"I think I forgot to breathe."

K | let's not discuss being 31 | she/her | I wrote the twilight musical post on my main and I'm depressed about it and also about life in general but I'm blaming the post | Alexa, play "Eyes on Fire" by Blue Foundation | trainwreck on main, choo-choo, bitch | header by filmswithoutfaces

[cullen-collective]

Today I married @bellasredchevy! It was a beautiful ceremony and we are currently aboard a flight to Italy for a honeymoon involving calling the Volturi punks and then stealing their best women and fighters!! Thank you all for your support! 💜💙❤💗💖

Here’s a photo of the big event from Mads at @the-golden-onion, who was the best wedding photographer we could ask for! 💕

[bellasredchevy]

i can’t believe how incredibly lucky i am to have married the lovely @cullen-collective. if anybody needs us we’ll be antagonizing the rat kings in beautiful sunny volterra!

[the-golden-onion]

a bouquet of golden onions for the happy brides 💛

[bewilderedbunny]

that guy from that show sure has done a number on me

[sovietnam]

[justshushu]

[cullen-collective]

Wow, roast me I guess.

[cullen-collective]

HI THANK YOU FOR WRITING

HI! THANK YOU FOR READING, YOU ARE MY FAVORITE

[cullen-collective]

do it. write it. do it

Say. Less. 

*

There’s never anyone actually interesting in these chats. 

There’s me, who actually wants to discuss music, the way it feels, the lyrics’ poetic meanings, the way the drums crash like they’re my own heartbeat. And then there’s guys who might want to discuss that, but are probably here for the other occupants of the forum: girls obsessed with band members. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against them, and I fully understand geeking out over Pete Wentz (although I’ve always been more of a Stump girl) or Gerard Way or even Chester Bennington. I just keep having to switch to new forums when it’s clear that no one else wants to talk about the music, but instead have guys who claim to look like Adam Lazarra scam the email addresses and photos off those girls. 

Which brings me here, to another new forum chat, scrolling through older posts about who drums harder: Travis Barker or Mike Kinsella, as the chat scrolls by on the right side of the screen. I was mindlessly scrolling, mentally agreeing or disparaging the opinions of other posters, too scared to comment. This site was pretty neat, and the account I’d had to create to post comments and chat had spaces for a list of my favorites, which I’d happily included. It also had a little bio, which I’d filled in with my name and age, as well as one of my favorite lyrics.

I kept one eye on the chat as it went, keeping up with the current discussion of how best to cut your bangs. I typed up a quick note that the best way to cut your bangs was to see a local hairdresser so you didn’t end up with Buffy season three bangs instead of the side-sweep you wanted. 

Emo-ward: But is it really, truly in the spirit of punk rock if you don’t cut them yourself?

HellsBells: I think to be a real punk, you’d probably need to like different bands. To be alt, you can visit a salon or resign yourself to botched hair. 

Emo-ward: Seems like the majority is going to choose the second option.

HellsBells: Well, sometimes we must suffer for the cause. 

Emo-Ward wants to send you a private message. Accept. Decline. 

I was stunned. No one ever requested me. My cursor hovered over “Accept”, my finger twitching. My mother, as scattered as she was, had always warned me about being too open online. What if this was like, a forty-five year old man who preyed on kids in chat rooms? What if it was a serial killer? What if it was someone from school trying to humiliate me? What if it was a kid from school who wanted to humiliate me and also did a little serial killing on the side? 

Okay, I was being ridiculous. I knew nothing about this person. Hell, I hadn’t even looked at their profile. So I right-clicked the name in the chat and opened another window to his profile. Like mine, the profile had no picture, and instead had a graphic. It was Gerard Way but his hair had been edited to be bright green. I snorted, remembering my own, which was Britney Spears edited with a scene girl haircut that this chick in my Western Civ class had emailed to me as a joke after seeing the Ataris CD in my portable player. The name listed was Edward, the age as 16, and he had a lyric on his profile too. 

“Watching from the floor.”

I recognized it, small as it was. It was from “Dear Maria, Count Me In”. I was a little surprised. Great song choice. 

It seemed he wasn’t too sketchy. 

I went back to the original page, steeled my nerves and hit “Accept.” 

Emo-ward: Do you really have time in your veins? 

My tongue pressed to the inside of my cheek. If this really was a sixteen-year-old boy, I was in trouble. He had just referenced the lyric in my bio, (from “Understanding In A Car Crash”: “It starts and stops and starts and stops again.”) and made it a joke. I had to one-up him. 

HellsBells: Yes. I am also a pen.

Emo-ward: Where are you from, girl with time in her veins who is somehow also a pen?

I smiled at my screen. I couldn’t help it. He was kind of funny. 

HellsBells: Forgive me, sir, if I’m not very specific. I’m from the Southwest. You?

Emo-ward: Well, miss, I will follow suit. I’m from the Northwest. 

There was something about the way he wrote that made me want to trust him. Maybe it was that we had similar chat styles. Although… My mother had always said I talked like I was sixty. What if he was sixty?! Edward is an old man's name. 

HellsBells: You kind of talk like an old guy, you know that, right?

Emo-ward: That’s because I’m 104. 

HellsBells: Wow. You use the internet pretty well for a senior citizen.

Emo-ward: They had us take a class. So, what’s your favorite album right now?

I smiled. Funny, and hopefully not an old guy. 

HellsBells: Will you stop talking to me if I say Take This to Your Grave?

Emo-ward: Only if you stop talking to me for saying mine is Meteora. 

HellsBells: Only if you tell me your favorite song off the album is Numb. That’s where I draw the line. 

Emo-ward: While that song isn’t my favorite, it’s pretty good. Anyway, the actual favorite is Somewhere I Belong. 

I thought about that for a minute. I liked that song, but I hadn’t listened to it a lot. I’d have to give it another go. I had Meteora around here somewhere. I found the album in my bookshelf, put it in my portable player, and put the headphones on. I skipped to the right track, and let it play while I answered. 

HellsBells: Not that you asked, but mine is Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes.

Emo-ward: Aggressive. I like it. 

I burst out laughing. Out loud. In my house. On a school night. At eleven. 

“Bella?” my mom called from across the hall. “Are you on the computer?” 

Shit. “Uh… no?”

I heard Mom start giggling. “Go to bed, kid!” 

“Okay!” I grimaced at the screen. No way I was ever going to hear from this guy again. But… I had to try, right? He was funny, and he had great taste in music. 

HellsBells: Well, grandpa, if you can get the orderlies at the nursing home to let you use the computer on Friday, I’ll be here. Until then, I’m not an adult and have to deal with things like school nights. 

Emo-ward: I’m sorry about that. I never sleep, so my school nights are exactly like regular nights. I’ll be here. 

I shook my head at that, holding in a giant smile. You know what, fuck it, I let the smile loose. It wasn’t like he could see me. And I let “Somewhere I Belong” play on repeat until I fell asleep. 

[cullen-collective]

I heard some of you wanted part two.

HellsBells: Dude. Today was the WORST.

Emo-Ward: What happened?

I sighed. How could I explain this to him without him judging my mom? Edward was really great, and we got along so well, but... for some reason I didn't want him to judge her.

HellsBells: My mom got married last summer, do you remember?

It had been eight months since I'd first messaged Edward. Over that time we'd become really close. If we lived in the same state we'd probably be attached at the hip. We messaged almost every day, and had a weekly Skype date. Well, I say date because that's what I want them to be, but we've never really defined ourselves as anything other than best friends.

Emo-Ward: Would this be easier for you if you didn't have to type?

See? That right there is why I wanted them to be dates. He was always putting me first. Apparently his family is like, super nosy with freaky good hearing, but he still braved Skype so that I could vent.

HellsBells: Yes, please.

My computer started chiming and I clicked "Accept" on the video call.

His face filled the screen, and I was reminded of the other reason I wanted them to be dates. Edward was hot. He had annoyingly perfect bedhead at all times. His eyes were golden, which he insists aren't because of contacts. His jaw could cut glass. It's frankly insulting to God to be that blessed. And he spends his time hanging out with me. Honestly, what the fuck.

"Hey," he said, smiling. I loved his smile. The left side of his mouth peeked up just slightly higher than the right, making it adorably crooked.

I attempted to maintain composure, but I fully melted into my chair. "Hi."

His smile widened, and I swore my heart physically stopped beating. "So, your mom got married."

I forced myself to stop being stupid, and answered him. "Yeah. And she's miserable."

Edward's brow furrowed. "She doesn't like Phil?"

"No," I snorted (real attractive, Bella), "she loves Phil."

The brow furrow deepened. "I'm not sensing the problem."

"She's not happy when he's on the road. Baseball season is in the middle of the school year."

Edward looked confused for another beat, then it dawned on him. "Oh."

"Yeah," I said. "'Oh.'"

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I'm going to move."

Edward's eyes widened. "What?!"

He started mumbling to himself, and Bella swore she heard tinkling laughter from somewhere near his computer.

"Yeah, I'm going to move. Closer to you, actually." She stifled her smile. "Maybe you can play me that lullaby in person."

His face, as if it were possible, went whiter.

"That's not a good idea, Bella." He shook his head. "In fact, I don't think moving is a good idea at all."

This time my brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"You love Arizona."

"I also love my mom."

"Yeah, well she doesn't love you."

My jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

Edward shook his head. "She'd let you move a thousand miles away when you don't actually want to, just for her own selfish purpose?"

"You know what?"

"What?"

I bit my lip, contemplating my next words. I didn't want to say them, they'd hurt me. But I couldn't just let him come after my mom.

"I don't think we should talk for a while."

Edward's eyes widened. His shoulders sagged. For just a moment I thought he looked remorseful. But then he said, eyes burning, "I'll do you one better, Bella. I don't think we should talk at all."

He ended the call, leaving me stunned. It felt like an angry pit had opened in my stomach, devouring my insides.

I went to the bookshelf and shuffled through my CDs. I found the one I was looking for. A CD he'd burned for me with only one track. My lullaby. The gift for my birthday. The day I'd known I was in love with him.

The melody was sweeping. Sweet, and sad, and perfect.

I threw the CD on the ground.

I crushed it beneath my heel.

And only then, I flopped onto my bed and sobbed, the pit in my stomach twisting and coiling like a viper.

[cullen-collective]

y'all looking for another chapter? 👀

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since I'd last spoken to him, since we had our fight. Two weeks of the black pit in my stomach devouring me until I was nothing but a hollow shell.

