~*Author's Note and Disclaimer*~

Twilight is by Stephenie Meyer.

"I Want To Tell You" is by The Beatles.

This story is by me.

This has been tumbling around my brain for awhile now. I'm rather pleased with it.


It all started as part of my Intro to Classical Music class. Everyone had to attend a concert, myself included. I honestly didn't get the point; I enjoyed classical music but I had a 12-page paper due on the Aestheticism movement for my Comparative Literature class, not to mention a ton of studying to do for calculus. Suffice it to say, I had better things to do than get dressed up and go to a stuffy concert. But an assignment is an assignment and I had run out of time: all approved concerts had passed except for one.

Of course, I was left attending some overachieving music major's concert. Apparently he'd composed all the music just this year or something. He probably thought he was hot shit because he'd been granted the concert over the other students, the tortured artiste type with an ego the size of North America.

I wasn't expecting much, and the night seemed more than happy to fulfill my expectations.

Parking sucked. The concert was in the smallest music hall the university had. The seats were mostly empty. The program had no opportunity to meet with the student before or after the concert, which was unheard of. Only the big name conductors or performers ever denied having a small discussion afterwards, and "Edward Cullen" was not a big name. I'd never even heard of the guy before I purchased my ticket to the concert.

At least I'd gotten a box seat. As a student, the lush, secluded boxes were only $15 a seat. I'd even gone overboard and purchased the entire damn box for the night. If I was going to sit through this concert, I was going to need peace, not antsy old men and ancient women wearing entire bottles of perfume.

The lights dimmed so that the entire room was swathed in black and I had to resist the urge to groan. Apparently this guy was not only a pretentious asshole, but he had a flair for the dramatic as well.

Notes began to float out of the darkness as the spotlight lit on the piano.

He had hair like burnished copper. Cheekbones I could sharpen a knife on. Full lips, parted slightly as he focused on the music. Eyes shut. He was just feeling the music, not reading it.

I wanted—needed—to see his eyes.

The tuxedo fit like it was made just for his body, covering his broad shoulders and showing the tapering to his waist. His long pale fingers flew over the keys, playing like his life depended on it.

The first song didn't really so much end as it did transform into the next song, one drifting into the other. For the first time, I noticed the orchestra at the back of the stage, cast in much dimmer light than the man at the piano. There was the rapid rise and fall of the bows as they teased the strings into their plaintive cries, the crystal clear keening of the flute, the deep groaning of the brass.

It was all too much.

I wept. With no other choice, no, there had never been a choice… I wept. I let the tears fall and blur my vision as my eyes were drawn back magnetically to the enigma in the center of the stage. He seemed to glow now, the combination of the dramatic lighting and my tear-blurred vision transforming him into an angel before my very eyes. The current of the music had caught me, pulling down on me relentlessly until I was drowning, caught in his pain and loss and sadness, left with no escape.

I wanted to fix him. No, I needed to fix him.

Open your eyes, I pled silently. Look at me.

His eyes, brilliant and burning and vivid green, opened so immediately that I thought for a moment that I'd actually articulated my cries.

In that moment, I became his. This man I'd never even met before had bound me to him so tightly there was no hope for escape.

I wasn't even sure I cared to try.

The song eased to an end and then he began playing again, each note beautiful and heart wrenching as it echoed throughout the hall.

Please God, grant me the strength to just get through this concert.

It was certainly going to take a miracle.

What in the hell just happened?

I'll be damned if I know.

For a split second, I wished I smoked. My fingers twitched at my side as I paced in front of the building, ignoring the few concertgoers exiting the building, anxious for some way to relieve the tension churning through my body.

To say I was frazzled would have been putting it very, very lightly.

I was furious and anxious and needy and tired and confused.

I wanted to find this Edward Cullen and throw myself at his feet, beg him for just fifteen minutes in his presence.

I wanted to walk away and never think of him again.

I wanted to take his hand and lead him to a closet so I could show him with my hands and my mouth just how much we needed one another.

I wanted to curl up on my couch and laugh about his ego and his smirk and his devastating good looks.

I wanted... I wanted…

A hand clamped down on my arm and I almost screamed as the motion jerked me from my thoughts. My wonderful, wickedly delicious thoughts involving one bronze-haired pianist completely naked and giving me my own private concert, if you will.

My cheeks flooded with heat at my train of thought but I spun around, expecting a police officer alarmed by my pacing or a freshman in need of directions.

