I do not own Twilight. I only make them crazy.

Don't take this too seriously, it's actually really stupid and makes zero sense in a crack-head kind of way.

Birthday

Bella

"Hello, my name is Bella Swan and I'm addicted to Coke."

"Hello, Bella," the circle says all together.

I bite on my bottom lip and look up toward the ceiling. I tap my pen on the podium and sigh. "Actually, now that I think about it, I'm more sensitive to Root Beer. It's the bubbles. Yeah, I'm addicted to bubbly Root Beer."

The circle just stares at me. Edward's laughing. He said this would happen. He told me not to do this, but this is AA, they're here to help overcome addictions. I can't help it if I'm not addicted to a mind-altering substance. I didn't choose my poison; it chose me.

They can't discriminate, that's not fair.

Somebody coughs, and another asks, "Did she just say Root Beer?" Another person clears their throat before speaking. "Excuse me, Bella?"

"Yeah?" I say defensively. Edward laughs loudly, covering it with a cough.

Jerk!

"No offense, but please leave." The guys takes his seat.

Soon everyone is telling me to go. A wadded up piece of paper is tossed at my head. I open the paper, and on it is a drawing of a stick figure, who I'm assuming is supposed to be me, with crossed out eyes and a can of Coke in her hand.

It's like high school all over again.

"Who drew this?" I ask into the microphone. Edward really starts laughing now. "I'm serious, who drew this!"

Edward stands up, gloating. He wants to tell me he was right. "Don't fucking go in there with your soda addiction, Bella. Those people are really suffering," he said.

"I'm suffering!" I insisted.

A lady with bleach blonde hair approaches me. She smiles, but she doesn't mean it. I can tell she's here to take my microphone. She thinks my cola addiction is ridiculous. Well, I think her skin looks like a cow's hide.

"Who the fuck are you?" I ask, hiding the microphone behind my back.

"Bella," Edward groans, rolling his eyes. We've been through this kind of shit before.

"Miss," the bleach blonde lady slowly, obnoxiously says. Her teeth are crooked as fuck and her skin is two more sunburns away from being made into a motorcycle seat.

That wasn't very nice, was it?

"Your turn is over." She reaches for my hands. I dodge her and scream "No, it's not!" into the microphone.

Edward starts walking toward me.

"Just listen. Please," I beg, holding a hand out in front of me. The lady sighs loudly, and Edward re-crosses his arms over his chest. He waves his hand, asking me to hurry the hell up.

"I know a Root Beer addiction may not sound as severe as a drugs or alcohol, but hear me out. I'm desperate." When everyone shuts the fuck up, I continue, "I've been drinking soda since I was seven years old. It's all I ever think about: when I wake up, when I drive, when I eat, when I go to the bathroom, when I'm with my guy-" I point to Edward. He smiles and waves to the crowd. "-I dream about carbonation. I live for bubbly-bubbles. Do any of you know how that feels?"

I feel like crying, but I don't. "If I don't wake up and drink a soda I get the worst headaches and my bones get all achy. It's ruining my life, not to mention my health. It's been fifteen years and I'm ready to quit, but I need help. That's why I'm here. I mean, look at my teeth." I show them my grill, realizing that a good handful of these people don't even have any. "I have to get these babies whitened every three months because of the dye in soda. Don't even ask how many cavities I've had. I've had a lot."

No one has said anything and leather-skin hasn't tried to tackle me, cut me up and snort me, so I carry on. "I hit rock bottom a long time ago." I snort, remembering the day I spent my entire check on the five-for-ten sale they had at the store. I had twelve packs of Coke, Cherry Coke, Root Beer and Dr. Pepper hidden all over my house. Edward came over and found them all right away.

After calling me a chain drinking freak, Edward poured all of my refreshments down the sink. He kept the Cherry Coke, though. He digs that shit when he comes over.

"I mean, I don't fuck for soda like you guys probably do for blow, but my skin could be a lot clearer if I quit cola, you know?"

They start throwing paper wads at me again, and leather-skin attacks.

.

.

.

I think the lady with the cowhide epidermis tried to skin me alive and wear me as a mask. Thankfully my boyfriend, and numero-uno supporter, was there to save me from her talons.

"I can't believe those people," I say, flipping off the mob as Edward burns out of the AA parking lot. "Can you believe them?"

