Sometimes I go back to the start…back to where the spark ignited.

–

He kisses me languidly, his tongue invading my mouth and his hand gliding down my back till he is cupping my ass. We are surrounded by so many people but he is big on PDA. Me? Whoever gave me the right to have an opinion on it?

"Mmm…people are looking at us," I whisper as I pull away.

He just moves his lips down my throat. "Why does it matter, darling?" he asks between kisses.

I shrug. "It's a formal event, and there are a lot of people with sticks up their asses. I don't think they would consider this as appropriate. In fact, I can practically feel the disapproval radiating off your mom."

He sighs and looks around. I follow his gaze and I am right. Sure enough, quite a few grownups are looking in our general direction, even though we are in a dark corner. They look like they are chewing on lemons.

He runs his hand through his blonde hair. "Fuck this. Let's go back to the hotel."

"Jasper, please. You bought me this new dress and these shoes…at least let me show off for a while," I bat my eyelashes in that seductive way I've learnt to do. Please delay the sex as much as you can.

He grins at me. His left cheek has a dimple. I would be attracted to him if I wasn't who I am. What I am.

"Alright, fine. Let me get a drink."

He gives me one more kiss before he disappears into the crowd, going where the bar is set up. I use the distance to take a deep breath and call over the waiter. Unlike Jasper, I'm not that picky with my alcohol. He wants his drink the way he wants it – with all his instructions of this much this and this much that. I just want something to ignite my fucking throat and make me numb. I grab a glass full of whiskey and head off towards the staircase. The party is in a penthouse, so I am glad that I only need to climb two sets of stairs in this floor length silver dress and high heels. I open the door that leads to the roof. Jasper will call me when he can't find me. Till then I have time to at least check out the skyline, get some air, and prepare myself for what I know is going to happen once we're out of here.

I take a large gulp of my drink as I walk to the railing, and shudder at the taste. Fuck, that burns so good. For about a minute I can't think of anything else but the view before me and the fire in my throat.

But then my phone vibrates inside my clutch and I curse. Loudly. I don't pick up. I scowl at thin air and throw back the rest of my drink, this time grunting at the discomfort. I am out of practice with this alcohol thing. My scalp prickles and at first I think it's the alcohol, but then I sense movement behind me. It's the sense of being watched.

A throat is cleared discreetly and then I hear a low whistle.

"That was impressive," a soft voice says. I turn to my right to stare at him. He's dressed in all black, but his jacket is undone, and so are the upper two buttons on his shirt. For a black tie event, he looks a bit messy. His hair is…well, thoroughly fucked. Or he looks like he has been. At least his shoes are polished.

"Are you checking me out?" he asks wryly. "What's with the creepy head to toe inventory?"

"Like you don't check out women. I have a theory that black tie events were invented just to encourage ogling. Why else would they put everyone in such uncomfortable clothes?"

He laughs. "Touché. Speaking of ogling, you have a nice ass."

I crack a smile. "I've heard that one before."

"I would be disappointed in the male species if you hadn't," he grins, and under the moonlight, I take a proper look at his face. Holy fuck, he is gorgeous. Like one of those ridiculously handsome guys that every girl wants but is too intimidated to approach. The kinds that make straight men insecure. The kinds that step out of GQ magazine or some shit. His hair is brown. Or reddish brown. It's hard to tell in this light. His lips are full and pouty, and red from the wine that he has in his hand. And his eyes…

Wait.

My smile falters and I take a step back instinctively. I know him. Or I think I do. I can't be sure, but he reminds me of a guy I used to know…back when I had a normal life. He had such a face. Such eyes. Such green, beautiful, kind eyes that would crinkle whenever he smiled. And he smiled at me back then…a long, long time ago.

"Are you alright?" he asks, sounding concerned.

I'm not so sure so I just shake my head.

"Do you want me to take you back to Jasper?"

My eyes flash up to his. "You know him?"

"He's…" he hesitates. "Well, he's my friend. Sort of."

Speak of the devil…my phone vibrates again. I put my empty glass on the floor and take my phone out of the clutch. I tell Jasper I'm in the washroom, and will join him in a couple of minutes.

