Welcome to PAD's upset stomach.

Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight Pharmacy chain.

I just want her to sell me some antacid.

Den of Cullen Part 2

Oh my God, I was so freaked out this morning! After I had a chance to take a shower, sober up some more and rid myself of my nagging hangover, I started thinking about what I said to Edward. Was it too soon? Should I have waited? Would it have been better if I had let him initiate things first? Is it still a good idea to do this at all?

I started pacing in my bedroom afraid to go into the kitchen, and when I did go in, Edward had coffee and Pop-Tarts already made. The gesture was endearingly sweet and extremely Edward. He gave me comfort food. I saw the concern in his eyes, which was a clear indication that this wasn't us. He was trying to do whatever he could to alleviate that.

I didn't know how to act, so I adopted my bitch mode as a defense mechanism as well as an avoidance tactic. Rose would have been so proud, but I wasn't. The way that I was acting wasn't me. It wasn't right. In fact, it was incredibly cruel. Edward deserved better, especially after the hellish night he must have endured because of me. I had to be all quiet and brooding in the car, and I kept messing with the songs he had chosen. Eventually, I did snap out of my foul mood long enough to give Edward a goodbye/thank-you kiss on the lips. It didn't matter if it was rather curt and very quick; it was a gesture. At least it was something. Throughout the morning, I mellowed out and had time to think and accept that we can do this. I reasoned that we had already been through a lot. Our friendship is strong. I know this will work. With a renewed resolve, I headed home.

My issues seemed better when he came back after class. My concerns appeared almost normal. He was his usual brown-nosing, good-natured self, although he did go a little overboard this time in getting me the fresh-cut flowers and variegated violets. I love violets. He's such a sneaky bastard. He knows my weaknesses. Edward getting me cannoli was also a low blow. To further his sweetness, he broke out the sponge and dishtowel to help me. Then to continue his game (Oh, I know it's a game.) he put those glorious fingers to work on my shoulders, neck and back and wouldn't let me pull away until I was Silly Putty smiling back at him with a goofy comic book image embedded onto my face. Then he gave me that whispering kiss that resonated through my core and tickled the minute cilia in my ears. I felt the effects all the way down to my ankles when I realized that they were giving way. This gave me visions of him bending me over the sink or maybe him taking me under it. Unfortunately, he knew just when to stop.

As I followed him to his room, I had to steady myself against the hallway walls. All of the blood from my head drained its way elsewhere in my body, and I found it difficult to walk from the dizziness in my brain and sensitivity between my legs. He's such a shit. I have to go to work in a little while, and I'll be stuck all afternoon thinking about him leaving me a mess like this. Maybe I can excuse myself to find the right friction by making wise use of some of Newton's "sticked" sporting goods objects if it gets to be too much for me. Right now, there actually isn't time to start anything here at home. I think it would seem funny—initiating some afternoon-delighting midday—as our dispositions seem to be much more relaxed when we go to bed at night.

Bed. I wonder if Edward is going to want to sleep in his room tonight once he gets it clean. Is he going to want me to sleep with him? Oh, who am I kidding? Edward wouldn't ever turn down intimate cuddling or having sex. Having sex. Is that what we're going to do? I know there's no way I have time for a wax, but maybe I can squeeze in some intimate gliding time with my Venus shaver in the shower.

I feel like it is cherry-plucking time once again because it reminds me of when I was a junior in high school. Riley Biers, my first real boyfriend, and I decided we'd do it the week before graduation, so when we went to the senior bash and stayed out over night at the Port Angeles hotel, it wouldn't be awkward or painful. He was extremely incredible about taking care of me. It's too bad his dad became unemployed and had to take a job elsewhere. Riley had to move just after Christmas in our senior year. Edward, too, was friends with him, so Edward understood how I felt and consoled me after Ri had left. Edward blew off a party that weekend and stayed with me in my living room all night and just held me while I cried. He brought over every ridiculous comedy he could get his hands on to get me through it. He even braided my hair, claiming he did it to keep the snot away from my face. He also told me that knowing it would make me laugh, which it did. Edward took great care of me that weekend even though I knew he was also hurting from missing his good friend.

"Hey, earth to Bella."