All I saw was emerald green.

"Can I help you?" My voice came out shaky and quiet, the words sticking in my throat like peanut butter. How was I supposed to react? The student, the man, the composer, Edward was standing right in front of me, and I could feel his touch burning my skin even through the woolen material of my coat.

He was even more stunning up close than I had imagined. It was sensory overload-- the sweet smell wafting from his body, the delicious heat of his touch, the vibrant hues of his hair and eyes and the flush on his cheeks. All that was left was taste—oh God, I bet his skin tastes amazing—and sound, which he'd conquered earlier.

"Excuse me, miss. My name is Edward Cullen. Forgive me if I'm being too terribly forward, but I noticed you inside. That is, I mean to say I noticed your reaction to my music. Would you like to step inside and speak with me for a few moments?"

His voice was at once deep and musical, velvet soft and commanding.

Say no, Bella. He's already turned you into a mindless puddle and you don't even know the guy.

I had to say no.

There was no other option but to say no.

I should have said no.

"Yes, I'd love to."

Here we go, the rational part of my brain sighed.

I barely remember what we talked about. The conversation consisted of me fumbling through questions and hanging on every word of his eloquent answers. Finally, I muttered some excuse about needing to get back to my apartment to study.

How lame do you get? My inner Bella chided.

"Alright, then. Here, give me that." His elegant scrawl stretched along the top of my program as he wrote his name and number. "Now, if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to call me." His voice was low, and I could feel his breath fanning across my ear. He was close.

Too close, muttered rational Bella.

Not close enough, countered hormonal Bella.

I wondered if he might have been flirting. It seemed that way, but then again, maybe I was just reading too much into it. I never had been very good with boys.

"I will call you if I need anything, but I think this will be enough," I replied, sounding more breathless than casual conversation about music with a composer necessitated.

I started to turn away, but his fingers clasped around the bare skin at my wrist. I actually gasped from the contact, my pulse fluttering wildly as I met his gaze. "It was good meeting you, Bella Swan."

"You too," I mumbled as I turned and walked away, dutifully ignoring the butterflies in my stomach and the blood roaring in my ears.

"So if you could please call me back, I'd really appreciate it. Thanks. Um… have a nice day."

I told myself not to call him. I did not need Edward Cullen in my life.

I couldn't stop myself.

I was in the process of folding my underwear when my phone rang.


"Bella, I'm so glad to have caught you. You called me earlier?"

Edward Cullen was on my phone, sounding cheerful and casual and sexy all at the same time. Returning my call that he really didn't have to answer.

"Yeah, I was really just kindof hoping to chat a little." My blush burned my cheeks and I was eternally grateful that he couldn't see it.

The warm chuckle that came across the line made butterflies start in my stomach, and his next words only increased their fluttering. "I'm glad you called, Bella. I like talking to you."

I could hear pans clanging around in the background, making all sorts of noise. "What on earth are you doing? Do you bang on pots in your free time?"

This time it was a genuine laugh. "No, only pianos. I'm cooking dinner. What are you doing?"

I looked at the pile of girly underwear in front of me and smirked. "Oh, just doing laundry. I've been busy and I ran out of clean clothes."

"Ah, I see. I'll bet you're the kind of girl that leaves all of your bras hanging in the shower to dry, not caring who sees them, right?"

I thought about the bras hanging in my shower that very moment and couldn't help but laugh. "Do you know that from previous experience? Girlfriends in and out of your bathroom leaving bras hanging in your shower?"

There was a pause before he mumbled, "There isn't one."

"Oh," was all I could manage.

The awkward silence stretched and grew while I cursed myself for calling him in the first place.

When Edward finally spoke, his voice was low and apologetic. "I should get off of here and let you get back to your laundry."

Say something. Apologize. Laugh it off. Ever the eloquent one, all I managed to do was mumble "Okay."

"It was nice talking to you, Bella."

"You too."


I am such an idiot.

For once, both rational Bella and hormonal Bella agreed.

"You sound distracted, Bella. Is something going on?"


"Is it a boy? Oh, I'll just bet it's a boy. Go on, tell Mom all about him."

My first reaction was to tell her no and hang up. The longing to have a girl friend to confide in won first, though, and I found myself venting to my mother about Edward.

"Well, I met this guy-"

"Is he a bad boy? Opposites attract, you know."

