A/N: sorry for the delay, kids. honestly, the summer is crazy busy. this is going to get wrapped up pretty soon, so bear with me. you guys have been amazing, and although my story is still pretty UG, thanks for taking the time to read and giving me a chance. read, enjoy, and i love you guys!
song: the trapeze swinger by iron and wine

BPOV

"Bells, it's 11:30," Charlie whispered.

I shot up from my pillow, my heart stuttering in pulses as I found my father crouched beside my bed. My hand flew to my chest.

"Sorry," he chuckled, straightening his badge. "I just figured I'd let you know that I'm taking off for the day. I'll be back late tonight, most likely."

"Okay, Dad," I muttered, my voice foggy with sleep. "I'll see you later."

"Go on to sleep when you get tired. I'll just let myself in."

I sighed, pulling the covers up to my chin. "Sure."

Charlie watched my face for a moment, frowning slightly before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

I hated the weekends. They were slow and lonely, the rain pelting relentlessly on my windowpanes and never giving me a goddamn break. The weekends were a heavy reminder that I was virtually friendless and alone. Alice would stop by occasionally, but generally her Saturdays were consumed by Jasper Whitlock and her obsession with working him out of his skintight jeans.

Today was really no different.

I tried to keep my thoughts as vague and simple as humanly possible, not allowing my subconscious mind to dig into the deep caverns that I hid away within my head. Those caverns and valleys held nothing but a pair of green eyes that I hadn't seen in days. Those crevices also held the reminder that the last time I'd seen those eyes, they had been full of hate and embarrassment, and they had driven away from me.

God. That was the worst part. Edward had left me this time. Sure, that day in his bedroom, he'd yelled and screamed and ripped me to shreds. But ultimately, I walked out. But this time, it was different. He'd seen me, alone in the rain, calling his name with tears rolling down my cheeks. He'd seen me, and he'd left me. That night after Jasper had let me go in the parking lot was the single most excruciating stretch of time I'd ever endured.

Some say that all you have to do to mend a broken heart is to make it until the morning. Because, supposedly, everything gets better in the morning. But, as I lay against my pillow, my cheeks sticky with dried tears as I watched the sun rise over the hills, I knew that whoever had said such a thing was a terrible liar. My eyelashes were wet, and the morning only illuminated the jagged edges of my torn heart so that I could actually see it rather than just feeling it. Which was worse.

So now Charlie was leaving. It had been a week, and still, I was afraid to close my eyes. There was absolutely no way I was falling back asleep now. The rain was falling too heavily and my brain was testing its limits too far to allow for any sort of hibernation. My eyelids fought to stay open.

I eventually found myself at the small table in the kitchen, eating a bowl of Cinnamon Life and watching the trees outside twist in the wind. My eyes were slightly unfocused, absorbing general shapes and colors rather than detail. My day was wide open, and I had no plans whatsoever. It reminded me of when I'd first moved to Forks. I was starting over.

I started thinking about the time that had passed. The fact that I'd taken to wearing Edward's white t-shirt every night to bed wasn't helping me get over things. It had been such a short period of time, but so long all at once. It was something that I rarely allowed myself to consider, but seeing that I had an empty day of being alone, masochism seemed almost appropriate.

The rest of my day was tearfully boring. I watched television and fought to keep myself away from the phone. The next day was Christmas, and I knew that Alice would be with Jasper, exchanging gifts and saliva and other things that I didn't want to think about. So it was just me, alone, in the house. Big mistake.

It was times like these that Edward infiltrated my brain. He was so vivid and exact in my brain that it hurt to think about him. It hurt to know that I could have had him there with me on my father's stiff, scratchy couch. It hurt to know that it was my fault that he wasn't.

So the morning bled into the afternoon seamlessly, the night creeping upon me as my lids became heavy with unwarranted exhaustion. I knew I'd have to sleep eventually and that my body would succumb to the warmth of my bed, but I loathed the nightmares that would inevitably consume me without my consent. The worst part was that they weren't really nightmares, but actually fantastic dreams. The only element that classified them as night terrors was the part where, always, without a question, Edward would fade to dust beneath my palms and I would be left alone.

