The Breakers - Chapter 12

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Chapter 12


EPOV

"God damn it," I hiss, punching my pillow and flopping over in my bed.

I turn toward the window, wincing as another crack of thunder rattles the glass. I'm fucking exhausted. My entire body aches, hell even my hair hurts, but I can't sleep.

All I can think about is Bella.

I've done little else but think about her since I left her house Sunday night. Telling both her and Peyton goodbye was like ripping my heart out and leaving it with them. I hated it. I roll, facing the nightstand beside my bed and grab the seashell Peyton gave me for good luck. Running my fingers over it, I close my eyes, imagining the two of them, alone in their house, listening to the storm as it rages outside.

"Fuck it," I say and hop out of bed.

I pull my jeans on, grab a shirt, and reach for my jacket. I don't even think about calling first; I just have to get there. I'm a fucking idiot for going out in the rain, but the need to see her, to make sure she's okay outweighs the recklessness of my actions. I shove my phone down in my pocket and go out the back door.

The second I step outside, I'm soaked, but I don't care. I run toward the garage and I give half a glance toward Carlisle's Mercedes next to my bike, knowing I could ask him to borrow it and save myself the hassle of getting drenched, but by the time I think about that, the damage is done. I don't want to waste the time anyway.

I throw my leg over my bike and the sound is deafening inside the enclosed space when I turn it on. I walk it backward and hit the button on the door opener, tapping my fingers anxiously as it rises. As soon as there's enough room for me to fit under, I back up, hunching down into my jacket as I'm pelted with rain. I push the button for the door to go back down, taking off without even looking back to make sure it closed.

Squinting, I try to keep the water out of my eyes as I speed toward her house. There's no traffic on the road; no one else is brave enough to get out in the foul weather. The whole time, all I can picture is her and Peyton, huddled on the couch, both afraid, both hoping and praying the electricity doesn't go out. It's enough to make me rev the engine, pushing my bike even faster. I breathe a sigh of relief when I turn down her road because I can see that the light is on in her living room, but that's really all I can see. Between the wind and the rain, I can hardly see in front of my face.

I barely get the bike stopped before I'm off and running up the front steps. Panting, I bang on the door and shake my head to try to get rid of some of the water. I hear the faint murmur of the television and I try to make myself relax.

She doesn't answer, so I knock again, harder … faster, yelling, "Bella!" as my nerves get the best of me.

Finally, I hear footsteps approach the door and she throws the door open.

I can't move, seeing her, safe and sound, hits me hard and I lean heavily on the door frame.

"What in the world are you doing here?" she asks.

I continue to stare at her. Her eyes are wide, worried. Her hand is over her heart, as if she's trying to slow it down. I can almost hear it beating, wild and out of control, and judging from the look on her face and the way she's breathing deeply, slowly in and out, I know I'm not wrong.

"Are you okay?" I ask, my own breath choppy and my own heart still flying. She nods and her eyes never leave my face. "I was so worried about you. I had to see you."

"Edward." Her voice wavers and her eyes fill with tears.

I don't even think before I step forward and wrap my arms around her. "Fuck, Bella," I rasp. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. I tried to sleep, but the harder it rained and the worse the storm got, I just knew I had to come check on you. I know you hate storms, and the thought of you being here alone was more than I could take."

Her arms have slipped beneath my rain-soaked jacket and she twists my shirt tightly in her fingers. She shivers and I try to step back from her, knowing I'm getting her wet, but she won't let go. Her face is buried in my chest. I kiss the top of her head, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply, letting her citrusy scent work its magic.

She shakes in my arms and I can hear her sniffle. I can't tell if she's crying as my shirt is dripping wet, but it doesn't matter. "Shhh, baby, I've got you. I'm here, it's okay," I murmur softly while running my fingers through her hair.

I have no idea how long we stand there, totally wrapped in each other's arms, but when I hear someone clear their throat, uncomfortably at that, I jump like I've been struck by lightning.

My head whips around and I throw Bella behind me all in one motion, and when I turn, I'm face to face with Xavier.

"I … uh … I'll just leave you two alone," he stammers as he stares at me.

I'm sure I look half crazed, hell, full-out, bat-shit crazy more than likely, because seeing him standing there takes a full ten seconds, at least, to register. When it does, I feel like a damn fool for thinking she needs me when it's obvious she doesn't.

My hands listlessly fall from around her and hang limply beside me. I'm surprised … and confused as hell to see Xavier at her house, especially after how mad and upset Bella was with him Saturday night. I guess a lot can change in four days.

