This little thing was originally supposed to be for a contest, but I didn't finish it in time.
Doesn't have a title yet but I'll think of something before I post on FFN.
The beta is asleep at the moment so a friend of mine is sub-beta'ing.
But I this isn't beta'd so all mistakes are mine.
Twelve hours.
Seven hundred and twenty minutes.
Forty three thousand, two hundred seconds.
Forty three thousand, one hundred and ninety nine seconds.
Forty three thousand, one hundred and ninety eight seconds.
In twelve hours, seven hundred and twenty minutes, and forty three thousand, one hundred and ninety seven seconds, I would become Mrs. Ben Cheney.
Isabella Cheney.
Mrs. Isabella Cheney.
Bella and Ben Cheney.
Even I had to suppress gagging over that one.
I was going to marry Ben in twelve hours.
I would no longer be Bella Swan.
I would no longer be sleeping alone, which I never liked to do anyways. Ben, though, was a snuggler. I hated snuggling. I much preferred to starfish and NOT share blankets.
I would no longer be able to leave my shit wherever I dropped it. Ben was a neat freak and deep cleaned his entire house once a week.
I can't remember the last time my walls and baseboards had been sparkly white. Oh wait, yes I can. That would be never.
If I can't use off brand Clorox wipes on it, it doesn't get clean. If I have to get on my hands and knees to clean it, it stays dirty.
I will forever have a ring on my finger. I hate rings. Any ring I've ever had has been worn on a string or chain around my neck.
It was one of our biggest fights and we compromised: I'd wear the engagement ring around my neck; The wedding ring on my finger.
Sitting in my window seat, back against the wall and legs stretched out, I take a sip of my slightly too hot coffee. I look down at my hands, clutching the coffee as if I could squeeze answers out of it.
I smile to myself, feeling just a tinge of guilt as I look at the silver band on my right thumb. I hate rings; all but this one. I slip it off my finger and scoff at the indented, white ring of skin that hasn't seen the light of day in ten years. Holding the ring between my thumb and forefinger, I rotate it to read the tiny inscription.
never grow up
On the inside of the band were five characters.
EC+IS
I feel a little guilty about it only because I had lied to Ben about the meaning.
In the beginning I wasn't sure how to pull off lying about the initials, but with the help of my cousin, Alice, we figured since I didn't take it off anyways, he'd never see it.
My mom had died when I was 20 years old and I told Ben she gave it to me on my 18th birthday, meaning it as I'd always be her little girl.
Telling him that lie in the beginning had been hard. Not because I was lying to him, but because I was using my dead mother to use as a crutch in my lie.
I later justified it when my dad told me my mom would have hated Ben after reminding me that I was the spitting image of him with the exact personality of my mom.
He had given me a look that I didn't understand till this morning, two years after that conversation.
Putting the ring back onto my thumb using my pointer and middle finger, I lean my head back against the wall, eyes shut, allowing the memories to swallow me whole….
Already so comfortable on the couch and not wanting to move, I yelled to him, "E! Bring me a beer too, will ya?" I felt around for the remote, carefully, not to ruin my perfect position.
"Get off your ass and come get it yourself!" he yelled back. I could hear dishes tinkering and began to worry about him breaking something.
I huffed and threw the fuzzy blanket off of me, placing my feet on the floor, trying to get the numbness out of them. "Please bring it to me? I don't wanna get up!" I tried once more.
"If I bring two beers in there, they're both going down my throat," he countered.
I smirked as I rose from the couch, pulling my pajama shorts out of my ass and walked the short distance of three feet to the kitchen.
The house was small, only three to six feet between any of the rooms. I was just lazy.
"Edward, what are you doing in here that's making so much noise?" I asked, rounding the corner and coming short, the next words getting stuck in my throat.
My eyes were glued onto Edward, kneeling on my kitchen floor with a shit eating grin plastered on his face and a little black box cradled in his hands.
"What the fuck is that?" I asked, trying to keep the octaves in my voice from rising.
"Bella, don't freak out," he said in an all too calm voice.
"Edward, what. The. Fuck. Is. That."
He stood up, brushing off the knees of his jeans and took two small steps towards me. While staring me in the face, he opened the box and I immediately shut my eyes as tight as possible.
"I said, don't. Freak. Out," he repeated, annunciating every word as I had done. "Open your eyes, B."
