SIX

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I am kicked awake. It hurts.

I twist, and the sheets unwrap from the body next to mine. I am distracted by the parts of him I've seen, felt, and tasted for the first time last night.

The room smells like alcohol and body odor.

I rub my eyes, stopping when I realize I still have makeup on. "Did you just knee me in the ass?"

Ed tosses his arm around me and plants my face next to his. His eyes never open.

"Shh." He blindly kisses my forehead. I think it's an accident. "Just go back to sleep."

I would but this is not my room.

I crawl over the bed over his body; he grunts. My knees are wobbly so I land on them on the floor. I run to the door and lock it.

Ed gets up on his elbows, looking side to side in a sleepy frown. Someone's not a morning person.

"'s the matter?" he growls.

I'm placing my clothes, and his eyes go to a stranger's shirt hanging from a chair. They widen. They panic.

I toss him his pants. They land on his face, and he's still dazed.

"This is not my room," he says.

"Not mine either." I think. "Not that that would make the situation any less worse."

We have our backs to each other, sitting on opposite sides of the bed, as we get dressed. The only sound is shuffling.

I pull on the sleeves of my jacket.

"Wait."

I twitch but don't turn.

From behind he fixes my bra clasp like it's a normal thing to him. But it's not a normal thing to me.

I stare at my thighs, frozen. I snort.

"Something funny?" he asks.

I finally turn my neck to see the back of his head. His hands are fixing his collar.

Either he's obsessive compulsive or exactly what Jess imagines he is.

I turn back.

It's got to be the former.

"Nothing."

He knows my fancy record with guys, and I'm not about to admit that not one of them has done that for me.

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I want him to leave first, but he won't. He's standing like he's waiting to escort me out. It makes no sense. I don't understand.

So I dawdle by the mirror. I fix my morning smoky eyes. I fluff my hair. I play with the greasy curls. I look properly fucked and a catastrophe.

"Would you tell her?"

"I don't know."

I look, really look, at him. I'm staring at his ear and the silver stud. Both I've kissed and flicked and licked.

I feel better looking at my pathetic face so I go back to doing that.

I wipe my eyebrows and think about the way he kissed me there. I comb back the tangles of my hair and remember how he did that too, just exponentially sexily.

I think about the kisses down my back. I think about the way he throws his head back, neck stretching, eyes creasing. I ride, and his mouth opens in a silent cry when he's done and destroyed. It happens again and again, endlessly, the whole night, the whole fucking night. We don't get tired.

I see a trashcan.

I crouch and dig through it.

I look at the messy bed.

I turn over the sheets. I pat around the mattress. I get on my knees crawl around the rectangle.

I remember sounds. Grunting. Slapping. Fucking. A lot of fucking.

There were words, but not really. He didn't have a condom; I'd already given mine away.

"Ed."

"What's up?"

"You pulled out in time. Right?"

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I say see you. He asks where do I think I am going.

I tell him none of his business and I will drive myself over and you go home. He doesn't like it.

He stands between my car and me, and nowhere close to giving up.

For no reason, really, I flip my shit, and we're yelling. I'm furious-yelling. He's perplexed-yelling. I'm angry, and he doesn't actually get why so he's also angry. But I don't get it either, so we keep yelling until he overpowers me with his muscle strength and throws me into his car.

We're on the road. We don't talk much.

I try to be bored, but this time it's real anger. I keep it bottled but I'm debating between going back to screaming and keeping silence. I can't make up my fucking mind.

I don't need anyone to make sure that I take care of myself. I'm not dirty or stupid. I'm not.

I keep staring out the window because I don't want to see his bouncing knee. I can't stand it.

He was going to pull out. He was already inside when he asked. He was asking, but we both knew stopping was the last thing he wanted and I didn't give a fuck. It wasn't so important then.

The car slightly speeds up before speeding back down. It's already the third time in the last five minutes he's jumped the red light.

He starts tapping his foot. I don't think. I lose it.

"I don't fucking have STDs."

He looks at me slowly. "Okay. Excellent. Sorry, why are you yelling again?"

"Are you clean?"

