DISCLAIMER
This is an unbated story which was created by a 15 year old girl in 2011 and is now being edited and rewritten by the same girl over 5 years later. It will not be grammatically perfect or even structurally sound one hundred percent of the time. It is a complex story with real emotions and sensitive topics. It has three dimensional characters who are struggling with their pasts in order to move forward with their futures. I'm sorry if that is confusing to any of you. I just hope that you give the story a chance and watch the problems and complexities of 'Seven Years' unfold throughout each chapter.

Enjoy.

"Well, love was kind for a time, now just aches and it makes me blind. This mirror holds my eyes too bright; I can't see the others in my life. Were we too young? Our head's too strong? To bear the weight of these lover's eyes. Cause I feel numb, beneath your tongue, beneath the curse of these lover's eyes.

-"Lover's Eyes", Mumford and Sons

Chapter 1

"Oh Bella!" my maid of honor and best friend squealed over the phone. "I'm so excited for the shower. You're going to love it."

"Calm down Alice, one of these days you're going to send Rosalie into premature labor with all that shouting." I laughed, and took another sip of my steaming, black coffee.

Sitting in my small undersized and overpriced one-bedroom apartment, that I could barely afford, on the plush side of Seattle, I enjoyed my last few days of freedom with my usual mug of bitter, black coffee and a high calorie pastry, something with lots of cinnamon, straight from the bakery down the street.

I wouldn't be getting many more mornings to myself, because this time a week from now I would be bound into a breathtaking wedding dress, getting ready to walk down the aisle in the grandest Catholic church within the state lines, to meet the most amazing man who had grabbed my hand just at the moment when I thought I was going to never stop falling.

"Oh, calm down she's only seven months along." I could practically hear her eyes rolling at my comment. She was always one for the dramatics.

I'd known Alice since we were in kindergarten, and even back then I could remember her shrill voice screaming at me as I chased her around with a worm that had found its way to the surface of my front yard after a particularly heavy rainstorm.

"What if her amniotic fluid stains my dress?" I cry out in a tone of mock horror while getting up and putting my now empty cup into the sink. The smell of coffee still lingered in the air and it reminded me of the mornings I would be awaken by the same scent wafting from the kitchen to my bedroom on the second floor of the small house in which I grew up. I picked up my caffeine addiction from the man who started percolating that pot of store brand grounds every morning before the sun rose.

I made my way over to the only window in my small kitchen. The curtains were pulled back and a stream of golden, morning sun gleamed through the glass. I took a moment to bask in it as Alice continued to ramble on about a slew of over discussed topics, such as my color scheme, bridesmaid's dresses, and cocktail hors d'oeuvres.

I interrupted her mid sentence, fearing she would never stop talking if I did not take some kind of initiative to sway the conversation back in my favor.

"So what time am I expected at this thing?" I questioned, throwing today's newspaper into the iron cast basket that housed a years worth of Seattle Times prints, each with an article precisely cut from its place among the pages. I fingered the extracted piece of paper from today's addition in my hand, taking in the big black bolded letters at the top of the clipping that read, 'by Isabella Swan'.

"Soirée Bella, for the hundredth time, it's a soirée. Not a 'party', not a 'thing', a soirée." She practically hisses.

"Alice, you do realize that a soiree is a party that takes place at night right?" I wonder into my room to open a few more windows, giving the small space some much needed fresh air and sunlight.

"And I don't really care Bella; be here at twelve sharp, if you're even a minute late we're making this a baby shower for Rosalie." These types of threats were futile, she knew I would much rather be celebrating the conception of a Cullen baby than my silly little-three hundred fifty guest wedding. The guest list seemed to never stop growing. The irony of it is that I don't think that I even know three hundred fifty people.

It had taken Alice months to finally get me to agree to this shower, I was never one for parties, presents, or most of all, surprises. I would not agree to an engagement party and I wasn't going to allow the shower either, but it was Mike who ultimately helped me decide that one party wouldn't kill me, even if it were an Alice Cullen party. Most of my objections towards these types of events come from my preference to stay out of the spotlight, a major reason I chose print instead of broadcasting when I finalized my college major. Just thinking about having a mountain of makeup caked on my face, wearing a smile so fake and overexerted it would give a clown a run for his money, all while bringing the greater Seattle area 'this hours breaking news', made me nauseous. Always behind the story not in front of it, I liked to say.

