he had taken from the back of the sofa and unpacked our lunch – pineapple chicken salad, half a loaf of sourdough bread, Pringles, carrots, grapes, pickles, and two bottles of water.

He never let go of my hand.

An hour later, our meaningless chatter had drifted to a lull. I breathed in deeply, dirt, knee-high grass, and water a subtle swirl for the heady scent of outdoor air, and, while the temperature was definitely cooler here, the abundant sun had warmed the earth through, enough to induce a nearly somnambulant haze on everything in its grasp.

I was surrounded by green and warmth, a perfect infusion of Forks into California, the home of my dreams, and more at peace than I had been in years, with my legs propped in Treward's lap and a myriad of brightly colored, plastic bowls scattered across the patch of squared grass we had flattened for our meal.

I yawned, arms reaching above my head.

"So, what maid do I need to hit up for cooking lessons? That chicken salad kicked ass."

Treward laughed, the sound lazy as it drifted around my ears in the sunshine filtering through the weeds and cattails.

"You don't think I could have made everything?"

I wanted to lift my head in disbelief, but that took too much effort.

"Yeah, right, because you could ever cook."

I remembered Elizabeth, Edward's step-mother, and her incredulous face as she stared at the charred rice-a-roni in the pot.

Heavy, awkward silence filled the sun-drenched air. I ran back over my last words.

Fuck.

"I mean, it's not like I saw many people in your family cooking the other night." I tried to shrug my comment off nonchalantly, but Treward's face was suddenly in the corner of my vision, his head tilted sideways like a pup.

"What do you mean?"

I pushed myself up on my elbows, forcing the panic from my mind. Good timing, Bella …

"Come on, it's not like there weren't at least ten people not at the dinner table the one time I've eaten at your house." I raised an eyebrow, and Treward brushed the hair from my shoulder, his finger catching on a strand. "I mean, who cooked your meals your entire life, you?"

"My mom," he smiled, crossing his legs. "You think we always live that way?" he chuckled. "My parents just like to show face when we have large dinner parties. Besides, trying to cook for more than five people would be too much for Mom."

Mom hit me dead in the chest.

"Oh." We drifted into silence again. I watched Treward begin to braid a few strands of grass, mesmerized by the motion, when a rush of air blew my hair into my face, followed by a soft snort. Brown flickered in the corner of my eye, and something wet and soft nudged my cheek.

I screamed and vaulted forward.

Treward laughed behind me.

"What the hell!"

"It's just Stella." He stood lithely to his feet, shoving the braided strand in his pocket and making a clicking noise with his tongue. "Hey girl."

I brushed frayed strands back from my face and peeked up just in time to see Treward running his hands gently over the mane of a huge mare, her stiff hair glistening in the sunlight. She whinnied a bit, heavy-lidded eyes flickering over to me and then back to Treward, her nose shoving against his arm.

"I know what you want, greedy horse." Reaching down, he speared the rest of our leftover carrots and held them out to her on a flat palm. Her lips pulled back over her teeth and she chomped at the sticks in his hand, obviously careful not to nip his skin.

I sat and stared.

Treward glanced at me and laughed again.

"You look like you've never seen a horse before." I didn't move. His eyes widened. "You've never seen a horse before?"

"Not one that wasn't on a screen." My words came out in a murmur.

It was just so big.

Her back was easily even with Treward's shoulder, her head at least a good six inches higher than his. Her light tan coat was mottled with white spots, some larger than others, and her mane was a deep charcoal to match the black lips and blackish-brown muzzle which spread to tan at her cheeks and forehead.

"Well, why don't you come say hello?" His hand was in front of me. He wanted me to … touch it?

Balls up, Bella.

"Okay." I grabbed one crutch and stood hesitantly, trying to dust off my jeans, but Treward grabbed my wrist and pulled it to the horse's muzzle before I had a chance, placing it directly between her eyes.

"Good girl, Stella," he murmured behind me, gently tugging me to his side. I was surprised at the granular softness of the thick hair. Stella pawed the ground, her nose lifting slightly at my touch.

