AN: This story's first chapter began as a one-shot entry and finalist for the Tattward and Inkella challenge. By popular demand, I've continued it as a multi.

Huge thanks to everyone who has been so freaking supportive of this story, especially Megsly (because I would have never even written the one-shot without her encouraging my idea). This story is very personal and dear to me already.

This story deals significantly with subjects in mental illness. As someone with personal and professional experience in this area, I hope you trust me to take you on a realistic journey. Always feel free to PM me about this story and the topics within. This story is rated M for strong language, drug use, graphic scenes of violence, and graphic imagery related to mental illness, and deals with depression, anxiety, self-harm, substance abuse, eating disorders and suicide. Oh yes, and lemons. Lemons make everything better. No rape/abuse within.

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. I own a desire to shag a tattooed redeemable Doucheward and meet a Bitchella over shots at the bar. The title of this story is a song lyric from the song Jukebox by Ani Difranco, which inspired this hot mess. No infringements are intended.

To see other entries in the Tattward & Inkella Contest, please visit the C2 page:
www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/Tattward_and_Inkella_Contest/71624/

It was the first day he'd worn short sleeves to the session, his flimsy black t-shirt hugging the rippling of abdominal muscle beneath. She'd watched him enter, five minutes late as was his custom, his scowl fixed in place as if it were a form of armour. She understood this well; her crossed arms and unkempt hair strewn across her face were her own defense in this, her prison. Five days a week, she spent ninety minutes in this loose circle of plastic chairs likely pilfered from a junior high classroom, shuffling about to keep her ass from going numb while people wept, bitched and had 'profound moments of self-actualization,' as Dr. Jones would say.

If it weren't for her father's haunted look, the deep black circles beneath his eyes as he greeted her at breakfast, she wouldn't even bother. She'd pack up a bag, get in the truck and take off, or perhaps empty out her college fund and fly as far from Forks as possible. Maybe she'd drive the damn truck right into the ocean, finish what she'd started six months ago.

Toying with a limp strand of deep brown hair, she subtly watched him through the waves, eyes widening at the tattoos upon his usually concealed biceps. Each design seemed carefully plotted, each element woven together in a living tapestry that flexed as he ran his hand through his messy bronze hair. On the right arm, she could make out a series of numbers within what appeared to be razor wire, a tiny clock face in the centre. On the left, the bottom of a scene she could not quite decipher peeked from beneath his sleeve, the style resembling a comic book illustration. Her fingers twitched, aching to push back the material, curious for a glimpse at the part of him he held within.

He hadn't spoken a single word in the two weeks thus far, and yet, she felt as if she knew him. His refusal to participate mirrored her own, a kinship created out of mutual distaste. Several times, she'd longed to approach him, perhaps make some scathing remark about the ringleader of this Prozac Pow-Wow, but her words had lodged in her throat beneath the lump that remained a constant, that acerbic reminder of her faults. Maybe today, she'd finally speak with him. Ink was a safe topic, one she knew well. Maybe...

Dr. Jones cleared her throat, casting a disapproving glance at him before returning her attention to the emaciated girl to her right. She hated the girl, hated how she always chose the chair next to her. She wanted to shake her, to tell her to quit bitching about cheerleaders and dance camp and just eat a goddamn sandwich. There were far bigger things in life to worry about. At the same time, she knew that there was far more at work, that it wasn't that simple. It didn't make Jessica any less tedious.

"I just feel like no matter what I do, no matter what I achieve, no one will ever be as proud of me as they were when I lost the weight," Jessica sobbed, accepting a tissue from Dr. Jones, "My body is all I have! And you want to take that away from me!"

"I'm not trying to take anything away from you, other than your pain," Dr. Jones whispered, her greying hair swept into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, "Jessica, this isn't happiness. Were you ever truly happy with the weight loss? When everyone complimented you, what did you think?"

Jessica sniffled, "I thought they were lying. That they were just saying I was skinny to make me feel better."

Dr. Jones nodded in that self-righteous way everyone hated, "So you weren't happy, were you? It wasn't really an accomplishment because you didn't feel you'd succeeded."

Jessica stomped her foot against the floor, "If you'd all stop ramming goddamn tubes down my throat, maybe I would achieve something!"

Dr. Jones shook her head, "If your goal is to achieve death, then yes, stopping the tubes would let you achieve something. Is that what you want to achieve?"

The room went silent, save for Jessica's soft whimpering and the uncomfortable sighs of the other patients. She shook her head slightly in exasperation, pulling her hair further over her face, locking her gaze on the surly male across from her. He truly was the only bright spot in the hell of this group therapy session, his beauty even in his misery enough to choke off the air in her lungs at least once each day. Much to her surprise, however, he was not slouched backwards, his eyes closed as was his custom. He had risen to his feet, his face flushing red, his deep green eyes narrowing at the tiny therapist.

"This is bullshit!"

Dr. Jones' jaw actually dropped open, and she stifled a laugh. This could get very, very interesting... It was shaping up to be a day of firsts with this nameless man. Maybe that first conversation, perhaps initiating with a high five for this display, would be the trifecta.

"Edward, please sit down-"

Edward. So that's his name ...

"Fuck that! You're a hypocrite, and I'm calling you on it. Are you actually offering her a choice in the matter of dying?" Edward's last sentence was spat out with such a look of disgust, Jessica cowered in her chair, covering her head with her hands.

She knew where his argument was headed: it was the same place of anger that kept her as silent as him – at least, until today, when he'd sauntered in with delicious yet powerful ink on display and unleashed a fury that she had stifled many times. The touchy-feely granola of Dr. Jones' approach left her ill, bile pushing its way up her esophagus, choking off all ability to speak, let alone protest her treatment regimens.

" Edward, I am certainly not suggesting Jessica die. But I-"

Edward shook his head, "No, you are. You used the interrogative, did you not? They do teach grammar at the Shrink Academy, don't they? When you raise your voice at the end of a statement, you are offering the opportunity to offer feedback or make a choice. It's not an order. It's not a suggestion. So how come she gets a choice, while I get stuck in this goddamn hole every single day-"

"Edward!" Dr. Jones shouted, rising to her feet, "You cannot compare Jessica to yourself. Those are completely different situations, as we have discussed individually. If you would like to share how you feel, then I encourage you to speak with courtesy-"

"Fuck your therapy, fuck your hippy bullshit, and fuck this waste of time!" Edward snarled, "If she gets a choice about starving to death because she thinks her ass is fat, then it's my choice if I want to take hundreds of pills and finally get some sleep."

