THESE OUTTAKES WILL NOT BE IN ORDER OF SEQUENCE. It's whatever comes to me at the time.
To my Readers.... thank you for everything. ILY.


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Outtake 3: Human Conditions
WARNING. This is a darker chapter, and it's not their break downs. If that says anything. It's his inner-thoughts, and he's crude and emotionally/mentally distraught, and just know that we're witnessing more than what he speaks/acts out loud to others, so you're getting the full image of his life. This would have taken place about a year after Bella/Edward's split. Back when the depression was BAD.
Do not read if you are in a cheery mood. It will ruin your day. (Oh, and Bella is somewhat featured in this outtake.)

---- NO BETA THIS CHAPTER; PLEASE EXCUSE ANY/ALL ERRORS. -----
A/N's At The Bottom. --

Disclaimer: I own nothing that is Twilight or Stephenie Meyer related.

"Sitting by a fire, on a lonely night.
Hanging over from another good time, with another girl...
Little dirty girl. You should listen to this story of her life...
You're my heroine.
In this moment I'm lonely, fullfilling my darkest dreams.
All these drugs, all these women,
I'm never forgiving... this broken heart of mine.
Because days! Come and go!
But my feelings for you are forever."

Papa Roach, "Forever"

Outtake 3: Human Conditions

EdwardPOV

The amount of Brandy that I had consumed created a new level of height for me.

I was smashed. And high.

And depressed, once again.

Standing on the outside of Dean's balcony during the dead of the night, I stared out into all the bright city lights of NYC, the busy street thirty stories beneath me, and felt the wind hit my face, bitterly.

I wished I had the guts to just fucking jump and end this. Maybe after a few more shots.

Taking another sip, I listened to the warm alcohol swish in my mouth, before I swallowed, allowing it to burn into my throat and slide down... and deep into the emptiness of my core. I didn't need ice in this shit. I had enough of that in my chest. I was a living, cold, numb solid.

I just needed to forget.

Forget, forget, forget.

I lit another cigarette, pissed that I'd run out again. It was my third pack today. I wondered what the world record was for gaining cancer the quickest, and tried to figure out how many packs I'd have to buy until I did it, or beat it. At least I'd be remembered for something before I jumped. I'd have my name in a book after all. You'd be so proud, Dad.

All the better.

"Yo man."

"Fuck off."

My cousin Dean chuckled and closed the glass door behind me, before walking to where I stood, and stealing the cigarette from my fingers and taking a drag.

I glared at him.

He smirked and exhaled slowly, handing it back, "This shit will kill you one day."

"That's the plan."

"Right," he ignored my dramatics. "Great view, eh?"

"I suppose."

"What do you mean?"

I shrugged and looked down over the balcony, "street could be busier."

"Dude," he chuckled. "It's busy as fuck. Look at all that traffic! It's fucking New York City."

I shrugged again, inhaling deep and then exhaling slow, "the more cars, the bigger the mess." ...For when I jump.

Dean turned toward me, and said nothing. Just fucking stared, words hidden behind his eyes.

I smoked the rest of my cigarette in silence, lingering, before turning my head and shooting more daggers toward his fucking skull, "what the fuck? What?"

"You need to pussy smash."

"I need to fucking get me a new pack of cigarettes..."

"No, you need to seriously shoot off a fucking load."

I exhaled loudly.

Shoot off a load...

My mind snapped back to the object beneath the passenger seat of my car in the parking garage.

The object my mindless cousin, in all his innocence, helped me purchase here seven months back. The object that he thought would help me feel safe. I was thankful Dean allowed me the use of his address to make it appear that I lived here with him in the city for the past year and a half. Or the fact that he knew people who could alter my birth certificate making me appear to be twenty-one, and not eighteen.

You have to be twenty-one to buy a pistol.

I was thankful that the money-greedy handler didn't read too much into my permit, registry, or gun license when he saw the wad of cash in my pocket. ...Sixteen hundred dollars later, and the silver, powerful Desert Eagle Pistol was mine.

Worth every penny.

I used it to taunt myself. To see just how low I could sweep before one day, it became too much.

I hadn't made it to that day yet. But each second led me closer.

"D'ya hear me?"

"Huh?" I looked at him.

He laughed, "Did you hear me? This is a party. You know, that sexy crowd in my house, the loud music, the fucking alcohol in your hand... Come rejoin the land of the living and get you some. There's about eighty women in there. All clean and beautiful. Pick one."

