Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/419696.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Twilight_Series_-_All_Media_Types, Twilight_Series_-_Stephenie_Meyer
  Relationship:
      Edward_Cullen/Bella_Swan
  Character:
      Edward_Cullen, Bella_Swan, Carlisle_Cullen, Jacob_Black
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Romance, Lemon, Sexual_Content, Sex, Underage_Sex, Underage
      Drinking, Recreational_Drug_Use, Alternate_Universe_-_Human
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-06-02 Chapters: 25/25 Words: 199928
****** Turning Pointe ******
by viridian6
Summary
     Edward's life was a non-stop party – the drinking, the drugs, the
     girls – he was completely out of control. The night he woke up in the
     hospital with a broken arm, two broken ribs, cuts, scrapes, bruises
     and charges of felony possession of a controlled substance his father
     gave up trying to save him. Determined to get back in his father's
     good graces, Edward befriends Isabella, the only daughter of
     Carlisle's close personal friend who has come to live with the
     Cullen's for the next year while she fulfills her scholarship to
     study contemporary ballet under the prestigious Victoria James at the
     Washington Academy of Performing Arts in Seattle. Edward's plan
     backfires when Carlisle forbids his son from being with Bella, but
     can Edward keep his distance now that he's found his new addiction?
Notes
     Genre, Main Characters, & Pairing:
     - AH/AU/Canon Couples
     - Romance/Angst
     - Main Characters = Bella/Edward, Told from EPOV with some BPOV
     thrown in as needed.
     Rating: M for Language, Lemon, References to Drug Abuse
     Disclaimer: I use several lines directly from Twilight, New Moon,
     Eclipse, Breaking Dawn and Midnight Sun. They are obvious quotes from
     the books, no plagiarism is intended. All publicly recognizable
     characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective
     owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the
     author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators,
     or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is
     intended.
***** Chapter 1 *****
[Turning Pointe Banner]
 
EPOV
Damn it! What the hell?
I moan, roll over and peel open one eye to glare at the alarm clock on my
nightstand.
Seven fucking thirty
Ugh, I can't believe I'm up. I should be asleep. Hell, I should be unconscious
after last night. I'm surprised I'm not still drunk. Shit, if I really think
about it, I probably am still drunk. I can't believe Jazz talked me into going
out again. I was pretty hung over from the night before, but when Jazz called
last night, having scored us two free tickets and backstage passes to the
Godsmack concert, there was no way in hell I was going to stay home. We partied
like rock stars - with actual rock stars. Now that I'm coming down from a two
day drinking binge, I'm starting to think the rock-n-roll lifestyle isn't for
me.
Slowly, I sit up, but the more vertical I get, the more my head pounds. Ugh,
why am I awake?
As if someone is answering my internal dialog, an earsplitting SCREECH tears
through the silence and rips into my pounding brain. The screeching stops with
a deafening thud and piercing clang of off-tune notes, as if someone dropped a
piano - my piano - out of a third-story window.
I think my head is going to explode.
I wait for more sounds to assault me but hear nothing. I groan, throw the
covers back and drag my lifeless body from the bed. I stumble out of my room
toward the noise and end up grasping the walls for support. Yup, I'm still
drunk.
I begin to reassess what I remember from the night before. The concert. Yes, I
remember going to the concert. And afterwards, I remember going backstage. I
remember tequila – lots of tequila; my stomach flips at the thought. I have a
fuzzy memory of some chick trying to stick her tongue down my throat, but I
can't even remember what she looked like. Honestly, I don't care. Nothing is
really clear after that. How did I get home? And when?
Carefully, I make my way down the hall toward the mumbling voices coming from
the room next door. The door is only open a crack, but I still shield my eyes
from the blaring sunlight streaming in. I push the door open the rest of the
way, and I'm not surprised to find Emmett, my brother, attempting to shove my
massive grand piano across the room. He's braced his back against the shiny
black casing and is using all the strength of his legs to coerce the enormous
instrument to slide across the wood floor. When the piano was first moved into
this room, it took two burly guys and a specially designed furniture dolly.
Now, Emmett is single handedly trying to use his pure brute force to accomplish
the same task. And, damn, he's doing it.
Of course, the half-wit didn't think to close the case. As the piano collides
with the far wall, the lid comes crashing down with another explosion of sound.
"What the fuck, Emmett?" I glare at him.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I wake Prince Charming?" he says, his voice dripping with
sarcasm. "Get your ass in here and help us." He looks up and glares at me.
"Fuck, man, put some clothes on!"
I look down. My shirt is missing, and I'm only wearing tight gray boxer briefs.
I must have stripped down to my underwear last night before I passed out.
I mumble an unintelligible "screw you" and shuffle back to my room. I pull a
plain black t-shirt out of my dresser drawer and throw it over my head. I
search around my bed, kicking a few books and dirty clothes out of the way as I
attempt to locate the jeans I wore last night.
I run my hands through my hair and take a long, hard look at my room. It looks
like a hurricane blew through it. Every flat surface is cluttered with a mix of
items: CD cases, books, unmatched socks. Piles of dirty clothes scatter the
floor, and my laptop is buried under a mountain of papers on the desk. A t-
shirt hangs from the acoustic guitar leaning against the wall, and I haven't
made my bed in months. I really need to clean this place up.
I find my pants, my favorite worn-out blue jeans, and pull them on. The back
pockets are ripped and the fabric over the right knee is completely shredded,
but I would never throw them away. I don't bother trying to find my shoes and
shuffle with bare feet back down the hall toward the music room, ready to give
Emmett hell for waking me up at this ungodly hour.
Emmett and I have never been really close. Although we are only six months
apart in age, Emmett being the older, we are as different as they come. Emmett
lives for sports - specifically football. He is the poster child for every dumb
jock stereotype out there, right down to his mammoth size and prom-queen-head-
cheerleader-preppy-blonde girlfriend, Rosalie Hale.
Emmett was adopted two months before I came to live with Dr. and Mrs. Cullen.
We were both eight years old at the time. They thought we'd be instant friends,
and Emmett was thrilled to have a brother.
I just wanted to go home.
A drunk driver killed my parents. I was in the car too. I survived, they
didn't.
I lie when I say I don't remember them. In truth, I remember everything about
them. I remember my mother's chestnut-colored hair and green eyes; I see them
in my own reflection when I look in the mirror. I remember how she would always
smell like vanilla and the songs she would play for me on her piano. I remember
my father's booming voice and the way he would ruffle my hair when he was proud
of me. I remember our house in the small town of Forks, Washington. I remember
the way my father's shoes would tap against the kitchen floor every morning
when he would leave for the office in his black suit and tie. I remember my
swing set in the backyard and the surrounding forest I would play in for hours.
I remember fishing trips and camping trips, birthday parties and neighborhood
friends coming over to play. I remember being happy.
I never talk about the accident either, though I can recall that night with
perfect clarity: the bright green of my mother's favorite dress, the way my
father laughed at the DJ on the radio, the sound of the rain hitting the
windshield - the smell of blood. The deep scar above my left eyebrow serves as
a constant reminder of that night.
No, I never spoke about my parents or the accident. Ever. Not even when the
Cullen's tried to put me through counseling when I was fifteen. The therapist
assured them that sorting through the emotions of my "trauma" would quell some
of my "teenage rebellion". Yeah right. I told the douchebag where he could
stick my "rebellion" and never went back.
Around that age, Emmett and I began drifting apart. He seemed to take the
proverbial "high-road" in life whereas I … did not. He concentrated on sports
and becoming the biggest meat-heat jock at Seattle Prep High School. He was
easily the most popular student at school - this year's senior class president,
head of the student council, and, of course, quarterback of the football team.
Emmett was well on his way to being our senior class's Most Likely to Succeed,
Most Popular and Most School Spirit.
Most Annoying Motherfucker on the Planet.
What a load of bullshit. If my classmates would have a senior superlative for
Most Likely to Get Drunk and Disorderly,there isno doubt my name would get the
most votes.
I tend to keep to myself. Even when I was younger, I spent hours alone in my
room. But, back then, I was never really alone - I had my music.
My mother began teaching me to play the piano when I was six. She always said I
had a natural talent for music. At seven, I began taking formal lessons twice a
week from the old lady down the street. When my parents were killed, the only
thing I insisted on taking from our house was my mother's piano. After I was so
adamant about keeping it, Carlisle and Esme didn't understand why I refused to
touch it that first year after they adopted me.
It wasn't until I met Mrs. Cope, the music teacher at my new school in Seattle,
that I began to play again. I was walking to my classroom when I heard the
familiar melody of my mother's favorite song coming from the choir room. It had
been so long since I had heard it, I was instantly drawn toward the sound. Mrs.
Cope finished the song and turned around to find me standing in the doorway,
tears streaming down my face. She held me while I cried and when I told her I
knew how to play, she offered to continue giving me lessons.
Mrs. Cope taught me how to play by ear,how to listen to a piece and recreate
the notes without reading from sheet music. She told me if didn't remember the
names of the songs my mother used to play, I could try to recreate the tune
myself. I became obsessed with the task. There was so much music. I would
reconstruct song after song on my piano. Melodies would flow out of me without
restraint. I would write and rewrite entire symphonies, obsessed with getting
every note perfect. Maybe, in some sick, twisted way, I thought that if I could
bring her songs back, somehow my mother would return to me, too.
I would spend weeks, sometimes months, devoted to a single song. Before school,
after school, during weekends and holidays, I would sit at the piano and work
diligently at my project. Esme would set food on the piano bench, hoping I
would at least remember to eat. She never complained about my missing family
dinner, and she never interrupted me.
When the last song was finished and I had written every tune I could remember,
every note recreated to perfection, there was nothing left. It felt like my
mother had died all over again. It made me angry and resentful. I started
lashing out at home and at school. I would talk back to my teachers and
blatantly disrespect my adopted parents. I spent many afternoons in detention
and many weekends confined to my room. I quit going to see Mrs. Cope. I quit
playing the piano entirely.
Right around the same time, I met Jasper. I was skipping English class and
hiding in my usual spot, behind the bleachers of the football stadium,
listening to my iPod when Jazz stumbled around the corner. He was tall and
thin, his blonde wavy hair hung down past his ears; a clear violation of the
school's dress code. His shirt was untucked and the red and black plaid uniform
tie hung loosely around his neck. I could make out a faint purple bruise above
his right cheek, likely the remains of a black eye. I removed the headphones
from my ears as he approached me.
"Hey, man, you got a light?" he muttered around the cigarette hanging out of
his mouth.
"No, sorry."
He removed the cigarette from his lips and tucked it behind his ear before
extending his hand toward me. "I'm Jasper."
"Edward," I replied, shaking his hand.
Jasper appraised me from a moment. "Whatcha listening to?" he nodded towards
the iPod in my hand.
"Um, it's just shuffling through everything." I shrug. "Right now it's Breaking
Benjamin."
"You know there's a concert next month. Me and Eric are gonna get tickets. You
should come."
"Alright."
Jazz and I were inseparable after that day. His dad was in the military and was
stationed overseas, Iraq or Afghanistan, one of those hellholes. Jazz wanted to
enlist as soon as he turned eighteen. His mom worked two jobs and was never
home. Without parents breathing down his neck, Jazz did what he wanted and no
one stood in his way.
Back then, I wanted to be just like him.
Jazz and I did loads of crazy shit. At first, it was mild: cliff-jumping,
shoplifting, cutting school, and sneaking out. Later on we got into the heavier
stuff: partying, drinking and the occasional recreational drug use. The more
furious my adopted parents were over my actions, the more I wanted to
misbehave. It was if seeing them suffer would make me smile. I didn't give a
shit about anything or anyone.
Eventually, I started getting into fights… getting suspended… getting arrested.
Of course, Carlisle and Esme blamed Jasper for the change in my behavior, but
it wasn't entirely his fault. Beating the shit out of Mike Newton after he
mouthed off to Jazz was my idea, after all. And it sounded like a good one –
until Mike's parents pressed charges. One would think getting arrested for
physical assault would be a wakeup call. Not for me. I didn't give a shit what
they kept threatening to put in my "permanent record."
My life was a non-stop party – the drinking, the drugs, the girls – I was
completely out of control. It wasn't until I wrapped my car around the
guardrail on Interstate 5 after a two day bender that things started to change.
I woke up in the hospital with a broken arm, two broken ribs, cuts, scrapes and
bruises all over my body and charges of felony possession of a controlled
substance.
Carlisle and his team of highly-paid lawyers managed to keep me out of jail,
but I was sentenced to two years' probation and monthly drug screenings. If I
screwed up again, I was royally fucked. So since that night, I had been keeping
my nose clean – literally and figuratively.
The wreck, the drug charges and the fact I practically killed myself that night
wasn't the worst of it. No, what got to me was the look on Carlisle's face as
he stood over my hospital bed. He wasn't angry or upset. He looked absolutely
defeated. That night - the look in his eyes - he just gave up. That was worse
than any punishment.
I spent a week in that hospital bed with nothing to do but think. It began to
gnaw at me; the guilt over the things I had done to my adopted family. They
didn't deserve any of it. It wasn't their fault my parents had been killed, yet
I continued to punish them as if it was. All they had ever done was welcome me
into their lives and treat me as if I was their own flesh and blood. I started
to regret the damage I had done to them and myself, but I couldn't go back and
change those things. For a time, I wished I would have killed myself that night
on Interstate 5, or died with my mom and dad when I was eight, and saved my new
parents the regret of bringing me into their once happy family.
Esme could see my struggle and reached out to me. She had tried a thousand
times before, but this time I actually listened. She saw right past my "don't
mess with me" persona to my core that was covered in the calluses of grief and
pain over my parents' death. She didn't want me to hurt; she didn't want me to
go through the things I was going through. She personified the unconditional
love of a mother unlike anyone I had ever met.
Carlisle is another story entirely. He stopped talking to me after the
accident, only speaking to me when absolutely necessary. He would probably
still be giving me the silent treatment if Esme hadn't put a stop to it. But
even now he addresses me coldly. I can sense he wants nothing more to do with
me, biding his time until I graduate, turn eighteen and can move out so he
won't have to deal with me anymore.
So, I have been staying out of trouble. I want Carlisle to regain some of his
faith in me just as Esme has done. I have adopted the philosophy that my
actions speak louder than my words, assuming when he sees I am making an effort
to be good, my spoken apology would carry more weight. I started going to class
every day, finishing my junior year with straight A's. I never miss a meeting
with my probation officer and my drug tests are always clean. I even try
spending less time with Jazz, all in an effort to appease Carlisle.
A few months have gone by and my good behavior continues to go unnoticed. It's
irritating to work so hard and have him completely ignore my progress. It's so
easy to fall back in to my old habits when I get aggravated by Carlisle. Like
last night, hanging with Jazz and getting drunk at a rock concert. Of course, I
regret it now and not because of my splitting headache, but because I feel like
I'm always taking two steps forward and one step back.What the hell do I have
to do to get back in his good graces?
I shake my head and try to clear my thoughts as I make my way back to the music
room and lean against the doorway. I watch Emmett as he effortlessly lifts the
glossy black piano bench over his head and carries it across the room. As he
walks, he lifts and lowers the bench over his head in a series of reps. Emmett
can turn any task into a workout and he's always dressed for the occasion. His
standard uniform – Nike basketball shorts that hang down past his knees and a
Property of Seattle Prep Football t-shirt.
I wait until Emmett slides the bench under the piano where it now rests against
the far wall.
"What are you doing with my piano?" I ask.
"Oh please, you haven't touched this thing in years." Emmett tosses a white
sheet over the top and spends several minutes gingerly arranging it. I just
shake my head. Why he didn't think to take this much care when moving the damn
thing... moron.
"Edward, we talked about this." Carlisle's serene voice comes from the opposite
wall. I didn't even realize he was even in the room. Damn it, I need to watch
my mouth. "Isabella will be here next Saturday, and we need to get this room
ready. Esme is having the mirrors installed tomorrow and floors refinished this
week."
Fuck. I completely forgot. That chick from Phoenix; Carlisle's little pet
project. She's coming to live with us for the next year. She's some kind of
ballet genius and the only daughter of Carlisle's college roommate. I don't
know how it entirely slipped my mind since Esme has been practically giddy with
her project of turning the old music room - my old music room - into a private
dance studio for our guest. It didn't even register with me when the state-of-
the-art surround sound system and new recessed lighting were installed two
weeks ago. Why a ballet dancer needs recessed lighting than can be dimmed by
remote control, I'll never understand. This prima ballerina is already starting
to be a prima-pain-in-my-ass.
I growl and pull my hands over my face and into my hair, attempting to wipe
away the frustration I'm feeling. It doesn't work. Even though I haven't set
foot in the music room in over a year, losing it to some spoiled princess isn't
sitting too well with me at the moment.
"Why is she coming to Seattle anyway? Aren't all the prestigious dance schools
in New York?" I realize I'm almost whining.
"Yes, most of the ballet schools are in New York City, but Isabella's
concentration is in a style of contemporary ballet. She was offered a
scholarship to study under Victoria James at the Washington Academy of
Performing Arts. Apparently, this Victoria is the leading instructor in
contemporary dance in the United States. From what I read, Isabella is poised
to become the greatest contemporary dancer in the country."
"Don't they have dorms or some shit at this fancy dance school? Why does she
have to stay here with us?" Emmett gripes. I swear he practically read my mind.
"Emmett," Carlisle's tone is scolding, "Isabella is going to be part of this
family now. I expect you, both of you, to treat her with respect and kindness."
He glances at me then back to Emmett. We both nod in silent agreement.
"Charlie is a close personal friend and very protective of his daughter. As
Chief of the Phoenix Police Department, you can imagine he's seen some pretty
horrific things in his line of work. He tends to err on the side of caution
when it comes to his only child. When he thought of her moving to a big city
alone, he almost kept her from accepting the scholarship. It's a huge
opportunity for her: a chance for her to completely change her life, so I
offered to let her stay with us."
Although Carlisle would never say it out loud, I can tell by his tone that he
thinks Charlie's a bit overprotective.
"Fine, whatever," Emmett groans. "But she's not gonna sleep here in the music
room, is she?"
"No, Emmett. Isabella will use this space to rehearse. Since you're practically
living in the basement anyway, I was going to suggest we just move your bed
downstairs, if that's alright with you."
"Hell yeah, that's alright with me!"
Of course it is. Emmett has practically converted the basement into his private
gym with every model of workout equipment ever invented. Every meathead's dream
man cave. I swear he would already be sleeping on his weight bench if he wasn't
so big.
"Great. Thank you, Emmett. When we're done in here, we'll move your bed
downstairs, and I'll have a new bed brought in this week."
The house is plenty big to accommodate all of us. There are two stories - three
if you count the basement – now Emmett's room. The third floor consisted of
three bedrooms and a bathroom down a long narrow hallway. My room was on the
far end, the music room in the center, and now her majesty would be taking up
residence in the first room at the top of the stairs. Outside, the three rooms
of the third floor are joined by a balcony, which overlooks the back of the
property. The far wall of each of the rooms is made up entirely of glass French
doors, that provide access to the terrace. You could effectively walk from one
bedroom to the next without setting foot inside. It was great for sneaking out.
"Edward." Carlisle turns to me. "This means you and Isabella will have to share
a bathroom. Is that alright with you?"
"Fine," I reply curtly. Like I really have a choice at this point.
Emmett glowers at me. "Speaking of bathrooms, go take a shower. You smell like
ass."
That's all the invitation I need. I turn and trudge back to my room.
I don't make it to the shower. I collapse face first onto my bed.
I nurse my hangover for the rest of the day on Sunday and into Monday. I'm
never drinking again.
As scheduled, construction crews descend on the room next to mine and install
floor to ceiling mirrors along the adjacent wall of my room. Each strike of the
hammer pounds into my still aching head. I haven't even met the girl yet and
already I'm cursing her existence.
On Tuesday, the wood floors are stripped and sanded and a new bed is delivered
for Isabella's room. By Wednesday, the floors are shiny and new. Much to Esme's
dismay, we are instructed not to walk on them for twenty-four hours. She is
almost in a panic about not being able to hang the curtains and immediately
begins making frantic calls to reschedule the delivery of some kind of "bar"
for Friday.
Esme is fully engrossed in her redecorating project. Secretly, I think she's
excited to have another female in the house. The daughter she always wanted.
Isabella's bedroom is outfitted with new bedding, matching curtains and rugs,
and an antique dresser. My bathroom – our bathroom now – isn't forgotten
either. The old shower curtain, rugs and towels are all thrown out and new ones
brought in. Everything is now in a gender-neutral shade of green. I would have
happily just ignored all of this commotion if it weren't happening right
outside my door, literally.
Friday arrives and Esme somehow talks me into hanging soft, gauzy, fucking
girly, pink curtains from the French doors of the music – er – dance studio. I
don't see the point of these thin curtains; they won't block out any sunlight
like the heavy black ones in my bedroom.
I'm hanging the last curtain when Emmett trudges in, carrying what appears to
be a piece of construction scaffolding over one shoulder - two thick gray iron
poles welded perpendicular to a stand on either end.
"Where do I put this?" he grunts under the weight of the steel. "Christ, it's
heavy!"
"Emmett! Watch your mouth!" Esme scolds. "Set it down right here and don't
scratch the floors!"
"OK, OK. What is this thing anyway?" He drops the structure where instructed
and Esme walks over to inspect the item.
"It's a ballet barre." Esme places one hand gingerly on the top rung and begins
moving her opposite arm in typical ballet movements. "Dancers use it for
balance or stretching or warm-up exercises."
"Huh, well, it's heavy." Emmett is clearly unimpressed. "So, what time is
twinkle-toes gonna get here tomorrow?"
"Carlisle and I are picking her up from the airport at one."
BPOV
The flight is uneventful, thank God. I hate flying. I usually try to sleep on
the plane, but I am so keyed up about what is awaiting me when I land, there is
really no point.
I trudge along the crowded terminal toward baggage claim, glancing around
nervously, looking for any sign that someone is waiting for me. I'm not
entirely sure who is picking me up.
Would Dr. or Mrs. Cullen come themselves? Or maybe send one of theirsons? Or do
rich people just send their chauffer for these trivial tasks?
Charlie, my dad, filled me in on the Cullen clan before I left. I met Dr.
Cullen only once before, but I was really too young to remember him. He stayed
with us for one night in Phoenix when he was speaking at some big medical
conference. Mrs. Cullen was an accomplished author, about to publish her third
novel, likely another New York Times Bestseller. Between their two highly
successful careers, they had more money than any family could spend in a
lifetime. Something I couldn't relate to.
Dr. and Mrs. Cullen had adopted their two sons, Emmett and Edward, when the
boys were young. Charlie seemed quite taken with Emmett, a rising football
star, quoting various sports stats and figures that made no sense to me. He
didn't say much about the other one, Edward. Only that he was a "troublemaker"
and I should just avoid him.
Nice, thanks, Dad.
I arrive in baggage claim and find my bags easily enough. Renee, my mom,
insisted on loaning me two enormous hot pink suitcases. They are both the size
of washing machines and easily hold everything I own. I'm glad I refused the
third one. At first, I figured the obnoxious color was just Mom being – well -
Mom. It fit her larger-than-life personality. Now I understood, it served a
greater purpose. The fuchsia stood out like a flame among a sea of black
rolling bags. As the first bag reaches me, I bend forward to lift if off the
conveyor belt, only to have it snatched from my hand.
"Please, allow me, Isabella."
I straighten up and turn toward the tall man standing beside me. Dr. Cullen was
more familiar than I thought he would be. I instantly remember those kind eyes
and stark blonde hair. Obviously, I was too young when I first met him to truly
appreciate how handsome he is. I appraise him from head to toe, taking in his
dark gray slacks and blue button-down dress shirt, likely all designer labels
and professionally tailored to fit. When my eyes finally meet his again, his
smile fades and his face turns to an expression of concern.
"You are Isabella Swan, aren't you?"
I realize I've been staring, likely with my mouth hanging open, and haven't
spoken a word since he addressed me.
"Er... ah... yeah, yes! Of course… Dr. Cullen… thank you." Good job, idiot.
Awesome first impression.
"Please, call me Carlisle. Is this your suitcase as well?" He gestures to the
second vivid pink bag barreling towards us on the rotating belt.
"Yes, that's the last one."
He effortlessly plucks the second bag from the conveyor, raises the handles and
begins rolling both monsters toward the exit. "Right this way. Esme is waiting
right outside with the car. I parked illegally." He twists his face in an
expression of mock concern, and I can tell he's teasing.
I have to walk quickly to catch up with his fast pace. The doors automatically
slide open, and the cool Washington air assaults me. It whips through my long
hair, and I'm instantly trying to tame it back away from my face. The air feels
heavy and wet, like I'm drinking it in instead of breathing. The sky is gray
and gloomy as if a rainstorm had just passed. The wet concrete and puddles
along the curb confirm my theory. Guess I'd better get used to it.
Carlisle makes his way towards a shiny black car parked at the curb. I'm not a
car enthusiast – by any stretch of the imagination – but even without the
noticeable Mercedes logo on the hood, I know a car like that likely cost more
than Charlie makes in an entire year. As we approach, the trunk pops up at the
same moment the passenger side door opens. A small woman exits the car, also
immaculately dressed from head to toe. Her smile is contagious as she
approaches me with arms open wide and pulls me into a gentle hug.
"Isabella, I'm so glad you're finally here." She pulls away slightly, but keeps
both hands firmly on my shoulders, staring intensely into my eyes. "I'm Esme.
Anything you need, dear, you just let me know, OK?"
"OK, sure," I feel my face flush under her close gaze. I'm not used to all this
attention.
Carlisle loads my bags into the trunk, we slip inside the car, and within
minutes the airport is behind us. We maneuver around the city, making small
talk about my flight, the weather, and whether or not I've eaten lunch. My
growling stomach answers that question for me.
Carlisle asks about Charlie, and I briefly update him about his work, his
latest big case, and his love of all things fishing. There really isn't much
else to say about Charlie.
"Your father has made arrangements for you to have a car while you are here,"
Carlisle informs me. "We can pick it up Monday after your orientation."
"Um, orientation?" I don't remember anything about an orientation. Maybe it was
in the packet they sent. I need to pay more attention...
"Yes, dear," Esme turns around in her seat to face me. "Your advisor wants to
meet with you Monday morning to discuss expectations for the next year and
outline the provisions of your scholarship. Carlisle and I will have to
accompany you as they need us to sign some medical releases and such, since we
will be your legal guardians for the next year."
"Oh, right, of course." My scholarship.
I started dancing when I was six years old. I was such a clumsy child, always
tripping over my own feet, so my mother signed me up for classes in hopes it
would improve my coordination. One class a week turned into two, two turned
into four, and by the age of twelve I was dancing four hours a day, five days a
week. I couldn't get enough. To this day, I still feel more at home in a cold,
hardwood studio than my own bedroom. Dancing became my first and so far only
love. It is my life now.
At fourteen, I landed my first professional role - Clara in the Phoenix Ballet
Company's production of The Nutcracker. It became a recurring role for me every
Christmas for the next three years. At sixteen, while other kids my age were
getting summer jobs working part-time at The Gap, I was hired as a backup
dancer for the MTV video music awards. Then, last spring, I was the youngest
featured dancer in the March issue of American Dance Magazine. Sure, I've had a
few reviews written up about my performances in the local paper, but that one
article changed my life. One week after the issue came out, the head of the
Washington Academy of Performing Arts flew to Phoenix to meet me.
Victoria James - the Victoria James - was in MY studio watching ME dance! I was
so star-struck, I have no idea how I didn't fall flat on my face.
Victoria offered me a full paid scholarship to attend the Washington Academy of
Performing Arts in the fall. I am to study under her exclusively and, if all
goes to plan, graduate with a high school education and promising dance career
ahead of me. So now, here I am; moving to Seattle, living with the Cullens, and
starting my senior year at a new school. It's all a bit overwhelming.
I'm about to work myself into a full panic attack when Carlisle slows the car
and turns down a gravel driveway. The house at the end is magnificent, two
stories, but not intimidating. It looks like it was plucked from the New
Orleans French Quarter, complete with cream colored exterior walls and thick
black wrought iron railings surrounding the balcony. From the outside, it feels
warm and very inviting. Carlisle brings the car to a stop right before the
front door.
"This is beautiful," I sigh, my eyes wide with amazement.
"Thank you, dear," Esme said graciously. "Come, let's show you to your room and
get us all something for lunch. I'm famished."
I follow Esme up the front steps, through the front door and into a wide, open
living room. It's a vast room but quite adequately lit; the afternoon sun
streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows across the far wall. The room is
painted in a creamy off-white, broken up by silky, deep purple curtains on the
windows. The floor is wood, stained a dark russet color and accented with a
deep amethyst rug that fits the expansive room nicely. In the center of the
room a large, white sectional sofa takes up most of the floor. It's positioned
perfectly for watching the flat screen mounted on the wall directly in front of
it.
Esme points out the kitchen, on my right, which bleeds into the living room,
only the countertop separating the two rooms. The counter is likely used as a
bar for casual eating; three barstools are carefully tucked underneath,
although there is a large dining room table sitting perpendicular to the
kitchen in front of the massive bay of windows.
Directly opposite from the kitchen is a white, marble staircase which leads up
to the second story. The steps are narrower at the top, growing wider as they
cascade down to the ground floor and spill into the living room like the train
of a wedding dress.
I try my hardest not to gawk at my new surroundings as I follow Esme up the
stairs. She continues to point out the master suite and Carlisle's office;
tucked away down the hall on the left, Emmett's room; in the basement, and
Edward's room at the far end of the long hallway on the second floor.
"This way, sweetheart, your room is the first door on the right." We reach the
top of the stairs and she gestures toward the door across the hall. "The
bathroom is there, on the left. I'm afraid you and Edward will have to share. I
hope you don't mind."
"No, no, I don't mind at all. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you'll
let me stay with you. I…..I…" I can't seem to find adequate words to express my
gratitude. I can feel my face blush and instead I look down to my feet.
"Isabella, sweetheart, we are overjoyed to have you with us. Believe me," Esme
reaches out to gently touch my arm, "I have been outnumbered by all these men
far too long. Thank you."
I can't help but giggle and relax at her words. I can relate, having lived with
Charlie for the past three years. I can only imagine what it must be like with
three men at home. I guess I'm about to find out.
I moved in with Charlie shortly after my mother remarried. Before then, I
shuffled back and forth between Charlie's house in Phoenix and wherever Renee
was living at the time. It was hard, of course, uprooting my life every few
years, but I didn't mind. It made my parents happy. When Renee married Phil, a
minor league baseball player, she sold her house and bought an RV, traveling
around the country with him as he played. Obviously a life on the road wasn't
feasible for a teenager who was starting high school, so I went to live with
Charlie.
The three years I spent in Phoenix were the longest I had ever stayed in one
place. I actually made friends and had a social life, it wasn't a glamorous
social life, but it was enough to make Charlie nervous. I thought he was going
to have an aneurism the first time I missed my curfew. I was only fifteen
minutes late but he had already called every hospital in town looking for me or
reports of a Jane Doe fitting my description. I was grounded for three months
when I came home a little tipsy after the homecoming dance. When he caught me
kissing Ben Chaney on the front porch after our first date, he made an
appointment for me to visit the gyno so I could get on the pill that week. I
don't even want to think about what would happen if he knew I wasn't a virgin
anymore.
Needless to say, I am glad to be around another female figure and she seems
genuinely happy I am here as well.
"My friends call me Bella," I offer shyly.
"Bella," she repeats with a smile. "This is your room here."
Esme opens the first door at the top of the stairs and ushers me in past her.
The room – my room - is large and inviting. My entire bedroom back home could
probably fit inside this room twice. An antique four-poster bed takes up most
of the floor space. I walk around it, dragging my fingers over the soft fabric
of the sheets. Just like downstairs, the far wall is nothing but glass. As I
walk closer, I notice they aren't windows, like on the first floor, but doors
leading out to a wide balcony.
I turn and realize Esme has been watching me this whole time; she hasn't moved
from the doorway. "On a clear night, you can see the lights of the city from
here," she says.
"This is amazing. You have such a beautiful home. Thank you." I can feel myself
getting choked up thinking about her overwhelming generosity to open her home
to a complete stranger.
"Bella, this is your home now too. I'm serious; anything you need, don't
hesitate to ask, OK?"
I just nod and stare at the floor, afraid my voice will betray me.
"Here we are!" Carlisle's voice breaks the tension of the moment, and he enters
the room, hauling both of my suitcases, one under each arm.
"Oh, gosh, let me help you!" I rush forward and grab one of the enormous bags
from him. He's breathing heavy from having to drag my luggage up the flight of
stairs.
"Thank you, Isabella. Now, what was that about some lunch? All this heavy
lifting has made me hungry."
"She prefers Bella, dear," Esme corrects him. "Now, come on, you two, I'll have
some sandwiches whipped up in no time."
***** Chapter 2 *****
EPOV
For the past two hours I have been watching Jazz scour the inventory of guitar
accessories at the music store downtown. Honestly, he doesn't need a damn
thing; it's just an excuse to ogle the shop girl, again. If Jasper doesn't grow
some balls and ask that little dark-haired hippie girl out soon, he was gonna
end up broke from all of these shopping trips.
I watch Jazz as he pulls another book of sheet music from the rack and pretends
to read the back cover, all the while casting quick glances at the girl behind
the counter. She's staring, fucking goo-goo eyed, right back at him. I roll my
eyes and notice it's starting to get dark outside the shop windows.
"What time is it?" I mumble.
"Time for you to get a watch, rich boy."
I roll my eyes again. "Original, Jazz. Seriously what time is it?"
Jazz finally glances at the watch on his wrist. "Quarter to seven."
"Shit." I toss the magazine I had been flipping through mindlessly back onto
the rack, not giving any thought to returning it to its proper place. "We gotta
go."
"Hot date?" Jasper teases.
"I was supposed to be home before six. That chick moved in today and Esme
planned a fucking meet-the-family dinner."
"Ah yes," Jazz muses, "still trying to be the golden boy for mommy and daddy
dearest, I see."
Jazz doesn't understand why I am inflicting myself with this punishment. I
tried to explain it to him once; why I quit ditching school, why I came home
around my curfew, why I felt guilty about the way I treated my adopted parents,
but he doesn't get it. He doesn't try to talk me out of it; he just can't
relate to it.
"Fuck you," I grumble. "Can we go?"
"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your panties in a twist. Just let me pay for this shit."
Jazz turns and happily trots off toward his dream girl to buy the sheet music
in his hands.
I pull my phone from my pocket and notice a missed text from Emmett.
Where are you asshole? ~ Em
I type out a quick reply and hit send.
I'm on my way now. ~ E
Shit, I screwed up… again.
Ten minutes later, Jazz pulls his Jeep up in front of my house. "Thanks man," I
yell as I jump down from the open side of the cab. During the warm summer
months, Jazz keeps the top and doors to his Jeep stored in the garage at his
house. It's usually comfortable, riding with the top off, but the rain today
has caused the temperature drop and I am fucking freezing.
As I make my way quickly up the front steps, I hear Jazz floor the accelerator
and his all terrain tires spinout, tossing gravel from the driveway across the
yard. I stop on the porch and attempt to tame my windblown hair before opening
the door to the house.
No one sees me enter. The entire family is here, seated around the large dining
table. Carlisle is at the head with Esme at his right side. Rosalie is sitting
next to her and Emmett takes up the spot at the other end of the table. There
is an empty chair, obviously meant for me, and a tiny figure sits between it
and Carlisle. Her back is to me and all I can make out is a mass of long, brown
curls falling down over her shoulders. Empty plates of food are strewn about
the table, as if they finished dinner some time ago, yet they continue to
linger around the table deep in conversation.
A very humorous conversation, apparently. A roar of laughter erupts and Emmett
begins choking on the sip of water he just took from his glass.
"Edward!" Esme cries out, finally noticing my presence. "Glad you decided to
join us. Come, meet Bella!"
"Sorry I'm late," I mumble as I make my way to the empty seat and place my
hands on the back of the chair. I keep my eyes on Esme to avoid the angry glare
I know Carlisle is giving me.
"Edward," Esme starts again, "this is Bella. Bella, meet Edward."
Bella turns in her seat toward where I'm standing and looks up from below her
lashes. She is actually rather pretty. More than simply beautiful, her face was
interesting. Not quite symmetrical – her narrow chin is out of balance with her
wide cheekbones; extreme in the coloring – the light and dark contrast of her
ivory skin and her hair; and then there were her eyes, eyes that are boring
into mine. Brown. Warm, chocolate-brown eyes.
"I… ah…" I crush my eyes shut and lightly shake my head to clear my mind. Bad
idea, all I see is brown."Hello," I manage to spit out. Real smooth, genius.
"Ah… hi. It's nice to meet you," she says in a small voice, shooting me a timid
glance.
"Sit, sit!" Esme commands. "Let me get you a plate."
I do as I'm told, pulling out the chair and taking my seat next to Bella. I
keep my eyes down, focusing on the swirls and patterns of the wood table in
front of me. The room has grown completely silent. I know what everyone is
waiting for.
Before the accident, Carlisle would have started shouting at me the second I
walked through the door. The two of us are notorious for having hour long
fights right here in the living room. We yell and scream at each other with no
regard to who is watching. It always starts with him scolding me for a full
twenty minutes on whatever current offense of mine. Then it somehow morphs into
a lecture on my overall behavior, my grades, and my choice of friends. He makes
the same cliché arguments: "What the hell were you thinking?", "Can't you see
you're destroying your future?", "Do I need to send you to military school?"
His threats have gotten almost humorous. The argument ends when I tell him to
go fuck himself, and he grounds me, and I laugh and completely ignore his
pathetic attempt at discipline. Then the cycle repeats itself.
It has been almost six months since our last knock-down, drag-out fight. I'm
sure everyone at the table senses we are long overdue, but my good behavior
lately hasn't given Carlisle any ammunition. Besides being late tonight, my
only offense has been getting drunk at the concert with Jazz last week. I
suspect, since Carlisle has never said anything about that night, he doesn't
realize I even left the house.
Nevertheless, I hope tonight Carlisle will just choose to ignore my being late.
He wouldn't want to make a scene in front of our new guest, right?
Nope, no such luck.
"Where have you been?" Carlisle addresses me, his angry voice stern and cold.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Lord, here we go again. He can't give me an
inch can he? Is he ever gonna let this shit go?
Did he notice that I was early for my meeting with my probation officer
yesterday? No. Did he notice that my room was now spotless? No. Did he notice I
had been home before curfew every night this week? No. All he sees is that I'm
late for this stupid dinner.
I take a deep breath, attempting to keep my temper in check. Six months of good
behavior going unnoticed is starting to get on my nerves. I would really love
to tell Carlisle to fuck off for old times' sake, but that wouldn't help me
gain his forgiveness. It likely wouldn't make a good impression on our guest
either.
"I was with Jazz, at the store, we lost track of time. Sorry."
My tone is far from apologetic and Carlisle narrows his eyes at me.
"You know how I feel about you spending time with him," Carlisle says firmly.
I stare angrily at him, not saying a word. Carlisle and Esme have repeatedly
expressed their displeasure over my continued friendship with Jasper after the
accident. They rightly assume he supplied me with the drugs that almost killed
me, though I neither confirmed nor denied it. Although my parents know I
haven't touched the stuff since that night, they probably think Jazz is still
using. He's not. The accident has us both scared straight.Regardless of what
they think, this is one area where I am not going to budge. Jasper is my
friend, my only friend, and even though it displeases Carlisle and Esme, I am
going to continue to be friends with him.
"We'll talk about this later," Carlisle grumbles through clenched teeth.
No we won't.
"So, anyway," Rose dives right back into a story my arrival must have
interrupted, "her husband died! While on their honeymoon! And all the girl
could talk about was how the concierge wouldn't refund their drink tickets!"
The awkwardness that lingers because of the exchange between Carlisle and I is
broken when everyone erupts into another fit of laughter. Everyone, except me
and Carlisle.
Esme returns from the kitchen and sets a plate in front of me. It's overflowing
with spaghetti, homemade meatballs, and warm garlic bread. I feel Esme squeeze
my shoulder as she sets the plate down and I look up. She gives me an
encouraging smile, likely knowing that Carlisle's harsh tone has unnerved me. I
quietly thank her for my dinner and begin to shovel food into my mouth while
the conversation continues around me as if I'm not even there.
"So, Bella, do you have everything you need for school this week?" Esme asks as
she returns to her seat.
"Hold up," Emmett interrupts. "Twinkle-toes here starts school this week? That
sucks."
"Emmett! Watch your mouth!" Esme scolds.
He rolls his eyes. "Sorry. I mean, that stinks."
Bella giggles quietly. "Well, official classes don't start until Wednesday. But
I have to meet with my advisor on Monday then I'm supposed to work with my
pasde deux partner on Tuesday. He's going to help me get caught up on what I
missed during the summer session."
Emmet snorts, trying to contain a laugh. "Your pad-dah-what?"
"It's pronounced pah-day-duh," Bella annunciates each syllable. "It's a duet,
when two dancers perform together. Everyone is assigned their pas de deux
partner at the beginning of the year. Well, most partnerships are assigned at
the start of freshman year and they remain partners for all four years. My
partner, Jacob, was paired with a girl that quit the program at the end of last
year."
"Oh, so you met him already?" Rosalie asks.
"No, well… I mean, not in person. We emailed back and forth this summer and
talked on the phone a few times." Bella shrugs. "He seems really nice."
"Well that's lovely, dear." Esme says. "I'm so glad that you'll have a friend
with you on your first day."
"Yeah, I guess so. So, what about you guys?" Bella turns back to Emmett, "When
do you go back?"
Emmett leans back in his chair with a smug face. "Not for another two weeks,"
he states proudly.
"Maybe this week won't be so bad," Rosalie offers. "The first few days of
classes are pointless anyway."
"Yeah, well, I'm kinda behind already since I didn't to go the summer
workshops. I'll probably be in the rehearsal studio at school trying to catch
up most of the week. Actually, now that I think about it, I might be out kinda
late. I hope that's OK? " Bella hesitantly turns toward Carlisle. "I don't
know… I mean… we didn't discuss curfews or anything like that."
This girl is asking for a curfew? I scoff internally. I remember when Carlisle
tried to dictate that rule. I laughed in his face when he told me I had to be
home by eleven on school nights and two a.m. on weekends. Even now, I still
find it hard to abide by those ridiculous deadlines. I wonder what kind of iron
fist Bella must have lived under as the daughter of the police chief if she was
basically asking for a curfew. As far as I could tell, she didn't look like the
kind of girl that even went out. I picture her skipping home promptly after
some lame PG-13 chick flick had let out, leaving some poor sucker standing on
her front porch with only a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Why don't you just practice here?" I suggest.
Five pairs of eyes turn to stare at me. I realize these are the first words
I've spoken since I sat down over half an hour ago.
"Wha- what do you mean practice here?" Bella looks confused as Esme bursts into
a fit of laughter.
"I can't believe it!" She exclaims. "We worked so hard on that room all week
and I completely forgot to even mention it."
"What… room?" Bella is glancing back and forth between Esme and me. I gesture
for Esme to do the honors as I shovel the last bite of my dinner into my mouth.
"The spare bedroom, the one between yours and Edward's upstairs. We converted
it into a private dance space for you. It should have everything you need to
practice right here at home. And, of course, Jacob will be welcome to use it as
well."
Bella is silent for several minutes. "Are… are you serious? You can't… I mean…
that's just… it's too much… I can't possibly…" Honestly, she looks as if she's
about to cry.
"Oh, sweetheart, it was nothing." Esme reaches across the table and gently pats
Bella hand. "I couldn't stand the thought of you driving back and forth at all
hours of the night when we had a perfectly good space right here."
"Bu- but I…" she stammers.
"No, no. Not another word about it." Esme turns to me. "Edward, why don't you
take Bella upstairs and show her the new studio while I clear the table."
Me? Why me?
Bella looks back to me and her eyes widen. She looks almost bewildered,
seemingly full of silent questions. I suddenly feel the overwhelming need to
take away the anxiety she's feeling so I offer her what I hope is a reassuring
smile.
"Sure." I stand and reach my hand out to her. She places her small hand in mine
and, without thinking, I trace my thumb across the back of her soft fingers.
She rises gracefully from her seat; the movement bringing her body directly in
front of mine. She's shorter than me; obviously, at six foot two inches I tower
over most people, but the top of her head barely reaches my chin. Now that
she's standing, I can see her entire frame more clearly. She's so… delicate.
She couldn't weigh more than one-ten, one-fifteen tops. She has the erect
posture of a dancer; her head held high, her shoulders back, her arms and legs
long and lean.
"Um…" Bella looks down at our entwined hands.
I quickly drop her hand and take a small step back. "Er… this way," I mumble,
before turning quickly and taking the steps to the second floor two at a time.
BPOV
I watch as Edward bounds up the stairs as if he can't get away from me fast
enough. I can't blame him; that was… weird. I mean, it was rude of him to show
up an hour late for dinner and then barely speaks to anyone for the entire
time. And that moment between him and Carlisle was uncomfortable. I thought for
a second that Carlisle was going to send him to his room without his dinner
like he is some disobedient child. That's what Charlie would have done if I had
shown up an hour late.
Not that I was paying attention to Edward. Well, I was trying really hard not
to, but he is just so… freaking hot. He's way better looking than any of the
guys I dated in Phoenix. He has the most stunning green eyes. His bronze hair
is in complete disarray, probably because he runs his hands through it every
two minutes. Must be a nervous tick.
Ok, maybe I paid him more attention than I should have.
Edward reaches the top of the stairs and hurries past my room toward the second
door on the right. He opens the door and, without entering, reaches inside to
flick on the lights. He turns around and nearly runs straight into me. His body
is so close to mine, almost too close, just like before at the table. I can
feel my cheeks flame red. Hopefully, he doesn't notice.
"After you." He steps back and gestures toward the open door.
I gingerly walk through the door and to the center of the large, vacant room.
The floors are wood, just like the rest of the house, except these are stained
a rich golden-yellow. The entire left wall is covered in mirrors and a
professional grade warm-up barre is centered in front of them. I reach out and
run my hand along the cold steel. It's nicer than the ones we had at the studio
in Phoenix.
I can't believe they did this for me. No one has ever given me such a
thoughtful gift before. I had no idea such generous people existed. The Cullens
have single handedly ensured my entire future by taking me in. Charlie was
never going to let me move to Seattle alone, scholarship or not. The Cullens
opened their home to me, disrupted their lives for me, and now this – my very
own studio. It is just too much. For the second time today, I can feel my
throat tighten and my eyes begin to water with tears that threaten to spill
over.
Edward clears his throat behind me. I have completely forgotten he is watching
me from the doorway. My looming emotional breakdown must be making him
uncomfortable; his hand is back tugging at his hair again.
"Uh… there's a stereo system over here with a CD player and hookup for an
iPod." He walks over to a large, expensive piece of equipment in the corner.
"The speakers are there, and there," He points to the small black boxes mounted
in the opposite corners. "You can play your music as loud as you want. The
walls in here are pretty thick."
I nod, still not trusting my voice.
"Um, the lights are on a dimmer switch on the wall over there, and, well, I
guess that's it."
"What's that?" I gesture to a large object covered in a white sheet.
"Oh, um… a piano." Edward shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. The
forceful movement causes his t-shirt to rise and the waist of his worn-out
jeans to dip at the same moment, exposing the top of his black boxer briefs and
the creamy skin of his stomach. For a second, I'm completely distracted,
staring at his lean physique. He looks away and down at his feet. I sense
there's more to this piano than he's letting on.
"Do you play?" I ask.
"Not anymore." His voice is so low I almost don't hear him. He stares at his
feet for a second before shaking his head. "Well, good night." And with that
he's gone, out the door before I can process what has just happened.
"Good night," I mutter to no one.
On Sunday I'm not sure what to do with myself. I still feel like I'm
overstaying my welcome in a stranger's house. I have breakfast with Esme before
she leaves to run some errands. She invites me to tag along, but I decline,
saying that I need to unpack and get settled in before orientation tomorrow.
I make my way back upstairs and start to unpack. I hang my street clothes in
the massive walk-in closet, leaving the dresser drawers to hold all of my
leotards, tights, sweatpants and sports bras. I place the few pictures I
brought across the top; me and Renee at Disney, me and Charlie fishing, a group
photo of my friends from the studio in Phoenix, and my favorite – a family
photo of Renee, Charlie and me. I was an infant at the time, but it's the only
picture of the three of us together.
I place my laptop on the desk, noticing it's already stocked with pens,
pencils, a ruler, a calculator, and several spiral bound notebooks. A giant
bulletin board hangs on the wall above the desk and I take a moment to pin up
my calendar and the post card I received from Renee just before I left Phoenix.
The board still looks empty, so I rip a few glossy photos from my latest issue
of American Dance Magazine and add them to the collage.
Next, I take my toiletries to the bathroom across the hall and find one side of
the vanity, a shelf and a drawer have been cleared for my stuff. I place my
shampoo, conditioner, and soap in the shower next to Edward's. I can't help but
open and smell his shampoo. Yum… almond and vanilla. I inhale the rich, creamy
scent again before shutting the cap and returning it to the ledge.
An hour later I finally finish unpacking and putting everything away, and now I
have an entire day ahead of me with nothing to do. I consider calling Jacob to
see if he wants to meet me, but then I figure I should give the guy his last
few days of space, seeing as how we are going to be together all day, every day
for the next year. Emmett and Edward seem to still be asleep, as neither has
emerged from their bedrooms, and Carlisle left for the hospital before dawn.
I guess there is no time like the present to try out my new studio. I change
into my black yoga pants, black tank top and my favorite oversized gray
sweatshirt. I ripped the neck on it years ago and now it hangs down, exposing
one shoulder. I feel like I'm channeling Jennifer Beals from Flashdance when I
wear it. All I'm missing is a welding torch and some rocking legwarmers. I grab
my iPod and tiptoe to my door. I open it only a crack to peek down the hall.
All clear.
Wait, what am I doing? Why am I sneaking around like I'm going to get caught?
I take a deep breath, stand up straight and walk to the room next door. I
fumble with the sound system for a few minutes before I get the hang of it.
Soon, I'm sweating through my favorite routines. I don't really practice
anything relevant, just goof around, letting my iPod shuffle through the Dance
My Ass Off playlist.
I dance for two hours, thoroughly enjoying having my own private space to work
in. I finish up with a long cool down, stretching my tired arms and legs before
heading across the hall for a quick shower. Having completely exhausted
everything to do in the house, I throw on some clothes and decide to go for a
walk. The weather is nice today and I remember seeing a small shopping center a
few blocks from the entrance of the neighborhood when Carlisle and Esme drove
me here from the airport. It seems like a nice place to spend a Sunday
afternoon.
EPOV
I sleep until eleven o'clock Sunday morning. I have got to get back on a normal
sleep schedule before school starts next week. Otherwise, waking up at seven
a.m. is going to be painful.
I probably would have slept a lot longer if it weren't for the music coming
from the room next door. Bella must have decided to take her studio for a test
drive. Her choice in music surprises me. Granted, there's a lot more techno and
pop than I want to hear, but I do recognize a few of my favorite alternative
bands thrown in the mix. It's well after noon before she finally gives it a
rest. I listen as the shower cuts on across the hall and then off again several
minutes later.
I rub my face, yawn and stretch. I need to get out of this room, out of this
house.
I retrieve my jeans from the floor, the pockets still stuffed with my phone,
keys and wallet from the day before. I throw on a clean t-shirt and a pair of
flip flops. I consider sending Jazz a text, see if he wants to hang out, but
he's probably still asleep.
I head downstairs, casting a quick glance in Bella's room as I walk past. Her
door is open but the room is dark and empty. I bypass the kitchen and walk
straight to my car; I figure I'll eat eventually.
I decide to head to the bookstore around the corner to see if anything new has
come in since my last visit a few weeks ago. I frequent this store so often the
owner knows me and often holds titles he thinks I'll be interested in behind
the counter. But today the shop is under the care of the owner's only son,
Tyler. He's a nice enough kid; we had a few classes together at school last
year, but we don't exactly run with the same crowd. I wouldn't call him a
friend but, here in the confines of his father's store, our mutual love of
books makes us more than just casual acquaintances.
A small bell above the door chimes as I walk inside. "Hey, man, what's up?"
Tyler greets me as I walk into the store.
"Tyler," I respond, noticing he's not even looking in my direction. His eyes
are fixed on something going on behind the shelves. He is blatantly bending and
stretching from his perch behind the counter, trying to get a better view. I
ignore him, deciding to browse the new releases on the far wall.
I prefer stories with drama and suspense, and there are a few new titles that
grab my attention. I select two books from the shelf and slouch into one of the
overstuffed leather chairs in the corner to skim the first few pages and see if
they are any good.
I only read about five pages, distracted by Tyler's constant squirming at his
post, which I can see out of corner of my eye. I look up to glare at him and
then follow his line of sight to see what is so fucking interesting.
Down the aisle in front of me, I see a small brunette girl browsing through the
classical literature section. Her back is to us and she is mindlessly swaying
back and forth as she stands before the bookcase towering over her. Her gentle
movements cause her airy white skirt to swing from side to side like a bell.
She twists her body slightly and I can see a thin white cord extending from
inside the purse she has slung across her chest and disappearing under her
curly hair. She must be listening to an iPod buried deep in her bag.
I can see why Tyler is so intrigued. She is fascinating to watch. I find I
can't take my eyes from her either. From my seat I have an unobstructed view,
and I overtly stare as she gently runs her fingers across the titles on the
shelf. She tilts her head to read the spine of a book and I instantly recognize
her profile.
Bella.
I should probably go over and say hello. It would be the polite thing to do.
But I don't move from my seat. I continue to watch her as she shops, selecting
one book at a time from the shelf, flipping it over and reading the back cover
only to place it back on the shelf a moment later. Cradled in her other arm she
already holds two more books. I strain my eyes to make out the titles, but the
way she's hugging them, so close to her chest, I'm not able to see.
She turns again to face the bookcase on the back wall and reaches up for a book
on the top shelf, just out of her grasp. She tries again, rising up as high as
she can on her toes, but she is still unable to make contact with the object
she desires. It is clear Tyler isn't going to make a move to assist her. I
realize he is likely enjoying the way her attempts to reach the top shelf cause
her skirt to rise up, exposing more and more of the back of her thigh for his
viewing pleasure.
I groan and reluctantly hoist myself up from my seat. I walk up directly behind
her, my chest almost pressing against her back as I reach up, tipping the spine
of the book backwards so it easily falls into her waiting hand.
"Thank y-" she starts to say as she turns to face me. She is still up on her
toes and the quick movement causes her to bump against my chest and stumble. I
reach out and catch her around the waist before she completely topples
backward. Instinctively I pull her to me to compensate for the momentum,
tugging her in the opposite direction. I catch a whiff of her scent and for a
moment I'm confused; she smells like me.
The whole ordeal only lasts a fraction of a second, and as soon as Bella
catches her balance, I release her and step back. She finally looks up to see
who has put their hands all over her and recognition dawns on her face as she
realizes it's me.
"Oh… hi," she says and, just like last night, a soft, pink blush spreads across
her cheeks. She must be embarrassed about almost knocking us both to the
ground.She pulls the headphones from her ears and tucks them away inside her
purse.
"Hey," I respond.
She smiles, her expression still shy. "What are you doing here?"
I hold up the books in my hand, waving them slightly as if to silently state
the obvious.
"Oh… right... of course." She nervously pushes her hair behind her ear and
stares down at the floor. The movement reminds me…
"Did you use my shampoo?" I ask, my tone is harsher than I intended.
Bella's eyes grow wide as her face turns a bright crimson. "I ah, I forgot mine
in my room, and I was already in the shower. I'm sorry. I'll replace what I
used." She stares down at the floor again.
I instantly feel guilty. I realize I'm not being very welcoming to my new
roommate. I imagine it must be hard for her, leaving her family and friends
behind and moving in with people she doesn't know. I could relate to that.
Granted, I was only a child when it happened to me, but I have some idea of how
she must be feeling – alone, out of place, maybe a little scared. And here I
am, being an asshole over something as stupid as shampoo.
I sigh. "I'm sorry, that's not what I meant. Of course you're welcome to
anything you need."
We stand in awkward silence for a moment before she speaks, "Well, ah, thanks
for your help with the, um, the book. I guess I'll see you back at the house."
She turns and heads to the front of the store where Tyler, I'm sure, has been
anxiously watching our little exchange.
She places her books on the counter and begins digging through her purse for
her money. I walk up behind her again, setting my books down, and wait as Tyler
rings up her purchases. I want to say something to clear the uncomfortable
tension that seems to be growing between us. I felt it the night before when I
showed her to her dance studio, and it seems to be lingering. It was like a
barrier is being drawn between us. I don't know why, but I hate it. I open my
mouth to say something but nothing comes out.
She pays for her books and takes the bag from Tyler, who enthusiastically
invites her to come back again soon. As she gathers up her things, she casts a
quick glance over her shoulder and smiles at me, but it doesn't reach her eyes.
She turns away and thanks Tyler one more time before she leaves the store.
The second the door closes behind her, Tyler lets out a ragged breath. "Damn,
that girl is fine."
I glare at him and fight back the overwhelming urge to slam his head into the
counter he is leaning against, still straining to get the last look as Bella
disappears out of sight of the shop windows.
Why do I suddenly feel so possessive of her?
"Oooweee, where did she come from?" he asks rhetorically.
"Phoenix," I mumble.
His head snaps back toward me. "You know her?"
"She's staying with us for the next year while she goes to some private dance
school."
"Damn. You are one lucky son of a bitch," he says, shaking his head. "You know
if she's got a boyfriend back home?"
I realize that I don't know her at all – but I want to. I want to understand
why someone would willingly give up their family. How someone my age could
already have a clear picture of the life and career they want. How someone can
be so passionate about that goal that they are able to walk away from the life
they have always known. This girl is a complete mystery to me. I don't know
why, but the desire to know more about her, to understand her, suddenly burns
inside me.
My feet begin to move before I even register the motion. "Tyler, hold those for
me, will ya?" I call out as I push the shop door open and head in the direction
I saw Bella walk. I spot her instantly, pausing a few stores down, and fiddling
with her iPod, the ear-buds securely back in her ears.
I jog quickly to catch up to her. This time she sees me approach and removes
one headphone as I begin to speak. "There's a café just over there. Would you
like to have lunch with me?"
She blinks a few times and, for a moment, I wonder if she heard what I've said.
"Yeah… yes. That would be nice. Thank you."
We make our way to the bright orange and green umbrellas lining the sidewalk
café and find an open table on the patio. The metal table is designed to seat
four, and Bella takes the seat directly across from me, dropping her purse and
the bag that contain her books in the empty chair next to her. A waitress
immediately approaches with two laminated menus and disappears again once she
has our drink order; a coke for me, an iced tea for Bella.
I don't need to read over the menu; I always order the same thing every time I
come here. So I place my menu on the table and watch Bella as she studies her
copy.
"Their chicken sandwich is pretty good," I offer, trying to break the silence.
"And Emmett loves their hamburgers."
She doesn't look up from her menu. "Hm… it all sounds good. I'm starving after
my work out this morning."
"Yeah, I'm sure," I mumble.
Bella drops her menu and finally looks at me. "Did I wake you? Oh God, I did.
I'm sorry, the music was too loud wasn't it? I'm sorry. I didn't think –"
I hold my hands up, hoping to stop her high-speed ramble. "Bella, Bella, it's
fine. I'm actually glad you woke me up. I need to get used to waking up at a
normal time anyway before school starts again. So… thank you."
She looks at me skeptically, like she isn't buying it. She picks up her menu
again and continues to read over the selections. The waitress returns with our
drinks and Bella orders the sandwich I recommended. I order the same and the
waitress leaves us alone again.
Another awkward silence stretches between us. I want to know more about the
girl sitting across from me, but I feel like launching into a round of twenty
questions might be rude. I decide to try another avenue.
"May I?" I ask, pointing to the bag in the chair containing the three books she
had just purchased. She nods as she sips her iced tea and I lift the noisy
plastic bag into my lap. I remove her new novels, calling out the titles as I
flip through them, "Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, andMansfield
Park." I raise an eyebrow to her. "Big Austen fan I take it?"
That makes her smile. "I left my copies at home. I didn't think I'd miss them,
but I felt kinda… I dunno, out of place without them."
I nod. "I get it. I'd be pretty lost without my copy of Emmaclose by."
She chuckles at my sarcastic tone. "What about you? What did you get?"
I shrug, "Tyler is holding them for me."
"Tyler?"
"The guy in the bookstore. He goes to my school. His dad owns the shop," I
explain.
"Oh."
I see an opportunity opening up so I decide to take it. "You seem to have left
quite an impression on him."
She looks alarmed. "Me?"
I chuckle. "Yeah, I think he's got a little crush. He asked me if you had a
boyfriend back home."
She rolls her eyes. "Yeah right, overachieving, dance obsessed, only daughter
of the police chief, not quite the hot commodity where I'm from."
"Let me guess, your dates would pick you up and he'd answer the door with a
loaded shotgun?"
"Yeah, something like that."
The waitress returns, delivering our food and refilling our drinks. The
conversation slows down while we eat.
"You must miss him, your dad. It can't be easy leaving home."
She shrugs. "Don't get me wrong, I do miss him, but Charlie was always a bit…
overprotective. The older I got the more we started butting heads about what he
thought was good for me. I think it was the right time for us to take a little
break."
I remember Carlisle's words from the week before, "He tends to err on the side
of caution when it comes to his only child." Maybe her father is a bit more
domineering than Carlisle realizes. I can sympathize with the difficulty of
living with an overbearing father figure.
"So it doesn't bother you, being so far away from home?" I clarify.
"Well, I never really considered Phoenix my home. I was shuffled back and forth
so much after my parents divorced that I never formed an attachment to one
place or the other. It wasn't until I was fourteen that I moved in with Charlie
permanently."
"Why did you decide to stay with him and not your mom?"
"When my mom remarried, her husband's job called for a lot of travel. She
stayed with me at first, but it made her unhappy. So I decided to go live with
my dad for a few years and she went on the road with Phil. They actually bought
a house in Florida last year, but I stayed with Charlie. It just worked out
best for everyone."
I'm not so sure I believe her. It may have worked out best for her parents, but
what about her? It isn't right for a child not to have a place to call home.
"That doesn't seem fair." I shrug, trying to seem casual.
She laughs, but it doesn't sound genuine. "Hasn't anyone told you? Life isn't
fair."
I wanted to laugh at her words too. I knew a little something about the
unfairness of life. "I believe I've heard that somewhere before."
"I think that's why I gravitated to dance so much; it was the one constant in
my life, no matter where I was. That became home to me. Not where my parents
live."
I had never met someone so… selfless. If that had been me, and my parents had
shuffled me around because I became a burden to them, I would have made their
lives a living hell. Who am I kidding; I am making my parents lives hell and
they only moved me once.
I take another bite of my sandwich as I consider my next statement carefully.
"You put on a good show. But I'd be willing to bet that you suffered more than
you let anyone see."
She narrows her eyes at me and, for a second, I worry she realizes I'm speaking
from experience, but then she recovers with a shrug. "Maybe I used to, but not
anymore. I think of it this way – all that stuff led me to where I am today.
Granted, I'm going to have to work my butt off for the next year, but it will
all be worth it. All I've ever wanted was to be a dancer."
I nod and take another bite of my food. Bella seems wise beyond her age. She is
resiliently independent. She seems to have it all figured out, what she wants
in life and exactly how she's going to get it. She's not angry about the way
her parents raised her, she's actually thankful for it. I wanted to know more
about her mother, her life before she came here, her relationship with her
father; all the meaningless details that could explain how she was so accepting
of her disheveled upbringing. Maybe I could even learn a thing or two.
"What about you?" she asks before I can form my next question.
"What about me?" I hedge.
"What do you want to do? You know, when you grow up?"
"I hadn't thought about it." That's a lie. I know all too well that my future
is going to be an uphill battle. During our heated exchanges, Carlisle
repeatedly tells me I am setting myself up for failure. The accident and my
subsequent probation put the proverbial nail in that coffin.
She presses on, "What about after graduation? Do you want to go to college?" I
don't want to tell her the truth, that with my criminal record no reputable
school will touch me, no matter how badly I want to go. So I just shrug my
shoulders and take another bite.
The waitress approaches the table again, thankfully, interrupting a
conversation that now seems to be focused on me. "Can I bring you guys anything
else?" she asks.
I look to Bella and she shakes her head. "No, just the check please," I say.
"Sure, is this together or separate?" the waitress asks.
We both answer at the same time. "Together," I say. "Separate," Bella calls
out.
I catch the waitress' eye. "Together," I state firmly and she leaves to prepare
the ticket.
"Edward, you don't have to –"
I hold up my hand. "I'm the one that asked you out to lunch, remember?"
She smiles sweetly. "Thank you, Edward."
I pay the check and we make our way out of the café. We walk slowly along the
storefronts back toward the bookstore and, subsequently, where I have left my
car. Something dawns on me at that moment.
"Bella, how did you get here?"
"I walked," she responds casually, her eyes never leaving the shop window we
pass.
"From the house?" I ask, astonished.
"Of course, it's not that far."
"It's four miles, each way."
She giggles. "No wonder I was so hungry."
I roll my eyes at her. "Come on, I'll drive you home."
When we arrive at the house, Bella thanks me again for lunch and disappears
into her room. She stays in there the rest of the afternoon, only coming out to
eat dinner with Carlisle, Esme and Emmett. I opt to stay in my room, attempting
to lose myself in another book. I usually never eat with the "family" anyway.
It makes it easier on everyone not having to deal with the tension that rolls
off Carlisle and at me in waves. Instead, I usually pick through the leftovers
in the middle of the night.
I can't make myself focus on the words on the page in front of me, my mind
continues to wander back to my conversation with Bella during lunch. How can
she be so accepting of the unfair way her parents rearranged her life as it was
convenient for them? How is she brave enough to leave her family, however
dysfunctional, to pursue a career at only seventeen?
It also didn't escape my thoughts that if I had met someone like her instead of
Jazz, my life might have turned out differently.
I give up on the chapter I'm reading and close the book, noticing the house has
grown quiet. I glance over at my clock. Shit, it's one in the morning, so much
for adjusting my sleep schedule.
I need a shower.
I roll off the bed, pull my shirt over my head and throw it on the floor. I
start to unbutton the fly of my jeans as I head down the hall toward the
bathroom. With my free hand I reach for the door knob but the handle swings
back, out of my grasp before I can touch it.
"SHIT!" Bella screams, her hand flying to cover her heart. "Oh my God, Edward,
you scared the crap out of me!"
I'm just as startled by her sudden appearance and, for a moment, I'm trying to
process what the hell she's doing here. Then my wide eyes rake over her body -
her very, very wet body. Her hair is matted to her head and small beads of
water are dripping down her chest, disappearing under the towel wrapped around
her body. Heat from the bathroom air pours out into the hall, and I'm assaulted
by the smell of her clean, fresh skin. In the back of my mind, I'm a little
disappointed she hasn't used my shampoo again.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I thought you were in bed."
I couldn't help but notice that her eyes trace up and down my bare chest. "Oh…
I, um… I couldn't sleep. I thought… bath… um… a bath would help me relax."
I smirk. Bella is clearly flustered and her cheeks are turning that delicious
shade of pink again. I'm not sure if she's embarrassed by her state of undress
or mine. I can't understand why; she's more covered by that towel than what
most girls wear to school during the warmer months. Granted, those girls are
just vying for attention in their tiny skirts and tight shirts. And on some
level it works. But, compared to Bella, those girls seem insignificant, petty
and trivial.
"Well… I ah…" Bella starts again. I realize while I'm openly ogling her exposed
flesh, I'm also blocking the path to her room – her escape from what she must
perceive as an uncomfortable situation.
"Oh, right." I step aside and she slips past me, her glorious scent wafting off
her wet skin as she tiptoes toward her room.
I can't help myself. "Bella?" I call, and she turns toward me, one hand on her
doorknob. I make no effort to disguise that I am, once again, gawking at her
scantily clad body. I smirk at her. "Good night." I duck into the bathroom.
I take a long, cold shower.
***** Chapter 3 *****
EPOV
Monday starts out uneventful. Yet again, I sleep later than I should. I drag my
lazy ass downstairs around one o'clock in the afternoon and find a note from
Esme on the kitchen counter.
Edward,
Your father and I are taking Bella to her orientation today. Your brother is
with Rose.
We will be gone all day and likely have dinner in the city. Call my cell if you
would like to join us.
Love,
Mom
Normally, I would throw the note in the trash without a second thought and head
to Jazz's house for the night. But dinner in the city - with Bella - sounds
like an intriguing idea. She isn't like anyone I have met before. She
fascinates me. I still have so many questions about her past, her family, and
her positive outlook on life. Maybe tonight is a good opportunity to get to
know her a little better.
Wait, what am I thinking? Carlisle will be there.
I sigh, frustrated, and rub my hands over my face and into my hair. It will
probably irritate him to no end if I show up.
I start to weigh my options. Is it worth aggravating Carlisle just to spend
more time with Bella? Surely he and I can be civil to each other for one night,
can't we? I mean, he won't start an argument with me in a crowded restaurant,
but sitting at the same table with him will still be awkward. Maybe I can just
ignore him, and focus on being polite and friendly to Bella.
I begin to form a plan.
If Carlisle sees I'm playing nice with the good girl next door, maybe I can
score some points with the doctor. Perhaps Bella and I can even be friends.
Certainly Carlisle will like that – me spending time with someone like Bella.
He detests Jasper. Maybe befriending somebody who is Jazz's polar opposite will
help level the playing field. Besides, I wouldn't mind spending more time with
Bella. Furthermore, if a person like Bella thinks I'm worthy of their
friendship, maybe Carlisle will see I'm not all bad.
Virtuous by association.
The whole situation might actually work to my benefit.
I pull my phone from my pocket and send Esme a quick text.
BPOV
Thank God that's over.
I spent the better part of the morning filling out page after page of new
student paperwork. There were medical waivers, non-disclosure agreements,
contracts, releases - on and on for hours. Then, I had an hour long meeting
with the Director of Education outlining the state's academic requirements to
graduate. Basically, I would spend four hours a day in the classroom fulfilling
my scholastic requirements, and the remaining four hours in the dance studio.
In my experience, studio classes always run over. So that meant eight to nine
hours a day I would be at the school with any homework or independent dance
practice to be done after that.
Yup, there goes my social life.
Yeah, right. What social life?
After my class schedule and textbooks were finally straightened out, I met with
Victoria to discuss the requirements for my studio classes. Luckily, she
doesn't adhere to a strict dress code for dance class, so my old workout
clothes from Phoenix should be alright for this year. Unfortunately, I will
have to purchase new Bloch lyrical dance shoes before Wednesday.
As soon as we finished at the school, Esme and Carlisle took me straight to the
nearest dancewear store. I was only planning on purchasing the shoes, but Esme
insisted on buying me an entire new dance wardrobe. I tried to politely refuse,
saying they had done enough for me already, but when Esme turned the full force
of her mother's guilt on me - something about never having a daughter of her
own to dress up - I caved.
Next stop was to pick up the loaner car Charlie arranged for me. It's nothing
fancy, a small two-door, navy blue Honda Civic. I wasn't surprised to find a
state-of-the-art GPS system, twenty-four hour road side assistance, a full size
spare tire, and a set of snow-chains were already included. Typical Charlie,
still worried about his little girl in the big city. Actually, it was kind of
sweet.
Three hours, one new car, and four massive shopping bags later, we are finally
on our way to dinner.
"Cullen. Party of four," Carlisle informs the hostess as we enter the
restaurant.
She plasters a fake smile on her face. "Yes, Mr. Cullen. I believe the rest of
your party has already arrived."
"Four?" I look at Esme, confused.
"Yes, dear. Edward has decided to join us for dinner."
Edward!
Oh God, this is embarrassing.
Not only did he see me half-naked last night, I'm pretty sure he noticed I
could barely form a complete sentence while I was gawking at his bare chest.
When I opened the door and saw him standing there, it was hard to believe that
someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that he might disappear in a
sudden puff of smoke. And it was difficult to believe that I hadn't just
imagined the lustful way his eyes had looked. Maybe the whole incident was just
a very convincing dream that I'd confused with reality. That seemed more
probable than that I really appealed to him on any level.
Honestly, Edward has been in the back of my mind all day. I am trying to
reconcile the Edward I met my first night at the Cullens' and the Edward I
spent the afternoon with yesterday. The two don't add up. When he showed up
late for dinner, his curt display when he walked me through the dance studio,
and then again in the bookstore yesterday, I was starting to suspect he'd
prefer to ignore my existence altogether.
"Oh please, Edward is an ass,"Rosalie blurted out. During the first night I had
dinner with the Cullen's Edward hadn't shown up yet, and Emmett was trying to
text him secretly when Esme left the room."You know he's with Jasper, and he
doesn't give a shit about hurting Esme's feelings or being rude to Bella."
It was as if a switch had flipped when I walked out of the bookstore. I was
shocked when he invited me to lunch. I'm sure he saw my dazed expression when
he asked me to join him. For a moment, I thought he was playing some kind of
cruel joke.
At first, I was afraid eating lunch with a complete stranger was going to be
awkward, but I was surprised how easy he was to talk to. The Edward from the
café wasn't the same person I had met the night before or who Rosalie had
described. He was insightful and funny and seemed genuinely interested in
getting to know me. And now he was here, having dinner with me, and Carlisle
and Esme, of course.
I feel my stomach twist at the thought of seeing him again. Not only am I
unsure which Edward will be here tonight – the one that is kind and friendly or
the one who prefers I don't exist – I'm also going to have to sit across the
table from him and act like I didn't see his half-naked body last night. That I
didn't notice the small splattering of blonde hair that covered his chiseled
chest. That I didn't notice the way his hipbones dipped into a "V" just above
the unbuttoned jeans slung low around his hips. That I hadn't fantasized about
running my fingers over his abs as he pushed me back against the door, tearing
off my towel and -
"Here we are," the hostess chimes, ripping me from my vivid daydream.
I glance around, realizing she has led us to a small, round table near the back
of the restaurant. The room is dimly lit with only soft candlelight flickering
from each table. The burgundy carpet and russet wood paneling of the walls
merely add to the darkness. The tables that surround us are filled with people:
couples enjoying romantic dinners, impeccably dressed women gabbing about the
latest town gossip, men in suits and ties, likely business executives, enjoying
a nice meal after a busy day at the office.
I'm instantly grateful I decided to dress up for my meeting with Victoria
today; my deep plum colored dress is great for an evening out. The wrap style
is very flattering, though it's a little low cut in the front, but looks nice
when I dress it up with strappy sandals and jewelry.
I see Edward stand when he hears the hostess announce our approach.
Geez! He looks like a model!
The ratty jeans and t-shirts I'm used to seeing him wear are gone. He's
actually wearing a suit; a dark, navy-blue dress shirt tucked into a pair of
tailored charcoal-gray slacks. His suit jacket is carefully wrapped around the
back of the chair behind him.
My jaw unwillingly falls open at the site of him, and I have to force my mouth
shut.
Damn it, he saw that.
His lips curl into that dangerous, crooked smile, the same smile he gave me
last night when I openly stared at the muscular lines of his bare shoulders as
he leaned against the door and I wanted to – God! Get a grip!
"Edward," Carlisle greets him coldly as he pulls out the chair for Esme to sit.
Edward doesn't respond; he just nods and looks away. There is something going
on with these two, but I can't figure it out. Carlisle is always so hostile
when he addresses Edward. Maybe I can ask Emmett… or Rosalie.
"Hello, Bella." I look away from Carlisle to Edward and notice he has pulled
out the chair next to him for me to sit. I take my seat as he gently glides my
chair toward the table. My imagination must still be running wild. I swear I
can feel his fingers graze my back as he returns to his seat.
The waitress appears, places a basket of bread on the table, and takes our
drink orders. Edward lifts the bread basket and holds it toward me, offering me
the first piece.
"So, Bella," he says as I take a slice of warm bread, "how was orientation?"
I can't look at him. My mind still flashes with images of him outside the
bathroom last night. Instead, I focus on tearing apart the hunk of bread in my
hand.
"Um… it was OK. I mean, a lot of paperwork to fill out. I never want to write
my name again." I roll my eyes and hear Edward quietly chuckle.
So far, so good. He doesn't seem embarrassed about last night.
"And did you get to meet your dance partner… ah… I'm sorry, what was his name
again?"
"Jacob, and no, not 'til tomorrow."
The waitress returns with our drinks and asks if we are ready to order or
entrées. I have been so preoccupied evaluating Edward's behavior that I haven't
even opened my menu. Of course the waitress looks to me first, waiting for my
selection.
"Oh… um…" I stumble, nervously glancing over the calligraphy text on the menu.
What kind of restaurant is this? They don't even have prices on this menu.
I'm about to give up and just order a house salad when I feel something gently
touch my arm. I look down at Edward's fingers as they wrap around my wrist.
Slowly, I lift my eyes to his face. He's leaning toward me with a mischievous
expression. His smoldering green eyes dance in the candlelight.
My breath catches in my throat. I'm drawn to him, as if in a trance, and I lean
into his gaze. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip before he speaks,
and I nearly come undone.
"Do you like mushrooms?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper, as if our
exchange is some great secret.
"Yes," I say softly.
His eyes shift from left to right as he leans in closer. "Do you trust me?"
Although I'm completely confused by this conversation, I can't help but giggle
at his playful expression.
"Yes," I answer again.
Edward straightens up abruptly and addresses the waitress. "She'll have the
mushroom ravioli."
At least, I think that's what he said. My mind is fixated on his hand, still
resting on my forearm. As he continues to speak, ordering his own serving of
ravioli and listening to the catalog of salad dressings available for us to
choose, he begins softly stroking his thumb back and forth against my skin. I
don't think he's even aware he's doing it.
"Bella? Is that alright?"
Hearing my name startles me back into the conversation. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I ordered you the house dressing for your salad. Is that alright?" Edward
repeats.
"Oh… yes, of course. You did pretty well with lunch yesterday, so I trust you.
You do realize you just raised the bar though, right?" I tease, praying his
fingertips can't feel how my pulse is racing beneath my skin.
He chuckles and squeezes my arm gently before releasing it to reach for his
drink. He doesn't seem aware that his touch has left me completely flustered
and unnerved.
