AN: All your lovely reviews made me smile these last few weeks. I would apologize again for the delay, but I think slowing down has really helped me get a better grip on the story and write better so. . .take from that what you will.

Thanks to my pinch beta this chapter, Wordninja_ali. My dear, brave girl Izzzy is inundated with NaNo. Lyrics are from Death Cab for Cutie's "Your Heart is an Empty Room."

Chapter 31: Sleepless Nights & Empty Rooms

Burn it down, 'til the embers smoke on the ground,

and start new, when your heart is an empty room

with walls of the deepest blue.

Bella

I didn't sleep, but not because I didn't want to. I didn't sleep because I literally couldn't.

I spent an hour setting up my new laptop, and briefly considered starting a new blog entry, but I still felt emotionally wrung out from the one I'd written about Renee earlier that day—and the fight I'd just had with Edward.

No. I wouldn't let myself go down that path. If I even took one step, I'd never be able to retreat. I glanced up at the clock on the bedside table.

11:12 PM

That, I decided, was late enough that sleep was probably a good idea. And I was tired, as if I could lay down and the weariness in my bones would just drag me down under, into an unthinking, unfeeling, sleep.

And that was what I really wanted—to sleep and not think. Not think. Not repeat Edward's words. Not replay every word of our fight. Definitely not to cry.

2:06 AM

I stared at the bright green numbers of the clock, counting the seconds until the next number flipped up.

2:07 AM

It was pathetic but I still hadn't managed to close my eyes yet, and my little counting game was the only way I'd managed to keep Edward's words out of my head. I felt as if I was teetering on the edge of something that I couldn't face. I was a master of ignoring what I couldn't handle—like my mother—but this was taking all my concentration, and I still felt myself slowly caving to the inevitable.

2:14 AM

I supposed that was because I'd grown up knowing Renee's number and never letting her in because I knew she'd only hurt me in the end. I'd foolishly let in Edward, even though I'd known better, and now I knew I was going to pay for my stupid decision.

3:01 AM

My eyes felt dry and gritty, as if I'd just bathed them in sand. I knew I should try to shut them, but I was terrified the moment I did all my evasive tactics would fail and I'd be worse off than ever.

I hesitated, trying to tell myself that I really was stronger than this but knowing it was a big fat fucking lie, and the words pounced, taking advantage of my sudden weakness, my indecision, sending me sprawling.

Hurt.

You can't fucking control me. You aren't my girlfriend.

Wounded.

You can't fucking control me. You aren't my girlfriend.

Incapacitated.

You can't fucking control me. You aren't my girlfriend.

Bloodied.

You can't fucking control me. You aren't my girlfriend.

Beaten.

You can't fucking control me. You aren't my girlfriend.

I buried my head in my pillow and tried to find a place in my body that didn't physically ache with the agony of a truth I couldn't bear to face.

3:54 AM

The words echoing through my head ceaselessly, I finally had to admit to their destruction—but even that wasn't right. The words weren't to blame. They were just two sentences. Nine words. In a different order they'd be completely harmless.

No, it had been Edward who'd said them, and in the process had destroyed every single false hope that I'd nursed despite my better judgment.

4:36 AM

The clock was too bright now, the numbers blurring together until I squinted to see them more clearly. The neon green light, once cheerful and optimistic, instead seemed bitterly ironic.

The taunting little numbers, laughing at my sleeplessness and my heartache, hurt to look at directly.

Just as the truth did.

I'd believed—I'd had to believe, or else I could never have constructed that fantastical vision in my head of an Edward cured, an Edward changed, an Edward who didn't drink too much, or lose his temper, or sleep with bushels of women.

He hadn't yet, but what tonight had shown me was that he wasn't recovered. He was better but he wasn't cured. The demons that had turned him to their way of life hadn't disappeared; they'd merely gone into hibernation.

And the wrong word, the wrong look from someone was enough to bring them roaring back to life.

6:15 AM

The sun rose over the crest of trees around Esme's house, shining directly into my bedroom. I hid under the pillow as I came to the stark realization that though I might have been pretending this whole time that I could live like that—live my life with a ticking bomb—I couldn't.

Love or no love.

