A/N: It's been done before but all of them suck. So here is my whack at it.

Summary: "He was my only…anything. Only kiss, only touch, only…fuck. I couldn't call it anything other than a fuck, because anything else hurt too much. He said it was a mistake, and making love isn't a mistake. Fucking is mistake. Nonetheless, babies come from fucking. And my body was carrying a…baby." Bella awakens with a bit more clarity after her breakup-induced depressed stupor. With a biologically impossible situation at hand, Bella must find her way back to the Cullens and solve the problem that no normal teenage girl is fit to handle. New Moon AU, BxE.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. Rated M for sexual content, mention of self-harm, adult themes, and adult language.

Chapter 1

My hands were shaking. I noticed the world go silent, save for my labored breath. Goosebumps formed on my arms spontaneously, chilling me to the core.

I must have been going into shock.

This isn't real. This isn't fucking happening.

There had to be some explanation for it. He told me it couldn't happen. He wouldn't lie to me. He would never lie to me. In fact, that was the only thing I was 100% sure about in our brief relationship. In the end, he had withheld no truths from me. There was no sparing of the grisly details. Edward was honest and a good man. There was no doubt about that.

The thought of his name triggered nausea. I practically fell from the edge of the bathtub to the toilet, nearly slamming my forehead against the toilet's smooth porcelain as I landed on my knees. I leaned over the toilet as I felt my stomach roll. As I expelled the contents of my stomach into the toilet, I tasted bile and the partially digested bits of banana that I suppose I managed to down that morning, and spit the rest out when my airway was clear. I felt hot tears rolling down my cheeks. I laid one cheek against the lid, too tired to hold my head up.

I shut my eyes, breathing in and out. I desperately searched my brain for something that would explain what was happening. My head was spinning, and my efforts proved futile. I got off of my knees. My vision was blurry from the tears, and I had to support myself on the bathroom counter to stand up straight. When I raised my head up, I caught my own eyes in the mirror.

I looked…disgusting. There was a bit of vomit on the edge of my chapped lips and my skin looked so sallow I could have had jaundice. My hair was greasy and pulled up into a sloppy bun with the oily strands of my bangs framing my face. I don't even remember dressing myself that morning, let alone even thinking about taking a shower. I wiped the vomit off my lips with the back of my hand, too dizzy to try to grab the hand towel on the wall. I had to stop myself from smearing it all over my pants out of habit.

I managed to get myself into the shower, but realized that I was still dressed in my clothing. I noticed that I was wearing one of Renée's old sweatshirts and my most faded pair of jeans. As I took off the sweatshirt, I realized that I didn't even bother wearing a bra underneath. I winced as the rough, aged cotton brushed over my noticeably sore, swollen breasts. I attempted to shimmy out of the jeans, but I slipped on the shower floor, still wet from Charlie's morning shower. Thankfully, I slid down the back of the wall and ended up in the tub. I managed to peel the slightly damp skinny jeans and underwear off of myself. I set the other item down on the edge of the tub. My eyes were brimming up with tears again, and I desperately reached for the hot water with my right hand, my left held outside the tub, gripping onto an item for dear life.

The scalding water quickly flooded into the tub, and I curled into myself. I welcomed the warmth and masochistically enjoyed how it burned my naked flesh. I began to cry again, and tried to press my face into the water, willing myself to drown.

Why can't I just fucking die?

As I looked up from the bottom of the tub, through my tears I saw the pregnancy test peeking over the edge. I knew the answer to my question.