When I hang up, this guy blurts out, "Don't date him."

I raise a brow and resist the urge to snort. "Oh, yeah?"

"He's not a good guy. I needed to warn you, and that's why I followed you up here."

"Wow, Samaritan. So nice of you," I mutter.

"Look, I…" He runs a hand through his hair, which just fucks it up even more. Then all of a sudden he holds out his hand. "I'm Edward Cullen."

I gasp, and my mouth hangs open. He looks confused, and takes his hand back awkwardly when I don't shake it. He then fidgets with the almost empty wine glass in his other hand.

"You don't remember…" I whisper, more to myself. But I do. I remember him.

"What?"

"Me. You don't remember me."

"Um…should I?"

I shrug. "Not really, um…" I look for words to explain, mentally slapping myself for even wanting to explain, and suddenly, I grin. "When you were fourteen, your mom wanted you to play the piano in the local church."

His eyes narrow to slits. "How do you know about that?"

I purse my lips, trying hard not to laugh. "The church was being decorated for Christmas by the kids from Forks Middle School. You helped a girl put the decorations because she couldn't reach the top of the tree and you were taller. But you had to climb atop the small chair to do it, and you fell and sprained your wrist. Your mom was furious. But you were relieved that you wouldn't have to embarrass yourself in front of your friends who were oh–so–cool. Rings a bell?"

"I did help a…?" he mumbles to himself and his eyes widen in a few seconds. Then he looks at me again, this time more carefully. "You're…you're her? You're Chief Swan's daughter?"

I flinch and look away. "Yeah."

"Bella, was it not? Bella Swan. Oh my God, what the hell happened to you?"

I give him a bitch brow.

"I mean…I didn't mean to imply that…" he stammers. "I just…wow, you've changed."

"It's called growing up."

"Wow."

"You haven't changed at all, though. Still the same gangly, red–headed fucker."

"Brown," he says exasperatedly. "My hair is brown. Oh for God's sake…"

I bite my cheek to stop the grin. I only know him from those couple of years. His family had moved away before I turned sixteen. We were never good friends. Just classmates. He was way too 'cool' for my nerdy league. Our conversations were limited to whatever assignments we were given in the classes we shared. We tried to help each other out. I never forgot how guilty I felt for months that he sprained his wrist because of me.

"I must be going now. It was nice to meet you again, Edward," I say softly, snapping myself out of my thoughts, and turning to leave.

"Wait, Bella, please." In two long strides he is in front of me. "I need to talk to you about Jasper."

I roll my eyes and keep walking. He walks with me. "We're not that serious," I say lamely.

"You don't understand. Like I said, he's not a very good person."

I chuckle. "I thought you were his friend."

"Family, actually. I, uh, I'm married to his sister."

Oh. "Oh." Where is my eloquence when I need it?

"Yeah, well. He's just…he's a major flirt. And the worst part is that he wants physical intimacy with no strings attached."

"I don't think you should be outing your brother–in–law's dirty laundry to some girl you used to know."

"Well, you seem like a decent woman, and I don't want you to get hurt."

A decent woman. That one hits like a blow to the gut. "I'm not," I say with a frown.

"That's not the point." He halts when we are at the empty staircase and I am forced to look at him. He speaks in a very low voice. "He visits strip clubs and…those places…rather frequently." He looks around, leans closer and whispers as if he's about to confess to a murder. "He pays for sex. He has broken way too many hearts and spent way too much money on…prostitutes." His expression is like he has violated his mouth just by saying 'prostitute.'

"I appreciate your concern," I mutter.

"How would someone like you end up with that douchebag, anyway?" he asks as if he is genuinely concerned.

I snort, and give him a bitter smile. "If he frequents whorehouses and tells you about it, how come you don't know yet how he found me?"

And then I rush down the stairs without looking back. He knows me. He is the only person who knows who I was, and now will know who I am. Why did I open my mouth? I can't face that. I left my home, I left my life, I left it all back in Forks.

For the first time in ten years, this is my past catching up. And it's all my fault.

––x––