A/N: Sorry for taking so long…again. The prologue from Book One still applies. I just am not going to include it again. This fic was honestly never supposed to be so long.

This chap starts out a little different, but we will go back to the normal format next chapter.

Enough of my rambling. Enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 1 – Possibility

October

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…there's a possibility…

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~//~

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November

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…all that I had was all I'm gonn' get…

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~//~

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December

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…there's a possibility…

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~//~

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January

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…there's a possibility…

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~//~

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February

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…all I'm gonna get is gone with your stare…

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~//~

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March

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…all I'm gonna get is gone with your stare…

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~//~

…so tell me when you hear my heart stop…

Whoever said time heals all wounds…well, they were full of shit. Cue bitter laugh. Time hadn't done a damn thing to close the gaping hole in my chest.

I was a snotty, bawling mess when the plane finally touched down, and I stumbled through the security checkpoint at JFK. When I saw Angela waiting for me – her concern apparent in the way she was anxiously looking me over, hoping to ascertain what was wrong – I broke down even more, and I fell straight into her open arms as soon as I reached her.

"Bel…?" she inquired.

"Not now, Ange. I can't, not now. Just get me home."

"Okay, let's go get your bags then. Do you want to use the restroom first? Maybe freshen up a little?" She winced as she said it, fearful that I would lash out at her.

I knew that for Angela to have bothered saying anything, I had to have been a bigger wreck than I thought…not that I had really given it much consideration. Choking back a sob, I nodded and allowed her to guide me to the nearest restroom. Once I had made myself as presentable as I could without actually looking at myself in the mirror, we made our way down to baggage claim.

We arrived at the place I would be calling home for the next year and a half and I collapsed onto the couch, falling into an exhausted sleep almost immediately.

My first six months in New York passed by, but I hardly noticed. I was the night of the living dead – barely alive – a walking horror film. I rarely looked in the mirror but, on the few occasions I had, what I saw confirmed it…I was decaying. My skin – paler than death – was pallid and dull, and stretched tightly over bones that never used to protrude. My eyes were lifeless, and my lips chapped, cracked, and bleeding from all the gnawing on them I did. My days were lost in a benumbed haze, and my nights spent gasping in fiery pain.

I hated that he had this effect on me, and tried to snap out of it, but the hole in my chest only grew bigger, and nothing eased the weight that pressed down on me, heavier by the day, making it harder and harder to haul myself out of bed each morning. Too thin, too bereft, too alone…for the first time in my life I felt like I had a surfeit of things, but they were all things I could do without, and didn't want in any case.

So, no…time definitely did not heal all wounds.

Some pains were just too deep, too etched into your soul for that.

I started school the Wednesday after my arrival, and my new job the following Monday. School, work, homework, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. Days turned into weeks, turned into months, during which the only change made was that I went from not sleeping on the couch to not sleeping in my room after my bed – and the rest of my junk – was finally delivered.

I tried to forget him…forget her…forget him and her together, and the happy life they must have…forget the happy life that should have been mine. Ours. But no matter how much I immersed myself in my studies, and no matter how many extra hours I put in at my job, there were still too many unfilled hours, and I couldn't forget. Instead, I looked for other avenues that would lead to self-induced amnesia.

I took up running, but found that breathing didn't take nearly the concentration people claimed it did. It allowed me too much time alone inside my head and, after breaking down in the middle of the busy Central Park jogging trails one too many times, I gave it up. I attempted knitting, but how the fuck you can take two sticks, a ball of yarn, and make a sweater is just beyond me. I think it may be witchcraft, actually. The only good thing about it was that it made me so frustrated I was able to forget about him for a few minutes, but it inevitably ended in tears and yarn tangled throughout the apartment. Ben and Jerry's, chick flicks, sleep…a misguided, semi-unfortunate trip to the spa for pampering – nothing worked, so I gave up trying, and allowed myself to be sucked into the mire.

~//~

…You're the only one that knows…

By the time March arrived, I still hadn't explained anything to Angela, and she had long since given up on getting me to talk to her, or trying to engage me. However, that didn't stop – and I didn't miss – the pitying looks and worried sidelong glances she shot me as she watched me waste away physically and drift away emotionally…or mentally…I wasn't sure. Everyone has their breaking point, though.

She reached hers when – having been stood up yet again by me for Sunday brunch – she came home to find me…yet again…sitting in the chair in the corner of my bedroom staring blankly at the bare walls. Angela was moments away from pulling out the only ace she had—calling Charlie and Renee—if I didn't at least pretend to be doing better. It wasn't normal, the way I was acting like someone died, but that's exactly what it felt like – like I died – and even though I obviously wasn't dead, I certainly wasn't whole. Still, I had to get it together, so I pretended to be getting over whatever it was that Angela thought was wrong.

