AN: Thank you guys for the awesome reviews and the birthday wishes :) I know a lot of you have expressed interest in more Edward/Bella, even if you do enjoy the secondary characters, and I want you to know I AM listening. The next four chapters are all very ExB-centric, beginning with this one-and to me, this is the big turning point chapter. You'll see why.

Songs are updated on my profile (including an amazing cover of "Tonight, Tonight" by Passion Pit that you NEED to hear).

Thanks to JosieSwan, my awesome beta, and Izzzzy, my pre-reading cheerleader. None of this would be possible without either of you.

Bella

"You know what I have to do."

It had been hours since my breakdown. I felt hollowed out, like an over-enthusiastic sous chef had taken a melon baller to me just before a swanky brunch. In another world, there would be a whole hell of a lot of Bella in the fruit cups. In this world, though, I hadn't lost physical pieces of myself—only mental ones. Pride, first off.

"What do you mean?" I didn't even make a half-hearted attempt to drag my head off Edward's shoulder; it was unbearably heavy, despite that I was numb and couldn't think of a single thing past how good Edward still smelled. After the concert, he'd reeked of whiskey and sweat, but now, he was sweet and clean, like soap and a whole crate of broken hearts.

"You know." Edward said it almost impatiently, as if he didn't want to have the conversation, which I knew was true. And I knew exactly what he meant, and he was way too fucking right not wanting to discuss it. I knew it was only going to end in a stalemate, because there was no way in fucking hell that I was letting him do what he was about to suggest.

"No."

"You do know—" he began arguing again, this time with a hint of heat, but I interrupted him before he could go any further.

"No," I repeated again. "You're not going to do it. Of course I know what you mean." He couldn't see my eyes, but I rolled them anyway, for unnecessary emphasis.

"I'd like to see you come up with a better plan."

"I don't care how good it is," I retorted, still refusing to move from my extremely comfortable position, "I'm not worth it. Besides, this was all my fault. I got myself in; let me get myself out."

I felt Edward's chest rumble, as if he was growling with frustration at my decision. "I'm sorry," I added, self-consciously, "but I can't let you give yourself to them just to save me."

"And what about Emmett? And even me? Do you really think they won't kill me or force me through some other horrific means to do what they want?"

I swallowed hard, forcing down the suddenly thick panic. I wanted to believe that Edward wasn't right, but I knew he was. Still, it didn't change anything. It wasn't Edward's place to try to save me, not when I'd stupidly forced my way into the situation.

"Doesn't matter," I whispered. "You're not doing it." I couldn't bear the thought of him with Aro and Jane, at their side, doing their ill deeds. He was so incredibly talented, had such a bright future ahead of him, if he could only cut the crap and devote himself to his music.

"It's not your decision to make," Edward told me, much firmer this time. He thought he'd made the choice, but it was my job, I realized, to talk him out of it any way I could.

"I don't get a say?" I asked, finally raising my head and looking him straight in the eye. I knew Edward now—knew him well enough to know that with him, there was only the offensive. Going on the defensive was doomed from the start.

"You don't know I'm choosing the life they're offering because of you or Emmett."

"Your studied laidback tone could use some work," I told him. "Whatever you do, don't decide that because you're a musician you should be an actor too. Let me tell you right now, it's not for you. Edward Cullen is not the next Beyonce Knowles."

"Please," he scoffed. "Beyonce. Don't make me laugh." His expression was almost right, but it was his eyes that gave him away. They were tired and haunted and I saw the same melodramatic angsty streak of martyrdom that had brought down countless so-called emo boys. But this time, it wasn't a pretentious act; it was real. We were living it. And I realized with a dip of my empty stomach, he was ready to make the choice. If Aro showed up in thirty seconds, he'd give himself away without a thought to his future or to what he was truly giving up.

It was that moment I realized that I didn't know Edward Cullen at all.

