u- Kendrick Lamar

FML- Kanye West ft. The Weeknd

I carefully scratched at Edward's scalp, gently massaging down to his temples. He had been sleeping for only a few hours but the sun was already trying to pierce through the dense cloud coverage and force through a morning.

I wish I could open his head right where my finger pressed so I could unspool his thoughts and unravel all the mysteries they held.

He spent all day and most of the night avoiding what I wanted to know, not that I was complaining for much of it. The orgasm itself was existence-changing and sent the world spinning, but the fact that he had let me touch him was beyond anything I could have imagined.

I looked down at him. As I did every night, I had swaddled him in the thick duvet and as he did shortly after, he had kicked it off. He was laying on his back, arms up and both hands tucked under the back of his hand so he looked like he was sunbathing on a beach somewhere. He looked so relaxed and peaceful, but I knew something was brewing in the depths of his mind that I didn't yet know.

It was distracting, though, seeing him like this. I could hardly focus with the way his sweatpants sat low on his hips, his skin stretched tautly over his abdomen so I could see each ridge of his abdomen leading down to the parallel lines that indented a sloping v to the band of his sweatpants.

I had just touched him only a few hours earlier, and I was reminded how right he had been. All those months ago on the kitchen floor, Edward had reminded me that he had never had sex before. Sex is a consensual act, something to be shared by two people who love each other, and everything before for Edward hadn't been that.

I knew he had gotten hard before. I had felt it twice before, and occasionally while he was sleeping there would be a noticeable stiffness under the sheets- but that was a normal physiological reaction for any healthy male. Purposefully putting my hand on him, letting me actually experience his erection… That wasn't just a step forward. It was a leap. A rocketship to Saturn.

I only worried that it was in reaction to something it shouldn't've been. Because there was too much going on with Alice for him to just ignore and set aside, especially after therapy.

But he hadn't even given me the chance to ask about what had happened during therapy before launching into an interrogation about the Volturi which then somehow devolved into me grinding into his thigh and finally finding the crescendo to the pulsating pleasure I had first encountered weeks ago, then with Edward's hand on my bare breast.

I touched his arm, tracing the sinew of his forearms and down to his biceps so lightly he wouldn't be able to feel it even if he was conscious. The hair was so delicate it was almost translucent, even to me, but also soft and perfectly fragile.

Fragilely perfect.

That was exactly the descriptor I would use for Edward, if I had to be more concise than the thesaurus of adjectives I could espouse that wouldn't even come close to encapsulating just how exquisite he was.

But it was also the label I would ascribe to our relationship, and I couldn't help but want more. Even if it was illogical and ill-timed, and I needed to be patient.

I wanted the rock-solid and unquestioning foundation that Esme and Carlisle had. They were true partners, wholly supportive and so in-tune with one another that conversation was hardly even necessary.

It was like they were telepathic, but only for the other. How many times had I seen Carlisle walk in after a long shift at the hospital and kiss Esme in greeting, then answer some question she had been waiting to ask him about paint colors or a building permit for a home for battered women and children. And it was always reciprocated, too. I had known Carlisle for longer, but no one knew him as well as Esme. If something had bothered him at work or a particular case was on his mind, Esme could take one look at him and just know. And she always knew what to say and how to hold him to make him feel better about it and talk him through it, even if the case was a medical impossibility or a lost cause.

Emmett and Rose were just as intuitive with one another, but expressed it in a different way. They were louder but also clearer and most passionate. Emmett could always seem to sense when Rose was spiraling down and wallowing in the foggy memories that she clung to, and he had a way of dispelling them and making her laugh. Rose was my closest friend and confidante, and the very definition of sister- I created Rose and it was a derivative of my venom that coursed through her own body. But I could trot out as many knock-knock jokes as I could come up with and still wouldn't be able to help Rose the way Emmett could with one goofy, dimpled grin.

Emmett was the most low-maintenance individual I had ever met, but there were still things he needed that only Rose could provide. Granted, those were usually sexual in nature, but the point stood that she knew what he needed and when before he could say a word.

God how I wanted to be there. But there I was, laying beside my own mate- finally, my own mate- desperately wishing I could figure out a way to soothe the thoughts that had been plaguing him. We weren't there yet, at that point in which I would know what was bothering him and what to do before he could even put it into words.

If there was one thing I did know at that moment without him telling me, it was that he was hungry. I should never have let him go to sleep without eating, especially knowing his last meal was at the latest in the early afternoon when they were still in Port Angeles. Even in sleep I could hear the rumbling of his empty stomach demanding food.

My fingers skipped down from his arm to his side. Even after months of diligent meals he was a few pounds underweight, lankier than his frame could manage. I circled around the definition of his ribcage and to the center of his chest, then back to his side. The thin tissue of his chest bounced with each beat of his heart, and I extended my fingers to press my palm right over his heart.

The rain started again, misting the early morning and washing away the roll of fog that had been lapping at the window. Charlie forced himself awake reluctantly and made his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee with the morning newspaper. It seemed Alice was awake as well

"'Morning, love," Edward said, eyes still closed and voice thick with sleep.

I laid my hand heavier over his heart, letting my thumb rub at the puckered skin of a scar on his sternum. "Good morning, indeed."

He stretched his arms over his head, his muscles trembling under my hand with the movement. He put one hand over mine, encapsulating me with his warmth. His lashes fluttered as he opened his eyes, still a glassy green until he blinked away the sleep, looking up at me. His gaze trailed down my face to our enjoined hands on his chest, then trailed up. His brows raised, creasing his forehead as all remnants of tiredness dissipated.