To stay would be sacrificing my own dignity and my self-preservation. I wanted to let him win, to let him take me over and rule me because I loved him, but I couldn't. I might love him, but I loved myself more—and that all led to the inalterable fact that I was going to have to leave.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

But soon.

I didn't have to look in the mirror to know that I looked like hell. My complexion was chalky and there were significant bruised shadows under my eyes from the lack of sleep, but I went down to breakfast anyway, hoping that ingesting food would help improve my mood.

When I opened the door and Edward was standing in front of it, warily eyeing me as if I might murder him, I realized that nothing short of him falling to his knees and declaring passionate love for me was going to make this day any fucking better.

"Morning," he said hesitantly, and I wanted, more than anything, to start the process into motion—to begin to do the one thing that I couldn't even bear to consider—but I couldn't. Not when it came down to it, and Edward was looking at me as if the sun rose and set around my temper.

"Morning," I replied, hating the smile I gave him. Hating the way my heart leaped in my chest when he wrapped his arms around me. "I missed you," he breathed into my ear, and I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that I wouldn't cry. Every moment, every touch, every single second that I spent basking in the glory of what it meant to be in love with Edward Cullen had to be savored, treasured, and put away carefully, so that when I did what had to be done, there would be something left to get me through each long, interminable night alone.

"About last night . . ." Edward began to say, but I cut him off. I didn't want to fight with him. I couldn't bear it anymore considering what I'd decided.

"It's fine."

He paused, as if he was genuinely not expecting me to say that. "Okay. Good. I'm going to the studio today," he continued awkwardly. "Do you want to come?"

"Actually, I promised I'd go shopping with Alice today. She's designing a dress for Rose to wear this weekend."

"This weekend?" Edward gave me a confused glance as we headed down the staircase. I'd shoved my hands in my pockets, so I couldn't do something horribly stupid like reach out and grab his hand.

"Rosalie and Emmett's engagement party," I explained. "Didn't Esme tell you about it last night?"

"Not exactly. We were kind of . . .busy talking about other things."

"Ah."

"Bella," Edward forged ahead, "I really want to apologize for last night. That was . . .not okay of me. You were just trying to help."

I'd wondered when he apologized, which I knew he might, if it would make any difference. If I would see some other miraculous possibility where before, none had existed. But everything was just the same—there were the same hard choices that I'd been faced with before. Still, I appreciated the effort, and I knew that he wouldn't have made it if it was anyone else.

"Apology accepted," I said in a low voice, my fingers gripping the fabric inside the pockets of my jeans, as if I could hold onto my heart and keep him from willing it out of my body.

We walked into the breakfast room, and greeted Esme and Carlisle and Alice, who had already begun eating.

"So a party, huh?" Edward asked Esme as I shredded a piece of toast into tiny, inedible bits. Suddenly, when faced with food, my appetite was gone. What I needed was to talk to Alice—not for her to talk me out of this, but just plain Alice-comfort. I needed her arms to hold me and tell me that it would be alright, that I would eventually recover from the fact Edward Cullen was fucked up and I loved him anyway.

"I throw a garden party every June, as you know," Esme explained as she stirred sugar into her coffee, "and I wasn't going to this year because of . . . well. . .extenuating circumstances, but then Leah convinced me that it would be good publicity for Rose and Emmett to celebrate their engagement."

"A big party?" Edward asked, his mouth full of eggs.

Esme smiled, and I could tell from the way she'd thawed, the warmth of her eyes as she gazed at her son, that last night had made a world of difference. So much difference, in fact, that it was hard to regret pushing her to talk to him, even if it meant that I'd been forced to face the truth about Edward once and for all. "Yes," she told him. "Fairly large, as my parties go. I have a lot of work to do between now and this weekend. And Alice is making dresses for both Rosalie and myself. A wonderful chance for some publicity for the new collection."

Edward didn't reply, but I could see the gears in his mind turning fast. I wanted to get him alone so I could ask him what was on his mind, but before I could, he was on his feet. "I've got to go to the studio," he said, leaning down to brush a kiss on top of my head. Not even really a kiss—more like a peck. I told myself that his emotional distance was a blessing in disguise. After all, it would make it much easier to move on, to sever the ties between us, if he didn't fight me on it.

"Bella," Alice said testily, and I looked up from the mound of toast bits on my plate, to see her staring at me.