It was with great reluctance – but for that reason – that I said yes when I was invited out by two interns from my office the first Friday in March. I was completely overwhelmed as I got ready and left for the subway that night. My anxiety continued to ramp up the closer I drew to my destination and, by the time I met the girls in front of where the party was being held, I was nearly crippled with apprehension. I had never been good at socializing, or making small talk without the lubrication of liquor…or some other substance…to camouflage my social retardation.

We stepped through the front door, and were immediately hit with the acrid, slightly skunky scent of weed, causing Claire and Emily to glance at me nervously. I gave them a small smile, letting them know they had nothing to worry about; I was cool. Sure, I was technically their superior at work, but just barely…and besides, I kind of wanted some. My destructive, I'll-show-him, vindictive side poked her head up, encouraging me. It'll make the pain go away, Bella. You know it will. It'll anesthetize you to all of the hurt and heartache and sorrow just like you want. Just like that, Phoenix Bella – post Phil – was back.

An hour later, I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of partying my way through the pain sooner. A little voice in my head – his voice – told me I'm acting stupid and irresponsibly.

How many times have I told you to be safe, Isabella?

Shut up, Edward.

You're thousands of miles from home, with two girls you barely know – and a fucklot of people you don't know at all – who's going to keep an eye on you?

I'm a big girl, Assward. I can take care of myself.

…tell me when you hear my silence…

I argued with him in my mind and, while part of me was thrilled to hear, after so long, his single-malt Scotch voice – rich and smooth, with just a hint of oak – the other, admittedly smaller part was appalled…you've finally gone 'round the bend, B. The former, in-charge part snorted in amused wonder at my rational side, and downed another shot of whatever-the-fuck. Then, along with my pride and self-respect, she danced a little jig around Little-Miss-Rationality, taunting her until she burst into tears and ran off to hide. All the other parts of my mind collectively sighed in relief, welcoming the emotional silence.

…there's a possibility I wouldn't know…

I had forgotten how effective the right combination of bowls, booze, meaningless sex, and the occasional miscellaneous drug was at helping to forget your woes. I couldn't remember the name of the guy I went home with that night, or really remember the sex, but the disgust I felt for myself was nearly crushing when I woke up at four in the morning. I scrambled in the dark to locate my scattered clothing, dressed myself, and crept out silently.

The stinging cold didn't register as I walked down the sidewalk, tears tracing absently down my cheeks and arms wrapped protectively around my chest in an effort to hold myself together. I had entirely forgotten how low the comedown could be, the sensation felt the same as the rush of returning blood to an area that'd had the circulation cut off to it.

I felt, as I always had if I so much as looked at another man during the last five years, ridiculously like I had betrayed him…but for a few hours all the heartache and pain and humiliation and shame I felt had gone away. I hailed the first cab I saw, and as the driver navigated the streets of Manhattan, I contemplated the previous few hours, already knowing that I would do it again.

The next couple of weeks fell into a pattern of work, school, study, party. I went out every night – if not to a party, then to a bar. I was aware of my rapidly declining performance at both work and school, but I craved the release from my problems too much to give it up…despite the severity of the hangover, or the debilitating pain.

Initially – like the first weekend – Angela was thrilled that I seemed to be snapping out of my funk, but after the fourth night of my stumbling…or crawling, whichever seemed more prudent at the time…into the apartment at the break of dawn, the thrill wore off. To her credit, she tried to allow me the space to get through my shit my own way but, judging from my behavior since I'd arrived, I'm guessing she gave up hope that I would work through my new phase quickly. It went just as much against her nature to allow her friends to self-destruct in front of her as it did to interfere, but as I started missing classes and showing up late to work…if I made it in at all… it became more difficult for her to maintain radio silence.

As much as she wanted to avoid confrontation, she wasn't going to let me fall. You could practically see her words of concern forming on her lips, but it never came to that.

~//~

Spring break was in its death throes, the mood wanting to be somber, but it was Friday night – party night – so it was hard to let it keep you down. Fridays usually equated to free drinks, and possibly drugs – although, I wasn't ruling them out just yet – but tonight, I was hosting the party!

I was surprised over the ease with which Angie agreed – hosting drunken, college toga parties wasn't exactly her forte, and we both had to work in the morning – but I had a feeling that had more to do with her compulsive need to babysit me, and make sure I didn't do anything stupid…or as I like to call it, have fun. Whatever. I wasn't going to look a gift Angela in the mouth.

At two in the morning…the party still going 'cause Angela passed out...our apartment was more crowded than ever due to the closing of the bars and the return of our fellow student-neighbors. I was pressed against the refrigerator, sucking face with a pretty frat boy, when I spotted a familiar head of hair across the room. At least I thought I did, but I couldn't be sure…and it wasn't possible. I mean, after all this time, the odds were stacked against it.

