A/N- another outtake. this one requested by the fabulous sah :) it was the least i could do for the person who routinely deals with my heinous attempts at spelling/grammar.

exciting news at the bottom :)


HANNAH POV (yep thats right)

The wheels of my grocery cart whine as I push it down the aisles. Somehow, I always pick the broken one of the lot. Fitting really. There is no point in pretending I'm not one of those people who feels an incessant need to fix.

Even as a child, I was always eager to provide the solution. I fixed broken crayons, fed stray kittens, and kissed wounds. The wound kissing was actually looked down upon, as I found out. After a long lecture from my teacher and my parents about how kisses are only for people who want them, I fell away from that habit.

But the need, the compulsion, kept on. It evolved over time, moving from crayons to popped buttons, from kissing wounds to the ultimate project, fixing boys. And that was what drew me to Edward Cullen.

Everything about him screamed 'fix me'. I spent more time in my global economics class watching him than listening to the lecture. There was something about the deep circles under his eyes and the permanent frown etched into his face that called out to my fixing nature.

So I shoved myself into his life, carved and cut out a place for myself. I should have realized that I didn't fit.

The back left wheel of the cart stops moving all together and emits a loud squealing noise as it drags across the linoleum. The few people within ear shot turn and glare. I kick at the wheel until it turns again.

I stop in front of the syrup and stare at the bottles and then back at the list in my hand. Grade B Maple Syrup. I pull the small jug from the shelf and place it in the cart. Jessica swears that this master cleanse will make me feel like a new person. Clear out years of bad karma. I think what she really means to say is that it'll make me stop thinking about Edward.

Just his name brings a flurry of emotions to the surface. My failed project. The one thing I set out to fix, but couldn't. I'm not sure if I'm more angry about not being able to put him back together, or that he left without giving me the chance.

Not that I didn't have time. I spent three years trying to mold him back into the man I thought he once was. But, it's pretty hard to do when he won't tell you who that man was.

So I was left to simply try every generic trick in my book. Things like encouraging exercise and reading self help books. I even tried to modify his diet to include foods that were known to release 'good vibes'.

And yet, I never made a dent. He continued to be the stale, robotic person I first saw in economics. The worst part was that I actually liked him that way. After a while, his indifference was calming, soothing even. Knowing that he would never buck too hard against anything I wanted. That I could essentially do what I pleased and he would agree, follow, comply.

I round the corner towards the produce looking for the next item on the list. The lemons are piled in front of me so perfectly that I feel bad plucking a few from the pile. But the list demands it. I take my time pulling them evenly from each side, trying to preserve some of the balance. Once I have the allotted amount, I push my creaking cart back into the mess of aisles in search of sea salt.

I wander down the rows, not really needing to hurry. I'm still getting used to my new neighborhood, my new home. There was a general sense of outrage amongst my friends when I decided to simply leave my old place, our place. The general opinion was that I should have kicked him to the curb, made him move in with his new…. Plaything.

A foul taste rises in my mouth. All my months of work, years even, and she gets results almost instantly. At first, I thought the new diet was working when he came home humming, a smile ghosting his lips. I stocked up on the tofu and organic juice, but along with his hint of happiness came defiance.

The bristling between us grew as his mood improved. He spent less and less time locked up in the spare room, less time at home in general. And then….

I swallow thickly and look up at the wall of spices. I reach out and pull the first container claiming to be sea salt off the shelf. I have little hope that this cleanse will take away the sinking feeling I get when I think about Edward, but at this point, I will try anything.

The path towards the registers should be direct, easy, but instead I choose to wander, further familiarize myself with this market. The natural flow of the store draws me to the bakery, an area I don't indulge in. I almost skirt past it, but then I hear it.

Laughter, loud, uninhibited, and unapologetic. The sound is almost foreign to me. It pulls me in. I inch closer, using a pillar as a guard and focus on the source of the noise.