Mom was worried. I could tell she didn't get it. "He was just some boy on the internet, hon," she kept saying, "It's not like it was real."

But she had no idea what she was talking about. It was real. His favorite album of all time was The Black Parade, which I made fun of him for constantly. His favorite place on Earth was Alaska for some fucking reason. He had four "siblings" who'd all met in a group home and had fallen in love with each other before his older brother and sister-in-law adopted them. He felt alone in a house full of couples. He felt misunderstood by his family, who all thought he was unhappy without someone of his own. (Never mind that their situation was absolutely bonkers; no, they were worried about the single seventeen year old.) He liked camping and writing music and me.

Except he didn't. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. The more and more I thought about it, the less sense it made. Maybe I was just a distraction, a way to escape the chaos in his house. Maybe I was an excuse, so that his family would get off his back about getting out there. But he couldn't have been interested in me.

Every time I played that moment back, I thought about that melodic laugh. Who had been laughing when I'd told him I was moving? Who was listening to us? Had they been listening the whole time? Reading our chatlogs? The thought of him with someone else... making fun of how pathetic I am, was killing me.

I hadn't been eating. Not since I'd worked up the courage to apologize and discovered that he'd wiped his accounts. No forums, no Skype, not even an email. And in my anger I'd destroyed the one piece of him I had left: my lullaby. Without it, I hadn't been sleeping either.

I still hummed it sometimes, to myself. But I could never get it just right.

Two weeks, and a million to go.

At the three month mark my mother intervened.

She sat in my room, at my desk, facing me on my bed. I didn't look at her. I didn't look at anyone anymore.

"Enough."

I slowly rolled my eyes toward her, staring at the space between her brows. "What?"

"It's enough, Bella." Her voice cracked and I looked away. "I don't know what else to do. You sit in therapy and stay silent. You sit at home and do nothing. I don't know how to help you."

His words echoed in my mind. "She doesn't love you."

"Yeah, cause you're obviously trying really hard, Mom. When you can get five seconds away from Phil, that is." I watched the words hurt her and some vicious part of me reveled in it. She didn't know my pain. Let her have just a taste.

She took a deep breath. "You're going to Forks."

I sat up. "What?!" No, I couldn't. He lived in the Northwest. Too close, too close to him and the thought of him and missing him and wanting him.

"End of discussion." She got up from my chair. "Start packing. I enrolled you in the high school starting after spring break."

I nearly spat. "So you can't handle me and you're just going to pawn me off on Charlie?!"

She paused at the door. "If it helps you to think of it that way, fine."

"I hate you."

"I know," she said, before leaving the room. "But I love you."

I threw a pillow at the shut door and seethed. Let her think that I'm going. They'll have to drag me by the hair.

[cullen-collective]

in true ffn fashion, have more with no warning or schedule

They didn't drag me by the hair.

I got on the plane willingly. I got off the plane. I got into the cruiser, and I listened to Charlie talk about the town, and the people, and the school. I heard him harp on and on about his pal Billy, and Billy's kid Jacob. I listened to everything he said and then immediately forgot it all.

I could have resisted. I could have given my mother what she wanted, and reacted and raged and stormed against her, just so she could have some proof that I wasn't broken. But I was. Every day I heard that tinkling laugh, and I remembered that I hadn't mattered. I hadn't been special, not like he was to me. I had been a curiosity to be gawked at. The freaky pale Arizona girl who talked about music as though she could somehow consume the beat and absorb it into her bones.

I didn't listen anymore.

It wasn't even that he'd lied. Not that he'd given up on me. Not that he'd maybe never cared about me at all. It was that I had been so stupid, so naive, and so gullible as to believe I could have been someone to someone like him. What a moron I was.

At least the universe had thoroughly punished me for my stupidity. As I watched out the window of the cruiser, greenery flying past until it made me sick, I knew I was still punishing myself by being here. In this wet, cold, creepily green place.

When we arrived at Charlie's house, there was a huge red rusted truck in the driveway. There was a Skrillex sticker on the back window. Who the fuck drove that beast and blasted Skrillex from a radio that had to be sixty years old?

"Do you like the truck?" Charlie asked.

Truthfully, I did. It looked like a monster that could take a hit, and it wasn't like I was a speed demon. But Charlie didn't need to know that. No one needed any more insight into what I liked and didn't like. It was all just ammunition.

I shrugged.

"Well, I got it for you. Bought it off of Billy and had Jacob fix it up." He smiled over at me, just the left side of his mouth quirking up, and I had to look away. He sighed. "It runs great, and I thought maybe a little independence goes a long way."

I nodded. I was actually a little excited at the prospect. Maybe there was a library or a bookstore nearby. The less time I spent in school or at home, the better.

"Thanks."

Charlie seemed a little startled to hear me speak. "You're welcome, Bells."

Bells. Stupid nickname. Stupid username.

I got out of the car, Charlie popped the trunk, and I hauled two of my bags into the house, heading straight for where I remembered my room to be. Charlie followed, carrying the rest of my bags. They were light. I didn't pack a lot. Mostly the new winter clothing that Renee bought me before I left.

I spent the rest of the evening unpacking. I laid out a coat and jeans for the next day. I went to sleep. Except I didn't. I laid in bed, and the silence pressed in until my ears rang, and it sounded like a melodic laugh.

When my alarm rang, I shut it off and got ready for the day. I grabbed the keys to the truck off the side table. Charlie was already gone on patrol.

I followed the one road in town all the way to the high school, and parked next to a Volvo in the lot. Classes came and went. There was a nice girl with glasses, Angela, who was assigned to guide me for the day. She introduced me to her friends at lunch, and I was sitting with them when it happened.

I looked up, scanning the cafeteria, when my gaze locked with a pair of golden eyes.

Golden eyes that I knew.

That I had loved.

And I didn't hesitate. I got up and left, Angela trailing after me, calling after me and asking what was wrong.

Everything.

Everything was wrong.

[cullen-collective]

SURPRISE BITCH. BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF ME.

I burst out of the cafeteria at a sprint, heading for the tree line. I made it just inside, right as Angela emerged from the building, glancing around, clearly looking for me. She called my name once, twice, a third time, before heading back inside with a concerned look on her face. I didn't know if she'd call for help or not. I was, after all, the freaky new girl, the chief's daughter, who'd had a breakdown during lunch. I wasn't sure I warranted a call for help.

I took a deep breath, slumping down onto a fallen log. I felt them then. The tears, tracking down my cheeks, carving treacherous ravines across my face. I let them. I'd already cried so many tears for Edward, what were a few more? I would cry here for the lunch hour, then attend the rest of my classes and demand to move home. Fuck it if Renee and Charlie didn't like it. I wasn't going to stay here any longer than I had to.

I would not be forced into his presence. We hadn't had any classes together that morning, but that didn't mean that I wouldn't eventually be put into a room with him, where he would inevitably suck out all the air, leaving me gasping to survive. I would not be placed near his coppery bedhead, his golden eyes, or his crooked smile. I would not let him know that he'd broken me.

And as I sat there on that log, contemplating the ways that being in his presence would torture me, I began to wonder if he too, might not be tortured by the mere sight of me. The weird stalker who'd been so into him, so dependent, now in his daily life whether he liked it or not. He'd wanted to avoid me, and here I was, unavoidable.

He knew me, it was true. My secrets and desires and wishes and dreams.

But I also knew his.

He hadn't lied about those, of that I was sure. No one could speak the way he had about his family and music and love and art and not mean it. You could say you liked my company and be lying through your teeth, but you couldn't bare your soul in falsehood. I knew his siblings names, what they looked like, how they acted. I knew his older brother Carlisle was a doctor in this town, apparently, and that he'd adopted them all so they wouldn't be separated. I knew that his fondest wish was to find someone who inspired him to write songs that made people feel like they could absorb the melody into their cellular makeup, the way I used to love songs.

He'd stolen that from me.

Taken music, taken joy, taken pride and self esteem and confidence and love.

He couldn't have this. He couldn't have the town I'd been born in, my birthright, my escape. He could fuck back off to Alaska for all I cared.

So I got off the log. I marched back into the cafeteria. I stopped by Angela's table, assuring them all that I was fine, just got nauseated suddenly. That I would be right back.

And I kept going, until I reached the table in the corner, where two tall blondes, a burly giant, a tiny waif with huge eyes, and a tousle-headed douchebag were sitting.

"Hi," I said, staring down at the pixie-like dark haired girl, the least intimidating of the bunch, who was smiling widely at me. "You're Alice, right?"

Her grin widened. "Yep. That's me."

"Great," I said, shooting her a small smile of my own. The action felt foreign and unnatural. Another thing he'd taken: my smiles. "Do me a favor, okay?"

Alice tittered, clearly getting a kick out of this. "Sure, Bella."

She knew who I was. He'd told people about me. His siblings. I glanced around the table to see Rosalie and Emmett, who I could tell based on energy alone, were glaring and beaming, respectively. Jasper, with one hand on Alice's arm, looked pained.

I didn't look at Edward.

"Keep your narcissist, asshole brother away from me until we graduate." I crossed my arms, leaning away from the group of them. "Maybe you got to this school first, but I have dibs on Forks. I'll do my thing, and he can do his, so long as I don't have to look at him."

"Okay," Alice said, eyes wide, lips pressed tightly together as though she were holding back another smile. "If you say so, Bella."

"I do say so." I waved my hand in a circle, indicating they should continue their lunch, as not one of them had eaten anything since I'd shown up. "Carry on."

I sauntered, literally sauntered, back to Angela's table, where the occupants stared at me with open mouths and wide eyes. I felt lighter than I had in weeks, hell, months. Fuck that guy and the horse he rode in on. He didn't get to win.

But as I sat down, ignoring the gaping curiosity of my peers, I heard a high, melodic laugh from behind me, and my spine locked up tight.

I glanced over my shoulder to see the source: Alice, her gaze locked on Edward, apparently taunting him.

Well, at least that was one mystery solved.

[cullen-collective]

every once in a while I'm reminded of this and upload a bunch. should I move it to ao3??

Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.

I walked into biology after lunch, and there, sitting still as stone, clearly not even breathing, was Dick-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. He looked at me, standing at the front of the classroom, desperately searching for any other open seat, and I saw it. Disgust. He looked disgusted by me.

