A/N: So since half of the people in charge of this contest are my betas, they couldn't beta this pretty for me. I still love you both, though.

Thanks to annanabanana for guest beta duties.

Thanks to agu eat world, littlesecret84 and juliebee for listening to me whine about this and keeping my secret for this long.

I picked this song because Joan Jett was the first concert I ever saw. I was 4 years old and to this day, this is still one of my favorite songs by her.

NaughtyHeels Anonymous One-Shot Contest
Title: Can't Break Free
Name of Song and Artist of Inspiration Song: Joan Jett & The Blackhearts
I Hate Myself For Loving You
Characters: Rosalie/Edward
Disclaimer: None of this is mine and that makes me a sad panda.

I Hate Myself For Loving You By Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

Midnight, gettin' uptight. Where are you?
You said you'd meet me, now it's quarter to two
I know I'm hangin' but I'm still wantin' you.

Hey, Jack, It's a fact they're talkin' in town.
I turn my back and you're messin' around.
I'm not really jealous, don't like lookin' like a clown.
I think of you ev'ry night and day.
You took my heart, then you took my pride away.

I hate myself for loving you .
Can't break free from the the things that you do.
I wanna walk but I run back to you, that's why
I hate myself for loving you .

Daylight, spent the night without you.
But I've been dreamin' 'bout the lovin' you do.
I won't be as angry 'bout the hell you put me through.
Hey, man, bet you can treat me right.
You just don't know what you was missin' last night.
I wanna see your face and say forget it just from spite.

I hate myself for loving you .
Can't break free from the the things that you do.
I wanna walk but I run back to you, that's why
I hate myself for loving you.

My foot rapidly tapped the ground, no where near the beat of the music the band was playing. I scanned the crowd again, praying I would catch a glimpse of my girl - blond hair, amazing body, legs for days and hellfire all wrapped into one. I raked my hand through my hair and checked my phone for the time. It was midnight, and there were no new messages from her. I read the text she'd sent me again as if the words would have changed in the last three hours.

From: Rose Hale 9:02 p.m.
Be there in five minutes.

I poked the man standing next to me in the shoulder. "Em. Have you heard from Rosie?"

He shook his head and smiled. "Sorry dude. No word. I'm sure she'll be here soon."

Try as I might, I couldn't calm myself down. This was so like her. She'd say she was going to meet me then show up several hours later or not at all.

I wasn't stupid - I knew what people said.

She's always late because she's with someone else.

She doesn't really like you, let alone love you.

She's not worth it, why do you even bother?

Thing was, I could handle if it was my friends saying those things to me, but it wasn't just my friends. It was everyone, even people I didn't know. I'd be out with my boys, and inevitably Rose's name would come up. Some fucking eavesdropper would jump in with "Oh you're nailing her, too?"

We weren't a conventional couple. We weren't even really a couple. Fuck buddies, friends with benefits, causal hook-up, fall back fuck, whatever you wanted to call it, that's what Rose considered us.

My heart vehemently disagreed with her assessment of what we were to each other. My heart was in love, though my brain knew better. So even though Rosalie wasn't exactly faithful to me, I was a pussy about the whole thing and skulked around as though she were my girlfriend instead of something casual. I wasn't jealous of the other guys she hooked up with – really, I wasn't – but I despised the looks I got from other people when I fumbled and gave away my true feelings.

Their pity made me so angry. Not with them, never with her, but with myself. Every time she reminded me we were nothing serious, a vice squeezed my heart uncomfortably. I knew we could work if only she was willing to try. She had no reason not to try other than she just didn't feel like it.

I played darts with Jasper and Emmett for a while, checking my phone every so often for a missed call, a text message, any contact at all from Rosalie. Fifteen minutes before last call, I finally admitted to myself that she wasn't coming. I paid our tab and said goodbye to the guys.

As I walked home, I tried to convince myself I didn't care anymore. She'd been staying with me for months, so I stopped for a cup of coffee to sober myself up. As long as she was remotely coherent when she came through the door, I was going to lay it on the line – either we gave this a go and tried to be an actual couple, or we forgot it, forgot everything, and she moved out in the morning.

I flopped down on the couch and flipped through the channels aimlessly. The coffee wasn't helping me stay awake; I found myself drifting in and out of sleep.

My subconscious assaulted me with images of Rose and me together.