"Come here."

His lips were at my ear, his arm wrapped loosely around my waist, and the hair along my neck rose, slowly sparking nerves crawling up my hairline. His arm tugged me backwards while his hand fell over mine, guiding our joined fingers around Stella's ear, down her thick, tousled mane, and onto the coarser hair riding along her speckled back. He paused at a dip right before the rise of her hip bone.

"Now scratch."

He grinned. I raised an eyebrow, but began to move my nails methodically against the heavy skin. Immediately, Stella shook her giant head at me and her right back foot stomped, crushing the grass and coming within a few inches of my foot. I squealed and leapt backwards, right into Treward's laughing embrace.

I glared at him, but Stella's head moved backwards, nudging me in the shoulder and further into Treward's arms with a soft whinny.

"Good girl," he whispered, pulling me a little tighter before letting me go. My heart was pounding in my chest. I stumble-crutched back to the blanket, laughing and landing on my rear much less gracefully than intended, thanks to the scheming horse and deviously charming man. My nerves were winding tiny loops and figure eights all over my body.

After one last pat for Stella, Treward joined me, grinning unrepentantly, and began to pack up the mostly empty dishes. Stella moved down to the lake for a drink.

I caught my breath and stared at the thin scars littering his hands.

"Are you okay?"

Treward's long limbs had stilled; the wicker basket sat on the edge of the blanket, completely packed.

I blinked.

"Hmm?"

He laughed, crossing the short distance between us.

"You seem a little … out of it."

My mouth nearly fell open.

"Me?" I gestured widely to the horse still lapping water from the lake. "What – where did that come from?"

"What, Stella?" I simply stared at him. Treward laughed again. "Stella is Esme's horse. The Bonomo's live a few acres over. They board Stella and my horse, Brantley, in their stables." He swiped at my arm, moving closer. "Mrs. Bonomo is also the one to thank for the kick ass chicken salad, by the way."

"Ha!" I slapped the ground. "I knew you didn't make it!"

Treward snorted. "That sure, huh?"

"Damn straight." I crossed my arms over my chest and stuck out my tongue.

He shook his head. "You're so cute, Bella."

Well … fuck.

The butterflies started again, a worming happiness which began in the pit of my stomach and blossomed outward, stretching into my shoulders when he wrapped his arm around them and pulled me close. I let myself go, my head falling backwards while tiny alarms and bells began to ring in my mind, insisting I keep my distance.

Their noise went silent when my head landed on his chest. His chin nestled into my hair.

"Thank you."

x0x0x0x0x0x

It was the end of November when Emmett cracked.

Friday had flowed into Friday, days of stolen minutes and secret hours, time Edward and I could thieve without notice, or at least what we thought went unnoticed.

Weeks passed, friends and family unhindered by our secret words, and yet it seemed as if those moments were the only reality. The silent words and steady touches, curled into his chest or his knees, his hands in my hair or on my feet, they were what was true, interspersed with the mundane monotony of work, home, meals, and friends.

I vaguely knew what was going on outside of my own foolishly constructed, Edward-centered world. Jasper had practically moved in, receiving his own house key, while Emmett was on his way out, spending infrequent nights at home and only checking in, it seemed, to make sure I wasn't sinking back into the world of the walking dead. Of course, I knew more than I would say about Emmett's unwillingness to be anywhere near the apartment, but it wasn't something I really considered in the midst of my blissfully ignorant fantasy land.

I learned through bits of conversation that Emmett was trying to convince any university in the metro-Atlanta area he needed a job. Alice confided that Rosalie had removed herself from her family's embrace and forged out on her own. The Whiskey Chasers finished recording and began to work on the final production of their first album, no small thanks to the article in Spin last month. And through it all, I remained, a silent background to my best friend's lives, existing in an enchanted unreality, all my own.

Now, looking back, I can see every choice, every decision to bury my head in the flickering coals and save the pain and heartache for later – the blame and denial, the ripping and shredding, all the injuries my complacency would never see coming. It was never him and always me, acting on what I longed to be real. But none of it was real.