"I've never gone bareback until with you and—really, why are you yelling?"

"You're yelling too!"

"Because you were yelling first!"

"Stop acting like a nervous wreck! It's making me nervous!"

"Do you want to be pregnant?"

I laugh uneasily. Oh, pregnancy was a thing. I almost forgot.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he answers for me.

I would love to tell him that other girls at school would disagree but I try to keep my mouth shut. I fail.

His expression is incredulous. I should have kept my mouth shut.

"Sorry," he says now.

"For what?"

"For not stopping."

I don't answer because it's not worth it.

"For not being able to stop," he mutters anyway.

My face heats. "Just shut up and drive."

He shuts up and drives.

"I'm clean," I finally say.

He looks at me.

I don't. "So don't worry about that part."

"I believe you."

At the end of the road, he turns and parks.

It's a nice morning. Everything feels ordinary except not really. Ed has his morning smoke, no words, no glances. I am a mix of upset, scared, worried, sad, aroused, and annoyed. I'm fidgeting before I realize. He notices but doesn't point it out. I think he's freaking out too.

Two and a half minutes, and he takes out the fire and gets out.

It takes him less than five minutes.

I stare at the box that is too large for one tiny pill and bottled water, like I don't know what to do with them.

But I do know. I've done it, more than once, more than twice, more than three times.

I'm crying while the man in the driver's seat gets angrier and angrier until he yells and forces me to open, take, and swallow.

I'm always crying.

It's always the same man.

On the drive back home, he tells me this is all a secret. I am his secret.

Today's a little different though. But I wonder if I'll still repeat the crying in the end.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Ed looks at me with this soft intensity that I love and hate, as he lights up another cigarette.

My eyes lose focus as I watch the fire on its end. The orange blurs, then focuses, blurs again.

I wonder when the man in the driver's seat today will start yelling.

"About what?" I ask him.

"Whatever's making you look like you want to kill yourself and someone else at the same time."

I look away and play with my chipped nails. "You smoke a lot."

His face changes. He rolls down the window. It's the morning, but people are walking by. He doesn't seem to mind though.

He nods. "Yeah. It's… great."

Lame. "I thought it was a secret."

"You know now, so it's not exactly a secret anymore, is it?"

He does this thing between a smile and a smirk, and it's a lot more bad-boy and dangerous and mischievous and evil than I'm used to.

"Just think, though," he muses, "if you do end up pregnant, it'll be a smart, good-looking baby."

"Is that supposed to be a joke?"

He steals a glance in my direction. One corner of his mouth goes up. "At least it's got you smiling. A little bit."

He takes back the things he gave me.

"It should be okay," he tells me.

He says that but I see his hands shaking.

I just take and swallow what he's opened.

He lightly pinches the side of my face, sighs, drives, and that's it.

I guess no one's yelling or crying today.

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The clock hands slither. I yawn with my mouth closed.

I see mom uncrossing and crossing her legs. Her eyes are bright and keen, but if anyone really looks, they're out of focus, daydreaming. She's not here to listen.

Dad sits next to her, arms crossed, legs spread, and chin tipped up. He's not here to listen either.

I just stare at the shoes mom's wearing. They're chocolate leather and matte and mine.

"Your daughter is one of my brightest students," Pete says. "One of my favorites, really."

I slide my stare to the center.

There are five people in the room, and the fifth person is watching me, just me. So I stare back, hoping it'll freak her out. It doesn't. She scribbles something on her clipboard and goes back to watching me. What the fuck is she waiting for?

"I'm asking you very respectfully, Mr. Hyde, why you gave her this grade on the midterm."

"Mr. Swan, I didn't give your daughter the grade. She earned it."

"She earned the F?"

"She submitted a blank answer sheet."

Dad looks at me sharply. I just look back at the shoes and run my tongue over my front teeth.

"You didn't prepare her well, then," he goes, "because my daughter's a straight-A student."

We don't do this often, dad, mom, and I. Mom lives off fashion magazines and posh tea and what she calls work, and dad, he's really working.

"Sweetie, what do you have to say?"

It's dad. All eyes are on me.