"You d-didn't p-put your shirt b-back on," he observed.

"You didn't either," I pointed out.

He moved his hand from mine to mirror me, his palm almost over where my dead heart no longer beat. "This is a nice v-view to wake up t-to."

"I'm glad you enjoy it."

He hummed, moving his hand to cup my breast. His fingers stretched out to my ribcage then pushing upwards, then his finger brushed over the soft peak of my nipple. "Yeah, 'enjoy' is a w-word," he agreed.

"Doesn't seem to cover it," I sighed, my head falling forward so my hair curtained down onto his face. He brushed it aside, then his other hand found my other breast, fingers curling under and caressing the sensitive skin at the swell of my breast.

"You are s-s-so beautiful," he whispered, arching his neck to press his lips against mine. I relaxed into him, holding myself up by my grip on his chest and running my hands up to his shoulders then back down so I could feel the pebbling of his own nipples running across my palm.

He moaned into my mouth, his hands squeezing around both of my breasts as his fingers teased at my nipples. His tongue slid across the inside of my bottom lip, and I carefully moved to keep him away from the sharp danger of my teeth. He tasted like honeyed satin and the sweetness of sunshine coated my tongue, my mouth flooding with venom in response. I swallowed it back, letting it burn with the warring instincts of thirst and desire in my throat instead.

Even if I hadn't just hunted, desire for his body and touch would still be winning. Nothing matched the taste of him in his mouth, the feel of his burning touch on the most sensitive corners of my skin. Sublime didn't even begin to cover it.

His heart was thumping quickly under one of my hands, and I kept the pressure gentle as I let my fingers run across the planes of his chest. He didn't seem to mind, in fact welcoming my touch despite not giving me explicit permission to touch him there. He had asked me to keep my hands on his shoulders and back, but the sigh and thrust of his tongue into my mouth told me my touch wasn't unwelcome.

His breaths were ragged in my mouth, in time with the rapid pace of his heart. I moved my lips to the crook of his neck, giving him a chance to catch his breath. He tilted his head up to give me better access to the pulsating skin on his neck, the rush of blood encased only by the paper-thin delicacy of his translucent skin. I sucked at it lightly, careful to not even leave a mark much less accidentally puncture the skin.

I pulled back to look down at him. His eyes were half-closed, glazed with delirious focus. His lips were slightly parted as he gasped with each pass of my hands over his chest. His skin was flushed and glowing with a thin layer of cool sweat, his hair a tangled halo on his head.

Just as I was about to duck my head back down to kiss him again, his stomach rumbled again, and I was reminded that I had again neglected his humanity for my own selfishness. I closed my mouth and kissed his bottom lip softly, then the top. I couldn't control myself, letting my tongue slide out to trace the curve of his Cupid's bow. He squeezed my nipple in response and I moaned, kissing him deeply to muffle the sound.

One of his hands slid down my side to cup the bare flair of my hip, then down to my upper thigh. I felt the increased pressure as he tried to move my leg for me, and I followed his guiding movement, shifting my leg around. We were in the same position as the night before with one of my knees on either side of his leg so I was straddling his thigh. He cocked his leg up again to press his leg to the apex of my thighs, sending a shock of pleasure through my abdomen.

"Please," I gasped, managing to force out a word but I didn't know if I was pleading with him to stop or begging him to keep going.

He kissed the side of my mouth, then the other, then nestled my bottom lip between his and sucked it into the warmth of his mouth. "You're s-s-so beautiful," he sighed, pushing his leg up onto me. I ground down on him and let the waves of pleasure build in the depth of my abdomen.

I pulled my hands from his chest to sink them into the holes in the mattress. It was already destroyed, and I needed something to hold on to that wasn't breakable and precious.

Fragilely precious.

He leaned back to pull his mouth from mine. His hand trailed up from my thigh to the curve of my waist where his fingers curled into the hardness of my side, then burned a trace of fire up my ribcage to the side of my neck. He cupped the curve of my jaw, his thumb brushing along the apple of my cheek reverently as he pressed our foreheads together. I leaned into him, letting the sweet warmth of his panting breath fan across my face as I ground myself down on him.

"Beautiful," he whispered again. He wrapped his hand around my neck and I could feel his long fingers burning on my skin, tilting my head down to kiss me again. He pushed up his leg at the same time he leaned up, flicking his tongue on the sensitive skin of my bottom lip. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting myself feel.

Mate

Lips replaced tongue and I couldn't help the breathy moan that escaped my mouth into his as he tasted me, skin and sweat and heavy breaths of honey and lavender and sunshine.

I couldn't move myself. My fingers were clenching at the dense cotton inside the mattress in time with the coils of pleasure shooting from my clit to the pit of my stomach and up to the burning ache in my chest. I could feel his hand tightening around my neck and on the pebbled bud of my nipple with each passing grind of my hips on his leg.

I came moaning, splintering against his thigh. He caught my whimpers with his mouth and swallowed them down so he could hold me in his throat and down in his chest the way he consumed my very being.

I didn't feel that crushing wave of shame after this time. Edward relaxed his leg, stretching it out flat against the mattress and I immediately cooled off from the lack of warmth in the connection.

We stayed kissing for a minute longer, just his soft lips molding against mine and sliding open so I could lap at the sweetness of his taste. He was panting into me, filling my lungs with his breath. I lifted off of him, giving him the space to catch his breath. His hand fell to the side to skim the edge of my breast, his other hand tangling in the hair bunched at the back of my head.

