Author Note: Thanks for your patience! Fasten your seat belts for this one!

Thanks again to moosals for pre-reading. Stephenie Meyer owns all characters.

Chapter 1 – Love Bites

Time freezes. I couldn't possibly have heard Mr. Cullen call the blonde woman his… wife?

"I didn't know you were married!" Jessica exclaims loudly.

Mr. Cullen looks at her, then glances to her left — toward me — his eyes widening as he perhaps notices me standing there for the first time. "I've never kept it a secret," he shrugs, eyes boring into mine.

"So nice to meet all of you," the woman says with a smile. She has some sort of accent, as if English isn't her first language, but I can't quite place it.

Mr. Cullen nods at her and they continue on past us to give their orders at the snack bar. I stare after them, still in shock.

"Bella!" Angela yells, and I turn to face her. "Your drink," she says, nodding toward the counter. I pick up the cup, forcing myself to take a drink from the straw, because I feel like I might pass out if I don't get some sugar soon.

In a daze, I follow my friends back to our seats. "Did you guys have any idea Mr. Cullen was married?" Jessica asks.

"Not a clue," Angela shakes her head. "Did you, Bella? You talked to him for a while at the homecoming dance."

"No… no idea."

"He doesn't wear a wedding ring," Jessica says, oblivious to the pain in my voice. I think back to Mr. Cullen's hands on me — no, definitely no wedding ring.

"Do you want some of my popcorn, Bella?" Angela says, holding the tub out toward me.

"I don't think I could eat another bite," I reply honestly. In fact, I feel like I'm going to be sick.

The two teams soon retake the field, but I can't concentrate on the game. All of my energy is instead going toward keeping myself from breaking down in front of my friends. I've got to keep it together until I'm alone.

Ten minutes later, I'm breathily heavily, torn between wanting to scream and crying. "I'm not feeling well, guys," I say, standing up quickly. "I'm gonna head home."

"Oh," Angela frowns. "You don't look so good. I hope you feel better."

I manage a small smile before I quickly make my way to the end of the row, then rush down the stairs. I always joke that if you see me running, something is chasing me, but tonight I need no incentive. Running at full speed through the parking lot toward my car, I just hope that no one milling about stops me.

Luckily it's Friday night, which means my dad is working late and won't be home when I get there. I allow myself a quick breakdown once I'm safely in the driver's seat before I wipe my eyes and start the engine.

I don't remember much about the drive home. Somehow I make it to my house without running into anything. Once inside, I rush up the stairs to my bedroom and finally allow myself to cry. How could he do this to me? I thought last week in the park that we'd… I don't know… come to a shared understanding? I thought we were both on the same page about exploring our mutual attraction.

How could Mr. Cullen have neglected to mention that he's already married? And what did that line mean tonight — "I've never kept it a secret." Did he think I knew he was married and pursued him anyway? How dare he think that of me!

My tears dry up as anger starts to take over. I'm angry whether he thought I knew and didn't care or whether he didn't think it was important enough to tell me. And then to show up with her at a school function like that? I may not make a habit of attending football games, but my friends do, and the news would've gotten back to me even if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.

I hear a muffled noise from across the room. Stopping for a moment, I listen to see if it sounds again. When it does, I realize it's my phone — still in the side of my purse, which is sitting on my desk — dinging with a text message.

I wonder for a moment if it's him, but surely he wouldn't have the gall to text me after what happened tonight. Sighing, I get up off the bed to grab my phone out of my purse.

We need to talk.

"Like hell we do," I say out loud, tossing the phone to the bed.

The rest of the weekend is just as shitty as Friday night. I spend most of the time alone in my room, since I don't want my father to notice something's wrong and ask about it. What could I do, tell him I had sex with my teacher who turned out to be married? Yeah, no. My dad has guns; that wouldn't end well.

Mr. Cullen sends me a second text on Sunday morning: Bella, can we please meet at the Lincoln Monument this afternoon? There are some things I need to explain to you. I ignore it just as I did his first message. There is nothing he can explain that would make this right.