I fell backwards onto my bed after pinning the piece of newspaper in my hand onto the already covered bulletin board hanging on one of the walls in my small, yellow walled, bedroom. The windows let in a pleasant breeze that I found enjoyable as it grazed my exposed skin. I was completely and utterly content to lay there the rest of the day, but one glance at the back of my closet door shattered my perfectly poised satisfaction.

My eyes were assaulted by a terrifying looking dress my mother had bought me for today's shower. It was the first thing she shoved in my face when she got off her plane from Jacksonville, Florida. She had used the clear garment bag as her carry on. What a waste of perfectly good airline space.

It was a pink lace number that may have been fashionable at some point in history, but to me looked more like something straight off Retro Barbie. I was already planning my reasoning for "accidentally" dumping a vat of bleach over it or catching the bag on fire.

My mother always meant well with her gestures, but execution was never her strong point.

"Oh, that's perfect; I'll be there at twelve-thirty with the onesie I bought. Change all the decorations and get some clothespins! I'm so excited Alice." I bite my lip in an attempt to keep my laughter from escaping. It was so easy to get Alice riled up.

"Twelve o'clock Bella!" She yelled and I ended the conversation with the press of a button.

"Ugh!" I exasperate, smacking back down on my mattress with a muted thud.

In a week, I was going to be Mrs. Michael Newton. How could life get any better? I closed my eyes and once again got lost in the simple feeling of the warm sun and gentle breeze coming in from the window. It must have been the combination of the rare sunny day and the feeling of simple bliss that radiated through me, but my mind was suddenly flooded with the memory of the very day I laid eyes on my husband-to-be.

It was a cool, crisp October morning, and much like now, the sun was shining with a pleasant breeze sweeping the colored foliage across the brick sidewalks that ran through the campus grounds.

I was just getting back from my shift at the school's newspaper, the Yale Daily News. As assistant editor, I was up through the late hours of the night correcting loose grammar, and dotting the i's in Jessica Stanley's article;The Pros and Cons of oil based beauty products. It was a struggle I was willing to put up with in order to take over the full time Editor position this time next fall.

I was hopping to make it to the only decent coffee stand on campus, before the line grew into something that resembled a mosh pit, or they ran out of my favorite Brazilian black coffee. I was going to need something stronger than the usual to keep me awake through my eight o'clock class after pulling an all-nighter.

I let out a sigh of relief as soon I rounded the final corner and could make out the bright yellow stripes that lined the stand just up ahead. The single barista looked to be just finishing her set up for the morning rush, but there was no line to be seen, a truly rare occurrence.

With this stroke of luck, I picked up my pace and started speed walking towards the stand, having just enough dignity not to break out into a full sprint. Under my feet, a crunching sound came every time my worn converse shoes made contact with the bricks covered in leaves. However, in my rush to be the first patron to receive her cup of black, liquid gold, I had completely disregarded my peripheral vision. Due to this, before I could make it more than a few steps, my foot became caught on a haphazardly placed bike rack. The large stack of textbooks I had in my arms dislodged from my grasp and comically flew up into the air, while my arms flailed hopelessly trying to protect my face from the inevitable rough impact I was about to take.

A few seconds followed, and it took me a moment to realize that in some magical twist of events, I was too much of a realist to call it fate; I wasn't eating a mouth full of pavement and feeling the sting of raw hands. Instead, I was cradled in two soft and tender arms. I didn't know it at that moment, but my life was about to turn into something out of a bad Ben Affleck chick flick; one where the overly attractive boy, who believes in true love, rescues a damsel in distress.

"Are you okay?" His smooth and boyish sounding voice spoke to me. I finally pulled back my hands, which were still trying to protect my face, and looked up at my savior. As soon as our eyes met, I was lost in a sea of vast blue, a color so different from my own brown irises I saw everyday in the mirror, I could not help the look of awe that overtook my face. The shining sun reflected off his golden hair, and for a moment in all the daze and confusion of the sudden situation I thought my guardian angel had finally decided to show up and save me from my catastrophic balance.

It took me a minute to close my gapping mouth and try to process that the beautiful boy was asking me a question. I watched his pink lips move up and down, fascinated at how soft they looked. I wondered how they would feel against my own.

