Contest entry for the May to December Romance Contest

Title: Behind the Desk

Rating: M

Summary:There are some wounds time can never heal, some loves that were never meant to be. Falling in love with her professor nearly destroyed Bella's life—this is the story of what happens when she falls in love with him for the second time.

Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

The arms squeezed around me serve as a reminder of what I'm leaving behind and of everything that's about to change. It's a necessary change, in its own right, and part of me is looking forward to it.

For as long as I can remember, I'd always been invisible.

Guys didn't want me.

Girls didn't go out of their way to be my friend.

Teachers never gloated about me nor did they complain.

I was just ... There.

For the most part, I preferred things that way. Flying under everyone's radar—simply existing.

But once upon a time, I was more. I got a taste of what mattering felt like. What being desired felt like. What people raved about—killed for, died over.

What love was.

And it was all thanks to one person: Mr. Masen.

He was a friend when I had no one else. The man who made me feel like a woman. Someone I never should have wanted. Never should have gotten.

Most important, I never should have helped to destroy his life.

But to everyone around me, I was all that and more—the destroyer, the liar—and now's my chance to leave that all behind.

Releasing my hold from around my grandmother's waist, I let out a long breath. Then, taking one last look around, I squint against the sun slowly rising in the distance.

"If you don't leave now—"

"I know. I know." I kiss her quickly on the cheek. "Love you."

"Listen to me, my sweet Bella." She pauses, before bringing both her hands up to cradle my face. Light brown eyes—almost a direct contrast to mine—stare hard at me. "You start fresh, okay? Start over. Be that girl no one knows. Fight for the happiness we both know you deserve."

My lip curls up in a small but grateful smile. The past three years have been hell for me, and more than anyone, she realizes I need this new start.

So with that last bit of encouragement, a tense wave toward the front door knowing my grandfather is looking out the window, and a deep breath, I climb in my car and say goodbye to my grandma; my best friend. As I do, both our eyes hold the same hope. That whatever waits for me at the end of this drive is the beginning of better days ahead.

Ten hours, two pit stops, and my weight in candy eaten later, the top of my new school building comes into sight.

"Oh, God." I can see flags, banners, and balloons from the highway, and I debate, for a second, how quick I can turn the car around. I don't do … festive. But I talk myself out of running, remind myself to keep my eye on the prize and keep trucking along.

Through the entrance, the carnival is worse than I imagined. The parking lot is littered with students, parents, and teachers.

It all makes me dizzy.

With my head down and guard up, I weave my way through the sea of people, following the "welcome students" signs. Damn near an hour passes before I get my "welcome seniors" packet, which, when I read it, makes me feel anything but welcome.

What the fuck?

"What do you mean you don't have a dorm assignment for me?"

"I mean just that, dear. We sent letters letting you know you had some unresolved issues to take care of prior to move-in date."

My eyes narrow at the old lady's condescending tone. "Which I assumed meant in regards to my credits. And when I called, I was told I'd be able to discuss that at a later date."

"Well, then, I'd hardly say it's my fault since you assumed you knew what the issue was and didn't take the time to fully verify."

My already narrowed eyes turn into a full-on glare. She isn't even being the least bit helpful. Aren't school officials supposed to be nurturing or something? At least pretend to care?

"So what am I supposed to do now?"

"I don't know, dear, but I have a line full of students behind you I need to help. So if you could step aside ..."

Fighting back tears, I stomp out of the office. I'm both livid and devastated. Surrounding me are gaggles of girls, laughing and going on to their parents about their dorms. Friends hugging after not seeing each other for the summer and happiness radiating off people in waves.

For a moment, I wonder how things would be if I were in their shoes; if I had friends who missed me when I went away, or someone—like a mom—who was always there for me. To back me up.

My grandmother's tried, and I love her for it, but it's not the same.

Lost in my own thoughts, I miss the sound of someone's approach until a deep voice, pipes up and says, "They messed up my sister's room arrangments, too."

I tilt my head back, calmly, pretending he didn't just scare the shit out of me. "Okay?"

"But she came last week," he continues, "and was able to work things out. She rented an apartment with the help of the off-campus housing department. You should go talk to them."

Tears of hope welling in my eyes stop the "mind your business" I feel wanting to come forward. This isn't the time to be a bitch. It's time to accept the help with gratitude.

"Do you know … Well, of course, you know." I dart up, dusting some dirt off the back of my jeans. "Can you show me? Where the office is, I mean."

"Of course." His smile gleams against the sun. "I'm Emmett, by the way."

"Thank you, Emmett." I nod. "Bella."

While he walks me to the office, we don't engage in any unnecessary small talk. For that, I'm grateful. I wouldn't know what to say. But as subtly as I can, I gaze at him from the corner of my eyes. Tall, muscular, curly, short dark hair, and dimples for days.

Jeez. They grow them cute out here.

If I'm not mistaken, I think I catch him looking at me as well. Nervously, I fluff at my ponytail, toying with the ends, and continue looking forward.

The office is crowded and noisy as hell when we get there, but the vibe is different from check-in. And thankfully, there isn't a line.

"Can I help you?"

The rough bark from the man sitting behind the desk scares the shit out of me, causing me to stammer over my explanation.

"Yes—yeah. I was at advising, I mean check-in …" As calm as possible, I explain the situation, but find it difficult when he looks bored as hell in the face of my dilemma.

Half an hour of going back and forth later, it's clear he has absolutely no clue what to tell me. Neither does the second person I speak to when I request help from someone else.

This lady, though nicer and more sympathetic, is just as much at a loss since it seems I'm not the only person who got fucked in the ass with no lube courtesy of the housing screw up.

With a soft whispered, "Thank you," I slump back outside, confused and lost about what to do. Going back home is not an option.

"My sister got a two bedroom."

Looking over at Emmett, I arch my eyebrows. His sister has a roof over her head; I don't.

Good for her.

"And she's alone. She's been bitching all week about how she's not going to be able to afford the place without a roommate." At my continued blank stare, he sighs. "I could call her, if you want? See if she'd be interested in taking you in as a roommate?"

"Oh."

Oh!

I'm not used to anyone other than my grandmother going out of their way to help me, so I take a little longer than most people probably would to answer him. He doesn't look like a bad guy, one who might be helping me in the hopes of getting something else in return. Then again, what do those types of guys look like, anyway?

"I'm not a bad guy."

"I never said you were."

"But you're trying to figure out if I am or not. Right?"

I purse my lips to avoid blurting out denial. There's no need for that when he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"Sorry. I'm just—"

"Being cautious. As you should be."

"Cautious." Yeah, I guess, but that's half the battle. "Don't take this the wrong way, but why are you trying to help me?"

"Good deed for the day?" His eyes twinkle; dimples deepen.

Cute.

"I really appreciate it." I smile, both from gratitude and at the sing-song way he answers, and tell him he could go ahead and call his sister. I'm a little apprehensive, but know I have nothing left to lose.

"It's not far," he tells me once he gets off the phone. "We can walk."

In silence, we start making our way, when something, no someone, out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. All the muscles in my body lock into place and breathing fails me. I would recognize that crazy head of hair anywhere.