"Oh, sorry," I apologized. "What were you saying?"

"Your name. Only four times," Alice explained. "What's going on with you?"

"I'm just tired," I said hastily. "I didn't really sleep last night."

"You still up for shopping?" she asked.

"Of course. Let me just take a quick shower," I said, rising to my feet, trying not to hear the sound of the front door closing, but it echoed so loudly. And just like what he'd said last night, it just kept going and going and going . . .until I thought I might scream.

"Alright. Whenever you're ready, I'll be in the sewing room." Esme had given Alice a large, airy room full of windows that overlooked the ocean for her sewing, and she and Rose spent the majority of their time there of late. I felt a twinge of guilt when I realized that I had only seen it once, briefly, and I'd spent the rest of my time either with Edward or at the studio with him.

"It won't take me very long," I said, plastering a reassuring smile on my face. But I couldn't breathe, my throat felt tight and my skin hot as I left as fast as politeness allowed.

Why had I ever thought I could do this?

No. I could. I had to. Doing it was just going to tear me apart.

The flames and smoke climbed out of every window

and disappear, with everything that you held dear.

But you shed not a single tear, for the things you didn't need

'cause you knew you were finally free.

I couldn't take a deep breath until I was out of the breakfast room, away from all those prying, concerned, sympathetic smiles. I raced up the stairs, not even caring if anyone could hear me, only wanting to be alone, to try to mend the tattered defenses around my badly bruised heart.

I turned on the water as hot as I could stand and despite my promises to Alice that I'd be ready quickly, I just leaned against the frosted glass of the shower and let the spray beat down on my head. I thought I might feel better if I could cry, but my tears seemed locked up inside of me.

Maybe, I thought as I brushed out my wet hair, my movements sluggish, it just hurt too fucking much to cry.

Half an hour later, I was downstairs, looking better, but not feeling any better.

Alice took one look at me, and the corners of her mouth grew tight with concern. "Are you sure you're alright, Bells?" she asked as we walked to the waiting car in the driveway.

"I'm fine," I said, buckling my seat belt, glancing up at my best friend. "Just tired."

"You look . . .drained. And stressed."

"I've been working a lot on my blog," I said, more than a little defensively. Suddenly, I wasn't so sure that I could tell Alice after all. Though she'd been the only person I wanted to talk to, I didn't know if I could actually say what I'd been thinking out loud. "Some long nights."

"That's not all that's happening," Alice said softly. "You don't have to lie to me, Bella."

"Yes. Yes, I do." I tried to make it through the words without my voice cracking but I failed on the last syllable. I buried my head in my hands, afraid that she'd see the hopelessness that had consumed me since I'd realized that Edward wasn't even capable of feeling what I felt for him.

"Lie to everyone else. Even lie to Edward. But don't lie to me," Alice said soothingly, stroking my hair with her hand. "Besides, I know you better than that. I always know when you're hurting." She paused. "What did he do?"

"He didn't even do anything," I choked out through stiff lips. "Not really. He just . . .he can't. Not like I can."

"He's troubled," Alice said, without an ounce of judgment in her voice—which was so Alice-like, I could cry. Except that I couldn't. I could only choke back hiccupping, dry sobs. "I think he would, if he could. We all see how he is around you."

"I want more than that," I said, finally managing to catch my breath. "I deserve more than that."

"I know you do, and I'm glad you do, too. But what about Edward? Can you even do this?"

"I don't even know," I despaired. "I thought I could, but it's . . .it's hard. Too hard."

Alice wrapped her thin arms around me, and even though she was approximately half my size, I felt warmed and comforted and completely surrounded by her love and her empathy. The knot in my throat began to loosen. "You can. I know it's impossible, but you can do this. For you. And I think he'll come around eventually. He just needs to realize what he could lose," Alice said, her voice optimistic.

But I didn't want to hope. If I believed that he would, that one morning he would just show up at my doorstep, desperate to see me as much as I was desperate to see him, then I'd be doomed to a half-life of waiting. And so I shook my head slowly. "No. I can't think that way. It's . . .it's probably going to be over. Totally over." The knot tore loose and the first tear trickled down my cheek. "It'll need to be a clean break."