I recoiled from the look, rethinking my decision to stay and make his life hell. As Fall Out Boy taught me, "you try too hard to not look quite as desperate." And Linkin Park taught me that "these wounds, they will not heal." I mean, the guy clearly thought I was insane. Probably convinced himself I moved here for him. Pining, like the lovesick asshole I've been the last few months.

Old habits die hard.

But I would kill them myself.

I stalked over to him, the only empty seat in the room, pulled my chair all the way to the edge of the table furthest from him, and plopped down.

"So," I said. "How long have you known I'm from here?"

He said nothing, hiding his mouth with one stunningly pale hand.

"I mean, clearly, you have eyes and ears and you know who Chief Swan is."

Still nothing, but his eyes cut to me with a glare.

I rolled my eyes. "Wow, Eddie," I emphasized the nickname he hated, "you must be, like, so totally obsessed with me."

That was the thing. He had to have known. It's why he didn't want me to come. I knew a lot about Edward as a person, but I knew nothing about where he lived, his school, his last name, even. But he knew mine. He knew it all. I had been so blind, so stupid. I'd talked about Forks with him, mentioning the name because I thought it was safe to mention a little nowhere town that he certainly had never even been to.

But he had. He fucking lived here.

"I bet you knew, even when we first met," I postulated, bringing out my textbook and a notepad. "I bet you were stalking me like the clearly unhinged-"

I didn't get to finish.

He stormed out, faster than should be possible, not acknowledging the teacher who called after him.

"Mr. Cullen! Where are you going?!"

Nothing. He was long gone.

Cullen, huh. Irish. Well tell that dick he just made my list of things to do today.

I smiled to myself, ignoring the sting of his rejection. He left, unable to even be in my presence for five minutes. That hurt, sure. But it also felt good.

And later, when I saw him in the office, trying to switch out of our Bio class, I ignored that hurt too. I smiled instead as he turned and saw me, his grimace plain as day. The secretary had turned him down.

"Better luck next time. Try not to bring down my GPA." I handed the red-haired school secretary, Mrs. Cope, my signed schedule, indicating I'd found all my classes. "And maybe avert your eyes. You were staring pretty hard. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

I spent some time in the library afterward, relishing in the look of shock and dismay on his face when I'd left. I snagged a copy of all of the required reading, and when I ran into Angela, I asked for her to be my study buddy for a while.

I could practically feel her desire to say something.

"Yes, Angela?"

She flushed. "It's just. You were talking to them."

"Who?" I asked, feigning innocence.

"The Cullens."

I sighed. I'd seen this coming when I'd made my way back. The entire table had been bug-eyed. Luckily the bell had rung and I got to traipse off to the worst Bio class ever.

"We have..." I struggled for a way to word it. "History."

Angela sputtered. "But they don't talk to anyone!"

"Yeah, well, technically the only one I talked to won't talk to me, so you're still right."

Angela frowned. "Huh?"

I laughed. God, it felt good. "That sentence was confusing. The ginger," I clarified. "I used to talk to him on a chat forum. We, uh, had a falling out. I wasn't expecting to see him."

It was the most I'd spoken to someone in months. It was nice, sitting with Angela, who clearly liked the gossip, but didn't seem like she was bursting to blab.

He'd really fucked me up, if sitting in the library talking about a boy I couldn't stand was the highlight of my day. I needed to get out more.

"That's sad." Angela patted my hand. "I'm sorry you'll have to be around him."

"Nah," I grinned. "He'll apply to be homeschooled within the month."

Angela laughed. She was nice. She was safe. I couldn't tell her everything, because I couldn't tell anyone everything, not after what he did, but we could be friends. We could have things in common.

"Are there places around here to see live music?" I asked.

Angela nodded. "There's a bar in Port Angeles. They'll let you in for concerts, you just have to have a hand stamp."

"Anyone good play?"

"Well," she shrugged, "mostly locals. But this guy Ben, in our class, he has a band."

"Really?" I asked. "What do they play?"

"Covers, mostly. Alt rock."

"Hmm." I mumbled.

"You don't happen to play any instruments, do you? I heard Ben complaining that since their bassist left for college, they never get to play."

My head perked up from my book. "I play bass." Of course I did. I'd been obsessed with Pete Wentz before...

Well, before.

"You should hit him up on AIM," Angela said enthusiastically, writing down what I could only assume was his username. "Tell him, uh," she flushed again, "tell him I sent you."

"Yeah," I smiled. "Maybe."

She packed up her things. "I gotta go, my dad freaks if I'm late for dinner." She swung her backpack over one shoulder. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

I got into my truck. I glanced down at the radio. And for the first time in months, I let music fill the space I occupied.

[cullen-collective]

No AO3 for now. ya girl's on her phone writing fic like a HEATHEN.

Ben's garage was... strange.

His dad had a dimsum and dumpling restaurant that they lived above on Main Street, and half the garage was filled with marketing materials and old steamer baskets. There was a full size cardboard standee of a man dressed as a bao bun who was clearly Ben's dad waving at me from the corner.

"Yeah," Ben said, following my eye line, "he's also dressed as a potsticker and a soup dumpling." He shrugged, nonchalant. "We're the only place in town, it's not like we needed the publicity."

The rest of the space was filled with music equipment: amps, instruments, and cords.

It had been three weeks. I had taken a week to think about joining the band. A week of music immersion therapy. I'd asked my mom to send my bass and amp to Forks. She'd been excited, and I'd tamped it down by telling her to cool her jets, I wasn't going to play stadiums any time soon. By the time I'd messaged Ben, I was feeling the stirrings of the old feeling of bass in my bones, drums in my ribcage.

It helped that Ginger-vitis hadn't been back to school the entire time. Angela and I had started calling him that behind his back. I mean, we'd probably say it to his face, only he'd been too chicken shit to show it around school for almost a month.

Not that I cared. Except to be happy I was rid of him.

"We practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays," Ben continued, striding around to sit at the kit in the back. "And we usually get to play at least once a month in Port Angeles. Rick calls us when they don't have anyone booked." He nodded at my bass, in the case on my back. "The others will be here soon, and then we can see how you fit."

I nodded. I'd been practicing since my bass arrived, and I felt good about my skill level. Angela slipped me Closing Time's set lists, so I knew a few of the songs they might want to hear. Angela told me they got that name because Rick, the owner of the bar in Port Angeles, started calling them that because they would go on any time, even for five minutes at closing.

The garage door rumbled open, slowly revealing Tyler Crowley and Tara Galvaz, each holding a pizza box.

"Sorry," Tyler said, eyeing me up and down, something glinting in his eye that I definitely did not enjoy. "Lauren was working the counter at Cheesy's and she made me answer like a billion questions about homecoming."

Tara, I'd noticed, was stoned out of her mind like 80% of the day. She looked clear-eyed now, staring at her keyboard with an intensity that I thought might set it aflame if she kept it up long enough. I liked her, though. She was in my bio class and I had taken to putting my paper on the edge of the desk so she could copy me. She was smart, never getting them all right and drawing suspicion.

"Hey, Bella," she said, her eyes drifting over from the piano to mine.

"Hey," I said, a small smile growing without my permission across my lips. "Did you guys wanna eat first?"

Tyler shook he is head. "Nah. We'll work up an appetite." He flashed a roguish grin that made my stomach turn. I knew for a fact that he and Lauren Mallory were in the on-again phase of their off-again, on-again relationship.

I could handle Tyler being a jerk though, if it meant I got to play.

I unstrapped the bass and lifted it out of the case, plugging it into one of Ben's amps and tuning quickly.

"I'll count us in," Ben said. "Do you know 'Somewhere I Belong'?"

A hole ripped open in my gut. A hole I'd been trying to close over the last three weeks. I took a deep, shuddering breath.

No more, I had promised myself. He didn't get to take any more from me. He wouldn't take my chance to play. I could do this. So what if this was his favorite? So what if I'd learned to play it because of him? So what if it felt like my chest was caving in on itself?

I could do this.

I nodded.

Ben counted us in, and I did it. I played it perfectly, adding in the flair I'd developed over the months I'd spent playing it while thinking about him. I could swear, it even felt like I could feel him watching me, like I used to on our Skype dates.

"Whoa," Tara said when we were done. "Brainiac can actually play."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not a brainiac, Tara, I just already covered half the stuff we're doing in Bio."

Tyler clapped me on the shoulder. "Whatever you are, you've like, got it." He rolled his shoulders back, shook his sweaty hair off his face and turned to Ben. "Let's do another."

Ben's tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he thought. "Can you sing?"

"I mean," I started, apprehension filling my gut, "the bucket carries the tune."

"We learned 'Call Me When You're Sober' last week but Tara can't hit all the notes." He nodded over at Tara, who grimaced. "Do you know it?"

I almost laughed. I had been brutally rejected and lied to for months. Yeah, I knew it.

I nodded.

"Okay, let's go."

The song started, and my mouth opened, and I -

I just sang.

It wasn't perfect, it wasn't Amy Lee, but I did it. I felt it, too. I could feel my frustration and anger and hurt from being abandoned flowing out of me like water.

When we finished, the three of them were staring at me like Tara stared at her keyboard.

"So," Ben said, after several minutes of complete silence, "let's eat. And then let's discuss the set list for the gig at Rick's in two weeks."

[cullen-collective]

I really didn't wanna get slapped, so here's more.

Rick's bar was a dive.

It was a small hole in the wall on an unassuming street in Port Angeles, with a giant glossy wood bar taking up the majority of the space. The bar was nicked and chipped in enough places that I was sure if I went to order a coke I'd get a splinter and maybe tetanus. There was a smallish floor interspersed with tables and booths on the wall opposite the bar. And a stage.

A tiny one, really. Miniscule. I'd practically be on top of Tara and Ben while I played.

But I'd be playing.

Rick himself was behind the bar, pouring drinks and arguing with the regulars. He glanced up when we entered from the back door, lugging equipment. "Hey, kids," he groused. "Go ahead and set up, but I'm not letting in the under-agers until seven."

Ben nodded, clearly used to his gruffness. "Thanks, Rick."

Rick flagrantly ignored him and went back to his vehement defense of the Seahawks defensive line to a guy who looked like he and the stool beneath him had fused into a single unit.

"Wow," I said.

Tara coughed out a laugh. "Yeah," she droned, "he's definitely someone's mean uncle."

"But he lets us play," Ben called from the stage, where he was currently unloading his kick drum. "So he could literally slap me across the face and I'd say 'thank you'."

