Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Something I Can Never Have

I slept on and off for nearly 18 hours. I woke up periodically, startled out of my sleep by nightmares, disoriented and not knowing where I was. Then I looked around Jasper's empty room, remembered everything that had happened, and closed my eyes again, for once actually preferring the nightmares to reality.

I got up once to piss, but since I hadn't had anything to eat or much to drink in a while, that was the only call of nature that needed to be answered. In the bathroom I realized that I hadn't showered in a while, so I came back to sleep in my own bed, not wanting to contaminate Jasper's room with my filth.

I ached everywhere. My head and hand throbbed, seemingly in unison, my eyes burned, my muscles were sore and constricted from laying too long in the same position, and my stomach contracted with painful hunger pangs. There was nothing to do about it, though. I couldn't go anywhere in the condition I was in and I didn't have the slightest inclination to eat or shower and change. By far the easiest solution was just to go back to sleep.

After 18 hours, however, sleep would no longer come, so I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, completely and totally overwhelmed with pain. Eventually I realized that avoidance was no longer an option. I had to do something. Slowly I got up and walked around the room, gathering fresh clothes. I took a shower, which helped me feel a little more human. I brushed my teeth and hair. By the time I put on my clean clothes I was no longer afraid to look in the mirror. I should have been.

Regardless of how I felt, the person staring back at me from the mirror looked only vaguely familiar. The eyes were sunken and emotionless; the face looked haunted. There wasn't even a remote hint of happiness or anything positive in it. I looked ready for a funeral and, I supposed, in a way I was. At that moment my own funeral would not have been an unwelcome event.

My right hand was swollen and an ugly dark purple bruise covered almost the whole top. I knew I needed to go to the health center so, resigned, I grabbed my keys and wallet and left the apartment. I didn't bother taking the phone. I didn't want to talk with anyone anyway.

Out in the hallway I ran into Seth. I wanted to glare or sneer at him, but I couldn't muster the energy. He had no such impediments as he looked me over with obvious contempt. His expression may have softened a little as his gaze rested on my bruised hand, but he turned away before I could tell for sure. I kept on walking. It wasn't like it mattered what the little fairy thought of me anyway.

At the health center I learned that my hand was merely badly bruised. I didn't even get a prescription for a good painkiller, just instructions to take over the counter anti-inflammatories and pain meds. 'Thanks for fucking nothing,' I wanted to scream at the personnel, but, again, that would have required some energy, and that particular commodity was in short supply.

Driving home I realized that I hadn't eaten in over 2 days, but none of the fast food restaurants I passed held any appeal. I thought maybe I'd have some cereal when I got home, or some of the Thanksgiving leftovers my mom packed that I hadn't even touched since Sunday night. It didn't really matter. I knew I needed something to stop the stomach cramps, but from the past summer I also knew I needed a lot less than most people thought. Appetite could be curbed, and this situation was certainly curbing mine.

I did make one stop on the way home at a supermarket with a decent pharmacy and liquor department. I tossed a large bottle of ibuprofen and a pack of sleeping pills into the cart before heading to the liquor department and adding vodka, tequila & Jack Daniels. The way I was feeling, I figured the stuff we had at home was bound to run out soon, and it was good to have a variety on hand. I added chips and pretzels to the cart from the snack aisle and headed for the checkout, where the cashier didn't bat an eyelash at my fake ID. She quickly bagged up my stuff in the reusable bags I decided to buy at the last minute, since it seemed like the right thing to do. I thought it was somewhat ironic that I didn't give a shit about myself or anyone on the planet, but I was going green for the planet itself. Then again, my whole life had been nothing if not a lesson in irony.

For the next four days I stayed in the apartment, taking alternating doses of ibuprofen, alcohol and sleeping pills. Anything to dull the pain and my thoughts. I slept as much as possible, watched TV without really seeing anything when I couldn't sleep. I ate my way through the chips and pretzels and some of my mom's leftovers, but couldn't stomach anything else. When the food service my mom had hired delivered their week's worth of dinners for me and Jasper, I stuck everything directly in the freezer, not even looking at what they had brought.

That first night after I got home from the grocery story I stared at the box of sleeping pills for a long time, contemplating taking the whole lot at one shot and chasing them with a bottle of Jack. I was a tempting thought. A way to end all the pain, physical and mental, for good. Then I stated to wonder if it would be enough to kill me. I didn't know anything about these things. What if it was only enough to give me permanent brain damage? With my fucking luck it would leave me unable to control my body but fully aware of my own fuck up, living in a useless shell for decades. I couldn't handle the thought. It wasn't worth the risk.

That Sunday my mother called. Thank God I was relatively sober, since her call came in the middle of the day, and explaining why I was loaded at that particular hour would have been awkward. Even so, she immediately knew something was wrong. Maybe it was mother's instinct, maybe it was the hoarseness of my voice from not having spoken with anyone for days. It didn't matter. Like a homing pigeon she zeroed in on whatever it was that set her off and started barraging me for answers. What was wrong? Was I sick? Homesick? Was it one of my classes? Was it a girl? Was it Jasper? I tried to deflect her inquiries, but the woman was relentless. She finally flat out asked if I was missing Kelly and I decided this was as good of a diversion as I was gonna get, so I did my best to sound sheepish and told her that yes, Kelly had been on my mind.

"Oh, Edward," She said, sounding like a cat who ate the fucking canary, but was doing her best to hide it, "that's nothing to be embarrassed about. I'm glad to hear you finally found someone you're a little more serious about. You and Bella broke up a long time ago. It's okay to play the field at your age, of course, but you do better with someone steady in your life. Someone to ground you. Tell me more about this girl."

I groaned. I hated lying to my mother about shit like this and I had nothing to fucking tell her. What could I say, after all? She was from Port Angeles, damn cute, could give head like nobody's business, but refused to fuck without a condom, and didn't really hold much interest for me anyway? That was the sum total of what I knew. Anything else would be a fabrication. And sure, I could invent myself the perfect long-distance girlfriend. But what good would it do in the end? God forbid mom actually wanted to meet her. And I wouldn't put it past her to do something stupid like insist that I bring Kelly home for Christmas or some shit like that. The less I said, the easier it would be to drop this subject from future conversations.

"Sorry to disappoint you, mom, but it’s nothing serious. I've just been thinking about her, that's all."

"All right," she relented, "I won't pester you for now. You can take your time and let me know the details when you're ready. I just want you to be happy, Honey. And I think a steady relationship will make you happy."

I waited until we hung up before scoffing at her. I wondered where my mother found the inspiration for the fantasy world she was creating in her head for me. Where did these ideas of steady relationships and happiness come from? She sure as fuck had neither in her marriage to my father. And she should have known better than to expect it for me. Then again, my mother probably never did realize how much of a bastard her son really was.

The conversation with my mother reminded me that I couldn't stay holed up in the apartment drinking forever. There weren't many people who actually cared about me and what I did, but the few that did, I guess my mother and father, mostly, would be hurt and pissed off, respectively, at the way I was acting. Throughout the duration of my one-man pity party I kept hoping Jasper would call or come over to try to talk to me again, but he did not. It was high time to either buy another box or two of those damn sleeping pills and take them all this time or wake myself the fuck up and start living life again. Yeah, it was crap, but it had mostly been crap before anyway. Jasper had really been the only bright spot lately and even that had been fading as he pulled further and further away. I could live in total emotional darkness, I decided, like some fucking vampire or dementor, not only miserable myself, but sucking happiness from everyone around me.