"I've just been strung out lately." I sound like a robot. I quickly smile. "I'm not happy with the grade either. I'll do better. I promise."

"Fantastic." Mom clips her purse shut. "I guess we're done here."

"Actually, if it's okay, I'd like to speak with your daughter. In private."

I glance sharply at the clipboard woman.

"To discuss your wellbeing," she adds.

I laugh weakly. "But I'm perfectly fine."

"That's arguable. I think it'd be better if we talked in private. Unless you wanted your parents to be part of the conversation?"

I don't react. She sighs. I'm suddenly nervous.

"Well, then, Isabella, we've noticed that your behavior and grades have shifted dramatically over a short period of time. You have—one, two, three, four—unexcused absences during the last two weeks alone. You were passed out in the ladies' room last Monday. Your classmate had to carry you to the school nurse, who suspects you're under high anxiety. You failed not only this Bio midterm but also your English, Greek, U.S. History—"

"Okay, I get it." I look over at dad. He didn't know. He didn't have to know. "But I'm okay now."

"If you're uncomfortable, we can do this in a more private setting."

That damn woman. "I said I'm fine."

"We'll have to see your wrist."

She's staring at my left arm. I'm wearing long sleeves and lots of bracelets.

Mom slowly turns to look at me, already glaring. Dad's face pales.

I'm looking at Pete.

"You told the school?" My voice cracks.

Pete doesn't meet my eyes.

He knows everything about me.

Everything.

Every secret.

"I thought it was for the best," he tells me quietly.

"He's done nothing wrong," the school psychologist says. "All faculty is obligated to report to the school administration if a student plans to harm herself."

I hide my wrist.

"But I don't do it anymore." I could show them. Still I glance around, like crying out for help, only I can't think of the words. I feel like a little girl. "I swear."

I keep searching everyone's faces.

"Mom? Dad?"

Both look off to the wall and don't look back.

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It's the soiree night. Carlisle Cullen won his Senate seat. I'm seeing a shrink first thing tomorrow morning.

Did you get your period? –E

I shut off the screen with my soapy fingers and drop it outside the tub.

I would love to melt into the water. I don't feel like drinking alcohol-free champagne, mingling, sucking in my stomach throughout the night because my dress is skintight. Then there's the best friend who is angry with me, and the boyfriend with whom I am secretly angry. I don't feel very social today. I'm scared.

"Bella finally got her period."

My aunt grins. "Congratulations, sweetie."

I frown at mom. My boy cousins and relatives are around, and they're not deaf. At least most of them are squirting water guns out in the front yard.

Mom's eyes twinkle, as if vaginal bleeding is some sort of an accomplishment. Actually, it doesn't matter; she lives off being the proud parent. This is supposed to be our housewarming party, not my birthday party. Even then.

She, out of habit, fixes my hair because she wants me pretty all the time. She kisses my cheek. I beam.

"Isn't Bella a little too young to get her period?"

Mom's still side-hugging me. "She's almost fourteen, Jared. All her friends already got theirs. When did Rose start again?"

"We don't talk about that kind of stuff," I mumble.

"Boy, you're a woman now, aren't ya?" Jared eyes me, popping open a beer. "When did my pretty little Bella grow up?"

I must be blushing really hard because he laughs. He already intimidates me enough with his teasing and nicknaming. Mom's got to stop casually mentioning vaginas.

"I was starting to get worried," mom goes on though. "She's a late bloomer, for sure. She doesn't look as bony as last summer, does she?"

My aunt agrees and comments on my height, asking how much I grew since last year. Jared sits down next to her.

"Just over an inch," I answer.

"And still growing?" Jared asks, surprised.

I'm shy. "I think so."

Kim recommends modeling. Mom says she's considering, scanning me up and down. But then apparently I'm "too academically keen" to model. Whatever that means.

Before anyone can ask me about my grades, I float off to where Jasper is because I'd rather watch him skate.

I'm watching him fall on his ass for the sixth time when my uncle taps my shoulder. He grins.

"Want to show me where the bathroom is?"

Someone knocks on the door.

"What." I sound flat.

The door creaks open, just a little.

"You've been in there for two hours."