I break away from my moment and realize I've been zoning out and am now perched sitting cross-legged on Edward's bed. I don't even remember entering his room.

Hmm?"

"Where did you go?"

"Oh, nowhere in particular; I was just thinking about how good you've been to me over the years and how fortunate I am to have you as my best friend."

Edward's face starts really reddening, and the color spreads all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Wow, um, I didn't expect that. Um, thank you. I'd do anything for you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I actually do."

We share a tender moment where we just stare at each other, feeling our feelings. In this moment, I just want to kiss him and hold him, but I know we won't get anything done if we do. Then, I'll have to interrupt our session by going to work. I want our first time to be special, unrushed, and not desperate.

"Maybe I should get started."

Edward does what I can't and breaks away, starting to busy himself. I know he feels it too, the energy between us.

"Okay, we left off with you having to clean out your closet, clear off your bed, and rid your floor of all these clothes. Let's start on the floor first. You will need to make two piles: the-need-to-be-washed pile and the-need-to be-hung-up-or-folded-and-put-away pile. Do you think you can figure out which of your clothes are clean and which ones are dirty?"

"Define dirty."

"Are you serious?"

I feel the acid sloshing around in my stomach like water in a washing machine just thinking about the last time I was in here discovering all of Edward's atrocious habits.

"Kidding, I'm just kidding, Bella. I'm pretty sure I can figure it out."

He looks back at the haystack-sized mounds of clothes on his floor and blinks at them slowly pondering something. Haystacks are not a pleasant analogy. Snakes like to inhabit them. There better not be any snakes underneath as we do live on the ground floor. I shudder.

"What's the matter? You look a little confused."

I watch as he is still slowly processing something.

"Bella, I'm going to need help doing laundry and folding clothes. I don't know how to do any of that."

Now I'm the one with the trouble, allowing this to sink in.

"What?"

"Well, my mom used to do all of that for me. I have no idea what she did to clean my stuff. Whenever I'd get home from school, all my dirty shit would be cleaned and put away."

"What have you been wearing since we moved in? You do wear clean clothes, don't you?"

Suddenly, I'm kind of disturbed that Edward would cohabit in the same filthy underwear with God knows what kinds of microbes in them.

I think my "washing machine" just hit the spin cycle.

"Of course I wear clean clothes, Bella. I, uh, just go out and buy more whenever I need them."

Okay, that explains a lot. He keeps adding to his wardrobe without laundering any of it. It's no wonder his room is cluttered.

I shake my head in disbelief and let out a garrotted sigh.

"Well, we need to start somewhere. Are any of your jackets wearable?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure they are."

"Good, let's begin there."

Edward quickly begins picking things up and putting them through the guy sniff test ritual. I watch his face for any outward signs of offense. If his expression changes too radically, I tell him to place the item in the "do wash" pile instead of the "put away" pile. I know positively I am not handling any of those items.

Thankfully, his expression only soured about a dozen times with the jackets. He's a nineteen-year-old male in the prime of his sexuality, so I thank God he keeps himself very clean. I think being here, in Seattle, he does this even more so than when we lived back in Forks, at home. I have noticed a substantial increase in our water bill since we first moved in and also know his keeping clean is not the only reason for its spike. There's been much more temptation to get Edward excited here than back home. Temptation, hmmm…I hope he's actually serious about us and completely curtails his pursuit of the female persuasion. If he ever did that to me, last night's pain he experienced from Felix would be a finger thump.

We've moved on to jeans and are just about ready to start on his shirts. Edward works out a lot and plays any kind of ball sport he can get his hands on. Yeah, I know the reference, and I'm not going there. He's extremely good at what he does. It's exhilarating watching him. He's graceful and proficient at all of his on-the-court or on-the-field activities. So as far as the shirts go, unless they still have tags on them, they are all getting washed.

We are at underwear now, so unless it is in the package and factory folded, it's getting cleaned and sanitized—end of sentence.

Edward's finally done with sorting, and it's no surprise that about four-fifths of what he owns needs to be washed. I guess our water bill will be increasing again but for an entirely different reason.

"Are you doing okay, Edward?"

