-:-

The weather was beautiful, just like Doris had said. The sun was shining just enough to keep the air from being too chilly, and the even, constant breeze was refreshing. The guests and other people from town were outside, amicably joined together at faded, wooden picnic tables that were scattered across the grass. It was my first time seeing outside the back of the lodge, and it was remarkable. There was a wide stretch of incredibly green grass, like a prairie, that turned into a hill, which led to another leveled acre of land before a vast tree line. It was the kind of roomy, outdoor bliss that made the little girl inside me want to run, spin around in circles, and roll down the hill, soaking up all the smells and sensations of the tickling grass and fresh wind.

Doris, of course, was giddy and chatting with everyone, and as soon as she spotted me, she pulled me along to get a plate of food, and showed me to a table where I was introduced to a group of women—perhaps they were the 'quilting circle' Angela had joked about. Some of them told me that they knew my father (of course), and after I answered numerous questions about Florida and college, some were surprisingly eager to offer to set me up with their sons or grandsons. I guessed Renée wasn't the only mother who wanted to play matchmaker.

Luckily, around that time, Mr. Miller, who had been witnessing the spectacle, stopped by the table and asked if he could interest me in a fruit cup. Politely excusing myself, I followed him over to the table of food, thanking him with a laugh.

"Oh, don't thank me, Ms. Bella," he said with a smirk as he handed me a cup filled with pineapple, watermelon, and grapes. "I'd be offering to introduce you to one of my own grandsons if I didn't think you already had your heart set on someone else."

I gave a weak laugh, trying to find the right words to use in protest, but he winked.

"I remember being young. Pining glances, little touches," he said with a wave of his hand. "I'm an old man, but I'm not senile yet. You know, I met my wife when I was around your age."

Oof. The 'W' word.

"Can—can we play chess?" I asked quickly, diverting the topic as I pointed to where he had been sitting. "I'm still a little unclear on what's best to save for the endgame. Was it the knights or the pawns?"

Mr. Miller chuckled, but led me over to his table without pressing further. "The pawns, missy. They're often overlooked, but they can be steadfast protectors when it comes to the end."

After my impromptu chess lesson, I wandered back inside while Mr. Miller was roped into a game of horseshoes. Surprisingly, I was asked to play, but I respectfully declined, thinking that I'd certainly manage to knock either myself or someone else out if I had to throw anything made of metal.

As I entered the lobby, it was still completely void of guests. Though it was going on four o'clock, everyone was still busy socializing outside. The fireplace was still going strong, and I guessed it might be one of those automatic kinds that had a switch. I went over to browse the bookshelves and smiled when I spotted my favorite Stephen King novel, The Shining. I hadn't read it in years, so I curled up with it on one of the couches, the warm waves of heat from the fire making it extra cozy. I read for a while, enjoying the scent and sound of the burning, crackling wood, and got wrapped up in the story.

When I got to chapter ten, the introduction of the hotel cook, Hallorann, I looked up to check the clock. I startled, tensing into the sofa cushions, when I noticed Edward standing by the end of the staircase, leaning on the banister.

"Oh my God," I said, pulling the book to my chest. "You scared me."

He gave me a small smile. "Sorry," he said, moving toward me. "You looked engrossed. I didn't want to interrupt."

I grinned. "Books usually affect me to the point where I forget that everything else exists. How long have you been standing there?"

"About ten seconds," Edward said, coming closer until he was by the opposite end of the couch. "Don't worry, I think it only gets creepy after thirty."

Chuckling, I gave him a once-over. "Any luck with the nap?" I asked, already guessing the answer. He didn't look much better than he did a couple of hours ago.

"Kind of," he said, folding his arms as if he were cold. "What are you reading?"

"The Shining," I said, checking the page number and closing it. "Have you ever read it?"

He shook his head again.

"No one should go through their adult years without enjoying Stephen King's finest."

"I'm sure I'll get around to it one day," he said, rubbing his eyes.

I set the book to the side and patted the cushion next to me. "Come on, it's nice and warm down here. And you look like you need to sit."

He shrugged his shoulders halfheartedly. "I'm okay."

Even so, he sat down close to me and leaned his head back on the cushions. The firelight lit up his pale features, giving his skin a glow. I watched as his chest rose slowly and steadily as he inhaled. When he let his breath out, he closed his eyes.

I thought about reaching my hand out for his again or maybe even smoothing his hair like he'd done for me before. Actually, dignity aside, I wanted to touch him in other places, but that was for a different place and a different—

Edward suddenly cleared his throat and opened his eyes, as if to snap himself out nodding off, and caught me staring.

"Sorry," I said, unconsciously running my thumb under my bottom lip, afraid I'd fallen into the cliché, overly-literal stereotype of drooling over someone. Luckily, I hadn't. "You look exhausted."

"Yeah," he agreed in a gentle voice. "It's catching up to me. I think every time I fell asleep, I woke up a few minutes later."

"Do we need to get you drunk?" I teased. "It might help you relax."

He turned in my direction and gave me a playful, fixed stare, and I smiled back. After a quiet, but deep breath, he said, "Sleep doesn't come easy for me. It's kind of miserable."

I nodded in understanding. I'd gotten over my own long bout of insomnia after Charlie moved to Jacksonville. It gave me peace of mind to know Renée wasn't by herself anymore.

"I envy anyone who can just close their eyes and drift off, and sleep for hours and hours," he continued. "I don't know how to explain it. I miss the feeling of… I don't know."

"Of the refuge?" I offered.

He glanced at me through his heavy-lidded eyes and nodded. "Exactly. I usually can't go but two or three hours without waking up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding. I guess I don't feel safe enough to stay asleep."

"Why do you think?" I asked, my heart aching for him. He was right—that did sound miserable.

He shook his head, not looking up. I felt hollow, not sure how to ease his mind, but then an obvious thought came to me.

