AN: I said that Edward was going to be redeemed--in fact, I do believe I promised. I hold true to that, though this isn't going to exactly change your mind. Trust, bbs, trust! And yes, there is a point to the Emmett/Rosalie, for those of you that are concerned. This is VERY much an Edward/Bella story.

Playlist is updated on my profile. One of the songs isn't on the site, so I linked to a youtube video instead. Please listen to it anyway--to me it perfectly sums up where Edward is mentally.

Thank you for all the marvelous alerts and favorites and reviews! And also to my kickass beta, JosieSwan.

Edward

I was really fucking pissed off.

I hadn't been; actually, I'd been in a really great mood after the first Boston show. I loved playing here, in my hometown, and even more, I loved the reception I always got. The fans here seemed to understand that the fifth album had been just a random, booze-induced aberration, unlike in some other cities where I felt as if I was constantly proving I was still relevant and still talented.

Of course I was, I was Edward Cullen, lead singer of Athair. I'd pretty much fucking invented both "relevant" and "talented."

Tonight had been no exception. I'd exited the stage after "Tessie," feeling wrung out and riding an adrenaline high, only to discover that everyone around me was exceptionally pissy.

I ran into Emmett first. I'd stumbled off to a couch in the green room backstage, knowing I should get my lazy ass to the shower to wash off the sweat and the grime, but I was too damn mellow to move. I felt hollowed out by the music, almost like a really good bout of gritty, angry sex, until I'd been nothing except the vessel for the notes and the words. I reached for a fresh Guinness sitting on the table next to the couch and took a large swallow.

Emmett opened the door without knocking and glared at me, as if he was daring me to complain. We had ground rules, Emmett and I, and one of them was that he always knocked on the door first. Not that I cared much if he saw me fucking some random groupie, but he usually got all awkward and embarrassed, especially if the woman he caught me with was Rosalie, so we'd invented the "knock first" rule. There weren't many other ground rules, mainly because I hated being fenced in by anything, but because Emmett was so chill, I was willing to agree to at least this one.

But he hadn't knocked tonight, and as I watched him stride into the room, I knew he was pissed about something. I wondered for a brief moment if his mood had anything to do with me, and decided against it. I'd been on my better behavior tonight—no groupies before the show and only a beer or two to grease me up—so it seemed strange that something I'd done had set him off.

"Dude, what the fuck?" I said, still good naturedly, as he jerkily set down an empty guitar case. "You seem worked up."

"No," he snapped. "Not worked up. Just busy."

"Show's over, no need to be stressed about anything."

Of course, I had no real comprehension of what Emmett's job entailed, other than getting me blondes and booze and making sure I didn't get shot by some limey asshole. It was entirely possible that his job was more difficult after the show than before it, but I was in such a good mood that I didn't want any of his angsty shit messing me up.

Emmett said nothing, only clamped his lips together, as if he were afraid the anger might escape out of them.

I might have been clever, but I wasn't smart, so I needled him a bit more. It was kind of what I did and he should have been used to it by now. "You're ruining my buzz," I told him, "go the fuck away and leave me alone if you can't keep your panties untwisted."

His eyes narrowed at me then, and I wondered almost idly, not really all that concerned for my own personal safety—because when had I ever been concerned for my personal safety?—if I had pushed him too far. Usually Emmett had a much, much higher tolerance level for my idiocy. Being my security detail and general gofer, he had to, or else he wouldn't have lasted a whole day, nevermind a whole year.

But before I could hear what Emmett was about to snap back at me, the door opened unannounced again, and in walked Rosalie.

I hadn't seen her in a whole week, and while that particular fact might be really welcome, I also belatedly remembered my ridiculous promise to fuck her in Boston. We were now in Boston. And she still had that hard look about her that made me worried she'd bite my dick off.

In fact, I decided, watching her walk in from my perch on the couch, she looked really determined. Not in her usual, please fuck me because I'm desperate way, but kind of an edgy determination. Personally, I thought Emmett was full of shit because Rose was the easiest girl on the planet to read. She always went all soft and buttery and sweet whenever she wanted anything and when you didn't give it to her, she got bitter and nasty and vindictive. And whiny. God, how could I forget about the whining? I rolled my eyes at only the thought. I should get some sort of fucking medal for having to put up with her shit for so god damned long.