And I got comfortable.

It was Friday, November 26th, 2010, when the first crack appeared in the walls of my city of delusion.

I woke to the smell of coffee drifting through the apartment. The unusualness of this should have been my first clue, but instead of thinking that these out of the ordinary occurrences were a sign of something to come, I chose to remain firmly rooted in my river of denial and believe that Alice had simply stayed home instead of leaving early to oversee her huge design project in Athens like she had every other morning for two weeks running.

I slipped on my sweats and neatly bounded down the stairs. As much as you can bound on one crutch, at least.

It was Friday.

Friday meant afternoons spent in Edward's arms, his laughter on my ears and his presence soothing mine, swept up in the essence that was my best friend.

"Morning, Alice!" I chirped at the figure sitting at the kitchen table as I shot into the kitchen,

I was so wrapped up in anticipation that the musical, Southern-tinged voice which greeted my ears nearly caused me to drop my coffee cup.

"Good morning, Bella."

As it was, I spilled the sugar. My entire body froze.

"Why don't you finish making your coffee and come join me?" Bristled nails tapped on ceramic. "I know you have to get to work. I promise, I won't take up too much of your time."

Coffee?

To hell with coffee.

The fact she even thought I could ingest anything with her sitting at my kitchen table showed she thought I could handle more than I really could. Wrapping a firm hand around the mug, I turned and stepped towards the table.

Her ice blue eyes watched. White-blonde hair hung pleated in a loose French braid, a dark gray business suit highlighting the pale pink blouse and heels dripping gracefully off of her lithe, polished frame.

Rosalie Hale may not have been Southern royalty any longer, but she was still business incarnate.

Her features relaxed after I had taken a seat – clear across the table. She smiled ruefully, glancing down.

"I know how this must look …" she trailed off.

I stared at her incredulously. "I'm not sure you really do."

The rueful smile was fixed on her pale red lips.

"I know everything, Bella."

My heart ceased to beat. Four simple words, whispered for my ears only, and I was cringing as though she had shouted them at the top of her lungs, plastering my secrets on a billboard for all to see. I choked, unable to swallow.

"H-how?"

"Emmett. Poor thing, broke down a few days ago and spilled the entire story. Honestly, I'm rather impressed he kept it to himself for this long, but he knew … he had to tell someone, or he might have broken entirely." She glanced away, and I almost swore I saw hints of liquid pooling behind her lashes.

The Ice Queen really does melt … damnit, Em …

A strangled noise, that I guess came from my throat, brought her back to face me. The remorseful, smiling mask was back in place.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to spread your secret … yet." She leaned on her hand, elbow propped on the table and head cocked sideways almost quizzically. "You know, after a few days of coming to terms with what might possibly be the most bizarrely shocking news any daytime drama could spin, I think I've almost forgiven you." Her hand dropped back to the table, restless. "I can't blame you for your reactions … although it would have been nice to see a little more control, even though you are a Northerner." Her eyes rolled then, before finally landing on my still-stunned face.

I hadn't yet regained control of my faculties.

"But I will blame you, Isabella Marie Swan, if you so much as chance to injure Trevor's heart in the middle of this twisted ball of shenanigans you're running. I know you're respecting Esme's wishes, but he deserves to know the truth, and if you all won't tell him," her nails tapped once along her own coffee mug, "I swear on the grave of every ancestor buried in the state of Georgia, I will."

Her features turned fierce, protective; her words cut through my spine and I was too paralyzed to rebut her. I knew the threat practically rolling from her body was as real as the steaming coffee mug cradled between my motionless hands

I was wrong. I knew I had been wrong, and I had carried on.

Rosalie stood from the table and emptied her coffee cup into the sink. She stared at her hands, resting on the glinting surface of the polished stainless steel, before her eyes met mine once again.

"Don't break him, Bella. He's stronger than he seems, and those memories, they're right under the surface, teetering on the edge. It won't take much to push him over. Just don't break him with them." The smile returned, sad now, and carrying almost all the way to her bright, soft eyes. "My love would never have been enough. But I think yours can be."