"Yeah, this is awesome. Why wouldn't I be? I actually feel useful for a change. I always wanted to help at home since I was little, but my mom always shooed me away. I kind of feel like a dipshit. It's a good thing you're here. I could never admit this weakness to another girl. It's shitty that I'm this much of a wuss and can't even pick up my own room or do my own laundry. Thanks for helping me now and for putting up with my disheveled ass and horrible habits. You're genuinely special, and I know I don't deserve you."

I was feeling a little disquieted about the comment Edward made about not wanting another girl to share in this vulnerable side of him. It was starting to bring on some green-monster-Bella feelings when he began mentioning it. I didn't like it. It's a good thing he redeemed himself at the end of his statement; otherwise my good mood would be extremely tainted right now.

"Thank you, Edward. You've shown a different side of yourself in the last few days, and I'm proud of you."

This time he takes the initiative by closing our distance. He sits down next to me at the bottom of the bed and cups my face like he's palming a basketball and interweaves his splaying fingers into the hair just above my neck. I feel my eyes start to close.

"No, thank you… Kiss.

For being a spectacular… Kiss

And phenomenal… Kiss

Best friend… Kiss

And brand new… Kiss

Sexy as hell… Kiss

Girlfriend." Kiss

That awakens me. What? Edward thinks I'm sexy? He's ready to pull away, but I'm not, so I push him down on his bed, straddling his legs to keep him there for my attack. Now he's all wide-eyed. Good! It's about time he gets a taste of what he's been dishing out to me.

"You're welcome. Kiss

For being a caring… Kiss

Considerate… Kiss

Superlative bud… Kiss

And refreshing… Kiss

Hot as hell… Kiss

Boyfriend." Kiss

He rolls me sideways and now has a leprechaunish glint, which pairs nicely with the Kelly green coloring his eyes now take on from the sunlight beaming through his windows.

"You think I'm hot?"

Of course, that's all he would absorb from this. I guess I'm no better in that respect; look at what I did when he said it to me.

"Edward, half of UDub thinks you're hot."

"That may well be, Bella, but I distinctly remember you saying it. Are you going to tell me again?"

There's no way he's getting me to repeat myself.

"No."

"Are you sure about that?"

Oh shit, he has that look in his eye, the one that says he'd about to tickle me senseless.

"Don't you dare."

He brings those torturing long fingers close.

"Say it, out loud; say it."

I'm going to have to concede, which I hate.

"Okay, okay, Ithinkyouarehot."

"That's better, a little rushed but definitely better."

"Asshole."

I say it under my breath, but obviously he's heard me because his itching digits are still making a slow approach to taunt me.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing. Let's get back to work."

I wouldn't dare let him get near me with his assaultive fingers. The last time Edward tickled me, it was after I drank a quart of Gatorade after running to his house. I had a hard time explaining to Esme why I was bringing his comforter downstairs to be washed and had suddenly changed into a pair of Edward's sweatpants. He was such a prick.

"Should we do the bed next, Bella?

I give him a simple nod and proceed to get up so he can strip the bed.

He starts hurling off his pillows. He must have about eight of them. When he gets to the last one, which is wedged lengthwise and upright against his wall hiding the poster of his bed, I see why it's there.

"Edward, what are those?"

His face turns a shade of embarrassment I don't think I've ever seen.

"Um, they're bras."

Over his bedpost, no lie, there must be about fifty of them. They cover the "Three C's" of brassieres. Every cup, color and cut is represented.

"Why do you have so many of them? Is there something you should be telling me about some weird cross-dressing tendencies you might have?

I am holding in my disgust because I have to hear this.

"Cross-dressing, ha! Come on, Bella, you know me better than that. The reason I have them may have to do with the fact that I might have mentioned to one or two girls that I have a thing for collecting nice lingerie, so word's gotten around about my interest, and sometimes girls just reach up their shirts, unclasp their goods, and hand me their articles. I kind of consider them as calling cards. There have been other times when I've initiated the act of acquiring, but in those instances, I don't feel like giving them back especially when I was the one that did the work to obtain them in the first place. A third reason could be: I just like trophies."

"I'm stupefied. I am also blaming this on Esme. She has a room in Edward's mini-mansion where she keeps all of Carlisle's, Emmett's, and Edward's awards, certificates and plaques; it's like a hall of fame. I've unofficially but affectionately dubbed it "The Shrine of All Things Cullen."