"Are you alright?"

I awkwardly nodded my head as he helped me up from our crouching position in front of the coffee stand. My cheeks flushed an embarrassing red shade. He released me from his grip and we stood in silence for what seemed like the most uncomfortable two minutes of my life, until he pulled out his wallet and gestured to the coffee stand.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" He asked, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, looking just as awkward as I felt.

I smiled at his handsome face.

Now here we are, nearly five years later, me an almost twenty-six year old journalist working her way towards a shot at her dream job at the Seattle Times, and a week away from being someone's wife. Michael went on to finish his law degree at Yale, and was slowly working his way out of a mountain of debt he owed to his father. That generally meant he spent most of his days and nights knee deep in paperwork at his family's firm, but whatever time he has left over was spent with me.

He is still the same blond hair, blue-eyed boy I had met my junior year in college, and he continues to put a smile on my face everyday and help me forget even the darkest memories that linger from my past. We're incandescently happy.

My phone buzzes somewhere next to me on the comforter of my bed, breaking me out of my daze. I already anticipate the message when I look at the screen.

From: Alice W.

Bella! 12 o'clock!

Seven Days!

Alice has been my human calendar, counting down the days until my wedding since Mike and I announced our chosen date almost a year ago. It was this little daily reminder from my best friend that got me thinking that there are those who are more excited about the "best day of my life" than I was.

I sigh, continuing to think up different ways to destroy the pink monstrosity that mocked me from its hanging place on the door, and enjoyed the summer breeze that blew through the open window.

An hour later, I stand in front of my mirror, feeling nostalgic in a yellow sundress that I had brought back from the trip Mike and I took to Italy last summer, a very generous Christmas present from his parents. I must have been too enchanted by the charm of the country and the nearly placed rock on my finger to realize that the dress would probably never make it out of my closet considering the rare amount of Italian like days Seattle had in a year. However, luck seemed to be on my side today as the sun was still streaming through every open window throughout my apartment.

I grabbed a lightweight cardigan, not wanting to chance my luck too much, and headed for the door.

The drive to Forks, my hometown, from Seattle was one that I had made often in the last two years since finishing my masters degree and moving back west to start working. I liked to stay off the major highways, and opted for the bumpy back roads with twisty bends. Once I hit the town limits, the drive to the Cullen's beautiful home, hidden among the woods of the northwestern peninsula, was one I could make with my eyes closed.

I spent long afternoons in their extensive backyard participating in tea parties and little fashion shows directed by Alice when I was in elementary school. Almost every weekend of junior high was dedicated to running through the woods playing hide-and-go-seek and confessing which boys we had been crushing on. And then high school came along…

I spent just as much time in the Cullen household as I did in my own growing up. I attributed it to part of the reason I loved Carlisle and Esme Cullen like a set of second parents. I loved my mother and father, but after their divorce, there was something about the way Alice's parents always acted around each other, as if they were still madly in love, that made me cling to what I lacked in my own home life.

My father did the best he could as a single parent to a young girl. My mother moved across the country to be with her new husband, Phil, as he tried to break into a major league baseball career, something that I still rolled my eyes at. However, the older I got, the more difficult it was to have my mother so far away. It was not easy to talk to Charlie about teenage stuff i.e.: menstrual cycles, boys, bras, and sex. So when my father failed to say anything other then something along the lines of… "Don't have sex, you'll get pregnant and…die", I turned to the closest thing I had to a mother in Fork, Washington. Esme Cullen.

Of course, my best friend always came first when I wanted to discuss anything on that list of 'in examples'. There was nothing Alice and I could not find to talk about with each other growing up. Nevertheless, as we grew so did our differences and soon high school was upon us and like so many other childhood friendships, ours withered like a flower left too long without water.

She was the popular, head cheerleader who dated the most handsome athletes, and wanted to go to design school to study fashion. I, on the other hand, was the shy valedictorian with a 4.0 and a chest so flat that you could skate board across it. We would still exchange a word or two with each other, plastering those fake smiles on our faces when we bumped into each other in the cafeteria, but the special intricate web of secrets and stories we had formed as kids was severed.

