-:-

As the wind and rain numbed my fingers, the warm pressure between Edward's chest and mine remained dominant. It was the only thing I concentrated on—this link to this moment of pretend, that the world was able to stop for just a few minutes to let us have an ounce of peace in what was otherwise a cold, harsh reality.

When I was younger, it seemed so easy to fix things. Super glue put my shattered piggy bank back together. Band-Aids covered scrapes, and a hug from Renée or Charlie would make them feel better. Even the promise of ice cream made a bad day at school feel insignificant. Unfortunately, the day came when I learned that adhesives couldn't be used to make people whole, and I couldn't find anything physical in which to fix the invisible rifts inside of me—or anyone else. In reality, broken glass can be swept up. Trivial cuts heal without scars and are easily forgotten. But things such as guilt, loss, and trauma are dizzying, and they leave a kind of damage that burns through your insides, scarring parts that can't even be seen. And unlike other troubles, there's no guarantee that a solution even exists.

I gazed down at Edward, delicately brushing his dripping hair away from his eyes, which were closed. He'd calmed down considerably over the last few minutes—his shaking had ceased, his heart had stopped pounding wildly against my chest, and the only movement coming from him was steady breathing. When I realized that he seemed to be doing better, my own heart finally started to slow, pulling me back to reality.

It had become harder to ignore the sensation of the rain or the sharp, scraping rocks digging into my back, or the fact that both of us were sitting in freezing, and probably muddy, puddles. It had been worth every second to sit with him and hopefully help to alleviate his distress, but we couldn't sit outside all night unless we wanted to chance hypothermia. Or get eaten by bears. Or the Forksenstein wood monster, if that was what Mr. Miller had been going on about.

I wasn't sure what I was waiting for; it wasn't as though the sun was about to break through the trees, and the clouds didn't appear ready to part and cease their incessant rainfall. I supposed it was because I wasn't sure what to say to him, not even about what had just happened. There was still a pretty high chance he still didn't want to talk to me after hearing the words I'd thrown at him earlier with my big mouth.

But at that moment, Edward unlocked his grasp from around me and slid one of his arms up and around the back of my neck, resting his head on my collarbone. That movement made me seriously consider sticking out the cold for another half hour. I really didn't want to let go of him. I wanted to continue to hug him and somehow transfer his pain into my own body if it would give him some relief.

Yet, I figured maybe I should try speaking something that wasn't recited from a book this time.

"Are you okay?" I finally asked (because I couldn't think of anything smarter), and squeezed his shoulder.

He shifted slightly. It took him a few moments to answer, but he eventually whispered, "Yeah. I'm…"

"Don't you dare tell me you're sorry," I said softly, holding him just a bit tighter.

Except to clear his throat, he remained quiet. That's what I thought.

"You're soaked," he said instead, and I felt him grasp a section of my hair, which was undoubtedly streaming like a running faucet.

"So are you," I replied, reaching up to run my fingers through his hair, too. Edward sighed lightly, and ever so slowly, his grip on my back grew looser until he finally sat up, separating himself from me. The cold air hit the portion of my chest that he had been covering and I involuntarily shivered.

"You're cold," he remarked simply, letting his hands rest on mine. "You should go inside."

"I should?" I said. Did he honestly think I was going to leave him out here by himself? His body tensed as the wind blew—he was cold, too. I squeezed his hands gently. "Will you come with me?"

"Not yet," he answered listlessly, wrapping his arms tightly across his chest.

Though it was difficult to see in the dark, his eyes seemed to have reached a whole new level of exhaustion. Maybe he was just embarrassed, unless he was having second thoughts about wanting me to accompany him.

We sat in silence for a few moments before I said, "I know you're mad at me." I plucked a slick strand of grass from the ground and folded it between my fingers. "And I'll leave you alone once we're inside if that's what you want. But I can't just leave you out here."

"Why would I be angry with you?" he said in a voice that I was barely able to hear. At his confused expression, I suddenly felt a little puzzled myself.

"Why?" I repeated, raising my eyebrows. I wasn't about to relive my previous, god-awful, hallway verbal vomit. "Why wouldn't you be?"

Edward narrowed his eyes in thought and I tore apart the little piece of grass. I knew he was shaken up, but as soon as he remembered, he was going to hate me. He'd had a weak moment, that was all. He had been in the throes of an anxiety attack and probably would have clung to Jessica Stanley if she'd been the one to round the corner instead.

