Last Chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it :) Thanks for all the reviews and alerts guys, I love them. And thanks for sticking with me through my story.


The day after I woke up, Bella called Alice to tell her that I was alive, and Jasper and Alice were here the next day. Emmett and his wife, whom was an utter bitch to Bella, were also in Seattle, mostly to accompany Bella. Sheriff swan was around a lot too, making sure Bella was okay. Bella was really beat up about Rosalie's death, but she was brave, and even though I could feel like she was going to break down and fall apart, she didn't do much but make sure I was okay.


My father was helping me with my physical therapy, so we were getting along great. But PT was an absolute bitch. Basically, my entire right side was fucked up and walking and using my right arm was going to take a little bit of therapy so my brain can process that my body needs to fucking move.

Not to mention that it fucking hurt like hell.

"Good Edward. Use the rails," My father coaxed. I grimaced.

"Use the rails, Edward," Bella said after him. "Don't be an asshole. You don't have to prove anything to anybody."

I grinned at her. I set my hands on the rails on either side of me and took some steps. It took two weeks to get that far. At the rate I was recovering, I was never going to walk.

"Don't worry," Bella said to me, her curly hair bouncy and she skipped over to me. She kissed me lightly. "I'll still love you if you're a cripple."

I laughed and kissed her back.


It had been almost three weeks since I'd woken up, and in that time, I'd be able to stabilize myself and use some crutches to get around. It was still a little hard for me to get up stairs and I had this thing where I didn't want Bella doing everything for me. I swear. If she could pick me up she would carry me everywhere. She had that shit eating grin on her face when I asked her for something. It was like she actually enjoyed taking care of me.

When we were home, Bella would cook and clean, ad make sure I was alright. I never asked her for anything—it frustrated her to see me limping around when my father—a doctor—told me to stay off of my leg. I was just happy that I didn't have to relearn how to right since I was left handed.

"You're going to hurt yourself worse," she said.

I laughed at her. "Yeah right. I can't let you do everything Bella," I said to her. "That would be wrong."

She nodded. "Yes you can, douche bag. Go sit down and be a normal man, and let a woman take care of things." She smiled.

I shook my head. "You're not like that Bella."

She smiled. "Let me take care of you Edward."

I flashed her a mischievous grin, and said, "I'd like you to take care of me this way."

I grabbed her hips and pulled her to me, smacking my lips on hers. She melted into me, like she had always and giggled. "Not until you're better. You know that."

When we'd left the hospital, the doctor said no sex. And though I wasn't upset initially, masturbating in the shower was getting really old.

"And besides," she said with a small smile. "I love taking care of you."

I finally let Bella fix dinner and we sat on the couch, Bella snuggling into my side, as we ate and watched TV.


The funeral was horrible. Everyone was crying and mourning and I felt like I was suffocating.

She was a great woman.

I'm so sorry for your loss.

I know how you feel—last year I lost . . .

You'll overcome it.

She's still in your heart.

I didn't give a fuck what these people thought. Not one single care in this goddamn world. They didn't know what happened when we were alone. They didn't know what the hell they talking about.

Bella and I were talking to my father, Bella laughing at something he said. But I hadn't been listening. I was taken out of the conversation when I saw a woman, dressed in all black, stomp over to me.

And right then, I didn't want to fucking deal with her, but she was marching towards me, her eyes like murder, her hands balled up into fists.

My mother.

I hadn't seen my mother since the day Alice had taken me to go see her. And even though I remember her harsh words from when I was sleeping, I couldn't help but push that from my memory. My mother was an almost murderer.

"YOU!" she shouted. People turned their heads to see her, yelling and breaking into a run towards me. Bella looked frantic, steeping closer to me.

"YOU WERE THE ONE THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO DIE! NOT MY DAUGHTER!" She screamed. She pushed me down and I didn't really put up much of a fight, considering the fact I was on crutches.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Esme!" My father yelled at her. Carlisle was angry, it was evident in his voice, but in all of the years I'd known him, I'd never seen it in his face like I did now.