But it can't be.

There's just no way.

"What is it?" I feel Emmett's hand at my arm. "What's wrong?"

Shaking my head, I squeeze my eyes tighter, taking a moment to breathe and compose myself. I'm hungry, hot, and tired. The combination must be affecting my psyche and making me hallucinate. When I open my eyes, Emmett is staring at me. "Uh …" Unable to focus, I close them again. "Nothing. I just thought I saw someone I knew, but that's impossible."

"Seeing things?"

"Yeah. Let's hope." Putting my hallucinations out of my mind, I give Emmett a tight smile and suggest we get walking.

About five minutes later, he stops us and, with a flourish of his arms, says, "Well, this is it."

I gesture for him to lead the way and follow him up the narrow two flights of stairs, my heart beating with every step.

The door to the apartment is slightly open and creaks when we push it wider.

The space is small, and there's a girl on the floor, sifting through a box. She's a tiny thing with a short, black fauxhawk, and her face is the picture-perfect mask of indifference.

Walking forward, I reach my hand out to introduce myself, but she hesitates and gives me a look of pure disdain. I drop my hand and stare right back at her.

"Who are you?"

"Ali, this is Bella." Emmett steps up. "I called you on the phone and told you I ran into a girl who was looking for a place, remember?"

"Oh."

"Yeah. So, anyway, Bella, this is my sister Alice."

She gives me a once over, making it clear she doesn't want me here, and I realize it's time to set a few things straight.

"Just so we're clear ... I don't want to be here either." I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. "And that's in reference to this school and to being your roommate. But I have nowhere to go, so if you agree to let me stay, I'll keep out of your way. And if you promise to stay out of mine, we'll get along fine. I have money saved. I plan on getting a job. Plus, with whatever refund I assume I'll get back from the dorm situation, I'll be able to give you a deposit, whatever you want. But—" I drop my arms and shrug "—that's my offer. As you see, it doesn't involve me begging you or putting up with an attitude I haven't done anything to deserve."

Looking over at Emmett, and ignoring both of their gaping mouths, I add, "You have my number. If she changes her mind, call me. But, for now, I have to go back to the school. If they fucked up my housing, I can only imagine what my classes are gonna be like. Thanks for your help, though. Really—it means a lot."

With that, I turn on my heels and hightail it down the stairs, trying to hold on to as much pride as I can.

Emmett's stomping footsteps, along with his apologies for his sister, brings me to a stop before I can make my way to the street.

"Oh, no, please don't even worry about it." I take a step back to allow a guy holding a box to pass me. When he's halfway up the stairs, I focus back on Emmett. "She has every right not to want me there. Her place, her prerogative. You tried."

"Yeah, but if she doesn't get a roommate, can't afford rent, and gets evicted, it becomes my prerogative. 'Cause she's not moving it with me." He winks. "Let me talk to her. Go do whatever you have to do at the school, but trust me—you'll have a place to stay by the time you're done. But first ..."

He takes a step toward me.

I take an involuntarily step backward. "What are you doing?" I ask, frantically. My breath hitches when his hands find my waist, but I let out an exhale when he slides my phone out of my pocket.

"You said to call you, but I don't have your number. So ..." He slides his fingers across the screen then hands it back to me. "Here you go."

Barely catching my breath, I choke out a "Thanks." Jumping at the sound of a door near us slamming shut.

"Oh, and, Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"I already told you. I'm not a bad guy."

Behind his words are hurt, his eyes dejection. And I want to say something to soothe him, but I can't. I can't apologize for my momentary panic. Being a woman, I think those types of reactions are instinctual. Still, I walk away feeling sorry that I hurt his feelings.

I reflect on it as I make my way back to the school but stop suddenly and take a moment to look around. When this puts me dead in the middle of the sidewalk, someone passing by almost knocks me over. They're rude and don't bother apologizing, but the bright side is they don't spare me another glance. They don't know me. I smile at this. This was the point after all, wasn't it? To be somewhere where nobody knows my name.

I could have stayed back in Forks. I could've gone to one of the schools closer to home, lived with my grandparents a little while longer. But this was a blessing in disguise. That's what I told myself the minute I found out my school took a hit with funding. Last year, when they announced they were going to have to cut down on classes and faculty, I knew my major was going to be the first to go. Some left last year, but I'd waited things out, prolonging the inevitable.

But now, here I am, in the middle of the sidewalk, blissfully, a stranger to those walking by.

With that realization, there's a smile on my face as I backtrack the other way and head toward the school.

Inside, I'm still angry at my meeting with Alice, uneasy and guilty about making Emmett feel like a creep, weirded out about my hallucination, and even more pissed about the mix-up with my dorm. But really, it's child's play in comparison to my life up to this point.

I've dealt with worse, I encourage myself, and I'll deal with all this, too.

The next morning, I wake up with a groan, and my first experience with achy bones and muscles. I stalled for as long as I could, but as day turned into night with still no word from Emmett, my hopes of an easy fix to a shitty situation were obliterated. So the night ended with me sleeping in my car, and the day started with me sneaking into a dorm building to shower.

Nearly a week passes—as the school tries, and fails, to get their shit together—before I get a phone call from Emmett asking me to meet up with him.

I'm surprised, sure that he'd long since forgotten about me, but I see no reason not to go. I immediately regret my decision when I meet up with him, and Alice is there, too.

"Sorry, I haven't gotten a chance to get back to you." Emmett rushes out before I can say hi. "Where have you been staying?"

"Just around," I reply, trying to feign non-nonchalance.

"Around in your car, you mean?"

I square my shoulders at Alice's words, ready for her judgment.

I don't need it.

I don't want it.

She can go fuck herself for all I care.

"What do you want? Why are you here?"

She shrugs. "I changed my mind."

"Good for you."

"No, wait. Let me explain. Right before you guys walked in, I'd been talking to my friend. She mentioned needing a place, too. And … Well, I didn't want to renege on my promise, so that's why—"

"That's your excuse for being a bitch?" I snort, knowing she's full of shit. Apology not accepted. "Listen. I'm busted. I get it. You saw me sleeping in my car, but trust me … I'm okay with that. I don't need to move somewhere I'm not wanted and live a life of misery." Been there, done that. "You should live with a friend. Someone you like. We both know that's not me. And we both know the feeling is mutual."

"Wow. I didn't think you'd be the type to be prideful or stubborn."

"You don't even know me!" I dart up.

Emmett is instantly in between us.

"You both need to chill. Alice, your friend flaked, and you need a roommate. Bella, you're basically homeless and need a place to stay. Problem solved."

"I'm no one's charity case."

"You'll be paying rent. It's not like anyone's doing you any favors. If that's what you're worried about."

It kind of is. I don't want anyone, anywhere, ever to feel as if I owe them something.

"Fine," I say, knowing I don't have many options anyway. "As long as that's settled."

"It is," Alice says.

"Great!" Emmett claps his large hand on my shoulder. "Let's get to it then."

"So, did you get your schedule figured out?" Emmett asks.