My eyes opened to the loneliest day I'd ever endured. Even more than the day my Mom left and took me with her, even worse than the day that my parents' divorce was final, even more excruciating than the first birthday I'd had after Mom had married Phil and he gave me a baseball glove that was too big for me. It was Christmas, and the irony of it all almost made me laugh. Almost.

This Christmas, Charlie had given me gifts that he'd thought I wanted—t-shirts a size too small, stationary with small dogs running down the sides…things that would be tossed into the back of my closet along with other useless items that would go on to be forgotten. I gave him a new fishing pole and a tackle box before retreating to my room and falling into a deep and surprisingly dreamless sleep. Alice's appearance that evening had been unanticipated, and I forced a smile as she shook me awake with a bundle of silver boxes in her arms.

"Wake up, Bella!" she'd squealed, her cheeks pink from the cold and her hair damp and loose. "It's Christmas!"

"Thanks for reminding me," I mumbled with a slight hint of sarcasm. "Those aren't for me, are they?" I gestured towards the packages that were now sprawled over my purple duvet.

"No, they're for me," she snorted. "Of course they're for you!"

"Aw, man, Alice," I grumbled. "I didn't get you anything."

Alice let out an ear-piercing giggle. "It's the season of giving!" she cried. "Besides, Carlisle already bought me a new, cherry red Beemer, so I'm almost gifted out."

I rolled my eyes, accepting the boxes she was shoving in my face. "I doubt that you, Alice Cullen, can be such a thing as gifted out."

"Just open, Bella," she breathed, refusing to let my pessimism bring her down. Her eyes widened as I opened the first box, anticipating my reaction.

"A hairbrush?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

Alice smiled with chagrin, shrugging. "I figured that you could use one. You know, because your hair's so...thick."

"Gee, thanks," I laughed, tucking the brush back into the box and shoving it onto my nightstand.

"Next!" Alice barked, plopping another box into my lap.

"How many are there?" I whined.

"Stop complaining, just open."

I opened up three more gifts—a new bag and a matching wallet from Alice, and a gift from Carlisle and Esme. Mr. and Mrs. Cullen had gotten me a pretty little key chain with my name engraved into its flat, silver face. It was beautiful, and also completely unnecessary.

"Alice, this is just too much," I blushed, my eyes pleading.

Alice's face fell from its toothy grin, crumpling into an expression of an emotion very similar to pity. "We all love you, Bella. You know that, right? Even though things…you know, got all fucked up, we still love you. And Esme is sorry that things wound up how they did. I'm sort of the messenger for all of them. You know, the one who can tell you that they all still care."

"All of them except for one," I whispered, my eyes clouding.

Alice stiffened, her lips paling. "You're wrong," she muttered.

"Well, two, if you count Emmett, I guess," I corrected myself, feeling even more depressed than I had initially.

"That's not what I meant," Alice huffed, reaching down to the floor to pick up yet another silver package. "Bella, um, Edward…he misses you."

I choked out a pathetic laugh. "That's cruel, Alice."

"No! I mean it!" she yelped, dumping the box into my lap. "Just…open this."

My eyes welled with tears as I looked down at the gift, the calligraphy from the tag on top too familiar for comfort. "I can't," I gasped, looking up at Alice's face with pleading eyes.

"Just look," she prompted, her eyebrows knitted together.

Taking a shaky breath, I began slowly ripping the paper from whatever was inside. That same breath hitched in my throat when I saw what it was.

A moderately sized wooden box sat simply in my lap. It wasn't carefully whittled with any special kind of design or anything like that, just a tiny, blue star sticker on the top right corner. It was plain, and sturdy, and confusing.

"Look inside." Alice's voice was rough and gravely.

Fear built up inside my chest as I wrapped my fingers over the lid, lifting it from the box with hesitation.

It was filled with random scraps of paper and little knickknacks that, at first, looked like a pile of rubble. I exploded into a helpless fit of unreserved sobs as soon as I looked closer.

