Welcome to PAD's garbage can.

Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight Landfill.

I just want to borrow one of her twist-ties.

The Den of Cullen

The feeling I'm getting is one of sheer and utter horror.

I should invite, Wes Craven, John Carpenter, and George Romero to film their next movies in here. On second thought, that may not be such a good idea. They just may lose their casts...and crews.

There are many different forms of assault, and right now, I think I feel all of them. The smell is unbelievable. I pull my turtleneck up over my nose. I should have taken that Hazmat class I wanted to last semester. Who has a good biohazard suit when you need one? Charlie, my dad who's chief of police in Forks, which is where Edward and I are from, wanted to send me gear for doomsday prepping. I should have taken him up on his offer.

I start slow, as I pan the room, careful to get the full effect. My senses are on overload: the one I use to smell with, as well as the one I use for reason.

Tell me. Why did I agree to this again? The spider, right? If that little arachnid knows what's good for her, she would do best to stay away, that is, if she hasn't already expired.

How could Edward ever let his room get this bad?

The first thing that hits me is the smell of smoke—not cigarettes, mind you, but weed. This is no surprise; knowing how much Jasper and Edward toke up means that resin is probably embedded into the walls by now.

Next, I can't ignore the unmistakable essence of festering stale beer infused with a male-related, non-specific, putrid funk that one would only associate with a nineteen-year-old boy's dorm room, or in this case, Edward's room in our apartment. Sniff. Ah, no college guy's room would complete without the unequivocal smell of Jagermeister vocalizing its fifty-six herbs and spices – all of which, right now, are competing for recognition. Jagermeister's translation can mean game warden, and in looking around this room, I certainly hope we won't need one. Maybe Edward was kidding about the small cat, but there's a lot of shit in here. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if a raccoon snuck in and was taking up residence under all this debris.

I don't know where to begin.

In one corner there has to be at least two whole recycling machine's worth of Monsters, Rock Stars, and Red Bulls piled neatly and stacked meticulously like interlocking Legos. A dichotomy exists in the other corner as there has to be the equivalent of about eight shopping carts of strewn empties: Heineken, Sam Adams, and Guinness. I furrow my brow. Upon closer inspection, I actually see a shopping cart buried underneath them.

I shake my head in disbelief.

You know when you are about to have something really bad happen to you and everything appears in slow motion?

That's happening now.

I can absorb all of these minute details in milliseconds.

I think I'm going into shock….

There are also dozens of spent vodka bottles lined up like bowling pins: Skyy, Stoli, Smirnoff and Goose. He must have had help. There's no way he's polished off all of these by himself. He's probably had parties here on the nights I stayed at Rose and Alice's place. I thought the apartment smelled strange during those weekends. Edward must have had some of his conquests clean up, so I wouldn't lay into him. They must have only done the kitchen, living room and bathroom, as clearly no one's removed anything from in here.

I haven't been in Edward's room since we moved in over five months ago. He keeps his door closed, as do I. We each respect the other's privacy. It's better this way. Although our walls are not as thick as I would like them to be, they are walls. And I'm just glad to not have had all of the visuals that helped make this mess. This explains why I haven't seen any female visitors lately. To be honest, I don't even see how he himself finds room to sleep, let alone entertain anyone else.

He has nearly the entire contents of his closet, suitcases, dressers, and laundry bins thrown about—clean mixed with dirty. There are piles of heaped clothes, too, ones resembling beaver lodges or Apache wigwams. He didn't have this many clothes when we first moved here...that's interesting. Some of them still have brand new tags.

There isn't a bare surface to be found. About a third of our dinner, glass, and silverware have made their way in here. Some have growing, unidentifiable contents still glued to them.

I wrinkle my nose remembering the can of whipped cream.

The floor has to have at least three thousand sheets of crumpled notebook paper and probably five boxes of used Kleenex thrown on it. I know Edward was mildly sick about a month ago with some sniffles, but that wouldn't warrant this much tissue. As my eyes rove across the bed, I see an institutional-sized pump dispenser of hand lotion on his nightstand along with five tubes of spent lube.

I shudder as I connect the usage.

Moving on, I see the partial reason for said use. A quick count reveals about five years' worth of Hustler, Playboy, and Penthouse magazines in addition to those really raunchy titles they keep sheathed behind the counter at the convenience store. Speaking of sheathed, I see about two gross, that's twenty-four dozen, opened, empty condom packages, which have rained down on Edward's carpeting. The thought of two hundred eighty-eight used condoms just in here alone is kind of gross. At least he used condoms; I need to give him props for that. Otherwise, the wrappers wouldn't be the only thing raining down.

I hesitantly look up at the ceiling and breathe a sigh of relief that there are no visible signs of stains. I realize that Edward would have to have super sperm-shooting capabilities, but after seeing his castastrophe-producing prowess, I would not rule anything out.

I need a drink.

I walk over to Edward's mini-fridge and open the door.

"Oh my God, what the hell is that smell?"

If they could can the methane emissions from an NFL locker room, this is what they'd smell like. Are those peeled boiled eggs? They're gray. Sitting next to them is what I think used to be a mushroom, sausage, and broccoli pizza that now resembles mowed-over road-kill. Oh my God, that isn't what I think it is, is it? Edward has what appears to be about ten, used, knotted condoms in the condiment section. I've seen enough and close the door.

I need air.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, Bella. You should see your face; you're turning green." He has the audacity to laugh.

That's it. I go behind his door, grab his Lacrosse stick, and proceed to start beating him with it.