It's taken a few days, but I finally got everything worked out with the school. Well, for the most part, at least.

"Kind of. But most of them say TBA for the professors."

"Yeah, that happens a lot around here."

"Hey, ya'll." Alice walks in. Much to my shock, we haven't killed each other, but we're nowhere near friends, either. "Classes start tomorrow. Ready?"

Her question is more for Emmett than me. So I taper off and let them do their thing, checking—one last time—to see if all the information for my classes has updated online. All but one seems to have been.

Tuesday morning, I do a double take when I walk into my second class of the day. When the door swings open, every single female eye flies to the door, running fingers through their hair and puckering their lips.

A small snicker escapes my lips when I take in the postures and the way some of the girls in class are dressed. I'd already heard rumors about a few hot professors, but I'm more than happy with fading into the background with my sweats and T-shirt. No makeup, hair tossed up in a ponytail, and my glasses, as I didn't have the energy to put in my contacts.

A small pang pinches at my heart for them, for me. I was there once. Wanting nothing more than to be noticed.

To get a second glance.

To be that special one.

And for a moment, I was until …

"There he is," a voice whispers behind me. "That's Mr. Masen."

Everything stops.

The noises.

My breathing.

It feels as if someone punched me in the gut—knocked the wind out of me.

Karma has its way of coming back to you. No matter what anyone says, I believe that's true.

So when he walks into the classroom, briefcase in hand, I can barely speak, I can barely breathe. But the dark chuckles that escape my lips tells me that, deep down, I'm not all that surprised.

A cursory glance around the room and a polite but guarded smile is given before our "professor" gives his spiel and begins to call out everyone's name on his roster.

"Heres" and "presents" are mumbled. Some, "yeahs." as well before I know my name should be coming soon.

"Bella Sw ..." My last name hangs in the air, swallowed up by a thick cloud of tension.

With his head still bowed, his eyes slowly trail up from the page, and when we lock stares, the look on his face sends trickles of dread down my spine.

He doesn't bother hiding his shock.

He doesn't bother hiding his anger

Mix that together with another unmistakable emotion: his hate.

After class, I linger, wondering if he might say something to me—even if it's rude. Tell me he hates me. That I need to transfer out of his class as soon as possible.

Curse me to the pits of hell.

Anything.

Something that will explain his absence for the past few years. Explain why he left without so much as a goodbye.

I prepare myself for the worst.

And I get it.

Because he doesn't yell at me. He doesn't give me an explanation or apologize for leaving. Instead, without a parting glance, he gathers his things and walks out the classroom door.

No acknowledgment of our past.

No acknowledgment of my existence.

It shouldn't hurt. I should be grateful, thankful, relieved, that he's choosing not to acknowledge it—us. All I've wanted, prayed for, was the ability to move on. I've wondered, day in and day out, what he must be feeling—might have felt.

About me.

Our time together.

If he cared, if he loved me. I know it shouldn't sting. Tears shouldn't pool in my eyes, stain my cheeks. My knees shouldn't feel as if they're about to buckle under the weight of his dismissal, of his rejection.

No one ever thinks about it the next day. They dream up the fantasies, imagine the seduction, the lust. But the consequences of sleeping with your teacher and being involved in an affair have its aftermath.

I've lived it for years. And now it seems, I'm being destined to relive it all over again.

For the remainder of the day, it feels like I hold my breath and don't release it until I get to bed that night.

At this moment, for the first time in a long time, I wish I had a friend. Someone, anyone, I could go to. Cry, vent, and just talk about him. Talk about us. But I have no one. And clutching my pillow, I fall asleep almost drowning in my own tears.

The next morning, with the same tears dried around my eyes—a new wave of emotions hits me.

Anger.

Rage.

Resentment.

He's the one who left me.

He's the one who threw what we had away—who chose her over me.

I didn't lie.

He did.

And I want to move on, but I can't because how can you move on without closure? How can you forget when you still have so many questions?

Forgiving and forgetting go hand-in-hand.

I've been holding on to my own guilt for too long.

But I try—as usual—to ignore it, tame it down, and focus on what I have to do. What everyone's been telling me I will never do for most of my life.

Succeed.

Persevere.

And find someone who loves me despite my past. Not hate me because of it.

Two days later, I'm in the same seat when he walks into class. When I see him looking around the room, I duck my head. I don't need to see the hate behind his eyes again. I don't need to give him the power of knowing he can still destroy me with one simple glare.

When my name is called, I throw a hand in the air but avoid actual eye contact.

This time, he's the one who lingers after class, but I gather my things and run out before I've had a chance to collect them properly.

Once out the door, the fresh air smacks at my face, and I stumble against the building. It's petrifying that one person can hold so much power over me after all this time.

The next few classes are a struggle as I try to settle into a new routine. Every second in Edward's presence is painful, but as he continues not speaking to me, I start feeling as though ignoring our past and letting each other be is something we've resigned ourselves to do. That is until I get back my first assignment of the year. I'm shocked, sad, and confused when the first failing grade I've had in over five years stares back at me.

At first, I chalk up the F to transition pains. Trying to balance a new school, new routine, work, and attempting a social life, that includes parties with Alice and Emmett, hasn't been all that easy.

But as time moves on, the more I try, the harder I fail.

"What's that face?"

I scowl at the paper in my hand, unable to fix the nature of my glare when I hand it to Emmett, who seems to hang out at our house a lot more than his.

"I just don't get it," I whine to Emmett, Alice, and her "kind of boyfriend" Peter. He's always around, too, but their relationship is … strange. Still, he's a decent guy. One, who's even helped tutor me. "I studied for that test. You guys know I studied for that test."

"If you ask me …" Peter shakes his head, staring down at the paper. "It would seem like Professor Masen has it out for you."

My body goes rigid. "Why … Why would he do that? I mean, why would he have it out for me?"

What do you know?

He hands me back the paper, shrugging. "Beats me, but he's always had an easy going thing about him. Not this year, though. Something's gotten under his skin."

I duck my head down.

Yeah, something sure has gotten under his skin.

Me.

When I look back up, I flinch at Alice's scrutinizing look. But as the rest continue to talk, Emmett himself confused as to how I could have done so poorly on the test even though I knew it all along. It dawns on me. It doesn't matter how hard I try—this, right here, is Edward's revenge.

I don't bother waiting for class to come. The next morning, I storm into his office and throw my test paper at him.

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

"Yeah, let me call you right back. No, I will—love you, too."

I narrow my eyes at him as he practically slams the phone down.

"You have a lot of balls storming in here like that."

"Fuck you," I snap, grabbing up the paper. "You failed me on purpose."

"Did I?" He smiles, slowly stalking over to me. "Well then ..." His eyes get hard, one side of mouth lifts up—he looks sinister. "Prove it."

"What's the reason you want to drop this class?" my advisor asks.

It's been weeks since Edward walked out of his office, smugger than a motherfucker, challenging me to prove he was failing me on purpose. I never formed the energy to cry over it. I was angry and gutted, but it was more of a seething, paralyzing pain.

I haven't bothered showing up to class since. I wasn't going to go back, but I knew I had to deal with it when I got an email from my advisor a few days ago reminding me attendance is a big part of my grade.