"Well," I said as I lifted my hands from the pillow on my lap. "Why don't you try again? Maybe it will make you feel safe if someone's with you."

"With me?" he asked lethargically. "In my room?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "Baby steps, Edward."

He rubbed a hand across his forehead, squeezing his temples. "I'm sorry. I'm tired. I didn't mean—"

"I know, I'm teasing you. I meant try putting your head down for a few minutes," I said, gesturing to the pillow on my lap. "Just try to relax and see if it works. If you fall asleep, I'll be here to wake you up if you—you know. If you need me to."

If he showed any sign of having a nightmare, I wouldn't let him get far before waking him. He seemed reluctant, so I reached over and took his hand, giving him a tug.

"It's okay," I said. "No one's even around. It's just us."

"Are you sure?"

I nodded, and with another pull to his arm, he slowly lowered himself across my lap, placing his head on the pillow and stretching his legs across the couch. A warm feeling spread in my chest at the feel of him against me, and I finally got my chance to comb my fingers through his hair. It was soft and thick, and in the firelight, it was if he had a prism of different colors: caramel, brown, auburn, and even the color of rich, dark coffee beans, which was conveniently fitting for him.

"You know, I used to hate anyone playing with my hair," I said, twirling sections and then smoothing them down. "Renée used to pull me into the bathroom kicking and screaming anytime I had to get my hair done."

Edward chuckled softly. "Little hellion, were you?"

"Only when my ballet recitals rolled around," I said, making a face at the memories. "Hairspray and bobby pins and buns…"

"And tutus," he said, grinning.

I cringed, laughing. "Yes, those too. I looked so out of place."

"I'm sure you were adorable," he said quietly.

"I was a mess. This one little girl in my class called me 'No-Balance Bella.' I hated her. But I also sort of idolized her."

Edward traced his fingers on the knee of my jeans. "Why?"

"Because she was the best out of the class. Ballerinas have good manipulation of their bodies," I said, thinking of my occasional inability to walk without bumping into things: walls, tables… cars. "They're agile, graceful. They can spin without losing control. They know what their next move is and how the song will end." I twirled my thumb around a lock of his hair, letting my breath out in a slow exhale. "And they never fall."

I was lost in my thoughts for a few moments before Edward sighed, and the rise and fall of his body brought me back to clarity.

"No," he said softly. "Everyone falls."

We were quiet for a few moments. He barely moved, seemingly comfortable, and I kept trailing my fingers through his hair. "Sorry. First, I ask you to try to sleep and here I am rambling in your ear."

"I like the sound of your voice," Edward said, sounding distant, his eyes finally closed. "It's calming."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. "No one's ever told me that before."

"You can keep talking," Edward proposed. "That is, if you want to. I like listening."

I was silent for a few moments, trying to think of something interesting to talk about. I looked around me for inspiration and my eyes fell on the book I had set to the side. "Well… I read a lot. I guess it might have been an only-child thing. When there was no one around to play with, it was pretty convenient to slip into a world where things were different, to imagine myself as someone else.

"I like poetry, too," I continued, keeping my voice at a soft volume. "I like Langston Hughes and Walt Whitman, but Robert Frost is my favorite. He paints such vivid pictures in my mind. Sometimes it's nice to close my eyes and envision what he's written."

"Which is your favorite?" he asked. "Can I hear it?"

My hesitated, giving a tiny laugh. "You want me to say it out loud?"

"Sure," he said, yawning once more. "Why not?"

I hadn't recited a poem since Speech 101; conveniently, it was also one of Frost's, though it wasn't my favorite. I wasn't about to narrate the one that was my favorite, though.

"Um," I said, racking my brain for something short. I remembered 'Afterflakes.' It wasn't that long, and it was still high on my list. "This one isn't my favorite, but I think I'll remember all the lines, at least. Are you sure you want to hear?"

Edward nodded, his eyes still closed.

I tapped my fingers nervously along his arm. We were by ourselves and he was half-asleep, however, it didn't feel much easier than when I'd been forced to stand in front of my speech class.

"Okay," I said, feeling a warm wash of blood flood into my cheeks and taking a quick breath.

At least he wouldn't know if I messed up, anyway.

"In the thick of a teeming snowfall, I saw my shadow on the snow. I turned and looked back up at the sky, where we still look to ask the why of everything below."

So far, so good.

"If I shed such a darkness, if the reason was in me, that shadow of mine should show in form against the shapeless shadow of storm—how swarthy I must be."

I briefly wondered if Edward was picturing it in his mind, seeing himself as such a shadow, missing the promise he had to offer.

"I turned and looked back upward," I continued, sliding my hand through his hair again. "The whole sky was blue; and the thick flakes floating at a pause were but frost knots on an airy gauze, with the sun shining through."

I let out my breath, feeling almost as jittery as I had back at school. Edward made a faint sound and I delicately rubbed his back, hoping that I hadn't just bored him out of sleepiness, if that was possible.

"Kind of poignant, huh?"

He didn't answer. His breath was steadier, fuller than it had been a minute ago.

He was asleep.

"Well, holy shit," I said quietly.

Deeply, but softly, I sighed and let myself lean back into the downy cushions. I closed my own eyes for a few seconds, savoring the feeling of calm. The sound of the firewood popping and sparking was relaxing, and in the distance, I could hear faint remnants of chatter and laughter from the ongoing picnic outside. When I opened my eyes, I could see flecks of dust dancing in a sunbeam ballet that came in through the windows, up among the wooden rafters on the ceiling. The walls were polished yet weathered with age, very much like the walls of Edward's bedroom, and the cracks and pleats that covered the wood were quaintly charming.

From top to bottom, this place really was lovely.

Not to mention the sight directly in front of me. Edward's back undulated slowly from his breathing, and something about the way his hand was curled around the silky fabric of the pillow made me smile. I would have let him lie across my lap for hours if it gave him some much-needed sleep, and I would have gladly barricaded us from the rest of the lodge, caution tape and all.