Slowed by the rum-laced punch I'd been steadily drinking, my reaction time was so lethargic that, by the time I had registered what I may have seen, I had dismissed the notion, convincing myself that it was just the 'shrooms finally kicking in. I was spared further contemplation on it, however, because my frat-douche-soon-to-be-one-night-stand shoved his tongue down my throat, and began to work his hand down the back of my jeans. Anticipation of that feeling of invincibility that made all of it—the hangover, the self-loathing, the reputation I was probably acquiring— worthwhile was coursing through me when the vibe in the room changed.

There was a charge in the air, but I couldn't tell if it was negative or positive. I was suddenly having my doubts about doing this. I just wanted whatshisname off of me, and the fuck out of that party. I couldn't breathe, and needed fresh air. I raised my hands to his chest, prepared to push him away if need be, but not actually shoving. His mouth left mine, allowing me to greedily gulp some extra – and much-needed – oxygen as he worked his way down and then back up the clammy skin of my neck until he reached my ear.

"What's wrong," he rasped. His breath against the shell of my ear no longer caused my stomach to clench in the thrilling way I craved. A chill washed through me as his lips crashed back into mine, but I ignored it.

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head, and trying to push down the inexplicable panic welling up in my chest. I forced my lips to continue moving with his as one of his hands found its way into my hair, grabbing a fistful, and using his hold to deepen the kiss.

The party still in full swing, we continued to make out against the refrigerator in full view of everyone, but with each movement of his mouth against mine, it became more difficult for me to control the irrational panic surging through my bloodstream. Feeling on the verge of hyperventilating, I struggled to calm my fraying nerves, and slow my breathing. What the fuck was wrong with me? I wanted this. Didn't I?

I wanted to tell him to stop, and that everything was wrong with this – but I wanted the numbness more, and I was still finding it difficult to draw an adequate amount of air into my lungs. Black spots were swimming before my eyes, darkness threatening to claim me, and that wouldn't do; unconscious didn't equal numb. I needed the vacancy of emotion…desperately. He pressed me more firmly against the appliance, waking Shorty up…well, hello there…and I moaned as blind lust flooded in, replacing the panic.

The frat-douche shoved his tongue further down my throat, and ground his hips against me. "Yeah, you like that? Uhhhh…you're so fucking sexy!"

And then it was gone…

Bile burned my throat – because it wasn't his voice, or his words – and I again questioned what the fuck I was doing, but that was a train of thought I didn't want to take; I wanted to quit thinking…to quit feeling. I concentrated on losing myself in Frat Douche instead. I wanted this…I want this.

Words swirled around my head…whore…slut…cheap…easy…and I wanted to not believe them. After all, it was the 21st century, not the dark ages. Renee had raised me to believe that women were sexual beings who shouldn't be ashamed of that fact, but the sexual revolution was still relatively young, and the socially ingrained beliefs and mores regarding women and sex were pervasive. It revealed just how deeply rooted they were that, preparing to do what I was, those feelings and thoughts had assumed command of my mind, and were clinging with such tenacity despite my struggles to push them down.

I internally shook my head, tsking at myself for pondering social issues at such a blatantly inappropriate time, when a movement over Frat Douche's shoulder – stubbly, squared jaw, that same familiar hair I thought I'd spied a few minutes earlier – caught my eye. Stop it, Bella! It's not him, and you're delusional if you think it is. The hair was familiar, but messy hair was de rigueur nowadays. Plus, I couldn't tell the exact shade, and it was too slicked down to be him. The chances it was him…not a snowball's chance in hell…were slim, but that didn't stop me from wanting it to be. In self-preservation…or maybe I was simply a masochist…my subconscious beat down my hope.

Long forgotten words danced through my ears, 'I need to let you know that I'm not always going to be there to catch you when you fall…' He couldn't have been more right had he possessed a crystal ball and Alice's odd, usually infallible gift for predicting things. Everything, that is, aside from him and me. Although, technically, she had been right – we were perfect for each other, and meant to be together – it just somehow escaped her shrewd eyes and perceptive mind that we actually were together…sort of. How it had, I hadn't a clue, especially since I couldn't act worth shit.

A flash of light glinted off a generic framed print on the wall. Cutting across the stranger's head, the illumination caused it to gleam a dark, bronzy-brownish red that made me gasp and shut my eyes tightly. I held my breath, as if by doing so I could suffocate the delusion.

Frat Douche used my hair to tilt my head to the side, and brought his mouth back to my ear. "Do you want to take this somewhere more private?"

Another glimpse of auburn. I gasped, and shook my head to clear it.

"Okay, then…I just thought…"

"Hmm? What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

"I, uh…just asked if you wanted to take this somewhere more private?"

I focused, mustered up my inner vixen, and nodded. Smirking deviously, I pushed against his chest with both hands, and looked up at him. I took his hand, slipping out from between him and the refrigerator, and stepped to the side towards the living room.