"Hey," came his voice, still notably quiet, but firm. I warily looked up at him, afraid that I would see nothing but resentment written across his face. However, I was met with remorse; I really shouldn't have been that surprised, considering it was a regular emotion that came from him, but I was. "I'm not mad at you."

"You should be," I said, my nervous hands finding solace in tearing another piece of grass. Truly, 'sorry' was not good enough, but I needed to apologize. "I'm—I'm so sorry about earlier."

"No," he said earnestly, shaking his head.

"I didn't even mean it," I continued faintly. "It just came out. I thought, in some offhand way, that's what you were trying to tell me."

"Will you look at me?"

I sighed, meeting his understanding eyes, which confused me even further.

"What else should you have been expected to think?" he said, stroking my cheek lightly. "The way I put it without an explanation, my tone… I shouldn't have let it upset me the way it did."

"What I said was horrible," I protested, but he shook his head.

"As much as one part of me wanted to tell you about everything, the stubborn part of me wouldn't have it," he said, tracing my bottom lip tenderly as he brushed over my cut. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting his breath out. "And earlier, because of it, I finally succeeded in what I've been trying to do ever since I met you."

I stared at him, not understanding. "What?"

"Scare you," he answered, letting his hand travel down my neck to rest on my shoulder. "Normally, I'm good at brushing people off. And those stupid, childish warnings about staying away from me were the only pitiful attempts I allowed myself to make, because, deep down, I knew I didn't really want you to walk away and never speak to me again. And when I finally saw that fear in your eyes, momentary as it was, it hurt more than I ever thought it would."

His bleak tone sliced through me, and my mouth felt frozen as I began apologizing again, but he shook his head. "I was asking for it constantly. Please don't say you're sorry."

I felt like I was being let off the hook too easily.

"I was being unfair," he continued, focusing on the ground. "I was so torn about leaving. I knew what I should have done, but chose what I wanted to do—stay, because of you. It didn't take me long to screw up."

"You didn't," I objected. "I completely misinterpreted what you said, and it was a horrible thing to say."

"If I hadn't been so cryptic and just explained things calmly in the first place, there wouldn't have been as issue," Edward said, looking into my eyes at last. He looked distraught. "I'm a mess. And I'm really not worth it. You have every right to be angry with me."

How he could reach such a conclusion was way over my head, but I knew that he was plagued by things that I didn't understand. I reached up and took his hand off my shoulder, entwining my fingers with his. "I'm not. And you are worth it."

We were both quiet for a few moments before I shuddered from the chill, and he gave a fleeting look to the sky and sighed. "You need to get out of the rain."

"We both do," I pressed. "We can talk upstairs. Unless you want to go back to bed."

"I probably won't make it upstairs," he said quietly, rubbing his eyes before glancing across the parking lot. "Would you mind if we talked in my car?"

"You won't make it upstairs?" I repeated.

He brushed his hair out of his face, which was streaming water directly into his eyes, and sighed. "I don't know if I can just yet," he said, gripping the wall as he pushed himself off the ground and I saw his legs wobble slightly. "I'm a little shaky."

I nodded in understanding as I stood up, too. It made sense; he'd just had the energy zapped right out of him. I winced as I got my balance on the rocky ground, not realizing how numb my feet were until I actually stood on them. I looked down, wiggling my tingling toes, and then another small sight—two, in fact—caught my eye. My toes weren't the only part of me that were feeling the effects of the chill.

Oh, by the way, Edward, I thought, I don't believe I've introduced you to my nipples.

I quickly put my arm across my shirt and shot a look at Edward, who diverted his eyes. I couldn't blame him for looking; they were popping out like a second pair of eyes.

"Do you have your keys?" I asked, self-conscious. It was good that my top wasn't white, although light blue wasn't exactly opaque; at least it was dark outside.

"I keep a spare underneath the passenger door," he answered, walking over to the cars.

Following, I tried to avoid stepping on the jagged rocks that were strewn across the gravelly lot. Edward reached his car, stooped down to the bottom of the passenger side, and I heard a small click as he retrieved a key from under the frame. I quickly wrung the excess water out of my hair as he unlocked the car door, thinking that I was going to completely ruin the interior; he did have leather seats, after all. Even so, he held the door open for me without hesitation.

I climbed in and Edward shut the door gently before walking around to the driver's side. I sat on the front edge of the seat, causing my knees to hit the glove compartment—the home to yet another one of his mysteries. I was literally dripping all over the floor. Though, when Edward got inside the car, he leaned back against his seat without care, and he was just as drenched as I was. He looked in my direction and raised his eyebrows curiously at my awkward stance.