I smiled, envisioning Doris shushing the people who walked by as she ushered them through the lobby. "I am completely insane," I muttered under my breath.

"You've got that right," came a snubbing voice from behind me.

I was careful not to jostle Edward as I turned to see Jessica standing at the edge of the hallway that led to the dining room, practically sneering at me. Perfect.

"Why aren't you outside with the others?" she asked. "Babysitting?"

I pushed back the urge to groan. "I was outside for awhile, actually," I said, turning my head away from her. "Why aren't you?"

I hardly cared, but maybe her skank ass would take a hint and go away before I got creative with where to stick the fire poker. At least she hadn't been around for my little poetry reading.

"As if I would, like, bother with senior social hour," she said, walking around the couch to face me, swinging a bucket of cleaning supplies. She gave a slight glance to Edward before raising her glaring eyes to mine. "So, do you always bore people into unconsciousness like this?"

I bit my tongue. Oh, Stanley has a first name, it's B-I-T-C-H.

"Honestly, Bella, if you can't see that he only hangs out with you because he feels sorry for you," she said in a purposely loud voice, setting the bucket by her feet, "then that's just sad."

Edward took a small, audible breath and hunched his shoulders a bit.

"Keep your voice down," I hissed sternly, fighting the urge to throw a book at her. "You're going to wake him up."

Jessica snickered. "I'm sure he'd be more than willing to get up. He could use a little more fun in his life with someone who actually knows what to do with a guy like him."

And Stanley has a second name, it's P-R-I-S-S.

"Then again, I suppose he should be tired," she continued, giving Edward a thoughtful look. "I did give him quite a workout last night."

"Oh, okay," I muttered sarcastically under my breath. Was she really going to stand there and play 'pretend fantasies' right in front of me?

"Oh, didn't he tell you?" she said, cocking her head to the side. "Well, he is a gentleman. I guess he doesn't kiss and tell."

I tried to seem unaffected, but she had an air of confidence in her voice. My stomach began to feel like it was shrinking, scrunching itself into a ball.

"Why should I believe anything you say?" I said, keeping my voice low.

Jessica sighed and leaned her hips against the edge of the opposite sofa. "Oh, honey," she said, "you can talk yourself out of the idea all you like. But, damn, do magical things happen on that fourth floor."

"Oh, do they?" I said. "Did Lauren and Mike tell you from experience?"

Oops. I probably shouldn't have said that.

Edward shifted again on my lap, exhaling as he settled back into a comfortable position. I watched him vigilantly, only looking back at Jessica when I was sure that he was still sleeping.

"Mike, my ex-boyfriend?" she asked, squinting at me with vicious eyes.

I kept my mouth shut, feeling my cheeks go pink. So he was her ex. Well, it made sense, considering I remembered Mike's gruff voice telling Lauren not to tell Jessica.

"You're trying to piss me off, aren't you, you little liar?" she said, keeping her voice at an even, low volume, probably deciding that Edward would be less than thrilled to see her claws coming out if he did accidentally wake. "Just because you want what I want? What I can have, that you can't?"

What a fucking hypocrite. What did she expect me to do? Run away from both of them? Cry? Stomp my feet and throw a hissy fit?

"You are so bitter. I feel sorry for you," I said honestly.

She scoffed. "See for yourself," she said, pointing. "There's something on his neck that should give you a good mental picture of exactly how close we were last night."

I didn't want to give her the satisfaction, but why would she lie about something physical that I could see? Before I could think of a comeback, a sudden overwhelming temptation took over. I leaned over Edward and glanced at his neck, brushing his shirt back, but didn't see anything. I looked back up at her, eyebrows raised.

"Hmm," she said, pursing her lips smugly. "Must be on the other side. I couldn't really be sure where I left marks, actually—it all happened so fast."

With that, she picked up the bucket and walked across the sitting area to the front of the lodge. She gave me a smirk. "See you, Bella. Tell Edward I said thanks for last night."

And syphilis will find a way to J-E-S-S-I-C-A.

Luckily, she was out of my sight before I could reach for anything to throw at her, because this time I was highly tempted to actually do it. I sat silently, lightly rubbing Edward's back and trying to rid my thoughts of anything that had come from her obnoxious mouth. She was just trying to be manipulative and stir things the wrong way between him and me.

Trying to silence the little voice that told me there could be some truth to it, I reached for The Shining and picked up where I left off to distract myself.

Over the next half hour, a few guests came in and out, walking through the lobby, some with curious glances in our direction. Even one of the ladies who had tried to fix me up with her son raised her eyebrows with a pointed stare. I almost woke Edward, unsure if he would feel uncomfortable later knowing that anyone saw him asleep on my lap. But at that point, I didn't really care.

Tom, the chef, had looked over at us with a smile and a wave. He seemed easygoing and unsurprised; Angela must have been chatting us up. I smirked, wondering what she was up to at the moment. Maybe she was with Ben.

More time passed, and as the hour drew closer to five o'clock, Edward started to stir a bit. I leaned over him, checking his face for any sign of agitation. He sighed faintly in his sleep, seeming calm, so I took that as a good sign, but I was getting stiff from sitting so long, not being able to stretch, and I had to pee. Maybe I could get him to shift just a little, and ease him onto only the pillow.

"Edward?" I murmured, gently rubbing his arm. He slowly slid out of sleep, blinking dazedly, and I started to apologize when he suddenly shot up and off my lap, his head knocking into my mouth. I felt one of my teeth slice into my bottom lip and the immediate taste of coppery blood made me freeze.

Ow. Blood. Tasting it had always made me feel queasy.

I put my hand to my mouth, squinting my eyes shut at the thought of blood pooling in my mouth, and looked at Edward. He seemed as though he'd forgotten where he was at the moment, because he glanced around, breathing heavily, before his eyes drifted back to me.

"Oh my God," he said, his eyes widening as he reached out to touch my hand that was covering my mouth. "Are you okay? I'm sorry."