After graduating college and receiving an offer to work for the Seattle Times, I encouraged Mike, who was already working for his father in the city, to finally come see where I had spent my childhood. We had grown up only a few hours away from each other, a fact that we bonded over early on in our relationship, although he had never even heard of my little town. He was a city boy through and through.

After dating for nearly three years, my dad was more than a little anxious to finally meet the Yale boy who had literally swept me off my feet. In reality, he wanted a chance to threaten my new boyfriend with his guns and inform Mike about his connections with the surrounding law enforcements. It was that very reason that had me persuading Mike against visiting for any holidays or summer breaks.

It was on the very day that Mike was supposed to drive from Seattle to Forks, in order to share his first meal with my father and I, that I found myself standing in the town's one and only grocery store trying to decided what to make for dinner. I was weighing the options between spaghetti or pork chops, wondering which one would make Charlie less hostile, when a familiar, shrill voice called my name from the end of the aisle.

"Bella Swan?"

After being in Forks for less than two weeks, Alice Cullen was back in my life. She was sporting a diamond ring the size of a small boulder, some sort of designer bag, and sunglasses that engulfed her entire face. An extremely attractive sandy blond haired man clung to her small hand as she headed towards me. His name was Jasper Whitlock, a gentleman from the heart of Georgia with the best barbeque recipe this side of Texas. Something I found out the first time I was invited over for a fourth of July cook out.

He was a Sergeant in the United States Army, a sturdy, silent type with a big heart. I remembering thinking that opposites really do attract when I first got to know the man. He bumped into Alice in New York where he was trying to get a connecting flight to Georgia. He was heading home after spending a year, his second tour, in Afghanistan. Alice always was a sucker for a man in uniform, and unlike me she was more than willing to throw the 'fate' word into any conversation when she was discussing her relationship.

It took us little to no time to rekindle the relationship we foolishly gave up so easily years ago. The things that tore us apart no longer seemed relevant in our adult lives, we actually had more in common than ever before.

I pulled up the long gravel driveway to the Cullen house. To this day, my breath was still taken away by the beauty of the large white house in which I spent so much of my childhood. The glass sunroom attached to the right side of the house glistened as rays of sun hit off the panes. The cherry blossom's braches swayed in the light breeze sending a heavenly floral aroma into my nostrils. Dozens of memories rushed back to me as if it were only yesterday that Carlisle was pushing Alice and I on the large swing attached to one of the tree's branches.

As soon as my beat up, red 1990 Geo Metro convertible pulled up to the front of the house, the door was thrown open.

"Bella!" An exquisite older looking woman came barreling out of the door. Behind her, safely tucked away from his wife's enthusiasm was a blond haired man with sharp facial features and a soft smile, watching me with his own reserved excitement.

"Esme, how are you?" I pull myself out of the car laughing at the sheer joy I felt when being around the couple, and wrapped my arms around her slender waist.

"Oh Bella, you look gorgeous, is this Italian?" She asks grabbing a handful of my cotton dress. It was easy to see where Alice got her sense of fashion and erratic behavior, but her dark brown hair still had me puzzled. Esme always insisted that it was her own father's hair that her only daughter inherited.

"Hello Bella dear," Carlisle crept his way out of the shadows. His eyes wearily eyeing the rickety piece of steal I had been driving around since I was a senior in high school. A present from my father for my eighteenth birthday, it was my pride and joy.

"Isabella, I really wish you would give my heart a rest and invest in a vehicle that is at least from this century." He places his hand over his heart and gives my car another disapproving look.

Coming forward, he takes his wife's place in my arms. His smell, a lovely combination of soap and exotic spices, is one so distinct it overwhelmingly adds to the overflow of nostalgia.

It had only been a little more than a month since I had met them for dinner downtown, but it felt more like years as he tightened his hold around me. I felt like a little girl coming home after a long day at school and my heart ached in a pleasantly full sort of way.

"You worry too much," I roll my eyes as he starts thoroughly inspecting my prized possession even further. He gives the rare tire a sharp kick and I immediately grimace.

"I like to know that my girls are safe when they are driving around in that big city. Give me the keys, I think I'll drive this down to the garage and have the oil checked." I cannot help the smile that cracks onto my face at the sound of his concern.

The devilishly charming man has the keys out of my hand before I can even begin to protest.

"Where do you think your going? We have a party to host." Esme steps in front of me, her hand hoisted on her hip; I could imagine the stern look she was giving him, it was one she used often.

