Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. My heart belongs to Edward Cullen.

Chapter One: Frosted Strawberry PopTarts

The soft buttery glow from the lamp on her night table washed tenderly across the planes of her face, her features relaxed in sleep. The pointed chin, the rounded angles of her jaw, the feathered eyelashes that rested on her cheeks, the soft pink curves of her lips, slightly parted now in slumber, allowing her impossibly sweet breath to wash over my face. I lay beside her, breathing her in, with no thought for the burn in my throat, made stronger by the months apart.

If those months had taught me anything, it was that I could not live without her, immortal though I may be.

I allowed the icy fingers of my left hand to lift to her beloved face, following the patterns that the light made over her skin. I kept the touch feather-light, not wanting to disturb her sleep. It was obvious that she had not been getting nearly enough of that these past months.

Dark, purple-black half-moons marred the skin beneath her eyes. I didn't think I'd ever seen such dark circles under the eyes of anyone who wasn't a vampire. The skin around her eyes looked so fragile and thin, like a single touch would cause it to crumble to dust, its matrix compromised by the pain she'd endured.

All the king's horses and all the king's men...

I clenched my own eyes shut as another tidal wave of remorse washed over me, only the latest in a never-ending torrent of regret.

What had I done to her?

The fragile skin of her too-pale face and the circles beneath her eyes mocked me, like a chronicle of my many, many mistakes. Mistakes that I knew would haunt me for the rest of my existence.

How could I ever have been so foolish as to leave her?

My arms contracted around her, holding her to me as tightly as I could without fear of harming her. I buried my face in her hair, drinking in the scent that had tormented me for so long, the scent that had threatened my control, her safety, my very sanity. How could I have ever guessed that I would come to crave her scent, crave her, not for the want of her sweet blood, but simply for herself.

Her. My Bella.

Until the loss of her, with her scent and her sweet smile and her warm eyes and her love, pushed me over the edge of sanity and into darkness. I had never known a pain so acute, ripping a hole in my marble chest, shredding my still heart into a thousand pieces.

Even the agonizing pain of my transformation could not compare to the unspeakable pain of losing Bella.

My mind instinctively shied away from the thought, not wanting to relive the months of desolation and hopelessness.

Especially not that single, twenty-four-hour period in which I had believed the love of my existence to be dead.

There aren't words to describe that day. I can only say that it will always remain the worst day of my very long life, no matter what comes after.

Bella stirred slightly in my arms, her eyelids fluttering. I glanced at the glowing green numerals of the clock on her bedside table. 5:33 am. Far too early for her to wake. I was determined that those bruised shadows beneath her eyes would be gone within the week.

I began to hum her lullaby softly, rubbing my hands over her back, attempting to soothe her back to sleep. My stomach clenched as the familiar melody floated softly into the warm air of the quiet room. There had been a time, only a few days ago, when I thought I'd never see her again, much less hold her in my arms and hum her to sleep.

The fact that she'd allowed me back into her life after all I had done to hurt her was nothing less than a miracle to me. I would be forever grateful for her forgiveness, even if I knew I didn't deserve it.

She settled back into slumber with a soft sigh. As my hands continued to trace her narrow back I was brought back to another concern, one that had first caught my notice when she came to me in Volterra, saving me from my own darkness.

She was so thin.

The tiny delicate wings of her shoulder blades felt sharp beneath my palms. I could feel each individual facet of her fragile spine, prominent beneath her skin as my fingertips skimmed from her neck to her waist. The slim bars of her ribcage protruded alarmingly beneath the thin blue cotton of her shirt.

She must have lost ten pounds since I had last seen her in September. Perhaps even fifteen. She had been slender to begin with-not unhealthily so, but enough so that she could ill afford to lose so much weight.

If I had been afraid I would hurt her before, that fear was doubled now. She looked so fragile that I feared a human could break her in half with the slightest touch, let alone a vampire with unfathomable strength.

How had she become so thin? Had she not been eating regular meals? It was not unusual for her to forget to eat on occasion, when she became absorbed in some task that she enjoyed. Reading or writing were the two most common culprits. But it wasn't like her to eat so little that she lost weight or became unhealthy. She was far too responsible for that, feeling her obligations keenly—caring for Charlie, doing well in school, worrying over Renee. She was the most constant, steadfast creature I had ever known. Knowing this only made my worry increase.

What had happened to her when I left?

I was afraid to find out the whole of it. I was afraid that knowing the full, uncensored, unflinching extent of the damage I had caused would shatter me all over again.

