AN: I know everyone's missed our naughty punkrockward, so here he is, not just for this chapter but for chapter 14 as well.

Thanks to my awesome reviewers, and of course to Miss JosieSwan, who makes this readable :)

I have updated the playlist with EVERY single song I mention in this chapter. I would really, really recommend going to listen to some of it, because I don't think some of this chapter will make much sense if you haven't heard the music. Both Bella and Edward are kind of music junkies, as well as being unending sources of musical facts-and let's face it, we're not all like that. So I recommend you check out the music, because while a lot of this story hasn't been about music, this chapter really is.

Edward

If I had expected things to change drastically after Commando Barbie showed up at the table, I would have been wrong. Nothing changed, and the very sameness of every moment—exactly the same as the one before it—had me more on edge than I'd been in years. Of course, I was used to grinding my sharp edges down with booze and sex, and my two favorite coping mechanisms were completely absent in this hellhole.

Emmett showed up a few hours later—or at least I guessed it was a few hours later—acting as if crazy psycho bitch wasn't present and unfortunately accounted for, to let us use the bathroom.

As we had the first time, and the subsequent trips, I went first, followed by Bella. I'd never bothered with a futile attempt not to think of Bella while she showered—in fact, I decided that if she ever asked, I would come right out and tell her that the images of water cascading down her naked, wet skin was enough to make me harder than even the goddamn floor. But she didn't ask, of course, and though I'd spent nearly my entire life saying all the things that you weren't supposed to, I found I couldn't. Every single time I opened my big fucking mouth to tell her explicitly just how much I desired her, I would remember the clean, fresh, nearly innocent way she'd tasted when we'd kissed, and then the way Jane's eyes had narrowed at her, and I couldn't do it.

I was half-convinced my dick was going to fall off, probably because all this estrogen in the room was infecting me, but Brit or no, I was definitely softening towards her.

Not my cock, but the rest of me. And, I realized as I shifted on the bed, trying to forget how soft her skin had felt as my fingers had skimmed across its silken surface, it was perhaps the very first time I'd ever given the other parts precedence.

The door opened and as Bella walked in, her damp hair swinging around her shoulders, followed closely by Emmett, I remembered the conversation I'd had with him while I was in the shower.

"Should I be worried about this girl?" I'd asked, as I scrubbed my hair and let it rinse in the measly spray. A Hale hotel, this wasn't.

"Jane?" Emmett's voice was so deceptively casual, if I hadn't known him so well, if we hadn't worked together for so long, I would have thought he could have cared less about Commando Barbie. But instead, I'd tensed, the hot water hitting my back like a poor man's Shiatsu. "She's a non-issue."

"I think she'd kick your ass if she could hear you say that," I'd tried to joke, but the humor had fallen flat in the humid bathroom.

"Yeah I'd pay to see that," Emmett had tried to respond in kind, but his usual confidence was gone. Something, I'd been more sure than ever, was wrong, and the bad feeling deep in the pit of my stomach had clenched hard.

"Emmett," I'd said quietly, "this is bad. Isn't it?"

He'd said nothing at first, the rhythmic pitter-patter of the shower filling the room. "Yeah, I think it's safe to say that we're at a disadvantage." I'd heard everything he wasn't saying—every word he left out because he couldn't, and I'd wished that I didn't know him so damn well. Maybe then I could have stayed comfortably in the dark.

I'd leaned back against the wall of the shower, ignoring the fact that the once-white tiles were grimy with what felt like years of soap scum buildup. And weirdly, the first thought I'd had hadn't been my own skin, but Bella's—smooth and clear and unmarked, inside and out. What would happen to her if we ended up in deep shit? Emmett and I, we had been taking care of ourselves for a long time. If it came down to it, we could take what psychos like Jane dished out. But Bella? I didn't want to know—never wanted to know—what it would take to break a girl like her. She pretended to be hard as nails, but I'd had my tongue in her mouth, and I knew she was soft and sweet, like marshmallow fluff.

Looking up at Bella now, those damp tangles of hair falling over her face, now almost more familiar to me than my own, I felt sick. She'd forced Emmett into kidnapping her so that she could get close to me—if this was what responsibility felt like, I wanted no part of it. The knots tightened and I felt the edge of my temper fraying what little control I had left.

Emmett shut and locked the door behind her, leaving us alone again.