Monday morning I showered and shaved, put on some clean clothes, grabbed a couple of mouthfuls of dry cereal and headed out to class. The bruise on my right hand had faded to a disgusting greenish-yellow color, so I kept my hand in my pocket, which meant no notes. Skipping classes the previous week had done nothing for my ability to keep up academically, not that I'd been keeping up all that well throughout the quarter anyway. With finals only a few weeks away, I knew I was seriously screwed, but couldn't make myself care.

I did my best to avoid Jasper that week and, for the most part, succeeded. A couple of times we ran into each other, but I simply ignored him, not even looking in his direction. A few times I watched him from afar, when I was sure he couldn't see me. Once he was having lunch at the HUB with Seth. Another time I saw him and Emmett talking between classes. They weren't touching, but something about their body language told me that everything Jasper had said about Emmett just being a friend was bullshit. I got my confirmation a few days later. I was heading for the Dog when I saw them walking towards our building, on the other side of the street. It was too dark and they were too absorbed in each other to notice me. They were holding hands and laughing, right there in public, undoubtedly a precursor to what they would be doing upstairs as soon as the door closed behind them. I turned and quickly walked in the other direction, not wanting them to think that I was spying or looking for Jasper. I was seething at the confirmation that Jasper had been lying to me all along, but I felt something else as well, something that hurt even worse than the lies. I didn't allow myself to think about the pain or what could have been causing it, though, and at the Dog, Ray provided the perfect analgesic.

I started going to the Dog regularly again. Drinking at the bar seemed less pathetic than drinking at home, and the occasional pool game paid for the drinks and stroked my ego. One night, sitting in the same back corner as when I first met her, I ran into Alice.

"You look like crap," she opened the conversation by going straight for the jugular. "If you'd looked like this the first time we met I never would have gone home with you."

I chuckled darkly, wondering if that would have been such a bad thing. How different would my life had been if I had never met Alice and never had the stupid idea to bring her home to share with Jasper? Would it have altered things, or simply postponed the inevitable?

"Well, seeing as how I didn't and still don't have anything to offer you, that probably would have been a good thing."

She narrowed her eyes at me.

"Things didn't go so well with your roommate?" she asked perceptively.

"Not so much. Though you were right. He is, in fact, queer."

She shrugged her shoulders, as though there was never any doubt in her mind which, come to think of it, there probably wasn't.

"So? Isn't that what you wanted?"

"No," I barked, "I certainly did not want my best friend and roommate to be queer. He got himself a boyfriend and moved out. Good thing, too, cause I wasn't about to share an apartment with a homo."

Alice narrowed her eyes again. "No, of course not. You wanted him and his cock in your bed, but only if he was straight? What the fuck, Edward? Are you even listening to what you're saying? Could you be more in denial?"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," I said, staring into my drink.

"No? Really, Edward? You have no idea? Well, let me give you a clue. I don't know if you're bi or gay, but you're in love with another guy, which means you're definitely not straight."

My head snapped up in alarm as I looked around to make sure no one had heard her. Fortunately, we were far enough from the other patrons who were being helped by Ray, that Alice's statement remained private between us.

"Shut up, for Christ's sake," I hissed. "You have no right to say shit like that to me here, in a public place. Who the fuck asked your opinion on the subject, anyway? And just so we're clear, I am not in love with Jasper."

"Ha!" her single-word know-it-all response irritated me to no end.

"Leave me the fuck alone, Alice. What the hell are you doing talking to me anyway? Shouldn't you be trying to scare up a couple more victims?"

"Whatever, asshole. You're so right. Talking to you is as big of a waste of time as it ever was. It's no wonder you can't be fucking honest with anyone else, when you're lying to yourself all the time. If you don't want to admit that you're in love with him, fine, but you don't need to be in love to be gay, and I sure as hell saw how much you liked sucking his cock."

She jumped off the stool and walked away before I could respond. Good thing too, 'cause I might have been tempted to throttle her. Fucking cunt! She had no idea what she was talking about. I downed my drink, threw money on the bar for Ray, and got the hell out of there before I re-damaged my just barely healed hand. Alice and I occasionally saw each other at the Dog after that night, but we each made sure to stay well clear of the other.

Finals week was fucking hell. I had no idea what the fuck I was doing in any of the classes. I tried to cram, but there was only so much information you could stuff into a brain in a short period of time when there was no foundation to begin with. At the end of my last exam I was fairly certain I had failed at least two classes, if not all of them. I briefly wondered if failing all classes would get me thrown out of school. I hoped even if that was the policy, it could be massaged with some Cullen cash, assuming Dad was willing to fork over the requisite amount. I could always make up the classes during summer quarter, since I sure as fuck was not going back to Forks for the summer this year.

After finals everyone immediately dispersed. I too had no choice but to drive back home for Christmas, but I was waiting until the last possible minute. I planned only to be there for Christmas Eve and Day, and even that seemed excruciatingly long.

Finally, when I could stall no more, I loaded up my laundry bags into the Volvo and set out for Forks. The drive was actually somewhat relaxing. It was good to be away from the apartment and all the bad associations. As I got closer to Forks, though, I started remembering everything that happened over Thanksgiving, and it took a lot self-control not to simply turn the car around and head back to the city.

Only my mother was waiting for me when I got to the house, and as soon as she saw me she completely freaked out. She noticed that I'd lost a few pounds and looked a little tired, and she immediately resumed her inquisition.

"Clearly something is going on, Edward. You've been distracted on the phone lately and not really seeming like yourself, and just look at you! Talk to me, Son. You know you can tell me anything. What is it?"

I waved her off. "Calm down, Mom. It's nothing. School's just been really tough and we just had finals and I'm tired. That's all."

"But you've lost weight again. Haven't you been eating? With the food service all you have to do is microwave the meals. Surely you should have enough time to do that?"

"Mom, stop! This is not a big deal. You'll get your chance to fill me up today and tomorrow, and when I go back to school things will be more relaxed and I'll get back to normal. Now come on, it's Christmas. Let's not fight," I used the cajoling tone that I only ever used with her. It was kind of low, using the holiday to get her off my back, but in a battle you had to use every weapon at your disposal.

"All right," she conceded. "But if you look anything like this the next time I see you, I'm coming to Seattle and moving in with you to make sure you're eating properly. So you just remember that, all right?"

"Fine," I scowled at her. I dumped my laundry bag in the laundry room and was about to head upstairs when I noticed Dad wasn't around. I debated for a moment about whether I should even ask, since I had a feeling I already knew the answer, but on the off chance that I was wrong, I asked anyway.

"He had to work today, Dear. You know how it is. He has all that paperwork to take care of for the whole hospital and it is the end of their fiscal year. He was saying something about budgets. You know I don't pay much attention to those things. He'll be home as soon as he can. I know he's eager to see you."

I bit back my snide comment because there was no need to ruin her holiday. I couldn't imagine a single reason why my father would be eager to see me any more than I was eager to see him. And I also couldn't imagine any paperwork that absolutely had to be done on Christmas Eve. But if my mother didn't mind deluding herself, who was I to break her bubble?

"Yeah, OK. Guess I'll see him later, then," I said as I grabbed the stair railing, ready to haul myself upstairs.

"I have to pick up a few last minute things at the supermarket," Mom said. "I haven't seen you in more than a month. Why don't you come with me and keep me company? Those video games can wait."

Ordinarily I would have avoided similar trips like the plague, but she was looking at me with such hope in her eyes, I couldn't say no. I realized that without me around, she had no one here to talk to but Dad, and that was never a pleasant experience. For whatever reason, Mom had never really socialized with anyone in town, unless absolutely necessary, so I knew she didn't have friends to keep her occupied. She was already upset that I wasn't staying longer for break. I couldn't deny her this small request too. Exasperated with myself, I sighed, but let go of the railing and headed for the garage, my mother right behind me.