"No, I … it's clear I'm not needed as much as I thought I was. I … I'll just go," I croak.

Upset, hurt … jealous, unable to look Bella in the eye, I turn to leave.

Before I'm able to take more than two steps, Bella grips my hand, pulling until I turn around and look at her.

Her eyes are glassy and filled with tears. Streaks of mascara fall from beneath her eyes and down, the black trails standing out starkly against her pale cheeks. Her chin quivers, and her fingers hold on tighter.

"Please don't go," she whispers, her words broken and afraid.

I'm frozen, the urge to leave and the want to stay fighting within me. I still haven't said another word; too many thoughts and feelings are swirling around to be able to do anything but stand there and stare at her.

"Edward, I'm going to go and leave you two to talk," Xavier says as he steps forward. "She needs you."

His words are weighted. So much unsaid, but the meaning loud and clear. The two of us come to some sort of understanding it seems like, though I'm not entirely clear about what.

He turns toward Bella, the look on his face a mixture of sadness and love. "I'll talk to you later, Bell," he says gently and kisses the side of her head.

Uneasy feelings twist my insides. Tentacles of resentment and dread worm their way around my stomach … my heart … and I close my eyes, trying to fight them off.

Xavier looks back at us one more time before he grabs an umbrella and slips out, shutting the door behind him.

The silence he leaves in his wake is suffocating. I'm totally at a loss as to what I'm supposed to do. I'm pissed, I'm hurt, not to mention soaking wet and cold. I shiver when I shake my head and a drop of water slides over my neck and down my back.

"Oh!" Bella exclaims. She lets go of my hand and looks at me, frowning. "Take off your coat and let me go see if I can find you some dry clothes. I can put yours in the dryer."

Her voice is stilted … awkward. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but when I shiver again and my teeth chatter, all I can think about is getting warm. I shrug out of my jacket and hand it to her. She gasps when she touches my icy hands. She looks from them to my face and then takes both of my hands in hers, dropping my jacket into a soggy pile at our feet.

She curls her hands around mine. They're so small they don't cover much, but I suppose it's the thought that counts.

"I'm glad you came over," she whispers warily. When she looks at me, I shrug my shoulders and answer her with a grunt and a snort. She winces at my curt reaction. Immediately I want to apologize, but I keep my mouth tightly clamped shut, chilled to the bone.

"Let me go get you a towel and some dry clothes," she says, her voice small and laced with hurt.

I watch her walk away and I take a deep breath. My stomach churns. I don't know why. It's not as if she and Xavier are having some illicit affair for fuck's sake. They've been best friends for years, long before I showed up, but it's the familiarity, the assumption that he knows he's the one that takes care of her when she needs it that feels like there's a white hot poker stabbing my heart.

Rushing over here seemed like the right thing to do about thirty minutes ago, now, it sure as hell seems like I should have just stayed home. I stare at my reflection in the window, thunder and lightning still booming and crackling as the wind and rain continue relentlessly and I rest my head against the glass, confused about what happens next.

I feel vulnerable, unsure, and I fucking hate it.

"Here you go," Bella says quietly and I spin around to face her. I didn't hear her come in, but I walk toward her and take the towel and dry clothes from her.

I scowl when I spy the black sweats and t-shirt, assuming they're Xavier's. I have no idea why I'm acting like a spoiled little brat but my emotions are all over the damn place and I can't help it.

Bella makes this sound that's somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, but I take the clothes from her without looking at her.

"Edward, I … " she starts as I walk past her. I stop for a moment but I don't turn around.

"I'll be out in a minute," I tell her, hating more than anything the tension that's flared up between us.

It doesn't take me long to change and though I hate the fact that I'm sure I'm wearing Xavier's clothes, it feels so much better to have something on that's warm and dry. I stare at myself in the mirror, and snort when I see the logo in the reflection.

'Bald is beautiful'

Yeah, there's no doubt whose shirt I'm wearing. I wonder for a second how long I can hide out in the bathroom and then curse my chicken-shit self.

Not that the idea isn't tempting.

I have no idea what I'm doing as far as Bella is concerned. This is all new territory for me. Not just caring about her and Peyton, which I of course do, but the whole guy/girl thing of talking about feelings and shit. I've never done it, and haven't even been exposed to any sort of 'normal' relationship since my grandmother was alive. Back then, I was just a punk ass kid that thought seeing old people being affectionate was plain gross. Sure I loved and respected them, but I sure as hell didn't like seeing it up close and personal.