My way is to avoid seeing him altogether.

"It's just a bigger course load than I thought it would be. I'll take it next semester."

"It's too late in the semester to get a refund for the class."

"That's not a problem." I perk up. I'll gladly take the loss. Edward knows what he's doing—what failing me means. A low GPA will destroy me. I've worked hard over the past two years to get the grades I have now. I can't let him take that away from me.

"If that's what you want." She shuffles through some papers on her desk before handing me what looks like a generic form. "Have your professor sign this to release you from his class."

Fuck.

Edward's enjoying making my life hell. He won't give me this out.

I had no idea he could be so malicious, and when I think about it, I get angrier. I'm the one who should be acting vindictive and immature about all this.

Still, the next time class comes around I don't go. Instead, I choose to lounge around the house.

That's how Alice finds me—buckets full of junk food, a sad movie on silent with an even sadder song blasting from the radio.

"Enough," she shouts, smacking the off button on the radio. "What the hell is going on with you?"

"Nothing," I say, half-heartedly.

"I'm not stupid, and I'm not blind. Did Mr. Masen do something to you? I hear you crying at night. Sometimes during the day and always after his class. Your grades in that class suck, and no offense, but you're a nerd when it comes to studying. You're not failing that class for no reason. So, if he hurt you or something, I just wanted to say you should tell, and …. and I'd go with you."

A shocked lump forms in my throat at the fierce protection in her voice. "He didn't do anything to me," I rush out, more to calm her down than it is to defend him. "We have … history."

"History?" She settles on my bed. "But you just got here."

I hesitate. I want so badly to tell her, confide in her, but I know I can't trust her.

Or can I?

"I slept with Jasper," she whispers, but her body sags as if she tossed the weight of the world off her shoulders.

Jasper.

Jasper.

"Where have I heard that name before?"

"That's Peter's stepfather's name; also the same Jasper."

"Holy shit!"

"Exactly. So now you know whatever you're going through, I get it. Now, I showed you mine. Show me yours."

I stare at her, and taking a deep breath, I decide I'm going for it—I'm going to tell her. I start from the beginning, somehow shortening the longest story of my life. I tell her how, by the time freshman year of high school came around, I was sneaking bottles of alcohol to school—whatever I could find in my grandfather's liquor cabinet. Then, how I got on the bad side of mean girls who snitched and got me kicked out. "Do you know what alternative high schools are?"

Rolling her eyes, she scoffs. "I'm not an idiot."

"That's still up for the jury to decide. Anyway. That's where I went to high school sophomore and junior year."

I continue on with the condensed version of my life story. How hard it was growing up with my grandfather—how he made it clear, every chance he got, that I was more of a burden than a blessing. How he lived to cut me down. "School wasn't my thing, and that was one more reason for him to get on me.

"And when someone constantly tells you you're stupid, you do one of two things. You either, one—" I lift up my thumb "—fight to prove them wrong or, if you're like me you believe it."

"Kind of like being called a slut all the time." She waves a hand when I start to say something. "Anyway, where does Professor Masen come into the picture?"

"Right." I sigh. Where was I? "My teachers at Forks Alternative High cared. There's no other word to use. They made me want more—pushed me. So when senior year rolled around, I knew I wanted to finish at a regular high school so I could get a diploma. Our only option at FAH was a GED. One stipulation to transfer back was that we clock in a certain amount of community service hours."

"So where'd you do your hour stuff?" She moves to her stomach, resting her chin on her hands.

"A local youth center. They had kickboxing, wrestling, and stuff like that. It was the only place in town you could really get those things without having to drive into the city."

"You kickboxed?"

"For like a day." I laugh at the memory of my high kick attempt that turned into a moment of flailing in the air and pulling a muscle. It was pretty much over for me after that. "The coach was Edward Masen."

Different emotions flash across her face.

She gets it.

"For that summer, he was a friend."

"Nothing more?"

"Nope." What I leave out of the story is that he was engaged that summer to the art teacher at the youth center.

It's hard to smile when I think of Ms. Angela now, but once upon a time, she was a driving force behind what made me interested in art. And I paid her back by ruining her life.

"So yeah. During the summer, he was my lunch buddy, always funny and sweet. We talked a lot, and he never treated me like a burden. When summer ended, we went our separate ways. When classes started, it was the same shit different school. They never let me back in my old school, so I had to drive almost an hour to the next high school."

"So, what happened next?"

"Sometime over Christmas break, our algebra teacher had a stroke. With her leaving came substitutes."

"Ah."

"Yeah. When I walked in and saw him, I almost freaked."

I go on to explain how I took him being nice as nothing more than a friendly gesture at first. But one night, I showed up in shambles at his house after a rough fight with my grandpa. He took care of me, helped me. Slept with me. For the next couple of months, we kept on with it, but somehow we were outed.

"A few days before graduation, my principal calls me into his office, asking me if 'Mr. Masen was ever inappropriate with me.' I said no, at first, but I couldn't deny it for long. There was proof, supposedly. So I said what I could without lying too much but also making sure he didn't look bad. After that, he wouldn't take my calls. And a few days after I graduated, he was gone. No note. No call. He just vanished."

When I finish my story, I feel ten times better. Everyone in town knew a version of the story—whichever one they believed. No one ever asked for my side. At first, I was okay with them looking at me as if I was the problem; as if I was the whore—the girl who got kicked out of school for drugs and drinking, and then seduced her young teacher. This is the first time I've had the chance to tell someone my story from beginning to end.

Silence descends in a way I didn't expect. As I play back my words, the story sounds both more sordid than I remember yet tamer than I remember feeling.

"Well." She sits up. "I can tell you're leaving out a lot, but I want to ask you something, and I need you to be dead honest. How did you end up here? Everyone knows where Professor Masen is from. It's in his bio. So you had to have known, too."

"For so long ..." I duck my head down, embarrassed. "I had this big idea in my head about how a reunion between us would go down. He would see me—realize the error of his ways, beg for my forgiveness, and I would make him grovel."

"So you came here hoping to find him?"

"No." I shake my head because I truthfully didn't. "I had no idea where he went when he ran off. It's not as if we had any mutual friends. I did—do—know he's from here, but …" I blow out a breath searching for the words. "He talked about home all the time. He'd moved to Forks for Angela, so I knew he'd find his way back here. But not here. I wanted to be closer to him. Like in theory or spirit, or whatever, and maybe, one day, years down the line, it would make it easier to run into him. But, no, I didn't pick this specific school hoping I'd run into him. That's just an unlucky coincidence."

"This is Jasper's alma mater," she whispers, "It's the one and only reason I came here. I try to tell myself it's no different than when high school couples plan their colleges around each other, but really, it's nothing like that."

I get her reasoning. It doesn't always need to make sense as long as it helps us get through the night. "So you're shacking up with your boyfriend's dad?"

"Well, technically, he's his stepdad. But ..." She throws herself on my bed, bringing a pillow over her head. "Fuck me."

"Yeah, he did." I poke her in the side. I have no room to judge, and I want her to know I'm here if she wants to talk about anything.