I sneak a cautious glance at Carlisle and Esme, wondering what they think about
our friendly exchange. They are both staring at Edward, but with completely
different expressions on their faces. Esme looks at him like any proud mother,
beaming at her well-mannered son, but Carlisle looks - pissed. He's glaring at
Edward as if he is an uninvited stranger at our table. I cringe at his hostile
expression, instantly thankful it's not directed at me.
Carlisle and Esme order their entrees, and the waitress collects our menus and
saunters off toward the kitchen.
Esme unfolds her napkin, gently placing it in her lap, and leans her arms on
the table. "What's this about lunch yesterday?" she inquires, completely
failing in her attempt to sound casual.
"Um… well, Edward and I ran into each other at the bookstore yesterday, and he
treated me to lunch at the café. I took his recommendations on what to order
and, so far, he hasn't let me down." I cast a quick glance at Edward. He's
smiling warmly at me, seemingly unaware of his father's angry stare.
"Well that was nice." Esme continues to beam at him.
For the rest of the evening, the conversation flows freely between Esme, Edward
and myself. Carlisle doesn't speak at all. I try to keep myself from glancing
in his direction, afraid of what I might see, but my curiosity occasionally
overpowers my best intentions and I peek. Without fail, he continues to glower
at his son.
Between Carlisle's hostility and Edward's friendly conversation, I completely
forget my embarrassment over the bathroom incident the night before. That is
until Esme asks if we have enough towels in our bathroom upstairs or if she
needs to get us a few more. I think Edward is going to choke on the sip of
water he has taken from his glass at the exact moment Esme poses her question;
I know my cheeks flush bright red.
The night progresses, and Edward and I slip away into our own conversation,
talking and laughing, almost forgetting Carlisle and Esme are seated at the
same table with us. He asks me a million more questions about my life in
Phoenix, my friends there, my father, my mother and her new husband. In turn, I
grill him about living in Seattle and his school. This time he actually answers
my questions without dodging them as he did yesterday.
I begin to realize we actually have a lot in common. We talk about books we've
read and discover we like many of the same authors. Edward even offers to loan
me some of his favorite novels when I'm "finished crushing on Mr. Darcy." We
have a mutual hatred for reality TV, but are both diehard Lost fanatics –
though I argue my dressing as Kate last Halloween, complete with Dharma
jumpsuit, made me the bigger fan. I had to promise to show him the picture
before he would agree.
Edward is surprised to learn we both like a lot of the same music. He confesses
that all the techno beats he heard coming from my playlist yesterday, he had me
pegged for a Britney Spears, Lady Gaga, Justin Timberlake kinda girl. That led
to a heated fifteen minute discussion about how someone can, in fact, like
those artists and still be a fan of Incubus, The Killers, Modest Mouse and
Franz Ferdinand.
I can tell Edward is very passionate when it comes to music. His eyes sparkle
and his face lights up when we discuss a song or band that he loves. And if I
mention a song he doesn't care for, his arguments are never simply "that song
sucks." They are calculated, intelligent. He says things like, "that song is so
desperate to prove its own authenticity it forgets to be remotely moving."
We had to agree to disagree on that one.
Toward the end of the night, I start to realize just how much I enjoy spending
time with Edward. We have talked and laughed for over two hours. It's as if we
have known each other for years instead of just a few days. I'm starting to
think we can even be friends.
Maybe more.
My stomach flips at the thought. It is no secret to me that I'm attracted to
him. Any girl in their right mind would be. And tonight would have been a
perfect date – if Carlisle hadn't been starring daggers at him, of course. It
was so weird.
We finish dinner, everyone declining desert, and Carlisle pays the check.
Edward and I are still talking as the four of us make our way out of the
restaurant. As we wait for the valet to bring Carlisle's car around, I notice
it must have rained while we were having dinner. The street is now lined with
black puddles, and the air outside is damp and cool. It whips through my hair,
and I'm immediately trying to tame it back, tucking it behind my ears and away
from my face. That only solves the problem for a second; the unrelenting wind
continues to wreak havoc on my long curls.
I catch Edward watching me, and he grins at my plight.
"One of these days I'm gonna chop it all off," I threaten.
"Don't do that." He looks away, as if he's embarrassed. "I like it," he adds
softly. I smile at his compliment.
Before the mass can get any more tangled, I gather my hair together at the base
of my neck and swiftly loop it into a knot. It's only a temporary solution, but
it will contain the disarray on my head until I can get inside again.
"Nice work, MacGyver," he teases. I playfully punch his shoulder.
The valet returns with Carlisle's car. He hops out of the driver's seat and
rushes around the front of the car to open both the front and rear passenger
side doors.
"Bella, would you like to ride home with me?" Edward asks. "I'm sure you've had
enough of the parents and their elevator music for one day."
"No," Carlisle interjects loudly, speaking for the first time all evening. Once
again, I have been so absorbed in Edward that I forgot his parents were with
us, watching our playful exchange. "She has her own car now."
Edward looks down at his feet. "Right, of course."
If I didn't know any better, I would think Edward looks… disappointed.For a
moment, I wonder if it's in reaction to Carlisle's sudden scolding or the
knowledge that I can't ride with him. Regardless, whether I have my own car or
not, it is clear by Carlisle's tone that he doesn't want me anywhere near
Edward. What the hell is going on with these two?
"Actually, Edward, would you mind if I followed you home?" I ask, cautiously
glancing between him and Carlisle. "I'm still a little unsure of my way
around." Remember to hide the stupid GPS.
Edward offers me a kind smile. He must know I'm trying to rescue him from
Carlisle's harsh glare. "Of course that would be fine," he says.
"Thanks, I'm parked over this way." I gesture toward the dark street.
"Well, I guess we'll see you guys at home. You kids be careful!" Esme calls
after us.
Edward places his hand on the small of my back and guides me through the
parking lot, weaving through the shadowy maze of empty cars and rain puddles.
The lighthearted mood from dinner seems to evaporate as we walk. I glance up at
Edward's face, then quickly look away. He appears to be thinking very hard
about something.
I couldn't think of anything except that he was touching me again. He's so
close now that I can sense his presence all over my body. I can smell his musky
cologne, a unique amaretto scent, hard to describe but extremely pleasing. I
can feel his arm brush against my side as he walks, matching my slow pace. I
feel the butterflies multiply in the pit of my stomach.
All too soon we are standing next to my car. I fiddle with my keys for a second
before locating the button on the keychain to unlock the doors automatically.
Edward drops his hand from where it had been resting on my back and opens the
driver's side door for me. When he steps away from me, the loss of contact
sends an unnerving chill through me and I shiver.
"Are you cold?" he asks, concerned.
"No, I'm fine." I hedge, but I shiver again involuntarily. I feel my lips
betray me as they start to tremble, and I bite my bottom lip to hide the
movement. It's really not that cold. I know it's just my nerves getting the
best of me, but hopefully it looks like my teeth are chattering in the chilly
air instead.
"Don't you have a jacket?"
"Yes. I left it in Carlisle's car and -"
Before I can finish speaking Edward is shrugging out of his suit coat and
wrapping it around my shoulders. My eyes flutter closed as the overpowering
flood of his scent washing over me. I open them a second later and find his
face only inches from mine, his hands gripping the lapels of his jacket,
adjusting it to cover me. He's not looking at me; his eyes watch his hands as
they move the jacket on my shoulders. I take the opportunity to study his face.
Does he realize how close he is to me? How intimate this moment is?He seems so
relaxed, as if being near me is a natural, everyday occurrence. As if touching
me is something he does all the time. Just like in the restaurant when he
stroked my arm, he doesn't seem aware that his physical presence makes me
completely ecstatic.
I wish I had the same effect on him.
Oh, who was I kidding? Me: plain, vanilla, innocent, boring Bella. How could
someone like me have any impact on someone like him?
At that moment, the wind whips up again, causing a few strands of my hair to
come loose from the bun at the back of my neck and flutter across my forehead.
Seemingly without thinking, Edward reaches up, brushes the curls from my face
and tucks them behind my ear. Finally, finally,his eyes meet mine.
His movements slow as he realizes the air between us is charged with tension.
He has me trapped between his body and the car, trapped in this moment. His
eyes stay locked with mine as his hand slowly moves from my hair to gently
brush my cheek.
Oh.
My.
God.
He's going to kiss me.
I feel my face flush, and I break his gaze, looking down at his chest.
"I'll… ah… try not to drive too fast," he mumbles. He quickly drops his hands,
turns on his heel and heads to his car.
EPOV
I slam the door. Both fists grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white.
I knock my head into the headrest behind me trying to clear it - or knock some
sense into myself.
What the fuck am I doing?I almost kissed her! I wanted to kiss her! I would
have done it too, if she hadn't looked away. I'm grateful she did. I'm not sure
I would have been able to stop myself at just a kiss. In that moment, with her
in my arms as I wrapped my jacket around her, I wanted nothing more than to
push her back against the car and have my way with her.
This is not part of the plan.
Touching her is not part of the plan.
Kissing her is not part of the plan.
Desiring her is definitely not part of the plan!
Ugh! But I want her; I crave her.
SHIT!
We're just supposed to be friends. It's not like I can bang her and send her on
her way like any of my usual conquests. She lives with us! And let's not forget
she's Carlisle's best friend's only daughter. Send her home crying to daddy and
I can kiss any headway I've made getting back in Carlisle's good graces good-
bye. He made that abundantly clear tonight as he glared at me across the table.
He didn't have to come out and say it; I could see it on his face. He was
enraged. I never expected the fury I saw in his eyes when Bella mentioned we
spent yesterday afternoon together. I thought he would be glad I was making an
effort to welcome her. Wasn't he the one who said she was going to be part of
this family and to treat her with respect and kindness? Granted, she was the
only member of this family I had shown any respect or kindness to, but that
didn't explain his behavior at dinner.
Ugh! Why did she have to come here?
I back my car out of the parking spot and drive slowly out of the lot, glancing
back to make sure Bella is following me. I take a deep breath to calm my
frantic thoughts. I turn off the radio. I need to think, to logically process
what is happening to me.
I went to dinner tonight prepared to play a role, to show Carlisle that I had
changed, that I could be equals to someone like Bella. But somewhere along the
way, I got lost. She was just so easy to talk to, and we have so much in
common. I feel so comfortable around her, like I had known her for years, like
we truly are friends.
Then I caught Carlisle glaring at me, and I remembered my purpose for showing
up tonight. I thought for sure that Carlisle's anger would dissipate as the
night went on, but it never did. Actually, it seemed to increase.
Damn it! My entire plan has completely backfired. Not only is Carlisle
infuriated by my attempts to befriend Bella, but now I am longing to be near
her, to be with her. There is something there, something more, something about
her that I can't put my finger on.
Maybe that's it. I can't put a finger on her. She's forbidden fruit and thereby
the most appealing.
I have to put her out of my head. I have to concentrate on the task at hand.
The last thing I need is another reason for Carlisle to despise me, and his
obvious disapproval of my friendship with Bella would be just that. I have to
keep my distance and keep my guard up. It's only one year. One year, and then
she'll be gone. I can tolerate it for one year, and then it will be like she
never existed. I will just stay away from her. I have to.
I take a deep breath as I park in front of the house. I make no move to help
Bella out of her car, firm in my resolve to keep my distance. I walk to the
front door and fumble with my keys in the lock. I hear Bella come up behind me,
but I ignore her, pushing the door open as I walk into the dark house before
her.
I hear Bella close and lock the front door, but I don't wait for her as I
quietly creep up the stairs to our rooms. I reach the door to my bedroom but
before I turn the knob I hesitate and look back over my shoulder. She's
watching me from her doorway, hugging my jacket tightly around her body. She
looks – sad.
Did it hurt her to watch me leave as much as it hurt me to let her go?
No, I can't think that way. I have to hold my ground if I'm ever going to have
any peace with Carlisle.
"Good night, Edward," she whispers softly.
"Good night, Bella."
Good bye, Bella.
I enter my room, leaving her standing alone in the dark hallway, and close the
door behind me.
Bella is gone when I wake up the next morning. It's probably better that she's
not here. It gives me more time to clear my head and attempt to forget about
last night. I try to read, but my mind wanders back to the afternoon in the
bookstore. I listen to music, but my iPod keeps shuffling to her favorite
bands. I pace around the house, but I can't stop myself from glancing in her
room every time I pass the open door.
Ugh, this is not working! I can't get her out of my head.
I decide to call Jazz, hoping he can distract me, and we end up back at the
music store for the rest of the afternoon. Turns out his pixie shop girl has a
name, Alice.
By six o'clock I've had enough of their blatant flirting and decide to head
back home. I pull in the driveway and immediately notice that Bella's car is
missing. Has she been gone all day? Where is she?
You don't care, remember?
I make my way inside and to their surprise, join Esme, Carlisle and Emmett at
the dinner table.
"Where's Bella?" Emmett asks as Esme sets the table. The space in front of
Bella's chair is empty.
"Oh, she called a little while ago. She's rehearsing with Jacob and won't be
home until much later."
Carlisle looks pointedly at me. "You two sure seem to be hitting it off."
Shit, this is all I need right now. "Yeah, I guess. Just treating her like
family." I wince, instantly regretting throwing his words back in his face.
"Edward." Carlisle's tone is serious. "Bella is a nice girl. She's worked very
hard to get where she is today. She has a promising career ahead of her. I
don't think it would be a good idea if you were to –"
"You don't have anything to worry about." I cut him off before he can finish
his rant.
We eat the rest of dinner in silence and afterward I retreat to my room.
Carlisle's warning confirms my suspicion from the night before. I need to
control whatever this is I'm feeling for Bella or it will surely destroy my
attempt to get back in his good graces. He's right; she has a life, she has a
future, she has goals and dreams and is working to fulfill them. She is
dedicated and driven, and what am I? What do I have to offer her anyway?
I should leave her to her future. It's the right thing to do. I shouldn't be
using her like some pawn in this game I seem to be playing with Carlisle. It's
going to be difficult. I can feel it in the heavy reluctance that's already
making me think of excuses to change my mind, but I would do the right thing.
Several hours later, I head to the kitchen for a drink. Everyone went to bed
hours ago, and the house is dark and eerily quiet. I pull a bottle of water
from the fridge and suck down half of it as I pace around the kitchen. I'm not
really hungry, but I open the pantry and begin rummaging for a snack.
A flood of headlights sweeps across the room as a car pulls up in front of the
house. I glance at the clock on the wall. It's a quarter to one. Who the hell
would be coming over at this hour?
I listen as soft footsteps make their way up the front porch, keys jingle in
the lock and - giggling?
Bella.
She must just be getting home. What was she doing out so late? I chuckle at the
thought – just a few days ago I laughed at Bella practically asking Carlisle
for a curfew. Now here I am, the poster boy for skipping curfews, wondering why
she's just getting home.
I hear the door open and softly close again. The wood floors creek under her
quiet footsteps as she crosses the living room.
I realize, a second too late, that she'll see me as soon as she turns the
corner. Moreover, I likely won't escape the encounter without her trying to
talk to me. I know with us living in the same house I won't be able to avoid
her completely. But now, I'm wishing I had more time to prepare before seeing
her again. I take a deep breath and steel myself. Stick to the plan, stick to
the plan, I chant in my head.
"Yes, yes. OK, I'm home now… Yes. I'm inside… No. No! Jacob!" She laughs. "Stop
it!"
I can only make out one side of her conversation, but she's obviously on her
phone with him. Didn't she just spend the entire day with him? What could they
possibly still have to talk about?
I hear more giggling. "Yes, I locked the door… Yes… OK… Yes, geez you're worse
than my mom!"
Bella finally rounds the corner but she doesn't notice me as she listens to
Jacob prattle away in her ear. A large, black duffle bag hangs from her
shoulder and she lets it fall to the floor with a dull thud. She's still
dressed for dance rehearsal. Her hair is swept back in a ponytail at the base
of her head, exposing every line of her slender neck. Even in her black
leggings and oversized sweatshirt she looks just as beautiful as she did last
night.
I watch as her face lights up and she laughs again at something he says in her
ear.
Stick to the plan.
Not wanting to startle her, I clear my throat to alert her to my presence, and
she finally looks up. Her expression turns serious; all hints of her flirty
tone from seconds before disappear.
"OK, I'll see you tomorrow… Uh, huh… OK… Good night, Jake." She shuts her phone
with a click.
"Hello, Edward."
"Bella," I respond curtly.
For a fraction of a second her body tenses. She definitely caught my harsh
tone. She walks past me to the refrigerator and removes a bottle of water for
herself.
"How was your day?" she asks as she turns back to me.
"Fine."
She takes a sip from her water bottle and waits for me to expound on our
conversation. Nope, not gonna happen.
"Well… Good night, Edward."
I watch as she walks out of the kitchen, climbs the stairs and disappears into
her room. I let out a deep breath and run my hands through my hair. My eyes
fall on her untouched dinner, still waiting for her in plastic containers on
the counter.
I wonder if he took her out to eat.
If he asked her about her life, her friends, her family back home.
If he is better for her than I am.
If he had the balls to kiss her.
I effectively ignore Bella for the rest of the week, crafting my schedule
carefully around hers so that our contact in the house is minimal. She normally
leaves for school before I even wake up, so that part is easy. It's the
evenings, when she is home, that are the challenge. I'm able to avoid dinner
time without raising much suspicion. That's typically my routine anyway. I just
have to be careful not to wander downstairs when she and Emmet are watching TV
and wait until she goes to bed before taking my shower.
I'm not able to avoid her completely, of course. We do live within mere feet of
each other. I sometimes run into her in the kitchen late at night or coming out
of her studio as I returned to my room. She tried to speak to me a few times at
first, asking about my day, if the volume of her music was too loud, if I knew
where Emmett was. But I would never look her in the eye when I delivered the
shortest possible answers I could muster.
Now, one week later, she has completely given up trying to engage me.
Finally, it's Friday night, and Jazz and I are going out. Alice and her friends
are hitting a new club downtown to go dancing, and Jazz needs a wingman. A
dance club isn't somewhere we usually hang out, in fact, it's the exact
opposite. But I need to get out of this house and after a week of avoiding
Bella, I'm grateful for any distraction.
It's getting late and I need to take a shower before heading to his house to
pick him up. I walk to the open bathroom door, stripping off my shirt as I pass
through, and freeze.
Bella is sitting on the counter, her legs balancing over the sink as she
gingerly coats her toenails with deep red polish. Her seated position causes
the short, white, silk bathrobe she's wearing to gather up, exposing the very
top of her thigh. Her hair is twisted up like a turban in a large, green towel
piled on top of her head.
She looks up as I enter the room. I wait, expecting her to blush and stammer
nervously, just as she did the last time she saw me without my shirt. But she
doesn't; she just looks… annoyed. She focuses on her brush again and continues
applying the paint to her toes.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I- I didn't think you were in here. I, ah, just need the
shower." Apparently it's my turn to stumble nervously over my words.
Bella doesn't even look at me when I speak. She replaces the top on her polish
and hops down from the counter with a huff. She opens her drawer, tosses the
bottle inside, and slams it shut again. She stomps toward me as she pulls the
towel from around her head, causing her wet hair to topple down around her
shoulders. As she passes me in the doorway, she shoves the damp towel into my
chest without a word, crosses the hall, and slams the door to her room behind
her.
I let out a frustrated sigh. This is going to be a long year.
Forty minutes later, I'm showered, dressed and pulling up to the club with Jazz
in the passenger seat. We make our way to the door and present our IDs to the
bouncer.
"Hey, Peter," a familiar voice calls out. "Those two are with me!" We turn to
see Alice standing behind the velvet rope. She's surrounded by three girls, her
friends I assume.
"Yeah, you got it, Al," Peter yells back and slaps a paper bracelet on each of
our wrists. The bracelets mean Jazz and I can drink.
This night just got a lot more interesting.
We bypass Peter, and Jazz rushes to Alice's side. "Thanks, babe." He wraps his
arm around her waist and kisses her cheek.
"Hello, Edward," Alice greets me. "It's nice to see you again."
"Hey, Alice," I respond.
"Edward, I have someone I'd like you to meet." Alice reaches across the circle
of girls standing around her and plucks one from the group. "This is Kate.
Kate, this is Edward."
I try not to groan out loud as I plaster what I hope is a kind expression on my
face. I'm not in the mood for this right now, but that's not Kate's fault.
"Hello, Kate. It's nice to meet you."
She giggles. "Hi."
She's pretty I suppose. Too much makeup though, and her hair is the wrong color
-too blonde. Lately, I prefer brunettes.
Alice elbows me in the side. "Why don't you put that bracelet I got you to good
use and buy Kate a drink."
"Ooooh!" Kate bounces in her place, clapping her hands like an excited child.
"I hope they have skinny girl 'ritas! They are soooo yummy."
I shoot Jazz a menacing glare. He's gonna pay for this one and judging by the
smirk on his face, he knows it.
We make our way inside. The club is dark except for the strobe lights and
rainbow colored lasers crisscrossing the dance floor. The music is loud,
pounding from large speakers mounted to the ceiling, and echoing all around us.
There is a DJ booth in the front raised up on the stage overlooking the mass of
bodies on the dance floor. Behind us, a long mahogany bar wraps around the back
wall.
I head straight to the bar and have to scream over the noise to order our
drinks. Unfortunately for Kate, she has to settle for a full calorie margarita.
The girls grab their drinks and head straight for the dance floor, dancing in a
circle with each other. Jazz and I find a high-top table in the back and spend
the next hour getting sufficiently buzzed.
We finish another round just as the tempo of the music changes. A love song
begins and couples start to partner up, swaying in time with the slow beat. I
know what's coming before I even see Alice and Kate emerge from the crowd.
"Come dance with us," Alice commands as she wraps her arms around Jazz's
shoulders. "Please?"
"Yeah," Kate slurs, "come on, dance with me."
She grabs my arm and attempts to pull me from my seat. Reluctantly, I stand and
allow her to drag me to the dance floor. Alice has already wrapped herself
around Jazz, holding him close as they rock from side to side.
Kate stops abruptly and turns to face me, throwing her arms around my neck and
resting her head against my chest.
"You're cute," she mumbles against my shirt.
I roll my eyes and stare off toward the sea of bodies gathered around us. In
the past, I would have been mildly interested in a girl like Kate. She's an
easy conquest. I would have had my fun with her tonight, promising to call when
I was done with her, but deleting her number the second I was out of sight.
That was my usual routine.
But now, my usual routine doesn't interest me anymore.
Over the course of the night, my mind has repeatedly wandered to thoughts of
Bella. At first, I try not to think about her, but the more I drink, the harder
it is to remember why I need to push her away. Even now, as I dance with this
stranger in my arm, I wonder what she's doing.
I watch as the spotlight sweeps across the dance floor, illuminating the area
as it passes by. The flash of a bright blue dress briefly catches my attention.
I stare across the dance floor at the girl staring back at me, her warm,
chocolate-brown eyes boring into mine.
The eyes I have been avoiding all week.
The eyes I have been missing.
She doesn't look away, even as her partner slowly turns them, she keeps her
eyes connected with mine. As our silent exchange continues, the rest of the
world melts away. Just she and I stand, locked in this moment in the darkness.
The desire to go to her is more powerful than any emotion I have ever
experienced. It takes every ounce of strength I can muster to keep my feet
planted in this spot.
I know I should look away, put back the wall that I have so carefully crafted
all week, but I can't. Here in the darkness, in this moment, my defenses are
down. I want so badly to know what she's thinking. Her face is usually an open
book to me, her emotions playing out in her eyes and the flush of her cheeks.
But right now, across this distance, I can't interpret her reaction to seeing
me.
She lays her head against her dance partner's shoulder and he wraps his arms
around her tightly. He hugs her to his chest, resting his cheek against her
head, and strokes her hair. Even in their intimate embrace, Bella never looks
away from me and never lifts the mask she has so carefully put in place to
guard her emotions.
The song comes to an end and so does our fleeting moment. I watch as Bella's
partner slowly releases her, sliding his hand down her arm and intertwining his
fingers with hers. He whispers something in her ear and she closes her eyes,
nodding her agreement to whatever question he asks of her. He tugs her gently
into the crowd and just as she is about to disappear out of my sight, she
glances back at me.
I see it then. For that brief second, she lets the mask slip. A heartbreaking
sadness washes over her face and slams into me like a tidal wave.
Another song starts; a thumping techno beat.
"WOOO! This is my song!" Kate cries out, releasing the death grip she has on my
neck and throwing her arms up in the air. "Hey! Where are you going?"
"I'll be..." I mumble to the girl behind me and rush in the direction Bella has
just disappeared. The crowd thins as I move further away from the dance floor,
frantically looking around for her in every direction. I get more and more
anxious as the minutes pass and I can't find her. I start to head to the exit,
pushing and shoving my way through the crowd until I burst through the steel
doors and into the cold night air.
An engine roars to life in the distance, grabbing my attention. I whip my head
around to see Bella throw her leg over the back of his motorcycle, wrap her
arms around his waist and disappear down the dark street.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
BPOV
I had planned to confront him, ask him what his problem was, but he just
disappeared. During the week after our "dinner date" with his parents, I hardly
saw Edward at all.
At first, I tried to make polite conversation with him. I asked about his day
when I ran into him in the kitchen Tuesday night. On Wednesday afternoon, when
I happened upon him in the hallway outside my studio, I apologized for my music
being too loud. I knew it wasn't, but I was setting him up, trying to get him
to talk to me. I waited for him to tell me the music wasn't disturbing him like
he did the last time, but he just mumbled "its fine" under his breath and
walked off. He didn't even look at me.
I couldn't figure out what I had done to make him so upset with me. Ever since
that moment – that moment -in the parking lot he had been completely ignoring
my existence. I kept replaying that entire night in my mind, trying to find any
clues as to what went wrong.
Was it because I didn't kiss him? Surely that wasn't it. He couldn't be that
shallow - could he? No, that's ridiculous. What were we, like, twelve years
old? Running off to pout when we didn't get our way? I had laughed to myself at
the mental image that thought conjured up: a twelve year old Edward stomping
his foot and rushing to tattle to his mommy that his girlfriend wouldn't play
kissy-face with him.
Girlfriend?
That thought wiped the smirk right off my face.
Maybe Rose was right; he's just an ass.
I hated to admit it to myself, but his disregard hurt. I wanted the Edward back
that I had spent the afternoon with at the café. The one I had spent the
evening with at the restaurant. The one who laughed at my lame stories, asked
me about my family, opened up about his life, and looked at me like – like he
cared. I knew we hadn't spent that much time together, but I missed that
Edward.
I liked that Edward – a lot.
Slowly, as the hurt subsided, I started to get angry. Who the hell did he think
he was? I didn't have to put up with this. He's just the guy I had to share the
second floor bathroom with. If he didn't want to be friends, then that was just
fine with me.
So, by the end of the week when I ran into Edward in the kitchen, or the hall,
I didn't even try to talk to him. There was no point; he wasn't going to give
me the time-of-day, anyway.
Two can play that game, buddy.
Not that I've had time for friends right now, anyway. Jake and I have been
rehearsing an extra three to four hours a night, every night. He got a tip on
an open audition for a music video being filmed in Seattle in three weeks.
They're looking for a principle female dancer, a lead solo, and if I land this
job it would be huge for my career. Not to mention the job pays big money.
The choreography has been challenging with lots of high kicks, double and
triple turns, splits and standing leg lifts. The cherry on top was when we
learned the costume I will be dancing in consists of six inch 'hooker heels'. I
just know I'm gonna break my neck!
I was starting to feel like I'm training for a marathon instead of a dance
audition, especially when Jake decided to add a two mile run, three times a
week, to our workout schedule. So, after studio class let out, Jake and I would
run and work on the audition routine for a few hours and then finish up with 30
minutes of yoga stretches. Needless to say, I would collapse in my bed
completely exhausted every night.
Jake was quickly becoming a great friend, my best friend, and truly has my best
interests at heart. He is right; this job would be huge for my career, and I
wouldn't have a chance at landing the audition if he wasn't training me. He
really believes I'm something special, that I have a true gift. It was nice to
hear someone say that - other than my dad.
Deep inside, I couldn't shake the thought that I wished someone else thought I
was special.
Jake and I worked so hard all week, logging an additional fifteen hours of
rehearsal in four days, so I was thrilled when he decided to cancel our Friday
night practice. Instead, we were going out to have some fun. Jake seemed to
know exactly what I needed. He was treating me to dinner, my reward for a great
week of rehearsals, and then taking me to a new nightclub downtown.
It was nice to get dressed up. The loose fabric of my blue, crinkled-silk dress
was a welcome contrast to the tight leggings and tank tops I had been living in
for the past week. I even fixed my hair for the first time since this weekend,
wearing it down and adding some extra styling products to turn the waves into
thick spiral curls. Jake had never seen my hair out of the buns and ponytails I
wore for dance class, and over the course of the night he would find reason to
run his hands through it. I teased him that he should transfer to cosmetology
school instead of becoming a professional dancer.
We had dinner at Elliott's Oyster House. The restaurant was very touristy and
the decor a little generic, but the food was amazing. I had salmon while Jake
slurped down two full orders of raw oysters. When he learned I had never eaten
oysters before, he tried to get me to taste one. No way in hell was I gonna put
that slimy thing in my mouth.
After dinner, we walked along the pier, talking about school and our families
and nothing particularly important. When Jake asked me about my home in
Phoenix, my mind flashed to the similar conversation I had with Edward the
weekend before. Jake must have mistaken the sudden shift in my mood for
homesickness, and he took my hand in his and quickly changed the subject. We
continued that way, walking hand in hand along the pier and talking for another
hour before we decided to make our way to the nightclub.
The club was apparently the new "hot spot" downtown, and the dark room was
filled to capacity with people. Jake's friend was a bartender there, and he
continued to slip us free cocktails all night.
Even on our night off from dancing, we couldn't stay away from the dance floor.
We danced the night away only leaving the floor to refill our free drinks. We
hooked up with a group of girls, their dates refusing to leave the comfort of
their bar stools, and Jake took turns dancing with each them. It was the most
fun I had had in a long time.
Then the tempo changed and a slow song replaced the grinding techno music. Jake
announced the love songs were only for "my girl" and swept me up in his arms to
the collective "awwwws" and "that's so sweet" from the girls around us. That's
when the blonde announced she was going to get her date so they could dance
together. My stomach dropped to my feet when she returned, pulling Edward along
behind her.
I couldn't tear my eyes off of him. I watched in horror as he wrapped her in
his arm and she buried her face into the crook of his neck. I'm glad he didn't
see me at first, my expression likely betraying the emotions I tried so hard to
keep repressed all week. Luckily, when his eyes found mine, the mask was firmly
back in place.
He hadn't so much as glanced in my direction all week, yet there on the dance
floor he continued to stare. I thought for sure he would look away once he
realized it was me, but he didn't. We seemed to be locked in that moment with
his eyes boring into my soul. I felt as if he was silently trying to convey
something to me with his stare, but I knew that was only wishful thinking - and
the alcohol. Jake must have sensed my tension because as soon as the song ended
he whisked me out of the bar and back to the comfort of home.
Jake picked me up again this afternoon so we could rehearse for a few hours. We
wanted to spend more time perfecting the beginning of the audition routine, but
our practice had to be cut short.
Esme is cooking a big family dinner tonight and everyone is required to attend.
She's leaving for three weeks to promote her new book and wants to see all her
"kids" before she leaves. She invited Jacob too and suggested we could rehearse
at the house after dinner, but he declined, saying he should spend some time
with his dad if we had the night off. I have a feeling he's going to force us
to make up all the rehearsal time we missed, and I cringe at the thought.
Jake and I run through the choreography three or four times before we have to
stop so I can get ready for dinner. I jump in the shower and quickly wash my
hair. I have just enough time to throw on a tiny bit of makeup, some jeans, and
one of Charlie's old dress shirts before I start to hear people gathering
downstairs. I guess my damp hair will have to do.
I pad down the stairs in my bare feet while rolling the long sleeves of
Charlie's shirt up to my elbows.
"Hey, Bells," Emmett calls out as I reach the bottom step. "Nice to see you own
something that's not made of spandex."
I approach the table and take the empty seat next to Edward. He doesn't even
bother to look up and acknowledge my presence.
"Hey, Emmett, what does it say about you that you know so much about spandex?"
I tease.
I love Emmett. He's the big brother I always wanted. Since moving in with the
Cullens, I probably spend more time with him than any other member of the
family. We eat breakfast together most mornings, and Thursday night Must See
TVis quickly becoming our weekly ritual. Some afternoons he runs with me and
Jake. He even put together a weight lifting routine for me, inviting me to use
any of his equipment. I still haven't found the time to work it into my
schedule. That's my excuse anyway.
And just like any brother and sister, we childishly and relentlessly tease each
other.
"Hey, Bells, ever heard of women's clothing?" he snickers, taking in my
oversized shirt obviously made for a man.
"Hey, Emmett, ever heard that steroids are bad for you?"
"Hey, Bells, ever heard of a hair dryer?"
"Hey, Emmett, ever heard of… of… dang!" I hang my head in mock shame. "I got
nothing," I mumble. I know what's coming next.
"YYYEEEESSSSSS!" he celebrates. "That's one for Emmett and zip for Bella!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Edward smirk. The anger I thought I
successfully repressed rages inside me.
I wanna slap that smirk right off his face.
I can't help myself, and I twist in my chair to face him.
"Hey, Edward." His head snaps toward me, likely shocked I'm addressing him
after all this time. He looks almost fearful at what I'm about to say. "Ever
heard of -"
"Dinner's ready!" Esme interrupts, carrying a large casserole from the kitchen
and placing it in the center of the table. "I hope you guys are hungry. I
cooked enough so there will be plenty of leftovers. You know, with me being
gone and Carlisle working nights, you'll have to feed yourselves."
"Ah, Mom!" Emmett whines like a child. "You can't abandon me! I'll starve."
Their conversation goes on, everyone completely oblivious to the heated staring
match between Edward and me. He's looking intently at me, and I'm glaring right
back at him. I'm sure he can't miss the anger in my eyes.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, bud.
"Emmett," Esme says. "I'm sure you are more than capable of taking care of
yourself. If not, Rose knows how to feed you. And maybe, if you quit picking on
Bella, she'll take pity on you. I hear she makes a mean lasagna."
The mention of my name shocks me back into the conversation. I look away from
Edward, but I can still feel his eyes piercing me as I turn back to Emmett.
"Um… sure. I mean, we'll see. My car is getting a bit dirty. I might be too
busy washing it to cook… unless there was someone here who could wash it for
me." I shrug, trying to reign in my irritation at Edward and keep my tone
casual.
Esme giggles and goes back into the kitchen to fetch another dish.
Emmett rolls his eyes. "Oh, I see how it's gonna be," he says in a fake,
exasperated tone. Then he winks at me.
I should be rejoicing in my victory; I'm totally getting my car washed.
Instead, I look down at my hands now folded in my lap. I can still feel Edward
starting at me, but my resolve from a few moments before is now gone. I'm
starting to regret drawing attention to myself.
I fiddle with the hem of my shirt for a moment before I shyly glance up at him.
I expect him to be angry, maybe even snap at me for having the nerve to speak
to him, but the emotion I see when I look into his glorious, green eyes is not
at all what I'm expecting. He looks – hurt, sad, regretful even.
I draw in a sharp breath and open my mouth to apologize, for what I'm not sure.
In that same instant, he looks away, effectively closing himself off from me -
again.
He doesn't utter a word during dinner.
EPOV
If a picture is worth a thousand words, then the look in Bella's eyes is worth
a novel.
She's angry – beyond angry. Whatever emotions I thought I saw from across the
dance floor last night are long gone. Rage, fury and hate have taken their
place. She opens her mouth to speak to me again, but I look away before she can
say anything. I can't bring myself to look at her again for the rest of dinner.
I can't look at what I've done.
She despises me.
I thought shutting her out would be easy, and my infatuation with her would
have lessened by now. But when I chased after her last night, I realized my
desire for her has not diminished in the least. Honestly, it has grown
immensely over the past week. My thoughts are consumed with her; where she is,
what she's doing, all under the pretense of keeping my distance from her.
The one thing I never considered: her reaction. I just assumed she wouldn't
care, maybe she wouldn't even notice, but clearly I was wrong. My actions over
the last week were obviously upsetting her. It's one thing that I'm making
myself miserable, but to see her so unhappy is something I don't think I can
endure.
I hurt her, and now she wants nothing to do with me.
Congrats, idiot. Mission accomplished.
I excuse myself from the table as soon as it's polite to do so. I thank Esme
for dinner, wish her a safe trip tomorrow, and seclude myself back in the
shelter of my room. I throw myself down on my bed with a groan and furiously
rub my eyes with the heel of my hands, trying to wipe her look of resentment
from mind.
My plan, my stupid plan, has once again jumped up to bite me in the ass. I
start ticking off a mental list of my epic failure.
First, I manage to royally fuck up my life and piss off my adoptive parents. My
mother forgives me, but my father hates my guts. So what do I do? I drag an
innocent girl into some sick, twisted game with him to try and win him over.
And when that doesn't work, I drop the girl like she is yesterday's trash. Oh,
and let's not forget – this girl is probably the kindest, most compassionate,
most amazing person I have ever met. And now she can't stand me either.
Awesome.
I roll off the bed and start pacing back and forth, my hands tugging at my
hair. I'm so angry at myself I can scream. Instead, I grab the first thing I
see, a book on my night stand, and throw it across the room with all the force
I can muster. It slams into the far wall with a thud and tumbles to the floor.
I chuckle humorlessly as I realize how quickly my priorities have changed. It
seems like ages ago that my focus was solely on gaining Carlisle's forgiveness.
Now his hatred seems insignificant, stupid even. Carlisle's resentment is the
furthest thing from my mind. The idea of trying to win back his approval has
taken a backseat to regaining Bella's friendship.
I scoff. Friendship. I'm not delusional enough to think that I just want to be
friends with her. I want more than her friendship. But after the look she gave
me tonight, even gaining her friendship is going to be a long shot.
God, I'm such an asshole.I've gotten exactly what I deserve. As I continue to
pace, the anger and rage build inside me with every pass. I'm desperate to find
an escape from this fury.
I grab my iPod from the dresser, shove the ear buds into my ears and crank the
volume as loud as it will go. The song blares in my head, but I hear nothing.
Back and forth, I continue to pace. With each pass, the room seems to gets
smaller. I have to get out of here.
I toss my headphones on the center of my bed and walk through the balcony doors
into the cool night air. I stagger to the railing, grasp it with both hands,
and lean against it like it is my lifeline. I take several deep breaths,
filling my lungs in an attempt to clear my panic. I stare into the distance and
try to think of some way to make the future bearable. Hurting her anymore is
not bearable, and clearly my actions are doing just that.
I'm startled as the air is filled with loud, powerful music. It sounds as if
the source is right here on the balcony with me. I turn back to the house and
notice all the doors of Bella's studio are wide open, the gauzy curtains
floating in the night breeze.
I'm drawn to the open doors as if in a trance, my feet moving forward toward
the sounds coming from inside the room. I duck behind the first open door,
shielded by the curtains and the dark shadows outside. Bella can't see me, but
I can see her standing next to the stereo, searching her iPod for some song.
She's changed out of her jeans and into black leggings and a black tank top.
Her long hair is pulled back into a tight bun at the back of her neck. A song
starts and she listens for a few seconds then skips to the next. Finally she
stops, finding the song she's looking for, and takes her position in the center
of the room.
The song is slow, menacing, and ominous. Bella begins to dance, and I can't
take my eyes from her.
This is how I show my love
Made it in my mind because
Blame it on my A.D.D., baby
This is how an angel cries
Blame it on my own sick pride
Blame it on my A.D.D., baby
SAIL!
She moves across the floor, her body stretching, reaching, giving life to the
lyrics of the song.
Maybe I should cry for help
Maybe I should kill myself
Blame it on my A.D.D., baby
I've never seen anything like the way she dances. Her movements are graceful
but powerful. Every action is filled with emotion, every step an expression.
Maybe I'm a different breed
Maybe I'm not listening
Blame it on my A.D.D., baby
SAIL!
The song ends, and Bella rises from her final position on the floor, breathing
heavily from the exertion of the last three minutes. I don't move a muscle,
frozen like a statue in the shadows. She walks back to the stereo, selects
another song, and soft music fills the air. I recognize this song in the first
three notes and my heart begins to thump hard in my chest.
Claire du Lune.
My mother loved this song. She played it over and over for me on her piano when
I was a child. The same piano is now covered by a sheet in the corner of this
very room. It was this song that drew me to Mrs. Cope the day I met her. It was
the first song I reconstructed by ear. It's the most powerful reminder of my
mother that I have. And now, Bella is dancing to it.
The coincidence is not lost on me. What are the odds that I'm standing here,
this night, scrutinizing my relationship with Bella, when she decides to play
my mother's favorite song? I roll my eyes and glance up at the sky with a
smirk. OK, Mom, I hear you.
Bella moves across the room to the steel barre, grasps the top rung with her
left hand and extends her right arm in the opposite direction, away from her
body. Her eyes follow the fluid movements of her hand as she bends forward,
almost brushing the tips of her fingers against the floor. She lifts her body
up again, standing straight and tall, her right arm now over her head. She
takes a small breath and bends slightly backward. Her eyes still follow her
hand and her head twists back to look over her shoulder. She repeats the same
movements over and over with small variations in the placements of her feet.
She looks like a typical ballerina, poised and graceful as she stretches and
bends.
Absolutely beautiful.
I know in this moment I don't have the strength to stay away from her any
longer.
~o0o~
Esme left the next morning for her book tour, and Bella spent another long day
at school. She doesn't come home until well after dark. I can hear her and
Emmett eating dinner together in the living room while they laugh at an old
rerun on TV. I stay in my room, still keeping my distance from Bella. But now,
it's not because I need to shut her out, it's because I don't know how to
repair the damage I have already done.
After dinner, Bella spends the rest of the evening practicing in her studio,
just as she did the night before. And like the night before, I watch her from
the balcony. This became our routine every night for the entire week. Bella
would dance and I would observe from my hiding spot on the balcony.
Oh, who was I kidding? I was spying on her like a creepy pervert, but I can't
help it. I'm addicted to her, and this seems like the safest way to get my fix
until I figure out what to do.
Some nights, when the weather is nice, the balcony doors would be open. I can
hear the music clearly, watch her bare feet pad across the floor, and see the
sweat glisten on her skin when she worked on demanding routines. There was only
two nights when the doors are closed, but I still remain at my perch, listening
to the muffled songs and trying to imagine her movements in my mind.
She always surprises me with her musical selections. When she is at the barre,
stretching through a warm up, the music is usually classical or instrumentals.
When she is working on techniques, likely perfecting something she learned at
school that day, the music is more modern or new age. But when she's dancing
for herself, the music changes with her mood.
A few nights the songs are dark and depressed, and I worry something happened
at school to upset her. One night she is irritated and so the music is heavy
metal and louder than she ever played it before. I try not to imagine those
feelings might be directed at me. But the nights when she is happy, the songs
are current pop songs or hip-hop. Those are the best nights. She would start
goofing on the dance floor, mimicking moves she'd likely seen in a music video,
laughing at herself if she'd miss a step. From the shadows, I quietly laugh
along with her.
The days flew by and before I realize it, it is Saturday morning. My last
Saturday before the school year starts. Senior year. How did I get so old?
I let the entire week go by without making any headway in repairing things with
Bella. She gave up trying to talk to me long ago, and I could never seem to
find the right moment to approach her. She is spending long hours at school,
and when she is home, she is either hanging out with Emmett or locked in her
studio. Even if I caught her alone, I don't know what I'm going to say.
Hey, Bella, sorry I've been a total ass the last two weeks. Can we be friends?
Well… you see… I think I like you, a lot. Oh and by the way, I watch you dance
like some kind of pervert through the balcony windows at night. Wanna go out
sometime?
I groan and lug myself out of bed. It's early morning, well, early for me. I
pull on a shirt and my grey sweatpants and head to the kitchen to find some
food. As I pass Bella's bedroom, I notice her light is on and the door is open
a crack.
There's no time like the present.
I take a deep breath and gently knock. No answer.
"Bella?" I call out, pushing the door open a little more. The room is empty,
and the bed is made. She must have gotten up awhile ago - like a normal person
– but she has to be around here somewhere.
I make my way to the kitchen, fix myself a bowl of cereal and settle at the bar
to eat. I riffle through the stack of mail on the counter next to me as I
shovel the cold cereal in my mouth. I pick up the newspaper and mindlessly skim
the headlines.
I'm halfway through the article on the front page when the front door quickly
opens and slams shut. Bella rounds the corner into the kitchen wearing hot pink
sweatpants and a tight, black tank top. Her hair is pulled through the back of
a baseball cap and a light sheen of sweat is glistening on her exposed skin.
Her iPod is strapped to her forearm, and I can hear the loud music in her
headphones from across the room. She's winded, trying to catch her breath,
having obviously exerted herself on her run.
I know she sees me sitting here, but she doesn't bother to acknowledge my
presence. Instead, she walks straight to the refrigerator and pulls out a
bottle of neon blue sports drink. She slams it back, chugging half the bottle
in one gulp. She takes another deep breath and turns toward me. Her eyes meet
mine and she realizes I'm actually looking back at her.
"What?" Her tone is harsh and her voice is loud, compensating for the volume of
the music blaring through her headphones.
"Training for a marathon?" I ask with a smirk.
"Excuse me?" She pulls the ear bud from her right ear. "Did you actually say
something to me?"
I decide to let that one slide. "I asked if you were training for a marathon."
She gives a humorless chuckle and takes another chug from her drink. "Feels
like it sometimes," she mumbles under her breath.
I keep my eyes on hers, hoping she'll expound some more, and shovel another
bite of cereal into my mouth. She rolls her eyes and continues, "Jake says I
got to tone down my fat ass if I want to land this audition."
I laugh. "Jacob doesn't know anything. Your ass isn't fat. Maybe a bit… juicy…
but I wouldn't say fat."
Bella's eyes grow wide, shocked at my assessment. I throw my head back and
laugh at her expression.
"Your pants," I clarify.
Bella twists around and looks toward her backside, the letters J-U-I-C-
Y plastered across her hot pink butt in contrasting white letters.
"Ha, ha," she deadpans. "Very funny."
She strolls past me and takes the stairs two at a time. A minute later I hear
the shower turn on.
Hey, it's a start.
~o0o~
Jazz is determined to make the most of our last day of freedom. We spend
Saturday afternoon roaming around the city, including a stop at his favorite
music store. Alice has gotten tired of waiting on him to ask her on a real date
and she takes matters into her own hands. She informs him that he will be
taking her to dinner tonight when her shift ends, so Jazz drops me back at the
house early.
Fine with me. Maybe I'll get a chance to talk to Bella again - really talk this
time.
"Whose car is that?" Jasper asks as we pull into the driveway. Parked behind
Bella's car is an old, beat up piece of shit.
"I have no idea." I shrug and move to get out of the jeep. "Well, good luck
tonight, man. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Jazz leans toward me. "That doesn't leave a lot of options you man whore."
I laugh and make my way to the porch, bounding up the steps two at a time,
excited about the possibility of talking to Bella again. I can hear the music
pulsing from upstairs before I even open the front door. I make my way inside
and up the stairs to the second floor. Bella's bedroom door is open, but her
room is dark and empty. The studio door is shut, and the loud music is blaring
from behind it. I press my ear to the door and try to make out what's going on
inside. Finally, the song ends, and I can hear two muffled voices – one female,
one male.
Jacob.
I head to my room and close the door as the same song starts up again. The sun
is just beginning to set, so it's too early for me to investigate from the
balcony. I'm left to pace around my room and piece together what's happening
next door from the music and muted voices.
An hour later, it's finally dark enough to venture into the shadows outside. I
quietly make my way to the hiding spot I've been occupying all week, thankful
the balcony doors to the studio are open, granting me an unobstructed view
inside.
My eyes fall to a large, burly guy, almost as big as Emmett, sitting on the
floor in front of the stereo. His short, dark hair and dark complexion remind
me of the Quileute boys from the reservation in the northern part of the state.
I examine him further and realize it's the same guy Bella left the night club
with last weekend. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or bothered by that discovery.
His feet are bare and his muscular arms are wrapped around his knees pulled
tight against his chest. In his hands he holds Bella's iPod tethered to the
stereo by a long white cord. His whole body bounces in time with the beat of
the music until the song abruptly stops in the middle of the chorus.
"Nope. Nope. Do it again," he barks, shaking his head. Bella is standing in the
center of the room facing him, breathing heavily with her hands firmly on her
hips.
The music starts again. Bella waits for her cue then begins to move. She spins
on one leg several times, kicking the other out and throwing her head back
before dropping her body into a tight ball on the floor. She rolls on her side,
throwing her legs in the air as she moves, tucking them under and standing
again. As she steps into her next movement, the music stops again.
"No! No, here… back up." Jacob rises from his seat and joins Bella on the dance
floor. He stands behind her, and they both turn to face the mirror as he places
his huge hands on her hips.
"And… 5… 6… 7… 8…" He continues to count as Bella twirls, his hands balancing
her in place as she repeats the same movements from before.
"Feel the difference?" he asks.
"Yeah, you're right. Let me try again."
He takes a step back, hands on his hips as he watches her from behind. Bella
repeats the turn again, but only at half the speed as before.
"Better. Try again with the music." He returns to his seat by the stereo and
starts the song again. Bella waits for her cue, repeats the steps, and lands
her spin. The smile that spreads across her face tells me she did it perfectly.
"YES! That was it!" Jacob cries over the music. Bella flows through the rest of
her routine without interruption. The song ends, and from the look on her face,
Bella is clearly pleased with her performance. I can't help but smile along
with her.
Jacob gives her a short round of applause as he moves to stand in front of her.
"Babe, that was much better. You had that move down perfect last night. What
happened?"
Babe? Last night?What is he talking about - last night? She was here with me
last night, like she has been every night this week.
Suddenly it hits to me – her late nights away, her time at school, the night
club – she's with him. She's always with him.
"Oh, gee, Jake, I don't know," Bella responds sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
"Could it be that my legs are exhausted after all our late nights?"
I suck in a sharp breath.
"Aw, my poor baby." Jacob's tone is teasing.
He closes the distance between them and snakes his arms around her waist. He
pulls her close to his chest as she wraps her arms around him and nuzzles her
head into his neck. His burly hand begins to stroke her hair as he rocks her
gently from side to side. "I didn't realize you were so out of shape. Maybe we
should add another mile to our run tomorrow morning."
They ran together? Was he with her this morning before I saw her in the
kitchen?
Bella lifts her head, her eyes wide with mock terror. "No, no! Please, Jake.
I'm fine, I promise. No more miles. Please? Please?"
Their banter is playful, but I'm not paying much attention to their
conversation; my eyes are glaring at his arms wrapped around her, holding her
body tight against him.
Jacob appraises her for a moment with a critical eye. "All right, babe. You're
safe… for tomorrow." He cocks his head to the side and taps his cheek twice.
Bella rises up on her toes and plants a gentle kiss on his cheek.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
When I open them again, Jake has let her go and taken several steps back toward
the stereo, "OK! Enough with all this rehearsing. It's Saturday night. It's
time we have a little fun!"
Jacob kneels down in front of a large duffle bag on the floor and unzips the
front pocket. He retrieves his iPod and replaces Bella's so his is now
connected to the stereo. It takes him a few seconds to find the song he's
looking for, but once he does a loud, a pulsing beat fills the room.
Bella recognizes the song and a wicked smile plays at her lips. With one hand,
she reaches behind her head and loosens her ponytail, seductively shaking her
hair so it falls freely down her back. She lifts her hand, and with one finger,
motions for Jacob to come to her as the lyrics begins to fill in the song. He
stalks to her, gripping her hips and firmly pulling her body to his.
Yeah, yeah
Get your ass up and hurra – Uh
Ice Cube baby
Ninety-nine baby
I'm on the grind baby
All the time baby
Show me something
Jacob's hands firmly grip Bella's waist as their hips grind into one another.
Bella intertwines her fingers behind his head and brings his foreheads to hers,
their eyes locked on each others. His right hand moves slowly up her back and
twists in the loose hair at the base of her neck.
You can do it put your back into it
I can do it put your ass into it
You can do it put your back into it
I can do it put your ass into it
Bella spins around and Jacob's hands move back to her waist again. Her back is
pressed against his chest and she rubs against him. He bites his bottom lips as
he looks down at his crotch grinding into her ass.
Put your back into it
Put your ass into it
I can't watch anymore.
I back away from my hiding spot and stumble to my room in a daze. I close the
door, slam my back against it and slide down to sit on the floor. I balance my
elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I try to ignore the vibrations of
the music through the walls and the images my imagination continues to conjure
up as to what might be happening next door.
It's clear their relationship has blossomed into more than just classmates and
dance partners. I should have known it that night at the club by the way he
held her on the dance floor.
I feel sick.
I feel numb.
I'm too late.
She has someone else.
Chapter End Notes
     (music): Awolnation ~ Sail http://www.youtube.com/
     watch?v=gH2efAcmBQM&ob=av2e
     (music): Ice Cube ~ You Can Do It (Uncensored) http://
     www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAkLgdbaytg
***** Chapter 5 *****
BPOV
The next week continues much like the one before with one noticeable
difference, the absence of what Emmett refers to as the "parental units." Esme
left on her book tour, and Carlisle is working the night rotation at the
hospital.
Their absence has little effect on my daily routine, though. I go to school and
studio class. Afterwards, Jake and I go for a run and then practice at the
studio until the janitors kick us out at night to clean. I return to the
Cullen's house well after dark. Sometimes Jake comes home with me, and we
continue with rehearsal. Sometimes he goes home, and I have the night to
myself.
The first night after Esme left, I came home and found Emmett in the kitchen
attempting to cook – something. It might have once resembled an omelet, before
it was burnt to a crisp. I take pity on him and cook us both a huge meal of
eggs, bacon, toast, fruit and hot chocolate. In return for "brinner," Emmett's
term for breakfast for dinner, I got to pick what we watched on TV while we
eat.
That becomes our routine every night. I come home from rehearsal, cook for
Emmett and myself, and we eat together in the living room in front of the TV.
On the nights Jake comes over, he and Emmett watch Sports Center while I make
enough food to feed a small army. I don't mind cooking for them at all. In
fact, I love that I'm able to do something nice for the both of them.
I love my overprotective, big-brother, Emmett. Outside of cooking his dinner, I
never have to lift a finger, open a door, kill a bug, or carry anything over
two pounds in his presence. I also notice my car is unusually spotless, inside
and out, and the gas gauge never dips below the half-way mark before it
miraculously returns to "Full."
And Jake – Jake is my other half. We probably spend more time together than
most married couples do. He seems to know me better than I know myself. He has
this uncanny ability to sense how I'm feeling without me even having to say
anything. He is so selfless, giving his time to help train me, and make me the
best possible dancer I can be.
So the small gesture of cooking dinner each night for my guys is something I
take great pleasure in doing. After dinner, Emmett leaves for Rose's house, and
I head up to my studio, with or without Jake, and rehearse a few more hours.
I never see Edward. Not once. I don't know if he is in the house or not. He and
Emmett started school on Monday, so I figure he has to be leaving his room at
some point. But he never comes down for breakfast or dinner. I never run into
him in the hall upstairs or coming and going from the house. There are small
signs though; a wet towel in the bathroom, an empty cereal bowl in the sink. At
least I know he's alive.
I thought we started to make some progress last weekend. Well, maybe not
progress, but he spoke to me in the kitchen that morning when I came back from
my run with Jake. That was a big change from the silent treatment we had been
giving each other since our dinner date with Esme and Carlisle. I guess that
was just a fluke.
I really try not to think about Edward too much. I need to focus on my audition
next week and not let whatever is going on with Edward get to me. But, as much
as I hate to admit it, he is on my mind constantly. I want to stay angry with
him because, well, it's just easier. But my fury quickly subsides, and I feel
hurt and rejected all over again.
I try to keep my emotions hidden, but I'm sure Jake can sense something is
bothering me. I try to play it off, pretending to be nervous about the upcoming
audition, but he knows there is more to it. Thankfully, he doesn't ask.
On Thursday night, after the cleaning crew kicks us out of the school, Jake
follows me home. We eat dinner with Emmett, and Jake keeps me in the studio
until well after midnight. After five days of non-stop rehearsals, and feeling
depressed and rejected by Edward, I'm emotionally and physically exhausted. So
when I snap at Jake after he said my high kick wasn't high enough, again, we
decide to call it a night.
I soak my aching muscles in a long, hot bath, change into my favorite
sweatpants and t-shirt, and crawl into my bed around one in the morning.
It's hot.
I kick the covers off and try to cool down, my skin still overheated from the
bath. I toss and turn for another few minutes before I give up. There is no way
I can sleep when I'm this warm. I crawl out of bed and stalk to the balcony
doors, open them wide, and let the cool night air flood my room.
I gasp. The view is breathtaking. I have never been on the balcony before. I
take a few slow steps to the railing and lean against it, looking out toward
the twinkling lights of the city. I close my eyes, take a deep, cleansing
breath, and enjoy the feel of the breeze as it chills my overheated body.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
I jump, covering my mouth to stifle the scream threatening to escape. I twist
my body in the direction of the voice. In the darkness I can make out a shadowy
figure on the other side of the balcony.
"Jesus Christ, Edward! Why do you keep doing that to me? You scared the crap
out of me!" I hiss.
"I'm sorry," he mutters. "I thought you knew I was here."
My eyes slowly adjust to the darkness and I can better make out his form,
sitting in one of the long, padded deck chairs near his bedroom. I can easily
see his bare feet, a stark white contrast to the dark denim of his jeans and
dark grey t-shirt. He closes his eyes and lays his head back against the chair,
his arms folded over his chest and his feet crossed at his ankles.
I take a deep breath and try to slow my racing heart as it pounds in my chest.
"No, I didn't see you. I guess I assumed you were asleep… or out somewhere."
"Bella, it's a school night. Why would I be going out?"
OK, that's a good point.
I shrug, even though I know he can't see me. "I don't know. I haven't seen you
all week. I guess I just assumed you weren't here… or something."
"Or something," he mumbles under his breath, so low I almost don't hear him.
We are both silent for several minutes, and I start to wonder if he's fallen
asleep. He hasn't moved from his reclined position, his eyes still closed. It's
eerily quiet; the only sound is a gentle breeze rustling through the trees. I
sigh loudly and turn back to face the railing, looking out again at the city
lights in the distance.
I guess we're not really back to speaking to each other after all.
I hear him jostle behind me and assume he's going back in his room now that our
conversation is over. I feel my shoulders slump and a fresh wave of rejection
wash over me. Why do I let him get to me like this?
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see him moving. He walks into my line of
sight and stands against the railing a few feet down from me. He bends forward,
places his arms on the railing, and leans his body against it. I continue to
stare straight ahead, watching his movements from my peripheral vision. He
intertwines his finger in front of him and takes a deep breath.
"When I was little," he begins, "I begged Carlisle and Esme to put in a pool. I
wanted to be able to dive into it from up here so bad."
I smirk. Typical boy.
"I think that's why they put the hot tub way over there; they were afraid I'd
still try it."
"You have a hot tub?" I blurt out.
"Yeah, you never noticed it? It's right over there." Edward moves to stand
right next to me, pointing his finger across my body to the ground below. I can
barely make out the dark square to the right of the first floor patio.
I nod, not trusting my voice at the moment. He's so close, again, and I can
feel his arm lightly brush my shoulder as he indicates where the hot tub sits
below us. My stomach flutters with the excitement and exhilaration of having
him so close. I quickly shove that feeling away and replace it with the anger
and resentment that have been building over the past few weeks.
"You can use it anytime you want," he continues. "It's always heated and ready
to go."
I look away from where he's pointing, instead turning my entire body to face
him directly. Now that he's so close, I can see him clearly. His bronze hair is
sticking out in all directions as if he's been running his hand through it
again and again. In this dim light, his emerald green eyes appear almost black,
but even now, I can't escape their piercing stare. He looks tired, but even
with the dark circles under his eyes, he is still the most beautiful man I have
ever seen.
"What?" he asks as I stare him down.
I narrow my eyes at him. "So, are you speaking to me again? Because your mood
swings are kind of giving me whiplash."
He looks surprised at my sudden accusation. He opens his mouth to speak but
closes it again, his face becoming distressed. Clearly he wasn't expecting a
confrontation tonight.
"Bella," he sighs. "I just… I…" He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. His
words come out in a rush. "I thought it would be better if we weren't friends."
I nod and look down at my feet. Ouch.
"It's not that I don't want to be," he adds quickly.
Now I'm confused. "What does that even mean?"
"It means… if you were smart, you'd stay away from me."
"Well, let's say for argument sake that I'm not smart." I take an unconscious
step closer to him. "Why can't we just, I don't know, hang out again or
something?"
"You wanna hang out with me?" He seems surprised. "After… all this time?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, I still don't understand why we can't be friends. Or what
I did to make you so angry with me but –"
"Bella," he cuts me off with a sigh. "You didn't do anything. I… I'm not angry
with you."
"Then why?" I yell. "Why do you hate me? Why won't you talk to me?" The words
rush out of me before I can edit the thoughts in my head, my voice a frantic
pitch. "Why have you been going around acting like I don't exist?"
I feel my eyes fill with tears, all the hurt and rejection and anger and
exhaustion of the last week spilling over. I close my eyes to keep the traitor
tears in and turn my body away from him so he can't watch my irrational
breakdown. I feel so stupid for crying in front of him, but I can't help it. I
cry when I'm really angry.
"Please," he whispers, "please don't cry."
With one quick step he's closed the distance between us. His finger touches my
chin as he guides my face back up to look at him. His other hand comes up to
brush my cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear. We stand like that
for a moment while he studies my face.
He seems to be wavering, torn by some internal dilemma. His eyes search mine,
and I guess he is making the decision right now whether or not to simply tell
me the truth. He must see how absorbed I am by him.
He must not want to lead me on… so we couldn't even be friends… because he
isn't interested in me at all.
Edward takes a deep breath, and I can see the regret in his eyes. "You're
right," he says. "I have been acting like an asshole. I'm sorry."
I nod slowly, and he drops his hands from my face. He still seems to be holding
something back, and I wish he would just tell me - just get it over with.
"My behavior these last two weeks has been awful. I'm truly sorry for upsetting
you, but it wasn't anything you did. I just… I…" he sighs and looks down at his
feet, struggling with what he is trying to say.
He shakes his head slightly and looks up at me again. "Bella, I would like to
be your friend again, very much. I wish I could go back and erase the last two
weeks, more than you know, but all I can do is say I'm genuinely sorry for how
I've been treating you."
Wow.That was not what I was expecting at all.
I study his face for a moment. I wasn't questioning the sincerity of his
apology, but I can tell there is something else he isn't telling me.
"OK," I mumble, my voice raspy from my crying episode.
Edward smiles slightly. "OK," he repeats quietly, still examining my face like
he's waiting on me to freak out again.
"Ugh! I hate this!" I press the heel of my hands to my eyes in an attempt to
stop the tears. I'm so embarrassed for crying in front of him. "I'm sorry for
freaking out on you. I didn't mean to yell. It's just, I cry when I get angry,
and I'm just really stressed and I'm exhausted, and Jake has been keeping me up
late, and I'm –"
I notice Edward tense slightly at the mention of Jake's name, and he takes a
tiny step away from me. What was that?
I shake my head, having completely lost my train of thought. "I'm totally
rambling now. Ugh, sorry."
Edward turns his body to face the distant city lights again and leans his arms
against the railing. He intertwines his fingers in front of him and looks at
his hands as he speaks. "You don't have to apologize to me. I deserved it."
The atmosphere between us is tense and awkward, and Edward continues to clench
and unclench his fingers. I hate this. I start to wonder if we really can go
back to being friends, or if it will stay this way. I rack my brain for a way
to end this uncomfortable silence.
I turn to lean against the railing and mimic his position, looking out into the
distance. "Where were you this week?" I ask softly.
"Here… and school, but mostly here."
"I didn't see you at all. I was starting to wonder if you were still alive."
I hear him chuckle quietly. "You must not have been too worried. You didn't
come check on me."
I roll my eyes. "Oh sure, like I'm just going to knock on the door of the irate
teenage boy down the hall who may or may not be annoyed with me and who may or
may not bite my head off."
I'm teasing, of course, and glance at Edward, not surprised to find him glaring
at me. I pretend to grimace. "Too soon?" I ask with mock concern.
His defiant stare slowly fades into a grin and he begins to laugh. There he is.
There's myEdward. God, I missed him. I start to laugh too, out of sheer
happiness at seeing him again.
"How is school going?" I ask when we finally compose ourselves.
"Eh, it's the first week so it's been pretty boring. Just going over syllabi
and getting textbooks and stuff. I'm trying to transfer into A.P. Biology."
"That's cool. I took Biology last year, not A.P., of course."
Edward looks at me from over his shoulder. "How about you? You mentioned
something about an audition the other day. What's it for?"
"A music video. The audition is next Wednesday. Jake and I are really going to
be cramming in all the rehearsal time we can between now and then."
Edward looks at his hands again and nods. "That's cool, about the video I mean,
not all the extra practice."
"I don't mind. Landing this job would be huge for my resume. And Jake is really
great. I wouldn't have a chance at this audition if he wasn't training me. He
truly has my best interests at heart."
There it is again, that subtle tension in Edward's posture when I mention Jake.
He's never even met Jake, so what's with the little flinches? I consider asking
him, but decide not to - for now. I just got my Edward back, and I don't want
to start another fight. Not tonight.
We talk awhile longer about his school, my school, and Jazz and his new
girlfriend. I tell Edward about Emmett's one failed attempt at cooking, and he
laughs that beautiful laugh I had been missing. I avoid mentioning Jake again.
My back is starting to ache from leaning against the balcony, so I turn around
and prop my elbows up on the railing and lean back. I can feel the cold metal
through my shirt and a shiver runs down my spine.
Abruptly, Edward stands up straight and turns toward me. "You're freezing. We
should probably go inside."
"I'm ok, but I guess it is getting late," I concede, but I don't want this
conversation to end. I want to stay out here with my Edward and make up for the
two weeks we missed.
"Yes, it is very, very late. Jacob probably won't be too happy about this… I
mean… you know, you showing up for rehearsal sleep deprived with frostbite."
I laugh. "Probably not."
And just like that night at the restaurant, Edward places his hand on the
center of my back and ushers me to my door. He pauses just outside my door and
I turn to look at him one last time. He drops his hand from my back and runs it
through his hair.
"Thank you, Bella," he says softly, "for giving me a second chance to be your
friend. I really don't deserve it, and I'm so very sorry for the way I treated
you these past two weeks."
"Edward, it's ok. I forgive you. I'm glad we're friends again. I -"
I bit my lip and decide to just say it. "I missed you."
He smiles. "Good night, Bella. Sleep well."
"Good night, Edward"
EPOV
I can't believe I made her cry; my actions hurt her that much. It's one thing
that I'm miserable, but a wholly other thing for her to feel the same way. I
want to come out and tell her everything: why I stayed away, why I treated her
so badly, that I'm an idiot for not fixing it the minute I realized I was
wrong, how badly I regret not kissing her that night after dinner.
But, I don't tell her any of that. If she knows I tried to use her as a pawn to
win Carlisle over, she would hate me more than she did before. Besides, saying
those things won't change anything now. I'm too late; she has someone else. All
I can do now is tell her I'm sorry.
I'm still in shock that she forgave me even when I hardly explain why I had
been acting like a complete asshole. And after all that, she still wants to be
friends. I know I don't deserve it, her forgiveness or her friendship, but I'm
ecstatic to have both.
I hope to see Bella again the next morning, but she's gone before I wake up, as
usual. After school, I collapse on my bed, completely exhausted, and sleep for
the rest of the afternoon. My late night conversation with Bella only allowed
me five hours of sleep the night before. That means Bella got even less as she
leaves for school an hour before I even get up.
My phone begins to buzz on the nightstand, waking me up. I glace at the clock.
It's 6:12 p.m.. I answer my phone, not surprised to hear Jazz on the other end
of the line. He wants to come over. It's Friday night, and he knows Esme is out
of town and Carlisle is working nights at the hospital. No doubt he has every
intention of raiding the liquor cabinet.
"Dude, you got any food around here?" Jazz calls out, the top half of his body
buried in the refrigerator. I watch him hunt from my perch on the barstool.
He's clearly a man on a mission.
"I dunno, Emmett probably ate all the leftovers before he went to Rose's for
dinner." I reach for the stack of takeout menus Esme left on the counter and
begin flipping through them.
"Figures… what an ass." He closes the fridge. "Well, you got any cash? We could
order a piz - "
Jazz never finishes his sentence. Startled by his sudden halt, I look up at
him. He's staring at something behind me, his mouth hanging wide open. I turn
around in my seat toward the object he's fixated on.
Holy. Shit.
Bella flutters down the stairs wearing a skin tight, short, black dress. The
gathered fabric starts at the middle of her thigh and hugs every beautiful
curve of her body on the way up. The top of the dress is tied around her neck,
leaving the creamy skin of her back, shoulders and arms exposed. The front is
cut just low enough to show some glorious cleavage. Her curly hair is cascading
down, framing her face. She has her phone in her hand, obviously texting
someone as she makes her way slowly down the staircase. From her fingertips
she's dangling a pair of black, strappy, fuck-me heels. She stops at the bottom
step, gingerly slipping each shoe on and grasping the railing for support, her
concentration still on her phone. It buzzes in her hand and she smiles.
She is stunning.
She is trouble.
Jasper lets out a whistle.
Nice, asshole. Real smooth.
"Hey there, hot stuff. Where are you off to tonight?" he drawls.
Bella looks up surprised. "Oh… hey. I didn't think anyone was home."
"Yup, it's just us guys. I'm Jasper, Jazz, by the way. Edward here seems to
have forgotten his manners."
I roll my eyes. "Bella. Jasper. Jasper. Bella." I wave my hand between them,
indicating who was who.
"Hi, it's nice to finally meet you." She makes her way into the kitchen,
extending her hand for Jasper to shake.
He takes her hand gently, and instead of a shake, he presses his lips to her
knuckles. "The pleasure's all mine, ma'am."
I'm on my feet and around the bar in an instant. Jasper releases Bella's hand,
and she turns back in the direction she came, running straight into my chest.
Even in those heels, I'm still taller than she is, and she looks up at me
through her dark lashes. I don't even attempt to move away.
"Where are you going?" I ask, my voice more of a growl than I intend.
Bella takes a step back, clearly confused by my possessive behavior and hostile
attitude. "Um, I… I'm going out with Jake."
"I thought you were going to rehearse tonight."
She furrows her brow. "Um, no. Jake says we've been working too hard and it was
time we had a little fun."
Time to have a little fun.
The phrase instantly conjures up images of Jacob and Bella having their "fun"
in the studio upstairs the night I saw them put their ass into it.A knock at
the front door pulls me from my flashback.
"Well, that's my date. Gotta run. It was nice meeting you Jasper. You boys have
a nice evening."
Bella looks directly at me, her expression pure venom. "Don't wait up."
She shoves me out of her way and walks out of the room. I don't move an inch,
my hands clinched into fists at my side, anger and jealously seething from
every pore of my body.
I hear the front door open and Jacob's deep voice greet her. "Whoa, babe, you
look amazing! I'm gonna have to try really hard to keep my hands to myself
tonight."
If he lays one finger on her — if he returns her to me in less than the perfect
condition she left in, that mongrel will be dancing on one leg!
"You better behave, or I'll sic Emmett on you." Bella giggles. "Come on. Let's
go." The door slams behind them.
"Dude, what the fuck was that?" Jasper asks exasperated. I've completely
forgotten he was here. "You look like you're about to put your fist through the
wall."
"It's nothing. Forget it." I grumble.
"Yeah right, that wasn't fucking nothing.What the fuck is up with you and the
Barbie Ballerina there?" He nods his head toward the front door.
"I said forget it, Jazz!"
"Ah, I see… you like her," he says calmly.
"What? Are you fucking crazy? She just lives here. That's all."
"Riiiiiiight," Jaspers tone is disbelieving. "Come on big boy, I think it's
time for you to get good and drunk."
I can't argue with him there.
~o0o~
Jazz leaves around 2:30 in the morning. I try to get him to crash on the couch,
but he says no and stumbles down the street to his house. Luckily, he only
lives a few blocks away as neither of us are in any condition to drive. Over
the course of the night, we polished off an entire bottle of Jack Daniels
between the two of us.
Bella isn't home yet and now I'm alone in the house, pacing between the kitchen
and the living room with only my drunken buzz and irrational thoughts to keep
me company.
At first, I started drinking because I was angry at myself; angry at myself for
making her cry last night, angry at myself for snarling at her before she left
on her damn date; angry for fucking up again just as we are making a new start.
As the night goes on, my irrational, drunk, irritation turns on her.
How could she do this to me?
How could she be with him?
Doesn't she know what I feel for her?
No, she doesn't.
Until last night, I have never given her any indication I feel anything but
aversion for her. A pang of guilt washes over me then. I hate that logical
moment of clarity - I have another drink to kill it.
Then my anger begins to morph into regret.
Why didn't I tell her everything last night when I had the chance?
Would she ever forgive me if she knew the truth?
Would she understand why I did what I did?
Do I even understand it?
I pace back to the kitchen and check the clock, again. 3:08 a.m.. Where is she?
All the bars closed an hour ago. What could she possibly be doing at this hour
of the - oh God!Her… with him.
My hands are instantly in my hair. I would gladly pull it out by the roots if
it would make the images swirling in my brain go away. I lean back against the
counter using every ounce of strength to hold me up and not slump onto the
floor.
I hear keys rattle in the lock.
My heart thumps in my chest. She's home!
The front door opens and closes quietly. I listen, excitedly, as her soft
footsteps pad to the kitchen – toward me. She rounds the corner and looks
directly at me as I'm still leaning against the counter. Her shoes are once
again swinging from her hand, but now her hair is twirled up into a messy knot,
one tan chopstick holding it in place.
"Geez, Edward, and here I am trying to be all kinds of tip toes and quite so I
don't wake you, but clearly you never, ever sleep ever." Bella stumbles forward
to the refrigerator and retrieves a bottle of water.
I smirk. She's drunk. It's adorable. But then again, so am I – drunk, not
adorable.
"Did you have a nice time with Jacob?" I try not to slur, but I don't think I'm
successful.
She takes a swig of her water, looking at me with wide eyes. "Yes I did. Did
you have a nice time with Jasper? Jazz. Jazzzz-pur." I can't help but laugh at
her. She's completely hammered.
"Yes," I respond. "Where did you and Jacob go tonight?"
"To dinner. Chinese." She twists her body around and points to her new hair
accessory. "And then to some club to go dancing with his boys. It was fun. We
don't usually get to cut loose like that in rehearsals."
Really, and 'putting your ass into it' isn't cutting loose?
Thank God my filter is still somewhat intact,"I see" is all that comes out of
my mouth.
"And, what about you? What did you and Jasper do all evening? Braid each
other's hair? Mani-pedis? I assume he went home and it's not a sleep over,
right?" She teases, looking around me for signs that Jasper is still here.
"Ha, ha, very funny, Bella," I deadpan. "We had a few drinks and worked on some
of Jazz's songs. Jazz seems to write the best stuff when he's hammered."
She giggles. "Just a few drinks, huh? Mr. Cullen, I believe you," she points
her water bottle at me, "are also hammered."
"Takes one to know one."
"I am not drunk." She slurs and walks toward me.
I can't help but rake my eyes over her beautiful legs. She's walking on her
tiptoes, her shoes abandoned on the kitchen floor long ago. She comes to stand
right next to me, mimicking my position, leaning her back on the counter. She
places both hands on the surface and hoists herself up so she's sitting on the
countertop, her legs dangling over the edge. The movement brings her closer to
me, her knee only inches from where my arm is resting against the granite
surface. I twist by body and lean on my elbow to face her. Her seated position
now makes her head higher than mine, and I have to look up to see her.
"I dunno, Miss Swan, you seem to be a bit tipsy there on your little tip-toes,"
I playfully accuse.
"Tipsy, yeah, maybe, but I – hey! My toes aren't that little." She extends one
leg, pointing and flexing her feet, examining them.
"It's ok, they match your little fingers," I tease, looking down at her right
hand resting on the counter.
Mindlessly, I take my finger and begin tracing slow circles over her knuckles,
then up and down each of her fingers one at a time. Her skin is so creamy
white, flawless. I flip my hand over and begin slowly running the back of my
fingers up her forearm toward her elbow. I marvel at how soft her skin feels to
my touch, her pale flesh the color of snow. I run my hand over a small faded
scar right below her elbow and my inebriated mind starts to wander. It looks
like a minor injury that occurred years ago. Still, I wonder what could have
happened, and if it hurt.
I suddenly realize Bella is silent and I look up. She's watching my hand trace
its path on her arm. I snap back to reality and recoil my hand, worried I've
overstepped some boundary.
"Sorry," I mutter.
"Don't stop," she whispers. Her eyes flash from her arm to mine.
It's that moment, just like the night in the parking lot. The overwhelming
desire to kiss her, to wrap my arms around her, to claim her, to steal her back
from him,hits me like a wrecking ball. I know I shouldn't; she's drunk, I'm
drunk, she has a boyfriend. A catalog of reasons screams in my head to back
away, but the physical desire is overpowering any rational thought in my brain.
I unconsciously, slowly lean toward her.
"Edward," she murmurs, and her eyes flutter closed. I freeze, bracing myself
for the rejection I know is coming. She's going to tell me to stop, that she's
drunk, that I'm drunk, that she has a boyfriend...
"Kiss me," she whispers.
It only takes a fraction of a second for my brain to process what she just
said, and I don't hesitate. I close the distance between us slowly, gently
brushing my lips against hers once. My hand grazes her cheek and tangles in her
hair as my lips move against hers a second time. I continue to kiss her,
softly, slowly, gently, cherishing every touch of her mouth against mine.
Bella's hand comes to rest against my chest, her palm flat against my pounding
heart. I fear any moment she's going to push me away, but instead she's grabs
my shirt tightly in her fist and pulls me to her.
I twist my body so I'm standing in front of her. Bella opens her legs and my
hips slide between her knees. She releases my shirt and winds her fingers
behind my neck into my hair, pulling my mouth deeper into hers. Our kisses
become more eager, more passionate with each moment. I feel her wrap her legs
behind my back, trapping my body against hers.