It's Jasper. There's only voice, no face.

"You're not doing anything stupid," he says quietly. "Right?"

I look down at my white, jagged wrist. The marks have faded because it's been a while. Dad needs to stop making this a big deal.

But it's not everyday you find your sister's almost lifeless body in a bathtub full of her own blood. He was only fourteen.

"I'm just bathing."

"Well, your dress is dry-cleaned. It's on your bed."

The door shuts softly.

I drown myself underwater until I can't hold my breath any longer.

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We enter, and an older man with Ed's shoulders and smoky eyes does a double take.

"Is that Charles Swan I see there?"

Dad grins, and they start laughing with their stomachs. They embrace.

The senator nods at mom. "Great to see you, Renee."

"Such a fancy party," mom simpers. "Where's Esme?"

"Entertaining the guests for me." Carlisle lowers his voice. "I've been ditching people all evening."

Everyone but me laughs. I just raise an eyebrow. I can't picture the Ice Queen entertaining the guests, but she's the new Hilary so I'm guessing she gets shit done. Maybe if I'm lucky tonight I might catch the posh lady smiling.

I'm already bored. I glance over my shoulder. I see Rose's parents right away so I'm assuming their daughter is close by. I notice Mike this time. I wink. He ducks his head, shy. Cute.

The senator opens his arms to me in a hug. He has silver in his hair, but if I look at him long enough I can pick out Ed's features.

"And who is this beautiful young lady?" he teases. "You're never around anymore, Bella."

I'm not really paying attention. The senator and I aren't that close. I think he's phony.

"Sorry." I hug him. "I'll visit when Kate comes back. How's she doing at Columbia?"

I finally see Rose, and I swear she sees me too. I smile, but she's being a bitch and ignoring me. I guess she's still mad.

"She's doing great," the senator tells me. "Unfortunately she's going to be working for the governor in New York over Christmas." He sighs. "I keep telling her she should just intern for me—"

"—but she called it nepotism and turned you down," I laugh. "That sounds like the Kate Cullen I know."

"Daddy!" Mary Cullen shoves past me—it's no accident—her clunky heels clicking furiously against the marble floor, and hurls into her father's arms. "I want to do a quick run to the store for something, but mom won't call Philips. Can you call him up for me? Please, please, please?"

"I told you already. Philips is taking the evening off. And no, he isn't available at your disposal. You're going to have to wait until your brother gets back from school. He will drive you there and back."

Dad raises his eyebrows. "Ed's still at school? It's almost eight."

"Student council," Carlisle quickly answers before looking at his daughter. "He'll be here in ten minutes."

She makes a face. "You said that half an hour ago."

"And don't forget your manners."

Mary's eyes turn to us. She does an absurd curtsy for mom and dad, like an awkward stick figure, and lights up when she sees Jasper—this girl has had a crush on him since she was three—and he wiggles his eyebrows.

She loses the smile when she sees me. Her eyes go straight to the slit between my two breasts.

"Isn't that dress a little inappropriate for a seventeen-year-old?"

So much sass for a child. She'll do great things.

"Aren't those heels a little inappropriate for a fourteen-year-old?" I ask back.

She narrows her eyes. She's never liked me. Oh, well.

Dad and Carlisle have started business talk. Mom's slid off to mingle. Jasper's gone, already hording the desserts. I go find Rose.

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"If anything, his tongue is flexible."

"Yeah, Randall plays the tuba." My eyes travel up and down Rose's body. Tonight it's covered up in a slinky red dress that shows off her pretty neck and thin arms. I'm still careful. "Aren't you supposed to be angry with me?"

She snatches a cracker from the passing tray and puts it in her mouth. "I am."

"Okay."

"Wait." She feeds herself another. "Why was I angry again?"

I speak slowly. "Because I forgot to take you home on Halloween night."

"Oh." She waves me off. "That was ages ago."

It's hard having a best friend with a resting bitch face.

I spot Jasper and Alice, together. I nearly don't recognize her because her hair's much shorter and darker, but my brother reserves that pathetic puppy stare just for the witch so it's not that difficult. Her eyes match her hair tonight. I wonder what she's on. Her boldness is borderline stupid.