"Edward," Dr. Jones said firmly, struggling to remain composed, "Maybe we should step into the hall-"

"He's right."

She gasped, her hand pressing to her lips as she realized she'd spoken aloud. Her cheeks flushed bright red as the entire group, Edward included, now spun to face her. She'd never spoken beyond the first day's introductions, never offered her feelings or did the proverbial kumbaya with the over-sharing others. She gripped the thick bar piercing her tongue between her teeth and tugged slightly, enough for it to sting and shock her back into her stony resolve.

"Bella," Dr. Jones said gently, "Would you like to explain why you think Edward is right?"

Edward's gazed fixed on her now, his simmering rage fiery enough to burn her where she sat – and a sick part of her realized that were such a thing possible, she'd enjoy it. She felt her pulse begin to race, her vision blurring beneath the cloak of her hair. What is he looking at me like that for? I just agreed with him! Her fingers reached to fidget with her black blouse, her legs crossing and uncrossing.

"It's bullshit," Bella began nervously, "We come here every damn day, and it's the same party line. Lauren bitches about how mommy and daddy don't love her, Jessica complains she's fat when she's not, and Victoria and James recount their latest criminal exploits. But it's all bullshit, to expect people who don't want help to simply absorb it. We're not sponges. We're sentient. And telling us it's different is an excuse."

Dr. Jones smiled, which, in turn, made Bella cringe in her chair. Creepy old broad. I have to get out of this shit. Charlie has to understand. Smoothing her khakis, the petite therapist turned to Edward, gesturing to his ally.

"Edward, this is a better way to express disagreement and engage us in a conversation that can be healing. Would you like to respond to what Bella has said?"

Edward snorted, shoving his chair back several feet, the plastic slamming into the wall near the door. His entire body trembled, a warning of disaster to come, the steady tremor of a volcano beneath ground before it erupts with its natural born fury.

"I'm done here."

He stormed towards the door, Jessica and Lauren turning to each other, hushed whisperings droning like bees in Bella's ears. Dr. Jones called out to him, urged him to say, reminding him of their 'agreement.'

"No time for love, Dr. Jones," Edward quipped, stunning the group into silence.

Bella watched the door slam shut, the weathered wooden frame shuddering with the force. She gasped then, realizing that she'd held her breath as he'd walked away, this violent, angry man who dared to speak all of the things she herself could not. But you did speak. You spoke because he did. Dr. Jones stared at the door intently, as if willing it to open up, pulling her lost patient back inside. Her tiny lips furrowed as her fingertips drummed her thigh, a nameless beat that only served to fray Bella's last nerve. She wasn't crazy; this was one thing she knew. It wasn't crazy to want to suffer for irrevocable mistakes born of stupidity. It wasn't crazy to kill the shell of a woman who died inside years ago. She was being ecologically friendly, refusing to waste oxygen, water, food, even energy. How much more sane could she be?

Her legs rose of their own accord, her tight jeans clinging to her thighs in the humidity of the small room. The entire group turned, startled by this second wave of the unexpected. Seizing her purse by the chair, Bella turned to Dr. Jones, venom rising within and boiling over in a single, snarled curse.

"Shove your granola up your ass!"

And with those words, Bella ran for the door, throwing it open so violently that she swore she heard the handle lodge in the wall. Not wanting to see the damage done – and, she realized, not truly caring – she bolted down the narrow corridor of the so-called 'Special Care' wing of the hospital, dodging abandoned gurneys and metal garbage bins, searching out the one person she knew who understood how she felt about life and its insistence in holding her hostage. Edward. His name is Edward. She heard the faint ding of an elevator around the corner and followed it, led by her siren's song to what she hoped would be a shore of refuge. The indicator counted down the floors, pausing at ground level. Without hesitating, Bella dove into the stairwell to her right, her tiny black purse slapping hard against her hip as she jogged down the three flights to street level.

This was madness. She'd never spoken to him. She knew nothing of him, beyond a first name, a sarcastic tongue and a past suicide attempt. But her soul ached to make contact. Maybe they could find a way to end this anguish of life. Maybe they could get drunk and laugh at Lauren's petty latch-key kid drama. Bella would take anything at this point. Even a slap to the face would be a welcome change from looks of pity and refused phone calls.

Her chest heaving as she stumbled into the lobby, she caught sight of him in the parking lot, his hair burnt orange in the light of midday. She picked up her pace, willing her heart to pound faster, her limbs to work harder. In her haste, she tripped over a slight raise in the cement steps beyond the door, cursing as she fell to the ground, rolling onto the grass and immediately picturing the hideous grass stains doomed to follow.

"Aren't swans supposed to be graceful?"

Oh fuck. Fuck. Bella glanced up slowly at the amused sneer of Edward, dark glasses masking his eyes. Without thinking, she flipped him off, pushing herself to sitting with her left hand. Her ass stung from the impact but it seemed her limbs had survived without injury this time. A small miracle. Edward extended a hand to her, shaking his head in a pitying fashion. Bella hissed, smacking his hand away.

"Fine, be a bitch. You see, this is why I don't bother with humanity anymore. You try and be nice, and your thanks is rudeness."

"Oh get off your goddamn high horse!" Bella snapped, rising to her feet, "Your witty one-liners are amusing against Dr. Feel-Good in there, but I don't have to take your shit."

"Why are you out here anyway?" Edward snapped, kicking the curb, "Aren't you supposed to be inside, hiding behind your pretty hair and acting as if we're beneath you?"

Bella's fury rose inside of her, seizing control of her as her hand shoved at his chest, "Oh, and like you don't think you're above us? You show up late and practically sleep through sessions. Why show up at all?"

"Dr. Jones is unfortunately my personal shrink, and a friend of the family," Edward sighed, rolling his eyes, "And as for me feeling 'above' all of you? Nothing could be farther from the truth. You can't save what's already dead."

Bella froze, the words echoing through her, bouncing off the hollowed walls of her heart. You can't save what's already dead. They were words she'd written herself, in a two page apology to Charlie before... Before that day. Suddenly ashamed of her unexpected temper flare, her hand reached out gingerly for his bicep, where the mysterious number ensnared in razor wire beckoned her. Edward flinched, stepping away as if her touch were poison. Her hand fell and with it, her brief moment of hope for understanding.