I opened my eyes to look down at him.

His face was flushed and shone with a gleaning layer of perspiration that stretched down to his bare chest. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes were almost black, the dark rim of green on the outer edges of his iris almost meeting the black of his eyes. His heart pulsed in tune with his ragged breaths and it was… well, it was hot. I was acutely aware of the very top of the curve of his erection brushing against my stomach, contained only by the thin layer of his sweatpants. I lifted myself off of him, giving him space so as to not press my luck. We had already taken that rocketship to Saturn and that was of his own volition and with the guidance of his hand.

"Thank you," I said again, kissing him softly.

He smiled, lips tugging up in a crooked grin. "You have t-to s-s-stop thanking me for th-this."

"What else am I supposed to say?" I laughed softly. Charlie had gone outside to amateurishly fiddle with the engine of the cruiser, but Alice was still in the room above us, awake but unmoving. I wanted to know what was happening with her, what Edward may have learned or discussed in therapy, but I didn't want the intense bliss to dissipate into a tense conversation.

"What d-does it feel like?" he asked. He brushed my hair to the side, tucking it behind my ear so it no longer curtained us in our own little bubble.

"It?"

"You know," he shrugged, glancing down between our bare bodies.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, feeling the phantom heat of a phantom blush that matched the very real flush that spread across his cheeks. I rolled onto my side next to him, pulling my hands from the holes in the mattress so I could prop my head up with one and rest the other back over his heart. "It feels… I don't know how to describe it. It's like this pressure builds in my stomach and…" I bit my bottom lip, unsure of whether to be less descriptive, or if to be clinical in my word choice. I continued, "in my clit, and then there's an exhale of a release that's warm and electric. Everything contracts, then all at once lets go in one rush of energy."

"It doesn't…" he swallowed, his brows pulling together to form a crease at the bridge of his nose. "It d-doesn't hurt?"

"No," I said sharply and a bit too loudly because I could hear as Alice shifted around in bed. "No," I repeated, this time softer. "It doesn't hurt. It should never hurt." I didn't add that there were ways that pain only heightened pleasure. We could save that for when his body was more durable and could handle roughness and biting.

"I love you," he said, rolling over to press our lips together.

"I love you, too." I kissed him back softly, absorbing the feeling of the plush silk of his lips molded against my own. His hand found its way in my hair, cupping the hollow under my ear and pulling me closer to him. "Now, stop distracting me."

"What?" he mumbled, peppering kisses down my jaw and to the curve of my neck.

"You need to eat something," I cautioned, and as if on command his stomach audibly rumbled again.

"But you t-taste s-s-so good," he murmured, licking the outline of my bottom lip. I shivered at the feeling and my mouth opened of its own accord, letting him slip inside my mouth.

"Edward."

"Bella." His voice was muffled in my mouth.

"You need to eat. Please," I begged, tugging his hand out of my hair. "I hunted yesterday. Please take care of yourself in return."

He groaned and rolled off his side onto his back, then pushed himself off the bed. He clasped his hands together and stretched them over his head. If he had frozen just there I would have thought him a statue carved by Michelangelo from the finest marble. His muscles were smooth and tight, the band of his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and I could see a still-noticeable bulge of his softening erection through the thin fabric.

I tried to be brief, but he caught me staring. A wicked grin spread across his mouth, and he eyes trailed from my mouth down to my bare chest, then back to my mouth again. I felt a flood of wetness pooling between my thighs at his darkened gaze. He leaned forward, towering over me as I still laid on the bed. His pulse was racing, but another rumble tore through his abdomen and set my thoughts into clarity.

"Edward, food," I reminded him.

"How can you expect me to f-focus?" he asked, eyes still dark with desire in the storming morning.

I shot out of bed and grabbed my discarded shirt, sliding it over my head and lounging back in the destroyed mattress before he could even blink.

"There. Distraction eliminated, now go eat something."

"I wouldn't exactly s-s-say 'eliminated'," he mumbled, running his fingers through his thick hair so the messy locks straightened back briefly before falling out of place again.

"I'm going to run home and change," I told him, pushing back out of bed and over to the window.

"Don't be long."

"I never am," I promised, standing up on the balls of my feet to press another soft kiss on his lips before I slipped out the window, running through the pounding rain before I lost my nerve and pinned him in bed and had my way with him for the rest of eternity.

The trees blurred green around me, the world disappearing as I wove around trees and flashed across streets. The traffic was subdued with the storm, even for a Wednesday morning when people should have been on their way to work. I stopped at the treeline of our yard, my sneakers sunk deep in the mud that was rushing down a small slope.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, letting the smell of rain and lush forest saturate my skin and into my lungs. I tilted my head up to look at the sky, letting the cool pelt of rain cascade down my skin. Lightening flashed, followed by a loud crack of thunder that shook the ground and made the trees tremble.

I could smell it, and tilted my head in the direction of the hit. I followed the scent, jogging around the yard to the other side of the river.

Was it a sign from God? A bad omen?

I stared up at a powerful and towering oak, split in half by a strike of lightening. A small fire was kindling in the center of the split trunk but quickly extinguished in the pounding rain. The dark wood was already deadening and greyed, the powerful boughs covered in lush leaves were blackened and burning, steam billowing as the rain cooled it off.

The soil all around the tree was also struck and black, the burning odor rising from the ground. I crouched down and pressed my hand to the ground, the vibrations still shimmering in the earth in pulsating waves that felt intimately familiar.