"If that's what you need," Alice soothed. "Just promise, you won't try to keep it to yourself again. Let me be there for you."

I didn't need to tell Alice that even her being there for me wouldn't assuage the rapidly-growing crater in my chest—she already knew. But weirdly, just having her know helped ease the pain until it was almost bearable. Bearable enough that I could brush the dampness off my cheeks and no longer feel as if I was splintering to pieces.

"Tell me about these dresses you're making. For Rose and Esme, right?" I wanted to change the subject, to stop myself from dwelling on the inevitable—salvage something from this mess. If Alice could gain some ground with her fashion career, then I thought this might all be worth it.

I'd believe that in about a hundred million years, but I still managed to smile at my best friend.

"Are you sure?" Alice didn't look any less concerned.

"I have to talk about something else. Think about something else. So yes, I'm sure. Tell me about the dresses. Or Jasper. Anything but Edward."

"If that's what you need, then alright."

"I've been a bad best friend," I confessed before she could continue. "I've been so wrapped up with Edward and I've ignored you."

Alice's sympathetic smile nearly undid me again, but I swallowed the tears back. Crying wasn't going to help anything or anyone—especially me. I just wanted to be distracted, to be busy with thoughts that had nothing to do with him.

"You have," she admitted, "but it's honestly alright. You care about him."

This wasn't heading in the right direction. Another tear slipped down my cheek and I angrily brushed it away. "We need to change the subject," I told Alice baldly. "Now."

"Oh, Bella." Alice leaned over and gripped my hand in her much smaller one. "I'm so sorry. I wish this could be different."

I briefly considered trying to take the high road—telling Alice that it was honestly nothing I shouldn't have expected—but I couldn't do it. "Me too," I whispered, gripping her hand. I swallowed hard, determined not to turn into a human water faucet. Shaking my head back, I gave my best friend a watery smile. "Tell me about Jasper," I insisted.

Alice's whole face lit up when I mentioned his name, and if I didn't love Alice quite as much as I did, I honestly would have been jealous that she'd found happiness when all I'd found was heartache. It wasn't fair, but that didn't have anything to do with Alice. Anything she got, she more than deserved.

"He's wonderful," she enthused. "I mean, we're totally different, and sometimes I wonder if we can keep this going with such diverse interests, but then I see him, and all that just melts away."

"I know you've always subscribed to the philosophy that opposite attract is utter bullshit. I guess that's been disproven now?"

Alice smiled, a tiny secret smile that made me wonder just how far behind Alice was to me when it came to falling in love. If I had to take a guess, I'd say she was in just about as deep as I was. "I knew you were going to bring that up."

"That's only because you brought it up over almost every Cosmo and gin and tonic we've ever had. Every glass of chardonnay, every bottle of Champagne. I know when the booze comes out, I'll eventually hear Alice Brandon's dating philosophy in full."

Alice actually blushed. "You know, you haven't been the only one who's had to hear it."

I gaped at her. "You didn't. Not—Jasper?"

She had the decency to look more than a little ashamed. "Not only that, I actually thought he was the gardener for Esme's next door neighbors. And instead of leaving well enough alone, the night we went out to Port o' Call and he took me in for a drink, I managed to insult his house, still thinking it wasn't his."

"Oh god." Alice's massive gaffe made all the times I'd insulted Edward look like child's play—except, of course, for Entry #457. And I'd already decided that when I left, I'd be deleting it just in case he ever decided to look it up.

Before, when Edward had just been the lead singer of Athair—a man I didn't know, and couldn't possibly comprehend knowing—writing it had been cathartic and an amusing, pointed way to pass the time. After I'd met him, and talked to him, and understood him, I was ashamed that I had written something so awful. Yes, it undoubtedly hadn't been the only terrible review of Aiming to Misbehave but he didn't know those other writers.

But he did know me. While I was under no illusions that he could actually love me—not because I wasn't worth his love, but because he simply wasn't capable of it—he did care about me, and my opinion.

"But it's going well now, despite you lecturing him on his terrible taste in residences?" I questioned. Not that I really needed to ask. All I had to do was look at the glowing radiance in Alice's skin and the sparkle in her grey eyes to know the truth. She looked exactly as I had, only a day or two before.

She nodded, happiness seemingly leaking out of her pores. "He told me later that he thought it was funny."