"So what's going on at school, Edward?" She asked as we drove into town. "Are classes really that hard? You never seemed to have this hard of a time in high school."

"Yeah, mom," I said sarcastically, "'cause that's a real valid comparison. High school in Forks and college in Seattle. Sure, the difficulty level should be exactly the same."

"That sarcasm is unbecoming and ungentlemanly, Edward. Especially when you're speaking to your elders."

Yeah, if this wasn't proof my mother was from another planet, I didn't know what would be. Had she ever heard my father talk? It was like she didn't know who raised me. I was about to snap at her and tell her she was out of her fucking mind, when I turned to look at her and saw her eyes swimming in tears. Great. Fuck! I made my mother cry for Christmas. Some fucking prize of a son I turned out to be. I bet she'd been looking forward to my visit like the second coming, cause I swear sometimes she treated me like I Goddamn walked on water, and here I was being a total shit. Couldn't keep my fucking mouth shut for even a few minutes. Damn it!

"Sorry, Mom," I said, trying to sound as contrite as possible. "I guess I'm still a little stressed out from finals. Things were more difficult this quarter than I thought they would be."

There. That was the fucking truth. Not academically, but still. Things sure had not turned out as I expected when I left Forks this fall. And in a few short months everyone would know it.

I glanced over at her again, and the tears seem to have receded without spilling. I breathed a silent sigh of relief. She pulled into the store parking lot and took a deep breath before turning to me and smiling, as though nothing happened.

"Let's just go inside and get the shopping done so we can go home and you can relax a little. I should have realized how much stress you've been under. Just like your father, stress really seems to bring out the worst in you."

I flinched. Once upon a time anyone telling me I was just like my father would have been the highest compliment they could give me. Nothing would have made me more happy and proud. But Mom didn't sound proud. She sounded resigned, and I knew no matter what she actually said, the last thing she really wanted was for me to be anything like Dad.

"Sorry, Mom," I repeated. "I need to watch my temper more, I guess."

"Yes, you do," she agreed and opened the car door. "But I know you'll try. Let's go. I really only need a few things so this will go fast."

We walked in and I grabbed a cart, following Mom who walked through the store, list in hand, as if she were on a mission. She knew exactly where everything she needed was, and we made it through the aisles in record time, dodging all the other last-minute shoppers as necessary. We ran into a roadblock at the checkout, where the regular lanes seemed extremely long and the express lane even longer. Mom looked at me apologetically. I just shrugged and got in line, prepared to control my temper as we waited for the cashier's to ring up people's purchases.

"Esme, Edward," I suddenly heard behind me. I cringed, recognizing Jasper's mother's voice.

"Joyce," Mom turned to greet her, "How nice to see you."

"Hi Mrs. Barnes," I mumbled. I wished I could avoid eye contact with her altogether, but that would have been exceedingly rude even for me, especially with my mother standing right there, so I glanced at her and gave her a weak smile. "Happy Holidays!" I threw in for good measure.

I hadn't expected to see her here. Jasper's family usually traveled south for Christmas, to spend time with their family down there. It would be my fucking bad luck that this is the year they chose to stay in Forks and that I would run into Jasper's mom in the two days I planned on being in town. I just hoped she was in a hurry and didn't feel like chatting. The last thing I needed was for her to start asking questions about Jasper that I simply had no answers to.

"Can you believe these lines?" Mrs. Barnes complained good naturedly, "I guess none of us in this town can plan very well," she laughed. "That's what I get for trying to stay home for the holidays for once. Usually my sister-in-law does the cooking so I don't have to worry about the prep. I just get to help with the dishes."

"I wish I had that excuse," Mom replied. "I do it every year, and every year I forget something."

"Well, no real harm done, I guess. It gives us a chance to take a moment to chat and wish each other Merry Christmas. And how are you, Edward? I spoke with Jasper this morning and he sounded a little run down. He said finals week was rough, and by the look of you I'm inclined to believe him. Have you boys been taking any time to eat? Your brain needs energy too, you know. I sure hope Jasper hasn't lost as much weight as you. He can hardly afford it."

I looked down. I had no idea if Jasper had lost weight or not. It had been over a week since I'd seen him, and before then it had only been brief glimpses. I shuffled in place.

"No, Jasper is fine. He's more responsible about stuff like that," I said, my voice carrying none of my regular conviction. I saw Jasper's mom's eyes narrow a bit. Crap!

"I didn't even get a chance to ask Jasper this morning how his flight to New York was. Did everything go smoothly on the Seattle end, at least?"

Damn this woman! In theory, her question wasn't unreasonable. I usually dropped Jasper off at the airport. But this year, of course, someone else had done that and I had no idea if everything went well or not. I couldn't lie, either, because she might ask him anyway the next time they spoke, and what if our stories didn't match up? The best I could do is hope that he didn't try to lie to her about me dropping him off at the airport.

"Um, sorry, I really don't know," I scrambled. "I had a final when he needed to go, so someone else dropped him off this time."

"Oh," she gave me a piercing look that almost made me squirm. Fortunately, years of acting tough in front of my father did not go to waste and I held my ground. "Well, he didn't say anything, so I'm sure all went well."

The line had been moving as we spoke, and I was relieved to find it was almost our turn to check out.

"So, is Carlisle out shopping for your gifts at the last minute?" Mrs. Barnes asked my mom. "Jerry took Kimmie to Port Angeles this morning. I swear, every year I offer to buy my own presents so they don't have to go out and deal with the crowds, but now I think it's a ritual that neither wants to miss. It's the daddy daughter bonding time. Kind of sweet, so I just shake my head and let it go. Did you and your dad used to do that when you were little, Edward?"

It took a lot of self-restraint to choke down my laughter. There hadn't been a Christmas gift exchange at the Cullen household in years. I could not recall a single time when my parents exchanged presents. My mother bought me gifts when I was younger, but once I turned 12 my father decreed that I could buy my own gifts and started giving me cash. I wasn't crazy, so I took the money without complaint. And I certainly didn't mind not having the hassle of trying to figure out what to get my parents for Christmas. They had enough money to get whatever they wanted anyway. In fact, the only person I had ever purchased Christmas presents for was Jasper, and even those were just small things, video games or CDs, because the one time I tried to get him something big, he absolutely refused to accept it. And even with Jasper, we never actually exchanged gifts on Christmas, because he was always in New York. So the idea of my father and I bonding together, on Christmas Eve, over presents, was just about the most ludicrous thing I ever heard.

"Actually Carlisle's at work," Mom saved me from having to respond. "He's always so busy this time of year. I'm sure you can imagine."

Joyce Barnes gave my mom a small smile, but I saw something in her eyes that told me she thought just about as much of that excuse as I did. I had no doubt Mrs. Barnes at the very least suspected, if not outright knew, that my father's activities today had nothing to do with his work other than possibly involving another hospital employee.

"Yes," she said politely, "I'm sorry to hear that."

Fortunately at this point we reached the cashier, so there was no more chit chat as Mom made her purchases. We departed with a hasty holiday greeting.

"It's too bad Jasper is always out of town for Christmas," Mom said as we walked back to the car. "I'm sure that must be hard on his mother. I know it was always hard on you."

I looked in the other direction, not wanting her to see my face. Where Jasper spent his holidays didn't matter anymore, now that he had completely excised himself from my life.