I couldn't help but agree. There was a humming in my veins that I hadn't felt in months. I was going to play music with my friends.

In the two weeks between my audition and this gig, we'd been practicing so much that we'd sort of become inseparable. We discussed the set list over lunch. I was so used to seeing Lauren on Tyler's lap that I usually forgot that she was glaring at me so intensely. Tara and I had smoked in the woods twice already, and I seriously needed to pay her back for her weed. And Ben... Well, clearly Ben had it bad for Angela, and by the grace of being her friend, I knew she did too.

It was... fun. Being involved in things was fun.

Even when the miraculous prodigal ginger returned to school last week, it didn't phase me.

Well, that's not strictly true, but I was sure he couldn't tell I'd been phased. He'd said nothing to me, and I returned the favor with vigor.

He certainly didn't know I'd had a panic attack over it in the women's room after bio and skipped English.

But I was better now, and it didn't matter. I was going to play music with my friends.

When my amp was plugged in and my bass was tuned, I unstrapped it and set it down in the stand. "I'm gonna get a soda," I said, choosing to test my yearly flu shot, "anybody want something?"

"Coke," Tara said, and I was pretty sure she meant the soda.

"World peace," Ben intoned from behind the kit, adjusting cymbal height.

"Sex on the Beach," Tyler said, flashing me yet another of his lascivious smirks.

"Done, done, and in your dreams," I tossed back over a shoulder as I made my way to the bar. The place was starting to fill up, and we had fifteen minutes until Rick started letting in the kids from school. Angela was coming, and Lauren obviously, and Jessica. Jess was bringing Mike, and I heard that Eric Yorkie was bringing the Mathletes.

I ordered four Cokes, as I doubted that Rick's ancient soda gun had Dr. Pepper, and watched the windows while I waited. I spotted our friends in the line, and a few other people from classes that I'd never spoken to. I gave a quick wave, then juggled glasses back over to the stage, passing them around and then chugging my own. I needed the sugar high. I was nervous.

I fiddled with my bass instead of looking up when the doors opened for our classmates. The air became stifling. It was crowded in here.

I took in a few deep breaths. I glanced up and almost puked. It was standing room only.

"Go Bella!" Mike shouted from his booth, and Jessica smacked him on the arm.

And tucked in the back corner, at a tiny table, was Alice Cullen and Rosalie Cullen. Emmett was winding back from the bar with four drinks. There was someone sitting out of sight on the far end.

I hoped it was Jasper, but somehow I knew it wasn't.

He doesn't get to win, I said to myself. He doesn't get to win, he doesn't get to have music, he doesn't get to have your friends, he doesn't get to win.

Tyler, his guitar slung low across his hips, grabbed the mic.

"Hey, we're Closing Time," he said, and I swear to God I heard Lauren giggle somewhere.

Ben's sticks began slapping together, counting us in.

One.

Two.

I had four counts to make my peace.

One.

Deep breath.

Two.

Straight spine.

Three.

Adjust stance.

Four.

I jumped into the song, weaving the bass line into the melody. I sang the harmonies with Tyler. I glanced back at Tara, who beamed at me with unrestrained glee.

"This is the dawning of the rest of our lives," Tyler and I were belting now, voices blending across the bar. We were back to back, leaning against each other and using the same mic.

Pretty dramatic for a dive gig, but I was feeling the moment.

The bass in my bones.

The drums in my ribcage.

The show continued and we played and I felt it then, the way I always used to. Like his eyes were a physical touch along my skin. He was watching me. I refused to do the same.

I started to itch, as though the act of not returning his gaze was festering in my blood. I ignored it.

The last song came, and I was the vocalist on it.

I stepped up and Mike started hollering and Angela gave a whistle that pierced my ears. Some kids from my Trig class whooped. The song started, and I let myself go. I wasn't anyone. I wasn't Bella, the chief's daughter, or Bella the abandoned, or Bella the klutz, or Bella at all.

I was a voice in a room, hands on a bass, and lips on a mic.

"I'll write you just to let you know that I'm alright. Can't say I'm sad to see you go, cause I'm not."

I glanced up.

He was watching me, a look of devastation so plain on his angelic features that it winded me for a second.

But just a second.

I smirked, copying Tyler as best I could, and stepped back into Tara's space for the instrumental section of the song. She and I leaned into each other, foreheads together, beaming at each other. I made a kissy face at her and she rolled her eyes, prompting me to laugh before heading back to the microphone.

The song ended.

"Thanks, we're Closing Time," I said over the cheering.

By the time my bass was in its stand and I made my way into the bar to thank people for coming, the Cullens were gone.

[cullen-collective]

... Don't even ask me where I've been.

"Can we talk?"

His voice to my left, as smooth and soft as I remembered it, startled me so badly I almost fell off my chair trying to move away from it. I glanced over at him briefly, and his expression almost made me pause to take him in better. Eyes wide and concerned, mouth tilted down in a frown, brows pinched in the middle. He seemed like he really did want to talk to me.

Unfortunately for him, the feeling was not mutual.

"No." I deadpanned, eyes on my mitosis notes, "we cannot."

Something like an exasperated sigh came from him, and I almost smiled, delighted to be the source of his annoyance. However, I refrained, as he had nothing to be exasperated with but himself. This entire situation was his fault. If he'd come clean about living here and knowing who I was, or if he'd just said that he didn't want to meet me in person when I moved, I probably would have accepted it. It would have sucked, sure, but not as badly as getting ignored and made to feel like a joke for months.

A cold fingertip landed on my hand and I jerked, almost as if I'd been static shocked.

I swung around to face him, glaring. He was cradling his own hand, like he'd felt it too, that electric current, and his eyes turned sad at the look on my face. "Please, Bells."

"Do not fucking call me that. Ever. Again," I hissed under my breath, seething. How fucking dare he? He didn't get to use cutesy nicknames with me. He didn't get to flaunt his extra knowledge of me. God forbid Mike heard him at the table behind us, because he'd start using the name just to compete with Edward.

His head dipped forward, his stupid bronzey bed head hair covering his forehead as he rubbed at his eyes. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Excuse the fuck out of me?! Did he just apologize in the middle of a Bio lab? Where God and everyone (including Jessica, the gossip queen) could hear him? Fuck, the rumor mill was going to explode with stupid reasons why he'd apologized by the final bell. Someone would say he hit my car, someone else would claim he stole from me, someone would say he knocked me up, and then finally they'd settle on him having dumped me.

Well, fuck that.

"Why are you sorry? Did you do something to me other than be annoying today?" I said it loud enough for Jessica, two tables over, to hear me, but not loud enough to draw Mr. Molina's ire.

Edward scoffed.

Fuck him.

"Really? That's how you want to respond to my apology?" He raised one eyebrow, a trait I'd always been jealous of. Bastard.

I smiled sweetly at him. "I don't need an apology from you. I don't even know you."

Something flared in his eyes at my smile. Anger, maybe. His own eyes narrowed and he glared at my lips like they'd caused him great personal suffering.

"But I know you."

I shrugged, glancing over at Tara at the next table. She was staring at me like I had two heads. "Later," I mouthed at her. Then I passed her my lab sheet covertly. I turned back to Edward. "No."

"Yes. I know a lot about you, actually." His mouth quirked up, almost as if he was about to unleash that stupid crooked grin, and I scowled, causing him to frown again.

"No," I repeated, "you don't." I leaned in, making my face his entire field of vision. "And if you did, you wouldn't be talking to me."

Tara passed back my lab sheet and I turned away from him, going back to my notes.

I could feel him watching me as I doodled in my margins, already finished with the classwork. I ignored the burning spot on my neck where I knew his eyes rested, right at my pulse point, and added details to the flower I was drawing. I put a leaf between two petals and the feeling of his eyes on me faded.

I took a deep breath.

By the end of the day, the narrative was that I'd rejected his attempt to ask me out. Sometimes it paid to be friends with the gossip queen. All I'd done was answer, "I don't know, he's weird" to her barrage of questions.

I was on the way to my truck when a heavy arm lay across my shoulders.

"Hey, Ty," I said. "You and Lauren broke up again?"

Tyler had a habit of getting more hands-on when they were in an off-again phase.

He leaned his head against mine. "How did you know?"

I rolled my eyes and shoved his cheek away from mine with an open palm. "A hunch."

He chuckled, removing his arm from my shoulders to massage his cheek where I'd pushed him. "She wouldn't shut up all afternoon about you and Cullen. It was like he revealed himself as a candidate for dating and she was a little too excited, honestly."

"Wow. Fuck that noise."

"Exactly." Tyler put his arm back around me, then grabbed the strap of my backpack and pulled it off my shoulders, hefting it onto his front like a backpack sandwich. I was used to him at this point. Being the only two mobile members of the band while playing, our physical closeness had no effect on me any more. Kind of hard to wig over a hug when you've laid on someone's back to kick off into a bass solo and shared a mic.

"Are we practicing at Ben's?" We'd recently added my house to the rotation, since Charlie worked late and we had plenty of space. "I'm craving scallion pancakes."

"Yeah," he nodded. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "What did happen with Cullen, anyway?"

I pulled at my temples, my hands making fists in my hair. The spot on my hand that he'd touched felt like it was on fire. "Nothing. I'm gonna go find Tara for a smoke. You coming, or meet at Ben's?" I released my hair and strode ahead of him, flipping around to walk backwards.

Tyler stared at me, eyes full of questions that I didn't want to answer. And then, he did the thing that made me put up with him hitting on me and the near constant touching. He shrugged, and the questions disappeared, and I knew he wouldn't bring it up again. "Fine, but if we're late, you're taking the fall with Ben."

I grinned for the first time since before Bio class. The pain in my hand disappeared.

"Deal."

I ignored the feeling of being watched all the way to the copse of trees where Tara always smoked after class. And maybe I let Tyler keep his hand there when he reached up to rest it on top of my head.

I smiled at the sound of expensive tires peeling out of the lot a few seconds later.

[cullen-collective]

do it. write it. do it

Say. Less. 

*

There’s never anyone actually interesting in these chats. 

There’s me, who actually wants to discuss music, the way it feels, the lyrics’ poetic meanings, the way the drums crash like they’re my own heartbeat. And then there’s guys who might want to discuss that, but are probably here for the other occupants of the forum: girls obsessed with band members. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against them, and I fully understand geeking out over Pete Wentz (although I’ve always been more of a Stump girl) or Gerard Way or even Chester Bennington. I just keep having to switch to new forums when it’s clear that no one else wants to talk about the music, but instead have guys who claim to look like Adam Lazarra scam the email addresses and photos off those girls. 

