A/N: This was a story I came up with on the fly. I was iffy about posting it, but decided that if I had come up with an Edward and Bella story… finally, I was going to post it. :P

The Edward in this is Katherine's, (joejonasplease, go read her stories right now, they're amazing; really, really fucking amazing. :P) and she's married to him secretly. Shhh, don't tell Bella. ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, and this is my first Edward and Bella story in a long time/while, so bear with me while I flip flop on opinions about her, haha! :P

…

Fuck… was really the only thing my brain could fathom at that moment. It was lost to the thrill; lost to everything but keeping my feet working, to keep them running or else I would be royally fucking screwed. Inhibitions were a thing of the past at that moment, and the unexpected joy that hit me was enough to make a smile crack slowly onto my face. It kind of hurt, only because I wasn't used to it, and that made the situation all the more enjoyable.

The sound of my steps satisfactorily pounding against the deep dirt, so far in front of those fuckers behind me, the adrenaline making my heart feel like it was about to jump out of my chest, and the breathing I kept sucking in, only to be let out in sporadic jolts of laughter here and there; it was fucking amazing, and I never wanted it to end.

It came to a climax when I thought I was caught. The footfalls behind me were nearing, and my brain thought quickly for a way out: how familiar, I mused internally. A line of sweat trickled down my left temple, cold and annoyingly pungent, and I didn't bother to flick it away as I made the snap decision to jump a silver chain-link fence and land in an awkward crouch on the other side: but fuck, at least I didn't break my ankle or some shit like that. What a pussy move that would be, huh? A great story to tell the folks.

'So, uh… the reason my ankle is wrapped to its zenith in gauze and bandages is a funny story. I was running away from the cops, post-subsequently running away from home and had the smart-ass idea to hop a fence. Yeah, I thought I was hot shit until my ankle snapped and I fell screaming like a fucking infant.'

No. So, I was fucking glad I landed the way I did, but didn't dwell on the shit any longer or else I would have a cap served up my ass in no time. I knew how they worked, I knew that any chance they got to feel like they had balls and could put them to use, they would take. Holding a gun and shooting it at something, anything made them feel like macho men: I'm pretty certain they thought it scared me, but The YMCA always popped into my head in moments like those and my smug act would hold while I thought of all those tools fruity as fuck.

It was an act; even I could vouch to that. To anybody outside of my body, I was tough. I was raw and I was ready to fight whenever: but such was not the case. Everybody is hurt, in one way or another: I'm not going to lie and pretend I'm the only guy on earth who's hard as fucking stone, unbreakable. Like a fucking bulletproof vest in human form – nope, that's not how the world fucking turns, and Ill be honest about that. A lot of shit has happened that's made me vulnerable in a shit load of things, but my internal musings kept me from outwardly showing them. Fuck me if I knew how I really did it, but it worked and I wasn't going to mess with it.

I had been called an asshole too many times to count, and that was just today. I've tried before to make people see that I'm not… most of the time. All part of the fucking act, though. I was tired of it, to be honest: all of this fucking pretending and feeling things I'm not supposed to feel. I felt plastic, I felt fake and I felt like somebody else. Being cliché, it was no way to live your fucking life. Regret and fucking desire to be something other than I was stained everything I did, showed through my eyes when I looked in the mirror, and was in my stature as I walked around a casing of pseudo-being.

Pushing the everything I wished to be aside, I focused on the task at hand: staying covered and veiled. I inched around the edge of a half-built stone wall and tried to keep my feet on flat, even ground. My palms were flat against the dusty grey rock behind me, and I felt them being slowly calloused by the dips and bumps on the surface. Unexpectedly, a downhill slope appeared beneath my left foot, and the entire adjoining side slumped down as my right foot flew into the air with the force. My left shoulder slammed hard into the earth and I stopped a strangled cry of pain as I rolled onto my back and cupped it with my palm, feeling loose soil grasp onto the hair at the back of my head. My mouth opened in a contradiction – a silent scream shaped my mouth and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Something was definitely dislocated, and the story to take back to my parents was a step down from breaking my ankle, though equally as weak when the flashlights of the very same tools I never wanted to see in this kind of situation again came face-to-face with me writhing on the ground.

"Cullen," the satisfied voice let out, taking on the full-blown smugness I was so good at… when not in a situation where I felt like my left arm had been dipped in a vat of acid.

I sighed and nodded, licking my dry, chapped lips. "Yeah, I know. I'm fucked now, right?" I croaked, still grasping my shoulder.

The ass had the nerve to chuckle, too. Fucking douche bag. "Yeah. You're fucked. Get up," he said, motioning with his hands yet not using them to actually help me the fuck up. I was used to it, though. Officer Dwyer was a shit I had to deal with, and I would. I could, because I had to. I could stop having to deal with him, but that would involve actually taking the advice my counselor, commissioned by my big-shot of a fucking father, gave; and there was no way in heaven or hell I would do that.

…

I was back in hell. It was impossible to not feel your gag reflex shift when in this office, and I was no fucking exception to that particular rule. The motif was reminiscent of one of those uncomfortable showrooms: the ones that are only there for you to see what possibly, your space could look like, only if you paid a shit-load of unnecessary money to have it done. Esme had dragged me to enough of them in hopes of bonding with me a little better: the thought was there, but she had applied the shit to something completely non-relatable. She could take a lesson or two from the shrink her and Carlisle had me going to.

"Edward, she's ready for you now."

I cringed instantly. That sugary-sweet voice beckoned me with underlying venom only a person who was around it enough could detect. Ever since the first day I got to this office, saw Jessica and decided to flirt with her just enough to earn the privilege of blowing off sessions with no shit from her voice spamming my cell phones messaging system, she had been taking advantage of that one smile I threw her way. The way she said my name had me actually eagerly awaiting going inside the room with the continuing fake theme leading into it.