Back at home I was about to head upstairs again, when Mom asked me if I wanted to watch a movie with her. Someone must have stamped a giant "sucker" on my forehead, because instead of begging off, I agreed. She made pop-corn and hot chocolate and we settled in the den to watch Some Like it Hot - her choice, of course, though I did find it somewhat amusing.

Watching the movie with Mom reminded me of when I was little. Dad would always be gone, at work, I thought at the time, and she and I would curl up and watch classic comedies. Those were some of the happiest moments of my childhood. We hadn't done this in ages, but maybe this year both of us needed that connection again. For a couple of hours I actually forgot about Jasper and actually laughed a little. Until Dad came home, that is, and found us in the den.

"Well, aren't the two of you just having a cozy time in here, watching grown men dress up like women. What the hell is wrong with the two of you? You find this queer shit entertaining? A bunch of deviants in Hollywood spreading their depravity to the rest of the world under the guise of comedy.

"I bet this was your choice, too, wasn't it, you stupid bitch?" he said to Mom. "All his life you've been doing everything you could to turn this boy into a sissy."

"And you," he turned to me, "haven't you figured out yet that this is not how a real man spends his time? Or do you want to be the queer boy your mother obviously wants to turn you into?"

Mom was crying. She was trying to hide it, but it was just not possible. I'd had enough. As he'd pointed out, I was a man. Maybe standing by and doing nothing while he berated and insulted my mother had been understandable when I was a boy, but I could no longer use that as an excuse. It was time for me to take a stand, consequences be damned. I stood up as straight as I could, knowing I had at least an inch and a half on my father at full height.

"You can't talk to her like that. Not around me. Not anymore. She's taken care of the two of us all of my life and she has taken too much from you in return and I refuse to listen to it anymore. Apologize to her!" I commanded.

My father stared at me, incredulous.

"What did you say to me?"

"I said apologize. You were rude and insulting for no good reason and on Christmas Eve, too. You can be a bastard to me all you want, call me any names you want, but I won't let you insult my mother anymore. Now, tell her you're sorry."

He strode up to me so that we were standing toe to toe, his face crowding mine.

"Who the hell do you think you are, you little piss ant? This is my house. I decide how I speak to people in my own home, not you."

"It's not just your house," I countered. "It's her house too. In fact, it's more her house than yours. I know grandpa gave you the house as a wedding gift. You may have paid for the upkeep, but you never bought the house."

"Oh didn't I?" he snapped. "You think the last 20 years living in this town in the middle of nowhere with your mother hasn't been payment enough? You think it was a coincidence that your grandfather, who never gave away a penny to anyone, was so generous when it came to our wedding day? You think . . ."

"You know what?" I interrupted his vitriol. "I don't care. I don't care why grandfather bought this house and I wouldn't care if you had bought it by breaking up a million piggy banks that you'd been saving money into since you were old enough fit a coin through the slot. This is my mother's home and you will not insult her here. Not without answering to me."

"Really, boy? And what are you going to do about it," He leaned even closer. Our noses were nearly touching now.

"Whatever it takes," I said through clenched teeth, standing my ground. "I'm not afraid of you anymore, Dad. Now, apologize to Mom!"

He backed off and started laughing.

"What exactly am I supposed to be apologizing for, Edward? It's like you said, this is more her house than mine. If she hates how I treat her so much, why has she stayed all these years? Why hasn't she just packed up and filed for divorce? You're trying to play the hero, but there's no innocent victim here to protect."

I was confused. I knew Mom hated the way he treated her. I saw it all the time in her eyes, even when she wasn't crying. But I couldn't figure out why she hadn't left him, especially now that I was an adult. Community property laws should give her plenty of money, so it couldn't be for financial reasons, and my custody was no longer in question. It didn't make any sense, unless he had something that he was threatening or blackmailing her with. And what could he possibly have had on her that would have been worse than staying with him? The only think I could think of was some kind of a crime, and looking at my Mom she certainly didn't look like a criminal. Besides, she got married so young, she hardly had time to get involved in anything illegal.

I looked at her, silently pleading for an explanation, but I knew none would be forthcoming. Instead, she got up.

"That's enough, Carlisle," she said. "You've made your point. And it's all right, Edward. I've known about the kind of man your father is for a long time," she told me cryptically. Then she walked out of the den and headed for the kitchen, leaving my father and me in our Mexican stand-off. I noticed his fists balled tightly at her words, and I was glad I was here to protect her, if not from his words, hen at least from anything worse.

"I don't know why she puts up with and stays with you," I seethed, "And I apparently can't stop you from berating her and insulting her and demeaning her with just about everything you do, but I swear to God, if you ever hurt her physically in any way, I will make sure you live only long enough to regret it."

He relaxed his fists and looked at me with pure venom in his eyes. "You're lucky you're my son, Edward, and that this genetic link still means something to me. I don't take well to being threatened, especially in my own home. So if you want to keep visiting here and taking advantage of my hospitality, you'd better keep your mouth shut. You may think you're a big man now that you're 18, but you have nothing and are nothing without me. You are still a child here, and when it comes to me you should be seen and not heard."

He turned on his heel and left the room, heading towards his study. I stood there, filled with anger and confusion. I needed to do something to get rid of all the pent up aggression. I considered going to my room and playing the most violent games I had, but I knew that, while mentally satisfying, this would do nothing for me physically. I decided to head down to the gym instead. On the way there I passed by the kitchen.

"Edward?" My mom called. I stuck my head in the kitchen doorway. "I'm really sorry, darling. I know it's Christmas Eve and you were probably looking forward to a lovely family dinner, but I have a migraine and I have to lie down. I put your and your father's dinners in the warming drawer, so the food's there for you whenever you're ready to eat. I'm sure I'll feel better by tomorrow and we'll have a wonderful Christmas brunch, like we always do."

"Sure Mom, thanks. I hope you feel better," I said, not really meaning it. It's not that I wanted her to be sick, but I was frustrated with her for staying with a man who clearly had nothing but contempt for her, even if that man was my father. The thought of my mother as my father's perpetual doormat made me lose all respect for her. I wanted to love her, because she was the only blood relative, maybe the only person, who actually seemed to love me, but she sure didn't make it easy.

In the gym I put on boxing gloves and worked with the bag until I was too exhausted to pound it anymore. If the bag had been a human being, I would have beaten it to a bloody pulp. As it was, I was the only one suffering, and was sure I would hurt even more the following day.

Sometime mid work-out I heard the garage door open and I knew my bastard of a father was going prowling again, but since my mother couldn't bring herself to care, I decided I didn't need to either. As far as I was concerned he could stay out all night and the following day - it would make Christmas that much more pleasant for Mom and me.

When I was done I went into the kitchen and looked in the warming drawer. There was only one plate left in the drawer. My father must have eaten his before he left the house. Goddamn prick. He called my mother every name in the book, but that didn't stop him from enjoying her cooking skills, or any of the other things she did for him, day-in, day-out. Selfish asshole. He didn't deserve any of it.

I took my plate out of the warming oven and brought it to the table. As usual, my mom did an amazing job cooking for us, preparing a roast rib of beef with glazed baby onions, turnips and carrots. It was one of her classic dishes, one she knew I enjoyed. Tonight, though, seeing and smelling the food just turned my stomach. I speared a carrot with my fork and put it in my mouth, barely able to chew and swallow without gagging. I couldn't eat this, yet I knew I couldn't not eat it. If she saw that I had not touched my dinner she would hit the roof. I had to destroy the evidence and pretend. I walked back to the kitchen and poured the contents of the plate into the sink. I started the water and turned on the disposer, listening as the blades chewed up the food before sending it into the sewer. I poured down a couple of cups of ice for good measure before turning the disposer off. I hated wasting the food and having to lie about it, but it was easier than fighting with Mom about it and having her worry about me. I knew I'd lost some weight, but it wasn't anything to worry about. I just didn't have any appetite. Eventually I'd want to eat again and I'd get back to normal, just like I did after the summer.

