Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns all recognizable characters, plots, etc. Only original content, characters, etc. belongs to author. No copyright infringement intended. Any errors contained herein, are expressly the fault of the authors idiocy, and not her betas.

Word Count: 9,134

A/N: Thanks as always are due to Vanessarae and RedVelvetHeaven. I couldn't do it without either of you. Thanks also go out to all of you, because it would be pointless if no one read it.

Enjoy . . . or not.

Chapter 16 – Metal Heart

. . . wish I was as big as you

You'd have to tell the truth

I'd be nothing you could hurt

Nothing you could use . . .

. . . I want to be dependable, I want to be courageous and good

I want to be faithful so that I can be heroic and true . . .

. . . I want to understand so I can forgive and be willing to love . . .

. . . but now that we know for sure they're telling lies when they say

No one gets hurt and therefore nobody dies

You know it's hard to believe anything that you hear

They say the world is round

The world is round?

Garbage

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~∞Ѿ∞~

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Previously –

I was done with this shit. My demeanor iced over, and Edward seemed to realize he fucked up, but I didn't give him the opportunity to backpedal.

"No, Edward, " I started in a low tone, "you did it the entire time we were fucking."

Without another word, I brushed past him and walked away, leaving him standing behind me, gaping at my departing form.

.

~∞Ѿ∞~

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I moved through the throngs of people as swiftly as I dared, not wanting to attract any attention as I made my escape, but once I stepped through the door and into the hallway, I threw caution to the wind. Slipping my heels off and clutching them in one hand, I ran towards the bank of elevators down the hall. I paid no heed to the few people in the corridor or the strange looks I garnered.

Elevator or stairs? Elevator or stairs? Elevator or Stairs? I debated as I approached. The ding that announced an arriving elevator just ahead of me made the decision for me. Well, that and me attempting to hurry down the stairs wouldn't end well. As if the car was awaiting my presence, the door started to slide closed the second my foot crossed the threshold.

"Hold the elevator!" I heard shouted from down the hall, and I was both surprised that he followed me, yet not at all. Although I was ostensibly fleeing from him, and wouldn't allow myself to admit it, I would have been disappointed if he hadn't. Regardless, I wasn't about to let him on the elevator; the last thing I wanted to do at that moment was talk to him, and even less did I want to do it without witnesses . . . the presence of the older guy in the elevator notwithstanding.

Speaking of, the man started forward, hand already outstretched, reaching for the door hold button. I abruptly stepped in front of him before he could reach it, pressing the door closed button and causing him to stumble and huff in annoyance.

I turned my head to address him, and said simply, "He didn't want this elevator."

He gave me an inscrutable look, and stepped back to his prior spot at the rear of the car, hands clasped in front of him and eyes aimed at the ceiling, refusing to meet the possibly unstable girl's gaze. My wildly fluctuating emotions shifted yet again, and I found myself smirking at the haughtiness and disdain oozing from him as I took in his appearance. Appraisal made, I chuckled quietly and thought to myself, Your WASP roots are showing!

Just to fuck with him—and maybe throw Edward off a bit—I pressed the button for the top floor, silently chuckling at the confusion and annoyance that briefly appeared on the face of my car mate, completely unwarranted. I could press as many floors as I wanted to, and it wouldn't affect him at all since the car had already been recalled to the lobby and would go there first, but with any luck, Edward wouldn't know that. He would see the 'L' and '18' above the elevator door in the hallway lit up and have to guess which floor it was going to first.

While I waited to arrive in the lobby, I slipped my shoes back on and smoothed my hair down, trying to make myself a bit more presentable. The chance of running into Edward somewhere between the elevator and the front doors was significant, and if I was going to throw down in the lobby of one of Seattle's premier hotels, I'd be damned if I didn't at least try to look my best. Yeah, because looking pretty is going to make your behavior less white trash. Whatever.

The door slid open. Shit! Stupid, shiny marble floors. Forgot about those. The heels were a bad idea. I stood there for a moment—blocking the doorway and causing the WASP to sigh (chillax, Mr. Howell)—before remembering that I was in a hurry . . . and why. I'd almost fallen the two other times I'd crossed the lobby during the day—once when we left for the ceremony, and once when we'd returned for the reception—but I was running out of time. I would just have to more careful this time. Poking my head out the door, I peered both directions—all clear—and then cautiously stepped out of the car . . . and promptly slipped.

I could only be grateful that good manners and chivalry were as deeply ingrained in today's WASPs as entitlement and superiority complexes . . . they have appearances to maintain, after all . . . as my flailing arms did nothing to assist me in my efforts to remain upright. There was no doubt in my mind that I was going down, but you would think I would try to do so with a little grace.

. . . Gravity plays favorites, I know it 'cause I saw her. Honest to God, Officer, it's awful . . .

Just as I gave up my awkward fight with gravity, my knight in stuffy cashmere and tweed swooped in and latched my arm with his. He only grunted slightly from the effort it took to keep me from tipping us both over.

My face was scarlet by the time we were both standing securely . . . well, as securely as I'm ever standing . . . with both feet on the slick marble, my arm still looped with his. I let my hair swing forward to hide my embarrassment and kept my eyes trained on the floor.