I thought back to three days ago, when I had carried an exhausted Bella in the front door of her home after our return from Italy.

The look on her father's face when he saw me...

If looks really could kill, I would have been nothing but a pile of ashes at Charlie's feet.

His mind was tinged red with rage. His thoughts came to me in that slow, muddy way that was peculiar to his mind, a pale echo of Bella's own ability to keep her thoughts her own.

Son of a bitch.

How dare he? How dare he come back here after everything he's done to her?

His mind flashed sluggishly, and I sucked my breath in harshly at the images that came to me.

Bella lying on the couch in the living room, soaking wet, face a pale mask.

Bella lying on the wooden floor of her bedroom, hair a tangled mess around her, eyes open and lifeless, staring at nothing.

Bella slumped listlessly in her bed, eyes blank and face unresponsive as Charlie attempted to coax her to sip water from the glass in his hand.

The weathered face of a white-haired man, his lips moving as his gravelly voice formed the word "catatonic."

Bella at the kitchen table, face drawn and pale and thin, brown eyes vacant and smudged with dark circles as she quietly ate a bowl of Cheerios.

A piercing, shattering scream of pure terror and pain, Charlie rushing into Bella's darkened room to find her shaking and sobbing uncontrollably.

I flinched. I stopped breathing.

I felt my stomach lurch with a sick horror at the images in Charlie's mind.

In these images, Bella was...broken. Completely and utterly destroyed. And I had done this. I had done this with my selfishness and my thoughtlessness and my lack of faith, my arrogant pride in thinking I knew what was best for her.

I alone was responsible.

I had never been so ashamed of anything in my entire existence.

Once I had made it up the stairs and tucked a sleeping Bella carefully into her bed, I turned to face Charlie where he stood at her bedroom door. His wrath was clear upon his face, the thin ropes of his veins standing out with livid prominence on the furiously reddened skin of his neck and forehead.

"You bastard," he spat. "Do you have any idea what you put her through?" His hands clenched into tight balls at his sides, and an image of his fist slamming into my jaw appeared in his murky thoughts. Though I knew the only thing that would come of that scenario was a broken hand on his part, I wished that I could give him the satisfaction of breaking my jaw.

I certainly deserved it, and more.

"I nearly had to put her in the damn hospital because of what you did to her!" he roared. His entire body shook with barely restrained violence. He wasn't just Chief Swan now; he was a furious father protecting his daughter against anything and everything that would do her harm.

It sickened me to think that I could belong in that category, in so many different ways.

Charlie panted as he tried to regain control over himself. His mind flowed with a slow flash of an image that came to me like a punch to the solar plexus.

Bella lying on her side in the middle of her rumpled bed as that same white-haired man carefully inserted a thin needle into the back of her bony hand. The needle was attached to a clear tube that descended from a fluid-filled bag suspended from a metal pole above her bed. I could hear the steady drip of the saline as it began to flow into her veins.

If there had been anything in my stomach, I was sure it would have been violently expelled at that moment.

The doctor carefully taped the needle down to her skin. What struck me the hardest blow was the expression on Bella's face–-or rather, the lack thereof. I knew how much Bella hated needles. But she did not react in even the slightest way to the doctor's ministrations. Her face was...dead. Completely and utterly expressionless as she stared off into space. Her beautiful chocolate eyes- that had once sparkled with life and humor and love that I didn't deserve- were flat and dull, as closed-off and impenetrable as her silent mind.

Her face reminded me savagely of a memory of my own face from our time apart. My still body lying in a similar position on the filthy floor of a rat-infested attic somewhere in Rio de Janeiro. What little sunlight found its way in through the grimy single window illuminated a scratched and battered mirror that rested against the wall directly across from me. My own expression was an eerie mirror image of Bella's. Pale skin sparkling faintly in the dim light, deep purple circles beneath pitch-black eyes that were shattered with unbearable pain and loss.

That mirror was soon shattered as well, when I could no longer bear to see my own reflection. That was the last time I'd seen my face until I saw my reflection in the mirror of the airport restroom in Florence. But even when I couldn't see my dead eyes, there was never a moment when I couldn't feel them.

It killed me to think that I had caused Bella even a fraction of the pain that I myself had felt.

Charlie's fury was still barely controlled as I swallowed hard and tried to pull myself together.

"I...I'm so sorry for what I did to her. You have no idea how sorry." I knew my words were inadequate at best. They would not appease him. "I'll fix it. I'll do anything to fix it, if she'll let me."

Charlie stared at me with pure hatred burning in his eyes, eyes the same color as Bella's.