Which brings me here, to another new forum chat, scrolling through older posts about who drums harder: Travis Barker or Mike Kinsella, as the chat scrolls by on the right side of the screen. I was mindlessly scrolling, mentally agreeing or disparaging the opinions of other posters, too scared to comment. This site was pretty neat, and the account I’d had to create to post comments and chat had spaces for a list of my favorites, which I’d happily included. It also had a little bio, which I’d filled in with my name and age, as well as one of my favorite lyrics.

I kept one eye on the chat as it went, keeping up with the current discussion of how best to cut your bangs. I typed up a quick note that the best way to cut your bangs was to see a local hairdresser so you didn’t end up with Buffy season three bangs instead of the side-sweep you wanted. 

Emo-ward: But is it really, truly in the spirit of punk rock if you don’t cut them yourself?

HellsBells: I think to be a real punk, you’d probably need to like different bands. To be alt, you can visit a salon or resign yourself to botched hair. 

Emo-ward: Seems like the majority is going to choose the second option.

HellsBells: Well, sometimes we must suffer for the cause. 

Emo-Ward wants to send you a private message. Accept. Decline. 

I was stunned. No one ever requested me. My cursor hovered over “Accept”, my finger twitching. My mother, as scattered as she was, had always warned me about being too open online. What if this was like, a forty-five year old man who preyed on kids in chat rooms? What if it was a serial killer? What if it was someone from school trying to humiliate me? What if it was a kid from school who wanted to humiliate me and also did a little serial killing on the side? 

Okay, I was being ridiculous. I knew nothing about this person. Hell, I hadn’t even looked at their profile. So I right-clicked the name in the chat and opened another window to his profile. Like mine, the profile had no picture, and instead had a graphic. It was Gerard Way but his hair had been edited to be bright green. I snorted, remembering my own, which was Britney Spears edited with a scene girl haircut that this chick in my Western Civ class had emailed to me as a joke after seeing the Ataris CD in my portable player. The name listed was Edward, the age as 16, and he had a lyric on his profile too. 

“Watching from the floor.”

I recognized it, small as it was. It was from “Dear Maria, Count Me In”. I was a little surprised. Great song choice. 

It seemed he wasn’t too sketchy. 

I went back to the original page, steeled my nerves and hit “Accept.” 

Emo-ward: Do you really have time in your veins? 

My tongue pressed to the inside of my cheek. If this really was a sixteen-year-old boy, I was in trouble. He had just referenced the lyric in my bio, (from “Understanding In A Car Crash”: “It starts and stops and starts and stops again.”) and made it a joke. I had to one-up him. 

HellsBells: Yes. I am also a pen.

Emo-ward: Where are you from, girl with time in her veins who is somehow also a pen?

I smiled at my screen. I couldn’t help it. He was kind of funny. 

HellsBells: Forgive me, sir, if I’m not very specific. I’m from the Southwest. You?

Emo-ward: Well, miss, I will follow suit. I’m from the Northwest. 

There was something about the way he wrote that made me want to trust him. Maybe it was that we had similar chat styles. Although… My mother had always said I talked like I was sixty. What if he was sixty?! Edward is an old man's name. 

HellsBells: You kind of talk like an old guy, you know that, right?

Emo-ward: That’s because I’m 104. 

HellsBells: Wow. You use the internet pretty well for a senior citizen.

Emo-ward: They had us take a class. So, what’s your favorite album right now?

I smiled. Funny, and hopefully not an old guy. 

HellsBells: Will you stop talking to me if I say Take This to Your Grave?

Emo-ward: Only if you stop talking to me for saying mine is Meteora. 

HellsBells: Only if you tell me your favorite song off the album is Numb. That’s where I draw the line. 

Emo-ward: While that song isn’t my favorite, it’s pretty good. Anyway, the actual favorite is Somewhere I Belong. 

I thought about that for a minute. I liked that song, but I hadn’t listened to it a lot. I’d have to give it another go. I had Meteora around here somewhere. I found the album in my bookshelf, put it in my portable player, and put the headphones on. I skipped to the right track, and let it play while I answered. 

HellsBells: Not that you asked, but mine is Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes.

Emo-ward: Aggressive. I like it. 

I burst out laughing. Out loud. In my house. On a school night. At eleven. 

“Bella?” my mom called from across the hall. “Are you on the computer?” 

Shit. “Uh… no?”

I heard Mom start giggling. “Go to bed, kid!” 

“Okay!” I grimaced at the screen. No way I was ever going to hear from this guy again. But… I had to try, right? He was funny, and he had great taste in music. 

HellsBells: Well, grandpa, if you can get the orderlies at the nursing home to let you use the computer on Friday, I’ll be here. Until then, I’m not an adult and have to deal with things like school nights. 

Emo-ward: I’m sorry about that. I never sleep, so my school nights are exactly like regular nights. I’ll be here. 

I shook my head at that, holding in a giant smile. You know what, fuck it, I let the smile loose. It wasn’t like he could see me. And I let “Somewhere I Belong” play on repeat until I fell asleep. 

[cullen-collective]

I heard some of you wanted part two.

HellsBells: Dude. Today was the WORST.

Emo-Ward: What happened?

I sighed. How could I explain this to him without him judging my mom? Edward was really great, and we got along so well, but... for some reason I didn't want him to judge her.

HellsBells: My mom got married last summer, do you remember?

It had been eight months since I'd first messaged Edward. Over that time we'd become really close. If we lived in the same state we'd probably be attached at the hip. We messaged almost every day, and had a weekly Skype date. Well, I say date because that's what I want them to be, but we've never really defined ourselves as anything other than best friends.

Emo-Ward: Would this be easier for you if you didn't have to type?

See? That right there is why I wanted them to be dates. He was always putting me first. Apparently his family is like, super nosy with freaky good hearing, but he still braved Skype so that I could vent.

HellsBells: Yes, please.

My computer started chiming and I clicked "Accept" on the video call.

His face filled the screen, and I was reminded of the other reason I wanted them to be dates. Edward was hot. He had annoyingly perfect bedhead at all times. His eyes were golden, which he insists aren't because of contacts. His jaw could cut glass. It's frankly insulting to God to be that blessed. And he spends his time hanging out with me. Honestly, what the fuck.

"Hey," he said, smiling. I loved his smile. The left side of his mouth peeked up just slightly higher than the right, making it adorably crooked.

I attempted to maintain composure, but I fully melted into my chair. "Hi."

His smile widened, and I swore my heart physically stopped beating. "So, your mom got married."

I forced myself to stop being stupid, and answered him. "Yeah. And she's miserable."

Edward's brow furrowed. "She doesn't like Phil?"

"No," I snorted (real attractive, Bella), "she loves Phil."

The brow furrow deepened. "I'm not sensing the problem."

"She's not happy when he's on the road. Baseball season is in the middle of the school year."

Edward looked confused for another beat, then it dawned on him. "Oh."

"Yeah," I said. "'Oh.'"

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I'm going to move."

Edward's eyes widened. "What?!"

He started mumbling to himself, and Bella swore she heard tinkling laughter from somewhere near his computer.

"Yeah, I'm going to move. Closer to you, actually." She stifled her smile. "Maybe you can play me that lullaby in person."

His face, as if it were possible, went whiter.

"That's not a good idea, Bella." He shook his head. "In fact, I don't think moving is a good idea at all."

This time my brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"You love Arizona."

"I also love my mom."

"Yeah, well she doesn't love you."

My jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

Edward shook his head. "She'd let you move a thousand miles away when you don't actually want to, just for her own selfish purpose?"

"You know what?"

"What?"

I bit my lip, contemplating my next words. I didn't want to say them, they'd hurt me. But I couldn't just let him come after my mom.

"I don't think we should talk for a while."

Edward's eyes widened. His shoulders sagged. For just a moment I thought he looked remorseful. But then he said, eyes burning, "I'll do you one better, Bella. I don't think we should talk at all."

He ended the call, leaving me stunned. It felt like an angry pit had opened in my stomach, devouring my insides.

I went to the bookshelf and shuffled through my CDs. I found the one I was looking for. A CD he'd burned for me with only one track. My lullaby. The gift for my birthday. The day I'd known I was in love with him.

The melody was sweeping. Sweet, and sad, and perfect.

I threw the CD on the ground.

I crushed it beneath my heel.

And only then, I flopped onto my bed and sobbed, the pit in my stomach twisting and coiling like a viper.

[cullen-collective]

y'all looking for another chapter? 👀

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since I'd last spoken to him, since we had our fight. Two weeks of the black pit in my stomach devouring me until I was nothing but a hollow shell.

Mom was worried. I could tell she didn't get it. "He was just some boy on the internet, hon," she kept saying, "It's not like it was real."

But she had no idea what she was talking about. It was real. His favorite album of all time was The Black Parade, which I made fun of him for constantly. His favorite place on Earth was Alaska for some fucking reason. He had four "siblings" who'd all met in a group home and had fallen in love with each other before his older brother and sister-in-law adopted them. He felt alone in a house full of couples. He felt misunderstood by his family, who all thought he was unhappy without someone of his own. (Never mind that their situation was absolutely bonkers; no, they were worried about the single seventeen year old.) He liked camping and writing music and me.

Except he didn't. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. The more and more I thought about it, the less sense it made. Maybe I was just a distraction, a way to escape the chaos in his house. Maybe I was an excuse, so that his family would get off his back about getting out there. But he couldn't have been interested in me.

Every time I played that moment back, I thought about that melodic laugh. Who had been laughing when I'd told him I was moving? Who was listening to us? Had they been listening the whole time? Reading our chatlogs? The thought of him with someone else... making fun of how pathetic I am, was killing me.

I hadn't been eating. Not since I'd worked up the courage to apologize and discovered that he'd wiped his accounts. No forums, no Skype, not even an email. And in my anger I'd destroyed the one piece of him I had left: my lullaby. Without it, I hadn't been sleeping either.

I still hummed it sometimes, to myself. But I could never get it just right.

Two weeks, and a million to go.

At the three month mark my mother intervened.

She sat in my room, at my desk, facing me on my bed. I didn't look at her. I didn't look at anyone anymore.

"Enough."

I slowly rolled my eyes toward her, staring at the space between her brows. "What?"