There was nothing I could do here. The tree was already dead and would be rotting from the shock, expedited by the softness of the bark in the rain. I circled around the tree, surveying the damage. I bent down to touch a fried root, once powerful and strong and enshrined in the earth but now turning to charred flakes under my fingers.

Nestled into one of the branches that had been at the height of the tree before it had been felled was a small nest, somehow still glued together despite the carnage it had endured. Inside were three eggs, one cracked and destroyed with a gestating wren passing away inside. The other two were healthy from what I could tell, unaffected by the lightning that had somehow missed damaging their branch.

I couldn't leave it. It was balancing precariously on its perch, and with the downpour of rain and thunder rocking the world, it was sure to fall eventually. I had to chance it, risk the mother bird not attending to the nest once my scent was on it.

I jumped up the trunk carefully to the branch I needed to access. It was swaying under my weight, and I heard the beginning cracking of the wood fracturing under my feet. Quickly, I lifted the nest off the branch, cradling it in my hands. The twigs and leaves were rough and scratched at the skin on the palm of my hands. I could feel the warmth of life growing inside, two small, fleeting lives with potential and growth and a lifetime ahead of them.

I crossed the shallow clearing to another large tree, almost as big as the other but with a more spread out canopy that made it appear squatter. There was plenty of space for a new addition, a new life to come to term and blossom alive. I jumped up onto a thick and stretching bough, my muddied sneakers finding a foothold on the branch, and I walked out along the snaking limb until it tapered off and creaked under my weight.

It was the perfect spot. I knelt down and carefully placed the nest in a bed of leaves. The foliage was dense and supportive, and it fanned out like a crown pulsating with life around the tangled branches and browned leaves of the nest.

There was nothing more I could do for it. The mother wren would have to find it in its new location, let instinct and nature guide it home. I carefully plucked the fractured egg from the nest and cradled it in my hand, letting it fit perfectly in the curve of my palm. The life inside had already passed, leaving behind a souring smell that would only drive the mother away.

I don't know what drove me to do it. I could have just tossed the egg aside and run home, continuing on with my day as I had planned. Instead, I hopped down with the egg still safely in my hand.

I ran one finger along the break on its side. The shell was beyond fragile and if I hadn't been devoting a great deal of concentration to my tactile strength I could far too easily crush it into dust and let it wash away with the wind and the rain.

As far as casualties went, an oak tree and a single egg could be considered unimportant in the destructive path of lightning, but I couldn't help but cradle the egg in my hand as I stared up at the split open tree. What had been towering and strong just a few minutes before was obliterated at the speed of light, taking this delicate incubator of life with it.

I knelt into the dying soil, soaking myself in the torrential downpour of the continuing storm. I kept the egg safe against my chest in one hand and used the other to dig into the muddy soil. It didn't want to capitulate to me as it kept running into the hole I was trying to create. I finally created enough space and kept it open for long enough to carefully lay the egg in its new place.

I shifted the mud bag on top, burying it at the base of the place it had once called home. It would go on to feed the new life that would be created in its place. Nature never stayed dead for long, it always recycled what had been lost to create life anew.

I returned home in drenched clothes covered in mud. I didn't dare walk through the house, not if I wanted to leave alive. Esme would tear me limb from limb if I soiled the new 'modern eclectic' rugs she had laid out in the foyer and at the base of the stairs. She had been waiting before continuing on, wanting to ask Edward his opinion of the pieces she had selected. And I knew that Edward wanted the same. Even if decorating and design weren't passions of his, I could tell how much he loved spending time with my adopted mother.

We had never talked about it, but I wondered if she reminded him of his own mother. Maybe he didn't fully remember his mother, but Esme had a way of eliciting long-dormant maternal memories in everyone she spent time with.

I jumped up to my room, clinging on to the smooth pane of my window as I slid it open. I didn't so much mind dripping mud on anything in my own room. It was already logically messy, with books strewn about the floor and a pile of my dirty clothes tossed in a corner- I just hadn't gotten around to laundry.

I slid the window closed behind me, keeping the gusts of downpour from flooding into my room. I pulled off the soaked fabric and kicked off the shoes saturated by dirt and water, tossing it to my bedroom door. They were unsalvageable and needed to be trashed, and I wasn't surprised to have emerged from my bathroom, clean and showered and wrapped in a fresh towel, and see the shoes gone and my floor wiped clean of the mud that I had left to dry on the wood. I had heard Esme sweep in when I flicked the faucet on, straightening what needed to be and leaving behind the mess I wanted to keep.

I pulled on a pair of loose jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt, topping it with a nylon sweater that would keep the rain from soaking through on my run back to Edward. My hair was wet, but it was useless to bother drying it. It was still pouring outside, and I couldn't drive over and stay hidden from Charlie with my car parked in his driveway. That would be a little obvious, even for me.

I wrung the wetness from my hair out onto my discarded towel, pooled in a damp heap at the foot of the bed, then flipped it up into a messy bun piled at the top of my head. I bent down and rolled the hem of my jeans up on each side until my calves were bare and padded downstairs to find Rose.

Esme was in the kitchen, the dulcet sounds of the Food Network playing on the small television mounted in place of a cabinet guiding her as she followed Emeril Lagasse's étouffée recipe. With the addition of seafood the house smelled particularly rancid, but I knew she was piling up leftover dishes to take over to the Swan house since they had been living off sandwiches since we came back from Seattle.