It would be so easy to seduce her right now, to dull my edges, but instead of doing what came natural, what I'd always turned to when the ugliness inside threatened to swallow me alive, I swung my legs up onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "If this were a movie, and you were creating the soundtrack, what song would you play right now?" I asked.

"What?" Bella asked, confusion furrowing her brow as she sat down on the bed next to me. "That's a random question, Cullen."

"Just go with it," I snapped. "Would you prefer me not talking again?"

"No, that's perfectly alright. How about Bad Reputation by Joan Jett?" She said it with a straight voice and her back was to me, but I could almost feel the smirk on her face.

"Very funny. You've clearly established how you feel about my reputation."

She shrugged. "I don't know, it's pretty amusing to remind you every chance I get that you're a washed up, womanizing fuckup."

"I'm not a—" I started to argue with her but she took a step closer and placed a single finger on my lips, shutting me up. It was the first time that she'd ever voluntarily touched me and I felt like throwing myself a big fucking parade. I'd known Brit Bitch didn't hate me, but seeing evidence of it was damn sweet.

"How about some Radiohead? I can see Creep being kind of ridiculously appropriate right now," Bella smirked, clearly enjoying herself.

"I already know mine," I told her.

"Well, I'm waiting with baited breath," she said, combing through her hair with her fingers, still unaware that while she was snarking away, I was pretty serious.

"Every Day is Exactly the Same by Nine Inch Nails."

"Out of all the songs you could have picked, you picked one by whiny little emo Trent Reznor?"

I'd been expecting Swan to be at least marginally impressed by my selection. Not only was the song not the most commercial of Reznor's offerings, it had a definite poetic, ironic connection to our particular circumstance. But she appeared . . .well. . .slightly less than I'd anticipated. In fact, she didn't appear to be impressed at all.

"Let me guess," she continued, glancing over her shoulder, giving me this banked stare that turned me on more than I'd ever like to admit, "you like Closer too."

"It's not a terrible song," I defended. "It's not exactly Reznor's fault that it became so wildly popular. That says something about it; that it was a good song."

"It means that pervy little frat boys like to fuck their one night stands to it, and think they're somehow deep and mystical."

"Don't tell me that you don't like Nine Inch Nails," I exclaimed, my voice full of pseudo-outrage.

"Oh, I do. I just have good taste."

"So what Nine Inch Nails songs pass the Bella Swan taste test?"

"Just one, actually."

"Let me guess," I cut in. "Hurt."

"No," Bella snapped, but the heat wasn't there. She was, I was sure, smiling at me from behind that curtain of damp hair. "Though I'm kind of surprised you don't love that song, considering your own epic fuckedupness."

"Fuckedupness? Is that even a word?"

"I made it up. Deal with it. And for the record, just because I coined the term doesn't mean it isn't applicable to you. You are fucked up."

"Not exactly a fucking secret, Swan."

"No," she said quietly, "but I think that I know more of the real reason than almost anyone else. They all think you're wild because you just are. But that's not why at all."

"No," I agreed shortly. I needed to return the conversation to the much safer ground it had been on only minutes before; before Brit Bitch had decided to psycho-analyze the shit out of me. "So it's not Hurt. I know—the perfect choice for you, Swan. Head like a Hole."

"Bow down to the one you serve; you're going to get what you deserve? Oh yeah, you'd like that wouldn't you, Cullen?"

"You bowing down to me? It would pretty much make my whole damn life."

Casually, she slung a leg on the bed, her face only slightly obscured by her hair now. A bit more, and I was pretty sure I could get her to at least lay in bed next to me. No, it wasn't exactly Bella bowing down, but it was better than nothing.

"Never going to happen," she said succinctly. "You have any other bad guesses?"

"I don't see you as a Starfuckers girl—you're way too prim for that. Or for Deep. You do like punk, so maybe you could appreciate some anti-establishment Captial G. But no, none of those are right."

"Are you done showing off yet?" Bella asked, the corner of her lips quirking up in what was undeniably a small smile.

"Not quite," I said. "I'm just getting started. I raised myself on Reznor's bitter isolationism."

"What a fucking surprise," Bella deadpanned. "And because you're never going to be able to guess, I'll just tell you. It's The Perfect Drug."

"Just so you know, I knew it was. I was just giving you crap. Only you would love The Perfect Drug. Which is evidence that you're the fucked up one."