"What do you want?" Edward grumbled, his eyes glancing to a silver Volvo nearby, "What the fuck do you want from me?"

"I..." Bella paused, swallowing back what felt like tears brimming to the surface, something that hadn't happened in months, "I just wanted to s-say that you were right. It's bullshit. I just thought... Maybe..."

"Spit it out," Edward interrupted, "I have places to go, people to piss off with my very existence. Possibly a nasty phone call from my parents."

Bella kicked the ground, slinging her purse further up her arm, "Forget it. I was going to ask about your ink, but if you're so determined to be a fucking ass, then go, be the biggest ass you can be. Change your name to Doucheward while you're at it."

Bella walked briskly towards her aging Ford truck, fumbling with the keys in her pocket before popping the door open, the slight creaking of a hinge in need of lubricant soothing to her. Tossing her purse into the passenger side, she gunned the engine, refusing to look back at the beautiful bastard who'd stolen the secret fears of her heart and recited them out loud, making them all the more real. Screw him. I don't need friends, anyway. I just hurt them, like Jake... Her hand reached into her purse, pulling out the small flip phone Charlie had forced her to accept after she'd arrived home from the hospital. There was no better time than the present to break the news of her melodramatics. Maybe they would up her dose of Ambien so she could make a few more extra bucks pawning them off to her coworkers. A single moment of grace entered her day as it went straight to voicemail, Charlie's generic 'I'm the Chief, leave a message' announcement giving way to a tiny high-pitched beep.

"Hey Dad, it's me. Look, I dropped out of group today. I swear, I will go to a therapist of my own. They can stick me on some stupid couch and ask me why I hate my dead mother's carcass. I don't care. Dr. Jones is just... Look, she isn't helping me. Okay? Anyway, I'm off to work. I'm on until closing, so I'll probably have a drink with Ronan and crash with him and his girl. Call you later. Love you."

Bella sighed, tossing the phone onto the seat, her hands shaking as she clutched the wheel. Everything would be okay in Port Angeles. She'd have a few shots with Ronan and Emily, maybe sing a little karaoke, and collapse on their couch in a heap of misery and enjoy the finest shitty TV late night cable could provide. Tomorrow would be just another day where she woke up afraid to live.

The answering machine in his studio apartment blinked incessantly as he walked in the door, tossing a magazine and a bag of chips on the coffee table. Every few minutes, his cell phone purred with the missed call alerts that began around two, roughly when Dr. Amelia Jones would have ended her little group hug and stormed to his father's office on the opposite end of the hospital. A part of him felt terrible for his behaviour, particularly his language; Carlisle detested vulgarities, insisting that it diminished the power of any argument. But that woman's voice and her inconsistencies were like a vise grip upon his skull, squeezing at his temples until his vision went white with searing pain. The last straw had been today, with her little speech at Jessica. Something had happened within him, some wave of realization breaking over him, baptizing him a ball of fury – 'hellbound, be thy name.'

He'd face the music tomorrow; tonight, he would stroll down to the bar, get wasted, then come home and dream of a world without him in it.

Slipping into his worn leather jacket, he made his way down the three flights of stairs to ground level, inhaling the smell of cars and cheap perfume. This was one of the more commercial strips in Port Angeles, but he didn't mind the noise and drunken fighting on Saturday nights. Anything was better than the family home in Forks, where far too many prying sets of eyes followed his every step. The conveniences were abundant as well: a bar two blocks south, a small grocery store three blocks east and, most importantly, his tattoo artist's shop one block away from the bar.

At the thought of the small parlour where he'd marked all of the moments he could never allow himself to forget, his mind drifted to the girl from therapy. Bella Swan, the police chief's daughter; they'd kept whatever happened to her under wraps, although he knew from his father that she'd nearly died six months ago. The hows and whys were stifled in the gossip mill, moreso out of respect for the Chief than anything else, but Bella's sudden speech in the hippy's circle jerk of hypocrisy made it clear that the wounds were self-inflicted.

It made resisting her that much more impossible, and at this, Edward growled, startling an older woman passing him on the sidewalk.

She was even more beautiful with her face exposed, as he'd discovered today when she'd given chase, for reasons he still couldn't quite understand. From moment one, he'd been taken with her, intrigued by the way she fingercombed her hair over her face, as if to hide from the prodding of the therapist with a childish 'out of sight, out of mind' mentality. Afraid of being caught staring, he'd shut his eyes, leaning back as if nodding off for a nap, her visage fixed behind his eyelids. She never smiled. She never spoke, even when directly asked.

That is, until today.

Why did she have to speak today? And why did she have to make so much goddamn sense? Edward felt that familiar frustration surging through his limbs, his pace increasing as an immediate need for alcohol took over. Until now, he'd dismissed her as a vapid bitch, a know-it-all, an aloof elitist. Instead, she was as damaged and equally unimpressed with Jones as he was – and interested in his tattoos. But nothing could happen between them, not ever; anyone who came close to him suffered a terrible consequence...

Fuck it. There's money in your wallet and the bar is waiting. Let the Jack Daniels begin.

Tossing open the door to Scruffy's Tavern, Edward found himself slammed into a wall as a woman hurried past, a familiar male voice calling out from deep within the murky bar. Edward blinked hard as the woman cursed, her hand fumbling for the door.

"Bella! Wait!"

"I need air," she grumbled.

Edward groaned. You have GOT to be fucking kidding me! The situation took a turn from strange to utterly disturbing in two seconds as his personal tattoo artist rushed past him, seizing the porcelain-skinned brunette by her elbow and pulling her back inside.

"Bella, it'll be fine. Em's just been drinking a lot, and she's stressed out."

"I have enough drama of my own, and it's already been a bad day. I'm not going to get in the middle of yours," Bella grumbled, shaking her arm free.

"At least come and have another drink with me until she decides to end her bathroom hissy fit?" Ronan pleaded, "It's your duty."

Bella threw her hands up in the air, "Whatever! You're buying, though."

She stumbled slightly as she abandoned the door, again slamming into Edward's arm. It's like I'm invisible to this girl. Clearing his throat loudly, Edward stepped in front of her, uncertain of what he aimed to achieve but unable to resist.