I tried to laugh. "Doesn't it strike you funny that that's all we ever say to each other?"

"Let me see." He pulled my hand away and lightly trailed his thumb under my lip. "You're bleeding," he said, looking apologetic.

"Are you surprised?" I joked, grinning despite the blood. He was close to my face while gazing at me with his brilliant eyes and touching my face. If I hadn't been bleeding, I might have been unable to fight to urge to lean in and see what he would do.

Edward stood up to retrieve some tissues out of a box on one of the coffee tables. He came back and handed them to me, and I thanked him, pressing them to my mouth.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, and I waved away his concern.

"It's fine," I said with a smile.

"I was just startled. I didn't mean—"

He stopped, creasing his eyebrows, but I knew why. The smile had just melted off my face, replaced by a blank expression, or maybe disbelief. Maybe horror. Because, a few centimeters below his earlobe, on the right side of his neck, there was a very small, very subtle, yet very identifiable, light reddish-purple hickey.

I looked away, wondering how I had missed it earlier. It was pretty inconspicuous, but after I noticed it, it seemed to be radiating neon pink.

"You okay?" Edward asked, putting his hand on my shoulder.

I just nodded, a bit stunned. Unless he'd suction-cupped his own neck, Jessica hadn't been lying. The feelings that crept over me were like bad chills. Very unwelcome images of Jessica's lips on him and his arms wrapped around her made me forget about the blood in my mouth entirely, sending a whole different kind of nausea through me.

"Are you sure—"

"I'm just going to go clean up," I said, standing quickly.

I grabbed The Shining and headed for the stairs, feeling my heart rate speed up. I felt like maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions—maybe Jessica just saw the mark and made up her own little fantasy. But then that meant it had been someone else.

I wasn't even to the second floor before Edward's footsteps were right behind mine. "Hey," he said in a hushed voice, easily keeping up with me. "I really am sorry."

"I know," I said awkwardly as I continued to climb.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

He was confused. Well, so was I.

"No," I answered, not looking at him. "You know. Me, blood…" Leech marks. "I'm a little nauseous."

"Oh," he said quietly. "Do you think you might get sick?"

Mentally, I already was.

"Probably not," I said, quickening my pace. "I just want to rinse my mouth."

And wipe the images of him and Jessica out of my mind. I would probably need a shot or two of Tequila to do that.

When we reached our floor, I stopped at my door, hastily digging my room key out of my pocket. Edward watched me cautiously, as though I might suddenly projectile vomit.

"Hey," he said, placing his hand over mine, keeping me from unlocking my door. "I said something, didn't I? When I was asleep?"

I made the mistake of looking at him for a split second. That little blotch seemed to be screaming at me now. Seriously, how had I not seen that thing on his neck before? I swiftly tore my gaze away and shook my head, though I could see he thought I was lying. I knew I had a horrible look on my face, but I just couldn't conjure my 'Everything's Peachy' mask.

"I must have," he said quietly, letting his hand fall away from mine as I unbolted my door. "You won't look at me."

"Edward, you really didn't," I said, pulling my door open and going inside my room. He followed me inside, though timidly. "I just—I need a minute."

I promptly shut myself inside the bathroom, leaving him behind. After turning on the sink's faucet, I sat down on the edge of the tub, sighing quietly.

I felt pretty childish. I guess locking myself in the bathroom was better than saying, 'What happened to your neck? Fall and land on a skankwhore?'

It wasn't as if he was my boyfriend, after all. I had no right to care who he kissed. Sure, he let me in on his feelings for me, but that was this morning. Yesterday couldn't have been very pleasant for him, so maybe he'd wanted something to take his mind off of things. I hadn't exactly stuck around to try to talk to him, after all. But I couldn't help pouting, wishing that he hadn't gone to Jessica Stanley, of all people.

I stood up and looked in the mirror. The cut was nothing major. My lip was a little swollen and dotted with blood, so I rinsed my mouth and dabbed at the cut until it was clean.

A knock at the door startled me. "Bella?" came Edward's voice. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I answered dimly, wondering how I was going to explain my sudden mood change with dignity. "Just… washing my hands."

I sighed, reaching for the soap. Jealousy wasn't usually my thing… I hadn't felt it much in my previous relationships—not really since sixth grade, when I'd gone to a friend's birthday party at the roller rink. One of the other girls had asked a boy I liked, Christian Kingston, to skate with her during the couples' laps, and then later he'd bought her a 25 cent pink sparkly bouncy ball from one of those glass vending machines that held cheap junk and stale M&Ms, and I felt like my life was over. I'd been so dramatic about it, I'd told Renee it was the 'worst day ever' as she drove me home.

Ah, to be young and naive again.

"I'll be out in a second," I called to him, then blew out my breath and glanced in the mirror one more time.

Honestly, I looked like I had been in some sort of fight. The bruise above my eyebrow from the first night was nearly gone, but a small scab remained in its place. The bruise and scrapes on my cheek from my accident had faded slightly, but the contusion on my head was visible, despite makeup. And now my lip. I was needed was a missing tooth and a cast on my arm, and I would have been ready for Halloween. Too bad it was still weeks away.

I slowly opened the bathroom door, lingering in the entry with my eyes glued to the floor. I figured I should just be honest and admit that I was disappointed that he and Jessica had felt each other up.

"So, um… who's Brandon?"

I looked up to find Edward inspecting the crumpled napkin that I left sitting on the desk.

"Oh," I said, for some reason feeling as though I'd just gotten caught with condoms. I cleared my throat, trying to sound indifferent. "Just some guy from the bar last night. I was there with Angela and Ben. He started talking to me and wrote out his number. It's nothing."

Edward nodded, setting the napkin back on the desk. He traced his fingers along the edge of the chair and looked at me with curious eyes. "Did you give him yours?"