I shook my head vehemently, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.
He sighed and I heard the box being set on the table. I then felt his baby soft hands on my cheeks. "Bella, look at me please? You're seriously hurting my ego."
I slowly peeked one eye open, my emerald greens meeting his crystal blues.
"B, this isn't a marriage proposal, so stop panicking," he whispered, even though we were alone in the house for the weekend
I slowly opened my other eye, looking at him and trying to inconspicuously breathe out a sigh of relief.
Marriage had always frightened me, thanks to my mother. She had painted it to be the seventh layer of Dante's circle of Hell.
"Then what is it?" I asked in a barely there voice.
He smiled MY smile and try as I may to fight it, the butterflies morphed into buzzing bees and flew straight down to my na-na. I tried crossing my legs but that didn't go unnoticed.
He released my face and picking up the box off the table, he said "It's not a big deal or anything. I just wanted to get you something to remember me by."
I gave him a confused look as he opened the box, not understanding what he meant. Inside the box was a silver band, about a fourth of an inch wide with the words "never grow up" engraved into it.
I tugged on the ring to get it out of the slotted place inside the cushioning and slid it on my ring finger. I noticed it was a bit too big for that finger.
Edward rolled his eyes. "I told you, not an engagement ring or anything. Just like…a promise ring I guess. Except you don't have to wear it on your ring finger either." He took my hand in his, sliding the ring off of my ring finger and placing it on my right thumb. "Perfect fit," he said, smiling.
"How did you know my ring size?" I asked him, making a fist with my hand and rotating my thumb.
"I, uh, wasn't exactly sure about that part. I just kept looking at your fingers and at mine, went with two sizes smaller than my own and hoped for the best?" he said, stated like a question.
I stood on my toes and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, E. I love it. But what are we promising? To be friends forever? That's a little cliche, don't you think? You could have saved some money and gotten BFF bracelets from the Dollar Tree." I smirked at him.
"Don't insult me. I could make a bracelet out of dental floss that's better than those piece of shit bracelets you and Rosalie wore. Besides, it's not just friendship, Bella." His voice took on a serious tone and the look on his face became somber.
"Then what is it, E?" I asked him, beginning to feel a little awkward. I wasn't expecting a Young and the Restless episode to be filmed in my kitchen.
"Bella, you're my best friend. Have been since we were ten," he began, taking a step away from me and running his hand through his whiskey colored hair. Dead giveaway that he was nervous.
So I began to get nervous. I tugged on the end of a lock of hair and twirled it around my fingers, not making eye contact with him. I wasn't sure what his next words were going to be, but I imagined it couldn't be good news. All I could think to do was nod. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the worst.
"Since the first day I met you, Isabella Catherine-Marie Swan, I have loved you. Everyday for the past eight years, I have been in love with you." He paused, no doubt gauging my reaction, and shaking his head as I drew in a deep breath. "I told you, Bella. This isn't a fucking marriage proposal so stop freaking out."
"PLEASEDON'TBREAKUPWITHME!" I rushed out.I couldn't figure out why he was laughing. And it pissed me off.
"What the fuck are you laughing at?" I hissed.
"B, you think I'm calling our friendship off?" he asked in between gasps.
"Well? Why else you say all those things unless you were planning to not be my friend anymore?" I started to ugly cry.
That shut him up real quick. He took a big step and wrapped me in his arms as my tears stained his virginal white v-neck tshirt.
"Shhh, Bella baby. It's not…just stop for a second, can you? Just listen to me?" He held my chin and pulled my face up to look at him. All I could do was nod at him.
"Baby, you've got it all wrong. I'm not breaking off our friendship. I wanna take it to another level."
I sniffled and replied with "like partners in crime? E, I love you and all but I don't think I'm the best candidate for a criminal."
He laughed out loud and said, "No, babygirl. I want you to be my girlfriend."
I opened my eyes and sat up. I take another drink of my coffee that had now gone cold.
Edward took my virginity that night. I knew it would always be him. I had hoped it would have been anyways, because who better than to lose it to your best friend.
I also didn't want to enter into adulthood a virgin with my birthday being a week away. I didn't tell Edward that, though. Not till a year later.
I never thought I would be the type to sleep around because I thought for sure nobody would ever be able to fill Edwards shoes. I still, to this day, have yet to find anybody as good in bed as him, but that didn't stop me from trying.
