A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts!

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.

Chapter 11 – Scorched Earth


April 2005 – Bainbridge Island, Washington

Edward and I fell into bed, eager and more than a little horny. In our defense, after a two-week West Coast stint, it felt like forever since we'd made love. Each hour of our separation stretched out like a full rotation of the Earth over its axis. Every sixty minutes apart felt like a day unto itself.

We were like kindergarteners on their very first day of school, almost childishly unaccustomed to lengthy separations. This latest gig Heidi booked Edward on had been his longest one yet, but the upside was that it was a smashing success. His first single, Her Eyes, was released a few days before the start of the tour. By the end of a tour that took him to cities including L.A., San Diego, San Francisco, Portland, and of course, Seattle, the single had hit Number One on the Billboard charts.

Edward had progressed from most weekends to numerous Wednesday-through-Sunday gigs and quite a few weeks here and there away to this latest project. Leading up to the gig and already close to graduation, Edward's professors agreed to allow him to finish everything up on the road and then mail him his diploma. And so that was the end of college for Edward.

So, yes, Heidi's bluster and boasting and Volturi Records' backing were definitely coming through for Edward's career, even if a side-effect of this was that time spent together went from a given to stolen moments in between – moments better spent on getting himself out there, becoming known, recognized, and adored by an ever-growing fan base. Our time was wasted time!

Or so I'd recently overheard Heidi complain.

ooooo

It was right before Edward left on the two-week gig.

I'd accompanied him to Volturi's Seattle office. Edward was eager to show me what a recording day looked like for him, and I was no less keen to observe. It was enrapturing; while Edward sang and played in the studio, I sat in the control room, watching him through the glass, and was awed by the coordination of Edward and a team dedicated to him, mixing and mastering his performance. Occasionally, someone – usually Heidi – would interrupt to correct something or other. To me, it just seemed like needless meddling; Edward's performance was perfect as is. Then again, she was the expert, not me.

During the ensuing fifteen-minute break, I told Edward just how amazing I found the process. He and I then spent some time messing around with the equipment, talking and laughing with the team—well, most of them—and discussing the entire process. In our distraction, fifteen minutes turned into twenty, then thirty, and by the third time Heidi reminded everyone that break time was over, her frustrated face matched her stilettos' red bottoms.

After apologizing to the team, if not necessarily to Heidi, I'd gone to the bathroom. When I returned, Heidi was in the control room with Edward.

She stood very close, her voice low, and her leather-clad back to me. In fact, both of them failed to note my approach as I stood just out of view, experiencing a split-second of stomach-churning terror that morphed into breathtaking relief when I caught Edward's irritated expression. That relief shifted into nausea when I admittedly eavesdropped on their exchange and overheard Heidi's claim that his distraction with me in the studio was threatening to throw the day off schedule. She then added those further complaints about the distracting nature of our relationship in general.

"Well, she's my priority, Heidi," Edward said in a curt, no-nonsense tone, his arms crossed against his chest.

Heidi chuckled cynically. "Yeah, I've seen those misplaced priorities reorganize themselves before."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means you're putting in a lot of work and time, Edward, both into your career and into that relationship. And while the work you and I have both put into your career is beginning to pay off, it's all only going to get crazier."

"I'm aware, Heidi."

"Are you? Because you're going to have to pay a lot more dues before you're where a guy with your talent deserves to be. This is why the time and effort you expend in that relationship would be better spent on getting out there and becoming known, recognized, and adored by an ever-growing fan base. You're wasting time on that relationship. I mean, not only does she not take your career seriously, coming in here to fool around while we're trying to work, but from where I'm standing, she doesn't take you half as seriously as you take her. I hear a whole lot of 'love yous' flying from you, and not-"

"Enough of this bullshit, Heidi," Edward spat. "Your job here is to handle my music, not my relationship."

She backed up, holding her hands up, palms out so that her long, pointy, and red-manicured nails spread out like claws.

"All right, all right," she said in one of those tones indicating things were not all right, but she knew to drop it—for now—because she wanted to keep him happy. Edward wasn't merely a rising star but a shooting star, and she and Volturi Records knew that.

"I'll stick to the music as long as you focus when you're supposed to," she countered, pointing at him with one of her crimson talons. "So, let's get back to work."