"ROSALIE IS GONE AND HE'S STILL LIVING! HOW IS THAT FAIR?" Esme screamed. Everyone was staring, and Bella was helping me off of the floor and onto a bench, handing me my crutches.

I looked up at her. "Mom . . . I—"

She smacked me, right across my face, and I hissed, but Bella, she just looked up at Esme. Her eyes—I could tell in an instant Bella was pissed off. Her eyes were dark with a vicious crazed frenzy and I already knew this was going to end calmly, or someone was going to end up in a hostpital.

"Get out," she said calmly.

"Who the hell are you to tell me to get out?" Esme said back. "This is my daughter!" She cried.

Charlie walked up and grabbed Esme's hand, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. "I don't want to have to arrest you Mrs. Cullen in front of all these people, but you're just asking for it," he said to her. I could see that he was Sheriff Swan, rather than Charlie, Isabella's father.

And it was scary to say the least.

Esme glared at all of us, and lunged for Bella, pushing her to the floor and Charlie and Carlisle had to break them up, Charlie arresting my mother. What a sight to behold, my mother being taken away in handcuffs.

I was embarrassed of my mother. She was crazy and hysterical, and everyone would be talking about this funeral for years, not sure if they would like to pay respects to someone if Esme Cullen was going to be there, pushing people down and telling them they should have died. Especially to her own son, who was recovering from a serious car accident.

Oh, fuck my life.

Elizabeth, Eddie, and Evangeline were all at the funeral too. Evangeline and I were so alike, and I guess when I was a twin, that would happen. She had so many of my habits, and she could even raise a single eyebrow just like I could.

"What?" she said in her perfect English accent.


"I love you, little Eddie," she said simply. It wasn't overly affectionate, but with the way I had been feeling of late, it made my heart fucking stutter.

"Love you too, Eva."

She grinned and scampered away to my mother and father, where they kept their space from me, letting me heal.

The preacher-dude said some nice religious things about Rosalie, and then her wooden casket was lowered into the ground, and everyone picked up clumps of dirt to throw on it. I didn't. Why would I throw dirt on someone I loved? Even if they were dead?

Alice was having a reception at mine and Bella's apartment, but we stayed upstairs, away from all the people.

I was already warn out about worrying I was going to get into another car accident on the way home, and this morning I had to fight with Bella until she eventually pushed me into the fucking car.

I was fucked up even worse than I had been before the accident. I was scared of cars and driving, and if we couldn't walk there, I stayed home while Bella went. It pissed Bella off at first but then she cooled down, since we were getting therapy for it—me for the car fear and Bella for her unstable emotions when it came to Rosalie.

Bella was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at a folder of papers that Rosalie's lawyers had given her, the heir to Rosalie's throne.

"She must have loved you too for you to be the one to get all of her shit," I said.

Bella shrugged. "I only helped her with what she needed. She didn't have to . . . I loved her back though," she said. Bella looked up at me with sad brown eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

"But do you know how much that is?" I said to her. She looked up at me, with her big doe yes, confused at what I was saying.


"Rosalie's net worth."

She shook her head. "Rosalie was worth one hundred million dollars. She's a really good lawyer. And the fact that she married that asshole and took all of his money when she found out he was cheating on her . . ." I shrugged. "What are you going to do with it?"

"I don't want it." Bella closed the folder and set it back in the drawer she'd taken it from. She kicked off her heels, slipped out of her dress and snaked under the blankets of our bed.

I smiled at her. "I thought you would say that." I stood up and pulled out a different folder from the desk.

"What's this?" she asked me.

"A list of charities to give Rosalie's money to." I looked at Bella and she smiled. "You're not the kind to accept a present that enormous so I did a little research—"

"To Write Love On Her Arms."

"I thought you might be interested in that one."

Bella said nothing. She looked through that specific charity and read all of the paperwork I had printed out.

It was a few hours before Bella made up her mind to give to TWLOHA.