"I need to get me some cigarettes."

"Fuck your cigarettes, I'll give you some of mine."

I leaned against the back of the concrete balcony, staring into the glass windows, at all of the laughing, swanky, drunken people behind it. I wanted to gash all of their eyes out with my pocket knife.

Okay, maybe that was a little harsh. But still. No one had the right to flaunt their happiness in a depressed person's face; even if they didn't know they were doing it. It just wasn't fair.

I growled and tugged at my hair, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be the asshole, but I'm not in the mood for parties."

"Then just get laid," he laughed. "I swear, you'll feel better. I'm sure one of the women in here are freakish enough to let you stick it up their ass."

I glared at him.

"...That is," he continued, giving me a smirk, "if Tanya isn't letting you do it all ready."

"Fuck Tanya. I told you, I was done with that bitch."

"Mmhmm."

I growled again, "Shut the fuck up."

"You know you're lying. That woman puts out. She's like gold. You keep her in the vault, pull her out when you need a reminder of the fact that she'll give it to you when you snap your fingers, then shove her back in when you realize that she, like money, can't give you any real happiness."

"Tanya will never make me happy."

"Then why do you keep her around?"

I ignored him.

"Exactly. P-U-S-S-Y."

"I haven't spoken to Tanya in two months," I declared, trying to justify myself.

"You still have her number in your phone."

"Point?"

"She-who-won't-be-named isn't in your phone anymore."

"Well, that's because you and jackass Paul in there decided to delete her out of it the other night."

"Well," he chuckled, slapping me on the back, "that's because you like to drunk-dial Bella a lot. I'm sure she wants to block you from her phone."

I turned and about knocked him out.

Instantly, he realized his mistakes, "Sorry. Her name slipped."

"Don't," I hissed, scoffing. "Just don't."

He held his hands up in surrender, "It's been a year, man. I guarantee she's moved on by now. You go to WSU, she goes to UW. Cougars versus Huskies; the biggest rivals. Come on, that is saying something right there! Maybe it's not meant to be. The signs are clear."

"You don't know that."

"Then why hasn't she ever picked up when you call her? Why did she change her voicemail from, 'Hey this is Bella, leave me a message', to a computer saying 'You have reached area code blah blah blah...'? It isn't even her fucking voice anymore, Edward. That's a sign."

"Maybe she had a stalker."

"Maybe you're her stalker."

"Maybe I'm not."

He laughed.

I glared viciously.

He smirked, "You're nuts man if you think that girl waited around for you. She waits around for no one. She hurt you, yes. You justified her actions by mimicking them. Now I ain't saying who's right and who's wrong, because I think you're both equally fucked, but I will say that I highly doubt she's sitting on the couch eating ice cream, holding her phone in her hands, praying for the next moment when you decide to drunk dial her again and leave her another ten minute slurred voice mail about all the things you wished you could take back, how you wished you fucked her when you had a chance in that cabin because then 'maybe it would've changed everything', and then go into 'You better not be fucking seeing anyone, Bella. No one is good enough for you' sad sobbing story."

If he weren't my cousin, I would have shoved him off this balcony. "I don't appreciate you mocking me."

"I'm being honest. That's what family does."

"Family also kill each other when the opposing party doesn't know when to shut his fucking mouth."

He laughed, unaffected by my venom, "you love me, Edward. And I love you. I'm just telling you that you're fucked in the head right now, that Bella did a number on you, and you need to get laid while you're visiting me. That's it."

"Dean, say her name again, and I will knock out your front two teeth."

"Avoiding her name doesn't make it any easier."

"It does for me."

"Clearly."

I sighed, realizing I was treating my cousin like shit, and he didn't deserve me taking my problems out on him, "I'm just irritated. I don't me-"

"Don't apologize to me. We're family. I just want you to find an outlet from all of this shit."

I need to talk to her. "I know."

"And you have a lot of friends who love you regardless of your past."

I wonder if her phone number is listed in my recent calls still. "I know that too."

"There's plenty of other women in this world."

None like her. I wonder if she'll pick up tonight, if I can find that damn number again. "Yeah, yeah."

"So get to it," he laughed. "Oh, hey, look, there's one, and she's coming outside to smoke a cigarette..." He tossed me his lighter and a few cigg's. "Light it up for her."

I gave him an evil eye as he walked back inside, holding the door open for the girl to pass through, then fake-humped the handle before closing the door and walking away.