"That's twice in two minutes, Swan. You don't believe in saying excuse me?"

Bella stared at his face and scowled, "Oh bloody hell! Go away!"

Ronan watched the exchange, confused, "Why the hate, Bella?"

"THIS is that asshole from earlier!" Bella hissed, "Great! This night continues to be perfect. Ice pick lobotomy and a bottle of vodka, NOW."

Ronan burst out laughing, punching Edward's arm, "Dude, you really are a grade A asshole, aren't you? I should have known you were the Edward in question."

Bella's jaw dropped open, "You know this self-absorbed jerk?"

Ronan nodded, "Bella, this would be one of my best regulars, Edward Cullen. What are we up to now, five?"

"Five it is, Ronan," Edward replied, forcing himself to remain calm, "How do you know the graceless one?"

"Bella is our newest apprentice at the shop. She's been with us for three months now. Amazing eye for the work. Maybe she'll do your next ink?" Ronan added, laughing.

Bella stuck out her tongue at Ronan, and Edward felt himself shudder as her 10ga silver bar caught the fluorescent light overhead. She works at my shop and she's pierced. This must be hell on earth. Ronan playfully shoved her sideways, earning a muttered curse and a kick to his shin that he shook off with a smile.

"My drink, Ronan?" Bella shouted, her eyes flitting towards the door.

"You gonna join us, Edward?" Ronan asked.

"I'm going home," Bella groaned, slamming out the door in a huff.

"Man, you pissed her off earlier! You blew off a girl wanting to admire your ink?" Ronan asked incredulously, watching her departure.

"I don't have it to pick up women," Edward countered, "And it's better for her if she stays away."

Ronan sighed, shoving Edward towards the door, "Bella's not like most women, and the two of you are fucking emo twins. My woman's ticked at me for reasons unknown and Bella's too many in to drive home. Go, be nice, buy her a fucking drink and let me try and fix things with Emily. Please, bro."

Edward grimaced, "You owe me large for such a tall order."

Ronan reached into his back pocket, yanking out a twenty, "Here! Just don't let her leave. She'll crash her truck and her dad will have my ass."

With a sigh, Edward stepped outside, nearly crashing into Bella as she stood beneath the overhang of the entryway, her face pressed to the cool concrete wall, eyes shut tightly. In this moment, she was vulnerable, her emotions plain upon her troubled face. It was a look he knew well from many mornings in the bathroom mirror. He saw his hand lift, saw it brushing the hair away from her face with a gentle motion, as if she would break beneath his touch. Startled, her eyes flew open, her body recoiling against the wall, fists clenching. Her recognition of him was met with a groan.

"For someone so eager for me to leave him alone, you sure seem to follow me."

Edward shrugged, "I'm a masochist."

"I think you're more the sadist. You sure seem to like watching me suffer," Bella snarled, her brown eyes flashing with contempt.

Edward felt his stomach twist, the drop off that only a rollercoaster could create within him. Even if she should stay away, you don't need to hurt her like this. He reached out tentatively, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. She flinched but remained rooted to her spot, her face stoic.

"Look, I'm an ass. I know it. Ronan knows it. I have my reasons and you might just understand them. I also have a twenty from Ronan's wallet to buy us drinks. Come inside, have a few shots and we can watch Ronan get his ass handed to him by a tiny blonde."

Bella bit her lower lip, her eyes averting to the ground as she shuffled in her simple black flats. With a sound somewhere between a scream and a snarl, she shrugged off his hand, gesturing to the door behind him.

"Fine. But I reserve the right to punch you in the face if you're rude to me."

She tossed her hair back over her shoulders, the Jack and Coke in front of her hitting hard on the heels of three shots toasting everything from 'Dr. Jones' addiction to the Chicken Soup For The Soul books' to 'Being glad Emily's not slugging me.' In spite of her initial hesitation and resentment, Edward had quickly moved to redeem himself, his sharp tongue and jaded worldview omnipresent but no longer overshadowed by his blatant lack of manners. She'd not paid for a single shot or drink as they'd sat at the bar, running commentary on Ronan's love life and Dr. Jones' sessions, Edward doing a mean impression of Jessica that left her slapping the bar in laughter.

Nothing personal had been said, beyond Bella's professional aspirations and Edward's refusal to attend university and the resulting move to Port Angeles. Bella liked it that way. She didn't need his biography; she needed commiseration. Behind her came a loud crash, the bartender waving at security as she spun to see Ronan ducked behind a chair, Emily still on a tirade, her blonde hair bobbing in pigtails that made the scene all the more ridiculous.

"Ah, young love," Edward sneered, "A many splendored thing."

"Oh, yes. Sign me up for my own version of Domestic Disturbia," Bella snarked, knocking back the rest of her drink.

"Domestic what?" Edward laughed.

"The Chris Brown and Rihanna thing? That was the tag the gossip sites gave it. You know, because Rihanna had that song-"

"Oh fucking Christ, that's brilliant!" Edward gasped, laughing harder, "Emily loves Rihanna."

Bella slapped Edward's arm, laughing hard herself, "Fuck off! I'm totally plastering Ronan's station in pics of Brown and Rihanna tomorrow, then."

Edward grinned, flagging the bartender over and ordering up two shots of Goldschlager, "You need to take pictures. I need to embarrass that man into free ink."

"Pictures and video will happen, I assure you. I'm tired of cleaning up his station. Last I checked, that wasn't a vital part of my becoming an artist," Bella grumbled, reaching for her shot, "And now I can thank him for spending a night sleeping in my truck. There they go…"

Edward watched as Ronan gave chase to Emily, his tattooed arms waving wildly behind her as she stormed furiously into the streets of Port Angeles, the bar security staff trailing behind, herding them. Damn, that is not going to end well. Looks like Ronan's due to be single soon. Throwing back his own shot, his eyes drifted to Bella, unwittingly meeting with the slight cleavage exposed by her blouse, the top two buttons long ago released. Her skin seemed delicate, paper-thin; he wondered how she'd managed to survive her own attempt to shuffle off the mortal coil with her body so seemingly yielding to destruction. He quickly raised his line of sight, not wanting to upset her if caught, and found her staring back at him, a strange sorrow marring her features. And in that moment, he knew he would break all his rules. The way her deep brown eyes cut through him, as if she knew him… There was nothing he could refuse her.