The woman laughing is sitting on the floor, her lags sprawled out in front of her. Her back is to me, but I can see her shoulders shake with her continuing joy. I take in her body language, so relaxed. Her head is tipped up. I follow what I think is her line of sight and my mouth goes dry.

There, standing above her, his hands on his hips, and what looks like a sugar cookie crumbled into his hair, is Edward. I might have passed by him if I wasn't so fully entranced by watching their moment. He looks so different, with the slope of his shoulders, the gentle upward curve of his mouth.

He's trying to look angry, but he can't hide the light in his eyes as he looks at her. It burns through his ruse. I wonder if she realizes it.

She reaches up to him and he pulls her up and into his body. When he has her in his arms, he shakes the crumbs from his hair and shoulders down onto her as she squeals and squirms.

I move closer, forgetting my cart and the list. It's like a sick fascination. I feel like I'm seeing him for the first time, seeing the person I was trying to uncover. As I lean forward, I catch a display with my elbow and the plastic containers tumble to the floor.

I instantly reach down and begin to try to repair the mess. As I pick up the last box, another hand darts into view. My eyes follow the fingers to the wrist to the forearm, until it all culminates in a face that used to be familiar.

"Hannah," Edward breathes out towards me. I stand quickly and wipe any traces of the incident from my knees. He rises with me and tries to meet my eyes. I dart mine around, anxious for any distraction.

And then she appears beside him, her eyes wide and anxious, a hesitant smile on her face.

"Everything ok? Were there any casualties?" she asks. I grit my teeth against her inherent sweetness. Edward's eyes finally stop seeking mine and he turns his face towards her. Even from a profile I can see his smile.

"I think we were able to salvage all the cookies," he says to her, leaning closer with every word, like he can't get close enough. I back away, wanting to escape and wash this memory away.

"Damn. I was really hoping I could help get rid of the evidence," she sighs. She bites down on her lips and furrows her brow as she scans the now replaced containers. I take a brief moment to scrutinize her again.

In so many ways, I'll never understand what she possesses that allowed her to repair him in a way I couldn't. She doesn't look remarkable.

"Hannah was always good at putting things back together," Edward offers. His eyes meet mine and I fight back the urge to slap him. The familiarity of his words paired with the coolness of this tone is stabbing. He is so clearly past whatever we were.

"My loss then. How have you been Hannah?" she asks. I wish they would stop saying my name. It's starting to make me feel like I'm in a therapist's chair. I take another few steps back.

"You know, I really need to get going. I didn't realize that you two shopped here," I clamor. This obviously will not be my store of choice. Bella nods her agreement and wanders back to their cart, filled with nothing that is meant to lift auras or cleanse.

Edward remains in front of me. I turn away, hoping to quell the nagging feeling to tear into him again. The idea is to cleanse, to wash him away.

"How are you?"

His words stop me in my tracks. The anger can't be bedded down this time. I turn back to him and jab a pointed finger into his chest.

"You don't get to ask that question any more. I can't believe you. It's not bad enough that I have to know that you're with her, that you're obviously happier with her, but you think we can have casual conversation?" I huff.

He watches me curiously, like he wants this to happen.

"No. Just no," I conclude. I reach for my cart and shove it towards the registers. The wheel jams up again, but this time, I don't bother trying to fix it. I'm almost out of range when I hear it.

"See you around."

I want to turn back around and tell him that I hope to never see him again, but my anger has already ebbed. The truths of the situation have begun to rear their little heads and I can't ignore them.

As I near the register, I am more determined than ever to forget the man with sugar cookie in his hair. If he can move on and be so whole, so happy, then so can I. And I'll start with this cleanse.


A/N a couple of things....a new story is on its way, make sure you have me on author alert so you hear all about it!

AND....i'm participating in the support stacie auction :) starting tonight though sunday you can bid on...well... me. I'll write a 2,500 word twilight story/outtake for the winner. please head over and take a look/bid. its for a great cause :)


and finally....what did you think of hannah? like her more? less?