After the devastating breakup with Edward, three years after that night and the year long pity party, I decided to throw myself out there and a few months into the single game, I figured out how things worked.
Shave your legs everyday. Don't eat fish. Don't go for guy with a gold tooth. Definitely don't go for guys with no teeth at all.
After I got my game plan tweaked in my favor, I developed "dating habits".
I would go out, making "friends" with girls at the door. We would hang around for a while, then I would go sit at the bar alone. Never failing, within the first five minutes of looking lonely, a guy would always walk up and ask "what's a pretty girl like you doing, sitting alone at a bar?" or some variation of that. In turn, I would make up a story about how my "friends" had left me, I had no ride home and just wanted to get a few drinks before leaving. More or less, a damsel in distress story.
Worked. Every. Time.
After laying on the charm a little, I would get free drinks and a good lay every night I went out.
I also had this bad habit of telling guys I was a virgin. That's how I weeded out the ugly ones. They never wanted virgins because they wanted girls with experience. Whenever I got around to hitting home with a guy and they asked about my very popped cherry, I would lie again and fake embarrassment, stating that me and friend experimented with a black dildo once. So technically, as far as they knew, I had lost my virginity to "The Annihilator". They would almost always get kicked out, screamed at and blocked from my life after that because the "threesome" question would always come up. If that didn't work, I'd make up a sickness, relocation or give them the "thank you for helping me realize I pitch for the other team" speech.
I was the queen of dumping random hook ups.
I did date occasionally, but that never worked out. I was either too flighty, too picky or too much of "something" they couldn't deal with. Which was exactly the point. After about a week or two, I would get bored or just decide I didn't like them anymore. I picked up on their biggest pet peeves and did just that…ALOT.
The longest relationship I'd been in before Ben, in five years, had been two months. Lucky for me, neither of those months included a gift giving, spend time with the parents, or announce your true love holiday.
He was one of the sweetest ones I had met; Royce was his name. Very much a "take home to meet your parents, made Valedictorian, awesome job, neat clothes, perfect, all American boy" type guy.
I hated it.
I tried EVERYTHING to get rid of him. I went to drastic measures, some I'm still ashamed to admit. However, all it took, surprisingly simple enough, was a little Russian accent during sex, begging him to put it in holes I didn't even have. That sent him running faster than I could blink. All I heard as he ran from my bedroom was, "no Russians!" and "evil Russian teacher!" and "please Mrs Aleksandrov, please don't stick that up my---"
The last part was cut off by the slamming of my front door. I guess I'll never know what happened to him. Poor kid.
Royce had been the last random hookup before I met Ben.
Ben changed everything.
*************************
The day I met Ben Cheney is the day my life turned a complete 360.
Really, I was fooling myself into thinking I was the kind of girl that could be good for a guy like him, and I selfishly thought he could be good for me as well.
Now, the harsh reality was that we couldn't have been any more different and as I sit here by myself, I'm starting to wonder if I've been making the right decision all these years.
I also realize this is the last morning I'll ever get to sit here in MY window seat, in MY apartment, in MY part of the city.
As I uncross my legs to put my slipper clad feet on the floor, I have to block the little voice in my head that's whispering "ours, ours, ours".
I set my coffee cup down on the windowsill and rest my elbows on my knees, hanging my head in my hands.
To say I was nervous would be the understatement of the fucking century. I was fucking terrified.
I couldn't help but to think of all the things I wish I had done different. Like NOT agree to marry Ben.
I shake my head and stand up, grabbing my coffee cup. I walk out of my bedroom and into the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door behind me.
I live alone so I often leave doors open around the house.
I put my coffee cup on the back of the toilet and grip the sides of the sink tightly, staring at myself in the mirror.
I can't help but to focus on things about myself that I don't notice on a regular basis.
Like the fact that my lips are a bit too plump for Ben's tiny mouth.
"Perfect lips. Made just for me."
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block it out.
I open my eyes again and focus more intently on them.
One eye is more green than the other, only by a little bit. They're shaped liked almonds.
"Beautiful angel eyes. Perfect shape."
I choke back a gasp as memories start to flood my mind. Each aspect of my face, I have a memory to go along with it. A memory that threaten to rip through me and shred my stronghold on reality.
I look at myself one more time, testing my will and devotion. I pass a glance over my entire face, searching for the ultimate try of my faithfulness.