"It's just so. . .romantic."

"Romantic? A drug addiction? Haven't you ever seen a druggie passed out in their own vomit? Not exactly champagne and roses."

Bella cocked her head, those dark eyes of hers boring into mine. She tucked a strand of hair behind her head and slowly, deliberately, lifted the other leg onto the bed and lay down next to me. "It's a fairly common metaphor. Nine Inch Nails just do it better."

"Who else?" I could think of ten examples off the top of my head, but I wanted to know if she truly knew her shit. She'd said she had a music blog, but that didn't mean she knew crap about music. Most critics I knew wouldn't know good music if it came up and bit them in the ass.

"Alkaline Trio. This Addiction."

"Their new stuff isn't nearly as good as before they went mainstream and sold out."

She shrugged. "I liked it. And I don't think you can exactly complain about 'selling out' you fucking hypocrite."

"You're all love tonight," I told her in faux seriousness.

She was silent for a moment, and for the first time tonight, for the first time since the conversation had started, she was truly, undeniably serious. The way I'd wanted this conversation to be when I'd started it. "The first time I heard it . . I cried. I just . . .I knew how he felt. Because of my dad. " She paused for a moment, and then, she sang softly, "Without you, everything falls apart."

"Without you," I continued, "it isn't as much fun to pick up the pieces." I cleared my throat, trying to break the suddenly poignant moment. I was Edward Cullen and I'd never done poignant in my whole fucking life. Except just then, and I felt really freaking weird about it. "So what's your song, for real?"

Bella sighed, so quietly that I almost didn't hear her, though she was lying right next to me. And in it, I could almost hear her thoughts—she knew I was changing the subject, steering us away from some sort of emotionally meaningful conversation and into a musically meaningful discussion instead. Which was exactly what I was doing, but then, she seemed okay with it too, because she answered my question without accusing me of any of the crap she knew I was pulling.

"Truthfully? I won't apologize for this, but A Little's Enough by Angels & Airwaves."

"I can fix anything, if you'll just let me near? Tsk tsk, I thought you didn't like trite nonsense."

Bella giggled a little. "It's terrible I know. I couldn't even pick good Blink 182. I had to pick their mediocre doppelganger."

"Just for the record, if you thought that I was a crazy effer, you should meet Tom DeLonge. He thinks he's Jesus fucking Christ."

"And you're what? Satan?"

"Something like that," I told her.

"But you did know the song. You even knew the lyrics," Bella pounced, sounding incredibly proud that she'd caught me.

"I have a weird nostalgia for Blink 182. And Angels & Airwaves is better than nothing. Besides, I have this weird memory thing. Listen to a song once, and the lyrics are pretty much locked in. I can recite almost any song, start to finish."

"Almost like a musical photographic memory," Bella said with awe. She was clearly impressed, and I wondered how she could be blown away by my stupid talent instead of by the fact that I'd picked such a great Nine Inch Nails song. She'd picked Angels & Airwaves, after all. That wasn't the sort of thing I could forget—or forgive.

"I guess," I said, downplaying it.

"So basically, you're brilliant. And fucked up."

"Don't forget, I'm also Satan." I glanced over at Bella and caught her rolling her eyes.

"What would your blog readers say if you picked an Angels & Airwaves song?" I asked.

"They'd probably revolt. All five of them."

"Wow you really weren't kidding about the poor readership."

Bella sighed, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "I wasn't. I mean. . .I did have one entry that people read—"

"The one about Aiming to Misbehave," I interrupted, my voice undeniably resentful.

"Yes," she said uncertainly. "But other than that, it's just. . .boring."

"How can that even be possible? You're a lot of things, Swan, but you're not boring."

"Wow, Cullen, that's by far the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Thank you."

"So what's the problem then," I said, trying to skip right over her thanks. I hadn't even fucking meant to compliment her; it had just been true. Swan might be annoying and frustrating and downright fucking infuriating, but she wasn't boring. You didn't want to strangle boring women.

"I thought for so long that I needed to be objective. Not subjective. So the entries are all just dull and lacking a personal touch I guess."

"I've said it before to you, and I'll say it again. Music starts and ends with the person. What one person hears can be totally different from what someone else hears. Here, for example. What's your favorite Athair song?"

"State of Massachusetts," Bella answered without hesitation. Clearly, she'd had to answer this before, and the answer was just instinctual. "I love the story, I love the hard ass realism of it. And the music is downright brilliant."