She was tall for a female, maybe 5'9". Slender. Tan skinned, foreign heritage. Dark brown, almost black hair, in long waves. Plump lips, dark eyes. She went to the corner of the balcony, sat her glass on the concrete, and exhaled, before turning and giving me a wry smile.

I didn't smile back.

"You're Dean's cousin, right?"

I nodded grimly.

"I'm his friend. Nadine," she walked toward me, the smell of her perfume hitting my nose, "I've heard a lot about you"

I shook her hand briefly, "I haven't heard anything about you." And I don't care to.

She laughed, "At least you're honest. Got a light?"

I flicked it open, staring at the flame. She made a drastic show of slipping it between her lips and puffing. I barely noticed. She was annoying me already.

"So," she blew the smoke away from my face, "why aren't you inside?"

"I like the cold and the bitter."

She grinned, "ahh, the scorned lover."

"I beg your pardon?"

Laughing softly, she turned toward the view, "I see it in your eyes. What is her name?"

"I don't feel like discussing my life with a stranger."

"We're all strangers. Even to ourselves. No one knows anybody when you get right down to it."

I lit me another cigarette and finished off my Brandy, "Yeah well, I still don't feel like talking about it."

She dropped it, thank God, and smoked her cigarette in silence.

Then two more.

As did I.

All I could think about was how much I hated Bella, and loved her all the same. Hated her for what she did to me, what she made me become. Loved her for the times she made me better. Hated her because she wouldn't pick up her phone when I'd call her. Loved her because she was trying to move on, I suppose, and though it killed me, I just wanted her to be happy.

"So," she started up again, "how old are you, Dean's cousin, who hasn't given me his name yet?"

"Why does my name or age matter?"

"Conversation."

"How old do you think I am?"

She shrugged, "Twenty-One, I'd say?"

"Then that's my age."

"And your name?"

I sighed, trying not to release my frustrations out on the innocent girl, "...Call me Cullen."

"Cullen," she smiled. "I like it."

I didn't acknowledge a response. I was too busy digging through my phone, trying to find that damn number.

She left, then came back a few minutes later, with a fresh glass for me, "Brandy, right? Dean told me to bring it out for you."

I drank it down quickly, ignoring the burn, then sat the glass down on the concrete.

She went and got me another one.

I drank it in two halves.

She giggled after that one and lit my cigarette for me with my own lighter, before I had a chance to grab it.

I muttered a small thanks. It came out slurred.

She rubbed my back tentatively, preparing herself for me to snap at her. But I didn't. I hadn't been touched by a woman in two months. And though it was wrong, I felt that I needed it. Not deserved it, but needed it. I rubbed my face in my palms and tugged my hair, unable to look at her. She was a stranger, but would still see through me.

"I... know you don't want to talk about her," she whispered, "and I don't blame you. I've had my heartbroken before too. It's a hard shape. But I will say that it is the human condition to feel alone. You should embrace it for what it's worth. Being lonely, and feeling this hurt, only proves that you are alive... and that means, you still have a purpose in this life, Cullen. You must remember that when you're at the bottom of the empty bottle. There is more to life than heartache, but heartache in itself, can be painfully brutal... and equally beautiful."

My heart started to clench and my fingers began to shake, this alcohol starting to eat away at my functions. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to submit to these pains in my body.

I just wanted to disappear off the face of this fucking earth.

I had to stay numb.

I lit another cigarette. My throat was so fucking raw, but I just kept inhaling.

"How old are you?" I asked, rubbing my neck.

"I'm twenty-nine."

Ten years my senior. "What are you doing at this type of party?"

"I told you, I was a friend of Dean's."

"You mean a fuck buddy."

She smiled and tilted her head toward me, her eyes at my mouth, her voice low, scratchy, and seductive, "...Just a friend."

Scoffing, I turned away from her, and knocked the glass off of the balcony as I tried to reach for it. I couldn't hear it crash on the sidewalk, we were too far up. But I knew it was laying there broken.

It resembled how I was and how I wanted to be.

"I just want to forget," I whispered, the clutch in my throat attempting to close off my airwaves. "I want to feel numb."

"You're going to need something stronger than alcohol," she replied.

I looked to her, the first time seeing her face up close. She wasn't Bella. I turned away.

"Come on," she said, slipping her hand inside mine.