Desperate for air, I lean down and begin kissing along her jaw, tracing a line
down her neck and back up the other side. Bella moans and continues to run her
hands roughly through my hair. I slowly slide my hands up her thighs, finding
the hem of her short dress and push it higher up her legs. My hands continue to
travel to her hips and slide her forward, her thighs meeting the rock hard
bulge in the front of my pants. Bella gasps at the sudden movement and tugs at
my hair, pulling my face back up to her mouth again.
I feel her tongue brush softly against my bottom lip and I open my mouth, our
tongues frantically exploring each others. She tastes salty and sweet all at
the same time.
Our pace is frenzied now. Our hands are everywhere. I can't get enough of her;
her body, her mouth, her hands, her hair. I'm overwhelmed by her scent, the way
she tastes, the feel of her soft skin. I want to touch every part of her,
devour her. I'm like an addict getting a fix of my own personal brand of
heroin. And I should know; I've been an addict.
Bella lowers her hands from my hair, running them down my chest and to the hem
of my t-shirt. Her feather-light fingers reach underneath and gently touch my
stomach above the waist of my jeans.
I hiss. "Your hands are freezing," I mumble against her lips. I can feel her
smile against my mouth, and I kiss her again.
Undeterred, she runs her hands up my chest, pulling my shirt up as she travels
higher. Her touch feels so good on my skin. If my eyes weren't closed, I'm sure
they would roll back in my head.
I raise one arm behind my head, grab a fist full of my shirt from between my
shoulder blades, and swiftly pull it up over my head. Bella eagerly helps
remove it, grasping the bottom and pulling it free from my arms. I only break
contact with her for a second, my mouth finding hers again the instant I'm
released from my shirt.
Her hands are on me immediately, running down my naked chest, around my waist
and up my back. She pulls my body against hers as if she's desperate to get
closer. I involuntarily rock my hips against her, and her fingernails dig into
my back. I groan and drop my face to her neck, kissing and licking down the
exposed skin of her shoulder.
I allow my hand to slowly wander from her hair to the back of her neck. The top
of her dress is tied into a small bow at the base of her neck. From past
experience, I know all I have to do is untie the knot to free her from her
clothing. Judging by the low cut of her dress, I know there won't be another
barrier between us if I do. So I pause, twirling the ends of the tie in my
fingers, giving her a chance to stop me.
She doesn't protest, instead she grips my shoulder blades tighter and moans as
I continue to kiss a trail along her collarbone. I grip one end of the tie,
pulling slowly, and the loops of the bow collapse, leaving a tight knot and two
long strips of fabric dangling down her back. I run one finger under the knot
and begin to pull against the tight bond.
THUD!
We both freeze, startled by the sound. What the fuck was that?
The front door swings open violently and slams into the wall behind it. Emmett
pushes Rosalie against the door, frantically kissing her. He grabs her leg and
hitches it over his hip. They are about to go at it right there in the foyer. I
look down at Bella, her hand covering her mouth, trying to stifle a giggle.
"Shhh," I whisper, one finger over my mouth as I also try not to laugh out
loud. We haven't moved from our position, Bella still sitting on the counter
with her legs wrapped securely around my waist, one hand still holding me
tight.
Emmett and Rose start to move toward the living room, Emmett kicking the front
door closed with his foot. Neither of them break away from their heated
kissing.
Not wanting to be caught by my brother in this compromising position, I wrap my
hands around Bella's waist, lift her from the counter and lower her quietly to
the ground in front of me. I grab my shirt from the floor and use my body to
gently guide Bella to the shadows of the dark hallway, the opposite direction
Emmett and Rose are headed. We move slowly, careful to stay out of their line
of sight.
Finally, they make it to the door which leads down to Emmett's room. They
fumble noisily down the stairs and disappear, slamming yet another door behind
them. I look down at Bella who is now pinned between my body and the wall. We
both burst into laughter.
"That was close," Bella says when we finally compose ourselves.
"Yeah, that could have been awkward." I agree.
We are both silent again. The fervent mood from before has dissipated with
Emmett's ill-timed arrival. Remind me to kill him later.
I look down at Bella and realize Emmett has done me a great service by
interrupting us. Bella deserves so much more than drunken grab-ass on the
kitchen counter. I want to take my time with her, to do this right.
I shove my arms into my shirt and pull it back on. When my head emerges from
the fabric, Bella is grinning up at me.
"Your shirt is inside out," she says quietly. "And your hair is a mess." She
reaches up and begins to run her fingers through my apparently disheveled hair.
I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of her fingers combing against my scalp.
I open my eyes again and look down at the gorgeous girl before me. I sigh.
Those beautiful brown eyes. I love her eyes.
I place my hands on each side of her face and bring my lips to hers again. This
time the kiss is pure, innocent. I try to pour all my emotions, even the ones I
don't fully understand yet, into the kiss, hoping to silently convey my
feelings for her in this one moment.
"Good night, beautiful," I whisper when I finally pull away.
She keeps her eyes closed a second longer, leaning her face into the hand
caressing her cheek. "Good night, Edward."
I take her hand in mine and lead her out of the kitchen to the staircase. We
slowly climb the stairs, hand in hand, and walk silently down the short hall. I
pause at her door and bring our intertwined hands up, gently kissing hers
before letting go and walking the remaining distance to my room, alone.
===============================================================================
***** Chapter 6 *****
BPOV
He kissed me.
Hekissedme.
He kissed ME!
I walk into my room, close the door softly, and lean back against it. I wait,
listening for his door to shut before I sprint across my room and leap onto my
bed. I bury my face in my pillow and squeal into it like a teenage fan-girl who
just met her heartthrob.
I cannot believe that just happened. It was, by far, the most erotic moment of
my life. And damn Emmett for ruining it. Had he not burst in, I probably
wouldn't be going to bed alone right now. Remind me to kill him later.
I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. The giddy smile plastered
across my lips feels like it might break my face in half.
Dang, he's a good kisser. A girl could get used to that. And oh my God, when he
took his shirt off, and I finally got to run my hands over his chest – wham,
bam, thank you ma'am.
I start to giggle at my silly thoughts. I roll off the bed and stumble to my
dresser in search of some comfortable clothes. I trip over my own feet and
grasp the edge of the dresser before I fall on my face.
Way too many margaritas tonight, Isabella.
I shimmy out of my dress and pull on – something – I'm too tipsy right now to
even care, and I crawl back into bed. I don't think I even pull the blankets
over my shoulders before I'm asleep.
My inebriated mind dreams of kissing Edward, picking right back up where we
left off in the kitchen tonight. But instead of an innocent good-night kiss at
my doorway, I pull Edward into my room with me.
My dream is so vivid that for a moment I'm surprised when I wake up in my bed
alone. But now its morning - technically early afternoon - and the reality of
what happened last night is setting in.
What did it mean? Obviously, he was drunk; we both were. But I knew what I was
doing. I'd been wanting it, wanting him, for so long there was no doubt in my
mind. But what if it didn't mean the same to him? Or what if he regrets it? Oh
God! What if he doesn't even remember? I don't know what could be worse.
I lie in my bed and worry about what to do for a solid hour. I don't know how
to act when I see him. Are things going to be awkward between us now? Should I
say something about last night, or let him bring it up first? What would I say,
anyway?
Hey, Edward, last night was hot. Let's do it again. Oh and next time, do you
think we could get past first base?Nice. Real lady-like there, Bella. That will
surely win him over.
I groan and drag my aching body from the bed. I glance at the clock and
discover it's already past noon. My head is pounding, and I wonder if it has
more to do with stressing about Edward than drinking too much the night before.
When I'm unable to decide which offense is more to blame, I conclude that the
combination of the two must be toxic.
I have no doubt where to place the blame for the throbbing in my feet, however.
Damn those heels. Wait, where are those shoes?
I creep across the hall to the bathroom and notice Edward's door is still shut.
Inside the bathroom, I find an open bottle of aspirin and a used water glass on
the counter, a clear sign that Edward must be feeling just as fabulous as I am
this morning.
I start to wonder if maybe he was worse off than I was last thought doesn't
help squelch my fears that he's going to think the whole thing was a mistake.
I help myself to two aspirin before I climb into the shower, and wash all the
smoke and grime from the club out of my hair. I decide against blow-drying my
wet hair - way too loud - and wrap it up in a towel instead.
Back inside my room, I pull on some soft yoga pants and a t-shirt before I head
to the kitchen to find something to eat. I settle on a few plain crackers and a
can of Diet Sprite, hoping the combination will calm my queasy stomach.
I loiter around the kitchen, eager for Edward to come down and join me for
breakfast, or lunch, or whatever meal this is. As I pace around the room I
nearly trip over a pair of shoes someone left in the middle of the floor.
Chuckling to myself, I scoop up my missing heels and hug them to my chest,
remembering the moment last night when I stalked across the room to stand next
to Edward.
I retrace my path and stop in the exact same spot, leaning against the counter
where I had been sitting the night before. For a brief moment, I let the entire
night replay in my mind. Well, the parts that aren't fuzzy or hazy from too
much alcohol.
Realizing how ridiculous I must look standing here, hugging a pair of shoes and
daydreaming about a hot make out session. I run back upstairs to my room before
anyone, specifically Edward, catches me.
I spend the next few hours in my room working on school work, cleaning,
returning emails, and calling my mom and Charlie, all while listening for any
signs of life from the room down the hall. Just as I finish stripping the dirty
sheets off my bed, Jacob calls. He's fighting a killer hangover too and won't
be coming to rehearse today like we originally planned. Fine with me.
I take my dirty clothes and bed sheets to the laundry room and start a load in
the washing machine. I find some of Emmett's clothes in the dryer, fold them,
and leave his basket at the top of the staircase that leads down to his room.
From what I can tell, he doesn't appear to be home. I make myself a small, one-
egg omelet for dinner and eat alone at the table.
After I clean up the kitchen, I decide to spend some time in my studio. I still
feel a little run-down, so I work on some quiet barre routines, simple
stretches, and lyrical choreography. I need a break from the audition routine
anyway.
The audition is this Wednesday, and if I get the job, the video shoot will take
place the following Saturday. That gives me about three days to nail down the
routine before the audition and three more days after that to prefect any
changes if I'm selected for the video.
Jake is picking up my audition costume from the producers tomorrow so we can do
a full dress rehearsal. From what Jake describes of the outfit, it seems like
there isn't much to it, and I hope all the running and dancing pays off. His
exact comment is that it "doesn't leave much to the imagination."
Great.
I crawl into bed early that night without hearing a peep from Edward's room all
day. I lie in the dark, unable to sleep as my mind races. Every thought
compounds my fears from this morning. Now, I'm certain that he regrets what
happened. Why else would he lock himself away in his room all day if not to
avoid me?
I feel so stupid. How could anyone as devastatingly beautiful as Edward Cullen
even be remotely interested in someone like me? He could have any girl he
wants, and he probably does. And I go and throw myself at him. He must think
I'm pathetic.
I lie awake for hours worrying about what Edward must think of me, if he even
thinks of me at all, before I finally fall into a restless sleep.
EPOV
I wake up Saturday morning with a pounding headache. Stumbling to the bathroom,
I find the aspirin, and swallow three pills with a full glass of water. I leave
the bottle on the counter, in case Bella needs some, and return to my room. I
notice Bella's bedroom door is still closed, but I'm not surprised. It is still
relatively early compared to how late we stayed up last night.
I crash back into my bed and sleep well into the afternoon. The only reason I
finally drag myself out of bed is to use the bathroom and take more aspirin. I
don't want to eat anything, and I really need to take a shower, but I don't
feel like doing that either.
I just want to see her.
I pull on a pair of gray pajama pants and the same t-shirt from last night and
wander down the hall to her room. There's no doubt what happened last night
will change our relationship.
Relationship.I smile, realizing for the first time how much I'm looking forward
to where we can go from here.
Maybe we can have dinner together? Maybe watch a movie? I smirk. Maybe I could
kiss her again?
I arrive at her door and notice it's open a crack. I raise my hand, about to
gently knock, when I hear her speak from inside.
"No, of course. I totally understand," I hear Bella say, her gravely serious
tone causes me to pause. "I don't think you should come over tonight either,
Jake."
I freeze. It sounds as if they're having a fight.Did she tell him what happened
last night?
"No, no I... I don't know, I hope so." Her voice sounds regretful now, and I
take an unconscious step closer to her door.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry. Yeah, you're right, I'm just -" Bella lets out a
deep breath. "I'm nervous about it. I've just never done anything like this
before." She sounds more upset now, and I fight the urge to push open her door
and make sure she's OK.
She's quiet for awhile and then she suddenly laughs loudly. "No, no way, Jacob,
no. JACOB BLACK, you stop that right now!"
She's laughing even harder. "Alright, alright."
I stand outside her door and continue to eavesdrop on the rest of her
conversation. Bella doesn't say much, only a few "yeahs" and "OKs" every now
and then, but her mood seems to improve the more she listens to whatever Jacob
is telling her. After several minutes, they begin to wrap up their call.
"I'll see you tomorrow, OK? OK, yes. Thank you, Jake. Yes, I miss you, too. OK.
Bye, Jake."
I back away from her door slowly and return to my room, completely confused by
the conversation I just overheard. She could have been talking about me, about
us, but I can't be sure. I assumed what happened last night would put an end to
her and Jacob, but clearly by the end of their discussion they weren't fighting
or breaking up.
They even made plans to see each other tomorrow.
She said she misses him.
I lie down on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, allowing last night's events
to replay to replay in my mind. Obviously, we were both drunk, but I wasn't
that far gone. I knew what I was doing the entire time. I mean, I wanted
something to happen. I had wanted something to happen since that first night
after dinner, but maybe last night was too fast for her. Maybe she regrets it
even happened.
I lie there and worry about what to do, what is going to happen next, but
before I can reach any conclusion, I fall asleep again.
I don't sleep well. I toss and turn all night, my unconscious mind trying to
work out everything that has happened. My dreams are vivid – Bella dressed all
in white and walking at a slow pace, her arm laced through an older man's. It
was odd, the pain that image caused me. I couldn't understand it. I never
thought of marriage before. Hell, I was only eighteen! But the fact that I
couldn't see if it was me she was walking toward caused my heart to ache in my
chest.
I wake up early Sunday morning still conflicted about what I should do. I don't
understand why she asked me to kiss her in the first place if she is with him.
Did she intend to string us both along? Bella doesn't seem like the type of
girl who would cheat on her boyfriend, but if she is I refuse to be "the other
guy."
The bottom line - I need to talk to her. She has to choose - me or him. And if
I'm not the one she picks, then I will let her go.
That thought causes me to sigh aloud. The idea of losing her before I even have
a chance to really know her causes my stomach to wrench. But no matter how
badly I want her to pick me, ultimately I just want her to be happy. I have to
hold on to that thought – Bella's happiness is all that matters – not the
selfish desire to make her mine.
I throw on a clean shirt and head downstairs in search of food. I haven't eaten
since Friday afternoon and now, a day and a half later, my stomach is loudly
protesting. I make my way quietly down the stairs, so lost in thought I don't
notice the two people sitting at the dining room table until my feet hit the
cold, hardwood floor.
Bella is seated at the head of the table, facing in my direction, tears
streaming down her cheeks. Jacob is seated in the chair next to her, his back
to me, holding her tiny hand in his giant paw. He speaks softly to her while
she cries, obviously trying to console her. Whatever he's saying to her seems
to be working. She nods and shyly smiles, though the expression doesn't reach
her eyes.
She looks so fragile, so broken. I instinctively want to rush to her side and
comfort her, to protect her from whatever is hurting her so deeply. But my feet
won't move from where they are planted on the floor. I'm frozen, my eyes fixed
on her.
Bella sees me at that moment. Quickly, she pulls her hands from Jacob's grasp
and begins frantically wiping away her tears, desperately trying to hide that
she's crying. Her sudden action signifies to Jacob that they are no longer
alone, and he turns slowly in his seat to face me.
He throws one arm over the back of the chair and appraises me from head to toe,
a sharp scowl on his face. He looks back at Bella quickly and then turns to me
again.
"So this is him, huh?" he asks, and jerks his head sharply in my direction.
It all starts to come together: their hushed conversation, Bella crying, his
protective stance – they had been talking about me. Bella must have finally
told him about our kiss.
Jacob rises from his seat and slowly begins stalking over to me. I wait,
wondering what his next move will be.
Is he gonna hit me? I would hit me if the roles were reversed.
I quickly access the situation. Now that Jacob is standing, I can tell that
he's just as tall as I am but clearly more physically powerful. I don't stand a
chance at defending myself if he decides to fight for her. Jacob stops a few
feet in front of me and once again evaluates me from head to foot, likely
drawing the same conclusion.
He looks back at Bella. "I see what you mean," he says flatly.
He turns back to face me again. "Hi there," he says in a friendly tone. "Aren't
you the handsome one?"
I flinch slightly and feel my brow furrow in confusion. What kind of twisted
mind game is he playing? Is this his way of threatening to mess up my face or
something? I'm certain he's just fucking with me, so I stand my ground and
stare at him, waiting for his fists to begin swinging at any second.
Bella stands up and walks toward us. The last thing I need is for her to be so
close when the fists finally do start to fly. She could get seriously hurt if
she tries to come between us. I'm about to warn her to stay back when she
brushes past Jacob, gently patting him twice on the shoulder.
"Down, boy. He doesn't bat for your team," she says as she walks past us and
heads for the kitchen.
"Well, maybe not yet," Jacob says, winking at me.
Wait. What the fuck did he just say?
Jacob shifts his weight to lean on one foot. He places one hand on his hip and
raises the other to rub the back of his neck. His eyes trail down my chest and
back up to my face again. He raises his eyebrows at me with a mischievous look.
I must still be asleep. This whole fucked up situation isn't really happening.
Or my brain is not processing what I'm hearing correctly. No, no, I have to be
asleep.
Jacob cocks his head to one side, and his expression changes to one of
confusion. "He doesn't talk much, does he?"
"No. Not really," Bella chuckles.
They're having this conversation about me like I'm not even here. Hell, I'm not
even positive I am here! Nothing is making any sense: handsome one, bat for
your team, did he seriously wink at me?
"Hm… well, that's OK with me. I like the strong, silent type."
"JACOB BLACK! I heard that!" Bella yells from the kitchen. "Don't make me call
Sam!"
Jacob rolls his eyes, turns on his heel and heads toward her. "Hey, I might be
in a committed relationship, but I'm not dead. Look but don't touch and all
that, right?"
The look Bella gives Jacob clearly says she's not buying it.
"OK, OK! Geez, I'll behave," he amends, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
Jacob enters the kitchen, and Bella hands him a Styrofoam cup of hot coffee.
"Thanks, babe," he says. "OK, I'm leaving but I'll be back in about an hour.
Then we'll get to work, OK?"
"Alright," Bella concedes. Her voice still sounds defeated.
Jacob leans in and wraps one arm around her neck. She encircles her arms around
his waist. He pulls her close and whispers something in her ear. For a moment
she looks sad again. Obviously, whatever he is saying reminds her of their
earlier conversation.
Jacob pulls back and looks at her face. She composes herself, nods and smiles
as he plants a quick kiss on her cheek.
"Love ya, babe," he says softly. He turns and heads for the front door.
"Bye, Edward," he sings over his shoulder. He turns to look at me and his eyes
rake from my face to my feet once more before he shakes his head. "What a
waste," he mumbles.
"JACOB!" Bella scolds.
"I'm going! I'm going!" The front door slams behind him.
What the HELL just happened?
In a span of five minutes, my entire world has been flipped upside down. I
stumble backward to the staircase and sink onto the bottom step. I rest my
elbows on my knees and hold my head in my hands. Both hands instantly tug at my
hair.
"Edward, are you OK?" Bella asks.
I don't answer. My mind is reeling, replaying every conversation, every
interaction, looking for any signs I missed that make this make sense.
I feel Bella move to sit beside me on the step. "Edward?" she asks again, her
voice concerned. She gently lays a hand on my shoulder.
I let out a humorless chuckle and drop my hands, intertwining my fingers in
front of me. I can't look at her. Instead, I stare at the floor between my
feet.
"That was Jacob," I say flatly. It sounds more like an accusation than a
statement.
"Yes." She answers, puzzled.
I laugh again and shake my head. "And Jacob is… gay?"
"Yes," she answers again, like it's the most obvious fact in the world. "Is
that a problem?" she adds curtly, dropping her hand from my shoulder.
"No, no. Of course not. I didn't mean it like that. It's just that -"
I take a deep breath. I realize this is my opportunity, my chance to really
explain my past behavior, to justify why I avoided her, and tell her how I
feel.
I turn my head toward her and study her face. Her eyes are red from crying, but
the sadness from before has been replaced with a mixture of confusion and
worry.
There's no turning back now.
"Bella, I thought you and Jacob were… together."
She still looks confused, likely wondering why that fact would have me so
disheveled. "Um, no. Jacob is with Sam, his partner for the last three years."
"Yes, but, you are spending so much time together, and then I saw you with him
at the club that night, and then he took you out on that date, and – "
"He's my dance partner!" Bella blurts out, thankfully interrupting my rambling.
"Of course we're going to spend a lot of time together. He's helping me train
for my audition. And that date, we went to Ramrod, you know, the gay bar
downtown. I spent the night salsa dancing with Sam, Paul and Seth."
I just shake my head and look down at the floor again. I'm such an idiot.
"So you thought…" Bella continues, obviously trying to piece together my
strange confession. "That Jake was my boyfriend?"
I nod.
She is silent for a minute, likely processing what she wants to ask next. "And…
and is that why… I mean, since you thought… is that why you… avoided me?"
Again, I could only nod. I know I need to say something, explain this better,
but the sudden onslaught of information has me reeling. I'm not too late. She
doesn't have someone else. I can still fix this. We can be together, that is,
if she wants me.Then I remember -
"Bella, why were you crying?" I ask softly, glancing back at her.
Her cheeks flush a beautiful shade of pink and she twists her body away from
me, looking down at the floor. She is quiet for so long that I don't think
she's going to answer my question.
I realize by her silence that my assumption before was way off the mark. She
wasn't crying to Jacob because she cheated on him; she was confiding in him.
And she was upset. I realize, with a searing pain in my chest, that she must
regret what happened.
"After we kissed," she begins quietly, and I steel myself for what she's about
to say, "and I didn't see you at all yesterday… I guess my imagination got the
best of me."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
Bella takes a deep breath. "I just thought, maybe, it didn't mean as much to
you as it did to me."
I struggle to find words to name the feelings that flood through me: shock,
relief, surprise, excitement, but nothing seems to fit. She feels something for
me too.I fight the smile that threatens to break across my face.
"Bella," I begin cautiously. "Do you believe that you care for me more than I
do for you?"
Her head whips up and she stares at me. A mixture of surprise and disbelief
flash in her eyes. She opens her mouth, as if to say something, but closes it
again.
"Bella," I continue, "Do you remember the night we had dinner in the city with
Carlisle and Esme?"
She nods.
"I wanted to kiss you so badly that night but I - but I didn't. I convinced
myself that it would be best if we didn't spend too much time together. That's
when I started to keep my distance from you. But then I saw how my actions hurt
you and it - it killed me. But I didn't know how to fix it, how to undo the
damage I had done. So I waited. I was looking for the right moment to, I don't
know, talk to you, apologize, but it never came. Then I saw you and Jacob
together and I - I thought I was too late."
Nervously, I look up at Bella, fearing her reaction to my confession. She is
still staring wide-eyed at me. I can't help myself; I reach up and cradle her
delicate face in my hand, brushing her cheek with my thumb. She closes her eyes
and her hand comes up to circle my wrist, effectively holding my arm in place.
For a moment, I'm afraid she is going to push me away, but when she opens her
eyes again, a small smile plays at her lips. That is all the encouragement I
need to keep going.
"When I said that I wished I could go back and do it all over again, I meant
it. It's all I've thought about the past two weeks. I would start with that
night at the restaurant. I would have kissed you. I would have done so many
things differently. I'm such an idiot for not fixing this the minute I realized
I was wrong. I'm so very sorry."
Bella let out a humorless chuckle, "I can't believe you thought… Jake and I…"
She shakes her head. "I guess I can see it though. We do spend a lot of time
together, and we are pretty close."
"When I saw you with him at the club that night I – "
"Yeah!" Bella interrupts. "Who was that girl, anyway?"
I laugh at her outburst. "Were you jealous?" I tease.
Bella jerks back, and she pretends to be insulted by my question. At least, I
hope she's pretending. "No, I don't care. You can dance with whomever you
want."
I laugh again and gently grab Bella's face in both my hands, forcing her to
look in my eyes, "Silly girl, the only one I wanted to dance with was you." I
watch as she smiles softly at my words.
"You know, I chased after you that night." My confessions seem to be coming
easier now.
She looks surprised. "You did?"
"I watched you drive off on Jacob's bike."
"No, I didn't know that. What would you have done if you caught up with me?"
I never really thought about that before. What would I have said to her that
night? What would I have done?
I smirk. "This," I say as I press my lips to hers, kissing her innocently.
When I finally pull away several minutes later, I rest my forehead against
hers, my eyes still closed. "That should have been our first kiss," I whisper,
and kiss her again.
And again.
"Maybe it's a good thing you didn't catch up to me," Bella mutters between my
kisses. "If you had just walked up and planted that on me, Jake would have
decked you first and made introductions later." We both snicker.
Bella lets out a contented sigh and drops her head on my shoulder, snuggling
into my neck. I hold her body in my arms and hug her close to me, reveling in
the fact I finally have her in my arms. I lightly comb my fingers through her
hair, and Bella toys with the collar of my t-shirt.
"This is so… surreal," she says softly.
I snicker. "You're telling me. Up until thirty minutes ago, I thought you were
just using me to cheat on your boyfriend. I was ready to make you choose."
Bella pulls away and sits up, looking straight into my eyes. "I choose you,"
she says tenderly, studying my face for a moment.
"Not that there is really a choice to be made between you and Jake, but… well,
what I mean is… I know we don't know each other that well, but I… I want to."
I open my mouth to speak, but Bella keeps going.
"And I thought we were starting to. But then when you went… I don't know, is
away the right word?"
I shrug. "It works."
"When you went away, I… I missed you. I tried to not let it bother me, but it
did. I just wanted you back. Even the few times I saw you, it wasn't really
you. It was like you were locked away, trapped inside yourself. Does that make
sense?"
I nod. No one has ever confronted me on my reclusive behavior before. I start
to wonder if this girl has me completely figured out.
"I'm just so glad to have youback." Then she snickers. "Can you just warn me
beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good?"
"Sounds fair," I agree, and pull her face to mine, kissing her once more.
"And just so you know," she adds, abruptly pulling away from me again. "I'm not
the kind of girl who cheats."
I nod. "I'm sorry. I should have never implied you are some kind of sl-" Bella
gives me a warning look. "Um… that kind of girl."
"Right, I'm not, but you are going to have to share me with Jake."
"I can live with that." I smile.
Bella resumes her position from before, snuggling into my neck, my arms holding
her to my chest. She is right; this entire morning has been unreal, and the
outcome is better than anything I would have thought possible. The revelation
that she cares for me too is extraordinary.
After a moment, Bella presses her lips against my neck once before she pulls
away, disentangling herself from my grasp, and stands up.
"Come on," she says with a smile. "We need pancakes."
"Pancakes, huh?" I take her hand and let her pull me upright.
We walk hand in hand to the kitchen, unable to wipe the goofy grins off our
faces. I reluctantly release her when it becomes apparent we won't able to cook
joined together like this.
I know nothing about making pancakes from scratch, so Bella directs me to fetch
the ingredients as she needs them. Between requests for milk, eggs, and flour,
we ramble about our favorite movies, foods, colors, and other stupid,
inconsequential stuff. She tells me more about Jacob and "his boys" and mocks
me for not noticing his apparently obvious sexual preference.
"Come on, he's a contemporary ballet dancer. How could you not assume he's
gay?"
I shrug. "I really only met him this morning. I don't like to judge people
before I get to know them."
She appraises me for a moment before I continue. "Besides, whenever I saw you
together he was always touching you, and kissing you, and you would say things
like he was 'keeping you up all night' and –"
"Oh my God!" Bella screams, covering her eyes with her hands. "You thought we
were sleeping together… oh my God!" Bella drops her hands from her face, her
eyes wide with panic and she stares, unseeing, at the floor as she continues to
ramble. "And then you and me… the other night… and we almost, oh geez! No
wonder you thought I was a dirty, cheating slut!"
I try not to laugh over at her little freak-out. I grab her shoulders and spin
her around to look at me. She looks mortified, her face flushing a bright red.
"Bella, I never thought that," I say sternly. "I'll admit I was confused, but
mostly, I was extremely jealous. I wanted to be the one touching you and
kissing you and… keeping you up all night." I mumble that last part quickly,
and Bella playfully punches my arm. I hug her to my chest and feel her relax in
my arms. I kiss the top of her head before releasing her so she can finish
making breakfast.
She puts all the ingredients into a large, white, bowl and hands it to me,
indicating I should stir them together. Evidently I'm not doing it correctly.
With a giggle, Bella reassigns me to set the table as she takes the bowl from
my hands and whips the contents at ten times the speed I had been gingerly
mixing it.
Once the table is set, I return to the kitchen and lean against the counter on
the opposite side of the room from Bella. I watch her as she scoops one cup of
batter at a time from the bowl and pours it onto the hot skillet.
As she works, my eyes skim over her body. She's wearing a small pair of black
workout shorts under that awful gray sweatshirt she wears all the time; the one
with the neck torn open so it slouches down, exposing her left shoulder. She is
barefoot again and every few seconds, she rises up on her toes and balances in
place. I can see the taut muscles in her legs, so clearly defined from her
years of dance, flex as she moves. She lowers her heels down again and sweeps
her right foot against floor, arching her foot and pointing her toes to the
side before retracting it back under her again. She repeats the movement with
her other foot, except this time she points her foot behind her, draws a half
circle on the floor with her toe, and then pulls her leg back underneath her
body.
"You can't stop dancing, can you?" I tease.
Bella glances over her shoulder and smiles at me. "I'll stop dancing as soon as
you stop checking out my ass."
I creep up behind her, wrap my arms around her tiny waist, and begin to plant
feather-light kisses on her exposed shoulder. Maybe this sweatshirt isn't so
bad after all.
"I can't help it," I mumble against her shoulder. "Your ass is hot."
I continue to kiss my way up her shoulder. Bella leans back against my chest
and sighs, tilting her head to the side, giving me full access to continue my
path up her neck. My hands seem to have a mind of their own, running under her
shirt, over her hips, and tracing the bare skin just above the waist of her
shorts.
"Edward," she whispers. "This is very distracting."
"Uh huh." I grumble against her neck, but I don't slow my movements. My hands
continue to slide up her stomach while my lips continue their assault on her
neck.
Bella takes a deep breath. Suddenly, she spins around in my arms, planting one
hand firmly on my chest. She pushes gently and I walk backwards until I collide
with the counter on the other side of the room. She raises the spatula she's
holding with the other hand and points it directly at my face.
"Stay," she commands in a serious tone. I laugh and hold my hands up in mock
surrender. She looks like a furious kitten, soft and harmless.
She backs away from me and returns to her skillet. I stay put, as instructed,
while Bella finishes cooking breakfast.
Once the pancakes are finished, Bella piles the stack on a serving plate and
places it on the table between our seats. She spears five pancakes off the top
and places them on the empty plate in front of me. Then she stabs the next
three and places them on her plate before passing me the syrup.
Up until then, I forgot how hungry I am. When the first bite hits my lips, I
can't chew fast enough. Bella giggles at my eager consumption, and I confess I
haven't eaten anything since Friday night. We finish all but four pancakes and
the few pieces left on Bella's plate when she swears she can't take another
bite.
"Emmett or Jake will eat them," she assures me. "Leftovers don't last very long
around here."
As if on cue, there is a quick knock on the front door and it swings open
before either of us move to answer it.
"I'm baaaaack," Jacob sings as he enters the house.
Over one shoulder he carries a black garment bag with "J. Jenks Productions"
monogrammed across it in bright, white letters. Under his other arm is a large,
red cardboard box. It looks like a shoe box, but its way too long.
"ISABELLA MARIE SWAN!" he cries as he approaches the table. "Step away from the
carbohydrates!"
Jacob turns to look at me. "How many of those things did she eat?"
"Edward would never tattle on me," Bella responds.
"I see." Jacob scowls at me, though his mood is playful. He glances back and
forth between me and Bella, likely concluding by her improved disposition that
she and I had a significant discussion while he was gone.
He turns his attention back to Bella. "Alright, missy, I hope you enjoyed your
little binge there because that was it. For the rest of the week it's lean
protein and veggies for you."
"Awe, Jake, come on!" Bella whines mischievously.
"No ma'am. Once you see what I have for you in here," he waves the garment bag
toward her, "you'll be begging me to add some extra miles to our workout."
Bella snatches the black bag from Jacob's hands and skips over to the couch.
She lays it flat across the seat and begins unzipping it. I stand and begin
clearing the dirty dishes from the table.
"Jacob," I say, "I didn't get a chance to introduce myself earlier. I'm Edward.
Sorry about before, I was just -"
"Stunned by my extraordinarily handsome features? I know, don't worry about it.
Happens all the time, sweetie." Jacob winks at me again.
I laugh and hold out the plate in my hand. "Pancake?" I offer.
Jacob takes one off the top and shoves half of it in his mouth. "Thanks."
"Oh my God they cannot be serious!"Bella cries, enunciating every word. "I have
to wear this?"
I can't see the contents of the garment bag over the back of the couch, and
Bella quickly zips the bag closed.
"Don't forget these, too." Jacob taunts, shaking the box he's still holding in
his arms. Bella groans and sinks down on the couch.
"HEY! Don't wrinkle it!" Jacob warns.
"There's not enough here to wrinkle," Bella mumbles under her breath.
"Come on, it's not that bad. Try it on, and you'll see." In one swift movement,
Jacob scoops up the garment bag and heads up the stairs toward Bella's room.
"I'll be right there," Bella calls after him as she stands and walks back to
the table. She picks up our empty glasses and walks toward the sink.
"I got this. Go ahead," I say, taking the dirty glasses from her.
"Are you sure?" she asks, almost pleading for me to rescue her from what awaits
upstairs.
"Yeah, I'm sure. Go. I'll be here when you're finished."
"You will?" She seems surprised.
I chuckle. I guess I deserve that with my recent disappearing act. "Where else
am I gonna go?" I lean down and place a gentle kiss on her lips.
She smiles, turns and follows after Jacob.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
EPOV
It takes me about ten minutes to clean up our mess in the kitchen. I might not
know how to cook, but I can certainly load a dishwasher. I decide to go the
extra mile and wipe down the counters with a disinfectant spray that smells
more like bleach than the lemon fragrance advertised on the bottle. Next, I
sort and throw away the old newspapers and junk mail that seem to be rapidly
multiplying in a pile on the bar; a chore long forgotten since Esme left town
last week.
I glance around the kitchen and consider the other duties Esme usually takes
care of; the grocery shopping, cleaning, cooking, laundry, the list is endless.
Yet none of those things have been neglected since she left. I realize, with a
sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, that Bella must be doing it – all of
it. On top of her demanding school and rehearsal schedule, and the extra hours
of practice she is putting in for her audition, she has also taken on all of
the responsibilities of running our house, which is a full time job in itself.
I'm certain Bella accepted the task without having been asked to do so. Esme
would rather chop off one of her perfectly manicured fingers than put the
burden on her. Bella has been taking care of us – all of us.
But who is taking care of her?
I feel like such a dick.
I run a frustrated hand through my hair and take another hard look around the
room. This ends today. I'm not going to sit around like some lazy, self-
centered asshole while someone else takes on all the work. Granted, that's
exactly what I've been doing the last eighteen years, but realizing that it's
Bella who is taking over all the responsibility is the wakeup call I need.
I lift the half-full trash bag from the can in the kitchen and haul it around
the first floor, emptying all the smaller cans from the rest of the house into
it. Once the bag is full, I carry it to the garage and toss it into the larger
trashcan outside. I make a mental note to drag it and the recycling to the curb
before Tuesday's pickup.
Once I'm back inside, I make my way to the laundry room. I open the washing
machine to find that a full load of green towels - ourgreen towels - from the
upstairs bathroom have just been washed. I sigh and shake my head, even more
disgusted with myself. I move the heavy, wet towels from the washing machine to
the dryer and start the drying cycle. In the hamper, I find enough pairs of
dirty blue jeans to start another load. I pile them into the washer, add the
soap, and adjust the knobs on the machine to wash the pants.
Next, I tackle the living room. I straighten the books on the coffee table,
fluff the pillows on the couch, then fold the blanket someone left on the chair
and return it to the linen closet.
I look around for more to do, but thanks to Bella the house is virtually
spotless. I could mop or vacuum, but the floors don't look like they need
cleaning. I sigh aloud and concede that there is no more that can be done today
as I make my way upstairs to my room.
Bella and Jacob have been locked away in her studio for over an hour now. As
soon as they shut the door, the pounding beat of the music begins rattling the
walls. I recognize the muffled tune. It's the same one Bella has been playing
over and over for the past week. I assume it's the song for her audition
routine,but when Jacob is here the song never makes it all the way through. It
abruptly stops then starts again, only repeating the last few seconds of the
song before stopping again. Apparently, he is making corrections to her routine
and having her do it again, and again, and again.
I grab my iPod from my desk, intent on drowning out the noise next door, and
settle back onto my bed, knowing I need to find a way to pass the time until
Bella finishes with rehearsal. I can already tell this is going to be a
difficult task. I'm like a kid on Christmas Eve. This morning I woke up
confused and uncertain about what to do, and in the span of two hours,
everything has completely changed. Now, I'm nearly jumping out of my skin with
anticipation. I have a feeling it is going to be a long day.
As I reach for the book on my nightstand, I see my door open a crack and Jacob
stick his head inside. He glances around the room quickly before his eyes find
me. I pull one ear-bud from my ear so I can hear what he's saying.
"Hey, man, I was knocking but I guess you didn't hear me," he says.
"Nah, it's cool. What's up? Everything OK?" I feel panic begin to build in my
stomach. What if Bella is hurt?
Jacob straightens up and takes a step into my room, looking around again.
"Yeah," he says with a dismissive waive of his hand. "I just need to borrow you
for a second."
My eyes follow him as he walks over to my desk. "Borrow me?"
"Yes, you. And this too." He picks up the chair in front of my desk and lifts
it over his head, the metal legs sticking up toward the ceiling. "Come on," he
commands and he carries it out of the room.
"O - K." I'm utterly confused, but I roll off my bed and follow after him,
abandoning my book and my iPod behind me. He marches down the hall and into
Bella's studio.
I pause in the doorway and take in the scene before me. Bella is sitting in the
center of the wood floor, her legs crossed underneath her as she mindlessly
plays with the hem of her sweatshirt. When Jacob enters, she lifts her head and
watches him intently as he places my chair directly in front of her. Once the
chair touches the floor, Jacob motions for me to sit down. Bella turns her head
to see me leaning against the doorframe. Understanding dawns on her face as she
realizes Jacob intends for me to join them.
Bella leaps to her feet, her eyes wide with alarm. "Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no,
no. Jacob, no! This is not a good idea."
"Bella, if you can't do it in front of him, then you have no business going
Wednesday," Jacob argues.
Bella just stares at him, her arms folded across her chest. I don't understand
what's going on or why she would object to my presence so adamantly, but she
seems to be weighing what Jacob said.
"Fine," she responds curtly, and drops her hands to her sides.
Jacob grins, victorious. "Come on in, Eddie," he says cheerfully, and slaps the
seat of the chair.
I settle into the chair, feeling a bit awkward, partly because Bella clearly
doesn't want me here and partly because of the strange seating arrangement - a
single, armless chair in the center of the room.
Jacob moves to stand next to me and slaps my shoulder firmly. "You're braver
than I thought," he mumbles, low enough so Bella can't hear, then turns his
attention back to her.
"Bells," Jacob says sternly, "you're doing it full out." He points to a pile on
the floor next to the stereo. It looks like a mess of black plastic.
"Ugh!" Bella groans as she turns and marches to the heap on the floor. Her
hands curl into tight fists at her sides. "I hate you so much right now."
"Love you," Jacob sings in a patronizing tone, and then looks at me with a
reassuring smile.
I keep my eyes focused on Bella as she sits down in front of the black pile.
She looks like a sulking child that has been sent to stand with her nose in the
corner. I might find her little temper tantrum humorous if I wasn't so
preoccupied with trying to figure out what I'm doing here.
Bella lifts part of the black material, bends her right knee, and begins
gathering the fabric around her foot. I realize a second later they're boots –
shiny, jet-black, leather boots. As they begin to take shape around her legs, I
realize the leather stretches up past her knees and to the middle of her thigh.
She reaches down to her heel and pulls a long zipper up the inside of her leg
before repeating the entire process with the other shoe.
Once both boots are securely bonded to her legs, she stands back up. The pencil
thin heel adds another 6 inches to her height. I don't see how anyone can be
expected to walk, let alone dance, on those things.
Bella saunters, still clearly annoyed, back to the center of the dance floor.
She stops a few feet in front of me, folds her arms over her chest again and
stares daggers at Jacob. She hasn't even looked at me since I sat down.
"I said full out," Jacob repeats in a stern tone.
"No," Bella states firmly.
"Come on, loose the Flashdance."
"No way. I put on the boots. That's enough," Bella protests.
"Come on, Bells," Jacob pleads, but she doesn't move. Her eyes drop and focus
at the empty space on the floor in front of her.
Jacob walks over to her and wraps his arms around her neck. He pulls her close
and whispers in her ear. Bella listens intently, nodding every now and then.
Suddenly, her eyes snap up to meet mine. It doesn't take a genius to figure out
Jacob is saying something about me, but when the beautiful pink flush spreads
across her cheeks, I'm more than a little curious to know exactly what he's
telling her.
She sighs, resigning. "Fine," she says.
Jacob leans back, looking her in the eye. "You know I'm right."
"Yeah, yeah," she concedes, though it doesn't sound like she believes him.
Before letting her go, Jacob reaches behind her and pulls the tie from her
hair, letting her long tresses spill down over her shoulders. He turns and
walks toward me, sitting down on the floor next to my chair. He pulls his knees
up to his chest and wraps his burly arms around them.
With his eyes still fixed on Bella, Jacob leans toward me. "You can thank me
later," he whispers.
I look back to Bella just as she reaches for the hem of her sweatshirt and
pulls it up and over her head.
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I'm seeing.
Bella – my Bella – my soft, warm, fragile Bella. The girl who blushes, and
makes me pancakes, and giggles, is now standing in the center of the room
dressed like a high-end Vegas stripper.
A strapless, black corset wraps around her chest, hugging every glorious curve.
It's made of the same shiny, black leather as the boots she's wearing. The
tight material cinches her waist and pushes her breasts up to the point that
they threaten to spill out of the top at any moment. The corset stops at the
center of her torso, exposing the – I swallow forcefully – diamond stud in her
pierced belly button. Underneath, she's wearing the tiniest pair of black
leather shorts I have ever seen. Only a few inches of her thighs are visible,
as the boots cover the highest percentage of her exposed flesh.
I try to keep my emotions in check, I really do. But I'm sure the shocked
expression on my face, combined with my gaping mouth, isn't hiding much.
Breathe, I remind myself.
She looks - fucking incredible. I harness every ounce of willpower I can muster
to keep myself from leaping from the chair, ripping that corset from her body,
and taking her right here on the studio floor.
The boots would stay on.
Thankfully, some part of my brain is still able to produce a rational thought,
and I remember that we aren't alone. Jacob is still in the room.
Wait - Jacob is in the room.
I start to put the pieces together. If Jacob is seeing her like this that means
-
I clench my teeth together and narrow my eyes at her. A tiny part of me
realizes I have no right to be possessive, but that concept is quickly muted by
the rest of the thoughts clambering away in my brain. All I can think about is
who else will be seeing her like this. I know she doesn't belong to me, not
really. I mean, I confessed to having feelings for her a few hours ago, so I
should have some claim to her. Shouldn't I? Regardless of whether she's my
technical girlfriend or not, I don't like the idea of her dressing like a damn
prostitute to… to… I don't even know!
"What kind of fucking audition is this?" I growl, my eyes still locked on her
half-naked body.
"Music video," Jacob says calmly, as if it doesn't matter that Bella is a whip
and ball-gag away from passing as a dominatrix.
"I know that," I spit between my clenched teeth. I tear my eyes away from Bella
for the first time and glare at Jacob seated on the floor next to me. "Video
for who?"
"The band is called My Darkest Days. They're new. They're from Canada. This is
going to be the video for their first single called Porn Star Dancing."
Un-fucking-believable. I lean forward in the chair, my elbows on my knees and
my hands in my hair, and let out a ragged breath as I stare down at the floor
between my legs.
"I told you this was a bad idea," Bella says flatly, and she storms out of the
room, slamming the door behind her.
"Bells, wait!" Jacob calls after her as he begins to stand up and follow her.
"No, wait," I say, my voice surprisingly calm given the jealous fury building
inside. "I'll go."
I rise from the chair and take a few slow steps toward the door before Jacob
grabs my arm.
"Look, I know the costume is a bit much, but the choreography is quite
technical, you'll see. This is a huge opportunity for her, and she's just
nervous. She doesn't think she can carry this project on her own, ya know? She
just needs a little ego boost."
I hold my hands up to stop his sales pitch. "Just… just let me talk to her."
Jacob nods and I walk into the hall. As I approach her bedroom door, I can hear
the click-click-click of Bella's boot heels, and I assume she's likely pacing
back and forth in her room.
I take a deep breath and gently knock on the door. "Bella? Can I come in?"
The clicking stops abruptly, but there is no response to my request.
"Please, Bella. Let me in," I demand as delicately as I can.
Finally, the door opens a tiny crack. I take that as my invitation and push my
way inside. Bella's room is dim; only the faint glow of the mid-morning sun
filters through her closed curtains. She must not have bothered to flip on the
overhead light when she stormed in.
I close the door softly behind me and lean against it. Bella has already
resumed pacing angrily back and forth in the open space between me and her bed.
"I'm sorry," I begin. "I guess I overreacted. But I was just wasn't expecting –
that."I wave my hand up and down in her direction, indicating her scantily clad
body.
Bella doesn't slow her pacing. She doesn't even look at me. "I don't know what
I'm thinking," she rants, "I can't do this. I mean, look at me! This isn't me.
I can't pull this off!"
Was she serious?
"You obviously don't see yourself too clearly. Believe me - you can." My tone
is a little flirtier than I intend, but here, alone in her dimly lit bedroom
and with her dressed like that, I can't help myself. I start to feel the
possessive jealously from before melt away, and my hormones take over. "No one
should look so tempting; it's not fair."
"Oh shut it, Edward. I could see the disgust all over your face."
Disgust?The girl is certifiably crazy if she thinks I'm disgusted by the way
she looks.
I step away from the door and position myself directly in her path. Bella's
back is to me, and when she turns to pace back in the direction she just came,
she slams into my chest. The sudden impact causes her to stumble, but I grab
her around the waist and pull her roughly against me. Bella gasps at the abrupt
contact of our bodies, and her hands come up to grip my biceps to steady
herself.
My hands snake down her bare torso to her hips, grip them tightly, and grind
her lower body against the rock hard engorgement in the front of my pants. At
the same time, I lean my head down, brushing her ear with my lips as I growl
between clenched teeth, "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
To emphasize the point, I take her face in my hands and kiss her - hard.
I intend to kiss her only once, just to stress the severity of my confession,
but when Bella begins to kiss me back even more passionately, my original
propose is completely forgotten.
I continue to attack her mouth with mine, each kiss more powerful than the
last. Bella's tongue teases my lower lip, and I open my mouth and eagerly take
her in. Our kisses continue to build in momentum and intensity until my body
feels like it's about to burst into flames.
I slide my hands back down to her hips and pull her against my now painfully
hard erection. "It's taking every ounce of self-control to stop me from ripping
this damn costume off your body and fucking you against the wall right now," I
hiss against her mouth.
Bella sucks in a sharp breath and I feel her body shudder lightly against mine.
Worried that my words have frightened her, I pull back slightly to look into
her eyes. But there is no fear or alarm in her expression. Instead, I see
desire, want, and yearning imprinted in her eyes.
Before I can even think of what to do or say next, our mouth slams into each
other again. I'm not entirely certain who initiated this kiss, but right now I
can't find it in me to care. This kiss is even hotter, even more lustful than
before, and we completely devour each other again.
I move one hand up, leaving the other holding Bella's hip against my crotch,
and tangle my fingers in her hair as I pull her mouth deeper into mine. Bella's
hands move too, sliding down my arms to grip the waistline of my jeans, just
above my hips. She hooks her fingers through the empty belt loops, and I feel
her give a little tug. Bella begins to move, walking backward, and I allow her
to pull me along without opening my eyes or allowing my mouth to leave hers.
Bella's body collides with the door behind her, and I press up against her,
firmly pinning her in place. We are both breathless now, kissing each other
frantically as if we can't get enough. Her fingers, still firmly gripping my
jeans, pull my hips closer as I rub against her again and again. She presses
her body tightly to mine, and I push back onto her. The barrier of our clothing
feels like a thick wall between us.
The whole scene is quickly spiraling out of control. Everything is happening so
fast, so rough, and not at all how I picture our first time together. But I'm
too far gone at this point, drowning in lust and hunger for her, that I can't
stop myself.
I release my hand from the Bella's hair and forcefully grab her breast. She
moans into my mouth. I knead the leather material covering her chest for a
moment before the need to feel her skin on mine finally overwhelms me. It
doesn't take much force to pull the bra-like cups down, and her breasts spill
out into my hands.
I bend forward swiftly and suck one of her small, pink nipples into my mouth.
Bella's head falls back against the door with a soft thud as I bite and nibble
on the hard nub while my other hand kneads and twists its twin.
"Oh, God," she moans breathlessly.
Both of her hands are in my hair now, her fingers digging into my scalp,
holding me against her. I continue to lick and bite and suck her firm breasts,
giving equal attention to both.
"Edward, please," she begs, and my mouth slams back into hers.
I grab her hips and pull her away from the door. I twist her body slightly to
the left and walk her backward a few steps. She bumps into her desk and with
one swift movement, and I lift her up and set her on top of it. Papers, books,
pens, pencils all topple loudly to the floor as we clamber for the space.
Bella's arms fly back to hold herself up as I tower over her, shoving my tongue
in her mouth. We are way past gentle at this point. Weeks of pent up
frustration are being let loose in this single moment, and my need for her
rages out of control. Every move, every touch is forceful and almost primal.
Bella wraps her legs around me and pulls my body to hers. We both groan as my
cock rubs against the sacred space between her legs.
With my left hand, I reach behind her and support her body tightly in my arm.
My other hand runs over the top of her thigh and dips between her legs,
stroking the leather fabric that is barely covering her crotch.
"Please," she whispers again, her voice desperate.
Without hesitation, I rip open the zipper on her shorts and shove my hand
inside. I run my fingers down her wet slit and shove two fingers inside of her
roughly.
"Ugh," Bella moans loudly. Her head falls back, and her arms go weak. I can
feel more of her weight on the arm that's cradling her body.
"Baby, you have to be quiet. Jacob is just down the hall," I murmur into her
neck.
Bella lifts her head slightly, and I can see her face. Her eyes are squeezed
shut, and she bites down on her bottom lip, nodding her head slightly in
understanding.
I pound my fingers in and out of her roughly while my mouth assaults her breast
again. Bella does her best to stay quiet, but a few moans of pleasure escape
her lips as I continue to fuck her with my hand. I slide my thumb up her
crease, and as my fingers pulse in and out of her, my thumb brushes against her
clit.
"Oh. God. Edward," she cries out in time with my movements.
"Cum for me, baby. Give it to me."
I can feel her body begin to shudder against me as I attack every susceptible
inch of her.
"Let go, baby," I beg, quietly.
"Uh, E - Edward,kiss me!" I do as she commands. The second my lips meet hers,
she screams, and my open mouth swallows the sound. Her legs shake vigorously as
she rides out the waves of her orgasm. I continue to move my fingers inside
her, drawing out every ounce of pleasure as she continues to quiver against me.
After a moment, her cries become soft moans, and I slowly pull my fingers out
of her one last time. She collapses against me, her head resting on my
shoulder, and I hold her close as her breathing slows and returns to normal.
Bella comes down from her blissful high. She lifts her head slightly, and I
take her face in my hands and kiss her again. This time, the kiss is gentle and
tender, completely different from our frenzied kisses just minutes ago.
I feel Bella's hand brush lightly across my waist to the front of my jeans, and
her fingers begin to pull against the button. I grab both of her wrists, one in
each hand, to stop her from going any further.
I shake my head slightly. "No," I whisper against her lips.
"I want you," she protests.
"I know, baby, I know. Believe me, I want you too. But not like this." I pull
back to look into her eyes. She smiles sweetly at me, and I stroke her cheek
with my thumb.
I stare at her for long moment, studying her face, her eyes, the tempting flush
of her cheeks.
"God, you are so beautiful." I didn't actually mean to say those words out
loud, but as the shy smile spreads across her lips, I'm glad they rushed out of
me.
I realize then that I'm in serious trouble. I know I feel something for her,
I've known that for awhile now, but this is so much more than anything I've
ever experienced before.
Is this what it feels like to be in a relationship with someone? Is that what
we are?
I've never been committed to someone before. Hell, I've never even had the
desire to be loyal to one person. My connection with women in the past consists
of a long line of nameless, faceless, hook-ups. Sure, there is the occasional
girl that receives my – attentions - more than once, but it was never anything
meaningful. There were never any feelings associated with it. At least, not on
my part.
This feels monumentally different. The fact that I didn't ravage her just now
is proof enough to me. I don't want our first time together to be some
animalistic act. For the first time in my life, I want it to mean something. I
want her to know that I – I cherish her. That I value her more than any of the
insignificant women I've been with, that I would give anything to ensure her
happiness, that I love her.
The subconscious thought rushes into my head without warning, causing my breath
to catch in my throat.
I love her.
Is that what this is? Love? No, it can't be. We've only known each other a few
weeks, a month tops, and half of that time Bella hated me. Its way too soon to
think that I'm in love with her. Hell, it was just this morning that I finally
confessed to having feelings for her. And now, a few hours later, I'm jumping
head first into love? That's ridiculous.
Bella giggles. "What are you thinking about?"
I realize I've been staring at her this entire time, still holding her face in
my hands. I smile sheepishly, a little embarrassed that she's been watching my
internal debate.
I trace my thumb gently over her soft lips and they curl into a modest smile. I
can't tell her any of the thoughts racing through my head. No doubt it will
freak her out. Shit, they're freaking me out, and they're my thoughts.
"I was just thinking that I'm… sorry about before."
Bella's face falls, and she bites her bottom lip again.
"No, not that. God, no. I'm not sorry for that!" I clarify quickly. "I'm
talking about in the studio, the way I overreacted."
Bella finally looks up at me again. "It's just that I - I feel very protective
of you. I know I have no right to. You don't belong to me but, well, that
doesn't excuse my behavior just now."
Bella stares at me for a moment before her face relaxes. She sits up straight,
pulling her top back up to cover her naked chest and hops down from her perch
on the desk. She takes my hand in hers and pulls me to her bed. We sit down on
the edge of the mattress, and Bella tucks one boot-covered leg underneath her
body and turns to face me. Our hands are still intertwined on the bed between
us, and I stare down at her delicate fingers tangled in mine.
It's quiet for several long seconds, and Bella, likely feeling my hesitation,
scoots closer to me. Her bent knee is now flush against my thigh, and she pulls
our entwined hands into her lap. She ducks her head down, forcing her face into
my line of sight, compelling me to look up at her.
"If you don't want me to do this," she glances down, indicating her costume, "I
won't. If it makes you uncomfortable I can decline the audition and –"
"No, no. This is important. You should do it."
"No, Edward, what is important is you - us. I know this," she waves her free
hand in the space between us, "is so very new. But we've already had a rough
enough start."
I open my mouth to apologize again, but Bella shakes her head, not allowing me
to speak. "Nope," she says firmly. "We've been through that. We're past that
now. And I don't want to do anything that would jeopardize our new start."
"You would seriously walk away from the biggest opportunity of your career
because I was acting like a jealous, immature prick?"
She giggles at my description. "Yes, I would if what I'm doing is making you
unhappy."
Once again, I find myself astounded by her selflessness. I'm reminded of the
afternoon we had lunch in the café. The way she talked about her childhood and
how her parents had shuffled her around as if she was a burden to them. I
remember how she took it all in stride, because that was what worked out best
for her parents. And now she was doing it again, putting her wants and needs
behind someone else's – behind mine.
No, I would not let her do that. I recite my decree from this morning – Bella's
happiness is all that matters – and I will do everything in my power to ensure
that.
"It's not making me unhappy, Bella. I'm actually really proud of you, of how
hard you've been working. And I really do hope you get the job. Honestly, I do.
I was just stunned before. You knocked the wind out of me in there. It's been
an eventful day. I just wasn't prepared for, well, you know. That's all. I'm
sorry."
"It has been an interesting day, hasn't it?" she mused.
"It's certainly made my top ten list." I lean forward and place another soft
kiss on her forehead.
"Well the fun isn't over yet," she says with a smirk. She stands up and tugs at
my hand, pulling me up from the bed. Bella leads me into the hallway and back
to her studio.
She stops abruptly just before reaching doorway and turns to face me. Grabbing
a fist full of my shirt, she pulls my body to hers and looks up at me through
her long, dark lashes. The lustful, smoldering fire I saw before has returned
to her eyes.
"Its payback time," she says in a wicked tone.
I raise my eyebrows at her, trying to arrange my face in the most innocent
expression I can muster. "Payback? For what?" I ask sweetly, as if I don't
know.
Bella rolls her eyes and begins ticking off the list of encounters where I
likely left her hot and bothered. "Oh, let's see. That night you appeared half-
naked outside the bathroom, in the restaurant parking lot, on the kitchen
counter, and well, just now in my room."
"I thought just now was pretty - gratifying," I mutter, a smug smile on my
face.
Bella taps her finger lightly on her chin as if she's thinking it over. "Yes, I
suppose. But I do recall wanting more."
This girl is playing with fire – and she knows it.
"You really shouldn't have said that." I playfully snarl.
I grab Bella's hips and push her against the wall behind her. She squeals with
excitement, and I cover her mouth with a hard kiss.
A loud, rhythmic tapping interrupts our heated moment, and we turn our faces
toward the sound. Jacob is standing in the doorway, one hand on his hip, the
other bracing himself as he leans against the frame. His expression is amused,
yet he continues to tap one finger against the wood, pretending to be annoyed
by our childish behavior.
tap-tap-tap
Bella softly chuckles, and she snakes her body out from under mine. Jacobs's
eyes follow her as she brushes past him and into the studio. Then his attention
focuses back on me.
tap-tap-tap
His expression changes almost instantly. His amusement is gone, wiped away the
second Bella disappears through the doorway. Jacob appraises me again, but this
assessment is very different from the way he evaluated me this morning. He
watches me for a moment with a wary glare.
tap-tap-tap
Just as I'm about to open my mouth and fire off some smart-ass comment, Jacob's
expression softens and he jerks his head toward the studio. "Come on," he
commands.
I walk to the door, following close behind Jacob when he turns abruptly and
shoves one massive finger into my chest. "If you hurt her," he mumbles low
enough so that only I can hear him, "I'll kill you."
"If I hurt her, I'll be begging you to," I respond, my tone matching his.
He smiles wickedly. "Good answer."
"Are we going to do this or what?" Bella calls out from the center of the empty
room.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your leather panties in a twist," Jacobs bellows as he
turns away from me and stalks to the stereo.
I return to my chair as Bella takes her position in the center of the room. She
stands with her back to me, her legs spread wide and her arms dangling at her
sides. While Jacob fiddles with the stereo, Bella twists her head around and
mouths the word "payback." I smirk and shake my head.
Having found the correct music, Jacob resumes his perch by my feet. "You
ready?" he asks Bella.
"Yup," she responds, snapping her head back into position.
Jacob presses the play button on the iPod, and a loud guitar riff rings out
into the room. The song is forceful and boisterous, and the powerful beat
pounds in my chest. When the lyrics begin to fill the air, Bella begins to
move. She whips her hair around in a circle as she bends forward and grabs her
right ankle, her ass on full display. My eyes follow her hand as it moves up
the back of her leg, caressing her thigh, before finally resting on her butt.
She twists around, and my eyes finish their path up her torso to her face just
as she sucks one finger from the opposite hand through her wet lips.
Kelly won't kiss my friend, Cassandra
Jessica won't play ball
Mandy won't share her friend, Miranda
Doesn't anybody live at all?
Amanda won't leave me empty handed
Got her number from a bathroom stall
Brandy just got way too much baggage
And that shit just gets old
Bella marches toward me, her head down but her eyes burning into mine. As she
gets closer, I sit up and lean back against the chair. Honestly, I'm slightly
alarmed by the determined expression on her face. She stops directly in front
of me and plants one hand on each of my thighs. Her knees open around my legs
as she squats down, her ass bouncing on the heel of her boots. Using my legs
for support, Bella snaps her knees together and rolls her butt up into the air.
Her movement pushes her chest forward, and her breasts graze across the top of
my leg. She begins to push her body up, bringing her face directly in front of
mine, and as she brushes past, her tongue darts out and she licks my top lip.
"Quit improvising. Get back on routine," Jacob barks over the music.
Bella wags her eyebrows at me before whipping around and marching back to the
center of the floor, shaking her ass in my direction the entire time. Oh, she's
gonna pay for that little stunt.
But I got a girl who can put on a show
The dollar decides how far you can go
She wraps those hands around that pole
She licks those lips and off we go
She takes it off nice and slow
Because that's pornstar dancin'
She don't play nice, she makes me beg
She drops that dress around her legs
And I'm sittin' right by the stage for this
Pornstar dancin'
Sliding her feet part, Bella drops to the floor in a split with her legs open
wide. She rocks her hips forward and rolls onto her stomach, closing her legs
behind her and pushing herself up onto all fours. She crawls toward me like a
cat stalking its prey with a lust filled glare that looks like she wants to eat
me alive. Dropping her left shoulder, Bella rolls to her back and bends her
knees, planting her feet on the floor in front of her. She lifts her hips up
into the air as her hands begin to forcefully knead her breasts. Then she
slides her open palms down her abdomen and slips both hands between her legs.
"Jesus Christ," I hiss. My hand roughly tugs at my hair and I slide forward
slightly in the chair, fighting to control the overwhelming need to replace her
hands with mine.
Your body's lightin' up the room
I want a naughty girl like you
There's nothing hotter than a…
Stacy's gonna save herself for marriage
But that's just not my style
She's got a pair that's nice to stare at
But I want girls gone wild
Bella continues to move around the floor. I don't care how technical Jacob
thinks the choreography is; her dance is pure seduction. My hands grip under
the edge of the chair as I try to hold myself in my seat. Thank God the chair
is made of metal. Had it been wood, I'm sure my hands would have crushed
through, leaving me with a palm full of splintered pulp.
But I know a place where there's always a show
The dollar decides how far you can go
She wraps those hands around that pole
She licks those lips and off we go
She takes it off nice and slow
Because that's pornstar dancin'
She don't play nice, she makes me beg
She drops that dress around her legs
And I'm sittin' right by the stage for this
Pornstar dancin'
Bella strikes her final pose, landing on her knees and spreading them far apart
in a suggestive position. Her hair is swirled around her face, seductively
dipping over one eye. She is breathing hard, her chest rising and falling with
each breath.
Oh.
My.
God.
Chapter End Notes
     (music): My Darkest Days ~ Porn Star Dancing http://www.youtube.com/
     watch?v=3qLdvX-3l8k&feature=fvst
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
BPOV
My little payback scheme seems to work better than I originally hoped. Edward
doesn't stick around long after my little show, mumbling something about
needing a cold shower as he disappears through the door.
What did he expect the routine would be like? The song is about a stripper
after all.
Jake was pleased with my performance too, but for an entirely different reason.
I freaked out on him when I first put the costume on. I took one look in the
mirror at my half-naked body and launched into a tirade about how there was no
way in hell I could do this. He let me rant and rave for a solid five minutes
before he simply got up and left the room without a word. I was furious with
him when he returned with Edward in tow. I didn't understand why he was doing
this to me.
At first, just having Edward in the room calmed me down immensely, but then his
reaction to my costume confirmed my all fears – that I couldn't pull this off.
Then Edward said he was proud of me, that I'm beautiful, and he made me feel
beautiful too. It's not like I suffer from a low self-esteem or anything, but
in this instance, with the weight and the pressure of the upcoming audition
bearing down on me, I must have needed to hear it.
But it was more than his words that dissolved my nerves. It was the way he
looked at me, adoringly, like I was the most important thing in the world. And
when he stopped us from going any further, even though my entire body was
screaming for him, that action solidified every emotion I saw in his eyes. He
truly cares for me, even though I could see he was afraid to say it out loud.
My attitude does a complete U-turn then. I wanted to show him. I wanted him to
see. Granted, the audition routine isn't the most graceful example of my work,
but it's all I have right now. He has never seen me dance before, and I want
him to know this side of me, of my life.
It was then that I realized what Jake was doing. If I can do the routine in
front of Edward, whose opinion mattered more to me than anyone else's, then a
room full of music producers was going to be a cake-walk.
After I finished the routine, Edward stood up and walked slowly to me. He
twisted his long fingers into the hair at the back of my neck and pulled my
forehead to his lips.
"You'll be the death of me, I swear it," he muttered into my hair before
kissing the top of my head and leaving the room.
After two more times through the routine, Jake lets me take off the slut suit.
I have to keep the boots on though. I do need to practice dancing in these
skyscraper heels.
The entire afternoon is spent in the studio, working on the audition and a few
techniques I need to master before studio class tomorrow. It's well after dark
when we finally finish, and by the time Jake begins to pack up his gym bag, I'm
so anxious to see Edward that I'm literally bouncing up and down. Jake notices
my restless mood and quirks one eyebrow at me.
"What?" I ask defensively.
Jake just shakes his head, pulls his sweatshirt from his bag, and yanks it over
his head. He reaches into the side pocket of his bag and retrieves his cell
phone and car keys.
"What time is it?" I ask.
Jake glances at the phone in his hand. "7:42. Why? You got a hot date or
something?" he says with a smirk.
I narrow my eyes at him, but I don't respond. I'm relieved that it isn't too
late. Maybe Edward and I can spend some time together tonight before I have to
return to the grind of school and rehearsal again tomorrow.
Jake and I walk down the stairs and into the living room. Edward is there,
pacing behind the couch while talking on his phone. He looks up as we enter,
and I'm sure the smile that creeps across his face only mirrors my own. He
gives Jake a quick nod before whomever he is speaking with grabs his attention
again, and he's forced to focus on the conversation again.
I open the front door and follow Jake out onto the porch. Typically, Jake gives
me a quick peck on the cheek with a "night, babe, see you tomorrow" before
driving off into the darkness. But tonight, Jake stops and turns to face me,
his expression serious.
"Bells, I'm just gonna say this once, and then I'll butt the hell out, OK?"
I don't like where this is going already, so I just nod.
"I've lived here my whole life. I was here when the Cullens moved to town.
Granted, Seattle is a huge place, but Dr. Cullen has a very prestigious
reputation. I realize I don't know Edward that well, but I do know he also has
a - a reputation."
Jake takes a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say is, just be careful OK?
Remember why you're here. Don't lose focus of your goal. Do you understand what
I'm saying?"
I do understand what he's getting at, but I really don't want to have a long,
drawn-out conversation about this right now. I silently nod again, hoping it's
enough to appease him for now. Truthfully, I'd do a back flip right here on the
porch if it would get Jake to leave faster. I'm so anxious to get back inside –
back to Edward.
"Good, cause I'll be watching you. I'm not gonna stand by and let you get
hurt," he says with a smirk. I know he's teasing, but I realize there is real
truth to his words.
"Thank you, Jake. You're a good friend - my best friend," I amend, giving him a
tight hug.
"Yeah, I know. OK, go back inside. You look like you're about to burst. I'll
see you tomorrow. Love you."
"Night, Jake. Love you too."
Jake bounds off the porch to his car. I watch as he pulls out of the driveway
and disappears down the dark street. As soon as his car is out of sight, I rush
back to the front door, but I freeze the second my hand touches the doorknob.
Clearly Jake saw how eager I am. If I go back inside now, Edward will surely
see it too. The last thing I want Edward to think is that I'm desperate and
clingy. I step back from the door and take a few deep breaths to try to calm
down.
As I stand in the quiet stillness of the dark porch and try to rein in my
excitement, Jake's words unexpectedly and unwillingly repeat in my mind.
"He has a reputation."
What exactly does that mean, anyway?
Before I came to Seattle, Charlie warned me that Edward is a "trouble maker"
and that I should simply avoid him. But I haven't seen Edward get into any
trouble since I came here. On the contrary, he seems more like a loaner than a
rebellious teenager. I wonder what kind of trouble he could have gotten into to
cause so many people to form such a negative opinion of him.
Was he a criminal? Did he commit some act of violence?
I allow my imagination to swirl, picturing Edward in an array of wicked acts:
spray painting graffiti on an overpass, holding up a convenience store wearing
a black ski mask, robbing a bank like Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze in that
surfer movie. Each thought has me chuckling harder than the one before it. It
is all so ridiculous.
Since I've known him, I've never seen Edward do anything remotely scandalous.
Well, except for that night he and Jasper got drunk at home while I was out
with Jake. But who am I to judge; I was just as intoxicated as he was. Besides
that incident, I could probably count on one hand the number of times he so
much as uttered a bad word in my presence. But still, he must have done
something to cause the two most important men in my life, Charlie and Jake, to
feel they needed to warn me to be careful.
I sneak a quick peek through the illuminated windows. The curtains are closed,
but I can see Edward through a tiny space between the fabric and the window's
edge. He's still talking on the phone, but he's stopped his pacing for the
moment. He sighs as his free hand comes up and runs through his hair. He looks
frustrated, almost sad, and I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around his
waist and comfort him.
Then I realize, with resounding clarity – it doesn't matter. Whatever he has
done in the past is in the past. This is here and now. This is us.
Well, this is me standing alone on the porch. If I want "us," I should go back
inside.
I giggle again at my inner monologue as I turn and walk back into the house.
Edward has resumed his pacing again, still listening intently to the person
chatting away in his ear. He looks up as I enter, and the frustration I saw
through the window melts away as he smiles at me. My heart completely melts
too.
Yup, it doesn't matter.
"Yeah. Yeah. No, that's fine. Uh, huh… yeah," Edward blabbers away to his
caller.
I walk over to the couch and curl up on the soft cushions. It feels so good to
finally sit down. I've been on my feet nonstop since breakfast, and my legs are
starting to ache. I wonder, absently, if I should give Edward some privacy to
finish his call, but the couch is so comfortable that I can't force myself to
get up again. Instead, I snuggle deeper into the pillows and lay my head
against the armrest, closing my eyes.
I can hear Edward's voice grow louder as he moves closer to me, sitting down on
the armrest directly behind my head. His fingers softly graze the top of my
head as he runs them through my hair. I open my eyes, turn my head, and gaze up
at him. Edward bends forward and gently kisses my lips without making a sound.
I roll back to my side and close my eyes again as Edward resumes stroking my
hair.
"No, I'll tell him. I don't know. Yeah… she's right here. Of course, she's
fine." Edward leans forward slightly. "Esme says hi," he says a bit louder.
"Hi," I reply, though it comes out more like a purr.
"She says hi." Edward repeats to his mother, and I can hear the amusement in
his voice. "Yeah. I don't know. OK... yeah. Uh, I haven't seen him. I think he
went over to Ro-"
My eyes fly open in horror as I realize he is talking about Emmett. I sit up
abruptly, leaving Edward's hand suspended in the air, and begin frantically
sweeping my hand across my throat – the international sign for shut the hell
up!
"Err - no, I mean…" Edward shakes his head, looking at me with wide,
questioning eyes.
"Tell her he's asleep," I try to whisper, but it comes out more like a rasp.
"He's asleep," Edward shakes his head. He looks at me again, confused and
annoyed. "Of course, in his room," Edward scowls.
I grit my teeth and nervously begin biting my thumbnail. Edward takes in my
worried stance, and instantly his expression softens to one of amusement. He
leans toward me and grasps my hand in his, pulling it away from my mouth.
Intertwining his fingers with mine, he raises our joined hands to his lips and
kisses the inside of my wrist silently. Contented warmth spreads all over my
body.
"OK. Alright." Edward removes the phone from his ear and hands it to me. "She
wants to talk to you," he says, twisting his mouth downward in a mocking
grimace.
Oh crap. She didn't buy it.
I take the phone from his hand. "Hello?" I say hesitantly.
"Hi, sweetheart! How are you? How is school going? Are you ready for your
audition this week?" Esme fires her questions at me so rapidly it takes me a
second to process everything she's asking. Thankfully, none of it is about
Emmett.
"I'm good. Everything is good. School is going well, and I'm feeling better
about Wednesday. I got my costume today. It's a little -" I steal a quick
glance at Edward who smirks and looks away, "skimpy."
"Oh, well, sweetie, I'm sure it's going to be just fine. I wish I could be
there to go with you."
"Oh, that's OK. Jake is going to take me." The last thing I need is Esme at my
audition. That would make made me way too nervous.
"You call me the second you get done, OK?"
"Sure," I promise.
"Look, sweetie, the reason I called tonight is, well, things are going really
well here. The book is doing better than we expected –"
"That's so great!" I blurt out.
"Yes, thank you, it is exciting. But the publisher wants to add a few more
promotional stops on this little book tour so it looks like I'm going to have
to spend another week on the road. I know Carlisle has been working a lot too.
I just feel like we've been leaving you kids alone too much."
"Oh, no, no. It's fine, really. I'm at school and rehearsal so much anyway.
Don't even worry about it." I don't want to sound like I don't want her around,
but I can't help but feel delighted to hear we still have the house to
ourselves.
"Bella." Esme's tone becomes serious and I tense. "Can Edward hear me?"
"Um," I steal a quick glance at Edward. During my conversation with Esme, he
had walked over to the bar near the kitchen. He is leaning against it now,
flipping through the pages of a magazine, but doesn't look completely engrossed
in what he's doing.
I stand up and take a few steps away from the couch, pretending to mindlessly
pace from the living room to the foyer. "No, I don't think so," I respond
consciously after a few seconds.
"Good. He didn't want me to say anything to you about this, but really, how
could I not."
My heart begins beating rapidly in my chest. Edward has been talking to his
mother about me. I mentally kick myself for spending so much time out on the
porch. I could have been in here monitoring - or even preventing - that
conversation.
"He's worried about you, sweetheart," Esme confesses.
My eyes flash back to Edward. He's still occupied with his magazine and doesn't
notice the sudden panic radiating off me in waves.
"Why?" I manage to squeak out, but my voice noticeably waivers.
"Edward tells me you've taken over a lot of the household chores. He's worried
you are wearing yourself out between your school work, dance rehearsals, and
trying to run the house."
Esme chuckles softly. "Actually, he's kind of beating himself up about it
because he didn't realize it earlier. He assures me he's going to do what he
can to help out around the house more to take some of the burden off of you."
I'm shocked, completely and utterly shocked. I don't know how to respond, but I
manage to squeak out a harshly whispered "W - What?"
Esme laughs loudly in my ear. "I know. I was stunned speechless too. He was
asking me about where to take the dry cleaning and how to change the bag in the
vacuum cleaner. For a while there I couldn't believe it was Edward I was
talking to."
I glance at Edward again and notice he's watching me. I'm certain he can't hear
his mother from across this distance. He smiles, embarrassed at being caught
staring, and returns his attention to his magazine.
"Now, Bella," Esme continues, her tone now scolding. "You know I don't expect
you to, or even want you to take on those responsibilities. But I know you.
It's just ingrained in you to take care of everyone around you so I know asking
you to stop would be pointless."
"I don't mind," I insist.
"I know, dear. Just promise me you won't do too much, and you won't stress
yourself out. And please, please, if Edward wants to help, let him. This could
be so good for him." Esme laughs again. "That's part of the reason I don't want
to ask you to stop."
Now it's my turn to giggle, "OK, I promise."
I slowly stroll back toward Edward under the pretense of mindlessly pacing
while Esme prattles away in my ear.
"How are my boys doing?" she asks, returning to her normal, cheery voice. "They
aren't running you crazy are they? I do hope they're acting like gentlemen."
"Yes, they're fine. I've been keeping Emmett well fed, but Edward here could
probably use a cheeseburger or two."
I poke Edward in the ribs with my finger. To him, the gesture probably looks
like I'm emphasizing that he's too skinny. But to me, the jab is revenge for
tattling to his mother.
Edward recoils, grasping at his side with wide eyes, as if my little jab has
truly injured him. Dramatically, he stumbles back to the couch and collapses
with a flourish across the cushions. He pretends to draw his final breath and
die. It's an Oscar winning performance, and I can't stop the giggle that
escapes my lips. I have never seen him so playful, so happy.
"I'm glad you and Edward are getting along again." Esme's observation abruptly
sobers me up.
"Ah - yeah. He's a… we're -" Shit. I don't know what to say. We haven't talked
about this. We haven't talked about anything really. "Friends," I amend.
"I see. That's nice, dear. Edward could use a few friends like you. Don't
repeat this, but I'm not entirely fond of that Jasper fellow. I'm not sure he's
such a good influence on Edward."
"Uh huh," I mumble. Esme continues to prattle away in my ear about – something
- I wasn't listening anymore.
I'm completely distracted by Edward. He lays unmoving on the couch, still
pretending to be mortally wounded by my poke to his ribs. He looks so peaceful,
so beautiful.
I take a few steps closer until I'm finally standing directly over him. A tiny
sliver of couch remains unfilled by his body, and I sit down. I keep my eyes
locked on his face as I lean back and make myself comfortable against his
chest. His eyes remain closed, but he grins slightly before quickly composing
his features back into his performance.
This is the first decent opportunity I've had to really scrutinize his face. I
study the lines of his jaw, his lips, his cheek bones, his long eyelashes - all
while Esme rambles on in my ear.
"Hello? Bella? Damn this stupid phone – "
I shake my head and snap out of my trance. "Oh, I'm here. I can hear you."