"She's not home," Esme told me. She whipped a knife around and diced through a few pounds of vegetables with a supernatural speed and smoothness. "She did something to the Jeep and Emmett went with her to test it out."

I nodded. "She was talking about adding a nitrous oxide injector to the Jeep, I guess she finally rigged one up."

"Do you want to talk to me instead?"

I traced spiral patterns in the countertop. I didn't especially want to talk about sex with Rose, but with Esme it seemed even more uncomfortable, though it really shouldn't have been. All those years studying and practicing medicine, and of course the night after night of overhearing the most intimate moments of everyone around me, but it still felt like it was an entirely separate issue when it became personal and reality for me. "Would you be offended if I said no?"

"No," Esme laughed, tossing the vegetable scraps into a pot of boiling water and wiping her hands off before unwrapping my hair from its bun. "But you can tell me anything, Bella. You know that."

"I know," I said, leaning into her touch as she combed her fingers through my wet hair. "I just don't know how to put anything into words anymore. When did it all get so complicated?"

"It's always complicated," she said, weaving damp braids to pull my hair back.

"Why does it have to be?"

"Because we get the greatest joy in return, and it has to come at some cost."

"Haven't we paid the price yet?" I sighed. Esme washed her hands of the shampoo residue that had rubbed off from her styling and I tended to the stew before it could bubble over the edge of the pot. If there hadn't been shrimp or clam juice in it, it wouldn't smell all that awful, but the seafood was nauseatingly powerful.

"Yes, you have both most definitely paid that price in spades. I wish I had another answer for you."

"Can I take this?" I asked, pointing at the stacks of Tupperware containers on the counter.

"Sure, but how is Edward going to explain to Charlie why they have piles of food in the fridge despite having no visitors?"

"I guess 'my girlfriend snuck in through my bedroom window like she's done every day since I moved in' isn't a good explanation?"

Esme laughed and ladled the broth into more plastic containers to cool, and I was struck by just how domestic we looked. Esme especially, with her thick hair pulled back by a hairband and an apron tied around her waist. I was brought back to a time when we were much younger, and Carlisle had been watching over a human Esme. She loved to cook, and for a long while it was a refuge from her crumbling marriage. The only times Carlisle had taken me to see her had been when she was in the kitchen, when she was completely at peace and relaxed, and that had been taken from her when Carlisle brought her into this existence. It was just one among the countless ways in which Edward had completed our entire family, even in the smallest of things.

"It's definitely not." She pulled a few bowls that had gone unused for so long from the cabinet above the sink for a new concoction. "Go on now. I'll come by later with the food, and I'll let Rose know you were looking for her."

"Thank you." I stretched up and kissed her cheek, and Esme patted the side of my head warmly and returned the embrace.

"You have nothing to thank me for," she said in kind, ushering me out of the kitchen. I was instantly reminded of the night before, and again this morning when I had clumsily thanked Edward… after. I felt the tingle of venom pooling in my throat, but if Esme noticed a darkening in my eyes she didn't comment on it before I went running back through the storm.

The thunder was still rolling but it seemed like the rain had briefly subsided, though the clouds were still black as pitch and completely blocking the sun. The promise of a downpour hung thick in the air, the humidity clinging into a fog that was just waiting to be washed away with the first drizzle.

Nothing was as calm as it had been when I left, though.

Everyone was upstairs, so I jumped into the tree by the side of the house. Charlie was leaning against a wall in the hallway, rubbing the growing stubble on his face and tapping his foot rapidly on the worn wood floors.

Edward was in the bathroom. Alice was there, too, bent over on her knees and vomiting what smelled and sounded like stomach bile into the toilet. I could hear Edward sniffle like he was trying to hold back tears as he wiped away sweat and saliva with a damp washcloth.

It was hell. I had returned to a hell after leaving it a heaven. And I was entirely useless, too, unable to do anything but stand on a branch in the tree and occasionally jump down and slip into the forest when a car passed by.

The rain started again, rendering my shower pointless as I sat in the tree and just waited.

And waited. And waited.

The hidden sun had just set, leaving the world ever darker as Alice continued to heave dryly with Edward knelt beside her and Charlie standing helpless in the hall, when I heard the familiar smooth purr of the Mercedes engine from a distance.

I could have bided my time in Edward's room. I probably could have been productive, helped him straighten up the room and hide the holes in the sheets and mattress until I could replace them, rather than sit in the rain like some figure in a tragic romance. This wasn't what was happening, right? We would have one of those happy endings Edward liked. This wasn't Wuthering Heights or Romeo and Juliet, this was Pride and Prejudice with a little conflict and some misunderstandings that ultimately culminated in our happily ever after.

Right?

Esme could hear as well as I could what was happening inside, but played it off with a cheerful greeting when Charlie opened the door after she rang the bell.

"I know it's probably been a rather rough week, so I wanted to bring by some food for you three," Esme explained, ducking into the foyer with a paper bag stacked with the plastic dishes in her hands.

"Oh," Charlie said, voice dry and hoarse. "Well, thanks."

"Of course!" She held up the bag, and gestured down the hall. "Should I put this in the kitchen?"

"Oh, let me take that," Charlie offered, insisting on taking the handle from Esme and she carefully exchanged it without letting their hands touch.

"I'm sure Bella would have liked to come, but we didn't want to be a bother. I'm sure this has been a difficult few days. Would you mind if I asked how Alice is?" Esme was pitching her voice in that kind but alluring tone that came instinctually, designed to dry the humans in and keep them intrigued and allured.

"Yeah, it's been…" Charlie trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight nervously.