I stared at our hands for a moment, then caved in, allowing her to pull me inside the house. I dodged anyone who shouted for me to come join them, and followed her through the crowd and stench of alcohol, down the long hall, into the door to the right. We entered Dean's bedroom, and she locked the door behind her, motioning for me to sit on the bed. I did. She sat beside me, and dug through her purse. A few moments later, she pulled out a tiny white baggie with white powder, and another with two small pills. I watched as she pulled a mirror from behind Dean's headboard, and began to smash then crush the pills up using her credit card.

"What are those?"

She didn't reply. Instead breaking the powder up in two lines, and then handing me a small straw. You think that at this moment, I'd panic, or at least feel my heart rate speed up. I didn't.

"Numbness doesn't have a name," she replied. "You want to feel nothing? Take a line. Then we'll get to the good stuff."

I took the mirror from her, and plugged a side of my nose, inhaling through the straw with the other. I hadn't done anything like this before. The shit burned for a second, and I felt it leaking down from my nose, into my throat. I blinked a few times, swallowing whatever was there down. She followed, snorting the other side.

We drank in silence for a few moments, allowing it to adjust. Once that happened, she pulled the white shit out of the baggie, and this time, made four thin, long lines. I took two of them in silence, not bothering to ask what they were. She wouldn't tell me anyway. Shaking my head, I rubbed my nose and blinked sharply. That stuff worked much faster. I felt it almost instantly.

"Whoa," I exhaled, slurring. "What the fuck w's that?"

"Good shit," she laughed. "Snowballs."

"Excuse me?"

"Cocaine."

"Oh. Ohhhhhh." Shit. I just did fucking cocaine.

Instantly, I felt alert. Euphoric. My heart rate began to pick up a bit, and I started to feel a little hot.

"We need to get some water," she said, handing me the mirror, and running toward Dean's bathroom.

I listened as she rinsed the glass out and filled it up. It was as if every single sound was right inside my ears, loud and aware. I pinched the bridge of my nose, felt my leg bouncing for a second. I wasn't panicking. I just felt alive, and numb, all at the same time. It felt good.

She gave me the glass, and I drank it all, then filled it up, and handed it to her.

My heart was beating both faster and slower than normal. I felt great.

My eyelids hanging a bit, from the mix of the alcohol limit and drugs, I turned to her, "I've never done this before."

"Really?" she said. "Surprising. You seem like a party guy."

I shook my head, "Not allllll the time."

"Then feel this," she said, raising her right hand. She took her long fingernails and scratched slowly down my arm. I felt every little hair follicle stand to attention, as if she were touching all of them individually. It felt incredible. It was as if I was trapped inside a water color painting. Everything started to look a hell of a lot different from this perspective.

I didn't think about anyone. I didn't care about anything, but how incredible that felt.

"Fuck," I exhaled, shivering beneath her fingernails. She moved her hand up, higher, through the back of my hair, then yanked it hard. Again, I felt every little follicle for itself, and it did something inside of me. A growl. I felt it. Powerful. I was power.

I leaned toward her and ran my fingers across her arm. Shit. I felt that too. Moved up, and wrapped her long hair around my right hand. Pulled it. She winced and then bit her lip, the pain and pleasure. I'd never felt the way I did in that moment. I didn't want the moment to end.

I lay back on the bed, and kept my feet on the floor. Let my eyes linger toward the white popcorn ceiling. I saw each and every single texture of it. Individually. It was amazing.

After she put everything up, she eventually lay beside me, and began running small circles on my arm, and the other hand through my hair. I shut my eyes, allowing her to do it. This stranger. These strange feelings. It was all welcoming. As if I'd known and done this my whole life.

"Cullen," she whispered, hot air hitting my left ear. "Are you older than eighteen?"

"Mmhmm."

"Got a condom?"

"Yeah." I did. It was in my wallet. And I knew where Dean kept his as well.

She rolled over on top of me, and straddled my hips, "It feels amazing to fuck on cocaine. It's a stimulant, after all."

I didn't say anything.

She started to grind above my jeans, "and... I want to fuck you. I have since I saw you yesterday when you came here to Dean's."

Each move she made, I felt it in every single inch of me. Awakening me. Numbing me. Killing me. Creating me.

And I was growing beneath her. I knew she felt it too.

I didn't want to have sex with anyone. In the long run, I knew it wouldn't help me. Wouldn't push me to get over Bella. I didn't want to get over her.

But I did want to fuck. I thought it'd help me forget for a while, like I was forgetting right now. And I recognized the difference.

I watched as she pulled off her black tank top and kicked off her shoes. Watched as she unfastened my shirt, belt, and jeans.