"Oh good, well, I was just rambling anyway. I should probably let you go. Give
my love to Emmett when you see him. Tell him to call me, OK?"
"OK, sure." I agree.
"Bye, Bella. Good luck Wednesday. I can't wait to hear all about it."
"Thanks, I'll call you soon as I know something. Bye, Esme."
I close Edward's phone, lean forward, and place it on the coffee table.
Climbing down from my seat, I kneel next to the couch, scooting forward on my
knees to move closer to his head. He's still frozen like a statue, not moving a
muscle. Cautiously, I raise my hand and gently stroke the side of his face. The
stubble on his cheek tickles my palm, and I can see his lips twitch as he tries
to fight off the smirk I know is brewing just below the surface. I decide to
torture him a bit, tracing my fingers leisurely over his forehead, his
eyebrows, around his ear, down his cheek and finally across his bottom lip.
The atmosphere between us slowly dissolves from childish and playful into
something much more profound. I can tell Edward feels it too as his lips no
longer look like they are resisting a silly grin. Instead, his mouth opens
slightly and I feel a sharp breath pass over my fingers.
I can't stand it anymore. I lean forward and replace my fingers with my lips,
kissing him once gently.
That got him.
He finally breaks his petrified stance and moves his mouth against mine,
kissing me back eagerly. He reaches up, tangling his hands in my hair, pulling
me closer and intensifying our kiss. After several seconds he lets go of my
head and without breaking our kiss, he snakes both hands around my waist.
Lifting me up effortlessly, he pulls my body on top of his. One hand instantly
returns to my hair while his other hand gradually begins working its way under
my shirt, gently stroking my back. I melt against his touch.
We continue that way for a solid ten minutes; kissing, caressing, never moving
beyond simply making-out as our bodies twist and tangle together. Eventually,
we are forced to break our heated kiss to catch our breath. But even then, I
continue placing gentle kisses on his jaw and down his neck.
"Bella?" he asks breathlessly.
"Hmm?" I mumble, not slowing my actions.
"Where is Emmett?"
How can he be thinking of Emmett at a time like this?
"He's at Rose's house," I murmur into his neck. "Her parents are out of town.
He's not supposed to be over there after her curfew."
"Oh."
Edward is silent again for several minutes. I can tell something is on his
mind, so I reluctantly stop assaulting his neck and nestle my head on his
shoulder, my fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. Edward holds me
tightly against his chest, and he continues to mindlessly draw circles on my
back with his fingers. I wait patiently, hoping he'll just tell me what's
bothering him before I have to work up the courage to ask.
"Bella," he starts, "when you were talking with Esme you said 'we're friends.'
Were you talking about us?"
"Yes. Esme made a comment that we seemed to be getting along quite well. I
didn't know what to say."
Edward is silent again, but for much longer this time. I begin to worry that
he's angry with me. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. But what did he expect
me to tell her? I mean, we are friends, more than friends, obviously. Did he
not want anyone to know? Or maybe he's hurt that I didn't refer to myself as
something… more?
"I'm sorry," I say regretfully. "I guess I shouldn't have said anything to
her."
"No, Bella, you didn't do anything wrong. I just - I don't think we should tell
them, or anyone, about this. About us, I mean. Not yet anyway."
So that's it. He doesn't want anyone to know about this. "Why?" I ask, trying
to disguise the hurt in my voice.
I feel him shrug underneath me. "I just don't think they would like the idea of
us being together while we are living under the same roof."
"Oh, OK," I mumble. "That makes sense."
He does have a good point. If his parents knew about this, they would probably
never leave us alone, much less allow us to have the entire second floor to
ourselves. But I can't help the nagging feeling that there is something else
he's holding back. Before I can work up the courage to ask him, Edward speaks
again.
"So," he says in a cheerful tone, "what was that you were saying about
cheeseburgers?"
EPOV
Bella retreats up the stairs to take her shower, leaving me to clean up our
mess from dinner.
When she tries to help clear the table, I firmly announce a "you cook, I clean"
policy is now in effect. Bella looks at me skeptically for a second but doesn't
object. With a whispered "thank you" and a soft kiss on my cheek, she escapes
upstairs to her room. A moment later, I hear the faint sounds of water running.
This is the first meal I've eaten alone with Bella since our lunch date at the
café. Dinner at home seems to be her and Emmett's thing, and on some level, I
feel like I'm intruding. But since he's clearly not coming home tonight, Bella
assures me I'm a good enough stand-in for her "Emmy."
I couldn't wait to rag him about that later.
We make cheeseburgers, cooking enough to feed a small army. I watch as Bella
carefully wraps two of the burgers in foil and places them in a brown paper
sack along with a bag of chips and a soda. On the outside of the bag she
scribbles a quick note:
Have a good "day" at work!
Apparently, this routine plays out every night because when I look at her
quizzically, I get a sarcastic "what?" in response.
I finish loading the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and set to wiping down
the counters. Honestly, I'm glad to have these few moments alone as it gives me
some time to think.
Esme's little comment to Bella about us getting along really threw me. I know
we will have to "come out" to my parents one of these days. I just didn't think
it would be on day one.
I know Esme well enough to realize she probably doesn't buy Bella's "we're just
friends" routine. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Carlisle suddenly
switches off the night shift and starts hanging around the house more. In fact,
I'd bet good money that the second Esme hung up with Bella she was calling
Carlisle, instructing him to do just that.
I thought I covered well. The excuse that my parents won't like us shacking up
under their roof seems plausible. I just couldn't bring myself to tell her
everything. I promised myself I would do it soon, just not today. I know we
need to have a serious talk, but it just seems ridiculously early to be hashing
out our future when we just confessed our feelings for each other twelve hours
ago. We're still in the honeymoon phase.
Honeymoon.
The word conjures up all kinds of vivid images, and for a moment, I'm swept
away to a tropical island, Bella and I kissing passionately in the warm sand as
we –
"Edward?" Carlisle's voice breaks through my fantasy, and he laughs as I
literally snap back to reality.
"Where were you just now?" he asks, clearly amused.
"Oh, uh, nowhere. I - I was just – "
"Daydreaming. I get it," he interjects, saving me from my mumbling. "It must
have been a good one from the look on your face. I'm sorry I interrupted."
So am I.
"So, how are you?" he asks.
For the second time tonight, I visibly flinch. Carlisle hasn't addressed me so
casually in months. For a moment, I stare at him with wide, surprised eyes.
Carlisle must sense my astonishment. "How is school going?" he clarifies,
trying to lead me into a conversation.
"Its - good?" My answer sounds more like a question. I clear my throat and
hesitantly continue. "My schedule is pretty good. I got into the A.P. Biology
class I wanted."
This is weird. Are we seriously going to have a casual chat? Like father and
son? Like we used to?
"That's great."
Carlisle is silent for a moment as he continues to study me. He cocks his head
to one side and narrows his eyes. "There is something different about you," he
says, almost to himself.
So this isn't a friendly chat after all. He's looking for information.
I huff and shake my head, focusing my attention back on scrubbing the counters.
Here I am, thinking he's suddenly offering me a proverbial olive branch - such
an idiot.
"My drug test this month was clear," I mumble angrily.
"I know that, but that's not what I meant," he says calmly. "I don't know.
Something."
I stop cleaning and stare at him, the annoyance clearly evident on my face. My
irritation doesn't deter him, and Carlisle continues to scrutinize me.
With a start, I suddenly realize what is different about me, what's changed -
Bella. And I'm happy, truly happy, for the first time in a long time. Maybe
it's evident to everyone else.
"Bella made your dinner, er… lunch?" I nod to the sack on the counter, trying
desperately to change the subject as I focus on my cleaning again.
Carlisle walks over to the bar, lifts the brown bag, and smirks as he reads the
inscription. "That girl is something," he muses.
"Yes, she is." I blurt out before I can catch myself. Carlisle's eyes flash to
mine and he stares at me.
Shit.
His tone returns to the typical suspicious and untrustworthy tenor I've grown
used to. "Esme tells me you and Bella have become – friends."
I knew it! She did call him the second she got off the phone with Bella!
"She's friends with Emmett too," I deflect, mentally patting myself on the back
for pointing out that fact.
"Yes, she is. But that's different. Emmett has a girlfriend."
With whom he's shacking up with right at this moment.
I consider throwing that little bit of info out there and diverting the
conversation off me completely, but I can't do that to Emmett. I might need him
to return the favor one day.
"And," Carlisle continues, "Emmett isn't - you."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I ask belligerently.
"Edward, we talked about this," he says, clearly provoked by my defensiveness.
OK, here we go.
Carlisle is visibly growing more irritated by the minute, and I'm utterly
pissed. We're so long overdue for one of our epic battles that I'm surprised he
isn't shaking with symptoms of withdrawal. No doubt he's got some pent up
ammunition, given my hermit-like behavior over the past two weeks. If this goes
on for another minute, we will certainly be screaming at each other at top
volume.
I toss the damp rag forcefully into the sink and turn my body toward him. "You
know what, Carlisle,"I twist his name like it's a vile word. I open my mouth
again, about to unload how fucking sick and tired I am of his unrelenting
distrust over something that happened months ago, when I hear the water
abruptly turn off in the shower upstairs.
Bella.
I close my eyes and the image of her face appears behind my lids. A ripple of
calm runs down my spine, causing me to inhale deeply.
I have to keep myself in check. If I let my emotions get the best of me now,
I'll ruin everything. Undoubtedly, in the heat of the argument, I'd blurt out
something about Bella and I being together and where he could stick his
opinions on that subject.
I take a another deep breath and try to rein in my anger, lowering the volume
of my voice before speaking. "What is so wrong with Bella and I being friends?"
"Edward," Carlisle begins, and I'm surprised by his clam, almost regretful,
tone. "I've seen the way you look at her."
I don't know what to say to that. I can't deny it.
Just then, a door opens upstairs. We both look up to see Bella stride across
the landing at the top of the stairs. She wearing her silk bathrobe, and her
hair is wrapped tightly in a green towel, piled on top of her head. She
disappears into her room without noticing her audience below.
As soon as her door closes, I turn back to face Carlisle. I feel the smile that
had unconsciously materialized fade from my face. Judging by his smug
expression, Carlisle didn't miss it.
"I'm sorry, but you know my feelings on the subject. I'm counting on you to do
the right thing," he says decisively.
I don't move an inch. Sorry, Carlisle. Just go ahead and add this to my long
list of failures because I'm not going to stay away from her any more.
Carlisle grabs the paper sack from the counter and leaves out the front door
without another word.
I finish cleaning up the kitchen, putting the leftovers in the refrigerator
since Emmett isn't coming home, and turn off all the lights. I make it halfway
up the stairs when I hear Bella scream.
"OH! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! OUCH… OH… OUUU… SHIT!"
I sprint up the remaining stairs, taking two steps at a time, and burst through
Bella's door without even bothering to knock. She is limping in circles around
her bed, gingerly walking on the ball of her left foot. I rush straight to her,
holding out my hands to catch her, but Bella pushes me away. She continues to
hobble back and forth with a look of anguish on her face.
"What happened? What's wrong?" My eyes dart back and forth between her foot and
her pained face.
"Charlie horse," she spits between her clenched teeth.
"What?" She isn't making any sense. Did she hit her head too?
"Cramp. Leg. Cramp. Hurts."
"What can I do?"
She looks at me for the first time but doesn't stop her pacing, seemingly
trying to decide if there is anything I can do. After another pass around her
bed, Bella walks directly to me. She grasps both her hands tightly around mine,
and I feel her lean into the hold for support.
Slowly, she transfers her weight from her good leg and gradually begins
lowering her upturned heel to the floor. She sucks in a couple of sharp breaths
as she moves until – finally - she is standing flat footed on her offending
leg. She exhales deeply and seems to relax.
"Better?" I ask, still holding tight to her hands.
"Yeah, I think so." She begins testing her leg, shifting her weight back and
forth. "Yeah, it's over."
"What the hell was that?"
"A Charlie horse. A muscle cramp? You've never had one?"
"Not like that. You scared me for a minute there. I was concerned that I might
have to avenge your murder or something."
Bella snickers. "No, but sometimes it does feel like someone is stabbing me
when it happens. The only way I can make it stop is to stretch the muscle. You
know, put weight on it, and that hurts like hell too."
"Does this happen a lot?"
Bella shrugs. "Only when I've been working out a lot. I guess I'm not drinking
enough water."
"Well, let me get you something to drink." I try to turn and head back to the
kitchen, but Bella still holds my hands tightly in hers.
"No, don't go," she says softly.
I finally take in my surroundings. I'm in Bella's bedroom again, the lamp on
her nightstand casting a warm glow over the room. Bella releases my hands and
takes two small steps backward toward her door, her eyes never leaving mine.
She closes the door behind her and leans back against it, her hands
disappearing behind her back. I hear the faint click of the lock engage.
I smirk. "Are you taking me hostage, Bella?"
She nods once, very slowly. I allow my eyes to drink in the girl standing
before me. Bella's hair, still damp from the shower, drapes around her
shoulders in waves of chocolate ringlets. Her white t-shirt is too big for her
delicate frame and dangles low enough to cover just the tops of her bare legs.
"Did you really have a leg cramp, or was that just bait?"
Bella strides back to stand directly in front of me. She taps her finger
against her chin, pretending to mull it over. "Hmm, and it worked so well. I
might have to keep that in my arsenal."
I cradle her cheek in my hand. "You don't need to bait me, beautiful. You
already have me." I pull her face to mine and kiss her softly, once again using
my actions to convey the emotions I'm too much of a chicken-shit to say aloud.
Bella's hands skim up my arms, and she removes my hands from her face. She
twists her fingers in mine and takes a step back, pulling me with her as she
backs up toward her bed. When her legs meet the mattress, she lets go and drags
herself backward up the bed toward the pillows. I follow closely, crawling on
my hands and knees until my body is hovering over hers. I lean down, supporting
my weight on my arms, and resume kissing her gently. She raises her hand,
grasping the back of my neck, holding my face to hers.
Without breaking the kiss, I roll us both on our sides, freeing up my right
hand to explore. My hand trails slowly down her side, over her hip and across
her naked thigh. I grip under her knee and hitch it up over my leg, shifting
her body closer to mine. My hand begins to revisit the path back up her thigh
to her hip, but this time my fingers graze the skin under her shirt instead of
above.
Oh my God, she isn't wearing any pants. How did I miss that crucial detail when
I came to her rescue?
I barely pause as my fingers brush over the side of her underwear. My hand
continues its path up her side, pulling her shirt up as I move until I finally
brush against the side of her breast. Slowly, I run my hand across her soft
flesh as Bella moans softly against my lips.
Bella's hands, which were tangled in my hair, move down my chest. She grips the
hem of my shirt and pulls slightly. I sit up quickly and kneel on the bed
beside her. I reach behind my head and grab a handful of fabric between my
shoulder blades, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it to the floor.
Before I can lie down again, Bella is on her knees in front of me. Her hands
caress my chest as she kisses a path up my neck. Every touch of her lips feels
like fire against my skin. At long last, her mouth meets mine again, and I
grasp her face in my hands, kissing her as if I'm a drowning man and she is the
air I need to breathe.
Too soon, Bella pulls away. She crosses her arms over her body, gripping the
hem of her shirt, and pulls it up over her head in one fluid movement. Her
shirt barely has time to join the pile of discarded clothes on the floor before
I pull her mouth back to mine. My hands trail over her bare shoulders and down
the silky skin of her back. I pull her body flush against mine as she wraps her
arms around my chest.
Holding her close, I push back, laying her down gently on the bed. My body
hovers over hers, and for the first time tonight, I pause and stare into her
warm, brown eyes. I brush her hair away from her forehead and for a brief
second her eyes flutter closed.
"You are - so beautiful," I sigh.
Bella raises her hand to touch my cheek, and I twist my head and kiss the
inside of her wrist.
"Are you sure about this?" I ask, studying her face. She opens her mouth to
answer, but I cut her off before she can speak. "I don't mean just this, I mean
- me. Are you sure… about me? There is so much that you don't - you deserve to
-"
I close my eyes and shake my head, unable to speak the words. I need to tell
her she deserves someone far better than me, but I'm terrified. If she knows
the truth about me, if she knows what I had done, what I'm capable of, she'll
realize I'm right.
And then she'll leave me.
A sudden pain twists in my stomach at the thought of being without her.
"Hey, hey, don't do that." Bella's hands press gently against both sides of my
face. "Look at me, Edward."
I open my eyes again and look down at the beautiful woman in my arms.
"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. I want you, Edward. You." She smiles shyly
up at me. "I want you more than anything I've ever wanted in my life," she adds
quietly.
I stare at her, and I can see the certainty radiating in her eyes. "Bella, I…"
How can I tell her what she means to me? How can I explain this pull I feel
toward her? None of the words swirling around in my head even come close to
capturing the weight of what I'm feeling.
Except one.
"Come here," she whispers, clearly sensing my struggle. Bella pulls my face to
hers as she captures my mouth in a gentle kiss. "No more talking," she
commands, and I nod minutely without removing my lips from hers.
Our pace begins to quicken as our kisses become more passionate. I finally
break away from her mouth, desperate for air, and nuzzle my face into her neck.
I fight the urge to kiss her soft skin. Instead, I tease her with just the
lightest brush of my wet lips down her neck to her collarbone. Keeping my lips
in contact with her skin, I continue my path lower at an agonizingly slow
speed. I open my mouth slightly and exhale a warm breath as I move.
My reluctance at kissing her seems to be working as Bella's breathing becomes
more and more labored.
"Why are you torturing me?" she hisses.
I smile against her skin. "No more talking," I repeat, my lips not breaking
their connection with the top of her breast.
Finally, my mouth reaches her peak, and I circle my open lips around her
hardened nipple. Bella whimpers quietly as I suck her into my mouth. I continue
to caress her body with my mouth and hands. Bella can't seem to keep still, her
legs bending and stretching while her hips rock from side to side as she
writhes under me.
Bella's hands move to the waist of my jeans, and her fingers fumble with the
button. I feel the fabric give way as she begins to undress me. She pulls my
jeans over my hips, and they soon join the growing pile of discarded clothes on
the floor.
Our bodies become a tangled mess of arms, legs, and hands; twisting and
touching every inch without being able to get close enough. I slide my hand
down her side to her hip, slipping inside her underwear, and push them down her
thighs. Bella follows my lead, tugging my boxes down my legs, removing the
final barrier between us.
My heart is pounding in my chest, and our breathing is labored and erratic. I
lift myself up and hover over her, my weight resting on my elbows on either
side of her head. Bella stares up at me, and for a moment, I'm lost in the
flood of emotion I see in her eyes; desire and longing, lust and - love.
"Edward," she whispers, and I kiss her again. I'm determined to take this slow
and cherish this moment as if this is the first time I've ever made love to
someone.
I push myself inside of her and we both moan at the sensation. I stay
completely still, relishing the feeling of our bodies connected in the most
intimate way possible.
Gradually, I begin rocking my hips, slowly at first, then faster and faster,
feeding the fire that is burning inside me. Bella raises her hands over her
head and laces her fingers in mine, holding on tightly as I rhythmically move
in and out. From the look in her eyes and the way her body continues to quiver
under mine, I know she won't be able to last much longer.
I feel her grip on our joined hands tighten just before a spasm rocks through
her body. Bella cries out, and her legs tremble violently with the sudden
eruption of her orgasm. I feel her tighten around me in hot, wet waves, and I
come undone, grunting and moaning as I release inside her.
I collapse against her chest, my shaking arms unable to support my weight any
longer. Not wanting to crush her, I roll over and lay on my back beside her,
trying to catch my breath and slow my racing heart.
After a moment, Bella turns onto her side and lays her head on my shoulder, her
fingers lightly brushing back and forth across my chest. I touch her chin with
my hand, raising her face to look at me. Bella twists her body again so that
her chin rests on my chest. I look directly into her beautiful, brown eyes, and
she gazes back at me, a content smile on her lips.
"Bella, I -"
"No," she interrupts. "No more talking. There is nothing you could say that can
make tonight more perfect."
She's wrong.
Instead, I lift my head and kiss her softly again.
Chapter End Notes
     This story is BABY FREE! Even though they just had unprotected sex, I
     promise there will be NO pregnancy.
***** Chapter 9 *****
EPOV
I roll over and stretch my arms up over my head. My hands collide with
something solid above me.
What the fuck?
My eyes fly open and I take in my surroundings. Purple sheets, strange
pictures, ceiling fan. I don't have a ceiling fan. I chuckle to myself when I
realize where I am. I'm in Bella's room. Wow, I actually slept in a girl's bed
- Bella's bed - all night. That's a first.
I let the memory of last night replay in my mind; her voice, her face, even the
way she smelled, fresh and clean, like her soap from the shower. I inhale
deeply, hoping some of her scent lingers in the air around me, but sadly, I
don't pick up anything but the smell of clean linens.
I turn my head toward her empty pillow. I know Bella likely left an hour ago
for school. Still, it's sad to face the reality of the vacant space next to me.
I idly wonder if this is how any of my one-night stands felt when they woke in
the morning to find me gone.
Doubt it. Last night was the furthest thing from a random hook-up. Last night
meant something. And though we didn't say it out loud, I knew without a doubt
that we both feel the same way.
Something flutters on the bed, grabbing my attention. A small piece of yellow
paper slides off Bella's pillow and comes to rest on the mattress beside me. I
snatch it quickly, prop myself up on my elbow, and read the note twice.
Good morning,
I won't be home until very late, but I will be thinking of you all day.
~ B
I flop back onto the pillow, grinning like an idiot, before finally rolling out
of bed. After locating my clothes, which are haphazardly scattered around the
floor, I creep toward the door. I open it a crack and listen for any sounds
that someone might be downstairs. Bella's doorway is visible from the first
floor, and the last thing I need is for my brother to catch me sneaking back to
my room while he's making his breakfast. Or Carlisle returning home from work–
God forbid. I'd be packing my bags for military school before lunch if he were
to witness my morning after walk of shame.
When I'm certain the coast is clear, I make my way quietly across the hall. I
grab a quick shower and dress for school, tucking Bella's note into the front
pocket of my jeans.
School drags on endlessly and more than once, I wonder if today might possibly
be the longest day of my life. Even A.P. Biology, the one class I find remotely
challenging, can't hold my attention today. I stumble through lectures and
instructions, not hearing a word any of my teachers say. My mind continues to
wander back to last night.
This is pathetic. I need to get my head out of the clouds.
After school, Jazz tries to drag me with him to the music store so he can hang
with Alice, but I decide to head home. The last thing I need is to watch him
openly flaunt his girl when I have to hide mine away.
At home I'm completely worthless. I try to read, watch TV, play my guitar, I
even finish my homework in record time, but nothing holds my attention. I pace
around the house for hours, wandering aimlessly from room to room, even Bella's
dance studio. Just being in there helps me feel closer to her.
I return to my room as the sun begins to set and darkness blankets the windows.
The hours continue to pass at an agonizing pace. Finally, the clink of dishes
and sounds of cabinets opening and closing break the silence, a sign that
someone is in the kitchen. Unfortunately, I can tell by the sheer force with
which the pantry door slams shut that it isn't her. Fucking Emmett.
I listen as Emmett moves around nosily in the kitchen, and I vacillate for a
moment if I should join him or not. When Bella does come home, she'll likely
remain downstairs with him, sticking to their nightly dinner and TV ritual.
Would it draw too much attention to our secret relationship if I were to start
showing an interest in mindless primetime sitcoms?
Fuck it; it's just Emmett. He isn't observant enough, and I've been away from
her for far too long.
I bound down the stairs, trying to keep my stride as composed as possible,
while casting nervous glances at the front door for any sign of her arrival.
"Hey, bro, what's up?" Emmett greets me as I enter the kitchen.
I sit on one of the barstools and watch as he digs through the drawer where the
silverware is kept. The microwave beeps behind him, and he turns to retrieve
the dish from inside. He pulls a baking pan, containing the remaining half of a
lasagna, from the microwave and tests the food's temperature by sticking one
mammoth finger into the center. Apparently it's not hot enough, and Emmett
licks his finger clean as he returns the plate to heat some more.
He turns back around and catches me watching him. "There's a bunch of frozen
dinners in the freezer if you want some food." He gestures to the refrigerator
with his fork.
"Thanks." I have to tread carefully. The last thing I want to do is clue him in
that anything is going on. "You're not gonna eat with Bella?"
"Nah, she's got some tryout or something this week, so she froze a bunch of
leftovers for me. Help yourself; there's a ton."
"That's ok. I'm not really hungry," I say, mindlessly fiddling with a discarded
water bottle cap on the counter.
"Suit yourself."
The microwave beeps again and he retrieves the steaming food. I can't deny that
it smells incredible. Emmett walks around the bar, shoveling a forkful of red
pasta into his mouth as he sits on the stool next to me. "Can't even watch TV,"
he mumbles with a full mouth.
I turn to look at him. "Why not?"
"Because we are TIVO-ing our shows and I promised I wouldn't watch them without
her," he grumbles. "Can't believe I gotta wait a whole week to find out what
happened on Grey's."
I throw my head back, laughing out loud.
"Screw you. She loves that damn show. It sucks you in. Hey, what's she trying
out for anyway?"
"Music video," I respond nonchalantly, spinning the bottle top between my
fingers.
"No shit? That's pretty cool."
"Yeah, it's for some new band out of Canada, their first single. Sounds like it
would be huge for her career if she gets the job. Seems like the choreography
is pretty intense though."
"Huh. That's cool. How do you know all this anyway?"
Shit.The bottle top spins off the counter and bounces on the wood floor below.
I need to watch my mouth before I give too much away."Ah… Jacob told me," I
confess, bending down to retrieve my makeshift toy.
"Oh, yeah, Jake's pretty cool," Emmett says, shoving another enormous bite into
his mouth.
"Yeah."
We are silent for a several minutes as Emmett finishes his dinner. I want to
ask him exactly what time Bella usually gets home, but I figure I've already
slipped up enough. Instead, I decide to divert the conversation off of me – us
– entirely.
"Esme called last night. She wanted to talk to you."
Emmett goes completely still. "What did you tell her?"
"That you were asleep in your room."
He lets out a deep breath and is visibly relieved. "Thanks, bro, I owe you
one."
"No problem, but you need to call her. She's gonna be gone another week.
They're adding more stops to her book tour."
I can see Emmett calculating what this means. I have already done the math
myself. With Esme gone another week, and Carlisle still on night rotation at
the hospital, we both have free reign to spend as much time with our girls as
we want.
"I heard Rose's parents are out of town. When are they coming back?" I ask.
"Not till this weekend," he says with an excited grin.
"Just be careful," I warn. "Esme is getting a bit worried about leaving us kids
unsupervised so much. I have a feeling she's going to persuade Carlisle to get
back on day shift." Because she suspects something is going on between me and
Bella.
"Yeah, ok. Guess I should go call her." Emmett dumps his dirty plate in the
sink and heads down to his room.
~o0o~
I'm getting more anxious by the hour. It's well after 11 p.m., and Bella isn't
home yet. I think about calling her, but realize I don't have her number, and
she doesn't have mine. That doesn't help quell my overactive imagination.
She could have a flat tire, or have gotten lost, or run into a gang of thugs in
a dark alley.The situations in my head become more and more ominous as the
minutes tick by.
I realize I'm being ridiculous. No doubt she's with Jacob. I wonder if he knows
our "you hurt her, I'll kill you" arrangement goes both ways.
I retreat to my room, hoping to drown my apprehension with my headphones. Lying
on my bed, I close my eyes and turn the music up as loud as I can tolerate
while my mind drifts to thoughts of her.
My eyes open with a start, but the room is now pitch-black. Did I fall asleep?
Completely disoriented, I twist my head to the side and find my iPod resting on
the night stand, my headphones neatly coiled around it. The clock blazes 2:37
a.m. in blinding, red numbers. I try to sit up, but a weight on my chest holds
me down. Looking down, I find beautiful chestnut curls scattered across my
chest, and an arm wrapped securely around my waist.
"Mmm," she mumbles in her sleep.
I brush her hair away from her face and kiss her head gently. Wrapping my arms
around her, I pull her closer before closing my eyes and falling back to sleep.
Tuesday is an exact repeat of the day before. Bella is gone when I wake up, but
there is no note this time. I fumble through my day, trying to pass the time as
best I can while she's gone. I help myself to some of Emmett's frozen
leftovers, eating dinner alone at the dining room table. As I finish loading my
dirty plate into the dishwasher, I hear the front door open. Figuring it's just
Emmett, I don't even bother to look up. I wasn't expecting to hear a sweet
voice from the other side of the room.
"Hi," Bella says, dropping her gym bag sluggishly to the ground at her feet.
"Hi!" I exclaim. I don't even attempt to conceal my excitement as I bound
across the room, sweeping her up in my arms. "What are you doing home so
early?"
"Um, I missed you?" she says sheepishly. It sounds more like a question than an
answer, and I eye her critically.
"Ok, ok, Jake says I look like I need more rest than practice for tomorrow."
I pull back slightly and look at her - really look. Jacob's right. She looks
completely exhausted; her worn out body appears thin and frail.
"I wish I'd known you'd be home early. I would have waited for you to eat."
"That's ok. I'm not really hungry anyway."
"Bella, you need to eat something. It will make you feel better, give you some
energy." I release my grip on her waist, take both of her hands, and pull her
toward the kitchen. "Come on, I'll make you anything you want: steak, pizza,
French fries - I won't tell Jacob."
Bella giggles. "Oh so you cook now?" she teases.
"Well, no, but I'm awesome at ordering pizza… or drive thru."
"Drive thru, huh?" She thinks for a moment. "How are you with chocolate
milkshakes?"
I smile. "Let me get my keys."
I jog toward the stairs. My foot barely touching the bottom step when Bella
calls out, "Wait!"
Startled by her outburst, I spin around. "What? What's wrong?" Bella walks
toward me slowly with a mischievous smirk. She passes me, climbing up to the
second step, which brings her face level with mine. She wraps her hands around
my neck and leans forward, kissing me sweetly. I try to kiss her back, but the
stupid smile on my face prevents me from closing my mouth around hers. I
quickly reign in my amusement and give her a proper hello.
"Better?" I ask when we finally break apart.
She smiles. "Better."
Twenty minutes later, we are driving through the dark city streets, sipping on
our drinks. Bella doesn't want to go back home so soon, claiming all she's seen
of Seattle is the dance school, a few restaurants, and our house. So we drive
around aimlessly while I point out various tourist attractions and landmarks,
promising to bring her back in the daylight.
"Edward Cullen, are you asking me out on a date?" she teases.
"Would you say yes?" I hedge.
She shrugs, pretending to be disinterested. "I'd have to think about it, check
my calendar, ya know. Make sure I don't have anything better to do."
"Ouch."
She smiles and turns to gaze out the window.
"Bella, what time did you get home last night?"
"Just before one o'clock. Jake arranged for us to stay late in the rehearsal
studio, and we got so engrossed in practice that we lost track of time. Why?
I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
"No, no. I just… when it started getting late, I got anxious, not knowing where
you were. I wanted to call you but… I don't have your number."
Bella doesn't respond at first, and I tense, keeping my eyes focused on the
road. Surely it wasn't unreasonable for me to ask for her number, but why am I
suddenly so nervous? I glance over at Bella and the sly smile on her face
instantly puts my fears at ease.
"What?" I ask, coyly.
Bella shakes her head. "Nothing," she says. "You are so adorable," she adds so
quietly I almost don't hear her.
"Here," she says, pulling her phone from her pocket, "give me your number and
I'll send you a text. Then we'll both have each others."
I repeat my number as she types. A second later, I feel my phone buzz in my
pocket.
We drive around for another thirty minutes or so before finally heading home.
As soon as we arrive at the house, Bella heads upstairs to take a shower and
change out of her workout clothes. I lock up the house, turn off the lights
downstairs, and make my way to my room. I quickly change out of my jeans and
into some comfortable pajama pants. I retrieve my phone from my pocket,
intending to plug it in to recharge overnight, when I notice the missed text
from Bella.
Of course I would say yes. Always. ~ B
I try not to entertain the idea that her words could have a deeper meaning
while simultaneously wondering when I became such a sentimental pussy.
She's just talking about going on a date, Cullen, not getting married.
I sit on the edge of my bed and consider how to respond for a moment before I
hit reply.
You will always be the most beautiful thing in my world. ~ E
I hear the water turn off in the bathroom and a few minutes later the door to
Bella's room opens and closes. I wait. Would she come to my room again? Should
I go to hers? Or does she just want to be left alone? I know she needs her
rest, so I should probably let her be. I stand and walk toward my desk, but
before I can plug my phone in, it buzzes in my hand.
Balcony ~ B
It takes me half a second to register what she means before I spin around and
dart out the balcony doors, tossing my forgotten phone on the bed.
I can't see her at first, my eyes needing time to adjust to the sudden shift
into darkness. Finally, I make out her form, lying on one of the long deck
chairs in the center of the balcony. As I approach, she scoots forward, making
room for me to slide in behind her. She nestles her back against my chest and
covers us both with the blanket she brought from her room. I wrap my arms
around her and kiss her gently on her head; neither of us saying a word.
It's a beautiful, clear night. The lights of the city twinkle in the distance,
and a cool breeze blows through the trees. Fall is fast approaching, and soon
the air will be icy and cold, too cold for nights outside like this. I
absentmindedly wonder if Bella has ever seen snow, but I don't want to break
the comfortable silence to ask her.
Slowly, I begin to shift my weight from side to side, swaying Bella with me as
I gently rock her in my arms. As I sway, I start humming softly in her ear. At
first it's just random notes with no true purpose, but after a few bars, a
melody begins to take shape in my head. Bella twists slightly in my arms,
resting her head against my shoulder. I continue to hum quietly as her eyes
flutter closed. Soon her breathing becomes shallow and slow, and a moment later
she's asleep.
I repeat the melody once more, committing it to memory, as I gradually slow my
rocking motion until we are once again still. Slowly and cautiously, I slide my
body off of the chair, careful not to wake her. I scoop her up in my arms and
carry her back to her room, placing her gently on her bed and covering her with
the blanket we used outside.
"Don't go," she mumbles without opening her eyes.
I walk to the opposite side of the bed and slide under the blanket. Bella rolls
onto her side and faces me, her sleepy eyes fluttering open as she smiles
timidly. I reach up and brush her hair back from her face, my hand coming to a
rest on her cheek. I watch her eyelids grow heavy again and she fights to keep
her eyes open.
"Go to sleep, beautiful," I whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."
She smiles again and finally allows fatigue to overtake her.
My body is not used to going to sleep this early, so I lie awake next to her
for hours. Had I been in any other place, at any other time, I would have found
this monumentally frustrating. But there is no place in the world I would
rather be right now. I entertain myself by watching Bella's restless face while
she sleeps. Every now and then her forehead creases, as if in confusion, while
her eyes move rapidly back and forth under her lids. I try to imagine what she
could be seeing in her dreams to make her expression so troubled.
I continue to lazily stroke her cheek with my thumb, but fearing my constant
movement is what's disturbing her, I reluctantly remove my hand. I almost laugh
out loud when her eyebrows furrow and the corners of her lips turn down.
Reaching down, I gently, gently, lift her tiny hand from where it lays on the
bed between us. Twisting her palm toward me, I place her hand on my chest,
directly over my heart, and hold it against me. Her face relaxes instantly.
"Mmmmm," she moans. The sound is warm and contented. "My Edward," she whispers.
I chuckle silently. Bella talks in her sleep.
I roll onto my back, smoothly holding Bella's hand in place. She lifts her head
and brings it to rest on my chest as she snuggles in closer.
"My Bella," I repeat quietly. "You'll always be my Bella."
~o0o~
This is torture.
I pace back and forth across the balcony, holding my phone in my hand, and tap
it anxiously against my leg. I sent Bella a text over an hour ago wishing her
luck during her audition. I got nothing back. No response.
I'm a nervous wreck, though I can't figure out why; I'm not the one auditioning
right now. I have felt this way all day; anxious, edgy, tense, but now that the
hour is upon me – well, her – I'm completely panicked.
How long do these things take? Wouldn't she have called by now?
I wander back inside my room and check the clock on my nightstand for the
thousandth time. I run my hand through my hair, which I'm sure looks like a
hurricane hit it by now after the havoc I've wreaked on my scalp today.
Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming reverberates through the house.
"Edward!" she yells.
I run into the hall to see Bella sprinting up the stairs toward me. She leaps
into my open arms, almost knocking me down in her excitement.
"Edward! I did it! I got the job! Can you believe it?"
"Bella, that's awesome! I'm so proud of you. I knew you could do it. You're
amazing."
"That's what I've been trying to tell her." I see Jacob then, leaning against
the wall at the top of the stairs, watching our little reunion with his arms
folded across his chest and Bella's gym bag hanging from his shoulder.
"Bells?" Emmett calls from downstairs. "You OK?" He must have heard her
thunderous entrance all the way in his room.
"Emmy!" Bella releases me and dashes toward the sound of his voice.
"Emmy?" Jacob silently mouths to me. I just shrug, and we follow a very excited
Bella down the stairs.
"Emmy! I got the job!" she exclaims.
"No shit? That's awesome." He sweeps her up into a huge bear hug, lifting her a
good two feet off the ground.
"Hey, we should celebrate!" Emmett says as he drops Bella back on her feet. He
turns and walks to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a large bottle of tequila
with one hand and the margarita mix in the other.
"Oooooohh, no you don't!" Jacob protests. "This isn't over yet. She's only got
two days to perfect the changes they made tonight, and she can't do that with a
hangover. The celebration will have to wait until this weekend."
"Damn, coach!" Emmett grumbles, placing the bottles back inside the cabinet.
"Is he always this strict?"
"Yes," Bella and I answer in unison.
"Hardy har har," Jacob deadpans. "You'll thank me for this when you're rich and
famous."
Bella skips over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I appreciate you,
Jake. You're my best friend. I know I couldn't have done this without you."
Jacob rolls his eyes and smiles down at her. "I know, I know. You love me. You
can't live without me. You think I'm sorta beautiful."
"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Bella giggles.
"Alright, alright. YOU! Off to bed. We have a very busy day tomorrow, and I
can't have you all tired and sloppy."
"Yes sir!" Bella steps back and gives a quick military style salute before
turning toward the stairs.
Before she can take a step, Jacob grabs her arm and she turns back to face him.
"Hey, I'm really proud of you," he says softly. "You did great today. You
deserve this." Bella launches herself into his arms and hugs him tightly.
"Thank you, Jake," she whispers.
"OK, this is getting way too Lifetime Movie for me," Emmett groans. "I'm outta
here," he calls over his shoulder as he retreats to his room.
"Yeah, I'm going too," Jake says with a sigh. He lifts Bella's gym bag from his
shoulder, but instead of placing it in her outstretched hand, he passes it to
me. I take the bag and pull the strap over my head and across my chest before
Bella can protest. "I'll pick you up in the morning for school, OK?"
"K," Bella agrees.
She follows Jacob to the front door to say goodbye and returns a minute later.
She walks directly to me, and I place both hands on each side of her face,
pulling her lips to mine.
"Hi," I whisper, when we finally break apart. I lower my hands to her waist and
hold her body against mine.
"Hey yourself," she says happily.
"Did you have dinner?"
Bella pulls away from my grasp and takes my hands, tugging me toward the
stairs. "I just wanna go upstairs."
"Bella?" My tone is more of a warning than a question.
She sighs, defeated. "No, I haven't eaten."
"Well neither have I. I've been too nervous to eat and now I'm starving," I
confess, pulling her in the opposite direction toward the kitchen. I drop her
gym bag next to the bar and pull out the stool for her to sit down. I walk
around to the other side of the counter and begin pulling plates, forks,
knives, and glasses from the cabinets.
"You were nervous?" she says with a laugh, perching on the seat and leaning on
her elbows against the counter.
"Sure. I didn't know how it was going. I've probably paced a mile on the
balcony tonight. Didn't you get my text?"
"No." Bella leans down and retrieves her phone from the front pocket of her gym
bag. She opens the phone and goes through the motions of retrieving her
messages. Finally, a slow smile spreads across her lips.
"You are so adorable," she murmurs, reading my message.
"That's the second time you've called me that," I chastise. "I am not adorable.
I am very manly and tough."
Bella sets her lips in a hard line, trying not to laugh.
"Now, me hunt for food," I declare in my best caveman voice as I open the
refrigerator door. "Let's see… we've got chicken-something and… something that
looks like pasta… and a casserole…" I ramble off the contents of the fridge
that Bella most likely stocked herself.
"That casserole takes an hour to bake, and I don't feel like eating pasta
tonight," Bella responds from her seat.
"Chicken-something it is," I announce, pulling the container from the fridge. I
divide the contents on the plates, giving a larger portion to myself, and set
Bella's in the microwave to heat first.
"So, tell me about it. The audition, I mean."
I busy myself with serving our dinner while Bella recalls the entire event,
describing in detail the eight other girls she beat out for the job. She got to
meet the video producers, the director and even the lead singer from the band.
That would have been the highlight of my night, had I been there, but Bella is
more excited by her introduction to the lead choreographer – Bree Tanger?
Tanner? – I forget the name as soon as she says it. Apparently this Bree is
someone important in the dance community.
Naturally Bella asks about my day, and I gloss over mundane details of school
as she pushes the last few bites of her dinner around on her plate. When I
finish eating, she reaches for my empty plate.
"What are you doing?"
"Sorry, were you planning on licking the plate clean?" she asks sarcastically,
waving the empty plate in the air.
"No, but I was going to do that," I state firmly, walking around the bar to
stand next to her at the sink.
"What happened to 'you cook, I clean'?" she asks, reminding me of my previous
decree.
"Well, technically, I didn't cook. I reheated."
Bella rolls her eyes and continues to rinse the plates in the sink. "Here," she
says, handing me the wet dish, "we can do it together. Alright, partner?"
"Alright." I take the plate from her and load it into the dishwasher. We
continue that way, working side by side, until the kitchen is once again
spotless.
"I'm going to go take a shower," Bella announces. "Meet me on the balcony in
twenty?"
"Sure. I'm gonna lock up down here then I'll be up."
With a quick kiss on my cheek, Bella scoops up her gym bag and bounces up the
stairs. As soon as she disappears out of sight, I rush to the laundry room to
raid the utility closet.
BPOV
I stand under the warm spray with my eyes closed, allowing the water to wash
away all the stress and tension that built up during the day. The adrenaline
from landing the audition is long gone, and I'm already fighting to keep myself
from getting worked up about the upcoming video shoot.
Tomorrow, worry about it tomorrow.
I switch off the faucets and squeeze as much water from my thick hair as
possible before stepping out onto the cold tile floor. Grabbing a towel from
the rack, I begin rubbing it against my wet curls, shaking them violently, as I
watch my reflection in the foggy mirror. I slowly lift the towel, running
across the length of the glass, wiping away the steam. I appraise the naked
body reflected in the mirror.
Of course, my wet hair is limp and lifeless right now, but I can't deny the
thick curls are one of my best features. The circles under my eyes seem more
noticeable, but that's probably just me being over-critical. I ghost my fingers
over my breasts. Granted, I'm larger than many of the girls in my dance class,
but someone like me would never be gracing the pages of a Victoria Secret's
catalog. Under the swell of my chest, my ribs poke out slightly and I turn to
my side, evaluating my flat stomach. My eyes trail further down to my – nether
regions. I began waxing that part of my anatomy at a very early age. I've lived
ninety percent of my life in a leotard and it just comes with the territory.
I turn back to face the mirror full on. I never considered myself particularly
beautiful, but I guess I'm not too bad to look at either. I smirk. Edward seems
to think so.
I grab the hair dyer out of the drawer, attacking my damp hair with the highest
setting. Dragging my curls through a fat, round brush, I focus the heat on one
area at a time. After several passes, the waves surrender, and my hair hangs
flat as a board. Straightening my hair like this actually highlights just how
long it is, and the shiny tresses almost touch my waist.
I put the dryer away and continue to brush through my smooth hair, enjoying the
feel of it as it tickles my bare back. Reaching behind my neck, I divide half
of my hair over each shoulder, pulling each section around to the front and
draping it so that the strands cover each breast like a curtain. Ok I admit it;
I look freaking hot like this. I'd love to sneak across to Edward's room just
like this and shock the hell out of him. But, unfortunately, I'm not that
brave.
I grab my shirt, panties and pajama pants from the counter, and dress quickly.
I told Edward I'd meet him in twenty minutes, but I'm sure my hair makeover has
made me late. Hanging up my wet towel, I dash across the hall to my room, tying
the drawstring of my pajama pants as I dart around my bed and out the balcony
doors.
I freeze.
White candles, in various shapes and sizes, flicker from every available
surface. I slowly scan the space, taking in the warm glow of the flames as they
glimmer and sparkle in the breeze. Small tea-light candles line the ground
along the railing, evenly spaced between every fifth or sixth iron rung. A few
larger votives are scattered on various chairs and tables around the entire
space. I inhale, and the faint scent of vanilla and lilac fills the air. Next
to the lounge chair – our chair – are several clusters of ivory and white
pillar candles in an assortment of shapes and heights.
I notice Edward then, sitting on the end of the lounge chair, watching my
reaction to the scene before me. Apparently he likes what he sees, and a
cunning smile slowly spreads across his lips. He looks down at the candle in
his left hand, flicking a cigarette lighter to life and lighting the wick. He
places the burning candle down in the collection of pillars closest to his feet
before rising from the chair.
I'm still frozen in place, my eyes focused on the beautiful man strolling
toward me. Edward stops directly in front of me and reaches for my hand, still
holding tight to the open door beside me. He removes my hand and, as he shuts
the door behind me, he places my palm against his chest, directly over his
heart, and covers my hand with his. Something about the gesture feels oddly
familiar, but I'm too dazed by my surroundings to fully process the thought.
"Edward, this is – it's beautiful," I breathe.
"No, love, you are beautiful." He reaches up with his free hand and runs his
fingers through my straight hair, his eyes following the motion. "I like it,"
he says as his eyes return to mine.
Edward takes a step back, nodding his head in the direction of the lounge
chair. He still holds my hand firmly against his chest, and I allow him to pull
me along with him as he walks backward. Once we reach the chair, Edward sits
down and releases my hand, only to grab my hips and pull me into his lap.
"Turn around," he murmurs into my ear, and I obey.
Edward leans back against the top of the chair, and I press my back against his
chest. It's the same position we were in last night when he rocked me to sleep
in his arms. He leans down and retrieves a blanket from beside the chair,
draping it over both of us.
As he settles back into the chair, Edward gathers my hair together, as if he's
about to pull it into a ponytail and lays it gently over my left shoulder,
exposing my neck. I feel his hands caress my shoulders and he begins to knead
and rub my tense muscles.
"Mmm," I purr as my eyes roll back into my head.
After a moment, I feel Edward's lips brush against my ear, and he begins to
trail kisses gently down the side of my neck. I lean my head to the side,
giving him as much access as possible. His hands begin moving too, sliding down
my shoulders, skimming the top of my arms, not stopping until he reaches my
elbows. He loops his hand under my arms then and slides his hands around my
waist.
It isn't long before his hands make their way under my shirt and his fingers
dance across my stomach. His hands travel upward, and Edward lets out a low
growl as he realizes I'm not wearing a bra. He massages my breasts, one in each
hand, and I can't help the moan of pleasure that escapes my lips.
My hands aren't still either, rubbing up and down his thighs on either side of
me. When Edward begins to assault the sensitive peaks of my nipples, I throw
one arm behind his head and tangle my fingers into the hair at the base of his
neck. That only seems to encourage him – thank God – and one hand slips from my
breast and begins a glorious trip down my torso.
Edward doesn't pause when his hand meets the waistline of my sleep pants, and
he skillfully unties the tiny bow, allowing the fabric to go slack around my
hips. He dips his hand inside and presses on, colliding with the small pulsing
bud between my legs without hesitation. All logical thoughts fly out of my
head.
"Ugh, yes," I hiss as he begins to rub me in tight, hard circles.
"That feel good, baby?" he mumbles into my neck. My only response is to moan in
pleasure.
I keep my eyes closed, concentrating on the intense throbbing between my legs.
I give myself over to the sensation and let me knees fall open to the each
side. My left arm is still wound tightly around the back of Edward's neck, and
I pull his head down toward my shoulder. He responds by kissing, biting, and
licking from my neck to the base of my ear.
"Are you gonna give it to me? Or do you want me to beg for it again?" he
murmurs in my ear, and I almost lose it at his seductive voice.
"Beg," I command.
"Cum for me, baby. Please."
"You'll have to… do… better than… that," I grumble, fighting to keep myself
together for just a little longer.
"Please, baby, give it to me." I bite my lip to stifle the moan threatening to
escape. All I can do is shake my head.
"Don't make me take it from you," he snarls, his tone now animalistic and
primal.
"Oh God… take it," I command.
In a flash, Edward's other hand slides between my wet folds and he plunges his
fingers deep inside me. I cry out as both of his hands attack my hypersensitive
core. Edward holds me tightly against his chest as my hips attempt to buck
wildly off the chair. I vaguely register his voice as the surge overtakes me.
"Oh, yes. That's it, baby."
I gradually come down, feeling a little lightheaded from the repeated short
gasps of air. Edward continues to softly kiss the back of my neck as he slides
his hands out of my pants. I don't waste any time. As soon as he's free, I sit
forward and spin around, planting my knees on either side of his hips and
straddling his lap. I groan as the solid erection in his jeans makes contact
with my overly sensitive center.
Both of my hands tangle in his hair. At the same time, he grips my face,
pulling my mouth to his. We kiss, hot and sloppy, for a second before I pull
back and yank my shirt off over my head. My top is just the beginning, and we
quickly undress each other as if our clothes were on fire.
We resume our position in the chair, and Edward wraps the blanket around us
before pulling my lips back to his. I rise up on my knees slightly, keeping my
mouth on his, and with a few skilled movements of my hips, I easily guide him
inside of me. Edward abruptly breaks our kiss by throwing his head back against
the chair, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.
"Ugh," he growls low in his chest.
"That feel good, baby?" I repeat his previous question, unable to hide the smug
tenor in my voice.
I start to rock against him, but Edward grips my hips preventing me from
moving. "Wait," he hisses.
"What? What's wrong?"
"Just… give me a second."
I smile and lean forward, leaving open mouth kisses along his jaw. "Are you
going give it to me? Or do you want me to beg for it?"
Edwards hold on my hips tightens slightly. "You are evil."
I figure he's had long enough to get himself under control, and I slowly move
my hips forward. Edward finally lifts his head from the chair as he runs his
fingers up my bare back. Using both hands, he sweeps the long strands of hair
back from my face and holds my head in his hands. I grind against him, keeping
a steady rhythm with the throbbing nub between my legs.
I sit straight up and Edward's hands fall from my face to my hips. He grips me
tightly and begins to guide me up and down his length. This may not have been
the best decision, as the new position drives him even deeper inside me. I know
I'm not going to be able to last much longer like this.
Apparently, Edward has the same realization, and slides his left hand forward,
pressing his thumb against my most sensitive crux. All sense of control
shatters, and I crumple forward again, burying my face in his neck as I cry
out.
Edward continues to plunge himself inside me, guiding my hips up and down
roughly with his hands as he works toward his own release. With only three more
thrusts of his hips, I feel him shudder and quake as his climax jolts inside of
me.
Completely spent, I slouch against his chest, still connected with him in the
most intimate way possible. Our heavy breathing is the only discernable sound
in the silent night air. Edward reaches forward, pulling the blanket up over my
shoulders from where it had pooled around his thighs, before wrapping his arms
around me.
"You OK?" he whispers into my hair.
"Mmm," I reply eloquently.
As soon as I feel my heart rate slow down to a semi-normal rhythm, I extricate
myself from our intimate position. Turning around, I reposition myself between
Edward's legs, covering our naked bodies with the blanket as I lean back
against his chest. I look around the balcony again, taking in the candlelight
sparkling in the darkness.
"This is amazing. I can't believe you did all this."
I feel Edward chuckle lightly underneath me as he begins to run his fingers
through my hair. Starting at my scalp, he weaves his fingers into my hair, then
runs them straight through, letting my locks fall in weightless strands one by
one, over and over. For a second, I wonder if he's doing it to lull me to
sleep.
"I never realized how long your hair is."
Now it's my turn to chuckle. We stay that way, wrapped under the blanket,
Edward stroking my hair, enjoying the quite calm for at least half an hour
before I can't fight my deep yawns any longer.
"Alright, bedtime for the ballerina," he says, pushing me to sit up. I hold the
blanket across my chest as Edward swings his legs around behind me. He reaches
down, retrieves his boxers and jeans from the ground, and proceeds to get
dressed.
I groan. "Can't we just sleep out here? It's so pretty."
"Ha, no way. It's getting colder by the hour and you don't put off enough body
heat to keep me warm," he says, standing up to button his jeans.
"How chivalrous," I tease.
"Hey!" he protests, waving his arm wide to indicate the grand romantic gesture
he has put together.
I snicker, but don't say anything. Edward gathers up his shirt and my clothes
from the ground, and drops them into my lap. Before I can process what he's
doing, he wraps the blanket around my back like a cocoon and scoops me up along
with the clothes. I squeal at the sudden movement, and he carries me like a
bride toward his bedroom door.
"Little help?" he says, nodding toward the door handle. I bend forward and
twist the knob, opening the door wide enough for him to carry me through.
"Thank you, love."
It isn't lost on me that it's the second time tonight he's used that particular
term of endearment.
Edward places me gently on his bed, kissing me sweetly before standing up and
walking back toward the balcony door.
"I'll be right back," he says, and disappears outside again.
I dig through the pile of clothes in my lap, pulling on only my underwear and
Edward's t-shirt before I settle under the sheets. Edward returns a moment
later, switching off the light and plunging the room into complete darkness. I
hear him walk around to his side of the bed – his side, we have sides – and
listen to the distinct sound of his jeans falling to the floor. Edward climbs
under the sheets and, although I can't see him, I feel him roll on his side to
face me.
"You still awake?" he whispers.
"Yes," I whisper back.
"I, ah… I want to ask you something," he says, returning to a normal but quiet
tone. Judging by the nervous edge to his words, whatever he wants to say can't
be good.
"OK."
"Well, I guess we should have talked about this, ya know, before now. But…
well, like tonight… and before I… I didn't, you know, use anything. And, you
don't seem concerned about that."
I snicker. "Don't worry, I can't get pregnant."
"Oh," he says.
Edward is quiet again. I really should put him out of his misery. Right now
he's likely vacillating between asking about the effectiveness of the pill, or
if there's something wrong with me.
"I'm on the pill, but there are also other factors that would also make it,
well, virtually impossible for me to get pregnant right now."
"Factors?"
"Well, sometimes," I begin, really hating to have to go into all these intimate
details, but he does have a right to know. "Sometimes, female - athletes stop,
um, being able to… reproduce. And everything that goes along with that."
I silently pray that he understand my roundabout explanation. I really don't
want to have to come out and say that I don't get my period anymore. Didn't he
notice the lack of tampons in our bathroom?Usually guys baulk at that stuff.
"My doctors say it has something to do with how much I exercise and that my
percentage of body fat is too low, or something."
"And, that's OK? For you to, ya know, go without… that?"
"Well, no. Not really. My doctors in Phoenix advise me to reduce the amount of
exercise I get by fifteen percent and increase my calorie intake by the same
level. But they understand that's not really feasible with my career path right
now. So I take supplements, and I had a consult with a nutritionist. Everything
should go back to normal when I quit dancing, or I guess I should say when I
quit training so hard. I don't think I'll every quit dancing."
"Oh."
Part of me is glad this conversation is happening in the pitch black, as I'm
sure I'm blushing clear down to my toes. But part of me is curious about
Edward's reaction, the one I can't hear in his voice. "Apart from the whole
pregnancy thing, there's nothing else, you know, that you should be worried
about on my end. Unless you -"
"No, no, God, no! I'm good, clean,er, I mean… you don't have to worry." I hear
him bury his face in his pillow, and I giggle.
"Edward?"
"Yeah?" His voice is muffled by his pillow.
"I'm wearing your t-shirt," I admit, blatantly changing the subject.
"I noticed."
"I'm going to keep it. It's my shack prize."
He laughs, lifting his head and finally ending his attempt to suffocate
himself. "Your what? What's a shack prize?"
"Oh, you know - a shack prize. When you shack up with someone and you wear some
of their clothes home the next morning and keep them."
"Do you have a large collection of shack prizes, Bella?"
I reach across the darkness and playfully punch at the first thing my hand
makes contact with.
"Ouch! Damn, woman."
"Good night, Edward," I say sternly.
"You didn't answer my question."
I smirk. "This is my first, but it won't be my last."
"Bella?"
"Yes, Edward?"
"Remind me to hide my favorite Jane's Addiction shirt tomorrow."
I try to swing at him again, but this time he catches my arm and pulls it
across his chest, snuggling my body next to his.
"Good night, Bella."
"Good night, Edward."
***** Chapter 10 *****
EPOV
It's been two days - two grueling, frustrating, long-ass days – since that
night on the balcony, and I haven't seen Bella since. The only sign that she
even comes home at night are the rumpled sheets I find on her side of the bed
every morning. I love that she sleeps in my room; I just wish I would wake up
when she crawls into bed with me.
When I roll over early Saturday morning and once again find my bed empty, I
groan aloud in frustration. I glance at the clock. There's no school today, no
reason for her to be up before 7:38 on a weekend. I sit up and lean forward,
rest my elbows on my knees, and hold my head in my hands. For a brief second,
before my half-asleep brain finally catches up with reality, I start to wonder
what I did wrong this time, and why she's avoiding me.
You conceited moron. The video shoot is today.
Reaching over, I grab my phone from the nightstand, scroll through the list of
contacts, and pull up Bella's number to send her a text.
Good luck today.
My finger hovers over the send button for a second.
I miss you,I add and send the message.
Resting the phone on my bare chest, I flop back down on my pillow and sleep for
another two hours.
When I wake up again, I don't even need to check my phone to know she hasn't
responded. The buzzing of an incoming message would have woken me up before
now. I try not to let it bother me, reminding myself that she's just busy, that
this is a big deal for her, that it's just one more day, that –
That I'm not this lame-ass, co-dependent guy. Ugh! What is this girl doing to
me?
I resolve to accomplish something – anything – today. I refuse to spend another
day pacing around the house, which seems to be my favorite pastime when Bella
isn't around. I get dressed and head to the bookstore.
After browsing the new releases for a few minutes, I select one to try out. The
distraction works. I become absorbed in the grisly murder of a millionaire's
son, and the twisted lives of the three top forensic investigators who join
together to solve the crime. I'm halfway through chapter three when my phone
vibrates in my pocket.
Food. Now. ~ Jazz
I sigh. It's not the text I'm hoping for, but I try not to let the frustration
register.
Feed yourself. ~ E
I stuff my phone back in my pocket, but before I can return my attention to my
book, it buzzes again.
I see your car at the bookstore, ass bag. Meet us at the café across the
street. ~ Jazz
Us? Oh, right, Alice. I contemplate for a second if I should go, or just blow
them off.
Be there in ten. ~ E
I make my way to the register, tossing my new book and the latest issue of
American Dance Magazine on the counter. The latter earns me a knowing look from
Tyler, but he rings up my purchases without making a comment. Smart boy.
After stashing the bag containing my book and Bella's magazine in my car, I
walk the short distance to the café. Jazz's stark blond hair is easy to spot
from where he and Alice are sitting at one of the outdoor tables. I walk up
behind him and shove the back of his head.
"Hey, Alice," I say with a nod in her direction. I take the seat across from
her. "Long time no see."
"Hey yourself," she sings in her tiny, childlike voice. "Jazz noticed your car
at the bookstore, and I thought it would be nice if we all got together for
lunch."
"Thanks for the invite. I'm surprised you actually got him out of bed before
noon on a Saturday."
"Screw you, man," Jazz protests with a laugh, playfully shoving my shoulder.
"So where the hell have you been? I've barely seen you in weeks."
"You saw me yesterday at school, idiot."
The waitress appears at my side, and we give her our food and drink order
before she quickly retreats to the kitchen.
"You know what I mean. How's the warden treating you?"
I glance at Alice. Judging by the expression on her face, it's clear she's
aware of my project to make peace with Carlisle. Jazz notices my fleeting look.
"Alice knows, well, everything," he admits. "I hope that's alright. We don't
keep secrets from each other."
They exchange a sickly sweet glance, and I bite my lip to keep from groaning
out loud. Who am I to judge? If Bella was here now, we'd probably be making
fucking goo-goo eyes at each other too. At the same time, I thank God that
she's not here. How would I explain this conversation?
Oh, you two don't keep secrets from each other, but Bella and I do. Right,
baby? Oh, you didn't know?
Yeah, that would go over like a lead balloon.
"Carlisle's been fine. We almost got into it the other day, but it was nothing
major." I scoff internally as I recall the night he basically told me to stay
away from my reason for existing.
Jazz stares at me incredulously. "Listen to you, Carlisle's been fine?"
"What?" I protest. "I've barely seen him since he started working nights at the
hospital."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that." Jazz chuckles. "I wouldn't be surprised if Esme
convinced him to switch to the night shift just to keep you and Carlisle apart
while she's gone."
"I hadn't thought of that. You might be right." Shit, he probably is right.
"Is it really that bad?" Alice asks with a look of genuine concern. I wonder
what kind of impression Jazz must have given her of Carlisle. To say there is
no love lost between the two of them is the understatement of the century.
"Yeah it is," Jazz blurts out before I can respond. "Edward and Carlisle's
fights are epic."
"No, they're not. And no, Alice, it's not that bad. Carlisle and I just…
disagree on a lot of things, and we tend to disagree, well, loudly."
"OK, who are you and what have you done with my best friend?" Jazz's face
twists in an expression of mock horror. "Seriously, did you two finally hug it
out or something?"
"No, he still thinks I'm an asshole." I glace at Alice. "Sorry." She brushes
off my offensive language with a wave of her hand before I continue. "He
doesn't trust me, and I don't think he ever will."
"So you're giving up then, on your whole crusade?"
I lean back in my chair and run my hand through my hair. "No, not really. Like
I said, I haven't seen him much since Esme left. And I guess I haven't given
him any reason to seek me out."
"What about your probation?"
"What about it? I still have to report every month for the next year and a
half. And I know Carlisle gets the results of my tests. Nothing's changed in
that department."
I'm grateful the waitress picks that moment to deliver our food, and the
conversation diverts away from me for awhile. We talk about our first few days
of school and the bat-shit crazy new principal who's on the warpath to suspend
students over trivial shit like their uniform shirts being un-tucked. Then
Alice tells us about the latest happenings at the music store. I didn't know
her uncle actually owns the place, and Alice is planning to get a degree in
Business Management to take over the store when he retires. Alice shifts the
conversation again, asking about Esme's book tour and wanting to know all about
the other novels she's written.
"When is she coming home?" Jazz asks around a mouthful of food.
His question catches me off guard, and it takes me a second to realize the she
to which he's referring isn't the one in the forethought of my mind.
"Esme will be back either Sunday or Monday night. I don't remember."
"Damn, not enough time to throw together a party," he grumbles, and Alice gives
him a stern look. "Kidding," he amends, standing up and pushing his chair back
from the table. "I gotta hit the head. I'll be right back."
As soon as we're alone, Alice folds her arms on the table and leans toward me.
"So," she begins, staring intently at me, "I'm dying to know. Who is she?"
I almost choke on a sip of Coke when she poses her question. I clear my throat
and try to feign innocence. "What? Who is who?"
"Oh, come on, Edward," she says, rolling her eyes. "Don't play dumb with me.
First of all, you hardly hang out with Jasper anymore. You two were inseparable
a few weeks ago. Second, your little campaign to get your dad back has
obviously taken a backseat to something more important. And third, Kate told me
how you tore out of the club like your pants were on fire. That was a first,
you know. Guys don't just walk away from Kate. That blonde, Barbie doll act
she's got going on is like kryptonite to most guys."
"I'm not most guys," I allow, picking the easiest of her three accusations.
"Oh, please, don't give me that. And besides, you haven't been able to wipe
that 'cat that ate the canary' smirk off your face since I asked you who sheis.
And you've checked your messages about five times since you first sat down."
I glance down at the table, surprised. I didn't realize I'd been idly fidgeting
with the phone in my hands.
"It's that dancer, isn't it? The one living at your house? Jasper told me about
her and the night you and he downed way too many Jack and Cokes. Well, he told
me what he could remember, but from what he said it sounds like you have a
little thing for her," Alice says, wagging her eyebrows playfully.
I simply grin at Alice, my expression telling her everything she needs to know
without me having to say a word.
"I knew it," she mutters under her breath.
"Knew what?" Jazz blurts out, returning to his seat.
"That Edward is a closet gangsta rap fan," Alice boasts. I smile at her
gratefully, and she winks in return.
"You sellout! Come on, babe, we're leaving." Jazz pretends to pull Alice from
her chair.
"Actually, I do need to get going," I announce, retrieving my wallet from my
back pocket. I pull out a bill, tossing it on the table, and hold up my hand to
stop Jazz from speaking. "And before you start, no I don't have a hot date, or
a gyno appointment, or have to get to the mall for the huge sale on man-
panties."
Jazz looks like he just had the wind knocked out of his sails, but before he
can respond, Alice beats him to the punch. "That's OK. Jazz is anxious to get
to the matinee of You Will Be Loved before all the aisle seats are taken. You
know how he hates to share an armrest with a stranger when he's having a good
cry."
"That's funny because it's true," I say with a laugh, receiving a swift punch
in the arm from Jazz.
We say our goodbyes and go our separate ways; Jazz and Alice head to the movie,
while I make my way home. It's well after three, and I'm certain Bella can't be
gone too much longer.
The rest of the afternoon drags on leisurely, like all good Saturday
afternoon's should, except my restless, anxious mind won't allow me to enjoy
it. The sun begins to dip behind the trees and gradually slips below the
horizon. The evening hours tick away at an agonizing pace, and by eight
o'clock, I resign to eating dinner alone.
I settle on the living room couch with my reheated meal and mindlessly flip
through the channels on the TV. Tonight, I'm determined to stay awake until she
gets home, no matter how late. I watch one movie and then another. I'm half way
through an infomercial on the most badass food dehydrator ever invented, when
headlight beams sweep across the room. I switch off the TV and lug myself off
the couch just as the front door opens.
Jacob staggers in, carrying Bella in his arms, her motionless body hunched
against his chest. She's still decked out in her dark leather dominatrix
costume. The only addition is a red and black flannel shirt, likely Jacobs,
judging by the size, covering her arms. Her legs and feet are completely bare
and flop against Jacob's arm as he carries her across the room. I'm instantly
thrown into a state of panic by her lifeless appearance.
"Jesus! What happened?" I hiss at him.
Jacob brushes past me, laying Bella's limp body on the couch. "She passed out
in the car. They had her dancing nonstop for fourteen hours straight. It was
insane. I've never seen anything like it. She was a rock star though, never
complained."
He steps back from the couch and lets out a ragged breath. I finally peel my
eyes off Bella to look at him. He looks dog-tired too, like he's about to drop
any second.
"Jacob, go home, you look exhausted. I got this. Just tell me what to do."
He stares at Bella, seemingly to decide if leaving her in my care is the right
thing to do. "Alright," he concedes, "obviously first thing you need to do is
get her out of that ridiculous costume."
"Right," I agree.
"You need to watch for muscle cramps, especially in her legs. Here -" He
reaches in his pocket and produces a small pill bottle with the word Aleve
blazoned in yellow across the front. "This is a pain reliever and muscle
relaxer. Give her three before she goes to bed and three more when she wakes
up. I know the label says two, but she can have three. If you can, get her to
soak in some Epsom salts tonight. That will help too. She should have some, all
dancers do."
I nod as he continues to dole out his instructions. Jacob turns and begins to
drag his tired body toward the door, and I follow after him.
"She did really great today. I wish you could have seen her, but she said that
would have made her too nervous, ya know, having you there."
"Yeah, I guess I can understand that."
"The producers were very impressed. This could open up some high profile jobs
for her in the future. Oh! I almost forgot. Here -" He reaches in his other
pocket and produces a small, folded envelope and hands it to me.
"What's this?"
"Her paycheck. She made two grand today," he says with a proud smile as he
opens the front door. "Alright, I'm outta here. I'll call and check on her
tomorrow. She should really stay off her feet and rest."
"OK." My head begins to swirl with the idea of an entire day at home with
Bella.
"Oh, and Edward." Jacob pauses before closing the door behind him. "Most
important, never tell a woman she looks tired." He winks at me and closes the
door
I return to the couch and look down at my beautiful Bella, sleeping peacefully
on the white cushions. I almost don't want to wake her, but I know she needs to
get out of that preposterous outfit and take those pills. I lift her in my arms
and carry her upstairs to her room, placing her gently on her bed. She doesn't
utter a sound. She's out cold.
I leave her sleeping on her bed while I go in search of the Epsom salts Jacob
described. They're easy to find; a large bag of lavender scented bath salts
sits on her shelf in the bathroom. I start filling the tub with warm water,
along with a heaping scoop of the salts, and return to Bella's room.
Sitting next to her on the bed, I begin gently stroking her hair away from her
forehead. "Bella? Love? Can you wake up?"
"Mmm," she smiles drowsily, never opening her eyes.
"Come on, sweetheart, wake up. We need to get you out of this costume. Can you
sit up?"
Her smile quickly fades into a grimace and she groans. Reluctantly, she rolls
on her side and forces herself upright with her hands. She still doesn't open
her eyes as I help her peel Jacob's shirt from her shoulders. She turns around
so her back is to me and sweeps her hair over one shoulder, indicating I need
to unlace the back of the corset.
As my fingers go to work loosening the ties, I notice the large tribal tattoo
in the center of her lower back.
"Nice tramp stamp. That new?" I tease.
"Shut it, it's a stick on. It's supposed to be sexy."
"Yes it is," I muse.
Finally, she's free from her leather prison, and the corset falls away easily,
exposing the creamy skin of her back. The tight fabric leaves a web of red
indentations behind on her skin, and I gently rub her back with my fingertips,
trying to soothe away the lines.
"Mmm," she purrs, "that feels good."
I fight to keep myself in check. Bella looks so gloriously tempting, having
stripped down to nothing but a pair of skimpy leather shorts that barely cover
her ass.
I continue my path across her back, before leaning in and kissing her bare
shoulder once. Lifting the plaid shirt from where I dropped it on the bed, I
hold it open and help her pull it back on. Bella holds the shirt closed across
her chest with one fist and turns to face me as I stand and offer her my hand.
"Are we going somewhere?" she asks concerned.
I jerk my head in the direction of the bathroom. "I drew you a bath. Jacob
suggested you soak your legs."
Bella smiles and moves to get up. As she stands, her legs give out under the
weight, and she stumbles forward into my open arms.
"Whoa, my legs feel like Jell-O."
"Don't worry, I gotcha." For the second time tonight, I lift her up and carry
her out of the room.
The bathroom is steamy and warm, and the smell of lavender assaults the air.
Gently, I place Bella on her feet beside the bathtub. I don't let go until I'm
sure she can stand on her own.
"Get in," I command. "I'll be right back… if that's OK?" The salts have turned
the bathwater a milky white, cloudy enough to blur everything below the
surface. Not like I haven't seen it all before.
Bella nods, and I leave her to finish getting undressed. I head to the kitchen,
retrieving a bottle of water and the pills Jacob left. I return to the bathroom
and tap lightly on the door.
"Come in," she says quietly.
Pushing the door open slightly, I slide my body through the crack, and close it
gently behind me. Bella is submerged up to her shoulders in the murky water.
Her hair is piled in a knot on the top of her head, and she's leaning against
the back of the tub, her eyes closed. If her hands had not been skimming back
and forth just below the surface, I would have thought she'd fallen asleep
again.
"Here, take these." I hand her the three blue pills and the bottle of water.
She doesn't protest, or even ask what they are, before swallowing them down and
returning to her laid back position, closing her eyes again.
I retrieve her bottles of shampoo and conditioner from the shower before
sitting down on the ledge of the bathtub closest to Bella's face. I go to work
untangling the bun at the top of her head, and I notice her hair is stiff and
sticky, not the soft, velvety waves I love to run my fingers through.
"What did they do to your hair?"
"Ugh, I think the stylist had a personal vendetta against my curly hair. I was
in hair and makeup for two hours this morning. She must have used an entire can
of hairspray. If the ozone is gone tomorrow, it's all her fault. Oh, and they
dyed the bottom three inches this obnoxious, bright pink color."
"They did?" I ask, examining the chocolate brown strand in my hand.
"Yeah, but when I started dancing, the director didn't like how my hair was so
shellacked in place. He wanted me to be able to whip it around and stuff so he
made the stylist wash it all out and start over. Thank God the director axed
the pink the second time around."
I finish untangling her hair, letting the rigid curls spill down into the
water. Bending over, I roll up my jeans until the fabric is gathered well above
each of my knees. "Can you sit forward?"
Bella does as I ask, though I can tell she doesn't have the energy to do much
more. It pains me to see her so worn down, and I wonder if this is all worth
it.
I scoot around the ledge of the tub and position myself directly behind her.
Slowly, I immerse my legs in the warm water on either side of her body, my feet
resting on the tub floor next to her hips.
I begin washing her hair, working the shampoo into her curls slowly with my
fingers. Bella sighs contentedly, leaning into my hands like a cat being
scratched behind the ear. After a thorough head massage, I rinse out the suds,
pouring cupfuls of clean water over her long hair. I repeat the process again
with the conditioner, combing the slimy stuff through her strands with my
fingers, per her instructions.
When I finish, I return the bottles to the shower and grab a clean towel from
the cabinet. I hold it open for Bella to step into. "I won't look," I promise,
squeezing my eyes shut.
The sound of moving water fills the room, and I feel her pull the towel from my
hands.
"Thank you," she whispers, then plants a soft kiss on my cheek. I open my eyes
again and can't help but chuckle darkly.
"What?" Bella looks offended.
"Nothing. Just having déjà vu."
Bella looks down at her body, wrapped in a towel, before the realization hits.
"Oh!" She giggles, remembering that first night when I startled her coming out
of this very bathroom, dressed exactly the same way.
I lean forward and kiss her lips gently. "Coldest. Shower. Ever," I whisper
against her mouth.
She giggles again, and I wrap my arms around her. "Come on, let's get you to
bed. Do you think you can walk?"
She nods, but I keep my arm around her waist, just in case her legs fail her
again. We make our way back to her room, and Bella disappears into her closet.
She emerges a moment later, dressed in her night clothes. I pull back the
covers, and she slips into her bed, her eyes already heavy with sleep.
Tugging the blankets up around her, I tuck her in. I even kiss her forehead
gently, as if she were a child. "Goodnight, beautiful."
"You're not staying with me?" she whines.
"Yes, I will. I'm going to lock up the house and get a shower. Will you be
alright without me for a little while?"
"I guess I'll manage," she teases, drifting off as she speaks. "But don't be
gone too long. I don't sleep well when you're not with me."
Interesting.I'd have to remember to ask about that later. "Alright, I'll hurry.
Go to sleep, I'll see you in the morning."
"Uh huh," is all she responds. She's already gone.
~o0o~
The following Monday, Esme returns from her book tour. By Wednesday, Carlisle
is back on day shift at the hospital. And two weeks later, Bella's music video
airs on MTV. Within record time, it skyrockets to one million views on YouTube.
Life finally begins to calm down for her shortly thereafter, and we fall into a
comfortable routine. She goes to school during day, rehearses with Jacob in the
afternoons, and spends her nights with me.
The night of the video shoot was the last time Bella slept in her own room. We
didn't really discuss it; we just naturally gravitated to my bed every night.
After about two weeks, I stop thinking of it in terms of my room. It'sourroom
now.
One afternoon, while Bella and Jacob are rehearsing next door, I decide it
really is time to make the room more ours.I empty out the top drawer of my
dresser, making room for Bella to keep some of her things inside. Staring at
the vacant drawer, I contemplate the best way to ask her to move in with me.
Well, as much as two high-school kids can move in together. It's the thought
that counts, right?
Inspiration hits.
I sneak down the hall and steal all of Bella's sleep clothes, which mostly
consist of an assortment of old t-shirts and mismatched lounge pants. Folding
them neatly, I arrange everything in the drawer. Naturally, I place my favorite
tank tops and skimpy shorts on top of the stacks. I don't say anything to
Bella, biting my lip through dinner to hide the smirk that threatens to clue
her in that I'm up to something.
That night, I lie on our bed, listening intently to the sound of the shower
running across the hall. Finally, the water cuts off, the bathroom door opens,
and Bella's soft footsteps pad toward her bedroom. This is the typical pattern
of our evenings. Once she's dressed, she usually tip-toes back to our room and
crawls into bed. But tonight, I'm interested to see what she does when she
can't find her clothes.
As the sound of her footsteps draws closer to our room, I pretend to be
engrossed in my novel. From the corner of my eye, I see her slip inside the
room and lean against the door, wearing nothing but a towel.
"Edward?" Her amused voice sounds as if she's about to scold a disobedient
child. "Where are my pajamas?"
I keep my eyes on my book and my expression indifferent. "Top drawer."
She moves across the room, and when I'm sure her back is to me, I sneak a peek
over the top of my novel. Bella opens the drawer and runs her fingers over her
clothes inside. She sighs aloud, and from the sound of it, I can't tell if
she's happy or annoyed by my bold move.
I continue to watch her, trying to discern her reaction from the back of her
head. She raises her arms slightly, and the towel twisted around her body
suddenly loosens and crumples to the floor. She doesn't move at first, standing
in front of the dresser, completely naked, with her wet hair hanging like a
curtain above her bare ass.
Finally, she turns her head to look at me over her shoulder, but before she
catches me spying, I quickly focus my attention to the blur of black print on
the pages in my hand. I hear her rustling around for a moment before the
dresser drawer slides closed.
The mattress dips under her weight as she climbs onto the bed near my feet. But
instead of moving onto her designated side, I feel her crawling up my body; her
hands and knees pressing into the mattress on either side of my legs. I don't
move, griping my book tightly in front of my face to conceal my amusement.
Bella reaches my waist, and she carefully lifts the bottom of my t-shirt,
raising it up to expose my stomach. Her lips press against my skin, and she
begins to kiss her way higher up my torso. I clear my throat noisily.
