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Twenty Eight

November 23rd

I fucking hated autumn in the city. I hated the chill in the air and the changing leaves and how I knew Bella should be here to see it and how I would let her wear my coat when we were outside even though she would be swimming in it. I hated how the smell of her had faded from my sheets and how a week after she left me I found the fucking ice cream spoon we had used the last night she was here under the bed. And I hated how much I hated Jasper's happier than I've ever seen him expression he wore every day now that he was with Alice. He was playing my script; he was happy and Alice was moving here to work and be with him and I was coming home to an apartment that didn't have a dining table and was so empty it actually echoed.

My buzzer sounded and I hit the button without asking who it was; I unlocked my door and sat back on the couch, flipping on the television. I searched for the appropriately unromantic in the least movie and settled back.

"Hey, I called for Chinese," Jasper said as he came in and shut the door.

"Good, I'm starving," I hadn't eaten all day. I don't know why. I put my feet up on the ottoman while Jasper helped himself to a beer from my fridge. He handed me one and kicked off his shoes to mirror my position.

He studied the screen, "what are you watching?"

"You've never seen Bullitt? That hurts."

"Steve McQueen, right?" He said it absently like he was referring to the latest no talent winner of some reality show.

I chuckled, "right."

We watched quietly for a little while longer until my buzzer sounded again; I mumbled an immature "finally" and got up to let them inside. I waited impatiently for a knock, debating on just opening the door. When they did, I swung the door open; the delivery guy had on a bright red track jacket and matching hat. I paid him and walked toward the living room, but before I could get there someone knocked on my door again.

"Maybe he forgot something," Jasper said from the couch.

Instead of putting the bag down I carried it back to the front door with me much to Jasper's dismay. I opened the door and didn't see the bright red track jacket. I saw long dark brown hair and pale as cream skin that I had tasted over and over again and that I didn't have to touch to tell you exactly how soft it was. I saw dark, tired eyes and slightly chattering teeth behind full lips. I saw someone holding a small suitcase and dressed completely inappropriately for the cooler temperatures of November in New York.

She stared at me and I stared back at her.

Somewhere behind me I heard Jasper call out a question that I wasn't going to answer. I heard him get up, probably to see what I was doing. "Oh," he said. A few seconds later I could hear he had put his shoes on as he walked over to the door. "Uh, Bella," I saw him nod at her from the corner of my eye. A weight it took me a moment to realize was the food bag lifted from my hand. "I'm gonna…go." Neither of us moved so he had to squeeze past us in his haste to get away.

I still hadn't said anything, but I opened the door wider to let her in; she set her suitcase against the wall next to the door, probably in case I kicked her out in the next few minutes. The television was still on and it reminded me of the last time we were in my living room and I wondered how this time would end. It was awkward; we didn't know where to focus and I noticed her eyes flicker momentarily toward the television. She looked at my face, but not in my eyes. She nodded as I shifted my weight from my left to right foot. "Bullitt." She said.

I crossed the yard or so distance between us in two quick strides. I grabbed her around the waist and brought her to me hard and my mouth was on her and she tasted just like I remembered, no, maybe better. She responded and parted her lips and I just couldn't get over her taste and her smell and somewhere my responsible side was asking me why she was here in the first place, but I didn't care, I just missed her so fucking much. I walked us backward in the direction of the hallway and when she wouldn't move fast enough I lifted her up and carried her to my room.

Her legs were already around my waist when I dropped us both on the bed. I pushed her shirt up and I heard a quiet, murmured "wait" but I didn't and then her shirt was on the floor all I could see was that pale as cream skin. I undid the first two buttons on my shirt and then pulled it over my head and even though I knew she wanted me to wait she was sitting up and unfastening my pants. I kicked them off along with my socks and got to work pulling her jeans down her legs. Her shoes and socks were already off. I moved over her and I knew I was too rough, but I didn't really care and I knew if I bit down just a little where her neck met her shoulder it would leave a mark so I did. She made a small sound in her throat and I wasn't sure if I'd done that to punish her or what, but I liked the noise it elicited.