"It's enough, Bella." Her voice cracked and I looked away. "I don't know what else to do. You sit in therapy and stay silent. You sit at home and do nothing. I don't know how to help you."

His words echoed in my mind. "She doesn't love you."

"Yeah, cause you're obviously trying really hard, Mom. When you can get five seconds away from Phil, that is." I watched the words hurt her and some vicious part of me reveled in it. She didn't know my pain. Let her have just a taste.

She took a deep breath. "You're going to Forks."

I sat up. "What?!" No, I couldn't. He lived in the Northwest. Too close, too close to him and the thought of him and missing him and wanting him.

"End of discussion." She got up from my chair. "Start packing. I enrolled you in the high school starting after spring break."

I nearly spat. "So you can't handle me and you're just going to pawn me off on Charlie?!"

She paused at the door. "If it helps you to think of it that way, fine."

"I hate you."

"I know," she said, before leaving the room. "But I love you."

I threw a pillow at the shut door and seethed. Let her think that I'm going. They'll have to drag me by the hair.

[cullen-collective]

in true ffn fashion, have more with no warning or schedule

They didn't drag me by the hair.

I got on the plane willingly. I got off the plane. I got into the cruiser, and I listened to Charlie talk about the town, and the people, and the school. I heard him harp on and on about his pal Billy, and Billy's kid Jacob. I listened to everything he said and then immediately forgot it all.

I could have resisted. I could have given my mother what she wanted, and reacted and raged and stormed against her, just so she could have some proof that I wasn't broken. But I was. Every day I heard that tinkling laugh, and I remembered that I hadn't mattered. I hadn't been special, not like he was to me. I had been a curiosity to be gawked at. The freaky pale Arizona girl who talked about music as though she could somehow consume the beat and absorb it into her bones.

I didn't listen anymore.

It wasn't even that he'd lied. Not that he'd given up on me. Not that he'd maybe never cared about me at all. It was that I had been so stupid, so naive, and so gullible as to believe I could have been someone to someone like him. What a moron I was.

At least the universe had thoroughly punished me for my stupidity. As I watched out the window of the cruiser, greenery flying past until it made me sick, I knew I was still punishing myself by being here. In this wet, cold, creepily green place.

When we arrived at Charlie's house, there was a huge red rusted truck in the driveway. There was a Skrillex sticker on the back window. Who the fuck drove that beast and blasted Skrillex from a radio that had to be sixty years old?

"Do you like the truck?" Charlie asked.

Truthfully, I did. It looked like a monster that could take a hit, and it wasn't like I was a speed demon. But Charlie didn't need to know that. No one needed any more insight into what I liked and didn't like. It was all just ammunition.

I shrugged.

"Well, I got it for you. Bought it off of Billy and had Jacob fix it up." He smiled over at me, just the left side of his mouth quirking up, and I had to look away. He sighed. "It runs great, and I thought maybe a little independence goes a long way."

I nodded. I was actually a little excited at the prospect. Maybe there was a library or a bookstore nearby. The less time I spent in school or at home, the better.

"Thanks."

Charlie seemed a little startled to hear me speak. "You're welcome, Bells."

Bells. Stupid nickname. Stupid username.

I got out of the car, Charlie popped the trunk, and I hauled two of my bags into the house, heading straight for where I remembered my room to be. Charlie followed, carrying the rest of my bags. They were light. I didn't pack a lot. Mostly the new winter clothing that Renee bought me before I left.

I spent the rest of the evening unpacking. I laid out a coat and jeans for the next day. I went to sleep. Except I didn't. I laid in bed, and the silence pressed in until my ears rang, and it sounded like a melodic laugh.

When my alarm rang, I shut it off and got ready for the day. I grabbed the keys to the truck off the side table. Charlie was already gone on patrol.

I followed the one road in town all the way to the high school, and parked next to a Volvo in the lot. Classes came and went. There was a nice girl with glasses, Angela, who was assigned to guide me for the day. She introduced me to her friends at lunch, and I was sitting with them when it happened.

I looked up, scanning the cafeteria, when my gaze locked with a pair of golden eyes.

Golden eyes that I knew.

That I had loved.

And I didn't hesitate. I got up and left, Angela trailing after me, calling after me and asking what was wrong.

Everything.

Everything was wrong.

[cullen-collective]

SURPRISE BITCH. BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF ME.

I burst out of the cafeteria at a sprint, heading for the tree line. I made it just inside, right as Angela emerged from the building, glancing around, clearly looking for me. She called my name once, twice, a third time, before heading back inside with a concerned look on her face. I didn't know if she'd call for help or not. I was, after all, the freaky new girl, the chief's daughter, who'd had a breakdown during lunch. I wasn't sure I warranted a call for help.

I took a deep breath, slumping down onto a fallen log. I felt them then. The tears, tracking down my cheeks, carving treacherous ravines across my face. I let them. I'd already cried so many tears for Edward, what were a few more? I would cry here for the lunch hour, then attend the rest of my classes and demand to move home. Fuck it if Renee and Charlie didn't like it. I wasn't going to stay here any longer than I had to.

I would not be forced into his presence. We hadn't had any classes together that morning, but that didn't mean that I wouldn't eventually be put into a room with him, where he would inevitably suck out all the air, leaving me gasping to survive. I would not be placed near his coppery bedhead, his golden eyes, or his crooked smile. I would not let him know that he'd broken me.

And as I sat there on that log, contemplating the ways that being in his presence would torture me, I began to wonder if he too, might not be tortured by the mere sight of me. The weird stalker who'd been so into him, so dependent, now in his daily life whether he liked it or not. He'd wanted to avoid me, and here I was, unavoidable.

He knew me, it was true. My secrets and desires and wishes and dreams.

But I also knew his.

He hadn't lied about those, of that I was sure. No one could speak the way he had about his family and music and love and art and not mean it. You could say you liked my company and be lying through your teeth, but you couldn't bare your soul in falsehood. I knew his siblings names, what they looked like, how they acted. I knew his older brother Carlisle was a doctor in this town, apparently, and that he'd adopted them all so they wouldn't be separated. I knew that his fondest wish was to find someone who inspired him to write songs that made people feel like they could absorb the melody into their cellular makeup, the way I used to love songs.

He'd stolen that from me.

Taken music, taken joy, taken pride and self esteem and confidence and love.

He couldn't have this. He couldn't have the town I'd been born in, my birthright, my escape. He could fuck back off to Alaska for all I cared.

So I got off the log. I marched back into the cafeteria. I stopped by Angela's table, assuring them all that I was fine, just got nauseated suddenly. That I would be right back.

And I kept going, until I reached the table in the corner, where two tall blondes, a burly giant, a tiny waif with huge eyes, and a tousle-headed douchebag were sitting.

"Hi," I said, staring down at the pixie-like dark haired girl, the least intimidating of the bunch, who was smiling widely at me. "You're Alice, right?"

Her grin widened. "Yep. That's me."

"Great," I said, shooting her a small smile of my own. The action felt foreign and unnatural. Another thing he'd taken: my smiles. "Do me a favor, okay?"

Alice tittered, clearly getting a kick out of this. "Sure, Bella."

She knew who I was. He'd told people about me. His siblings. I glanced around the table to see Rosalie and Emmett, who I could tell based on energy alone, were glaring and beaming, respectively. Jasper, with one hand on Alice's arm, looked pained.

I didn't look at Edward.

"Keep your narcissist, asshole brother away from me until we graduate." I crossed my arms, leaning away from the group of them. "Maybe you got to this school first, but I have dibs on Forks. I'll do my thing, and he can do his, so long as I don't have to look at him."

"Okay," Alice said, eyes wide, lips pressed tightly together as though she were holding back another smile. "If you say so, Bella."

"I do say so." I waved my hand in a circle, indicating they should continue their lunch, as not one of them had eaten anything since I'd shown up. "Carry on."

I sauntered, literally sauntered, back to Angela's table, where the occupants stared at me with open mouths and wide eyes. I felt lighter than I had in weeks, hell, months. Fuck that guy and the horse he rode in on. He didn't get to win.

But as I sat down, ignoring the gaping curiosity of my peers, I heard a high, melodic laugh from behind me, and my spine locked up tight.

I glanced over my shoulder to see the source: Alice, her gaze locked on Edward, apparently taunting him.

Well, at least that was one mystery solved.

[cullen-collective]

every once in a while I'm reminded of this and upload a bunch. should I move it to ao3??

Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.

I walked into biology after lunch, and there, sitting still as stone, clearly not even breathing, was Dick-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. He looked at me, standing at the front of the classroom, desperately searching for any other open seat, and I saw it. Disgust. He looked disgusted by me.

I recoiled from the look, rethinking my decision to stay and make his life hell. As Fall Out Boy taught me, "you try too hard to not look quite as desperate." And Linkin Park taught me that "these wounds, they will not heal." I mean, the guy clearly thought I was insane. Probably convinced himself I moved here for him. Pining, like the lovesick asshole I've been the last few months.

Old habits die hard.

But I would kill them myself.

I stalked over to him, the only empty seat in the room, pulled my chair all the way to the edge of the table furthest from him, and plopped down.

"So," I said. "How long have you known I'm from here?"

He said nothing, hiding his mouth with one stunningly pale hand.

"I mean, clearly, you have eyes and ears and you know who Chief Swan is."

Still nothing, but his eyes cut to me with a glare.

I rolled my eyes. "Wow, Eddie," I emphasized the nickname he hated, "you must be, like, so totally obsessed with me."

That was the thing. He had to have known. It's why he didn't want me to come. I knew a lot about Edward as a person, but I knew nothing about where he lived, his school, his last name, even. But he knew mine. He knew it all. I had been so blind, so stupid. I'd talked about Forks with him, mentioning the name because I thought it was safe to mention a little nowhere town that he certainly had never even been to.

But he had. He fucking lived here.

"I bet you knew, even when we first met," I postulated, bringing out my textbook and a notepad. "I bet you were stalking me like the clearly unhinged-"

I didn't get to finish.

He stormed out, faster than should be possible, not acknowledging the teacher who called after him.

"Mr. Cullen! Where are you going?!"

Nothing. He was long gone.

Cullen, huh. Irish. Well tell that dick he just made my list of things to do today.

I smiled to myself, ignoring the sting of his rejection. He left, unable to even be in my presence for five minutes. That hurt, sure. But it also felt good.

And later, when I saw him in the office, trying to switch out of our Bio class, I ignored that hurt too. I smiled instead as he turned and saw me, his grimace plain as day. The secretary had turned him down.

