Please notice the time jump. :)

Chapter 5 - BPOV

two years and six months later

"Hey, Bella!"

I look up when I hear my name and wave at Eric, a guy in my Intro to Criminal Justice class. We're in the same major, so we have quite a few classes together. "Hey!" I say, stopping by the stairs leading up to Coats Hall. "Are you heading to class?"

"Nah, I'm on my way over to Professor Birdie's office. Gotta see if I can get some help on this mid-term." He holds up a blue folder.

"Well, good luck with that," I tell him, turning to walk up the stairs.

"Hey, Bella?"

"Yeah?" I ask, turning back around, assuming he needs my help with something.

"Uh, there's this thing at my frat house tomorrow night. It's a mixer or whatever," he says, shaking his head and training his eyes to something over my shoulder. I know he's just trying to make eye contact. He's kind of shy and quiet like that. It's why I don't mind him being my partner for projects or pairing up with him to write papers. "So," he continues, turning his gaze down to his feet. "I was wondering if you'd maybe like to uh… go with me?"

Oh. That's not exactly what I was thinking he was going to ask me. Can you help me with this mid-term? Or, can you share your notes with me? But not, "hey, Bella, wanna go on a date?" Is he asking me on a date?

"Like a date?" I ask, scrunching my nose.

"Yeah," he scoffs. "Right. I don't know why I asked. Of course you wouldn't want to go. It's just that I never see you with anybody, so I figured you might be single. But of course, a girl like you would have a boyfriend or whatever." He scratches the back of his neck and begins to walk backward, giving me an apologetic look.

Yeah, a boyfriend… or something. It's complicated.

"Um, I... I do have somebody." That's not a lie. I have somebody.

"Right. Well, I guess I'll see you in class tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll see you in class tomorrow." I feel bad. He seems dejected. I hate that. Plus, I don't want things to be weird between us when the next project or paper comes up. "Hey, Eric," I call after him. "We could just go as friends," I suggest, shrugging my shoulders. "I mean, if you want."

"Sure," he says, smiling a wide smile. "I'll pick you up at 7:00?"

I should just meet him there, but I don't know exactly where I'm going, and I'd have to walk since I don't have a car. "Okay, 7:00 sounds good."

"You're in Walker, right?"

"Yep. I'll wait out front by the benches."

"I'll be there."

I notice an extra skip in his step as he walks off, and I groan to myself, wondering if I just made a big mistake. I was trying to keep things from being weird, but I might've just made them weirder.

When I get back to my dorm room after class, I toss my bag on my bed and flop down beside it, staring at the ceiling. Blindly feeling around in my bag for my phone, I finally find it and lift it up over my face so I can see to scroll through and hit send.

"Hello?" a gruff, stern voice says over the other end.

"Catch you at a bad time?" I ask, smiling because I like it when he's grumpy.

"Never a bad time for you." I can hear his mood lighten in just the few seconds it took to realize who was calling. I like that I have that effect on him. "How was your day, Beautiful?"

"Eh, you know, just normal college stuff: class, library, lunch at the Union, got asked out to a frat party. Nothing special."

"Isabella?" his tone immediately turns back to gruff, a hint of irritation in there.

"It's harmless."

"Who the hell asked you to a frat party? Whose ass am I going to fly there to kick? I can be there in a couple hours, you know."

"You're not kicking anybody's ass, old man."

"Old man? Really?" He laughs. "Maybe I need to come up there and show you exactly what my ass is capable of," he growls.

"I'd like that," I sigh, feeling a tightening in my stomach and a longing for his touch. "I miss you so much."

"Mid-terms are coming up, so I was planning on coming up there for a long weekend."

"It feels like it's been forever."

"I know."

"You sure you're not going to get tired of waiting around for me?"

"I've got nothing but time." The smile is back in his voice. "So, tell me about this asshole that asked you out."

"He's not an asshole. His name is Eric, and he's a very nice guy."

"Nice guy, huh?"

Someone's jealous.