"I'm sorry," she grumbles against my chest. "Am I disturbing you?"
"Nope," I lie.
Her fingers appear above the spine of my book and, one by one, they
dramatically wrap around the top. Roughly, she rips the book from my hands and
tosses it to the floor. Her face is inches from mine, and I try to glare at
her, but her mischievous expression melts my determination, and I grin in spite
of myself.
"What do you want, woman?" I demand, attempting to scowl at her. Apparently, my
tough act fails miserably, and Bella buries her head in my chest and laughs.
"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" With catlike reflexes, I swiftly flip us
over and pin Bella under my body. Not wanting to crush her under my weight, I
push up on my arms and hover above her. My new position grants me a much better
view. Jesus, she's still completely naked.
I shamelessly rake my eyes down her body and back up to her face, cocking one
eyebrow at her. "Forget something?"
She shrugs and suddenly becomes very interested in examining her fingernails.
"At first, when my clothes went missing from my room, I thought it was your
not-so-subtle way of telling me you preferred me to sleep… well… "
"In that case, I'm going to remove all the clothes from your room. Then you can
stay like this all the time. I'll be right back." I act as if I'm about to
crawl off the bed and do just that when Bella grabs a fistful of my shirt.
"You're not going anywhere, mister. Come back here." Bella pulls on my shirt
and lifts her head to kiss me.
It takes me a second to reign in the smile on my lips before I can properly
kiss her back. But as soon as I do, the atmosphere changes from teasing and
playful to heated and eager. I feel her tongue skim along my bottom lip, and I
return the gesture, gently touching my tongue with hers. Our kissing becomes
more fervent, more intense as the minutes pass. Somewhere during the frenzy, I
manage to lose my shirt, but I can't tear myself away from kissing her long
enough to undress any further. Sensing my reluctance, Bella trails her fingers
down my chest and skillfully undoes my jeans. With one quick movement she
slides her hand inside my boxers and grips my cock tightly in her fist, pumping
me with her hand.
"Jesus," I hiss against her mouth, breaking our kiss for the first time.
After a few blissful strokes, Bella releases me and slides her hands down my
hips, pushing my boxers and jeans off at the same time. I kick and squirm until
I'm free of the denim shackles that bind my ankles, and eventually reposition
myself above her again. I assault her neck with my lips and tongue as I press
my hips against her, purposefully running my cock along her crease. I feel
Bella flinch when my tip brushes against her clit.
I pull back again and position myself at her entrance, but before I can push
inside of her, Bella's hand grips my cock again, preventing me from moving any
further. I raise my head and look at her, questioning with my eyes why – for
the love of God- she's stopping us. Bella's returning smile is a combination of
timid and mischievous.
Bella shifts her hips slightly under me, and she scoots her body a few inches
lower on the bed. With a gentle tug of her hand, she guides my cock away from
her opening, steering me higher up her slit. Gradually, she begins to move her
hand, pumping me while simultaneously brushing my tip against her clit, over
and over and over. I watch her eyes roll back and flutter closed as she presses
her head firmly against the pillow and moans.
Jesus, she's using me to get herself off.
I bury my head in her neck and concentrate on holding myself up. "Fuck that
feels good," I groan.
Bella continues to work us both, pumping and rubbing us closer and closer to
the edge of insanity. The room is filled with the sounds of breathless moans
and quiet cries of pleasure. I can tell she won't be able to hang on much
longer as she fights to hold her hips still as her pace increases.
Suddenly, she releases my cock and grabs my ass tightly with both hands,
pulling my hips down. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what she
wants, and I quickly thrust inside of her. Her orgasm breaks through with the
first push, and I cover her mouth with mine, swallowing her screams. Bella's
skillful hand job has made my cock so sensitive that within three pumps, I
explode inside her, muffling my own grunts with her lips.
My exhausted arms give out, and I crumple down on top of her, completely
breathless. I roll over and lay on my back, one weak arm flung across my eyes.
After a few minutes of heavy panting, Bella snuggles into my side, laying her
head on my chest as her fingers begin coyly running through the little patches
of hair. I wrap my free arm around her back, my eyes still covered under the
crux of my elbow.
"You OK?" she whispers shyly.
"Oh yeah," I answer in my most cocky voice. "I'm great."
Bella giggles and I squeeze her gently.
"My hands are shaking." I lift my arm off my eyes, and Bella holds up her
trembling hand. Concerned, I twist my head to look at her. "Don't worry, it's a
good kind of shaking," she says with a smirk. I take her shaky hand and place
it on my chest, covering it with mine until the tremors stop.
We lay tangled in each other for a long time before I reach up and switch off
the lamp on the nightstand. We only let go of each other long enough to slip
under the sheets, immediately resuming our position once we're covered.
"Thank you," Bella says softly in the darkness.
"For what?"
"The drawer, silly."
I chuckle. "I completely forgot about that."
"So I guess this means you don't mind that I'm in your room all the time."
I pull back and look at her. Although the room is only dimly lit by the
moonlight streaming through the windows, I can still make out the anxious
expression on her face. "You're kidding, right? Bella, I want you with me all
the time. I've been thinking of this as our room for weeks now. I would move
all your stuff in here if I thought my parents wouldn't notice."
I feel Bella relax in my arms. "We've only been together four weeks, Edward.
Don't you think it's a little early to be moving in together?" I can tell by
her tone that she's teasing me, but her words have an edge of truth to them.
What if I am moving too fast?
I roll us over and lie on my side, propping myself up on my elbow so I can see
her face more clearly. "Is this too much?" I ask nervously. "If you think we're
moving too fast we can -"
"No, no," she says emphatically. "I want to be with you all the time too. I
just… I don't know. I'm usually not this clingy, obnoxious kind of girlfriend,
but it's just - different with you. I don't like to be away from you. God, that
doessound clingy, doesn't it? Ugh, I'm sorry, I don't mean to. I guess I -"
I kiss her, preventing her from rambling on any further. "I feel the same way,"
I confess when I finally pull away. I roll back onto my back, pulling Bella
along, and she snuggles into my side.
"So, girlfriendhuh?" I taunt only to receive a quick kick in the shin.
"Goodnight, Edward," Bella says firmly.
"Goodnight, my beautiful girlfriend."
~o0o~
As the weeks roll by, Bella and I manage to keep our relationship hidden from
everyone. Only Jacob and Alice know the truth, and they don't seem interested
in sharing that knowledge with anyone. Bella is careful to treat me just as she
does Emmett or Jacob when my parents are around. And they seem to be around a
lot lately.
At first I'm furious, thinking this is Carlisle's new way of checking up on me.
He's always present, watching me like a convict in a half-way house, waiting
with bated breath to catch me in my next act of disobedience. It's like having
a fucking crazed stalker for a father.
It's not until one night, when he openly comments, sincerely, on how healthy I
look now that I'm eating regular meals again that I realize it isn't him that's
hanging around more – it's me.
A few weeks ago, I started joining the family every night for dinner, which was
completely out of character for me. Before Bella moved in, I usually stayed in
my room, picking through the leftovers in the middle of the night. It just made
it easier on everyone not having to deal with the tension that rolls off
Carlisle in waves when he's around me.
But now, I just want to be with Bella every possible moment; even if that means
having to endure Emmett's play-by-play recap of his game winning touchdown,
Esme's latest drama in cutthroat world of bestselling authors, and Carlisle's
less-than-welcoming stares.
Of course, if I want to spend any time with Bella on Thursday nights, I have to
endure Grey's Anatomy with her and Emmett. It doesn't take long for the two of
them to get everyone hooked on the damn show, and Thursdays morph into some
kind of cheesy family night at the Cullen house. We order pizza and pile around
the flat screen in the living room, soaking up the so-called drama at Seattle
Grace Hospital. Only Carlisle openly chastises the show, the medical aspect
failing to live up to the reality of working in a hospital.
"Oh, come on!" he yells at the TV, throwing his arms in the air in frustration.
"She's holding the X-ray upside down! Geez." He could get so worked up over the
details that we'd end up missing most of the show, laughing our asses off at
his outbursts.
On the nights when we aren't eating pizza, Esme and Bella take the
responsibility of feeding "the boys," as they like to refer to Carlisle,
Emmett, and I, quite seriously. Some evenings, they spend hours together in the
kitchen, perfecting recipes and trying new techniques. They even joke about
writing a cookbook together. It surprises me that Bella never confides in Esme
about our relationship; Esme seems to be the closest female friend Bella has.
Of course, it would have been awkward for her to talk about me when I'm usually
only a few feet away. I strategically position myself on the couch, pretending
to be engrossed in a book or the nightly news, while the two of them make
dinner. Every now and then, I catch Bella looking at me, or vice versa, and she
rewards me with a smile or a wink before focusing back on her task. Luckily,
Esme doesn't notice our covert exchanges, which would easily blow our cover.
In between school and eavesdropping on girl bonding time before dinner, I have
a good four hours to kill every afternoon before Bella gets home. Some days I
hang with Jazz. We chill at his house or head to the music store to see Alice.
But on the afternoons when I'm not playing third wheel to Mr. and Mrs.
Whitlock, I mindless pace around the house like a pathetic, lost puppy.
One random Tuesday, I wander into Bella's dance studio upstairs. At first, I'm
not sure what I'm doing in here or, come to think of it, even recall the steps
I took to get here. But when I look up, I'm standing next to my piano - my
mother's piano.
It's been sitting here, shoved in the back corner of the room, covered in a
white sheet, completely untouched since the week before Bella moved in. OK, so
it has been untouched for a lot longer than that.
I stare at the immense white canopy, letting my eyes follow the sheet as it
drapes down from the lid and pools on the floor. For a solid ten minutes, maybe
more, I stand next to the mammoth instrument without moving, without touching
it, before I turn on my heel and abruptly leave the room.
On Wednesday, I do it again.
On Thursday, I finally roll back the sheet, lift the lid, and uncover the keys.
Pulling out the bench, I sit and stare at the black and white ivory without
touching a single key.
"Nine years," I whisper to myself. It's been nine years since I've touched a
single key.
On Friday, I break through the barrier and play one scale – C Major. I'm not
surprised when the notes ring out crisp and clear and in perfect tune. I shake
my head and smile. Esme.
In the days that follow, I slowly work myself up to actually playing a few old
favorites: Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, avoiding anything - sentimental - like
the plague. I have to admit, after being retired for nine years, I'm not as
rusty as I would have expected. I miss a few notes here and there, but thanks
to Mrs. Cope and my "natural ear," as she called it, I quickly correct my
mistakes.
As I slowly work my way back into playing, the melody I hummed the night I
rocked Bella to sleep on the balcony continues to haunt me. Finally, after a
few days, I begin to put the notes to paper.
Now my afternoons are spent working on my new composition. As soon as I arrive
home from school, I race upstairs to the studio, working frantically to
recreate the tune. I remember the melody perfectly, and easily structure a
chorus to flow between the stanzas. Everything is coming together except the
damn ending, and it's frustrating the hell out of me. I try several variations
but nothing is right. Day after day I make little or no progress, throwing away
ten to fifteen crumpled sheets of music, disgusted with the notes written on
them.
Today is no different. After sitting for three hours and not writing a single
note, I slam the lid down and curse aloud in frustration.
"It will come together. You'll see."
I jump and turn toward Esme's voice. She's standing in the open doorway, her
arms folded across her chest, watching my little temper tantrum.
"I didn't know anyone was home. How long have you been here?" I usually have
the house to myself in the afternoons, and I've been careful to hide any
evidence that I'm playing again, especially from Bella. I'm not exactly sure
why I don't want her to know. Maybe it's because I want to surprise her one day
with her song.
Maybe, if I was honest with myself, I'd admit it's because it invites too many
questions.
"My afternoon meeting was cancelled," Esme says, pushing off from the doorframe
and walking into the room. "Your song is beautiful, Edward. I didn't know you
had started composing again."
"It's nothing. Just something stuck in my head." Even as I try to downplay the
situation, I can tell Esme isn't going to let it go that easily. She knows me
too well. The fact I'm even playing again is significant in itself. Even I can
see that.
"Does it have a name?" she asks, attempting to sound casual.
"Not yet," I lie, "It's - a lullaby, I suppose."
Esme moves to sit next to me on the piano bench. "Would you play it for me
again, please?"
I pause for a moment then lift the cover and begin playing again from the
beginning. The harmony flows, just as it has a hundred times before, but as I
reach the end, the uncharted territory, I let the song take on a life of its
own. The notes become slower and lower, turning somber and solemn. I play the
last note and then bow my head over the keys.
Esme wraps her arm around my shoulder. "It's going to be fine, Edward," she
says in her most reassuring voice. "This is going to work out for the best.
Love doesn't always come in convenient packages."
My head whips up and I stare at her, the shock of her words evident across my
face. "How did you… did she -" I stumble.
"I'm not blind, Edward." Esme chuckles. "I see the way you look at each other,
the way you light up when she enters a room, the way she smiles every time I
mention your name." Esme nudges my shoulder playfully. "When we're cooking, she
picks the tomatoes off your salad when she thinks I'm not looking."
I laugh quietly. "I hate tomatoes."
"And you," Esme continues, "you are… gosh, you are a completely different
person, Edward. Can you not see that? You've changed so much in just the short
time you've known her." Esme gives my arm a tight squeeze. "She's good for you.
You know that?"
I smile, but the happiness drains from my expression when I consider my next
question. "Does Carlisle know?" I ask hesitantly.
"I think, at one time, he was suspicious that something was going on. But no,
he doesn't know. Sometimes it takes a woman to truly recognize a man in love."
She smiles kindly at me.
"Carlisle told me to stay away from her. He doesn't even want us to be friends.
I can understand his reasoning though, I'm not – not good enough for her. She
deserves so much more. I have nothing to offer her." I can hear the defeat in
my voice as I speak the words aloud for the first time.
"Edward, that's not true."
I roll my eyes. Spoken like a true mother.
"But it is," I argue. "Just look at her. She has goals and ambitions and she's
working toward them every day. She has a plan – a future she's worked and
sacrificed her whole life for. And when her year here is finished and she
leaves, what are we supposed to do then, huh? Am I supposed to ask her to stay?
To give up on her dreams for me? I have no future. Not one that can fit with
hers."
"Why do you say you have no future? You could go to college, study medicine,
architecture, music. You are so smart. You can do anything you set your mind
to."
I chuckle darkly. "I have so many disciplinary marks on my records I'll be
lucky if I graduate. And let's not forget my criminal record. No creditable
school would touch me. Carlisle is right. I threw my future away a long time
ago."
"Edward -" she starts again, but clearly the expression on my face tells her
she's not going to sway me. Esme sighs and switches tactics. "Have you talked
about any of this with Bella? Discussed what her plans actually are after this
year?"
"No. I wanted to, but it felt like it was too early to be talking about that
stuff. Then, the more I thought about it, I guess – I guess I just don't want
my concerns about my future – our future - to affect her decisions."
Esme looks confused. "What do you mean?"
I twist my body toward hers. "When Bella was filming that music video, she
offered to quit because she thought it made me unhappy. She was going to walk
away from a huge opportunity for me. It would kill me if she passed up on her
dreams because of me. I'm not going to ruin her future – her life because of my
bad decisions."
"I see." We are both quiet for several minutes before Esme speaks again. "Does
Bella know about the accident?"
I look away as I shake my head.
"Then I take it she doesn't know about your prior substance abuse or your
probation."
It isn't a question, but I shake my head again.
"Oh, Edward," Esme's tone is disappointed. "You have to tell her. You can't
keep something like that from her. She has a right to know."
"I know! I know!" I clamber off the piano bench and begin nervously pacing back
and forth, my hands tugging at my hair in frustration. "God, I've wanted to
tell her. I just – I can't. I can't make myself do it. If she knows what I've
done, what I'm capable of, she'll – she'll hate me. She will never trust me."
"I'm sure she will understand those things happened before you met, but she
should –"
"No, it's not just that crap in the past. I mean, that's part of it, but then I
– I…" My brain screams at me to just shut the fuck up, to take this one secret
with me to the grave. No good could come out of me telling anyone, especially
Bella.
"Edward," Esme warns, sounding just like Carlisle. "What did you do?"
"I – I used her."
"Used her… how?"
I take a deep breath. "When she first moved in, I saw what a kind,
compassionate, amazing person she was and I thought – I thought if we became
friends, if someone like her thought that someone like me was worthy of their
friendship, then Carlisle would see that I – that I had changed. That I wasn't
a lost cause. That I wasn't the worst decision he ever made."
"Oh, sweetheart." Esme stands up from the piano bench and walks to me, wrapping
her arms around me tightly. "Your father loves you. I love you. That has never
changed. Yes, he was angry with your behavior, but he never stopped loving you.
And when we almost lost you…" Esme's words catch in her throat, and she lifts
her face to look at me, tears shinning in her eyes, "that horrible night your
father was inconsolable. If you had…" Her tears finally spill over and roll
down her cheeks. "He wouldn't have survived that. I was so afraid that we'd be
burying you both."
I pull her to me again. "I'm so sorry. For everything. God, I'm sorry."
"I know, sweetheart, I know," she says, hugging me tighter. After a moment,
Esme pulls away, wiping her cheeks with the tips of her fingers.
"Edward, you have to understand, your father is not perfect. He makes mistakes
just like everyone else. For a long time he felt that he had failed you and he
blamed himself for the accident."
"That's ridiculous. None of that was his fault."
"But he's a doctor. He knows all the warning signs of someone in crisis. They
were there, he saw them, we both did, but he felt that he didn't do enough. You
have to understand, your father is still working through some of that guilt.
The two of you need to talk, but as much as I hate to say it, he might need
more time before he's ready."
I nod sadly. I still don't know what I need to do to restore his faith in me.
"But you have to tell Bella. You have to tell her everything, and that's not
going to be easy. But she deserves to know the truth. If you want to build a
future with her, then you need to be honest with her from the beginning, or it
will never work."
"I know. You're right."
"And, Edward, I think you are underestimating yourself. I think you have a
great future ahead of you, and Bella can be part of that if you want her to.
It's only the fall semester. There is still plenty of time to decide what your
next move will be. In the meantime, I think you should talk to her, tell her
what you are feeling, and find out what her plans are. Then you can work
together to create a future that both of you can be happy with."
"But what about Carlisle? How is this going to work? He doesn't want Bella and
me to be together. He practically forbade me from even being friends with her."
"Bella is so good for you, I can see that. I can see how you've changed since
she's become part of your life. Carlisle will come around, you'll see. He just
needs time." Esme sighs and her brow furrows in concentration. "For now, let's
keep your relationship discrete, just as you have been, until you and Bella
have had a chance to discuss what your plans are, OK?"
"Alright," I concede. "So, you're not angry we've been hiding this from you all
this time?"
"Exactly how long has this been going on?"
"Well, I guess, almost two months or so." I confess.
"Two months!" Esme exclaims before laughing to herself. "Well, you two sure
know how to keep a low profile."
"I'm sorry we've been lying to you."
"Edward, it's OK. I mean, it's not OK for you to deceive me, but I do
understand why you felt you needed to do so."
I give her a reassuring smile and Esme hugs me gently, just as the front door
opens and shuts downstairs.
Bella is home.
Esme pulls away, a smug expression on her face, and nods toward the door. "Go."
She doesn't have to tell me twice. I'm out the door and down the stairs in a
flash. I grab Bella up in my arms, swinging her around in a circle like a scene
from one of those awful chick-flicks she loves.
"Edward, what's gotten into you?" She giggles as I set her down on her feet
again. I don't release her, keeping my arms wrapped tightly around her body,
holding her against my chest.
"He's been waiting for you all afternoon," Esme chimes as she descends the top
of the stairs. Bella stiffens in my arms, obviously fearful of being caught by
my mother in our embrace.
"It's ok. She knows," I whisper.
Bella pulls back, a look of astonishment on her face. "You told her?"
"She figured it out. Apparently you can't keep your eyes off me," I tease.
Bella playfully slaps me in the arm.
"Actually, it was you, Mr. Cullen, that gave it all away," Esme corrects. "You
can't seem to keep your eyes off her."
I shrug. "It's true." And I kiss Bella gently on her head. "So, can I help you
guys make dinner?" I offer, excited I don't have to be banished to the living
room anymore.
Bella and Esme glance at each other, a worried expression on both their faces.
"You can set the table," Bella suggests.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
EPOV
I arrive home from school the next day and, to my surprise, find both Bella and
Jacob's cars parked in the driveway. Making my way inside, I'm instantly
assaulted by the pounding beats coming from the stereo upstairs. The deafening
noise doesn't bother me. The yelling, however, does.
At first, it sounds as if they're just yelling over the music, but as I get
closer, I realize they're actually screaming at each other. Cautiously, I make
my way to the war zone behind the door, opening it only a crack.
"Shut it, Jake, you don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Bella
yells.
"Oh really, you think I was born yesterday? Grow up, Bella!" he shouts, his
voice equally frustrated.
Carefully, I stick my head through the open door. Bella is standing in the
center of the room, breathing heavily, her hands firmly on her hips and a deep
scowl on her face. I have never seen her so angry.
"You are such an asshole!" she yells. I blanch, having never heard her speak
that way to anyone before.
"Hey!" I call out over the music, grabbing her attention. "You OK?"
"No!" she spits back at me. "Kill him for me, would ya?"
She turns her back to Jacob and folds her arms across her chest. I look to
Jacob, who is leaning against the mirrored wall, his hands tucked behind his
back. He gives me a wink and brushes off her threat with slight shake of his
head. Clearly, he's up to something.
"Hey, Bells?" he asks calmly.
"What!" Bella's voice is acid, and I'm grateful her fury is not directed at me.
"You pissed at me?"
The boy clearly has a death wish. That's all there is to it.
"What do you think, genius?"
"Good," he deadpans. "Then do it."
Bella's head snaps around to glare at him. After a tense stare down, she huffs
and marches to the far corner of the room, pressing her back against the wall.
She takes a deep breath and waits for a cue in the music before beginning a
charged run across the floor. When she hits the center of the room, she throws
her body in the air. Her legs scissor apart, her back leg bending up toward the
ceiling and her torso leaning back to meet it. It's as if she is weightless for
a fraction of a second, leaping higher than I would think possible. She
completes her jump, landing gracefully on both feet, her arms over her head in
a typical dance pose.
The room falls silent, everyone frozen in their place. Jacob is the first to
erupt in praise. "Oh, my God, Bells! You did it! You nailed it!" He runs to
her, scooping her up in a huge bear hug, swinging her around in a circle. Bella
looks thrilled but completely shocked, like she can't believe that just
happened.
Apparently, she just accomplished some great feat that I clearly don't
understand. I laugh, roll my eyes, and shut the door.
Dancers are crazy.
A few hours later, Jacob saunters down the stairs, the strap of his gym bag
slung across his chest. He plops down on the far end of the couch and pulls a
pair socks and sneakers from his bag. I mute the TV and toss the remote onto
the coffee table.
"What was that in there?" I ask.
"Oh, you mean our fight?" He uses his hands to form air quotes around the last
word.
"Yeah."
He laughs, focusing his attention on tying his shoes. "No matter how
technically we're trained, we dancers are ruled by our emotions. It's an art,
an expression, ya know? Sometimes we can use that to an advantage."
"So you're telling me you pissed off my girlfriend - on purpose - so she'd
dance better?" I ask skeptically.
"Yup. I wouldn't recommend it though. It can back fire on ya." He chuckles
darkly.
"I'll keep that in mind."
Jacob finishes tying his shoes, then leans on his elbow across the couch toward
me. "Hey," he whispers, glancing quickly toward the stairs. "Do you know her
birthday is tomorrow?"
"No," I say, a mixture of shock and disbelief in my voice.
"Yeah, she didn't tell me either. I only found out because she forgot to renew
her license and she asked me to take her to the DMV this afternoon to get it
all straight. That's why we rehearsed here and not at the school tonight."
"Well, shit. Why didn't she tell anyone?"
More importantly, why didn't she tell me?
"Hell if I know. I gave up trying to understand women a long time ago. Ha! I
guess I should just say I gave up women, but anyway… she said her birthday was
never a big deal. I guess when she lived with her dad, they didn't really
celebrate it."
Well, I sure as hell wasn't going to let tomorrow go by without marking the
occasion.
"Anyway," Jacob continues, "just thought I should give you a heads-up. Bros
before hoes, or whatever it is you straight guys say."
I chuckle. "Thanks, Jacob."
Jacob stands up from the couch, slinging the strap of his gym bag across his
chest. "Alright, catch you later."
"Yeah, later," I mumble, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing. My mind is
working overtime, trying to come up with some sort of plan.
Jacob makes his way to the front door, but before he opens it, I call out.
"Jacob?" He turns to face me as I leap over the back of the couch and close the
distance between us.
"Are you picking her up in the morning for school?"
He looks confused. "Of course."
"What time does she get done with class?"
"We have studio class until 3:30, but she and I usually stay in the practice
studio until six-thirty or seven. Why?"
"Does she have to practice after studio class tomorrow?" I ask. A hint of
pleading laces my tone.
Jacob smirks, finally understanding where I'm going with my questions. "No, I
guess not. I suppose you'd like me to come up with some lame excuse to cancel
on her at the last minute?"
"Please."
"Alright, I'll have her out in front of the school at 3:45."
"I'll be there."
BPOV
The room erupts in applause, just as it does everyday at the close of studio
class.
"Great class everyone," Victoria calls out to the ovation. "Good energy today;
I want to see more of that tomorrow, alright?"
My classmates meander toward the far wall, chatting excitedly with each other
as they gather up their bags and belongings. I remain at the barre, stretching
my legs a few more times to ward of the impending cramp that has been
threatening for the last twenty minutes. The cramps in my calves have gotten
worse over the last few weeks, but I guess it just comes with the territory.
With my feet planted firmly on the floor, I bend forward and wrap my arms
around my calves, resting my forehead flush against my knees. I feel the
muscles along the back of my legs burn with the stretch, but the spasm in my
right calf doesn't let up. I drop my hand to the floor and grip the toes of my
right foot with my fingers, tugging my foot toward the ceiling. The added angle
increases the tension in my leg and the muscle begins to relax.
"I see what you're doing."
I lift my head slightly off my knees and stare at Jake's feet. Busted.
Slowly, I roll my body up, one vertebra at a time. "My tights were crooked." I
wince, feigning innocence.
"Fine, I'll play along, but only because I have a splitting headache. Mind if
we take this afternoon off?"
Wow. An entire afternoon off? An afternoon with Edward. Maybe, if I hurry, I
can get home before he gets back from school and surprise him.
"Of course not, Jake. I'll just catch the bus back to the Cullens'. You go home
and rest."
"Don't be ridiculous, Bells. I'll drive you home. Come on, let's go."
I hurry over to collect my bag from the wall. I tug a pair of pink leg-warmers
over my tights and grab my sweatshirt, pulling it over my head as I walk.
Pushing through the studio doors, I make my way over to where Jake is waiting
for me in the hall. I fling the strap of my bag across my chest before
intertwining my fingers with his. Eager to get home, I pull him out the front
doors of the school and toward the parking lot.
A group of girls from the intermediate ballet class are gathered at the bottom
the concrete steps, and as we pass them, I catch a few wisps of their hushed
conversation.
"Oh, my God, that guy is so freaking hot."
"You think maybe his sister goes here?"
"If he has a sister, she's my new best friend."
I follow the path of their stares toward the person in question. At the end of
the walkway, a tall boy – er, man, guy – leans against a silver car parked
illegally in the fire zone. Khaki pants, sweater vest, nice body - whatever. I
want to get home.
I keep walking, leaving Mr. Prep School to be ogled by his adoring fans, and I
steer Jake toward his car. He stops abruptly and tugs at my hand. I twist
around to look at him, a goofy smile spreading across his lips.
"What?" I ask, annoyed that he's slowing me down.
Jake nods his head toward the street where mister-I'm-too-important-to-park-
like-regular-people is still standing. I follow his gaze and give the guy a
second look – a real look.
My eyes trail up his khaki pants to the crimson sweater vest covering his
white, long-sleeve oxford shirt. The coordinating black and red plaid tie
knotted neatly around his neck disappears below the v-neck of his sweater. I
notice then the matching school crest decorating the top right portion of his
chest. Continuing my trail upward, I make quick work of his face: dark
sunglasses, amaretto-colored hair, and square jaw.
"Edward?" I whisper skeptically, and his mouth twists up in a crooked smile.
Edward twists around and reaches his left hand through the open window of his
car. When he turns back around, he holds the stem of a single, delicate, purple
wildflower in his hand. The group of fan-girls behind me erupts in a collective
"awww," and both Edward and Jake chuckle.
I remain frozen in the walkway as Jake wraps his arm around my shoulders.
"Happy birthday, Bells," he whispers in my ear before squeezing me gently.
I snap out of my stunned surprise and narrow my eyes at him. "Headache, huh?"
Jake shrugs and pushes me gently toward Edward.
"Have fun," he calls.
I stumble my way to Edward. When I'm a few steps from him, he shoves off his
car and stands up straight.
"Happy birthday, beautiful," he says, touching the bloom to the tip of my nose
before bending down to kiss me softly.
"Edward?" I mutter against his lips after a few minutes.
"Hmm," he answers. My attempt at speaking doesn't deter him from kissing me
again.
"What on earth are you wearing?"
He pulls away, glancing down at his chest as if he's forgotten what he has on.
"My school uniform. You've never seen it?"
"No." I chuckle. "You're always in jeans or pajama pants by the time I get
home."
"Huh, I guess I am." He leans in and tries to kiss me again, but I stop his
advances, planting my hand firmly against his chest. He furrows his brow at me.
"What are you doing here?"
An impish smile spreads across his lips. He steps back toward his car and opens
the passenger side door. "I'm kidnapping you."
I climb in, tossing my gym bag into the backseat, and Edward closes the door
softly. He jogs around the front of the car and flops into the driver's seat. I
toy with my flower, smelling its sweet fragrance and brushing the soft petals
across my cheek.
"So, where are you taking me?"
"Well," Edward says, glancing over his left shoulder as he pulls his car into
the busy Seattle traffic, "I thought, since the weather is nice, and it won't
be for much longer, we could check out the Olympic Sculpture Park."
"That sounds like fun, but – um."
"What? You don't like art?" he teases.
"Of course I do. It's just, I'm not really dressed for traipsing around a
sculpture garden," I admit, tugging at my sweatshirt to emphasize the point.
Edward reaches behind my seat and produces a large, black duffle bag, dropping
it abruptly in my lap. I unzip the bag to discover an assortment of my clothes.
"There must be three days worth of clothes here. You aren't kidnapping me for
the entire weekend are you?"
He wiggles his eyebrows at me under his sunglasses. "Now that you mention it,
that is an intriguing idea, but sadly, no. We do have to be home in time for
dinner. I didn't know what you'd feel like wearing, so I brought a few things I
know you like."
From the bag, I lift a tiny, black thong. I only wore it once under an evening
gown for the Phoenix Ballet Christmas Gala. I dangle it from my finger and
stare, pretending to be annoyed.
"OK, so I brought a few things I like too."
I stretch the thong back with my other hand and fling it at his head like a
rubber band. "Geez, I'm driving here, woman!" he scolds with a laugh. I return
my attention to survey the items in the bag. Burrowing to the bottom, I
discover Edward's standard black t-shirt and worn out jeans.
"Oh, no, no, no," I chant, pulling his clothes from the bag and tossing them
into the back seat.
"What? Those are mine," he rebukes me.
"No way. You are not changing out of that." I gesture toward his chest.
"My uniform. Why?"
"Because it's hot and because I've never seen you so… preppy."
"You think preppy is hot?" Edward's voice is flat.
"No, not usually, but on you – yeah, it's hot."
"Bella, do you have some kind of naughty Catholic school-boy fantasy I need to
know about?"
"I do now," I tease.
Edward pulls the car to a stop at a red light, and I unbuckle my seatbelt.
Squeezing through the small space between my seat and his, I climb into the
backseat.
"What are you doing?" he asks and smacks my butt as it passes inches from his
face.
"Changing clothes. Eyes on the road, bud."
He whips back around just as the light turns green. "Just watch where you step
back there."
I look down, noticing the package hidden behind my seat. A cube-shaped box
wrapped in shiny white paper and bright green ribbon rests on the floor.
"Um, Edward, what's that?" I ask, pretending to be coy.
"It's a birthday present for my nosey girlfriend. Don't touch it."
I snake my hands around his chest, sandwiching the back of his seat between my
body and his as I kiss his cheek. "You are so adorable," I whisper in his ear.
"What did I tell you about calling me that? And for God sakes, put your
seatbelt on."
I flop back in my seat with a giggle and do as I'm told. Rummaging through the
bag, I pull out a pair of skinny jeans and my favorite gray and white striped
Dolman-sleeve shirt. Edward even thought to pack my silver flats, sunglasses,
and my small leather purse. I skillful strip down, careful not to give the
other drivers – or mine – a free show. Several times, I catch Edward watching
me in his rearview mirror and my resulting glare does little to deter him.
"This would be easier without the seatbelt," I mutter to myself.
"The seatbelt is non-negotiable. You could just wait till we stop, ya know.
Then I could help you." I scowl at his reflection again.
We reach the parking garage before I have a chance to climb back into the front
seat. Edward hops out of the car and opens the back door, offering his hand as
if he's a chauffeur. Once he pulls me from the car, he ducks back inside and
retrieves the present from the floorboard. He places the package gently on the
roof of the car with one hand while roughly un-tucking his shirt with the
other, allowing the wrinkled tails to hang down under his vest.
"Don't worry, I'm not changing," he admits when he catches me watching him.
"But only because it's your birthday. But you gotta cut me some slack. I've
been shackled like this all day."
He finishes pulling his shirt from his pants and goes to work on his sleeves,
unbuttoning the cuffs and rolling them half-way up his forearms. He loosens his
tie slightly and unbuttons the top button of his collar. Once he's finished, he
holds his arms open, his face challenging me to examine his alterations for
approval. I pretend to appraise him for a second, tapping my finger against my
chin as I scrutinize his appearance, before I launch myself into his open arms.
He catches me, wrapping his hands around my waist as he laughs.
We stand there, holding each other for a long moment after his laughter fades.
"Hi," he whispers, pressing his lips to my forehead.
"Hi," I respond, my voice muffled by his shirt. I'm not ready to let go yet,
and I cling to his neck.
"Bella, can I ask you something?"
"You can ask me anything."
"How old are you?"
I pretend to be put off. "OK, anything but that."
"Bella?" he warns.
"I'm eighteen."
Edward pulls back to look at me. "As in, you are turning eighteen today?"
I snicker, "Yes, Edward. I was seventeen yesterday and today I'm eighteen. If
you want to get technical about it, I guess I won't really be eighteen until
seven-thirty tonight. That's when I was born - September 13, 7:30 p.m. I think
it was a Tuesday. George Bush Senior was president. It may have been raining at
the time; I can check."
"So what you're telling me is you've been jail bait the whole time I've known
you." He's teasing, of course, but his joking expression doesn't quite meet his
eyes.
"Well, how old are you?" I challenge.
"I turned eighteen this past summer, hence the jail bait." He widens his eyes
at me as he emphasizes the phrase. OK, now I'm pretty sure he's serious.
"Oh lighten up, Edward. I don't know what the age of consent is here in
Washington, but in most places it's sixteen. What does it matter anyway? I'm
eighteen now. You're free and clear to do whatever you want to me." I regret
the choice of words as soon as speak them, and I slap my hand across my mouth,
feeling my cheeks flush under my fingers.
Edward's stressed expression slowly morphs in amusement. "Is that so?" He
chuckles.
Still holding my hand over my mouth, I shake my head.
He nods his head – yes – as a menacing expression creeps across his face.
I slowly back away from him, feeling like prey under the scrutiny of a
predator. He lunges toward me, but I duck out of his grasp, giggling and
squealing like a child as I dash across the parking garage. I make it to the
stairs, taking them two at a time until I reach the ground level. I can hear
Edward's footsteps a few inches behind me, clearly allowing me to win this
little race.
I sprint into the sunlight as the gray, concrete stairwell gives way to a
asphalt walking path. I slow down, allowing Edward to easily catch me. He wraps
one arm around my waist and pulls me back against his chest, lifting me off the
ground as I squeal in delight. Several people turn to stare at our childish
display, but I couldn't care less as Edward laughs happily in my ear.
Edward sets me down carefully on my feet. "Whoa! What's that?" I ask, pointing
to a large, red, thing,towering over the skyline of the park. I start to walk
toward it, but Edward captures my hand and pulls me in the other direction.
"Hold up," he says, leading me toward a black, iron bench nestled under some
shady trees. I notice the present tucked like a football under his other arm.
We sit down on the bench, our knees touching, and Edward places the package
gently in my lap. "Happy birthday."
"You didn't have to get me anything. Just spending time with you is present
enough."
"Oh, hush. I kinda like giving you things. It worked out so well with the
dresser drawer."
"Edward!" I yell, mortified that he brought that particular evening up. I had
never done anything like that before – ever – alone, or with someone else.
"I'm teasing," he says with a sneer. "I wanted to get this for you. I just hope
you like it. Now, open it so we can go look at some art and stuff."
Leaning forward, I kiss him quickly before turning my attention to the box in
my lap. I slide the bow off easily and rip through the paper, exposing the
black cardboard box inside, the Nikon logo printed in silver across the top.
"You got me a digital camera!" I screech excitedly.
"You don't have one already do you?" he asks nervously. "I never saw one in
your room or anything."
I stare at him in disbelief. "No I don't, but, Edward, this is – it's too
much."
"No it's not," he says as he takes the box from me and opens the lid. "I mean,
it's not top of the line or anything, but I just thought it would be nice for
you to, you know, have some photos of your time here."
He doesn't look at me as he begins to pull cables and instruction manuals out
of the box, but I can hear the discontent in his voice as he acknowledges, for
the first time, that our days together are limited. Honestly, I hadn't really
thought about what will happen after I graduate. Sure, I know what my goals
are, but nothing is set in stone yet. Unfortunately, I do know that the chances
of me staying in Seattle once my scholarship is fulfilled are slim-to-none.
A thousand questions begin to swirl in my head at the same time: What does that
mean for us? Would Edward consider applying to some colleges near where I'm
working? Assuming, of course, he even wants to come with me. Is it too early to
ask him? We've only been dating two months. We could get an apartment together,
maybe?
"And I thought," he continues, interrupting my internal panic attack, "that you
might like to email your parents some photos from time to time. You know, let
them see what you're up to."
He pulls a silver camera from the box and sets it in his lap, haphazardly
repacking all the cables and booklets before setting the box on the other side
of the bench. He scoots over, his thigh flush with mine, and holds the camera
between us.
"OK, I already charged the battery. To turn it on, you just press th-"
I stop his mouth with mine, wrapping my hand tightly around the back of his
neck. Once he recovers from the initial shock of my attack, he kisses me back.
At some point, the camera disappears and he tangles his hands in my hair.
Before we get too heated, I reluctantly pull away, resting my forehead against
his.
"So I take it you like your gift then?"
I laugh. "Yes, Edward, I love it. Thank you."
"You're welcome. You ready to try it out? Or we could stay right here and …" He
kisses me again.
I pull away again and disentangle myself from his grasp. Standing up, I reach
out for his hand and pull him off the bench. "I want to see that big red thing
over there."
"Alright then, birthday girl, let's go."
We walk through the park from one sculpture to the next as Edward shows me how
to work my new camera. Before long, I'm snapping pictures like a professional.
The grounds of the park are so beautiful that I take just as many photos of the
landscape as the artwork. A few times I turn the camera on Edward, capturing
candid shots of him when he's not looking. Once I'm discovered, he snatches the
camera and quickly snaps three or four pictures of me. An elderly couple
approaches us just as I wrestle the camera away from him and offers to take a
photo of us together. We pose with our arms wrapped around each other next to a
beautiful curved steel sculpture.
We spend the afternoon strolling from one display to the next, taking turns
reading the inscriptions about the artists' creations and offering our opinions
on the pieces as we study them. Some are strange, some are beautiful, some need
no explanation, while others make no sense at all.
We follow the path around a sharp corner and stop before a large fountain. I
feel Edward tense slightly at my side as we watch the water rise and fall
around two steel figures. It's my turn to read the bronze plaque, but instead
of leading me toward the podium, Edward releases my hand and shoves his fists
in his pockets, his eyes never moving from the sculpture in front of us.
I take two steps forward, alone, and read the dedication aloud. "Father and Son
by Louise Bourgeois. Stainless steel, aluminum, water and bronze bell. Gift of
the estate of Stu Smailes in 2006. Internationally acclaimed artist Louise
Bourgeois created Father and Son especially for the Olympic Sculpture Park.
Surrealism, a strong influence on Bourgeois' early work and its psychological
themes, informs this fountain, her first permanent project sited on the West
Coast. As the fountain's water rises and falls, first the father, then the son,
are engulfed in water and separated. Bourgeois' representation of father and
son portrays a vulnerable and poignant situation, as the two face each other
with arms outstretched, striving to overcome a seemingly insurmountable
divide."
I look up, feeling the mist of the cool water tickle my face as the fountain
surges and retreats. I turn around slowly, knowing the imagery of this
sculpture must be impacting Edward. Naturally, he must be projecting himself
into this piece, but whether the 'insurmountable divide' is the death of his
own father, or the rift between himself and Carlisle, I can't tell. He stands,
perfectly still, staring at the taller figure with an unreadable expression on
his face.
Surely he misses his true father. I knew his parents were killed when he was
very young, but he never talked about them with me before. Come to think of it,
he never talks about his adoptive parents to me either, outside of our
agreement to keep our relationship hidden from them. I know something is going
on between him and Carlisle, but things seem to be better lately. I remember
those first few nights, when the tension between the two of them was thick
enough to cut. But in the last three or four weeks, their demeanor towards one
another has definitely improved.
Returning to his side, I slide my hand down his arm and tug at his wrist until
he removes his hand from his pocket. I stare down at his hand as I wrap mine
around it, unsure what I should say.
Edward turns his body toward me, raising my chin with his free hand. He studies
my eyes for a second, showing me the storm brewing in his in return, before
kissing me once gently. He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around my back
and holding me against his chest.
"Tell me," I say softly, leaving my request open-ended on purpose.
He sighs and rests his cheek against the top of my head. "Not today," he says.
"I promise I will, just not today."
We continue to watch the fountain toss streams of water into the air for a few
minutes before Edward releases his grip on my body.
"Come on," he says, taking my hand again and tugging me down the walking path.
Father and Son is the only sculpture I exclude from my camera.
EPOV
Two Months Later
I make my way upstairs, looking for Bella, and am not surprised when I find her
in her studio. With one leg propped on the top rung of her barre, she bends and
stretches, working through a warm-up routine I have seen her do a thousand
times. I lean against the doorway, my arms folded over my chest, quietly
watching her dance. Her movements are poised and graceful and, once again, I
revel in the fact that the most beautiful creature I have ever seen is mine.
After several minutes, Bella finally notices my presence.
"What are you doing?" she asks cheerfully, as she continues her routine.
"Just watching you," I muse.
"You must be pretty bored then, huh?"
"There's nowhere I'd rather be."
She smiles at my blatant attempt to flirt, and I continue to watch her from my
perch in the doorway. Bella moves around the barre, switching legs and
repeating her movement, stretching the other side. "I want to talk to you about
something," she says.
She sounds serious, and it makes me a little nervous for what's about to
follow.
"OK." I prompt.
Bella lets out a deep breath, not easing my fears in the least. "I have a break
coming up from school for Thanksgiving. We get the whole week off."
"So do we."
"Right, well, I was thinking I would spend my break in Florida, with my mom."
She's leaving. For a week. A whole freaking week. Over the last four months, we
have hardly spent a day apart, and now she's planning on going completely
across the country for seven whole days.
"I think that's a great idea," I say aloud, trying to sound convincing.
She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Maybe that wasn't the response she
wanted.
"I - I want you to come with me," she says quickly.
"Oh."
I try to conceal the delighted expression on my face by looking at the floor.
For a moment, I entertain the idea of Bella and me spending an entire,
uninterrupted, week together. No school, no rehearsals, no Carlisle.
Carlisle.
I shove off of the doorframe and enter the room, closing the door behind me.
Leaning against it, I slide down, sitting with my back against the door and my
knees pulled up in front of me.
"Bella," I begin, "as much as I dislike the idea of being away from you, I
don't think that would be a good idea."
"But I want you to meet my mom, and Charlie, eventually."
I can't help but smile. No girl has ever taken me home to meet her parents. I
shake my head and twist my hands together nervously in front of me. "I just
don't see how it would work. Carlisle would get suspicious."
"But they know," she argues, dropping her leg from the steel barre and turning
to face me.
"Esme does. Carlisle doesn't. And I plan on keeping it that way - for now."
"But, why?"
This is the last conversation I want to have right now. I know I promised to
tell her everything, but I'm still not ready. No, it's not that I'm not ready;
I'm terrified. I know I'm being selfish, but I just want a little more time.
More time to figure out how to broach the subject of my past and explain it in
a way she'll understand. More time to map out our future, that is, if she'll
still allow me to be part of it. More time to just be with her as everyday is
one step closer to the end of her time here.
"Esme is more open-minded about us. Carlisle is going to take a bit more
convincing before he'll be willing to accept this." I gesture between us.
"But why would Esme help us keep it a secret from Carlisle?"
"Because she thinks you're good for me."
I hope, in vain, that my lame compliment would end her barrage of questioning.
Bella smiles briefly, but huffs and rolls her eyes. "Then that's all the more
reason for us to tell him. With Esme on our side, we could easily convince him
that –"
"Because Carlisle told me to stay away from you!" I snap, my voice cold and
angry. Bella visibly recoils at my harsh tone, as if I've frightened her.
Instantly, I regret speaking to her that way. Dropping my head into my hands, I
stare at the floor between my feet. "I'm sorry," I grumble to the ground. We
are both silent for several long minutes. I keep my head down, not having the
balls to look at the hurt expression I'm sure is on her face.
"So," Bella begins softly, "when you said we shouldn't tell them about us
because we were living under their roof, that wasn't the whole truth, was it?"
I still don't look up as I shake my head.
"Are you going to tell me the real reason? Why Carlisle would be against us
being together?" She is getting angry. I can hear it in her voice.
I lift my head, slamming it in to the door behind me with a thud. I still can't
look at her, and divert my eyes to the ceiling. I don't know how to form the
words, to explain it so she'll understand. So she won't be disgusted with me.
So she won't leave me.
Apparently, I'm silent for too long. Before I can open my mouth, Bella huffs,
"I didn't think so." She turns and storms out onto the balcony, as I'm blocking
the other exit.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
I follow after her but she's gone, likely returned to her bedroom through the
balcony doors.
I knock gently. "Bella?" I wait. "Bella, please." There is no sound from
inside. After several frustrating minutes, I give up and return to my room.
BPOV
I have never understood the expression "so angry I was seeing red"until this
moment. I storm out of the dance studio, leaving Edward cowering on the floor,
and lock myself in my room.
At least he chased after me. That had to mean something, right? But I'm too
angry to talk to him right now. Instead, I pace, irate and furious, around my
room.
He's been lying to me this entire time! He's been keeping this secret from me,
that Carlisle has expressly forbidden us from being together. And, in addition
to him blatantly going behind Carlisle's back, he's drug me into deceiving his
parents with him. I know I willingly agreed to keep our relationship quiet when
Edward suggested it in the beginning, but the fact that the topic has come up,
that it's been discussed, and he made the decision that he would – no, that we
would - deliberately continue to lie and mislead them, pisses me off.
And who the hell does Carlisle think he is! Trying to tell me who I can and
cannot date! He's not my father! Charlie wouldn't even do that to me. Not that
I ever dated anyone long enough for Charlie to even be aware, but that's not
the point!
I sit down on my bed in a huff, trying to process any bit of information I have
that makes this make sense.
I don't understand. What's so wrong with me that Carlisle would tell Edward to
stay away? I thought Carlisle liked me? He always treats me like I'm one of his
own children. I was even starting to think he might even like me more than
Rosalie.
Rosalie.
I start comparing myself to Rosalie – beautiful, porcelain Rosalie - Mr. and
Mrs. Hale's only daughter. Rosalie is the only debutant I have ever met. Mr.
Hale is a successful investment banker and Mrs. Hale is what Esme referred to
as a "kept woman," meaning she doesn't do anything but spend her husband's
money. Rosalie was educated in the finest private schools, born and bred to be
a proper young woman in high society. She'd be the perfect wife for a
successful, high-profile, surgeon's son.
And who am I? I've never set foot in a private school in my life. My parents
had to scrape and save every penny they earned to make ends meet. And now, here
I am - Carlisle's little charity case. He must be so disgusted with me,
mooching off his generosity while I amuse myself with my silly, childish dreams
of becoming a dancer. Of course he doesn't want me anywhere near his son. I'm
not good enough for him or his family.
I lie back on my pillows, trying to fight back the lump in my throat. This is
ridiculous. Carlisle isn't like that. He would never belittle someone just
because they didn't have as much money as he does. It's stupid of me to even
think such things, and I know it.
My phone vibrates on my nightstand with an incoming text.
Bella, please talk to me. ~ E
I shut off the phone and lie back down.
After a moment, I turn the phone back on and do what any girl in my position
would do – I call my best friend.
"Hey, this is Jake. Leave a message." I hang up and wait about five minutes
before trying him again. This time, when his voicemail picks up, I decide I
better leave a message. If he sees two missed calls from me, and no message, he
might think something's wrong.
"Hey, it's me. I just, um, well... never mind. It's nothing. I'll talk to you
tomorrow."
I roll off my bed and pace around my room again, anxiously tapping my phone
against my leg. With a resigned sigh, I dial my second choice.
"Hey, mom," I say, trying to keep my voice cheerful.
"Bella, what's wrong?"
I snicker. I haven't fooled her at all. I launch into my story, telling her
everything. Well, the 'PG' version of everything. She doesn't need all the gory
details.
I tell her about Edward: how we met, how he avoided me when he thought I was
with Jake, and that we have been practically inseparable ever since. I tell her
that he's sweet and kind and that he takes care of me - everything up to my
storming out on him thirty minutes ago.
Renee listens intently, never interrupting my obvious need to get it all off my
chest. I tell her how we agreed to conceal our relationship from his parents,
citing Edward's 'we live under their roof' excuse. I even tell her about my
irrational thoughts as to why Carlisle would want Edward to stay away from me.
"Bella, that's ridiculous. I've known Carlisle just as long as your father has;
he would never treat someone like that just because they didn't have money."
"I know, mom. I was angry and it was stupid of me to even think it."
"That's right. Now you just wipe that absurd notion right out of your head.
Carlisle is a wonderful, caring person. Just look at everything he has done for
you."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I know Carlisle doesn't really feel that way about
me, but it doesn't make it any less true. Edward lives in a world where I
don't. The Cullens are a beautiful, successful, high-society family. I'm just a
commoner playing pretty-pretty-princess in their real life castle."
"Isabella Swan, what has gotten into you?" she scolds.
"I don't know." I throw myself down on the bed as I whine into the phone. "I
just don't understand it. And Edward won't tell me. Why would Carlisle forbid
us from being together?"
"I don't know. It sounds like you and Edward have a good thing going there. I'm
not too crazy about you living right down the hall from each other, but you're
eighteen now so I guess I'll have to get used to treating you like an adult.
You are being… safe?"
This is why I called Jake first.
I roll my eyes, although she can't see it. I'm sure my tone gives me away.
"Mom, you know what my doctors said about that. I haven't had a period in over
a year."
"Are you serious? Bella, that's not good. You're not eating enough and you're
working too hard. You need to-"
I cut her off, "Mom, I know all this. Please, can we not talk about this right
now?"
Renee breaths a long sigh into the phone, clearly unhappy about abandoning this
topic. "All right, all right," she concedes.
"Mom, Esme knows, about me and Edward, I mean. And she's been keeping our
secret from Carlisle too. I don't understand why she would do that. Why would
she help her son keep something from her husband that he expressly forbade?"
"I'm not sure, sweetie. Have you thought about asking Esme? Or even Carlisle?"
"No. I mean, I don't want to talk to his parents behind his back." Though it
seems that's exactly what he did to me.
"Well, maybe the four of you could sit down together and talk over a nice
dinner or something. I'm sure if you and Edward are able to explain …"
My mother's voice fades into the background as the memory of dinner with
Carlisle and Esme after my orientation slams into my mind. The way Carlisle
glared at Edward when he touched my arm, the way his eyes narrowed when he
learned we had lunch together the day before, his harsh tone when Edward
offered to drive me home; it was all starting to make sense now. Edward has
been intentionally going against Carlisle's wishes the entire time I've known
him.
My God, was I the reason for all the tension between Carlisle and Edward? Was
it my fault? Was I the cause of the rift between Edward and his father?
"Bella? Are you still there?"
"Oh, no," I groan.
"Bella? Sweetie? What is it? What's wrong?"
I tell my mother the entire story of that night, describing in great detail
every glower, every harsh word, every irritate expression Carlisle hurled at
Edward. I go on to explain how Carlisle and Edward barely speak to each other
now, and when they do, the exchange is always tense and hostile.
"Although, it has been getting better lately," I admit. "At least, it seems
like now when they're in the same room with each other they're not as hostile
as they used to be." I roll over onto my side and pull my knees into my chest,
curling up into a ball. "Mom, what am I supposed to do? What if they're
fighting because of me?" My voice cracks as a single tear slides down the side
of my nose.
"Oh, sweetie, it will work out. You'll see. Maybe give him some time. This
might be something he needs to work out with his father on his own. It could
have nothing to do with you."
I want to scream that it has everything to do with me. That Edward is my world.
That I'm not complete without him. But I don't say any of that. Instead, I
exhale noisily into the phone.
"I know this is hard," my mother continues, "and I know you're upset and
frustrated, and I wish I had all the answers, but, sweetie, you're going to
have to talk to Edward. It's not doing you any good to sit around and speculate
as to what you think is going on."
I close my eyes and wipe my damp cheek with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. "I
know. You're right. I'm just getting myself worked up, and it will probably
turn out to be nothing." Or it could be worse than any of my unfounded
theories.
"So you'll talk to him then? Give him a chance to explain?"
"Yes, mom. I will." Even I can hear the heavy reluctance in my voice.
We talk for another ten minutes, and Renee tries to cheer me up, discussing
plans for my upcoming visit - which I will be making alone, apparently. I say
goodbye, promising to call as soon as I have my flight numbers and arrival
times for my trip.
I disconnect the call and check my messages. Jake hasn't called back, but I
have two missed texts, both from Edward.
10:48 p.m. - Bella, please talk to me.
11:25 p.m.- I'm sorry.
I check the clock. 12:38 a.m. He's likely already asleep, so I don't bother to
reply.
Although my anger has dissipated, I'm not feeling any better than I did before
I called my mother. My initial fury is now overshadowed by a deep sense of
hopelessness. Whatever the real reason behind Carlisle's demand, Edward felt it
was bad enough to hide from me. Bad enough that he felt the need to lie to me –
for months.
Feeling thoroughly and utterly depressed, I grab my iPod and shuffle through my
playlists to the one entitled Emo Songs,an entire collection of unhappy,
despondent, melancholy songs that fed right in with my mood. I know I shouldn't
listen to this crap when I'm already feeling down, as it's just going to make
me feel worse. But sometimes, like right now, I have to drown in my gloom
before I can surface again.
I turn off the lamp, allowing only the light of the moon to illuminate my room.
I try to block out my surroundings as I sink into the lyrics of the music
echoing in my ears. Unconsciously, I begin to sway to the beat, softly moving
my feet from side to side with the rhythm. Before I realize it, I've given
myself over to the music, and my emotions, and I bend and twirl in the tiny
space between my bed and the balcony doors. There isn't enough space to get it
all out. I need to get out of this room.
I tip-toe down the hall and enter the studio, closing the door softly behind
me. Leaving the lights off, I once again allow the light of the moon, flooding
through the open balcony doors, to illuminate the room. My gym bag sits against
the wall, and I rummage through the side pocket until I find the armband I use
when I run. Strapping my iPod firmly to my bicep, I snake the long, white cord
behind my back to keep it from tangling around my arms while I move.
My sad playlist continues. In my ears, one depressing song ends and another
equally gloomy song begins. I move slowly around the room, my dance resembling
something more like yoga stretches than modern choreography. I have no
conscious thought as to how I'm moving or what step will come next. My body
just flows along with the lyrics and cadence of the music.
I lose track of how long I've been in here and how long I've been dancing. The
songs run together, one on top of the other, as I try to push away the hurt,
and frustration, and stress from tonight.
It's not working.
I continue to stare at myself in the mirror, my movements slowing as the weight
of my emotions press down on me. I position myself to pirouette, intending to
land an easy triple, but instead I allow my body to spin around and around and
around, as much my momentum will allow, until I lose my balance and crumple to
the floor.
I stare down at the golden wood planks beneath my hands, my breathing heavy, my
heart pounding, my mind racing. I push myself up and slowly shift my weight
until I'm sitting, pulling my knees into my chest and wrapping my arms around
them. Resting my head in the space between my arms, I effectively curl into a
ball, shutting the world out as I begin to cry.
I feel two hands gently grip my arms and I jerk my head up with a start. Edward
is squatting in front of me, a desolate expression on his face. He's probably
been here this entire time, watching me attempt to battle through my distress
on my own. And from the look in his eyes, he's suffering just as much as I am.
He studies my face for a moment, his eyes shifting back and forth quickly as he
searches mine.
Cautiously, he lets go of my right arm and brushes my cheek with his fingers,
wiping away my tears. I observe him, watching as his mood and his posture
slowly shifts to one of resignation. Reluctantly, he releases his grip on my
arms and rocks back, sitting on his heels and casting his eyes down to the
floor.
He would tell me. All I have to do is remove my headphones, open my mouth, ask
the question, and he would tell me. It's that simple. But judging by the
haunting torture in his expression, what he would say would be bad.
It would hurt.
It would change things.
Was I ready for that? Could I handle that?
I let out a deep breath and, without saying a word, stand up. Edward doesn't
move, probably thinking I'm about to storm out on him again. Carefully, I step
closer and run my hand through his hair. He raises his head and looks up at me,
the tormented expression remaining on his face. I smile meekly, an attempt to
tell him that we'll be OK, and his returning weak smile says the same.
He rocks forward, falling onto his knees and wrapping his hands around my lower
back. Pulling me to him, he hugs me tightly, his cheek pressing against my
stomach. I continue to run my fingers through his hair, using my other hand to
quickly brush away the fresh tears before they have a chance to fall.
I'm the first to pull away, reaching behind and disentangling his fingers from
my back. I grip his hands tightly and pull him up from the floor. He stands,
towering over my petite frame, his hands still firmly in mine. I turn, without
letting go, and lead him back to my room.
Removing my headphones from my ears, I coil them around my iPod and place it on
the nightstand. Edward hovers at the foot of my bed, seemingly unsure as to
what he should do. I walk to him, his eyes studying my every move, and take his
hand again. Pulling him along, I crawl into my bed and he follows. I turn my
back to him, molding myself into his chest as I wrap his arm around me. I can
feel his face press against my shoulder blade.
"Don't lie to me. Ever again," I say softly.
"I'm sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing by -"
"Edward," I cut him off, "I don't want to talk about it right now." I feel him
stiffen slightly behind me as he becomes silent again.
After a tense moment, he kisses my shoulder gently. "I am sorry for not being
honest with you. For everything," he mumbles.
Edward pulls me tighter into his chest as if he would never let me go. Neither
of us fall asleep right away, but Edward seems to relax more and more as the
minutes pass. His arm draped over my body slowly becomes heavier until,
finally, his breathing evens out and he's asleep.
I twist around in his arms, rolling my body over to face him, and watch his
peaceful face as he sleeps. Tomorrow, I promise myself. I will work up the
courage to ask him tomorrow.
Snaking my arm under his, I wrap it around his chest and nuzzle my head under
his chin. I inhale deeply, feeling safe and warm and right where I should be.
Chapter End Notes
     So I have to share this story with you: I came up with the idea that
     I wanted to acknowledge Bella's birthday (basically to say its
     September now in the timelime) so I thought Edward should take her
     out somewhere. Having never been to Seattle myself, I Googled tourist
     attractions in the area and and found the Sculpture Park. Next, I
     started writing the scene: the surprise at the school, the camera,
     etc. Then I thought - ok, they need to stop and discuss a piece of
     art - so I pulled up the park website and started flipping through
     the pics of the sculptures. (Remember, this was AFTER I wrote the
     whole outing.) That's when I found "Father and Son". I freaked! It's
     so perfect! How crazy is that?
     (art): Father and Son http://www.seattleartmuseum.org/emuseum/code/
     emuseum.asp?collection=6096&collectionname=WEB.Olympic%20Sculpture%20Park&style=browse¤trecord=1&page=collection&profile=objects&searchdesc=WEB.Olympic%20Sculpture%20Park&newprofile=objects&newvalues=1&newstyle=text
***** Chapter 12 *****
EPOV
I follow Bella when she storms out of her studio, but when it becomes apparent
she isn't going to let me into her room, I leave. I slam the door to my bedroom
with such force my guitar rattles off balance, tips over, and slides down the
wall. The tuning pegs scratch a long, semicircular gash in the paint on their
way to the floor.
"Fuck!" I scream at myself. I could give a shit about the wall.
That's when I start to throw things.
Books, CDs, clothes, my desk lamp, nothing is safe from my wrath. In the tiny
confines of my room, I unleash months of pent up rage. I'm not angry with
Bella; she reacted exactly as I suspected she would when she discovered I'd
been lying to her. But her reaction is just the spark needed to ignite the
inferno smoldering just below the surface.
I curse myself for my stupid mistakes - the mistakes I made before I met Bella,
and the monumental, asinine ones I've made since. I curse myself for lying to
her and thinking I could just bury the truth. I curse myself for thinking we
could just live in a fucking bubble and the rest of the world would go to hell.
Ha! Not the rest of the world – Carlisle. Carlisle could fucking go to hell.
This is his fault, him and his fucking decree, him and his fucking disapproval
of me. Well, he can take his disapproval and his decree and shove them both up
his ass! I'm done – so done.
I actually laugh out loud as I recall the conversation with Esme two months
ago.
"Edward, your father is not perfect. He felt like he failed you, and he blamed
himself for the accident. He's still working through some of that guilt. The
two of you need to talk, but he needs more time."
Well, time's up, asshole. This ends now.
I wrench my bedroom door open and march downstairs. Emmett is lying on the
couch with Rosalie curled into his side, the light from the TV casting strange
shadows across their faces. Walking directly between them and the flat-screen,
I head to the hallway that leads to Carlisle's office.
"Down in front," Emmet booms, playfully dropping his voice as low as he can.
"Fuck you," I growl.
"Fuck you!" he yells back, the lighthearted tenor now stripped from his voice.
"What the fuck is your problem?"
I disappear down the hall, ignoring him. The door to Carlisle's office is
locked, and I pound on it with the side of my fist. The door shudders as I
hammer against the wood. "Carlisle! Open the fucking door!"
"He's not here!" Emmett yells from living room.
I storm back into the living room, almost running into Emmett as I exit the
hallway. Rosalie is sitting up on the couch, a look of concern on her face,
their TV show completely forgotten.
"Where is he?" I spit between clenched teeth.
"The hospital. They have a board meeting tonight and then the Chairman's
Dinner. He and Esme won't be home 'til late."
I move toward the stairs, but Emmett reaches out and grabs my arm to stop me.
"Hey, man, you OK?" he asks concerned.
Jerking my arm out of his grasp, I pull back and ball my hand into a fist. My
muscles are tense, as if I'm preparing for an attack. "Don't!" I bark.
Rosalie gasps, and Emmett holds his hands up in surrender as he takes two steps
back. "Jesus, calm down. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I don't answer as I turn back to the stairs again and climb them two at a time.
Storming down the hall, my hands still balled into fists at my side, I pass
Bella's room and practically skid to a stop. I can hear her muffled voice from
behind the door; she's talking to someone.
Cautiously, I step closer to the door and my hands grip tightly to the frame on
either side. I can't make out what she's saying; her words are too soft to
carry through the thick wood, but there is no mistaking the tenor of her voice.
She's crying.
Instantly, I feel the fight drain from of my body. Leaning forward, I rest my
forehead against her door, close my eyes, and let out a long breath.
I was so ready to launch all of my anger at Carlisle. I was going to tell him
that I'm done trying to prove myself to him, that I'm done trying to make up
for my mistakes, that I'm done trying to be his son. I was going to tell him
about Bella, and that there isn't anything he can do to keep me away from her.
And if he couldn't accept that, then I'd leave.
I've thought about moving out countless times. When I turned eighteen, the
trust fund with the money from my parents' life insurance legally became mine.
There is more than enough for me to live on until I graduate. But as I stand
outside of Bella's room, and the seething rage slowly quiets down, I think
about how my rash actions might affect her.
I can't just leave her here - if it comes to that. Carlisle will probably think
she had a hand in deceiving him about our relationship, even if I take all of
the blame. I wouldn't put it past that asshole to make her life miserable once
I'm gone. Or, maybe Carlisle would be so angry he'd kick her out too. She could
come with me, but when I tell her the truth about my past she might not want
to. I realize, before I do anything impulsive and reckless, I need to talk to
her first.
Shoving myself away from her door, I make my way back to my room to locate my
phone. I fire off another text, asking her to please talk to me. I sit on the
edge of our bed, my leg bouncing up and down nervously as I try to prepare
myself for the conversation that will follow. I attempt to imagine her reaction
to what I will say, but no matter how I justify my actions in my mind, I
struggle to envision a scenario in which she doesn't leave me.
Another thirty minutes goes by and Bella still doesn't respond to my text. I
start to compose another, but I don't know what else to say. I've already asked
her twice to talk to me and that hasn't worked. I compose several messages, but
delete them all, finding it difficult to convey the sincerity of my feelings
this way.
I'm an asshole.
Please don't shut me out.
I'm ready to talk when you are.
I stare at the blank screen for a minute before typing the one thing I want her
to know most of all.
I'm sorry.
Another unbearable hour passes, my messages go unanswered and our bed remains
empty. Feeling defeated and helpless, I throw my phone into the center of the
mattress and walk out on the balcony. The studio is dark, but the doors are
still open. The gauzy curtains puff and wave in the cold November air. Bella's
door remains closed, but her windows are now dark. The crushing realization
that she's upset enough to sleep without me causes an uneasy feeling in my pit
of my stomach.
I make my way over to the studio, reaching out to catch the curtain as it whips
around so I can tuck it inside as I shut the door. But before I'm able to grasp
the fabric, I see her. Bella spins and stretches in the dark room, moving
around the floor with purposeful steps. There's no music, but as my eyes adjust
to the darkness, I make out the cord of her headphones as it snakes up her back
and disappears under her hair.
She doesn't see me. She doesn't know I'm watching her, and I vacillate for a
moment between staying and leaving her alone. She's still upset, as evident by
the passion in her dancing, but I can't force my feet to move away from the
door. The raw emotion in her eyes and movements pulls me to her like a moth to
a flame.
Quietly, I creep inside and sit against the wall, trying to make myself
invisible in the shadows. I study the way she stretches her arms out, palms
wide open, reaching for something out of her grasp; the way she wraps her arms
tightly across her chest as if she's in pain; the way she bends toward the
floor, overcome by some invisible weight on her back. Her dance is a clear
display of how she's feeling – how I made her feel.
I can't take it anymore. I have to stop this. It's unbearable to see her so
upset, although what I'm about to tell her will upset her even more. Just as
I'm about to make my presence known, Bella crumples to the floor, curls into a
ball, and begins to cry.
I'm in front of her in a second, fighting to stop myself from pulling her into
my arms. She's angry with me, so I may be the last person she wants trying to
comfort her right now. She doesn't immediately push me away, but when I can't
discern her reaction to seeing me, I let her go. She stands up, and I'm certain
she's about to walk away from me again, but she doesn't. She steps closer, and
I feel her fingers run through my hair. When I look up, she smiles sadly at me,
and I know she hasn't given up on me yet. As pure relief washes over me, I fall
to my knees and pull her to me.
She drags me back to her room and into her bed. I hold her tightly against my
chest as I try to tell her I'm sorry, and that I thought I was doing the right
thing by keeping Carlisle in the dark about our relationship. But before I can
explain anything, Bella cuts me off. She doesn't want to talk about it.
She doesn't want to talk about it that night, or the next day. She begins to
act as if nothing happened, and I go along with it for a while. But on Thursday
afternoon, when Bella walks through the front door after rehearsal, I'm waiting
for her in the living room.
I take her hand and lead her away from kitchen, apologizing to Esme that she'll
have to prepare dinner tonight without Bella's help. The somber look I give
Esme says enough, and she nods and waves us toward the stairs.
"It's pizza night anyway. Go on. I was just about to call it in," she says.
Lifting Bella's gym bag from her shoulder, I carry it in one hand while I pull
Bella up the stairs with the other. As we pass her bedroom, I toss the bag
inside without slowing down and continue on to our room. I allow Bella to walk
inside first, letting go of her hand to shut the door behind me. She walks
directly to the bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, her eyes cast down
and her hands twisting nervously in her lap.
I lean back against the closed door, pinning my hands behind my back as if to
hold myself in place - to make myself do this. "We need to talk about the other
night," I say gently.
"I know," she mumbles, watching her hands as she toys idly with her fingers.
"I should have been honest with you in the beginning, and I'm very sorry about
that, but I hope you can understand that I had -"
"Edward," she cuts me off, raising her head to look at me for the first time. I
notice her eyes are red and swollen. She's been crying. Looking away quickly,
she focuses back on her hands in her lap. "I know you have something important
to tell me, and I know this is horrible of me, but can we not do this right
now? I've had a really bad day, and I don't think I can handle anymore."
I shove off the door to sit next to her on the bed, wrapping my arm around her
lower back. "What happened?" I ask, concerned.
Bella's eyes flood with tears again, and she buries her head against my neck as
she begins to cry. I hold her tightly to me, stroking her hair and rocking her
gently from side to side. "Shh," I whisper. "It'll be alright. Whatever it is,
it'll be alright."
"No… it won't," she chokes out between sobs. Bella pulls out of my grasp,
wiping her eyes roughly with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She sucks in a
ragged breath and turns her body to face me. "My dad – my dad and I - we got in
a huge fight."
I nod as I take her hand in mine. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"He saw the video. He didn't know – I never told him. I couldn't tell him. He
would have never let me…"
Her voice trails off. Bella takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself before
she continues. "There's a new detective at the station. He had pictures of me,
you know, still shots from the video, as his screensaver. He didn't know I was
the chief's daughter. Charlie went ballistic. He thought the guy had taken the
photos himself, like I had posed for them or was working as a stripper
somewhere."
Bella rolls her eyes. "Dad tried to arrest him right there in the station, and
that's when the new guy told him he got the pictures off the video. Charlie was
furious. He found out everyone at the station had seen the video, but no one
told him. The rest of the guys knew better than to tell him."
"I guess I can see why he'd be upset, seeing his daughter -"
"Upset!" Bella explodes, standing up from the bed and throwing her arms in the
air. "Edward, he's way beyond upset."
I decide I better keep my mouth shut.
"He screamed at me for over an hour. He said I was jeopardizing his career, his
reputation, my reputation. He said…" Bella seems to catch herself. "He said
some horrible things," she adds softly.
Bella lets out a deep breath as she sits next to me on the bed again. She takes
my hand in hers and stares down at our joined fingers.
"He was so angry," she begins cautiously. "He threatened to press charges
against the video producers. I was underage when they shot the video, and he
said it could be constituted as child pornography." Bella glances up sheepishly
at me before she continues. "I told him I had signed all kinds of waivers and
releases, but he said they didn't matter without the signed consent from my
legal guardian. So I had to tell him I forged his signature."
"Oh," is all I manage to say.
"He went crazy. Charlie's never cursed at me like that before."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Maybe just give him some time to -"
"That isn't the worst of it," she says, her eyes beginning to fill with tears
again. "He says he can't trust me to be out here on my own. He's making to go
back to Phoenix."
"What?" I yell, yanking my hand from hers as if it has burned me. "He can't do
that. What about your scholarship?"
"He called Victoria right after he hung up on me. He's having my records
transferred back to my old school in Arizona, and he changed my flight so that
I fly straight to Phoenix after Thanksgiving at my moms."
"But that means…"I couldn't make myself say the words.
Bella nods. "He told me to start packing tonight, because when I leave Sunday,
I won't be coming back."
Her tears are falling freely again as I continue to stare at her, completely in
shock. I know I should try to reassure her again that everything will be all
right, but right now, I can't see how it will be.
I want to scream. I want to beat the shit out of the guy who has pictures of my
girlfriend as his screensaver. I want to call Charlie and tell him he's making
the biggest fucking mistake of his life. He's going to destroy his daughter's
future – her dreams – for what? Because he can't see past a skimpy costume and
suggestive choreography to notice how hard she had to work and train to get
that job?
I want to do all those things, but when Bella covers her eyes with her hands
and doubles over to sob against her knees, I realize I have to shelve my
irritation and try to comfort the heartbroken girl next to me. I pull her into
my lap and begin rubbing my hand up and down her back. "Please, love, please
don't cry. We'll figure it out."
"How?" Her tone is disbelieving, and she pulls back to look at me.
"I don't know, but I'll think of something. It'll be all right."
Bella opens her mouth, probably to argue that it won't, but she jumps at the
sound of the doorbell downstairs.
"It's just the pizza," I explain.
Bella groans. "Ugh, I can't deal with the family night right now. You go."
"No, I'm staying with you."
"Edward, go. Carlisle will get suspicious if we both skip dinner." I open my
mouth to say Carlisle can go fuck himself, but Bella cuts me off. "Besides, I
need to call Jake. He doesn't know about any of this, and now he's got to find
and train a new partner over the holiday."
Another fat tear rolls down her cheek, and as I brush it away, Bella rolls her
eyes and abruptly stands up.
"I'm fine. I'm fine," she says, an edgy tone to her voice. "Go, eat, watch TV,"
she gestures to the door, "I'll see you when you're done." She turns away and
begins to stalk toward the door.
"Hey!" I call out, irritated. She turns around to face me as I push off of the
bed and close the distance between us. I take her face in my hands, watching
distress swim in her eyes. "Don't do that," I say softly. "Don't dismiss me
like that. The idea of you leaving is unbearable, but I refuse to believe that
it's going to happen. I just need time to think, and I'll figure something out.
We – we will figure something out. This isn't over yet. And I promise I'll do
everything I can to fix this." Bella nods her head as more tears fill her eyes.
"Please, you have to stop crying. You're killing me."
She laughs humorlessly between her tears. "I told you," she says as she wipes
them away, "once I start I can't stop."
"I remember. I also remember you calling me an irate teenage boy who may or may
not bite your head off that night."
Bella chuckles again. "It was true."
"Uh huh," I mumble as I lean down and kiss her gently.
I try to keep our kiss soft and tender, but the painful emotions of our
afternoon bleed through and soon we are desperately clinging to one another,
kissing each other as if this will be the last time.
"Pizza's here!" Emmett booms from downstairs.
Reluctantly, I pull away and rest my forehead against hers.
"I'm not done kissing you," she whispers, and I know she doesn't mean just
right now.
"I'm not done kissing you either." I continue to hold her face in my hands,
stroking her cheek with the pad of my thumb. "Are you sure you won't come
down?"
Bella shakes her head. "No, I'm a mess. I can't eat right now, but you better
go before Emmett comes looking for me."
"I don't want to leave you."
"Please go, for me. I really can't handle explaining why I'm in your bedroom to
Emmett or anyone else right now."
"All right," I concede. "I'll save you some pizza." I kiss her quickly and duck
out of the door.
Esme is standing in the kitchen removing slices of pizza from the cardboard box
and setting them on paper plates. She looks up as I cross the living room. "I'm
sorry," she says in a hushed voice. "I didn't think to tell Emmett not to
bother you two."
"That's OK. Can I help you do anything?"
"You could pour the drinks." Esme glances cautiously toward Emmett's room
before continuing. "Everything go all right?"
"We didn't really get to talk about, well… that. It wasn't a good time. She got
in a fight with her dad today, and she's pretty upset. She's not coming down
for dinner."
"Well, that explains it," Esme grumbles to herself, and I look at her
questioningly. "About an hour before Bella got home, Charlie called. He was
almost rude. He asked to speak to Carlisle, and they've been on the phone ever
since."
I glance at the clock. Almost an hour has passed since Bella arrived home from
school. That meant Charlie and Carlisle have been on the phone for a good two
hours or more.
"All right," Emmett booms as he saunters into the kitchen. He slaps his mammoth
hands together and rubs them back and forth quickly as if he's trying to warm
them. "Let's get this party started! Where's Bells?"
"She has a headache," Esme lies causally. "She'll eat later."
"You boys go ahead and eat." Carlisle's authoritative voice echoes from the
living room. He walks purposefully toward the kitchen, and my whole body goes
stiff. Abruptly, I turn my back to him and focus on pouring a Coke into a glass
of ice. "Esme, would you ask Bella to join me in my office? And I would like
you to join us as well, please."
"Sure, we'll be right there," she says sweetly.
I grip the counter tightly with both hands and glance at Esme over my shoulder.
She catches my eye but quickly looks away and leaves the room. I grab my drink
and my plate and slump down into a chair at the table. I lean over, my arm
forming a circle around the plate, and stare, unseeing, at my food.
Emmett takes the seat directly across from me. "What happened?" he whispers.
Before I can tell him it's none of his fucking business, Emmett straightens up
and fixes his eyes on something over my left shoulder. I twist in my chair to
see Esme and Bella coming down the stairs. Esme keeps one hand on Bella's
shoulder as they walk across the living room. Bella keeps her eyes glued to the
floor, looking like a convict being escorted to the execution chamber. Neither
of them acknowledges Emmett and me as we watch them walk solemnly through the
room and disappear down the hallway.
"What's going on?" Emmett asks, trying to keep his voice low.
"I'm not sure," I say, my eyes still fixed on the doorway Bella just passed
through. I'm not lying, not completely. I do have some idea about what's being
discussed behind the closed door, but the two hour phone call from Charlie to
Carlisle has me wondering what else they could be talking about.
Emmett and I finish dinner in silence, and I return to my room. Bella has been
in Carlisle's office for over forty-five minutes, and I'm getting more and more
anxious as the time ticks by. I jump when my phone begins buzzing in my pocket.