"Better luck next time. Try not to bring down my GPA." I handed the red-haired school secretary, Mrs. Cope, my signed schedule, indicating I'd found all my classes. "And maybe avert your eyes. You were staring pretty hard. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

I spent some time in the library afterward, relishing in the look of shock and dismay on his face when I'd left. I snagged a copy of all of the required reading, and when I ran into Angela, I asked for her to be my study buddy for a while.

I could practically feel her desire to say something.

"Yes, Angela?"

She flushed. "It's just. You were talking to them."

"Who?" I asked, feigning innocence.

"The Cullens."

I sighed. I'd seen this coming when I'd made my way back. The entire table had been bug-eyed. Luckily the bell had rung and I got to traipse off to the worst Bio class ever.

"We have..." I struggled for a way to word it. "History."

Angela sputtered. "But they don't talk to anyone!"

"Yeah, well, technically the only one I talked to won't talk to me, so you're still right."

Angela frowned. "Huh?"

I laughed. God, it felt good. "That sentence was confusing. The ginger," I clarified. "I used to talk to him on a chat forum. We, uh, had a falling out. I wasn't expecting to see him."

It was the most I'd spoken to someone in months. It was nice, sitting with Angela, who clearly liked the gossip, but didn't seem like she was bursting to blab.

He'd really fucked me up, if sitting in the library talking about a boy I couldn't stand was the highlight of my day. I needed to get out more.

"That's sad." Angela patted my hand. "I'm sorry you'll have to be around him."

"Nah," I grinned. "He'll apply to be homeschooled within the month."

Angela laughed. She was nice. She was safe. I couldn't tell her everything, because I couldn't tell anyone everything, not after what he did, but we could be friends. We could have things in common.

"Are there places around here to see live music?" I asked.

Angela nodded. "There's a bar in Port Angeles. They'll let you in for concerts, you just have to have a hand stamp."

"Anyone good play?"

"Well," she shrugged, "mostly locals. But this guy Ben, in our class, he has a band."

"Really?" I asked. "What do they play?"

"Covers, mostly. Alt rock."

"Hmm." I mumbled.

"You don't happen to play any instruments, do you? I heard Ben complaining that since their bassist left for college, they never get to play."

My head perked up from my book. "I play bass." Of course I did. I'd been obsessed with Pete Wentz before...

Well, before.

"You should hit him up on AIM," Angela said enthusiastically, writing down what I could only assume was his username. "Tell him, uh," she flushed again, "tell him I sent you."

"Yeah," I smiled. "Maybe."

She packed up her things. "I gotta go, my dad freaks if I'm late for dinner." She swung her backpack over one shoulder. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

I got into my truck. I glanced down at the radio. And for the first time in months, I let music fill the space I occupied.

[cullen-collective]

No AO3 for now. ya girl's on her phone writing fic like a HEATHEN.

Ben's garage was... strange.

His dad had a dimsum and dumpling restaurant that they lived above on Main Street, and half the garage was filled with marketing materials and old steamer baskets. There was a full size cardboard standee of a man dressed as a bao bun who was clearly Ben's dad waving at me from the corner.

"Yeah," Ben said, following my eye line, "he's also dressed as a potsticker and a soup dumpling." He shrugged, nonchalant. "We're the only place in town, it's not like we needed the publicity."

The rest of the space was filled with music equipment: amps, instruments, and cords.

It had been three weeks. I had taken a week to think about joining the band. A week of music immersion therapy. I'd asked my mom to send my bass and amp to Forks. She'd been excited, and I'd tamped it down by telling her to cool her jets, I wasn't going to play stadiums any time soon. By the time I'd messaged Ben, I was feeling the stirrings of the old feeling of bass in my bones, drums in my ribcage.

It helped that Ginger-vitis hadn't been back to school the entire time. Angela and I had started calling him that behind his back. I mean, we'd probably say it to his face, only he'd been too chicken shit to show it around school for almost a month.

Not that I cared. Except to be happy I was rid of him.

"We practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays," Ben continued, striding around to sit at the kit in the back. "And we usually get to play at least once a month in Port Angeles. Rick calls us when they don't have anyone booked." He nodded at my bass, in the case on my back. "The others will be here soon, and then we can see how you fit."

I nodded. I'd been practicing since my bass arrived, and I felt good about my skill level. Angela slipped me Closing Time's set lists, so I knew a few of the songs they might want to hear. Angela told me they got that name because Rick, the owner of the bar in Port Angeles, started calling them that because they would go on any time, even for five minutes at closing.

The garage door rumbled open, slowly revealing Tyler Crowley and Tara Galvaz, each holding a pizza box.

"Sorry," Tyler said, eyeing me up and down, something glinting in his eye that I definitely did not enjoy. "Lauren was working the counter at Cheesy's and she made me answer like a billion questions about homecoming."

Tara, I'd noticed, was stoned out of her mind like 80% of the day. She looked clear-eyed now, staring at her keyboard with an intensity that I thought might set it aflame if she kept it up long enough. I liked her, though. She was in my bio class and I had taken to putting my paper on the edge of the desk so she could copy me. She was smart, never getting them all right and drawing suspicion.

"Hey, Bella," she said, her eyes drifting over from the piano to mine.

"Hey," I said, a small smile growing without my permission across my lips. "Did you guys wanna eat first?"

Tyler shook he is head. "Nah. We'll work up an appetite." He flashed a roguish grin that made my stomach turn. I knew for a fact that he and Lauren Mallory were in the on-again phase of their off-again, on-again relationship.

I could handle Tyler being a jerk though, if it meant I got to play.

I unstrapped the bass and lifted it out of the case, plugging it into one of Ben's amps and tuning quickly.

"I'll count us in," Ben said. "Do you know 'Somewhere I Belong'?"

A hole ripped open in my gut. A hole I'd been trying to close over the last three weeks. I took a deep, shuddering breath.

No more, I had promised myself. He didn't get to take any more from me. He wouldn't take my chance to play. I could do this. So what if this was his favorite? So what if I'd learned to play it because of him? So what if it felt like my chest was caving in on itself?

I could do this.

I nodded.

Ben counted us in, and I did it. I played it perfectly, adding in the flair I'd developed over the months I'd spent playing it while thinking about him. I could swear, it even felt like I could feel him watching me, like I used to on our Skype dates.

"Whoa," Tara said when we were done. "Brainiac can actually play."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not a brainiac, Tara, I just already covered half the stuff we're doing in Bio."

Tyler clapped me on the shoulder. "Whatever you are, you've like, got it." He rolled his shoulders back, shook his sweaty hair off his face and turned to Ben. "Let's do another."

Ben's tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he thought. "Can you sing?"

"I mean," I started, apprehension filling my gut, "the bucket carries the tune."

"We learned 'Call Me When You're Sober' last week but Tara can't hit all the notes." He nodded over at Tara, who grimaced. "Do you know it?"

I almost laughed. I had been brutally rejected and lied to for months. Yeah, I knew it.

I nodded.

"Okay, let's go."

The song started, and my mouth opened, and I -

I just sang.

It wasn't perfect, it wasn't Amy Lee, but I did it. I felt it, too. I could feel my frustration and anger and hurt from being abandoned flowing out of me like water.

When we finished, the three of them were staring at me like Tara stared at her keyboard.

"So," Ben said, after several minutes of complete silence, "let's eat. And then let's discuss the set list for the gig at Rick's in two weeks."

[cullen-collective]

I really didn't wanna get slapped, so here's more.

Rick's bar was a dive.

It was a small hole in the wall on an unassuming street in Port Angeles, with a giant glossy wood bar taking up the majority of the space. The bar was nicked and chipped in enough places that I was sure if I went to order a coke I'd get a splinter and maybe tetanus. There was a smallish floor interspersed with tables and booths on the wall opposite the bar. And a stage.

A tiny one, really. Miniscule. I'd practically be on top of Tara and Ben while I played.

But I'd be playing.

Rick himself was behind the bar, pouring drinks and arguing with the regulars. He glanced up when we entered from the back door, lugging equipment. "Hey, kids," he groused. "Go ahead and set up, but I'm not letting in the under-agers until seven."

Ben nodded, clearly used to his gruffness. "Thanks, Rick."

Rick flagrantly ignored him and went back to his vehement defense of the Seahawks defensive line to a guy who looked like he and the stool beneath him had fused into a single unit.

"Wow," I said.

Tara coughed out a laugh. "Yeah," she droned, "he's definitely someone's mean uncle."

"But he lets us play," Ben called from the stage, where he was currently unloading his kick drum. "So he could literally slap me across the face and I'd say 'thank you'."

I couldn't help but agree. There was a humming in my veins that I hadn't felt in months. I was going to play music with my friends.

In the two weeks between my audition and this gig, we'd been practicing so much that we'd sort of become inseparable. We discussed the set list over lunch. I was so used to seeing Lauren on Tyler's lap that I usually forgot that she was glaring at me so intensely. Tara and I had smoked in the woods twice already, and I seriously needed to pay her back for her weed. And Ben... Well, clearly Ben had it bad for Angela, and by the grace of being her friend, I knew she did too.

It was... fun. Being involved in things was fun.

Even when the miraculous prodigal ginger returned to school last week, it didn't phase me.

Well, that's not strictly true, but I was sure he couldn't tell I'd been phased. He'd said nothing to me, and I returned the favor with vigor.

He certainly didn't know I'd had a panic attack over it in the women's room after bio and skipped English.

But I was better now, and it didn't matter. I was going to play music with my friends.

When my amp was plugged in and my bass was tuned, I unstrapped it and set it down in the stand. "I'm gonna get a soda," I said, choosing to test my yearly flu shot, "anybody want something?"

"Coke," Tara said, and I was pretty sure she meant the soda.

"World peace," Ben intoned from behind the kit, adjusting cymbal height.

"Sex on the Beach," Tyler said, flashing me yet another of his lascivious smirks.

"Done, done, and in your dreams," I tossed back over a shoulder as I made my way to the bar. The place was starting to fill up, and we had fifteen minutes until Rick started letting in the kids from school. Angela was coming, and Lauren obviously, and Jessica. Jess was bringing Mike, and I heard that Eric Yorkie was bringing the Mathletes.