"Um . . . so, yeah, I haven't been walking long," I muttered sarcastically, actually earning myself a snort, which he quickly covered with a cough. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone at the country club about your slip-up.

He cleared his throat. "You were leaving, I presume?" he asked with a sweeping gesture with his free arm towards the front entrance.

"Oh, yeah. Yes . . . well, trying to, at least. Thanks for the, uh . . . save there," I replied gracelessly.

"Well, the least I can do is see you out safely, since we're going the same way. After all, I've gone to a lot of trouble to keep you on your feet," he teased, shocking the hell out of me. A sense of humor – who would have guessed it?

"Really, you don't have to. I wouldn't want to cause you any trouble."

"No trouble at all. I have a niece about your age – terrible klutz. Besides, we're already halfway there."

My head snapped up, and I saw that we were indeed almost to the door. I blushed even more. I hadn't even realized we were walking. I could be terribly unobservant, but even for me it was a bit ridiculous.

"Oh, right . . ." I mumbled sheepishly.

We were almost to the door when I heard the distinct ding! of an elevator arriving, and the hair on my arms and the back my neck stood on end. I just knew. Apparently, so did Mr. Howell.

"Just relax, we're almost there," he reminded me in a low voice as we stepped through the door. "And look, there's a cab. You were wanting a cab, correct?"

I just nodded, dumbfounded that this man wasn't at all whom I assumed he would be; I felt badly for judging him. Who would have thought Mr. Howell could be so perceptive and considerate?

"I don't know you or your situation," he looked over his shoulder in a way that added, or what you're running away from, "but if there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that you can't run from your problems. Sooner or later, they will find you.

"That being said," he helped me into the back of the cab, "you've got a bit of time to think about things, but don't forget that time will run out," he looked over his shoulder again, "sooner rather than later, I think. Have a lovely evening."

He closed the door and smacked the top of the cab, letting the driver know he could take off, just as Edward burst through the door, yelling, "Bella, wait!"

He was too late. The driver's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror and his foot lifted from the brake, his bland expression never changing. As the car pulled away from the hotel, I turned in my seat, unable to stop myself from stealing a glimpse of him through the back window. I watched his desperation turn to despair, and quickly turned back around.

"Where to, Miss?"

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~∞Ѿ∞~

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I closed and locked my door behind me, slipped off my heels, walked across my living room and dropped my wristlet on my coffee table before walking down the hall to the bathroom and turning the shower on as hot as I could bear. As tired and drained as I was, I felt too unclean to sleep. Before I could escape into the hopefully black depths of unconsciousness, I needed to wash the day from my skin.

I stayed under the water until it started to cool, but I didn't feel any cleaner than I did when I got in. No matter how much soap I used, it would never be enough to wash away the filth covering my soul.

I wrapped myself in a towel and stepped into my bedroom in search of my favorite comfort clothes. The irony of wearing clothing that once belonged to Edward to ease the ache he caused didn't escape me, but I was too exhausted to care. I found the faded and threadbare Zeppelin shirt and too large sweats, slipped them on and headed to the living room to get my phone out of my purse. I needed to let Alice know where I was and that I was fine. I didn't want her to worry . . . or show up at my apartment to check on me. Which she would totally do, trust.

As I reached out to grab my clutch from off the coffee table where I'd left it, there was a knock on my door. I grimaced. Think of the devil and she shall appear. I walked to the door, already talking, and opened it without bothering to check the peephole.

"I was just about to send you a text, Al! You didn't have to come all the way across town just to check on me, you know? I appreciate it, but I'm a big . . . girl . . . Edward?"

Not. Who. I. Expected.

At all.

"Bella," he replied all on edge and looking at anything but me. "Can I come in? Please?"

. . . here we go again, we're sick like animals . . .

Somewhat numb from the shock of his presence—and that Dr. Girlfriend was nowhere to be seen . . . not that she would have been cool with him coming (so where was she?)—I opened the door the rest of the way and stepped aside, indicating for him to enter. I poked my head out of the door, quickly and covertly looking up and down the hall—for what reason, I don't know—before closing the door behind him. I didn't—couldn't—turn around; I wasn't ready to face him yet. Instead, I leaned my head against the metal and prepared for what was to come . . . whatever that could be.

. . . we play pretend . . .

I couldn't say why I had let him in—maybe because I had taken Mr. Howell's words to heart and didn't want to have the discussion in my hallway at one-thirty in the morning or maybe because I was more masochistic than I ever knew. Who knows? What I did know was that I should never have done it. As soon as I realized who was at the door, I should have slammed the door in his face and gone to bed.

. . . you're just a cannibal, and I'm afraid I won't get out alive . . .

That would have been the sensible thing to do. Him being in my apartment was bad, and it would only end in tears . . . or my bed . . . but it was too late for woulda, shoulda, coulda. Taking a deep breath, steeling myself, I turned around to face him, not feeling any more prepared to deal with him than I had when I left the reception.

. . . I won't sleep tonight . . .