There was a Polaroid, slightly aged with the top right corner folded down. A small, copper-haired boy stood in a sunny field, a recognizable, dilapidated, white house sprawled behind him. Edward Cullen, age 8 was sprawled in fading purple crayon just below the image. There was also a hunk of wood, painted white on one side and a beautiful maple on the other. Charlie's old flannel shirt that Edward had borrowed the first night he'd crawled through my window, his scent soaked into its fibers. A little Styrofoam sphere, painted to look like the moon. A birthday card, empty without a note or a signature. And a million tiny pieces of paper—some with fragmented journal entries, some with my name written on them, and some with a pair of eyes sketched so intricately and so exact that I knew them to be no one else's but my own.

My tears slipped hot and thick over my parted lips, my chest ripping furiously as sobs whipped violently through my frame. Because, at last, my finger had skimmed over a tiny square of paper taped to the bottom of the precious, wooden box. His handwriting was scattered along its perfect, blue lines, one particular grouping of words popping out at me every so often.

I love you.

Alice sat, unmoving at my feet. Her eyebrows were still pulled together, her green eyes soft as she listened to me cry. We sat this way for some time as I touched the things in the box with hopelessness. Eventually, the sky blackened, and Alice slipped silently through my doorway noiselessly.

Only after I heard her car speed away just outside my window did I allow myself to read the letter I'd found again. I would only read it once, just once more before I buried it in the bottom of the waste bin so I'd never see it again.

Bella, it said,

I don't know what to say to you, except for that I love you. I wish that I could go back and fix everything, to go back to when I first saw you in the courtyard at school when we sort of hated each other, to go back to that first night in Emmett's room, to tell you everything, to tell you the truth. You know that I'm not particularly talented in the art of expressing my feelings, especially on paper. But, Bella, I can't even tell you how much I miss you. I miss the hell out of you. I love you, Bella. I don't know if you love me, or if you just said it because you felt bad for me, but if I've ever been sure about anything, it's this. I love you. God, I love you. And I want you back. I want you back, and your fucking strawberry hair, and your chinchilla shit rainsticks and all of the weird stuff that you love. I want you. But there's been too much shit. There's been too much. I understand if you never want to see me again. That would probably make sense, after everything that's happened. I know I'm asking too much from you to forgive me. I always feel like I'm asking too much from you, anyhow. It would have been too much for me to ask you to stay with me through Carlisle being sick, and it would be too much for me to ask you to be normal for me so I wouldn't freak the fuck out every time I was alone. But you were perfect for me, Bella. You showed me how to be a decent fucking person, and not some self-righteous, egotistical prick. You showed me how to grow the hell up. No one can ever replace you, Bella. I love you. I was half a person when I met you. And while nothing is going right and everything is completely fucked up right now, I can breathe. I can love my dad again, Bella. I can do this. I can help him now. I can do this. I love you, Bella. I love you, and I miss you, and I can never go back to my big, white house again. Because..fuck, Bella..that house is our house. I'm so sorry. Oh, and Merry Christmas.

Edward.

When my body was frail and weak with devastation, I allowed my eyes to flutter closed as my tears dried on my wasted cheeks.

*

EPOV

I don't know why I did it to her.

I don't know why I gave Alice that goddamn wooden box to wrap in her prissy silver wrapping paper and I don't know why I let her fucking leave the house with it.

I mentally slapped myself for picking out such gay shit to give to Bella for Christmas. I knew I had to make things right, I just had no idea how. I don't know why I'd decided that Christmas was the perfect opportunity to make things up to her. Because I knew she'd fucking cry or get angry or throw the fucking thing at my sister and that it would probably ruin her whole day. But I did it anyway.

Carlisle's words stayed put. I could have slept fifteen thousand sleeps and I would still hear him in my head like he was right there with me.

It's never too late. It might seem that way, but if you really love her, you can find a way.

If you really love her, you can find a way.

Why the fuck was I so confused? I, without a doubt, was in love with Bella Swan. Easy enough, right? Wrong. Because this girl that I was inexplicably in love with also hated my guts. I'd lied to her, and she'd told me that she loved me. Maybe she was lying because she knew about Carlisle, but then again, maybe she wasn't. But we'd used each other. I could have told myself that she took advantage of me day-in and day-out but I knew that I'd used her, too. It was an exhausting game of cat-and-mouse. Because as much as I wanted to hate her, I couldn't. Because I loved her. And I was making myself fucking sick.