My eyes fall again on my mouth and I part my lips just the slightest bit. I run my tongue over my top lip while the small ball from my tongue ring running over my bottom lip.
"Do you know what that tiny piece of jewelry does to me, Angel baby? Do you know how it makes me feel?"
I turn around and rest myself against the sink, facing away from the mirror. My willpower and allegiance quietly slipping from my grasp.
Ben hated the tongue ring but had agreed to let me keep it while we were engaged, only asking that I take it out before the wedding and keeping it out.
I couldn't help but to resent a lot of the things Ben did. Maybe that's why I was so anxious about marrying him.
I knew, without a doubt, I'd be miserable forever if I went through with this. I had no choice, though. I had run out of options.
I feel a single tear slide down my face and I hurried to brush it away before the flood came.
"Nobody makes my angel cry."
I wipe the few other tears that have escaped away with the back of my hand. I look at the coffee cup sitting on the back of the toilet and instantly feel disgust.
It was a white ceramic mug with the words "Future Mrs. Cheney" printed in curly pink script and hearts, balloons and flowers all over the damn thing.
I grab it up and all but run back to my room, fighting with the locks on the windows. Once I've gotten them open, I slide the window up as far as it will go and throw the mug outside, hard as I can. I hear it crash against the blacktop of the parking lot and I'm scared to admit, even to myself, how fucking good it felt.
Of course, I'll never tell Ben what happened. He'll never see the shattered pieces in the lot and I'll just tell him I accidentally knocked it over. He'll insist on buying me a new one and though I'll refuse at first, I'll give in and accept a new fucking cup.
And I'll drink from that damn coffee cup the rest of my fucking life.
"Great, Bella. Start off your marriage by lying," I say to myself.
I'm startled by the ringing of my phone and nearly jump out of my skin.
"I won't let you close enough to hurt me. No, I won't ask you, you to just desert me. I can't give you, what you think you give me. It's time to say goodbye to turning tables. To turning tables."
Ironic enough, I guess.
I walk to the nightstand beside my bed and unplug my phone, glimpsing at the caller I.D.
Rosalie.
"Hello?" I answer, trying to sound as peppy as possible.
"What's wrong?" She asks. Dammit.
"Nothing, why?" I play off.
"You never answer me with 'Hello'." She counters, no doubt raising her eyebrow at me through the phone.
"I didn't look at the name on my phone," I say, "do you wanna call back so I can answer you properly?" I do my best to keep the bitch out of my voice.
"No, no. Just making sure you weren't kidnapped or anything." She laughs and I wish what she were saying was true.
"No fucking way," I say, keeping the tone light, keeping the tears at bay.
"So, are you ready to get ready?" she asks.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I answer honestly.
"Ohhhhkayyy," she drags out. "I'll be over in an hour. You remembered to shave your legs last night, right?"
"Yes, just for you," I say, genuinely laughing.
"Good. Okay, one hour, Bells. See ya soon. Ciao."
"Ciao"
Click.
I take a deep breath and fall back onto my bed. I stare up at the ceiling and look at the tiny stars painted on it.
"So you can sleep under the stars, every night."
I sit up and shake my head clear of all things I shouldn't be thinking about.
I walk out of my bedroom and into the kitchen, making sure the blinds are closed and stripping to my bra and panties.
I run warm water in the kitchen sink and mix soap with bleach in one side and rinsing out the other while put the dirty dishes into the soapy side.
I take my time washing the dishes in my underwear, knowing this is the last time I'll be able to do it for a while, if ever.
Ben didn't think I should ever be in anything less than a shirt and shorts unless I was at a pool or in the shower.
"In case someone breaks in," I say out loud in a mocking voice, rolling my eyes.
Coming from a guy who may as well sleep in a suit, his reasoning was that you always needed to be prepared to run out of the house with no chance of changing.
I guess I couldn't argue with that.
Sometimes I sleep naked just to spite him.
There aren't many dishes in the sink, so that chore is quickly done. I pull the drain stopper from the bottom and cringe at the gurgling sound the water makes while drying my hands.
Turning around, I take a glance at the nearly empty kitchen.
The cheap wood table I found at a yard sale and the two and a half chairs surrounding it were the only things left.
Ben had promised that we would have all new dark mahogany kitchen furniture but I begged to keep this dinky kitchen set. Again, I spewed a whimsical almost lie in order to keep it.