"Are you… whack …out of your… whack …fucking mind… whack?

"Bella, stop! Stop! Uncle! Uncle! I give!"

I drop the stick and pull him by his sideburns within inches in front of me.

"You're just lucky I chose not to grab your nine-iron and do an Elin Woods on you!

"Ow! Ow! Ouch, Bella! Fuck! You've got my attention!"

"Good. I'm going into the kitchen to get a drink and some garbage bags. I don't see any signs of your intruder, so you should be okay. When I get back, you will be cleaning this room. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

"Okay…and please, open a fucking window!

I go to the kitchen, still seething, and realize I need to calm down. Without thinking, I grab one of Edward's washed glasses for a drink of water.

Blech. I immediately spit out the soapy contents and proceed to rinse my mouth out for another minute. Why me? Why did I agree to this? I grab the warehouse-sized box of fifty-five gallon contractor's garbage bags and briefly step outside for a few deep breaths before going back into his room. I reflect on Charlie's earlier offer. If nothing else, a gas mask would have been nice. Now a bit more composed, I tread back to the dreaded room.

"Edward, I think you ought to start with your floor first. Pick up as much as you can get to without moving everything. Start with all the paper."

"Yes, ma'am."

I clear off a spot on Edward's bed to sit and watch. Surprisingly, Edward does a pretty quick job of picking up the the paper. I've got to hand it to him for being resourceful; he grabbed a show shovel and leaf rake from the hall closet and actually used them to pick up the mess. One whole garbage bag later yields a carpet underneath.

"Good job."

He gives me that adorable smirk and partial eyebrow raise, the one that says, "See? I bet you didn't think I was capable."

"What next, Bella?"

"How about getting rid of the bottles and cans?"

He gives me a pout.

"Go on." I gesture.

"Um, Jasper and I were going to build a fort with the cans."

I blink a few times trying to process what I think I thought I heard.

"Edward, when you finish college, grad school, and your doctoral program, you can build yourself a man-cave. Until that time, I think it's wise that you concentrate on your education and not on the acquisition of excess stuff."

It's a good thing there's only eight months in a school year and that kids are expected to move out of the dorms after each year is over. It's ridiculous how much crap students accumulate. If Edward and I are going to be living here for four years, there is no way I'm letting him shit up our apartment like this ever again.

"Okay." He looks sad.

"Edward, if it's any consolation, bugs like to live in cans. The residue in them attracts the bugs spiders live off—more cans equal more bugs, which equal more spiders."

"Say no more."

An hour later, Edward has completely removed all of the energy cans, vodka bottles, and beer empties. He really can work when he's motivated. It's actually starting to smell better in here already. He's still going to have to vacuum and shampoo the rug to get the drink stains out as well as ones caused by spilled, stale bong water. I think he can handle this, though, seeing what a good job he did in the living room earlier.

"Edward, I need to start dinner. Do you think you are good in here? I haven't seen any remnants of your 'guest'. Maybe she hitched a ride outside with the cans."

"Hopefully, you're right. Hey, um, I saw you have pork in the fridge for supper. It will keep until tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, it should be fine, why?"

"Can I order in for you? I took up a lot of your time today, and it would only be fair."

"Sure, that would be nice. I am a little tired after the drama of the last eighteen hours. Order anything but pizza."

I can't shake the visual of the one still in Edward's fridge.

"Is Chinese okay?"

"That will be fine just as long as you put your leftovers in the kitchen refrigerator, and please clean yours out before you go to class tonight. I won't sleep knowing that stuff is in there. I'll give you a box of baking soda to absorb the odor in there, too."

"Thanks, Bella."

"We can start on the clothes tomorrow. I get out of class at 11 and don't have to work until 3. There isn't much left to tackle except for that."

"Sure, that will work."

Edward punches in our order on his cell phone and then turns to me. He opens his arms.

"Come here."

His embrace is like being hugged by a tree, but it's… nice. He really does give great hugs. I could stay like this for hours as he rocks me from side to side like a wind-blown fir.

"Mmmmmm." It's all I can offer.

"You really are the best friend I could ever have."

I pull back to see his eyes.

"What about Jasper?" Edward and I have both known Jasper as long as we've known each other.

"Let me put it this way:

You are the glistening maraschino cherry atop my melted ice cream sundae.

You are my brilliant warming sun after a week of frigid steady rain.

You are my first breath of fresh air after rescue from a collapsed mine.

You are the majestic purple mountain next to my brown pile of rubble.

You are my voice of reason, sweetly whispering when I become the fool.

You are the one who thwarts the worst of everything to bring out the best in me..."

I blink back tears. How does he do this?

"Bella, Jasper will always be my best guy friend, but he could never be you..."

I put my head on his shoulder, and he gently kisses my forehead.

"I can never thank you enough for just being Bella."

"With that remark, I don't think you can say anything else tonight to make it get any better. You're welcome, Edward, and thank you, too."

With that last exchange, we make our way into the kitchen to await our food.

Edward's still going to screw up, and I'll still get pissed at him for doing it; but something's different.

I can only hope that it's a good thing.

A/N:

The word den has the following meanings -

1. the lair of a wild, usually predatory animal

2. a. (1) a hollow cavern used especially as a hideout

(2) a center of secret activity

b. a small usually squalid dwelling

3. a comfortable usually secluded room

The origin is Middle English from Old English denn; akin to Old English denu valley, Old High German tenni threshing floor.

Courtesy of Merriam Webster

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Thank you for reading.

PAD