This would not work. There is no way it could even help at all, but I had to try it. If I didn't, there was a chance that I would be banned from seeing Bella, and I needed more time.

"Run," I murmured almost silently into Bella's ear. She turned to me in shock.

"Run?" she hissed quietly back. Her face was clouded with disbelief. I didn't blame her - mine was probably the same.

"Yes. Wait for when I say 'go'." I reached for her small hand, counting down in my mind.

3 . . .

2 . . .

1 . . .

"GO!" I barked, dragging her along with me. I had always been a fair runner, pushing ahead further than the others on the playground blacktop. Five years now I had been in track, always earning praise from the coaches.

I looked behind me to make sure that we weren't anywhere close to being caught. Charlie simply stood there, his mouth hanging open in shock. Jessica stood beside him, filing her nails like the ditz she was.

For someone who hated sports and had a tendency to be clumsy, Bella was doing extremely well in our run. She kept pace with me, though her chest was heaving up and down heavily. My own lungs seemed to be screaming in protest. I pushed further, wanting to put space between us and Bella's overprotective father. We had run completely away from the buildings and were now close to the end of the parking lot where my car was. I looked beside me to see Bella wincing. Truthfully, my own feet had begun to throb. Note to self: take the Volvo next time.

"Where are we going to go?" Bella asked breathlessly.

"My house," I answered, not even thinking about where we could go, just so long as Charlie wasn't there.

She nodded, and I slowed to a jog, Charlie far behind us. "I'm sorry, Edward," Bella panted.

"For what? It wasn't you that made your father insane," I protested. It was me leaving you. I thought.

"But what if it was? Maybe something before the crash happened that I did that made him hate you. I just . . . I just wish I could remember everything. Something. Anything at all! But I don't. All I see is one, huge black mass."

"I'm no doctor, but maybe I could figure out some way to . . . restore some of your memory. They've done tons of studies on memory loss and gain, but some of it requires special equipment, and . . ." I was now muttering to myself, forgetting Bella's presence completely.

"Uh, Edward?" she called, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Your car is over here, smart one."

I walked back over, opening the door for her. "Did you just insult me?" I asked, fake hurt coming over my face.

"Insult you?" she laughed. "I believe I called you 'smart one', didn't I?"

"Yes, but by calling me that, you gave me an undirected insult. If you had called me a moron like you were thinking, that would have been a direct insult," I explained, shaking my head in mock sadness. "I feel so betrayed!"

She only snorted, and then laid back her seat. So much for being a comedian.

As I parked my car in the driveway, I realized that Bella hadn't seen the house since before the crash. There was so much she could remember. All of the places I had taken of her, all the people we had met together, all the time we had spent . . . it was all gone.

There were two stories to the magnificent house, both large. Before the navy French doors was a small porch. I frequently sat out here when I read or composed. A brick chimney climbed up the right side of the house, ivy tightly to the bricks and windows. It at times reminded me of the "an old house in Paris, which was covered with vines, lived twelve little girls . . ." from the Madeline books. When my father was relocated to Forks from Chicago, he gave my mother full reign over search for a house. It truly was her expertise, since she was an interior designer and would know how to work easily with the space.

"You have an amazing house," Bella breathed from beside me. Her stunning eyes had gone wide and adoring. Tempted by her open mouth, I decided to give her a quick kiss. She, however, had different ideas. I once again felt myself being drawn in my sweet scent of strawberry and silky hair and skin.

"Yeah, I know." I answered after I pulled away, thinking of beautiful memories that were made in the two years I had lived in this house.

"Does your mom get a chance to garden much?" she asked.

"No, not after . . ." I trailed off, not wanting to bring back a few memories.

She didn't answer, only went in through the front door.

Her brown eyes wandered over every picture hanging on the walls. She peered curiously at a black-and-white picture by my piano.

"Who is this?" she asked.

"My great-great-grandfather Anthony Masen. That's where I got my middle name from."

"Oh," she said. "I didn't know that your middle name was Anthony."

You used to. I thought sadly, but only smiled warmly. Her eyes lingered on the piano, as if she was trying to figure out what it was.

"You play?" she asked me curiously.

I smiled brightly, excitement growing as it always did before I played piano. "Yes; would you like me to show you?"