"I… I don't want to get your car wet," I explained.

He probably would have laughed at me if this were a lighthearted situation. Instead he only managed a weak smile, and he shrugged and turned on the ignition.

"I don't care about my car. You can sit back," he said, switching on the heat and adjusting the vents so most faced me. Of course he would do that. He altered the temperature of the heat, then narrowed his eyes. "Actually, wait a second."

He leaned between the shadows of the seats and reached in the back of the car for something. I took that opportunity to reverse the air outlets to waft his direction again. He could be stubborn, but so could I. When he straightened, he had a few folded squares of fabric in his hand. At first I thought he was holding small towels, but when he handed them over, I realized he had given me a shirt and what appeared to be a pair of jogging shorts.

"You can put these on. They'll be a little big, but they might help you warm up," he said quietly, fishing on the back floor to retrieve himself a dry outfit, too. "Don't worry, they're clean."

I stared at the clothes—his clothes—in my hands, then back at him. "We're going to change... in here?"

Edward rubbed his eyes. "It'll feel better than sitting in wet clothes. You don't have to, I just thought—" He looked over at me and his eyes widened in slight surprise. "Bella, I'm not going to look."

"Oh, I know," I said quickly. You idiot. Like he really meant we were both going to strip down and watch each other just because he offered me a shirt. "I meant—never mind. Thank you."

He nodded and turned his head away. "I won't turn around until you say."

I set the clothes on the dashboard and proceeded to pull off my pants and top, and even my underwear before quickly pulling on the shorts. I shivered as gooseflesh rippled across my skin as the air flowing from the vents hit me—it wasn't quite warm yet—and my chest definitely had its party hats on. I unfolded the t-shirt next; it had short sleeves and appeared to have an inscription, although it was difficult to make out in the semi-darkness. I put it on, the aroma of fresh laundry detergent enveloping me. It had a touch of Edward's own scent, too, maybe from being in his car or in his bag, if that's where it was taken from, and with the scent of rain still present in my hair, it was actually pretty nice. I pushed my arms through the sleeves and pulled the rest of the shirt down, then kicked my wet clothes to the corner of the floor, away from my feet.

Edward was still respectfully turned away, leaning against the headrest with his arms tucked across his chest. Seeing him like that made me want to curl up behind him and hold him again.

"I'm done," I finally said, giving the bottom of the shorts one last tug.

Edward turned from the window and examined my new look. He was able to smile at me, which was encouraging. "Cute."

I laughed shyly and tucked my arms around my waist. "Thanks," I said, glancing down at myself. Cute indeed, with my pasty-white skinny legs. I wished I was ten pounds heavier and that my slight summer tan hadn't faded back in September.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm. Thank you," I said. More than feeling dry, it was nicer to be in something that was his.

What happened next shouldn't have been such a shock to me, but it was enough to cause my breath to catch. Edward reached down to the bottom hem of his shirt and lifted it, and I stared as the wet material slowly peeled off his body, exposing a pale set of well-defined muscles. I watched, wide-eyed, as he pulled the shirt over his head, folded it in half, and ran it over his face and through his hair before folding it and casually tossing it into the backseat. I watched a few drops of water run down his flawlessly formed chest. He looked over and caught me mid-stare.

"You, um," I said, fumbling for an explanation of why I'd be ogling, and he studied my expression with curious eyes. I couldn't even make an excuse. "Look really nice without your shirt."

Edward glanced down at himself. Chuckling softly, he reached for his dry shirt and pulled it over his head with finesse. It seemed ridiculous to think so, but he made something as simple as dressing seem like an art form.

"You, on the other hand," he said, shifting his eyes to me, "look very good in my shirt."

I smiled and watched him unfold a pair of dry pants for himself.

"You might want to turn away, or you're going to see more of me than you'd like."

"Oh." I gave a light laugh and managed to turn in the opposite direction before I turned pink, and transfixed my gaze out the rain-streaked window.

Settling my arm across the edge of the window, I peered out into the darkness and listened to the sounds of him pulling off another layer of clothing. There wasn't much to see except the car next to us, so I concentrated on the orchestra of the rainfall and watching the falling drops bounce off its roof—little, watery bombs exploding and rippling across the top. It felt nice to laugh after such an upsetting night, and if he was even managing to smile, then maybe talking wouldn't be so bad. Though, something told me I should burn that image of him, amused, into my memory, and to do so quickly before things fell apart again.

