I watch as she growls, hops out of her truck and growls some more, stomps up towards the hobbit hole they call "home" and growls, opens then slams the door… and bingo, the crazy bitch growls again.

I need to talk Papa Beaver about buying his spawn a muzzle. I seriously didn't know how he kept her from biting the kiddies of FHS all these years.

I follow her into the hobbit hole, shutting and locking the door behind me, wondering all the while why the fuck it had to be me? Why did I have to drink that extra drink that night, why didn't Emmett stop me? Why couldn't I'd been hit by a bus instead? Who the fuck get's married in the middle- not before, not fucking after, but the goddamn middle of a one night stand AND is forced to spend a whole year fucking chained/shackled/stuck to the craziest bitch this side of the continental U.S.A?

Who? Me, that's who! God fucking hates me and I didn't know why.

"Fucking bastards," she screams from the kitchen.

La Bella Strega was back; meaning that happy face dollar menu hogging Bella is completely gone… God, what have I ever done to you!

She flies into the hallway, a puff of green smoke following behind her. "Those fucking bastards went fishing! The fuck again!" She holds up a crumpled piece of paper and flays it around. An angry pit bull with a bone crosses my mind, and God help me, I'm not able to stifle my snort in time.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?"

"Nothing," I frown, casting my eyes downward. Maybe if I stay perfectly still, she'd go away.

"No, not nothing! What? I want to know," she demands, and since I'm not a complete fucking dumbass, and because I know that when women say they want to know, what they're really saying is "please lie to me, tell me I'm beautiful."

And of course since I'm sort of a little bit of a dumbass sometimes, the first think that pops out of my mouth is, "You're beautiful," only it sounds more like a question than a statement.

And before she can turn like five hundred different shades of red from anger, I'm angry. Not necessarily at her, because I've come to terms with Bella Swan's mental retardation and no matter how much of a jack ass a person can be, you do not get angry at a mentally challenged person, that's just bad form- but mad at myself for, well, for wanting to be mad at a mentally challenged person…

I could never say Esme hadn't taught me better…

"Yeah, yeah, I know! Ugh! I fucking hate you, you fucking bastard!" I snip, already knowing that fail and Edward Cullen were two conjoined words in Bella Swan's mind.

As I walk away, for once, there isn't yelling or screeching following me, but silence, something I was becoming unfamiliar with.

BPOV

Carlisle left the next day; in his stead he left a black and white stripped shirt and a whistle for Charlie as a gag gift. On the note he wrote:

Have fun refereeing the madness that has taken over our kids.

And of course they got a good laugh out of it; McBastard and I on the other hand, wore matching frowns, completely in agreement over something for once.

That shit was most definitely not funny.

Soon after Carlisle left, Charlie advises McBastard to register for school to ensure that he would get the classes he needs before going into Dartmouth. I didn't know he was going to go to Dartmouth. But then again, I didn't know Dartmouth had a remedial program either.

Nevertheless, I got in my truck, waited until McBastard is buckled into his seat and peel out of the driveway.

The car ride is silent, in fact, ever since he blew up at me after the whole "beautiful with a question mark" comment, he has been silent. The rest of the day he spent it locked in my bedroom, and when it was time to go to bed, he walked out, sleeping bag and pillow in hand, not saying a goddamn thing.

Though I fucking love this new silent version of McBastard, I can't deny the tiny, almost microscopic part of me that is annoyed by him ignoring me.

Bitch please, you do not ignore Bella Swan… Bastards of the ignorant variety included.

I fumble with the radio station, finding and then settling on some old Jimmy cracked corn country, just because I know it will annoy the fuck out of McBastard. I'm not going to be the only mother fucker pissed, especially since that whole "beautiful with a question mark" came from Bozo the bronze headed clown over there.

I mean really? Really?

He sighs and grumbles something under his breath, and I smile in response, happy for now over my successful transfer of negative energies.

In other words, I was feeling pretty fucking right, right about now and somebody was not. I gave myself a mental pat on the back as I turn into FHS's nearly deserted parking lot.

"This is the school?" Edward asks, his face screwed up in confusion.

And since McBastard ignored me all of last night and this morning, and didn't even mumble a fucking "thank you" for driving him up here when I could be in my nice comfy bed with the shades pulled, I open my door and walk out, leaving him to figure his own shit out.

Eventually he gets the picture because just as I'm letting the doors swing close behind me, he sticks his hand out, wincing as the door fucking slams onto his fingers.

I'm so tempted to ask him if he was sure- like absolutely fucking sure that the school he was going to is named Dartmouth, because let's face it- logically, not even their remedial program should accept him.

I'd hate for Carlisle and Esme to waste thousands on a scam.