"You can't sleep in a truck in Port Angeles. It's not safe," Edward said softly.

"I'll be fine. And if I'm not, then the world will be doing me a favour," Bella quipped, toying with her empty shot glass.

"Hey," Edward insisted, leaning forward "Admittedly I'm just the asshole from the worst group therapy sessions ever, but I don't think I could deal with finding out you became the first homicide this year, not when I might prevent it. I live two blocks away and the couch is comfortable. You're welcome to crash there."

Bella hesitated, her heart beginning to pound as he suddenly looked away, as if… shy? He's shy? What does he have to be shy about? Her finger rolled the empty shot glass around the bar as she carefully weighed out her options. Going home was impossible; she was far too many in and Charlie didn't need to get up at one in the morning and fetch her. She could grab a cheap room at one of the local hotels, but that cost money, something she'd blown through a fair bit of recently. Ronan's place seemed a total bust, which pissed her off on so many levels, being as he'd conned her into the late shift with promises of booze and board. And now, there was Edward's offer… An offer so tempting, she felt faint. Beneath the aggression and caustic diatribes, she'd seen hints of intelligence and a subtle sweetness held deep within. He wasn't a complete stranger; Ronan knew him well, and his father was on staff at the hospital in Forks. And if he tried anything, there was always that can of mace Charlie forced her to carry in her purse.

"I don't want to impose, Mr. Anti-Social," she finally responded, biting down on her tongue bar.

"No imposition. I have to warn you; I don't sleep well. Hope TV doesn't keep you up."

Bella's eyes drifted to his biceps, to the peeking hints of mysterious ink beneath the cotton sleeves of his t-shirt. There are stories there, behind the shades. God, I want to know those stories. With a coy smile, she slowly rose to her feet, her finger lightly poking at the mysterious numbers etched on his skin.

"I will, on one condition: you show me your ink."

Edward sighed loudly, feigning protest, "Fine, I suppose I can do that."

Bella followed Edward out onto the street, the cool air reviving her immediately. She'd probably had two shots too many, judging from how unsteady the sidewalk felt beneath her feet, but she shrugged it off, keeping her focus on dodging discarded trash and broken glass dotting the Friday streets of the tourist trap. Her jeans clung to her uncomfortably, the alcohol sweating itself out through every pore as she moved to keep pace with Edward's brisk gait. They walked in silences punctuated by the odd sarcastic remark by Edward, little bits of gossip about the drunks stumbling by or anecdotes about the shops dotting the scenery. Overhead, hundreds of tiny stars dotted a deep indigo sky, a sliver of moon illuminating their way. The sight conjured up memories of a night a year ago in another town, standing on a cliff high above the water, her feet rocking to and fro as she struggled to remain steady…

"Bella?"

Bella shook herself, smiling sheepishly at Edward's concerned visage, "I'm sorry; I wandered off a moment."

"I know the feeling. We're here," Edward announced, holding open the door to a narrow stairway beside a tiny art gallery.

Bella stepped cautiously inside, climbing the stairs slowly. From behind her, Edward admonished himself for staring at her tight ass, his fingers running through his damp hair nervously. What are you doing?! This could end so badly, and she seems genuinely decent under her storm cloud. You should tell her to run. You're damaged. You're poison. Her pace was slow, her hand gripping the rail tightly, knuckles gleaming under the jaundiced lighting overhead. He wanted to offer his hand to steady her, but thought it too brash, particularly with their bitter start. The thought of her leaving tonight suckered him in the gut, his entire body straining to buckle at the suggestion of the loss. Bella seemed to get him, something he hadn't felt since...

"This door?" Bella asked softly, pausing at the top of the stairs.

"My humble home," Edward murmured, unlocking the door and throwing it open.

The studio apartment was somewhat barren as Bella stepped inside, drinking in the lack of decor. Yet, there were personal touches, signs of a life lived within: the magazines scattered on various tables, a small figurine of a Mad Hatter holding a teacup, a single family photo, framed and set upon a Baldwin piano in the corner. He plays? I always wanted to learn to play. Edward crossed the open space, tossing his jacket on a two-seater dining table near an alcoved kitchen and moving silently to the window, cracking it open. Unsure of what to do with herself, she settled onto the large grey sofa facing a plasma TV, stretching her weary legs out along an oak table.

"Can I ask you something?"

Bella turned towards Edward, who stood at the opposite end of the sofa, hands rammed deeply in his pockets, "You can ask. I might not answer."

"You're a suicide case too, right? I don't want to pry, and I know I was a total dick this afternoon, but I got that from what you said and-"

"Yeah," Bella whispered, "Six months ago."

"Pills?"

Bella shook her head, "Truck in the garage, hose from the exhaust into the cab. My dad came home moments after I passed out."

"Whoa..." Edward whispered, settling onto the couch, "I stole pills from the hospital – morphine, benzos, you name it. Whiskey chaser. My sister found me. She's still pissed off."

"My dad won't say so, but he's still really upset. He blames himself."

"For what it's worth, and coming from a fellow headcase with a death wish, it's likely not much... I'm glad you suck at suicide."

Bella's puzzled expression sent his gaze diving for the floor in embarrassment, "You're pretty fucking strange, Cullen."

"I'm sorry."

"It's a good thing," she mused, Edward's head snapping up to find her shifting to face him, her legs flopping lazily over his lap, "The ink. I've been obsessing all day. Show me?"

Edward chuckled, "You've been thinking about my tattoos all day? You've nothing better to think of?"

"I'm an artist – sort of. But beyond that... There's a story in the art. You don't get inked for kicks. It's a branding, a mile marker... isn't it?"

Edward nodded, his voice cracking, "Testaments to what I can never be allowed to forget."

Bella hand reached out gingerly, fingers grazing his right elbow as she slowly pushed up the sleeve of his t-shirt, revealing a seven-digit number intertwined with razor-wire and a small clock face in the centre. He shivered at the warmth and softness of her skin as she traced the design, following the winding trail of wire as it looped through the work. He could not look her in the eye, not now; he was afraid of what he might find. Pity? Sadness? He wasn't worth that emotion from her.

"The clock... 1:37. It's a time. The number reminds me of something, but I can't place it..."

"Auschwitz. The camps," Edward whispered hoarsely.