Being around Carlisle and Esme, seeing them be openly affectionate, to the extreme at times, as well as Emmett and Rose, Jasper and Alice, and hell even Seth and Xavier, has given me an inkling as to how the whole relationship thing is supposed to work. I might not know shit-all when it comes to what to do and what to say, but even my dumb ass knows hiding out in the bathroom isn't going to solve a damn thing.

"Edward?" Bella says softly after she knocks on the bathroom door. "If you hand me your clothes, I'll put them in the dryer for you."

Her voice is so tentative, so unsure that it starts that whole churning thing in my gut again. I open the door and hand her the clothes. We stare at each other, neither saying a word. I can tell she's leaving the ball in my court for the time being, which I suppose is fair considering I'm the one that's acting like he's suddenly been possessed by the dumb ass gene.

She sighs and starts to walk away, her shoulders slumped and her head hung low. My fingers twitch from wanting to reach out and grab her to pull her against me, but I don't. Instead I say, "Thanks for the dry clothes."

She looks back at me over her shoulder and tries to smile at me. It only serves to make me feel even more like shit. When I don't say anything else, she turns and walks back toward the laundry room leaving me standing in the living room alone. I walk around because I'm too tense to sit, even though it feels as if I could fall asleep standing up I'm so tired. I avoid looking at the bookcase holding all of Bella's pictures, figuring I don't need any other reminders of all the things I don't know about her or all the ways Xavier has been there for her.

Bella startles me when she says, "I thought you might like something warm to drink." In her hands is a mug of hot chocolate, the wisps of steam floating up in the air around her as she holds the cup out toward me. I walk to her, thinking once again that everything just feels so … off.

"Thanks," I tell her sincerely when I take the cup, wrapping my hands around it. I take a sip and close my eyes as the warm liquid falls down my throat, tasting delicious but doing little to relieve the cold that has taken up residence in every part of my body.

She sits on the sofa and I follow suit, unsure of what else to do. We're sitting as far away from each other as is physically possible; a fact of which my body is not at all happy with. I want her next to me. I want to feel her hair between my fingers and feel the weight of her chest against mine. I want her citrusy scent to envelope me and swirl around so that every time I take a breath, she's all I can smell. I want her close enough so that I can hear it every time she does that little half sigh, half squeak thing when I touch her in just the right way.

Plain and simple - I just want her.

She pulls her legs up on the sofa and rests her head on her knees, wrapping her arms around them. Her hair spills down over them, covering them in a sheet of mahogany. I can't help but glance at her feet and my lips curve upward at the sight of her toes curled over the side, lime green toenail polish and all.

"I'm sorry you're mad at me," she says softly.

There's not another sound in the room save for the two of us. No television, no music, nothing. Just the rain that continues to fall and the occasional clap of thunder, mixed with the sound of our breathing, but her words might as well have been shouted through a bullhorn the way I jump when I hear them.

I set my mug down on the coffee table and stand up. I need to move. Pacing back and forth, I run a hand through my hair and then turn and look at her. She's watching me, wary and afraid.

"Fuck, Bella, I'm not mad at you. I just … hell, I don't even know. I wanted to see you so badly, I didn't even think about the fact that you might not be alone. I thought … fuck, I just thought you needed me and I wanted to be here for you and when I saw Xavier, it just, I don't know …" I hesitate, not sure what to say to make this sound any less pathetic than I'm sure it will. "I wanted you to need me and when I got here and realized you didn't, it made me feel like a fool."

"Edward." She sighs. Her head is still resting on her knees and her bottom lip is between her teeth. "I wanted to see you, but I knew you were exhausted. Xavier always stays with me when it storms, so he did this time, too. If I would have known you were going to come over, I would have told him not to bother," she says, sounding a bit frustrated by the time she's done.

"It surprised me to see him here," I admit, pacing again. "You were so mad at him before I left." I'm being such a jackass about him, I know I am, but I can't stop the word vomit. "The guy hates me, Bella, and then I come racing over here like a bat out of hell, storming in here like you're some damsel in distress that needs saving. He's probably going to want to kick my ass … again … for treating you like you're incapable of taking care of yourself." I huff and whip my head around at her when I hear her snicker.

She presses her lips together and waits until she can talk before she says anything. I'm just getting more pissed and more embarrassed by the second. "He doesn't hate you and he's not going to kick your ass. We talked. Things are fine," she tells me as she unfolds her legs and sits up, but really that doesn't help.

At all.

"Yeah, well, wait until he finds out where I've been the last seven years," I mumble.