And when Rosie was mad, it was always plain as fucking day. Like right now. She stalked over, her blue eyes trying to burn a hole in me. It would have worked alarmingly well except that I could give a shit if she was angry. So I just looked at her right back, feeling no shame at all about how little I cared. After all, I'd never promised her I would.

"Get up," she snapped at me. "I want to talk to you, and I can't do it when you're lounging that way, as if you aren't listening to a word I'm saying."

Well that was true enough—I wasn't listening to a word she was saying. So I stayed sitting, eyeing her with more than a little trepidation. I'd thought when I hadn't heard from Rosalie in the last week that Emmett had started to work some of his magic, but apparently he hadn't at all. More of my good mood evaporated and I felt a twinge of annoyance at Emmett for not taking care of this shit before it got out of control.

"Get up, you fucker," Rose said, voice rising in pitch and in volume. Great. A scene. How novel.

I, however, had no intention of starting or finishing anything—except maybe this whole "relationship."

Rosie clearly had other plans though, because she broke the number one cardinal rule of Edward Loves Groupies and fucking grabbed me, wrapping those blood red talons of hers around my upper arm and jerking me to my feet. Guinness splashed on my shirt and on the floor as the half-full glass jostled in my hand.

"What. The. Fuck." I shook her hand free of my arm and just plain fucking glared at her. How dare she fucking touch me that way? I wasn't some sort of slave to be manhandled. If anyone was doing the manhandling it was me, god damnit, and it was the against a wall or on a table, shrieking sex kind of manhandling.

She retreated a little, not physically, but I could see the vulnerability peeking through her eyes now, and I pounced on it, dragging it back out, displaying it for the whole room to see. I wanted to put her back in her god damn place. This ended when I said it did, and while I'd been putting it off for awhile, I knew it was long past time I told her it was over.

Except that she beat me to it.

Those same red tipped fingers flashed out, and I saw the intention in her eyes a split second before her hand connected with my cheek, but it was too late for me to do anything except gape as my ears rung with the force of the blow. Emmett there almost instantly, and while I expected him to have Rose on the floor in a chokehold, fucking cuffing her, he didn't. Instead, he looked hesitant . . .almost. . .concerned. Well. Fuck. He was pussy-whipped already.

"You're a self-centered, conceited douchebag of a man," Rose sneered, her anger twisting her face into an ugly snarl, but her blue eyes—the one part of her face I'd always liked, besides her mouth wrapped around my cock—shone not with tears of a woman weeping for the man she loved, but with vindication.

Whoops.

I kind of expected her to stop there. After all, that pronouncement pretty much summed it up, didn't it? Except that she kept going. I forced my hand not to cradle my face, which felt like it might actually be bruising, and stood with increasing shock as Rosie read me the worst riot act of my life.

"You're spoiled. Selfish—"

"Those mean the same things, by the way. As does self-centered," I interrupted smoothly, my tone even and calm. Inside, however, I was raging. I just didn't want her to fucking know just how angry I was. Let her think that I didn't care—because I didn't.

I caught her wrists in my hands about half a second before her claws tore into my face. "Careful," I hissed as she struggled in my grasp. "You're beginning to really piss me off. If you wanted me to fuck you a week ago, you should have said so. You didn't need to fucking assault me."

Rose finally managed to jerk her hands away from mine and she glared. "I don't want you to ever fucking touch me again. I feel like I'm going to get a disease just from looking at your washed up, sorry ass. You think that nobody remembers 'Aimin' to Misbehave' but we all do. Every single fucking one of us. And sometimes we're so ashamed and downright fucking embarrassed that you put out that garbage that we feel sorry for you. You're pathetic."

I flinched and I hated the way her eyes narrowed at the evidence of my own internal nuclear reactor.

"I am not fucking pathetic," I almost yelled, hating my own loss of control. Usually, I didn't give a shit if I lost my temper, but I didn't want Rose to know that some of her bombs had hit home and I was now pissed as fuck. "What's pathetic is you crawling around me in the fucking slums, begging for me to fuck you like an animal. That's pathetic."

This time Rose flinched, and I felt like cheering. Easy to dish out, but harder to take, I thought to myself; I could so own her, if I decided to waste my time.

"Emmett," I barked, not even bothering to take my eyes off Rose's reddening face. "Leave the fucking room so I can fucking dismantle this bitch. I think she needs a good hard angry fuck."

