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Word Prompt: Glass

Dialogue Flex: "I have big plans for us this weekend," he said.

Using the provided snippet of dialogue, explore what comes to mind, be it a scene, a thought, or something else.

Not beta'd.

A/N: A lot of readers have suggested they'd like to get into Edward's head. This prompt came out in his POV, so I went with it. I hope you enjoy it.

EPOV

It wrecks me to keep her at arm's length—near enough to ensure she's safe but removed enough so I can't hurt her very deeply. Most days I'm not even sure why I do it, because it doesn't get easier. The longing multiplies endlessly. There is no safe distance for my heart.

To stay in control, I embrace the pain I've been shoving down for months. The vivid memories summon my hatred without trying. The anger wraps itself around my limbs and lips to stop my body from mutinying. It chokes the words before they can leave my throat, stiffens my fingers the moment the desire to touch her registers in my brain, compresses my vital organs to contain the way I feel about her.

The problem is I can still smell her, hear her—somehow fucking feel her. I can even taste her on my goddamn tongue. It's the sweetest fucking torture I've ever endured, but make no mistake, it is torture.

The music tempers her sounds, the coffee deadens my taste buds, but there's nothing I can do to banish her scent. Its essence remains in the cabin of the Volvo long after she's gone. It's agony; it's bliss, and I've morphed into a selfish, masochistic fuck who insists on tormenting himself.

I struggle to keep from looking directly into her eyes when we're together, knowing I'm a goner when I do. But I see her beautiful face reflected in the glass all around us. She gets a little sadder each time she gets into the car, and that's on me. It proves I'm weak and greedy—exactly what I've been accused of—so I split hairs to avoid owning the criticism. I tell myself she wants to ride with me or she'd make other arrangements, and resist the doubts that say otherwise. Admitting she'd rather be with someone else is akin to emotional suicide, but the suspicion presents itself way too often—that in and of itself should tell me something. Ignorance has become a state of mind that I choose daily.

The remnants of goodness in me, shredded fibrils of the steel cables that once existed, hound me to let her go. If I were a real man, that's exactly what I'd do. I can't keep her, yet I can't bring myself to stop holding on. I've come close to spilling my guts and telling her everything a couple of times, but to what end? Detailing my past will give her understanding, but it won't change what's happened or who I am. I don't want her pity; it's the only thing worse than losing her.

She's taken to singing this week; last week she only hummed. She's so engrossed in the music from her iPod that she isn't aware I turn down the stereo to listen to her. On Monday, it's up-tempo, pop crap that, much to my dismay, is catchy as hell. I download it that night when I get home. I'll never live it down if anyone finds Hot Chelle Rae on my phone, but hearing it makes me think of the last time I saw her smile, and I really miss her carefree grin.

By mid-week, it's Breaking Benjamin.

I'm on my way to feel you dislocate.
Safe in your space; I'm open, wide open.

I love your face. Just get away.
I'm on my knees. Fuck you, fuck me.

Hearing those lyrics in her quiet, mezzo-soprano voice nearly undoes me.

Today, it's Falling Slowly from the modern musical Once. I know it as soon as she sings the first line. My mother loved the friggen movie; I thought it was a sad sack of shit.

The song is about second chances, and hearing the words fall from Bella's lips makes me rethink everything I've done in the last couple of weeks. Halfway through the duet, her hollow voice matches the tears pooling in her eyes, and I feel like I've been punched in the stomach.

If I've done the wrong things for the right reasons, does that justify hurting her?

She's lost, and it's my fault. My choices have prevented her from being who she is. I know I'm not strong enough to give her up, but she shouldn't have to pay the price so I can keep her close.

I make a show of turning the stereo down, unplugging my phone, and cycling through radio stations a couple of times before turning off the sound system completely. If she notices, she doesn't let on. So I do the only other thing I can think of and offer her my phone like I did our first week together.

When she finally sees my hand, she removes one of her earbuds and asks, "What's this?"

"I'm a little jealous of your in-ear headphones right now. I'm pretty sure no music I've played for you made you sing. In fact…" I pull my phone out of her reach. "Why don't we plug your iPod in? You can have complete control of the selections, of course."

Her brow furrows. Looking at her sets off a dozen reactions in my body, but none so strong as the relief I feel when her dark brown eyes meet mine. There is no trust there, something that's entirely justified after rudely ignoring her for so long, but somehow, she isn't angry. I've never been more undeserving of a person's forgiveness, or more grateful for it.

"What if I want to listen to pop?" she asks.

"Anything you want."

There's a twinkle in her eye now. I can't be certain it's because of me, but I'm taking credit for it. Even if can't be everything she deserves, maybe I can give her some part of what she needs.

"Eighties music? Electronica? Adult contemporary?"

"Michael Bublé the fuck out of me if it makes you happy."

I'm rewarded with a giggle, and the levity it lends me is astounding. I feel like I can breathe again for the first time since I shut her out.

A/N: After some criticism, I spent some time considering the story today. My plan to finish it in August in 30 chapters was a fail on both counts. This is a good thing if you're enjoying the story, as it will be extended. But it also means I need to take a few days to reorganize and get back on track so I'm not here in another 30 chapters repeating this same message. Because of this, I don't have a strict posting schedule to give you guys right now. I'm aiming for Thursday night, but it's not a promise.

Songs mentioned in this chapter: Topless by Breaking Benjamin, and Falling Slowly by Steve Kazee and Cristin Milioti from the Broadway musical Once.

Thank you to everyone who is supporting me and the story. Your kind words mean a lot to me. And thank you to lisamichelle17 and Ivygirl702 for their advice.

If you enjoyed EPOV and would be interested in more, let me know.