Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.


June 2009. (Present Day)

She's here. I can feel her.

Like stepping into a loved one's bedroom hours after their funeral, the presence lingering through the summer air was overwhelming. My mind immediately began going through the belongings she'd left behind, the memories of us together and reliving them one by one. I drew up the pleasant first - the taste of her lips and the look of innocence in her brown eyes - knowing I very well might find myself collapsed on the ground if I drew up the painful.

"Always tell the truth." My mother had instilled this in me at the age of four after I lied about trying out my sixty-four box of Crayola's on the newly papered wall. Esme probably would've instilled it in me too, particularly for the time I changed the history grade on my report card from an F to a B, if she'd noticed. She was so zonked out at the time, I don't think she would've known a Y from an O. Carlisle knew the difference however, even through a poorly scanned copy sent over the Internet, and he reprimanded me from New York between meetings of business and pleasure.

A grown man now, I still try to abide by my deceased mother's code of conduct. Is honesty always the best policy though? Because I do have to question, if it weren't for me being so adamant about telling the truth, would we still be together? It's eight years later, but I can't help but wonder. If I could go back, I would have tried to take a moment and reconstruct my words so they didn't cut as deep, but it probably wouldn't have done any good. My heart was determined for me to speak my mind with her. The truth would always prevail.

We had the cleanest of breaks. She never tried to make me feel ashamed or guilty for being earnest with her, but she didn't fight to keep me either. She let me let her go. Our breakup was effortless. There was no awkward exchange on her doorstep of my letterman's jacket for her Queen CD, and no carefully drawn up agreement regarding which of our mutual friends were now off limits to each other. We went our separate ways and fell into a post-breakup rut of never speaking.

Her flame for me fizzled while mine kept burning bright. I never even wanted to break up with her; that wasn't my intention when I made the heartless statement that caused tears to fall like rain. I still have her CD. Worn with deep scratches from excessive play, the disc has made the journey with me from high school to college, from first car to first apartment, from youth to manhood. I don't know if she still has my jacket.

Relationships are often destroyed by the restlessness and recklessness of youth, but can I really chalk it all up to being young and naïve? Possibly. Is it an excuse? Maybe. A poor one? Yes.

I savored the robust taste of the whiskey in my Jack and Coke and leaned against the rough edge of the picnic table. She was here. I could feel her. The familiar scent was drifting through the air. Emitting from those chocolate curls, sending me deep into a field of freesia and tying me up tight with a vine of strawberries. I tried to be discreet in turning my head to seek her out, but a knowing elbow from Emmett soon disrupted his conversation with Rosalie and found its way between my ribs. I lazily licked the alcohol from my bottom lip and followed his fixated gaze.

I noticed him first. Dark hair pulled into a low ponytail, he was attached to her like a cancerous tumor. Big and burly, enveloping her delicate hand. She had no complaints, swinging the intertwined evidence of their love and skipping playfully. Past the empty street and the grey ripples of the empty lake, the diamond on her finger sparkled as they approached the park. The realization of the situation made itself known in the form of a hard lump in my throat. This wasn't my Bella anymore, and not just because she was holding another man's hand.

The Bella I knew was the pearl inside the shell. Reserved and bashful, only a select few had witnessed her charming wit and childlike spirit. She was endearingly clumsy, always biting that bottom lip out of nervous habit. Her cheeks were usually flushed a suspicious shade of pink, leading one to wonder if it wasn't the result of an ecstatic release, but I knew better. It was a result of her insecurities, and they frustrated me to no end. I constantly told her she was beautiful only to have it fall on deaf ears. She didn't hear the words when they came from me.

But she seemed to hear his. This Bella had me hypnotized by the confident rhythm of her bare legs. I followed them from the hem of her sundress down to the heeled sandals on her feet. She was poised and carefree; a distinct love for life radiated from her alabaster skin. I watched as she gave his hand a teasing tug to which he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Her bottom lip tucked itself between her teeth; not out of nerves or apprehension, but out of flirtatiousness. She was biting back a spreading grin.

I stood cemented in place. Utterly frozen with legs like weights I clutched my drink in hand.

My pearl had lost her shell.


Yes, no, maybe? Do be a dear and let me know.