"So, what do you plan to do with them now?"

He will give the right answer; otherwise he's not getting anything from me in return.

"Well, I truly hate to part with any of them. I'm missing a few key colors: mint green, black cherry, and cotton candy. I really wanted to get my hands on those."

He says it so seriously and with such a straight face. I'm sure those aren't the only things he wants to get his hands on.

That "washing machine" has now sprung a leak in one of its hoses. In my calmest voice, I begin offering my next line of ultimatums.

"Edward, I'm going to let you pick. Do you think you can guess what you will be choosing from?"

"Well, judging by how your left eye is beginning to spasm, and your right hand is starting to twitch, I think it's safe to say that I have to get rid of these."

He actually has the nerve to begin pouting.

"Well, here's a garbage bag. Start using it."

"Um, would you mind giving us a few minutes alone?"

He's gesturing towards his rainbow assortment of slingshots. That's it. I slowly walk to his door and firmly grab the ten iron behind it. Never mind the nine iron, this has a greater contact point—meaning more surface area will hit him.

"Okay, Bella, okay! I was teasing…"

I feel my blood pulsing through the veins in my head. I couldn't be any more amped-up than I am now; I think I'd pop a vessel if I were.

"Come here… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you so worked up. Honestly, even though this parting-with-stuff thing is new for me, I do know better. I'm not that much of an insensitive douchebag."

He holds me tight and sways me rhythmically. I feel as if I am one of those clowns that you blow up and then punch. Right now, if he hadn't grabbed me, I'd seriously be looking for one at the store tonight. I'm not that heartless. As much as I want to wail on him now, I wouldn't hit an already injured person.

"Edward, things have changed between us."

He immediately stops and pushes me gently backward at arm's length to see my expression. He has a panicked one presently plastered on his face.

"What do you mean 'things have changed'? Bella, I promise I'll be good. All of this will be gone by the time you get home. Please, don't break up with me.

What have I started? I put my hand on his cheek.

"Edward, I'm not breaking up with you, yet…"

He needs to hear this.

"What I'm trying to get you to understand is that because we are in a new relationship, things will be more sensitive between us. You can't expect me to just write off all of your past conquests as if they never happened, especially if girls continue to give you their underwear. I mean it, Edward, you can't just joke about this if you want us to work. You don't know how close I came to just telling you to forget about trying this."

"Please, Bella, I really apologize. I know I push your buttons, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't do it on purpose. We have a special way of communicating between us, and I don't want to lose that. Do you have any idea how much you turn me on when you get mad? Your skin gets all flushed. Your eyes get mad-crazed, and you secrete these wickedly alluring pheromones that make you irresistible. Do you know how difficult it's been for me to not just throw you over my shoulder, drag you off to my room, and fuck you rigorously stupid? You make me horny so often, I'm forced to shower three times a day and beat-off twice as much as that."

I know I inwardly joked a lot about what he's saying, but hearing it directly from his own mouth when it's supposedly my doing is surreal. Has Edward been jerking off while thinking about me six times a day? That explains all of the empty condom wrappers he had on his floor. I don't know whether to be flattered or nauseated. I guess I should appreciate his desire for me. I have to admit, his over-the-shoulder-fuck-me-stupid rant sounds pretty good. Maybe I can push his buttons for a change or maybe just unbuttoned them. If I don't stop thinking about this, I'm never going to make it to work.

"Edward, I need to leave soon. Can I help with your bed?"

"Sure, but first, please hold the garbage bag so I can get rid of my trophies."

He makes quick work of it by unlooping them all together from his bedpost and placing them in the bag.

Next, he rips off his navy blue comforter. His mattress is so curled it looks like a giant Pringle. I watch as he peels the sheets off of his bed as he would layers off an onion. I count one flat sheet and ten fitted sheets. I should know better by now than to be surprised by anything Edward does.

"Let me figure this out. You, of course, don't do laundry, so you just put on more sheets?"

"How did you know?"

He gives me his satanic grin.

"It was a wild guess."

"Bella, would you please go into my closet and get another sheet set?"

"Sure."