I put the dishes in the sink and went up to my room to get ready for bed. There was a time when I would never even consider going to bed this early, but with Mom feeling sick there was no one to talk to. Besides, lately I'd been feeling tired all the time anyway and sleeping more, when I wasn't waking up in the middle of the night with nightmares. And it was Christmas Eve. Wasn't I supposed to be nestled all snug in my bed or some stupid shit like that? I chuckled darkly as I brushed my teeth before changing into my sleep pants and crawling into bed, closing my eyes and waiting for the start of my very own visions of sugar plums or, to be more specific, one sugar plum named Jasper. I'd long ago stopped trying not to dream about him. My only options were to let him invade my dreams or not fucking sleep at all.

Christmas morning I woke up to complete silence. Just another morning at the Cullen house. One glance at the clock told me it was late enough that I should get up if I didn't want to cause any concerns. I showered, dressed, and made my way downstairs to see where things stood this morning. It was still silent, which was unusual. I would have expected to hear some noise from the kitchen as Mom put the finishing touches on her typical elaborate Christmas brunch, but this morning there was nothing. And when I walked into the kitchen, I understood why. There was no one there and no sign of life: no food set out on the counters, cold oven, nothing on the cook top. Absolutely nothing indicating that there was any meal in the making.

I was instantly concerned. In all my life I had never known my mother not to be up before me and not to have breakfast either ready to go or at least started. Suddenly the silence felt extremely eerie. For a moment I was frozen with indecision, not sure what to do. Were my parents in the house or had they both left? I decided to check the garage first, since it was only a few steps away. I flung open the door and noted that only my father's car was missing. Presumably that meant that mom was somewhere in the house, but why hadn't she gotten up? Suddenly I was terrified.

I took the steps up two at a time and ran for my parents' bedroom. The door was ajar and when I looked in the bed was made, as though it had not been slept in. There were no noises coming from the adjoining bathroom, so I concluded that the room was empty. I figured my father had stayed out all night, but where was mom? I glanced down the hall. The doors to all the bedrooms, including my own, were all open, except for the room at the very end. I walked down, the door getting larger as I got closer, until it loomed in front of me in its six-paneled oak expanse. I raised my hand and knocked, softly at first, and then a little louder when my first knock produced no results. When there was still no response, I reached for the doorknob, twisted it and pushed the door open, not knowing what to expect once I was able to look inside.

I saw my mother lying on her side in bed, under the covers, facing away from the door. She didn't stir as I came in and started walking around the bed to be able to see her face. To my relief, when I did finally get to the other side of the bed, I could see the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath the pajamas and blanket. She looked peaceful, except for the red swollen eyes. Hardly a surprise, considering she'd gone to bed crying.

I glanced around the room. There was an alarm clock on the bedside table that I was sure had not been there when I left home in the fall, as well as a bookmarked book and a picture frame with a photo of me and mom taken on the day of my high school graduation. I saw clothes hanging in the closet through a slit left by the open door. In the bathroom I saw hair products and make-up in the counter. It was clear that all these things were not moved in here last night. Some time after I left for school this fall, my mother had moved out of the master bedroom. The realization was shocking in its unexpectedness, but it was welcome as well. This was finally proof that my mother wasn't completely oblivious to her surroundings and that she was willing to take a step, however small, to distance herself away from my father.

I was also glad she was sleeping in. There certainly weren't any good reasons to get up early, so why shouldn't she take the time she needed to rest, especially on a holiday? I was just about to talk back out of the room when she moved and opened her eyes, a sliver at first, snapping them wide open when she saw me.

"Edward," She said with alarm, "is everything all right?"

"Fine, Mom. I just came in here to make sure you were feeling OK. Go back to sleep."

She glanced at the bedside clock, groaned, and then sat up.

"I guess I forgot to set the alarm last night. I'm so sorry, Darling. Your father must be . . ."

We both glanced at each other as the realization hit both of us that if my father had been anywhere in the house this morning, he would have stormed in here to drag her out of bed with obscenities, regardless of the day of the year.

"He was gone when I got up," I said. I didn't bother explaining that he left last night and that he bed hadn't been slept in. She was very capable of making those observations for herself. "As far as I'm concerned, there is no rush. Take your time getting ready - I'll just watch some TV or something."

She pressed her hand over her eyes and sighed, then lowered her hand and looked back at me.

"All right. Could you turn the oven on to 350 degrees so that it starts pre-heating? I'll be down in a few minutes."

"Sure," I said, and headed back downstairs. True to my word, I turned on the oven and the TV in the den, but I paid more attention to listening for the sound of mom in the kitchen than I did to whatever was on the screen. When I heard her come down, I turned off the TV and joined her. I found her taking pans of food out of the refrigerator.

"Can I help with anything?" I asked, this time desperately wanting her to say yes. I didn't care anymore if my father accused me of being a fag. He'd do it anyway when he found out Jasper was gay, so what did it matter if he started a few months early? And what the hell was wrong with fags, anyway? Why was fucking a guy any worse than what my father had probably been doing all night last night with a woman who was not his wife? Did it really matter that much if your cock was up someone's pussy or ass? For that matter, did it matter so much if the ass was male or female? Because I sure as shit knew that if my father was anything like me he wouldn't limit himself to two holes on a chick when three were available, the third arguably the tightest and best. In fact, as I thought about it, I distinctly remembered Jeanine, one of the nurses on staff at Forks hospital who'd made it her goal to bag both Cullen men, commenting how alike my father and I were as I was fucking her ass. I remembered because at the time the comparison had nearly caused me to lose my erection. Thinking about it now didn't have a particularly great effect either. It was a good thing I hadn't eaten in a while, because my stomach churned, and if there had been anything in there I doubtless would have had to make a run for the toilet. As it was, I merely swallowed against the bile that was rising up my esophagus, and took a deep breath through my nose, followed by a long exhale.

Mom looked back at me, as if realizing that helping her today would actually mean something to me. "Sure," she said, holding out a casserole dish. "Put this in the oven, for me, please. Bottom rack to the left side."

I took the dish from her and placed it in the oven as instructed.

"What's next?" I asked enthusiastically. Shoving a casserole dish into an oven was such as little thing, yet today it felt like the ultimate act of defiance. And I wanted to do more.

"Can you get the ham out of the fridge and put it on the counter for me?" she asked.

I reached into the fridge and pulled out the roasting pan that held the ham. Mom had clearly prepared it already, covering it with oranges and cloves. After I put it on the counter she merely basted it and declared it ready to join the casserole on the top rack of the oven. As I was positioned the ham in the oven, Mom was placing the finishing touches on yet another concoction that soon joined its counterparts on the right side of the lower oven rack.

Mom continued reaching into the fridge to pull out new ingredients, clearly intending on cooking additional items this morning. I walked up to her and placed a hand over hers before she could turn back to the pantry to retrieve still more stuff.

"You know, there are only the two of use here now, and at most there will be three. There's plenty of food in the oven. Why bother making more?"

"But it's Christmas . . ." she paused, looking torn.