"Did you pick that one because it's for people who cut themselves?" she asked me after a while.

I nodded. "I couldn't help it. Not when my girlfriend cuts herself."

She sighed. She lay back, tossing the folder onto the nightstand. She beckoned me to lay next to her and so I made my way from the desk to the bed, where she helped me into the bed.

"But there are some things of Rosalie's that I do want to keep," Bella whispered. Her voice was soft, like she was testing the words out.

I looked up at her, confused. "Like what?"

"Like her house. And everything in it."

I looked at her, confused. "You want Rosalie's house? I thought we were going to live here at the apartment

"But a house is so much better. It's not too big and it's close to the University if one of us decides to go . . . and there's enough room for kids even." Bella's voice was thoughtful and soft.

"You're talking about adopting aren't you?"

"When the time is right of course."

"What if I said I didn't want kids?"

Bella shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not really sure if I want them either, but could you at least keep an open mind?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so." She smiled.

There was a knock at the door and Alice poked her head inside. "You guys okay?" She asked.

She was showing now, tremendously, considering she was almost five months into her pregnancy. She wobbled when she walked now, because she was so big, and having twins.

"Yeah," Bella and I answered simultaneously. Alice smiled.

"You sure?"

We nodded.

Alice sighed. "Everything's clear. Everyone went home. Jasper and I are heading to the hotel. See you tomorrow?" She asked.

Bella and I nodded again.

"I love you guys," she said. She kissed and hugged each of us, demanding that we called her if we needed anything. Yeah. Like we were going to call a pregnant woman if we needed anything.

Alice disappeared without another word.

Bella hitched her leg over my hips, and I welcomed her body, her warmth, craving to touch her in ways that I hadn't in a long time. Over three months.

"Bella, can I ask you a question?" I said to her, whispering in her ear. She nodded. I grinned. "Have you ever touched yourself thinking about me?"

Bella laughed. And it was a real laugh, musical and heartfelt, and it made me laugh as well.

"Duh, Edward. I couldn't exactly walk to your room in the center and say, 'Hey, you want to fuck?' whenever I wanted to," she said with a light giggle. "Why do you ask?"

I shrugged. "Just wondering."

"I haven't done anything sexual since the last time we had sex, if that's what you're wondering, Edward." She smiled. "But I'd like to change that, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind, Bella. In fact, that was exactly what I was hoping you'd say."

He pressed her lips to mine and clothes came off, and skin was pressed tightly against skin, and I felt like nothing could break the bubble of our dirty little sex world.


Two Years Later

Rosalie's house didn't change at all. It stayed the same, except Bella and I moved or things into it. Rosalie's lawyer books were next to Bella's dance manuals and my manuscript booklets. Rosalie's pictures were still displayed, and Bella and I put ours next to them.

But no one ever went into the room that Rosalie died in. It wasn't the master bedroom, but her study. We kept the door closed, and Bella hung a framed photograph of Rosalie on the door, like it was a memory . . . a reminder for us not to go in there. For the first few weeks, Bella couldn't pass the door without bursting into tears.

But she stopped cutting. There weren't any new scars or wounds, and for each day Bella went without cutting, she marked a tally on the wall in permanent marker, next to the door like we were docking our height.

Living with Bella was easy. So easy. We were so . . . together in every fucking thing we did. It wasn't hard to be with her. Never. I loved waking up to her in the morning, walking in on her naked when she just stepped out of the shower, hearing her hum my favorite songs while she cooked, watching her dance.

I loved her so much . . . I can't believe how much. But it's definitely enough to understand how I felt before I'd met her. It was like I was living my entire life in the dark, and then she comes and brightens it up like the sun. Automatic light, nothing artificial, nothing planned or fake, just BAM right into my life, and ever since then . . . I couldn't say no to anything she'd ever said to me.


Living with Edward was more than I imagined.

Everything revolved around us, and even with our classes at the University, everything just shifted into a new light. Our lives . . . the impulse to cut, the impulse to die . . . they weren't apparent anymore.