She paled under her tan and backed away one step. "No. Don't go." Craning her neck to find him, Rose softened just the tiniest bit when her eyes met his, and then I fucking knew. I wasn't passing Rose along—she was fucking trashing me for Muscle Boy. My temper, already flaming, went apocalyptic.

"Emmett, leave this damn room," I said softly with a deadly calm. "Princess and I have to have a little chat, and I don't want your precious ladylike sensibilities to get bruised."

He shrugged just a little—entirely for Rosalie's benefit, apologizing no doubt so that she'd still fuck his brains out later—and the door shut behind him.

"Damn you to the lowest circle of hell," Rosie snarled. "I can't figure out what I ever saw in you."

I decided it was time to be really honest. "Your own pitiful self-esteem, going down the toilet, I think. Oh wait, I think that's actually right now. As you let yourself be passed from one man to another, like a fucking toy."

She was just about ready to turn away after her last salvo, and she stopped dead in her tracks at my words. "What?" she gasped a little. Finally, I'd hit home. "What?"

"You heard me. Being passed from me to Emmett. That's pretty much as low as any woman can get, I think. You can't even fuck the A-list anymore, baby, you've got to fuck the A-list's help."

She slapped me again, the sharp crack of her hand on my flesh ringing in the air. For a split second, I thought about decking her back, but I'd never hit a woman who didn't want it and I wasn't about to start now. There were some levels even I wouldn't stoop to.

So I let her go. Let her slam the door behind me. And only after she was gone did I pull the ravaged, tattered edges of my self-control around me and take a deep breath. With shaking hands, I reached for the bottle of Bushmills that was conveniently sitting on a nearby table. I unscrewed the lid and took a long, long gulp. Fire rushed down my throat, and I exhaled.

Usually after a bout like that, all I wanted was some good old-fashioned fucking—even if it wasn't with the girl I'd just finished screaming at. But tonight, I felt vaguely unsettled. I took another drink of whiskey and tried to figure out why I felt so god damned weird.

Maybe, I thought, after another half a dozen long drinks, it had everything to do with the fact Rosalie Hale had been the very first woman to ever ditch me. No woman ever said enough until I said it first. They wouldn't fucking dare. But she had. . .

I leaned back on the couch, my head hitting the wall and closed my eyes. The Princess would regret exchanging the Gucci for the fake Prada. It was the way she was constructed. And when she came crawling back, I'd shove her back down into the gutter before throwing her away, like I should have done a long time ago. The way I always did.

Emmett

I didn't know what to feel about what Rosalie had just done. On one hand, I'd been terrified for her—both emotionally and physically. I liked to think that Edward was a good guy under all his shit (and once in a while he even gave me a reason to), and that he wouldn't ever raise a hand to a woman, even if she'd hit him first. However, I would have much rather tested that theory on a woman that wasn't Rosalie. I was way too caught up in her to think or act rationally if she'd been in any real danger. I just hoped that she didn't know how I felt, because whatever lay between us had already gone too far already. I knew had to pull back before she accidentally got caught in the crossfire, but actually doing it seemed to defeat me.

As for me, I was used to not getting what I wanted. I would live without her—somehow. After all, I'd learned long ago that you didn't really need a complete and undamaged heart to survive. Otherwise, I would never have lived this long.

But damn, it had been so fucking amazing watching her go toe to toe with Edward, that conceited and entitled asshole. I'd been wishing someone would just lay into him for awhile now, especially one of the women he treated like doormats, but the fact that it'd been Rose was so much better than even I could've imagined.

I'd been tied up right after leaving the green room, and hadn't had a free moment to even find her to talk to her, but I was dying to—though I wasn't entirely sure if it was because I wanted to lay into her for being crazy or kiss her. Rose, I decided as I oversaw the roadies packing up Athair's equipment, was a surprisingly complex woman who often made you want to do both at the exact same moment.

To my surprise, when I'd run into Edward, he hadn't wanted to discuss the fight with Rose. When I'd attempted to bring it up, he'd just brushed me off with a wave of his hand. Truthfully, I don't think he was even seeing anything beyond the bottom of the whiskey bottle. He was in one of his angsty funks—the kind where he drank hard and fast and blacked out almost on purpose—though I was hesitant to believe that Rose had anything to do with his black mood. Women never got to Edward, and I'd known that he hadn't cared about her at all.

