"Esme told me everything," I interrupted, not knowing if I could handle hearing it all over again. The waves of the river rippled with a soothing slosh that his velvet voice didn't disrupt. I was curious if my confession had made him angry with her, but I didn't look at him. I couldn't, in the same way that I couldn't be near to his electric hum. I couldn't think clearly with the distraction his proximity brought.

When Esme had entered my bedroom hours earlier, I'd expected her disapproval of Edward's affections toward me to comfort the portion of myself that regretted leaving him there, in the hallway crying. It was admittedly the only reason I'd allowed her to enter in the first place. Clearly, I had been shocked when she'd defended him.

"He's been through so much already, Bella," she'd uttered with a certain glint of distinguishable pity in her gaze. I was beyond incredulous and frustrated, but once she had sat down and began relaying what Carlisle had already told her, it all became very clear.

Much in the same way a mother pig adopts a litter of neglected puppies, Esme felt drawn to Edward's abandonment and his mother's poor treatment of him. It all made perfect sense. Any mother who had half a heart would be sorrowed by Edward's story. It made her maternal nature blaze because he was Carlisle's son, and she was, in many ways, his other half. She was falling into her role with enthusiasm, ready to protect him from those who would cause him harm, because Esme was simply Esme.

It was the sweetest, most annoying thing ever.

I'd spent hours contemplating everything Edward had endured while in Chicago. His mother being an intolerable child, and the obligation he'd felt to care for her as if she were one. Honestly, I didn't understand her logic one bit. I still hated her with every cell of my being. I felt no pity for that woman. A true mother wouldn't have let anything deter her from caring for her child. Esme knew what Elizabeth didn't: your children come first before everything else-grief included.

Edward was torn between two obligations. That, I could understand. I could understand him choosing his mother over everything else. What I couldn't understand was why he closed himself off. Even worse, I couldn't understand why he'd even decided to return.

I steeled my nerves as I finally turned to him, eager to have my curiosity quenched. He was still sitting atop the wooden table with his feet on the bench. His gaze was fixed on his hands which floated, clasped, between his parted knees. His hair was so much longer, hiding his eyes from me.

"You'll go back," I stated with confidence. His eyes finally rose to meet mine, dark and green and confused. I elaborated, "You know she's out there, and she needs you. You'll go back to her again." I couldn't restrain the tremble of my voice. I'd been thinking about it for hours now, and my mind always came to the same conclusion: He would leave again.

He shook his head in objection, but I shook mine right back.

My voice was still trembling with emotion. "You act like you're the only one who's ever lost your mother," I charged and swallowed while trying to keep my gaze on his, but it was difficult. My vision grew watery with tears that wouldn't be suppressed and I blinked them away, sending dripping trails falling hurriedly down my cold cheeks. I hugged myself tighter as he visibly struggled to appreciate the meaning of my words, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in concentration.

His sharp intake of air and my erratic breathing was all that could be heard for a long moment. I used this time to attempt to rein in my emotions, but it was futile. I'd been holding them back, even for Carmen, and now they wouldn't be contained. My jaw trembled as I finally diverted my gaze away from his grief-stricken stare. I knew then that he understood what I'd meant.

"You'd choose her over me," he stated in a soft voice that elicited an abrupt, unintentional sob from my chest.

I wanted to deny it, but I couldn't. My love for Edward was endless and infinite, and yet for one moment with my mother, I'd willingly throw it all away. It was unforgiveable. I couldn't remember my last words to her or the way her hair smelled, and I would have given anything to have it all back. If I could have turned back the hands of time and been that carefree fourteen-year-old whose mother was her best friend, I would have. Really, I'd throw everything away: Alice, Esme, Carlisle, Forks-everything. I couldn't reconcile the two conflicting conclusions that it made me both a fallible human being and a complete monster. Guilt wasn't a strong enough word for what it made me feel. They all deserved so much more.