She grinned, and then said, "Play away, maestro."

I didn't dig through my many sheets of music to find her song - I already knew it by heart. My fingers steadied themselves over the keys, ready to make what I hoped would be amazing music.

A slow, forlorn melody began. There were occasional sounds that were spirited and strong, but they were few and far between. Then the core of the music began, every note dripping with a variance in passion. A mix of lower, more rhythmic notes balanced the higher, lyrical ones that seemed to stick out in every direction. They created the perfect harmony together. Never the same, but always perfectly in sync. Glorious chords and a dance of flats and sharps made the bridge a quirkier, more humorous piece. As the piece drew to an end, the highs and lows came back together in sync. With a sweeping glissando, the piece ending. I turned to Bella, ready for a scoff or bored stare.

What I didn't expect were tears spilling out of her eyes.

"Bella, what's wrong?" I asked, taking her warm hand in mine.

Her eyes met mine, making a delightful buzzing sensation erupt throughout my body. Her expression was that of adoration and love.

"That was beautiful, Edward," she finally stated.

I gently squeezed her hand and said, "So are you."

"I love you," she whispered. "You are my forever."

"I can't imagine forever without you," I returned. "I love you, Bella."

I leaned in to press my lips to hers, inhaling the deep scent of her body. Before I got a chance to really even get the smell of strawberries in my nose, she crushed her face to mine, using all of the force in her tiny body. In a moment of shock, I stayed still, but then dove into her lips. They were so tender that I wanted to vanish inside of her kiss, never to leave her lips. She was like some pill that I was highly addicted to, and would never be able to survive without its sweetness.

She pulled away, tears still streaming down her cheeks. I brushed them away with my thumb, staring perplexedly at her. "Why are you crying?" I questioned.

She shook her head and laughed. "Can't you see? Not only is it because I love you, but because I know I don't deserve you. Someday, you'll fall in love with someone who does deserve you, and I'll be left in the dust. Some prettier than me will come along and you'll rightfully decide that they're who you should be with. Or you'll fall in love with Mike Newton or something like that!"

I tried to contain my laughter, but it was a vain effort. I fell to the floor while clutching my sides and wild laughs escaping my lips.

"What?" Bella demanded. "What is so funny?" She placed her hands on her hips, an annoyed grimace on her face.

"Love- Mike- Not- I-" I choked through my laughter, not being able to form complete sentences.

"This is matter that is not to be regarded as petty, Edward!" she shrieked. "You come up to me in a year and be all, 'Bella, I'm leaving you. The piano can use its tongue much better than you.' What am I supposed to do then?"

I laughed even harder at how absurd she was being. Only Bella would tell me that I would leave her either because I was gay or licking an inanimate object.

Though it took roughly 15 minutes, my laughter eventually died down to mere chuckles. "So would you like to see the rest of the house?" I asked.

"Of course!" Bella grinned.

I led her to the kitchen, which had been redone by my mother. The countertops were a black granite, while the cabinets were the same soft shade of ivory as the exterior. There was a large window above the seat, giving a view of the magnificent backyard. Flowers spilled out of pots and onto the lush grass. The butterflies that flitted from plant to plant made me feel as if I was in the movie Bambi.

"I love this place, Edward. It's so amazing. I want to stay here with you forever, but I don't know how your mother would react," she said.

"My mother loves you, Bella. She worries about you all the time, asking me if you're okay," I admitted.

"That's so sweet of her," Bella complimented.

I rested my chin on her shoulder, wrapping my arms around her waist. "I think you're sweet," I purred into her ear, kissing down her neck.

"Edward," she warned. "Stop!" she giggled.

"Fine," I said, releasing her waist. "Here, I'll show you my room."

I led her up the wooden staircase, going to the end of the hall where my bedroom was located. I was about to open the door but stopped.

"Wait," I whispered. "I can't take you in there."

"How come?" she asked.

"Because Mike Newton is in there - naked." I whispered, trying hard not to smile or laugh.

"Why is Mike Newton naked in your bedroom?" she screeched.

"You see, we had a little, err, rendezvous last light. He uses his tongue so much better than you. Mmm . . ." I said, pretending to look as if I was longing for Mike.

This time, I didn't try to stop my laughs when her jaw just about dropped to the floor.