I reached a hand behind her and unclasped her bra while she put her hands into my hair and pulled. When that was off I made short work with the rest of our clothes and then because I couldn't help it I let myself really look at her and she was beautiful. She looked vulnerable and a little nervous and I wanted to claim her as mine. I moved over her and then I was inside of her and she felt so good and I wanted to say that I didn't mean to be so rough, but maybe I did, so I just kept quiet. She made breathless drawn out noises in her throat and I dipped my tongue into it's hollow and let her ride it out. When her moans dropped an octave and her legs tightened around my waist I couldn't hold back any longer so I closed my eyes, but I could still see her face and it felt so good and I thought again about how much I'd missed her.

I repositioned us so we were under the covers and it crossed my mind that the sheets would smell like her again and I wondered how long that would last. She was on her back and even in the dim light I could see that I really had left a mark on her; I moved a little closer and kissed the fresh bruise and then wrapped an arm around her middle and half laid on top of her like I was going to keep her from getting up.

"Edward."

Her voice was small and still a little breathless. "Hmm?" I said into her skin.

"I'm sorry."

I let out a slow exhale and wasn't really sure how to respond.

She continued, "I wanted to talk to you."

"You could have called," I ran my fingers over her and for some strange reason, I was a little nervous. I wanted to tell her that I forgave her, but something told me that she needed to talk and I needed to listen.

"I know," was all she said.

I leaned up on my elbows so I could see her face, "you don't have to do this right now."

She ran a hand through my hair and it felt so good that I closed my eyes. "Yes I do."

I grabbed her around the middle and flipped us over so she was on top; she put her head on my chest as I ran my fingers from her waist, up her back and into her hair, looping up and down slowly as she began talking.

"Bells, don't do this." He rubbed a hand over his face in frustration; he was never very good at human communication, especially when the other human was his daughter. He fisted his hand at his side. "Dammit Isabella, he's not worth it!" He watched as I ignored him and zipped up my suitcase; in my mad rush I zipped up the fabric of something but I didn't really care.

I stormed past him and a part of me knew that this was something I wouldn't be able to just undo whenever I felt like it, this was for keeps.

I ran down the stairs toward the door; I knew Mike was waiting for me at the curb. "You can't just walk out of here and not tell me anything, how am supposed to know where you are or if you're even alive?"

"I'm eighteen; I don't have to tell you anything. Besides, what do you care?" I called over my shoulder.

He grabbed my arm, forcing me to swing around and it surprised me; he rarely touched me at all. "Bells," his voice was still angry, but had lost its edge, "I know I haven't been the best father to you and I want to make it right. But…Bella, that boy is no good for you."

I shrugged out of his grip, "why do you suddenly have an opinion? You haven't even tried to get to know him; you haven't given him a chance, you haven't anything Charlie. You're never even here! "

He sighed, "I'm going to change that, but Bella -,"

I shook my head, "no, too little, too late." I walked out on my father and just like I knew he would be; Mike was in his car waiting for me.

It was the first time I ran away from someone I loved.

Mike held my hand and called me baby and gave me a tissue when I started to cry. We made the trek south mostly in silence, our pitifully small suitcases the only other things in the car.

Mike had a cousin or something that lived in California and set us up in a piece of crap apartment in Studio City. I applied to UCLA on a whim one day after passing the campus during a job hunt, but didn't really expect anything to come of it; I just knew I wanted to go to college one day. I got a job at Starbucks because I lied on my application and said I had barista experience. I didn't exactly suck at it, I was quiet and did what I was told and was just barely good enough to not get fired. Mike got a job in construction and for a while we were actually able to pay bills. We got a hand-me-down couch from his cousin that we eventually had to duct tape the corners of to keep the insides inside. We slept on a mattress on the floor and bought a cheap dresser that was small but still too big for our clothes combined. Mike pilfered some leftover wood from a construction site and made me a makeshift bookshelf that I painted a color called 'fog'; I put the three books I'd brought with me on it.