"Mom, with your cooking it's like Christmas every day. I'm sure everything that's already in the oven will be delicious. There's no need for you to do any more and, as you pointed out, it is Christmas. So please, just relax."

She gave me a long look. I could see she was considering it, which was a small victory in and of itself. "All, right," she finally relented. "How about just the banana nut muffins? I know how much you like them and you can take the extras back to Seattle with you."

I smiled. Those damn muffins were my favorite, and she knew it. No way could I turn those down. Especially knowing that they were probably my father's least favorite.

"One condition though?" I bargained.

"What's that, Darling?"

"Teach me how to make them."

It was her turn to smile. "All right. Help me put some of this stuff away first."

We put away the unnecessary ingredients into the fridge and pantry. I was pleased she'd agreed without much resistance. It wasn't so much that I really wanted to learn how to make the muffins. As delicious as they were, I really couldn't imagine any circumstances under which I would actually want to make these myself as opposed to heading out to a bakery or coffee shop to buy some. Still, Mom and I were making a statement this morning by cooking together, and that made this Christmas more special than any other. I didn't really care if my fucker of a father showed up or not. I just knew that this time, even if he did, his vitriol wouldn't phase me.

Actually, I was really hoping that he would stay away all day, but to my never-ending disappointment, he came home just as I was pouring the muffin batter into the paper cups.

"Well, well, well, I guess I get to see my own son turn into a fairy for Christmas this year. Cross dressing movies and cooking. When is your boyfriend coming over? How the fuck am I supposed to enjoy my holiday when my own fag of a son makes me sick to my stomach?"

"Why the hell should you get to enjoy your holiday when you made the rest of this family miserable?" I spat at him. "And just for the record, helping mom get breakfast ready does not make me a fag, but if eating things I helped prepare makes you sick, then you may want to go out to eat today, because I touched everything that will be on the table later," that was an exaggeration, but it sure as fuck felt good to say.

He didn't say anything, just stormed out of the kitchen. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked back to Mom, who had watched the whole scene silently.

"I don't get it, Mom," I told her. "He's such a dick. I'm an adult, living on my own. You already moved out of your bedroom. Why do you stay with him? It's so obvious how miserable you are here. Why not leave? You're still young. You could easily find someone who will love and respect you like you deserve."

For a moment my mom looked at me like I'd grown two extra heads. I couldn't blame her. The things that I was saying sure as fuck didn't sound like anything that would ever get past my lips before. Something was happening to me, and I didn't know what it was. Maybe Dad was right? Maybe I was turning into a fag? How else to explain all this new-found fucking sensitivity? But even if he was right, if somehow living with Jasper this fall turned me into something I hadn't been before, at this moment I didn't care. I just wanted some answers from her. I wanted to understand.

She sighed and walk to stand in front of me. She put her hands on the sides of my face and pulled down my head so she could kiss my forehead, the way she used to when I was younger.

"I wish I could explain, Edward, but it's complicated."

"I don't see what's so complicated. Pack a few bags and leave with me tonight. Come to Seattle, you can move in with . . ." I was just about to say me when I remembered that no one knew Jasper had moved out and that no one was supposed to know. I looked at her, slightly panicked. What if she took me up on my suggestion? Then I would have to explain everything to her. But what the fuck? It would be worth it to get her away from here.

She misinterpreted my worry, though, and laughed. "Yes, I'm not sure that is such a good plan either. Living in a two bedroom apartment with two college Freshmen? Probably not the best idea for me. And I could just imagine the look on Jasper' face."

"Mom," I started to tell her, but she placed a finger over my lips.

"I can't leave, Edward. And I can't explain. I'm sorry, Darling. I know you're frustrated with me, but I married your father for better for worse."

I huffed in disbelief. "That is the most stupid thing I have ever heard! No one in their right mind would stay with someone like him because of some dumb vows that were clearly broken by the other person. I hope to God, Mom, that you're not being serious. I know you can't be. He has something on you, right? What is it? Pictures? Videos? Something you did when you were young that is really bad? That has to be it, right? Why else would grandfather have let you marry him and give him this house? Tell me what it is and we can figure something out."

Even as I was saying it I wondered at my own sanity. If my grandfather, with all that money at his disposal, couldn't make whatever this thing was go away, how could I even hope to have a chance. But I had to try. I couldn't just leave her here.

She laughed again.

"I promise, Edward, there are no pictures, no videos, no embarrassing deeds. You don't need to worry about me, really. I'm tougher than you think."

She stepped back and turned towards the counter, where the muffin batter I poured was still standing raw in the muffin tins.

"Now, I think we need to take the other dishes out of the oven and put these in. Still want to help?"

I reached for the oven mitts without saying a word. By the tone of her voice I knew the conversation was over.

Apparently God was not feeling particularly kindly disposed towards me, because despite my fervent prayers, Dad joined us for breakfast when Mom started to serve. It was all beyond awkward, with the entire meal passing in silence except when one of us was forced to ask someone else to pass something. To avoid talking to Dad completely, I actually got up to get stuff instead of asking him to pass. It was childish, but I did get a measure of satisfaction watching him seething throughout the meal. For the first time he had lost control, and I knew just how much he hated it. I, on the other hand, never felt better. I knew he still held the purse strings and that if he were to cut me off I'd be up shit creek without a paddle, but suddenly that didn't even matter. I had bigger problems in my life than him. I knew I could survive without him. I had no idea if I could survive without Jasper.

After breakfast I helped Mom clean up and load the dishwasher. I was going to leave, but she reminded me that she never had a chance to do my laundry, so we did that together as well. Dad was nowhere in sight. We didn't know where he went and we didn't care.

When all the laundry was done, folded at mom's insistence, and packed, it was finally time for me to leave. Just as he wasn't there to welcome me when I arrived, Dad didn't come down to say good bye when I left, which was more than fine by me. Mom sent me off with a kiss and a reminder to eat. Given how stuffed I still felt from the huge brunch, eating was the last thing on my mind, but I promised to take care of myself, and that seemed to appease her. Then I was on my way, leaving behind the bizarre bullshit of my family and heading towards the much harsher reality of my lonely Seattle life.

By the time I got home that night to the dark and empty apartment in the mostly dark and empty building, I didn't feel like doing anything other than unpacking and going to sleep. I slept in the next day, and then laid around even after I was fully awake, reluctant to get out of bed and face the day. I had nothing to do, no one to see, nowhere to go. The Blue Eyed Dog might have been open again, but heading to a bar at noon the day after Christmas was too desperate for me to be able to seriously contemplate.

Eventually I showered and got dressed, deciding to get some fresh air to clear my head. I'd been feeling exceptionally thick-headed since Jasper moved out, finding it almost impossible to motivate myself to do anything. But I didn't want to be that way anymore. I decided that my problem was too much sleep and not enough exercise. Other than my time in the gym at home, I hadn't really worked out in the past month. I needed to think and figure things out, and I wouldn't be able to do any of that as lethargic as I had been.

The air outside was brisk, but I welcomed the cold. I set off for a walk around the neighborhood at a relatively fast clip, thinking my pace could generate enough body heat to ward off the outside chill. I didn't have any particular destination in mind. I just wanted to do something other than sitting around my apartment feeling sorry for myself.

For the sake of distraction, I started thinking about Mom and her situation. I just couldn't figure out why she would stay for so many years with a man who controlled practically her every move, demanded all of her attention ever when he certainly didn't give her all or even most of his, and berated her so cuttingly each time she did anything he disapproved of. Then again, hadn't I done some of the same things to Bella and other girls I dated, and yet most of them seemed eager to stick around.