I was right, and Edward passed out in his hotel room uncharacteristically early, though after drinking that much booze, I suppose I shouldn't be all that surprised he'd nearly toppled over onto his bed. I'd left a bottle of water and a trio of advil next to the bed, and I hoped when I got him the next morning he'd be less antagonistic.

I searched for Rose at the venue after Edward fell asleep, even though I knew it was a bad idea to see her right now. I was pretty sure she'd told off Edward to please me, and while I was thrilled she'd finally taken a stand with him and told him what a user he was, I was afraid of what she expected.

I was afraid she'd assume she was free to start something with me and then I'd have to turn her down.

Nobody had seen her though, and I ended up trudging back to the hotel room about 1 AM, sick and worried. For half an instant, I'd almost considered checking Edward's hotel room to make sure she hadn't fallen off the wagon so soon, but I decided against it. If she was back with him, I decided I didn't want to know. Besides, despite his incessant bragging, I was pretty damn sure that even Don fucking Juan couldn't have gotten it up with the amount of whiskey that Edward had drunk tonight.

I slid my key card through the door and felt the sense of déjà vu hit me like a sledgehammer as I walked into my room.

Rosalie was in my bed again—but this time she was awake and there was no awkwardness. There was only a hard knot of sexual awareness that settled low in my belly. I wanted her so damn bad, and there was nothing and nobody that would stop me from taking her.

Nothing except a sinking feeling that I couldn't damn her by association.

You're insane, you know," I told her. I stripped off my jacket and stood facing her.

She only laughed—and the tinge of hysteria had me at her side almost instantly. Great, I harangued myself, way to show her that you don't care.

"Are you alright?" I asked cautiously. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Rose shook her head. "No. I'm fine. Actually , I'm more than fine. I'm free, for the first time in a very, very long time."

"You didn't see him for that long," I reasoned. And she hadn't. Six months maybe, at the most.

She shrugged and gave me that look that said I'm going to pretend like this is no big deal, but I'd like very much if you stuck around after I told you. "Edward was just the last in a long line of guys that weren't very good for me." Rose's shoulders slumped and I wanted so desperately to climb into the bed and comfort her the way she deserved to be comforted, but I was terrified that if me and her ended up in that close a proximity, a whole lot more than just comforting would happen.

I wondered too if she honestly expected me to be surprised. The way she'd clung to Edward with so much tenacity had told me everything I needed to know about her own past history. Rosalie wasn't new to being treated this way—it had happened before. "I know," I told her, deciding that I'd better be honest here. "You haven't made great choices. But then neither have I, so I'm not exactly the best candidate to pass judgment on you."

A smile lit up her beautiful face, the blue eyes glowing with affection and sympathy and damnit all to hell, desire. What the fuck was I supposed to do now? A woman that half the male population of the world would kill to have in their beds was in mine, and she was making it very clear that it was me she wanted—not Edward. As for me, I wanted her so damn bad that I could nearly taste her lips on mine, feel her skin as my hands slid over it.

As if she could read my mind, Rosie smiled, and patted the bed next to her. "Come, get comfortable. And we can talk some more."

Yeah, right. We'd both been around the block enough times to know exactly what would happen if I climbed in bed next to her, and no matter how much I wanted her, I didn't feel prepared to compromise her so completely.

I hesitated, and she saw it. A cloud passed over those sky blue eyes. How on earth was I ever going to turn her down without hurting her feelings? I didn't think there was a way I could. Simply saying no and meaning it was going to be enough of a test of my own willpower.

"You're not talking," Rose said evenly. "And you didn't ask me where I've been this last week. You really should."

One of Edward's famous (or infamous) nuggets of sage advice was, "It's a woman's job to try to talk a man to death—it's the man's job to try to fuck it out of her." I'd always thought this was ridiculous, but I could see where this was going with Rosalie. Maybe it was honestly worse for her to share her deep emotional baggage versus have sex with me.

Maybe that was my whole problem. To Rosalie, talking about her emotions was akin to the closest relationship she'd had in years; on the other hand, sex had happened with a lot more frequency and with a whole lot less feelings involved.

And really, who was I kidding anyway? I had Rosalie Hale in my bed, for fuck's sake. I wasn't going to be able to resist. I was a good guy... just not that good.