"Just let me talk, Mom. I met this guy, Edward, at a concert I went to. We talked a bit and he kept flirting, and he ended up giving me his phone number. I told myself not to but I called him, and things were going really great but then he got all weird and moody, and now we haven't talked since then."

Oh god, I sounded like I was in high school.

"How well do you know him?"

"We've only seen each other the one time, really. But when we talk, something just clicks."

"You know, Bella, I don't know what to tell you. It sounds like he's a little too much of a tortured artist for you. You're a strong girl, honey. I know you'll figure it out."

There was a sound of something crashing, following by Renee yelling from far away. "Bella honey, I dropped the phone, but I've gotta go so I'll call you later!"

Hitting the end button after conversations with my mom always had a sense of satisfaction. It was kind of like, "Ah, I survived another confrontation with hurricane Renee. And look, I still have all my money, belongings, and future!"

Then again, hitting the end button was never really the end of the conversation because Renee never remembered everything she wanted to say in one call. Needless to say, I was not at all surprised when my phone started buzzing in my hand mere seconds after hanging up.

"What'd you forget this time, Mom?"

The musical voice on the other end was certainly not Renee's voice.

"I'm not your mother, but I did forget something. Would you care to accompany me to dinner tonight?"

No, no, no, insisted rational Bella.

"Sure. Where did you have in mind?"

I have never been a dumb girl. When 8 had long passed and 10 was drawing closer, I knew I'd been stood up and there wasn't even a courtesy phone call with some lame excuse on the way.

Edward Cullen was a proven douche bag.

I'm not going to lie-- I sulked, and cried, and stormed around my apartment cursing his name and wishing impotency on him in all his future endeavors. But then I washed my face, put on my pajamas, and turned on The Notebook.

I have never been a dumb girl. I'd decided to give him a chance and he'd proven he wasn't worthy of it. I was just glad he hadn't shown his true colors later on down the road. No, it was better to find out at the beginning.

That's what I kept telling myself anyways.

I ate an entire pint of ice cream that night.

One week passed.

Then another.

I kept eating pints of ice cream and watching chick flicks, all the while telling myself that it was stupid to get bent out of shape about someone I hadn't even gone on a date with.

Turns out that trying to be rational doesn't make the feeling of loss go away.

Three quick raps on my door.

That's the only warning I got before the whirlwind that was Edward Cullen pulled me even deeper. Three knocks, I opened the door, and then his lips curved in a wry smile. He looked… sleep deprived, tortured—Told you he was the tortured artist-- needy. Everything I didn't need in my life was reflected in the deep circles around his eyes, the tight line of his mouth, the way his fingers reached for me already, even though we'd only met once before.

"Please?" His voice was raw, hungry.

I should have said no. So many times I should have said no to this man.

"Okay," I whispered with a light nod, stepping back and opening the door wider.

Apparently that okay was the only encouragement he needed, because in the next second, his broad shoulders and tall frame completely blocked the light from the hallway, shrouding me in his shadow, and the following second, his mouth was on mine.

Hot. Slick. His kisses were perfection, a special kind of bliss tempered with the sharp contrast of a bite on my lips now and then.

"Please," he gasped against my mouth, pressing our bodies together, molding our two unique shapes into one. Always the artist.

"Okay," I sighed again.

My hands stroked up and down his back, trying to calm him, trying to ease his pain. His pain was my pain, tearing my chest apart, leaving me to clumsily try to fit it back together. Each kiss, a bandage. We tasted like apples and peppermint and tears but it was perfect. Together, we were perfect. Between the two of us, we had a complete heart.

I didn't know this man. He was practically a stranger.

I didn't know him, but I loved him.

I didn't know him, but I could give him this.

He began pushing me backwards, down the hall towards what he seemed to realize was my bedroom.

He lost a shoe by the door as he whispered a secret in my ear. "I want to hate music," he said, "because I am its slave."

Another at the entrance to the hallway, coupled with the admission that when he was 10, he and the neighbor girl stripped for one another. It was innocent and fueled only by curiosity, he said, but they still sent Christmas cards to each other.

My shirt by the bathroom door. My secret this time. "I used my best friend to lose my virginity because I was tired of getting made fun of by the other girls. I told him I loved him."

His coat in front of my bedroom. "I used to hate my twin sister because everyone loved her. She wasn't antisocial and moody like me. She was always the favorite."

