Prologue

Bella Masen sat back, running her finger along the rim of the tawny shot glass in front of her. The large room was full of cigarette smoke that swirled around her and everyone else in the trashy bar. If she focused, Bella could see all sorts of shapes emerging from the smoke rings: boats, puppies, and clowns. The jukebox played some sad country songs about losing your horse, your dog, and your bible. The walls were covered in neon signs that advertised every type of beer and liquor on the market. A couple dozen wooden tables were scattered, while another ten lined up in front of the oak bar.

A commotion at the bar drew her attention. Two men were arguing, their tempers rising with each passing moment. The first of the two leaped from his stool and slammed his fist into the other's jaw, sending him to the floor, though it didn't slow the second man down. He scrambled to his feet and let out a string of curse words that would make a sailor blush before launching himself at his attacker.

Pulling a wooden baseball bat from under the bar, the bartender slammed it onto the counter and yelled, "Getcha asses out of here!"

He clambered to the other side, grabbed them both by the scruffs of their necks and dragged them out of the building.

Bella shook her head, picked up her empty shot glass, and motioned for her server, thinking about how some people didn't know how to drink.

"How many is that for you now?" The greasy-haired boy behind the bar didn't seem old enough to be serving the tequila shots she had been downing all night.

"Why does it matter?" Bella slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the table. "Bring me three more."

The kid nodded, grabbed the money off the table, and headed back to the bar. Bella wrapped her thin fingers around the small glass and brought it to her lips, preparing herself for the burning liquid. She tossed it back and swallowed it like a man — just like he would if he was still here.

Don't think about him, she scolded herself.

The kid came back and slid three more shots across the table. "You've been cut off after these," he informed her. Bella wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and wipe the smirk off his face, but she didn't. "The boss says you've had enough."

"Tell your boss that Bella said he can go to hell," she snarled with a wave of her hand.

Rolling his beady eyes, Bella watched him delivering her little message to the boss: a beefy man with thin, jet-black hair and a goatee. Just like she knew he would, the boss threw his head back and laughed, causing several patrons to turn from their own liquid therapy to stare at him. Turning back to the drinks displayed in front of her, she picked up the first, swallowing it quickly, letting the amber liquid slide down her throat.

Sliding the glass over to rest with the other one, Bella chose the next. She threw that one back, slamming her hand on the table as the liquor burned her throat. Bella shook her head, reaching out for the third; however, before she could grab it, a thick hand reached out and pulled it back. An aggravated sigh tumbled out, and Bella tilted her head back to glare at the intruder.

"I got your message, sugar," he groused. "You don't need this one."

"I didn't need any of them, but I still want them," Bella muttered, pulling the glass from his hand. He wouldn't stop her from taking it; no matter how much it hurt him to watch her killing herself by downing drink after drink. She tossed it back, wincing once again. "Why don't you bring me another?"

"Nope." The boss, otherwise known as Carlisle Cullen, sat on the other side of the table, folding his arms up next to his burly chest. "You've had enough."

"Not even close to being enough," Bella groused, darkness drifting over her face.

"Killing yourself isn't going to bring him back," he cautioned. Bella looked away, her eyes burned with tears. "Sugar, I'm sorry."

"A year," she whispered, shaking her head. "A whole year, and I still cry just thinking about him."

"Nobody expects you not to cry."

"Bullshit," she spat and glared at him. "Come on, Bella, you can't wallow away forever. You have to start living. Sound familiar?"

"Damn, girl, I didn't mean you couldn't cry." Carlisle's tone was laced with guilt. "But you can't just sit here drinking away your troubles, either."

"I know." Bella ran her hands through her long brown hair. "He should be sitting here."

"But he's not," he countered.

"He should be," she insisted, slamming her hand down on the table.

"But, sugar, he's not." Carlisle sighed and stood. "Go home and get some sleep. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Bella knew better than to argue with him, so she climbed out of the booth and headed to the door. As much as she had drunk tonight, she didn't have any trouble getting her feet to move in a straight line. Once outside, she released a groan when the stifling summer heat slapped her in the face. Even at half past midnight, the heat was sweltering.

He would have hated the heat, too.

Trying to push all thoughts of him out of her head, Bella started walking home, thankful that she lived within walking distance of the bar. It made it easier than trying to catch a cab, and she wouldn't drive while drunk, either.

The walk to her building only took a few minutes, and before she was ready, Bella found herself standing inside the small apartment. She should have moved, but it was the one connection she had left to him — besides her memories, of course. It took her weeks to get the courage to leave after he left. She couldn't seem to get her legs to walk through the door. Of course, eventually Carlisle forced her out when he came barreling through her apartment, tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her out, throwing her in the street. She didn't speak to him for a month after that.

Bella walked into her bedroom, stripping off the shorts and tank top clinging to her sweaty body. She tossed them into the corner and pulled on a cotton nightgown — his favorite. Even though it had holes in several places, Bella couldn't toss it out, not when the feel of it against her skin reminded her of him. Bella climbed into her bed and pulled the blankets up even though the room felt hot. She needed the comfort of the weight of the covers on her. Rolling onto her side, Bella looked at the picture sitting on her nightstand.

The man in the picture wore a black tuxedo. Where his usual dark, auburn hair would be in a messy array, it had somehow been tamed. With his famous crooked smile on his face, he looked mischievous.

She often teased him that he only smiled at her like that when he wanted something. He never denied that she spoke the truth. Bella's gaze drifted over to the woman hanging on his arm. She looked happy. A smile brighter than the sun rested on her lips, and she gazed at him like he'd given her a new reason to live.

However, that was the problem — he had.

Her white dress fitted at the waist and flowed down her slender legs. A sheer veil, which had been pinned in her hair, floated down her back, offsetting the olive tint to her skin.

Bella tore her eyes off the picture, rolling onto her back. They'd once been happy and in love. Now, Bella was lost in a world that overlooked the pain that constantly shadowed her. She lived every day with the agony of knowing she'd spend the rest of her life missing the man who held her heart.

Her Edward.

Thank you for reading the first chapter to my new story! Thank you to Sunflower Fran for betaing for me. Hope you're ready for a bumpy ride!