Now, I get a good look at Rose. She's eating, nonstop. It's getting worse. I don't know what to say. I don't have much to say. So I don't say anything, but I keep watch.

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I'm heading out the bathroom when I almost run over something.

A little girl with big blue eyes and a mop of golden hair stares up at me, smiling bashfully. Her cheeks are rosy and chubby, and she's wearing the most adorable white dress, like a kid bride. I melt.

"Tanya." I crouch to her eye-level. "Hey, little girl. What are you doing out here alone?"

She opens her arms, bouncing on her heels, making whining sounds. I pick her up.

"Where's mommy?"

She digs her face into my neck. "No mommy. Ed. Ed!"

I turn toward the men's room just as he walks out, his backpack over his shoulder, jeans on his arm, shoes hanging off one hand, freshly in his suit. He's tidying the collars of his shirt, frowning, and his hair is hastily styled back. He stops in his tracks when he sees me.

"Oh," is how he greets me.

"Ed, Ed!" Tanya whines.

We don't know what to say, but there's funny energy between. It's the nerves, the colossal pretty ballroom, the kickass suit and slutty dress, and the delay of my vaginal bleeding.

I pop my arms, and Tanya laughs.

"I ran into her."

Ed looks me up and down, nodding once. "Cool."

We make our way down the foyer in silence. We're not walking fast enough. He drops off his backpack and clothes at the counter.

"You can pass her over to me." He sounds more unfriendly than usual.

"No, I got her." I smile at her. She grins back, flashing her toothless gums. I laugh. "I want to hold her."

His stare softens. He goes back to staring straight ahead.

"Hello, Mr. Cullen," two young waitresses say.

He nods. "Good evening."

He does not so much as give them a smile, but they giggle shyly to each other as we pass by.

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At the door, Tanya wiggles in my arms, and I let her go. She toddles off to her mother.

"Excuse us," I suddenly hear Ed mutter. He guides me away from the entrance with a hand on my waist, and three middle-aged ladies walk through.

I'm driven to a wall. Now I see his face, pretty close. His eyes are stormy, and he smells royal. We can almost touch. I slowly tiptoe.

His stare goes down to my mouth, like an accident, before quickly bouncing back up to my eyes. Now his eyes are full of guilt and oh-shit.

My heels fall back. I see what this is about.

His hand on me twitches, as if he's just realized we're connected. Although he doesn't move it, it's now stiff and weird. This makes me sad.

I give him the escape. "You should go greet your dad."

He nods. The hand drops.

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"No earring in a suit."

It's the first thing the senator says to his son, no hesitation. He's not even looking at us. His son hasn't even said hello.

I watch the way the man's eyes relax from the kind, wrinkly eye-smile to a rigid shape that better suits his sharp nose and jaw.

I've seen that face. Not a lot, but I've seen it enough to know.

Ed's not allowed to slouch at the dinner table. He's told never to let others know what he's thinking, feeling. He's forbidden to use um, well, and like in his sentences.

I think of Ed and his cancerous habit. I don't think cigarettes will ever kill him. When his dad finds out, he will do it first.

Ed's hand shoots up to his ear. "Sorry. I forgot."

Carlisle turns to me, the kind crinkles back, and asks about school. I tell him that I'm failing U.S. History and that the class is such a joke I don't really mind. Every word is honest but the things I do to them makes them deceiving.

The senator laughs out loud. "Right, Charlie mentioned it. You need a tutor?"

I shrug. "Yeah. Sort of. Not really. Regardless. Dad thinks so. Can you please talk him out of it?"

"Talk Charlie out of something? Impossible. Why in the world did you decide to take U.S. history as AP in the first place? It's two hundred years of people getting fat on burgers."

"You're not allowed to say that." I force a laugh. "What would the President say?"

"Ed can tutor you," he says casually.

"Nah. He has better things to do."

"No charge," he goes on like he can't pick up the clues. "He got a 5 on the exam. But you know that already."

"Bella's right, dad. I don't think I'll be available." Ed watches me. "Sorry."