And just like that, he destroyed me. I'd been (relatively) safe before, when I'd thought all that his prickly exterior hid was a self-centered, self-absorbed, shallow core. But even Edward had depths, and as he let me see them for the first time, I felt my scruples and my sanity drifting away much more rapidly than I was comfortable with.

"You'd do it," I said seriously, sitting up now, pushing my body off of his with my hands. I couldn't touch him while we talked about this, because if I did, I might break down and cry on his shoulder and that had been only marginally acceptable the first time. The second, it would be unforgivable. "You'd seriously become one of the Red Hands. An Aro in training."

"I don't want to," he argued, "but how else do you propose to get out of this mess? And it won't be forever, I'll manage to get away from them in a couple of weeks. Maybe a month.

"Besides," he added, in a darker, wretched voice, his green eyes shifting to the floor to the right of my body, "it's in my blood after all."

"But you're not like them—blood isn't everything. Actually, blood isn't anything." I tried to forget that Edward had called me Brit Bitch for approximately the first week of our acquaintance and that as Edward Cullen of Athair, he'd regularly engaged in brawls with any English person he ran into. Maybe to him, blood was everything.

Of course, that kind of ridiculous, presumptive thinking led to genocide and warfare and hatred. I wanted, so desperately, to tell Edward that, but preaching at him about erroneous assumptions wasn't going to convince him the last place he belonged was the Red Hands—regardless of who's blood flowed through his veins.

I'd always loved him as a musician, but had always considered him a waste of breath as a human being; to my utter shock, I realized I wanted to tell him that he was worth more than this, but then I'd have to tell him exactly what he was worth—and that was a much more difficult proposition, because I was no longer sure I knew.

"Blood's worth more than you think," Edward told me bitterly.

"You're worth more," I argued now.

"And you're not? You just said you weren't worth me sacrificing myself."

I scooted back on the cot, until we were no longer touching. It had been a mistake to ever let my guard down around him; he was smarter than I'd ever given him credit for, and because I'd let him, he'd seen right through me.

"This isn't about me being a hypocrite," I reasoned, "it's about the fact that you're an immensely successful and talented musician and I'm just. . .I'm just Bella Swan."

Edward's jaw worked and I could see that he was close to losing his temper. Good, I thought, feeling the tears rise hot and urgent in my throat again, he would get angry and then I'd lose this terrible need to sob on his shoulder yet again. Anger was better than grief any day of the week.

"Just Brit Bitch," I continued, but before I could get any farther he cut me off.

"Cut the shit. You're not just that." Edward ran a hand through this hair, leaving it standing up in a dozen different directions. "And you know that. You're just trying to distract me now. I've made up my mind."

"I just don't think it's a real solution," I told him. "A real solution would be one that would work for both of us."

"And what would that be? Attack Aro? Jane? We're both crazy, but we're not that crazy."

He had a point there. I thought that Jane alone could probably kick both of our asses without breaking a sweat.

"I don't like it," I said flatly. "My opinion is still no."

"I never said you had to like it," Edward said with a grimace of frustration. "And I didn't bring this up to fight with you over it. I just brought it up so that you would know what I was planning to do. So when the time comes, you just smile and nod, and run far, far away."

"No," I told him stubbornly.

"This isn't up for discussion, Swan."

"You're not sacrificing yourself for me, I won't allow it."

"You haven't developed a selective hearing loss, so I know you heard me before: I'm not sacrificing myself for you. It's the best possible outcome. Besides, it's not exactly a sacrifice."

"Don't lie. We both know that the last thing you want to do is go with them. If you're going to do this -which is still under discussion, by the way- then at least don't pretend it's because you want to."

Edward didn't answer right away. His jaw was tight again, and I knew that he was probably railing against me mentally. It was probably wrong of me to argue this way, to try to save someone who 1) didn't want to be saved and 2) had been such a monumental asshat towards me. I couldn't deny it any longer; I had inevitably and irrevocably softened towards him, and I couldn't bear the thought of him becoming any more fucked up because of Aro and his sick partner In crime.