"But I'm taking care of the most important job my dear, making sure that this piece of scrap does not enable our bride-to-be from getting down the aisle in one piece." He gives her a dazzling smile that caused a sharp pain to strike through my chest, one that takes my breath away and confuses me all at the same time. I quickly turn away from the couple, clutching my hand over my heart, and make my way towards the house.

Sometimes Carlisle was an all too painful reminder of my adolescence.

"Don't worry about me Carlisle, just make sure my baby makes it back in one piece!" I shout over my shoulder.

Esme quickly caught up to me as I stood in the foyer of her house. She was a sophisticated looking woman in her mid fifties, aging gracefully with peppering caramel colored hair. Her hazel eyes were bright with glee, however a hint of exhaustion hid just underneath. Her face sagged a little more then usual, although it was not from the natural progression of age. The small creases in her forehead wrote a story of stress and worry. I wrapped my arms around her waist, giving her a quick squeeze. I could feel the tension fade away as she wrapped her own thin arms around my back. I lay my head down on her shoulder and take a deep breath. Esme's scent was just another thing that kept my childhood alive every time I visited this place. After all these years, she still smelled of Channel No. 5, along with a hint of her husband's spicy cologne.

She slowly stroked my hair with a gentleness that could only be described as a mother's touch, a feeling that I never had much exposure to throughout my life.

"How are you dear?" her voice mimics her caring actions. "Feeling okay?"

"Oh I'm ecstatic Esme. How can I ever thank you for letting us have the shower here?"

"No need for thanks, it was my plan from the very beginning to throw your shower here." I winced at the words that she whispers into my ear, and wanted nothing more to then to remove myself from the impending conversation.

"Now how have you been?" I pull out of her embrace to look at her.

"Well…" She was on the verge saying something when the front door opened.

"Bella! You made it, and on time I might add." Alice practically bouncing as she made her way into the foyer looking like a small fairy in her light purple sundress that cinched at the waist.

"I know. It is possible for me to get somewhere on time without you holding my hand." I grab Alice and pull her into a hug, still laughing. "Thanks Ali, this means some much to me that you're throwing this party."

She pushes me back a bit to stare at my face. "Yeah, well get used to it; because once you and Mike get married we are going to become Tupperware party hosts every other Sunday."

I grin warmly at her, "What Ali, is Jasper not keeping you entertained since he got home?"

Jasper's most recent excursion for work had taken him to the jungles of Africa, a short tour that was just meant to get his feet wet before another inevitable year to be spent back in the Middle East. He had just gotten back last month, and we were all happy to have him home in time for the wedding.

Her face softened at my comment, "Don't get me wrong, I am extremely blessed to have him back in my arms after…well after last year." She looked out the open window above the sink, her mind somewhere far away. It was a rough year for the family; having Jasper back helped to level the normalcy of everyday life.

She quickly turned to face me after a silent moment, a dazzling smile that reminded me of Carlisle plastered to her porcelain, doll like face. All signs of distress disappeared, but I could still see the pain lingering in her blue eyes. "Do you want to help me get the food into the sunroom? "

I helped Esme fill up the veggie trays, while Alice ran up and down the stairs carrying an armful of different "last minute" decorations. An hour later, the first of the guests started to arrive. Rosalie was among them, standing out among my other friends with her swollen stomach and powder, pink dress.

Rosalie came storming into my life thanks to Alice's older brother, Emmett. By the time I returned from my last semester in Connecticut, Emmett was two weeks from marrying Rosalie Hale, a beauty queen from Boston. She was a blonde bombshell with an attitude that at first impression made me think the worst of her. Rose had her demons, but it was because of that imperfection that I eventually found myself drawn to her. I learned that there was more to her than just a pretty face, and we clicked on an emotional level that the other's still did not fully understand.

Emmett, her oversized, teddy bear of a husband entered closely behind her. He fussed over her bags and the light jacket she had wrapped around her shoulders. I watched as she rejected his help, but it was not until he attempted to support her back as she walked up the stairs of the porch that the yelling began.

"I'm only seven months pregnant Emmett! What the hell do you think I'm some kind of old women!? Stop fussing over me, please."