For the better part of the day, I'd felt above Edward for being rational and in a healthier state of mind. But now it was obvious that Edward had surpassed me in his own resurgence. He was willing to finally let go of his past and move on, while I had this dormant truth lying beneath the surface that told me I'd never stopped clutching at what was gone.

I was exhausted from the day and the week and the last five months and two years. I collapsed against the wooden beam I'd been leaning against and hugged my knees tightly to my chest. I turned my face away from Edward as I cried because I didn't want him to see this weakness in me. It robbed me of the upper-hand that I'd thrived on for most of the evening.

Through the sounds of my own muffled sobs and grinding teeth, I couldn't hear him jump down from the table and approach, but I could feel it. I didn't really care. My weak submission to his white noise seemed inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. I could feel him stop short of touching me and it was infuriating to know that my earlier behavior was depriving me of what I obviously wanted.

His voice was genuine and guarded as he spoke. "It's okay," he comforted me, and I shook my head against me knees ferociously.

"I'm an awful person," I choked, because I wanted him to disagree, and I had no idea if he would. There was a moment of charged silence in which I could almost sense the warring conflict in his mind. I could also sense when he finally decided to chance it and moved close enough to reach out to me.

I didn't fight him off as his arms surrounded me from my side, sending his soothing current flowing over my flesh. My sob transformed into a sigh as I raised my head and unfolded my knees, eager for whatever comfort he'd give me. I leaned into him, feeling his relief at my acceptance as he sat, pulling me into his lap and holding me tightly as the darkness and his hair obscured his features. The smell of his neck and the sensations of his hands rubbing my back were completely euphoric, but I couldn't smile.

"It's okay," he repeated, this time into my hair. I could feel him taking a long inhale and pushing his nose deeper. His arms around me tightened, crushing my shoulder into his chest in way that must have been painful. "If it was possible and I could do it, I'd want you to choose her anyways," he said in an earnest voice into my hair that drew another guilty sob from my chest, because I couldn't be so sacrificing with him. His arms tightened further around me and I pivoted my chest so that my shoulder wouldn't be digging into his sternum.

Surrendering, I breathed him in greedily to subdue my sobs and erratic breathing. His firm embrace and constant nuzzling of my hair eased my guilt minutely because I knew I still wielded some power over his happiness. It didn't absolve him, and it didn't make me willing to forgive his every error, but it eased my confusion-albeit a little unfairly.

When my sobs finally ceased and I was able to turn my face to the river, resting my cheek on his chest, I felt peaceful. The slosh of the river and the feeling of his hands, face, and body against me were unequivocally serene. In any other moment, it would have been utter perfection. Instead I had all of these questions and confusing anomalies that eventually penetrated my tranquility.

Without meeting his gaze, I pressed myself closer to him and asked, "Why didn't you call me or keep writing, or… something? Anything?"

His arms tightened, impossibly more unyielding. "I was so fucking weak, Bella," he sighed against my scalp, warm and shuddering. "I'm not sure I should justify it," he muttered, but continued before I could protest. "There were probably a million reasons. I didn't want to burden you and I didn't want to be… tempted by something easier. Also, you're my oil," he shrugged, as if that were something that made sense. Confused, I furrowed my brow, but he quickly added, "Nevermind. It's really fucking stupid."

"It is," I agreed in a curt voice, unable to comprehend his justification and still unwilling to pretend I did. He inhaled as if he were going to speak, but quickly released it and remained silent as he held me. My disagreement hadn't tainted the peacefulness of the moment and my eyes felt heavy.

After many moments, he sighed into my hair, long and seemingly defeated. "I know it doesn't mean much, but you're wrong about me leaving again. I won't," he promised. "I'm going to make this work, you'll see. Even if-even if you hate me now," he breathed. My hair and the softness of his declaration made his final words difficult to hear, but not impossible.

I rolled my eyes and pressed myself closer. "I don't hate you."

I love you, you melodramatic asshole.