I could have been juvenile about it, playing into it with enthusiasm just to feel better about whatever happened with him and Jessica, but I wasn't a teenager anymore. There was no sense in embellishing the story, and lying wouldn't lead to anything good either. I walked out of the bathroom and twisted my fingers into my hair.

"I… I did, but I'd had a few drinks, and—I don't know. It was stupid and I regretted it the minute I left last night. He called already, but I ignored it."

He looked away, shrugging his shoulders. "It's not that important. I was just wondering."

"I didn't do it because I liked him," I said honestly. "I was just—"

"You don't have to explain," he said quickly, still keeping his eyes on the desktop. "I don't really care."

"Well… you asked."

As the seconds passed, I studied him and almost laughed. Surely, he couldn't be. This was perfect timing.

"Are you jealous?" I asked, incredulous.

"No," he said, scoffing.

Liar. His eye color was sufficiently mirroring his feelings. And though he was trying to hide it, he was annoyed with me. Then, shockingly, as he gripped the edge of the chair, he said, "Okay, that's not true. I am. I didn't expect that."

My mouth parted in surprise.

"Is that really fair?" I asked before I could stop myself. "After kissing Jessica Stanley, the last thing I'd expect you to be is bitter about some random guy asking for my phone number."

Edward looked appalled. "How do you know about that?"

So, it was true. Ouch.

"Well, her lips are loose in more ways than one," I said, frowning. "I'd be a little worried about oral herpes if I were you."

He was clearly thrown a step back. "She told you?"

"Oh, really, Edward, like Jessica would ever keep something like that to herself," I said cynically. "She said it was no wonder you were tired after the night you had with her."

He frowned. "And you believed her?"

I paid close attention to my fingernails as I sat on my bed. "Well, it's none of my business what kind of activities you do on your own time. But you aren't denying kissing her. And the way she put it, you guys were half a step away from defiling this half of the hallway."

Edward sighed. "That's ridiculous."

"You have a hickey on your neck," I stated plainly.

His expression transformed into utter shock, and he put his hand to his neck. "What?"

"The other side," I muttered, filing my chipped thumbnail with the other.

He disappeared into my bathroom and I almost snorted when I heard him utter, "That little shrew." He walked out, rubbing his neck. "I can explain… It's not what it seems. Do you trust me?"

I glanced up, unable to stop fidgeting. "Well, yeah… I think. You keep telling me I shouldn't, so I'm not sure."

He paused, gave a half of a laugh, and said, "I can't really argue with that. Anyway, Jessica kept following me around yesterday, and in the evening, for some reason unbeknownst to me, she took my simple, 'Goodnight, Jessica,' as an invitation to launch herself at me."

I stared at him, skeptical. "She followed you all the way to your door?"

"She said she had to clean."

"The knobs?" I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh, but I couldn't stifle it completely.

"Yeah, exactly," he said, sitting down next to me. "I tried to be as polite as I could, but I pretty much had to shove her away and drown myself in mouthwash."

Cool relief was spreading through me, soothing the painful burn of envy. I felt like a little brat.

"I can't believe she actually told you that we—it's an absolute lie," he muttered, shaking his head. "I had to pry her off of me. Apparently, she managed to do some physical damage before I could. I think she actually kind of bit me a little, too."

He rubbed his neck again, looking embarrassed.

I cracked small smile, feeling a bit sympathetic. I couldn't help but wonder how strange it must be to have so much unwanted attention, especially when people were bold enough to grab you and latch themselves onto your neck. Not that he and I had been under the same circumstances, but I'd had my own experience of having someone cross the line, and no matter how minor the situation, it was still an unwanted ambush.

"Well… do you need some foundation?"

He glanced up, mirroring my small grin.

"I'm sorry. I should have known better. I know that you were upset yesterday. I guess I just thought you might have taken her up on her offer as a stress reliever."

His honeyed laughter flowed throughout the room. "Really, Bella? Jessica Stanley?"

I laughed too, shaking my head. "I suppose no one deserves that accusation. You certainly could do much better than her."

Suddenly, I could see that his smile seemed slightly forced. Had I offended him? "What did I say?" I asked, backtracking.

"No, you didn't say anything," he said, but after a few more seconds, he seemed miles away.

I reached over and took a hold of his hand, squeezing it gently. "Stop that," I said. "What's the matter?"

"It's just—when you say it out loud like that," he said, "I just feel like I don't have any right."

I briefly closed my eyes with a sigh, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

"I see," I said, letting go of his hand, feeling as though my heart gained ten pounds. "This is the part when you tell me that you're not good enough for anyone, even Jessica. And then I'll come back with something like, 'Edward, why do you keep putting yourself down?' And then you counter with some sort of evasive answer that makes no sense and you don't care to explain, and maybe make a joke and close yourself off. Am I right so far?"

He stood up and ran his hand through his hair, sighing also. "I'm not trying to upset you."

"Maybe you don't mean to, but it's terrible to watch you slip below the surface like that," I said, standing as well. "Not to go all metaphorical, but if you were drowning in real life, and someone was throwing life preservers at you, would you really not grab them? Would it take me diving in to save you to realize you're worth more than you think?"

He looked thoughtful, but still took a step back. "That's sweet of you. But all the same, I don't want to waste anyone's time. Including yours."

"God, that's such bullshit," I said. "I really don't understand why you don't give a damn about yourself, but if you plan on sticking around, you're going to have to get used to it. Because I care."

"This is exactly why I shouldn't be sticking around," he muttered, before grabbing the doorknob and stepping out into the hall.

Like I wasn't going to follow his Lucky-Charmed ass.

"I'm doing nothing but frustrating you," he continued as I followed him.

"Well, yeah, in between your moments of taking my breath away and lighting up the room when you actually smile, you frustrate the hell out of me." I reached out to grab his hand and stopped him in his tracks. "I hate it. I hate the way you put yourself down as though you deserve nothing more than to be treated like some kind of monster."