I turn around and face the fireplace, bits and pieces from our conversation Sunday night flying through my head. I keep hearing Carlisle tell me that I need to tell her. I keep imagining Peyton's disappointment when she finds out her best friend went to prison for armed robbery. I picture Bella's face when I tell her I watched someone get shot right in front of me and left for dead and then she tells me to go and never come back.

She scoffs behind me and when I turn around, she's shaking her head. When our eyes meet, she shrugs her shoulders and says, "You've been in Boston, what's wrong with that?"

I stare at her. I open my mouth and shut it. I break out into a sweat and I can feel the half-cup of hot chocolate I just drank try to make a reappearance as my stomach roils and lurches. My chest tightens and my heart slams painfully in my chest.

When I don't say anything Bella just goes on. "I'm sure you were busy working and stuff. Hanging out. I know you said you kept to yourself and that you were alone, but I'm sure you had at least a few friends you spent time with. I mean Boston's so big and you lived there for a long time, you had to know some people." She's nervous and getting more so the longer I keep standing there, unable to move. She gets up, and reaches down to pick up our cups, saying, "I don't see what Xavier can be upset about. That all seems pretty normal to me."

"I was in prison for the last seven years," I blurt out, unable to keep it from her any longer.

She freezes.

I watch her as she closes her eyes and stops breathing. The cups clatter in her hands and they shake until she sets them down on the coffee table. I swear to Christ it takes minutes … hours before she looks back at me.

She swallows, once, then again.

"I'm sorry. I thought I heard you say you've been in prison," she whispers, shaking her head the entire time as if that will change the answer she knows I'm going to give her. Her eyes are the size of saucers, and completely black, no hint of the gorgeous brown to be found anywhere.

Every breath of air has been sucked from the room leaving an oppressive weight just hovering … threatening.

I want to stop time. I want to run. I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole … anything but answer her again, but I can't turn back now. I'm all in. The die's been cast, and the only thing to do now is tell her everything and hope that she gives me a chance.

"Fuck. I didn't mean to tell you like that," I mutter and tug on my hair.

We lock eyes again, and hers are searching, probing … begging. Time stands still until I say, "You heard right."

Her knees wobble until she can't stand anymore and she drops onto the sofa like a ragdoll.

I'm rooted to the floor, wanting desperately to go to her but not daring to move until she says something … anything. I'm waiting for her to tell me to get the fuck out of her house, out of her life and wanting to prolong that as long as fucking possible.

She wraps her arms around her stomach and bends over, hidden behind her hair. I hear the faint chanting of, "Oh God, oh God," over and over again as she rocks. I take a step toward her and the floor creaks. Her eyes flash to mine, huge and afraid, and I immediately stop dead in my tracks. It breaks my heart to see the shock and confusion on her face.

"Bella, please let me explain," I choke out, fighting back all the fear and self-loathing that has engulfed me. Bella is all that matters, her and Peyton actually, and I'm prepared to do whatever I have to, to make her understand. I just need a chance to explain.

She watches me as she sits up slowly, uncurling herself. Her eyes never leave my face except when they dart toward the stairs and then back at me. I feel like my heart has been shattered into a million tiny pieces at the thought that she's worried I would hurt her … or Peyton. She doesn't know what happened to me, but she has to know I would never harm her or Peyton.

"Please, Bella," I beg, all the fight gone in an instant. Now I'm just begging. Begging for a chance to make her understand. Begging for a chance to explain that I'm not a bad person. Begging for a chance to hang on to the only two people that have meant anything to me since my grandparents died. If she tells me to leave, not only will I lose her and Peyton, but everyone else as well. I'll lose the people that have become my friends, the people that welcomed me with open arms.

I'll lose everything.

She studies me again, searching, not saying a word. I can't look away even though every part of me wants to fall to my knees and hang my head. I don't know what she sees, but finally she swallows and nods, saying, "Tell me everything."

I let out a painful breath and sit beside her on the couch. I want to reach out to touch her, hold her hand … something, but I'm terrified she'll pull away and that would fucking kill me, so instead I sit in the corner and rest my head in my hands as I gather the courage to tell her everything. I've waited too long already, and no matter how badly it will hurt when she tells me to go, she deserves to know the truth.

"For the last seven years, I was an inmate at Old Colony and then the Pre-Release center before I got paroled two months ago."

"What did you do?" Her words are so soft and she sounds so frightened that it makes me want to cry.

I can't look at her, can't bear to see the disappointment and fear that I know will be there when I answer her, so my words are spoken to the floor. "I was arrested for armed robbery and attempted murder."