"Nice, really fucking nice Isabellla," he sneers my name. I turn around and arch a brow, like seriously? Did he just fucking try to reprimand me like I was a fucking two year old? Bitch, get real.

His jaw is hard, like really fucking tense, moving and ticking and shit, his green eyes is burning like fire… I snort, flipping my hair as I turn and walk towards the main offices.

Whoa, beware of the ticking jaw and fire burning green eyes… Ha, get real.

See, Edward Cullen doesn't scare me- piss me off? Of fucking course, but scare? Meh, yeah the fuck right.

"This way dummy."

"Or should I say Miszzzzz."

I watch as Edward leaned over the counter, grinning like a horny madman at the school's secretary. He reaches over and takes her hand- and seriously, if this isn't some Pepe la Pew shit I don't know what else it could be. She shivers, squirms, blushes then giggles, batting her fake eyelashes as she says, "Oh, Mr. Cullen, how charming," then proceeds to fan herself before giving me a pointed stare that clearly reads 'you lucky bitch you…"

This has been going on for the past ten minutes. I'm sure that my bottom molars are chipped and cracked with all of the grinding I've been doing- it was a bad habit I picked up when I was young and caused me many years of uncomfortable nights aided by night guards.

I hadn't had the problem in years, but it appears that a few days with Edward Cullen has me taking a tremendous amount of backward steps.

"You see, Dartmouth absolutely requires me to have this class," Edward purrs.

"Oh, Dartmouth you say?"

And the giggling ensues.

I sigh and flop down on the closest chair. What is it about Edward Cullen that brings the weird, the strange, and the totally unstable alter egos out of people? Because seriously, outside of the wild bronze sex hair and those abnormally green eyes- he isn't anything special.

He was cocky, yeah, but with the right amount of confidence, imported hair gel, and tailored clothing—anybody could be Edward Cullen, and even though we don't have any Edward Cullen's in Forks, there has to be some in the state of Washington somewhere.

"And switching lunches? Will that be a problem as well? Because I'd love to eat lunch with my beautiful wife."

She shoots me a smirk and a quick wink before turning back to the devil and smiling widely before saying, "How sweet. Of course I can get you two a lunch together, and how about a sixth hour study hall too?" She winks.

Kill. Me. Now.

On the way home, Edward sits in the passengers seat licking his cream as he purrs. He is the epitome of the cat that got his cream—it takes all of my restraint not to shove his ass out of my car. He still annoys me that way.

The radio is shut completely off on the ride back—even I don't have the patience to listen to another round of country—though lately, the songs seem to become the theme soundtrack of my life….

Instead the droll sounds of rain and the squeak of the windshield wipers keeps the car from being set in total silence—which is a good thing considering how me listening to Edward's breathing probably will sign him his death certificate. This fact sends warning signals rushing up and down my spine—I don't hate Edward, not necessarily—it's more like my blood that hates him. Whenever he is within a few feet from me, my blood boils and an unsettling feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. So it isn't me who hates him really, it's my body that hates him…

I'm allergic or something.

Okay… maybe I hate him a little bit too. A little bit.

I pull my truck into the driveway, feeling nostalgic as the gravel crunches under me. I always imagined me bringing my husband home for holidays and for other important events that people usually brought their spouses home for. Never have I imagined it would be from a one-night stand or from a day of registering for our senior year, however, was definitely not one of those thoughts.

I hop out, slamming the door behind me before making my way towards the house. I'm tired, and there is a slight tingling feeling at the bridge of my nose, it might be from the stress Edward Cullen constantly spikes in me, but I'm sure it's more from the pressure of caging in my homicidal-rush whenever I'm within his presence.

I crawl into bed and go to sleep. My last thoughts being of the inside of my eyelids and how I'm still seeing red even though He is out of my sight.

I wake up to the moon streaming light through the gaps in my blinds. I'm momentarily shocked as I observe the darkness surrounding me. It was barely afternoon when I fell into bed and now it is well into the night.

I sigh and roll out of the bed, my feet thumps loudly as they make contact with the floor. I need to find me something to eat.

I yawn, lazily as I make my way down the stairs, not really caring about the loud squeaks the stairs make as I trample down them. Charlie deserves it after the disappearing act he pulled this morning, and Edward… Edward is still Edward—I don't give two shits about disrupting his beauty rest.

As I walk towards the kitchen I flip on the living room and hallway lights, taking perverse pleasure in the groans emitting from the dragons hidden layer. Edward's annoyance has somehow become an aphrodisiac to me—I get off on Edward's displeasure.

Quickly, I make a sandwich—toasted peanut butter and jelly. The shit melts in my mouth. I groan loudly, purposefully. Edward moans again, huffing and puffing, and blowing the house down. I smirk, and finish off my sandwich before I head back to my room. Leaving the lights on.

"Night, night, hubby."