"You don't have to talk about her," she panted. "But you can take your frustrations out tonight. You have free reign with me. I want you to be a man tonight."

I rubbed my face vigorously. How the fuck did I get here? I didn't care.

I sat up, grabbed her by the back of her neck, and twisted us around, holding her onto the mattress.

"Yes," she panted. "Just like that."

I rolled her over on her back, and held her down harder, staring into her distinct eyes, "You want it rough?"

She could barely nod beneath my grip.

I couldn't think. All I heard was feel, do it, fuck her, who cares?, just do it, she is letting you.

She is a bitch.

I didn't recognize my own self.

I had no identity.

I felt the devil in me, in my mind, controlling my actions. I hastily jerked her pants off and kicked mine off at the same time. She wore a red thong. Nothing else. I pulled her up, my erection pushing through my brief, threatening to tear it. She stared at me in amazement, and ran her fingers across my form, licking my lips.

"It's not a play toy," I spat venom. "Suck it or we don't do anything."

She smiled up at me and bit her lip, "that's the spirt."

"Shut you're fucking mouth," I slurred.

She grinned wider and pulled my briefs down, and took me into her mouth. I didn't allow her time to adjust to me, before I grabbed the back of her hair, and forced her to move the way I wanted her to move. I suddenly felt like I didn't have time for bullshit games. Didn't want time.

This woman, whoever the fuck she was, was just here. She was just a thing, and I was just a thing to her. We had no meaning otherwise.

She wanted to be controlled in the bedroom, because obviously, she was the type of woman that had all the power in her daily routine of things. In a bed, she could remove her walls.

I understood her, and she understood me. She knew my pain. Knew I wasn't the type of man to treat a woman like a whore.

But tonight, she was letting me. And therefor, I was letting her have what she wanted -- weakness.

"Harder," I said aggressively, yanking her hair a bit, causing her to whimper. "That's it."

She drug her teeth down and sucked the hell out of my tip. I felt like I could last forever.

I let her bring me to the very edge, not caring about how long it took, and then pulled out.

She licked her lips and sat back on the bed, pulling down her thong.

I double wrapped myself for extra precaution, and then pushed her back on the bed. She watched in excitement as I spread her legs, lining myself up with her. She was wet with a light amount of blonde hair, and it felt sensational on my dick. Better than her mouth.

With a sharp inhale, I slammed into her, as far as I could possibly go. She cried out, clawing up at me. Wanting me to lift her up.

I pushed her back onto the the mattress.

I didn't want her close to my face.

I didn't want to kiss her.

This wasn't about that.

The more I pushed, the more she egged me on. It wasn't gentle sex. It wasn't normal, I don't care you sex.

It was more and less. Rough. Animalistic. Disgusting.

I felt every single inch of her as I slid in and out, felt every texture, every wall, every grip of her muscles.

And then I drifted away...

I felt like I was swimming in a depthless ocean of colors, lower and lower, until I drowned into the blackness of the night and it sucked me in and closed over me.

I was gone.

She slapped me across the face.

I looked down at her, and grabbed her arms, holding her down, "What the fuck was that for?"

"Fuck me, you pussy."

I smirked and shook my head. Slut just fucking slapped me for no reason.

She smiled, thinking she had won.

She hadn't.

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, I pulled her up toward my face, felt the smoke come out of my ears, "hit me again, bitch. I dare you."

She smiled, raking her nails down my back, almost cooing. "You liked it."

I squeezed her hair tighter, causing her to wince.

She nodded, swallowing harder, "I had to... wake you up a bit."

I pushed into her hard, and hit that back wall to emphasize my point, "I'm up."

"Harder," she whispered. "Fuck me harder, Cullen. Just let go, and do it. You're not going to hurt me."

I released her hair, and without thinking and only feeling, I did as she asked.

I never slapped her or anything awful. Made sure to listen if she were to tell me to stop.

She never did. I knew she wouldn't. She was wild.

I rammed into her for most of the night, until the feeling of the drugs started to fade away. I had her, used her, owned her, made her mine.

I can't remember how many times we actually fucked.

All I know is it felt incredible to be alive and dead at the same time.

When we finally finished, she tried to soothe me and my disgusting actions by rubbing my face, but I didn't want to be touched anymore.

All the music in the building was gone. I'm sure my friends knew what the fuck was happening, especially when Dean wanted to go to bed.

I'd owe him for this.

She tried to talk to me, but I ignored her.