Her fingers in my hair, pulling almost painfully, while I licked her.

Her mouth on me and that fucking self-satisfied smile she gave me every time she got me off.

Pounding into her over and over again.

Us against the door to my apartment; us against the shower wall; her bent over the kitchen counter, the half wall of the loft, the back of the sofa.

Road head on the way to the beach last summer.

My fingers inside of her at her favorite restaurant, against the wall in the alley behind my favorite bar, behind Pac-Man at the arcade.

Her on my lap in the cab we shared with Jasper, Alice and Emmett on the way back from a concert – Thank God for skirts.

I woke early the next afternoon, still in the jeans and button down I'd worn to the bar. It dawned on me right away that Rose hadn't come home. Sleep did for me what coffee couldn't; I was sober and ready to face the day, what was left of it anyway.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I yawned as I answered. "Jasper. What's up man?"

He invited me to lunch, but I begged off. I was hoping Rosalie would come home. Even if all she was here for was to grab a shower and a change of clothes before heading off to her next conquest, I needed to see her.

It was nearly 5 p.m. by the time Rosalie came in, wearing the same holey jeans and Joan Jett t-shirt she'd left in the day before. Her hair was all over the place, and she looked like she'd been hit by a bus. "You look like shit."

"Thank you, smart ass." She kicked off her shoes, dropped next to me on the couch and shoved her feet in my lap. "Rub."

I rolled my eyes at her, sighed and started massaging her feet. "Where were you last night? I wanted to have a talk with you. I tried to wait up," I said, removing a hand from her foot to gesture at my own wrinkled clothing.

She threw her head back against the arm rest with a groan. "Edward...We've talked about this. I'm not discussing what goes on when I'm not here with you. That's just creepy."

"Whatever. Can we talk, or are you going to fall asleep on me?"

"Fuck you." Her dramatics continued with arms crossed over her chest and a huff.

I kept rubbing her feet and started working my way up her legs. She huffed louder when I didn't speak right away. "Give me a few minutes. I need to collect my thoughts."

I took a few steadying breaths and pulled her into my lap. "I want to give this a go, Rosie. You and me. I know that strictly speaking you're not a relationship person, but I think we could be good together." I pressed a kiss to her temple, my fingers toying with the ends of her hair. "Please. I just want to try, Rose. Please."

It pained me to beg her, but I couldn't not do it. She was absolutely everything to me, all I ever wanted.

She told me again that she couldn't do a conventional relationship, but her body language gave her away. Her face was buried in my neck, her arms tightened around me and her tears soaked through my shirt. She wanted this just as much as I did, and in that moment, I knew I would do whatever it took to make her mine. She pushed away from me, muttering something about wanting to get a shower and just relax.

"Wanna watch a movie or something?" I asked as she walked toward the bathroom. She nodded and disappeared through the door.

I was thumbing through the DVDs when she emerged from her shower wearing nothing but a smile. Her hair was still dripping slightly, sending small beads of water on erratic paths down her body. I watched one in particular drop from a strand of hair to her collarbone, over the swell of her breast and catch on her nipple. As if the sight of her stark naked hadn't instantly made me hard, this addition, that perfectly formed drop of water on her pert nipple, broke any sense of control I had.

I rushed toward her, my mouth crashing down on hers as I shoved her against the wall. Our teeth clicked together from the force of the kiss, and my hands were everywhere. She tore my shirt off and fumbled with the buttons on my jeans. My pants and boxers fell in a pool around my ankles, and I gripped her ass as she slinked her legs around my waist. In one fluid motion, I was inside of her.

There was nothing romantic or sweet about this; there never was with us. I wanted that to change. Even now, as I slid frantically in and out of her, I longed to make love to her. When I slowed my pace to test her, she growled, "Don't you dare slow down now," digging her heels into my ass and her nails into my shoulders.

My mind went blank, the sensation of being with her when she was in this frame of mind too much to process. The only thing I knew was the feel of her wrapped around me and the noises she made as I brought her to her release.

She threw her head back and clawed harder at my back, moaning my name as she climaxed and wrapping her legs tighter around me. I thrust into her erratically, moaning her name over and over again as I came. Her legs loosened, and she pushed herself away from me, hurrying back into the bathroom.