Bella gasped, "Oh God... Who...?"

"My maternal grandmother was a child survivor of the Holocaust. She was ten when she escaped through Poland. We were close... The number is her birthday. The time is when she passed..."

Edward pressed his hand to his face, memories of his beloved Nana flooding to the surface. She'd always had a kind word for him, always praising his efforts in every way. He flinched slightly as Bella edged closer, her hand rubbing his back gently, the faintest of touches. A tiny scraping of metal sounded near his cheek as she pressed closer, her voice a whisper.

"I don't ink. I pierce. I did my tongue when my mother was killed three years ago. Robbery gone wrong. They pressed a gun into her mouth. I... I wanted to know..."

"I'm so sorry," Edward whispered, his face tilting to the right and pausing before Bella's pained face, their noses grazing each other.

Bella nodded slightly, her deep brown eyes shimmering wells as tears fought to the surface. Automatically, Edward reached for her cheek, his hand resting on the porcelain of her flesh, his breath catching as she leaned into his caress ever so slightly. Her chin quivered as she struggled to swallow back her sorrow, the tremor resonating through him. Her tongue darted out slightly, rolling along the surface of her lips, moistening them.

"Show me another?" Bella whispered.

Edward's hands moved to the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up and over his head, the garment tumbling to the floor behind the sofa. Bella's eyes roamed his body, examining the tattoo upon his chest first, the wounded bluebird cupped within two hands, a watch upon one wrist. She pressed her palm to the art, closing her eyes for a moment that felt impossibly long, sending Edward's heart careening against his ribcage. The lashes fluttered as she turned to his left bicep, upon which stood a ghostly figure clad in black, an hourglass in hand with the numbers '237' etched upon its wooden frame.

"Your choice," he murmured.

"The bird?"

"My mother... Her favourite colour was blue. She rescued injured birds often when I was small. Cancer, a year ago."

"Cancer is an evil thing. It steals so much...." Bella whispered, her hands drifting to the bottom of her blouse, unbuttoning the lower two buttons and revealing a navel piercing, "Thirteen months ago, I did something incredibly stupid that irrevocably changed the lives of several people. My boyfriend... he couldn't stay. And my gut twisted into so many knots that it felt right to pierce there."

Edward found himself drawn to touch her, his thumb and forefinger rolling the tiny metal ball above her navel between them. Her back arched slightly, as if presenting it to him. Her gaze lingered on the strange dark figure upon his left arm, her brow furrowed in concentration. Drawing a deep breath, Edward explained the source of her fascination.

"It's Death, from the Sandman comics. It's the newest tattoo of the five, only four months old. Ronan was nice to bump a few appointments to get me in before... Well, before I'd intended to take the longest nap possible," Edward finished, smiling weakly, "It was important that I mark the moment."

"What moment would that be?"

Edward's face clouded over, "The moment I knew that inside, I was already dead. My body was just waiting to catch up."

"You can't save what's already dead," Bella whispered, "You said that, earlier today..."

"I did."

"I wr-wrote that in my s-s-suicide note," she said, her body beginning to shake.

It happened so quickly, Edward felt her kiss before knowing he'd chosen to make contact, his hand tangling in her wavy locks as his mouth crashed into hers, her soft moan his permission. Her lips tasted sweet and bitter, soda and liquor clinging to each line as his tongue ran along the surface, skimming lightly before her mouth enveloped it, taking him inside. Her body pressed forward, the hand toying with her piercing now firmly wedged between his thigh and her groin, a low growl trapped in his throat as her heat radiated against his palm. Every collision of their tongues, their lips, sent sparks arcing along the surface of his back, his spine spiralling towards her. The cool metal of her piercing aroused him in ways he'd never known, the thick round orb rolling in smooth circles. A panic began to swell within him as she straddled his lap, her arms thrown around his neck, pulling him closer and devouring him. No, this is wrong. I'll hurt her. I'll destroy her, like I destroy everyone I care about. Stop it! Save her! Wrestling with the lust growing within, he gently pushed her back by her shoulders, shaking his head sadly.

"Bella, this isn't right," Edward lamented.

Bella's face fell, her arms wrapping around herself, "I'm-I'm sorry. I don't know why-"

"No! No, I want to... You don't understand. Everyone in my life..."

"What is it, Edward?" she asked softly.

"They die, Bella. I'm tainted. Cursed. And I won't let myself kill you. You're witty, and thoughtful, and you hate granola shrinks and love mods as much as I do. You look at me and... You know me. And I can't watch you die."

"You can't kill what's already dead," she whispered, her hand pressing to the hourglass upon his arm, "You know me, too. It's terrifying, but you do. But if you want me to go-"

"No," Edward gasped, fighting back tears, "No, I don't want you to go. But I don't feel right asking you to stay."

"I never do anything right," Bella said, shrugging, "Why would I start now?"

She leaned forward then, her lips pressing to the tattooed flesh of his chest. A tear slid free from his eye as she continued to kiss each little part of the picture, her breath hot against his clammy skin, her lips gentle, almost reverent. He leaned forward, resting his head lightly upon hers, inhaling the delicate fruit scent of her shampoo. Her mouth grazed his nipple and he moaned softly, the contact directly connecting with the stirring in his jeans. She rose slowly, her face hovering close to his, her own eyes moist.

"Two people who can't be saved," she whispered, "But what if...?"

"What?"

"What if we just try anyway?"

Throwing all reservations out the door, Edward embraced her, his mouth meeting hers in a frenzied kiss as his hands traced the curves of her back, her hips, marvelling at every inch of her. Was it possible to save the damned? He didn't know, but in this moment, he could do nothing but acquiesce. He would try, for her. As her hands gripped his bare shoulders, fingernails pressing tiny half-circles into his skin, he found his hand fumbling between them, struggling to release the three buttons holding her shirt together. His entire body shook as the material parted, a sigh escaping Bella as he pulled back to study her flat stomach, the gentle swells of her breasts lifted by a deep blue bra of silk and lace. His thumb ran along the edges of the smooth material, emerald eyes drinking in the beauty before him, a beauty his mind continued to proclaim him unworthy of. Her arms shrugged free of the blouse, allowing it to fall to the cool tile floor, her hands cupping his face, tilting it upwards.

"Save me," she pleaded, "Try."