She turned towards the door.

"I know you love him as more than a friend. Love him the right way, Bella."

Her words threw my mind into overdrive.

"Wait, I – Trevor – Edw – he's just my friend!" I shook my head furiously, tangled brown locks flowering around my face. "I mean, I care about him, of course, how could I not! But I'm not – I'm not – in love with him, and he's not in love with me, I – I just – he – and we –"

She stopped in the doorway, one hand against the frame, and chuckled.

"If you truly believe that, Bella … you're in more denial than I thought you were." An amused sigh followed her words. "Maybe you two are perfect for each other."

Then she was gone as magically as she had appeared, leaving behind a wake which successfully tapped the tiniest crack in my armor.

After the crack, time began to move to the beat of a chaos clock, solid memories punctuated by slips of incoherency. My mind drifted, bled and cried, and every moment with Edward seemed more stolen than ever.

I weighed him. The casual caresses, the hair brushed from my shoulder, palm trailing across my forearm, fingers sliding across my wrist and running the line into the crook of my elbow, each was nothing more than what it had been before our lives were torn apart. I told myself that time was merely falling back into place. Fate had finally found the path we were meant to tread, the interwoven lines our existence inevitably traced.

I had convinced myself so well that, two weeks later, when I woke to a boulder resting in my stomach, it was almost as non-existent as my denial. An icy chill had woven its tendrils around the air in my room, as oppressively overcast as the thick gray clouds hanging in the horizon which greeted my sleep-laden eyes.

Something was nearly not right.

Glasses clinked in the kitchen, obvious ministrations of Alice as she readied herself for work. My nose was sore; the frigid temperatures I inhaled while sleeping had stripped the skin inside raw. My entire body felt heavier, more insistent that I stay in bed and avoid the darkening world spread out in the tiny glimpse through my open window. But it was Friday.

Today was Edward's day.

I pulled myself into the shower, the scalding water stinging my skin a rose pink, but before I realized, it had faded to a lukewarm pulse, barely enough heat to bathe in. My thoughts were scattered, intangible, and intervening in everything. After toweling my hair dry, I pulled on jeans, a beige Cade tunic, and my favorite ballet flats.

My hands ghosted over my jewelry box, grabbing a few random matching pieces, before finally landing on the locket. My locket.

I picked it up, running my thumb across the smooth surface. I hadn't worn it since that night.

It was time.

I wasn't sure how, or why, but I knew. My chaos clock had sped its hands.

The clasp was hooked, my coffee in my hand and trench across my shoulders, and I was at work, delivered a la Alice, pacing the minutes until four that afternoon.

When the clock finally ticked down, I was gone, my purse hooked on my elbow and my heart in my throat, lacy flats carrying me through the halls and onto the sidewalk. My breath leaked from me in expectant flutters, small clouds of heated exchange hanging before dissolving into my hopeful eyes. My hands clutched at the sides of my coat, battling against the cold fighting to freeze my skin, when I saw him.

And my world was right again.

I pushed up on my one crutch, waving to flag him down, and we were gone.

Four hours later, the boulder in my stomach and ice on my heart were the distant memories of some other woman. While the now full-on winter hadn't even considered releasing its grasp, if you'd have asked me in that moment, I wouldn't have known what season it was.

Or completely given a fuck if hell was released and the world froze over.

My world was right.

A grilled cheese sandwich left me comfortably full, and my toes were nearly curled into my feet, the rest of me coiled into a ball in between Edward's legs with my head against one knee and my legs underneath the other. Soft chords on an uneven melody floated around me, plucked from the guitar resting on Edward's thighs by his long, calloused, nimble fingers.

A roaring fire crackled behind us, infusing the air with wood smoke, clouding my mind with an incense-like haze. The thick carpet beneath us swirled with gold and red, and my heavy-lidded eyes followed my fingers around and through the circular patterns, mesmerized into a catatonic stupor.

I looked over, rolling my head sideways, when I realized he had stopped playing. His eyes were fixed on me, roaming my face. Heat burned up my neck. The fireplace must have been hotter than I realized.