"You can turn around," said Edward, tapping my arm.

Any touch of his was better at warming me than the heat vents, though they were pretty warm, too. As the vague sensation nagged at my mind, I realized they were all pointing in my direction again. I frowned at him.

"What?" he asked innocently.

I reached over and turned half of the apertures in his direction. "We can share, you know."

Edward shrugged with a small smile, laying his head against the headrest. "Pot, kettle…" he said.

"You started it," I said with a small smile, turning my body so that I was facing him, and tucking my hair above my head so it wouldn't dampen my shirt.

Edward sighed and closed his eyes. "Consider it my apology for collapsing on top of you in the rain."

"You can lay in the back if you're going to sleep," I joked lightly after he didn't open them again.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing a fist over his eye. "I'm always exhausted after this happens."

I waited a few moments. "Does this happen a lot? That degree of panic?"

He opened his eyes. "More often than I would like."

I reached for the lever on the side of my seat and pulled, reclining. "Lie back a bit," I said, stretching out. "We can just relax for a while if you want."

He watched me closely before mirroring my actions, breathing softly as his cheek pressed against the leather. He reached back to rub his neck and eventually gave me a sheepish look. "No, I should explain," he said. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

I bent my arm and placed my head across the crook, locking eyes with him. "Remember what you said to me at the hospital? About how you were there to listen if it made me feel better?"

He nodded.

"That's how I feel," I continued. "You can tell me anything."

Edward nodded slowly. and anticipation rose inside me. I'd been longing to know what was inside his head for the past few days, and now he was about to tell me—though, he certainly didn't look relieved about finally divulging it. Since there was a gap between the seats and I couldn't get closer, I reached out and placed my hand upon his.

There was no need to encourage him with words. I could tell that my gesture was enough. It was up to him to begin, whenever he was ready. He avoided my eyes, and I waited patiently, gently rubbing his hand with my thumb.

"My dreams aren't just about Justin," he said finally. "They're mostly about my parents."

I didn't think it was possible, but his face visibly blanched even more. I squeezed his hand.

"They died last year in August, exactly a week before what I did," he continued. "We were supposed to go camping—we used to a lot when I was younger, and my mom knew I was planning on enlisting in the Army that fall. She wanted us to go on one more family vacation before then, but my father and I were arguing the night before. It got so bad that he said I could just go by myself since I was planning on leaving my family and career behind, anyway."

He paused for a moment, resting his head on the crook of his elbow. "I was so angry. He knew how much I'd always tried to please him, how hard I worked to get where I was, even though it was never what I truly wanted. So I told him to go to hell, and I left."

His expression made my heart ache. I knew whatever was coming next wasn't going to be easy for him to say. The purr of the car's engine and the soft flow of the heat wasn't enough to keep us comfortable anymore—not when he was about to open a wound that he'd obviously been trying to sew shut for so long.

"I ended up taking my dad's advice," he said. "I went camping by myself, if you can call driving to a campsite, getting drunk, and passing out in my car such a thing. The next morning, I felt awful about taking off like that. I knew my mom would be worried. I hadn't answered any of her calls the night before, so I called her back, but never got an answer.

"I figured I'd go back to their house and try to make peace with my dad. I knew one of us had to give in sooner or later. We couldn't both be stubborn forever," he said, growing quieter. "And it's strange, because as soon as I pulled up in the driveway, I could sense that there was something wrong. Even when I let myself into the house, nothing seemed out of the ordinary—not visibly, anyway. But it was too quiet. No one answered when I called out, but their cars were still parked outside, so I went upstairs to check if they were there."

Edward opened his hand and clutched mine in a snug grasp, pulling our fists closer to him.

"They were in their bedroom," he said. The seconds passed protractedly, and if it hadn't been for the pattering sound of the rain, we would have been sitting in a thick silence. "They were dead."

I knew it had been coming, but the words still tore at my insides as if it was still a bad surprise. I wondering what on earth could cause the death of two people at the same time. Carbon monoxide? Some kind of freak accident?

"Murdered," Edward finished.

My lips parted in shock. Murdered?

That particular thought had never even crossed my mind. It was something so far from home, only heard on the news, or in television or books. I rarely even heard about it from Charlie, though he probably kept his mouth shut about such occurrences.

I stared at him, too stunned to speak. A knot slowly formed in my chest and tightened considerably, and I shook my head, failing at finding the right thing to say.