"Bella," he finally said, and his voice was calmer, "please let me do this." I wondered if I was crazy to think that he'd almost added, "for you." Maybe I was just imagining things. Maybe my mental breakdown from earlier had totally unhinged me. Or maybe Edward was softening towards me too, he just didn't understand the concept of actually liking someone.

"I don't like how you just decided how it was going to be, as if your life is worthless and mine isn't. As much as I hate to say it, we're a team, Cullen. You can't treat me like a helpless female."

"God damn it. I wasn't doing that. I just . . .I just. . .I wanted to protect you, okay? Seeing you cry. . ." Edward set his jaw and his fists clenched in the mussed sheets. "It wasn't something I could handle. As crazy as that sounds."

I froze, in the middle of combing through my hair with my fingers. My skin went numb and dead with the shock, and I couldn't even feel the tangles as I grasped the strands in my fingers. "Uh yeah," I stuttered, "that sounds pretty crazy."

"It is," he muttered, "but it's true. I can't -I won't - let them do anything to you. Even if you brought this on yourself. It isn't about fault anymore. Besides, I'm sure it wouldn't exactly be tough to come up with some way that I've screwed up."

"Are you sure you're alright? Maybe you're getting sick," I snarked because the seriousness in Edward's voice scared me almost more than Jane did. I wanted to cling to the knowledge that he was an abusive, womanizing jerk, but he was making it really difficult.

But I knew it would be even more difficult if I took what he said at face value; if I believed him, then I wasn't entirely sure I could keep my defenses up any longer.

"I'm not sick," he snapped. "And so much for you getting on me for not being able to have serious conversations. You're positively allergic to them."

He was so right. I hid all my feelings -the fear, the hate, the love, and the hurt- under a layer of sarcasm and witty remarks, and I wasn't exactly appreciative that he had seen right through me. Only Alice was allowed to do that. Not even Renee had noticed, and she'd known me longer than anybody, but then she wasn't the most observant mother I'd ever met.

"I know you're scared. And fuck, I'm scared too. But take your own goddamn advice, and be a team, Bella."

"I didn't think you'd actually listen to me. Or take me all that seriously," I admitted.

"Well, it's good advice. And I'm willing to take you seriously if you would act serious."

Being schooled by Edward Cullen was a novel experience, and I couldn't help but listen.

"You have a good point," I ventured, "but don't think that means all your points are valid. So instead of martyring yourself for a cause you don't even believe in, are you willing to consider another plan to get out of here?"

"You're wrong."

"I'm not wrong. I'm never wrong. Besides I asked you a yes or no question."

"No, I mean, you're technically right, because I'm willing to consider another plan, but I wouldn't be martyring myself for the cause."

I stared at him. "Are you actually correcting my grammar usage right now? Are you still Edward Cullen or did you undergo a brain transplant?"

"You said that I'd be martyring myself for a cause I don't believe in. I'm not. I'm martyring myself for you. And so yes, you're wrong; I do believe in you. You and Emmett. I wouldn't ever do it otherwise."

Just like that, Edward blew the wind right out of my sails. And the snark right out of my mouth.

"Even after what Emmett did to you?"

Edward shrugged. "He did what he had to do. I know he wouldn't ever hurt me on purpose. We're friends. He wouldn't have acted the way he did if he didn't care about me at all."

"He protected you when you wouldn't protect yourself," I stated, pretty sure I was guessing correctly. Emmett had acted protective around Edward, and it was highly likely that if he hadn't had someone on his side, on the inside, during all the stupid shit he'd done, there was no way that Edward would still be alive.

"I wouldn't go that far," Edward said self-consciously, and I knew that we'd been as touchy-feely as he could be for the time being.

"Fine," I conceded. "But seriously. Maybe we can get him involved. When he takes you to shower, can you talk to him privately?"