"Shut up."

The pillow hits the side of my face. I grab it pretending I'm going to hit her back with it, but stuff it under my arm and let out a long, tired sigh. That brings her attention back to the matter at hand.

"So what are you going to do? What's your game plan?"

"I don't have one," I admit tiredly. "I can't confront him, and having a civil talk is out of the question. I just need to get through the rest of the semester. After that, I'll never have to see him again. Whoever this Edward is, isn't the man I fell ... He isn't the guy I knew three years ago. He's cold. Bitter. Hateful ..."

"And failing you on purpose."

"Yeah, that too."

"There has to be something we can do though. There has to be."

"It's his word against mine."

"God, what a fucking prick." She darts up, eyes wide. "He's the one who used you. He got his rocks off just the same as you did. And he couldn't even call you, or acknowledge you, after all, this time? Sweetheart, you were eighteen. Does that make you a legal adult, yes. But he's a grown ass man who's … How old is he?"

"He was twenty-three. So, twenty-seven now?"

"So a grown ass man five years older than you. He should have known better. And fuck all that guilt going on in your eyes because he owes you an apology."

On instinct, or maybe it's habit, I want to defend him with both my mind and body. My heart won't let me though because she's right, and it feels damn good for someone to be on my side for once.

"By the way," Alice says, "How did they find out about you guys, anyway?"

"I have no idea." I always assumed it was Angela. Supposedly, he had called the wedding off over the summer, but she didn't want things to be over.

On one night, he mentioned she had called him wanting to get back together, but he planned to tell her he found someone else. At the thought, I know I was vulnerable and stupid. "He said he wanted to be with me after I graduated. We even talked about moving. But you know how that story ends. He left without me."

Exhaling, I reach for my phone to seek the time. Nearly three hours have passed. I'm drained.

"Well …" Alice smacks a hand to her thighs and stands up. "I gotta go study."

"Not me," I chuckle bitterly. The only class I have a real midterm for is Edward's.

As she's walking out of the door, I call out to her.

"Yeah?" she turns around to face me.

"Thanks," I say. "You know, for listening tonight and for … not judging."

"Oh, I'm definitely judging you." She winks. "By the way," she points to my bed. "Wash my sheets or I'll bleach your clothes."

"There's the sociopathic bitch I love!"

"Hey, Bella?" Alice calls out from somewhere in the apartment about a week later.

"What!"

"Can you come here please?" she asks, sweetly.

"Where is here?" I walk out of my room, searching for her. "And why do you sound like that?"

"Here is the hallway, and just hurry the fuck up, please."

Giggling, I make my way toward the front and notice the door cracked open. It's hot and our internet has been cut off so I'm not surprised when I find her outside, half-naked with my laptop propped on her lap.

"Hey." Her eyes are sad, and the smile on her face is forced.

Plopping myself on the floor next to her, I lean in. "Uh oh. What did you do?"

"Did you see this?" She points to the screen.

"My laptop? Yeah, I see it every day. Well, when you're not borrowing it all hours of the night reading porn." When she doesn't crack a smile, my playfulness deflates. "What's wrong?"

"Were you checking your grades today?"

"Yeah, earlier. Why?"

"Did you look at them?"

I laugh. "That's what checking them means."

"Yes, but did you see them?"

How many ways can you ask the same damn question? "I didn't really look at the actual grades, no. I just wanted to see what my GPA was."

"It's a 3.0."

"I know."

"No, Bella. It's a 3.0—how is that possible with an F in math?"

"Let me see that!" I snatch the laptop from her lap, and sure enough … "That motherfucker!"

"How do you even know he'll be here?"

"I just do. Trust me."

I sulked around for hours trying to make sense of it all. I'm no mathematician, but it didn't take long to figure out that the D's and F's I've gotten in Edward's class shouldn't equal a B as my mid-semester grade.

When I pass the stairs that lead down to the weight room, and Alice pulls me back jutting out her chin, I stop.

"Of course." I should have known that's where he would spend his spare time.

Slinking back to the corner, I watch as he wails on a punching bag. Two right jabs follow a left hook. His body's twisting. Hair matted to his head. Ear buds in his ears. A white, wife beater soaked in sweat and basketball shorts slung low on his hips. I push down the desire seeping out of me, reminding myself how pissed I am. Not just about the grades. Not just about now, but about all of it. I'm done with it, and Alice is right. He owes me. At best, an apology. At worst, an explanation.

As I'm about to take a step forward, he pauses. Then he pulls off his T-shirt, throwing it to the side, and I see it—them; I'm reminded by the scriptures adorning his entire back. It's a reminder of what he's been through, and I have to close my eyes and fight against the tears I've cried for him and me. It's so easy to make excuses for people in your mind. Find things to hold on to. But I can't—won't—make this easy for him.

When I reach him, I pinch the wires of his headphones and pull them down.

His hands go up in a defensive stance as do mine.

"Slow down, Mike Tyson. It's just me."

He lets out an audible sigh, but then seems to stop mid-breath. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"I came to find out what the hell this is." I thrust a printout of my grades in his face.

He rips it from my hand and tosses it to the ground. "If you have an issue with your grade, — take it up with your advisor."

"No. My issue is with you. With this. What the fuck? You don't get to have it both ways. You don't get to disregard me, ignore the fact we used to fuck, and then fail me for it."

"What did you say?" He advances on me. "You know good and fucking well, you were more than just some girl I fucked. You were the girl I loved, and in the end, the one who fucked me over. Don't flip it on me."

I gasp at the same time his eyes widen. Even in the past, he never once said those words.

Well, this conversation escalated quickly.

I let out a shaky breath, standing stock-still as he gathers his things around me. "You owe me—"

"I don't owe you a goddamn thing." He snatches up his gym bag and darts pass me.

"Yes, you do! At the very least, explain that." I point to the ground, holding on to the shred of dignity I have left and refusing to pick up the printout. "Why do I have a B when all my papers and tests have been coming back Ds and Fs?"

"If you'd paid attention, you would have realized your grades online have never been below average. What you get handed back from me in class isn't what you're getting back once I've factored in the curve. Happy?"

No.

I'm pissed.

Hurt.

"You knew more than anyone how my grades … Me passing and failing … How that fucks with me. Did it feel good, making me feel like a dumbass and reminding me how stupid I am?"

He blanches, frozen, mouth open in shock as a realization, or perhaps a memory, dawns on him. "I didn't think."

"No, you didn't. So this is your big what? Revenge? Come back? Pretending to fail me? Very mature, Edward." I give him the five-finger okay sign. "Let's not talk about what happened—no instead, let's fuck with Bella's mind. Forget apologizing for walking out on me."

"A-apologize?" he splutters. "You were old enough to play big girl games. You were old enough to make bets with your friends. Therefore, you were old enough to take me leaving like the woman you pretended to be."

"Bets?" I swallow the bile in my throat.

Oh, no.

"Yeah, did you think I wouldn't find out?"

"It's not that simple."

"It never is."

I had no idea the lie would get back him, but still. "You should know better."