…by blood and by me…

"Follow—" I pivoted on my lead foot, keeping my eyes on him, but turning my body the direction my feet were taking us, "—me."

My eyes snapped front, as I nearly smacked into…

…you walk like a thief…

It was official: I'd gone mad. I had pushed myself so far in my need to hurt him, in my quest to prove that I didn't need him, that I was over him, that I had suffered a psychotic break. That was the only explanation that made sense as to why I was imagining him so vividly…that or the 'shrooms were more potent than any I had done before.

"Edward?" I hissed in disbelief.

…by blood and by me…

No. (Yes.) No. (Yes.) No, no, nonononononono! (Yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyesyes!)

...I fall when you leave…

~//~

…so tell me when you hear my heart stop…

My ears were ringing so loudly that I couldn't focus on the sounds of around me; it was all just white noise to match the white pain in my chest. Everything felt very surreal, in a 'Lifetime movie, this can't be really happening to me' kind of way. The mean girl in my head was chillin' on the balcony with the two old dudes, gigglesnorting over the cliché I was in the middle of living, while my pessimistic side chimed in to let me know that, unlike all those after-school specials, no one was going to save me.

I looked around for someone to contradict her, and all the other characters in my head began to whistle, refusing to make eye contact. Well, fuck you all very much. Even Shorty wasn't speaking up…traitorous cunt. She had drawn the shades of her basement apartment's single, tiny window, muttering, Dude, don't ruin this for us, as she turned on the Barry White, and lit aromatherapy candles.

…you're the only one that knows...

"Bella," he said tersely. He stared – hard eyes darting between me and the guy behind me – and then, the next thing I knew, my hand was yanked from Frat Douche's…and I was furious.

"Jesus Fuck, Cullen! What the – what the fuck?"

What the hell did he think he was doing? What was he doing here? Questions were running through my mind at a pace too rapid for me to keep up with.

Lightheaded and high from a mixture of confusion, rage, adrenaline…relief…cocaine, mushrooms and Bacardi 151, I stumbled into his chest. His hands came to my hips to steady me and, in the time it took me to jerk away from him and turn, Frat Douche was scampering away, hands held up, palms facing away from him and elbows surrender. "I don't want any trouble, man. She didn't say anything about having a boyfriend." Pussy.

I turned back to Edward, glowering and ready to lay into him, but he beat me to the punch. "What the fuck was that, Swan? The city turn you into a common whore?"

I began sending silent prayers to every deity, saint, and demi-god I could think of…and probably quite a few that I made up…as well as all three orders of angels, swearing to become a nun – or at least act like less of a whore – if they would please keep me from cleaving him with the butcher knife sticking up teasingly from the knife-block, waggling its handle at me. Charlie wouldn't be happy about having to visit me in prison…although I doubted he would be sad that the world was short one Edward Cullen. I increased the fervency of my prayers – mentally genuflecting, bowing and scraping – when he continued speaking.

"Who the fuck was he? I don't imagine that he could be anyone important considering the way he just abandoned you. You sure know how to pick them, dontcha?"

"You should know," I retorted harshly. I stared at him, all righteous indignation.

His eyes lost their hardness, and his shoulders slumped.

"Can't handle the truth, Eddie? How's Tanya? What are you doing here?" I accused and demanded in the same breath, the coldness of my voice surprising even me.

"Bella…" it came out as a sob, his voice breaking halfway through…and I got mad.

How dare he pity me? Fuck him.

"Fuck you!" I shouted in his face as I stormed off, grabbing the first bottle of booze off the island separating the living room and kitchen when I shoved by him.

…tell me when you hear my silence...

Ignoring the stares from my angry outburst, I pushed through my stranger-crowded apartment en route to my bedroom. I saw the boys leering, even thought about taking one of them up their implied offers but, in the end, I didn't. Just the thought of someone else touching me was sickening. Thanks, Edward. Thanks for depriving me of the one thing that helped me forgive you.

I finally reached my room, threw the door open, and flicked the lights on, only to find two people getting it on in my bed. I fucking lost it.

"What the fuck? Seriously? This is my room! Who the fuck comes to a random stranger's home and fucks someone they probably don't even know on someone else's bed?" Um, Bella? Pot, kettle… Shut up, Conscience, this isn't about me. "Get the fuck off of my bed and out of my room! And I better not find any fucking condoms or wrappers or fluids anywhere, you fucking whores!"

They had begun scuttling around like cockroaches as soon as the lights had come on, jolting apart and hurriedly trying to re-clothe themselves. I was still screaming my lungs off as they jerked the door open and tore out of my room, pulling it closed on their way. I turned to my bed and snatched the bedspread from it, clumsily tossing it one-handed across the room so that, rather than landing balled-up against the wall as I intended, it ended up spread across the small patch of bare floor in my tiny room.