"Good choice," I said. I hadn't expected her to pick that song, and though it definitely worked with what I wanted to prove to her, it unnerved me that she'd selected possibly the last song I ever would have guessed she'd pick. "And the story's not about me. I got it out of a Boston newspaper when I was 17. Esme was horrified that I presented it as mine; she demanded then—this was right after Athair was signed—that I change my last name so that nobody would know I was her son."

"How could she be ashamed of you? You're a brilliant musician."

"You'd have to understand Esme Platt to understand. And I'm not exactly anyone understands her. Could or would even want to," I added under my breath.

"Esme Platt? She's your mother?"

"Hard to picture, isn't it?" I groused.

"Actually no. She'd a cold hard bitch. You're an entitled asshat. It makes perfect sense."

"Wow, thanks. Kind and sympathetic as usual, Swan," I remarked sarcastically, a bit hurt that even when I confessed something almost nobody knew, she still couldn't leave the snide attitude behind. When she told me about her dad, I'd been so good, I hadn't even made one snarky comment. And here she was, calling me an entitled asshat.

"I'm just. . .in shock I guess. I had no idea."

"Yeah, that's the way it's supposed to be. She doesn't like being associated with the 'dregs of society.'"

"Really, Cullen. I'm sorry. She shouldn't be ashamed. You're brilliant. A wonderful musician."

"So is my point made?" I said, deliberately changing the subject. Yet again, we had ended up talking about my fuckedupness—though god knew I was never going to use that ridiculous phrase out loud.

"No. It's your turn. Favorite song of yours. I've never heard you admit to liking one better than all the others. Usually you just feed the interviewer some load of bullshit about how they're all your favorite."

"I know. There's a reason for that," I groused. "If I said one song that I liked better than any of the others, people would just download that one and ignore the rest. And that's lame."

"But you're going to tell me anyway," Bella said confidently, and I supposed she wasn't far off the mark. After all, I'd just told her about Esme. Confessing what my favorite Athair song was seemed like fairly small beans in comparison.

"Tessie," I admitted.

"Really? That one? Why?"

"Clearly you didn't grow up in Boston," I told her. "Or else you'd understand. Tessie combines two of the best things in the entire world—punk rock and baseball. The chorus pretty much makes me jizz in my pants."

"You're ridiculous," Bella said, but I could tell she was more amused than annoyed. "I never understood the whole appeal of baseball. It's so boring to watch. Nine tenths of the time, nothing is fucking happening."

"Not true," I argued. "A lot is always happening, you just have to know what to look for."

"I'll take your word for it," she said wryly.

"Honestly, I'm kind of shocked you didn't pick Float. Or Laura."

"Instead of State of Massachusetts? Why?"

I shrugged. "You're a girl. Some raw, horrible story about child abuse isn't usually what girls like."

"I thought we'd established that I wasn't like most girls."

"Still. Every girl I've ever met tells me about how Laura makes their knees all mushy."

"My knees are fine. They don't develop the consistency of mashed potatoes over a song. Besides, I never thought that Laura sounded much like you."

"And that, Swan, is what you should be writing about. About how you're different. Not about some objective shit about how many stars you're giving the latest Alkaline Trio sellout record." I paused. "And for the record, I wrote the music for Laura—but not the lyrics. So you were right. It's not really me."

"I knew it," Bella said triumphantly, partially sitting up. "The lyrics were so sweet and romantic; I knew you weren't capable of that kind of feeling."

"Again with the compliments. . ." I said sarcastically.

"Are you?"she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Capable of that sort of thing?"

"Truthfully? Sometimes I think that the part of me that could have fallen in love died so long ago that it's shriveled into nothing."

"What you need is some serious therapy," Bella sighed, "but I can understand your fuckedupness even better now. Wow. Esme Platt."

"Are we back on that?" I said partially rolling to the side, so my back was to her, hoping this would indicate I was totally done with this conversation. We couldn't stay on music; but then, maybe that was my whole point with Bella. Music wasn't something you could divorce from emotions. The two went hand in hand—take one without the other, and both lost their transformative power.

"You know, we have more in common than you realize," Bella said, her tone of voice deceptively casual. "Our fathers are both dead. And we have famous mothers who don't approve of us."