He gave her a rigid nod, and Heidi turned on her heels and returned to the control room without seeing me. As I approached Edward, and he saw me, his expression shifted from stony irritation to a softer one, though a touch of alarm marred it.

"Iz, did…" he frowned, "did you hear…?"

"Hear what?"

If I'd been asked why I pretended I hadn't heard their discussion, I would've said it was to spare Edward the embarrassment. After all, who cared what Heidi thought about us? As Edward had correctly seethed, Heidi's purpose was to handle his music career, not to offer him relationship advice.

But…the short, heated exchange, heavy with insinuations…with implications of more than words left unsaid, left me feeling sick and uncomfortable. And the last thing I wanted was to discuss it.

Edward held my gaze searchingly. Then, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he shook his head.

"Nothing, Izzy. It wasn't important."

"Okay," I nodded, swallowing. "Edward, I'm going to head back home. I've got studying to do."

"You sure you can't stick around a bit longer?"

"Nah, I'll let you get back to work," I said with a faint smile. Besides, I've got my own work to get to." I shrugged and added, with a grin, "But this was super cool. I loved it."

"I'm glad you loved it." For a second, I thought I heard a peculiar edge to his tone, something akin to…accusation. But when he drew me into his embrace and squeezed me tightly, whispered "I love you," in my ear…I was sure I just imagined that he'd snapped at me.

Pulling away, he swallowed hard. "Iz, do you-"

Impatiently tapping the microphone, then her shiny watch, Heidi interrupted from the control room.

"Damn it, Edward, we're on the clock here."

I offered Edward a rueful smile. "You'd better get back to it. I'll see you later?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to swing it. There are a couple of meetings scheduled."

I nodded. "It's okay. Just call me when you can and let me know the plan for tomorrow, all right?"

"Of course," he agreed, then gently brushed his lips against mine. "Bye, Izzy," he breathed.

"Bye."

The languid nod he gave me burned itself into my irises. So that, hours later, as I lay in bed alone, it was still all I saw.

ooooo

So, yes, it had been a long two weeks without Edward. Thankfully, Charlie and my mom were up in Forks visiting friends the afternoon of Edward's return to Seattle. So he and I were able to hide out in Bainbridge, away from the world and mutual obligations. I'd pushed aside studying for upcoming finals and called off Olympia's practice for the day. Edward, who was supposed to report to the studio, called Heidi feigning coughs in a deep, hoarse, and raspier voice than normal.

"I feel like crap, Heidi," he croaked.

Lying beside him in bed, I choked back laughter. That is until Edward stiffened and frowned darkly.

"What do you mean you can work with the even raspier voice?"

While Heidi continued insisting, Edward insisted he was at death's door. He looked at me, rolling his eyes and smiling, and I feigned an exasperated smile. Truthfully, it made me uneasy to see and hear the lengths Edward had to go to nowadays for a few hours to himself—a few hours to ourselves. Or, as Heidi called it, the waste-of-time relationship that was keeping him from his well-deserved fame.

I pushed those thoughts aside because Edward would be leaving again the coming weekend on a tour scheduled to be wholly different from all the previous ones. This…would be a nationwide tour, beginning on the East Coast. He and another new Volturi-signed act – an East Coast girl by the name of Janey Ventura, also getting significant airtime – would be the opening acts for a band touring nationally and so famous that when Edward told me their name, I was infused with a peculiar admixture of emotions. My heart sank at the thought of his imminent and lengthy departure. But my eyes bulged, and my jaw dropped in awe. And God, I was so proud of him.

Also, I couldn't help feeling a bit pleased that Edward's well-deserved pride comingled with his own misery at the fact that the tour and the tracks he was now set to record at Volturi Records' L.A. headquarters would keep him away for the next few months. He promised me he'd return to Seattle whenever he could manage to get away for a couple of days. But we both knew it wouldn't happen often. Edward was now playing in the Big Leagues, and when you play for the Mariners, you can't really spend too much time with the Minor League Triple-A Tacoma Rainiers.

The tour also scheduled him away the week of our one-year anniversary in May. In a fierce tone that brooked no argument or contingency plan, Edward further promised he'd be home for the day of our anniversary—if not for the entire week to celebrate, as we'd once planned.