"Turn off the overhead light," Rose requested, her voice a tinge huskier than normal. "It's late and it's so bright." She leaned over and switched on the beside lamp, uncoiling her slim body from her sitting position. I was in the middle of shucking my shoes and had my hands on my belt, and when I saw she was only wearing the fitted black tank and a matching pair of black panties, I froze.

Rose smiled a little, so guilelessly that I almost thought that maybe she hadn't done it on purpose. But this was Rosalie, and while she might be a total novice at sharing her feelings and telling off the Edward Cullens of the world, she was right at home in this bed. A lot of men might have minded that she'd undoubtedly been around the block once or twice, but so had I, and like I had told her earlier, I'd made too many of my own mistakes to pass judgment on hers. Rosalie was Rosalie, and I would take all of her—the good and the bad—because every single molecule of her was precious to me.

With a hand that wasn't entirely steady, I switched off the overhead light as she'd asked and crossed to the bed. As she had a week ago, Rose nearly seemed to melt into me as soon as my body hit the mattress, except that there was a very salient difference between that night and tonight: she'd been asleep then, and now we were both very, very awake.

I couldn't help it; my hands just gravitated towards all the warm, golden-freckled skin that was visible. As I smoothed them over her shoulders, teasing the little bit of collarbone I could see with a finger, I said to her, "so what did you do this week? I wondered where you'd been."

She trembled a little at my touch, and the tiny tremors were the very beginning of my undoing. "I went away. Went to talk to someone at my family's cabin in the Adirondacks."

"Someone?" Her head dipped a little and strands of her long blond hair fell across her cheek so her face was shadowed to me. I knew she'd done it on purpose, and I wondered what was so embarrassing about seeing a friend at her family's cabin, but then she continued.

"I saw a . . .counselor. A therapist. We talked the whole week about why I choose men like Edward. Why I let them . . .abuse me." Rose whispered the last word, as if saying it out loud somehow made it true.

My grip on her shoulders tightened and I felt every single reason I'd had to stay away from her evaporating as if they'd never even existed, but not exactly the same way as before. Absolute certainty coalesced in me and I knew then what I had to do, and that it would be one of the hardest things I'd ever committed to—and one of the most worth it, if it worked out in the end.

"You know that I'm not like them," I said cautiously, and her bright blue eyes peeked through the blond strands that fell across her face. She nodded, and I said, "So we can't do the same things that you did with them. It has to be different with me—different for you. I don't want you to feel like I don't want you, because I do, but I couldn't bear for me to be like all those others. You mean too much to me--and I want to mean too much to you."

Moisture glimmered in the corners of her eyes, and she wrapped herself so tightly around me that I almost forgot to breathe. As her head buried in the crook of my neck, I told myself that this was a sacrifice worth making. I'd originally thought I could stay away, that I could make this matter less if I slept with her instead of being the one man she tried to mend herself for. But I knew now that I loved her too much to ever have a hope of pulling that off. I would have to do this right, if only she could wait and hold on and not judge when my own past came to town.

"I believe you," I heard her murmur, and I smiled, at no one and nothing in particular. Even when life seemed full of reasons to defeat you, there was always some bright glimmer of hope to cling to. And for so long that glimmer for me had been Rosalie.

"Good," I told her. "I meant it."

" No," she giggled a little. "I mean, yes. I do believe that you meant that, but I also believe that you want me." She nudged my legs open a little and I realized that she was nearly on top of little Emmett (or Big Emmett)—who'd realized it long before I had. Whoops.

I tried really hard not to blush, but I failed. "Uh. Sorry?"

"Nonsense," Rosalie said, grinding on me briefly, probably because she enjoyed torturing me, "I'm rather enjoying it."

"I'd much rather you enjoyed it in other ways."

"Of course you would," she laughed, "but I thought you were also taking some perverse pleasure in being the martyr."

"Oh don't get me wrong—I am. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to whine incessantly about how I have the most beautiful girl in the universe and I can't do any of the things I've been dreaming about for months now."

I felt Rose suddenly go still, and I realized half a second too late what I'd just admitted to. Though, I reasoned, thoughts racing through my mind, it wasn't like she didn't know. She'd had to known how I felt about her. I wasn't that fucking subtle about it.

"Really?"

"Really." There was no point in lying now. Unfortunately.