"Yes, a nice guy. Those exist. And he's in a few of my classes. He asked me out, and then it got awkward. He asked if I had a boyfriend," I groan, because I hate that term. Edward is so much more than a boyfriend, but we're not engaged because he won't ask me to marry him until I've "lived a little".

"And you told him yes." It's not a question. It's a statement… an order.

"I told him I have someone."

His light chuckle over the phone tells me he approves of my response. "You do. It's me. Don't forget it."

"Never."

"So, you're going to this frat party?"

"Yeah, I couldn't stand things being weird. He's the only person I like to pair up with for projects and shit, so I don't want to mess that up. So I told him I'd go as friends. He's picking me up at 7:00 tomorrow."

Edward groans. "Bella." His breath comes heavy across the phone. "Guys don't understand just friends. I promise you, he thinks by you saying friends, what you really mean is let's see how things go, or he thinks you originally said you had a boyfriend… or someone, excuse me… because you were trying to blow him off. By you saying you'd go, you're sending mixed signals. I don't like it."

"I'm not sending mixed signals. I'll make sure he knows he's firmly in the friend zone." I hate when he gets like this—bossy, brooding. Actually, it's kinda hot, and I like that he cares so much, but we've had a hundred discussions about things like this—me telling him I need to live my life and make my own mistakes, and him telling me that he wants to protect me from all the evils of the world.

Eric is not an evil.

Occasionally, Edward overreacts, and that's when we fight. My stubbornness and his tendency to be controlling clash in an epic battle of wills.

"Okay. I know this conversation won't end like I want it to, and I don't want to argue with you. So be safe, and call me when you get back to the dorms tonight."

"I will." Sometimes I feel like he takes a parental role, but I try not to say that out loud because I know that pisses him off.

"And don't set your drink down."

"I won't!" I growl into the phone. He forgets that I have a hell of a lot more street smarts than most twenty-one-year-olds, more than he gives me credit for sometimes.

"I just want you safe." I can picture him now, sitting at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You have no idea how much I worry about you every day, so thinking about you out at night with a guy who wants to be more than friends… at a frat party..." He lets out a deep sigh. "Bella, I've been there and done that. I know what goes on at places like that."

"But I haven't. I don't know what happens at places like that, and I've got to learn things for myself. You can't save me from everything." That's another argument we've had a dozen times. I know his need to save me from every bad thing in the world stems from how our relationship started—me running from James and Edward saving me—but making mistakes and going through some shitty situations is what builds character.

"I know. I love you."

"I love you."

"Call me before bed?"

"You know it."

I hate when our conversations end like that. I can tell he's not happy with me. I always want to make him happy, but I also want to be me—Bella Swan, twenty-one-year-old college student.

Edward wants me to live life and to not have any regrets twenty years down the road.

I wanted to go to college and feel independent.

So here I am, at the University of Oklahoma. It's only four hours from Dallas and less than an hour by plane. So we see each other frequently but not as much as we'd like.

When I'm not with him, there's a constant ache in my chest. It's duller than it was at first, but it's still there.

Right after James was sentenced to six years in prison, I started out at a community college in Dallas. Edward paid for it. I'm here at OU now because I applied for some scholarships after my first year, and this was where I could get the most free money, short and simple. Plus, I'm pre-law, and there's a great pre-law program here. Edward wanted me to attend some private university his family donates money to, but I didn't want that. I didn't want to feel like I was using anyone.

With James put away, I tried hard to put away my past with him.

I even put stipulations on Edward paying for my first year. In return for my tuition and books, I did whatever he needed me to—not in a sexual nature, although there was plenty of that, but work wise. I helped him proof-read manuscripts, do mundane tasks for fundraisers, make phone calls, set up meetings—anything I could do to make his life easier and to make myself feel useful. He's never had a personal assistant, always balked at the corporate lifestyle, so I did those types of things. Now that I'm four hours away, he hired someone to do the things I started doing while I lived with him. I might've spoiled him.

Well, hopefully Jane doesn't do everything I was doing while I lived with him.