I never thought someone like Rosalie could have the impulse to off herself. She seemed so sure, and the funeral . . . I wasn't sure of anything. I couldn't only see her body hanging . . .

Edward and I attended frequent therapy sessions over the past year. He was still too afraid to ride around in cars, and I was still having panic attacks whenever I thought of Rosalie.

I couldn't cut myself. Instead, I burned. It was so much easier to do, than to deal with blood. Just a simple little burn and I would snap out of whatever I was feeling. No scars, no blood, no bandages, just me and the lighter. And it was such a sweet pain.

Maybe I would tell Edward in the future. That I had stopped cutting, but was still hurting myself.

To Write Love On Her Arms just wasn't enough for me.

Guilt filled me when I thought of Edward, our happy, dysfunctional lives together. We were so fucked up, but together, it was like our flaws disappeared.

I didn't know where they went, but fucking and talking and touching and laughing . . . . Nothing went wrong when we were by ourselves, not being intruded upon by the rest of the fucking world. Just alone in our house, laughing and kissing and making love all the time . . . I couldn't get enough of Edward. Ever.

He placed his hand on my belly and I moaned outward, still panting from the moments before, where Edward and I had fucked.

I closed my eyes trying to pretend he wasn't having this effect on me. Trying to pretend I wasn't suffocating from all the love and the lust in the fucking room. He lay pressed against me, his arms around my waist, and his lips on the back of my neck. I could feel his hard cock nudge against my ass, and I relished in the fact that I could get him that hard so quickly. It was a sort of smugness that I could satiate my boyfriend, somewhat, since he kept coming back for more.

I turned around and let him kiss me, his mouth hot and needy and his cock heated and hard against my inner thigh. I took hold of his erection and slid my fist up and down, pumping him, eliciting encouraging sounds, sounds that made my pussy so wet for him, with desire for him to fuck me all over again.

I hitch a leg over his hip and guided him into me, where he effortlessly slipped inside. I groaned, adjusting to his size, which always felt new, like I was still fucking him for the first time. He moved slowly, his hips rocking against mine. His fingers twisted and pinched my nipples into hardened peaks and I groaned into his mouth, grabbing his ass and pulling him deeper into me, craving him to fill me to the fucking brim.

"You're so wet Bella," he grunted. "I fucking love it."

"Fuck me, baby," I groaned out, wanting him all over me. I squirmed as I felt his fingers run over my body, down to my stomach where he flicked my clit, rubbing it with the pad of his thumb, pushing me to the edge, but not quite over.

"Fuck," he groaned. His kisses were fervent and hot, his tongue seeking out mine, and I let him taste me, let him bit my lip, suck on my tongue.

His thrusts were harder now, our bodies sliding against each other's, creating the sweetest friction I'd ever tasted. My name fell from his lips a few times and his kisses trailed down to my neck, marking me, giving me those unexplainable hickeys that made me blush in front of my classmates.

I pulled him on top on me, my legs wrapping around his waist, my hands curling in his hair, tugging him down to meet my lips. He was all around me. I could feel every part of him—his breathing, his profanity, his rhythm were my music and I danced along with him, arching my hips up to meet his in our sensual fucking dance.

He pounded me into the mattress with an unknown vigor and I welcomed him deeper, my fingers running furiously at my clit as my hips bucked to meet his as he continued to thrust his hard, hot cock into me, not once a sign of hesitation.

But it wasn't over yet. He rolled onto his back and I straddled him, riding him while he palmed my tits, my hard nipples pressing into his hands. I rested my hands on his chest, moving my hips forward and back. I felt my belly tighten and I clenched my eyes shut.

"Let it go, Bella," he growled, and I was too ready to comply, to let go and be done with it,. I felt his hands drop from my tits to my ass, slamming me down on his body until I came, a strangled moan escaping my lips, my hands in my hair as my body continued to ride out the intense wave of my second orgasm.