His mouth fell against her collarbone, sucking and nipping gently at the delicate skin as he drifted towards her jugular, his left hand encircling her breast, squeezing firmly. She gasped, her hips grinding down against his burgeoning erection, awakening an instinct long buried within him. His lips connected with her pulse point, his arousal growing at the steady beat within her veins. She's alive. She breathes. I can save her. She doesn't have to die. Her hands tangled in his messy copper locks, twisting and tugging as he continued to suck and bite, the faint saltiness of her skin lingering on his tongue. His hand slipped lower, fumbling with the button on her tight jeans until they popped apart, the zipper easily releasing for him.

"God, yes," she gasped, "I need... I..."

His mouth plunged between her breasts, his tongue running lightly between them as his shaft throbbed uncomfortably against his own pants. His hands planted firmly upon her hips, Edward rose to his feet, Bella hooking her ankles behind his back. Her mouth pressed against his bicep, her tongue licking along the curving lines of the Death tattoo as he walked her slowly towards his bed, grasping the taut curves of her ass. Her teeth sunk gently into his arm and he groaned, the strain in his pants worsening with each passing moment. It was all he could to place her gently on the bed instead of throwing her down upon it and tearing her clothes away. Her hands immediately seized the waistband of his jeans, her tongue rolling her piercing along his chest as his pants quickly hit the floor, his boxers lost with them. Edward felt his face flush at his exposure, a brief moment of trepidation creeping in through the lust that made Bella smile.

"You're not going shy on me now, are you Cullen?"

"And if I am?" Edward countered.

His answer was the cool feel of metal on the pulsing skin of his manhood, Bella's mouth enveloping him, dragging her tongue along the entire length. The head of his cock bumped against the back of her throat and he groaned, his brief nervousness lost beneath ecstasy and need. Bella hummed in satisfaction as she continued to drag her tongue along the underside of his shaft, her lips in pursuit, applying varying levels of pressure. His eyes rolled back in his head as his body wavered, his mind oblivious to all save the swerving caresses of her tongue, the heat of her throat, the sound of her murmur. Her hand gripped him now, working in twisting tandem with her lips. He could feel the steady build within him, a swift ascension to the heights of pleasure and he willed himself to hold on, to hold back. He couldn't be satisfied until she was, until her soft voice moaned his name.

He seized her shoulders, gently shoving her back onto the bed and lifting her hips, easing off her jeans and tiny thong, tossing them aside. She was glistening with her arousal, her breath baited as he sank to his knees before her, sinking his mouth into her sweetness. Her gasp as he rolled the tip of his tongue along her swollen clitoris brought a smile to his face, a genuine one, the first in years. His tongue lashed painfully slow and gentle against the tiny nub as he slid two fingers deep inside of her, thrusting upwards to caress her sweet spot. Bella's body writhed upon the cool silk sheets, her fists ensnaring them as she moaned and begged for him to keep going, to never stop. Edward's cock throbbed against the post of the bed as he pumped his fingers faster, his mouth enveloping her clit and sucking gently as he felt her tense around him. Her cries grew louder and incoherent as she climaxed hard, her hand slamming against the bed as she panted, chest heaving. Edward nipped her inner thigh, eliciting a squeal of surprise as he rose and reached for the top drawer of the bedside table, frantically digging for and locating a foil packet. Bella's eyes opened as he tore the foil, and she struggled to sit up, licking her lips.

"Let me?"

Edward shuddered, passing her the condom. There is something incredible about a woman sheathing a dick, he mused, watching as Bella slowly unrolled the latex, squeezing the base of his shaft with a wink. His patience long worn thin, Edward shoved her back against the bed, mounting her with a ferocious kiss, the taste of her juices lingering on his lips. Bella's back arched, her hips shifting towards his thick member as it grazed her slit. Not just yet. He shifted away, his hand slipping between her thighs, parting her labia and caressing her aroused flesh. Her fingers dug into his back, pulling him tight against her, the silk and lace of her bra grinding against his bare chest.

"I need you so much," he whispered, "I've never needed someone like this."

"I need you. I need this. Please," she begged, her eyes locked on his.

He thrust inside, crying out as he buried himself in the tight warmth of her. He hesitated, fearing he'd hurt her, until she ground herself against him, her knees raising, opening herself up wider. His thrusts were slow and hard, the two of them lurching towards the headboard as he drove every inch inside, her gasps and moans sending him reeling. She moved in rhythm with him, her ankles looped behind his back as her hands reached for his hips, pulling him ever closer, until it began to feel as if they were melding into a single organism of flesh and fire. His orgasm built quickly, a mental struggle against the inertia of a new passion waged as he slowed his pace, unwilling for this moment to end, for the feel of her surrounding his shaft to be lost. He lunged forward, sucking greedily at her neck as she held on tighter, as if she feared he would disappear if he withdrew completely. His kisses moved swiftly towards her breasts, Edward swearing an inner curse at the bra that concealed the pert nipples pressing out against their prison.

"Hang on," he grunted.

One hand upon her hip, the other behind her neck, Edward rolled to the left, Bella now straddling his hips, her hair wild and tumbling over her eyes. His fingers made quick work of the insufferable garment, tossing it across the room and striking the door with a tiny thud. Bella planted her hands upon his chest, her head thrown back as she rode him, her hips circling through what felt like a figure eight around his cock. Edward bit down hard on his lip, fighting the desire for release, his hands cupping and caressing her breasts. His head pressed forward to snag one delicately between his teeth, tongue lapping at the sensitive tissue.

"Shit! God, yes. Bite harder, Edward. I'm so close…"

Edward complied, tugging with his teeth as Bella's pace quickened, her nails scraping along his chest and leaving tiny lines of pain that sent sparks shooting across his vision. He could feel the world giving way, her walls tightening about his shaft as she slammed down harder, his member quivering as he peaked. The words of lust and need in his brain shattered away, leaving behind only a loud moan echoed by hers, her head falling to his chest, damp hair spilling over him. His arms wrapped around her, clinging tightly as a strange feeling flooded him, so foreign he initially felt the room spinning down into a black hole of panic, the fears fading as her voice reached out to him, muffled against his heart.

"Thank you," she whispered, drawing ragged breaths.