Our pants and undergarments by the bed. "My mom left my dad because she didn't want to be stuck in Forks for the rest of her life. I went to college halfway across the country for the same reason." "I walked in on my father cheating on my mother when I was 15. When I told her, she told me the woman's name was Tanya and I was under no conditions allowed to tell Alice."

His shirt as he hovered over me. "My twin sister is dead. Talking to you that night at my concert was the first time I felt a glimmer of happiness since she was diagnosed with cancer. I wanted to hate you for making me forget about her for even a split second."

We were falling apart, no, tearing ourselves apart, exposing the darkest parts of ourselves and daring one another to love those parts as well as the pretty ones. Our tears burnt my skin, but his lips followed after, soothing and loving me.

Fingertips danced across my ribs, playing me like a piano. My hands fisted in his hair, pulling his mouth to mine, fusing our bodies together again.

"Please," I whispered, using his words from earlier.

I needed him as much as he needed me. I could feel him hot and hard against my thigh, his mouth wouldn't stay put but was doing wonderful things to the skin he found, and I just… couldn't wait any longer.

The moonlight coming in from my window provided just enough light to let me see his faint outline as he raised his head to look at me. I saw his Adam's apple bob, felt this intensity of his gaze on my face, searching for something.

"Okay," he murmured, pushing my hair away from my face so that he could place gentle kisses on each of my eyelids and then in the center of my lips. Apparently whatever he'd been looking for, he'd found.

Fingers skirted down my body to push into where I needed him most, resulting in both of us hissing in pleasure.

"So tight… God, you're so wet…" He was practically groaning into my ear as his fingers continued to explore, stoking the fire between my legs until I was writhing and mewling beneath him.

"Please, please, Edward. Please just-"

His forehead rested against mine as he removed his hand, shushing me softly. "Calm down, honey. I know. I know."

There was a tearing sound and I'm not sure how he found the condoms but I didn't care because he was finally going to be mine.

Strong hands pushed against the inside of my thighs, willing them further apart, and then he was there, driving forward, stretching me, and all I could think was more, more, more. He made me greedy, and I couldn't get enough of him—I was squeezing my legs around him to force him into me more quickly, grabbing and scraping at his body with my hands, sucking hungrily at his lower lip.

"Bella, Bella, oh God, pretty little Bella." He had pulled back and was murmuring to himself, whispering more nonsense under his breath as he continued to rock us both to completion and salvation and wholeness and then with one more hard thrust and a low groan from him, it was finished. I was sailing through the cosmos, raking my nails down his back while I cried his name into the darkness of my room.

After another round, I dosed off only to be awakened by Edward's fingers between my legs. He was behind me, his body curled around mine.

"Aren't you tired yet?" He certainly didn't look tired as he rolled me over and crawled down the bed, kissing his way down my stomach before pausing to answer me.

"Of you? Never. Besides, I'm a young, strong college student. It takes more than this to tire me out."

"What are y- oooh, that's nice."

"Kindly stop talking, Bella. You're beginning to insult my skills."

"I'll do whatever you want, just… Don't. Ever. Stop."

"I don't mean to scare you, but I think I'm in love with you."

"You… are just… saying that… so I won't… make you stop." I wished he would just shut up, because he sounded so composed and I was dying, panting and moaning beneath him as he drove into me from behind.

"No I'm not just saying that. I love you." His mouth kissed along my spine and his hands worshipped my body, and it certainly felt like he loved me. At least in that moment.

Then his fingers brushed between my legs, and we were finished talking for the moment.

The next morning, when a momentarily satiated Edward dozed off with the majority of his weight still pleasantly draped over me and pressing me into the bed, I didn't push him off or roll over to go to sleep. I simply looked at him and watched him sleep as the first light of morning began to peek through my curtains. His eyelashes fanned delicately over his cheekbones and his bronze hair was messier than I'd ever seen it. He looked… at peace.

"It doesn't make any sense, but I think I love you," I whispered as I smoothed his hair back from his face.

His mumbling caught me off guard and I jumped faintly in his arms when he murmured, "I knew you'd give in."

I laughed. I just couldn't help it.

So many times I should have said no to Edward Cullen, but I knew in that moment that I hadn't ever had it in me to tell this man no, and I probably never would.

And I was okay with that.

I hope you enjoyed. I rather like this Edward and Bella, they might show up again. I would love a review.