"Yeah. And we've discussed it briefly a few times. The last time, though, he told me he couldn't help when I brought it up."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?" I asked. I wasn't going to lie; for being the good guy, Emmett was sure edging towards being the antagonist in this whole scenario.

Edward simply shrugged. "Honestly? I'm not entirely sure. But I get that he's in a difficult position."

"It doesn't have to be difficult," I argued. "All he has to do is help us. Just a little. Maybe leave the door unlocked or something. Or punch Jane in the face."

"I'm not sure punching Jane in the face is a 'little' thing," Edward argued.

"Just promise me that you'll bring it up. If he thinks you're going to martyr yourself for him, maybe he'll see reason."

"Fine. But I don't think he's lacking reason. Maybe he's not doing anything because he has reason, and he knows what Aro and Jane would do to him."

I tried really, really hard not to shudder, because even though we weren't technically touching, I knew Edward would feel the tremor, but my emotions were running too hot and too close to the surface, and I couldn't hide my fear.

"Hey, it's alright. It'll be okay."

"You don't know that," I said softly. "You're just hoping. Blindly." I looked up into his shadowed green eyes, and I saw the wishful thinking there, along with an edgy determination. It was entirely possible that Edward had never been determined to do anything before now—except to drink as much booze as humanely possible and nail a different hot blonde every night. But he was definitely determined now.

"Is that wrong?" he asked, reaching out and wrapping his arms around my shoulders. Gently, he pulled me back, until I was flush against him. "We have to believe in something. I just choose to believe that we can get out of here."

I closed my eyes, and knew the tears were about to come flooding back. It had been so much easier when Edward had been an asshat. I couldn't believe I was wishing for a return of that version, but this newer, sensitive, actually human Edward was wearing down my self-control.

"No," I croaked. "You're right." A tear slid down my cheek, and he brushed it away, his expression serious.

"Maybe," he said, and then paused, shaking his head. As if he couldn't believe his own stupidity. "No. Nevermind."

"Tell me," I demanded, desperate to move onto a topic that wouldn't make me cry anymore than I already wanted to.

"Just. . .this" Edward said, and I saw the intention on his face a split second before he kissed me for the third time. His lips brushed mine, and this, our third kiss, was totally, completely, one hundred percent different than the first two.

The first had been the night we'd met, when I'd masqueraded as a groupie, and he'd kissed me because that was what Edward Cullen did. I'd known better than to think it had anything to do with Bella Swan as a person, because it didn't. The second kiss had been an almost completely sexual escape from the horrendous situation that we'd found ourselves in. It had meant a little more than the first, because now Edward knew me, and so he was really kissing me, Bella, because he couldn't exactly claim he didn't.

But this was different. He knew me; he wanted me. But, most importantly, he liked me—though I was sure he would never admit it. And, god, as much as I hated the thought, and dreaded what it was going to mean, I really liked him. I liked his irreverent and snide remarks. I liked his casual musical brilliance. I liked that he'd worshipped Trent Reznor and that he'd known immediately which Nine Inch Nails song was my favorite. I liked the respect that grown in his eyes, and that he'd finally conceded we were a team.

It was the ultimate adventure into stupidity and foolishness, but I couldn't deny it any longer. So I kissed him back.

The kiss was all Edward but I could feel, in the insistent desperation of his lips and the fervent need of his tongue, just how much he wanted me—and I wasn't just a faceless replacement. His hands cupped my cheeks, his fingertips brushing the strands of my hair away from my face, and as the kiss became more passionate, he pulled me down onto the cot, our mouths never breaking.

Hard truth blasted through me, like a shot of adrenaline to my sluggishly-beating heart. Objectively telling myself I didn't even like Edward Cullen was a thing of the past. I wove my fingers through his damp bed hair, unashamed at how fiercely I pulled him towards me, against me. That was one thing I would never have to feel when I was with him—guilt at how much, how desperately, I wanted him sexually. And I couldn't pretend that I didn't anymore. Lust beat in my blood like a drugging, insistent drumbeat, and I could only move to its staccato rhythm. It claimed me, owned me, insisted that I give myself up to its persistent, unbearable need. I pushed against Edward, wrapped my legs around his waist, and rubbed against his jean-clad thigh. I moaned, not only because it felt amazing, but because it seemed to, if only for a moment, cool the overheated blood that threatened to boil me alive.