I sank to the floor at the side of my bed. I was drained, my emotions all topsy-turvy and confused. What was he doing here? How did he find me? Where was Tanya? Why was he looking at me like he was a man dying of thirst, and I was a long, cool drink – the nectar of the gods – when he hadn't wanted me? He had chosen her. Too many questions were pounding at my head, drowning out the pounding music along with everything else.

I was still clutching the bottle of booze I'd snagged. I needed a drink like I'd never needed one before.

…I drink alone, yeah, with nobody else…

Sliding my hand further up the neck, I used my thumb to spin the cap off. Overestimating the tightness of it, I used too much strength, causing it to go shooting under my bed somewhere. I shrugged my shoulders and took a swig. Eh…c'est la vie. I braced myself as the rum burned my throat, and then brought the bottle back for another large gulp. I partook of several more nips before resting the bottle on the floor at my side.

…you know when I drink alone, I prefer to be by myself…

I heard the click of my door as it latched into place, and didn't even need to look up to know who was there.

"What do you want?" I asked wearily. I was so tired of all of this back and forth, push and pull bullshit between us. Tired of him controlling my emotions, owning me, the angst and the drama. I wanted to be free of it and him, but I didn't know how, or if I could. Truthfully, I didn't know if I really even wanted that. I wanted him, and hated both of us for it.

…there's a possibility I wouldn't know…

He filled the room with nervousness, as if he was self-conscious and unsure of how to proceed.

"I - well, I was…. I just never had the… Alice misses you!" he blurted.

"And so do I," he continued softly, "but I guess that doesn't really matter. I just – you have to know, I have to tell you – I lo…"

I cut him off. I was drunk and high and I didn't want to hear it. Where were those words anytime during the last five years when I desperately wanted to hear them? Fuck him, because it was too little, too late. Too much had happened, too much had come between us. Even ignoring all of that, he couldn't show up unannounced and say it while I was drinking myself into a stupor on my bedroom floor.

Using my bed, not relinquishing my hold on the bottle…'99 bottles of beer on the wall', I sang in my head, obviously delirious or cracking up…I hauled myself unsteadily to my feet.

"No! Shut up! I already told you, you don't get to say that to me. It's too late! There are no take-backs."

Edward turned around, leaning his head against the door, and I thought I saw his shoulders shake. The lump of ice-encrusted coal that had taken up residence in place of my heart wanted to thaw, but I forced myself to look away. I lifted the bottle to my lips, drinking it down like it was refrigerant. All the tears I had cried over the years…he could afford to shed a few tears over me. He turned around, the movement drawing my eye, and for the first time since his sudden appearance at the party, I really saw him.

I was appalled. He was a hot mess.

More than bags, he had a matched set of luggage under his eyes. The dark blue and purple stood out against his pale-even-for-him skin, making him look almost ghoulish…but no less beautiful…and his hair looked as if it had been days since he'd last washed it. Instead of standing up in its usual 'fuck you,' single-finger salute to order…damn the man, and all that…it was flattened to his head, looking almost matted in spots. And what was he wearing? I couldn't imagine Alice had purchased the crumpled, haphazardly-buttoned rags he was dressed in.

I tried to ignore the tear tracks that I could faintly see glimmering in the shitty lighting, but if I was honest, they tugged at me a bit…and pissed me off, because I wasn't supposed to – no, I shouldn't – I didn't care – I didn't want to care. Combined with the defeated slump of his shoulders, and the sadness that seemed to be etched across his face and mirrored in his eyes, they were almost enough to crack my hardened exterior. To distract myself, I started talking.

"You look like shit, Edward!" I declared, using all of my usual grace and charm. His shoulders tensed…hey, at least they aren't slumped anymore…and his jaw clenched.

"So do you," he snapped back angrily. His eyes – hard and cold – softened the moment he spat the words at me and, focusing on the floor, he resumed his previously downtrodden demeanor with his brows pinched together as if he were in pain. Obviously he didn't want to talk about it, and I wasn't supposed to care…I didn't care…so I let it go.

"Right." Moving on... "You still haven't answered my question – what do you want?"

"Right," he muttered to himself. He sighed before continuing, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. "I had to find you – I needed to explain…"

"You don't get to explain yourself. Not now. Not ever. Nothing you could say could possibly excuse what you did, so I don't want to hear it. If you know anything about me, if you were ever really my friend, you had to know this? So what are you really doing here? How the hell did you find me? Did Alice tell you? She fucking swore that she wouldn't. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that she lied to me, after all, you're family. Speaking of lying, shouldn't you be in Seattle fucking Tanya?"

Fire flashed in his eyes. "Shut up. You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I'm not with Tanya. I never was!"