In the spring I found out I'd gotten into UCLA. I hid it from Mike for a week; I'm not sure why. When I told him, he was wary until I said I'd get financial aid and could keep my job anyway. He stuck my acceptance letter on the fridge and took me out to dinner at a nice restaurant that cost us a week's worth of groceries. As fall got closer, his enthusiasm grew. He helped me pick out classes and drove me to meet with an advisor. I decided to major in early education.

For a long while we were happy. Money was tight and we still didn't have a proper bed frame or any furniture really, but things were good. I made friends with Alice who introduced me to Rose and her then boyfriend, Emmett. He intimidated the hell out of Mike I think for the fun of it. I could tell they weren't all that crazy about Mike and for his part, he wasn't very social around them. It didn't really bother me though; they gave me a taste of real life and I enjoyed every second of it. They took us to bonfires at the beach and to football games and Emmett took us all out to the desert to teach me how to drive an ATV, which I was not successful at. We took a camping trip to Joshua Tree and unbeknownst to us, set up camp right next to a hive of some breed of bee. After a middle of the night evacuation to a different campsite, we spent the dwindling darkness treating each other's stings which hurt like crazy, but the whole situation was so ridiculous we had to laugh. Emmett took a picture of all of us covered in calamine lotion. That morning we went rock climbing and I spent most of that time picking myself up off the ground.

My relationship with my mother blossomed over those four years I spent in college; she had found love of her own and had settled down permanently in Arizona. I called her on Sunday nights to tell her about my week and to listen to stories about her latest obsessions. She tried often to get me to talk to my father, but I always refused. I felt the chasm between us like a physical force and I didn't think I'd be able to cross that space. I didn't think he would ever forgive me and I realized a long time ago that I really had nothing to forgive him for. She gave up after a while, but tended to add bits of information about what Charlie was doing near the ends of our conversations.

I graduated and then immediately entered a program that would allow me to get my master's concurrently with my teaching license. I really did want to be a teacher.

After eighteen months I was offered a position with Our Lady of the Sea and Mike was promoted. Our pay raises allowed us to finally leave Studio City so we moved to a ridiculously expensive apartment in Balboa that we loved. We furnished it with new things and Alice threw us a housewarming/Emmett started a gym/Alice is going to start her own clothing line party. A week later Rose and Emmett were engaged and I owed Alice ten bucks; I thought for sure he'd wait until his gym was off the ground. They were married after six months in a beach ceremony; Alice and I were bridesmaids.

Alice guessed that I was pregnant during the reception.

I had just found out and didn't want to announce it before the wedding, even Mike didn't know. She promised to keep quiet until I could tell him. I was terrified and I thought for sure he would freak out and leave, I mean, we'd been together for years and weren't engaged or even close. Getting married wasn't high on my priority list, but there wasn't anything that would force him to stay if he didn't want to. So when I told him I cried, thinking this would be the last time I would ever see him and he surprised me. He was ecstatic. He said everything was officially coming together and that he'd never been happier and promised that he would take care of the both of us no matter what happened.

I was even more afraid of telling my mom. I called her and tried to work up the courage, but then decided for some reason that I needed to tell her face to face. While I was coming up with a reason to get her out here I found out she was in Washington. Without telling me, she had been working on Charlie to get him to come out and see me, but he was being as stubborn as I was. When she was finally fed up with it, she flew out there to see him. My mother was pretty persistent when she needed to be.

I knew then that it was time to make things right; I'm not sure what brought about the stroke of maturity, if it was the baby, or the fact that I really was doing well, but I asked her to bring him out here to see me if he was willing. She was predictably thrilled and told me not to worry, that she would get him to California even if she had to tie him up and throw him in her trunk.