After all this, what we'd initially jokingly referred to as Edward's sabbatical from the band became almost a nonissue. It was clear by then that Edward Cullen, Rockstar, would not be returning to Olympia, B-Grade College Band. As it was, his performances with us had long since grown sporadic due to his hectic schedule. Crowds that were unaware of the change came salivating for filet mignon only to find out that said juicy steak wasn't around, left hungry and disappointed after being presented with chopped liver.

Or so it seemed. The truth was that Olympia was back to being what it was before Edward – which was simply a decent band. The dwindling crowds reflected that.

ooooo

At one of our last gigs, before Edward left on the West Coast tour, Heidi quietly approached me while Edward was on the other side of the venue, speaking with excited fans. I hung up the band's newest promotional poster, one that did not feature her new protégé.

"I was going to talk to you about that." She jerked her chin toward the poster, her blood-red lips pursed, her long, sleek blond ponytail uniform moving like a pendulum behind her, and her hands on her leather-clad hips. Heidi had a way of standing; one hip always jutted forward so that one's eyes naturally followed the slim yet well-curved lines all the way from her gleaming hair to her long legs, then down to the stilettos of the day.

"If he's going to be signed to us," she slithered and stressed the last 's', "it obviously goes against our interests for you to keep him on promotional materials for your local band. But I'm glad to see you figured that out on your own without either me or our legal teams getting involved."

It was a condescending speech all around. Basically a:

'Good girl! Good job, puppy, learning on what little corner of my territory you're allowed to shit without my having to roll up a newspaper and smack you on the nose with it! Oh, and here's a pat on the head for using a modicum of your doggy brains!

I lifted a brow, staring blandly at her for a few seconds. Then I turned my back to her and away, smoothed down the new poster.

"It's dishonest to draw a crowd that's coming mainly to see Edward." I'd meant to keep it at that, but the rest just popped out. "That's why I'm changing the posters, not because I give two shits about your interests."

She chuckled. "The girlfriend's got claws. That's interesting, though," she added mildly, "considering that my interests and your interests should be one and the same. Hm. Very interesting."

When I turned back to her, she was already sashaying away toward Edward as if she were on a runway.

Whatever. All that mattered was our time, and it was quickly becoming as rare and precious as Edward's own gift – two priceless treasures that appeared increasingly incapable of co-existing in the same space.

ooooo

So, that afternoon, in the manner of sex-crazed young adults who'd missed the hell out of each other, we were loud and energetic. Our first go was a quickie, both too desperate to even divest ourselves of our clothing. Edward's shirt rode over his hard abs and mine over my bra while my pants and panties were yanked down as one, and his boxers and pants got much the same treatment. When he sank himself between my legs, our mutual thrusts were constricted and awkward. And hilarious and delicious. Our laughter punctuated every thrust and every other moan and groan.

Over the past eleven months of lovemaking, I'd discovered that Edward made love the way he made music – gritty, organic. His seductive side was balanced by the same vulnerability that made his gravelly voice addicting. Initial thrusts tended toward a slow, beguiling cadence, a tantalizing rhythm that languidly built up to a heart-pulsing staccato. After a handful of seconds, it was exquisite torture trying not to orgasm too quickly. In turn, the effort it took him to wait for me appeared as titillating lines of strain marring his forehead. Only once he felt me clench around him did Edward pin my hips with a gasped, "Izzy," followed by a long "Ahhh" of relief and pleasure.

Once Edward buried his face against my neck and went slack, I smiled up at the ceiling, reveling in the weight of his body, in the earthy, minty, and familiar scent of him, and in the sound of the nickname he reserved for me. He rarely ever called me Bella anymore. To him, I was his "Iz."

The next rounds lasted longer. We incorporated what we'd learned over the past eleven months but had initially foregone in favor of instant gratification. Now, every scrap of clothing came off so that our mouths could find the places that had earlier gone neglected. Edward's warm, wet tongue reacquainted itself with every inch of my body, from forehead to mouth to breasts to those parts that had me screaming out his name. I returned the favor with vigor, running my tongue from his mouth to his stomach and to the happy trail, then smiling around a full mouth as his hips bucked and the most wonderfully lusty filth spewed from his mouth.

Sated once again, we fell asleep for a bit. I woke up first and spent a few minutes watching him, my heart close to bursting at the sight of him looking so relaxed and peaceful. He rarely looked both lately. Feeling carefree myself, playful, and so happy to have him home that sleeping time seemed like wasted time, I nudged and pulled, and Edward groaned in exhaustion as I turned him over, stomach and face down on the mattress.

