AN: So, I wanted to say a quick thanks for the support you guys are giving me and the story :] Also, there will probably be a lot of mistakes in this chappy because it's 3 AM and I haven't slept yet, but it's a bit longer so I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Emmett isn't mine *sob* and neither is anyone else.

May 29th 2002

Emmett moaned, eyes clenched shut, and smacked his hand against the wall just over the headboard of his bed. Beneath him lay some twit from school with curled locks of ebony velvet. Her mouth was etched open in ecstasy as he thrust his pelvis into hers again and again, pounding her pussy with a vengeance. His other hand was tangled in her hair, fisting it almost painfully. The bed bounced and jolted against the wall with every forward push of his lower body, his ears ringing in the rhythmic melody.

It wasn't difficult to replace her face with another's in his mind, her blue eyes darkening into molten chocolate, her tiny hips widening, her huge breasts shrinking to smaller globes of flesh…

He moaned again and thrust harder. She cried out in a high-pitched squeal – one that rather damaged his ear drums – and dug her long painted nails into his back. He fought the urge to shove her away, not wanting any marks from her, never her. But he restrained, consoled by the fact that the marks could be hidden; would disappear in a few days.

Her back arched so suddenly and sharply that she would have throw him off her if not for his brute strength and heavy weight. Her sex started milking his frantically with her orgasm and he knew that the contractions were a conscious and desperate effort on her part to get him to cum. He grit his teeth, opening his eyes to glance down at her. She was covered in sweat, her caked makeup running slightly off her face. She wasn't quite looking at him; more looking up as her lips formed silent pleas that he knew were of him cumming. Obviously she didn't like that he hadn't orgasmed with her and wasn't even affected by her attempts to get him to release.

He wanted to smirk, but felt sick deep in his chest all of a sudden. He stopped his movements, sitting up and away from her, tucking his dick into his jeans as he shoved them up his legs.

She lay sprawled on the bed, staring at him with an open mouth and wide eyes. Blue eyes. Not brown.

"But you didn't even –" she whined. He cut her off, not even looking at her.

"Get out."

She gasped, screeching, "What?"

"Get out."

"But, you can't –"

"I said, get out."

"Look, I'm not going to –"

He whirled around now, glaring at her. She cowered back. "Get out!"

She scurried to pick up her clothes, yanking her skimpy dress back over her head and slipping into her high heels. He watched her with tense shoulders, hostility pouring from him. She peeked at him, taking a chance and trailing one sharp claw up his thick, muscled arm.

"Don't ya wanna at least –" she began in a sultry voice.

"Get out!"

She jumped, almost tripping over her monster shoes as she ran out his room and down the stairs. He heard the front door slam and relaxed a bit. The bed, sheets rumpled and in disarray, its pillows scattered around the room, creaked as he perched on the edge of the mattress, face falling down into his hands.

Despite having been doing this for two months now, it still didn't seem real to him. He had just fucked some random slut – not even being chivalrous enough to finish – because, and this was the truth, he knew, she looked a little like his sister.

He had known the second he picked her exactly why she would be in his bed later on, and it had nothing to do with her personality (which admittedly wasn't the best at all). He had known the entire time; when he was returning her lusty stares and 'innocent' touches, when he was kissing her lips and caressing her cheek as if it really was his precious sister's, when he led her by the hand up to his room and lay her on his bed, when he finally tore off her panties (though the scraps of fabric could hardly be called such) and dove into her already used body dick first.

The absence of that thin layer of skin deep in her body, protecting her virtue, had been a hard thing to ignore. His sister was a virgin; she'd told him so herself. That slut was not and had not been for a while, but he had overcome that, had looked past it. He had tried not to wallow in frustration that he didn't get to experience the strange sensation of breaking through that delicate pink flesh with his sensitive member.

Most people – guys, really – would say that there was nothing wrong with pretending your 'lover' (and he shuddered at the intimacy the word represented, not wanting it to be paired with that bimbo) was someone different. They might even argue that it was like acting out a fantasy. But to pretend that the girl was your own sister…

Wrong, so wrong.

It all just came rushing back to him when she orgasmed. She hadn't whispered his name like it was a stroke on his heart, she hadn't sighed softly when she relaxed into the bed, she hadn't smiled up at him in her innocence with a sense of pride in her eyes – both aimed at him for getting her there and herself for managing to go along with it. No, instead she had emitted that stupid squeal and shattered what little he held onto of his dream lover.

That smidge of delusion that she was Bella. That Bella was beneath him during the throws of passion. That he was sharing the act of sex with his sister.

Abruptly he froze, trying to breathe deeply and calmly, but it didn't seem to be working. The bile rose up in his throat and he clamped his mouth shut, jogging as steadily as possible to the bathroom. He bent over the toilet quickly, letting loose the horrid flow of liquids. When he'd finished, he leant against the cool surface of the bathtub wearily.

Even his body knew that what he was feeling for his sister wasn't right.

Well, he corrected bitterly, some of my body anyway.

His cock was another story entirely when it hardened at the thought of her, as was the blood in his veins when it throbbed at the thought of her, and the lungs he breathed with when they left him breathless at the thought of her. Always because of her, or his annoying habit of creating illusions that other girls were her.

But there was only ever one Bella. His sister.

He wondered what he ever did to God to deserve this. Mother fucking bastard.