In an instant I'm overcome with all the feelings I've buried since that fateful night. The abject horror, the brutal violence, and the stark reality of what it felt like to have someone's life in my hands. The panic, the confusion … the disillusionment.

All of it rushes over me. It feels like I'm suffocating but I fight it back, focusing on the woman that means more to me than I ever expected, ever hoped for.

She hasn't moved, hell, I'm not sure she's even taken a breath. I turn my head toward her and the look on her face about makes me come undone. So much hurt, so much fear … but it's the confusion that I see most of all.

It's also the fragile thread I grab onto with all I have, hoping if I can make her understand, I have a chance to salvage whatever this is between us.

Taking a deep breath, I dig down deep and bare my soul to her.

"You know my parents died when I was little and I went to live with my grandparents. I had a really happy childhood despite that. My grandparents loved me so much and gave me everything I needed. My grandmother, she was the most giving and compassionate person you could ever meet. My grandfather was wonderful, too. He was totally in love with my grandmother. His world revolved around her. Their world revolved around me.

"When my grandmother died, things really changed," I say sadly, instantly flooded with memories of her. "Grandfather became a different person after that and I did, too. He missed her so much. He tried to keep up with me, but I was twelve when she died, and I started acting out then. Just little things such as talking back to him or not doing what he asked of me. I would go to the park and cause trouble or get into fights with other boys." I shake my head, thinking about all the things I wish I could have done differently back then. My grandfather tried so hard, but he was so lost without her.

"I was so angry because I felt like she left me just like my parents had and I felt like I had lost my grandfather, too. He was there, but not really, and he was all I had. I know I was a disappointment to him with the way I was acting."

I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. Bella lifts her hand and starts to reach for me before she snaps it back. It feels like she's closing me out already, but it's too late to back out now. When I glance at her I can see how tense she is. It makes me want to puke. I push that down and will myself to go on.

Sighing, I keep going, knowing this part will be even harder to get out. "When I was sixteen, I met a new kid at school. His name was Aleksei. I was still being a stupid fucker, getting into trouble, my grades didn't matter to me, I was staying out past my curfew, and I had no respect for anyone, not even my grandfather by that point. Aleksei was just like me. I thought I saw a kindred spirit in him. We started hanging out and became what I thought was friends. Aleksei got me into drinking and doing drugs. I didn't do anything HARD, but I drank a lot and smoked pot. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but just didn't give a shit at the time." I snort and then lift a hand to rub the tattoo on my arm.

So many mistakes. So much self-destruction. I wince, thinking about it all.

"Our Senior year of high school, Aleksei dropped out. He told me he had more important things to do and needed to start getting his future in order. We still hung out and I found out he was dealing drugs. I stayed in school, only because I promised my grandfather that I would graduate at least. I didn't keep many promises, but I wanted to keep that one for some reason. Aleksei would take me with him when he went to make the drug deals. I didn't get involved in it, but he wanted me there in case there was trouble, and there was trouble more times than I can remember."

I think back on all the times that I came home late, beaten to a pulp … bloody and covered in bruises. I can still see the disappointment and heartbreak in my grandfather's face when he would look at me. He tried to tell me to stay away from Aleksei, that he was bad news, but I never listened.

As I sit here telling this beautiful woman my sad and disgusting history, knowing she'll more than likely never want anything to do with me again, I wish I would have listened to him just that once.

I chance a glance at Bella again. She's still curled in the corner of the couch and still tense. She hasn't moved and it's almost as if she's a statue. At least she hasn't fled the room screaming or ordered me out of the house. I cling to that, hoping she'll continue to listen. She's so much braver than I am because I can feel her looking right at me the whole time I'm talking, even though I'm unable to look her in the eye as I finally come clean. Taking a deep breath, I continue laying myself at her feet.

I'm at her mercy.

"I found out later that Aleksei was selling drugs for some minor league gangster in Boston. I didn't know it at the time. I just figured he was working for himself and trying to make some money." I was so damned naïve, thinking the world owed me something because people I loved died.

What a fucking fool I was.

"After I graduated from high school, I found a crappy job working in some warehouse and worked there during the day. I didn't want to go to college and it paid for the drugs and the drinking I did at night. I worked during the day, and drank all night. My grandfather finally had enough of my shit. He told me that he loved me, but he couldn't continue watching me destroy myself. He told me I had a choice to make. Either get my shit together and stop throwing my life away, or I needed to get out. I, of course being the know-it-all that I was at nineteen, told him that I was an adult and could make it without him. I moved out and got a place with Aleksei.