Emmett catches my eyes from beyond a wall of women who all want to see my engagement ring and comment of my dress. Rosalie pushes herself through the crowd and pulls me into a crushing hug, which I am not prepared for. Her husband keeps a few feet of distance between them.

"She's a tad moody today." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, as he finally gets his turn to give me a hug and kiss on the cheek. He looks over towards Rose, who is already conversing among my relatives and college friends. I can almost see the internal conflict running through his head as he finally speaks. "I guess I'll be going."

"We'll watch over her Emmett, girl scout's honor" I put my hand over my heart and plaster a loving smile on my face. His concern and protective nature for Rose and their unborn baby gave me more joy than I could contain at times.

"Okay Bella, I'm holding you to that." He starts his decent towards the front door before quickly turning back to me. "Oh yeah, Jasper and I wanted to know if you would like to go to a Mariner's game on Wednesday? You know, sort of like our bachelor party for you." He starts to do the neck-rubbing thing again and I find myself thinking that he has been spending too much time with Mike, who favors the same move when he's stressed.

I've known Emmett almost as long as I've known Alice; he is Alice's older brother, but somewhere along the way he became a brother to me as well. Even if we were never as close as Alice and I had been, he was always there to pick me up when I fell off my bike, paint the ding in my dad's cruiser when I backed it into a mailbox, and punch Tyler Crowley for trying to take advantage of me in the back of his Chevy freshmen year at the winter formal.

When I headed off for the East coast, he was already working towards his engineering degree. Currently he was working for some large corporation, although I could never really say what he actually did there, just that he makes enough to make my paycheck look like a part-time job.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." My grin reaches ear to ear.

"Cool, I'll see you then Little Swan." He practically skips down the stairs.

In the end, twenty-five of my closest friends and family filled the Cullen home. My mom asked five times about the dress she sent, I managed to avoid ever actually answering the question. My old college roommates gushed over Esme's cooking and did a sufficient job of polishing off most of the flutes of Champaign and martinis that kept appearing. Mike's mother kept Esme busy with social talk, Alice was insistent on playing some type of party game every half-hour, and Rose managed to eat every peanut butter blossom in sight.

I was the first one to admit that the party I never really wanted, ended up being a huge success.

"Okay everyone, it's time to play another game." I groaned into my Champaign before downing the whole flute. I was starting to feel a warm buzz from all the alcohol. "This one is called famous couples in history! You get a famous couple, they could be fictional or real, dead or alive, and you have to give us clues as to who you have. The first one with five cards wins!" Alice squeals and places a giant stack of pink colored flash cards on the coffee table in the middle of the Cullen's large sunroom. Everyone crowds around trying to find a seat.

"The bride-to-be goes first."

I only put up a mild protest, but ultimately Alice coerces me out of my seat, but not without a new glass of alcohol in my hand. I pick the first card off the top.

Romeo and Juliet,it read.

"Okay…hmm…their famous in literature. Forbidden love…" I trail off as I heard the front door slam shut in the distance. I ignored it and keep rambling clues.

"Ends in death…."

"Edward," Alice whispers. I looked down at the card, furring my brows, trying to decide if she meant Edward and Elinor from Sense and Sensibility.

"No, think earlier in history." I say, looking up from the card. I was startled to see the gawking looks everyone was giving me.

"What?" I asked puzzled.

"Am I interrupting something?" His voice rang loudly in my ears, and it was as if the whole world froze at once. I reacted automatically to the voice, snapping around only to be face to face with the same tall, lanky boy with bronze hair and green eyes that I still saw when I closed my eyes at night.

My eyes glaze over to a time far back in my past, a time that I had worked so hard to erase from my memories. It all came rushing back.

Seven years ago…

I wipe my sweaty palms against the rough denim of my jeans one last time as I take a deep breath. I round the corner of the Cullen's main hallway. The French doors leading into the sunroom were open and I can see Edward's bronze unruly hair bobbing up and down as he walks around.

'You can do this Bella,' I tell myself as I walk into the bright room.

Even on a rainy, dreary day like this one, where the drops streak down the windows, the room is as bright as if the sun itself was shining outside.

"Edward," I whisper softly, my throat is dry and hoarse.

I try to clear it as he catches sight of me. This was going to be harder then I originally thought.