"How would I have known better? I knew they talked to you, and they told me you admitted to us being together. I can't believe you didn't stand up for me."

I balk and splutter, wide-eyed. "That's why you're mad? That's your excuse for leaving? You think I didn't stand up for you? The whole bet thing was me standing up for you! Do you have any idea what I've been through these past few years? "

"What you've been through?" He crosses his muscular arms over his chest. "Bella, please. They looked at me as if I was some offender; like I was some—"

"No, they didn't! I was eighteen. And, news flash, it wouldn't matter what I said. You were a teacher. You slept with a student. That and that alone is why you were fired. But go ahead and put the blame on me when the truth is you weren't man enough to face me and what we were. God, you're the biggest mistake I'd ever made."

"Likewise!"

"You know what, Edward?" I gasp for a breath. "I don't want to fight with you. You're not worth it." It's a lie. Because still, even now, he is so worth it. "Fix my grades or I'll report you." I make my way out, but the sobs buckle my knees before I reach the door. I never wanted him to see me crying over him, but I have no control over this.

"Bella?"

"Don't touch me." I smack Edward's hand away.

"Get up off the floor."

"I said don't touch me." I jump up and whirl around. The sting in my palm registers before I realize what I'm doing. And when the slap echoes off the walls, I lose the last shreds of my strength.

"You bitch." He grabs both my hands, pinning them over my head.

"I'm sorry," I whisper thickly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The chant falls from my lips in a continuous pattern. Apologizing for what, I'm not sure anymore. I'd heard the story of the bet for so long I've started to believe it.

He drops his forehead to mine, sweaty and hot. "Stop," he begs. "Stop saying that."

"I'm so sorry," I sob. I don't even know what I'm apologizing for at this point. More than anything, I think it's because I don't know what else to say. "Get off me." I struggle under his hold. "Let me go."

He eases up but just enough to lean up and look into my eyes.

Through them, he's blurry, but I can tell he's frowning. With his free hand, he thumbs under my eyes, wiping away a tear. "Stop."

But I can't. I can't stop fighting him, trying to get a kick or punch in or something. "Let me go!" I shout in his face now. Footsteps approaching—thundering toward us—is the only thing that calms me down.

"Shhh." He covers my mouth with his palm.

This is how Alice finds us. "Oh, hell no!"

He flies backward from me, and I scramble to Alice as I see her hand in the air, poised to strike him.

"No, no, it's okay." I grip her arm. "It's so not what it looks like."

"You're really good at making excuses for him." Then turning to him, she spits, "I should fucking report you to the Dean."

"But you won't." He crosses his arms over his chest. He's challenging and cocky—smug even. He's morphed back into the same Edward who's tortured me for months.

"Try me." Alice mimics his stance.

I stand, caught in the middle; the sense of knowing something good is coming renders me speechless.

"How's Jasper?" Edward asks.

My jaw drops.

Alice stiffens.

"Exactly," Edward says, "This place isn't that big. People find out things easily. But this—" he gestures around the room "—stays here."

"You mother—"

"Alice, it's okay." I pull her back by her shoulder and turn her to face me. "You can go. Things got heated, but I'm okay; I swear. Let me finish up here, and I'll be home soon."

"Okay." She gives me a quick hug. "Be safe." On her way out and up the stairs, she doesn't miss throwing a glare over her shoulder at Edward.

"I need you to sign-off on me transferring out of your class," I say calmly. "I won't do this for another two months." I can't.

He opens his mouth a few times but says nothing. Then slumping down on the chair, he heaves a sigh. "Get me the paperwork, and I'll sign it first thing in the morning."

"Thank you."

"Bella," he whispers when I'm almost at the door.

"What?" I stop but don't turn around until I feel his breath, hot and sticky, on the back of my neck.

"I'm sorry about the grades."

I pivot in place, giving him my attention. It's not the sorry I wanted or needed, I realize, but it's something. I have to look away from him. One look into his sad, deep green eyes will turn me into putty.

He knows it.

"I wanted to fuck with you, but doing it like that was the lowest of blows."

"It was."

"I'm sorry."

I nod. I'm not accepting his apology, but I'm letting this—all of it—go just the same.

"Well, see ya."

"Bella, wait."

What now?

"Yeah?"

"What did you mean when you said the bet was your way of standing up for me?"

There is so much I want to say. I want to defend myself, explain myself. Use this as a chance at redemption and closure. But it's more to ease his worries and his pain, and right now, I am so not about that.

Straightening up my spine, I square my shoulders and continue on my way out, but not before saying, "You should have asked me that four years ago."

"I need a favor."

I look up from my homework and face Alice. "No, I will not go with you to a party and pretend to be your lesbian lover."

Looking appalled, she crosses her arms over her chest. "That. Is. Not. The. Favor."

I stare at her and wait. Funny because that was the exact favor she asked me for last weekend.

"OK, fine." She drops her arms. "Not the lesbian part. But I do need you to come with me to a party."

"Nope."

"Bella," she whines. "Come on. I need you."

"To go with you to a club? You don't need me for that. Call one of your other friends."

"We both know I don't have any other friends."

We both laugh. I don't really have any either. I still can't believe that even after that first meeting Alice has become one of my best friends.

"Listen," she starts, "Peter invited me to this barbecue at his house. I can't not go, but I can't face Jasper alone either. Things have been weird." At my scoff, she rolls her head from side to side. "OK, weirder than usual. I need to talk to him, and if I show up without some sort of backup, he'll try and get the talk in right then and there."

"But you won't be alone. Peter and … Oh, I don't know … a dozen other people will be there."

"It's not the same, though. Please. I would owe you one."

I really don't want to go. However, I know I should support her. Plus, I kind of want to see what happens when Peter, Jasper, and her are all in the same room.

"Fine. I'll go, but you owe me."

Later that day, we put on our equivalents of Sunday's best and head off to Peter's parents' house. When we pull up in the driveway, my jaw drops. "Holy shit! I didn't know Peter was loaded."

"He's not." Alice straightens her dress. "Jasper is the loaded one."

"Interesting."

With our arms looped together, we make our way to the back of the house. The minute we walk through the fenced-in area, Alice gasps and grips my hand. "Oh, God."

The first person we see is Jasper. There's a lady to his right—identical to Peter—clinging to him. Standing on his other side is … "Shit." I grip her hand.

Now I get it.

"What the hell is he doing here?" I hiss. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Alice, I can't be here. I cannot be in the same space as Edward right now. Or … well, ever."

"No way are you leaving me here to deal with this alone. You promised."

"I did no such thing." I did promise to come, but I think Edward being here is a good enough reason to break it.

"Forty-five minutes," she pleads. "That's all I ask, and then we can go. Please."

Inhaling, I nod. "Fine, but I need a drink." I will not be able to get through a minute of this sober, let along nearly an hour.

Every second that follows is a battle.

My phone buzzes persistently in my purse, but I don't answer it. I can't deal with breathing properly right now. Speaking to someone on the phone, coherently, is out of the question. Plus, I already know it's my grandmother. I've been avoiding her for days now, maybe weeks. She can wait a few more hours.