"One night, Aleksei asked me to go to his friend's house. He said he had some coke he needed to drop off. I agreed, thinking it was just another night in the life. We got in his car and drove to the rich side of town. This was coke he was delivering and it wouldn't have been the first time we'd been there. We pulled up to this really nice house and we both got out and walked up to the door."

I take a deep breath. It's so hard to relive that night. The night from hell. The night my whole world changed in the blink of an eye. The night Aleksei fucked me over good and nothing would ever be the same. It's the night that sent me to prison and stole my life … and maybe my future.

Aleksei bangs on the door a few times while we stand on the front steps. It's late, and it's fucking cold out, so cold I can see my breath as I blow on my hands to keep them warm.


"Fuck, Aleksei, let's bail. There's no one home," I tell him, pissed that we've wasted time coming out here when we could have just stayed home, getting more fucked up and laid.


He bounces on his feet, looking nervously around and then knocks again. He's agitated, high. His eyes dart up and down the street and he's acting sketchier than normal, especially for a routine drug delivery.


We've done it plenty of times before so I can't figure out what his problem is.


Right when I'm about to go back to the car and wait for his ass, a middle-aged guy answers the door. All hell breaks loose. Aleksei pulls a gun out of his coat pocket and shoves it in the guy's gut.


"Where's the safe?" he screams at him as he pushes the guy into the house.


The house is old, huge, but dark, with only a few sparse lights to permeate the shadows. We're standing in a foyer, aged hardwood on the floor and muted shades of taupe on the wall. It's obvious whoever lives here comes from the oldest of old money.


The guy, the unfortunate object of whatever plan Aleksei has, shakes, frantically whipping his head from side to side. He turns white as a sheet and there's a sheen of sweat that breaks out over his face. "Okay, okay," the guy sobs. "I'll show you. Please, take what you want, just don't hurt me." He winces when Aleksei presses the gun in his side, turning him around.


I'm freaking out. I have no idea what's going on or why we're here. Aleksei's into drugs and shit, but nothing like this. This … this is fucking nuts. I'm frozen to the floor, until Aleksei starts screaming again.


"Asshole, I'll shoot you right here. Show me where that goddamned safe is, right fucking now, or I swear, I'll kill you." He's totally crazed, like he's not even all here. He waves the gun around then, and I can't tell if he has any clue at all about what the fuck he's doing … what any of this means. Drugs are one thing, but guns? Robbery?


I've never been so fucking scared in my life. I just want to get the hell out of here and pretend none of this happened.


"It's this way. Right there," the guy croaks out, pointing, as he leads us down a hallway. He's breathing so heavily it's hard to understand the words. He stumbles as Aleksei harshly pushes him, barely catching himself as he bumps into a desk in what looks to be an office. Two walls are lined with floor to ceiling books. The other wall is completely made of glass. Through the windows, a wide expanse of well-manicured grass goes on as far as I can see.


The shelves are interspersed with picture after picture: smiling faces, young faces, old faces - all of them stare back at me and I feel like I'm going to be sick. What the fuck am I doing here? I think, vowing that if I can make it out of this mess, I'm getting as far away from Aleksei as I can.


Aleksei's still pushing the guy around, not caring that the he's trying to cooperate as best he can with a gun pointed in his gut. The guy falls heavily on his knees as he bends down to a cabinet behind the desk, opening the doors to reveal a safe.


"Open it. Don't try anything either, dickhead," Aleksei tells him in a cold, robotic voice.


The man's hands shake so badly he has trouble grabbing the bundles of cash, but he empties it completely, handing it all over to Aleksei .


There's not a sound except for the guy's labored breathing. He's struggling to keep himself together, his entire body trembling. There's a grandfather clock against one wall of the office, the chiming as the pendulum swings amplified at least a hundred times in the deafening silence.


I glance to my right. Aleksei steps away from the guy, and before I know what's happening, he shoots him. The smell of the gun firing burns my nostrils as I stare, stupefied by what's just happened.


"What the fuck are you doing?" I scream as I watch the guy fall into a lifeless heap on the floor. Blood oozes out from between his fingers where he's futilely trying to stop the bleeding.


"Sorry, man, no witnesses." He shrugs. "Let's go," he states, not even looking at the man dying at his feet. "I got what I came for."


I don't move. My body is locked tight.