The realization struck me so hard I almost paused, trying to make sense of my thoughts. It shouldn't have been a surprise that my behavior had been the same as my father's, considering I had been trying to emulate him all my life. And yet suddenly I felt as if someone had taken off a blindfold and I was seeing the world for the first time. My father was an asshole, and in trying to be like him I had been an asshole as well.

And I hadn't just been an asshole to the girls. I'd been an asshole to everyone I knew, including Jasper. Especially Jasper. I thought about all the times I'd backed out of plans I made with him so I could go out with this girl or another; or the times when I just showed up at his door expecting him to adjust his plans to do something with me; or the time I'd made him an outcast just to show him I had the power; or the time I tried to attack his guest only to hurt him in when he got in the way. I'd treated him so badly, horribly enough that towards the end I'd felt him trying to pull away, and yet each time he'd stayed. Even this time he only made the decision to leave because he thought I didn't want him to stay. If I had told him not to move out, would we still be living together? If I asked him to move back now, would he do it? Was it still within my power to fix this?

And did I want to fix it? Things were different now. We weren't the friends we had been before. Jasper was gay and I was not. I didn't understand it. I didn't get why he had chosen this deviant way to live over being normal and fucking girls. Sure, I enjoyed fucking a nice tight ass, but why did he only want to do it when there was a cock attached one the other side. Then it hit me - what I'd said to him when he told me. He didn't just like fucking ass, he enjoyed being fucked in the ass, and even I had to admit no girl would ever be able to do that. And he probably didn't just like having his cock sucked but also being the one to do the sucking, yet another thing he could never do with a girl.

I shuddered. Having tasted his cock I could see some of the appeal. He had tasted great and felt right in my mouth and I had wanted to make him feel good as I sucked him. But that was only because it was him, not just because he was a guy. I would never do that with another guy and I sure as fuck would never want to go near any other guy's ass. And I would never, ever, willingly take a cock up my own ass. That was just never gonna happen. So I definitely was not gay.

I suddenly realized that, without even thinking about it, I had managed to arrive back at the entrance to the apartment building. I considered walking another loop, but it was pretty cold outside and I decided my mind had been sufficiently aired out. On the way up I stopped by the mail slots and noticed that there was a package slip in our box. Curious, because the slip had listed me as a recipient and I, for the life of me, could not imagine why anyone would be sending me a package, I trudged back out and to the administrative office of the complex, where all packages were typically held. The woman in the office could not have been more surly if she tried, undoubtedly pissed off that she had to work the day after Christmas instead of joining the throngs of bargain shoppers at the malls. I didn't mind the attitude. I certainly understood what being unhappy with one's life was like.

I didn't open the package until I got back to the apartment. Even then I took my time, not knowing what to make of it. There weren't many people in the world who might have thought to send me a package, and all of them were out of town right now. Yet this package had not been sent via the US postal service or any of the typical overnight delivery services. Apparently it had been hand-delivered, though the woman in the office was not there at the time of delivery, so she couldn't give me any information about that. Truth be told, as sour as she was, she probably wouldn't have given me the information even if she had it.

So the package and the contents were a mystery and I contemplated leaving them that way. I didn't think anyone out there had a vendetta against me, but there were always stories on the news about psychos sending letter bombs and shit like that. It would have been smarter to just toss the package and not take the risk. But curiosity was eating at me and the damned thing didn't seem to be ticking, so eventually I peeled off the wrapping paper and opened it. The contents were as shocking as the fact that someone thought and dared to send me the package in the first place. It was filled with pamphlets, booklets and other literature, all about homosexuality.

When I realized what was inside I tossed the package into a corner as if it suddenly caught fire, as if merely touching the pamphlets would somehow turn me queer. The brochures flew out mid-air and settled randomly on the floor, making the corner look like a post-tornado field of paper debris. I left them where they fell and ignored them for days, forcing myself not to look at them as I watched TV, and spending most of the time in my bedroom thinking about Jasper.

I still couldn't come to terms with him being gay. The thought of Jasper kissing and groping another guy, sucking someone's cock or, worse yet, bending over and getting fucked by some stranger, never failed to turn my stomach. I found it absolutely repulsive. And I didn't understand why he would want that when he could have just asked me. I would have done all those things for him not because we were gay but because we were friends and we loved each other. If this was something he needed I would have done it for him gladly and we still could have fucked girls and been normal. It could have just been the two of us getting together. No one would have had to know. But instead of talking to me and asking my advice, he just decided that he wanted to be a deviant.

And if he'd decided to be gay way back in high school, why did he turn me down in the beginning of the year? Why the mock outrage and questions about my sexuality? Why didn't he just agree to come into my room so we could be together, the way we were back in Forks? This fucking distinction he drew between Seattle and Forks. That was the crux of the whole problem. If only he didn't act as if the two were so different, everything would have been fine. The more I thought about it the angrier I became. It didn't make any sense.

The answer came overnight. I went to bed angry and confused and I woke up with a sudden clarity and understanding. I remembered the things he said, things that have somehow gotten lost in the jumble of my thoughts since the day he left. He told me that he couldn't talk to me about being gay because he'd been afraid of how I would react. He'd expected me to be repulsed, to reject him. And he'd been right. I did exactly what he thought I would do. He was my best friend. He knew me well. But then why did he stay? Why didn't he move out in the beginning of the year as he'd threatened to do? I'd been an asshole to him throughout our friendship and he expected me to continue, so why stay? Unlike the situation between my mother and my father, I didn't have anything to blackmail him with. Clearly I couldn't make him stay against his will. Why didn't he leave, then? Was it really because he loved me? Was it possible to love someone like me after everything I'd done?

But he did. He had. I suddenly knew that as strongly as I knew my own name. He'd loved me despite all the crap I've said and done to him over the years. And I threw all that back in his face because I couldn't handle the thought of him being gay. He'd watched me over the years with all those girls, and I couldn't even handle the idea that my best friend was a homosexual. Even though it didn't matter, because if he loved me, if he wanted to be with me, then what difference did it make if otherwise he was into men or women?

Of course, none of that mattered now anyway. I did what I did and he was gone, and not just from the apartment. He'd moved in and on with Emmett. I saw them that night, together. He'd been laughing, happy. He found someone who didn't have any problems with him being gay, who supported him and made him feel good, instead of making him feel like worthless crap. And Emmett wasn't a dumb fuck like me. Even if I tried to get him back, Emmett wouldn't just let Jasper go. He'd hold on to him and remind him at every turn what a shit I'd been, just like Jasper asked him to do. I remembered his words so clearly: "I'm glad you heard. You can remind me if I'm ever fuckin' stupid enough to think he ever cared about me." Fuck! After what I did, after making him lose all faith in me, how the hell could I convince him that I didn't mean it; that I'd made a mistake; that I did care more about him than I ever cared about another person?

I had to talk to him and somehow make him forgive me and give me another chance. To show him that I could again be the best friend that he needed and deserved. But how could I do that? I felt like I was already so far behind. Once upon a time, in Forks, I may have been the best and only game in town, but that was definitely not the case here. I couldn't offer him the kind of understanding that Emmett could. I couldn't introduce him to other queers and show him where to hang out, how to act, how to dress. Shit. I didn't really even know what the gay thing was all about, other than fucking and being fucked by other guys. There was clearly more to it. They had places where they went that didn't include straight guys. They watched different TV shows and movies, were interested in different stuff, listened to different music. They dressed differently, some really differently, like Elton John and that little fairy Seth, but even Emmett, who was relatively normal, wore shirts and jeans that were a little too tight and too fashionable for the average college student. Would Jasper start dressing that queer now that he was officially gay? I didn't know if I could handle Jasper in mesh and sequins, though imagining Jasper in leather pants was not entirely unappealing.