I nod. "That's fine. I don't need anyone's help. Yours I don't really want in the first place."

The senator looks between us. "Did you run over her dog, Edward?"

"I don't have a dog."

"She doesn't have a dog."

We look off to the air at the same time.

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Dad loves Edward. But I think he also sees Ed as a threat—to Jasper—and puts him down in this really subtle way that makes me cringe.

"Why do you want to go to law school after college?" That competitive fire lights up in his eyes. Damn. Dad's doing the interrogating thing again. "This country has more than enough lawyers."

"And bankers," so I mutter.

Ed's lips thin into a smile that he fails to hide. His Ice Queen mother is dismayed by me. Charlie clears his throat. Tanya waves her hand at me. I wiggle my fingers back.

"I can't argue that, Charlie," Ed goes on. "But it's what my dad expects of me."

Just as dad opens his mouth, mom slaps his chest. "Oh, Charlie, stop giving him a hard time."

Ed just laughs. "No, no, Ms. Swan, it's definitely something I have to think about."

"Don't take his word to heart. I wouldn't say a law degree is useless." Mom snaps her fingers at a waiter. One bows and replaces her empty glass with a full one. "Just look at Jared—Bella's uncle—you met him a few weeks ago—he's doing superbly after law school."

Ed's gaze turns to me. Why?

"The company that hired him straight out of college funded his entire law school education. I can get you two connected if you're really interested in that career path. He's back in LA right now but will be back soon."

I mouth Ed a what. I don't know, the gaze stays, and it does the strangest thing to my stomach.

I don't think he knows.

Suddenly I'm not so sure anymore.

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Even the scariest things numb over time and practice. I'm used to having them around.

But it's easier when I'm not listening.

Mom keeps mentioning him, praising him, exaggerating his success. She calls him a gentleman.

Even Esme seems impressed. She's sold. She thinks he's a charming man and hopes that her only son learns from him.

She presses for my opinion.

Now I have no choice but to listen. "Pardon?"

She asks again—what I think of the best man in the world.

"My uncle? I don't really like him."

The most uncomfortable silence ensues.

Dad's tonguing his inner cheek—possibly chalking this up to my outdated suicidal tendencies—and mom is calmly livid.

"She doesn't mean it, Esme." Mom pastes on a simper. "She absolutely loves him."

I'm okay.

I'm horrified.

"Excuse me," I say.

I can't hide it. It falls into pieces. My face probably shows it all.

I place my glass on the nearest table, but it rolls off clumsily. I say sorry to the glass.

I'm walking out. I struggle in my two stumbles.

No one follows.

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The real bad comes sporadically, no warning, and I regret what I shouldn't regret.

It's rare. It's consistent. When it comes I die.

I want to rip my hair out, take off the dress. I pound my chest, but nothing's choking me. The nonexistent heat in the room is excruciating. Someone's taking all my oxygen. There are people noticing me. They ask are you okay miss. No words come out, but inside I've already said fuck off three times.

I pace. I talk to myself. I'm all please-please-please, begging stop being a pussy, no, not in front of all these people. I'm all fuck-fuck-fuck, badmouthing myself, damn it, you idiot. I step outside, and a second away from getting a cab I go back in. I go outside again, try walking home a few minutes. I'm back inside. It's a cycle.

None works.

I hurry to the counter and ask for my purse.

I wrestle with the orange bottle.

No water, I chug down two tiny white ovals and find myself a corner.

I hope they won't be long.

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The sleepiness hits.

But I'm not ready to go back.

Then I see Benji's family stepping off the elevator. The general, a short man, is tough and regal. His uniform tells me that he has hundreds of thousands of American troops under his command.

There's Benji in a dark suit, his hair gelled back, making him look older and so insanely striking that I'm already gravitating toward him.

His eyes pass over the room and stop at me. They go from my pinned-up hair, to my bare shoulders and slit down my torso, and to my stilettos. His mouth goes up in an openmouthed smirk.

He doesn't notice my state. I'm ecstatic.

"Balcony," he mouths.

I can't look away from the wicked glint in his eyes.

Yes. Yes.

"How are we doing?"