She tried again. Tried to ask me to see her again. Tried to get me to talk to her, to make sure I was okay.

"You and I, we don't have anything to explain to each other," I finally said, rolling over away from her. "I don't owe you a fucking thing."

"But-"

"Thanks for the sex," I slurred. "Let yourself out."

It was silent as she got dressed and closed the door behind her.

I sighed and rolled over on my back. The power was dwindling down. I didn't want it to.

I didn't know who the fuck I was.

That guilt hitting me, I pulled my phone off of the nightstand and skimmed through the missed calls. Eight of them. None of them were from my ex.

I wished they all were.

I explored my brain, trying to remember her phone number. I'd know it if I weren't plastered off my ass.

Caving in, I called every single number I could think of, not caring that it was the middle of the night. Most of it was friends voicemails.

Around the twelfth one, it was her number.

"Hey, you've reached my voicemail. I'm most likely asleep, in school, or ignoring your call for a reason. Leave me a message, and if you're sweet enough, I might find time in my schedule to call you back."

I smiled and covered my chest, feeling the pain and pleasure from hearing her voice back on the damn message. Not the robotic voicemail.

It was new.

The phone beeped, and then I was on.

My voice, it was raspy, and broken. But what needed to be said needed to be said, and I had to say it now.

"Hey... It's me again. I know it's late and all, but I thought that you might be up."

I exhaled, shaking my head. I felt the tears coming, the realization of what the fuck is happening in my life. What I'd just done.

"Actually, that's a lie. I don't know what I thought. All I know is, that... this life I have now, it's not a life at all. It hasn't been in a long time. I... realize that I'm no good for you, and proof of tonight and all my disgusting choices makes it all that much clearer to the both of us, I'm sure... But... I just want you to know that I'm thinking about you..."

I let the tear fall, and swiped it away.

"I'm... always thinking about you. Wondering if your eyes have same hues in them, or if your smile decorates your face the way that I once remembered it doing so. I wonder if you're happy, what you look like when you're asleep now, if you ever miss me as much as I fucking miss you..."

More tears fell down. I couldn't stop them if I tried.

"...A lot of the times, Bella, I just find myself wondering if you're trying to forget me as much as I wish you could. Because I know you're better off without me. I know that having me again might be a mistake for you, and I am not upset that you never allowed yourself to love me in the first place... I know we were young. But I want you to know that I feel myself withering away, the further I get from you. Dissolving into emptiness. And I don't want to feel like that. I don't want to forget you, or pretend like you didn't exist in my life. I just want to forget the bad stuff, just all the fucking bad stuff I allowed to happen to us."

I swallowed hard and wiped the dampness from my face, tried to ignore the way my throat was closing in on me.

"...I miss you," I whispered. "And as much as I don't deserve it, I hope that you're missing me too. But then again, I don't. I'm just so confused about you, constantly confused and frustrated. My chest, it closes a little more, every day that I think about you. And it's not because I drink or smoke. I cannot stop thinking, everyday, having these thoughts. I cannot stop wanting to hear from you, wanting to know you're happy... I just... I want you to be so, extremely happy. Elated. And..."

I rubbed my face in my arm, squeezing the phone tighter, "I don't know what else I want..."

Shut my eyes, willing this pain to go away.

"Yes I do," I exhaled. "I want you. I'll always want you."

I lingered in silence for a moment, wishing her arms were cradling me.

Comforting me.

Telling me she forgave me for my actions and my faults.

Telling me she missed me.

Telling me that she did love me back then.

I knew she never would.

"...Goodnight, beautiful."

I hung up the phone, and submitted to the loneliness that surrounded me.

----AUTHOR'S NOTES----

So there we go, Outtake #3!

--- I hope this answers a few more of your questions. Remember, this was only a year after the split. Also remember that they never said ILY back then.

-- I imagine that Bella/Edward have communicated in this fashion, but avoided each other physically as much as possible.

-- I hope this explains the one-night stand, where Edward first experienced drugs and how he got them, and how he had the gun beneath his seat the day he and Rose had that run-in at Walmart. How he let his friends influence his decisions back then. How he found himself constantly bouncing between being 'okay' and being depressed.

-- I will say that this amount of depression didn't happen every single day, and I'd imagine he and Bella both had some sort of prescription to help them through this. But when the sadness does hit, like during this chapter, it hits hard. I hope this explains more of him.

Thoughts? There's plenty more to come, so stick around!! AND REVIEW!!!

Reviews are better than drunk dialing. :D