I laughed loudly. "So you weren't fucking her? Right, Edward. Right. Your brother was just making up the story about you being with Tanya for two years, and no one – not Alice, not Jasper, and not Rose – bothered to contradict him? And, let me guess, SHE just showed up at your parents' house to what? See if you wanted to study? Demonstrate a tonsillectomy with her tongue? Ha! Tell me another one.

"I'm gullible at times, and I can be naïve and too trusting, but I'm not fucking stupid!" I informed him, before closing my mouth and glaring at him.

"I was fucking Tanya, but I wasn't with Tanya, okay? I admit it! I admitted it in the meadow six months ago, and I would have explained that I had no clue why she showed up that afternoon, but you never gave me a chance! She showed up unexpectedly at my apartment that morning while I was getting ready to leave.

"She only wanted one thing, and she wasn't going to leave until she got it, so I fucked her just to get her out of there. And you know what? I realized that I couldn't stand her, that I didn't know what I was doing messing around with her. When I finally got her to leave, I decided I was going to lose her number.

"I spent the entire drive to Forks trying to decide what to do about us, and I realized that it was time for me to man up and admit that I was in love with you, that I had been for years! Bella…I. Love. You. I'm crazy about you."

I started shaking my head and backing away from him. No, no, no… Stop saying that! It's too late! I was screaming the words in my head at him, but I didn't know if I was trying to convince him via ESP, or myself…but I was pretty sure it was me.

"These last six months have been hell without you. I thought I was going to die. I couldn't see you, or hear your voice, or send you a text – I didn't even know if you were okay, because I didn't know where you were…or if you were ever coming back…" he trailed off. "Say something, Bella."

Watching in simulcast, I saw myself – how awful I looked. I was appalled and mortified by how low I had allowed myself to sink over a boy – a boy who lied to me, and treated me like a dirty secret…although the latter part I had allowed to happen. However, that was a shame spiral I didn't need to go down. Not knowing what to say, or wanting to acknowledge the words that I still stupidly longed to be true, I latched onto, and shouted out, the first thing I thought of.

"You fucked her the morning you came to Forks?" As I said the words, they sunk in. My voice shook with rage, my whole body vibrating with it.

"Is that all you…? Didn't you hear anything else I said? I love you, Bella. I love you!"

"You love me?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and advancing on him. "You love me, you say? You fucked her that morning…in your apartment…before you fucked me that afternoon in the meadow? Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?"

His face fell, and I could see his hands trembling as he quickly started backtracking. "Bella, it wasn't like that… It wasn't – it didn't… Fuck! Why the fuck can't I get anything right with you? Every fucking time I try, I manage to fuck it up even more.

"I was scared, Bella! Like the pussy I am, I freaked the fuck out over the fact that I was – that I am in love with you. Everything I did, I did because I was trying to prove to myself that I wasn't. I was – still am – no good for you. I always knew, from the beginning, that it was only a matter of time before I hurt you. I shouldn't have ever let you get involved with me, but I did; I couldn't stay away from you. I knew I should break it off, but I couldn't do it. I tried to…so many times, but I could have sooner quit breathing.

"I am going to pretend like you didn't say that about Alice, because you know she didn't tell me. She's been miserable without you..." the hint of desperation tainting his words faded, and his voice grew quieter, "we all have. No one in my family besides my parents – mostly Esme – will even speak to me. They all – rightfully – blame me for you leaving. They are furious over how I treated you, what I did to you."

I gasped, and could actually feel my eyes try to take over my face upon hearing his revelation. "You told them?" I could hear the note of hysteria tainting my words. "Why the hell would you tell them? Why?"

"I had to. They had pretty much figured things out on their own anyway. It was either tell them the truth, or let them keep imagining whatever it was they had come up with in their heads…and you know Emmett has a vivid imagination…"

His attempted joke fell flat; there was no humor in the situation…not to me. I buried my face in my hands. "I can't even imagine what they think of me."

Edward was instantly at my side.

"No, Bella…they love you. No one thinks any less of you. It's me they hate, me they blame…"

He told me everything, laid it all out there on the table, leaving himself naked and bare – exposed – and all I felt was cold. It was too much to process. To have the man you have been in love with for five years tell you that when he met you, he thought he could simply fuck you out of his system. How he had only fucked all those countless other girls, because he was trying – hoping – to feel something for someone other than you…I was gutted and floored. Numb.

Others might see the romance in it, how he fought to prove he didn't love me out of fear of hurting me. They might feel sympathetically towards him over his obvious lack of faith in himself, his self-loathing. They might have been able to forgive him, but as for me, in that moment, I hated him. Truthfully, honestly hated him.

"Get. Out."

"Bella…n-n-no? Bella, no?" he choked out, shaking his head and reaching for me. He moved towards me, trying to touch me, but I slapped his hands away. "Please, Bella…please, no…"

"Don't touch me! Just go."