He put his free hand on the back of his neck, looking pained. "Maybe I do, though. You don't know the half of it. I've got this cold-blooded side of me that you have no idea about."

"You act as if you're some predator who goes off plotting peoples' demises, and that if I get too close, I'm going to self-destruct or something," I said, tightening my grip on his hand, deciding that I was going to have to start digging at the sore spots. "And I'm sure it was hard on you, staying in Chicago after—"

He interrupted me with a mocking, dark laugh and pulled away. "Coincidentally," he muttered, "you have no idea how close you—"

"I'm not finished," I said firmly. "I'm sure it was hard staying at home after all that happened. And even if your parents aren't giving you the support you deserve—"

"My parents?" he interjected, scowling, and I could see that he was biting the inside of his lip as he took a sharp inhale. He didn't want to hear it. "Bella, you're so confused."

"Am I?" Breathing steadily, refusing to waver, I continued. "I'm not going to pretend like I can even understand what you're feeling, but there's no reason—no fair reason—why you let yourself sink into a black hole every time you feel good, and then fall back on that you're a 'murderer' for defending yourself. We both know that's not true."

He shook his head. "Like I said, you have no idea."

I lifted my hands questioningly. "Well, then what? What don't I understand? Spit it out."

I could tell by the way he was rubbing at his forehead that I was doing nothing but making him feel worse, but he was right. I was confused. What would make him think such a thing? Unless…

"Is that what they told you?" I asked, taking a few steps toward him, my heart sinking at the very thought. "Is that what people called you at home? Did your neighbors—did your parents call you that?"

He snapped his head up and stared hard into my eyes; for once, it wasn't a nice feeling. The expression on his face scared me.

"My parents are dead."

My mouth dropped. Involuntarily, my fingers curled and gripped at the bottom of my sweater like fleshy hooks, digging into the fabric, and I could feel my fingernails bend from the pressure. Edward turned his head to bore holes at the wall, his expression so incomprehensibly angry and dark that I wanted to shrink down to the floor.

"You—you killed them, too?" I nearly whispered.

For a brief second, his expression froze and his eyes seemed to go completely blank. Then, an upsurge of grief spilled over his face, removing all traces of anger and loathing. When he turned to me, he looked as though I'd just taken a jagged spear and plunged it through his heart, and was now watching him bleed to death with a smile on my face. My mental light bulb dimmed and fizzled out as I realized that I had never, in my life, been so cataclysmically mistaken.

I reflexively put my hand to my lips, feeling mind-boggled. He called himself a monster. He thought of himself a murderer, not someone who had an accident, not a person who made an unfortunate misstep—he even called himself cold-blooded. What did that mean, then?

Clearly, not what I'd just uttered.

As I stood frozen to the spot, he eventually turned his head and narrowed his eyes to the stairs. I started to tremble slightly, unsure of what to do or say next. The silence was deafening.

Edward finally ended his elongated stare into space and looked at me, broken. His eyes were bright with tears.

Jesus. I made him cry.

He closed his eyes for a moment, before saying a straightforward, quiet, "No. I didn't."

"I… I thought that's what you were trying to tell me," I said in a shaky voice. "Not that I thought that. I just…"

He started walking to his door, and I called, "I'm sorry! I just didn't know what you meant—"

He pushed the door open only to shut himself inside so fast, I didn't even have time to blink. I leaned against the wall, stunned at what had just happened and what I'd just learned, and was completely sickened with myself.

Minutes passed as I tried to think of a way to fix this. The only thing I could do I was talk to him.

My heart started to pound as I reached to softly knock and tensed immediately, wondering if he would throw open the door and tell me to stay the fuck away from him.

"Edward?" I said tentatively.

Of course, there was no answer. I really didn't expect it to be as simple as that. I knocked again, a little harder this time. "Edward, please. I'm—"

I felt pathetic trying to apologize through a block of wood.

"Will you please open the door?" I asked weakly, feeling bubbles of guilt in my chest.

I waited. I listened. I hoped.

Nothing.

I tasted blood when I bit the inside of my lip, reopening the cut. I was on a roll today in doing that.

Placing one hand on the frame and the other on the door, I gently tapped the aged wood. "I'm sorry," I said softly, knowing that, in this case, those two words were not enough.

-:-

Three-hundred and twenty-six.

I rolled over in bed, grunting a bit as I pulled a different pillow under my head.

Three-hundred and twenty-seven.

I breathed in, trying yet again to relax.

Three-hundred and twenty-eight.

"Sheep, you are not helping," I muttered, rolling onto my back again.

I'd resorted to counting sheep after counting to forty-three, the number of times the wind made the windowpane rattle. I'd resorted to counting the noises the window made after I'd counted to two-hundred and seventy one—the amount of breaths it took to feel relaxed. And I'd counted my breaths after dragging myself to bed after a long, hot, tear-free shower.

Earlier, crying hadn't gotten me close to feeling better. I was still guilt-ridden and confused; the strain of it all had left me with a headache and mascara-streaked sleeves.

The rest of the day had progressed sluggishly, or at least I did. Angela was kind enough to pick me up after I called her, miserably indicating that I needed some comfort, which meant a cheeseburger and peanut butter cup ice cream. We sat at the diner for hours as she patiently listened to me whine—although, I hadn't really told her anything that she could give me advice on. I kept everything that Edward told me in confidence, but I did tell her that I had said something horrible.

"He'll come around, Bella," she said, taking a sip of her chocolate milkshake. "Especially since he told you he has feelings for you. And I believe it. I saw the way he looked at you, after all."

"He's not going to speak to me, I know it," I said, digging my spoon into my ice cream. "It's unforgivable."

"Are you sure you can't tell me what you said?" she asked, her brown eyes wide with concern. "I mean, it couldn't have been that bad. Did you insult him? Accuse him of stealing? Of sleeping with Lauren?"

I snorted, finding that genuinely funny. "I think he knows better than to get involved with that. After—well, you know." I pinched my fingers together like little crab claws.