For the remainder of our time at the party, Alice doesn't seem to know what to do with herself. One second, she's walking around, talking to everyone, and lapping up being the center of attention. The next, she's hiding in the corner away from Jasper.

Me? I stay in the same corner, looking at Edward when he isn't looking at me. Then avoiding his stare when I know he's focused in my direction.

Thankfully, Emmett shows up and keeps me company, but he's tense the entire time.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

Over my shoulder, he gives someone a dirty look. When I follow the direction of his stare and see him looking at Edward, I sigh. Fuck. Alice must have told him. Technically, I should be mad, and I am, but I'm not all that shocked.

"Emmett, please don't."

"I should report him, you know."

"But nothing's happened between us. And I got out of his class anyway. Please just let it go … for me."

"Fine." He nods and takes a sip of his drink, but the tension in his neck tells me he's not all that happy about letting it go.

It takes about another thirty minutes before being in the presence of Edward starts affecting me. I can feel his stare burning my skin.

"Alice, I can't take it anymore."

She nods, giving me a quick hug. "Thanks for staying this long. Here." She hands me her keys. "See you at home?"

"Yeah. See you soon." I practically run out of there.

Driving away from the party, I quickly realize I can't go home yet. I didn't want to be at the party, but I can't sit home alone with my thoughts right now, either. I decide to go watch a movie, maybe treat myself to something new at the mall.

Anything to pass the time.

When I walk in my room hours later, I'm not at all surprised to be met with an audience of both Alice and Emmett, waiting for an explanation of where I've been. What I don't expect are the sad faces.

"Guys, I'm okay. Really."

"Bella, maybe you should sit down," Emmett says.

Laughing, I settle down on the couch. "Why do you guys look like someone just died?"

When I'm met with silence, it feels like my heart stops.

"Who?"

My grandfather's death is unexpected and devastating.

The funeral is hard for me, harder than I ever would have imagined. For so long, I felt like he never cared about me—didn't love me at all. No, not felt … It was something I knew. But picture montages that play during the funeral are of a man I don't know. Pictures of him holding me and playing with me as a kid, showing me times I don't remember. Of memories that don't seem real. My angry heart refuses to let me cry for this man, but a part of me feels the loss just the same.

More than that, more than having to deal with a new reality of a grandfather that loved me once upon a time, I have to deal with the new information that he loved me so much, he actually ruined my life.

When I get back to school, my first stop is Edward's office.

There's a large part of me that wants to let this go. But after waiting four years to find out the truth, I know I owe it to him to find out what happened as well. No matter how I feel, it won't be right to keep this kind of information to myself.

Putting the letter in an envelope, I write three simple words that change everything: My grandfather told.

And then I walk away, closing that chapter of my life.

Still reeling and drained from the events of the weekend, I'm shocked and a little annoyed when Alice knocks on my door.

"Please, not now." We haven't talked much in the week since the party, the day she and Emmett had to tell me my grandfather had a heart attack.

I turn at the creaking sound of my door.

"Umm …" Alice hovers in my doorway.

"What?" I snap.

"Someone's here for you, and I don't know what to do."

"Send them away?" Sounds like an easy enough solution to me.

"It's Professor Masen."

My heart scrambles against my chest. But I stay still. I can't even process this right now.

"Bella?"

"What do I do?"

"Talk to him," she says, mimicking the same "duh" tone I used.

Holding Alice's hand, I walk out of my room slowly, cautiously, as if waiting for someone to attack. I didn't even know he knew where I lived. And what a stupid move to show up at my apartment. Anyone could have seen him.

Then what?

When I see him, he's standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets. He looks unassuming but still somehow manages to eclipse the small space.

Neither one of us says anything.

"Should I?" Alice juts her chin in the direction of the door.

Unable to find my voice, I simply nod. I want her to stay. I need the support. But I know she can't be here for this.

I don't see or feel when she moves away from my side. I don't even know she's gone until I hear the soft click of the door closing behind her.

All the while, Edward and I are silent and holding down a staring contest. Finally, he breaks and, with a shaky exhale, pulls his hands out of his pockets. In his palm is a heart-shaped piece of paper. Even from here, I can see the writing that was mine once upon a time. A classic high school letter, written in swirled pink and purple ink.

But it's not just any letter. It's the last thing I ever wrote him.

It's the note my grandfather found.

It's our downfall.

It's what made the man I thought hated me go to the school in defense of me—in defense of a situation he'll never get the chance to understand.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Gulping, I say, "Thanks." Then add, "I'm sorry too." I know he didn't come here just to give me his condolences, and now there's no one left to apologize on my grandpa's behalf for what he did.

"It's not your fault," Edward says.

The words do nothing to comfort me. "Did you think it was?"

"Sometimes." He nods, looking around. "Yeah, sometimes I did. I never knew what to think."

It kills me he would even, for one second, believe that. Doubt me and what we had. What I gave to him. "I loved you. I would've never done something I thought would ruin you. Ruin us. But, Edward, you just left. You—"

"I know. I know. I fucked up. I get it. But you have to forgive me for that."

Shaking my head, I frown. "No, I don't."

"But—"

"No," I say firmly. "I don't have to forgive you. And you don't have to forgive me for whatever you think I did. That note—" I point to his pocket "—was me letting you know something I've wondered about for years. That is the closest thing to closure I know I'll ever get. I'm going to be okay with that. You need to do the same."

"So that's it?"

"What else is there?" I've spent countless nights crying over him; praying for a chance to get things right. But some things were never meant to be. The sooner we realize that, the better. "Why did you come here?" I don't care if I sound like a bitch. This isn't helping anything.

"I came here to ask you something, but I got my answer. I should go. Take care, Bella." He walks away, shoulders slumped, but before he can turn the knob on the door, curiosity gets the better of me.

"Wait!"

He turns slowly, and I catch the small glimpse of hope in his eyes before it disappears. "Yes?"

"What—what did you want to ask me?"

"If you still feel anything for me."

"Does it matter?"

"To me it does."

"I don't know." Eighteen-year-old, high school senior Bella is still very much in love with her substitute Edward. However, twenty-two-year-old, college senior Bella … "I don't even know you anymore."

"Yes, you do." He approaches me slowly. "You know me. God, even after all this time, you know me better than anyone. But do you still love me?"

I don't know what to say. I will always love him. Somehow, despite what felt like months of emotional and mental torture, the version of Bella I am now still fell in love with the asshole he turned out to be. It's different than the first time. More real and yet less tangible.

"Bella," he whispers, cupping my cheek and running his thumb down my jaw. "Tell me you still do."

I shake my head.

Words and feelings have no more room in this situation. At least not right now. Not when we're in the same position we were years ago.

I don't understand why he needs to hear it, anyway. He should just know. The type of love I had for him isn't something that goes away overnight or even fades. It's the same energy multiplying and mutating into different emotions.

Hate. Fear. Worry. Longing.

But it's always there. Always a part of me.

"Bella, please."

I shake my head. I won't tell him. I can't say it. But damn if I won't take this opportunity—what I know might be my last chance—to show him.