I pull it out and check the caller ID – unknown.
"Hello?" I ask hesitantly.
"Hey, it's Jake."
"Oh, hey."
"I was looking for Bella, but she's not answering her phone. She gave me your
number a while back. I hope that's OK?"
"No, yeah, that's fine. She's with my parents right now. Did she get a chance
to call you?"
"Yeah, we only talked for a second, but I have a general idea of what's going
on."
I run my hands through my hair. "She's pretty upset."
"I'll bet. Her dad called right before we walked into studio class. I could
hear him yelling at her through the phone." I cringe. "She never came into
class, and she was gone by the time I got out."
"So did you know she forged his signature?" I ask.
"No." Jacob lets out a deep breath. "Man, this is bad."
"Did she tell you her dad wants her to come home?"
"Yeah, she did. It's unreal that he would just pull her out of the program like
that. I mean, after everything she's worked for."
"I know." I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands still tugging at my hair. "Is
there anything the school can do? You know, to keep her here?"
"I don't know. I did see Victoria in her office when I was leaving. She was
talking pretty enthusiastically to someone on the phone."
"It must have been Charlie. He told Bella he was calling the school as soon as
he got off the phone with her. Then he called here and asked for Carlisle. They
talked for almost two hours before Carlisle asked Bella to join him in his
office. That was," I glance at the clock, "shit, that was over an hour ago.
She's still down there."
"Shit."
We are silent for several minutes, both of us likely contemplating different
ways to keep Bella from leaving.
"Wait!" I shout, excitedly. "She's eighteen now!"
"So? What does that have to do with anything?"
I chuckle darkly. "She's a legal adult. He can't make her leave. He can't make
her do anything."
"Bella would never go against her parents," Jacob protests. "Besides the fact
she's still dependent on them for, well… everything, she would never defy their
wishes."
"But if being here is what's best for her, then surely she would -"
"Yeah, I get what you're saying but still, you know she wouldn't go against her
parents like that."
"She forged her dad's signature," I defend.
"Yeah, that shocked the hell out of me when she told me. But seeing how much
trouble that's caused, you can be sure she's scared straight now. Besides,
realistically, where would she go? How would she support herself? You know
Carlisle isn't going to let her stay with you guys. She doesn't have a job; she
doesn't have -"
"That's not a problem," I state, cutting him off.
"Ah, yeah it is." I could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "A big problem."
"I'd take care of her. I'd support her. I have money from my parents' life
insurance. We could move out. She could finish school. She could - "
"Edward." From his tone, I can tell he's unconvinced. "As noble and romantic
and generous as that sounds – get real, man. We're just a bunch of kids. Don't
be stupid and think you can just run away together and that will make this all
better. That's not the answer, and you know Bella would never go for that. It
would eat her alive if she came between you and your family."
I wanted to throw my head back and laugh. Leaving my family behind would be the
icing on the proverbial cake in this scenario.
"Look," he continues, "I know you're probably freaking out that she's leaving -
"
"She's not leaving," I growl.
Jacob sighs. "OK, fine. But don't do anything rash. This isn't over just yet.
Yes, she might have to go back to Phoenix for a while until everything gets
sorted out."
Not an option,I want to say, but I let it go.
"I guess we won't know anything until they get done downstairs," I concede.
"Yeah, you're probably right. Well, look, just have her call me when you see
her. I don't care how late, OK?"
"OK."
"Later, Eddie." The line goes dead.
I lie down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. What I wouldn't give to be down
there with her, holding her hand, telling Carlisle he can't send her home, that
this is her home, and that she belongs here with us – with me.
Just then the door opens and Bella slips into the room, turning her back to me
as she closes the door behind her. I sit up quickly and swing my feet off the
bed, but before I can stand Bella races across the room and launches herself at
me. We topple backwards on the mattress, and I wrap my arms around her, holding
her against me. Bella buries her head against my neck and begins to sob, her
breaths coming in ragged pants and my shirt soaking up her tears.
"No, no, no," I whisper, panic starting to build in my chest. It's over. She's
leaving.
"I – I get to stay," she mumbles against my shirt.
"What?" I stammer, disbelieving. I push her up, grabbing her face with both
hands so I can see her. "You're staying?"
"I'm staying," she repeats, smiling through her tears.
I pull her to me, hugging her tightly to my chest as I breathe a huge sigh of
relief. "Jesus, woman, you scared the crap out of me just now. Why are you
crying?"
"Because I'm happy."
"OK, now your mood swings are giving me whiplash. You're making me crazy. I
can't keep up. You've got to quit that. You're killing me here."
"I know. I'm sorry. I'm a mess today."
I roll us over so Bella is now lying next to me and I can clearly see her face.
Propping myself up on one elbow, I stare down at her and gently wipe away the
moisture from her lashes. "No more, OK? No more crying."
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm done. I promise."
I continue to stoke her cheek with my thumb while she composes herself. Bella
grasps my wrist, twists her head, and kisses my palm once before turning her
eyes back to mine.
"I was scared," I confess. "I mean, I know you were going to lose your
scholarship and everything you've been working for, but I was more upset that
they were going to take you from me. I know that's pretty selfish, but I don't
know what I'd do without you. I – I love you, Bella."
A soft smile creeps across her lips. "I love you, too."
I chuckle happily once as my blissful smile tries to compete with hers. She
loves me.
Leaning down, I kiss her tenderly. My life could have ended in that moment, and
I wouldn't have cared. I have everything I never knew I wanted wrapped tightly
in my arms. For the first time in my life, I feel like I could drown in
happiness.
She loves me.
I pull back and Bella opens her eyes, shining with more tears. "Hey now, you
promised," I scold.
She laughs. "This is your fault," she says, sitting up and wiping her eyes with
her sleeve. "You can't say stuff like that and expect me not to cry. I'm a
girl. That's what we do."
I sit up too, twisting my body so I can lean back against the headboard. "Well,
you better get over that 'cus I plan on saying it - a lot."
"Oh, you do?" she teases. Bella follows me, crawling up the bed and straddling
my lap. I pull my knees up, effectively turning my legs into a chair for her to
lean against as I grip her hips. Her hands brush over my shoulders, up my neck
and into my hair. I close my eyes as she presses her forehead against mine, and
I can feel her lips lightly graze mine. I lean forward, trying to capture her
mouth, but she pulls back slightly. "Say it again," she whispers.
"I love you," I repeat softly, and I'm rewarded with a single kiss. My hands
travel up her sides and around to her back.
"I love you," I say again, and I'm compensated with a solitary kiss. My hands
navigate higher, tangling in her hair as I sit up straight, fighting to get as
close as I can.
I stretch my neck forward, aching for more, but she pulls away again and I
chuckle. She's going to make me work for this. Time to pull out the big guns.
"I love you. I'm yours. For as long as you'll have me. You are the most
important thing to me - the most important thing to me ever." I can feel Bella
smile as she presses her mouth to mine. This time she doesn't pull away, and I
concentrate on showing her how I feel rather than telling her.
Our kiss is long and unbreakable, and we only pause to slowly undress each
other. Bella remains in my lap, her knees pressing against the mattresses and
her hands wound tightly in my hair. As she lowers herself onto me, I fight to
keep myself from slumping back onto the pillows. I wrap my arms tightly around
her back to anchor myself to her as she rocks against me.
Dropping my head against her shoulder, I groan as our seated position pushes me
deeper inside her than ever before. Bella lowers her hands from my hair,
wrapping them tightly around my shoulders for support. I'm breathless and
panting, frantically trying to hold on as she challenges the limits of my
control. My legs begin to shake and I open my mouth, scraping my teeth lightly
across her collarbone as I groan.
When Bella's fingernails dig into my skin, I can't hold back any longer. I
slide my hands up her back and grip her shoulders. I pull her body down as I
thrust up, plunging deeper inside her with every forceful lift of my hips.
Bella stills her movements and surrenders her body to me, allowing me to take
over and propel us over the edge.
Her whole body begins to shake, and when I drive into her even harder, she
throws her head back and cries out. Her walls spasm around me, gripping me
tighter and tighter with each wave of her orgasm, and I can't hold back any
longer. I lose all sense of control as the sensation rips through me, causing
me to explode inside her, my hips bucking wildly as I hold her tightly against
me.
Our movements slow as we descend back into reality. Bella drops her head to my
shoulder, practically curling herself into a ball against my chest. Her entire
body is shaking, and I rub my arms up and down her back, trying to soothe her.
I roll backward, pulling her with me as I collapse against the pillows. Bella
remains in the same position, and I remain inside her.
"You OK?" I ask, continuing to rub her back with my hands.
Bella chuckles. "You know you ask me that every time?" she mumbles into my
shoulder.
"Do I?"
Bella nods her head without moving from her position. She doesn't answer my
question.
"Well?" I prompt.
Bella laughs again and slowly rolls herself off of me. She lies on her back,
and I roll on my side, propping myself up on my elbow so I can study her face.
Something about my expression causes Bella to smirk, and she raises her hand
and rubs her finger between my eyebrows. She scowls, and I realize she's
mimicking my expression.
"So serious," she teases in a deep voice, and I roll my eyes. "Edward, I'm
great. I'm better than great. Don't worry so much. I would tell you if
something was wrong." She props herself on her elbow, copying my position,
bringing her face in line with mine. Wrapping her other hand around the back of
my neck, she pulls me to her and kisses me.
I slide my free arm over her hip and around her waist. Without breaking the
kiss, I push her down on the bed so she's lying on her back below me. Just as
round two begins to heat up, my phone vibrates with an incoming text.
"It's probably just Jacob," I mumble as I kiss her again.
Bella pushes me up. "Jacob? Why is Jake texting you?"
"He called me when you were downstairs." I start to laugh as I remember our
conversation.
"What?" Bella scolds, narrowing her eyes at me. "What did you say?"
"I told him you'd call as soon as I saw you. He's probably freaking out." I
wince. "I maybe gave him the impression that we were going to run away
together."
"Edward!" Bella says with a chuckle, sitting up, and playfully shoving me off
of her. She reaches for my phone and reads Jacob's message.
Any word yet? ~ Jake
"He's probably having a heart attack," she says, quickly tapping out a message
to send back.
It's me. I'm staying. All good. Explain later. ~ B
She hits send and returns the phone to the nightstand. Bending over, she picks
up her sweatshirt from the floor and tugs it on. Next she retrieves her
underwear. Her hands disappear under the sheets as she pulls them up her legs.
She kicks the covers away and swings her legs off the bed. Just as she's about
to stand up, she glances over her shoulder at me.
I'm propped up on my elbow again, my chin resting in my hand, and one finger
tapping against my cheek. I'm sure the expression on my face is pretty smug.
"And just where do you think you're going?"
"Shower," Bella says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. She
thinks for a second, then turns around, crawling toward me on all fours. Her
faces stops mere inches in front of me, and she brushes her nose lightly
against mine. Just when I think she's about to kiss me she asks, "You wanna
join me?"
She doesn't have to ask me twice.
~o0o~
Bella never tells me what caused Charlie to change his mind, and I didn't think
to ask. All I care about is that she's staying.
By Friday night, the drama from the previous day is long forgotten. At dinner,
Bella chatters happily about her upcoming trip, telling us hilarious stories
about her mother's fleeting attachment to various hobbies: painting, pottery,
writing, antique collecting, scuba diving, scrapbooking, the list goes on and
on. Each pursuit seems to be a bigger failure than the one before. We are still
chuckling as we climb into bed that night.
Saturday morning, I'm surprised when I wake up to find the bed empty. I glance
at the clock and realize its well after nine. I'm tempted to roll over and
sleep for a couple more hours, but Bella is leaving tomorrow, and I plan on
spending as much time with her today as I can.
Maybe we could start the day off with a nap.
I reach for my phone and call Bella to find out where she is. The phone rings
several times before her voicemail picks up. I hang up and decide to text her
instead.
Where are you? ~ E
Fifteen minutes later, I still don't have a response. Grudgingly, I roll out of
my warm bed, pull on a long-sleeve t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and drag
myself down the hall. Just as I'm sticking my head inside the dark studio, I
hear her voice coming from her room.
Her door is open halfway, and I don't even bother to knock before pushing my
way inside. Bella is pacing back and forth from her bed to her dresser,
creating neatly folded stacks of clothes along the foot of her bed. On the
floor, the largest suitcase I've ever seen sits open and empty. I have to look
away; the blinding hot pink color is too much for my groggy eyes.
Bella turns toward me as I enter, and I notice her phone pinned between her ear
and her shoulder. That explains my ignored call. She mouths the word "sorry" to
me, and I brush her off with a shake of my head.
"Yes, of course," she says to her caller. Bella holds up a shirt, considers it
for a moment, then folds it and adds it to one of the stacks to take with her.
I shuffle into the room and crawl on all fours across the bed to the far side –
the side free from the mountain of clothes. Pulling back the covers, I climb
into her bed and make myself comfortable. Closing my eyes, I tune out her
conversation and the soft swooshing noises of her folding more clothes.
I actually begin to doze off again, the warm bed and the comforting sound of
her voice lulling me back to sleep, but something she says catches my
attention. I assumed its Jacob she's talking to, but as I pay more attention to
her serious tone, I start to think this call is more professional in nature.
"Yes, ma'am. No, I understand."
I peel one eye open and observe her as she adds another pair of shorts to the
stack.
"Thank you, I appreciate that." She turns to her closet and disappears inside.
I close my eyes again. "Yes, ma'am, I do. Yes… yes, I'm sure."
I hear Bella shuffle back into her room and then the unmistakable thud of shoes
being dropped into the empty suitcase. "I'm sorry too. Yes, thank you. Uh huh,
you too. Bye." Bella lets out a deep breath.
"Everything OK?" I ask, my eyes still closed.
"Huh? Oh, yeah… fine. Just tying up some loose ends."
Something is off, but before I can ask, Bella crawls under the covers and
snuggles up next to me. Maybe we will get that nap after all.
"You know, I'm leaving tomorrow," she purrs.
"I'm aware."
"Are you going to miss me at all?"
"Eh, I doubt it," I tease. "It will be nice to get a quiet night's sleep for
once. You talk too much."
"I do not!" she screeches.
"Yes, actually you do." If I open my eyes, I'm sure I'd see Bella turning a
beautiful shade of pink right about now.
"What do I say?"
"Mostly you mumble stuff I don't understand, but sometimes you say my name."
"That's not so bad I guess."
"Nah, I don't think so. I kinda like it. Even when you're unconscious, you're
still thinking of me." I pull her closer to me as I nestle further into the
mattress. We stay quiet for some time, and I gently stroke Bella's hair as she
lies in my arms. I could stay like this forever.
"But seriously," she says abruptly, "what are you going to do without me for a
whole week?"
I laugh. "I honestly don't know," I admit. "I'll probably mope around the house
all week or be Jazz and Alice's third wheel. You should meet her, Alice, I
mean. I think you two would get along great."
"I'd like that."
In truth, I plan on conquering her song - her lullaby - so it will be finished
for Christmas. I want to record it, along with some of my earlier compositions,
for her present. I smile at the thought of her playing the CD in her studio,
maybe even dancing to some of my songs.
Bella sits up and quickly climbs out from under the covers. A gust of cold air
penetrates my warm cocoon and I groan. "Come on," she says excitedly. "Let's do
something fun today before I'm gone."
I scoot closer to her, trying to recapture some of the warmth from her body. I
lay my head in her lap and make myself comfortable again as Bella combs her
fingers through my hair. "Don't you need to rehearse today? Is Jacob coming
over?"
"Nah, he's with Seth and Paul. I don't feel like dancing today anyway."
OK, now I know something is wrong. In the four months I have known Bella, she
has danced a minimum of two hours every day. I peel my eyes open and lug myself
upright, leaning back against the headboard. Rubbing my hands over my face
roughly a few times, I force myself to wake up. "Bella, what's going on? Are
you sure everything's OK?"
"Yeah… yes." She gives a nervous laugh. "I'm just sad to be leaving you."
I appraise her for a moment, my expression clearly saying 'I'm not buying it.'
"What? Aren't I allowed a day off every now and then? I just want to do
something else. I want to spend a normal day with my boyfriend doing normal
things other people my age do! I'm not some Olympic athlete that needs to train
all day every damn day!"
I laugh at her rant. The furious kitten strikes again.
"What's so funny?"
"Well, for starters you are an athlete in training. You might not win a gold
medal in the end, but you work just as hard… maybe even harder. And second,
that was the first time I've ever heard you call me your boyfriend." I smirk.
Finally, she smiles. "Well, right now you're being a sucky boyfriend because I
want to go out and you won't take me." She pretends to pout, sticking her
bottom lip out as far as it would go.
I laugh again. "All right, woman. Geez! Let me put some clothes on, and I'll
take you anywhere you want to go."
Forty minutes later we are walking hand in hand through Waterfront Park,
watching the ships come and go from the port. It's a beautiful fall day, the
leaves just beginning to change color and the air is cool and crisp. We pick up
lunch at one of the sidewalk cafés, taking it in to-go containers and eating at
the picnic area at the north end of the park.
"So, how am I doing?" I ask. "Still a sucky boyfriend?"
"You're doing better," she teases between bites of her salad.
"Just better? Hmm." I dramatically stroke my chin, trying to appear like an
evil mastermind hatching a plan. "I wonder if a trip to… oh, I don't know, the
aquarium would help me improve upon better."
Bella's eyes open wide, her excitement evident on her face. "We're going to the
aquarium!" she squeals like an eager child before catching herself. "I mean…
well, it couldn't hurt." She shrugs.
I turn in my seat and point to the large building just behind us. "All part of
my master plan," I muse.
We spend over two hours wandering the through the aquarium exhibits. I'd been
here numerous times over the years for school field trips. Those outings were
tedious, monotonous, and almost painful to endure. But being here with Bella,
the experience is entirely different. I probably watch her more than I look at
any of the displays. She is mesmerized by everything she sees, and I'm
mesmerized by her.
Bella stands before the tanks of tropical fish, her hands pressed against the
glass, taking in everything. She points out fish she thinks are pretty or funny
or scary. She turns away from the tank of electric eels, shivering and claiming
they look too much like snakes.
She takes my hand and leads me to the touch pool. Dipping her fingers in the
cold water, she plucks a starfish from the rock and places it in my submerged
hand. I hold my palm open, cradling the small creature in my hand as Bella runs
her finger over its prickly legs, petting it gently. I would have never
participated in such activities before, but when Bella glances up at me, the
smile on her face and the excitement dancing in her eyes make this moment the
highlight of my day.
We make our way to the Underwater Dome, a spherical room with a 360 degree view
of an enormous fish tank. The filtered sunlight shimmers through the glass
above, casting a blue glow into the room. For the first time all afternoon,
Bella drops my hand and wanders into the center of the room, staring wide-eyed
at her surroundings. It really is impressive, and Bella is visibly amazed. I
stand back, watching her expression.
"This is incredible," she mumbles to no one.
A family with four small children, evidently on vacation, files out of the
room, leaving us alone for a brief moment. I walk up behind Bella, wrapping my
arms around her waist, and rest my chin on her shoulder. Bella leans back
against my chest as I hold her close to me.
"I love you," I whisper.
Bella turns in my arms to face me, wrapping her hands behind my neck. "I love
you, too."
I lean down and kiss her, bringing my hands up to stroke her face. She turns
back around and we resume our position, my arms around her, her body leaning
back against my chest. Our posture reminds me of that night on the balcony when
I rocked Bella to sleep in my arms. I begin quietly humming her lullaby as I
hold her tighter to me. Clearly, Bella remembers the moment too; she smiles and
lets out a contented sigh. We watch the fish swim around us for several minutes
while I hum her song.
"Thank you, Edward, for bringing me here, for today."
"You're welcome. Are you ready to go?" I ask.
"Yeah, I guess we better. I still have to finish packing." Her voice sounds
defeated.
"You sound so sad. I thought you were excited about going to visit your mom."
"Yes, of course I am. I just… never mind." Bella shakes her head.
"No, what is it? What were you going to say?"
She sighs. "I just wish you were coming with me is all."
"Bella, I - "
She turns to face me, breaking my hold around her. "No, I understand. I do. I
get it. It's… complicated."
"Yes, it is." I let out a deep breath. "I - I just - "
"No," she stops me again, "it's ok. We don't have to talk about it now. I don't
want to ruin our afternoon. I'm having such a great time. I shouldn't have
brought it up. I'm sorry."
She isn't going to let me explain, and I don't want to dampen our afternoon
with such a heavy topic of conversation either, but we still need to talk about
it. We can't avoid it any longer. It's time we sit down and have a serious
conversation about us, about me, about where we are headed.
"OK. Not today. But we still need to talk. When you get back, we'll talk, and
I'll explain everything. You need to know everything, Bella."
She nods. "Come on, let's go home."
~o0o~
It's after eleven when Bella finally sneaks in our room after her shower. I
close my book and set it on the nightstand when she enters. She quietly closes
the door and tip-toes over to the bed, her skinny legs sticking out from under
one of my t-shirt. She obviously isn't wearing any pants – again – and she
knows that drives me crazy.
She doesn't stand a chance. The second she touches the bed, my hands are all
over her. I pull her to me as I kiss her passionately. I don't intend for it to
be quite so frenzied, but as soon as I see her and the realization hits that
this is our last night before she leaves, I become a man possessed. I have to
have her, as much of her as I can get, as much of her as she will give. And I
know because she loves me, she will give all of herself and I would do the same
for her. This act is our way of saying goodbye, of trying to convey all the
emotion of our coming separation. I know she's only going to be gone a week,
but in this moment a week feels like forever.
We fall asleep, tangled in each other. I try to hold on to her tightly, as if I
can keep her with me.
It's well after three in the morning when I wake with a start, feeling a chill
in the air and an anxious awareness in the pit of my stomach.
Something isn't right.
I sit up quickly, turning on the lamp next to the bed. I'm alone; the sheets on
Bella's side are thrown back, exposing the vacant space next to me. I look
around confused and somewhat disoriented. The door to the balcony is open just
a crack, allowing the night air to fill the room. What is she doing outside?
I crawl out of bed and walk to the door, pulling on my shirt as I move. As I
make my way onto the balcony, I'm assaulted by the night air. Fuck, it's cold.
I wrap my arms around my shivering body and search the darkness outside.
Finally I see her, curled into a ball on the lounge chair, her knees pulled to
her chest and her head buried in her arms as they encircle her bare legs. She's
wearing my t-shirt again, but the rest of her skin is exposed to the frigid
temperatures. Her body shifts slightly back and forth, as if she is sitting in
a rocking chair. Her arms and legs tremble as she shivers against the cold.
"Bella, what are you doing out here? It's freezing. Come back inside."
She jumps, startled by my voice, her head snapping up to look at me as rivers
of tears stream down her face. She covers her month with her hand to stifle a
sob that racks her body. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, another wave of fresh
tears streams down her cheeks, and she quickly turns her face away from me.
I'm beside her in a second, sitting next to her on the chair. "Bella, what's
wrong? Are you hurt? What is it?" I'm completely terrified. Of course I have
seen her cry before, several times this week in fact, but that's nothing
compared to this. She's practically in hysterics.
She doesn't answer me. She just continues to sob uncontrollably as her whole
body shakes. I'm not sure if her tremors are from the cold or her crying.
"Please," I beg, "please, love, what's wrong?"
She finally moves, turning to bury her face in my chest. Her hands grab
fistfuls of my shirt as she crawls into my lap. I hold her close to me, rocking
her slowly as she begins to sob even harder than before. I have no idea what to
do or what happened to cause her to breakdown like this, but I'm about to go to
pieces myself if she doesn't talk to me.
Bella continues to shiver. I reach down and touch her legs; they feel like ice.
Without a word, I scoop her up and carry her back inside, her body practically
limp in my arms. She has to get warm or she will certainly be sick from her
little excursion.
I head straight for the bathroom and sit down on the ledge of the bathtub. With
Bella still curled in my lap, I turn on the faucets and begin to fill the tub
with warm water. As I watch the water rise, I resume my rocking motion. Bella
seems to calm down; the sobs have disappeared, and now silent tears trickle
down her face as she shivers.
I stand, placing her gently on her feet before me. I lift her shirt over her
head and carefully slide her underwear down her legs. Her skin almost looks
blue under the millions of tiny goose bumps. I hold her hands and she carefully
steps into the tub and sits down. Immediately, she curls back into the same
protective posture I found her in on the balcony: her knees pulled to her
chest, her arms circling her legs. I kneel down beside the tub, using my hand
to scoop the warm water and pour it over the exposed skin on her back.
The tears finally come to an end, and Bella regains some of her composure. The
shivering stops too, and she releases her legs and leans back against the back
of the bathtub. She inhales a deep breath, closes her eyes, and submerges her
entire head under the surface of the water. After several long seconds she
finally breaks the surface again. She rests her head against the back of the
tub, slouching down so the waterline laps against her bottom lip. She still
doesn't look at me.
"Bella, did I - did I hurt you?"
"No," she says quietly.
"I don't understand. What happened? What's wrong?"
She takes another deep breath. "I had a nightmare."
"A nightmare?" I repeat, disbelieving. I've had some bad dreams in my life, but
nothing that would cause me to run crying from the house in the middle of the
night.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" I ask.
Bella shakes her head fiercely. "No, I - I don't… wanna go back there." She
chokes back another sob.
"Ok. Ok. We don't have to talk about it." I rest my chin against the ledge of
the tub, my right hand still submerged in the warm water. Reaching toward her,
I trace my fingers over her shoulder and down her arm as far as I can reach
before running my hand back up again and repeating the motion. I just want to
touch her, to let her know I'm here, that she isn't going through this alone.
"Does this happen a lot? Your dreams?"
"Sometimes," she admits.
"I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry. I wish I could protect you from what you saw."
She turns her face away. Something I said causes her to shed another tear. I
brush her wet hair away from her face. "Hey, it's over now. Look at me. I'm
here. It's OK. It's going to be OK."
She nods and wipes her cheeks with her wet hands.
"Are you warm enough now?" I ask, and she nods.
I retrieve a towel from cabinet and place it on the side of the tub. "I'm going
to get you some warmer clothes. You OK by yourself for a minute?" She nods
again.
I sneak out of the bathroom quietly and make my way to Bella's room. Her winter
clothes are easy enough to find. All her short sleeves, tank tops and shorts
are packed away for her trip to Florida tomorrow, leaving only warm clothes
hanging in her closet. I select a pair of sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and a new
pair of underwear, and return to the bathroom. Bella is sitting on the side of
the tub, her body wrapped in the towel I left. I hand her the clothes and she
gets dressed as I riffle through the medicine cabinet, looking for a bottle of
pain reliever.
"Here, take two of these. Otherwise you'll have a terrible headache."
She does as I instruct, and we make our way back to our room. Bella crawls into
bed first and I follow closely behind, turning off the lamp and pulling the
blankets around her. She snuggles into my chest, and I hold her tightly against
me. She has barely spoken a word since the whole ordeal started, so I'm
surprised to hear her speak now.
"I'm sorry," she whispers in the darkness. For a second, I wonder if she's
talking in her sleep again.
I lift my head, looking down at her. Her eyes are open, staring straight ahead,
glistening with unshed tears.
"You have nothing to be sorry about. That wasn't your fault."
She snuggles closer into my chest, closing her eyes again. "That song, the one
you hum all the time… will you do that again?"
I smile. She likes her song. Quietly, I begin to hum, stroking her wet hair as
her breathing becomes slower and deeper. She's asleep again before I finish the
first verse.
I look down at the beautiful girl sleeping in my arms and wondered what horrors
she must have seen to cause such a reaction. I feel so helpless, unable to
protect her from whatever is tormenting her subconscious.
She mumbles something incoherent that I don't understand. I start to drift off
then too, saying a silent prayer that Bella has an uneventful sleep. But before
I'm completely gone, I think I hear her speak again.
"Stay."
***** Chapter 13 *****
EPOV
The shrill sound of the alarm clock pierces the silence of my room. With one
swift motion, I halt the grating sound with a strike of my fist. I groan and
roll to my side, curling around the warm body lying next to me. Bella's back is
to me, and I nuzzle my face between her shoulder blades in an attempt to block
out the glaring morning sunlight.
"Five more minutes," I grumble.
Sliding my hand over her hip and across her stomach, I tug her shirt up,
searching for her soft skin. When the harsh texture of denim brushes against my
fingers, I jerk my head up and peel one eye open. Bella is completely dressed.
The comfortable sweatpants and sweatshirt I picked out after her bath are gone.
At some point during the night, Bella changed into dark jeans and the black and
grey plaid shirt I wore two days ago. My shirt swallows her tiny frame. The
image is made worse since Bella hasn't bothered to roll up the long sleeves,
allowing them to cover her hands like oversized mittens.
My head flops back to the pillow. "Let me guess. You packed everything you own
and left nothing for yourself to wear on the plane."
"Do you mind?" she asks. Her voice is small and sad.
Confused, I lift my head again and lean over her slightly to better see her
face. Bella doesn't look up; her eyes watch her concealed fingers as they move
beneath the shirt sleeve.
"At least take a clean shirt."
Bella shakes her head slightly. "This one smells like you," she says softly.
"Hey, come here." I tug on her hip, forcing her to roll over and face me. She
still won't meet my eyes. Instead, she stares at her hand that I'm now holding
flat against my chest. "You OK?"
The question hangs in the air for a long moment before Bella answers. "I don't
know," she says honestly.
"Did you sleep?"
"Not really."
"What can I do?"
She shakes her head again, the motion causing a strand of hair to fall across
her face. I brush it away, leaving my hand resting on her cheek. Bella finally
lifts her eyes to mine and studies me for a minute.
"You love me," she whispers, more to herself than me.
"Yes, I do."
"Even when I'm acting like a complete psycho?"
I chuckle. "You're not acting like a psycho, Bella. You had a bad dream. It
happens to everyone. Frankly, I'm not surprised you did."
She furrows her brow. "You're not?"
"No. Just look at the week you've had. We had our first fight, and although
we've promised to talk about it, it's still looming over our heads. On top of
that, there was the drama with your dad trying to make you go back to Phoenix.
Of course you're losing sleep with that amount of stress weighing down on you."
Bella looks away again, contemplating my words for a second. "Maybe," she
concedes.
"It might be a good thing you're going to Florida. Take a break from all this.
You know, get some rest, clear your head and all that."
"Yeah, I guess."
I hate seeing her like this. I would give anything to see the bright, happy
smile she wore yesterday at–
"I have something for you," I blurt out impulsively.
Rolling off the bed, I lift my jacket from where it's wrapped around the desk
chair and reach into the inside pocket. I retrieve the small, brown paper sack
carefully tucked inside. I have folded the bag around Bella's present until it
forms a flat, square package.
Bella sits up as I return to the bed, tucking her feet under her body. I crawl
across the mattress toward her and place the brown square on her knee. Bella
lifts the bag, allowing the folded paper to topple, end over end, until the
sack is back to its original form. She reaches inside and pulls out a blue
scrap of cardboard with the necklace attached. Dangling from the delicate chain
is a tiny, silver starfish.
"Edward, where did you…"
"From the aquarium gift shop. I snuck in there while you were in the bathroom.
Do you like it?"
Bella looks up, and I'm rewarded with the sweet smile that has been missing all
morning. "I love it. Thank you."
I pull her into my lap, and she leans back against my chest as I rest my chin
on her shoulder. "I wanted to get you something, you know, as a reminder of our
day, but look at this." I take the necklace from her hand and flip over the
card, revealing the inscription on the back.
"The symbol of the starfish," Bella reads aloud. "The starfish is thought to
represent safe travel over troubled waters and is also seen as an emblem of
salvation during trying times."
I take the card from her and begin to unhook the chain from its holder. "I
didn't think anything of it at the time. I just wanted to get you the starfish
because, well, you seemed to like that little guy yesterday. I was going to
give it to you for Christmas, but then I remembered the symbolism just now, and
I thought if it helps you keep the bad dreams away, then…" I shrug.
Finally having freed the necklace from the cardstock, I hold it up in front of
Bella, the chain forming a 'v' between my fingers. "May I?"
Bella leans forward slightly as she gathers her hair up and away from her neck.
I drape the necklace around her neck and fasten the tiny clasp.
"There," I announce once the necklace is securely in place.
Bella twists in my lap to face me; her hand comes up to toy with the charm
where it rests against her collarbone. "Thank you, Edward. It's perfect." She
kisses me sweetly.
"You want breakfast before you go?" I ask when she pulls away.
Bella glances at the clock. "Nah, I'll eat at the airport. It'll give me
something to do."
"You sure? Aren't you hungry?"
Bella shakes her head as she climbs off my lap, pulling me down next to her on
the bed. She curls up alongside me and tugs my arm over her waist as she
nuzzles her face into the crook of my neck. "I'm fine. Besides, I'd rather stay
just like this for as long as possible."
"That gives you," I twist around to glance at the clock behind me, "twenty-five
minutes. Close your eyes and try to sleep. I'll make sure you get up in time."
We snuggle together, curled up on top of the sheets. Bella doesn't sleep; her
soft breath across my collarbone never evens out. Her fingers never relax where
she grips tightly to my shirt. She shifts her body, restlessly, as if she is
trying to pull herself closer even though we are already wound tightly
together.
Bella moves her head, brushing her nose up and down my neck twice before gently
kissing the curve just below my chin. She continues to place warm, slow kisses
along the line of my jaw, following the path toward my ear.
I grip her hip tightly as my eyes roll back in my head. "Bella," I warn through
clenched teeth. "What are you doing?"
Her wet lips brush against my earlobe. "Saying goodbye," she whispers
seductively.
Her lips trail from my ear to my mouth, and as she kisses me, I allow her to
push me onto my back. Bella's free hand slides down my chest to my waist, and
she quickly begins to untie the drawstring holding my pants up. For a second,
I'm stunned by her hasty assault until I realize that we don't have a lot of
time. Without breaking our kiss, I go to work stripping off her jeans and
tossing them, along with my pajama pants, to the floor.
Bella doesn't bother removing her – my– shirt before she straddles my lap. I
slide my hand up her thighs and under the shirt, gripping her hips tightly as I
slowly guide her down and fill her completely. I press my head firmly into the
pillow and grit my teeth as Bella begins to move. She gradually lifts and
lowers herself along my length, her movements gentle and unhurried.
Without breaking our intimate connection, I roll us over and hold myself above
her. I kiss her mouth, her cheek, her temple, and her eyes, memorizing the feel
of her skin on my lips. Bella's hand trails down my arm until she reaches my
hand, lacing her fingers tightly through mine. We stay that way, tightly
wrapped in each other, our bodies joined in every way humanly possible.
"Open your eyes," I command, and leisurely her lids flutter open.
As I stare into her beautiful brown eyes, it hits me. It's just a flash, an
instant, but in her eyes I can see my future. And in my future, I see love and
happiness. I see friendship and devotion. I see Bella and I together. I see
forever.
"I love you," I confess, kissing her as the tremendous surge of emotions washes
over me.
Gently, quietly, the limit of our restraint fractures and we tumble over the
edge together. However, this time is different. Our eyes stay locked together
as the emotion of the moment far outweighs the physical act. We don't cry out,
we don't groan or shriek as the sensation courses through us. The only sounds
between our heavy breathing are the repeated declarations of love for each
other.
I roll to my side, pulling Bella's lips to mine. Feeling overwhelmed by what
just passed between us, I kiss her eagerly, again and again, until,
reluctantly, Bella begins to pull away.
She sits up slowly and runs her fingers through her disheveled hair. Climbing
off the bed, she locates her pants and tugs them on before picking up mine and
placing them next to me on the bed with a shy smile. I pull on my pants as
Bella sits on the edge of the mattress, her back to me, and slips on her shoes.
When she's done, she twists around and leans over to kiss me gently.
"Bye," she whispers as she pulls away. She stands and turns to walk around the
bed.
I sit up quickly and swing my legs over the opposite side. Reaching out, I grab
Bella as she tries to walk past, pulling her to stand between my legs. I slide
my hands under her shirt and around her back as I pull her to me. "Don't go," I
beg, smothering my face against her stomach.
Bella grips the hair along my forehead and pulls lightly, forcing me to raise
my head. "I tried to get you to come with," she mocks, and bends down to kiss
me again.
While I'm distracted by her lips, Bella wiggles out of my grasp. When I lunge
for her, she dances out of my reach. I groan and flop back onto the bed,
rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hands. "OK. All right, you win. Pack me in
your suitcase."
Bella giggles. "Bye, Edward."
I shoot off the bed just as she opens the door. Reaching over her head, I slam
it shut again. Bella turns around. "Edward, I -"
I cover her mouth with mine, cradling her face with my hands as I press her
body against the door. After a moment, Bella grasps my wrists and gently
removes them from her face. "I have to go," she says softly. Her hand slips
behind her, twists the doorknob, and slowly pulls the door open. I brace myself
against the doorframe and allow her to duck under my arm.
"Bye," she whispers, as she slips through the open crack.
She closes the door behind her, and I press my forehead against it. I only give
her a two second head-start before I wrench the door open again. Bella is
halfway down the hall. She whirls around when she hears me approach.
"Edward!" she hisses, trying to keep her voice low while simultaneously trying
not to laugh.
I hold my hands up in surrender. "I'm just going to walk you out. I'll be good,
I swear."
I carry her suitcase downstairs and load it into the trunk of the Mercedes.
Esme is already in the driver's seat, engine running, chatting on her cell
phone. She covers the mouthpiece and leans out the window. "Editor," she
whispers. "Give me just a second."
Bella walks around to the passenger's side and tosses her backpack into the
backseat. As soon as she shuts the door, I wrap my arms around her waist and
hug her gently.
"You have your ticket?" I ask.
"Yes."
"And your phone and your charger?"
"Yes and yes."
"You'll call me every night before you go to sleep?"
"Promise."
"And when you wake up in the morning? And you'll text me, and send me pictures
of what you're doing?"
Bella chuckles. "Yes."
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her one last time.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you, too."
I open the passenger door and Bella slips inside. I step back as the car slowly
backs down the driveway, the gravel crunching under the tires as they move.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I turn and shuffle toward the house, glancing
over my shoulder as the engine roars and the car accelerates down the street
and disappears.
Just as I reach the porch steps, the front door jerks open.
Shit.
BPOV
After two grueling hours of check points, security screenings, baggage checks,
and wandering the terminals of SeaTac International, I'm finally settled in my
seat. The plane taxies down the runway and lifts off, leaving Washington state
behind. I slump down in my seat, completely exhausted from the lack of sleep
the night before.
Last night was horrible. That nightmare rocked me to the core. I've had bad
dreams before, in fact, I had them all the time. When I was young, I dreamed of
my parents splitting up two months before they told me about the divorce. In
high school, I foresaw Charlie getting shot in the leg by a prison escapee the
week before it happened. My dreams even predicted I would get the music video
long before Jake told me about the open audition. So I knew what I saw last
night wasn't really a dream. It was a premonition.
In my nightmare, I saw Edward standing in the distance. I tried to go to him,
but with every step I took, he would take two in the opposite direction. I
called to him, but he ignored me. I screamed for him, but he didn't bat an eye.
Suddenly, he was gone, vanishing into thin air right before my eyes, leaving me
alone, deserted, and plummeting into darkness. Nothing but black – black and
just… nothing. A sense of finality, ceaselessly and without end, began to
suffocate me and I panicked. I opened my mouth to scream again, but my voice
was strangled in my throat. I couldn't make a sound.
I woke up with a start, gasping for air, unable to breathe. The walls of the
bedroom began closing in around me, so I ran. The cold air outside helped open
my lungs, and as soon as I was able to control my breathing, I completely fell
apart. Something was coming, something that would separate us. Although I
didn't know what – time, distance… death – I knew something was going to take
him from me, forever.
I collapsed on the cold tile floor of the balcony, my legs giving out under the
stress of the emotions rolling off of me. It wasn't the freezing temperatures
that caused my body to shiver uncontrollably. It was the knowledge that a
permanent, unbreakable end was coming. That realization alone threatened to
destroy me. In my dream, I saw no world without Edward. He was a part of me
now. HowcouldIsurvivewithouthim?HowcouldIsurvivewithoutpartofmyself?
I drug myself off the floor and into one of the patio chairs. I had managed to
regain some of my composure when Edward found me there. Once again, he came to
my rescue when I needed him most. But I couldn't bring myself to tell him what
I saw, and I was glad when he didn't press me for details.
When I woke up this morning, I considered cancelling my entire trip. The dream
continued to linger in my thoughts, and it made me nervous to leave. But he
said everything would be ok as he kissed me goodbye, and we promised to talk
every night before we went to sleep.
With a deep breath, I pull my iPod from my bag to drown out the roar of the
plane engines as I try to drift off for a few hours of much needed sleep.
EPOV
I freeze, one foot planted on the bottom step, as Carlisle glares at me from
the open door. Warily, I climb the stairs, suspicious that he might slam the
door in my face at any second. He turns to the side, giving me barely enough
room to pass through. As I enter the living room, he slams the door behind me.
Pulling my hands from my pockets, I brace myself against the back of the couch.
Keeping my back to him I ask calmly, "How long were you standing there?"
"Long enough," he seethes, obviously trying to contain the rage in his voice.
Shit. He knows. And he found out in the worst possible way.
I turn around and lean against the back of the couch. Before crossing my arms
over my chest, I gesture for him to letmehaveit. Probably not the smartest move
as a furious expression masks his face.
"How long has this been going on?"
"Four months."
Carlisle clenches his teeth and begins to pace between the foyer and the living
room. "I should have known you'd pull a stunt like this," he mumbles to
himself.
"This isn't a stunt."
"Oh, sure, and I suppose you had nothing to do with her forging her father's
signature on those releases either."
I shrug. "Actually, I didn't know about the releases until this week. But if
that's what it took for her to get that job, I would have forged the signature
myself."
Carlisle shakes his head, staring at me with a look of absolute disgust. I know
I'm acting like a condescending ass, but I'm past the point of caring what he
thinks.
Carlisle marches toward me, stopping within inches of where I'm standing. "I
will not allow this little charade to continue," he thunders, pointing his
finger at my face. "You are going to stop this right now! You are going to -"
"No," I say arrogantly.
"Excuseme?"
"No," I repeat, locking eyes with him. "I love her."
"Youlo – damn it, Edward! I explicitly told you I did not want you to get
involved with her! And now you deliberately go behind my back and -"
"We didn't do it deliberately," I interrupt, "it just happened."
"And you expect me to believe that! After everything you've done! After all
you've put us through!"
Carlisle chuckles humorlessly, throwing his arms into the air in frustration as
he resumes pacing. "You've felt the need to lie about this for months, and now
– now that you're caught, you expect me to take your word that your intentions
are honorable?"
Does he seriously think I would do something like that?
"Myintentionsaren'thonorable?" I repeat, anger beginning to slip into my tone.
"You really expect me to believe you're not doing this to get back at me! That
this isn't another one of your antics to get under my skin!"
I shove off the couch and step closer to him. "I love her, and she loves me! It
has nothing to do with you!"
Carlisle's words come out in a rush. "That girl is my responsibility! She has
more than enough to deal with right now, and she doesn't need someone like you
dragging her into some sick, twisted game you think you're playing! I will not
allow you to toy with her emotions in her condition! I will not allow you
corrupt everything she's worked her whole life for!"
"I'm not playing some game! I'm not toying with her emotions, and I haven't
corrupted anything!" We are both screaming at each other now, as if the volume
of our voices will make each statement more credible.
"Oh, really? He challenges. "You don't think you've done enough damage already?
You think offers like that come around every day for her? You think jobs like
that are just going to land in her lap for you to pick and chose from?"
"Christ! It was just one video!"
"I'm not talking about the -" Carlisle stops abruptly and turns to face me. He
cocks his head to the side, staring at me curiously. "You don't know, do you?"
he asks, the tenor of his voice suddenly calm and composed.
"Know what?" I fume.
Carlisle appraises me for a moment. "I'll bet there are quite a few things
Bella hasn't told you," he mumbles.
"Fuck you! You don't know her."
"And clearly neither do you."
I shake my head. "We're done here." I turn and walk toward the stairs.
"Bella received a very prestigious job offer yesterday," he calls, trying to
bait me, "a lead choreography position. It's exactly what she's been working
toward; a once in a lifetime opportunity."
"Great, I'm sure she'll be very excited," I grumble as I walk away.
"She turned it down."
I freeze just as I reach the staircase. Suspiciously, I turn my head and glare
at him over my shoulder.
Carlisle walks slowly around the couch and sits down. "I got a call from
Victoria James yesterday," he begins, clearly reveling in the fact he has my
attention again. "Victoria is the lead instructor in contemporary dance at
Washington Academy of Performing Arts. She's Bella's advisor."
"I know who she is," I say, annoyance evident in my tone.
"Victoria tried to contact Bella all day yesterday, and when she couldn't reach
her, she called me."
I turn around and stand at the base of the stairs. "Bella was with me."
"I see." Carlisle ponders my admission for a moment before he continues.
"Victoria was informed that Bella had declined the offer. She wanted to speak
to her to find out exactly why she rejected the job. She couldn't figure out
why Bella would walk away from such a huge opportunity." Carlisle gives me a
pointed look. "But now I think I'm starting to understand."
It isn't a question, but I answer anyway. "You think she turned it down because
of me."
"It was an immediate opening. She would have left at the close of the semester,
right before Christmas. She wouldn't be coming back."
"But she's not finished with school," I challenge.
"Bella has all the requirements she needs to graduate right now. She's only
taking elective courses to fulfill the academic requirements of her
scholarship." A smug expression spreads across Carlisle's face. "Did you not
know that either?" he asks sarcastically.
I glare at him.
"Her whole purpose in being here," he continues, "is to prepare for and find a
career. That's why it surprised everyone that she rejected this offer."
Slowly, I walk to the opposite end of the couch and sit down. Leaning forward,
I hold my head in my hands, my fingers threaded tightly through my hair. "I'll
talk to her. I'll call her tonight. I'll tell her to take the job."
"I'm afraid it's not that simple. They've moved on to other candidates by now.
She burned that bridge when she turned them down yesterday morning."
My memory flashes to Bella on the phone while she was packing; the clips of the
conversation I heard, her skipping a day of rehearsals, the whole scene now
starting to make sense. We are both silent for several minutes before Carlisle
speaks again.
"What's done is done, but I cannot allow this so-called relationship to
continue. I will not allow you to damage her future any further."
"I didn't know about the fucking job!" I yell, reaching my breaking point. "I
didn't ask her to stay! I would have told her to accept it! I would have told
her to go!"
Despite my outburst, Carlisle's voice remains smooth and calm. "That's not what
I'm talking about." Confused, I turn my head to look at him.
"I would venture to guess that Bella has no knowledge of your drug addiction or
your criminal record, does she?"
I don't answer, looking down at the floor instead.
"That's what I thought," he answers smugly.
"After your accident, when you were charged, Esme was still in negotiations for
her book, the one that was just published. Some of her editors got wind of
your… indiscretions. You know we had to pull some veryexpensive strings to keep
you out of jail, but that wasn't entirely for your benefit. In fact, a little
time in a detention center might have been good for you."
I stare defiantly at him.
"But we had to conceal the incident from the public. We had to ensure that
Esme's publishers never learned of your transgressions. They wouldn't have
allowed her book to be published if they knew her son had the capacity to cause
some type of scandal."
I lean forward and bury my face in my hands again. I feel sick. "I didn't know
that," I mumble.
"We didn't tell you. After the accident, we wanted you to concentrate on
getting well."
"So why are you telling me this now?"
"You need to understand that your actions don't just affect you, they can
impact everyone around you." I feel Carlisle shift in the seat next to me, but
I don't look up as I process what he's saying.
"We concealed your offenses as best we could, but that information will not
stay buried forever. Regardless of what's on paper, you've established quite a
reputation for yourself. If Bella were to involve herself with you, you could
damage her chances at the life she's worked so hard to obtain."
I twist my head in my hands and look at him. Carlisle leans forward as he
begins to explain. "Bella is poised to become one of the greatest dancers in
the country, but she's not the only one. There are very few, highly coveted
positions at the top of her arena. She's not going to land one of those spots
on her skills alone. Everything about her will be taken into consideration: her
family, her personal life, her… associates are all factors. Do you understand
what I'm saying?"
I don't answer.
"We are known by the company we keep," he quotes.
I laugh. I actually laugh out loud.
Fuckme. All those months ago, I thought being with Bella might actually work to
my benefit. Back then I thought I could use her to sway Carlisle into thinking
I'm good, that I'm worthy of someone like her. "Virtuous by association." Those
were my exact words. And even though I didn't go through with it how I
initially intended, my stupid, stupid, plan worked. Only it completely
backfired. I didn't improve my standings by being with Bella; I tore her down.
I laugh again at the fucking irony of the whole situation.
"I'm glad this amuses you," Carlisle grumbles sarcastically.
"Well, what did you expect, huh?" I snap, sitting up straight and looking
directly at him. "You tell me I'm toxic. You tell me I could have destroyed
Esme's career. You tell me I have the potential to destroy the only person I've
ever cared about. What do you want from me, huh? You want me to say I'm sorry?
You want me to grovel and beg for forgiveness. Well, I'm sorry! I'm fucking
sorry, alright! I can't go back and do it over. I can't go back and change
anything. I fucked up! I royally fucked up! I know that! You beat me over the
head with it. You remind me of it every fucking day! I have tried. I have
really tried to make up for my mistakes. I have tried to prove myself to you. I
have tried to be your son. But it's never going to be good enough, is it?
You're never going to see past it, are you? Well, I'm done! I'm finished. I
don't give a shit about what you think of me. I don't give a shit if you
forgive me or not. I'm not doing this anymore. I'm not -"
"Edward, Edward, stop." He cuts off my rant, and I slump forward again, holding
my head in my hands.
Carlisle lets out a deep breath. We are both silent for so long, I start to
wonder who will get up and storm off first. But when Carlisle finally speaks
again, his tone is calm and regretful. "I'm sorry. I was a bit too callous just
now. I was angry and I lashed out at you." He chuckles, humorlessly. "You'd
think we'd learn to control our tempers by now. We've given each other enough
practice."
I continue to stare at the floor between my feet, stubbornly refusing to
acknowledge his obvious attempt to lighten the tension.
Carlisle sighs again. "I've gone about this all wrong, but you needed to hear
it. I need you to understand that there is a valid reason why I told you not to
get involved with Bella. I wasn't doing it to be cruel."
"Whatever," I grumble.
I could feel his eyes on me, and from the changes in his tone, I know he's
struggling to get through to me.
"And since you brought it up, let me just say the changes in your behavior have
not gone unnoticed. Lately, I have seen vast improvements, but you must realize
it will take time for me to trust you again… and for you to trust me as well."
My eyes snap to his, surprised by his last statement.
Carlisle moves to sit on the coffee table directly in front of me, our knees
almost touching. "Esme told me what you said," he admits. "I never gave up on
you, son. I never thought you were the worst decision I ever made. I was hurt
to learn that you believed those things, but I've been thinking about it, and I
can see how you might have come to that conclusion."
I look away, unnerved by the turn our conversation has taken, but Carlisle
leans into my line of sight, forcing me to meet his eyes. "I know Esme talked
to you about this, but I think you should hear it from me."
He takes another deep breath. "Before the accident," he begins, "I knew you
were in trouble. I knew you were headed down a dangerous path. But I couldn't
figure out how to get through to you. You just continued to defy me at every
turn. The more I pushed, the more you pulled away. I was frustrated and angry,
and I let that dominate my interactions with you, to the point I couldn't see
past my resentment anymore. I let my irritation blind me, and I couldn't see
that you were getting in deeper - until I was too late."
I shake my head. "Esme told me you felt guilty about the accident. That wasn't
your fault. You didn't know what I was doing. It's not like you ever saw me
when I was high."
"Yes I did," he contests, staring at me incredulously. "My God, you don't
remember do you?"
"Remember what?"
"The night of the accident," he clarifies. He continues to stare at me as if
that statement would trigger some memory. I shake my head slightly.
"You came home after curfew. I was waiting to confront you when you walked in.
You were acting very strange. It only took me a second to figure out you were
on something, and when I questioned you about it, you flew into a rage. You
were completely out of control."
"I don't remember that."
"As you would expect, we argued, and in heat of the moment I - I told you to
leave and never come back."
Carlisle shakes his head as he looks away. "I will regret that moment for the
rest of my life," he says softly.
I stare at him, the anguish and remorse evident on his face.
"I should have never let you get in that car. But I did. You walked out the
door, got in your car, and drove away. The police called thirty minutes later
to tell us you had been in an accident. They told us to prepare ourselves for
the worst."
Carlisle sets his jaw, obviously distressed by the memory of that night.
"I don't remember any of that," I confess.
"I'm glad. I was tormented with the thought that those were my last words to
you. They were spoken in anger. I didn't mean what I said."
I nod slowly, my mind reeling from his confession.
"You and I, we have a lot of damage to repair, but we will get there. I do see
that you have been making an effort to change your behavior, but as I said,
it's going to take some time for me to trust you again."
"I guess I can understand that."
"In return, I'm going to ask that you trust that I'm acting in Bella's best
interest when I tell you not to continue this relationship with her."
"No," I state, adamantly. "I won't… I can't – I can't hurt her."
"But do you see that by being with her you could be hurting her even more?
Hurting her chances at the life she's always wanted? Destroying everything
she's worked for?"
He's right, and I know it. I had known it months ago. She deserves so much more
- more than me, more that what I can offer. I could offer her nothing – nothing
but the destruction of everything she had worked and sacrificed her entire life
for, nothing but the complete annihilation of all of her goals and ambitions.
I lean forward, covering my eyes with the heel of my hands. "I just want her to
be happy."
"So you see why I cannot allow this to continue? You understand your past
offenses could harm Bella's future? This is your punishment to bear, not hers.
Surely you recognize that."
I feel my chest tighten as I hang my head, defeated. "What do you want me to
do?" I whisper.
"You need to end this. Put a stop to it before it gets too far."
It's already gone too far. I love her. She loves me. How much further can it
get?
"I'm not sure how," I confess, overwhelmed by the crushing realization of what
I have to do.
"Well, Bella is gone for a week. Take this time to think, really think. I
believe you'll come around to seeing it's for the best."
I don't respond as Carlisle stands and walks out of the room, leaving me
devastated and completely destroyed in his wake.
BPOV
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Jacksonville International. Local time, 5:25
p.m. Please remain seated until the captain has turned off the fasten seat belt
sign. We know you have a choice when selecting airlines, and we thank you for
flying Delta."
Lugging my backpack into my lap, I retrieve my phone and switch it on. The nun
across the aisle frowns at me, but I ignore her. No messages, no texts.
Just landed. Slept most of flight. Call u when I get 2 moms ~ B
The airport is especially crowded with holiday travelers, but I make it to
baggage claim and find my bright pink suitcase, and my overly excited mother,
without incident.
The house in Jacksonville hasn't changed much since the last time I visited. I
had been with Charlie for two years when Phil, my step-dad, signed with one of
the minor league baseball teams here. Soon after, he and Renee sold the RV and
bought a small, two-bedroom townhouse a few blocks from the beach.
The guest bedroom - my bedroom for the next week - is a monument to all of
Renee's failed hobbies, and I snap a few pictures to show Edward, proof that I
wasn't making up those stories at dinner the other night. I smile to myself as
I remember his beautiful, carefree laugh.
Even though my body is still on west coast time, I'm exhausted from the trip,
and I crawl into bed before ten. I turn off the lights and snuggle into the
unfamiliar bed as I dial Edward's number. I close my eyes, hoping the sound of
his voice will trick my mind into imagining he's lying here with me.
The phone rings repeatedly, and then his voicemail picks up. There's no
greeting, just an obnoxiously loud beep. I hang up without leaving a message.
I wait five minutes then try again, but by the fifth ring I'm certain he's not
going to answer. Just as I remove the phone from my ear to hang up, I hear him.
"Hey."
"Hey there! I didn't think you were going to pickup."
He lets out a deep breath. "Sorry about that."
"It's OK. So I made it to Jacksonville in one piece. Did you get my text?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, the airport was really packed, and my connection out of Houston left ten
minutes late, but whatever. My mom was so excited to see me, and she's got this
whole agenda planned for the entire week. It looks like I'm going to need a
vacation from my vacation."
"That's great."
Something about his voice isn't right. "You OK?" I ask. "You don't sound like
yourself."
"Yeah. I just… it's been a long day."
"Yeah. I'm pretty worn out too. It's only ten here, and I'm in bed already. I
had to call and tell you goodnight, just like I promised."
I expect him to beg me to stay on the phone and talk longer, but instead he
whispers, "good night, Bella."
"Oh, well, good night, Edward. Call me in the morning when you get up, OK?"
"Sure."
"Bye. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"Bye." And he hangs up.
"Love you, too." I grumble to the dead air.
The next morning, Renee and I lounge on the beach and soak up the warm Florida
sun. Even in November it's still a balmy eighty degrees here, but it feels
hotter with the unfamiliar sun beating down on my pristine skin. After lunch,
Renee drags me to a local scuba shop where, unbeknownst to me, she has signed
us up for an afternoon of snorkeling.
My mom is a sucker for these tourist-trap excursions, but she hasn't been able
to convince Phil to do them. Apparently, I'm the lucky guinea pig that gets to
go with her. I pretend to be put-out, but she can see right through me.
Spending time with my mother like this is fantastic. I didn't realize how much
I miss just being around her. She is so full of life, so full of excitement.
She finds the joy and beauty in everything, and I find her attitude contagious.
I collapse in my bed that night, completely worn out from the day's activities.
Only then do I realize Edward never called this morning. I call him, but like
the night before, he doesn't pick up. So I repeat the same pattern and wait
five minutes before calling again - still no answer. I set the phone on the
nightstand, determined to wait another few minutes before trying again, but I
fall asleep before I place the third call.
On Tuesday morning, I wake up to discover one missed call and a virtually dead
battery. Before the phone completely dies, I manage to send Edward a text.
Sorry I missed u. Fell asleep & forgot 2 plug in phone. Will call u when I
recharge battery ~B
Tuesday is filled with more beach time, more sightseeing, and more of Renee's
"tropical adventures." We parasail over shark infested waters and dine on
boiled shrimp and crab during a sunset dinner cruise. As I lean against the
ship's railing and watch the sun sink below the horizon, the sky transforming
from blue to pink to orange, I wonder what Edward is doing and if he's missing
me as much as I miss him.
That night I have a hard time falling asleep. I've gotten so used to sleeping
with Edward that I find it hard to go back to sleeping alone. It doesn't help
that he hasn't returned my calls from this afternoon.
We spend Wednesday at the ballpark. Renee and I hit the gift shop before the
game, snatching up matching black and gold t-shirts, pennants, pom-poms, and
giant foam fingers proclaiming the Jacksonville Suns to be #1. I pick out a
baseball cap for Edward. I've never seen him wear one, but the distressed gray
cap with the ambiguous "JS" initials looks like his style.
Our seats are right behind the dugout, and during the seventh inning stretch
Phil steps out and tosses a ball to me signed by the whole team. Using the
camera on my phone, Renee snaps a picture of me decked out in every piece of
Suns gear we bought, holding the autographed ball, with the infield in the
background. I send it to Edward with a text.
Giving up dance. Gonna be a mascot instead ~ B
The game is a shutout, the Suns beating the opposing team 7-0. I'm sure my
exceptional cheering skills had something to do with the easy victory. We
celebrate with pizza at The Mellow Mushroom, eating at a large table with
several of Phil's teammates and their families.
I text Edward when I get back to the house, thinking if I give him fair warning
we won't play phone-tag again tonight.
Just getting back from dinner. Taking shower. Will call u in 30 min ~ B
It doesn't work, and after two unanswered calls I give up.
Call me, please. I miss you. I don ' t care how late ~ B
Determined not to miss him again, I place the phone on the pillow right next to
my head.
Several hours later, I wake with a start as the phone buzzes, the screen
lighting up my dark room. I squint at the blinding caller ID.
3:28 a.m.
Edward
I groan a "hello" into the receiver.
"Hey, beautiful." My annoyance at the late hour melts away the second I hear
his voice.
"Hey, yourself," my voice sounds raspy from sleep and all the screaming at the
ballpark today.
"I was just thinking about you so I was like… Hey! Why don't I give twinkle-
toes a call? Yeah? Sooo here I am."
I prop myself up on my pillow. "Edward, are you drunk?"
"Psh! Maaaaybe. Why? Is that going to be a problem for you, princess?"
I flinch, surprised by his harsh tone. "Um, no. What did you do tonight?"
"Jazzzzz took me – took me out to - to cheer me up."
He's completely hammered. "Wow. OK."
"Look, you don't have to talk to me. I can find something else to -"
"No, no. Don't go." I don't want to admit I'm a little hurt by his attitude.
Actually, I could probably tell him exactly how I feel, but judging by his slur
he wouldn't remember.
He sighs into the phone, and I can picture him running his fingers through his
disheveled hair.
I try to keep my tone light and friendly. "Did you guys go out?"
"Yeah, um… Alice knows a, ah, bouncer and… went to this club. They all have to
be twenty-one, so we got inside we were just assumed that we were old enough…
for the bar."
I can tell he is fighting to form coherent sentences, and I comprehend most of
what he's saying, so I just mutter, "that's cool."
Edward remains silent for several minutes. Thisisgettingweird.
"Where is Jazz now?" I ask.
"Home."
"And why did Jazz feel the need to cheer you up?" I know the answer to this
one; I'm just setting him up to tell me how much he misses me.
"Cause I had a fight with Carlisle."
"What?"I sit straight up and flip on the lamp next to my bed. "Why did you
fight?"
"The guy's a dick. What the fuck does he know anyway, huh?" There's a crash in
the background as if something fell to the floor.
"Edward? What's going on? I don't understand. What happened with Carlisle?"
"Jazz is a genius, did you know that? Pssssh. Carlisle can't tell me what to
do."
"Ah, yes he can. He's your father and he -"
"He is not my father!" Edward erupts into the phone.
My mouth falls open. He has never spoken to me like this before, ever. I'm
instantly grateful this conversation is happening over the phone, as I'm sure
my face reveals just how frightened I am of him at this moment.
Edward lets out another deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry. I - I drank too much. I
should go… before I say something I'll regret." He mumbles that last part so
low I almost don't understand him.
"OK," I whisper, still shocked by his outburst.
"I'll call you… later." The line goes dead. He doesn't even say goodbye.
EPOV
Sunday morning, after Bella leaves for the airport and Carlisle confronts me, I
lock myself in my room and don't come out for the rest of the day. I replay the
entire conversation in my head, trying to find the flaws in his argument. But
no matter how I attempt to discredit his reasons why Bella is better off
without me, I can't.
When Bella calls later that night, I cradle the phone in my hands and stare at
it as it rings. I don't answer as I have no idea what to say. When she calls
back a few minutes later, my resolve slips and I accept the call. I realize my
mistake the second I hear her voice, as the pain in my chest becomes almost
unbearable.
I don't sleep at all that night, and I use that excuse to justify why I don't
call her back in the morning like I said I would. I continue to avoid her calls
for the next two days, and I don't reply to her texts.
In a moment of weakness, I slip and dial her number in the middle of the night
Tuesday. Had she answered, I would have told her how much I love I her and how
I can't be without her. I would have begged her to give it all up for me.
It isn't until Wednesday night that someone attempts to beat down my locked
door.
"Open up, ass wipe," Jazz calls from the other side.
I don't move.
"I know you're in there," he yells, continuing to pound on the door.
When it becomes clear that he isn't going to leave, I lug myself off the bed
and flip the latch on the doorknob. I flop down on the bed again as Jazz lets
himself in.
"I've been calling you for two days," he says, clearly annoyed. "Your phone
broke or something?" He walks over to my desk, picks up my phone, and tosses it
at me. Pulling out the chair, he sits in it backwards and folds his arms across
the top.
He studies my un-showered, unshaven, disheveled appearance for a second. "You
look like shit."
I roll my eyes. "Gee, thanks."
"Are you sick?"
"No."
He appraises me again for a long moment before his eyes grow wide. "Dude, are
you using again?"
"No."
"Fuck, man, if you get caught they're gonna send your ass to jail."
"I'm not using, asshole. And even if I was, it's none of your fucking
business."
Jazz flinches. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I just stare at him.
He stands up suddenly. "Alright, that's it. Get dressed. We're getting out of
here."
"No."
"Yes. Something is fucking wrong with you, and I'm gonna get some answers. Get
in the shower."
"Fuck you."
"Edward, you can talk to me or I'm going to - "
I call his bluff. "What? What are you gonna do?"
"Fuck you, man. I'm your best friend. I know something is wrong. You look like
you're two seconds from slitting your wrists."
"The thought had crossed my mind," I mumble. Jazz's eyes grow wide at my
admission.
Shit,Ididn'tmeanforhimtohearthat. The last thing I need is for him to run to
Carlisle tell him I'm suicidal or some shit. I figure I better play along with
his lets-hug-it-out crap for tonight, and then I can go back to my life… or
whatever this is.
We head downtown, and Alice's friend gets us into some club I'd never heard of.
After three very large, very strong drinks, I tell Jasper everything.
Everything. I probably tell him more than I should, but the alcohol takes over
and I have no control of what spills out of my mouth. Jazz listens intently,
but as he matches me drink for drink, his advice probably isn't very sound.
"Fuck him," he slurs. "He can't tell you what to do. You love her. You should
be with her."
It sounds easy enough when he puts it that way. After six or seven more drinks,
I'm convinced Jazz is a fucking genius.
I drink to drown everything I've been thinking, everything I've been feeling.
But it isn't working. So I drink more - and more. I would drink myself into a
coma if Jazz didn't drag my sorry ass back home.
I wake up the next morning – no, afternoon – with the worst hangover of my
life. I deserve it. I did it to myself on purpose.
A vague memory of talking to Bella flashes through my mind, and I check my
phone to verify if I actually placed the call or just imagined it in my drunken
haze last night.
Shit.
Even though I don't recall what was said, the late hour in which I placed the
call is reason enough for her to be annoyed with me. I consider calling to
apologize, but I hesitate. Maybe it's best if she stays upset with me. Knowing
what's coming, it might make it easier if she's angry with me to start with.
She's surely going to hate me in the end anyway.
I groan and reach for my phone, typing out a quick text.
I ' m sorry~ E
***** Chapter 14 *****
BPOV
I wake up Thursday morning, still unnerved from Edward's drunk-dial the night
before. Although I feel a little hurt by the way he spoke to me, I desperately
want to know about the fight he had with Carlisle. Whatever they argued about,
it must have really upset Edward if Jasper felt the need to cheer him up - to
the point he was practically incoherent.
Maybe I should have a little talk with Jazz too, or Alice. Yes, I definitely
need to meet this Alice.
Unfortunately, the drama back in Seattle is going to have to wait.
It's Thanksgiving Day, and after breakfast we pile into the car and drive an
hour and forty-five minutes to spend the afternoon with Phil's family. As soon
as we pull up to his parent's house, a small, red brick, one-story house just
outside of Tallahassee, I realize today is not going to be the quiet, relaxing
holiday I've grown accustomed to.
For the past three years, Thanksgiving in Phoenix consisted of Charlie and a
few guys from the station setting up residence in the living room to watch a
marathon of football games while they gorged themselves on junk food. I'd have
the kitchen stocked with beer, chips, pretzels, cookies, nachos, and chilidogs.
Seconds after kickoff, I'd sneak out and spend a quiet, uninterrupted afternoon
at the dance studio. It was one of the few times I had use of a private
rehearsal space, before moving in with the Cullens, of course. It was just me,
the music, and the open floor – my personal heaven.
Phil's parent's house is the complete opposite.
Phil is the middle child in his family. His older brother and his wife have two
children, a five-year-old boy and three-year-old girl. Phil's younger sister
and her husband have a two-year-old daughter and are expecting their second
child. From the look of it, they're expecting it any day now. So between three
young children running around like crazy, plus me, my mom, Phil, Phil's
siblings, their spouses, and Phil's parents, there are people crammed into
every corner of the small house.
Even with the kids separated to their own table, lunch is still complete chaos.
I try to make polite conversation with my step-aunts and uncles, but it's
difficult as their attention is constantly diverted to scolding their children
about climbing on the furniture or eating too much sugar. I can't begrudge them
for it; my focus isn't on our conversation either. My thoughts constantly
wander to Edward and how he might be spending his day.
I'm glad when we finally say our goodbyes a few hours later. I clamber into the
sanctuary of the backseat of Phil's car, grateful for the silence. In an
attempt to keep the kids from destroying my stuff, I left my backpack in the
car. I unzip the front pocket and pull out my phone to discover a missed text.
I'm sorry ~ E
"How's Edward?" my mother pries. I raise my head to see that she's turned
around, watching me from the front seat.
"He's fine," I assume. Actually,he'sprobablynursingamassivehangover.
"What are the Cullen's doing for Thanksgiving? Do they cook enough to feed an
army like we do?" Renee chuckles nervously, but I'm not sure why.
I focus my attention back on my phone, trying to decide how to respond to
Edward's message. "Um, I don't know, actually," I reply distractedly. "I'm sure
they have to with Emmett around."
"Well, the food today was fantastic. Wasn't it, Phil?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, it was great," he mumbles.
"What did you think, Bella?" my mother asks.
I match Phil's bored tone. "Yeah, great."
"Really? You thought so? Cause you didn't eat very much."
Thereitis.My mother's not-so-subtle way of bring up this topic, again.
"Mom," I warn. Rolling my eyes, I drop my phone onto the seat. I know Renee
isn't going to let it go, so my response to Edward will have to wait.
"Well, honey, you didn't."
"Seriously? So you're watching everything I eat now, too?" I argue.
"I've been worried about you, sweetie. Since you told me you stopped getting
your… you know."
"My period," I deadpan.
"Whoa! Hey!" Phil comes to life for the first time since we got in the car.
"Does this conversation really have to happen right now while I'm sitting
here?"
"No, it doesn't," I protest. "It doesn't have to happen at all."
"But, Bella - "
"For the record, Mom, I just ate breakfast. Remember? So I wasn't really in the
mood to gorge myself again only three hours later, OK? And you know my doctors
said I was fine."
"No they didn't, Bella. You are not fine. They gave you specific instructions
to raise your calories by twenty percent and decrease your exercise, and from
the looks of it you haven't done either of those things."
"Fifteen percent," I correct. "And how did you know that? Who have you been
talking to?"
"Your father."
"You called Charlie!" I yell.
"Of course I did! Someone needs to do something!"
"There's nothing wrong with me!"
"Hey, hey, hey," Phil chants. "Calm down you two. This car is too small for all
that screeching."
My mother turns around to face the front of the car, and I slouch back against
the seat. Folding my arms across my chest, I glare out the window. We are both
quiet for several minutes, but the tension in the air doesn't dissipate.
"You got me in trouble you know," I grumble, sounding more like a whining child
than I intend.
"Introuble? How?"
"I guess you could say your phone call to Charlie planted some kind of seed in
his head. So Charlie told my advisor at school, and then Carlisle and Esme."
"Your dad didn't say anything about calling the school when I talked to him,"
she defends.
I groan. "He didn't call the school specifically about that, not at first. He
called because… well, it's a long story."
Renee gestures to the windshield and the open road before us. "We've got time,"
she says mockingly.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for my mother's reaction as I confess to
training, auditioning, and subsequently landing the music video job.
"Holy shit! That was you?" Phil blurts out. Renee swiftly punches his arm.
Ignoring Phil's interruption, I go on to describe how Charlie found out about
the video, how he threatened to sue the producers, and finally revealing how I
forged his signature. My mother's mouth falls open, clearly shocked that I'd
done something so rebellious. Before she has a chance to scold me, I keep
going, telling her about Charlie's demand that I return to Phoenix.
"He told me he was calling school to have my records transferred. I guess the
subject of my poorhealth," I spit the words at my mother in a sarcastic tone,
"must have come up as part of his argument to my advisor. That topic must have
become the focus of the conversation because the next thing I know, I'm being
led into some ridiculous intervention."
"Intervention?" Mom repeats.
"Yeah. Carlisle asked to speak to me. When I walked into his office, he had
Victoria and Charlie on a three-way conference call. I assumed they were making
arrangements to transfer me back to Phoenix, but they immediately began
grilling me about my weight and my eating habits. I had no idea where it came
from." I give my mother a pointed look.
She disregards my glare. "And?"
"And I told them I was fine, because Iamfine. But thanks to you, they are going
to be watching me like a hawk from now on."
"Well, I'm not going to apologize for that," Renee says indignantly, turning
back to face the windshield again.
I chuckle.
"What's so funny?" she asks.
"Actually, I should be thanking you." Renee twists around in her seat again,
surprised. "The only reason Charlie is allowing me to stay in Seattle is
because Carlisle convinced him I would
'receivethebestcareundermypersonalsupervision.'" I try to impersonate
Carlisle's voice as I mockingly repeat his words.
Phil pipes up. "What does that mean?"
"He's a doctor, dear," Renee explains. "So what's his plan?"
"His plan?" I repeat.
"Yes. How does he plan on treating you? Does he have any experience with
treating anorexia?"
My mouth falls open, and I stare, wide-eyed, at my mother for a long moment. "I
am not anorexic!" I scream. "There is no plan! There's nothing to treat! Why
don't you believe me?"
"Sweetheart, have you looked in a mirror lately? You're practically skin on
bones."
"I am not!"
"Renee," Phil scolds, "that's a bit extreme, don't you think?"
Renee twists in her seat to face him. "But -"
"She's been with us all week. Have you seen any signs to back up what you're
accusing her of?"
Renee glances at me over her shoulder. I widen my eyes at her, my expression
challenging her to answer his question.
"But she eats like a bird!" she defends.
I groan and toss my arms up in frustration. "Thanks for trying, Phil, but she
won't let it go until I'm two hundred pounds."
Seeking escape from my mother's criticism, I dig my headphones out of my bag
and drown out the adults in the front seat as they continue to analyze
everything I've eaten in the last four days. Resting my head against the cold
window, I watch the towering Florida pine trees fly past in a blur of green.
It's the wrong shade, but it still reminds me of the evergreen forests of
Washington.
I resume thinking about how I'm going to answer Edward's text. A tiny part of
me wants to make him sweat it out a little, to punish him for the way he talked
to me. But I would never do that to him, especially not right now. Even though
I'm desperate to know what happened, and if he's OK, there's no way I'm calling
him with my nosy mother sitting inches from me.
Therefore, Edward has to wait another hour until we get back to the house. I
pull my phone from my pocket the second I'm alone and dial his number.
Voicemail. Crap.
I wait another fifteen minutes and try again, still receiving no answer.
Feeling grimy from the day and the long car ride, I decide to take a shower. I
figure it's a more productive use of my time than pacing around the room,
waiting for Edward to call back.
Thirty minutes later, I'm clean and dressed for bed. I check my phone but there
are no missed calls and no messages. I dial his number for the third time
tonight. This time, when his voicemail picks up, I leave a message.
"Hey, it's me. I got your text. Sorry it took me so long to call you. We were
at Phil's parents' all day for Thanksgiving and it was, well, whatever… anyway,
call me back, OK? I'm - I miss you. I love you."
I place the phone on the pillow next to my head and turn off the lights.
A loud buzzing assaults my ears, causing me to wake with a start. The bright
Florida sun is streaming through the windows, and I groan and bury my head
under the pillow. My phone buzzes again, and in a sudden moment of clarity, I
remember that Edward is supposed to call me. I sit straight up in bed, grabbing
my phone.
Hey Bells! Sorry I couldn't call yesterday. the res and cell service sucks!
Wanted 2 wish u Happy Turkey Day! Miss u! When R U coming home? ~ Jake
My shoulders slump as I hit reply.
Miss U 2. Be home late Sunday. We still on for rehearsal Monday after class? ~
B
Ten seconds later, he responds.
Yup! Gotta work off all this turkey. Bring me a seashell. C U Monday. ~ Jake
There is no indication that I have other messages, but I check anyway. Nothing.
I consider calling Edward again, but it's three hours earlier in Seattle, and I
know he isn't awake yet. Setting my phone on the charger, I head downstairs to
join my mom and Phil for breakfast.
Over the course of the day, I call Edward three times. I try twice more before
bed and two more times the following morning. Every time the call goes to
voicemail. The last time I try it doesn't even ring, indicating the phone has
been turned off.
As my calls continue to be ignored, I slowly pass from annoyance to irritation
to anger. I try not to let it show, but my mother picks up my sullen mood
during dinner.
"Something wrong, sweetie?" she asks, watching me intently as I push the
uneaten food around my plate.
We are marking my last night in Florida with a lavish dinner at The Pier. Our
table on the second floor of the restaurant, overlooks the Atlantic. The full
moon casts thousands of silver sparkles on the black water below as a gentle
sea breeze floats through the open air terrace, causing the candlelight to
flicker and dance on the tables. The whole scene is entirely romantic, and my
frustration with Edward is completely overshadowed by the longing to be with
him.
I slouch back against the padded booth and stare at the water. "I'm fine," I
reply, but even I can hear the defeat in my voice.
"You're in love with him," my mother says softly.
My eyes snap to hers. My mother has always been perceptive, so I'm not
surprised by her statement, just the uncanny timing of it. "Yes," I answer,
even though it isn't a question. "What made you say that?"
Renee smirks. "It's hard to explain. I guess it's because I've never seen you
like this before. It's like… you get this little glimmer in your eye when
you're talking about him or thinking about him."
I smile, but it quickly fades, and I stare down at the table.
Renee ducks her head into my line of sight. "It's even there when you're… upset
with him?" she asks carefully.
I chuckle humorlessly. "Have you taken up mindreading, Mom?"
Renee shrugs. "I like to call it mother's – no – women's intuition," she states
proudly. "Do you want to talk about it? Why you're upset?"
"It's just that, well, I haven't really talked to Edward much this week, and
that's not like us. I can't remember a day where I haven't at least talked to
him. It feels like he's avoiding me, or something."
"Bella," Phil interjects, "can I just say, from a guy's perspective, he's not
avoiding you." He and Renee exchange a knowing glance before he continues.
"When I was on the road, I'd get so caught up hanging with the other guys on
the team that I'd… well, I'm not gonna say I'd forget, but I'd go days without
checking in with your mom. I didn't do it on purpose. I was just being a guy,
ya know? Does that make sense?"
"No," my mother and I answer in unison. We all laugh.