"Is there anything I can do? To help?"

"You're good with kids, right? Got a house full of them?"

Esme nodded and stacked the Tupperware containers in the refrigerator while Charlie collected his thoughts.

"Alice isn't feeling great right now. Is there anything to do for that? I don't know, ginger ale or something?"

"Is she throwing up?" Esme asked, knowing the answer because we could both hear Alice sobbing against the ceramic of the toilet as clearly as if she had been sitting right in front of us.

"Yeah, for a while."

"Oh dear. Well, how about a slice of toast and some tea with honey? That always helps settle an upset stomach."

"Uh, yeah," Charlie mumbled, opening the drawer closest to him to rifle through it. Esme waited a moment, then opened a cabinet in the cupboard and pulled out the bottle of honey and little container of tea bags that I had stashed in there for me to use. She then set on a pot to boil and popped a piece of bread in the rusty old toaster.

"Do you have ginger ale here? You were right about it being a tried and true drink for nausea, if you have any on hand."

"Ummm, no," Charlie said, opening the fridge and staring blankly at the top shelf though we all knew that only beer and milk sat there. "Should I go get some?"

"That might not be a bad idea, if you have the time. I don't mind staying here and checking in on Alice, if that's alright with you?"

Charlie sighed in relief, tension leaving his shoulders already. "Oh, no. No, of course I don't mind. She's in the upstairs bathroom."

"I'll take this up and try to get her to eat. Why don't you head out now? Take a break, too?" Esme suggested kindly. She poured boiling water into a mug and steeped the tea, then spread a thin layer of honey on a softly toasted slice of bread.

"Yeah, that sounds…" Charlie sighed heavily again and rubbed his face, the short hair on his chin and jaw scratching against his palms. "Thank you, Esme."

"It's not a problem, Charlie." Esme patted his arm comfortingly, careful to touch only the part covered by his shirt. "Kids get sick, and I've had my fair share of experiences with that," she lied smoothly.

Charlie shuffled out, his steps heavy and slow with what I assumed was exhaustion, but stopped short in the arched entrance that led to the living room. "It's not just that," he said slowly. "It's not like a stomach bug or anything, I don't think. It's something else that's wrong."

Esme nodded understandingly, concern plainly clear across her face. "They come to us troubled and with darkness in their pasts. It's our job to help guide them through however best we can."

"Any of your kids…" Charlie inhaled sharply and swallowed, crossing into a more personal boundary. "Any of them ever have problems like them? I just don't know how to help them, either of them."

"They're all troubled, in their own ways," Esme started.

"Even Bella?" Charlie asked, then his eyes widened and he quickly apologized, "No, don't answer that. It's not my business, not my place to ask."

"It's fine, Charlie," Esme assured. "Bella has a past as well, and not all of it is pleasant. I understand your curiosity. She and Edward are basically inseparable, but she's not exactly the most open person."

I shifted uncomfortably in the tree. Esme was taking too long, and she really should be tending to Alice upstairs rather than spill some of my secrets to my mate's guardian, but I couldn't quite bring myself to interrupt their conversation. If I cautioned her now, Esme would hear me and listen. She was only continuing because my silence was tacit permission.

"She's a good girl, Bella is. Edward's a lucky kid."

"I would agree in kind. Edward's a wonderful young man, and you've done an excellent job helping him in every way you can. Alice, as well."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't feel that way now," he mumbled, kicking absentmindedly at the doorjamb.

"Everyone has their setbacks. They're both in therapy, aren't they? Just let the process work itself out."

"So you're saying 'be patient'?"

Esme laughed, and I could see Charlie unable to hold back a smile in response. "I guess I am."

"Tough to do when I got a kid puking her guts out upstairs."

"Well, let's see if there's something we can do to help with that, okay?" Esme gathered the toast and a napkin one hand and the mug with an aromatic chamomile in the other, ushering Charlie out of the kitchen as he stepped aside for her to walk over to the stairs.

"I'll be right back," he promised, plucking his keys from the ring in the foyer and twirling them around his finger.

"Take your time, Charlie. Every parent needs a break. I'll be here with the kids."

Charlie nodded but let his silence speak for him. I was surprised he had been so open, especially with Esme. It wasn't that she wasn't a warm and welcoming presence, but our kind tended to intimidate and repel humans with prolonged contact as their fight-or-flight response instinctually kicked in. Even Esme in all her maternal approachability had that effect, and it seemed that only Carlisle and I were capable of not eliciting that kind of reaction. I wondered if there was something in humans that recognized that neither of us had ever hunted them, and that we were both in control even when exposed to the greatest of temptations.

Charlie sat in the cruiser for a few minutes, his forehead pressed against the steering wheel as he breathed deeply and evenly in a practiced and controlled inhalation exercise. After gathering whatever he had been searching for, he blasted on the air conditioning and pulled out, driving infuriatingly slow and under the speed limit down the street.

When Esme set her foot down on the first step, I slid open the window to the kitchen and slipped inside. I would have gone in through Alice's room and met her upstairs, but I needed to clean myself off before tracking my way through the house. I quickly deposited my soiled shoes in the laundry room, where I knew Charlie never entered, and pulled out a towel to dry myself off. I was only wet with rain, not dirty or covered in mud as I had been earlier, and once I shrugged my nylon jacket off it was only my jeans that remained damp.