On my tippy toes, I anchor my hands on his shoulder and softly brush my lips over his. Showing him what I don't have the guts to say.

I love you. I capture his lips between mine.

I've missed you. I run my hands through his hair, deepening our kiss.

I always will. I push him against the door.

I'll always be yours. I pull on his belt buckle.

Suddenly, I'm airborne and the one with my back against the wall.

His lips, teeth, and tongue at my neck suck, lick, and tell me everything I need to hear; everything he can't or won't say out loud either.

I want you.

I need you.

I'm about to fuck the shit out of you.

"Where's your room?"

I point over his shoulder. "Behind you."

Walking us backward, he doesn't say anything else, and I don't prompt him to. Our hearts might remember the pain of everything we've gone through, but our bodies and our skin remember everything else.

Limbs still attached, Edward lays me slowly on the bed. Everything about what's he's doing is slow and calculated. His fingers trail my skin as if he's a blind man trying to read me, absorb me. "Please, don't ask me to stop," he whispers against my skin. "Please."

I can't. Not even if I wanted to. Not even if I tried.

"Oh, God." I squirm when his wet tongue collides with the already wet flesh between my legs. My back arches off the bed, begging for more. Whimpers and pleas become the only language I know. He doesn't stop. He never stopped. Not until I was thrashing against the sheets, begging him to stop, telling him I can't take anymore. "Oh, oh, oh, my God." The chant comes out choked, emotions getting the best of me, tears forming not in my eyes but in the back of my throat. All of it—the crashing waves of my climax, the reincarnation of my feelings for him—hits me at once.

What am I doing?

Edward stops, sliding up my body. "Are you okay?" he asks, resting an elbow on each side of my head.

"I love you."

His eyes widen just a little before they soften. "I'll always love you."

We fall silent. No more words are needed. Despite the soft moment, I almost expect him to enter me roughly, deeply.

He doesn't.

There's an agonizingly slow pace to his thrusts. But I know what he's doing: savoring the moment. Telling me, again, the things he can't or won't say out loud. Each push and pull takes a little but never gives it all back. Reminiscent of our relationship, I realize. There's no way this isn't going to shatter me all over again.

"Tell me again," he pleads, now pushing deeper.

I do.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I love you.

I'll always love you.

We say it on repeat—our broken love song—until his slow, torturous thrusts morph into something else. Until we're both rocking and shouting against the bed. Until the headboard sounds and feels like the walls might come down around us.

"Come on, baby."

"Don't call me that," I whisper.

He rears back suddenly, fisting the sheets next to my head, and now he's relentless. Fucking me angrily. Making sure I feel every inch of him.

"You have no idea," he enunciates with each buck of his hips, but he doesn't elaborate.

He's right. I have no idea. But neither does he. He wants to fuck me? Well, I can take it. "Harder." I drop my knees to the bed, pulling him in as deep as he can go. "Do it." I pull on his hair. "Fuck me."

"Shit." He stiffens. The vein in his forehead highlights the drops of sweat pooling around his temple. And then he's pulling out of me. "Damn." He drops his head to my chest, chuckling. We stay in that position, him damn near crushing me with his body weight, for longer than I can pretend to breath normally.

I wiggle, trying to get comfortable underneath him. When he lifts his head up to look at me, I see the regret in his eyes, immediately.

Damn.

"Bella, listen—"

"No," I interject, letting my voice stay calm. "Please don't."

"You have to forgive me." He falls over my side. "For leaving, you have to forgive me."

"No, I don't. And you don't either. As I said, you don't have to forgive me for the things I've done or things you thought I did. You don't."

"Then how do we get passed this?"

"Easy. We let each other go."

"I can't do that."

I scoff and sit up to search for my shirt. "You don't have a choice."

"I don't think you know what you mean to me—still mean to me."

"It doesn't matter." I snap the sheets back. "Don't you get it? There is no way this can work, and I'm not that naïve girl you can spout fairytales to anymore. You left once. If the shit hits the fan, what's to say you won't do it again? Sorry, but I can't and I won't go through that again. Not even for you."

"Ouch."

His reaction sobers me. I'm not trying to hurt him. It's the last thing I want to do. But I don't want to hurt anymore either.

"Stop." He pulls on my arms. Where the fuck is my shirt? "Bella, stop." He gathers me into his arms. He must know I'm fighting with everything I am to keep it together right now. "Talk to me. What do we do now? What does this mean?"

Nothing and everything.

"I tried so hard to forget you," I whisper. "To get over you. Now ... you let me. You owe me that much. You owe me closure."

"But what about me? I'm not after closure. What if I'm after a second chance?"

I let his words sink in for a moment. There is something about them that's so right, but the way he's wording it, I realize, is off. "Maybe this was our second chance. Our chance to say goodbye the right way. No questions, no confusion. Just two people who love each other but realize it can never work. Maybe this was our second chance at closure."

"There goes that word again." He shakes his head. "I guess I should go. But I will see you around, Bella. I will."

I know what that means. It's not an empty threat. Whether I like it or not, he's not done with this situation.

"See you soon," he says, before slinking out the door.

I count, exactly thirty seconds, until I fall to the floor in a pool of my own tears.

Later that night, Alice walks into my room looking exactly like I feel.

Like shit.

Her face is the reddest I've ever seen, and her eyes are so puffy and drawn into slits that, if I didn't know any better, I'd think she was high.

"What do we do now?" I sit up, getting serious. She doesn't have to tell me. She texted me to tell me where she was, and by the look on her face, I know her talk with Jasper didn't go well.

"We try and make it through next semester without losing it, I guess," she answers.

"Damn, has it really only been one semester?" I feel like we've lived nine lives since the school year started.

"In theory."

I get what she means. All the drama has accumulated and blown up in our faces in the past four months, but in reality, our lives and hearts have been dealing with it for much longer.

"We should—I don't know, maybe make some rules for ourselves. I won't be able to make it through another semester like this one."

"Rules?" She tilts her head to the side. "Like what?"

"Like maybe I don't talk to Edward anymore."

"Professor Masen." She nudges me.

I nod. Yeah. "Professor Masen." Though it sounds bitter on my tongue, it's another necessary change in its own right. To draw a line. "What about you?"

"Well, me and Mr. Whitlock decided not to speak to each other anymore,"

"Jasper." I nudge her, reciprocating. "Calling him Mr. Whitlock might be a little weird since you've never called him that before. Don't draw attention to it. Just … Be."

"True."

"Rule two: Let's have fun."

My face crinkles in confusion. "Come again?" Too much fun is what got us in the position we are now.

"Distract ourselves. Go out. Be free. And we close our legs when it comes to those damn men."

We both fall over, dissolving into giggles that border on hysteria. We're fucked and we know it. Next semester is going to be hell for the both of us. We can't help how we feel—deny the fact that our hearts belong to these unavailable men. We're talking a big game now and supporting each other. But our hearts want them, and this is a battle that's just beginning; one we're bound to lose.

Our forbidden loves; unattainable soul mates.

Her with a man almost twice her age.

And me with the love of my life—the beautiful man behind the desk.

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