Sometimes, the flame needs to be rekindled, and I am glad you stirred in me a desire to be better. To strive for something bigger. To get beyond what I am. To live.

–

This is the third time he is in my apartment, and this is the first time I am completely sober in his presence.

It's been three weeks since the last time he was here – not that I'm counting or anything – and his hair has grown out. It looks pretty uncontrollable. I ask him why he doesn't cut it.

"Don't have the time."

"You have time to visit your local whore, but no time to get a haircut?"

"Will you please stop calling yourself that?" he says exasperatedly, running a hand through his locks, messing them up further.

"Call a spade a spade, man. Don't get your panties in a twist. I don't sugarcoat stuff, and I'm not new to this."

He looks at me sadly. "How long?"

"How long have I been doing this?"

He nods.

"That's a complicated question…" I mumble to myself and think. "Let's see. I left home when I was eighteen, started working at the club when I was twenty two. I used to wait on tables back then. Then Maria trained me in pole–dancing, so I did that after a year." I take a deep breath. "I sold my body for the first time when I was…twenty four. Yeah, I remember that one." I chuckle bitterly. "It was a week before my birthday. Worst birthday I ever spent, bent over for a nameless guy."

"We're thirty now," he says. His face is ashen as he chokes out, "Six years. You've lived this way for six years. Twelve if we count it all."

I shrug.

"Just…why?"

I reach out and place a hand on his. "I don't want you to waste your time on feeling bad for me. No one forced me to do this, okay? I made some shitty choices and this is where it led me. You don't have to feel sorry for me."

"Bella, you used to be my friend. This is hard for me."

I lean back and sigh. "It's not as hard once you've had this many years to think over it. I used to cry a lot in the beginning, but I learned pretty quickly that nothing becomes of it. It's as productive as banging your head against a wall. No one gives a shit."

"You couldn't go back?" he asks softly.

"No." And my tone is enough for him to get a hint that this is not up for discussion.

"I'm sure there are some social services…"

"I don't want to live on someone's charity. What you read on paper – what is theoretically true – does not always translate to reality. Step out of your naïve dreamland, Edward. Like I said, no one gives a shit. Try sitting on the roadside with a 'Homeless' board. No one looks up. People drive by in their fancy cars and walk past in their fancy clothes and shoes, shaking their heads in disgust and wishing people like me never existed to taint their pretty city with filth."

"You did that? You were homeless?" He looks so heartbroken that I have the urge to comfort him.

"Homeless, hungry, with nothing to my name." I shake my head to rid myself of the images. I would do anything to make sure I never have to repeat that. Then I snort. "You know, it's funny, even people on streets do this – exchange sex for bare necessities. At least doing this in a prestigious club saves me from STDs." I shrug and extend my arm to take his empty coffee mug from his hands, but he grabs my wrist instead and pulls me to his side of the couch. Without a word, he wraps his arms around my shoulders and tucks my face against the crook of his neck.

"Promise me you'll tell me if you need anything," he begs.

"I'm not anybody's charity case, Edward."

"Please. I won't let you go through something like this. I won't."

"That's sweet of you, but –"

"Wait," he cuts me off and pulls back to grab me by my shoulders. He looks excited. "I could get you a job at my company right now and –"

"Shut up." I have to stop this before it goes any further. "I know where you are going with this, and no. The answer is no." His face falls and I have to steel my resolve. "For the third time, Edward, I will not be a charity case. You've already been far too kind to me and thank you, truly, for caring about me at all, but I can't."

"I'm not making you a charity case. This is what a friend would offer to another friend," he insists.

I put a hand on his cheek, pull myself up and give him a tiny kiss on the nose. "Thank you. I've never had a better friend. But I can't. I'm sorry. I should tell you though, that I'm saving for college."

He smiles. "Really? You want to study now?"

I blush, uncomfortable. "I mean, I should at least be smart, right? When I left home, I left with a guy I just about pledged my life to. I never got to go to college." I stop myself. I've never talked about this before – to anyone.

"And?" he asks softly, and it's the acceptance in his eyes that keeps me going. He won't judge. He never does. He's my friend – my best friend.

I take a deep breath. I can do it. For him, I can.

"And we lived together in bliss, but it only lasted a few months out of the two years that I was with him. He lost his job – he was a few years older – and then got into gambling and addiction soon afterwards. It was a downward spiral. He was supposed to support me for college, but I ended up doing odd jobs to make sure we had food on the table. Then one day he just up and left after we had a huge fight…I don't even know where he went. He never called, never wrote. The landlord let me stay for two months without rent, just out of pity, hoping that I would either go back to Forks or get myself on my feet. I failed at both."

Edward strokes my hair gently, letting me know in his own way that it's okay. That he gets it.

"I didn't have the heart to go back. My ego didn't let me. Dad had been so angry when I'd left with James, he said some stuff…" I shake my head, unable to continue. I can't. I can't talk about this.

"And your mom?" he asks, still soft as a whisper.

I swallow the lump in my throat. He's been so kind. He deserves to know this much at least. "My mom passed away of a heart attack when I was sixteen. Dad took it pretty hard and was never around. He drowned himself in his work. He wouldn't be home for days at a stretch. Which is why I got so attached to James…taking whatever attention I got… He made me forget, you know? When I was with him, everything in my world was right," I pause. "Well, for a couple of years, anyway."

"What did you do then, after he left?" he asks after a few minutes of silence.

I shrug. "Hunted for jobs. Got one, and then got fired pretty soon. Sold my stuff to stay fed till I had nothing left and was on the streets. If I got lucky, the Church down the road would have some food…maybe a bed at the shelter. If I didn't, I'd starve for days, wander the streets at night, sleep on park benches in broad daylight so no one would rape me…till one fine day I saw the 'Help Wanted' board outside the club."

"Jesus, Bella, you were on the streets for two years…" he murmurs as he hugs me again.

"A little over a year, technically. I'm okay, now," I smile against his chest, even though I feel like crying my eyes out. "I'll always find a way to be okay."

––x––