"Look," Phil continues when we compose ourselves, "try not to let it hurt your
feelings. He's probably just spending time with his friends. And if his friends
are anything like mine were at that age, they'd probably give him hell if he
stopped to call his girlfriend every twenty minutes."
Renee elbows Phil in the ribs. "What?" he objects.
"We're not asking for a call every twenty minutes, but would twice a day kill
ya?" Renee scolds.
"Wait a second; I'm just trying to look out for the boy. He's the one who
didn't call. I've learned my lesson. I've done my time," he teases.
I smile at their playful banter. "Thanks, Phil," I say. "I'll be sure to tell
Edward you had his back - after I kick his butt."
By the time we make it back to the house, my sour mood has dissipated. Phil's
insight didn't really influence my mood as much as the knowledge that I would
be with Edward in less than forty-eight hours.
I change quickly for bed, thinking the faster I get to sleep, the faster
tomorrow will get here. Plugging my phone into the charger, I nestle under the
covers and switch off the lamp. I deliberately avoid calling Edward. Based on
the evidence from the last few days, the odds are he won't pick up anyway.
After twenty minutes of restless tossing and turning, the nagging sensation
that I forgot to do something overpowers me. I roll my eyes in the darkness,
sit up, and switch on the lamp. Pulling my feet up, I balance my phone on my
bent knees and glare at it. I refuse to call his number, knowing I'll just be
disappointed – again. Instead, I dial the number to the house.
"Cullen residence."
It isn't the voice I want to hear, but I make sure to hide my disappointment.
"Hey, Emmy."
"Bells! How's Florida? When are you coming home? I miss you!"
I giggle. I love how everyone, myself included, now thinks of Seattle as my
home. "Florida is great. You'd love it. It's sunny all the time and chicks walk
around in bikini tops twenty-four-seven."
"Oh, yeah? Sounds like my kinda place."
"Down, boy. Don't make me call Rose."
He laughs. "You wouldn't dare. So when are you coming back?"
"I fly in tomorrow night."
"Good," he says decisively.
"Emmy, is it me you miss or my cooking?" I tease.
"Um, both?" he chuckles. "And I'm dying to know what happened with McDreamy and
Meredith on Grey's. I waited for you," he states proudly.
I fall back on the bed and laugh out loud. "I hate to break it to you, Emmy,
but Grey's was a rerun because of the holiday."
"Damn it!"
I laugh again. "So what else has been going on around there?"
"Not a whole lot. Esme and Rose went to that shopping thing yesterday. Ah…
what's it called?"
"Black Friday?"
"Yeah, that. And Carlisle and I watched football. We're the typical American
family." He chuckles again.
I hesitate for a second. "I can't picture Edward watching football," I say,
trying to keep my tone causal.
Emmett takes the bait. "Oh, he didn't watch with us. He's too busy acting weird
again."
"Weird? What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know, being a loser again. I thought he was over all that emo crap,
but I guess not. He didn't even eat Thanksgiving dinner with us."
"He didn't? Where was he?"
"With Jasper, I think. Actually, I'm not sure."
I decide to push a litter harder. "Well, when I ah… called the house Wednesday,
he answered," I lie. "It sounded like he was pissed at Carlisle."
"Well, that's nothing new. Those two haven't been on good terms since the
accident."
"Accident? What accident."
"Oh, ah… I guess no one ever told you. I'm really not supposed to talk about
it," he adds quickly.
"Emmy, it's just me."
"Sorry, Bells, it's not my place to tell."
For being a stereotypical dumb jock, Emmet could be rather insightful - at the
most inopportune times. "But if they finally had it out," he continues, "then
that might explain why Edward's been locked up in his room all week."
"Maybe Carlisle grounded him?"
"Ha! Carlisle ground Edward. Get real. I think Edward is past the point where
grounding him would do any good."
What did that mean?
"Oh, well… is he home now?"
"No, his car was gone when I got up. Actually, I'm not even sure he came home
last night. Shit, come to think of it, I haven't actually laid eyes on him
since…" Emmett pauses to consider, "last Friday at school. He chuckles. "I just
assumed he was upstairs the whole time."
"You mean the Friday before Thanksgiving break started? Emmy! That was over a
week ago!"
"Chill out, Bells. Why are you getting so freaked out?"
Shit.I need to cover my tracks. "Well, I would be worried about you too if I
found out you were missing for over a week."
"He's not missing." I could almost picture Emmett rolling his eyes. "He's
probably with Jasper, getting into trouble again. Besides, you said you talked
to him Wednesday."
I open my mouth to ask another question, but Emmett cuts me off. "So, who's
picking you up from the airport? Want me to come get you?"
"Um, sure, I guess… if Carlisle and Esme are busy."
"I don't think they're busy, but I'll come. Let me get a pen and I'll write
down you flight info."
I give Emmett my arrival time, and we talk for another few minutes before
saying goodbye. I flop down on my bed, trying to piece together the little bit
of information Emmett gave me.
"Those two haven't been on good terms since the accident."
Accident? What kind of accident would drive a wedge between a father and his
son?
"He's been acting weird again. He's with Jasper, probably getting into trouble.
Edward is past the point where grounding him would do any good."
As I search my memory for any other clues, I remember Jake's warning all those
months ago.
"I don't know Edward that well, but I do know he also has a reputation. What
I'm trying to say is, just be careful, OK?"
Then I think of Edward, trying to make any of this fit.
"When you get back, I'll explain everything. You need to know everything,
Bella."
I sit up and shake my head to clear my mind. I remind myself that jumping to
wild conclusions isn't going to do me any good. I trust him, and he promised to
tell me everything when I get back - when I get home. It sounds like we need to
sit down and have a long, serious talk.
~o0o~
A strong sense of déjà vu washes over me as I walk through the crowded terminal
toward baggage claim. Only this time, I know who is picking me up. I spot
Emmett easily in the swarm of people surrounding the baggage carousel, but I'm
disappointed when I recognize Rosalie standing next to him. It isn't that I'm
unhappy to see Rose; it just means I have to abandon my plans to pump Emmett
for more information during the ride home.
The three of us make our way to the parking garage. The light sweater I'm
wearing does nothing to stop the cold wind from cutting though the flimsy
fabric. Emmett wraps one burly arm around my shoulders and his other arm around
Rose, pulling us both into his sides.
"Missing that Florida sun already, huh?" he teases.
"I left all my winter clothes here," I confess.
He loads my bag into the trunk of his car as Rose and I climb inside.
"It's a good thing I signed up to run carpool on you," Emmett says as we exit
the parking lot. "Carlisle got called in on an emergency surgery, and Esme has
a migraine."
"Oh, that's terrible, but I am glad to see you guys. I brought you something."
"Yeah?" Emmett glances at me in the backseat, sounding like an excited kid.
Rosalie smacks his head. "Eyes on the road!"
I reach into my backpack and produce a small, square package wrapped in purple
tissue paper. "Here, Rose, you first."
She looks genuinely surprised. "Awe, Bella, that's so thoughtful. You didn't
have to bring me anything."
I shrug. "It's not much. I just saw it and thought of you."
She gently tears away the thin paper to reveal the bracelet. It's made from
hemp thread braided in an intricate pattern with a silver rose charm dangling
from the center.
"Awe, Bells, it's beautiful. I love it. Very tropical," she giggles.
"You can wear it as a bracelet or around your ankle."
Rosalie lifts her right foot onto the seat and hikes her jeans up her calf. "If
I put it on my ankle, I never have to take it off."
"That's hot," Emmett says, watching as Rose ties the strings around her ankle
before lowering her foot back to the floor.
Rose twists around in her seat to face me again. "I love your necklace. Did you
get it that in Florida too?"
I finger the tiny starfish that hasn't left my neck since Edward placed it
there exactly one week before.
"Um, no. I – it came from the aquarium here." It isn't a complete untruth.
"Wanna see what I got Emmett?" I ask, trying to change the subject.
"I do," Emmett says, looking toward the backseat again.
"Eyes on the road!" Rose and I scold in unison.
Reaching into my bag again, I produce Emmett's t-shirt. I unfold it, and hold
it up for Rose to see. She covers her mouth to control the fit of laughter that
erupts.
"What? I wanna see," Emmett protests. He brings the car to a stop at the next
red light and turns around to face me. I hold up his shirt again.
A tough looking teddy bear is airbrushed in the center. He's wearing a
backwards hat and a football jersey with Emmett's number on his chest. The
words "Emmy Bear" are printed in black graffiti above it.
"Awesome!" Emmett snatches the shirt from me and holds it against his chest for
Rosalie to see. She bursts into another fit of laughter, fanning her eyes with
her hand as tears threaten to spill over. I'm laughing uncontrollably myself.
"Thanks, Bells!" he says.
There's hardly any traffic this late on a Sunday night, and we make it back to
the house in record time. As we turn onto the Cullen's street, I'm so anxious
to see Edward I'm practically bouncing in my seat. I don't know how I'm going
to keep myself from jumping into his arms the second I walk through the door,
but I recognize we still have to keep up the charade.
We pull into the driveway and my heart sinks; Edward's car is gone. Emmett
notices the change in my mood as he lifts my suitcase from the trunk.
"Bells, what's wrong? Aren't you happy to be home?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, of course. Just tired," I lie.
Emmett carries my bag to my room as I say goodbye to Rosalie. They leave soon
after so Rose can make it home before curfew; it is a school night after all.
As soon as I return to my room, I strip out of the thin layers I'm wearing and
pull on a heavy, cowl neck sweater and leggings before unpacking my suitcase.
Renee washed all my clothes before I left Florida, so it's just a matter of
putting everything back where it belongs. Within thirty minutes, my room looks
like I never left.
I don't need to check my phone to know there aren't any messages waiting for
me. I've completely given up on the idea of Edward actually returning any of my
calls or texts. The fact that he isn't here to welcome me home is more
upsetting. Whathappenedtobeingawreckwithoutme?
Quietly, I sneak down the hall to his room. I push the door open, flick on the
light, and gasp. It looks like a bomb has gone off in here. The bed is unmade,
and piles of clothes and books scatter the floor. His desk chair is lying on
its side, and I idly wonder if that was the crashing sound I heard during our
one phone conversation Wednesday night.
I walk slowly, carefully, around the bed as I survey the destruction. My foot
strikes something hard buried under a pile of clothes. I lift a black t-shirt
and discover the object my foot collided with – an empty fifth of Jack Daniels.
Still holding the t-shirt in one hand, I pick up the bottle and walk to the
desk, intent on setting it somewhere off of the floor. That's when I notice the
lighter and the half empty pack of cigarettes. Warily, I lift the shirt in my
left hand to my nose and sniff. There is no mistaking the odor, and I toss the
offending shirt to the floor.
What the hell is going on!
I slam the bottle down on top of the smiling camel logo, effectively crushing
the remaining contents of the pack, and stomp back to my room. Without
thinking, I fire off a text.
Where are you? ~ B
I tap my phone against my leg angrily, pacing back and forth. Five agonizing
minutes later, it buzzes in my hand.
On my way ~ E
EPOV
Exactly twenty minutes later, I turn onto the gravel driveway and park my car
in the usual spot. Surveying the other cars, I quickly determine that only Esme
is home – besides Bella, of course – and she's likely asleep, recovering from
her migraine this afternoon.
I kill the engine and shut off the headlights, but make no move to exit the
car. On any other night, the house might have appeared inviting; the warm glow
from the windows would have been a welcome sight from the cold, dark night. Not
tonight. Tonight, I'm terrified by what awaits me inside.
I rub my hands roughly over my face and into my hair.Ican'tdothis.
For the last two hours, I've been aimlessly driving around the city, trying to
get control of myself before I see her. I couldn't be home when Bella arrived.
Even though I've resigned myself to what must be done, I wasn't sure I'd be
able to keep from throwing my arms around her the second she walked in the
door. So, like a coward, I ran.
I can't do this.
Since the confrontation with Carlisle, his words have been a constant,
repetitive echo in my head. I hear them every time I think of her, every time
she calls or sends me a text. It's like his words are set as the fucking
ringtone on my phone to purposely stop me from answering.
"This is your punishment to bear, not hers."
All week I've been wracking my brain, trying to find a solution where Bella and
I can be together. No matter how hard I try, I come up empty. In every scenario
she gets hurt - in one way or another. The option Carlisle presented me with,
that I end our relationship and remove myself from her life, appears to be the
only answer.
Folding my arms across the top of the steering wheel, I lean forward and rest
my head against them. The absolute terror of what's about to happen grips me,
and I let out a ragged breath. I've had a week to prepare myself for this
moment, an entire week where I've thought of nothing but this. But even after a
week, I still have no fucking clue how I'm going to force myself to go through
with it.
At first, I planned to tell her the truth. I'd start from the moment she left,
tell her how Carlisle discovered us, and that he confronted me. She already
knows that Carlisle told me to stay away from her, so I would go on to explain
why. I'd tell her about the drugs, the accident, the arrest, and how Carlisle
kept me out of jail. I'd tell her about Esme, and how my actions almost
destroyed her career, and how, if we were together, I could do the same to
hers. Then, if she was still listening, if she hadn't walked away at this
point, I'd tell her that I love her more than anything in this world, but that
I understood why we couldn't be together. And then I would let her go.
That was the plan, and I imagined the conversation in my mind a thousand times
– until the night I slipped.
Last week, when I dialed her number in the middle of the night, ready to plead
with her the second she answered, the plan changed. Because when I hung up the
phone, I realized that she would give it all up for me. She already had. She
offered to walk away from the music video audition for me. She turned down the
job for me. She is selfless and self-sacrificing, and I remember how those
attributes fascinated me the first time we met. She always put her wants and
needs behind everyone else's – behind her parents', behind mine.
That's when I realized simply telling her the truth wasn't going to work. I was
going to have to convince her that she doesn't want to be with me. I was going
to have to push her away, make her angry with me – make her hate me.
I began to imagine different scenarios that would drive her away. I pictured
myself provoking her into an argument, or lying about being unfaithful while
she was gone, or simply telling her that I was wrong – that I don't love her.
But no matter how I played out the conversations in my mind, I couldn't force
my imaginary self to say those words to her. I couldn't even pretend to hurt
her like that, and that revelation surprised me.
I allowed myself to dwell on the thought that, had I been presented with this
obstacle six months ago, the Edward I used to be wouldn't have given a second
thought to how to deal with it. The Edward I used to be was a malicious,
merciless, callous monster. He would have done just what Carlisle suspected,
conquered Bella as part of some of disgusting game, the sole objective to rebel
against his father. That Edward would have reveled in the challenge, toyed with
her emotions, and manipulated his way into her bed. He would have taken
everything he wanted, and when the game grew tedious to either himself or
Carlisle, that Edward would have discarded her without consideration to the
damage he left in his wake.
I wasn't that Edward anymore. I hadn't been that Edward since I met Bella.
Wouldsheeverknowtheimpactshehashadonmylife? Sadly, that thought caused me to
remember the impact my presence would have on hers.
Carlisle's allegation wasn't far from the truth. I had used Bella in an attempt
to provoke him, just not in the manner he accused me of. However, the reminder
of that offense gave me ample ammunition to devise a plan. In order to carry it
out, I had to resign myself to the fact that, for one night, I would have to be
that Edward again. Because tonight, I would have to lie, I would have to be
mean and cruel - I would have to hurt her. And while the Edward she knows, the
one she helped me become, could never do it, the Edward I used to be could. He
had pushed my own father away, enough to compel him to cut me out of his life;
he would certainly do the same to Bella.
"I can't do this," I say aloud, my words nervous and unsteady.
The voice in my head answers.
"Butdoyouseethatbybeingwithheryoucouldbehurtingher?Hurtingherchancesatthelifeshe'salwayswanted?Thelifeshe'sworkedsohardtoachieve?"
I sit up abruptly and slam my open palm against the steering wheel. My hand
stings from the strike, but the pain is minor compared to the vice that's
gripping my chest.
With one last deep breath, I open the car door and step out onto the gravel
drive. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I stare down at the ground as I walk
slowly toward the house, only to turn abruptly and pace in the opposite
direction at twice the speed.
"Fuck!" I yell. My fingers dig into the back of my neck.
"What's wrong?"
I whirl around toward the sound of the voice. Bella is standing on the front
porch, leaning against the column supporting the overhang above, her arms
folded across her chest, her face guarded. She's wearing a heavy sweater I've
never seen before. The collar is large, and the gathered material that hangs
around her neck looks more like a scarf than part of the ivory sweater. Her
hair is swept back, away from her beautiful face, and I can clearly see the
anxiety in her eyes. My breath catches in my throat as I stare at her,
completely frozen.
Gritting my teeth, I attempt to reinforce the resolve that slipped at the first
sight of her. I squeeze my eyes shut as I push away the lump in my throat and
the crushing pain in my chest. I concentrate on burying the memories that surge
forward: every memory of our time together, every memory of her smiling at me,
every memory of her telling me she loves me. When I open my eyes a second
later, I'm certain they are cold and empty, just like the rest of me. She
watches me warily, and her posture tenses slightly as she takes in my
expression.
"How long have you been standing there?" I grumble. My voice is menacing, but
Bella doesn't flinch.
"I was in the kitchen when I heard you pull up. I walked outside just as you
turned off your headlights."
I continue to stare at her, clenching and unclenching my fists at my sides.
After a moment, Bella shoves off the column and steps down onto the top of the
porch stairs. Instinctively, I break our gaze and take a small step backward.
Bella gasps softly, but I don't look up.
"Edward?" she whispers. "What's wrong?"
I let out a deep breath and fix my eyes on the ground. "Something happened
while you were gone," I begin.
"The fight with Carlisle?" she asks nervously.
My eyes flash to hers. I'm caught off guard by her accurate assumption, but I
quickly compose myself. "It wasn't really a fight," I explain, keeping my tone
indifferent to deflect her away from the truth. "We just… disagreed on a few
things. But I've thought about what he said, and I've come around to seeing his
side of it. He was right; I was wrong."
"Oh," she says, wringing her hands anxiously. "I was worried. I guess I got the
impression it was more than a simple disagreement when you said Jasper needed
to cheer you up afterwards."
"Jazz and I didn't go out because he needed to cheer me up," I lie.
"But you said - "
"I was shit-faced, Bella. I have no fucking clue what I said."
My harsh tone makes her wince. I try not to let it register. This is only the
beginning, and if I can't tolerate her reaction to my cruel disposition,
there's no way I'll make it through this.
I need to get it over with quickly, like ripping off a bandage, or the
prolonged torture will eat away at my resolve. "Look, I did some thinking while
you were gone, and I realized that I - I can't keep pretending to be something
I'm not, because this," I gesture in the space between us, "is not me."
Bella stares at me, and her eyes narrow in confusion. "I'm sorry. You're not
making any sense to me."
I groan and try to plaster an annoyed expression on my face. "I'm honestly
surprised you haven't figured this out already, but I guess I'm just going to
have to spell it out for you."
"Please, by all means, enlighten me," she says with a sarcastic wave of her
hand. Good.She'sgettingirritated,nowIjusthavetobuildonthat.
"You're partly right, about Carlisle. I mean, it's no secret that we don't get
along. It's been that way for a long time, a long before you came here. To say
the guy was making my life fucking miserable is the understatement of the
century. Then here you come." I roll my eyes as I gesture toward Bella. "All he
could talk about was what a good person you are. How you're kind and
compassionate and innocent - "
"I'm not - "
"Oh, please," I huff. "I bet forging your father's signature was the worst
thing you've ever done in your naïve little life."
Bella looks at the ground, sheepishly biting her bottom lip.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," I say sarcastically.
My words come out in a rush. "So when Carlisle couldn't shut the fuck up about
how perfect you were, I got this crazy idea. I thought I could learn a thing or
two from you; maybe I could get you to like me, maybe even go out with if
Carlisle saw I was with someone like his sweetlittleBella, maybe he would get
off my fucking back.It was easier than I thought, fooling you into playing my
little game, and don't get me wrong the… perks were nice too." I chuckle,
darkly, to mask the stabbing pain that grips my chest.
I glance quickly at Bella, trying to gauge her reaction to my cruelty. She's
still standing at the top of the steps, her arms folded around her chest, her
eyes glued to the ground.
"But you know what I realized?" I continue, steeling myself to carry on the
assault. "I realized I really don't give a shit about Carlisle. I'm moving out
in a few months, and I won't have to put up with his crap anymore, so why am I
putting in all this effort? It's such a hassle, and it's just not worth it."
"I – I don't understand," she says in a small voice.
"Wake up, Bella!" I shout, stepping closer to her. "I'm trying to tell you this
is all bullshit. I've been trying to tell you for weeks but you would never let
me!"
Bella finally looks up, the fury I've been waiting for blazing in her eyes.
Clearly she's reached her breaking point – thankfully – as I don't know how
much longer I can keep up this charade.
"Oh, so this is myfault!" she shouts, marching down the stairs to stand
directly in front of me. She pokes me in the chest with her finger as she
continues to yell. "It's my fault that you've been, what… fakingit the entire
time I've known you? That's what you've been trying to tell me? You really
expect me to believe all this," she waives her hand in a large circle, "has
been some kind of act?"
"Well, it's about time you got to know the real me."
"Oh, you mean the 'me' that ignores his girlfriend's phone calls!" she spits
sarcastically. "The 'me' that drops off the face of the earth for an entire
week? The 'me' that drunk-dials his girlfriend at three in the morning to yell
at her? The 'me' that drinks entire bottles of whiskey and smokes cigarettes?
Because if that's who you're talking about, then you're right, I don't know
that 'me' at all."
I don't respond. Instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out the pack of
Camels I purchased during my pointless drive around the city. I picked up the
habit from Jazz last week; he told me it would mellow me out. So far, I'm not
convinced it works.
Leaning back against my car, I flick the lighter to life and ignite the
cigarette dangling from my lips. I take a long drag, the smoldering tip glowing
bright orange in the darkness, and then exhale the thick cloud of smoke out my
nose. I cross my ankles as I look up, the cigarette bobbing between my lips as
I speak. "I'm Edward. Nice to meet you."
Bella snatches the cigarette from my mouth, tossing it angrily to the ground.
And then she slaps me.
We are silent for a long time, neither of us looking at the other. I continue
to lean against my car, and Bella stands a few feet in front of me, her arms
wrapped around her body. She's close enough that I could reach out and touch
her. I could carry her inside, out of the cold night air, and up to our room. I
could hold her, and kiss her, and tell her how much I love her. I could tell
her that I'm sorry and that none of it is true. But, unfortunately, some of it
is. And now, I've taken the truth and stretched it in such a way that she will
never believe me if I try to amend it.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispers.
Once again, the fucking voice in my head answers her
question."Thisisyourpunishmenttobear,nothers."
As the words echo in my mind, the hardened facade returns, firmly rooted in
place once again. I sigh, feigning frustration. "I told you. I'm tired of this,
tired of pretending."
Bella doesn't say anything, and I avoid looking at her. After several
excruciating minutes, she mumbles something under her breath so low I don't
hear it.
I roll my eyes. "Speak up. I can't hear you."
She looks up, locking her eyes with mine. "I said I don't believe you," she
announces firmly.
I narrow my eyes at her. "Youdon'tbelieveme?" I repeat, disbelief flooding my
tone.
She scowls, folding her arms tightly across her body. I begin to panic as she
scrutinizes me. "No, I don't. I don't know what you think you're going to
accomplish with this little performance tonight, Edward, but this," she waves
her hand toward me, "is a bunch of crap. I don't believe for one second that
you've been pretending for the last four months. You're lying. You know it, and
I know it. Now, why don't you cut the crap and tell me what's really going on."
The panic is instantly extinguished by the flood of anger that surges inside
me.
Whywasshedoingthistome!Couldn'tsheseehowdifficultthiswasforme?Whycouldn'tshejustacceptthisandwalkaway?Whywasshetryingtomakethisharderforme?
I shove off my car and step forward, towering over her small frame. Bella
doesn't even flinch. She remains fixed in place, her arms folded and her eyes
daring me to challenge her. Her defiance causes the rage inside to boil over.
"You want me to cut the crap?" I seethe.
"Yes."
"You don't believe anything I just told you?"
"Nope," she fires back, her tone even more insolent than before.
I can feel the adrenaline, fueled by anger, pulsing in my veins. "You think
that everything I just said was a lie?"
"Yes."
"You honestly think the last four months was real?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then tell me this… if it was so real why did I spend the last week fucking
someone else, huh!"
The question – the lie – flies out of my mouth without a conscious thought.
Yes, I imagined pushing her away with some wild story in which I'd been
disloyal, but only briefly. I was certain I wasn't capable of doing it. Not
only incapable, I had absolutely no intention of doing it. I was determined not
to hurt her like that. For a long, silent moment, I consider that maybe I'm a
bigger monster than even I believed possible.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I think of Carlisle and how, in the heat of our worst argument, he ordered me,
his son, to leave and never come back. Since that night, he's lived with the
guilt of that reckless, impulsive statement. Now, as I watch Bella process my
thoughtless, unintentional, fabricated confession, it seems I am destined to
follow in his footsteps.
Bella is completely still, staring straight ahead with a stunned expression on
her face. If I could read her mind, I'm certain I would see the pieces falling
into place. My words have hit their mark. The lie has broken through her
stubborn shell. She believes it. She believes everything.
I step forward and lift my arms slightly to reach for her, but Bella steps
back. She squeezes her eyes shut as she raises one hand, her palm facing me, to
stop my advance. The other remains tightly wound around her body.
"Bella, I - "
She shakes her head briskly to silence me, and I drop my hands to my sides. An
agonizing minute passes before Bella finally opens her eyes again. She won't
look at me, but I can see the tears threatening to spill over. I grit my teeth
and ball my hands into fists, my fingers digging painfully into my palms.
I can't do this. I can't do this!
Just as I'm about to reach for her again, just as I open my mouth to confess
that it's untrue, Bella's eyes snap to mine. The clear, undeniable hate that
radiates from her expression causes the words to catch in my throat.
"You're a monster," she says with absolute certainty.
I flinch. If Bella hadn't chosen that word, the exact term I had used to
describe myself, the exact image I was trying to portray, I may not have
reacted. I pause, studying her face, and this time it's not Carlisle's voice I
hear in my head – it's mine.
"I'm not going to ruin her future – her life because of my bad decisions."
I continue to study the hatred swimming in her eyes. The damage has been done.
It's over. She is free of me; she can move on. I can't hurt her anymore.
With a deep breath, I try to recall the toughened pretense from before, praying
Bella can't hear the uncertainty in my voice. "I'm sorry I let this go on for
so long when I…"
I let my words trail off as Bella wrenches her eyes shut again. One hand comes
up to cover her mouth as the tears spill over and run down her cheeks.
Bella takes a shaky breath, opening her eyes again to look at me. "You said…
you told me you loved me."
My heart shatters into a thousand pieces in that moment, and I pinch the bridge
of my nose to hide the tears forming behind my eyelids. Bella probably
interprets the gesture as frustration.
I have to clear my throat before I can speak. "Yeah, I said a lot of things."
Bella closes her eyes again, forcing more tears down her cheeks. "This is it,
isn't it?" she mumbles. I'm not exactly sure what she is referring to, or if
she's even talking to me.
"Look, I won't put you through anything like this again. You can go on with
your life without any interference from me."
Bella raises both of her hands to cover her face as she cries. My eyes begin to
well up again, and I know I have to get out of here, fast. My determination is
eroding with every tattered breath she takes.
I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I hope
you'll be able to forgive me one day." My words are so soft, I doubt Bella can
hear me over her sobs.
Turning back toward my car, I walk to the door and open it. Just as I place one
foot on the floorboard, I hear her speak.
"What's her name?"
"What?" I ask, certain I misunderstood her question.
"What's her name?" Bella repeats.
I close my eyes and shake my head. "Don't do this."
"I need to know."
"Why? What does it matter?" I say defensively.
"You owe me this much. I want to know her name."
Unconsciously, I turn my head to look at her and regret it the instant I meet
her eyes. Tears continue to run down her cheeks and her arms remain coiled
tightly around her body, as if she's holding herself together, but her eyes
retain the same determined, defiant stare as before.
Terrified, I look away. I can't handle any more. If she challenges me, if she
contests my lies again, I won't be able to maintain the deception. I have to
give her something – anything – to solidify the story, just so I can escape. I
spit out the first name I can think of.
"Jessica – Jessica Stanley."
Bella doesn't say anything else, and I climb into the driver's seat and shut
the door. I start the engine and slowly back my car toward the street. The
garish headlights illuminate the driveway as if it's the middle of the day, and
Bella raises one hand to cover her eyes. She doesn't remove it as I angle the
car into the road, the beams moving away from her. Just before she's plunged
back into the darkness, I see her chest heave with a violent sob.
I leave her, the love of my existence, standing alone in the cold night air,
sobbing in the shadows.
Eight miles later, I pull over and throw up in the underbrush on the side of
the road.
***** Chapter 15 *****
EPOV
Dumbass. Did u forget school started back today? ~ Jazz
Ditching. Can I crash at ur place for a few days? ~ E
Sure. Mom working double shifts this week. U OK? ~ Jazz
My fingers hover over the keypad as I deliberate how to respond.
No, I'm not OK.
I'm not anywhere close to being OK.
I'm in agony.
I'm completely and entirely destroyed.
I'm a wreck.
I'm a monster.
I rub my eyes roughly with the heel of my hand. Needless to say, I didn't sleep
last night, and my worn out eyes are burning from being open for so long.
Figuring my slow response to his message probably tells him enough, I punch out
a short reply.
Seeuafterschool ~E
I set the phone next to me on the hood of my car, next to the lighter and the
half-empty pack of cigarettes. The arctic air blows across the harbor, and I
pull my knees in closer, careful not to scratch the paint as I try to keep
warm.
Last night, after I… I got in my car and drove, mechanically, without thinking.
I was desperate to put as much distance as possible between myself and the pain
I inflicted. Without a thought to where I was going or how far I had gone, I
kept driving until the signs along the highway announced the approaching
Canadian border. Eventually, I couldn't go any further. I found a vacant
parking lot overlooking Drayton Harbor, pulled in and killed the engine.
There was barely any moon last night, and the black waters of the harbor seemed
to get darker and darker as the hours passed. When the sun begins to rise, I
move from the front seat to the hood of the car, thinking some fresh air might
help revive me before I start the two-hour trek back home.
Home. How can I go home? To our room? Our bed?
Reaching for the pack of cigarettes, I shake it until one emerges from the
small hole ripped in the top and light it quickly before the wind kicks up
again. After a long drag, I examine the burning stick between my fingers for a
moment. I take one more pull before tossing it, the lighter, and the rest of
the pack into the harbor.
I glance at my watch. If I leave now, everyone will be at school or work by the
time I make it back to the house. I should have enough time to grab some
clothes and get out again before anyone comes home.
Sure enough, the house is empty by the time I return. Exhausted, I head
straight for… my room, trying not to think about the closed door at the top of
the stairs as I pass. I crash, face first, onto the unmade bed, feeling
completely depleted and numb. I have pulled plenty of all-nighters before, but
the combination of the physical and emotional drain feels like some fucked up
out-of-body experience.
MaybeI'llwakeupanddiscoverit'sallbeenahorrificnightmare.
The roar of the neighbor's lawnmower shocks me back into consciousness. I
didn't even realize I fell asleep. In my disoriented state, I roll over and
instinctively reach out for her, only to find her side of the bed empty and
cold. It all comes crashing back.
I sit up, holding my head in my hands as I fight the overwhelming desolation
and the fresh tears stinging my eyes. I rake my hands roughly over my face,
quickly composing myself before I head to the shower.
I stand under the spray, my eyes closed, my head pressed against the cold tile,
until the hot water runs out. I shut off the faucets, but make no move to exit
the shower, until all the heat escapes from the room and my damp body begins to
shiver. I grab the towel from the rack and dry off quickly, making sure to
skillfully divert my eyes from anything of hers as I move about the room.
Blatantly ignoring the colossal mess covering the floor of my room, I throw on
some clothes and pack a large duffle bag with enough stuff to last an entire
week at Jazz's house before I head downstairs. I deposit my bag next to the
front door on my way to the kitchen. As I rummage through the drawers, I search
for a pen and scrap of paper to compose a note so Esme will know where I am.
Abruptly, a loud knock reverberates through the entire house.
I roll my eyes and ignore it as I continue to hunt for the items I need. A few
seconds later, the unwelcome visitor pounds against the door again, this time
much harder than before. I groan and stomp to the door, ready to tell the
fucking delivery guy to just leave the damn package or the evangelical
missionary to sell his bullshit somewhere else.
I heave the door open, surprised to find Jacob on the other side. "Jacob? What
are you doing here?"
"Where's Bella?" he asks.
I have to clear my throat before I can speak. "What do you mean? She's at
school."
"No, she's not. She didn't show up today, and she's not answering her phone."
We stare at each other for a second before Jacob pushes passed me. I close the
door behind him as he heads straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time.
He reaches her door and knocks gently.
"Bells?"
He pauses to listen. After a few seconds, he glances at me, standing at the
bottom of the stairs, and shrugs. He knocks again and cautiously pushes the
door open.
"Bells? Hey, you OK?" He enters her room and closes the door behind him.
I slump down on the couch. She'sbeenherethisentiretime.
I stare straight ahead, not really seeing anything as my mind wanders to what's
happening upstairs. Undoubtedly, she's filling him in on everything that
happened last night. I rake my hands through my hair and let out a ragged
breath.
Two hours later, the door upstairs creeks, and I look up to see Jacob emerge.
He closes the door behind him, gingerly, as if he doesn't want to make a sound,
and I wonder if Bella is sleeping. I stand up and take a step toward the stairs
as he descends.
"Jacob, is she - "
Jacob's fist connects with my temple and I stumble backwards, landing awkwardly
across the couch. Instinctively, I cover my wounded face with my hand. I feel
the blood coat my fingers as I press against the gash that has opened above my
left eye.
Jacob leans over me, his arms supporting his weight against the armrest and the
back of the couch. His posture pins me in place. I tense, waiting for the
assault to continue, but it doesn't. He leans down to growl directly in my
face, his whole body shaking with rage.
"If you ever go near her again, I'll do more than just mess up your pretty
little face! Do you understand me you worthless piece of shit? I swear to God I
want to beat the crap out of you so bad right now, but she made me promise not
to." He shakes his head, disbelieving, and shoves his body upright again as he
takes a step back.
I sit up, still cradling my injured head in my hand. "Is she alri-"
"No!" Jacob spits between clinched teeth. "You don't get to ask how she is! You
don't get to talk about her! You don't get to talk to her. You don't exist, got
it!"
I nod, ashamed, my eyes trained on the floor at my feet.
Jacob takes a deep breath. "I'm leaving. I'll be back later tonight. I highly
suggest you disappear before I get back."
As soon as the front door slams behind him, I head to the kitchen to tend to my
wound. I wad up a dish towel and press it against my head, trying to control
the bleeding. Catching site of my reflection in the glass door of the
microwave, I examine the dark crescent forming under my left eye which is now
swollen shut. I sink down on a bar stool, propping my elbow on the counter to
hold the bloodied rag in place.
A few minutes later, the front door opens again, and I twist my head slightly
to see Carlisle enter, still dressed in his white lab coat from the hospital.
Shit.This is the last thing I need. It's the middle of the afternoon and I'm
supposed to be in school. But instead, I'm sitting at the kitchen counter,
bloodied and bruised.
Carlisle closes the door behind him and turns toward me, visibly surprised to
see someone else at home. It takes him two seconds to evaluate my appearance
before he explodes.
"Goddamnit,Edward! What did you do now? Was it Mike Newton again? His family is
not going to let it go this time. They are going to press charges. Do you know
what this means for your probation? They're going to haul you off to –"
"I didn't get in a fight," I mumble.
"What?" Carlisle moves to stand next to me.
"I didn't get in a fight," I repeat.
Carlisle looks at me, unbelieving. Obviously my appearance isn't helping my
argument. I take a deep breath. "I broke up with Bella," the words sting my
throat, "and Jacob punched me for… making her cry."
"Did you - "
"I didn't lay a finger on him."
After a moment, Carlisle visibly calms down. He pulls out the stool next to me
and sits. "Here, let me see. You might need stitches."
I remove the towel and allow Carlisle to examine my head. He pokes at the
sensitive skin around my eye, causing me to wince several times. He takes the
towel from my hand, drenches it under the faucet, and then cleans my wound to
get a better look.
"I think it looks OK," he says after several minutes. "I don't think you need
stitches. It's not so deep. Keep pressure on it until the bleeding stops and
let's ice that eye until the swelling goes down."
He stands up and walks to the freezer, pulling out one of the ice packs Emmett
typically uses for his frequent football injuries.
"Thanks," I say as I take it from him, my tone far from grateful.
"I have some bandages and antibiotic ointment in my bathroom. I'll just -"
"It's fine."
Carlisle sighs and returns to sit on the stool, turning sideways to face me.
"Edward, I do realize you're supposed to be in school right now. I'm going to
let it go for today, but let's not make a habit of this again."
I don't respond, keeping my eyes fixed on the countertop in front of me.
"Are you all right, son?"
Abruptly, I jump to my feet and walk toward the front door. I can feel
Carlisle's eyes on me as I heft the large duffle bag onto my shoulder.
"Where are you going?" he asks, concern lacing his words.
I pause as I open the door, but I don't turn around. "I'm going to stay with
Jazz for a few days."
"Edward, I don't think - "
My shoulders slump as I bow my head. "Please," I beg, my voice breaking as I
speak. "I can't – I can't be here right now."
I'm not sure if it's the desolation in my voice or the significance of me
asking his permission for the first time in years that sways him, but when
Carlisle sighs softly behind me, I know he will let me go. "Just a few days,"
he consents.
I close the door behind me without looking back.
Ten minutes later, I'm sitting on the front porch of Jazz's house, my duffle
bag at my feet and the ice pack, still wrapped in the same bloody kitchen
towel, pressed against my forehead. Jazz's jeep pulls up behind my car and he
hops out, tossing his book sack over one shoulder as he walks toward me. He
plops down next to me and goes to work loosening his uniform tie and un-tucking
his shirt. Without a word, he turns toward me and gently pulls the bloody towel
away from my head, inspecting the cut. After a moment, he nudges my hand
upward, signaling his examination is finished and I should return the compress.
"The bleeding stopped," he says as he rummages through the front pocket of his
book sack. He pulls out his cigarettes and lighter, holding the open pack
toward me. I just shake my head.
Jazz lights up then tosses the pack back into his bag. He takes a drag, then
holds the cigarette in his outstretched hand, his arms resting on his knees,
and studies it for a moment before speaking. "He kick you out?"
"No."
From the corner of my eye, I can see Jazz nod slightly. "You broke up with
her."
It isn't a question, but my lack of response is all the confirmation he needs.
Jazz takes another drag. "She do that to your head?"
"No. That was Jacob."
He nods again. "I called my mom, told her you were coming to stay. She's cool
with it. She's working double shifts anyways, trying to rack up enough vacation
time for when my dad has shore leave over Christmas. She said you can stay as
long as you need."
"Thanks."
Jazz reaches into his bag again and pulls out another cigarette, lighting it
from the smoldering tip of his first, a clear signal that our conversation
isn't over. He flicks the butt of his finished cigarette into the grass before
resuming his posture from before.
"So what did her in?" he asks. "She couldn't handle all the sleeping around? Or
was it the drugs? Alice had a harder time with the drugs, surprisingly. I
thought my man-whoring days would be a deal breaker."
During our night of reckless drinking, I explained how my reputation could
destroy Bella's career, so naturally Jazz assumes I told her the truth. I shake
my head slowly, still holding the ice pack to my face. "No. I didn't get around
to telling her about that."
I can feel Jazz's eyes on me now, and I didn't have to look at him to see the
confusion on his face. "Then what the hell did you tell her?"
Lowering my hand from my face, I study the blood stained towel as I explain. "I
told her some fucked up story that our whole relationship was just a charade to
piss of Carlisle."
Jazz doesn't respond for a second, likely trying to process what I said. "Why
the fuck would you do that!" he scolds, his tone incredulous.
"You have to understand, Bella is selfless to a fault." I smile as I think of
her, but it quickly fades. "If I had told her the truth, she still would have
put us first, regardless of what being with me would do to her future. So I had
to convince her she didn't want to be with me. It was the best way I could
think of."
"Yeah, but did you have to go and invent a story like that?" he asks, still
skeptical.
"I didn't. The story I told her wasn't that far from the truth."
I look at Jazz then, his eyes wide from my confession. With a sigh, I recount
the first two weeks of Bella's time in Seattle for him, explaining how I tried
to win Carlisle's approval by being close to Bella. I smile as I remember the
easy conversation we shared the night we had dinner with my parents. It feels
like that night was a hundred years ago.
"All I did was twist the story around a bit."
"Dude, you did more than just twist the story. You made her believe your whole
relationship was bullshit. That's fucking harsh."
Jazz notices as I cringe. "I'm sorry, man, but did you really have to go that
far?"
"That wasn't the worst part," I confess, shame lacing my tone. "She didn't
believe me. She knew I was lying - "
"Good," Jazz mumbles under his breath. I scowl at him. "Sorry."
"She said she knew I was lying," I continue, my words coming out faster now,
"and I was already a wreck by that point, so when she confronted me…"
I grit my teeth as I recall the anger I felt when she contested me. Jumping to
my feet, I toss the ice pack on top of my duffle bag as I begin to pace. "God,
it made me so fucking mad that she wouldn't just accept that it was over and
walk away. She just had to push me and push me until I snapped."
"What happened?"
"I was so mad I wasn't thinking straight. I blurted out the first thing that
popped into my head. I told her I spent the week she was gone fucking someone
else."
"Jesus!" he hisses.
"What the fuck is wrong with me!" I yell. "It's like I have multiple
personalities or some bullshit. I'm a walking Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."
Habitually, I reach up to run my hands through my hair but receive a jolt of
pain when my palm connects with the gash above my eye. "Fuck!"
I pace, infuriated, across the walkway for a moment before Jazz stands up,
moving to block my path. He holds out an unlit cigarette to me.
"Nah, man, I quit," I grumble as I try to move around him.
"This is your last one. I won't offer again, I swear. You just need to calm
down."
I stare at him for a moment, and he prods the cigarette toward me again. With a
resigned sigh, I take it and allow him to light the tip. After two deep drags,
I do feel more composed.
"Better?" Jazz asks.
I nod and raise the cigarette to my lips for another pull, but Jazz snatches it
from my hand and snuffs it out under his shoe.
"Thanks," I mumble.
Jazz returns to his seat on the porch step and I follow.
"Look, man, I'm not gonna sugar coat it for ya; you royally fucked it up with
Bella. But I get it. You were backed into a corner and you panicked. That
doesn't mean there's something wrong with you." He leans forward and picks up
the ice pack, handing it back to me.
"What did Alice say?" I ask. "I mean, when you told her about how we used to
be."
Jazz sighs. "At first, she was pretty disappointed. I dunno, maybe disgusted is
a better word. It was a rough couple of days."
"Days?" I blurt out, shocked.
"Yeah. She said she needed time to think about what I told her. I didn't see
her for two days. It sucked. Then she just showed up here one night, asked me a
few more questions, and made me swear that part of my life was over. I did, of
course, and that was it." He shrugs.
"Huh," I respond, surprised at how easy he makes it all sound.
"But my situation with Alice is different than yours," he continues. "Yeah, she
could have kicked my ass to the curb, and it would have sucked." Jazz shakes
his head, and I could easily relate to the pain he was probably imaging.
"Really sucked," he amends, glancing at me quickly. "But, I mean, if my being
with Alice was going to hurt her then I guess… I would have done the same
thing."
I nod and stare at the ground, grateful to have some small reassurance that I
did the right thing.
"Of course, I wouldn't have overreacted and turned it into the cluster-fuck you
did," he says teasingly.
"Asshole," I grumble.
"Sorry," he says softly.
After a moment, when I don't respond, Jazz nudges my shoulder, and I twist my
head to look at him. "I'm really sorry, man. Sorry we did all that stupid
shit."
"Yeah, me too."
"I know how much you love her. I'm sorry it had to come to this."
I have to look away as the lump returns to my throat. Jazz squeezes my shoulder
a few times, then pushes off me to stand up. He picks up my duffle bag and
throws the strap over his shoulder.
"Come on. Alice is bringing over dinner later, and you need to get cleaned up.
Your face looks like a bad slasher movie." He holds out his hand and pulls me
to my feet.
~o0o~
The few days I planned to spend with Jazz easily turns into a week. Then one
week becomes two. I don't go home at all, and I barely communicate with my
parents. Well, I communicate with Esme. The one message Carlisle sent still
remains unanswered.
Please call. ~C
Even though we are only corresponding through texts, Esme's messages seem to be
restrained, like she's cautious about what she really wants to say to me. No
doubt she knows what happened, but I wonder whose account she heard, Carlisle's
or Bella's. I decide it really doesn't matter; it's bad enough either way.
For the most part, Esme's messages repeatedly remind me not to overstay my
welcome, but Jazz's mom assures me she doesn't mind. She's barely home anyway.
Nevertheless, I make a point to help out around the house where I can. The
guest bedroom – my room – is spotless. I help with the dishes and the yard
work, do my own laundry, and even repair a broken cabinet door in the kitchen.
Jazz grumbles that I'm making him look bad, but I don't care. I just want to
make sure I'm not a burden on another family. When Mrs. Whitlock mentions how
she's been meaning to repaint the living room for months, I eagerly jump at the
opportunity and drag a disgruntled Jazz to the hardware store.
Honestly, I'm grateful for the distraction. I'm grateful for anything that
might take my mind off Bella. I think about her constantly, wondering what
she's doing, imagining her watching TV with Emmett, or dancing in her studio at
home. The nights are the hardest, of course, lying alone in a strange bed with
nothing to do but remember how we used to spend our evenings together -
talking, laughing, making love, falling asleep curled around each other – just…
happy.
Of course, the unbearable memories also seep in. I can't get that last image of
her out of my head: her forceful sobs, the way she wrapped her arms around her
body so tightly, as if she was holding herself together, the overwhelming pain
in her eyes. I relive that night a thousand times, and each time the knife in
my chest twists a bit more.
"Youtoldmeyoulovedme."
By the end of the third week of my self-imposed banishment, I'm so desperate
for her that I drive past her school with the hope I might catch a glimpse of
her. It's a bad idea, and I pay for it dearly. The rest of the day I'm
assaulted by the memory of her birthday, how I surprised her at school, and our
afternoon visit to the sculpture park. On the way to seventh period English
Lit, just as my cruel mind begins reliving the moment Bella crawled into my
lap, eagerly thanking me for her birthday present, Emmett grips my arm and
pulls me against the wall of lockers.
"You need to come home," he says harshly.
I roll my eyes. "Tell Mom I will in a few days. I'm helping Jazz paint his - "
"No. You have to come today," his voice is almost frantic. "Like, now. I'm
ditching last period. Come on."
He reaches for my arm again, but I yank it out of his grasp. "No. I can't go
home. I'm…" My words trail off as I take in his alarmed expression. "Emmett,
what's going on? What happened?"
"I can't explain it all right now. I don't even have all the details yet. But
we gotta go now, before the second bell."
"I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me what's going -"
"Bella passed out. Jake's got her now, and he's taking her home."
The breath is instantly knocked from my lungs as if he had punched me in the
chest. Surely, I misunderstood him. I shake my head and tried to compose myself
enough to speak. "I'm – I'm sure Carlisle can - "
"No, he tried. He said he's been trying to work with her for weeks, but she
won't listen to him."
"Weeks?"
"Look, we gotta go. Come on."
This time, when Emmett reaches for my arm, I allow him to pull me to the door.
He doesn't release me until we're standing next to my car. Emmett whirls around
to face me, and something in my expression causes him to flinch. "Look, I
didn't mean to freak you out. I'm sure she's OK. Can you drive?"
All I can do is nod.
"Come on. I'll meet you at the house."
Emmett turns and jogs over to his car, and I watch him slip inside. The fifteen
minute drive from the school to the house is the longest of my life. I can feel
my heart pounding in my ears, and my knuckles turn white against the steering
wheel. When I finally pull into the driveway, I honestly can't remember how I
got here.
Emmett beats me home and is already walking up the porch steps as I pull up. I
rush after him, catching the front door before it has a chance to close as I
charge my way inside. Jacob is slowly descending the stairs toward where Emmett
is waiting at the bottom. His head snaps up as I enter, and a livid expression
covers his face when he sees me. He darts quickly down the remaining stairs,
blocking my path to the second floor.
"Is she all right?" Emmett asks.
"What's he doing here?" Jacob seethes, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I thought he could - "
"Issheallright!" I hiss, cutting my brother off.
Jacob scowls at me then turns to address Emmett. "She's asleep," he says calmly
before looking at me again. "So keep your voice down," he growls.
"What happened?" Emmett asks.
"Did you get a hold of your dad?" Jacob asks, once again avoiding the important
question. I'm about to lose my shit if he doesn't start talking.
"He's in surgery. I left a message with his nurse. She said Victoria already
called and she delivered that message to him in the O.R., so he must be aware
of what's going on."
"What about your mom?"
"She's in New York."
My eyes snap to Emmett, but he keeps his focus on Jacob. "She left this
morning," he explains. "She's got meetings with her publishers all week. I left
her a message. I'm sure she'll call when she lands."
Emmett glances at me; I'm sure the surprise is evident in my expression. "A lot
has happened since you left. They've been fighting," he admits softly.
"Fighting?" I repeat. "Who? Carlisle and Esme?" I'd never heard Carlisle and
Esme argue in my life.
"Yeah, I mean, not like yelling at each other or anything. But they've been
having a lot of… heated discussions, I guess. I'm pretty sure it's about you."
I shake my head to refocus. My parents' issues with me are not important right
now. "What happened with Bella?" I growl, turning my attention to Jacob again.
He glares at me for a second and then looks at Emmett, childishly refusing to
speak to me. "She collapsed in studio class. When she came to, I helped her to
Victoria's office, but they made me wait outside. I did overhear some of their
conversation. From the way they talked, it sounded like it wasn't the first
time Victoria has confronted Bella about this either."
Clearly, Jacob is attempting to keep me in the dark, and I've had enough. "Fuck
this," I grumble and turn toward the stairs determined to get the information
he's withholding directly from the source.
This time Emmett steps forward to block my path. "Wait," he pleads.
I pause to stare at him. He glances cautiously to Jacob, then back at me. "I'll
tell you what we know, or what we think we know, but it isn't a whole lot."
Emmett turns and walks slowly to the couch, slumping down into the deep
cushions with a huff. Jacob doesn't move from his protective position near the
stairs, watching me suspiciously, like he's ready to pounce should I make
another move toward Bella's room.
"We should probably let her sleep anyway," Emmett says.
Slowly, I resign and sit in the armchair next to the couch.
"Bella was obviously upset after you broke up," he begins.
My eyes snap to Emmett's and I stare at him for a moment. "You knew?"
He rolls his eyes. "Of course I knew. But I could tell you two were trying to
hide it from mom and dad, so I played along. Don't know what you did to fuck it
up, but when I saw how upset she was… let's just say if Jake hadn't decked you,
I would have."
I steal a cautious glance at Jacob.
"And for the record," Emmett continues, anger beginning to seep into his voice,
"you obviously don't deserve her. I don't care what you did, but if you ever -
"
"Emmett, please," I interrupt, holding up my hands to stop him. "You are free
and clear to kick my worthless ass later, but please, tell me what happened."
Emmett takes a deep breath, composing himself before speaking. "Bella's been
keeping to herself since you left. At first, we all left her alone, to give her
space or whatever. That's when mom and dad were really getting into it. I think
mom was pissed that you left, and she wanted you to come home, but I think dad
told her to leave you alone."
I shake my head. "I don't care about that. I want to know about Bella."
"That's what I'm saying, mom and dad were so focused on whatever they were
arguing about they didn't really notice it. I didn't either," he admits
sheepishly. "Jake did though."
We both look to Jacob then. Reluctantly, he continues the story. "She was
tired, lethargic, and I thought she was just depressed. Then on Monday, when we
were paired up in studio class, I went to lift her up."
Jacob holds his hands up, demonstrating the movement as he describes it. "I put
my hands around her waist, and ran them up her torso to lift her from under her
arms, and I swear I could feel ever one of her ribs, even through that stupid
sweatshirt." He drops his hands into his lap.
"And she was so light; lighter than I remembered from the last time we did that
lift. I thought I had imagined it a first," he rambles, staring at his fingers,
"but I started watching her closer after that. It only took me a few days to
figure out what was going on." Jacob sighs, the sound regretful. "It was so
obvious once I opened my eyes. I mean, any idiot can look at her and tell. It
should never have gotten this far."
I look from Jacob to Emmett and back again, waiting for one of them to fill in
the gaps my mind was unable to process.
Jacob takes in my confused expression. "I suspected she wasn't eating enough,"
he clarifies. "Like seriously not enough. I told Emmett, and we went to talk to
your dad yesterday."
"We told dad what we thought was going on," Emmett adds, "but he already knew.
He won't tell us anything though 'cus of that whole doctor-patient secrecy
thing, but he kinda let it slip that he's been working with her for weeks, like
even before you left."
"Yeah, but obviously whatever he's doing isn't working," Jacob blurts out.
Emmett nods his head in my direction. "That's why I brought him."
"Him!" Jacob hisses. "Are you crazy?"
"What if she'll talk to him? What if she'll listen to him?" Emmett challenges.
"No! I'm not letting him anywhere near her!" Jacob argues.
"He doesn't need your permission, Jake."
"She is not going to talk to him! She doesn't want anything to do with him!
This is his fault!"
I cringe, then interrupt before Jacob can stab me with his words again.
"Emmett, Jacob is right. Things did not - end well."
"That's putting it mildly," Jacob mumbles under his breath. I let it slide.
"I'm probably the last person she wants to see."
Just then, Emmett's cell phone buzzes in his pocket. He retrieves it quickly,
glancing at the caller ID. "It's Dad," he announces, accepting the call. "Hey,
Dad… yeah, Jake brought her home…"
As Emmett begins to fill Carlisle in on the few details he knows, I stand and
slowly walk toward the stairs. Jacob jumps from his seat and plants one hand
firmly against my chest.
"Hey! Where are you going?" he seethes.
I hold my hands up in surrender. "I'm just going to my room to get more
clothes, then I'm going back to Jazz's house. I think you're right; it's not a
good idea for me to be here. I don't want to hurt her anymore than I already
have."
Jacob studies my expression for a moment, and I can see his anxiety slowly
dissipate. He lowers his hand and moves aside, allowing me to step around him.
"Jacob," I say softly, keeping my back to him, "thank you for taking care of
her when I – I couldn't." Without giving him a chance to respond, I bound up
the stairs and to my room.
I vaguely remember the disarray I left my room in all those weeks ago: the
piles of dirty clothes and books scattering the floor, the garbage can
overflowing with crumpled sheets of music, the desk chair lying on its side.
Slowly, I twist the knob until I feel the latch click in my hand. Expecting
resistance from the mountain of destruction on the other side, I gradually push
the door open. To my surprise, it moves easily, and I step inside and quietly
close the door behind me.
I don't need to turn on the light. The sun, just beginning to set, casts a
warm, orange glow as I survey my now spotless room, completely astounded by the
sight. The piles of clothes are gone, the books have been returned to their
rightful place on the shelf, and even my desk is neatly organized. On top, a
pile of wrinkled papers catches my attention, and I reach out and lift the top
sheet. It's the composition I threw away; every page flattened as much as
possible and stacked neatly.
Returning the page to the top of the pile, I continue to inspect the room,
barely noticing how the unmade bed stands out in the otherwise orderly space.
With a start, I realize the bed isn't just unmade - it's occupied.
I stay perfectly still, keeping my back pinned against the door, staring at the
small figure hidden under the blankets. I know I should leave. I should get out
of here before she wakes up and sees me, but I can't make my feet move from
this spot.
Ijustneedtoseeheronce,seethatshe'sallright.AndthenIcanlethergo, I lie to
myself. Surely this is my best chance, the only chance, I will have.
Slowly, quietly, I walk to the foot of the bed, listening for any indication
that she's aware of my presence. Bella is lying on her side, her body turned
toward the far windows. The blankets are pulled up to the center of her chest,
her arm folded gently on top of the covers. Even with more than half of her
body covered by the sheets, the change in her appearance is still alarming.
As if in a trance, I move closer and carefully kneel next to the bed. My eyes
trail up her frail arm, nothing but skin and bone, to her face, once bright
with happiness, now pale and drawn. The dark circles under her eyes are
troubling, and I wonder if her nightmares have returned.
I brush her hair back to expose her neck and shoulder; the small strap of the
tank top she's wearing only emphasizes her emaciated frame. The silver chain
around her neck sparkles, catching my eye, and the starfish pendant dangles
from her protruding collar bones.
My eyes fill with tears as I examine her. She looks disturbingly frail, weak -
sick. Instinctively, I lean forward and lightly brush my lips against her
forehead.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper.
Bella shifts in her sleep. "Mmm," she purrs, "my Edward." Her voice is warm and
contented, and a small smile plays on her lips.
For the first time, the tears spill over and run down my cheeks. I take a deep,
ragged breath and wipe them away quickly with the back of my hand.
Bella stirs again, unconsciously clutching at the blankets around her. She
sighs and stretches slightly as her eyes leisurely flutter open - meeting mine.
She blinks a few times, seemingly to process if I'm really here or if she's
dreaming.
"Edward?" she mumbles, her voice horse with sleep. "Edward, what are you - what
are you doing here?"
She moves quickly to sit up, pulling at the sheets to cover herself as she
scoots as far away from me as possible. The change in position grants me
another view of her sunken, malnourished body, and I fight to keep the alarm
from my expression.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
She stares are me for a moment, and the fear in her eyes feels like a knife
twisting in my chest. "I - I wanted to make sure you were all right," I explain
quickly. "Jacob told me what happened at school today."
She narrows her eyes at me. "You - you talked to Jake?"
"Well, no. I mean, yes I did talk to Jacob." I take a deep breath to clear my
thoughts. Slowly, I pull myself up from my knees to sit on the edge of the bed.
As I move closer, Bella pulls her knees up to her chest, and I recognize her
posture as the same protective stance from the night I found her on the
balcony.
She's afraid of me.
I scoot back a little and try to keep my voice calm. "Emmett found me at
school. He's worried about you. Jacob would kick my ass if he knew I was
talking to you."
Bella's eyes focus on the red scar above my left eye. "He told me he punched
you." She raises her hand slightly, as if she's going to reach out and touch
the mark, but quickly retracts it.
Self-conscious, I rub the area with my fingers. "He was just trying to protect
you. He's a good friend."
Bella looks away, and we are both silent for a long moment. Suddenly, her head
snaps up, her eyes wide with alarm. "Oh, God! I shouldn't be in here. This is
your room. I'm – I –"
She scrambles to untangle herself from under the blankets as fast as she can.
Without thinking, I reach out and grab her arm, my thumb and fingers overlap as
they encircle her minuscule wrist. Even with my sudden move, I'm careful not to
hold too tightly. Everything about her screams breakable.
"No, Bella. It's fine. Stay. Please," I beg, desperate to keep her from running
away.
Bella yanks her arm out of my grasp as if my touch has burned her. The mixture
of shock and anger on her face tells me that I clearly crossed a line. I sit
back quickly, keeping my hands slightly raised where she can see them. "Sorry,"
I submit. The ache in my chest amplifies at the realization that she won't even
let me touch her.
Bella stares at me for a moment, the confusion over my reaction to her leaving
evident in her eyes. She shakes her head briskly. "No. I can't – I can't do
this." She pushes the remaining covers away and crawls out of the far side of
the bed. As she stands up, I get a full view of the damage she's done to
herself.
The thin tank top and underwear cling to her withered body, concealing nothing.
Her bare legs, once accentuated with long, lean muscles, are now scrawny, bony
sticks. The waistline of her underwear barely covers her protruding hip bones.
She walks quickly to the end of the bed and bends over to scoop up the
sweatpants and sweatshirt I didn't notice before. The movement causes her shirt
to rises up, revealing her clearly visible ribs. I have to look away; the
gaunt, skeletal image too much to bear.
I turn back just as Bella tugs the sweatshirt over her head. With the oversized
clothing covering her body, I can see how she was able to conceal the changes
in her appearance from the people close to her. As she walks quickly toward the
balcony doors, I jump up and block her path.
"How much have you lost, Bella?" I ask sternly.
"Get out of my way."
She tries to move around me, but I dart into her path. "How much?"
"Edward, move." She shifts again, trying to get past me, but I quickly step in
front of her.
"How much?"
She groans and turns toward the bedroom door. Childishly, I reach out and
snatch the sweatpants from her hand. She whirls around again to face me. "Do
you really think that's going to stop me?"
"You don't want to go that way, with or without pants. Jacob and Emmett are
ready to ambush you the second you walk out that door, maybe even Carlisle too,
especially after what happened today. And especially if you walk out that
door." I widen my eyes and nod toward my bedroom door.
Bella folds her arms stubbornly over her chest. "If I were you, I'd be more
worried about myself if they saw me walk out that door."
She's absolutely right. Jacob would love any excuse to tear me apart, but I
ignore her threat. "How much?" I repeat.
"It's none of your business."
"How much?" I say a little more firmly.
"I'm sure Jessica wouldn't appreciate this – a half-naked girl in your room, in
your bed."
Jessica?WhothehellisJessica?A split-second later, realization hits; she still
believes the lie.
I shake it off, refusing to be deterred. "How much?"
"Why the hell would I tell you!? I can't trust you. You've done nothing but lie
to me."
"You've lied to me too."
"I did not."
"Oh, yeah?" The accusations begin flying out of my mouth, each one louder than
the next. "This didn't just happen overnight. How long has this been going on,
Bella? How long have you been hiding this from me?"
Bella squeezes her eyes shut; her hands fly up to cover her ears as I continue
my unrelenting barrage of questions. "Your doctors in Phoenix, the ones who
told you to cut your exercise and eat more, you told me they said you were OK.
That was complete crap wasn't it? Clearly, you are not OK! Is that why you
didn't want to go back to Phoenix? You thought it would be easier to hide this
here?"
Her eyes snap open, and she drops her hands, my assertion evidently hitting a
nerve. "That's it, isn't it? You're trying to hide this from your parents. They
would never let you continue dancing if they saw what you're doing to
yourself."
I study the change in Bella's expression for confirmation I'm on the right
track. "Or is it because the school in Phoenix would have never allowed you to
dance like this? But here…" I huff as the pieces come together in my mind, "my
God, that Victoria is a stupid, ignorant, oblivious, bit-"
"I got suspended!" she explodes. "All right? Are you happy! No, Victoria is not
letting me dance! I got suspended!"
I freeze, halting my assault. Bella lowers her eyes to the floor, seemingly
ashamed by her outburst. Her hands begin fiddling with the hem of her
sweatshirt.
"I got suspended," she repeats, softer this time. "I can attend my academic
classes, but I'm suspended from studio class and all rehearsals. And my parents
are aware of what's going on; they have been for awhile, maybe longer than I
have." My eyebrows knit together, confused by her statement.
"And you know my reasons for not wanting to go back to Phoenix," she confesses
softly, glancing up at me. Quickly, she lowers her eyes again.
"How long have you been doing this to yourself?" I ask, my voice once again
calm.
She huffs. "I'm not doing it on purpose," she defends, almost sarcastically. "I
didn't do this because I think I'm fat."
"Then why?"
"I don't know why!"
My questions are obviously irritating her, and the last thing I want is for her
to shut down completely. I decide to go about this in another way.
"What did you mean before, when you said your parents knew about this longer
than you did?"
"My mom has been nagging me about my eating habits for years. She told my
doctors once that my," Bella raises her hands to draw quotes in the air,
"healthyrelationshipwithfood ended when she left my dad. I've always thought
she was just being overly protective, you know, like trying to over-parent
because she wasn't around, but now…"
Bella doesn't need to finish that thought. The evidence is clear. Bella stares
at the windows behind me as she continues to ramble. "We argued about it
Thanksgiving day in fact. Phil tried to defend me, but my mom had it right all
along. She had been watching me all week, said I ate like a bird," Bella
chuckles, humorlessly. "It's kinda poetic when you think about it, that being
my last meal and all."
Her eyes snap to mine suddenly, as if she just remembered I'm in the room.
Obviously, she didn't mean for me to hear that. Her eyes plead with me to
ignore it, but there's no way I can.
"So the last time you ate a real meal was the week of Thanksgiving?" I attempt
to clarify.
She looks away, as if she isn't going to answer. After a few seconds, she
shakes her head no.
I consider that for a minute and then amend my question, praying that she will
deny it once again. "The last time you ate anything was the week of
Thanksgiving?"
Again, she is still for a moment before she responds, this time with an
affirming nod.
I close my eyes, reeling from her confirmation. Thanksgiving was over three
weeks ago.Howisthatevenpossible?
Walking back to the bed, I sit on the edge of the mattress. Bella doesn't move
from her spot, and I hope she won't try to escape out the balcony door now that
her path is clear.
"You've eaten nothing? Nothing at all?"
"Water," she admits. "But even that's starting to be difficult. I don't feel
thirsty anymore," she adds softly, glancing at the full bottle of water on the
nightstand.
Propping my elbow on my knees, I lean forward and hold my head in my hands as I
stare at the floor. "How much have you lost?"
Once again, Bella hesitates before she answers. "Twenty-two," she says
reluctantly.
I do the math quickly in my head. Twenty-two
pounds,threeweeks,sevenpoundsaweek.Searching my memory, I try to recall the
statistics for a healthy rate of weight loss from sophomore health class, but
the number eludes me. I'm sure it isn't anywhere close to an average of seven
pounds in a week.
"What do you weigh now?"
"Eighty-nine pounds."
I can't contain the stressful huff that leaves my lungs.
My God, what have I done? She was supposed to be better off without me, but
this isn ' t better. This is horribly, horribly worse.
The sound of Bella's footsteps seep into my thoughts, but the weight of my
guilt prevents me from trying to stop her from leaving this time. To my
surprise, I feel the mattress dip slightly as Bella sits down at the far end of
the bed.
"Edward, are you all right?" she asks softly.
"Are you serious!" I snap, sitting up to glower at her. "You're sitting there,
practically starving yourself to death – no! Not practically, you are starving
yourself to death, and you want to know if I'm all right!"
I shake my head as I look away. It takes me a moment to reign in my irrational
anger. "No, no I'm not all right," I admit.
A solid minute passes without another word being said. I can feel Bella's eyes
on me; no doubt she's studying my tense posture.
"Emmett said Carlisle's been trying to help you for awhile, but you won't let
him," my tone is more accusing than I intend.
Bella doesn't answer right away, and when she speaks, she sounds ashamed. "Yes.
He's been trying, and I've been, well, stubborn. But I really didn't think I
had a problem. I thought they were all being ridiculous. I'm afraid I haven't
been that nice to him actually."
Good, I think reflexively.
"Do you remember - " Bella stops, and I twist my head to look at her. She toys
with her fingers in her lap, and I imagine she's trying to decide if she really
wants to relive whatever memory is on her mind.
"Do you remember," she starts again, still watching her hands, "the night I
asked you to come to Florida with me?"
She glances at me and then looks away when I nod.
"I called my mom that night; I was upset and needed someone to talk to. I told
her about us, and she was worried about us being… safe." Bella shifts,
uncomfortably in her seat. "I really didn't want to have that talk, so I told
her that hadn't had my… anyway, that was enough of a red flag for her to call
and discuss it with my dad. I didn't know it at the time, but during the music
video disaster, he used the suspicion that I wasn't taking care of myself as
part of his reasoning when he asked Victoria to send me home. When your dad
called me to his office, the discussion was less about my misbehavior and more
about my health."
"You never told me what made your dad change his mind," I say.
"It was Carlisle. He convinced my dad that now that he was aware of the
situation, he would monitor me more closely."
"Well, he's obviously doing a cracker-jack job," I say sarcastically.
"It's not his fault. I've been avoiding him and Esme – especiallyEsme – since
you… since I came back from Florida. I have talked to him once or twice, but
the only thing I've told him is that I'm having trouble sleeping."
I consider asking if that's why she's been sleeping in our bed but think better
of it. "More nightmares?" I ask instead.
"Yes."
"You told Carlisle that?"
She shakes her head. "No. Not exactly. He did give me some prescription to help
me sleep though."
"Let me guess, Remeron?"
"Yeah, how did you - "
"He prescribed it for me awhile back. Works pretty good."
"I never took them."
I groan as I stand up and walk to my nightstand. It takes me a second to
rummage through the messy drawer before I locate my bottle of pills. Opening
the child proof cap, I shake the container until a single, white tablet falls
into my palm. I start to hand it to Bella, but after glancing at her fragile
face, I retract my hand and snap the pill in half.
"Here." Bella makes no move to accept the medication, ignoring my outstretched
hand to study my face instead. I nudge my hand toward her again. "Here, take
it. Hours of oblivion, guaranteed."
She lifts her hand slightly, and I drop the pill into her palm before handing
her the water bottle. She hesitates again, and I frown at her.
"Take it," I repeat. Bella finally swallows the pill with a small sip of water.
I take the water bottle from her and return it to the night stand.
I turn back to look at her again, my beautiful Bella. I miss her so much. My
arms ache to hold her, to comfort her, to make it all go away. I want so badly
for it all to go back to the way it was.
She blinks, and a single tear trickles down her cheek.
"Bella - "
"Just go away... please," her voice is barely a whisper.
Reluctantly, I nod as I look down at the floor. Slowly, I walk to the door,
pausing before I open it to look back at her again. Bella has covered her face
with her hands and is crying into them, silent sobs rocking her fragile body.
It takes all the strength I can muster to leave the room, closing the door
softly behind me. Leaning against the wall, I slide down and sit against it
with my knees curled into my chest. I wrap my arms around them and bury my face
in the space they created. I remain there, outside the door, listening until
she cries herself to sleep.
***** Chapter 16 *****
EPOV
The sensation of shaking creeps through my unconsciousness. It ceases, but
something remains pressed against my shoulder. I try to slip away again, but
the shaking returns, harder this time. It stops then starts again, and I groan.
"Edward. Edward, wake up, Son."
"Huh?" I lift my arm from over my eyes, blinking several times in the dim
light. Disoriented and confused, I twist my head around and attempt to assess
my surroundings: coffee table, leather chair, flat screen. Istillhavemyshoeson.
"Edward."
I jump, startled by the close proximity of the voice, and turn my head toward
the sound. Carlisle is leaning over the back of the couch, his hand gripping my
shoulder.
"What are you doing on the couch, Edward?"
"She was crying," I mumble, my words barely coherent.
Carlisle's brow furrows in confusion. "What?"
I rub my eyes roughly, trying to coerce my mind to wake up. "What time is it?"
"It's five-thirty in the morning. I'm going to the hospital."
The word 'hospital' sends a shock through me. I sit up abruptly and turn around
to face Carlisle, my sudden movement forcing him to straighten up and step
back.
"Is she OK? What happened?" The panic is clearly evident in my voice.
"Edward, calm down. What on earth are you talking about? And why are you
sleeping on the couch? I thought you were staying with Jasper."
Glancing around again, I try to better orient myself. The windows along the far
wall are still dark, as well as the majority of the first floor. I turn back to
Carlisle, factoring in his appearance: blue dress shirt, slacks, white lab
coat.
He ' s not taking Bella to the hospital; he ' s going to work.
With a deep breath, I relax and sink back against the cushions, rubbing my
hands fiercely over my eyes again. "Sorry," I mutter.
"I guess I should have let you sleep, but I was surprised to find you here, and
I wanted to make sure you were OK."
I'm not sure how to respond to that. Ifshe'snotOK,neitheramI.
"She's sick," I say softly.
Carlisle doesn't acknowledge my statement right away, but his troubled sigh
tells me he knows exactly what I'm talking about. He walks around the couch
slowly and sinks down onto the far end.
"I know." His voice is grave.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"You know I couldn't do that," he chides. "In situations like these, it's
important to establish a level of trust between doctor and patient in order to
- "
"Don't feed me that crap," I huff. "She's going to starve to death while you're
still trying to establish some bullshit connection."
"Edward, I -"
"Look, I get the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing, I do, and I don't
mean to criticize your work or whatever, but it's been what… a month already,
and it doesn't seem like it's getting any better."
Carlisle studies me for a second, and the look he gives me is one I've never
seen before. Pity?Sympathy? Understanding? He twists in his seat, tucking one
leg under the other while throwing his arm across the back of the sofa as he
turns his body to face me.
"I understand your frustration," he says. "It's hard to watch someone you care
about go through something like this."
Unsure of how to respond, I lean forward and lace my fingers together, studying
the movement of my hands to avoid looking at Carlisle. After months of hiding
my relationship with Bella, and his adamant disapproval of it, it's strange to
hear him speak so casually about my feelings for her.
"I was under the impression you were staying with Jasper," he says.
The confusion on my face is only emphasized by my jumbled reply. "I am. I mean
I was… I guess."
"Well, how often do you talk to Bella?"
If he asked me that question a month ago, I would have seen it as an attack,
his sole purpose to pry into every inch of my life. I would have immediately
gone on the defensive. But today, his calm voice and the genuine concern in his
expression eases my suspicions.
"Last night was the first time I've seen her since I…" The words stick in my
throat. "Since the day Jacob punched me."
"Oh." Carlisle sounds surprised and considers my answer for a moment. "That
must have been quite a shock to see her so changed after all this time."
I just nod.
"And did you have an opportunity to talk to her?"
"Yes," I answer suspiciously.
"I don't mean to meddle in your conversation; I was just wondering if she
seemed upset about the… repercussions of yesterday's events."
"You mean her suspension," I say flatly, annoyed by his attempt to be cryptic.
"Yes. I'm sorry to be so obscure. I wasn't sure how much she shared with you."
Probably a hell of a lot more than she's told you.
That thought makes me pause. It was simply a reaction, an ingrained response
from years of fighting against him, but my theory is likely valid. Bella did
divulge more to me last night than anyone else. She said so herself. All she's
told Carlisle is that she's having trouble sleeping. For a long moment, I
calculate the damage of betraying Bella's confidence, again, against the harm
of not telling Carlisle what I know. It's really an idiotic argument,
considering her life depends on the knowledge I have and what I do with it.
"Edward?" Carlisle asks suspiciously.
I ignore him, still wavering, but my silence apparently gives away more than I
realize.
"Edward," he pleads. "Bella is sick, and she needs help. Any information you
have could be vital. Bella has not been willing to discuss this with me, or
anyone else for that matter, but if she has confided in you then I…" Carlisle
pauses for a moment, likely choosing his words carefully. "Well, I hope you
would tell me so that I can help her."
I let out a deep breath and allow my words to escape before I can reconsider.
"I didn't know about any of this. Emmett only told me yesterday after she
collapsed at school. He told me you had been working with her but she wouldn't
talk to you, and he thought maybe I could help. He wanted me to talk to her,
but I didn't think it was a good idea. I was going to leave and go back to
Jazz's house, but when I went to my room to get more clothes, she was asleep in
my bed."
Carlisle looks baffled by that detail, but I ignore it. "I didn't mean to wake
her up but…" The memory of her cowering away from me sends a wave of fresh pain
through my chest, and I have to clear my throat to continue. "She told me she
got suspended, that she has lost twenty-two pounds, that she weighs eighty-nine
pounds now, and that she hasn't eaten anything since she came back from
visiting her mom."
As I'm rattling off the essential details of our conversation, Carlisle reaches
into his lab coat and produces a small notebook and a pen. Using the coffee
table as a desk, he begins frantically scribbling notes in his chaotic doctor
handwriting. The inscription looks more like a letter from a crazy person than
useful information.
"Nothing?" he asks, not even looking up.
"Nothing," I confirm. Carlisle shakes his head, the concern evident on his
face.
"I was starting to suspect that might be the case," he mutters.
"She also said that water is starting to be difficult," I add, my eyes flashing
back and forth from his notebook to his face, watching for any signs of alarm.
"But I don't know what that means."
Carlisle doesn't slow his writing as he explains. "It can mean a few things.
Victims of starvation are often too weak to sense thirst, but I don't believe
she is to that point yet. More than likely, her ability to consume anything is
beyond her control."
"What does that mean?"
"If Bella has been refusing to consume food for this length of time, her body
might not be able to tolerate it. It will take awhile before she is able to eat
normally again."
Carlisle stops writing, but keeps his eyes fixed on the table. I'm hesitant to
interrupt his thoughts, but too many questions are racing though my mind to
remain silent.
"So she's… anorexic?" I ask carefully.
"Well, I thought that's what we were dealing with at first, but now…" Carlisle
taps his notebook with his pen. Something written on the page distracts him,
and he adds several small annotations in the margin. He looks like a child,
enthusiastic about solving a new puzzle. After a moment, I start to wonder if
he's forgotten his disjointed statement, or that I'm even here. I'm about to
press him for more when he sits back and continues his explanation.
"You see, anorexia is usually more about having a distorted self-image, a…
refusal to maintain a healthy weight. From what you've told me, I believe what
Bella is doing is more along the lines of self-starvation.It's a condition that
is sometimes brought on by deep depression. Anorexics will actually eat about
600-800 calories a day. Bella's case is far more dangerous. She is taking in
nothing and burning off any reserves at a rate much higher than normal, as she
has continued dancing all this time. If this continues much longer, and at the
rate she's losing, she could do irreversible damage to herself."
"Can't you do something? We can't just sit back and let her continue to do this
to herself."
Carlisle's initial excitement over the new information visibly fades. He places
his pen down next to the notebook and twists his body to face me again. "I wish
there was some easy cure, a magic pill I could give her to make her well again
but, unfortunately, the only way she will ever get better is if she chooses to
do so. So far, she has not given any indication that she's even willing to
try."
I turn away from him, slumping forward to hold my head in my hands. I feel
Carlisle's hand rest gently on my shoulder and the cushion I'm sitting on
shifts as he moves closer to me.
"Edward, it's going to be all right. I'm going to do everything I can. You know
I would never let anything happen to her."
"This is my fault," I mumble to the floor.
"No, Son, it's not."
I straighten up abruptly, forcing Carlisle to drop his hand. "How can you
seriously say that? She's been doing this to herself since the day I left her!
How is this anything but my fault?"
"You are not to blame here, Edward," he says sternly. "Bella started down this
path long before you met. It was only a matter of time before it caught up with
her."