"Izzy, stop. Trying to sleep," he mumbled groggily, hugging my pillow, eyes still closed.

Kneeling beside him, I took a moment to admire and inventory him from this angle: the shaggy hair brushing the nape of his neck; the masculine silhouette of his forehead, nose, slightly-parted lips, and uncommonly angular jaw; the cut definition of his back; the round swells and indented glutes of his buttocks; the strong thighs; the sinewy calves, the hairy shins, and his size twelve feet.

Straddling his back, I leaned forward and brushed my lips back and forth against his nape, inhaling him as I spread my legs over his cushiony bottom. He moaned.

"Fuuck, Izzy, how am I supposed to sleep when you're so damn wet?"

In the next second, he flipped us over so quickly that I squealed in shock and laughed in delight when I ended up stomach and face down on the mattress and pinned by his body.

"Hah! How you like that?" he hissed triumphantly in my ear.

"I love that."

"You love that, huh?"

My laughter gave way to moans, to gripped sheets, to writhing and pleading when a knee nudged my legs apart, and he knelt between them. Snaking an arm around my waist, Edward quickly pulled my bottom half up off the mattress.

"Please…please…"

"You want it like this now?" he asked, his voice husky and low as he brushed himself against me.

"Yes, yes," I breathed, my heart pounding as I drew up my upper frame so that I was on all fours, pushing back, searching. With his quick thrust forward, we cried out together.

After that, we laid side by side, arms and legs knit like the braids of a rope while we caught our breaths yet again. My head rested on one of his pecks, and the waning adrenaline made his chest rise and fall in a series of erratic yet soothing undulations. It felt like the waves at the beach. He was telling me about a sneak preview he'd attended, along with a couple of other Volturi-label representees, some big wigs in L.A., and the movie's stars, to what was expected to be that summer's blockbuster. It was a movie right up Edward's alien-movie-loving alley.

"So, they're these octopi-looking, mechanical aliens that burrowed themselves into the earth's core, like millions of years ago, and they emit a friggin' soul-shattering howl, okay?"

"Hm."

"And now, they're bursting through concrete and wrecking the world, and they don't give two fucks about anything," Edward chuckled, "not our natural resources, not our technology, 'cause get this Izzy, they feed by grinding humans into milkshakes, -bones and all- and sucking us up."

"Ah."

"So Tom's character takes his kids and hightails- Iz, you're not listening to me."

"Never mind yet another form of aliens trying to take over the world, these by making milkshakes out of us. I'm listening to our hearts racing like a pair of wild horses," I whispered. "My heart feels like it wants to jump into your body, and your heart sounds like it wants to jump into mine. Almost like we're two halves of a whole, and neither half wants to ever be too far from the other."

There was a beat of snug, cozy silence.

"Iz…I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

My head shot up. Yawning, I met Edward's sleepy yet invigorated gaze.

"What, that your alien movie obsession may not be my favorite thing about you?"

He smiled crookedly. "No. The rest of what you said."

Frowning, I pursed my lips. "That's not true. I say nice things to you all the time."

He chuckled quietly. "It is true, but that's okay. I'm more than happy to revel in that bit of poetic Izzy for a bit."

"Well, what about you?" I countered, my tone sharper than I'd meant it. Something about his teasing had touched a nerve, though I wasn't sure why.

"What about me?" he smiled. "I tell you that I love you all the time."

"Three stupid words that life proves over and over mean absolute shit in the long run."

"Never mind that I also compose entire songs for you. Odes. That I show you I love you in a thousand different ways." He cradled my face in his hands and kissed my lips, chuckling. "But I'm not arguing with you, Izzy. That is the sweetest thing you've said to me, and I love it." His Adam's apple bobbed.

I held his gaze, my heart racing, but no longer from the thrill of our previous lovemaking. When I returned my head to his chest, Edward's fingers resumed a gauzy trace of my spine and a gentle exploration of its every groove and dip.

"I'm not sure you still perform those songs for me. They're more for your adoring fans now. Everything is for your adoring fans now."

I felt him stiffen. His fingers ceased their tracing, and I squeezed my eyes shut. This time, when I looked up and met his gaze, his was no longer quite so mellow, while mine was full of remorse for the senseless argument I was starting when our time was so limited.

"You know that's not true," he said.