"Oh, hey Bells, so I was thinking, do you want to make a stop in Florence while we're in Italy?" He was still pacing around the room which I now notice is filled with dozens of brown cardboard boxes of every size, each with its own individual label.

"Edward?" I try again.

"Cause I know how much you wanted to go to that one church…oh what is it called?"

"Edward?" I speak louder.

"Duno…no that's not it…."

"Edward?" Louder.

" The Duomo."

"Edward!" I yell and it seems that even the pattering of the rain against the windows has stopped.

"What, you want to go there first? We have a whole year, we can go back." He is now standing still looking at me. I wonder if he can see the fear in my eyes. "What's wrong Bella?"

It's almost impossible to fight back the tears that came suddenly, daring to spill over the edge.

"Edward," it comes out as a whisper again, "I'm leaving." I stare at him waiting for my words to sink in, but they never do.

"What did I say? You don't have to leave I mean I thought you could help me pack. We don't have to talk about the trip; I just thought you might want to have a little insight to where we were going to be spending the next year of our lives. My mistake." He went back to his work as if what I just said didn't mean anything.

It hit me like a sack of bricks. OH! He does not understand, and he is now mad at me. It makes my blood boil.

"I don't think you understand. I'm not going."

"Fine then stay and help me pack, I don't really care what you do Bella." He keeps his back turned to me, focusing on something in the small box in front of him.

I want to rip his head off and force him to look at me.

'Come on Bella, take control,' the voice inside my head screams at me.

"Good, I guess that will make this a lot easier. Edward, I'm done. I just can't do this anymore." It was the most confident thing I'd ever said to him. The words made me feel invincible and vulnerable all at the same time.

That got his attention; he turns slowly to look at me, almost as if what was behind him would lead to his ultimate demise.

"What are you trying to say?" His mouth hangs open and each of his breaths is becoming sallower.

"I'm eighteen Edward; we're both just so young. I…I want to go to college." Now that he is actually looking at me, I wish he wasn't.

"And you can, we discussed this Bella. I put my band on hold and you would put your college off until next year. We'll get married and everything will be so much better. Don't worry about it baby." He's the one wiping the sweaty palms on his jeans now, but his eyes piece into me like they always do. They say, 'don't argue with me'. I want to look away from him so badly, but I know if I do I'll walk away with my tail between my legs and end up in a commitment that I don't want.

"I got a letter in the mail today," he raises an eyebrow at me, "it was from the Yale Administration's Board, I got a full scholarship. It's only good if I start this fall. They want me there at the end of the summer for early orientation." My voice is back to only a whisper.

If I thought that the room had been quiet before, this is dead silence.

"Edward, I told them yes, and I think that you should get a choice to say yes too. So I'm giving you an out, or perhaps I'm giving myself an out." I look everywhere but at him.

"So you're leaving me to go to...Yale? Tell me you're not fucking serious." His voice was tight; the air's so dense you could cut it with a knife.

"I'm so sorry Edward. I just realized that I can't be the kind of women that you need. I'm just the girl you thought you could change." The tears finally tip over the brim of my lids and won't stop.

I slowly slide the diamond ring off my finger and take a step towards the center table. As I set down the ring, his large hand wraps tightly around my wrist almost immediately, keeping me trapped next to him. I somehow muster up the courage to look at him. His eyes pierce into mine.

"Don't do this Isabella. Let's talk; I'm sure we can work this out." This is him in a light I'd never seen before. Desperation lay before me and I couldn't even find the pity inside me anymore to let him have his way. For once I had all the power.

I grab the wrist of his hand, which is holding mine, and pull it up to my heart. I slowly uncurl his fingers and place the ring in it, wrapping them back around the precious piece of metal. I leaned up and lightly kissed my fiancé's face.

I step away and no longer belong to Edward Cullen. I felt both free and empty. I turn and walk to the open doors once again. The real world waits for me outside, and somehow I know that the freedom I had just gained can only end in missing him.

Once I reach the doorway, I look back at the room but can't find the guts to look at him. "I'm sorry."

Now seven years later I was staring at the same boy, in the same room where I gave up our wedding, celebrating another one.

The Champaign flute in my hand tumbled to the ground, but I do not hear it hit the floor. His eyes pierce into mine just as they did almost this exact day nearly a decade ago.

"I can't breathe." I gasp.

Everything went black.