"Swan? Swan?" I ransacked my brain trying to think of anyone famous I knew with the last name, but nobody came to mind, until I glanced over at her, from over my shoulder, and something in the way that the tiny bit of light reflected off her cheekbones suddenly made total sense.

"You're Renee Swan's daughter," I told her triumphantly. "Of course you are. You look just like her."

Bella gaped. "You see it? The resemblance?"

Now that I'd realized it, I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it before. I'd said Bella was hot—after all, I'd gone after her pretty damn quick the first moment I'd seen her—but now I couldn't look at her without realizing just how beautiful she really was. "Of course," I told her. "It's obvious."

"Um, not so much. She has blond hair, blue eyes. My hair and my eyes are both brown."

"But your faces—what made Renee Swan so beautiful by the way—they're almost exactly alike."

"Ergo," Bella asked with wonder, "you think I'm beautiful?"

"I want to have sex with you, don't I?" I hated the note of amazement in her voice, as if she had no idea how stunning she was, and I had just revealed all to her. I didn't want to be the savior of her fucked up self-image; I just wanted to tell her that I'd definitely tap that.

"That didn't answer my question," Bella said sternly.

"Fine. You're beautiful. Is that better?"

"Yes," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. I was sure if I looked at her she'd be positively beaming. "But don't think that means I'll let you seduce me. A few compliments are nothing."

"Of course not," I said sarcastically. "I would never think that. You're made of much sterner stuff. Your self-control is ironclad."

"Cullen, don't turn this into a 'I won't have sex with you' issue."

"Believe me, you'll have a sex with me. It's only a matter of when. And maybe I've decided that right now is a good time." I loved playing the cocky card and seeing Bella's hackles go up, which they inevitably did. It was way too easy to piss her off.

"It's a matter of when hell freezes over. And right now is definitely not that time." She sounded a lot more convinced than she had before, which made no sense to me. When we'd kissed, she'd been just as enthusiastic about the prospect as I had, and really, wasn't a lack of activity on that front supposed to make her want me more, not less? Because I sure as hell wanted her more. The razor sharp edge of my temper flared back a little, and I found myself staring at her, as she resolutely avoided meeting my eyes. She was definitely beautiful, I thought, taking in the amazing curves and planes of her facial structure. I wanted her watch that mouth gasp in pleasure, watch the curve of her cheek as she lowered herself onto me.

And that was when I realized for the very first time, I hadn't given a single thought to Bella's other, much more vital parts during this particular round of fantasizing. They were still there, I thought, with a quick glance to her chest as it rose and fell with her steady breaths, but I hadn't actively thought of them while I'd fantasized about fucking her.

This was weird, I decided. Weird and strange and not quite right. Who cared about the curve of a woman's cheek when there was tits and ass and firm, flat stomachs? And Bella's long, slender legs? I needed to stay focused on what was really important here.

"Fine," I said, as if I didn't care at all if she didn't ever give it up, which was definitely not true. I'd just realized that I didn't want her to give up when she didn't want to. I wanted her to come to me and slide that fuckamazing body up mine and murmur in my ear that she was desperate for me.

Of course, hell probably would freeze over before she did that.

The sound of the lock mechanism on the door made me jump and I met Bella's eyes with trepidation. Once we'd been "taken" care of, we were never bothered so soon afterwards. There was a comfort in routine, and this departure made the nervous knots in my stomach tighten. I could tell from the way that Bella's hand gripped the sheet next to her that she too was feeling uneasy about this abrupt change.

The door opened and I sat up as light flooded into the room. Instead of Emmett's big bulky figure, I felt my stomach drop onto the floor as the lean, lethal figure of Jane emerged into our cell.

She said nothing, only stared at me and Bella with those hard, dark, empty eyes. Even more than before, I was convinced that she was completely capable of committing unspeakable atrocities and not batting an eye. She didn't care about anything and the apathy radiated off of her in sick, nauseating waves.

But then, just as suddenly as she'd appeared, her entire expression changed, shifting into something vaguely resembling adoration and worship. I was confused—she wasn't staring at me like that, was she? I shuddered at the thought. But then, a man walked in behind her.

It wasn't Emmett, though they were built on similar lines—tall and big. Not fat, just beefy. I couldn't see him properly at first because his bulk was partially obscuring the light streaming in from the doorway, but then he moved in closer and everything inside went ice cold.