He laughs, adjusting his rear view mirror. "Actually, I can."

"You're an asshole."

"And you're crazy."

Edward and I have known each other since high school. We didn't really date until after we graduated, but now we're, like, committed. And let's be real, he would have to be, dealing with a girl like me: The Crazy Cola Drinker.

But I wasn't always obsessed with the sticky brown sugar drink. I've always liked it, and I've always drank it, but I haven't always been insane about it. This is a more recent development. Luckily for me, I have Edward, and luckily for Edward … well, yeah.

We don't live together. We don't even attend the same school, but he's there when I need him: on weekends and holidays. And the community college isn't that far from Washington State, so we're good.

Listen up kids, coke addictions are no joke. They keep you out of "real" college and fuck up your future.

I was more interested in getting my next hit (my next can on A&W), than I was about studying for my chemistry exam or writing up my English report. My grades lacked, and while Edward packed up his belongings and moved to Seattle three months after we started dating, I … I, well, I packed up my belongings and followed him to Seattle. Only he stays in a dorm, and I stay in a one bedroom apartment I can hardly pay for because I'm too busy searching the internet for Coca-Cola memorabilia and hitting up the local AM/PM for a Big Gulp.

I like their crunched ice, shut up.

We're good together, though. Like tonight, he didn't want to go to the AA meeting, but he went with me anyway. I'm in desperate need of support, and Edward is always the very first one to be there for me. My dad doesn't believe I'm dependent on soda and their artificial sweeteners, he considers this to be only another game in my long list of games.

I'm an attention whore, shut up.

Maybe when I was a freshmen in high school I stole Charlie's police cruiser and lead the Forks P.D. on a slow speed chase.

Maybe I was hyped up on Coke and Root Beer.

I think that's why Edward loves me so much. I'm completely unafraid and unpredictable. I'm compulsive, and he's not. Edward is so … prepared. He labels things and keeps a schedule. He's never late and never breaks a promise. He doesn't look for attention, attention comes to him.

So we're like black and white, night and day, Pepsi and Coke.

But we're good, and so in love.

"You're twenty-third birthday is next week," Edward says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

I ignore what he says, checking out his package. I look from his denim covered cock to his gorgeous fucked up hair and say, "Have I told you how beautiful you are?"

He laughs, reaching over to grab my hand. I reach over and try to grab his dick, so he settles for setting his palm on my thigh.

We're all about compromise.

"Like I was saying-" He smirks. "-your birthday is in a week, and I think we can kick this fucking habit by then. What do you say, B?"

I bite my nails. "Cold turkey."

He nods. "Yeah. I know it will be hard, but-"

I interrupt him and point to Subway. "No, Edward. I'm hungry and I want a cold turkey sandwich on honey oat bread."

We're in Subway, Edward buys me a large drink, and I'm standing in front of the soda fountain trying to decide what I want. I contemplate sticking my head under the Coke fountain, but the Edward appears out of thin air and says: "If you stick your mouth under that fucking fountain I will kill you."

So I settle for Sierra Mist.

He's sitting across from me, stuffing his face with a veggie foot long "Like I was saying earlier, babe," he begins, taking a drink of my soda. How convenient of him not to buy himself a drink; we're sharing.

He does this to me on purpose.

"I'll stay with you this week." He shrugs.

"Okay." I shrug back, slowly inching my hand toward my soda.

Edward grabs the cup, takes a drink, and leaves it beside his elbow… too close to the edge.

It's an anxiety I can't describe, but I'll try: My heart is pound, pound, pounding, my hands are sweaty, I can't breathe, I feel like screaming, and I feel like attacking Edward for risking the life of my soda cup.

He smirks. "Problem?" Edward takes another drink.

I clear my throat. "No," I say lowly. "Why-" I twitch. "-would there be a problem?"

"Are you sure?" He takes another long pull from my straw. Sweet, carbonated goodness flows into his mouth. "Because it sure looks like you're having a fucking problem, Bella."

I close my eyes and shake my head. I itch my arm. I itch my face.

Soda gives me the fucking itches.

"Nope. I'm fine." Lies.

"So you won't mind if I throw this out, will you?" Edward kicks my chair; I open my eyes. "Right?"

This is a test, and I will pass. "Throw it out." I'm about to have a seizure. I grip the edge of the table to keep myself from tackling Edward in the middle of Subway.

