What would've happened if B had come back later in the night that she and Emma talked in the bathroom, and she told Edward that she wasn't feeling well.


If this site deletes this story because of this, please know that I appreciate all of you!


To Anne (who reviewed as an anon): Your sweet as hell review brought tears to my eyes! I'm sorry about your childhood, nobody should have to go through that/feel like you have, baby. I can sympathize, though. I wish you the best of luck; thank you for reading and leaving your thoughts. Xoxo ~-Brianna-~


I get out of my car and walk in through the backdoor of Edward's house. It's 12:30am, and I left here hours ago after talking to Emma about that 'break', but I couldn't do it; not yet. I need one more night with him. I pause inside the kitchen, hearing the television playing in the living room. Emma walks out of it, frowning.

"What're you doing back?" she asks.

"I need him—jus' one more night," I tell her.

She gives me a disapproving look but says nothing otherwise.

"He upstairs?" I ask.

She nods, and I start up the stairs, and go straight for his room. When I open his door, I see that his light is off, but he has the blue Christmas lights that I hung up as a joke a few years ago on; he's at his desk on the computer. He looks up as I walk in and shut the door; he takes out his earphones and looks at me curiously.

"Hey, sweetheart; I thought you weren't feelin' well?" he asks as he swivels toward me in his chair.

I shrug, trying to hold back my tears, and take a seat at the end of his blue-blanketed bed.

"I wanted to come back," I say, and I know that my voice sounds off.

He nods and tells me to get comfy, so I do. I take my sweat jacket off and kick my shoes elsewhere, and lie back on the bed.

After awhile, I get up and go over to him, putting my arms around his neck, and listen to the music that is playing too loudly.

He takes an earbud out.

"'Sup, baby girl?" he asks.

I shrug even though he can't see it.

"What're you doing?" I ask him, trying to distract myself.

"Reblogging shit," he answers.

I hum in response and watch as he reblogs a picture of a couple in bed, the girl sitting on the guy's face, while the guy's wrists are tied with rope and are above his head.

"You want me to do that to you?" I tease, smirking.

"Sure—but if you think you're gonna be tying me up, you've got another thing comin'," he jokes.

I mindlessly watch as he continues to scroll and like stuff through the site, the More Than This album by Trading Yesterday playing from his iTunes. At one point, May I comes on and I lose it, the tears cascading like a damn waterfall down my face, and I silently sob, and I shake.

All that's made me is all worth trading

Just to have one moment with you

So I will let go with all that I know

Knowing that you're here with me

For your love is changing me

May I hold you as you fall to sleep—

"Hey, what's wrong?" Edward asks, dropping the other earbud.

He has his neck turned and is looking at me as I cry, covering my mouth so that I don't make any sounds. He stands up and takes hold of my wrist, and I don't fight him when he tries to uncover my mouth.

"Baby girl, what's wrong? What's going on?" He's looking at me so concerned that it just makes me cry even harder.

This time, I let out a noise that sounds like a cat dying. Edward walks us to his bed and sits down, pulling me down onto his lap, and cradles me to his chest, and holds me tightly. I readjust myself and wrap my arms around his neck, trying to be as close to him as possible. The room gets a little darker when his computer goes to its screensaver, and then to sleep. The blue lights are still on, illuminating the room in its calming color.

"Breathe baby, try to breathe; I love you, please," Edward whispers in my ear.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to do as he says, swallowing thickly and almost choking on my own saliva and snot that's running down the back of my throat.

"I l-lo-ove you t-too," I say through a hoarse whisper.

He slides his hands to my sides and rubs, pulling back a little and I fall forward slightly. I run my palms over my eyes, which are burning from the salty tears that have been pouring out from them for the past ten minutes. He holds my tear-streaked face in his hands, searching my eyes for . . . something. Maybe some sign, some telltale thought of what's going through my mind.

"What happened, baby? You were fine when you left earlier—I mean, you said you weren't feeling good, but that was it. . ." he tells me.

I blink tightly and look away from him. He strokes my cheeks as more tears fall.

"I-I'm . . . I'm depressed, Edward," I tell him, crying again.

He blows out a breath.

"Shit," he says, sounding like the wind has been knocked out of him. "I should've known—should've fucking seen it."

I snort, but it comes out choked-up.

"H-how?" I ask him.

"'Cause," he begins. "I can usually tell when it's comin' on for you. You start to pull away from everyone, and you get major mood swings; you don't eat a lot, sometimes not all day, but I, I didn't see it this time."

I bite my lip, listening to him.

He's blaming himself, and in all honesty, it is his fault. He's the one that caused it to return (it returns every month near my period, but never this bad unless stress is involved), but I'm not shocked-surprise that he never saw it coming, not with him being in his own fucked-up world of chaos of drugs, getting high, and fighting with those who care most about him, and pushing people to their limits and over.

"Kiss me?" I ask him, needing him close again.