"Pumpkin," he said, "why do you want this ragged furniture? We're going to have a brand new home with new furniture. I understand you like the vintage look, but this is just…" he trailed off, shaking his head.
I inwardly cringed at his stupid nickname for me. I hated it.
I hated every name he called me, even the one written on my birth certificate.
Subconsciously, I knew it was more the fact of who was calling me names, not the actual names themselves.
I stopped that thought before it got any further into development.
"Bennnny," I whined, adding in a few tears for good measure. "I have to keep this. It's the first thing I got as an adult on my own. Plus, my grandpa bought it for me. I just can't bear to part with it." The first part was very much the truth. The second part was stretching the truth a bit. My grandpa was with me when I bought the thing, but I paid for it myself. I knew that mentioning my deceased grandpa would get me what I wanted. He knew how much he'd meant to me, and no way was I telling him the true reasons I insisted on keeping it. I doubted he would appreciate my saying, "I want to keep his because I fucked my ex boyfriend on it."
That wouldn't have gone over well. At all.
Ben put his hands on his hips, looked from me to the table, and back again. I could already see the "okay, fine" forming on his lips, his eyes softening. I wasn't proud of the fact that I often manipulated Ben, but it was what I had to do in order to survive this relationship without ripping my hair out.
"Okay, fine. I don't know where we'll put it, though," he scratched the back of his head, wracking his brain for places to put what in his mind was a piece of junk.
I stood on my toes, clapped my hands and showered him in thanks, kissing his cheeks.
I was gagging on the inside, but also sighing in relief.
I didn't want to have to buy yet another storage unit to put the kitchen set in. I'd already put my other furniture there, knowing Ben would never go for letting me keep every piece of furniture Edward and I had sexually christened.
He would never know the real reasons, but I was running out of excuses.
I bring my thumb to my mouth, chewing on a nail that isn't there. Rosalie would smack the shit out of me if she could see me.
I walk back into my bedroom and sit on the edge of my bed, trying to clear my thoughts.
A small buzzing noise catches my attention and I glance over to my phone sitting on my nightstand. It only buzzes once so I know it's a text message.
Assuming it's from either my Aunt Renata, Rosalie or Ben, I ignore it.
Pulling my legs onto the bed, folding them beneath me, I look around the bare walls of my room and sigh.
There was a time when there wasn't a blank space on these walls. When not a single thing in my room matched, and when I felt like I had a firm grasp on my future.
Now, eleven hours away from being Isabella Cheney, I hadn't the slightest clue about anything except maybe what I was having for lunch.
Even that wasn't a definite decision, seeing how, under strict instruction from my Aunt Renata, I'd had to watch my figure to ensure I fit into the wedding dress.
I didn't even get to pick it out.
Before I could stop it, a memory flooded my eyes.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"Edward, stop it. You're making me feel weird," I said.
"Why, B? I'm just looking at you," he replied, still staring at me.
"Well don't look at me like that," I scowled at him.
He laughed, and it was one of the most beautiful sounds in the world.
"I'll look at you however I damn well please, woman! Turn around, I want to see the back." He made a circle motion with his index finger.
I rolled my eyes, but turned around anyways. "You're just trying to find an excuse to stare at my ass, perv." I looked over my shoulder and threw him a smirk.
His eyes turned from crystal blue into storm-cloud gray. "Sweetheart, I don't need an excuse to stare at your ass. It's mine."
He stood from the chair and stalked over to me, pinning me against my bedroom door, right between my life size posters of Fight Club and another movie I couldn't remember the name of.
Some sparkling, teenage, vampire movie.
He grabbed my wrists, holding them in place above my head, sliding his knee between my already weak legs.
Breathing heavily, I managed to whisper in a shaky breath that there wasn't time for foreplay. There wasn't time, nor did I have the strength to endure the teasing.
Edward ghosted his lips over my collarbone, up my neck and behind my ear. Barely touching, but enough contact to make my knees weak.
"Isabella," he whispered in his silky voice, knowing exactly what he was doing. "Do you have any idea how sexy you look right now? How bad I just want to touch you," he brought his knee up higher, barely grazing my sex, "there? This dress is killing me, sweetheart. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep up my manners in front of all those people. I'm sure Rosalie would kick my ass if I attacked you during her vows."