I have to quickly clear my mind of that train of thought. Often times, I wonder why Edward is waiting on me… what it is I have that he hasn't found in other women. I've asked him more than once—why me? His reply was long and complicated, but basically, he said that in past relationships he'd never known what women were after—him or his money. And if it wasn't his money, was it his name, or where they could get in the corporate world with his connections? His grandfather's business is well-known in the oil industry, and the Cullen name can get you about anywhere you want to go.

He told me that with me, he knew my intentions from the beginning. He said the first night he saw me—was with me—I was transparent. He said I allowed him to see straight down to my soul. I was open and vulnerable, which caused him to feel an immediate connection and desperate need to help me, but more importantly, a need to be with me… and not just for a night.

I remember laughing coldly at that response because if he put it like that, I was like all of those other women. I had been after his money. I took his money. The night we met, my sole job for the evening was to seduce him and take whatever I could get.

He smiled a genuine smile and said, "That's the beauty in it." Unlike the other women, I didn't really want his money. I just wanted to be free… and "isn't that all any of us want?"

It seems as though Edward and I, although different in so many ways, are actually quite similar. Both of us have lived lives under other people's standards and rules. We've done things we're not proud of and been forced to be someone we're not. He told me it had taken him a lot longer than eighteen years to figure that out—that he was tired of living someone else's life—so I was ahead of the game.

~C22~

Standing out by the bench in front of the dorms, I'm questioning myself.

Should I really be doing this?

Maybe Edward is right?

Maybe I'm making things complicated and asking for trouble?

Two seconds before I talk myself out of going with Eric, he pulls up in his souped up Chevy truck. Jumping out, he runs around and opens the door for me just as I reach for the handle. His hand brushes mine, and I pull it back as if I touched a hot stove, clutching it to my chest.

"Sorry," he mutters, but his face says anything but sorry. His eyes are light and bright and alternating looking at my own eyes and my lips.

Oh, God. This was a bad idea.

Uncertainty and doubt cloud my mind, thinking I should just stop this before it gets started. I could feign sick, claim to have eaten bad sushi at the Student Union.

"Hey," Eric says softly, pulling me from my thoughts. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." No.

"I can see you're overthinking this." He smiles down at me, still holding the door open with one hand. "Just friends, remember?"

I smile back at him. It's forced, but I try to make it look sincere. If I back out now, things will really be weird the next time we're in class together, and wasn't that what I was trying to avoid from the get-go? "Right, just friends."

He shuts the door behind me and runs around to the driver's side. Climbing in, he turns the radio on and slowly pulls away from the curb. The cab of the truck is filled with a country song and smells like an Abercrombie and Fitch store. It's overwhelming. Fortunately, the drive to the frat house is short, and we ride in comfortable silence, under the ruse that we're both into the song filtering through the speakers.

"Welp, here we are." Eric parks down the street on Greek Row, but I can see the swarm of people at his frat house just down the street. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I say, trying to sound enthused.

"Ever been to a frat party before?"

"Nope. This is a first for me."

"Well, it's a rite of passage. Every college student needs to have at least one night of debauchery," he says, winking.

I feel nervous as we walk to the house. I'm full of regret, wishing I would've just let Edward boss me around. I could be in yoga pants and reading a good novel right now.

Eric grabs my hand as we enter the house. I'm guessing it's because he doesn't want to lose me in the crowd, and for that I'm grateful, because I don't see anyone else here that I recognize.

I'm not a shy person, but I am reserved, which is why I've only made four friends in the couple of months I've been here: Eric, who is currently dragging me through throngs of people, Lauren, a girl who works at the campus library, Sam, the security guard for my building, and Lauren, my resident advisor. The rest of the girls on my floor are mostly freshmen and seem completely self-absorbed. Even the few sophomores on the floor seem light-years away from me. When the first topic of conversation is boyfriends or family, I'm out. There's just not much I have in common with a girl who's still stuck in high school and mooching off of mom and dad or already living off her inheritance.

"Earth to Bella," Eric says, waving his hand in front of my face.

"Sorry," I say loudly over the music and chatter.

"Want a drink?" he asks, holding up a red plastic cup.