I disliked the necessity of denying any amount of ill will, so I kept that fact to myself.

"Really?" he asked, uncertain but hopeful.

My frustration flared, and in a moment of unrestrained emotion, I couldn't bare him not knowing just how much pain he'd caused me. "It's not you I hate, Edward. I hate that you broke my heart." I ground out through clenched teeth. There was a sharp intake of air against my scalp before his arms tightened and crushed me impossibly closer.

He spoke hurriedly, in a panic-stricken voice. "Shit, Bella. I'm so fucking sorry. Please, believe me. I never wanted to-I always want to make you happy from now on. Just tell me how, and I'll do it," he insisted fervently, one of his hands fisting into the hair below my ear as he pressed my face closer to his chest.

I could feel his strength faltering in his arms as he tried to keep it firm and unrelenting. Knowing how it felt to be so absolutely fatigued in every sense of the word, I sighed and felt much older than I should have. "I'm tired. I want to go to bed." I replied, turning my face away from the river and into his chest for one final lungful of his fragrance.

With a pause and an agonized sigh, he lifted me from the ground and warily reached for my hand. His eyes were still dark and sorrowful, the perfect lines of his lips drawn downward into a hard frown as he scrutinized me. I took his hand without second thought and led him to the house, leaving the envelope of papers discarded on the table, because I didn't need them anymore. We walked in silence, his footsteps uncoordinated with my own, and I wondered how it was possible to feel so simultaneously lighter and heavier.

We entered the house quietly, and I pulled my hand from his as I climbed the staircase. A glance over my shoulder at his crestfallen gaze made his unhappiness with this apparent. The darkness of the hallways and the silence of the house made his shallow breaths seem laborious as we ascended to the third story.

I stopped at the door to the guest room and turned to him, but he was already still, staring down at his shoes.

"Can we talk tomorrow?" he asked in a whisper, glancing dismally at the door I stood in front of. I rolled my eyes and turned the knob, watching his brows furrow in confusion as I entered and flicked on the light. I entered and spotted the clothing lying haphazardly on the floor where I'd thrown it.

As I bent down to retrieve a pair of his dark boxer shorts and a white shirt, he entered behind me. I turned to him with a timid grimace and clutched the clothing to my stomach. "I sleep in these," I mumbled in explanation and his eyes momentarily widened. My embarrassment was clear as I swallowed anxiously. "Rose confiscated my pajamas," I defended, recalling the day in which she'd insisted I get out of bed and had refused to give me back my only pair of pajamas. I was happier sleeping in Edward's clothes anyways, but was too uncomfortable admitting it to him directly.

A rueful smile tugged at his lips before it disappeared and was replaced with an emotionless mask. "Goodnight," he said and held the door open for me as I scuffled toward him. The look of bewilderment on his face when I laced a finger through one of his belt loops and tugged him forward into the hall with me was nearly comical. "What?" he muttered, visibly puzzled.

I rolled my eyes again. "I said I was tired. I want some sleep. You said you'd do anything to make me happy, right?" I asked, raising my eyebrows expectantly. For one split second, his eyes once again shone and sparkled in that elated fashion, before he sighed.

"That's probably a really shitty idea, with Esme and all…" he trailed off into a nervous voice while shifting his gaze anxiously down the hallway. As if I'd care.

"First of all," I sniffled residually, and kept tugging him forward until his feet moved with mine and his footsteps followed me down the hall. "You and I are both eighteen." I opened the door to my bedroom and didn't bother turning on the light as I entered. "And Esme has proven to be… unpredictable. She'll either kill me or throw us a party. There's really no telling with her anymore." I shrugged and turned to him.

He had a look of regret on his face so pure that it startled me. "I missed your birthday?" he strained as he stood awkwardly in the doorway. I nodded and quickly turned away from him to enter the bathroom.