"But it wasn't funny to you," I said, knowing Alice well enough to realize that this had been an excessively humiliating incident. Alice had a stiff spine and a lot of pride. She hated saying anything unkind, even if the person in question thought it was amusing rather than insulting.

"No," she shuddered, "but I was relieved that he didn't hate me afterwards."

"As if anyone could hate you," I said wryly. "You're Alice Brandon."

She giggled. "True. Now do you want to hear about Rosalie and Esme's dresses, or were you just trying to change the subject?"

"Honestly?" I sighed. "Not really, though I will listen if you want to tell me. I've been a bad friend, I'll take my punishment like a good girl."

"Of course you will. But seriously, Bella, you are the most masochistic person in the world. Do you think you could go, I don't know, five minutes without doing something to seriously harm yourself? I don't think I'll ever recover from the moment Carlisle told me you'd been kidnapped." Her voice dropped a little, wavering, and I saw the hurt in her eyes, the worry reflected there.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean to do that to you."

"You're safe now. I just couldn't have. . .dealt with it. . .if you weren't. You know you're my family. Practically my sister." She leaned her head against my shoulder. "Which is why I'm going to spare you and only give you a brief overview of the dresses, instead of subjecting you to a stitch by stitch analysis of their construction."

"For that, I'll be eternally grateful."

"As you should be. Now, you weren't properly informed regarding the number of dresses I was creating for the party. I'm making three, not two."

"Oh? One for yourself? I asked absently, glancing out the window as we entered the town.

"Me? I'm actually wearing Chanel," Alice said proudly. "The third dress is yours."

Esme

"For your information," Carlisle said with a smirk from his position on the bed, "I did try to get Edward to talk to you."

I glanced behind me, my eyes meeting his. Something about the way he was gazing at me made my stomach feel full of butterfly wings and at the same time, like it was melting like chocolate gelato on a hot summer day.

"Of course you did," I told him. "But you weren't very successful, now were you?"

"I'm highly skeptical that you were honestly going to make me sleep in my own room if I couldn't use some of my influence to persuade him," he said wryly. "I haven't even seen the inside of that room since you appeared at my door three weeks ago."

I was fairly certain that Carlisle was never going to forget that I'd been the one to approach him—the one to apparently seduce him. If knocking on a door was truly an act of seduction. I'd told him in the strongest possible terms that it most certainly was not, but since this was Carlisle, my arguments had scarcely made a dent. He'd merely smiled cheerfully and stubbornly at me. If I wasn't so certain that I'd fallen in love with him, I'd probably dislike him quite a lot.

Oh wait. I'd already done that, for the previous ten years.

"Instead of you, it was Bella who had to give me the push in the right direction," I objected.

"If I'd told you to lie in wait for him, you wouldn't have done it," Carlisle said, all casual sweetness but I knew the man better now, and I was clearly aware that he was a master manipulator. Perhaps even better than I was.

I considered what he said and decided that, as usual, he knew me better than I did.

"And now you're just changing the subject," he continued. "You know I wanted to discuss Rose and Emmett's engagement party."

"A man who actually wants to discuss party planning? Hell might freeze over," I said lightly, wrapping a silk robe around my body and crossing to the bed. I ignored the ratty plaid pajama pants he was wearing. After being so long without a man, I'd forgotten how positively intractable they could be on certain matters. It appeared that this particular garment of his had longstanding sentimental value and he'd even managed to have them rescued from the trash. Now I merely pretended they didn't exist.

"Not party planning," Carlisle nearly growled, and I had to stifle a giggle. Esme Platt, almost giggling. Hell might have frozen over.

"You knew exactly what I meant," he continued. "And it isn't party planning. I want to talk about us as a couple, at the party."

Of course, I'd known exactly what he wanted to talk about, but I'd learned that it was so much easier to handle him if I made him work for it, just a little. "Oh?" I said, raising an eyebrow, as I switched on the bedside lamp. I also knew if I got into the bed before we'd come to a decision—or rather, before he learned it was inevitable that he support the decision I'd already made—then I might as well give up now. Carlisle, it seemed, possessed almost no honor when it came to persuading a woman to change her mind. There were apparently no boundaries he wasn't willing to cross when it came to getting his own way. I'd already found this out the hard way, and I certainly wasn't going to cede this particular argument to him. So I stayed far away from his predatory grasp.