"Bell…"

"Get. Out. Now." I wouldn't look at him.

"Okay," he meekly, but reluctantly, acquiesced. "If that's what you want, then I'll go…just…please call Alice. I promise I'll stay away, just don't make her suffer for me…again. It's not fair to her, or you."

…so tell me when my sorrow's over…

He turned and started for the door but, before I could even process what he was doing, he turned back to me and clutched my face between his hands. The bottle of rum I still gripped slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor, the contents gushing out of it echoing the air rushing out of my lungs. He stared into my eyes, his mouth moved towards mine, inching slowly closer…closer…ever closer…inch…by…torturous…inch…closerclosercloser…until…and he kissed me.

I'm not talking about a small, gentle kiss. I'm talking about a kiss that was all explosions and bright light and lust and love and pure energy all wrapped up into one. I was helpless to his assault. He claimed me, body and soul, and met no resistance when he pushed me down to the bed. Tongues and lips and teeth nipped and played, blazing a trail over needy flesh…so good…yesssss…missed you…need you...closer…need to feel you…

Hands groping… now, now, need you now...frantically shoving at clothes…more and please and now…until dexterous fingers encountered bare, slick flesh…ah, yes! His hand shoved inside my half-pushed-down jeans, the other inside my mostly unbuttoned shirt, both teasing and stroking and pumping as he played me like he hadn't missed a day of practice, while I clumsily glided my own fingers over him.

I didn't know what to do with all the sensations that were zinging and pinging through my body, carried from the pleasure receptors in my brain, synapses snapping from one nerve to the other until the ecstasy reached from the very tips of my toes to the end of each individual strand of hair on my head.

I came hard on his fingers, sanity finally returning as I came back to earth, and I realized what we were doing.

…you're the reason why I'm closed...

"No!" I pushed his hands away from me, removed my hands from him. "No. Stop. Stop, Edward." I pushed him feebly away, but he didn't fight me.

…tell me when you hear me falling…

Panting, eyes wild, lips swollen and still damp from my skin, he asked, "Why? I thought…?"

…there's a possibility it wouldn't show…

"Thought what? That sex would solve everything between us? It won't. It can't. You broke us! No, you more than just broke us – you destroyed us beyond repair. Nothing can put us back together again, nothing can put me back together again. Not all the king's horses, and definitely not all of his men," I said the last part sadly as I tore my eyes from his, and looked at my lap.

"Just give me a chance, please," he pleaded. "I love you, Isabella. Please just give me a chance."

…by blood and by me, and I'll fall when you leave…

"Well, I don't love you, and I never will. Just go." I whispered, covering myself with my sheet.

…by blood and by me, I follow your lead…

And he did.

~//~

My mask remained in place until the second I heard the click of my bedroom door, and then it crumbled. My shoulders shook with silent, dry-eyed sobs that stole the oxygen from my lungs. The paltry gasps of air I was able suck in were barely enough to sustain me, and I could do nothing to calm myself.

So lost was I in the desolation I had just wrought, that I didn't hear the re-opening of my door, or the gentle padding of feet across the timeworn, scarred, and abused wood of the floor. The moment I felt Angela's warm arms wrap around me, drawing me into her comforting, maternal-like embrace, the dam burst, and the tears were a running river carving their way down my face. The mournful wail that rang out across my cavern-like room sounded as if it had been torn from my very soul as it echoed throughout the barren room that was a mocking replica of my hollow chest. The wound, that had ached from my phantom-limb heart since the day I had left Forks, felt fresh and raw.

I could only guess at the surprised confusion Angela must have felt over seeing Edward stalk out of my room – eyes red-rimmed, looking sloppy and rumpled – at such an early hour, and I cringed. She still didn't know, and I knew she wondered about what had caused me to not only leave home so suddenly, but to arrive in the state that I had and then behave as if I was dead for months…but to her credit, she had never once asked. The question was always in her eyes, but as I had so rarely bothered to make eye contact with anyone all these months, I was able to ignore it.

Here she was now, probably conjuring up all sorts of crazy stories, yet she remained silent. She simply held me close as I fell to pieces. Her sturdy frame shook from the body-wracking sobs that were ravaging me. I didn't deserve her comfort or support after what I had just done, and after being so absent since I had arrived. She deserved better than me, so I tried to push her away, but either because of the weakness of my attempts, or because she simply refused to acknowledge them, she wouldn't allow it, and her selflessness made me cry harder.

Her pajama top had long-since soaked with my tears, and they showed no signs of abating any time soon. It couldn't have felt pleasant, she had to be disgusted by it, but rather than push me away she simply shifted me closer to her and brought one hand up to stroke my hair gently while rocking me softly to and fro. She may have even been humming one of those tuneless melodies used to soothe colicky infants and frightened, upset toddlers, but I wasn't sure. My keening was drowning out all of the noise in the room.