He stands up. He's laughing. He won't think I'll let him do it.

This weird kind of noise erupts from my throat, and as Edward walks across the restaurant, I become unhinged.

As soon as the soda hits it's trashy destination, Edward stares at me with wide eyes and I scream: "Whyyyyyyyy!"

Boyfriend has to carry me out of Subway over his shoulder.

.

.

.

It's been three days since the AA meeting; three days since I made a scene in Subway and was asked never to return; three days since Edward decided to stay with me until I kick my habit. We're sitting in front of the TV, watching Conan. My feet are in his lap. His hand rubs up and down my shin bone.

It's only he that stands between me and my glass of Coke.

I've cut down my consumption considerably since Edward's been here. After Subway, we came back to my place and Edward tore my apartment apart. He found all of my hiding places and threw out all of my soda, leaving only what I had in the fridge and a couple of two liters that were in my pantry.

The headaches were deadly at first, and I almost killed him, but the second day was better, and the third day is even better… it's the cravings, though. I've tried going behind his back, but Edward is good; he sees all, hears all, and I can't get away with anything.

He's rationed my soda consumption down to four cans a day.

I tried breaking up with him, but that didn't work. He laughed in my face and did dirty things to my hooha until I promised we'd be together forever.

Yesterday, Edward sat me at the kitchen table and made me drink water.

I almost died.

I saw the light, I swear.

I almost melted.

Edward rolled his eyes and exchanged the water for a glass of lemonade. My reaction was about the same.

After the water and the lemonade, we tried apple juice, cranberry juice, and Capri Sun. That's when I tried to dump him.

Edward suggested coffee to replace my need for caffeine, but coffee is disgusting. Even with a shit-ton of creamer and dump-loads of sugar, I still couldn't get it down.

I tired smoking a cigarette; Edward smokes, despite being a health freak. He thought it was a bad idea, but I was half-way convinced I could do it. That was until the smoke filled my lungs and I felt like I was on fire on the inside. Not to mention how bad my breathe smelled afterward. On Edward, cigarette smoke smells sexy, on me, I smelled like an ashtray at a bus station.

Boyfriend gives me a can of coke when I first wake up, another one for lunch, another in the evening, and I get my last for dinner. I've decided not to drink anything in between. I would go on a hunger strike, but when Edward makes me food, I eat … I can't help it.

He knows me too well.

Here's the deal: I've already had my last can of coke today. Edward ordered pizza earlier and I couldn't resist. I planned on going to bed right after we ate, but Conan came on and I can't pass up his skinny ass. Edward sips his soda slowly, though. He told me he would share; he even gave me a drink about ten minutes ago, but now I want more.

Now that I've had the taste again, I need it. All of it.

"Can I have another drink?" I ask, sitting up.

"No," Edward dismisses me easily.

"My birthday is in three days, give me the soda."

He looks at me. "What does your birthday have to do with my soda?"

"Our soda," I correct him, "and it means that you have to give me whatever I want. Birthday rules."

He ignores me and continues to watch Conan O'Brian.

Two minutes later, I'm straddling his lap. He's on to me, but he's not going to pass on sex. "Love me," I whisper into his ear.

His smirk transforms into a genuine smile. I can always count on Edward to take me serious. He loves me, despite everything, and I love him, too. Even if I'm only sexing him up so I can get a hold of the Coke on the table.

I mean, that's kinda why I'm sexing him up. I love soda, but I love Edward more, and when he smiles this way… well, you know.

It's birthday fucking great.

The soda is only an added bonus.

His cum-face is another bonus. It's so good: scrunched eyebrows and bitten lips. He does this little thing where he squeezes my hip bones so, so strong and whispers, Bella, Bella, Bella, into my ear, and it's impossible to deny him anything. It's almost impossible to remember that anything outside his whispers and lingering lips exist.

Edward's hands are under my shirt, his fingers dip into my skin, holding me a little bit closer with each squeeze, pull, and grip. I circle my arms around his neck, making little noises as he rakes his fingers up and down my rib cage.

Looking over his shoulder, I see the glass of soda; condensation drips down it's sides, leaving a water ring on the wooden table. I lick my lips and imagine what it would taste like as the brown, sugary, watered down poison hit my taste buds ... extraordinary.

"Stand up," Edward whispers, helping me off of his lap.