Looking into his face was like looking into a mirror. The eyes that stared back at me could have been mine, except that his were cold, like Jane's, and fucking scary as hell.

Who was I kidding? It didn't matter how dead they were, the fact that we had the exact same eyes was scary enough on its own.

Without even thinking about what I was doing, I felt my hand slide against the sheet until I felt Bella's warm clammy skin against my own. Gripping her fingers tightly in my own, I forced myself to look back up into myself.

"Edward," the man sneered, and everything went from a mere chill to a temperature resembling Antarctica. I could tell he knew my name wasn't Edward, which meant he knew my real name.

I wanted to ask if he was my dad, if Esme had lied to me my entire life, but the question stuck in my suddenly unresponsive throat. So I just nodded, weirdly transfigured by those eyes that were so like my own.

"It's been a long time. I don't expect ye remember me," he said and I could hear the lyrical cadence of the accent in his vowels.

"No."

"Ye look just like your da," he said, taking a step closer.

Well, that answered that question. He definitely wasn't my father. I didn't know whether to be fucking bummed or elated. I dug my fingers harder into Bella's skin, and she gripped mine back just as fiercely. I knew how scared she was, because I was fucking terrified. I couldn't imagine how she was feeling.

Get a fucking grip, I ordered myself, who cares what Bella's feeling. This is all her fault. She wouldn't even be here, if she'd been smart. I knew I should let go of her hand, put the distance back between us, but I fucking couldn't. The only thing that was keeping me sane was the feel of her fingers clamped around mine.

The man stared at me, almost as if he was measuring my worth. I was really glad that he couldn't see that I was holding hands with the girl next to me, because this looked like the kind of guy who would rather chop his hand off than do anything so pussy-whipped.

"I'm Niall," he said finally. "Better known as Aro. The Red Hands are mine—they are now. They used to be me and your da's." He paused, looking at me hard, until I was sure he could see right through all my stupid posturing. "I'm your da's brother."

My uncle. Esme had never mentioned that my father had had a brother, but then that didn't surprise me; as a rule, she never spoke of her time in Ireland if she could help it. I didn't know if it was because it was just too painful or because she wished that she'd never let herself fall in love with a member of the IRA.

"Your ma didn't tell you about me," Niall stated, rather than questioned, clearly able to see the panic and surprise on my face.

I shook my head. "No big surprise. She never liked me. She never liked any of us."

Yeah, because you're a militaristic organization that's fucking scary, I wanted to say, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn't know what I was supposed to feel, meeting my dead father's brother, but whatever I was feeling definitely wasn't expected.

"Why am I here?" I finally asked.

He threw his head back and laughed, the creepy as fuck sound echoing around the nearly empty room. "Don't you know, boy? You're here to take your place. Your rightful place."

My rightful place. The place I'd always thought I'd wanted. I should be fucking ecstatic now; they had finally come for me, after so many years of wondering and wanting to be part of my legacy. I should be feeling more. . .excited, I decided. I should be definitely feeling something other than dread.

"Jane," he barked. "Watch the girl. Edward's coming with me."

I didn't know anything except for one single fact—I was sure that if I let go of Bella's hand, I was going to fucking fall apart. For the first time since Jane and Niall had entered the room, I glanced over at her. Her eyes were huge in her face, and I could nearly read her thoughts now. She didn't want me to leave her with Jane, and I realized I didn't want to. I didn't want to go with Niall, and I didn't want her to have to deal with Commando Barbie.

In the end, we had no choice. I released her hand, and slowly got to my feet feeling woozy and more than a little nauseous.

"That's my boy," Niall said, clapping me hard on the shoulder.

Words I had always longed to hear. Maybe it was that they were just too fucking late. Maybe because I had never really understood what hearing them would mean. But all I wanted was for him to fucking take them back and leave.

Honestly, it was even more than that—I wanted him and Jane to crawl back into the hole they'd come from and leave us alone for good. I wanted to talk to Esme, and tell her that I was sorry for all the times I'd scoffed at her arguments that the Red Hands were dangerous and not to be trifled with.

But now, it was all too late for that.

AN: So what did everyone think of the music? Let's a play a game-what was your favorite song they talked about? Did you hate all of them? Could you not pick a favorite?

My favorite song is also Bella's-"The Perfect Drug" by Nine Inch Nails. In my opinion, about 100x sexier than "Closer."