"I saw my father first," he said softly. "He was on the floor, by the bed. His eyes were just blank. And my mother—"

His voice cut off and he released my hand to run his over his face, taking a short breath before going on.

"They were ripped apart," he said in a broken voice as he stared at the ceiling of the car. "Both of them. Someone had—" He shook his head, wiping under his eyes. "I won't go into details, but it was..."

I swallowed thickly, feeling tears slide down my cheek, and he roughly cleared his throat.

"The police said they weren't the only ones," he continued quickly. "Another family on the other side of town were killed in the same manner in the same week. Some kind of serial killing."

My breath hitched in my chest as I watched him scrunch his face for a moment to ward off a sob, feeling heartbroken for him. The thought of finding anyone I loved like the way he had was gutting. I couldn't help picturing Charlie and Renée in such a way, and it made me lightheaded.

"I'm sorry if I'm scaring you," Edward said, sniffling. I shook my head and he added, "You're biting your nails. You do that when you're upset."

"Well, yeah," I whispered, thankful that I was lying down. "It's horrible. I don't even know what to say. I'm so, so sorry."

"It's all right," he said, running his thumb and forefinger over his eyelids, taking one more deep, shaky breath.

I wiped a tear off my face and took his hand back. "I'm glad you told me. There just... aren't any words to make it better." And there really weren't. Nothing could make that better. We sat in silence for a while longer, and I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles, studying the creases between his eyebrows. "Is that what you were dreaming of tonight?"

He nodded. "One dream is always slightly different than the next. Some are worse than others. Most of the time, I'm able to calm down after I wake up, but other times, I can't. I'm awake, but I can't stop seeing flashes of what I just dreamt about, or what I remember about that day. It's like I'm hallucinating and it makes me break down. Makes me sound insane."

I thought back to Port Angeles, right before I had fallen into oncoming traffic because I couldn't stop seeing flashes of what had happened with Phil. "Not to me," I said honestly.

He eventually took his hand back to wipe his face and ran his hand along the edge of his seat, tapping his fingers uneasily. "I've never told anyone before," he admitted. "I try to remember to speak about them as if they're still alive. It's easier than having to tell people the truth and saves me from slipping into a state that I can't control. But it's hard to hide sometimes."

Now it was no surprise as to why he'd always been so jumpy and quick to avoid certain conversations. And no wonder he was always so exhausted. I wouldn't sleep either if I had such nightmares about my parents.

"Have you ever told a doctor?" I asked.

"Once," he said, tucking his hand under his head. "The first time it happened was the night Justin broke in. When I heard noises downstairs, my first thought was that whoever killed my parents had come back for me—and I just reacted. My heart was racing and I was terrified, and when he came around the corner, I shot. As soon as I realized what I'd done, I sort of lost control. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. I thought I was having a heart attack from the way it felt. When the paramedics came to get Justin, they took me, too."

I traced my thumb over his knuckles as I waited for him to continue.

"The doctor threw out words like post-traumatic stress, panic attacks, hysteria…" he said, looking embarrassed. "It was bad enough that I actually stayed there for about a week, but I shrugged everything off after that, thinking that the anxiety might fade eventually. But a few other things happened after that, and I started waking up at night like—well, you saw."

I shifted in my seat, wishing I had the room to scoot closer to him. "What other things?"

"After Justin, my whole neighborhood seemed to think I was some kind of sociopath," he said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "People were scared of me, especially since I was labeled a suspect in my parent's murder."

"They suspected you?" I said, shocked. "Why?"

"They always look at the surviving family members first, even if they pretend they don't. They thought I had something to gain from their death—inheritance and their life insurance, if you want to be specific, as if I were actually planning on living the high life. They suspected I might have had something to do with the other family that was killed, to throw the police off."

"That's—that's unreal," I said, unable to imagine.

"I guess it helped that I had a law background," he said. "I didn't really have anyone but my colleagues. I swear, I spent more time in court and police stations than I did my own apartment."

"Court?" I echoed, feeling more confused. "Did they catch the person who—"

"Oh, no," he replied quickly, scoffing. "As far as I know, the police are still searching. There have been more murders of the same nature in different places since then, and I was ruled out eventually. I was in court for myself. Justin's parents pressed charges. Third-degree murder."

My mouth dropped, and though Edward waved his hand languidly, I could still see a bit of a tremor. "I was declared innocent, but… I guess it's why I feel like I still carry that title. They tried to use my hospitalization against me, like I had gone insane, and maybe that's what had happened with my parents, too. It was a pretty high-profile case in Illinois, and it felt like everyone thought I was some lying criminal. It was really hard… so I haven't been back since."