"I know," I nodded in agreement. "It's not." I edged higher on his chest and found his mouth, pressing my lips to his while Edward gripped my waist. "I know it's not."

"Then why would you say-"

I slid my tongue between his lips, and after a few seconds, he melted under me, gripping me tighter as I braced myself on his shoulders and then skimmed my hands down his biceps. Pulling away, I traced the vibrantly blue, black, and red ink on his right arm – still fresh, slightly red, and swollen around the edges. The tattoo artist had managed to render it a rather intimidating image considering it was a swan – a black one, with its wingspan outstretched and encircling Edward's entire bicep, its eyes sharp, gaze fixed, and scissor-like, crimson beak razor-sharp and blood red.

Edward lifted himself into sitting position, resting his back on my bed frame. He then brought me up with him so that I sat across his lap.

"You know why it's a swan, right?" He dipped his head, leveling me with his gaze. "For my Swan. When I told Paulie, that's the tattoo guy, that I wanted a swan to represent my girl, he told me that, among other things, black swans symbolize deep, passionate love."

"Mm," I said, nodding noncommittally. It was his body, his choice, of course, but I'd heard nothing about the tattoo, nor the ear piercings, until they were done deals. And his muscles…

Obviously, the new build hadn't developed overnight or over the two weeks we'd been apart. Edward had been bulking up for months now, at the label's request, and altering his wardrobe with the expensive pieces Heidi kept buying him—fitted jeans and tee shirts that looked old and worn. Yet they accentuated his broad shoulders, sinewy arms, and muscular thighs, all ripped in strategic places that shed a spotlight on his ripped new build.

Once, I'd laughed in front of Heidi as she handed Edward a couple of new pieces of clothing, and he went to change. Then I said something like,

'I could've cut up some jeans and tee shirts for you for free.'

With a stank side-eye, she'd retorted,

'These are Givenchy,' – she pronounced it Jhih-vohn-shay – 'and I assure you, Bella, in a million years, you could not have achieved this result.'

Either way, the two weeks apart made the entire new assembly, Edward 2.0, come together in a jaw-dropping way. I mean, I'd always found Edward cute. Combined with his voice and talent, he was beyond attractive. Now, he returned a breathtakingly stunning demi-god.

"You don't like my tattoo, Izzy? Because I've seen you admire tattoos. I remember that guy whose tattooed bicep you signed the night of the ferry ride and that other guy who sat beside you in that lecture hall, the one who wore nothing but tight black tee shirts and loved showing you his new tattoos. Yeah, I see you remember him too," he smirked. "You don't remember me there in that lecture hall, crushing on you, but you remember his tattoos."

I chuckled. "Edward, I'm a red-blooded, human girl, not an emotionless, starfish alien."

"Octopi alien," he corrected.

"Of course, I like tattoos. I'm just…not used to you having one. That doesn't mean I don't like it. I do," I murmured, kissing him softly, then pulling back to hold his gaze. "Though I'll admit I miss your glasses. I used to enjoy fogging them up." I reached out and traced around each one of his emerald eyes, where pristine glasses once rested. My gaze panned up to his disheveled hair, and I raked a hand through the shaggy, copper-penny mane. "Thank God you left your hair intact. I love this hair, and I swear to God I would've marched into Volturi Records and choked the ever-loving shit out of Heidi if you'd altered it in any way."

He stroked my hair. "Now you know how I feel about these curls. Izzy…I love that you love my hair," he sighed. "And if it means keeping you from committing murder, I promise you, I'll never change my hair. Though I can't say that I miss my glasses. I never realized contacts would feel so freeing."

I remained silent.

"It's all just part of an image, Izzy. Heidi says-"

"Let me guess what Heidi says. Heidi says the audience has to look at you and want more than just your music. They have to want you in every possible way."

His chest stilled on an upward breath, remaining there for a handful of seconds. When he exhaled, he took me down along with him. After a second, he lifted my chin with his forefinger, waiting for me to meet his bright green eyes.

Emeralds. A treasure. Now, I had to learn to share with the world.

"Listen to me," he said gently. "It's a matter of presenting a whole package, not just the music, to the potential audience. Anyone can sing and write music. I have to stand out."

I nodded. "That definitely sounds like Heidi. And no, Edward, not everyone can sing and write music, not the way you do."

"Bella, none of it means they get me in the same way you get me."