A couple of days later she called to say she'd been successful; Charlie had kind of a thing with planes so they'd be driving. She wouldn't say how she'd convinced him, just that she had and that she didn't have to do anything morally questionable to do it. I think she also knew he had never quite gotten over her. I told her then that I had news, but that I wanted to tell them both when they got into town. My mom wasn't keen on waiting, but I refused to just blurt it out over the phone.

I felt guilty about the whole situation, like I was using making up with Charlie as an excuse to get my mother to California. Would I have even planned on telling him if it weren't for my mom? That was a question I wasn't really ready to answer so I tabled it for the time being and prepared myself for an inevitable confrontation, told Mike to play nice, and waited for driving status updates from my mother. They were making the drive down the coast over the course of two days and by the end of the first day she was ready to kick him out of the car and leave him at the Oregon border. She told me they were going to drive for a little while longer and then find a place to sleep (in separate rooms on different floors, she added).

I got the call about the accident some time before dawn. In my half awake state, I didn't understand the things they were saying. They were asking if this was Bella Swan in Balboa, California and if my parents were Charlie Swan and Renee Dwyer and they apologized profusely and I didn't know what for so I stood up to clear my head. It woke up Mike and he sat up and turned on a light and then the man on the phone introduced himself as officer something and then he apologized again, but this time I asked him why. My heart sped up and he said there was a car accident and I flashed back on the question he'd just asked me – "were my parents" and not "are my parents." I saw that the power had gone out sometime during the night and I stared at the flashing numbers on the clock face on my nightstand. He said he was sorry again I told him to stop saying that and then he told me – my parents were dead.

And I just couldn't stop staring at those flashing red numbers.

My friends came over; Mike called them, but I kicked them all out except Mike. He was quiet and left me alone.

The services were strange. My father belonged in Washington and my mother belonged in Arizona so I made two flights and went to two funerals and it reminded me of a skipping record. I didn't do a eulogy; I discovered some time during all of this that I couldn't speak. My mouth was full of rocks and if I moved wrong I would choke on them. People kept touching me and Mike wasn't around to act as a buffer; he couldn't get off work. I wanted to tell them to stop, but I was too afraid of choking and dying. So everyone just kept putting their hands on me and I couldn't get away.

At night my mind wouldn't shut off. It was cold and accusatory. My fault, my fault, my fault, myfaultmyfaultmyfault.

I couldn't turn it off because I knew it was right and I couldn't be strong enough for both myself and the baby I had never told my parents about.

So I lost that too.

My friends were waiting for me at the apartment when Mike and I were back from the hospital; I asked them to stay this time because this loss was too much for me to numb my way through. Alice and Rose locked themselves in my bedroom with me for three days and I told them if I'd had a girl I would have named her after my mother and if it were a boy I would have named him Christopher. They were quiet when I needed them to be quiet and they told me stories when I needed something to drown out the accusations in my head. I cried in the shower when I didn't think they'd be able to hear. Emmett and Mike didn't really know what to do so they cleaned, bought groceries so I wouldn't have to, fixed something on my car, and kept their voices down.

After another week I went back to work even though they said I could have more time off, a few days after that I learned I was my in my father's will; he had left me everything which included a full pension, his home, bank accounts and any back pay he might be due. My mother's will split her assets between me and her husband, Phil.

So I had gotten my parent's killed and then taken the scraps when they were gone.

I let Mike deal with everything.

He got a property management company to rent out my father's house and I insisted we give my half of my mother's estate to her husband even though Phil said no. It didn't occur to me then that it might be painful for him to have it too. I put my father's money into savings and haven't touched a dime of it.

After a month I started returning phone calls.

After three months I could almost pretend that I didn't blame myself, hate myself, have dreams about dying with my baby in that car accident too, that the guilt and mental decay wasn't killing me from the inside out.

After six months I learned to live with it.