He came them, a scorching liquid spearing through me and I moaned out as he cried out my name, his orgasm hitting him just as hard.

I collapsed on top of him, his arms wrapping around my waist.

"I'm so happy you're my girl."

I hummed into his neck, his cock still in me. "I'm happy too, Edward."

I sat up, mulling over the news I had to share with him. I bit my lip, looking down into his green eyes, exhausted from sex and foreplay, what we'd been doing all day.

"What's wrong?" He asked. He reached out and fingered a lock of hair, pushing it behind my ear. He cupped my cheek and looked into my eyes, trying to coax it out of me when I hesitated.

"I wouldn't exactly say something's wrong, per se . . ."

"Bella, you're doing that annoying thing where you're being vague and making me nervous." He sat up and I climbed off of him, sitting across from him. I placed a hand on my belly.

"I'm at sixteen weeks. I thought I was getting fat . . . and the pill keeps me from getting my period, I was vomiting like crazy so Leah took me to see the doctor and they took blood samples and made me pee in a cup and I was scared of what they were going to say, of what I was going to do, and all I could think about was Rosalie and how she couldn't have kids, and here I am, pregnant with a little nudger that is such a miracle—I didn't know how to tell you, and every time I would try, we would just end up fucking again . . ." I trailed off and looked at Edward who looked completely lost, dazed, just staring at me, his eyes big and wide.

"A baby?"

"I know you said you didn't want kids, and you're only twenty, but her he is—"

"A fucking baby?" He put his hands on my shoulder, his lips pulling into the widest smile I'd ever seen. "It's a boy?" he asked. I nodded. I was so late into my pregnancy they did a sonogram to make sure he was okay. I reached over to the nightstand and pulled out an envelope with the pictures of the little baby in my stomach.

We both sat there and cried, looking at pictures of a baby that wasn't supposed to happen.

"Wow, he's so tiny," I whispered to Edward, still fascinated that this, this was growing inside of me. I could have kids, and here I was, bearing one. I ran a finger of the little baby's head, Edward's hand on my stomach. "What should we name him? I asked.


"Really?" I asked, totally already in love with our little baby Liam.

"Yes," Edward said. I laughed. He leaned over and kissed my stomach over and over again.

"And his middle name could be Elijah," I said. "Liam Elijah Cullen."

Edward looked surprised as I said our baby's full name, attaching his last name to the end.

"What, not Swan in that mix?" He said, his lips twitching to smile.

I shook my head. "It doesn't fit well," I said. I shrugged. "He's your baby anyway," I said.

Edward laughed.

"Isabella Marie Cullen," he teased. My heart tightened at the use of my name with his last name, him implying something I'd only ever thought of a few times but never dwelled on.

"I wish," I breathed.

"You don't have to wish, Bella," he said softly in my ear. "Let's make it happen."

I blushed madly and deeply, and Edward, traced the patterns of the scars all over my body, some faded so they were barely seen, others more prominent. But it didn't matter anymore. Edward and I were satisfied with what life was giving to us. We were going to have our miracle baby.


Some people had impulses to do crazy things, like cut themselves tot eh point of danger, or chase a dangerous mix of prescription pills with vodka. Set a house on fire, push people down the stairs. Steal boyfriend, have sex for money. Shoot themselves in the heart.

But how many people have the impulse to do it for real?

The serious impulse to cut where it's not dangerous anymore, only fatal. To chase down the perfect lethal mix of medicine with alcohol. TO burn a house down with people living inside, to push someone to their death, to steal a boyfriend and kill the ex, to have sex for money and get rid of the man who took too much? To not miss and let the bullet straight through the heart.

II don't have that kind of serious impulse.

Edward doesn't have that impulse.

Rosalie had more than impulse, she had courage. She had balls to do it.

Was it the right way to go?

Fuck no.

But it happened.

And it's over.

Do you have the impulse to end it? To seriously cut off all the lights?

To die?

Do you?

That serious, deathly serious impulse?



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