She pulled back a little so she could look at my face and I could see her eyes were bright and happy—they weren't all that surprised or creeped out, thank god. "I guess I knew. Or I suspected. You just hated to see me with him so much."

"I hated it because you deserved better."

"You," she answered before I could continue. "I deserved someone like you."

I wanted so damn much to nod my head and agree with her; to believe, as she so completely did, in my own ability to love her the way she deserved to be loved. But I knew what was coming, and I knew that it was pretty damn likely that I would have to abandon her sooner rather than later, and it wouldn't be because I wanted to. It would be because I had no other choice.

"I'm not. . .good. . .like you think I am," I said and my voice was a lot more strained than I thought it would be. "I've done things that are going to catch up to me."

"And we'll face them together."

I had to shake my head then. "No. Absolutely not. I'll face them alone because I brought them on myself. I won't have you get involved."

"What things?" Rosalie's eyes were inquisitive and I could nearly see her mind turning over all sorts of possibilities. What could I possibly have done that I'd have to pay for? I hoped to God that she'd never have to find out.

"Just trust me on this. Promise me." I knew I sounded hard and unyielding but I had to be about this. My number one priority was keeping Rosalie safe and making sure that what followed me around like a bad fucking smell didn't even know she existed. And hoping and praying that she wouldn't loathe the sight of me after all this was done. "Promise me that you'll stay out of anything that happens that involves me. Promise me that you won't get involved. It wouldn't be safe for you."

"But then it wouldn't be safe for you." A month ago, I would have killed to see that look of growing affection in her face. Now, it just killed me instead. I was so fucking terrified that she was going to be stupid and become the martyr to save me from something that I had decided I deserved.

"That doesn't matter. I can handle it. Just remember. Stay out of it. And please, for the love of God, Rosie, just promise me. Promise me you'll be safe, and promise you won't hate me."

She buried her face in my chest and I felt weak. "I don't know what you're talking about. Everything is going to be fine."

"Promise," I said roughly. "Please. For me."

Her lips grazed the side of my neck. "I promise," she whispered huskily in my ear. "I promise to do what you say."

"Okay," I said limply, wondering how long I was going to be able to hold out on the idea of us being together, yet celibate with her lips on my skin and her hands on my chest. "Good enough."

It was going to be a fucking long night, that's for damn sure.

I woke up feeling better than I had in ages. I was well-rested, not only because Edward had finally gotten his drunk ass to bed at a halfway decent hour and I'd been able to get a good night's sleep for the first time in longer than I cared to remember, but I'd also spent the night in the arms of the woman I loved. I knew she didn't love me yet, so I couldn't tell her, but I could feel it growing between us. I just hoped to God it was strong enough to withstand the shit storm when it hit.

And as if on cue, as if fate had been merely standing by, waiting for things to finally go right for me, my phone vibrated. I was on my way to the hotel gym, having left Rosalie still sleeping in bed. I'd looked out the window into an early morning drizzle instead of the bright sunshine I'd wanted, but I figured I could get a run in on the treadmill anyway. I'd changed into some loose running shorts and a wife beater and headed down the hallway to the gym.

I grabbed the phone out of my pocket and felt everything inside me turn to ice. I'd been living in dread for weeks, waiting to see this number appear on my phone, because I knew when it finally happened, everything would irrevocably change.

"Fuck," I muttered viciously, trying to not to think of the woman asleep in my bed, three floors up, and all the positive thoughts I'd had this morning. "Fuck."

I answered with a short, "Hello," leaning against the hallway wall.

"The pieces are in place," the voice said. "It's time to move them."

I closed my eyes in agony. They could not have picked worse timing for this. "Tonight," the voice finished. "You will do it tonight."

I clicked the phone off without acknowledging the request. I didn't trust myself to even speak.

Instead of heading to the gym as I'd planned, I turned around and went back to the room. If it was going to be tonight, I had a lot of fucking planning to do. Because of my conversation last night with Rose, it was more important than ever that I execute this flawlessly, because if absolutely nothing went wrong, I might have a chance in hell of actually being with her when this was all over.

AN: Cliffie!!!!

Josie & I have entered the Texts from Last Night Contest with our entry, "The Princess & The Pussycat"--which is kinda sadistic fun! Check it out :)

Also, izzzysparkles is amazing and created a twitter for our Punkrockward--it's Punkrockward, if you'd like to follow and see all the hilariously fucked up things he's saying.