I'd begged for, and finally received, a pair of Edward's castoff boxer shorts, and had substituted the tattered, far-too-small jean skirt for them two days before. The silky cotton fabric felt like nothing against the hard, real thigh that pressed against the seam. Objectively, I knew I was pretty unabashedly humping his leg, but I didn't care anymore. This was Edward Cullen; if he wasn't good for it, then nobody else in the world would be.

Edward shifted over me, slanting his mouth down hard over mine, his fingers trailing down from my hair to my breasts, and suddenly, my body, which had been merely kindling before this moment, caught fire. Instead of his thigh, I was rubbing on something else, something hot and hard, and something that I rather desperately wanted inside me. I forgot all about the possibility that Edward was a living STD mule, and breaking the kiss with a gasp, bit down hard on the skin of his neck and demanded that he eliminate the flames licking up my skin.

My eyes drifted shut and I only felt, the blackness of my vision enhancing my other senses. I could smell the fresh scent of his soap on the surprisingly satiny slope of his neck. I traced the tendons of it with my tongue, tasting the soapy, sweet essence of him, and was rewarded with Edward pushing his hard cock even more insistently into the increasingly damp crotch of his old boxers. I could hear every single pant, every brief moan as he traced swirls of torturous pleasure on my breasts. But most of all, I felt. His hands. His tongue. His cock.

I was so damn close, and I panted it to him, as we moved in unison. I'd never believed before now that I could get "carried away" the way that some girls claimed they did. "It was an accident," they'd always claim, when they'd show up nine months pregnant. I'd always wanted to ask them if they'd fallen off a cliff, and that's how they'd gotten knocked up. But now, with Edward around me, and nearly in me, I could definitely begin to see their side. It was so easy to just push away what was important, what was sensible, and ignore the logical part of yourself that said this was a monumental mistake.

Why? Because the feel of being wanted so much was intoxicating, and I was willingly taking whatever I could before the source dried up completely. But it didn't seem as if that was going to happen any time soon, because I opened my eyes briefly, and the intensity of desire on Edward's face blinded me and spurned me on. He wanted me; I wanted him. It felt natural and real and nothing like that manufactured, bored lechery that he'd played at the first night we'd met, and I never, ever wanted to stop.

And then. . .suddenly, he just did. Stopped, I mean. Abruptly. As if. . .no. No. My mind, foggy with lust and so much fucking like, couldn't wrap itself around the concept. Did Edward. . .?

"Shit, I'm sorry, but did you just come in your pants?"

Edward's head reared up suddenly, and his eyes went so wide that I thought maybe he was about to have a seizure. I clapped a hand over my mouth—I must have said it out loud. All I'd been thinking of thirty seconds before was that I wanted the pleasure to go on and on and never end. And then it had ended, and I'd been like a spoiled child, whining for more of her favorite candy.

"I'm sorry, I totally didn't mean to say that. . ." I rambled, as Edward pulled back farther from my body. My legs slipped from his hips and it was so dark it was difficult to tell exactly, but I thought he might be red. Like flaming red. With a helping of beets and sunburn.

"It's alright," Edward mumbled, while he ran a hand through his hair, nearly making it stand on end. I blushed and looked away, ashamed at the sudden surge of lust that reignited at the sight.

And then I put it together, even though it made no sense. "You really did, didn't you?" I asked in amazement. "I did that. Me, Bella Swan, made you come in your pants."

He blushed again and ducked his head. "I'm ashamed to say that yes, yes, you did. You, Bella Swan, made me come in my pants. I didn't even have a chance to get them off—or yours off, for that matter."