I ordered four Cokes, as I doubted that Rick's ancient soda gun had Dr. Pepper, and watched the windows while I waited. I spotted our friends in the line, and a few other people from classes that I'd never spoken to. I gave a quick wave, then juggled glasses back over to the stage, passing them around and then chugging my own. I needed the sugar high. I was nervous.

I fiddled with my bass instead of looking up when the doors opened for our classmates. The air became stifling. It was crowded in here.

I took in a few deep breaths. I glanced up and almost puked. It was standing room only.

"Go Bella!" Mike shouted from his booth, and Jessica smacked him on the arm.

And tucked in the back corner, at a tiny table, was Alice Cullen and Rosalie Cullen. Emmett was winding back from the bar with four drinks. There was someone sitting out of sight on the far end.

I hoped it was Jasper, but somehow I knew it wasn't.

He doesn't get to win, I said to myself. He doesn't get to win, he doesn't get to have music, he doesn't get to have your friends, he doesn't get to win.

Tyler, his guitar slung low across his hips, grabbed the mic.

"Hey, we're Closing Time," he said, and I swear to God I heard Lauren giggle somewhere.

Ben's sticks began slapping together, counting us in.

One.

Two.

I had four counts to make my peace.

One.

Deep breath.

Two.

Straight spine.

Three.

Adjust stance.

Four.

I jumped into the song, weaving the bass line into the melody. I sang the harmonies with Tyler. I glanced back at Tara, who beamed at me with unrestrained glee.

"This is the dawning of the rest of our lives," Tyler and I were belting now, voices blending across the bar. We were back to back, leaning against each other and using the same mic.

Pretty dramatic for a dive gig, but I was feeling the moment.

The bass in my bones.

The drums in my ribcage.

The show continued and we played and I felt it then, the way I always used to. Like his eyes were a physical touch along my skin. He was watching me. I refused to do the same.

I started to itch, as though the act of not returning his gaze was festering in my blood. I ignored it.

The last song came, and I was the vocalist on it.

I stepped up and Mike started hollering and Angela gave a whistle that pierced my ears. Some kids from my Trig class whooped. The song started, and I let myself go. I wasn't anyone. I wasn't Bella, the chief's daughter, or Bella the abandoned, or Bella the klutz, or Bella at all.

I was a voice in a room, hands on a bass, and lips on a mic.

"I'll write you just to let you know that I'm alright. Can't say I'm sad to see you go, cause I'm not."

I glanced up.

He was watching me, a look of devastation so plain on his angelic features that it winded me for a second.

But just a second.

I smirked, copying Tyler as best I could, and stepped back into Tara's space for the instrumental section of the song. She and I leaned into each other, foreheads together, beaming at each other. I made a kissy face at her and she rolled her eyes, prompting me to laugh before heading back to the microphone.

The song ended.

"Thanks, we're Closing Time," I said over the cheering.

By the time my bass was in its stand and I made my way into the bar to thank people for coming, the Cullens were gone.

[cullen-collective]

... Don't even ask me where I've been.

"Can we talk?"

His voice to my left, as smooth and soft as I remembered it, startled me so badly I almost fell off my chair trying to move away from it. I glanced over at him briefly, and his expression almost made me pause to take him in better. Eyes wide and concerned, mouth tilted down in a frown, brows pinched in the middle. He seemed like he really did want to talk to me.

Unfortunately for him, the feeling was not mutual.

"No." I deadpanned, eyes on my mitosis notes, "we cannot."

Something like an exasperated sigh came from him, and I almost smiled, delighted to be the source of his annoyance. However, I refrained, as he had nothing to be exasperated with but himself. This entire situation was his fault. If he'd come clean about living here and knowing who I was, or if he'd just said that he didn't want to meet me in person when I moved, I probably would have accepted it. It would have sucked, sure, but not as badly as getting ignored and made to feel like a joke for months.

A cold fingertip landed on my hand and I jerked, almost as if I'd been static shocked.

I swung around to face him, glaring. He was cradling his own hand, like he'd felt it too, that electric current, and his eyes turned sad at the look on my face. "Please, Bells."

"Do not fucking call me that. Ever. Again," I hissed under my breath, seething. How fucking dare he? He didn't get to use cutesy nicknames with me. He didn't get to flaunt his extra knowledge of me. God forbid Mike heard him at the table behind us, because he'd start using the name just to compete with Edward.

His head dipped forward, his stupid bronzey bed head hair covering his forehead as he rubbed at his eyes. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Excuse the fuck out of me?! Did he just apologize in the middle of a Bio lab? Where God and everyone (including Jessica, the gossip queen) could hear him? Fuck, the rumor mill was going to explode with stupid reasons why he'd apologized by the final bell. Someone would say he hit my car, someone else would claim he stole from me, someone would say he knocked me up, and then finally they'd settle on him having dumped me.

Well, fuck that.

"Why are you sorry? Did you do something to me other than be annoying today?" I said it loud enough for Jessica, two tables over, to hear me, but not loud enough to draw Mr. Molina's ire.

Edward scoffed.

Fuck him.

"Really? That's how you want to respond to my apology?" He raised one eyebrow, a trait I'd always been jealous of. Bastard.

I smiled sweetly at him. "I don't need an apology from you. I don't even know you."

Something flared in his eyes at my smile. Anger, maybe. His own eyes narrowed and he glared at my lips like they'd caused him great personal suffering.

"But I know you."

I shrugged, glancing over at Tara at the next table. She was staring at me like I had two heads. "Later," I mouthed at her. Then I passed her my lab sheet covertly. I turned back to Edward. "No."

"Yes. I know a lot about you, actually." His mouth quirked up, almost as if he was about to unleash that stupid crooked grin, and I scowled, causing him to frown again.

"No," I repeated, "you don't." I leaned in, making my face his entire field of vision. "And if you did, you wouldn't be talking to me."

Tara passed back my lab sheet and I turned away from him, going back to my notes.

I could feel him watching me as I doodled in my margins, already finished with the classwork. I ignored the burning spot on my neck where I knew his eyes rested, right at my pulse point, and added details to the flower I was drawing. I put a leaf between two petals and the feeling of his eyes on me faded.

I took a deep breath.

By the end of the day, the narrative was that I'd rejected his attempt to ask me out. Sometimes it paid to be friends with the gossip queen. All I'd done was answer, "I don't know, he's weird" to her barrage of questions.

I was on the way to my truck when a heavy arm lay across my shoulders.

"Hey, Ty," I said. "You and Lauren broke up again?"

Tyler had a habit of getting more hands-on when they were in an off-again phase.

He leaned his head against mine. "How did you know?"

I rolled my eyes and shoved his cheek away from mine with an open palm. "A hunch."

He chuckled, removing his arm from my shoulders to massage his cheek where I'd pushed him. "She wouldn't shut up all afternoon about you and Cullen. It was like he revealed himself as a candidate for dating and she was a little too excited, honestly."

"Wow. Fuck that noise."

"Exactly." Tyler put his arm back around me, then grabbed the strap of my backpack and pulled it off my shoulders, hefting it onto his front like a backpack sandwich. I was used to him at this point. Being the only two mobile members of the band while playing, our physical closeness had no effect on me any more. Kind of hard to wig over a hug when you've laid on someone's back to kick off into a bass solo and shared a mic.

"Are we practicing at Ben's?" We'd recently added my house to the rotation, since Charlie worked late and we had plenty of space. "I'm craving scallion pancakes."

"Yeah," he nodded. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "What did happen with Cullen, anyway?"

I pulled at my temples, my hands making fists in my hair. The spot on my hand that he'd touched felt like it was on fire. "Nothing. I'm gonna go find Tara for a smoke. You coming, or meet at Ben's?" I released my hair and strode ahead of him, flipping around to walk backwards.

Tyler stared at me, eyes full of questions that I didn't want to answer. And then, he did the thing that made me put up with him hitting on me and the near constant touching. He shrugged, and the questions disappeared, and I knew he wouldn't bring it up again. "Fine, but if we're late, you're taking the fall with Ben."

I grinned for the first time since before Bio class. The pain in my hand disappeared.

"Deal."

I ignored the feeling of being watched all the way to the copse of trees where Tara always smoked after class. And maybe I let Tyler keep his hand there when he reached up to rest it on top of my head.

I smiled at the sound of expensive tires peeling out of the lot a few seconds later.

[renjunsmoon]

[twilightmidnightdawnalarm]

twilight 2008 but instead of blue, its pink tinted

[jessicastanley]

[desire-mona]

id tag game changer spoilers but what does that even mean at this point

[desire-mona]

yknow i posted this out of context to shock the pre existent dropout fans who hadnt seen the episode. i hadnt grappled with the idea that people who dont watch game changer at all would see this, which is probably gonna be my new favourite thing to see happen on my posts

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

they paid fifteen thousand dollars to license this song

[lichfucker]

[video description: a clip from the episode "Earnest-est" of Game Changer. it begins with Sam Reich looking into the camera, holding roses, and dramatically saying, "Ally, Zac, and Lisa." Ally Beardsley, Zac Oyama, and Lisa Gilroy, all dressed as Heath Ledger's Joker (with full hair and makeup), begin dancing a choreographed routine to the song "Kiss from a Rose" by Seal. toward the end of the dance, Sam returns to hand each of them a rose, which they hold aloft in the final pose. when the song ends, Sam says, "Wow! Bravo, players!" while the crew applauds. end vd]

[image description: a collection of tags that say, "what the fuck is this show," "what is game changer even about dawg," "WHAT," and "wgat the hell are they doing over there." end id]

[aleatoryw]

You are offered $1000 if you can perfectly sing a random, popular karaoke song - it doesn't matter if you sound good, you just have to get all the words right, but no cheating! lyrics are not provided. spin the wheel and determine your fate...

Are ya getting that money?

I've never even heard of this song 😔

I'm familiar with this song, but definitely don't know all the words

I know this song pretty well, but I'm not confident I won't fumble a word or two

I'm getting that money 😎

Voting ended onMay 18, 2025

[serial222killer]

[allurlsarebad-deactivated201506]

the original leeroy jenkins video was posted may 11th 2005… 10 years ago today… yowee

[manzirae]

A trip down memory lane

[thetoxiczombie]

This panic happens like every few months.

[charl0ttan]

ive SEEN quiet toilets. i KNOW we have the technology.

[charl0ttan]

are you perhaps a bat

[andillwriteyouatragedy]

me forgetting about pms every 28 days: why do i want to tear the sun from the sky and beat the shit out of the earth with it ? this isn't like me. what gives !