Angela laughed. "Actually, if you'd like an update, Tyler found Lauren's prescription bottle. Apparently, he was at Mike's and noticed the same medication, then pieced it all together after he found out what it was for. He confronted her, then broke up with her this afternoon."

"Wow," I said, fishing out a peanut butter cup from the ice cream. "I'm glad. I mean, for Tyler. He didn't deserve being lied to."

Angela nodded. "He'll be okay. At least he got away before he could catch it, too." She clapped her hands together twice and wiggled her eyebrows in amusement.

I stared at her for a moment, confused, until it finally clicked. "They have gonorrhea?" I exclaimed, much louder than I had intended. Half the diner turned around to stare at us, and we both dissolved into giggles.

If anything, Angela had been the reason why I hadn't gone to bed in tears. I almost wished I had asked her if I could sleep at her place. Maybe then I could have concentrated on her company instead of lying in bed, wondering about a certain someone on the other side of the wall. And now that I was done distracting myself with counting, I was thinking about him again, unable to stop replaying our conversation.

Thinking back, I'd asked him if his parents hadn't supported him through the shooting. His answer was no, so did that mean they had died before everything else had happened? As in it wasn't about them, and no, they didn't support him because they were no longer there? But then he had mentioned he had been house-sitting for them when the shooting had happened. Did they die afterwards, in some sort of tragic accident?

The very thought made me sick. I didn't understand how alone he really was until now.

Before I'd resigned to soaking myself in the shower, I had an overwhelming desire to call Charlie and Renée. It felt morbid, but I just wanted to hear their voices in case I somehow never had another chance. Barely keeping my composure, I asked them for every detail of their day, brought up old memories, and told them both that I loved them before hanging up. I'm sure they were shocked, thinking that I'd suffered some sort of strange, emotional brain damage from my concussion, but they both seemed happy to hear from me.

Simply imagining that I didn't have either one of my parents for even a moment made my stomach churn. I forced myself to stop thinking about it, knowing that unwelcome tears would inevitably creep up on me if I continued. But there wasn't much else to distract me, so I rolled over and checked my battered phone for the umpteenth time.

One-thirteen AM. I was going to be a wreck when I woke up, if I ever fell asleep at all.

I couldn't think of anything else to count, so I finally sat up and turned on the lamp, deciding to read. I pulled The Shining off my night table and into bed with me, continuing where I'd left off. I was right in the middle of reading how the hedge animals were completely mind-fucking with the little boy, when I heard a quiet thump.

I startled, half expecting some sort of topiary creature to attack me from the side. I waited with unease, hoping that it was just my imagination or the wood creaking from the temperature change.

A minute passed and just as started to relax, I heard him. Edward was moaning.

I closed my eyes, pulling a pillow to my chest, speaking silently to any spiritual being that might be listening to please, let him sleep. He needed it.

If there was some sort of divine power that heard, it chose to ignore me, because another clattering sound reverberated on the wall and echoed throughout my room. I was unsure of what I could possibly do. It wasn't like I could go pound on the door and wake him up. Or could I?

The real question was if I should, considering. Seeing me wouldn't make him feel better, but it might be better than whatever he was dreaming about.

I deliberated for too long. Before I could move, I heard him gasp and another small thud sounded. Feeling ever-intrusive, I listened as a muffled, choked cry came from the other side of the wall, but after another few moments, there wasn't any more noise. I narrowed my eyes, listening, but nothing came. Fear crept into my chest as I waited, hoping to hear a bedspring creak or another breath out of him. Then, I heard creaking, but it wasn't from his bed—it was the pipes. He was in the bathroom.

Precious seconds passed as I got out of bed and contemplated going over there, and then thoughts what to say—if I should try and calm him down or apologize first. I stood at my door, hesitating, when I heard his door open and shut with a bang.

I slowly opened my door, expecting to see him flying down the stairs at the speed of a bullet. But as I stepped out into the hallway, I saw something very different. He was shaking, standing and gripping the railing with white-knuckled hands like it was his only means of balance. His hair was slick with sweat, as was his shirt as it clung to his chest, which was heaving with his hitching breaths.

Then with a quick turn of his head, he spotted me, and his whole body jerked away from the rail he was clutching. I'd scared him. I moved toward him, opening my mouth to speak, but he backed away, panicked.

"It's just me," I said in a near whisper, slightly raising my hands in submission.

It took him a few seconds to react, but he eventually exhaled forcefully and leaned back onto the railing, sliding his hands over his face and up into his hair.

"Edward?" I said cautiously. I watched in concern as he pressed his hand to his mouth, swallowing convulsively before sucking in a lungful of air. I took a few more steps, but he shot out his arm to stop me.

"Don't," he gasped, turning away and viciously rubbing his eyes. He felt for the railing again, half-blinded by his hand, and ended up backing into a pillar. He was too close to the stairwell for my comfort. If he took a few more steps back and stumbled even the slightest bit, he would fall. And though I was aware he had better coordination than I did, in his current condition, I wasn't sure if he could even walk straight.

"Please," I said helplessly, knowing that there wasn't an adequate apology for what I had said earlier. "Just come here, you're too close—"

"Stop. Don't," he said, walking further toward the stairs. Just as I was certain he was going to plummet down to the third floor, he gripped the banister and started rushing down the steps.

"Don't follow me," he managed to snap before disappearing around the corner, out of sight.

I curled my fingers in my hair, immobilized. What could I do? There was no way I could meander back to my room and say 'Oh well,' and continue sleeping. No matter how upset or angry he was, he had to know that. The ache in my chest was back—my inner empath. The only thing that made sense was the very thing he told me not to do—follow him.

Well, instruction be damned; I quickly pursued him.

When I reached the lobby, I looked around, unsure of where he could have gone. Everything was predictably dark, except for the café, which was empty. I was almost certain he hadn't taken off in his car, unless he carried his keys in the pants he slept in. Even so, I rushed to the door, figuring if I didn't see him outside, I'd have to stalk the first floor until I found him.

