As promised here is my companion piece to "A rite of passage" from Edward's point of view.

For this to make any sense you need to read that first, or read them simultaneously. From here on, I will mention which chapter if goes with to make them easier to understand.

The EPOV's won't be the whole story just rewritten from his perspective, since that would make it tedious for you and for me. Instead they are going to be his thoughts during key moments of the story and scenes that were not in BPOV, whether because she wasn't present or because they are more meaningful to Edward.

And also, these will be shorter.




To be read alongside Chapter 3

'I much rather get it over with' She said.

I thought about it as I brushed my teeth in the bathroom.

Bella was an acquired taste. You had to be able to expect a long a winding path to lead you where her mind was. Many would give up on the journey, but I totally enjoyed it. You could not get bored.

Her stories were so intricate. Like the one she had used to make her point: her rendition of our future love lives. She always thinks she is so clever, but the picture she painted was predictable. Of course, I would get the cookie-cutter future, and she would wrinkle her nose and look down to it for being mainstream. But I could see through that:

The slight disappointment of knowing she was banned from it.

How would you interpret it? I would always get the more successful, pathetic in her words, but socially accepted future when hers would be the tragic, yet creatively rich, but still lonely future. Could she not see that?

But even if her stories had me being the less creative but happier one, they fascinated me. Like having my own personal Scheherazade. A never-ending story time. She'll make a good writer one day.

I normally don't think things over this much: that's Bella's department. But she laid a heavy one on me. I could see where she was going a mile before she expected me to, but oh!, isn't always the journey with her so much more rewarding?

She seems to think that she's the propeller of this friendship. It's fine with me if she wants to think so. She has just as much influence of me as I have of her.

But did she actually believe that I was the most prudish teenager she knows? This should hurt my ego. I'm a warm-blooded male, as anyone else, as Emmett for example. And I'm real and flawed too. A little bit on the inexperienced side, true, but when I may not have gone to the World Series, I've certainly been playing ball.

And I've certainly been noticing that she is part of the fairer sex. You would definitely notice it when you share a bed. I'm not proud of me, but I'm just human. One day I discovered with horror that my best 'mate' was rounder and softer... And smelled damn good too!

I don't lust for her... I don't have a crush on her... She's still my best friend… But yet, she is a woman. And I'm a man.

I've always known that we couldn't stay this way forever. I know one day she'll have a life and a partner and kids. I probably will as well. And as sad as that may be, it's just the way life is. I'll still love her but we won't have the same bond we have now.

I know she's terrified of change. Wouldn't you if you had to experience what is like to have your world crumble in a second, and then be forced to rebuild it? I made it my task to help her out of her hell, not just because of my guilt (survivor's guilt) but because she is a necessary part of my own universe.

And so, today she showed her hand.

And it was sweet and sad and hilarious, as she normally is.

I know what brought this up. Everyone around us is growing up and we're the only ones clutching to dear life to our childhood. So her solution is both courageous and cowardly. Like being afraid of dying and killing yourself instead.

And yet, it makes sense to me.

She's also my safe bet.

It is with her, and only with her, that I'm willing to face the unknown.

Here I go.

I leave our shared bathroom and enter her room.

Lights are out and I'm not brave enough to turn them on.

I find her on her bed and I sit facing her. I know what we're doing here, and I know it's my time to take the lead. She opened her heart and her fears, and offered herself to me, it's only fair that I make this the easiest possible for her.

As I start recognizing her with my hands I find out that her body seems so familiar, and it makes me calmer. And yet, she's so soft, so much softer than I expected.

I slowly unwrap this arcane gift given to me and I discover that not only is this exploration what makes my blood boil, but what I can make her body do, that I can make it work. I'm fascinated and in awe of what my finger can do just by gently brushing her tender nipples. Her breathing, her gasps, are the sweetest sounds I've known. And they make me firm.

I've had enough of this. I want to know what other beautiful sounds I can get of this exquisite instrument. I take her top off and I touch her directly, and she takes my breath away when she arches and tenses. How something so delicate can be at the same time so strong?

There, the most generous and unconditional offer. And I promptly and gratefully take it. I hold her firmly as I taste her wonders, the proverbial land of milk and honey.

Before long we're both bare. No place to hide. Nowhere to go but to her. I know what I'm about to do. My sanity trembles.

And then she brings me back with her humor.

I know what she's trying to do.

I know she's nervous.

And as usual through her witticism she just blurts out what she fears and what she wants. She wants me to distract her and make this swift. And so I do, instinctively and surprising myself, I shut her up with my own mouth.

And as I kissed her I entered her. I'm decisive and I want it to be as painless as it can be, but I know I'm hurting her.

I've broken her seal.

And as she stops breathing and tenses and I feel like an ass, and I panic.

She amazes me once more. She's the calmer one and I know, she's always stronger than me.

I kiss her now again, with care and very slowly.

I surrender. My mind is drifting, there are no more conscious decision, but the natural and imperative movements of her body and mine. We are in perfect rhythm. From all the time we've been playing together, for the first time we are in perfect synchronicity.

The tempo is just right.

The moonlight hits her face: her eyes are closed and I see, her beautiful face so humble an honest.

And soon it was done.

I came home. And she was there to greet me.