I walk over to his closet and toss him out a bagged set. I also pelt him with four new double packages of pillowcases.

He gives me his oh-you-are-so-going-to-get-yours-later look for doing that, which I am anxiously anticipating.

He has the new sheets on the bed and is working on stuffing his pillows into the cases.

"Bella, would you please toss me out a new comforter?"

"Okay, you have two in here. Should I open this one? It looks like the one you had on your when we first moved in."

"Bella, don't unzip that bag!"

It's too late. I already catch a whiff of what's inside. I'm not quite certain of the combination of smells, but it hits me like a battering ram. I smell something sour, rancid and moldy all at the same time and feel the unmistakable urge to hurl the contents of my stomach. I can't close the bag fast enough. The damage has already been done. Edward flies over towards me and grabs the plastic. He pulls open the window and hurls the bag and its contents outside. He then leaves the window open.

I'm fanning the air around my nose. The stench won't leave quickly enough.

"Edward, what the hell was in there?"

"I don't think you honestly want to know."

"Humor me."

"Oh, you clearly won't find much humor."

"EDWARD!"

"Okay, okay. Jazz and I got unbelievably trashed one night. We were eating shrooms wrapped in Oscar Mayer bologna and drinking So-Co straight. We were laughing so hard from the effects that we may have puked all over my bed. Instead of dealing with it at the time, our psychedelically altered brains may have reasoned that we should just roll up the blanket and shove it back into the bag."

The acid in my stomach is flowing full force. I am now pale, and I want to throw up.

"Dammit, Edward, are you shitting me? Right now, I just want to hit you in the head with a shovel, but three things are stopping me: I'm too weak. You're still injured, and I have to go to work!"

Edward scoops me up and carries me outside to fresh air. I use my right arm and give a lame attempt to flail it at his chest as he holds me.

"I don't know how you put up with my stupid ass."

He takes the words right out of my mouth.

"I don't know either."

"I kind of forgot the blanket was in there until you went to open it."

"Yeah, I gathered that."

"Bella, you go to work. I'll take care of the rest of my room. I'll even shampoo my rug now that I know how."

"You'll have to move all of your stuff. You don't have that kind of room in there. Edward, we're going to have to go the laundromat. If we do all of the clothes here, we are liable to break the machine. Why don't you bag all of it, and put it in the bed of my truck? We'll go make a day of it and wash the clothes tomorrow. I'll pack a picnic lunch, and we can bring our homework and some board games."

"See, this is why this, you and me, will work. I can do things well as long as someone tells me and gives me direction. You're good for me, Bella."

He kisses my forehead.

"You can put me down now."

"What if I don't want to let you go?"

"Well then, you can explain to Mr. Newton why I'm not coming in. Besides, don't you want to show off the hickey you gave me to Mike? You know, he's going to be all inquisitive about whom I went out with. It's seriously going to mess with him."

"Well, by all means. Here—catch! Take my car. You don't want to keep Mr. Newton or Mike waiting, forgot that matter…"

Edward pulls me in for a long deep kiss. As he breaks with it, I'm now dizzy for an entirely different reason.

"Wait, Bella, you almost for your cannoli."

He runs inside quickly getting the delectable confection.

"Thanks. I'll see you at 9:20 tonight. I'll make a quick stir-fry when I get home."

I go to take the pastry from him.

"No, no. Open up…"

I open wide, and he shoves one into my mouth.

"Now that's a look I could get used to, seeing you with something phallic-shaped that I have given you, stuffed in your mouth."

I nearly choke on it trying to speak, so I just flip him my middle finger as I begin driving off. Oh, he is so going to get his tonight.

"Bye Bella. Thank you for helping me."

He yells it back at me while wickedly smiling like the goofball he is.

As I pull further away, despite his last action, I reason there may be hope after all.

Now to break the silence, let's see what Edward has in his CD player that I can listen to.

A/N:

Next up: Edward's getting some help from Esme.

Thank you goes out to all of my faithful readers.

Thank you goes to my amazingly tolerant beta, Chayasara, who puts up with my brain farts.

Special thanks to Monica Solis, a.k.a. CaliGirlMon on FFN, for making my banner.

Mwah!

Thank you for reading.

PAD