I do not own Twilight; I do, however, own this plot.


"Baby, she-she came back. I—I need them, B; I can't handle this!"


"You're so high," I say, laughing.

Edward grins.

"I'm high on you," he says with a laugh.

I smile and pull back only to have him pull me back into him.

I arch a little into him and lean my head back against him, snuggling in and he leans back against the huge cave-rock. I observe everyone; Jake, Nic, Jess, Liam—everyone is having a good night, including Edward and I.


"I'm gonna go get a drink; do you want something?" I ask Edward as I start to walk to the cooler.

He nods and asks for a wine cooler.

I grab a Coke and Edward's wine cooler, and head back to the cave-rock where Edward was a minute ago; he's not there now, though. I peek inside the cave and see Liam with Edward, handing him something. Edward shakes his head, and says something. I know what's in Liam's hands, and I'm proud of Edward.


"I'm so in love with you," I tell Edward later that night while lying in bed.

He shifts onto his side to face me, and half-smiles.

"Really?"

I nod.

He pulls my face to his and gives me one of special kisses; long, deep, and just pure Edward.


I wake-up in the middle of the night, and notice that Edward's side is cold and empty. I'm worried, so I get out of bed and go downstairs. The backdoor is open, and I can see Edward sitting on the porch steps.

He only comes out here when he needs to think.

Or, when she's made a reappearance.

I walk outside slowly and sit down next to him; he doesn't even notice me, but his body jumps.

"Edward?" I whisper. "What's wrong, baby?"

I put my hand on his shoulder and he looks at me finally.

And I immediately wish that he hadn't, because I see that he's high.

"You're high," I say, dejectedly.

"I'm s-sorry, sweetheart," he says, sad. "I just . . . I needed something, and I didn't wanna wake you."

I bite my lip. "Don't do it again, please? Wake me up, I don't fucking care! I love you, but please."

Edward nods and I wrap my arms around him.

"I promise. Never again." He kisses my head.

Four Words that No-one can Keep


"You're high," I say, defeated.

Edward's eyes are pinpoint, but that's because we're in the light of his kitchen. They would be dilated otherwise.

"Baby, please," he begs.

I shake my head. "You promised. . ."

"I'm sorry, I'm so damn sorry," he says through a hoarse whisper.

I scoff. "Right."

"You're angry," he says, nodding. "What can I do, baby?"

I shake my head again.

"No. I'm fucking disappointed is what I am! You're just another person who can't keep a damn promise."

I take the short walk upstairs to his room where my bag is at, grab it, and walk back down. Edward's leaning against the island, elbows on it, head in his hands.

I go for the door, not bothering to stop the tears.

Let him see them.

"Where're you going?" he asks, panic rising in his voice.

"I'm done," I tell him. "I told you before; you do this again, and I'm fucking done! Well, guess what: I'm done."

"You—you love me, though," he says.

There's tears in his voice, too.

I nod.

"Yeah, I love you so much that it hurts! I can't fucking watch you slowly slip away—slowly kill yourself. Edward, you promised! I would've—I would've helped you in any way I could! But no, you didn't come to me; you went to them. Well guess what, I guess you have a new lover now."

I walk out the door, hearing Edward calling my name; I don't answer him.


It's been a month, almost two months since I've seen Edward. I talked to his sister, Emma, today. She's told me that he's been shit ever since. I told her that I'm sorry, but it's ultimately his fault, his choice.


"Get off me," I groan to Josh, the friend that I've been staying with.

My phone is ringing, and Josh won't let me up to answer it; he sleeps like the fucking dead.

Finally, I push him off and reach for my phone, and see that it's Edward. My heart hammer-pounds in my chest, wondering why he's calling.

He never calls in the middle of the night, unless it's urgent.

I press Talk.

"Hello?" I say quietly.

"B-baby," Edward's voice tear-filled voice seeps through the line.

Panic begins to build in me.

"Edward? What's wrong?" I ask quietly but quickly.

"Baby, she-she came back. I—I need them, B; I can't handle this!" Edward says through tears.

I immediately know whom he's referring to; his bitch-slut of a mother who left Edward for a younger guy when he was fifteen.

Panic takes over and I get out of bed, trying to find my way in the dark room.

"Edward, listen to me; I'm gonna come over. Don't touch them, please? Sweetheart," I beg quietly.

He sniffles. "I—I—fuck, baby. Please."

I find Josh's keys and slip on my flip-flops and walk out side to his car, and start it.

"Do you wanna stay on the phone with me while I drive there?" I ask him, pulling out of the driveway.

"No, I don't want you driving and talking on a phone," Edward says.

"Are you sure?" I ask him.

"Yeah, I'll be . . . OK 'til you get here," he tries to reassure me.


I get to Edward's and walk inside—I still have a key to the house—and find Edward at the island, and memories of that night from a month ago flood through my mind. I push through them as Edward meets my eyes.

Emma's right, he does look like shit.

"Baby," he says; the relief is palpable in his tired voice.

I go to him and wrap him in a hug, enjoying the warmth of his body wrapped around mine when he hugs me back. He hasn't showered in a day, and he smells like just Edward; plus, there's scruff on his face; I love it.


"She—she started saying the same shit as always; telling me how she wasn't 'ready' to be a mother, a parent, and just wanted to live her life; she's ready now, though."

We're lying in his bed. It's 2:30am, and we're wrapped around each other.

His head is on my chest, and I stroke through his hair gently.

"I'm sorry, Edward," I whisper.

He sighs.

"I know. . ."

It's quiet after that for awhile.

Until . . .

Edward lifts his head to me as I'm going into Lalaland.

"What's wrong?" I ask, alert.

He shakes his head.

He brings his face close to mine; so close that our lips touch.

"Kiss me," he murmurs against my mouth. "Kiss me, please, baby."

"S-stop calling me those names," I plead quietly.

"No, It's what you are; you're mine, you're my baby, my baby girl, B. I'm not gonna stop, even—even if you do. Please, please kiss me; I fucking need you, baby."

So, I do.

It's what happens when you're in love with a person who's damaged from childhood, and while it's killing you slowly, you'd do anything to help the person you're so in love with.