The realization sunk in slowly, permeating the labyrinth of sorrow and self-loathing he'd carefully constructed over the years, its walls disintegrating until there was only her, only now… and it was beautiful. The indigo bedspread tumbling from the foot of the bed seemed richer somehow in the faint moonlight trickling between the blinds. Her hair, a deep brunette, glinted with auburn highlights that traced the curve of her cheeks as she rested against him, spent. Her pale skin seemed luminescent now, and Edward found himself mesmerized by the sight. His heart pounded furiously against his ribs as he could sense each movement of her body, every inhalation, every faint murmur that betrayed her exhaustion. He felt connected with someone, truly connected, above and beyond the merging of their bodies.

He felt alive.

Gently kissing the top of her head, Edward rolled Bella off of him, turning away to remove the used condom, tucking it in the discarded packet on the nightstand. The alarm clock radio gleamed, Edward making note of the time: 4:21am. He could not allow himself to forget this. If it all receded tomorrow, if the shadows and storms reclaimed his spirit, he would know that it was possible to believe in life after spiritual death. Rolling back towards Bella, she curved against him, her head tucking under his right arm with a small sigh. She lightly kissed his chest, eyes closed as her hand interwove with his.

"Don't let go," she mumbled, "Not tonight…"

Edward smiled, burying his face in her air, "I won't, Bella. I can't."

And he couldn't; he understood that now, as clear as the clock's garish red display. She could save him, against all odds. He vowed to save her in return.

Bella woke up with a miserable headache, the kick-back of a long night with her old friend Jack D. Her palm pressed to her temple, willing the pounding to subside as her eyes squinted open, her surroundings startling her out of the fog of her hangover. A warm body pressed against her back, an arm flung lazily across her waist in the large four poster bed, the sheets and blankets spilling onto the floor. Her head turning behind her, she met with the peaceful face and messy hair of Edward Cullen, a faint smile crossing his lips as she shifted within his grasp.

The night flooded back in vivid detail, her body aching in delicious ways as she recalled their sexual encounter. The connection she'd felt with him ran deeper than any she'd ever known, Jacob included – and this both thrilled and terrified her to her core. She was a wretch, a ruiner of lives; could such a creature feel something as poignant and honest as this? He'd taken her in kindness, his face brimming with the same disbelieving desperation. But what had he felt? Had he felt the way time seemed to freeze as they came together, the way the seas of sadness parted, allowing a safe and unburdened passage to sleep and dreams?

A murmur behind her ear startled her, a tiny squeak of surprise passing her lips as Edward's grazed her cheek. A shiver ran down her spine, her body pressing closer to his of its own accord.

"Morning," he murmured.

"Morning."

Edward's arms shifted, moaning as something seemed to stretch too far, "I really need to hit the gym more often."

Bella's head lolled back towards him, her smile tentative, "I think you're in perfect shape."

Edward chuckled, "That's the leftover booze talking."

His lips met hers gently, Bella craning her neck, seeking something deeper. Edward pressed a finger to her nose, protesting his 'bad morning breath.' Bella giggled, contenting herself with spinning to rest her head upon his heart, her headache soothed by the steady, strong beat.

"Hungry? There's a place that does brunch down the street."

"Mmm, yeah, I am. I need juice; my head's killing me," Bella whined, glancing at the clock beside the bed, "Shit. I have work in three hours."

"Yes, you do. You have a tattoo appointment," Edward said, massaging her temples for her.

"Wait, what? I don't have any appointments yet. I'm still on my apprenticeship-"

Edward's eyes locked on hers, and Bella felt her stomach come to life with the fluttering of hundreds of tiny butterflies, pressing her ribs and seeking freedom, "You're going to tattoo me, Bella."

"Edward… Ronan is so much better than I am-"

"Shh," Edward admonished, "I believe in you. I want you to do it. It's not a large piece."

"But why?" Bella protested in confusion, "And what?"

Edward hesitated, his emerald eyes averting from her gaze, "A sun, breaking free from an eclipse, the light emerging at last beyond the inky cloak of a moon bearing the face of a clock, pointed at 4:21."

Bella studied his face, a sense of wonder blanketing her, "It sounds beautiful…"

Edward's hand brushed her cheek, "Don't you want to know what the time is for?"

Bella desperately wanted to know, but could not confess it. She feared his response, feared the power he held through concealed feelings. A spark had ignited within her, one he could so easily extinguish with a single dismissive word. Her heart lay beneath his feet, ripe for the stomping. She managed a slight nod, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

"I know our lives have been hard. I know we are both fragile beings. But last night, I knew – without any caveats whatsoever – that you could save me, Bella. I felt alive with you, awakened to a world of possibilities once more. I never want to forget that feeling's existence. I need to remember hope."

Bella felt the tears begin to fall, the tears she had not dared shed for months. She swiped frantically at them, embarrassed as Edward smoothed her hair, holding her tighter against his chest.

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said something so intense," Edward chastised himself.

"No!" Bella blurted out, "God, say it again. Tell me you felt it, too…."

His hands cradling her face, Edward stared deep into her eyes, his own rippling with the threat of waterworks, "I want to save you, Bella. I want to try."

Bella leaned forward, pressing her lips to his, her mind reeling. How can 24 hours change life so dramatically? Edward pulled away, tousling her tangled hair with a chuckle.

"You have sex hair," he teased.

"So do you!"

"Yeah, but it's hot on me. Bella, you're a beautiful disaster."

Bella yanked the pillow out from beneath his head, clobbering him in the face, "I don't know what makes you more of a Doucheward: mocking the sex hair you created or referencing Kelly Clarkson!"

"Simmer down, Bitchella!" Edward teased, dodging a second swing and making a run for the bedroom door.

"Oh it's on, Cullen. Domestic Disturbia, coming your way!" Bella shouted, struggling to look menacing.

"What if I tell you that you can stand under my umbrella-ella-ella?" Edward asked, pouting from around the door frame.

Bella groaned, "What if I let you shower with me in exchange for ending the obnoxious puns?"

With a sly smile, Edward padded back into the room, his hands reaching for Bella's waist as he kissed her forehead, "Anything for you, Ms. Swan."

The words were a vow, straight from his embattled soul. Anything for her, no matter what the costs. Anything she needs, until I die. For the first time in years, Edward prayed that wasn't anytime soon.

For the many asking: I do plan to make this a multi after the contest closes, due to popular demand. For updates, etc follow me on Twitter: casket4myfanfic