I couldn't believe she was still there with me, but I didn't have the strength to continue my attempts to push her away. Even though I shouldn't have, I finally gave in to my selfish need to be comforted, and allowed my arms to wrap around her and hold onto her as tightly as I was able. Gasping and wheezing until my bawling turned into hyperventilating, I dissolved in her arms. Eventually I fell asleep, worn out from everything that had happened over the past 24 hours…six months…five years…whatever.

~//~

I woke with my face buried in a pillow that smelled like Edward, and the pain of seeing him walk out my door – even though I told him to – rocked through me again. And then I remembered everything that followed, and I felt my body flush with mortification and shame over the meltdown Angela had witnessed. The feeling only intensified when I realized that she had put me to bed like I was a baby, since I had been incapable of taking care of myself.

As my mortification grew, so did my awe and reverence for her. I had always liked Angela, but I had to admit that I never allowed our friendship to surpass the superficial, nor allowed her in as deeply as I had others. I realized now that I had done a disservice to both of us and was appropriately shamed and humbled for not truly seeing her until now.

I didn't know what time it was, but I was certain that Angela had left for work (which meant I was late) and despite my epiphany, I was relieved that she would not be there. I knew she was going to want to talk about what happened, and I couldn't yet; I hadn't had time to process any of it. So, imagine my surprise when I rolled onto my side, opened my eyes, and saw Angela's big, sympathetic brown eyes staring back at me from the other side of my bed.

"Thought you would wake up soon," she said, her voice gentle, and only a little more than a whisper. "I called in sick for you, and let them know that I would be late – I didn't want you to wake up alone."

I started to open my mouth to speak, but she stopped me by pressing two fingers to my lips. "You don't have to say a word, Bella. I'm not gonna lie, I'm curious about what happened, but you don't have to tell me anything until you're ready, if ever – okay?"

I nodded, and felt tears form in my eyes…yet again. "I'm going to go now that you're awake, but I will be home by ten. Call me any if you get lonely, or need me to pick something up on my way home, and I can be home in thirty minutes if you need me to come. Just say the word, 'kay?"

I saw through watery eyes as she looked at me for confirmation that I had heard her, and I obediently nodded again with just enough vigor to send the first drop splashing down to the sensitive skin of my tear-scalded cheek. My silence only lasted until she removed her fingers from my lips.

"Ange, this is too…" I hurled at her, managing no more than those four words before they were lost to more crying…which made me angry. Seriously, how the fuck was it even possible for someone to cry so much. I was a pathetic mess who couldn't even speak without being overwhelmed by leaky tear ducts. Maybe I had the opposite of that condition where your eyes don't produce enough moisture on their own.

Even had my inability to quit fucking crying not made it impossible to continue speaking, Angela's fingers – pressed to my lips once again, and with more pressure this time – would have silenced me.

"Bell…don't. Just take it for what it is – me doing for you exactly what you would do for me…what you once did for me once even knowing it, okay?" What? What was she talking about? My question was apparent in my eyes and my scrunched up brow, causing Angela to grow visibly uncomfortable, which was extremely out of character for the girl she was now.

Until college, she had always been a bit shy, wearing her social awkwardness on her sleeve. As much as she had blossomed socially during the last couple of years at college, I had been surprised by how much more one summer in New York had brought her out of her shell. She was almost unrecognizable as the girl I had met in Forks on my first day of school.

Her nervousness unnerved me. Seriously though…what the fuck was going on? Biting her lip, she rose from the bed in preparation of beating a hasty retreat. "So, you're awake, I'm gonna run. Call me if you need anything…uh, take care of you. I'll be home by ten."

She skeddadled out the door…and then there was one.

It was just me.

Alone.

With my thoughts, which was never a good idea.

~\*/~

Songs Used*
(In Order of Appearance):

Possibility by Lykke Li
I Drink Alone by George Thorogood
Possibility by Lykke Li

*All songs are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

A/N: I have the next two chapters started, but it may be a month before I can post. It's show season for me, and we are making software changes at my office so I am not getting much time to write. I am not going to flounce this fic. Trust.

Have not had the time to reply to most of your reviews for the last chapter of Book One, but please know that I read each one of them, and appreciate them more than I could ever say. I will try to be better, but I assumed that you would rather me write than reply.

Thanks to my betas, RedVelvetHeaven (bless your little wussy heart for all the HF you suffer for me and BH), my fellow LoD girls, and all of you for sticking with me.

Recs:
Stampede of a Thousand Pulses by ss10
Dinnertime by GiveUsAKiss413
And With Thee Fade Away by Derdriu oFaolain
Dark Games & Twisted Minds by Katinki
So Cruel by Demosthenes91
The Longest Summer by lexiecullen17
The Empress of Csejte by goldenmeadow