"I thought dry humps were an urban legend."

"Apparently not. After all, it only takes one time for them to be true, right? And well. . .the evidence of this truth is soaking through my boxers right now. I'm going to chafe something awful."

I made a face. "That'll make two of us that are uncomfortable."

His eyes rose to meet mine, and suddenly, he wasn't blushing anymore. "Are you saying that you didn't?"

It was unfortunately my turn to blush and I was sure that I put even Edward's epic blush from a minute ago to shame. "Yes," I mumbled, my eyes becoming better acquainted with the edge of the oversized t-shirt I wore. The t-shirt that Edward had just his hands under. My own trembled, as I dug my fingers into the cot's mattress. What had I been thinking? This whole idea had been a monumental mistake. Even if I'd made Edward Cullen come in his pants.

Wait. What was I thinking? It was even more of a disaster because of that—because despite his womanizing reputation, he clearly didn't know how to please the girl as well as himself. And that was just plain fucking unacceptable.

"Hold on a second," Edward said lazily, his own gaze traveling up my bare legs to the boxer shorts that were probably still wet with how much I'd wanted him. Still wanted him, I corrected, but that didn't matter.

"What?" I said, as I moved closer to the foot of the bed.

"No. Stop." Edward grabbed my arm and held me fast as he suddenly was kissing me again. It was as hot as it had been before, the misgivings I'd experienced and his own orgasm lost in the flames that engulfed me all over again. Apparently, I thought right as they pulled me under, it didn't matter how many good intentions I had, or what had happened between us, we still had good chemistry.

Edward's hand slid up my leg, finding out what I already knew—that I was horny as hell—and I corrected myself as his fingers maneuvered past the flimsy cotton material as if it didn't exist. Our chemistry wasn't just good; it was fucking amazing.

We kissed again as his hand set out to prove that I'd been completely, totally wrong about him. He did care, apparently, that I hadn't orgasmed and he had, because it was only a matter of moments, and he was already making me feel better than he had when I'd been rubbing myself all over his cock.

"Good?" he crooned as he sank one finger, and then two into my heat, rubbing his thumb over my clit, setting an agonizing, teasingly slow pace that made my eyes nearly roll back in their sockets. I pulled his head down to meet mine with a sharp tug, and kissed him hard, answering him with my mouth instead of with a bunch of unnecessary words.

I'd always heard that guitarists had very talented hands, and I was happy to discover that this was another urban legend that turned out to be correct, at least in Edward's case. I'd already been so turned on and close to orgasming from before, that it only took a minute for Edward's fingers to play the tune that I needed so desperately, and I shut my eyes tightly and let the waves of pleasure pull me under.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw Edward's green ones right above me, the edges crinkling with amusement. "Are you laughing at me?" I mumbled, sitting up a little.

"Not exactly no. More amused. Amused that you were so pleased with yourself, amused that you thought I wouldn't help you the same way you helped me. You're a very interesting girl, Bella Swan."

Something irrevocable bloomed inside as he smiled down at me—something that I wouldn't have wanted to take back even if I could. But I was too smart to call it what it was. Labeling it would only lead to disaster.

"And you're not quite the emotionless robotic jerk that I thought you were. You apparently have some uses," I told him, unable to help smiling back at him, my heart thudding almost harder that it had been while he was touching me.

Edward laid his head down and reached out to pull me towards him. As my head settled on his chest, and I felt the emotional and physical exhaustion pull me towards sleep, I couldn't help the single stray thought:

What would happen if Edward Cullen ever fell in love?

More importantly, could he even fall in love?

AN: Important questions, hmmmm, yes? Followed by a shameless pimp; I'd love to get to 1,000 reviews in the next few chapters. Anyone like to help AND tell me what they think of the chapter at the same time, that would be amazing :)

Quick reminder: I will be posting the outtake and/or prequel one shot to this story, Transgressions of a Mother, on Wednesday. So keep an eye out for that.