Luckily for me, Dad and a couple of his buddies are spending the morning fishing, so he's not around to hear me screaming at my phone as I go through the steps to block Mr. Cullen from contacting me again.

I spend Sunday evening dreading going to school the next day. I'm just not ready to face my teacher. I briefly consider trying to transfer out of his class, but he's the only one teaching AP English, so I don't have a choice if I want to be able to take the AP exam next spring.

I have no idea how I'm going to sit in his classroom five days a week until May! No, instead of looking at it that way, I just need to take it one day at a time. First, get through tomorrow, then this short week, then… make it to Winter Break before I worry about the Spring semester.

The clock reads 3:30am when I wake up Monday morning with awful stomach cramps. I lie in bed for a few minutes, hoping they'll subside. When they don't, I finally get up and dart into my bathroom.

An hour later, I'm up again. One hour after that, same thing.

When my alarm goes off for school, I groan as I shut it off. The numerous interruptions mean I'm absolutely exhausted. I close my eyes again as I lie back on my pillow.

"Bella!" my dad's voice calls as his fist pounds on my bedroom door. "You're going to be late for school!"

"I don't feel well," I moan, shielding my eyes from the hallway light shining in as he opens my door.

Dad steps closer, staring down at me. "You don't look so good."

"I think maybe I ate something that didn't agree with me," I explain. "I've been up three times in the last few hours."

"All right," he sighs. "I'll call the school for you."

"Thanks, Dad," I mumble, closing my eyes again.

The cramps finally subside by 10am. I crawl out of bed to take a shower and get dressed. My sheets are drenched with sweat, so I change them and make up the bed before flopping onto my back. I should be in English class now; I wonder if Mr. Cullen even notices that I'm not there.

Picking up my phone from the nightstand, I see a concerned text message from Angela, asking if I'm all right. Not feeling well, I text back.

I don't get a response from her until English class is over and she's likely in the cafeteria line.

You haven't been sick since Friday night, have you?

No, just since early this morning. It seems to have passed now. I think I ate something bad.

Glad you're feeling better! Mr. Cullen seemed concerned when you didn't show up.

"Sure he did," I say sarcastically to myself.

I spend much of the afternoon napping, finally getting up around 4:30 to start making dinner. My dad is a real meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, but the idea of a big chunk of red meat right now — ugh! Instead, I find some fish in the fridge that he caught this weekend and decide to cook that for us, along with sides of mashed potatoes and roasted squash.

"You look better," Dad says as he sits down at the table.

"Yeah, I slept all afternoon."

"Do you think you'll be able to go to school tomorrow?" he asks, spooning the mashed potatoes onto his plate.

My ears perk up at his question. He's offering me an out, a chance to delay having to see Mr. Cullen until next Monday, since we get Wednesday off as part of the Thanksgiving holiday.

"You know it might be best if I stay home tomorrow, too. Give me a chance to kick this once and for all."

"All right," he nods. "I'll call the school again in the morning. Maybe you should ask one of your friends to pick up your assignments for you so you don't get behind."

"That's a good idea," I reply with a smile. "I'll text Angela tonight since she's in most of my classes." Inside, I'm fist-pumping at the delay in going back to school — and it wasn't even my idea!

My dad's best friend, Harry Clearwater, is another detective with him on the Chicago PD. They went to the police academy together and have been partners for the last 10 years. Harry's wife, Sue, is an awesome cook, and Dad has spent Thanksgivings with the Clearwaters ever since I came to live with him in third grade.

The two of us leave for the Clearwaters' around noon on Thursday so Dad and Harry can spend the afternoon watching TV from their twin recliners. I help out Sue in the kitchen along with her daughter, Leah, who's 16. Her son Seth is 13 and sprawled on the family room floor, watching football with the men.

"All right," Sue sighs, putting the sweet potato casserole into the oven, "now we're just down to watching the clock. I'm gonna set the table; you girls can go relax."

"Thanks, Mom," Leah smiles. "Bella, do you want to come up to my room and check out this new song I downloaded?"