By the time I finished and cleaned up the mud that had followed me in, Esme was knocking on the bathroom door. I flitted up the stairs, keeping my feet soft and skipping the step that had the wood cracking and creaked at even the lightest of touches. I met Esme at the top of the stairs, standing against the wall so Alice couldn't see me when Edward opened the door.

He looked tired and resigned, but his eyes widened when he looked from Esme to me, clearly expecting Charlie to have been at the door. I pressed a finger to my lips quickly so he knew not to mention I was there, then held my hand out for him to take. He turned his head back to Alice in the bathroom. She was sweating and slumped against the cool tile between the toilet and the shower, one arm draped across the toilet and the other on her forehead.

Edward stepped out and aside, giving Esme room to enter the cramped bathroom as he took my hand. Esme set the mug down on the counter and bent down beside Alice on the other side of the toilet, pressing her palm on Alice's forehead.

I knew from the hall that she didn't have a fever, and Esme whispered confirmation of that. I inhaled deeply, sorting through the acidic scent of vomit and salt of sweat to the sweet and floral notes of her blood. I had been out of practice for a few decades, but Carlisle and I had spent two centuries as a medical team. One of our greatest and most useful skills was being able to sniff out sickness that human doctors would need extensive testing to put a name to. But with Alice I detected no virus or bacteria, nothing that would cause her to spend hours vomiting without stopping. The only illness I could attribute this to was the greatest of mysteries and the most impossible to cure.

Esme held pieces of toast to Alice's mouth, making her chew them down in dry swallows, and held up the mug of tea for her to sip at. I squeezed Edward's hand then wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him to me and letting him lean his weight on me so that his soft pulse beat on my skin.

Esme eventually coaxed Alice up and into bed, with me hiding in the shadows behind the door until she was settled under the covers. Esme piled the pillows at her back so Alice was sitting up and cleared out a waste bin to serve as an emergency vomit receptacle.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, brushing Alice's short hair back and out of her face.

"Tired," Alice sighed, and I could hear his lids fluttering closed as her body relaxed into the pillows.

"Get some sleep, if you can. You'll probably feel better."

"Okay," Alice agreed, voice small. Her head lolled to the side, her cheek pressing into the pillow as her exhaustion met sleep. "Thanks, Mom."

It was a whisper, as if she hadn't meant to be heard, or hadn't even meant to say it. Edward had no idea, but he noticed the quick glance Esme and I shared.

"What?" he asked as I led him down the stairs.

I shook my head, rubbing his knuckle in the hand I held with my thumb.

"Esme brought a bunch of food today, do you want something?" I pulled Edward along behind me into the kitchen and opened the door to the freshly-stocked refrigerator.

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh, come on." I fingered through the leftover dishes and plucked out one with Spanish rice and some type of tomato broth. It had every food group in it and was packed with vegetables, but Esme had cooked something similar before but with a noodle instead of rice and Edward had loved it.

He frowned and studied my face, and I his. Just a few hours before, he had seemed so light-hearted and had been grinning at me as I left, but he resigned to take the dish from me with such a look. His hair hung limp down his forehead, the purpling under his eyes from staying up into the early hours of the morning with me seemed darker and more ominous under the dim and flickering kitchen light.

It was a long night, and an even longer day followed it. Edward laid on the floor beside Alice once Esme left, their hands loosely interlocked with Alice sleeping so deeply she didn't even fidget or tangle herself in her sheets as she usually did.

Neither Charlie nor Edward got much sleep. Charlie sat on the couch downstairs for most of the night, the television on but the volume muted so he could listen attentively for any disturbance upstairs. Edward stared at Alice the entire night, his eyes drifting shut only when I gently scratched at his scalp, but he soon awoke again to continue his one man vigil. I stayed curled at his side for as long as Alice slept, hiding in the closet when Charlie shuffled upstairs and then sliding out the window and into the tree when Alice awoke in the morning.

By then Edward was asleep, and she slipped her fingers from Edward's and gently placed his hand on his chest. Even tired and worn, Alice was a meticulously early riser, and beat even Charlie to the kitchen.

I slid back through the window to tuck the blanket around Edward and make sure his head was as supported as he could be while lying on the floor, then down again to the muddied soil that lined the side of the house to look in on Alice. She had fetched the newspaper from the front porch and had a pot of coffee brewing, and kicked her feet up on one of the chairs and reclined back, skimming over the headline. I read it from where I was standing- something about missing hikers in the eastern reaches of Olympic National Forest, then about the increased rates of speeding tickets. When she got to the back-to-school article that profiled rising senior Mike Newton and an incoming freshman, Alice folded her legs under her and sat up, reading it intently.

Charlie was woken by the smell of coffee brewing and followed it down, seemingly unsurprised to see Alice awake and appearing outwardly healthy and recovered.

"Can I make you some toast?" Charlie offered, wringing his hands together.

"Toast sounds good."

Charlie pulled the bag out and powered the toaster on, staring at the wires heating red and browning the bread.

"You feeling better?" he asked, unable to look right at her as he placed the plate in front of her. Before she could ask, he grabbed the honey from where Esme had left it the night before on the counter and handed it to her with a knife.

She thanked him softly and drizzled the sweet spread generously before taking a bite. "I'm feeling a lot better. Guess it was some kind of bug or something. I just needed to get it all out."

"That's good."

Alice took another large bite and swallowed it down with her first sip of coffee. "Toast it good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That's good," Charlie repeated, the conversation stalling out after.

When there was nothing more than crumbs on her plate and the newspaper was folded every which way from Alice's mishandling, she stood up and stretched her arms up, her back popping with the movement.