I rip my eyes away from the glass of soda, feeling more shaking than a I before: a combination of nerves, want, need, and love.

Edward notices and he sighs, "Baby."

I look at his face and instantly feel guilty. We treat this as a joke because it's s fucking unusual, but I have a problem. We won't ever let it come between us; that's not how Edward and I work, but sometimes it takes it toll. He would be there for me no matter what, and that's why I should quit, right?

Last year, around this time, we tried this. I went an entire ten hours with out a drink. I was shaking, downing Excedrin Migraine pills. I swear I had the shakes and the itches, but Edward stayed with me, rubbing my legs, arms, feet, and hands in complete adoration and support, until I fucking snapped, snatched a liter of Coke and locked my self in the bathroom.

He was knocking, warning me not to do it. "Bella, you've worked so hard." He was laughing, but I could hear the disappointment in his tone.

He stopped laughing when I unscrewed the cap.

I sat on the bathroom floor and drank the liter of soda in ten minutes. It wasn't until it was empty that I opened the door for Edward. He was sitting in the hallway, waiting for me. He smiled, didn't judge, and held my hair back when the soda, which I drank way, way too fast, decided to come back up.

The entire time I was puking Edward was behind me saying, "I fucking told you so."

Three months ago he dipped his dick into a cup of Sprite because I wanted to know what it would taste like.

Weird, I know, but you'll do anything for love, trust.

"This is so weird, Bella," he said, unzipping his jeans.

I was jumping up and down, clapping, about to get the two things I wanted more that anything in the world: cock and soda.

A girl can live off of penis and cola. Oh, and lip-gloss and Twizzlers.

I held the cup out for him and watched as Edward stuck his schlong into the clear soda. I wanted to take a picture but he wouldn't allow it. "I've already got my dick in a cup," he said.

After it was good and soaked up, I put my mouth on him. It tasted like I though it would: dick and soda. But fuck me if it wasn't the best moment of my life.

That's why I have to quit. For him, I can. "I'm sorry," I say, taking Edward face in my hands. "I can do this, right? I mean, really do it this time."

He isn't as panicked. Edward smirks, sticking his finger into the waist band of my leggings. He pulls them down my legs. I wiggle my hips until, I'm kicking them off of my foot.

With a knee on each side of Edward, he unzips his pants and pulls himself out. He still hasn't answered me; his lips kiss my neck, his hands guide us together. I feel his tip at my entrance and I whimper.

"I love you," he whispers, pushing my hips down until he is all the way inside of me.

My head drops back and my lips part. The soda is long forgotten; my body sparkles and shakes … he kills me every time.

.

.

.

It's my birthday and I don't want a fucking birthday party. Too bad for me, though. Edward has been planning this for a couple of weeks. It was supposed to be a surprise, but in a weak moment last night, after two days without a single drop of soda, he spilled the beans before I ruined everything by spilling a gallon of Dr. Pepper down my throat.

The headaches aren't so bad today, and I don't feel like clawing Edward's eyes out, so I can do this. Besides, everyone bought me presents.

"Hey, Dad," I mumble, making my way through the party. Edward stays with me, making up for my lack of enthusiasm.

"You look good, Bella," Dad says, cracking open a can of Coke.

The smell of floating bubbles and toxic, acid liquid gives me chills. I almost snatch the Coke from my dad, but Edward pulls me away from the situation. This is how most of the night precedes. I crave and Edward rescues.

He's my hero.

I try to talk Edward into taking me to bed, where we can make love all night long. That's what I really wanted for my birthday: sex … all day. But this is good. All of my friends are here, and while I want to break most of their arms and suck all of their blood for drinking soda in front of me, eventually I just give in and sip on a Capri Sun … and vodka.

Edward and I dance. We laugh and kiss and hug and touch. I forget everything, happy that it's my birthday and I have the best boyfriend ever. When it's time to open my presents, I'm super drunk and super excited. One by one Edward stacks these huge, heavy boxes in front of my feet

"From me," he says, kissing my forehead.

When I open the first one and see what it is, I know I don't have to open the rest to know they are all the same. No one else gets it, but I do. We do.

Recovery.

Edward is smiling, blushing …

"I love you," I say to him, looking back at the cases of water he bought for me. Only he would know to do this, and maybe I wonder what his dick would taste like if it was dipped into a bottle of water.

Probably like dick and water.