I swallowed.

"You okay?"

He tilted his head, that inquisitive look I knew so well, the puppy-eyes which shot straight to the heart of any woman's weakness. Crackling firelight glinted off the thin white lines stretched across his face, cutting through his eyebrow and littering his hands.

"What are we doing, Bella?"

My heart froze, body stiffening. A faint ticking echoed in my head.

"What do you mean?"

He sighed and shifted under me. The guitar clacked a little as he laid it on the table.

"I just …" he trailed off, and my eyes slid shut. "Bella." He paused, sighed again. "Please look at me."

Time drifted. The ticking got louder. I shifted to face him and lifted my lids.

The breath was sucked from my lungs. Edward was staring at me, eyes pleading, inches from my face, and I was lost in the depth of their longing, the intensity of the swirled gold-flecked green.

"Where do you want to go with this?" His hand brushed my ear, fingered the ends of my hair. "What do you want from me? From us?" His forehead creased, the line parting his eyebrow wrinkling behind the brown-red hair falling over his eyes. "Are we an 'us'? Do we make this an 'us'?"

I was surprised I managed more than a stutter.

"I-I but – our friends – Alice … Emmett … we're just –"

"They know, Bella." His smile was soft, like the hand moving to cup my cheek, smoothing against the side of my mouth. "They aren't blind. They've all known for a while." He pulled me up straight, my back against his leg. "Now I need to know." His lips grazed the tip of my nose, his hand brushing the skin between my shirt and jeans.

"I – I don't … Edward –"

His lips were on mine.

I breathed in, unmoving, as his tongue traced the line of my lip, hints of cinnamon and honey, warm sweetness drifting over my senses in waves which mingled with smoke and heat. His hand brushed my cheek, thumb stroking my temple as he pulled away.

I was panting.

"Edward …"

He kissed me again, deeper this time, one hand still on my face, the other moving to my forearm. I froze again, lost in sense and seconds. The hands of the clock pounded in my head until he released me, his breath unsteady.

I opened my mouth to protest, growing unrest meshing with unknown desire, fear spiking panic. His finger pressed against my lips, rough satin, smelling of soap and man, tasting purely of him.

"Don't … please, Bella, I don't know who he is, this mystery." Forehead to forehead, hidden confessions of prayer drawing streams of liquid pain and desperation. "First love, only love, I don't care who he is," his lips claimed mine, pressing roughly while he began to gather me to him, "I want to erase his name from your mouth."

I choked on a laugh while he kissed my forehead, my nose, my temple, and my eyes, wiping my tears with his thumb. His arms were around me, pulling me in, his head buried in my neck, lips pressed to my collarbone, tracing the curve of my throat, dipping behind my ear. I inhaled, nearly smothered by the same tastes as before – soap and skin, smoke and cinnamon, which seemed to cling to his skin, an unrepentant spice.

His lips found mine then, and this time I moved. I couldn't not; the response was nearly instant.

Tangible electric impulses raced, sparking nerves in sequential order. His hand spread along my back, warmth and touch, tracing my spine and tucking beneath my bra before sliding along its line, his thumb brushing the side of my breast.

It was the tightening beneath my stomach, lower than ever, twisting my insides into a throbbing quick pain, which sent shivers through the nerves that were still responsive.

Edward …

Slipping my hand into his hair, I threaded a few strands in my fingers, the soft, dense locks brushing electricity through my hand. My lips opened, taking him in, breathing through the pleasure, pressing his other hand against my hip.

Until my palm lay flat on his head – directly against a raised line, the length of my hand and greater. A scar, twisted and round, was the evidence of my betrayal, of my deceit and denial.

Not Edward. Trevor.

I pushed away, breaking our lips and forcing his hands from my skin, but holding close, unable to leave the sphere of his presence. The hands of the clock ticked forward.

His words pressed against my ear.

"I want to erase his memory for you. I love you, Bella."

My heart dropped, frozen, terrified. I nearly cackled, stomach tight, chaotic order pounding seconds of anarchy on the clock in my head.