He leans forward, his arms going on either side of me, and he kisses me. He leans into me pushing me back as I deepen the kiss, and I willingly lay down. His body hovers above me, his lips still attached to mine, our tongues fighting for control over the other. I pull away to catch my breath, panting. I try to get him to put his weight onto me, and he finally does, and it crushes me—it crushes me so fucking good.

"Love me?" I ask, and it borders on pleading, begging.

He pushes up again on his hands to hover again, and I miss him immediately. He looks down at me and smiles gently, but there's worry written in his brown eyes. His right hand caresses my cheek.

"Baby, are you sure?" he asks softly, staring me in the eyes.

"I need to hear you, sweetheart. Tell me that you're sure, and I'll do whatever you want," he tells me just gently.

"I'm sure; I promise," I say sincerely.

His smile is just as soft as his voice has been. I love when he's like this – drug-free, gentle, caring; he reminds me of the person that I used to know. He helps me sit up and then undresses me slowly, taking his time to touch and feel me along the way. I do the same to him, but I leave him in his boxers, only his taking off his white tee shirt.

He spreads my legs apart by my knees and looks me over; it's makes me blush, and when he looks up and notices, he smirks.

"Don't tell me you're shy now," he laughs.

I roll my eyes, covering my face with my hands.

"Watch," he tells me as he moves down my body.

I slowly uncover my face and discover that his face is inches away from my pussy—yeah; I have no problem using that word. He gently blows on it and I shiver.

"Fuck," I say, my hips lifting up a little, trying to reach his face.

"Stay still," he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

Yeah right; his telltale smirk let's me know that he already knows that that's next to impossible to do.

He licks a all the way to my clit, staying on my outer lips only. I squirm some, wanting him to finger-fuck me. He spreads me open with his two thumbs, resting on his elbows, and licks me again; I moan and jerk upwards, into his face. He licks a trail up to my clit again, this time staying there and finally, he wraps his lips around it, and suckles. I don't hold back when he hums, still sucking on me, and I involuntarily lift up, shoving myself further into his mouth. He chuckles and let's go of my clip, and goes back to licking me.

"Shit, baby; you're fucking wet," he tells me, adding a finger.

I gulp and move sweaty bangs off my hot forehead, all the while watching my guy go down on me; it fucking turns me on even more.

After a minute of just one, he adds another finger, and pumps them in and out, twisting and turning them upwards, and holy motherfucking shit—he hits that spot. He knows my body and the things I like.

He adds a third finger, and I tense a little; he's never added more than two before.

"Relax baby," he whispers, and circles my clip with his other thumb.

I gulp again and say, "E-enough—I w-want you, Eh-E."

He listens and takes off his boxes, then climbs back on the bed. My head is at the foot of the bed, and I don't bother going to the other end; it won't make a damn bit of difference when we're screwing. He climbs onto me and hovers once again; he picks both my legs up and wraps them around his waist and kisses me, reaching down and placing himself at my entrance. He teases me by going halfway in, pulling back out, and repeats this a couple of times. Finally, on the third time he thrusts into me, and I let out an audible gasp, which comes out sounding more like a choke-cough. He leans down and kisses me.

"Shit—you're still fucking tight," he tells me against my mouth.

He begins to thrust and I hold onto him. He's slow at first, going at a gentle pace. Eventually he stops and pulls out, and I pout.

"What—why?" I actually whine.

He doesn't say anything; instead, he just takes my legs from around his waist and gently puts them over his shoulders, and my eyes widen slightly as realization begins to dawn on me.

"Oh, shit," I say, catching on.

He smirks as he swipes his dick up and down my pussy twice, from entrance to clit. I moan and then he slams back into me.

"Fuck—I love you," I say to him, pulling on his hair.

He grunts and groans.

"Fuck—I—fucking—ungh—love you too, baby girl," he tells me through each thrust.

I can't take this position much longer, and tell him that I want to be on top. He lies back on the bed—the correct way, unlike me—and helps me get situated until I'm comfortable; he slides into me easily enough.

"Fuck," he hisses between clenched teeth. "Ride me, baby."

And so I do; I rock back and forth, going up and down as well. He helps by lifting me up when do I the latter part. I rub my clit as I ride him, and he thrusts up into me, and I know that he's reaching his climax, and so am I.

"Shi—fuck," he says, holding onto my upper hips.

He comes undone right after, his body shaking and shuddering as he rides out wave after wave. I get my own soon after, and I feel like I enter another fucking world when I do. I ride it out and when I start coming down, I fall, collapsing on top of him; he doesn't complain though.

He holds me tight for a while, until I tell him that we should clean up and that I need to pee. I didn't do that last time—use the bathroom—and that was a mistake; I got a UTI because of it. I get up on shaky legs and throw on a shirt of Edward's that I see on the ground, and open his door one he's covered as well, and head for the bathroom. I clean up and pee, and then wash my hands and head back for his room to spend one last night with him. I know that come morning, I'm not going to be this happy, this relaxed. I'm going to hurt—like hell.