"Edward, move. We have to get the fuck out of here before the cops come," Aleksei says as he walks toward the door. I make the mistake of looking at the man on the floor and our eyes meet. There's a puddle of blood forming beneath his side and he's the color of … well he has no color left because most of his blood is spread out under him.


He's dying in front of my eyes.


Aleksei's screaming, waving his arms around and I can't move, can't take my eyes off the man on the floor. I shake my head. I can't leave the man here to die. I didn't want any part of this; I had no idea what Aleksei was going to do. The man gasps, a sound bubbling from his throat and I rush to his side to see if there's anything I can do. I have to try. I can't just watch him die and do nothing. My life's a fucking mess but I know there's no way I could live with myself if I did nothing.


I whip off my jacket and then tug my shirt over my head, and hold it to the man's side. I'm so focused on what I'm doing that I don't notice Aleksei move toward me until I hear the cock of the gun and feel the barrel, still warm from just being fired, press against the side of my head.


"Stay here if you want to, dude, but I'm getting the fuck out of here. Breathe a word of this to anyone, and I'll fucking kill you … and your grandfather." He's totally unfazed by the man dying below him and when I nod and he lowers the gun, our eyes meet for the briefest of moments.


Empty, cold, evil. They hold no feelings whatsoever. He looks at me one last time before rushing out of the room.


The man coughs and I'm brought out of my stupor. I press again on the wound.


"Shit. I'm so sorry. I didn't know he was going to do that," I mumble, trying desperately to save the man.


The guy grunts, this horrible gurgling sound, as his hands flop around beside him, like he's looking for something. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a cell phone.


"911," he struggles to say.


I stare at the phone in my hand, knowing if I dial that number, my fate will be sealed. I look at him, and I watch as his eyes travel toward the bookcase, and travel over the myriad of pictures. I don't know the people, have no idea what the pictures are of, but it's obvious the people in them are well-loved. When I see a picture of the guy and a woman, arms wound around each other's waist, his wife judging from the rings they both wear and the one he still has on, it reminds me so much of my grandparents that a sob escapes my chest.


I begin to cry in earnest then, knowing what I have to do.


"Okay, okay," I chant, pressing the numbers on the phone, swiping at the tears that fall down my face. I call 911 and when they ask what happened, I can't speak. The guy groans and once again I have to concentrate on just getting through a second at a time.

"By the time the ambulance got there, the guy was barely holding on. I tried to do CPR, but I had no idea if it helped him or not. The cops showed up with the ambulance and I was arrested and charged with attempted murder because I was an accessory and armed robbery as there was a gun involved," I finish on a shuddering breath.

Just remembering the man as he struggled to stay alive while we waited for the ambulance makes me sick.

"But didn't you save him? He lived because of you, right?" Bella whispers. When I turn to look at her, her face is splotchy, the tip of her nose is red, and her shirt is soaked from all the tears she's cried. She started when I mentioned my grandmother dying and hasn't stopped since.

I run both hands through my hair. Leaning my head over the back of the couch I stare at the ceiling, more exhausted than I have ever been in my life. I don't even have anything I can compare it to, it's just an all-encompassing exhaustion, but in a really fucked up way, I feel better getting that all out. Carlisle and I haven't even gotten this far in our talks and I know not even Wayne knows all the details of what went down at the house with Aleksei.

I haven't ever talked about that night to anyone … until now.

I turn my head and nod. "Yeah, he did." I feel my lips lift into a small smile of pride. I may have fucked up my life by putting myself in that situation, but knowing that I saved an innocent man was worth the hell I went through in prison. I have no one to blame for being in that house but myself. It's taken me a long time to come to terms with that, but it's the stark, blunt truth.

No one but me made the choices I made. No one forced me to do drugs and drink. No one forced me to go along when I knew Aleksei was making drug deals. No one forced me to go along with all the shit he did, and no one forced me to go into that house.

That's all on me and there isn't any other way to say it.

Those mistakes cost me everything - not just my freedom for seven years, but all the time I didn't get to spend with my grandfather, too. Now … I can only hope they don't cost me Bella and Peyton as well.

Bella sniffs and I watch as she wipes her eyes with her fingers. She looks at me, her eyes swollen and red, but she's so damn beautiful.

Risking that she may push me away, I slowly inch my hand forward over the cushions of the couch until I cover her hand with mine because I can't take not touching her another second. Just that one small connection with her sets my heart flying. I want to ask her what she's thinking, but I'm terrified of the answer. The fact that I'm still sitting here, that she hasn't told me to go away, is way more than I expected to begin with. I'm not going to push my luck.