"Bella, we have to talk. We can't keep up this constantly-at-each-other's-throats bullshit. We just continue lashing out at each other and I hate hurting you. I just – I can't take it anymore." His plaintive voice and distress seemed genuine, but I refused to let it get to me. I knew better than to let my guard down around him.

. . . oh, oh, I want some more . . .

"Where's your girlfriend, Edward? Does she know you're here?" I queried. It was completely off topic and apropos of nothing, but hey . . . they do say the best offense is a good defense.

. . . what are you waiting for?

"Charlotte?" he asked with his face scrunched up in confusion. What, did he have a whole plethora of girlfriends from which to choose? It wouldn't have been surprising. In the past, he'd always had a harem from which to choose . . . but they were exactly that, not girlfriends. "What does Charlotte have to do with this? No, she doesn't know I'm here, but she's not my keeper."

. . . take a bite of my heart tonight . . .

I snorted in disgust and derision as I looked away, while Edward glared balefully at me.

"What's that supposed to mean, Isabella?"

"What does Charlotte have to do with this? Charlotte has everything to fucking do with this!"

"No, she doesn't. This isn't about her. This is about you and me, and no one else matters."

"Wow, that's one hell of a relationship you've got there. Way to show me what I'm missing out on. Did you talk about me this same way when you were with Tanya? Hmm? Did you laugh at me for being so stupid behind my back? I almost feel sorry for Charlotte. You and I might have been fucking, but I was never deluded into believing we were in a relationship. Poor girl is so starry eyed over you that she isn't going to know what hit her when your true colors are revealed.

"This little relationship of yours might have fooled some people into thinking you're a changed man, but . . . you know what they say. The more things change, the more Edward Cullen still fucks anything with a pussy," I taunted in a sing-song voice. The anger that flashed across his face was supremely satisfying, but the hurt that followed swiftly behind somewhat ruined it for me. Somewhat.

"You honestly think . . . I can't believe . . . You really think that about me – that I would do that?" he finally spit out, stumbling over his words in the same manner his emotions stumbled over his face as I watched. Maybe I'd been too caught up in watching him regain his balance, because I felt as if I were missing something; his question made no sense to me.

"Do what, exactly?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, biting back his response with a snap of his teeth and turning away from me. With his back to me, he took a deep breath, held it and then let it out slowly. He repeated this two more times before finally begging in a voice hoarse with the strain of controlling himself, "Bella, please . . . just stop this. I know I deserve your animosity and more, but—God!—can't we find some middle ground or something and stop throwing all of these insults back and forth?

"I understand—well, I'm trying to accept that I lost you for good, but you have to understand how hard it for me to see you move on . . . to see you with him . . ."

Hypocrite!

Feeling uncomfortable and cornered, I lashed out. I let him take the fall for it all without batting on eye, but inwardly I cringed at what a lying coward I was. "You've moved on too, Edward, so don't put this all on me. Besides, you caused all of this in the first place."

His laugh was unexpected, no matter how sharp and humorless it was, as he spun to face me. "Are you fucking blind, Bella? I've hardly moved on, despite how it looks. I'm just as hung up on you as I ever was—more so, actually. I can't get you out of my head or my heart or my soul. You're all I think about all day long, the last thing on my mind before I go to bed and the first when I wake up.

"You're everything to me, Bells, and I'd give anything to fix this shit between us . . . even if that means I couldn't be anything more than your friend. I would hate every fucking second of it—being your friend—because you are so much more than that, but I'd do it if it was all I could have with you. Don't you see . . . I'd do anything for you. You own me now more than you ever have.

"I was always yours, Bella, no matter how much I tried to deny it. I thought I was protecting you by pushing you away, but really I was just a coward who was protecting me."

Something inside of me shifted at this revelation and the spark in his eyes let me know he felt it too, but I still couldn't . . . wouldn't . . . give in. Not quite meeting my eyes since he made his confession, fear plain as day on his face, he moved closer to me.

. . . feel your breath on my face, your body close to me, can't look in your eyes . . .

"That's a nice sentiment and all, but it's a bit too late. I'm with Jake now . . . you know that, and despite what happened between us—what we've done—" I said, making clear of what I'm speaking and eliminating any arguments he could form from it, " I'll never be yours."

Hating how weak I sounded, I struck below the belt, needing to hurt him as much as I was hurting myself by denying him. I stared at a spot just to the left of him, unable to look at him while I said it. "You had your chance, and you gave it up for the thrill of fucking a strawberry-blonde whore with a superiority complex and a bad boob job."

I felt him shrink away from me, and from the corner of my eye I saw him wilt, accepting his defeat. I honestly didn't know what to make of it. It was so unexpected. Where was the cocksure, never take no for an answer, smirking charmer that I remembered? Him I could deal with, but this . . . No! I wasn't going to give in. So he looks a little . . . try absolutely . . . hurt . . . destroyed. Maybe now he'll have the slightest idea of how you've felt for years.

. . . here we are again, I feel the chemicals kickin' in . . .

"Right. Okay. What about –" His voice broke. He swallowed loudly before continuing on in a strained and hoarse voice. "Do you think – can we try . . . to be friends? Please? I need you in my life in some way . . . however small."

. . . it's getting heavy and I wanna run and hide . . .

