I don't own Twilight, or Savages, or Melvin Udall, but I do own this dose of fiction.

AN: I wrote this fic based on the movie Savages for Kni Nut. It was started under a different account, but I was outted a week later. So, here it is. I'm stamping my name on it. Hopefully you like it and if you're still waiting patiently for Chopping and Changing to update, I'm still working on it.

*Chapter re-edited by Mariahajile

Chapter One...Ish

Falling in love was exactly how it sounded: abrupt, unpredictable, and face down in the dirt. Palms dented with a million pebbles, and knees scraped clean of the skin. The fresh wound bleeds and throbs. The pain's excruciating. Endless tears roll down your reddened cheeks, and you can't catch your breath from crying so hard.

It's in that moment, beyond the hurt and hammering heart, you know you're alive. And I fell down hard, not once but twice in this life. First, it was for Jasper Whitlock, and then it was for Edward Cullen.

It seemed impossible for someone like me to love this crazy. What did I know? I was a shy, sixteen-year-old girl with an expected naiveté about her. I didn't know what that queasy feeling in my stomach meant. My mom said it was bad shellfish. She didn't get it, never did. The way she described love was a generic brand of passion. You find a man who doesn't annoy you and gives you the big O at least two to three percent of the time, and you call it good.

Several divorces and countless boyfriends later, she still believes in this skewed description of relationships.

But I know the meaning of being thoroughly fucked.

How do I begin to explain how my thighs ache and tremble with the thought of their touches?

Yes.

Their.

Both of their hands and lips and dicks have been on me, in me, and through me. I'm not a cheater or a slut. These boys, harmony and war, are mine. I'm their girl. They love me more than life − almost more than they love each other; best friends since they were in diapers. They used to share surf boards, but now they share me.

I know nobody will understand unless they know how we came to be, how things are never what they seem.

How does a girl like me, transplanted from Arizona to live with her stoner father in California, become lucky enough to find herself in a fairy tale romance with two princes?

Well, I guess my story starts the day my father picked me up from the airport in a rusted '67 Malibu convertible.