"We talked about this already," I told him with a steady, calm voice. "I told you that I didn't think it was a good idea that we publicly announce we're a couple."

"You decided it wasn't a good idea," Carlisle objected, his blue eyes flashing with annoyance and what appeared to be frustration. "I wasn't anywhere in the equation."

He was right, because I'd known if I included him, then we'd only fight about it. Thank god, the truth of our sudden "friendship" had stayed out the papers and the gossip blogs, but I still felt the same way about the entire situation. It wasn't anyone's business who I dated or who I cared about, and I wasn't prepared to share that information with the rest of the world.

But I knew that Carlisle thought my decision was augmented by the fact that I was ashamed of him, ashamed of our budding relationship. I didn't think that was exactly true; I'd come to terms with the fact that we were together—or rather I'd been doing better with that particular fact. I probably wasn't going to be completely fine with it anytime soon, but I was adjusting.

"I know," I sighed. "I know how you feel."

"Do you?" Carlisle said with more than a little heat. "I love you, you incredible pain in the ass. And I don't want you to be ashamed of that."

My heart literally skidded at the three words that he'd been saying more and more frequently. I hadn't said them back yet, but I wasn't sure I'd be lying if I did.

I ignored the insulting epithet, because deep down, I knew he was right. I was stubborn and too independent and difficult—but thank god, he hadn't hit his limit yet.

"I'm not ashamed of you," I insisted. "Not the way you think. I'm just a very private person."

"And I'm not?"

"I'm not saying that," I ground out, my own voice rising.

"I love you," he repeated insistently, "and I hate the fact that we're going to be at this party together, and I have to pretend I don't. That's not fair to me, and it's certainly not fair to you."

I didn't want to, but I hesitated, just briefly, but long enough that he could sense my sudden confusion.

"Esme, don't do this. Don't put more roadblocks up. I've destroyed enough of them. Let me in without forcing me to bring out the armored tank."

I laughed, a little bitterly. "I'll think about it," I promised him. And I would. But that didn't mean that I'd be changing my mind.

A sharp knock on my bedroom door broke the silence between Carlisle and I as he contemplated what I'd just promised. I was sure if he had about twenty more seconds, he'd discover the massive holes in the promise, but the interruption had saved me, at least temporarily.

Gratefully, I crossed across the room and opened the door. Edward was standing there, his eyes downcast, his expression sullen and recalcitrant, as if he'd rather be just about anywhere else than standing in front of his mother, but he was still here. My heart leapt with joy and gratitude.

"Edward," I said warmly, opening the door further, only remembering after it was already wide open that Carlisle was lounging, without shame or a shirt, on my bed. I blushed bright red, and thought about stepping into the hall to talk to Edward, but he'd already seen Carlisle and absorbed the sight without a single emotion passing across his cold expression.

"Come in," I invited, trying to recover from my embarrassment. He did, barely moving into the room enough for me to shut the door behind him.

He gave a brief nod to Carlisle and then focused his attention back on me.

"Are you alright?" I asked, breaking the silence. "Is something wrong?"

"Not wrong, necessarily," he said, his eyes actually rising to meet mine. I thought it had maybe been ten or fifteen years since he'd actually been able to look me in the eye. This was really progress, I thought with excitement.

"What is it, then?" I pushed gently.

"The party. I have a few people I'd like you to invite."

Fear froze the blood in my veins. I knew the kind of people the old Edward might have asked me to invite to one of my parties—rough-housing, drug-abusing hooligans who would only serve to destroy an event that I'd spent not an inconsiderate amount of energy and money planning. But the sudden shame in his expression told me that this time wasn't like those other times. This was different.

He held out a ripped sheet of a paper with a few names scribbled on it. I didn't recognize any of them. "They're editors with some of the bigger music magazines," Edward explained. "Rolling Stone, Spin, Blender. I want them to meet Bella, talk to her."

I raised my eyebrow in surprise. This was a very un-Edward-like gesture. Maybe we were all wrong, and he really had changed. Maybe he was actually capable of loving Bella. I'd seen the haunted look on her face this morning and had thought that perhaps she was beginning to realize the demons she was up against. It had nearly broken my heart.