"Sure." I nod my head, but that same uncertainty from earlier is back in full force.

God, I'm so lame. I should just go home.

Eric hands me a cup full of red liquid. I sniff it to inspect its contents. He smiles and laughs at me, tipping his own cup up and practically downing the entire thing.

"Drink up," he says, motioning to the cup. "You can't have debauchery without liquor."

I smile, shaking my head. Tipping my own cup up and letting the sweet liquid coat my throat and my nerves, I begin to relax.

This is college.

This is life.

This is normal.

This is what I wanted.

Three red cups later, the room begins to feel off kilter. My lips are numb. I know I'm drunk, but I don't know how I got here. After the first cup, I felt like I'd just had a cup of fruit punch. I felt a teeny tiny buzz after the second. But now, I'm feeling like… what the fuck did I drink?

"Eric?" I call out, needing to go home. I don't like feeling out of control of myself. If I'm going to feel this way, I want to be in the safety of my dorm room. When Eric doesn't say anything, I snap my head up from the empty red cup I've been staring down into, to where Eric was just standing, but he's not there. "Eric?" I say again, a little louder. I look around, but the faces are blurry, and everyone's movements make me feel like I'm in one of those fun houses at the fair.

Just as I turn around to see if I can find Eric, my feet get tangled, and I end up in some dude's lap. Shit.

"Where you been hiding?" His arms come around my waist and hold me to him like he has the right to. I push his arms away, but they're like octopus tentacles. When I move one, it finds purchase somewhere else.

"Stop," I demand, but the words sound slow coming out of my mouth. "I'm looking for my friend, Eric. Have you seen him?"

He smirks down at me and nods up to the ceiling. "I saw him go up with Layla."

"Layla?"

"Big tits, short skirt?" he asks, like I should know exactly who he's talking about.

Somewhere between him telling me where Eric is and describing Layla, I manage to pull myself from his lap and his grabby hands. I let out a frustrated groan of disgust… disgusted at myself, disgusted at the douchebag still looking at me like I'm his next meal, and disgusted at Eric. If he knew he was going to come here and hook up with someone, why did he need me? Why didn't he ask Layla?

"It's always good to have a back-up plan," Douchebag says, standing up and towering over me.

"A what?" I feel like I'm only getting bits and pieces of conversations.

"Back-up plan… plan B."

"Huh?" I rub my temples, trying to force myself to not be drunk… trying to will away that last cup of fruit punch. "What the fuck is in this?" I ask, holding up my empty cup.

"Everclear." He smirks again, nodding his head. "It'll get ya every time."

Fuck.

"What were you saying about plans?"

He laughs, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. "Let's get you another red cup."

I should say no. I should go up those stairs and find Eric, even if he is with Layla. Maybe it's good that he's with Layla. At least if he's with Layla, he doesn't want to be with me.

I feel accomplished. I don't know why, but it feels like I won. Edward said I'd be sending mixed signals by coming, but obviously, if he's with Layla, he got the right signal from me.

Douchebag Tall Guy pulls my arm into the kitchen. It's less noisy in here.

Why am I following him again?

"Here," he says, pushing a cup into my hand that he's not holding.

Oh, right. Red cup.

"Thanks," I tell him.

"Come on," Tall Guy, who's feeling less douchey since he let go of my hand, says, nodding toward the other room. "Do you dance?"

"Not normally."

He laughs, shaking his head, and starts walking away. I follow him because he's the only other person I know here, besides Eric, who's probably upstairs laying Layla.

I snicker at my funny joke.

"What's so funny?"

I look up to the brown eyes staring down at me. "Just something in my head," I say, pointing to my head and accidentally spilling a little of my drink on my shirt. "Shit."

"That's a party foul."

"Oops."

"Now, you have to dance with me."

"Why?"

"Because, that's the going penalty for party fouls."

I shrug and nod, believing him.

When we begin to sway, he grips my hips, his thumbs rubbing up under the edge of my shirt. When I try to wiggle out of his hold, it forces me closer to him. The more I struggle against his efforts, the more he fights back, winning.