I was devastated for him. Hadn't people seen what the whole tragedy had done to him? Better yet, hadn't anyone else been there for him? Someone who would at least listen to him, besides the police?

"What about your family? Friends?" I asked. "Aren't they missing you right now?"

He shook his head. "No," he said, clearing his throat. "We don't speak anymore."

It was the wrong question to ask. He hid his eyes behind his hand, trembling, and I wiped away a tear that trickled down his cheek as he took a shaky breath.

"I'm so sorry, Edward" I said softly. "That's…" I was stunned. How could anyone just abandon a friend like that, or especially a family member? It was no wonder he thought he wasn't worth anything, having been left alone after such a huge catastrophe, blamed for his parents' death, and then being held responsible for his neighbor's as well.

"Some didn't want to be around the negative publicity," he said after he got himself together, sniffling and clearing his throat. "A lot of my family have kids they didn't want to be exposed to all of it. Also, my parents were wealthy. That's the thing about rich families—everything becomes about money, especially in the wake of someone's death. They stopped coming around once they realized they weren't getting much, and that was that."

How absolutely disgusting.

"I could tell my friends were there out of obligation. Their lives didn't stop just because mine had, and they had careers and families of their own to focus on. And you know how you can usually tell when your calls are being ignored? I eventually stopped trying."

"Edward," I said gently.

He quickly added, "I don't blame them. Look at me." He tried to laugh, but it sounded more like he was choking back tears. "I can't forgive myself as it is, so I don't expect anyone else to."

I shook my head, a realization dawning on me at the look on his face. "You didn't mean for Justin to die. You didn't mean for anyone to die. What happened to your parents was a horribly tragedy, and you said—"

"But I wasn't there," he said in a low voice.

I stared back at him, confused.

"If I hadn't been arguing with him, we would have all gone camping, and they would have both been out of the house."

I shook my head, once again having to swallow the pressing urge to cry. "That wasn't your fault," I said, curling my fingers around his arm. "Not at all."

"I could have stayed," he said anyway. "I could have done something. And even if I couldn't have, they would have at least killed me, too."

Chills went through me like icy knives. "Please don't say that," I whispered, running my free hand over my eyes to wipe away more tears. I knew I should be strong for him, not break down, but my God.

"I'm sorry," Edward muttered. He sucked in a slow breath and exhaled quietly as he rolled onto his back, the faintest trace of moonlight highlighting his face. He took my hand and placed it on top of his chest, covering mine with both of his, letting me feel his steady heartbeat underneath my palm. "Sometimes I just feel like don't deserve anything good."

"You feel like that because no one else had the loyalty to stick around when you needed them most, and they're weak for not doing so," I told him. "You do deserve good things."

"It doesn't feel like it," he answered in a subdued voice, staring at the roof of the car. "Not after the choice I made."

I gently rubbed my hand back and forth over his shirt. "What choice?"

The rain streaming down the windshield mirrored on his skin, creating the phantom tears that he was probably too tired to shed anymore. As if on cue, he said, "Can we talk about it in the morning? I think I need to try to sleep again."

"Yeah, of course," I replied softly. "You're not planning on sleeping out here, though, right?"

Edward shook his head. "I should probably move now or I might end up doing so," he said, releasing my hand. "Are you going to be able to go back to sleep? Talking to me is probably going to give you nightmares."

I honestly wasn't sure I would be able. What had happened to him was beyond terrible. I was only able to imagine it while he had lived it. He'd seen his own parents' bodies torn into, lying in their own blood, faces frozen in their final breaths. It was sickening—criminal, even, to be damned to relive a sight like that over and over—literally the stuff of nightmares.

"I'll be fine," I said, moving the back of my seat up to its normal position. "Do you think you can make it upstairs?"

He'd sat up as well, wincing at something that he didn't voice. "I think so. The only good thing that comes out of losing control like that is the sleep that comes afterward. It feels like running a marathon. Trust me, I'll pass out for hours."

He turned off his car and we grabbed our wet clothes, stepping back out into the rain. We moved quickly back to the lodge, and I breathed a quiet sigh once we were inside the familiar lobby. I stopped to grab us some water bottles from the kitchen, and we started the trek upstairs. Our climb was slow, and for once, I felt as though I had to be the one to catch him if he fell.

"You're doing the mom-arm," he said, looking a bit amused.