He smiled into the corner of my mouth, placing a soft kiss there.
I would have melted right into the floor had he not been holding me up.
"Can we not talk about Rosalie right now?" I begged.
He took both my wrists in one hand, using his other to take hold of my chin, bringing my face centimeters away from his.
I nearly passed out.
"I'd rather not talk at all," he whispered, releasing my face and reaching under my dress, brushing the tip of a finger near my most sensitive spot.
I pleaded with my eyes, begging him to just touch me, Rosalie's wedding be damned.
I tried to sag my body, aching for his touch there.
He smiled at me, nearly causing me to black out, and pushed my dress up, forcing his hips closer to mine.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Still somewhat lost, I continue with the memory, smiling at Rosalie's scowl when she saw me running through the church doors, mere seconds before I had to walk down the aisle.
From her face, I could guess she already knew what had taken up my time, so I hadn't felt the need to explain.
At the reception, Edward promised me that should he and I ever get married, he wouldn't make me wear a wedding gown, saying he would feel terrible about having a raging hard on during the entire ceremony.
I hadn't realized my eyes were damp. I wipe my eyes with bottom of my t-shirt, my phone's LED light blinking at me.
I groan and grab it, sliding the unlock button over to read the text.
Four messages.
I click on the first one, frowning at my aunt's message:
Get a move on. Rose told me u had appt @12 @ hairdressers. U should have been there @ opening
I don't even bother with a reply. I had told her time and again, there were no openings at 8 this morning.
No openings at all till noon, and I had made my appointment with Jessica 2 months ago.
I click back to the rest of my unread messages, opening the one from Rosalie.
Emily spilled juice on Katie's dress. How she managed to get red juice on a white dress that was 3 feet above her head, I'll never know.
Running the dress to the dry cleaners then I'll be right over. I'd say about 45 minutes.
Owners swore on their first born grandchild it would be done in plenty of time.
I laugh because I can only imagine the chaos happening at the McCarty house.
I type back a quick reply saying not to stress because it certainly wasn't a big deal to me, emphasizing the ME part.
Third message was from Ben and it nearly made me gag.
Good morning my beautiful bride-to-be. Only a couple more hours and you will be Mrs. Cheney.
Can't wait.
I was sure this wasn't the type of reaction one should have the day of her wedding.
The last text made me physically sick.
Congrats Mrs. Cheney. I know you'll be beautiful.
~E.C
I sit motionless on my bed, staring at the words, not blinking, not moving, not entertaining a single thought.
My brain was completely blank.
In an instant, my brain kicks into overdrive.
Throwing my phone across the bed, I jump up and dive into the very back of my closet, tossing out shoes, digging to find the secret hole in the floor.
Finding the small piece of rope, I tug till the tiny door gives and lifts up.
The floor safe is only about a foot deep and 2 feet wide.
Just big enough for my most secret secrets.
I reach in and pull out a shoe box, closing the safe.
Sitting back on my calves, I open the lid and pick up the picture frame.
Edward, in his light blue button up with my favorite gray t-shirt on underneath, was the epitome of carelessness and beauty.
His whiskey colored hair sticking up in every direction and a cigarette dangling from his lips, squinting because my flash had been too bright.
I graze my finger over his face and hurriedly wiped the tear drops from the glass.
In that moment, my heart nearly burst out of my chest with love.
Not love for the man I was supposed to marry today, but love for the boy in the picture.
Love for the man that boy turned into.
True, passionate, whole hearted love for the man I was still head over heels for, loving with my entire being, even to this very second.
Putting the frame back in the shoe box, I jump up and put on the shoes nearest to me.
Thankfully they're flip flops.
Grabbing my phone, I rush into the kitchen, searching for a pen, marker, anything.
Finding a sharpie, I rip off a paper towel and scribble two words in my chicken scratch handwriting:
I'M SORRY
Leaving it on the table and knowing Rosalie will be the first to find it, I throw open my apartment door and dash down the stairs.
As I race to my car, I unlock my phone and type in the numbers I've always known by heart, even though I didn't know my own.
Shoving my key into my car door, and yanking it open, I slide into the seat, the recipient of my call answering on the second ring.
"Bella," he says, not as a question, but more of a statement.
"Edward," I breathe, sighing in relief as I throw my car into reverse.
_____________________________________________
Below is the picture of Edward that Bella had framed.