"I need to get Edward up if we're going to get to Port Angeles in time," she announced, and Charlie nodded in agreement, still unable to look at her. Alice stared at Charlie for a moment, her expression wistful and filled with a regret that I could not identify a source for, but maybe it was just because I was misinterpreting her emotions. I wasn't an empath, and humans weren't always the easiest creatures to read- especially Alice, with her pendulously swinging moods.

I only got the chance to hold Edward for a few minutes before they left for therapy again. Alice typically only saw the therapist on Tuesdays and only tagged along for Edward's second appointment so she could go shopping with me, but it seemed that the weekend in Seattle had changed things. Charlie drove them again, taking off from work for another day to make the trek north, and Alice drowned herself in one of his giant sweaters and curled up in the backseat.

I had nothing to do, no need to hunt. I followed behind the cruiser, racing along the treeline just out of sight but still within earshot to overhear the lack of conversation. It was as if we had reverted right back to two days before, with a tearful Alice in the back like she was being led to her doom. But I had no idea what had happened last time. Edward hadn't willingly offered up any information, and had distracted me first with an endless line of questioning about the Volturi, and then with two absolutely mind-blowing orgasms.

I sat in a tree just out of earshot of the office building and thought of what it might be like for Edward to touch me with his fingers. They were so long and slender- the fingers of a pianist. And he had such excellent rhythm, too. I was sure he could play me like an instrument if I could only find a way to broach that kind of question.

'Hey Edward, I know that you struggle every moment with touching me and having me touch you, but last night and this morning felt really great and I want more because I'm selfish and totally obsessed with you. Anyways, can you finger me? And I won't say no to your mouth, either. And, please, Edward, please fill me with that hard cock you let me hold for thirty seconds before it became too much for you.'

I was psychotic. Absolutely and selfishly deranged.

I was at my most tempted to creep a little closer to the drab grey building. Only a few dozen yards more and I would be able to hear everything going on in there. And it was Edward's appointment that was usually first on Tuesdays, so I assumed this new Thursday schedule would be the same. Even with everything happening with Alice, he had to at least mention that rocketship to Saturn he had let me soar on.

I desperately wanted to know what he thought of it all. He had seemed unconflicted and even happy at the time, but that could change at the turn of a dime.

Well, maybe happy wasn't the most apt descriptor for the way he stared at my lips with dark eyes and called me beautiful while I fell apart on top of him.

I replayed those moments over and over again in my head, at my most grateful in five centuries of existence for the perfect recall I was gifted with. It was like it was happening all over again, and that throb between my thighs grew again. I imagined every moment like it was in real time.

The heated imprint of Edward's hand on my breast and the rough pad of his thumb tweaking over the sensitive peak of my nipple, tugging sending shocks down to the pit of my stomach. The way he pressed his leg up into me as I rolled my hips, finding the perfect angle that made me gasp and tighten the coil of pleasure that sat just above my clit.

I was so consumed in my daydreams that I almost didn't notice the cruiser drive past me on the one-oh-one back west to Forks. I glanced up at the dark clouds in the sky, finding a thin sliver of sun trying to fight its way to earth.

It was late. Very, very late, and far past the time they had left even two days before when they had been gone for an extended period of time. I slipped from my stilled perch in my tree and loped alongside the car, and I almost ran straight into a mossy boulder or froze in shock.

Charlie's hands were trembling on the wheel, and his face was pale and stricken. The front seat was vacant, but behind the thick wire that divided the front from the back of a police cruiser sat Alice and Edward. She was sobbing, letting the cries rip through her chest as she buried her face in Edward's shoulder and let his shirt catch her tears. He had both of his arms wrapped around her and matching tears rolling down his face, leaving stained tracks on the devastated flush of his warm skin.

I had no answers, and no power. All I could do was follow beside them and make sure Charlie didn't drive head on into traffic while he tried to contain himself. His hands were shaking and the car crossed over the dividing line occasionally, but they pulled into the driveway safely.

Edward pulled Alice from the car and into his arms. She was a light enough burden that her weight didn't affect him, and he swung her up to cradle her against his chest as she continued to sob into his neck. Charlie's breathing was shallow and short, his heart racing as he opened the door for Edward and slumped against the wall in the hallway, one hand on his chest as he tried to catch his breath before the tears spilled over.

Edward carried Alice up the stairs into her room and sat on the bed, still holding her to him. I climbed up to cling to the windowpane, looking in as Edward and Alice fell to pieces on one another. And I was both lost and, even with the vast wealth and supernatural abilities I held at my fingertips, powerless.

I waited for Edward to notice me. His eyes were red and glassy and vision assuredly blurry with tears when he blearily looked up, unsurprised to see me hanging outside the window. Alice was still crying, her breathing coming in hiccupping gasps muffled against Edward's neck. She was totally wrapped around him, sitting in his lap with her fingers digging into his skin and clutching at his shirt. There was no way for him to get away, and from the way he was holding her in kind I doubted he wanted to leave.

"Can you understand me?" he mouthed, a slight whisper leaving his lips.

I nodded, unable to talk with Alice there and me on the other side of the window- on the outside looking in.

Edward swallowed and looked down at Alice, then brushed her short dark hair behind her ear tenderly, his fingers trembling slightly against her skin. He looked back up at me, expression tortured and eyes the color of strangling ivy searching for something it couldn't find.

"They diagnosed her with a personality disorder," he mouthed again, this time completely silent. "And they're taking her away. They're taking Alice away, Bella."

And from here, we pick up..