I wasn't sure how I'd turned into such a pussy bitch, either. It all started when I found out about my dad, when I carved a hole in his study door like a whiny brat and then cried about it. Something broke inside of me that day. Something told me that life wasn't about me anymore. I think that that's why I cracked. I realized that there were bigger things than myself and my pathetic daddy issues. So maybe that's why I put a piece of the office door in the box I sent with Alice. I had stared at the gaping hole with such fear and resentment and hatred that I neglected to realize how fast my changing heart was pounding. That was the beginning…the starting point.

The catalyst.

So it was too late to stop Alice after she'd climbed in the new car Dad bought her to drive to Bella's on Christmas Day. As I watched her speed away, I knew I'd fucked up. Maybe the gift was too lame, too personal…maybe Bella would reject it or think it was stupid. We hadn't spoken in around three weeks, and it was very possible that she wouldn't forgive me now. I'd come in for the few periods a day that I didn't have class with her, and then simply leave before she could catch up to me. I thought that maybe she'd try and find me, and maybe I'd eventually have to see her. But she never did. I learned very quickly that Alice was keeping tabs on me, and was probably keeping Bella away. Fuck, I was mean. I was testing her. Trying to see if she'd make her own way back to me, so I didn't have to grow some and win her back myself. It was so petty. It was so stupid. But it was us.

I gave her the little wooden box I used to keep childish keepsakes in, like my first baseball glove and a little treasure chest that had all of my baby teeth in it. She wouldn't know it from any other wooden box, but I felt like…Christ, I'm lame…it felt like there was a piece of me inside. My hands shook like hell as I packed it with all the ridiculous shit that I figured would remind her of me. I put my secrets away in it and things that embarrassed me. But I knew that if she wouldn't take me back, there wouldn't be a point to anything that I'd worked for over the past months. I had been forced to grow up, to get the fuck over myself and to care about someone else more than I cared about myself. And I prayed with everything inside of me that she'd open the box and…I dunno, butterflies and rainbows and shit would fly out and make her forgive me and fall in love with me again. I knew that, naturally, it wouldn't be that simple, but I hoped that someone would have mercy on me. Bella, for one.

But maybe it was just wishful thinking.

Along with the little piece of door that I'd roll between my thumb and index finger as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling night after night, I'd put something that reminded me of the other good thing in my life besides this girl that had flipped my whole world upside down. I dug furiously through my sock drawer, trying to find the only picture I kept in my room. It was an old photograph, taken by Emmett, of me in front of my house. The place that I grew, the place that I'd taken Bella to and the place that I'd formed a relationship with my father. It was me, all sunny and stupid and young, standing in front of the most beautiful home I'd ever seen, my eight-year-old, chicken scratch calligraphy printing my name and age along the white bar below the image. I felt like a fucking fool as I kissed the back and put it in the box.

I threw in the shirt Bella had given to me the first night I kissed her, her scent still faintly in the collar, and a moon from my third grade science project that reminded me of the one place Bella had ever wanted to visit. With trembling fingers, I added the empty and completely impersonal birthday card my father had given me for my seventeenth birthday. I knew Bella probably wouldn't understand, but I figured that she should have it anyway. So much bitterness was harbored in that little, insignificant paper card. I'd grown so much from that day, and I hoped that putting it in there would help the…the magic or whatever.

And, holding my breath, I haphazardly threw in little bits and pieces of the pages I'd filled about her fucking goddamn eyes and sealed it up before I could chicken out and change my mind. I didn't give her much, but I had given her everything.

I was a fucking moron. As I watched the taillights of Alice's new, beautiful Christmas gift, I wanted to bash my head into the driveway and take it all back. It was system overload. It was too much. Because, after I'd sealed away all of the stupid representations for how much I loved Bella and how much she'd taught me, I'd sealed away a letter. A tiny, scrap of paper, telling Bella everything. Something that, if she didn't look hard enough, she'd never find.

And Bella was never one to be any less than thorough.

*

A/N: so...there you have it. angst angst angst! sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes. that's what i get for not having a beta. review?