"Sure," I agree, following Leah up the stairs. I've recently started to really hate football.

Once we've reached her room, she closes the door behind us and plops onto her bed. "The song thing was just a ruse. I-I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh, sure," I nod, sitting beside her. "What's up?"

"I was kind of needing some advice, and… you're older. I mean, only two years, but…"

"I'll help if I can," I smile softly.

"So there's this guy I've been seeing for the last few weeks," she begins. "He's so hot; he's a star pitcher on the baseball team."

"Go on," I encourage when she pauses.

"He wants to have sex," she rushes out.

"Is that what you want?"

"Well… no," she admits. "I mean, I do, but… it seems too soon. But I'm afraid that if I keep putting him off, he'll break up with me."

"If he does break up with you over it, then he's not worth your time," I proclaim strongly. "You shouldn't do anything before you're feeling 100-percent ready."

Leah swallows thickly, nodding. "Have you… had sex?"

My eyes widen. Leah and I have been friends for years, but absolutely no one knows about Mr. Cullen and me. And no one can know, unless I'm ready for a huge shitstorm. But Leah doesn't have to find out whom I slept with.

"Yes," I admit. "And I was ready." Boy, was I ready. "But… it was still too soon. There were a lot of things I didn't know about him — things that I wish I'd known before I gave him my virginity. And now I can't take it back."

She frowns. "I'm sorry, Bella, for bringing up bad memories for you."

"No, it-it's fine, really. I hope that my mistakes can help you make the right choice."

Leah gives me a small smile. "So you're not still with him?"

"No," I sigh. "Definitely not. And unfortunately, he's at my school so I can't get away from seeing him all the time. Ugh," I groan, flopping onto my back. I don't even want to think about facing Mr. Cullen on Monday.

"Girls?" I hear Sue's voice calling from downstairs. "Dinner will be on the table in a couple minutes."

"Thanks, Mom!" Leah shouts, then turns to me. "And thank you, Bella. I think I'll take your advice and tell Sam I'm not ready for sex. If he breaks up with me, then… at least I've found out in time just what kind of guy he is."

Later that night, I'm in my bathroom going through my nightly routine. I pull out my packet of birth control pills, removing one pill. As I start to put the packet back into the medicine cabinet, I stop short. There are still two of the brown pills remaining. I always start a new packet on Fridays, which means I'm off schedule. I stare at it in my hand, as if willing what I'm looking at to suddenly change, but of course it never does.

Somehow, I managed to skip two pills this month. Was it earlier this week? Or maybe last Friday, after I found out Mr. Cullen was married? Or was it several weeks ago, when I was upset over the way he was ignoring me?

I've had Sex Ed in Health class; I know that skipping pills means there's a chance I could've gotten pregnant this month. I had my period this week… sort of. It's been light ever since I started taking birth control pills, but this week was really unusually light. What if… it wasn't an actual period at all?

Calmly, I put the packet away and close the medicine cabinet's door, and then I stare at myself in the mirror, my hand unconsciously going to touch my stomach. Is there a chance I could be pregnant with Mr. Cullen's baby? Maybe there's an actual reason why I haven't been feeling well for the last week.

No… no, that's silly. It's just stress. I can't be pregnant. We only had sex once. Yet I can hear my Health teacher's voice repeating in my head as she told us that it only takes one time having unprotected sex to get pregnant. He came inside me, and while I cleaned up in the girls' bathroom afterward, it's not like I… cleaned myself out.

Suddenly, I find myself lifting the toilet lid as I drop to my knees, puking up this afternoon's meal.

Fuck. I need to buy a pregnancy test.

A/N: So, Bella is alternating between being hurt and angry, but now she's got something new to worry about besides facing Mr. Cullen on Monday. He says he needs to explain something to her — should she let him?

Updates every Monday and Thursday.

We're back to guessing 80s song titles for teasers again! However, because of the way this fic is written, where the chapters aren't necessarily complete thoughts, naming them was tough!

The next title, by one of the more popular male artists of the 80s, is what Bella would tell Edward to do.