I couldn't keep my head up. It was so fucking hard for me to deny him, hearing and seeing how affected he was—it was against my nature to let someone hurt, to hurt someone—but I had to stick to my guns. I chanced a glance, a quick flick of my eyes to his crumpled face and watery eyes told me he already knew my answer, but needing to drive the stake into his heart—into my heart—a little deeper, I said the words anyway.

. . . I do it every time . . .

"I don't – I don't think that's such a good idea, right now . . . maybe ever." Tears slipped unchecked and unnoticed down my cheeks.

"Right. That's probably . . . Right, I should go, then." He started towards the door, but stopped beside me, almost close enough to touch again. "I know it's too late, but for what it's worth, I do love you . . . I always did. I was just too much of a coward to admit it."

His lips ghosted across my temple and then he was off again.

. . . you're killin' me now . . .

A strange feeling—a mix of panic and dread, fear and need—started to bubble up inside of me with every step he took, and with no premeditation, I found myself reaching out for him as I spun around, unable to let him leave. Somehow, I knew if I did, I would never see him again, and despite what I'd just said, I couldn't let happen. All the reasons I should allow it ran through my head, but my heart refused to listen. I caught his hand on its backswing, and he froze mid-stride.

. . . and I won't be denied by you . . .

"Edward!" Finally finding my voice, his name rang out frantically. "Wait. Don't go. Not yet."

"Bella?" My name sounded tortured when he spoke it, a question and a plea all at once—What, Bella? Please don't hurt me . . . tease me . . . make this harder—neither of which did I know how to respond to.

. . . the animal inside of you . . .

I responded without thinking, reacting the only way I knew how. And even though it went against everything I knew was right and everything I had just said, it was the only way I knew to keep him. Letting him go, him letting me go, was what I had convinced myself I wanted—desperately—but when it was finally within my grasp I found that it was the last thing I wanted. I pulled until our bodies collided and then wrapped myself around him like a vine.

"Take me to my bedroom, Edward. Now. Please. I need you to show me . . ." That you love me, that you meant what you said.

. . . say goodbye to my heart tonight . . .

"Bella," he sighed, closing his eyes and resting his forehead on mine. It was not the reaction I was looking for. He took a deep breath, and released it slowly as he opened his eyes and met mine, looking torn and hesitant—reluctant, even—when he began to speak again. "Bella . . . I-I don't think – I'm not sure that's the best idea. I think we need to talk. I mean, look where sex has gotten us . . ."

. . . hush, hush, the world is quiet . . .

All I heard was rejection and all I felt was its sting. He doesn't want me? Denial set in, my heart rejecting what my mind knew it had heard, and I struggled to make sense of the situation, even as my sense of self-preservation kicked in . . . belatedly, I admit. Recoiling, I tried to pull myself away from the source of my pain, to limp away and lick my wounds in peace, but he wouldn't let me go.

. . . hush, hush, we both can't fight it . . .

"Bella?" The V between his brows grew more pronounced.

. . . it's us that made this mess . . .

Still grappling to understand what was happening, I vocalized my confusion, whimpering, "Are you . . . ? You don't . . . ? You don't want me?"

. . . why can't you understand?

Like a lock, all of the tumblers fell into place and the door opened, revealing the situation clearly to me and releasing my anger and humiliation. "Why are you even here then? What, were you stopping by to rub it in my face? All, 'Haha! I won! I knew I'd get you to spread your legs for me again. It was almost too easy!' "

"What . . . ? N-no . . ." he stuttered, eyes wide.

"Just get the fuck out!" I screamed, trying to push him away. "You've had your fun, now leave!"

He didn't move or make any attempt to release me, and I needed him to leave before I completely broke down. Leaning back to gain the leverage and space I needed, I shoved against his chest as I stepped into him, my proximity and violence forcing him back while thoughtless, unknown words continued to tumble out of me, out of my control.

Something I said didn't sit well with him, outrage and cold fury washing over him, but I noticed too late. Before I could register what had happened, I was slammed against the wall, pinned in place by Edward's eyes and hard body. It was like suffering a bad case of déjà vu; we had been here before. For the longest time, we just stood there, locked in an intense staring contest, neither of us saying a word while our chests pressed-released-pressed-released in the staccato rhythm of our panting breaths.

He was as furious as I'd ever seen him, but I had no fear. At least, not of him hurting me physically; I knew he would never do that . . . unless I asked him to. What? Sometimes I was in the mood for a little slap on the ass. But I was certain I couldn't say the same for the few remaining fragments of my heart that I was only just starting to manage to piece together.

The seconds continued to pass us by and though I wanted to look away, I couldn't. Still, I found a small portion of my mind distracted by the ticking of his jaw. It was completely inappropriate—now was so not the time—but I wanted to lick it . . . wanted him to lick me . . . I just wanted. Because let's face it, an angry Edward Cullen was fucking hot. Just when I was about to lose my mind and do something as stupid as pounce on him, he spoke, his voice low and rugged and barely controlled.

"Let's just get one thing clear here, that wasn't rejection. That was me trying to show you that I want more than your body. Fuck, you're giving me whiplash, Bella. I don't know what you want. One minute you accuse me of only wanting to fuck you and the next you're shoving me away for not taking you to your bedroom."