Her hand twitches beneath mine and my breath catches when she slips her hand out from beneath mine and turns it over so that she can lay hers inside of mine. I can't help but sigh, fighting back tears, as she curls her fingers around my hand. It's such a small thing, but to me … it's everything.

"Bella," I manage to force out over the lump in my throat.

She presses her lips together and her head falls forward. I can hear her swallow, trying to stop the soft whimper that escapes anyway. It's fucking killing me not knowing what she's thinking, feeling, but I know I can't push her. Whatever happens, wherever we go from here, whether that's forward together or our separate ways, is solely up to her.

Finally, more minutes pass and the silence is so maddening that I lift my free hand out and tip her chin up so that she looks at me.

"Please tell me what you're thinking," I whisper, staring into her eyes. I see confusion there, wariness, too, but not fear, and my entire body sags in relief at that.

"I … I'm not … there's so …" she stutters. Her fingers squeeze my hand and she takes a deep breath. "I have so many questions," she says as she shakes her head.

I can practically see her mind thinking things over as question after question flips through her mind. It's killing me to watch her struggle to absorb everything, but again, I can't help but let that small glimmer of hope flare a little bigger at the fact she hasn't run upstairs, telling me to get the hell away from her.

It's all I have to cling to, and I am, desperately, with all that I have.

"I'll tell you anything you want to know," I breathe out.

She nods but doesn't say anything else. I glance out the window and notice it's stopped raining. The clouds have cleared enough so that the moon is able to shine through the glass. Silvery moonbeams mix with the soft light from the lamp, casting the room in shadows.

Suddenly, she lets go of my hand and gets up, moving toward the fireplace. All the hope I'd had just a moment before plummets, and my heart slams painfully against my chest because I know this is it. She's going to send me away, and tell me she doesn't want to have to do anything to do with me - a felon, an ex-con.

I'll do as she asks of course, even if it kills me in the process.

I brace myself for the worst, feeling like I might get sick right there, especially when she turns around. Her face is almost blank, but her eyes are swimming in emotion. Her eyes are filled with tears and when they spill over her cheeks, it literally takes my breath away.

"I need time to think," she whispers hoarsely. Her chest heaves when she next says, "I think you should go."

My heart breaks.

Silently, because I'm afraid if I open my mouth, I'll beg her to let me stay, I walk toward the laundry room and take my clothes out of the dryer and change into them. I neatly fold the sweats and t-shirt and leave them on top of it, not even caring anymore that they're Xavier's. It seems like such a trivial thing now … meaningless.

I'd left my shoes in the bathroom, so I have to cross back through the living room to get them. Bella is standing in front of the bookcase staring at a picture of her and Evan. I stop walking and look at her. Her eyes are unfocused but she looks so heartbroken that it makes my knees go weak, and I stumble and fall against the back of the sofa.

The sound startles her, making her jump. She twists around to look at me, her mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Stupidly, I take a step toward her. She backs up and any hope I had of a chance to still be a part of her life is destroyed … gone.

I turn, hurrying into the bathroom and shove my feet into my boots. I can't stay here another second. I need to get the hell out of there so that I can fall apart … alone.

Like I'll always be from now on.

I walk back into the living room and Bella is still standing in the same spot, still not moving. When she hears my footsteps as I move toward the door, she turns and faces me. Our eyes lock. She's so sad that I can't stop the broken sob that comes when I say, "I'm so sorry."

"Me, too," she hiccups, and mashes her lips together, wrapping her arms around her stomach as if she's trying to hold herself together.

It breaks me all over again to see her that way. Knowing that I'm the cause of that is the crippling blow that forces me to end the torture. I reach for the doorknob, my fingers shaking violently as I grip it. I don't turn around. I can't bear to see the pain I've caused her, though I know I'll never be able to forget.

"Please tell Peyton …" I have to force myself to swallow so that I can speak. "Tell her I'm sorry I'll miss our Monopoly date." The words are like razor blades slicing my throat as I make myself say them. I have to push all thoughts of her down, if I don't, I'll fucking lose it and I won't do that to Bella.

I steel myself, taking a shuddering breath before I turn the knob on the door and open it.

The damp night rushes over me, the familiar bite of salt-scented air filling my nostrils, but instead of the sense of home and comfort it usually brings with it, there is only emptiness and agony.

My feet weigh a hundred pounds apiece as I force myself to step onto the front porch.

I stand for a moment, unable to take another step because I know as soon as I do, everything I never knew I wanted, everything that means anything, will be gone forever.

~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~