I'm barely able to disconnect my eyes from my abusive boyfriend as I find Ed some feet away. He's alarmed and a little disheveled, like he's breathless only he's not. Was he looking for me?

"Sorry, what was your question?" I wish I didn't sound so off.

He's staring at the top of my head. He pats down the hair that sticks out.

"Are you doing okay?" he asks.

"Good." I sound dreamy. "Sorry, what?"

Benji and his family walk past me.

I have to go. I want to go.

My body's already turning to Benji. Someone grabs my wrist.

Ed. I take in his grasp and face.

"I have to go." I sound wan and restless.

"You have to tell your parents."

I search his eyes. "This is about my period, isn't it?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Your uncle."

What?

Oh.

Fuck.

He knows.

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"I'm going to go pee now. Bye."

"Don't change the subject."

I'm suddenly all fire as I tear his hand off. "You brought up the subject!"

He's taken aback but only for a second. "I'm not going to keep pretending like I didn't hear all that that other time—"

"Shut up." I'm angry. And humiliated. And sad. "I want you to pretend."

"Bella."

"Shut up." I glare at the wall behind him. "I'm gonna go now."

He touches me again.

"Can you not do that?" I yell.

My voice echoes. The doormen stare.

Ed gives me a dark look, and voice hushed, "Can you stop being a bitch for two seconds?"

My face crumbles.

His, too. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That you're going through this."

You, you, you.

I know what comes next.

You have to get help.

You have me.

You don't deserve this.

"I had no idea. You seemed… okay all the time."

You will tell nobody.

You have to keep this under control.

You have to stop this.

"Because I am okay," I say.

He observes me. A strange look touches his eyes.

"Then why am I starting to notice that you're not?"

"Listen. I'm used to it. I'm done with the sad phase. No one needs to be sorry, so you can just save it. But thanks anyway, I guess."

He's calm. "Do you realize how stupid and ridiculous you sound?"

"Well, this situation is stupid and ridiculous. What kind of answer did you expect?"

"I still think Ms. Swan should know about this."

But that's the thing. "She already does."

He loses his words.

"And doesn't care," I finish and walk off.

.

.

.

I get there late so he's gone. The night's cold.

I still give it five minutes and I'm right. The balcony door opens, throwing out light, and clicks close. I keep my back to him. I don't greet.

He doesn't either. His arms go around me, and he starts necking, slow. I pull him closer, still no words, probably a little desperate. Our bodies do the talking.

Our mouths touch.

We're faster, no time to breathe, all gasps.

I open my eyes a bit, and the hazy lights behind the curtains are weirdly provocative. It's the pill. It's my mom's fault. It's Ed's fault.

I love boys, their wickedness, and their sex.

Sometimes, though. Just sometimes, I wonder if I love what I love because they make an indestructible counterargument, a proof.

The story goes. I make myself desperately, happily available. Boys think I'm powerful because I look it. I'm cheap because I'm cheap. I'm not weak because I'm not weak. It's my choice, and I actively pursue it. My actions reflect my consequences, so crystal clear and beyond obvious, and it's easy. I like to feel like I control my consequences.

And I love the tricky high. No clothes, I'm wildly desired, special, appreciated. In the moment they love me. If I'm lucky, the next day's self-contempt that is normally crippling goes easy on me. But lucky or not doesn't matter. I can't stop anyway.

"You look so hot," Benji whispers.

Yeah. I like to think it's sometimes.

"You haven't called me in the past few weeks," I say. "Why?"

"I was busy."

Making a counterargument to what, proving what, I'm not totally sure.

"You missed my birthday."

"I had things to do." He sighs. "Do you really want to talk about this now?"

I can't help it. "Where's my birthday present?"

"This." He kisses my cheek.

I shove him, hard enough that he's actually jolted off. "Are you fucking with me?"

His eyes smolder. "I missed you."

"You see me at school all the time."

What I'm saying is a sentence, but the period marks it off in a limbo, like I'm abruptly cutting myself off. I pause, and long enough that he notes too much. He scans me and is not used to the way my hands hesitate, the way my eyes skitter off.