Sighing, I scrubbed a hand over my face and pulled my pants up. Sex was a coping mechanism for Rosalie, so this was inevitable. I didn't understand why I fell for it time and again, but I did; she knew all it took to make me forget about whatever serious topic I tried to discuss with her was for her to appear naked in front of me.

Twenty minutes later, we were seated on opposite ends of the couch watching The Breakfast Club. I zoned out; it was Rosalie's favorite movie, and she'd forced me to watch it so many times I could quote it without any prompt. Right around the time Bender asked Vernon about raiding Barry Manilow's wardrobe, I checked out of the movie completely.

I'd been beating myself up for years over this thing with her. We always ended up in this pathetic tête-à-tête. I'd push her for a relationship; she'd shoot me down. I'd say fuck it and leave, then run into her a few months later, and we'd start the cycle all over again.

I was just so tired. Tired of wanting her, of being so aware of everything she did, of her mind fucking me on a goddamn hourly basis. I pushed off the couch suddenly. "Fuck this, Rose. I'm going to bed."

I stripped down to my boxers and collapsed in a heap onto my bed. Lack of sleep the night before and the emotional roller coaster I'd been on had exhausted me, and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


Soft, warm hands caressed my cheek, my neck and wet, open mouthed kisses were pressed to my chest. Her hands worked their way down to my boxers, tugging them off, and I heard them hit the floor next to the bed. My hips jerked when she wrapped her mouth around me. I felt her shift on the bed, nudging my legs apart and settling between them before wrapping her hand around me and licking slowly, torturously over the head of my cock.

She worked her hands and mouth on me until I was grunting and damn close to exploding. She pulled away from me, and I groaned at the loss of contact, gasping when she settled herself onto me. My hands settled on her hips, but I let her set the pace. This was slow, sensual. She whispered my name softly, and I opened my eyes. Hers were bright, piercing blue and locked onto mine.

She never looked me in the eye during sex. Hell, she never wanted slow sex. This had to be it - she had changed her mind and wanted to give this a go. My heart started pounding. This. Is. It. She kept her pace steady, leaning down to kiss my chest, cheeks, the tip of my nose, and lips. I watched her lift back up, pull her shirt over her head and trail her hand across a breast and down, to slide between us.

The sight of her touching herself drove me insane. I couldn't pull my eyes away from her fingers. They worked slowly at first, matching the rise and fall of her hips, her pace gradually increasing, until she was rubbing her clit furiously and panting, my name falling from her lips repeatedly. She came, harder than I'd ever seen her come, and I wasn't far behind her. My fingers dug into her hips, pulling her down against me until I spilled inside of her.

She shifted to lay beside me, her head nestled into the crook of my neck. My arm curled around her, and I lay there, listening to her quiet snores before drifting back to sleep, content in the knowledge that this was it. We were together now.

Rosalie wasn't in bed when I woke up the next morning. I didn't see her for almost a week, and then it was only so that she could collect her things. She moved in with her friend Alice, and it was nearly a month before I saw her again.

I stopped at a corner bistro to grab a cup of coffee and a bagel on my way to work. I heard and smelled her before I saw her. She was standing with a petite brunette, smiling and laughing. I looked away, but when I could no longer hear her, I knew she'd spotted me.

"Edward." Such a simple thing for her to say, but it made my blood boil.

"Good morning, Rosalie," I said curtly.

I was polite, but I couldn't afford to be nice to her. I'd had enough of her shenanigans, and I had to protect myself from further heartbreak.

"Edward, can we talk? Maybe have lunch later this week?" Her voice cracked, and she avoided meeting my eyes.

I considered the options. Meeting with her could start our vicious cycle over again, but not meeting with her would mean no closure. Ever. Each side had pros and cons.

Closure won out. "Sure, Rosalie. That would be fine."


She called me a few days later, and we met for lunch. I sat across the table from her and listened as she told me all the reasons we were wrong for each other. I silently disagreed with everything she said.

We ended up back at my place after lunch, naked and writhing between the sheets.

She was gone again the following morning.


What Rose and I have is never ending. She makes me feel things I don't feel with any other women. I hate that. Walking away would be easiest, but I can't. No matter what, I just can't break free of her.

At the moment, I don't know if I'm continuing this or not. Home Run is wrapping up, KRM is closer to done than I'd like to admit and I have to say… I'm kind of in love with the Carlisle/Rose pair I did for HappyBirthdayNina. Not to say I won't continue it, I just don't know.