I didn't know what I wanted either . . . except maybe to have my cake and eat it too . . . but I didn't like having it thrown in my face by him. God, why didn't I just let him walk away?

"It's like no matter what I do, it's never what you want. I want to make this right, to get this right, but I just keep fucking it up worse than before. So if what you need right now is for me to show you . . . then that's what I'm going to do! I'll give you anything you want, but you have to let me."

He followed up his declaration with a searing, mind-altering kiss before I could object, the press of his lips and the sweep of tongue blowing me away. I don't think I could have fought against the desire that coursed through me if I wanted to, so when he gripped my ass and lifted me up, I eagerly wrapped my legs around his waist, forcibly pressing my lips back against his.

"Bedroom?" he asked without breaking the kiss.

"Huh? What . . . why?" I asked, utterly confused. Surely where we were was just as good a place to throw down as any? We'd certainly done it in less appealing places before.

A burst of soft laughter vibrated against my lips. "Because we're not doing this against your door. I want you in a bed where I can take my time and worship you properly."

He stared into my eyes with an intensity that caused my mind to go blank, and I was gone, completely washed away. I found myself pointing vaguely in the direction of my room.

It took forever for us to make the trip to my bedroom, short as it was. Edward's refusal to stop kissing me—his mouth roaming the length of my neck and the curve of my shoulder, stopping randomly for the occasional nip—causing him to trip and stumble and bump us into walls, but eventually we did make it there. He tossed me, panting and needy, onto my bed and, without wasting any time, began to strip. I watched with hungry eyes as he toed his shoes off, shoved his tuxedo jacket off his arms, and then made quick, but not tidy, work of his cufflinks, bowtie, and shirt buttons.

"It's a good thing you own that shirt." Still tugging impatiently at the placket of his shirt, he looked up at me with one eyebrow raised.

"Otherwise you'd have to explain why so many buttons were missing," I explained as his patience ran out and he tugged at his shirt, ripping the remaining buttons completely off and then hastily ridding himself of the vexing garment. What the fuck? Was I in a fucking Harlequin novel? If I start waxing poetic about his throbbing member, somebody please shoot me. I shook the thoughts away. I had more important things.

"Bella, I'm a doctor – I could just sew them back on myself. They'd never even know," he retorted with no small amount of cockiness.

He was smirking in that crooked and sinfully delightful way of his as he removed his belt and unbuttoned his pants, leaving them to hang low on his hips in the most depraved of ways. Fuck me, please. Without thinking, I raised my hand to my mouth to wipe away the drool that I was certain was there, and prayed to Pothos and the patron saint of wardrobe malfunctions that he experience one immediately.

A snicker caused me to lift my eyes up, meeting Edward's. Busted! My face flushed, more from arousal than embarrassment . . . I think . . . and Edward laughed, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle. The pure happiness radiating from him at that moment was breathtaking. I found myself smiling back at him as something deeper than lust began to grow in my belly. As soon as I acknowledged it, the mood in the room shifted, deepening until the air was thick with it. Edward's smile fell, his face clouding with unnamed emotions.

Suddenly feeling shy, I dropped my eyes to my lap. A jolt went through me when I felt his hand on my chin, guiding up until my eyes met his. His other hand lifted up to stroke my face, and he gazed into my eyes with a soft but needy look in his own, whispering, "Don't. Don't hide from me, Bella. Not tonight, not ever."

He waited until I nodded before pressing me to the bed and slowly, ever . . . so . . . slowly . . . stripping his clothes off me. And then there was no more thinking, there was only worship and touch, prayer and exaltation. I was awash in sensation, a slave to my body and he was master of us both. When the tempest had run its course, Edward fell asleep with his head pressed to my chest, his ear right over my thudding heart. Sleep didn't come so easily to me. I was jealous of him, jealous at the ease with which dishonesty and betrayal came to him. Well, he has had practice with it, my inner cynic stated. I shied away from that thought, not wanting to go there.

He sighed my name in his sleep and snuggled further into me, as if needing to be closer. What he didn't know was that he couldn't get any closer to me; he was inside of me, a part of me, and I couldn't deny it any longer. All those months spent denying it, trying to convince myself that I felt nothing for him, that I hated him—which I did, but only for making me feel for him as I did—were obliterated by one sleepy sigh and unconscious cuddle. The dam that had retained it all burst, and it all came pouring out, devastating the landscape of my life.

Waiting for the tumult to settle, I looked down, carding my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, his face angelically beautiful in repose, and I smiled softly. My eyes glistened with tears as the love I had for him overwhelmed me, swamping me, and my heart squeezed painfully in my chest. But the sharp pain reminded me of my guilt and the love I held for another, and the tears overflowed, slipping silently down my face.

Why was this so hard? I railed to no one in particular, thinking that it shouldn't be possible to love more than one person at a time. It was possible though, it was just that the love could never be equal and you would inevitably have to choose. It should be an easy choice—the one you love most—but for me it wasn't that simple. I knew who I loved more, but I had an obligation to the other, one that couldn't simply be broken and forgotten, our lives were too entwined for that.