I started looking to the paper littered corner. Surely some of the answers I was looking for would be there, in all those brochures. Nothing would happen if I just looked through them and read some of them. If it got to weird I could just stop and toss them in the trash. No one would ever have to know.

No matter what I told myself, though, I still approached the corner like a wild animal - slowly and carefully. I gathered the brochures and brought them back to the couch, spreading them out beside me to see exactly what I had to deal with. The pamphlets seemed to span the gamut of gay issues, from what it meant to be gay, to tips about coming out, to safe sex and STD information, to information for family and friends of gay people. I picked up a brochure called Being an Ally to Gays & Lesbians and flipped through it. It wasn't long or in depth, but it gave advice on what to do if one wanted to support gay people. The last section, "What's in a Name" interested me the most. Below all the different definitions was a sentence that caught my attention. "Someone who identifies as heterosexual may have same-sex fantasies." I breathed a sigh of relief. So just because I thought about Jasper didn't automatically mean I was gay. There was another line that caught my eye "a straight woman may become sexually involved with another woman." Well, yeah, sure, like Jessica and Lauren, or Tanya and Irina, or any of those girls in pornos that got it on with guys and girls. They weren't lesbians just because on occasion they ate pussy. So if I sometimes sucked Jasper's cock, that wouldn't necessarily, make me a fag either.

Feeling a little more comfortable, I kept reading. I didn't find answers to all my questions and most of the information was pretty general, but it was more than I had before. The brochures all seemed to say that gays were in the minority, but they were normal. That homosexuality had always been around. That being homosexual was no more deviant than being left-handed. It was a lot to take in, especially since so much of it went against everything that I'd ever been taught by my father. Dad was a doctor. He, of all people, should have known that homosexuality was normal and natural, and yet he was always spewing on about gays being deviants. I didn't understand it at all, but it wasn't like I could talk to him about it. Were all these pamphlets right and my father wrong? Was it really normal and natural for a guy to want to bend over and get his ass stuffed with another guy's cock? Thinking about fucking a guy was different - an ass was an ass. But a guy wanting to get fucked? I couldn't get my head around that. That had to be some genetic defect.

I kept reading and thinking and struggling. I went on the computer and did more research. It was at once too much information and not enough. Everything was jumbled up and my head ached from trying to figure it all out. In the end, I wasn't sure if the pamphlets helped or hurt or had no impact. I was as confused as ever and no closer to figuring out how to get Jasper back.

As days went by people starting coming back from their family holidays and the apartment building started to feel more alive. This was both good and bad. I no longer felt so alone in the silence around me, but once the queers made their way back to Seattle I also had to be more careful about when I went out, to avoid running into them in the halls. Just about the last thing I needed was to see Emmett, especially if he was going to be talking about Jasper. I really hated him with a depth of feeling I hadn't experienced before. The mere thought of his smiling, dimpled face made me want to punch the nearest thing. I may have been all that to the girls in Forks and even here, in Seattle, but how could I compete with someone like him? He was tall, built, good looking, and queer - every fag's dream guy, I would imagine. And, more importantly, he had been there for Jasper when I'd been my absolute worst. It had always been my job to protect Jasper, yet Emmett was the one who sheltered him when Jasper needed to get away from me. No matter how I looked at it, I couldn't come up with a way I had a snowball's chance in hell of convincing Jasper to leave Emmett and come back to me.

New Year's Eve came and excitement seemed to rise within the building. From the sounds of hallway conversations I'd overheard, I knew several people in the building were planning parties. I heard the queers talking about some fag event they would be going to and other people buzzed about other parties throughout the city. For me, it was just another evening. I had no desire to go out and mix with drunk idiots I didn't even know. I had plenty of booze in the apartment to numb myself up and try to forget that the person I had really wanted to spend this night with was partying with unknown fag friends in New York City. I had really thought that once we moved to Seattle I would stop being miserable on this night, but this year was proving to be worse than any others. At least in the past I could look forward to Jasper coming back after break. This time there was nothing to look forward to at all. Just a year of loneliness and misery.

I started drinking early, and with a nearly empty stomach the booze hit me hard. It only took a few shots of wallowing in self-pity before I passed out cold on the couch in front of the TV. When I opened my eyes a few hours later I was momentarily disoriented, the obnoxious shouts and music and laughter being completely incongruous with the image on the TV screen of throngs of people crowded into Time Square in New York City. After a few moments I realized that the sounds were coming from the apartment next door, and I was fucking annoyed. At least I would have been able to turn off the TV. There was nothing I could do about the revelry next door that caused my head to throb viciously.

I looked at the screen as the level of noise from next door increased and people began to shout out numbers. I must have woken up just in time to drink in the fucking new year. I reached for the bottle and cursed when I found it empty. How fucking symbolic.

The countdown stopped and the words Happy New Year flashed across the screen as noisemakers and horns seemed to erupt all around me. I stared at the screen as the camera panned over the idiots who filled up the square. Thousands of people paired off, engaging in the pathetic ritual of the New Year's kiss. Then suddenly everything stopped and all the noise died away. I rolled off the couch awkwardly and crawled towards the TV to get a better look, not quite believing what I was seeing. The TV camera had paused on a particularly photogenic couple kissing passionately, but my eyes were focused on the edge of the screen, where I clearly saw the familiar curly hair and lean body of Jasper, locked in an embrace and kiss with a guy I didn't know. Jasper's profile was obscuring most of the other guy's face, so that all I could see was the guy’s dark blond hair. I reached up to put my fingers against Jasper's face on the screen and then he was gone, the camera roving again.

I stared at the screen intently, waiting for another camera sweep, another glimpse of him, but it was all in vain. Soon the camera was back on the hosts doing their wrap up, and the New York broadcast was over. I buried my head in my hands, feeling the wetness of my tears. There wasn't any use in denying it any more. The way I felt about him went beyond friendship or fantasy. I wanted to be with him, to be the one he was kissing and holding, to be by his side when he was happy and to comfort him when he was sad. I wanted to protect him and to have him look at me the way he used to, like my opinion was the only one that mattered, like I was the only one that mattered.

I hated the thought of yet another man with him, on this of all nights. I hated him for so casually moving on from guy to guy after he'd told me he loved me for so long. And, once again, I hated myself for not realizing what I had before I so carelessly threw it all away. It was a small comfort that at least I had been to blame for Jasper leaving me, when Emmett seemingly had done nothing, and yet Jasper had moved on anyway. I guess if nothing else, I had the satisfaction that the queer superman living down the hall wasn't as unforgettable as I thought he might be.

My head snapped up suddenly in a moment of clarity. Jasper was with another guy. A guy who was not from Seattle. Which meant that he wasn't with Emmett. Which meant that he wasn't coming back here to anyone. Which meant that maybe there was still a chance for me?

I suddenly knew what I had to do. I would find a way to get Jasper alone and tell him everything that happened this week. I would apologize for being an ass and ask him to forgive me and hope that the nearly 10 years of friendship between us still carried some weight. Maybe it wouldn't work, but I had to try. I had to tell Jasper how I felt and hope that enough of the feelings he claimed to have for me were still there to make him give me another chance.

Author's Note: The opinions that Edward expressed in this chapter are his own - they do not reflect the opinions of the author. The chapter title and mood come from the song "Something I Can Never Have" by Nine Inch Nails. As always, your thoughts and comments are appreciated.