He smirks confusedly. "Is Bella Swan getting vulnerable?"

I try denying. "Don't talk to me like that."

It works.

His hand sneaks up my waist. "You're not really fighting me, Bella. I can tell."

I can tell, too. I want the tricky high. "I mean it."

He hides a grin, like he finds this cute. "I'll just have to change your mind."

He throws me to the rail. It hurts. He doesn't give a shit. His hands go straight for my breasts. He thinks my nipples are hard because I'm feeling it—I'm just fucking cold. He just wants in.

For a girl, sex is easy, procedural.

You kiss your boy until your boy is hard. It's nice if you're wet too, but you make sure you don't make him wait too long. Being somewhat wet is fine.

You spread your legs and in he goes. He enters and leaves your body, repeatedly, and you make sure he thinks you're enjoying the friction as much as him. You moan until he's happy and tricked. When you're done, you're done.

As my boy twists my chin and takes my mouth, I consider fighting.

I don't know why but I end up not fighting. I just let him stick his tongue in my mouth.

I am pushed into the shadier corner. I am bent over the rail. He pushes the dress up to my waist. My panties fall to my ankles. He spreads my ass apart.

I wish I were drunk.

"Stop."

"What?"

I don't look at him as I pull my panties back up. "I don't want to."

"What's wrong? I have a condom."

"I'm on my period."

"You're lying."

"Yeah. Whatever. I have to go pee anyway. And I'm not in the mood."

He looks at me as if such thing is not possible. I don't blame him.

"Oh, and stop ignoring me at school." I push the curtains and door. "It annoys the shit out of me."

.

.

.

I pee.

There's blood on my panties.

I dig around my purse.

You have to tell your parents.

I stick on a tampon.

Ed's a fucking idiot.

.

.

.

It's past midnight and freezing. Jessica's grumpy; she says she won't tip the valet because it's already been fifteen minutes.

Quietly, Jasper stands behind me and cups my pink ears. I don't feel like telling him thanks so I don't.

Rose is explaining something—something about the back of her dress—but I don't hear. She's talking louder than necessary to get Randall's attention. I'm not sure if it's working because I keep ending up looking over to Maggie.

Her perfect boyfriend touches the back of her hand every twenty seconds, her elbow every fifty. He smiles down at her every other minute.

Our eyes meet, linger. We've been doing that a lot tonight.

She says something in his ear. He disconnects from me, smiles privately down at her. He tucks her body between his arm and chest. He rubs her arm warm.

I was supposed to be the date.

"Jasper," I say. "Do you know where the senator is?"

.

.

.

Dad claps a hand on Ed's shoulder. The poor boy jumps and turns. He grins and exclaims my dad's name.

"We'll be heading home now," dad says.

I hook my arm around his. Maggie greets me with her pretty eyes; I do the same. I don't look at her again.

Ed shakes dad's hand. "It was a pleasure talking with you tonight."

"Why don't you come over for dinner soon? We can talk more. You and Renee have to sort out the details on Bella anyway."

There's a pause.

"Excuse me?" Ed inquires politely.

"If you make an A out of what Bella's sabotaged, I'll put in a good word for you with Georgetown admissions. I have a friend there. I know you're aiming for Yale, but it never hurts to have another solid option, right? Or is it more of a fallback?" Dad laughs by himself.

It clicks.

Ed joins in the laughter. I know it's mostly forced. "Thank you. I'll do my best."

We hear Jasper wailing for dad and me. "Car's here!"

When I look back, Ed's looking at me. I'm surprised he's not looking at me like a wounded puppy.

"Good night, Bella."

I act like I don't hear him.

I'm already some other guy's sick secret. I won't be this secret. It's unfair. One's enough.

.

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Author's Note: I was depressed and drunk for much of this chapter. You can probably tell (awkward laugh). So many disjointed, grammatically incorrect sentences. Still I'm happy with it because it feels raw and honest. I think I left the errors in on purpose.

Review is love! :) Tell me what you think. What was your favorite/least favorite moment? I hope the pace is all right with you guys.

Who also thinks the tutor thing is not going to work out for these two?

Sarah