I knew what I had to do, what I would do, but for now, for the moment, for however long it would last, I wanted to just enjoy it. I wanted to pretend that we belonged to each other, that we weren't breaking our promises to others, that when the sun came up we wouldn't change back into pumpkins and that we wouldn't have to part ways. Ignoring reality, I allowed myself to bask in the moment, in him, and just floated in the sensation of being in his arms, skin against skin. Cradled in this delusion, I finally fell asleep just as the sky turned from black to the murky gray of predawn.

.

~∞Ѿ∞~

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As I slowly drifted back into consciousness, the curious sensation of being watched pricked through the warm haze of sleep wrapped tightly around me. I stretched, blinking sleepily as awareness of my surroundings soaked in. The room came into focus, and I met green eyes looking down at me all sleep soft and happy. I froze mid-stretch, memories of the night before—all that had happened and the decisions I'd come to as sleep eluded me—crashing down on me.

Oh, fuck.

"How long have you been awake?" I asked, my voice raspy from sleep.

"Not long . . . a while – I don't know."

I sat up and scooted back to lean against my headboard, clutching the blankets to my chest to keep myself covered. "Were you watching me the entire time?"

He moved to sit beside me against the headboard and looked down, embarrassed at having been called out. "Your sleep talking woke me up. I didn't know you still did that," he said as if that would explain it. I didn't speak and he grew nervous with the silence. When it became too much for him, he shrugged his shoulders and said simply, "I like watching you sleep."

"Hmmm. Well . . . it's kind of creepy."

"Sorry." . . . but not, I added, seeing the expression on his face-embarrassed to have been caught but not ashamed. It made me feel all quivery inside.

I hummed dismissively, and then it was silent once again only this time no one rushed to fill it. We stared straight in front of us, neither of us seeing what was actually there, too lost in our own thoughts to care about the bare, white wall. My phone beeped from the living room, alerting me of a text was what finally prompted me to action.

"I should go . . ." I hedged, feet already on the ground. Awkwardly keeping the blankets around me, I reached down to the floor and grabbed the first article of clothing I came across. I pulled the shirt I had been wearing last night when Edward arrived over my head, tugging it down into place as I stood from the bed and headed to the living room, grateful that I'd gone with comfort last night and not my usual tank and panties.

My phone was nearly dead when I pulled it out of my clutch so I headed to the bar separating the kitchen from the living room and plugged it in to the charger there. I stood there holding the phone in my hand, staring at the black screen without attempting to check it. I was stalling, nervous about who the message was from. Maybe it would go away if I ignored it long enough? I thought, but it wasn't going away. If anything, it was only more present with every ticking second that I didn't read it.

With a feeling of dread, I unlocked the screen and pulled down the alert pane.

Jake was spelled out in white letters on the dark screen, and I felt the full weight of the devastation that what I'd done . . . again and again . . . would cause him if he ever knew. I couldn't hurt him that way. He was a good man who loved me more than he should—more than I deserved. And, as much as I hated to think it, Charlotte probably felt the same for Edward that Jake did for me.

Anger flared inside me like a small, contained brush fire—red hot instantly, but quick to burn out. I was angry that Edward and I could do this to others. Angry that I could be part of hurting someone the way I'd been hurt. Angry that Edward could do to another what he'd done to me. How could he ever think that I would want to be involved with him when he obviously couldn't be faithful? The anger drained from me, draining me. I was already exhausted despite having just awoken. That didn't bode well for my day.

With a sigh, I realized that I still needed to read Jake's message, so I opened it, cringing as soon as I saw the words.

Hey, babe. Hope your night was ok w/out me. Dad's fine. Let me know what your plans are for later – planning to drive in and make up *wink* for leaving you last night. See you in a few hours. Love you.

Fuck. Jake was the last person I wanted to see. There was no way I could be around him, much less have sex with him, as his message implied. My bed smelled like Edward . . . and sex. Not happening. With shaky, frantic fingers, I texted him back.

Hey, yourself. While I'm thrilled that you were coming to see me, I'm hoping that you haven't made it too far. I didn't expect you to make the drive back today so I made plans. I'm going to brunch with the Cullens and then Alice and Esme are treating me to a spa day at Salish Lodge to celebrate starting my job on Monday. Wish you would have checked with me first.

I sent the message and then guiltily followed it up with another.

Sorry.

His response came quickly.

Well, why don't I just find something to do in town, and then I'll just wait at the apartment until you get back?

Fuck, Jake, just let it go! I screamed in my head, frustrated.

I don't think we're coming back until sometime tomorrow, I lied again, thankful for text messaging since I was shit for lying in person or even on the phone.

Can't you cancel? I really wanted to spend time with you. I miss you.

No, I can't. The reservations are non-refundable, and it would be rude to leave Esme and Alice out all that money. You really should have checked with me, Jake. You can't just expect that I'm going to be able to drop everything every time you decide you want to see me.

I felt bad the instant I sent it because, while true, it was a bitchy thing to say and I shouldn't be angry and frustrated with him for wanting to spend time with me. I was his girlfriend, after all. I sent another message.