I closed the door to change and tried to shove down the resurgence of hurt remembering my eighteenth birthday one week prior. It had been an uneventful day in which everyone had attempted to lift my spirits, fruitlessly. Regrettably, I was completely insufferable and found no cause for celebration.

When I emerged from the bathroom in his clothing, he was standing in the middle of the room with his hands shoved deeply into his jacket pockets. He looked as if he felt out of place, but really, he looked like he was always meant to be standing there in the dark, in that position with his eyes shifting the room.

When his gaze jerked to me, my face felt warm and flushed. I hesitantly wandered to the bed, feeling his eyes on me the entire way. His boxer shorts felt comfortable and familiar as they hung limply from my waist, but I felt naked and exposed, so I quickly jumped onto the bed and slid under the cover of the blankets.

He stood uncertain in the middle of the room before he slowly removed his jacket and tossed it onto the sofa. He bent down to unlace his shoes, taking them off and setting them aside. I was restless under the sheets, impatient for his presence, and watched anxiously as he traveled to the opposing side of the bed and pulled down the covers. His eyes were fixed on mine as he lifted himself onto the mattress and settled at my side.

It was quiet and still as we both lay on our backs in the dark, and even though I was impatient and anxious to be in his arms, I was tentative.

"You know," I whispered, and felt his head turn on the pillow toward me. I swallowed. "This doesn't make everything okay," I warned, finally turning my face to meet his gaze. His eyes bore into mine with a painful intensity. "I just… I don't want any misunderstandings," I clarified, unable to conceive leading him on, but needing the sleep, comfort, and affection he granted. It was possibly a little unfair and I hated feeling as though I was using him. I gained a little reassurance from scrutinizing the dark circles around his eyes that indicated his own need for rest.

He nodded sullenly, his throat bobbing, before turning his face back to the ceiling. Just as I was beginning to turn my body into his, he whispered, "Do you think, maybe..." he paused, closing his mouth abruptly. I stilled my movements and looked to him imploringly. He glanced at me sideways, tense. "Do I have any chance?" he asked, rigid and motionless and beseeching.

I frowned and finished my shift to my side, tucking my hand underneath the pillow as I gazed at him. I considered the likelihood of Edward being here and present and keeping his promise of never leaving, and I knew he had every chance. He already had my heart and soul. It was unfeasible to fight that kind of longing for happiness and love-especially now that I knew what it was like to be void of it. But I simply nodded without adding any of those things aloud, because trust was gained and I'd finally realized just how fragile my body, heart, and mind could be. At my nod, he noticeably eased, closing his eyes with a thankful sigh, and then turned to me.

His arm draped across my torso and pulled me to him tightly. The feeling of his chest against my cheek and legs tangling with my own was familiar and soothing and right. The jeans he wore were thick and scratched against my bare legs, and I wracked my brain to recall where his pajamas had gone. I wondered if he'd taken them with him to Chicago, and figured he must have. Then I felt ridiculous for thinking of it and turned my attention to what his hand was doing in my hair, caressing and fingering it down the length of my back.

His hair was soft. The added length from his months away made stroking it feel somehow different, yet also calming. It was Edward, just more of him. His time away had changed him in some way, and I was both excited and frightened to discover how.

I felt his weary and relieved exhale into my hair, his lips on my scalp, his toes on my ankles, and I smiled. For the first time in as many months it was natural and unforced, and I allowed myself to let my fear and anger and hurt melt away as I began humming that familiar song. It might have been fleeting moment of pure joy, but I reveled in the sensation of his affectionate hands and toes and lips. I simply didn't know the depth of his devotion or determination, and maybe he never knew the depth of mine. I felt a heavy weight of unease knowing that so much had gone unsaid. I vowed then, as I felt him slipping into unconsciousness, to put just as much effort into giving Edward a chance as he'd put into fulfilling it.

Tomorrow I'd begin looking for the bigger picture. But tonight, cradled inside the white walls of a revived sanctuary, we would sleep, peacefully entwined.