You would erase yourself, Trevor?

He jerked away, eyes wide, confused, scared. All at once.

Shit fuck …

I said it out loud.

The tears fell harder.

"What –" His eyes hardened, his thumbs reaching up to brush my cheek again. "I don't care. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. I love you."

I shoved his hand, stumbling backward onto my palms, pulling away.

"No, you don't." I was nearly blind with tears; the words came out on a sob.

"What … Bella, why?"

"I know you, please, just believe me. You don't."

"I-I just – Bella, what's wrong? And who the hell are you to tell me what I feel?"

It hurt. Oh, God, it hurt, like ripping my heart from my body and placing it in front of me, the words clogged in my throat like balls of smoke and paper, ripping it raw.

I was feeling, heart beating hope and care and faith.

I wasn't allowed to feel. That only brought in more pain. Like now.

It had to end. He couldn't love me, not truly, because he didn't know me. He couldn't know me, because …

"You don't even know yourself."

"What?"

I curled inward, arms across my chest, aching to hold in the beating heart which spilled from my bones.

Please … remember me.

"You aren't you. You are not Trevor Cullen." I watched him back away, the fear eating away at the confusion, anger following close behind. But I was on a roll. There was no stopping me now.

"Trevor Cullen is dead. You aren't. They've been lying to you; for nine years they've lied and you can't love me. You can't love me because you aren't you. You are Edward, and you're not him." I was sobbing, shaky gasps and hiccups as I sat, rocking, curling further in on myself, unable to meet his eyes. "You can't love me if you don't even know why … if you can't understand … I can't live –"

"You're lying."

My eyes sprang to his face. All traces of confusion and fear were gone, leaving stricken rage.

"You're lying. You don't know who I am, you're just … you've been using me." Understanding dawned, wrong assumptions providing him the clarity he thought he needed, replacing the potentially crumbling pieces of the illusion he lived. "It's him."His eyes hardened. "There's something there, a similarity, a memory – I don't know, a whatever, but you've got yourself so content to just use me in the place of someone you can't have anymore."

"No – no – I swear, just … ask Esme. Please, talk to your parents, they'll –"

"No. I don't believe you." They were quiet, firm words, but they were there. Resting between us, in the middle of the shitstorm.

My tears ceased. My heart cried, my chest aching, pain radiating to my fingertips, words caught in my throat, trapped beneath my tongue. He could never love me. He didn't know me.

"It's the truth." They were bland, toneless, a pure reflection of the pain throbbing through, the numbness spreading through my system. "You won't believe me. So you can't love me. No one can."

"But I do. Please don't lie to me, Bella."

Standing to my feet, I hobbled to my crutch and then towards the door.

"I'm not lying. Not about you. Please don't come back, Trevor. I don't want to see you again."

I stepped through the entry way, slowly crumbling inside. I couldn't go home. Not like this. I would never make it past Alice and there was no way I was talking. And now that I thought about it, I wasn't even sure how I would get home. I could drive relatively well, as my ankle was mostly healed, but my car was at my apartment.

I stopped in the entryway, nearly broken and nearly determined to walk, when a soft, unspoken touch on my shoulder stopped me. I tensed, but the hand that slid into mine was not masculine.

The thin, manicured fingers squeezed tightly before letting go, a sad, stricken smile and watery eyes behind her thick, chestnut hair.

Esme.

"Go there. Stay as long as you need." Her lips shook when she paused, breathing in to steady herself. "I'm sorry. This … it's all my fault. I'm so sorry."

I nodded, unable to watch the few tears slip down her cheek, and left.

A slim, sleek BMW 3 series sat in the round-about. I opened my hand. Two keys and a slip of paper with an address rested there. I recognized the city.

She was sending me to their summer home.

Numb against the ever deepening cold, I slid into the car, started the engine, programmed the address into the onboard navigation, and sped away into the night. My clock was chiming midnight. Time for Cinderella to put aside her fantasies, find her reality, and go back to who she had always been.

My Prince Charming was dead.