"Sorry, but not really," I said, clasping my hands together as we reached the fourth floor landing. "You still look a little peaked. Though, if it makes you feel better, even though you're running on empty, I'm willing to bet you still have better coordination than I do."

"I don't know," he replied, walking to his door. "I hit my head a lot. It's the price of being tall."

"At least your hair can hide the bruises," I said, cracking a smile. "And you don't hit it on cars or sidewalks."

"How is your head, by the way?" Edward asked, lifting my hair away from my forehead. "It looks better."

I snorted, but smiled. "If you discount the lovely shade of black and blue. It's fine."

"Good," he said, pulling his hand back and pushing it through his own hair, which stuck up boyishly.

I handed him his water and paused, debating on whether or not I should invite him in to sleep in my room. Innocently, of course. I just wasn't sure if he wanted to be alone or not.

"What?" he asked, curious.

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir? "Never mind."

Here we were, back at the semi-awkward 'goodnight' moment, only the air felt much heavier with the past twelve hours. I briefly wondered what time it was.

"I'm not sure how you'd feel about this," Edward suddenly spoke up, running the tips of his fingers over his doorknob, which he was suddenly very interested in studying. "But do you think—I mean, would you—"

I stared at him as the seconds ticked by. "Would I...?"

He finally exhaled shortly and looked up. "Would you stay with me?"

My heart seemed to go from zero to sixty.

"In your room?" I asked dumbly.

I had to admit, staying in his room seemed much more exciting than mine. Not that it was going to be anything other than sleeping, but still.

"You can say no," he said quickly.

"No," I said, creasing my eyebrows, not wanting him to take my silence the wrong way. "I mean, no, I'm not saying no." I gave a slight laugh. "I mean, yes. I'll stay."

His expression softened, and I could have sworn that for a split second, his cheeks turned the smallest bit of pink. Well, holy shit.

"As long as you don't feel obligated."

"Edward," I said, determined, stepping close to him. "You didn't have to take me out for breakfast because Jessica Stanley spit in my food. You didn't have to drive all over town for my health insurance card and stay with me at the hospital. You didn't have to listen to me cry about what my stepfather did to me. You certainly didn't have to watch over me all night because I had a concussion or put up with my questions and sleep-talking and reassuring my father, of all people. But you did."

"I wanted to," he said, a little surprised by my rant.

I tucked my wet clothes under my arm and put my hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "Well, why do you think I'm saying yes?"

He stared at me thoughtfully, and opened his mouth to speak, but I put two fingers on his lips before he could even start.

"I'm going to go hang up my clothes up and I'll be over," I said, taking a step back.

"Sure," he replied, seeming a bit breathless. "I'll leave the door unlocked."

"Okay," I said, turning, trying not to think about how warm his lips were. What I would have given to see if other parts of him were warm, too, but this definitely wasn't the time.

I entered my room and haphazardly hung my clothes over the desk chair, then grabbed a pair of underwear from out of my bag and dashed into the bathroom to change. I changed out of his shorts, too, as they were likely to just fall off, as big as they were, and put on a pair of my own. I quickly brushed my teeth and ran my hairdryer so I wouldn't be going to bed with damp hair, and was about to turn off the light and go, when I finally took a good look at what I was wearing. The shirt I had on was dark gray and there was a small-printed phrase on the right side. I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to read the backward, reflected print in the mirror, then glanced down at my chest to see if it really said what I thought.

It read in two lines, one above the other: I have promises to keep and/Miles to go before I sleep.

This was the third time 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening' had popped up out of nowhere. First was the painting in Edward's room, then Mr. Miller had mentioned it, now there was Edward's shirt. It was a strange coincidence, that was for sure. I ran my fingers over the inscription, my head suddenly swirling with a mixture of new thoughts. I wasn't a big believer in secondary, underlying messages, but I couldn't help but feel like Edward and I, and this place, were somehow tied together for a reason.

I couldn't explain it rationally, and figured it was all in my head anyway, so I turned off all the lights and closed my door as I walked into the hall. I was feeling my own fatigue setting in since I hadn't slept well, plus it had been a long day. I knocked softly on his door, but when there was no answer, I timidly turned the doorknob.

His bedroom was empty, but sounds of running water were coming from behind the closed door of the bathroom. I took in the beauty of the fireplace and painting again before sitting hesitantly on the foot of the bed. I was starting to feel nervous, as if I was sleeping over a guy's place for the first time, only without the presumption of sexual escapades.