"Edward, this is wonderful. It's very sweet of you."

He shuffled his feet and his gaze returned to the carpet beneath our feet. I could tell he was embarrassed that I'd said he was sweet. And let's face it, he could hardly have been called sweet during the last ten years. Likely, he was just unused to being deserving of such a compliment on his behavior.

"She deserves it," he said gruffly. "Besides, unsurprisingly, I was an ass. This is kind of an apology."

"Did you actually apologize, too?" I asked with a firm, motherly tone. Five years ago, he would have spit my question back in my face, but I wanted to see how much he'd really changed. Apologizing hadn't really been in the Old Edward's vocabulary.

"I did," he admitted. "But I don't think it did much good."

"I'm sure it did," Carlisle spoke up from his position on the bed, "but sometimes it takes a bit more than just 'I'm sorry.'"

"Apparently," Edward exhaled with frustration.

"We females can be particularly trying, I know." I couldn't hold back the hint of a smile on my face.

"You are," he said, cracking a smile of his own, warming my heart. I wished Bella could have seen it—it likely would have melted any of her anger away. If she was truly angry, and not just sad, like I'd suspected earlier. Sadness, unfortunately, was a lot harder to apologize away.

"You know," I hesitated, "you could perhaps tell her something else. When some words aren't right, there are always others.'

"I don't do words," Edward explained. "Thus, the gesture. She. . .she needs to know how important she is. I can't tell her, I don't even know how to begin, so this is going to have to do."

And as abruptly as he came, he was gone, leaving the slip of paper behind. I glanced down at it, and knew that as sweet as it was, it was probably going to be an empty gesture. What Bella really needed were those words that Edward didn't think he could say.

I didn't hear Carlisle come up behind me, but I felt his arms wrap around me tightly. "I can hear those wheels grinding away in your head," he murmured, as he kissed the slope of my neck. "Penny for your thoughts?"

I shrugged. "I fear the worst. For both Edward and Bella."

"I think he fears it too," Carlisle said slowly. "What he just did? For Edward, that's the equivalent of a last ditch effort. He knows he's losing her, that he's maybe already lost her, but he's trying his best to salvage the situation, even though it's hopeless."

"If it's hopeless," I said with mounting frustration, turning until I could look him right in the eye, "why won't he do what he can to truly save it? Why keep his pride and lose her when he could gain so much more if he was honest?"

"If he even can," Carlisle said and he looked bleak indeed. Maybe even as bleak as the worst case scenario.

"You think she's going to leave," I stated quietly. "You think she's going to leave him."

"I don't think; I know. You saw her at breakfast today. It's only a matter of time now."

I dropped my head, massaging my temples, hating that I'd been dragged back into caring about Edward and what he did with his life—or rather, what he did to screw up his life. "Maybe I could talk to her . . ."

Carlisle gave a sharp shake of his head. "He's not ready to do this. He can't yet. That's what she's so sad about it. She finally sees it."

"So he just needs time." I tried to put an optimistic spin on the situation, but my words sounded so empty.

"I'd probably say it's more in the realm of years rather than months. You're his mother, I'm his manager. Between the two of us, we probably know him better than anyone else does. Do you honestly think he could love, really love, another person right now? And give them everything they needed to be in a happy, committed relationship with him?"

I wanted so badly to disagree with Carlisle's pronouncement, but as much as I hated it, he was right. There was no way he could possibly right now. He was battling too many of his own demons to be able to give enough of himself to someone else, even someone as wonderful as Bella.

"What are we going to do?" I whispered into Carlisle's shoulder as I leaned into him.

"What we have to do—support him when she goes. He'll need it, if only so he doesn't fall back into old destructive habits. You'll have to be a mother again."

"I'm always a mother," I argued. "You don't just stop."

"I know. But it's a lot easier being a mother when you're removed from the situation. You won't be this time. You're going to be front and center."

I sighed. As always Carlisle made a good point. "I'll be ready," I promised.

"Good. Because it's going to be soon." He leaned down, brushing a kiss on the top of my head. "Now come to bed."

AN: Next chapter will be the engagement party and a major turning point for this story. I'm guessing about 15 more chapters to go? Maybe a few less?