"Get the hell out of my house. Now. You are never to walk through my door again. Ever. You stay away from my daughter. If I see or hear of you anywhere near her..." his voice faltered as he struggled for control once more. "Get. Out." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, but the calm he searched for eluded him. "Now!" he roared.

I nodded, and walked slowly past him and out the door.

He had more than every right to ban me from his house, but I knew I couldn't stay away from her. If it hadn't been for Bella's intervention, I would have been restricted to seeing her furtively at school, and at night after Charlie slept. As it was, I wasn't allowed to spend nearly enough time with her. Every moment that we were apart was like the ache of a missing limb.

She stirred in my arms once more as the sun began to brighten the sky to its usual dull gray. 8:17. It was Sunday, and I'd hoped she would sleep a bit later while she had the chance. Tomorrow we would return to school. But her eyes fluttered and opened slowly, warm dark chocolate irises sleepy and soft.

My entire universe was in those eyes.

She smiled as her eyes met mine. I reached up to stroke a stray strand of her tangled hair off her cheek. I couldn't fathom my good fortune. That she would forgive me for all my myriad sins, for the reprehensible actions that had caused her so much pain–-that I was here with her, in her room, on her bed, holding her and stroking her face and looking into the tiny swirling galaxies of her eyes–-God. What a priceless gift.

I knew I didn't deserve it, but I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to.

I leaned in and placed a tiny kiss to the tender skin beneath each of her still-tired eyes. I wanted to soothe away those dark smudges that taunted me with their presence, undeniable markers of her suffering.

"Good morning, love." I returned her brilliant smile with one of my own and moved to kiss her lips. She kept them closed, pursing them comically in an attempt to kiss me back without releasing the dreaded morning breath. I laughed against her mouth as I was reminded of a hundred other mornings. Perfect mornings from our summer together when we had existed in a state of pure grace and beauty, until September came and I destroyed it all.

I pushed that thought away, not wanting to taint this moment with dark thoughts. I wanted to enjoy the miracle of being with her again. I coaxed her lips open slowly, feeling the smile upon my own. No matter how many times I told her that her breath was always the most delicious ambrosia to me–-morning or not–-she remained stubbornly unconvinced.

She snorted a laugh and pulled back, burying her face in my neck instead. I felt the heat of her blush against my skin. "Good morning," she said, the smile still in her voice.

I tightened my arms around her with a sigh of contentment, nuzzling my face into her hair.

Her stomach growled.

I laughed against her hair. "Time to feed the human. Shall I make you breakfast?"

She shifted against me. "I'm not really hungry, Edward. You don't have to do that."

I reached to tilt her chin up so I could see her eyes. "I want to, Bella." She needed to eat, as evidenced by the sharp blade of her shoulder beneath my palm. "What would you like?"

She hesitated, as if she wanted to argue. "Pop-Tarts,"she said finally. A small smile turned her lips up, but there was a tiny crease between her brows. I smoothed my finger over the crease, then placed a gentle kiss between her brows. Her smile grew.

"Pop-Tarts it is," I said as I moved to rise from the bed. "Don't move, love. I want to bring you breakfast in bed."

I flew down the stairs at vampire speed, nearly giddy with pleasure at the return of our routine. So many mornings I had performed this same task. It was as though I had never left.

The toasting pastries released their scent into the air of the kitchen. Frosted strawberry was her favorite. I waited impatiently as they warmed, then flipped them on a plate and raced eagerly back upstairs.

"Breakfast is served." I presented the plate to her with a small flourish.

"Thank you."

I watched as she took a small bite from the corner of the first tart.

"What would you like to do today, love? Charlie left to go fishing over an hour ago." This meant I could stay, though it was technically against the rules.

"Would you read to me?" Her eyes were large and oddly shy in her thin face. "I missed the sound of your voice so much. I could listen to it for hours."

My breath left me as if I had taken a punch, the reminder of what I had done making my stomach roll sickeningly. It was a moment before I recovered enough to speak. "Of course I'll read to you. I'll read all day if you want me to, anything you like. "

Her smile was blinding. "Pride and Prejudice. I think I left it on the coffee table downstairs."

Once I'd retrieved the book, we settled back into the rumpled bed. Bella laid her head on my chest as I began to read.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife..."

She was asleep before I finished the first chapter.

I moved carefully to lay the book on her night table, trying not to wake her. As I reached to turn off the lamp, something caught my eye.

Hidden behind the lamp and a stack of dusty paperbacks was a chipped yellow plate containing two frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts, one missing a single bite, the other untouched.