Edward and I had taken a nap together before, but that was on top of the covers. This time, I'd be lying next to him underneath them, and I wondered if we would sleep close together or like straight logs, not touching. His bed was bigger, after all, and there was plenty of space for us to spread out. I only hoped I wouldn't roll on top of him at some point during the night like before. Though if I did, this time he might actually sleep through it.

He eventually came out of the bathroom and gave me a small smile as he smoothed down his now-dry hair.

"Hi," he said. Though I was sure he didn't mean to, he always sounded musically seductive, like the symphonies that flowed from his speakers.

"Um," he continued, taking a few steps toward me. "Is everything okay?"

I was having another staring-and-no-speaking moment. "Yeah, sorry," I said, squeezing my bottom lip between my fingers.

Edward walked to the foot of the bed, continuing to comb his fingers through his hair. "Do you have a favorite side of the bed?"

"Oh," I said, glancing at the forest-green comforter. "Which side do you usually sleep on?"

"The left. Well, the one closest to the windows, but it doesn't really matter to—"

"I'll be fine over here," I interrupted, scooting myself over to the side closer to the door. "Also, if I start moving too much or talking in my sleep, just hit me with a pillow."

Edward chuckled as he got into bed on the opposite side of me. "Oh, don't worry, I will," he said with a teasing smile. "Feel free to smack me if I do either of those, too."

"I doubt you will," I said as I slowly pulled back the comforter and slid myself underneath. "You look like you might sleep til the afternoon. You said you usually sleep well after—" I wasn't sure what to call it.

"Flipping out?" he offered, lying down and settling onto a pillow.

"No," I said, copying his actions, hugging an extra pillow. "Having a panic attack?"

"If you want to put it accurately, yet embarrassingly, then yes," he said. "I'm really sorry you had to see any of that. Especially watching me get sick. Between that and Jessica, I'm running out of mouthwash."

"Don't be embarrassed," I said, reaching over to put my hand on his arm. "If it makes you feel better, I puked in front of Angela and Dr. Cullen."

"In front of the cute doctor, huh?" Edward said with a half-smile, blinking slowly. He had only been in bed for ten seconds and was already fading fast in front of my eyes.

"Oh, you thought so, too, then?" I joked.

Edward managed a quiet laugh before stifling a yawn. "Mm, sorry," he mumbled. "I don't mean to start passing out so fast. Sleep just kind of takes over."

"Well, good," I said, moving my hand to rest on his back. "Close your eyes. I'll be here."

"You need to sleep, too."

"I will," I promised. "You first."

His eyes lingered on mine for a few moments before his eyelids slid shut, leaving his full eyelashes to cover the dark shadows beneath them. I stroked his back lightly, stopping every now and then to mildly brush my hand across the base of his neck so that his hair tickled my fingers. A few minutes passed, and when his mouth parted with even breath, giving me the impression that he'd fallen asleep, I halfheartedly drew my hand back and relaxed against my pillow, absorbing every angle, facet, and expression on his face.

I'd honestly never seen him look so serene.

Eventually, my eyes grew heavy and I rolled over to switch off the lamp beside me. I nestled into the pillows and comforter, letting my vision adjust to the darkness. Man, his bed was nice; even more comfortable than mine. I was about to close my eyes when Edward suddenly turned onto his other side so that his back was facing me. I watched his back fluctuate in tandem with his breathing.

"Bella?" came his dulcet voice.

"Yeah?" I answered, wondering if something was wrong. When he didn't respond right away, I pushed myself up on my elbow, ready to switch the light back on.

"Thank you," he breathed in a whisper. "For everything. Just… thank you."

I paused, and then didn't even think twice before moving closer to him, and in seconds, I had my chest pressed against his back, my arms wrapped around him, and my face nuzzled into his neck. I was surprised by my own boldness, but then realized even if I had taken the time to think first, I would have done the same thing.

One of his hands found mine and he brought it close to his chest. A moment later, I felt his lips touch down on my knuckles, soft and warm. I reciprocated, molding the rest of my body to his curve, and pressed my lips to the back of his neck gently.

I whispered, "You're welcome," before snuggling against him. We stayed that way for a while, and I took in the sweet scent and feel of him, listening to his soft breathing, and growing comfortably intoxicated by each sense. Eventually, I felt his grip loosen as he drifted off, relaxing fully, and just before I allowed myself to beckon to the dream gods, I inhaled one last breath of the fresh aroma of vanilla and rainwater that was emanating from him and his clothes.

He was not getting his shirt back. Maybe his shorts. But this shirt was mine.

-:-