I noticed he'd called me Bella, not Izzy, and my heart clenched painfully. "Edward…you already were the whole package."

He softened. "I love that you think so."

"But your groupies have to think so," I said. "I get it. I do."

I spoke lightly, and though my ensuing words were a split-second look, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it peek into my deepest fear, it was concealed so deeply within my heart, buried in a place I hoped never to have to rummage through, that the only way to express it without breaking down was to phrase it as a joke, even if the words felt like vomit in my mouth and literally made me nauseous.

"I warn you though, Edward, as hot as you look, if you develop the personality that goes along with this image, the rockstar who forgets-"

He caged me in his arms and rolled us over so fast that my words cut off. After screaming, I laughed and laughed.

"Stop," he growled, stopping our momentum with his back to the mattress and with me hovering above him. I braced myself on his strong, broad shoulders as he cradled my face.

"Izzy, this stupid nonsense of gigs, upcoming tours, and a record deal," he rolled his eyes, "it could all go away tomorrow, and I wouldn't give two fucks."

"You don't care about your lucrative record deal that will, in all likelihood, make you rich and famous?"

"Well…" he grinned, "to take a page from you, I am a red-blooded, human guy, not an emotionless starfish."

"Starfish alien," I corrected.

He chuckled. "That's still not correct, but fine, I might give one fuck about the record deal."

I laughed. "And now you're basically done with school and…and wow, you'll be touring with one of the biggest bands out there, opening for them..."

"Here's the absolute truth, Izzy, it's all cool, yeah." He admitted this with a passive expression that, at first, didn't match the words. Then he smiled, and behind the smile was barely contained excitement that broke through his attempted façade of cool and collected and erupted in laughter. "Fine, it's thrilling. I enjoy the hell out of it all – performing, cutting the album, meeting people, and knowing so many of them enjoy my music."

Pasting a smile of my own, I swallowed back the sliver of fear that grew wider with every passing day, threatening to choke off my air supply.

"Of course, they enjoy your music, Edward. We've been telling you since day one you'd have a record deal someday. It's all happening now."

"Yeah." He grinned dreamily, but the grin softened into a tender smile. "It's good, it is, but…Izzy, you and I are the real deal."

"The real deal," I echoed.

Straddling him again, I traced his arms and ink, his abs, and his pecks, and I allowed him to see me admire it all—muscles, piercings, tattoos, and those vibrantly green eyes, no longer concealed behind glasses. They watched me with heartrending…love.

Love that morphed into lust as I lifted my hips, then sank again over him, hipbone to hipbone. Where we fit like two pieces of a perfect puzzle. Dropping my head, I sighed, overwhelmed for a few seconds. Edward threw back his head and arched his back, pushing deeper into me. Grunting.

My voice shook around stuttered, whispered words. "I love…I love the sounds you make when…when you're enjoying my body…and I love…I love the feel of you buried so fucking deep…and I…" I choked, losing my breath.

"Ohh, Izzy, I love you," he groaned, "and I just wanna…I wanna…"

They were words. Just stupid words, and why repeat them back, when I could show him?

I pulled him up so that he sat under me, folding his strong legs and wrapping muscular arms around my bare torso so tautly that we melded together – literally two halves forming one whole.

Had an alien of any shape or form burst from the ground just then, intent on invasion, it would've had no idea where one human began and the other ended, not with the way we were fused. Our bodies ebbed and flowed like an ocean wave in a never-ending undulation. We were not at the mercy of the moon but of our own gravitational pull.

So, our sensual rhythm would've smote this alien race into surrender, left it so mesmerized by the beauty and expression in the majestic dance that it would've either left us alone to continue our performance or remained and begged us to teach the rest of its race this wondrous act.

That was how perfect Edward and I once were.

This emotionless alien's many knees would've gone weak and given out when, with our bodies still swaying, Edward cradled my jaw and gazed at me through soul-searing eyes. His fierce words were whispered so close to my mouth that our brushing lips trembled.

"You, my Izzy, are the only groupie I'll ever need."

Moreover…

Moreover, had that alien known that that was the last time Edward and I would make love so blissfully, so unencumbered by outward expectations, by inner fears, and without interference from individuals with their own selfish agendas…had that alien known that Edward's and my days as a couple were numbered, it would've emitted its most soul-wrecking howl ever.

Then, that alien would've scorched the Earth into a fucking abyss.


A/N: Thoughts?

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