I'm sorry. That was harsh. I promise I'll come to visit next weekend. I won't even make plans with Charlie. I'll give you my undivided attention. I love you, and I'll call you later tonight.

It took him a bit longer to respond this time, but he finally did and I cringed when I read it.

Fine. Whatever. I'll talk to you later.

I felt cold even if I didn't really have a right to; he didn't say that he loved he me. He always said that he loved me. I had so much to make up to him, but first I had to go deal with Edward. I'd have rather had every bone in my body broken than walk back in my bedroom and have the conversation that needed to be had.

.

~∞Ѿ∞~

.

I fucked around for as long as I could, straightening up my already tidy living room and grabbing a couple bottles of water, and then finally made the trek back to my bedroom.

Edward was laying on his stomach, face buried in the pillow I had slept on. I watched him for a moment, wanting to remember what he looked like in my bed, before I made my presence known.

"Hey," I said softly, startling him. He jerked, pushing himself up on his elbows and looking back at me from over his shoulder. The smile that stole over his face when he saw me was heartbreaking, because I knew what I was about to do would wipe it off his face. Edward was a lot of things, but rarely was truly happy one of them.

"Hey, yourself," he returned, causing my stomach to clench. "What took you so long?"

"I just had to deal with something," I answered evasively. Before he could question me further, I waggled a bottle of water at him. "Thirsty?"

"Yeah, thanks."

I tossed the bottle to him and then walked to the other side of the bed and sat on the edge, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I played with the hem of his, now my, shirt, faded black cotton against milk-white skin, the contrast reminding me of the starkness of our situation.

. . . too heavy, too light; too black or too white; too wrong or too right, damn tonight…cumbersome . . .

I felt so dirty again. What we had done was wrong…so wrong.

. . . that's when I knew that I could never have you . . .

He scooted over to me, propping himself partially up with one arm and wrapping the other around me. Pulling me close, he kissed the side of my neck and then pressed his cheek against mine. "What are you doing all the way over here, baby?"

This was going to hurt—God, it was going to hurt!—but it had to be done.

"I can't . . ." I whispered brokenly, feeling wounds that had only just begun to heal, tearing open once more.

. . . I knew that before you did, still I'm the one who's stupid . . .

He pressed another kiss to my neck—this one a little firmer, tinged with desperation and denial—and pulled me closer to him, nervously rubbing his thumb back and forth against my side. Keeping me tightly to his chest, his mouth worked it's way up my neck. A shiver ran through me when he nuzzled his face against that spot by my ear, and asked, "Can't what, love?"

He tried to mask it, but I knew him too well to not hear the slight tremor in his voice or detect the undercurrent of fear.

. . . and there's this burning, like there's always been . . .

"This, Edward," I answered tonelessly. "This can't happen again. I can't do that to him. He - he loves me . . . God, he loves me so much! He's been so good to me, even in the beginning when I was so awful to him, and this is how I repay him. This was a mistake, Edward, and it's not going to happen again. It can't; I love him."

He recoiled from me, pale and drawn as he leaned back on his palms, the sheet barely remaining over him, only covering his lap.

"What?" he questioned, his voice hollow as if he couldn't comprehend what I was saying. "I thought . . . after last night . . . but now . . . I don't . . . Bella, I don't understand. Don't say that, baby. Please, don't say that. You can't . . . You don't mean that, I know you don't."

He was right, I didn't mean it, but I wanted to . . . needed to. But, in the end, it didn't matter, because even though it would kill me to do it, not doing so would kill me too. Perhaps too late, but it would seem I was finally developing a sense of self-preservation. I was damned no matter which way the cookie crumbled . . . or something to that effect, but I was certain that path I'd chosen was the least damning one for everyone involved-me, him . . . them. Still, he wasn't making it easy on me.

"I do," I stated, just managing to stop myself from cringing as those two simple words-words that I would never admit I had imagined myself saying to him in completely different circumstances-echoed in my head, mocking me cruelly. Miraculously, I never faltered. Channeling all of my sorrow and pain, I was the picture of resolute as I met gaze head on. "You should go. I'm sure you have to call your girlfriend or - I don't know - be at the hospital soon. I'll let you get dressed."

And with that, I forced myself out of my room, grabbing my sweats from the night before on the way, but not tugging them on until I was in the living room. Just before I pulled my door closed behind me, I'd stolen a glance at him and he still hadn't moved an inch. He'd just been sitting there, stunned and still, staring off into space as-I assumed-what had just happened sunk in. I didn't know how long that would take, but I hoped it would be sooner rather than later. I couldn't relax until he was gone because the longer he was there, the more likely I was to crack and take back what I'd said.

I perched nervously on the edge of my couch, searching fruitlessly for a distraction while I waited for him to emerge. The sound of my door colliding with the wall, alerting me that he was heading my way, sent me scampering to the kitchen since it was the farthest I could get from him without leaving my apartment entirely. With sure, determined steps, he made his way down the hall while I cowered in the corner, my back turned on the rest of my apartment. I was too much of a pussy to be able to face him after what I'd just done.