"Don't fight it," he whispers in my ear. "We're just having a little fun. That's what you're here for, right?" His mouth is touching the skin on my neck. I feel his hands splay across my ass, and I'm about to knee him in the balls because the feel of his breath on my neck is making me want to throw up all the red drink I've consumed. But I don't get the chance.

"Tyler, get your fucking hands off of her," I hear someone yell from behind me. I think it's Eric, but I've never heard him sound angry. "Tyler," he growls in warning when Douchebag Tall Guy's hands grip tighter on my ass.

I wish I could get my body to work at the right speed. I really want him to get his hands off of me. For one, because I don't like it. For two, Edward would not like it. For three, Eric does not like it. For... four? Yeah, four, everyone is now looking at me because of his outburst.

Next thing I know, Tyler has me up over his shoulder, caveman style. And now I'm more than sure I'm going to be sick. There's a lot of jostling, and Eric yells some more warnings, followed by a loud smacking noise, what I'm guessing is his fist hitting Tyler's face because I'm almost launched on my ass.

"Fuck," Tyler yells, practically throwing me back down to the floor. I'm so woozy that I almost stumble and fall when my feet are suddenly back on the grungy carpet. Everything is happening so fast I can't keep up. The red punch is making my brain feel like quicksand.

This is bad.

There's yelling and more fists flying.

I stumble again and end up with an elbow straight to my right eye and then my lip.

I cry out, grabbing my face and looking down to see blood.

Between the putrid, coppery smell and the alcohol, I can't keep it together any longer. I try to focus around me, looking for an out… an exit… a potted plant, anything in which to lose the contents of my stomach. I see an archway that resembles the one we walked through earlier. There are a few people in my way, but I push around them, ignoring the war that's still waging behind me.

The hot flash that rages through my body is the final signal I get before I completely lose everything in my stomach, all the red punch. Fortunately, I make it to a door. I throw up once on the concrete steps and then again in the bush beside the house. When I finally get to the grass, I fall to my knees and continue to get sick until all I'm left with are dry heaves.

I sit back on my heels when I think I can without throwing up again and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I squint, looking out onto the lawn. There are a couple of people walking down the sidewalk, but they don't even look my way. So I find a cool, dry patch of grass and lie down.

I'm not sure how long I lie there, but I wait long enough until the world is back on its axis. Vaguely, I can make out someone yelling my name, but it sounds far away. I lean up, bracing myself on my elbow, and look around. I don't want anyone finding me like this. I manage to pull myself up off the grass and begin walking toward the street.

When I get to the corner, I stand there and try to get my bearings. Looking up, I see a familiar street name and use the large stadium off in the distance as my compass.

Several times along the way, I think about stopping, but I force myself to keep walking. The last thing I need is for Eric to catch up with me, or worse, Douchebag Tall Guy.

Oh, God. I cringe, thinking about Eric and the entire mess I left behind at that frat house. The whole point of this night was to keep things from being weird.

Things are going to be so fucking weird.

A bench calls loudly to me and my tired feet, so I sit down for a minute, pulling out my phone that's been in my back pocket this whole time. I see that Edward called me thirty minutes ago.

He's going to be so pissed.

I wish he were here. Pissed Edward is better than no Edward.

I'd like to call him, beg him to come rescue me, but I don't want to be that girl. I asked for this. I'm the one who wanted the full college experience.

Well, here you go, Bella. How do you feel about that now?

It might be the alcohol lingering in my system or my raw emotions as everything from the night comes crashing down… or the fact that I really fucking miss Edward… but sometimes, like right now, I don't want to do life alone. As much as I want this experience, I want him more.

I war with myself, between sucking it up and giving in, between being independent and calling Edward, between suffering in silence and allowing him to come to my rescue once again.

Damned if I do; damned if I don't.

Fucking Catch-22. Story of my fucking life.

A/N:

As always, a big THANK YOU to our beta, GeekChic12! And to Rachel (J Ray Fanfiction) and Pamela (DrivingEdward) for their awesome pre-reading skills!

See ya tomorrow!