My bare skin instantly prickled with goosebumps as frigid splats of rain hit, seeming to pass right through to my insides, stiffening my muscles and stinging my bones. But the cold was trivial compared to the anxiety that was building up in my chest.

I spotted his car and ran over, half expecting it to suddenly light up, come to life, and speed away without warning. But the driver's seat was empty, as was the parking lot. The sky was patchy with dark clouds, but in the barely-visible moon's secluded light, it was enough to see that the wide space was entirely vacant. I turned away from the group of cars and looked toward the hill, which led to a cluster of trees and bushes—the front entrance to the woods.

He wouldn't have. Would he?

The sound of someone coughing made me turn my attention away from the forest. I squinted in the darkness, looking toward the opposite end of the lot. I couldn't see anything, so I followed along the stone wall until I had turned the corner. Then, I saw him.

He was slouched against the wall, harshly coughing again as he became ill. I fought the crushing urge to run to him, but I knew he would probably shake me off, yell, and stomp away as soon as he could manage it. So I stood by, pressing my hand against my mouth, trying not to call out to him. When he finally straightened, he took a few steps toward the lodge and then pressed his back against the wall, panting heavily. His eyes narrowed when he spotted my silhouette and slowly turned to look at me.

As his eyes met mine, I involuntarily stepped back and braced myself for Hurricane Edward. Here came the yelling. Here came the 'Leave me alone, you heartless bitch.' Here came the stare of hatred.

But instead, he began to crumple, breaking down in wrenching sobs.

A cold chill pierced my body, and it wasn't from the freezing air. I swallowed, feeling dizzy at the sight of him holding himself up against the wall, nearly ready to collapse. I darted to his side as I watched him start to slide, and as I reached him, he didn't push me away or shoot me a glare to scare me off. He didn't even pull away or protest. Instead, he grabbed onto my arms and put his head on my shoulder, sucking in his breath and gasping as though he was being stabbed.

Instinctively, I put my arms around his neck, gripping him fiercely. "Edward," I managed to say. "What's wrong?"

He was crying too hard to talk, and it stunned me silent. My knees suddenly buckled, both from the shock and his weight, and I pulled him down with me, knocking myself against the side of the wall as I sat on the damp ground. Edward had collapsed next to me and I held him tight, keeping my arms around his back. He made a move to push himself up, but I resisted.

"Don't," I said quietly. "I've got you."

I felt his chest hitch once before he tightened his arms, his body trembling against my chest as he continued sobbing. My own eyes stung with tears, having never heard such a heartbreaking sound that I could recall. I kept one arm securely around his back, and my other hand gently held his head.

"Shh," I said, tilting my head to rest my cheek against his hair.

I couldn't bring myself to tell him that everything was okay, because it wasn't. Words failed. The frigid temperature around us was suddenly nonexistent. The persistent pounding of my heart was ignored. All I could think of was the feel of Edward in my arms, shattered and heartsick.

In that moment, I was too.

Each minute that elapsed was excruciating. He wasn't just crying, he was struggling to breathe evenly. He took in sharp, shuddering breaths that never seemed to be enough to calm him. Quiet, agonizing moans escaped him, as if he was in awful pain. And I was at a complete loss of what to do.

I finally leaned over and kissed his head atop his wet hair. "Edward," I whispered. "Please don't cry."

He took a short breath, coughing as he tried to compose himself. I didn't want him to hold back, but I wanted him to breathe. I knew he would eventually exhaust himself, but seeing him in so much pain was gutting. There had to be something else I could do, other than pleading for him to stop.

And then I remembered he said he liked the sound of my voice—that it was calming. And since I couldn't think of anything useful to say, another poem, 'A Dream Pang,' was the first idea that came to my mind. It was almost laughable to begin reciting poetry in a situation like this, but he had even asked me to recite one earlier; whether it was his own exhaustion or my voice that helped him settle down before, I was willing to try anything.

"I had withdrawn in forest, and my song was swallowed up in leaves that blew away," I said, hugging him closer, tucking my chin to his head. "And to the forest edge you came one day—this was my dream—and looked and pondered long, but did not enter, though the wish was strong."

As I spoke, I could feel him relax and begin to take slower breaths, though they were still uneven. I resumed combing my fingers through his hair with every word, hoping it was soothing.

"You shook your pensive head as who should say, 'I dare not, too far in his footsteps stray. He must seek me would he undo the wrong.' Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all, behind low boughs the trees let down outside."

As I neared to the end of the poem, he seemed to go slack against me, his muscles giving in from the exertion, though he kept his arms loosely around me.

"And the sweet pang it cost me not to call," I said, "and tell you that I saw does still abide. But…"

Frost's words described us in terms that we couldn't even speak ourselves. The dream, the longing, the need for completion—whether it was simply to be whole, to be held, or to be loved, it was what we both longed for. I sighed into his hair and managed to continue.

"But it is not true that thus I dwelt aloof, for the wood wakes, and you are here for proof."

I blinked rain out of my eyelashes as I finished, and peered down at him. He wasn't completely calm, but he had relaxed considerably. He was still shaking, or maybe shivering from the rain, and I knew that sitting on the soaking, cold ground wasn't comfortable for either of us. Yet neither he, nor I, moved to get up.

Rubbing his arm gently, I felt a mix of cold rain and goosebumps before noticing some swelling on his soft skin. I squinted, just able to make out four raw half-moon marks embedded in his upper arm, swollen like little welts. Fingernail marks. Had he dug into his own skin to try to take away some of the pain?

I felt hot tears in the corners of my eyes. The thought of him suffering in silence for so long was awful. He shuddered and I gripped him tighter, feeling as though my arms couldn't envelope him enough. I pressed my lips to his head, and we sat in the waterlogged grass, clutching each other as if it was the only thing keeping us from falling apart.

-:-