I held my breath, the only sound-unnaturally loud in my ears-was the thud of his shoes in time with the pounding of my heart as he made his way across my living room en route to the door. His feet came to an abrupt stop just shy of his destination, causing my heart to stutter-stop in my chest. I gasped, choking on my still-held breath and kickstarting my unmoving heart. Slow but powerful beats hammered painfully against my breastbone, speeding to frantic pace as I turned to see what had made him stop. By the time I fully faced him, if felt as my body was vibrating from the frenzied pulse of the organ.

He stood in front of the kitchen entry, facing the apartment door in front of him, his profile standing out sharply in the dim light of the living room and his hands tightly clenched at his side. I could see his emotions playing across his face like watching a parade in quadruple-time. They ranged from hurt to annoyance to disgust, showing a thousand shades and variances between them, before finally settling on anger.

Slowly turning his head to look at me, he met my eyes straight on and, for once, didn't try to hide himself from me or disguise how he felt to protect me-to protect himself. He was completely bared to me, and the naked fury on his face, in his eyes, was like a punch in the gut, the unexpected jab causing me to stumble backwards into the wall behind me. It was like watching a storm cloud ready to burst as he repeatedly open and closed his mouth, his face only growing more thunderous as he continued to soundlessly work his mouth. He gave up after a moment. Resolutely clenching his jaw, he gave me a final perusal-disappointment creeping into his eyes behind the rage-shook his head, and then continued on his way to the door while I hung my head in shame.

Because I apparently don't learn from my mistakes and also felt a need to be crueler than I already had been . . . because I was not only a masochist, but a sadist, as well . . . I stupidly called out for him, stopping him before he could take the three steps necessary to leave me once and for all.

"Edward!" I waited for less than a breath before I heard him stop. "I'm sorry, but this changes nothing. You still have a girlfriend and I'm still with Jake."

But it did . . . change everything, that is.

...I never been so alone…

.

~∞Ѿ∞~

.

That's how it all started. It wasn't like we jumped into it with both feet—I had meant it when I said it wasn't going to happen again, and I had every intention of sticking to it.

For a while, I did. It wasn't until weeks after that night that we found ourselves in bed together again . . . or against a bookshelf, rather. I hadn't meant for it to happen . . . What? You tripped? Fell? Landed on his dick? It was an argument gone wrong—one minute we were fighting over who knows what, the next I was pressed against a bookshelf in the library at his parent's house in Forks with Edward fucking me like he had something to prove. It became a pattern . . . fight, fuck, fight, fuck . . . and every time it happened, I would swear that it would be the last time, but it never was.

As these kinds of situations seem to do (at least, I assume), it all spiraled out of control. At first, it was just picking fights with the other on the rare occasions we happened to be in the same place at the same time. When that wasn't enough, we started coming up with excuses to accidentally bump into each other and making up shit to fight about. Eventually, we stopped bothering with the pretext, but we still refused to discuss what we were doing. I think we were both too afraid that acknowledging it would shatter the delicate illusion we'd created and neither of us were willing to do that.

In the beginning, the guilt over what we were doing ate me up, but as is human nature, I quickly found ways to live with it.

. . . and all I want is something special, and you can't give it to me . . .

Jacob was loyal, comfortable, and easy. I knew he could never hurt me to the depth that Edward had because I had never given him enough of myself to make it possible. He was the safe, reliable choice; he was what I needed and what I should want, but he was also the vanilla, boring choice. I could be happy with him—I was happy with him—but I wasn't complete. Deep inside, I sometimes felt as if there was a part of me that was starving, that I was living a half-life that was slowly killing me.

Edward was everything Jake wasn't . . . both good and bad. He was like a flame that lit me from the inside, sustenance to my heart and soul; everything was so much brighter and more vibrant with him. He really knew me – my wants, my dreams . . . my fears. But he was also the risky, dangerous choice, and couldn't be trusted. He was the only person who could hurt me—the one who had hurt me—and I didn't know if I could survive that again. I was fairly certain it would destroy me.

For me, it was the best of both worlds – I could have what I wanted the most while still getting what I needed and deserved. No longer was it my head versus my heart; this way, I didn't have to choose, I could satisfy both. And no one had to get hurt . . . so long as no one finds out.

. . . and all you do is lie to me, 'cause you're a liar, liar, liar . . .

I should have remembered that lies and liars always get found out.

.

~∞Ѿ∞~

Songs Used*
(In Order of Appearance):

Gravity, The Dresden Dolls
Animal, Neon Trees
She's Like the Wind, Patrick Swayze
Animal, Neon Trees
Cumbersome, Seven Mary Three
Motorcycle Drive By, Third Eye Blind
Guilty Conscience, Eminem
Liar, The Cranberries

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

Notes:

1. "Your WASP roots are showing!" – WASP is an acronym meaning White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, WASPs generally inherited their wealth, and are ivy league/prep school educated. Perceived as a bit cold and detached emotionally. The term is usually used in a derogatory manner by non-WASPs.

2. "Chillax, Mr. Howell . . ." – Thurston Howell, III was a character on the classic television show Gilligan's Island.

3. Pothos is the Greek god of sexual longing, yearning and desire. One of the Erotes, a group of winged gods and demigods associated with love, sex and part of Aphrodite's retinue