With a groan, I push myself up from the couch, pacing the length of the coffee
table as I tug at my hair. "I know you're trying to make me feel better, but
please stop. I'm not fucking stupid. Jumping from not eating enough to complete
starvation doesn't sound like simply 'catching up' to me."
Carlisle nods slowly. "All right, I'll admit her recent behavior is extreme and
not typical for someone with this type of history, but it's imperative you
understand that Bella has been… flirting, if you will, with this problem for
years. The elements were already in place, just waiting for some catalyst to
bring down the proverbial house of cards."
"Right, so we're back to me."
Carlisle huffs. My refusal to let go of my guilt is undoubtedly frustrating
him. "Edward, if anyone is at fault here, it's me."
My hands fly up in frustration as I roll my eyes. "Oh, please don't start this
shit again. Why do you keep doing this! You wanted to take the blame for my car
accident, and now you're doing it again with this." I wave my arm toward the
second floor.
"What I mean is, it's no one's fault alone. We've all had a hand in creating
this situation."
"Oh, yeah?" I ask sarcastically. "Did you break her heart too?"
A contemptuous glare is all I get in response. Shaking my head, I slump down
into the armchair next to Carlisle, pressing the heel of my hands into my eyes.
How many times - how many ways, am I destined to fuck up her life?
"Bella's part in this is obvious," Carlisle begins. "When her father informed
me of her condition, he said two specialists in Phoenix had seen her last year.
At that time, she was healthy enough that her doctors didn't feel the need for
aggressive treatment. She was given specific weight and nutrition goals, but
she didn't fulfill them, and no one ever followed up to see if she had."
"Yeah," I breathe with an exasperated sigh. Carlisle's attempt to console me
only manages to frustrate me further. "Bella told me about her doctors in
Phoenix, but she made it sound like it wasn't a big deal. I guess… well, last
night she said she didn't think she had a problem until this happened."
"That doesn't surprise me. Bella said as much the night I discussed her medical
history with her."
The reminder of that night triggers my memory, and I stare at Carlisle with
wide eyes. "She told me that's why she got to stay when her dad was pissed
about the music video. She said you convinced Charlie that if she stayed here
you could help her."
"Yes, that's correct."
"Well, what happens now that she's gotten worse?" I ask with alarm. "Is Charlie
going to force her to go home?"
The look of sympathy I saw on Carlisle's face before returns. "I've spoken to
Charlie several times over the last few weeks, and briefly yesterday after
Bella's incident. We discussed a few options now that the situation has
escalated. I have a number of colleagues that specialize in eating disorders.
They have all offered their services, naturally, as well as recommended several
doctors and treatment centers in Arizona. I believe -"
"But, what about her school?" I interrupt. "If she leaves, she'll lose
everything. She'll lose her scholarship." I pause, wondering if it's already
been stripped from her. "Does she still have her scholarship?" I ask
cautiously. "Or is that over because of the suspension?"
"The suspension is contingent on Bella making an effort to get well. Once
again, she has been given specific weight and nutritional goals that she must
meet. As soon as she shows some progress in the right direction, her
scholarship will be reinstated, and she can return to class."
The small relief I feel is quickly washed away when Carlisle leans forward, his
expression apprehensive.
"I was actually hopefully that this… punishment would motivate her, and I
expressed this idea to Charlie yesterday along with an invitation for Bella to
remain with us. However, in light of the information you've given me, I'm
afraid we don't have time to wait and see if it has encouraged her to alter her
behavior. I'm afraid I will have to insist on more aggressive treatment
options. When I do that, I'm certain Charlie will want her to return to
Phoenix, as the treatment center there is one of the best in the country."
In my mind, I see Bella locked up in some depressing hospital room with puke
green walls and garish florescent lights. The room in my mind resembles a
prison cell more than a hospital, but that's probably because the idea is a
death sentence, not a step in the right direction.
I shake my head fiercely. "No, you can't do that. She can't be locked up in
some rehab hospital. You know they won't let her dance in a place like that.
You can't take that from her. That would only make it worse."
"I'm sorry, but her health is far more important."
"Can't you give her some time? Just see if she'll choose to get better on her
own? She gets that she has a problem after what happened. Doesn't that mean
something?" I realize I'm begging like a child, but I don't care. "Maybe she'll
be willing to work harder now. Can't you just give her a little more time
before you condemn her? "
"Edward," Carlisle scolds my choice of words.
"Please," I beg.
Carlisle thinks for a moment and lets out an exasperated sigh. "Forty-eight
hours," he announces decisively. "That's all. If I don't see any progress in
that time, I will have to intervene."
Twodays. Only two days to break through what she's refused to acknowledge for
years, what I managed to exacerbate to a new extreme in the last month. Even as
I try to imagine that she can do it - that she can fight this - I can't push
away the crushing reality that she likely can't do it alone.
I glance at Carlisle as I realize Bella hasn't been fighting this battle alone.
He's been trying to help her; he's been there the whole time, and all she's
been willing to fight against is him. As I remember his words to me, the whole
situation becomes hauntingly familiar.
"I knew you were in trouble. I knew you were headed down a dangerous path. But
I couldn't figure out how to get through to you. You just continued to defy me
at every turn. The more I pushed, the more you pulled away."
I recall the last few years - my resistance, my defiance, my stubborn refusal
to accept Carlisle's help - but this time, I see it all from his perspective.
From this standpoint, feeling frustrated and desperate as I watch someone I
love resist what I know is best for them, I finally understand how he must have
felt.
"Thank you," I say softly. The words feel inadequate, but I don't know what
else to say. "All you've done is try to help. I don't understand how you could
ever think any of this is your fault."
Carlisle sighs and shifts his weight uneasily. "Given the information I had at
the time, I should have considered how asking you to end your relationship
might have affected her. I was so fixated on Bella's future, on the possibility
the plans for her life could be marred by your attachment to her that I…"
He pauses, and I stop rubbing my forehead as I look up. I didn't realize I had
been doing it until the movement stopped. Carlisle studies my expression, and I
guess what he sees causes him to change his tone.
"I'm sorry to bring this up again," he says solemnly. "All I'm trying to say is
that I couldn't focus on the here and now. I was overly concerned about
preserving her life's work, and if I'm being completely honest, I never gave
your feelings for each other any merit." Carlisle chuckles softly. "Your mother
was quite adamant about setting me straight on that account."
"Emmett said you two were arguing. Is that why?"
"Yes. Well, sort of." He chuckles again. "I didn't tell your mother that I saw
you with Bella that morning. I was angry with her about keeping this from me.
It wasn't until a week later, the day you left to stay with Jasper, that I
confessed I knew the secret everyone had tried to keep from me. When I told her
what I said to you, that I demanded you end your relationship with Bella, she
didn't speak to me for a week. I don't think that constitutes arguing."
I smirk. "No, I guess not."
"Nevertheless," Carlisle continues, his tone serious again, "although Esme
understands the struggles Bella could face, just as she did with the
negotiations for her book, she was angry with the way I handled the entire
situation. She feels there has to be another solution."
"Did Bella ever tell you what I said to her that night? The night that we –
that I…" I struggle to say the words, but thankfully Carlisle comes to my
rescue.
"No. On the few occasions your mother and I have had a chance to speak with
Bella, our discussions have focused on her current health situation."
I nod, grateful they never brought up the topic.
"Your mother was also upset because, while I was worried about protecting
Bella, I failed to consider how this would affect you. She was quick to point
out how much you've changed just by having Bella in your life, and how much you
loved her."
Mentally, I correct him. Love,notloved.
"We also argued because your mother wanted you to come home, but I wanted to
give you the space you asked for. I felt that was important for us," he
gestures to the gap between us. "Granted, had I known you would stay away this
long, I probably wouldn't have agreed so easily. However, at the time, my
intention was to demonstrate that when I said I was working toward trusting you
again, I meant it."
I nod and look away. "I know you don't really like Jazz, but I want you to know
that I – that we haven't done anything. Jazz has been clean just as long as I
have, and we plan on staying that way. I promise you don't have to worry about
that anymore. I want you to trust me again, and I know I have to earn that, but
I want you to know that I am trying."
"I can see that, and I believe you, but thank you for that reassurance."
An awkward silence falls between us, and I stare at my hands, unsure of what
else to say. Carlisle reaches out and touches my shoulder, ducking his head
into my line of sight. "We will be OK, Edward. Just look at us now. When was
the last time we sat and talked without screaming at each other?" he asks with
a laugh, obviously trying to lighten the mood.
I smirk, allowing his optimism to ease me. "Yeah, it's been awhile." We are
both silent again, but this time it feels more comfortable.
Carlisle glances at his watch. "I really need to get to work," he says as he
begins to stand up. He pauses and turns to look at me. "I'm sorry for waking
you up so early on a Saturday, but I am glad I did."
"Yeah," I say with a sarcastic sigh, "just don't make a habit of it."
Carlisle laughs and I give him a genuine smile in return.
"I know you're worried about Bella, and if you'd like to talk about it more, I
will be home early tonight. I would prefer if we didn't discuss this in front
of your brother, but if you'd like to continue this conversation after dinner,
I'm all yours."
"Thanks."
He straightens his tie and checks his watch again. "I think I will check on
Bella before I go," he says to himself as he stands up and beings to move
toward the stairs.
"Wait. What time is it?" I call after him.
"A little after six-thirty. I know it's early, but I -"
I shake my head. "She won't be awake yet. I gave her a sleeping pill. Those
things take at least seven hours to wear off. At least, when I took them they
did."
Carlisle stops abruptly, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern.
"What exactly did you give her?"
The look on his face makes me uneasy. "She told me you gave her a prescription
for Remeron," I defend, alarm creeping into my voice. "I had some left over
from when I took it. I only gave her half a tablet since she's smaller than
me."
"And you saw her take it?"
"Yeah, she took it." I start to push myself off the couch, ready to race
upstairs and shake her from the drug induced coma I'm picturing in my mind,
when Carlisle holds up his hands to stop me from getting up. A satisfied smile
creeps across his lips.
"No, no. It's fine. That's great news actually," he says.
I laugh, humorlessly, trying to slow my racing heart. "It's great news that I
shared my prescription medication?" I ask sarcastically. "I don't think the FDA
would agree."
"Yes. I mean, no, you shouldn't do that." He points a finger at me, trying to
manage a stern expression, but clearly his mind is somewhere else. "You were
smart to only give her half, but the full dosage would have been OK too."
"Well, I didn't want to knock her out for the entire weekend."
Carlisle shakes his head. "No, Edward, Remeron isn't a sleeping pill."
"It's not?"
"No. Drowsiness is simply a side effect. Remeron is an anti-depressant."
I stare at him, completely dazed for a moment. "Then why do I have a
prescription for it?" I ask defensively.
"It's common to prescribe anti-depressants for patients recovering from
traumatic injuries. I prescribed it for you after your car accident. I prefer
to use Remeron because it's mild and most patients tolerate it better than some
of the more popular brands on the market."
"So you gave it to Bella to treat her depression, not to help her sleep," I
clarify.
"Yes, and she knows that, but I also prescribed it because the other side
effects would be beneficial for her. Remeron is commonly given to patients with
eating disorders because it can cause an increase in appetite and subsequent
weight gain. I prescribed it to her several weeks ago but, to my knowledge, she
has refused to take it."
"Yeah, she told me that she hasn't."
"So, how did you get her to take it?"
I shrug. "I don't know. We were talking, and I just handed it to her told her
to take it."
"Huh." Carlisle looks away, obviously thinking very hard about something. I
wait patiently, watching his eyes shift from side to side as he deliberates. He
glances at me quickly then pulls his notebook from his jacket pocket and flips
through the pages quickly, pausing to review a few annotations. As he reads, he
walks slowly back to the couch and sits down again. After a moment, he closes
the notebook and returns it to his pocket, staring straight ahead. Just when
the silence is about to drive me insane, he turns to look at me. No doubt my
curiosity is clearly evident on my face.
"Edward, I'd like to try something. It's a little unorthodox, and I will
require your help."
"OK," I reply skeptically.
Carlisle twists in his seat to face me, and the glimmer of hope in his eyes is
hard to miss. "There are two other medications I've been trying to get her to
take. One helps reestablish and increase the sensation of hunger; the other
will help her keep down anything she does consume."
"One makes her hungry; the other keeps her from throwing up," I repeat in plain
English.
"Right. I've encouraged her to take them on numerous occasions without success.
I'd like to see if she will take them if - if you ask her."
My eyes grow wide as I stare at him.
"Edward, I think your brother's suggestion to involve you may be the right
idea. Remember what I said about establishing a level of trust between a doctor
and a patient in these situations? You already have that with Bella. She
obviously trusts you, as she's confided in you and no one else."
I'm shaking my head before he can even finish his statement. "No, she doesn't
trust me. She only confided in me because I practically bullied her into
telling me. Then she begged me to leave her alone before she cried herself to
sleep." Carlisle gives me a quizzical look.
"I sat outside the door most of the night," I confess.
"Ah," he responds, considering my argument for a moment. "Regardless, she
entrusted you with more information in those few hours than anyone else. I
think it's worth a shot. It won't be an easy conversation, I'm sure. She will
likely resist taking the medication, but as you know, we are running out of
time. Given the fact that she took the medicine from you last night, there is a
real possibility you could be successful again."
When I let out a defeated breath, Carlisle jumps at the possibility of winning
me over. His pleas are unnecessary. I'd do anything – give anything – to help
her.
"I'm just asking that you talk to her again," he continues. "I don't know what
you said to her, but evidently something you did made an impact and maybe -"
I hold my hands up to stop his appeals. "You don't have to convince me. I think
I've already proven I'd do anything for her."
Carlisle's eagerness diminishes and, for a brief second, a look of shame masks
his features. "Yes. Yes you have," he acknowledges solemnly. I brush it off,
feeling awkward from the way he's looking at me.
"Do you have the prescriptions here?"
Carlisle nods toward the hallway. "They're in my office, on my desk, but I'm
not suggesting you administer the medication."
"She's just gotta swallow a couple of pills, right?"
"Yes, but I will need to be present when she starts this process."
"Why?"
"When she takes them, I want her to try to eat something shortly thereafter.
Until this medication has a chance to build up in her system, her ability to
consume anything is likely beyond her control, but I still want her to try.
Like I said, we're running out of time."
"So you want her to eat even though it's probably going to make her sick?"
"That's correct."
I shrug. "I can handle that." Honestly, that part sounds easier than the
conversation I'm imagining in my head.
"Yes, but this will be an ongoing process. I will continue to push her to eat
at regular intervals throughout the day, regardless if she's been able to
retain her previous meal or not. As you can imagine, the progression will be
quite trying for her."
"No offense, but it doesn't sound like you've had much luck pushing her to do
anything. If you think I can get her to take the medication, then don't you
think I could get her to eat too?"
Carlisle considers that for a minute. "That's a valid point."
"So let me try. Just tell me what to do. If she won't do it for me then you can
take over tomorrow, just let me try."
Carlisle studies my face, considering my argument for a moment before he
reaches into his lab coat to retrieve his notebook again. Turning to a clean
sheet he says, "All right. Here's our plan."
~o0o~
It's well after nine when I return to the house with the largest Hulk Berry
Blast that Emerald City Smoothie makes. Per Carlisle's instructions, I asked
for the highest calorie meal replacement drink on the menu, adding in all the
protein supplements and vitamin enhancers he suggested. I write Bella's name in
bold, black letters across the lid before placing the Styrofoam cup in the
freezer.
I'll kick Emmett's ass if he touches her meal.
Before leaving for the hospital, Carlisle retrieved Bella's prescriptions from
his office and gave them to me. As I climb the stairs to my room, I shove the
bottles into the front pocket of my jeans. I pause when I reach my door, but
instead of pushing my way inside like I normally would, I take a deep breath,
raise my hand, and knock gently.
No answer.
I try again, only to be greeted with silence on the other side. Cautiously, I
open the door and peek in. I'm not really surprised to find the bed neatly made
and the room empty. With a sigh, I close my door and walk down the hall to her
room.
"Come in," she calls out after I tap lightly on the door.
With another deep breath, I steel myself before slowly pushing the door open.
Bella is sitting on her bed, propped up against several pillows, and a heavy
blanket thrown over her legs. She doesn't look up as I enter. She watches her
hands as she secures an elastic band around the loose braid cascading over her
shoulder. I close the door behind me and lean against it.
"You forget we don't have school today, Jake?" Her voice is light and teasing,
and the sound makes me long for all those playful times when we would taunt
each other.
When I don't respond, she turns her head to glance in my direction, unable to
hide the look of alarm when she realizes it's not Jacob standing in her
bedroom. She finishes tying off her hair and forcefully tosses the braid over
her shoulder.
"I thought you went back to Jasper's," she says coldly.
I shake my head. "I slept on the couch."
She huffs and folds her arms across her chest. "Did you want something,
Edward?"
I nervously blurt out the first thing to pops in my head. "Did you sleep OK?"
"What?" Bella stares at me, still annoyed by my intrusion.
"Um, the pill I gave you last night. I was wondering if it worked." I'm
stalling, and I know it. Mentally, I kick myself for being a chicken-shit.
"Oh, um… yeah. It did." The irritation in her expression seems to fade
slightly. "Thanks. I guess," she adds.
I pull my right hand from my pocket and rub my face roughly, as if the gesture
will cut through the bullshit. "You know they're not sleeping pills."
It isn't a question, but she answers anyway. "Yes," she says. She sounds
ashamed by the admission. "That's just a side effect."
"So will you keep taking them?"
This time Bella doesn't answer.
Taking a cautious step towards the bed, I pull both of her new prescriptions
from my pocket. I keep my eyes focused on Bella's face as she follows the
movement of my hand, watching as I set the brown bottles on her nightstand. She
doesn't say anything; she just continues to stare at the bottles for a moment
before lifting her eyes back to mine. Slowly, I sit on the edge of the bed, and
I'm thankful when she doesn't back away from me as she did the night before.
"Bella, I think you should listen to Carlisle. He's trying to help you. That
medicine," I nod toward the two pill bottles, "is supposed to -"
"I know what it's for," she says in a small voice, lowering her eyes shamefully
to her lap. "He's explained the treatment to me a few times."
I want to ask her why she's still being so stubborn about accepting his help
but decide against it. Before I can think of what to say next, Bella looks up,
her expression a mixture of confusion and concern.
"So, you and Carlisle talked about this." Her tone is accusing.
"He wouldn't tell me much, patient privacy and all that. Actually, I was the
one that did most of the talking. I told him everything you said last night,
and I'm sorry if that makes you mad. I know you probably told me those things
in confidence, but I thought it was important for him to know as much as
possible so he could help you."
Bella looks away, turning her face toward the window, making it impossible for
me to judge just how angry she is.
"I'm sorry," I say softly. "I didn't -"
"No, I get it." Her voice is cold again, and she turns to glare at me. I'm not
surprised that she's upset I ratted her out to Carlisle, but her irate
expression is more than I expect.
I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say next. Leaning forward, I
retrieve the two prescriptions from the nightstand, staring at the labels as I
absentmindedly roll the bottles in my hand. "So, will you let him help you?" I
ask without looking up.
Bella doesn't answer, but I can still feel her eyes on me. I brace myself for
her refusal, imagining how I can counter her argument, when I realize it
doesn't matter what she says – I'm not going to accept "no" as an answer.
There's no reason for her to continue to reject Carlisle's help. If she does,
she's just being stubborn and defiant. Well, two can play that game. Shit,
Iinventedthatgame.
I open each bottle, retrieve one pill from each, and hold them out to her.
"Here," I say sternly.
Bella continues to stare angrily at me, so I nudge my hand toward her again.
She makes no move to accept the pills or even acknowledge my outstretched hand.
"Bella, take them. They'll make you better."
She still doesn't move.
"Bella -"
"Why are you doing this?" she asks acidly.
The sting of her angry words makes me tense, and I drop my hand onto my lap.
"Because I - I care about you," I answer honestly, but the nervousness in my
voice causes the words to sound insincere.
"You seriously think I'm going to fall for this again? What are you after this
time, Edward? Did you change your mind? Are you still trying to win him over?
You think playing the hero will sway him? Or are you worried that he'll find
out about your little charade now that there's evidence left behind?"
It finally sinks in, her intense reaction to my discussing her condition with
Carlisle. She thinks I'm using her. She thinks I'm trying to exploit this to my
benefit. She still sees me as the malicious, merciless, callous monster; the
one that broke her heart and shattered her trust all those weeks ago. The
monster who tried – triedandfailed,orsoIthought – to convince her that the
Edward she knows, the Edward sitting before her now, is only an act.
Bella folds her arms across her chest, staring at me defiantly. "What happened
to being tired of pretending?"
Ashamed, I hang my head and lower my eyes to the bed. Several minutes pass as
my mind replays every word I've said, every action, every gesture, but
imagining how it must appear from her perspective.
I'm such an idiot. I shouldn't be here. Nothing has changed in the weeks since
I left and, in the chaos of the last twenty-four hours, I've completely lost
sight of that. What the hell is Carlisle thinking – allowing me to do this! She
still needs to be free of me, and by being here now I'm undoing everything I
accomplished that horrible night. I turn my back to her, trying to hide the
defeat that is undoubtedly etched on my face.
"I – I thought you didn't believe any of that," I say softly.
Another long silence falls between us before she answers. "I don't know what to
believe anymore." The confusion in her voice confirms my fears. My actions are
undermining everything – everything we've suffered through the last few weeks.
A familiar panic begins to build in the pit of my stomach. I can't do this. I
can't help her now, only to abandon her all over again. I can't put her through
that again – Iwon't – I promised. I promised she could go on with her life
without any interference from me. And that's exactly what I'm doing –
interfering. I have to get out of here – now – before I make this worse.
An idea flashes in my head. I can just stand up and walk out, leaving her
accusations unaddressed. She can think she's called me out on my little
charade, proving I'm still the vile creature she envisions. Then everything
will go back to how it was. How it should be. How is has to be.
I push myself up from the bed and walk to the door, struggling with each step.
As I move, I fight to reclaim that hardened persona, the one that enabled me to
walk away from her the last time. But no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to
take hold of it this time. It feels like I'm grasping at water, grasping at
something real, something tangible, but it slips through my fingers as I try to
close my hand around it.
It wasn't this hard before. Was it? Maybe because I had time to prepare my…
The sound of movement steals my attention, and I look over my shoulder just as
Bella turns away and sinks down into her bed. She rolls onto her side, away
from me, and presses her face into the pillow, muffling the sound as she begins
to cry. I try to steel myself again, but as I watch her frail body shudder with
quiet sobs, it slips through my fingers just like before.
Before turning back toward the door, I pause and allow words to fall from my
lips, from my heart, before I have time to consider the consequences.
"You can believe that, out of all the horrific things I've done in my life, I
will never regret anything as much as I regret what I've done to you."
Bella doesn't respond, but I know she heard me. For a moment, I continue to
watch and listen as her shoulders shake and her breathing becomes more ragged.
When the sight becomes too much, I turn back to face the door. My knuckles turn
white as I clutch the doorknob, but no matter how many times I tell myself to
leave, I can't force myself to open the door. Because I know that if I walk out
this door, if I walk out on her now, if I leave her again when she needs me the
most, I would be that monster. In my mind, the vision of water slipping through
my fingers, that water would turn to ice. I would turn to ice – cold, frozen,
hardened. If I walk out this door now, I know without a doubt there would be no
coming back from that.
A hazy memory flutters through my mind; Bella sitting with me on the stairs,
her head on my shoulder, snuggling into my neck.I hold her close to me,
reveling in the fact that I finally have her in my arms. I lightly comb my
fingers through her hair, and Bella toys with the collar of my t-shirt.
"This is so… surreal," she says softly.
I snicker. "You're telling me. Up until thirty minutes ago, I thought you were
just using me to cheat on your boyfriend. I was ready to make you choose."
Bella pulls away and sits up, looking straight into my eyes. "I choose you,"
she says tenderly, studying my face for a moment.
"Not that there is really a choice to be made between you and Jake, but… well,
what I mean is… I know we don't know each other that well, but I… I want to."
I open my mouth to speak, but Bella keeps going.
"And I thought we were starting to. But then when you went… I don't know, is
"away" the right word?"
I shrug. "It works."
"When you went away, I… I missed you. I tried to not let it bother me, but it
did. I just wanted you back. Even the few times I saw you, it wasn't really
you. It was like you were locked away, trapped inside yourself. Does that make
sense?"
I nod.
"I'm just so glad to have you back."
I close my eyes as the memory fades away. She was right back then; she was
right that awful night I broke her heart. It wasn't me that walked away from
her – it was him; it had always been him. He was still a part of me - he is
still a part of me. I have never completely let go of him, let go of the anger,
the hate, the resentment; I've never let go of those essential elements that
comprise him. Even when I thought I was done, when I was trying to be good and
repent for my mistakes, when I thought I had turned my life around, he was
still there. That's why it had been so easy to slip back into that temperament
before. I was still allowing him to rule a part of me, to constantly overpower
the person I'm supposed to be.
It's startling how clearly I can see the distinction now, like a line has been
drawn straight through my body, dividing me in half. Light and dark. Yin and
yang. Me and him. No, not me and him, me orhim. Now that my eyes are open, now
that I can see it, I can choose. It doesn't have to be this way. I can let him
go. I can choose to never be him again.
My fingers relax their grip on the doorknob, and my hand falls back to my side.
As my eyes open again, it's like a switch has been flipped – not flipped on,
but off. I don't have to think about it to comprehend the change. I can't
summon the monster in me anymore, I can't find him anywhere. With absolute
clarity I realize that Edward is gone, dead, buried. All that is left is the
person I'm supposed to be, the Edward that Bella knows, the one she helped me
become, the Edward who loves her more than anything in this world – more than
his own life.
I turn around and walk back to her bed. I slowly crawling across the mattress
to lie down beside her. Cautiously, I slide my arm around her waist, and when
she doesn't push my hand away, I gently roll her over. As soon as she's facing
me, Bella buries her face against my chest as she sobs, her fists gripping my
shirt tightly. Her body feels so frail against mine, and I have to fight back
my own tears as she falls apart in my arms.
"Shh, I'm here," I whisper, stroking her hair with one hand.
We stay curled around each other for a long time. Even as Bella's tears
continue to fall, some sick, twisted part of my brain is overjoyed just to hold
her again. Too soon, Bella regains some of her composure, and with it comes an
awareness of her position. She releases her grip on my shirt, only to place her
hands flat against my chest and push me away. I don't try to resist, and I open
my arm as she disentangles herself from my grasp.
Bella rolls to her back and sits up, pulling her knees into her chest and
staring down into her lap. Slowly, I push myself up as well, twisting my body
around to face her. I watch her desolate expression for a moment, waiting for
her to say something, to react in some way, but she doesn't move an inch. She
almost looks catatonic.
I continue to wait, trying to gauge her feelings from the empty look in her
eyes. I have no idea what to do or what to say. Where do I begin? How do I
start to explain the truth? How do I tell her that it was all a lie? How do I
explain why I did what I did? How can I make her believe me? Make her trust me
again?
The answers to all my questions are staring me in the face - her face. I can't.
I can't tell her. Not right now. She isn't in the right frame of mind to hear
it. She is broken, defenseless, vulnerable, and I can't take advantage of that.
Not if I truly want to regain her trust. Sure she might believe me now, she
might even forgive me if I explain it right, but what about later? Would she
accuse me of preying on her at her weakest moment? No, I can't tell her now. I
never want to give her reason to doubt me again.
And what if the truth just hurts her more? What if it sets her back even
further? That's a risk I can't afford to take, not when she's already so
defeated, not when she's already facing an uphill battle. But what will happen
when I do tell her the truth? Will we go through all this just to be torn apart
again? Will we end up right back where we started? Right here?
I shake my head to clear thoughts. I can't think about that now. I need to
focus on the next forty-eight hours, on the plan that Carlisle and I agreed
upon. I'm running out of time - Bella is running out of time. I'll have to deal
with all that crap later. No, we–we will figure it out later, together. My
priority right now has to be taking care of Bella.
"Please leave," she whispers, interrupting my thoughts. The blank expression on
her face frightens me. There's no way I can leave her. Not like this. Not ever.
"I can't," I say softly.
Bella closes her eyes, forcing more tears to roll down her cheeks. "Leave," she
says more firmly.
I don't move.
"Leave! Get out!" she chokes. "Get out of my life!"
"No, I won't," I say softly.
"Damn it!" she yells through her tears. She climbs off the bed, jumping to her
feet in one fluid movement. Startled, I stand and race around the other side to
block her path. I grab her shoulders, holding her firmly in place to stop her
from running from me.
"Let go of me!" she screams, squeezing her eyes shut as she struggles against
my grasp.
I take a small step toward her, subtlety pulling her closer to me at the same
time. Bella's thrashing lessens as her tears increase.
"Don't – don't touch me!" she yells, but her voice doesn't carry the same
frenzy as before. She lifts her arms, striking my chest with the sides of her
fists. There's no force behind the blows, but Bella continues to beat against
my chest, each punch weaker than the last. My hands are still gripping her
shoulders, gently, and I pull her minutely closer.
"I – I hate you!" she wails. I close my eyes as her words stab me.
"I hate you," she says again, but the words sound less earnest.
"I – I… "
Bella crumples forward, and I throw my arms around her in the same instant,
pulling her to me. She presses her cheek against my chest as her arms encircle
my waist. This time, I can't hold back my own tears as she sobs in my arms,
unleashing all the pain, all the agony, all the desolation I've left in my
wake.
"What's – what's wrong with me?" she mumbles, her words almost incoherent.
"What's happening to me?"
"Shh, love, it will be OK," I murmur, my voice strangled by the tightness in my
throat. "We'll get through this. It will be OK."
Bella lifts her head from my chest, looking up and studying my face with her
red eyes. My own blurred vision makes it difficult to read her expression.
Instinctively, I raise my hands to cradle her face, futility brushing away the
tears that continue to fall. Bella doesn't flinch away from my touch or pull
back from our embrace, and before I realize what I'm doing, I lean down and
press my lips to hers.
I kiss her gently, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips. Bella arms wrap
tighter around my waist, pulling me closer as she kisses me back. As our mouths
move together a second time, I feel her body shudder with a ragged sob.
Suddenly, she pulls back, breaking the kiss abruptly as she turns around and
steps away. She stands with her back to me, shutting me out completely. I start
to panic, fearing my actions just now have crossed a line that we may never
come back from. WhatthehellwasIthinking!
"I'm sorry," I say reflexively.
She doesn't respond, wrapping her arms around her body as she hangs her head.
"Please say something," I beg.
The silence drags on, amplifying the sound of my heart pounding in my chest.
"I can't do this," she whispers. "Just forget it, Edward. This isn't your
problem. Let it go."
"I can't let this go. You can't keep doing this to yourself."
Bella takes a few steps forward and sits down on the edge of her bed. I notice
her tears have stopped, only to be replaced with an ominously resigned
expression that, quite frankly, is scaring the crap out of me.
"What is it you want, Edward? I'm not going to tell Carlisle anything about us
if that's what you're worried about."
"Jesus! This has nothing to do with Carlisle!" I yell, my anxiety making me
irrational. Bella cringes at my outburst, squeezing her eyes shut. I shift in
place, rubbing the back of my neck roughly with my hand as I try to reign in my
nervous tension.
"I told Carlisle everything," I confess. "He saw us together the day you left
for Florida. He knows that I ended it a week later, and that's when… things got
worse for you."
As I admit this small portion of the truth, I study Bella's expression,
watching for some reaction. I expect shock, surprise, maybe even relief, but
she doesn't even blink. She seems to have given up, resigned to let this
despair swallow her whole.
My shoulders slump as I take a cautious step to the bed, sitting down at the
opposite end. Maybe it's time to admit defeat myself. Nothing I've said or done
so far has made any impact. If anything, I'm only making it worse.
"Bella," I say gently. "There's a hospital in Phoenix. Carlisle says it's one
of the best in the country. You'll be close to your dad, and you can get away
from here, away from…," I swallow thickly, "all this."
She turns her head to face me, finally reacting to my words. "You – you want me
to leave?"
I sigh. "I think you should go back to Phoenix… so I can't hurt you anymore."
Bella doesn't respond as she turns her face away and stares down at the floor.
"You're killing yourself," I say softly. "Don't you see that?"
Once again, she doesn't answer. It's like she's not even listening to me
anymore. Refusing to be shut out again, I kneel down on the floor in front of
her, bringing my face into her line of sight.
"I don't want you to go, but if there's a chance that someone there can help
you then I think you should. You can't keep doing this. It has to stop before
you…" I can't make myself say the word. "Bella, I - I can't live in a world
where you don't exist."
Bella squeezes her eyes shut, and I wait for the tears to start falling again,
but they don't.
"I'm begging you, please don't give up. You can fight this. Let them help you."
Reflexively, I reach out and take Bella's hand. I place her open palm on my
chest, holding it over my heart, just as I've done a hundred times before.
Bella's eyes fly open, shifting back and forth as she searches mine.
"Let me help you. Let someone, anyone, Jacob, Esme, Carlisle, fucking Emmett, I
don't care! Just please…," I can feel the lump forming in my throat again as I
shamelessly beg for her life, "please, just try."
Neither of us move, and Bella continues to study my face. The silence becomes
deafening but I wait, hoping she'll respond until I can't stand the tension any
longer. "Please, tell me what you're thinking? Tell me what you want to do, and
I'll do it."
"I can't leave. I can't go to that place," she confesses after a long moment.
"I know, and you don't have to," I admit cautiously, trying not to get my hopes
up. "Carlisle says you can stay here, but only if you work on getting better.
He'll only wait forty-eight hours, and if he doesn't see some progress in that
time, then he's going to recommend that you go."
With my free hand, I reach into my pocket and retrieve the two pills I stashed
earlier. I hold them out to Bella.
"Just try," I plead again. "Show Carlisle you can fight this. Show him you want
to stay so you can get your scholarship back, get your life back."
Some emotion flashes across Bella's eyes, but before I can register what it is,
it disappears again. She hesitates for a second before slowly pulling her hand
from my chest, holding it in front of her with her palm up. I drop the pills
into her hand and retrieve the bottle of water from her nightstand. Bella rolls
the tiny pills around in her palm, wavering for a moment before tossing them
into her mouth. She swallows them with a long pull from the bottle and hands it
back to me.
Without a word, she scoots herself back into the center of the bed, covering
herself with the blanket as she lies down and rolls onto her side, facing away
from me.
"You know what we have to do next?" I ask.
She nods.
"I'll be back in twenty minutes with… breakfast."
Bella doesn't acknowledge my statement, and I walk out of her room and close
the door behind me.
I spend the next twenty minutes beating the shit out of the punching bag in
Emmett's room.
***** Chapter 17 *****
BPOV
True to his word, Edward knocks on my door twenty minutes later. While he was
gone, I managed to pull myself together. Well, on the inside at least... I
think, maybe. On the outside, I probably look like a crazy person in the middle
of a nervous breakdown.
I shouldn't be surprised that they want to lock me up in some hospital.
I am now sitting up in the center of my bed, my arms wrapped around my knees,
my chin resting on top. With my eyes closed, I rock in time to the beat of the
music in my mind, mentally rehearsing the choreography for the upcoming
Christmas performance. The rocking motion is calming, and concentrating on the
sequence of steps is a welcome distraction from what I'm about to do.
The idea of eating something terrifies me. It's been a long time since anything
more than water has passed my lips. Jacob tried to get me to eat a few crackers
the other day, but he was too late. Everything that goes in now eventually
comes right back up.
I honestly didn't do it on purpose. It all started that horrible night, when
Edward… when I came back from Florida, and my nightmare became reality. I knew
what was coming the second I tried to approach him and he stepped away. He
hadn't even uttered a word yet. He didn't need to; it was written all over his
face.
His face.
I shudder as I recall the look on his face that night. I didn't recognize him
at all. I'd thought I knew his face better than my own. I may as well have been
blind.
Blind.I huff out loud. It's true what they say about love making you blind. It
makes you blind and stupid. Sostupid.
Those first few days, I was just too depressed to think about anything other
than the pain. Then, when the grief started to subside in the days that
followed I felt… numb. There's no other way to describe it. I felt nothing. I
honestly don't remember much else about that first week. Jake told me later
that I looked like the walking dead. I guess I went into some type of shock or
something, because he said I literally shut off.
When I first realized I hadn't eaten anything, an entire week had already gone
by. It was weird, because I didn't feel hungry at all. I forced myself to eat a
couple grapes, but they made my empty stomach twist and churn uncomfortably, so
I decided I'd try again in a few more days. The next week, just the smell of
food made me want to vomit. So I stayed away from the kitchen and didn't come
home from school until well after dinner was over.
The routine suited me fine. I honestly didn't want to see any of his family.
Having to live in his house, constantly surrounded with reminders of him was
bad enough. I just wanted to be alone. I wanted to wallow in my misery.
I did notice when my clothes no longer fit right. The straps of my skin-tight
leotards began to slip off my shoulders during studio class, but I ignored it.
Jake would have noticed too if the studio didn't decide to turn on the air-
conditioning in the middle of November. I had to start wearing my warm-up
wraps, sweatshirts and legwarmers during class just to keep from freezing to
death. It wasn't like this before; usually I was sweating buckets after five
minutes in the studio. I idly wondered, on more than one occasion, if Victoria
was older than I thought, possibly having hot flashes twenty years early.
Like I said, stupid and blind.
What I didn't realize was just how much weight I had lost until Victoria
confronted me yesterday. I was in her office when she called Carlisle after I
fainted. They used terms like "clinical depression" and "eating disorder."Of
course, this wasn't the first time the latter had been used to describe me, by
either of them no less. They talked about some doctor here in Seattle that
Carlisle wanted me to see, the prescriptions he wanted me to take, and why I
kept refusing to do either. I got the full, comprehensive, exhaustive, annoying
lecture I've heard a dozen times about the damage I was doing to my body. I
nodded and agreed in all the right places, but honestly, it wasn't sinking in.
And then Victoria said the one thing I never thought I'd hear – I wasn't
allowed to dance. My scholarship was suspended until I made a noticeable effort
to change my behavior. What shocked me even more was when Carlisle actually
thought this was a good idea. He had been my only ally just a few weeks ago
when Charlie demanded I come home. He had been the one to convince everyone
else that taking me away from school was a bad idea.
I was livid. All the way home I yelled and cursed and called him a traitor. I'm
pretty sure the phrase "like father like son" came out once or twice. Jake just
drove in silence while my tirade went on and on. By the time we pulled into the
driveway, I was exhausted. Jake helped me from the car, and I almost slapped
him when I saw the satisfied smirk on his face.
My anger flared again. "What the hell, Jacob!"
"I'm just glad to see you're still in there. You've barely spoken ten words in
the last month. It's nice to hear your voice again, even if you are screeching
at top volume."
Ten words? That can't be right.
Jake practically carried me to my room. It was completely unnecessary; there
was nothing wrong with my legs. I think he was afraid I'd pass out again, fall
and hit my head or something, so I humored him. I begged Jake not to call
Emmett, but he wouldn't listen. I knew Emmy would freak out and probably call
Esme and Carlisle again. I just wanted everyone to leave me alone. My anger had
subsided, and the harsh reality that everything I had worked for had just been
stripped from me was starting to sink in. There was nothing left now.
I actually fooled Jake by pretending to fall asleep while he was on the phone,
and I was grateful when he finally went downstairs to wait for Emmett. Of
course, I wouldn't be able to actually sleep in this bed. Every time I tried,
the nightmares got worse.
Two weeks ago, after waking up trembling and terrified in the darkness, I snuck
down the hall and climbed into Edward's bed. I thought it was a good idea at
the time - the familiar smell, the way his pillow cradled my head, the feel of
the sheets against my skin – it quickly lulled me into a dreamless sleep. But I
just ended up trading one nightmare for another. When I woke the next morning,
the sun illuminated the room I hadn't seen the night before, and I was
assaulted by the memories this place held.
Of course, the destruction he left behind only reminded me of the last time I
saw him. I got down on my hands and knees, frantically clearing the mess from
the floor while endless tears streamed down my cheeks. My cruel mind tricked me
into thinking if I rid this room – ourroom – of the wreckage, the damage, then
maybe my Edward would come back to me.
Stupid and blind.
He hadn't come back. I tried to stay away from his room, but every few nights
my exhaustion won out, and I'd drag myself down the hall in the middle of the
night.
So last night, after a physically and emotionally draining day, I used the
balcony to slip past my babysitter downstairs and climbed into Edward's bed.
Sleep found me instantly, but this time, so did my dreams. Thankfully, this
vision was different from the nightmares that had been plaguing me. I felt safe
and warm, like coming home from a long journey. For the first time in weeks, I
wasn't alone in my dream. I could feel someone with me, someone watching over
me. I heard a familiar voice. I felt a familiar touch on my skin. In my dream,
I smiled. My Edward had finally returned to me.
Abruptly, the mood of my dream changed. Sadness and pain obscured my vision,
and I blinked to clear it. That's when I saw him, and it frightened me at
first. In my dream he was obscure, a phantom, not real.
But this was real; he was really here. I hadn't seen him since the night he
left me, and all of the emotions I was trying to represses slammed into me like
a wrecking ball. I tried to escape, but he stopped me. And while everyone else
had been walking on eggshells around me, talking about my condition with
cautious and delicate words, Edward got angry. He actually got upset and yelled
at me. I felt like, by hurting myself, I was hurting him too. For one fleeting
second, I felt a glimmer of hope float through my body.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
After all that pain, after what he put me through, you'd think I'd learned my
lesson. Nope. Go ahead and add glutenforpunishment to my diagnosis.
What the hell was I thinking last night, letting him get to me like that?
Talking to him. Listeningto him. To him! Of all the people who have reached out
to me, why the hell did I open up to him!
I should have run to Jake last night. Run screaming. I started to, but Edward
had me trapped when he stole my pants like the immature child he is. Had I
raced downstairs with my boney legs on display, everyone would see just how bad
it had gotten.
When I sent Edward away last night, I was certain he would disappear again, but
he didn't. He came back this morning. It didn't take long for me to figure out
what he was up to, and I was determined not to give him the satisfaction of
letting him come to my rescue. But my resolve kept faltering. I kept seeing
small glimpses of the Edward I knew, the Edward I fell in love with - the
Edward that wasn't real.
And when he kissed me… I shake my head and try to rid the thought from my mind.
Then he told me Carlisle was going to send me to the rehab hospital in Phoenix.
I knew a couple of girls from my old studio that spent some time there. I knew
all about what happened in those kinds of places: the group therapy sessions,
the supervised meals, the constant intrusion into every facet of your life.
The eating part wasn't what scared me; this wasn't about food. It was the
exercise restrictions. No, not restrictions, it was practically forbidden. The
thought of not dancing for weeks, for months, sent me into a panic. I would
never be able to get back on track. Not like I was dancing a lot right now
anyway; my suspension took care of that. But if I stayed here, close to school,
the possibility of getting back into studio class was better than if I left.
So, I gave in. I saw a chance to get back one part of my shattered life. Maybe
that part would be enough to make me happy again… one day. I resigned to let
Edward help me so I could stay. What did I care if he fooled his father into
thinking he was some hero. Maybe it would make life better for the rest of the
family if things weren't so hostile between Carlisle and Edward. I could do
that for Esme and Emmett.
But I knew I needed to guard what was left of my heart. I couldn't let Edward
get close enough to hurt me again. I couldn't fall for his little act again. I
would not survive if he… no, I couldn't think about that right now. I had just
pulled myself together, and thinking about that would surely send me over the
edge again.
Edward knocks again. "Bella?"
I take a deep breath and shake my head to clear my thoughts. "Come in."
Edward opens the door slowly. I expected him to be carrying a tray filled with
food. I imagined a breakfast-in-bed assortment of bacon, eggs, and toast. But
all he has is a shot glass, filled a little more than halfway with a thick,
raspberry colored liquid. He walks straight to the bed and hands the glass to
me. I notice his laptop tucked under his other arm.
"What is it?" I ask as I take the glass from him, warily studying the syrupy
liquid.
"Hulk Berry Smoothie. Two tablespoons."
I look up at him, confused.
"You can have two tablespoons now, and if you keep it down for one hour, you
can have two more. After that, we double to four tablespoons an hour until we
reach six."
"Oh." I look down at the tiny amount of liquid in the glass, and suddenly the
idea of bringing it to my lips seems like a monumental feat. From the corner of
my eye, I see Edward sit on the foot of the bed facing me, watching me, his
laptop now resting on his knees. I look up at him with what I'm sure is an
expression of dread.
"It's OK. Take your time."
I study the glass again for a moment, then my gaze flashes back to him. "This
is stupid. You don't have to sit here."
"I don't mind."
"I can do this by myself," I spit back, stubbornly.
"I'm not going anywhere." His placating tone is starting to grate on my nerves.
"Don't you have -"
"Bella," his voice is stern, "I have to see you drink it."
"Oh, right." Of course, they don't trust me not to pour it out the second I'm
alone.
I stare at the glass again. Whyisthissohard? With a deep breath, I close my
eyes and drink. The liquid is overly sweet, and the slimy texture coats my
throat as I swallow.
I open my eyes again to see Edward smiling at me before holding out his hand
for the empty glass. Now that his job is done, I'm sure he's anxious to leave.
I hand him the glass and he stand and walks to my desk, not the door. He sets
the dirty glass aside and crouches down to plug his laptop into the outlet
under my desk.
"Um, what are you doing?"
He looks at me with a perplexed expression as he sits down in the chair. "We
have an hour to kill before your next… meal."
I nod slowly, mockingly. "Riiiight, so what's with the laptop?"
"I wanted to do a little… um, homework while we wait." He twists around in the
chair, flipping the latch and opening his laptop. The screen blinks a few times
before coming to life. The desktop appears with a dozen or so icons lined up
across a solid wall of black. That stings a little – a lot. His wallpaper used
to be the picture of us from the sculpture park.
"Can't you do your homework in your own room?" I seethe.
"No," he says flatly without looking away from the computer. He launches his
internet browser, and then leans back in the chair, positioning the machine so
he can type comfortably. The new angle prevents me from seeing what he's doing,
but I don't think it's intentional.
"Well, you can't stay in here."
He twists in the chair slightly, turning his head to face me. "We could go
downstairs if you'd be more comfortable."
My eyes grow wide. "We?"
He stares at me for a second, like I'm missing some glaringly obvious fact.
"Bella, I'm not supposed to leave you alone."
"What! Why?"
Edward gives me another pointed look.
"Oh, for Christ's sake! I'm not going to stick my finger down my throat."
He turns back to his computer again. "Not on my watch you're not," he mumbles
under his breath.
This is not happening. This is not what I signed up for. Edward completely
dropped off the face of the Earth the night he destroyed my world, and now he
wants to hangout in my bedroom! No way!
I jump off the bed and stomp to the desk, grabbing my phone from the charger
next to Edward's laptop. I pace back and forth as I scroll through my contact
list, searching for Jake's number.
Edward sighs, clearly annoyed. "Bella, what are you doing?"
"I'm calling Jake."
"Good, call him," he says sarcastically. "He and I can take shifts. I'm sure
he'll be more than happy to – "
Whatever he's saying, I don't hear. I'm already out the door and halfway down
the hall to the bathroom, one hand clasped over my mouth as my stomach rolls.
I make it to the toilet just in time to expel the entire contents of my
stomach, though it isn't much. I'm finished by the time Edward catches up to
me, his hands pulling back the loose strands of hair from my face as I kneel on
the floor. When the heaving stops, I feel him place a cool cloth across the
back of my neck.
"My mom used to do that when I was little," he says softly. "It always made me
feel better."
Edward sits down on the floor next to me and places his hand on my back, moving
it gently in comforting circles. I don't realize I'm crying until he takes my
face in his free hand, forcing me to turn and look at him.
"Hey, hey, it's OK. Don't do that." His face is a mixture of distress and
concern, and for a second I feel that pang of guilt again – like this is
hurting him too. He takes the cloth from behind my neck, sweeping it over my
face to wash away the tears. The cool rag feels good against my flushed skin,
and I close my eyes as he continues to brush it over my cheeks and forehead.
"We're going to get through this, OK? We're just getting started. Carlisle says
this will be a slow process, but we'll get through it."
I don't respond, opening my eyes to stare at his saddened expression. Edward
brushes the cloth across my forehead one more time, and then stands up. He
walks to the sink and soaks the cloth under the faucet. He rings it out then
raises one wet hand, roughly rubbing his face, wetting it with the cool water.
Before I have time to contemplate the gesture, he shuts off the faucet and
quickly dries his face and hands with the towel hanging on the rack. He turns
to face me, picking up the wet cloth again.
"Come on. Let's go lay down," he says. I allow him to pull me up from the
floor. He wraps one arm around my waist and practically carries me to my
bedroom.
I crawl into the center of the bed, and Edward covers me with the blanket,
tucking it around my body like a cocoon before returning the cool cloth to my
forehead. The gesture reminds me of when I had the flu in the ninth grade, and
Charlie had to miss a week of work to take care of me.
"You're going to make a great dad someday," I blurt out without thinking.
Edward freezes for a second, probably just as shocked by my statement as I am.
Then his expression softens, and although I can tell he's fighting a smile, he
can't hide the way his eyes light up.
"Try to sleep," he says softly. "I'll wake you up in an hour, and we'll try
again." He doesn't wait for a response. Instead, he stands up and returns to
his laptop to resume his homework.
I close my eyes, but only for a minute or two. I know there's no way I'll be
able to sleep with Edward in the room. I open them again, and my gaze instantly
falls on where he's sitting at my desk. He's casually leaning back in the
chair, his long, lanky legs stretched out to one side, crossed at the ankles.
One hand is shoved in his pocket while the other rests on his laptop, and every
few seconds he taps a key on the keyboard. I assume he's scrolling through
whatever webpage he's reading.
For all I know he could be looking at pictures of what's-her-face.
Abruptly, he sits up and leans toward the screen, something apparently grabbing
his attention. His eyes flash from side to side as he studies the display in
front of him. He taps a key again with one finger, pauses, and then brings both
hands to the keyboard, mashing the keys determinedly.
You'd think he'd feel me staring at him, but he's so engrossed in his task that
he doesn't seem to notice. So I continue to watch him, trying to decipher what
he's reading from the changing expressions on his face. Whatever the topic is,
it seems to be holding his attention more than his homework usually does.
Back when we were together, Edward occupied the back corner of my studio two or
three nights a week, spreading his books across the floor. I often mused over
how different our 'homework' processes were. Of course, I'd done my share of
endless algebra equations and English papers, but now my homework consisted of
perfecting a grand rond de jambe or working on my epaulement in the mirror. All
the while, reminding Edward to focus on his books whenever I'd catch him
watching me. Some nights, if he had a big test or paper due the next day, I'd
send him to his room if he couldn't concentrate. Other nights, I'd… well, I may
have fed into his distraction.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the memories back into the recesses of my mind.
"You OK?"
My eyes fly open again to see Edward watching me. I must have zoned out,
because I didn't notice him looking at me before.
"Does it hurt?" he asks concerned.
Of course this hurts, but not in the way he thinks. In my mind, his words start
replaying, over and over.
"We are going to get through this."
We, we, we. He keeps saying we.There is no we. He needs to quit talking this
way. I know I agreed to this arrangement, but he doesn't need to keep up the
pretense when we're alone. The day he left, it felt like a great hole had been
torn in my chest where my heart used to be. Every time he says 'we,' every time
he touches me, when he says things like he 'can't live in a world where I don't
exist,' he tears the wound open a little more.
Edward twists in his seat as if he's about to stand up.
"I'm fine," I say quickly to stop him. If he comes any closer, I have a feeling
I might lose it.
I roll over so my back is to him. He sighs, and I'm thankful when I hear him
resume typing a moment later.
I stare out the windows, watching as the grey clouds roll in and block the late
morning sun. I try very hard to trick my mind into thinking I'm alone, but
despite my best efforts I can't ignore the atmosphere in the room. It's like
every cell in my body is aware that he's close by. That, and the fact that I
can't stop myself from trying to decode every sound coming from behind me.
The typing is simple to figure out. I can easily differentiate the rhythmic
taps of scrolling down a page from the sporadic strikes of entering text. He
must be gathering notes for a research paper or something. I can hear him shift
his weight in the chair, bouncing his foot nervously on the floor; I can even
pick up the faint rustle of his hair when he runs his hand through it. His
phone buzzes in his pocket, and I listen to the unmistakable click, click,
click as he taps out a response to a text message. That sound bothers me the
most, my mind immediately jumping to the most likely and worst possible
conclusion – he'stextingher.
The virtual conversation continues for several minutes before Edward stands and
walks slowly out the door, clicking away on his phone as he moves. I glance
over my shoulder to his laptop, still angled away from my line of sight, but in
the reflection of the picture frames on my dresser, it's easy to make out the
bright, multicolored ribbons dancing across the screensaver.
Edward returns a few minutes later, not bothering to knock as he enters my room
with another shot glass of Hulk Berry hell. He sits down on my bed, handing the
glass to me. I try to protest, but Edward simply shakes his head and nudges the
glass toward me again.
The entire day progresses in exactly the same way. It's like living through a
horrible version of GroundhogDay and I'm Bill Murray. Every hour, Edward forces
another shot down my throat, and within fifteen minutes I'm back in the
bathroom throwing it up. I only get one break – an extra thirty minutes between
torture cocktails to be sure I keep down the second round of pills.
I notice the sun beginning to set, and I realize I've been living through this
nightmare for six hours. I no longer even have the strength to lift myself from
the bathroom floor. Edward has to carry me back to my bed, and I beg him, tears
streaming down my face, that I can't take anymore today. He reluctantly agrees.
"I'm going to call Carlisle. Will you be all right?"
I don't answer. I simply roll over and turn my back to him again.
EPOV
I step out into the dark hallway and quietly shut the door. My body slumps
against the adjacent wall, my head making a dull thud as I deliberately throw
it back and stare up at the ceiling. The light from the first floor casts
strange shadows up the stairs and down the narrow corridor to where I'm
standing. For one second, everything is silent, calm. Then the faint sound of
Bella's muffled sobs penetrates the stillness, sending another jolt of pain
through me. I abruptly straighten up and walk away. I have to get out of here
before I completely lose it.
I stumble down the stairs and out the front door, practically tripping over my
own feet in my stupor. If my car had not been parked directly in front of the
house, I probably would have fallen face-first on the gravel drive. Instead, I
catch myself, my arms braced against the cold, metal frame. There's a strange
sound, and it takes a second before I realize it's coming from me, the air
moving in and out of my lungs in deep, shaky breaths.
I want to scream. I want to hit something. I want someone to hit me. I want to
break down and cry. I want to throw things. I want to run away. I want run to
her. I want her.
I wince and close my eyes. Iwanther.
I want her to tell me this is going to be OK. I want her to be OK. I want to
wake up from this horrible nightmare and find her sleeping next to me, happy
and healthy. Not like this. Anything but this.
Rage flares inside me, and before I even register the movement, my fist
connects with the metal door frame. Again and again, over and over. I would
have punched a hole through the car if I could, but the erratic movements throw
me off balance and I stumble forward, catching myself on the hood this time.
The exertion leaves me gasping for air, and the knuckles on my right hand
covered in blood, but I don't care.
I twist my body around and slide to the ground, my heels digging long trenches
in the gravel as I allow gravity, and stress, and exhaustion to pull me down.
Leaning back against the door, I bend my knees and position my elbows on top,
pressing the heels of my hands roughly into my eyes.
Several minutes pass as I try to slow my breathing and pull myself together.
Before I can completely get a grip, my phone begins to vibrate in my pocket. I
don't have to check the ID to know who it is. I'm not ready to have this
conversation yet. I'm not ready to admit this isn't working. I'm not ready to
give her up.
Selfish, selfish asshole.
With my good hand, I fumble to retrieve the phone from my pocket.
"Edward, how's she doing?" Carlisle asks after I choke out a "yeah" into the
receiver.
I let out a deep, defeated breath. "Not good."
"Still no progress?"
"No. She hasn't been able to keep anything down. We haven't progressed past two
tablespoons an hour."
"And you're sure she isn't making herself sick?"
I swear to God if he asks me that one more time! He probably texted that exact
phrase twenty times today.
"Yes, I'm sure," I growl, my annoyance seeping into my words. "I've barely left
her side all day. She has no control over it."
"Tomorrow should be better. The medication probably hasn't built up enough in
her system."
My voice takes on an accusing tone. "Then why didn't we wait? Why didn't we
just start her on the medication today and let her try to eat tomorrow?"
"Honestly, I expected her to have some success by this afternoon. I anticipated
the first few tries would make her sick, but she should have shown some
progress by now."
Pinning the phone between my shoulder and my ear, I use my good hand to push
myself up from the cold ground. I walk back toward the house, but decide
against going inside. I don't want to risk Bella overhearing our conversation.
Instead, I settle for pacing across the front porch.
"So have we compounded the problem now?" I ask critically. "I mean, we could be
dealing with dehydration and severe electrolyte imbalance, not to mention
depleting her already low potassium levels. Didn't you consider that? That has
to be the cause of all the muscle cramps in her legs. And shouldn't we be
checking her -"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Carlisle interrupts. "Slow down. Take a breath, Son."
I do as I'm told, the long exhale turning to steam in the cold night air,
curling around my face like smoke.
"Now," he continues, "where are you getting this information?"
I roll my eyes although he can't see. "I've been doing my homework."
"Clearly," he says, his tone almost sarcastic. Carlisle sighs into the phone.
"I don't have time to go into all the specifics, but trust that there is a
detailed treatment plan in place. I have been in contact with Dr. Weber
throughout the day. He specializes in treating eating disorders and has been
advising me for the last few weeks on how best to proceed. I've already made an
appointment for Bella to meet with him on Monday morning, and he's scheduled a
full metabolic panel."
I can't help but notice Monday morning is outside the forty-eight hour window,
but there's no way I'm going to point that out.
"I also placed an order this morning for PN therapy with the Home Health
Services department here and - "
"For what?" I interrupt. "What's PN?"
"Parenteral Nutrition, intravenous nutritional solution. You were concerned
about her being dehydrated," he reminds me.
"Right."
"The nutritional formula contains various nutrients like water, electrolytes,
glucose, with added vitamins and dietary minerals. If you had been unsuccessful
talking with her this morning, I would have admitted her immediately for PN
treatment here."
"But you said the order was through Home Health," I point out.
"Yes. I thought it would be easier for… everyone if Bella could be treated at
home."
"When?"
"Protocol is to send an R.N. or an L.P.N. to administer and monitor the
infusion pump, but census is high so it's all hands on deck around here. I can
take care of it myself, no need to leave them short staffed. I'll bring
everything we need home with me tonight."
"When was the last time you started an IV?" I ask critically.
Carlisle laughs. "Edward, I'm the Chief of Surgery! I think I can handle a
standard IV."
"You think?"
He laughs again, louder this time. I fail to see what's so humorous about my
questions. I know damn well anytime I got stuck by a needle it was always the
nurses who did it.
"I started a central line the day before yesterday, all right?" he says, still
chuckling.
I have no idea what that means, but I assume by his tone that it's some
advanced procedure. No doubt it will be the first thing I Google the second I'm
back upstairs.
"What do you think about an omega-3 supplement?" I ask. "There has been
evidence that increasing the intake of omega-3 can benefit various
neuropsychiatric disorders."
"Edward," he scolds, his tone now a mixture of humor, shock and disbelief.
Carlisle lets out another low chuckle. "I will ask Dr. Weber about that if
you'd like. I should be home in about an hour. We can talk about what the next
steps should be, all right? In the meantime, stay off the internet."
"Fine. Oh, and Carlisle?"
"Yes?"
"I think I broke my hand."
~o0o~
After saying goodbye to Carlisle, I make my way to the kitchen, intent on
following his instructions to wash, wrap, and ice my injury. While on the
phone, Carlisle had me flex and move my fingers, and although it hurt like
hell, he didn't believe it was broken. I clean the cuts in the sink, ruining
another of Esme's kitchen towels by using it as a makeshift bandage. The weight
of the ice pack on my knuckles is almost intolerable, but I suck it up and hold
it in place.
I walk slowly toward the stairs, cradling one hand in the other, trying to
think of the best way to explain my injury to Bella. The sound of a key turning
in the front door makes me pause.
That was fast. Carlisle wasn't due to leave the hospital for another half-hour.
I turn around just as the door swings open.
"You have a key?" I ask Jacob as he storms across the living room.
"Fuck you," he growls, shoving me out of the way as he marches to the stairs.
"What did you do to her now?"
I stare after Jacob as he bounds up the stairs, barely pausing to knock before
pushing his way into her room. Bella must have finally gotten around to calling
him when I left her alone.
Retreating to the couch, I slump down onto the cushions and rest my wounded
hand across my chest. I have to remind myself that Jacob is just trying to
protect Bella, but now that he's here I know my access to her will be hindered.
Her little guard dog isn't going to let me anywhere near her.
Thirty minutes later, the front door opens again. This time Carlisle appears,
carrying a large, plastic case in one hand and a smaller, paper sack in the
other. He's still dressed exactly as he was this morning. The only addition is
the black stethoscope hanging around his neck.
He walks straight to the couch and sets the large case down on the floor. He
tosses the paper bag on the coffee table and sits down next to it, directly
across from me.
"Let me see," he says, gesturing to my hand.
I press my hand protectively against my chest. "I'm fine. Check on Bella," I
demand, jerking my head toward the stairs.
"A bleeding patient takes priority. Now let me see."
I can tell he hasn't decompressed out of his workmode, and even though I'm
anxious for him to see Bella, I'm not sure I want him talking to her while he's
in this… mood. Reluctantly, I hold my hand out, and he immediately goes to work
undoing my makeshift bandage. I watch as he studies my hand, turning it over
and back again, moving my fingers and poking at the gashes along my knuckles.
Still holding my hand in one of his, he reaches into bag next to him and
produces a roll of white gauze, a handful of cotton swabs, and a tube of
something – antibiotic ointment I assume.
"Is stealing hospital supplies one of the perks of being Chief?" I ask
sarcastically.
Carlisle smirks but doesn't look away from his task. He unscrews the cap from
the tube and squeezes out a drop of clear gel onto one of the swabs. He brushes
it across the largest cut in the center of my hand.
"Shit!" I try to yank my hand from his, but Carlisle's hold tightens. "That
burns!" I hiss through clenched teeth.
"Sorry. I should have warned you."
"Ya think?" I mutter. Carlisle gives me a warning look, so I bite my lip to
restrain the snide comment I was about to make about his bed-side manor.
"Do I even want to know how this happened?" Carlisle asks. His eyes dart
quickly to mine then back to my hand. He doesn't sound angry, more worried than
anything else.
"Today was…," I struggle to find the right word to describe this nightmare,
"rough."
Carlisle doesn't press for details, only nodding solemnly as he continues to
work on my hand. He opens the roll of gauze and begins wrapping it over my
bleeding knuckles, covering my entire hand from the center of my fingers to my
wrist. Only my thumb remains free from the dressing.
"There," he announces once the roll is depleted. "We'll need to change that in
the morning."
I nod and take back my bandaged hand, cradling it protectively against my chest
again. "Thanks."
"Get rid of that towel before your mother sees it," he says with a nod toward
the bloody rag on the table. "And if she asks, I gave you a solid lecture on
finding a healthier outlet for your emotions."
We both smirk. "She still pissed?"
Carlisle rolls his eye and puffs his cheeks as he lets out a breath, the
gesture answering my question without him having to utter a word. He returns
the unused cotton swab and the tube-of-pain to the paper sack.
"Now," he says, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers. "I've tended to my
patient. You tell me about yours."
I recount the entire day, starting from when Bella took the first round of
pills, and filling in all the details I couldn't include during our short text
conversations. Carlisle listens intently without interrupting.
"She's exhausted. She wants to give up," I conclude.
Carlisle nods sadly. "And what about you? How are you doing with all of this?"
"Me?" I ask a bit shocked, then vehemently shake my head. "That's not
important. Bella needs to -"
"Edward," Carlisle warns, shooting a knowing glance toward my injured hand.
I sigh, annoyed that he wants to focus on me. I spit out my response as quickly
as possible. "It was just like you said, feeling helpless watching someone you
love go through this. All I could do was sit back and watch her get more
physically and emotionally drained as the day went on and… well," I hold up my
hand to prove my point.
"I see." Carlisle places his hand on my knee. "She will be OK. You know that
right?"
I nod, but I'm not sure my response is convincing.
"Just because today didn't go as we planned, you shouldn't see it as a failure.
You should be proud of what you've done. I know I am."
"Proud!" I balk.
"Yes, Edward, proud. You've accomplished more in one day than anyone else has
been able to do in the last month. You were able to get through to her. You got
her to take those first crucial steps."
I chuckle humorlessly. "So I should be proud because I'm cleaning up the mess I
made."
"Edward, we've been through this."
"Yeah, I know. It's not all my fault," I say, rolling my eyes.
"If anything, you probably kept her healthy for longer. Your mother kept
telling me how good Bella was for you, but I'm starting to see that you were
good for her too."
My eyes snap to Carlisle's, and I stare at him, stunned. He opens his mouth to
say something, but the sudden buzz from his pocket interrupts him. With a
groan, he pulls out his phone and checks the caller ID.
"Your mother," he announces, and twists his mouth in a look of mock horror. I
would laugh, but I'm still reeling from his comment.
"Hi, sweetheart, how was your meeting today?" Carlisle listens attentively to
her response while I fiddle with my bandaged hand. "That's great news... No, I
haven't checked on her yet… About thirty minutes ago, I guess. Because I've
been talking with Edward."
At the mention of my name I look up, and Carlisle smiles warmly at me. "No,
he's here. He came home last night. Yes, yes… no, we didn't – well, because I -
"
I can make out Esme's voice now, rising in pitch with every question she hurls
at Carlisle. She doesn't even pause to listen to his answers. Carlisle rises
from his seat and wanders to the kitchen, patting my shoulder twice as he
passes.
As I try to tune out the one-sided conversation behind me, the case Carlisle
brought in from the hospital catches my eye. I reach over and slide the massive
box forward to rest at my feet. I start to unlock the chunky, metal latches,
but I pause and glance over my shoulder at Carlisle. He's watching me from the
kitchen, still holding the phone to his ear. He nods and waves his hand,
signaling it's OK for me to continue. I finish unlocking the case and raise the
lid.
Inside is a square machine, roughly the size of a coffee maker, nestled into a
foam liner which has been cut to fit it exactly. The top half of the device is
comprised of a large display screen with a numeric keypad underneath. I examine
the other content inside the case: a coil of clear tubing, a collapsible metal
stand, a plastic pouch – needles I assume – and various plastic clamps and
power cords. Tucked securely down the left side of the case are two clear,
plastic bags filled with liquid.
I lift the larger of the two bags, the liquid sloshing inside as I flip it over
in my hands. A large, white sticker attached to the clear plastic lists the
ingredients and the quantity of each in grams or milligrams.
"That's the PN solution," Carlisle says as he walks up behind me. I hadn't
notice his phone call had ended. "And this one," he pulls the small bag from
its compartment, "this is the good stuff." He smirks.
The confusion on my face is mirrored in my voice. "The good stuff?"
"We give this to cancer patients before they undergo chemo. It will completely
eliminate the nausea."
"Oh, right. Zofran," I say knowingly.
Carlisle drops his hand to his side, staring at me like I just knocked the wind
out of his sails. "That's right. How did you know that?"
It's my turn to smirk at him. "Homework," we say in unison.
Carlisle shakes his head and holds up the bag again. "I plan to setup a slow
drip overnight. She can try to eat again in the morning."
I nod and look down at my bandaged hand, feeling somewhat discouraged. My part
in this is over. I had been counting on this time together to find a way to
show her the truth, to prove I'm still the same person she loved before, to
make this right again. But now…
No, I scold myself.I should be happy that she's getting the help she needs.
That's all that matters.
"Are you ready?"
My eyes snap to Carlisle's. "Me?"
He chuckles. "Don't worry, I'm not going to let you stick her with the needle,
but I thought you would like to see how to setup the IV. I can show you how we
calibrate the machine and control the flow of the piggy-back." Carlisle pauses
for a moment, considering his next words. "I think it will make you feel better
- to see some positive outcome."
I wish he would quit worrying about how I'm feeling, Bella is all that matters
right now, but I don't mention it. "Yeah, OK."
I follow Carlisle up the stairs to Bella's room, and Jacob's husky voice
invites us in after Carlisle knocks.
Jacob is the only one to look up as we enter. His massive form takes up most of
Bella's bed, making her frail body appear even smaller cradled into his side.
He gently strokes her hair with one hand, the other wrapped protectively around
her back. Bella's eyes remain fixed straight ahead, but from her expression, I
doubt she's actually seeing anything. Even from this distance, I can see the
fresh tears that continue to dampen her lashes, and I wonder if she's stopped
crying since I left her room over an hour ago. I hover in the doorway, hiding
my injured hand behind my back as Carlisle walks into the room.
"Hello, Jacob," he says.
"Hey, Doc." Jacob's return greeting is solemn.
"Hello, Bella," Carlisle says soothingly. "Edward tells me you've had a rough
day. How are you feeling?"
"Tired," she says. Her voice sounds rough from crying.
"Well, I believe I have something that will make you feel better." Carlisle
sets the case down on the floor with a dull thud. Bella doesn't even look up.
"What is that?" Jacob asks.
"Edward thought Bella might be dehydrated after today's… activities. He
suggested we get some IV fluids in her."
Bella's eyes snap to mine, and she keeps them locked on me as Carlisle
continues his explanation.
"I would like to setup a drip and piggy-back it with a stronger version of one
of the medications she's taking. It should completely eliminate the nausea, so
when she tries to eat again tomorrow, she will likely have greater success.
Does that sound all right with you, Bella?"
At the mention of her name, Bella looks away from me and back to Carlisle. She
nods and slowly disentangles herself from Jacob's grasp to sit up.
"Great, let's get started." Carlisle moves to join Bella on the opposite side
of the bed, carrying the large case with him. He sets it on the foot of the
bed, opens the lid, and begins unpacking the contents.
Jacob rolls off the bed and walks to where I'm standing in the doorway, his
eyes glued to the floor. I move aside, giving him plenty of space to get around
me.
"I need to talk to you," he grumbles as he passes though the door.
"Jake," Bella calls out in a warning tone.
"It's fine, Bells. I'd worry more about that huge needle the doc is about to
sick in you." He winks at her, but she only glares back at him, a silent
conversation passing between them.
Jacob sighs. "Bells, I promised, didn't I?"
Another moment passes before she concedes with a simple nod. Her eyes flash to
mine for a second and then her focus returns to Carlisle.
"Go ahead, Edward. I can show you this process another time," he says as he
unwinds a long, clear tube.
I nod and turn to see Jacob disappear down the stairs. I follow him to the
first floor, but Jacob clearly has no intention of having this conversation in
the house. He marches out the front door, leaving it open for me to trail along
after him.
I step out onto the porch and close the door behind me. The second the latch
catches, Jacob whirls around and charges me, slamming my body against side of
the house. He pins me, one arm crushing my chest while his other hand wraps
tightly around my throat. His grip is solid and strong, and as he applies
another ounce of pressure, he effectively cuts off my air supply.
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
     Just to clarify a few key points: Bella has been drinking water. If
     she had gone w/o water for the last 3 weeks she would be dead. What
     she told Edward was that it was starting to be difficult b/c she
     didn't feel thirsty anymore. This was significant info for Carlisle
     to portray how sever her condition had become. As he explained to
     Edward, victims of starvation can become too weak to sense thirst.
     Bella wasn't quite to that point yet.
EPOV
"I don't know what kind of sick, twisted little game you think you're playing,
but it's going to stop right now," Jacob snarls, his face inches from mine.
I can feel the anger radiating off him as he pins me against the wall of the
house. The hand wrapped around my throat tightens, but I have enough sense not
to struggle. It would be pointless against his firm grip, and doing so might
only enrage him further. As irate as he is, I'm lucky he didn't just punch me
again. I've already bled enough for one day.
"I – I – don't know – what you're talking about," I manage to press out.
Apparently, that isn't what he wants to hear. With another shove, he slams my
body against the wall with a resounding thud.
"I warned you, if you ever hurt her again, I would kill you. Did I not make
myself clear the last time? Was my right hook too subtle for you? You just
assume because I'm a good dancer that I can't kick your worthless ass?"
I try to keep my voice calm as I stare into his wild, animalistic eyes. "Jacob,
I'm – I'm trying to – help her."
Jacob groans and abruptly releases his hold on me, causing me to stumble
forward. I cough and rub my throat. From the corner of my eye, I see him step
back, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. I bend forward, holding
myself up with my hands on my knees, panting as if I have just run a marathon.
"Shut up. Just shut up," he snarls through gritted teeth. "God! I want to beat
the shit out of you so bad right now."
"That's what she made you promise, isn't it?" I ask, still breathless but a
little smug. "That you wouldn't punch me again?"
"I promised I wouldn't deck you this time, not that I wouldn't kill you. She
always forgets the fine print." I don't have to look up to see the evil smirk
I'm sure is plastered across his face.
Having somewhat caught my breath, I straighten up and turn to face him, holding
my hands out submissively. Jacob is pacing angrily across the porch now, his
eyes focused straight ahead, but unseeing.
"Jacob, I just want to help her."
My words do nothing to slow his enraged pacing, and for a moment I wonder if he
even heard what I said.
"I should have never let you out of my sight last night you lying son of a
bitch," he fumes. "You said you were going to leave."
"That was my intention, but when I went to my room, she was there."
Jacob shakes his head, still refusing to look at me. "You're so full of shit
it's unbelievable. I was with her, remember? She was asleep when I left her
room last night."
"I don't know what happened. She must have woken up and snuck into my room
while we were all downstairs. She said she's been having trouble sleeping.
Maybe she sleeps better in our bed than hers."
Jacob halts in his tracks, whirling around to face me with wide eyes. "Ourbed!"
I sigh. "My bed," I correct unwillingly. "Bella has spent more nights in my
room than her own. It just seems logical that she'd be more comfortable there."
"Whatever," he grumbles, looking away from me again. "You should have left her
alone."
"I considered that, but I needed to see her for myself. I needed to see that
she was OK."
Jacob takes a step toward me. "She's not OK!"
"I know," I agree solemnly.
Jacob resumes his pacing, but his fury seems to have subsided a little. I jump
at the opportunity to justify myself.
"She woke up," I begin. "And we just started talking. She told me things,
things she hasn't told you, or Carlisle, or anyone. And when she told me she
couldn't sleep, I gave her a sleeping pill. Well, I thought it was a sleeping
pill, but it's actually one of the medications that Carlisle has been trying to
get her to take. When I offered it to her, she took it. Carlisle thought that
was a good sign. He told me I still had some kind of bond with her, that she
trusts me."
Jacob huffs, but I ignore it.
"Carlisle asked me to try again, to talk to her again, and see if I could get
her to take the other medication she's been refusing. Believe me, I thought he
was completely crazy, but I had to try. I have no idea what I said to her to
make her change her mind, but it worked."
"You have no idea what you said!"he seethes.
I flinch, surprised by his hostile outburst.
"Allow me to enlighten you," he says harshly, taking an aggressive step toward
me. "How about that you care about her, that you'll be there for her,that
you'll be the one to help her through this. Or maybe you can't live in a world
where she doesn't exist. Any of that ring any bells?"
"Yeah, I said that," I answer, the confusion clear in my voice. "I don't see
what's wrong with -"
"I'm not going to let you do this to her!" he explodes. "I don't care how she
justifies it to herself; I won't let you manipulate her like this again."
Manipulate? A second later his words click into place in my mind. Bella still
thinks I'm helping her for my benefit. And from her point of view – believing
that and not knowing the truth – of course she would think my words were
anything but sincere.
Ashamed, I hang my head and stare at the floor. "You're right," I confess.
"It's just so easy to fall back into how we were before, to be myself around
her. I forget that it's not like that anymore."
"That's right. It's not like that. Not now, not ever."
"I don't want that," I say softly.
"I don't give a shit what you want."
I take a step toward him, holding my hands up as if to beg him to understand.
"Jacob, everything I said to her today was the truth. I do care about her, I
will be there for her, and I will help her through this. You have to believe
that everything I've done was because I truly believed it was what was best for
her."
"Sure, sure, and cheating on her was completely in her best interest," he says
sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
I shake my head. I'm a fool if I think Jacob will accept the truth that easily.
"I never cheated on her," I confess.
"Fine. Call it whatever you want."
He isn't getting it; he isn't listening. I'm going to have to spell it out for
him. "Jacob, I never cheated on her. There is no one else. There never was."
Jacob stares at me for a moment, and then shakes his head as if to clear his
thoughts. "What? What are you talking about?"
"I lied."
Jacob steps toward me, and I can see the rage building in his eyes again. "You
lied!"
"Yes, I lied. Nothing happened when she was gone. That was all bullshit."
"What - why? Why would you do that?" Jacob raises his hands to his temples,
pressing them firmly to his head as if it's about to explode. "What, it wasn't
enough for you just to break her heart; you needed to completely destroy her
too?"
I wince, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. When I open them again, Jacob is
still staring at me, waiting for my explanation.
Suddenly, his tone becomes resigned, and he drops his hands to his sides. "If
you didn't want to be with her anymore, why didn't you just say that?"
"Because that's not the truth either," I admit firmly.
Jacob throws his hands in the air again, but the gesture is now one of
frustration. He turns his back to me as he begins to pace. "I'm beyond
confused. I don't understand why you would do this to her."
"Because she would be better off without me."
Jacob shakes his head. "You're going to have to do better than that."
I take another deep breath, trying to decide where to start. I don't have to
think about it long; it's the exact place I should have started with Bella.
"Before Bella came here, I was a complete mess. I had been for years. To say I
was completely out of control is the understatement of the century. I mean, it
started off pretty mild: shoplifting, cutting school, sneaking out, that kind
of stuff. It was like the more furious it made my parents, the more I wanted to
do it."
While I ramble, I wander over to the porch stairs and sink down onto the top
step, leaving Jacob standing behind me.
"Things just kept getting worse," I continue. "I started getting into fights,
getting suspended, getting arrested…"
To my surprise, Jacob moves into my line of sight and sits down next to me,
mimicking my position. I glance at him, studying his reaction. He seems
completely engrossed in my story.
"Arrested for?" he prods with a wave of his hand.
"Trespassing, breaking and entering, vandalism, physical assault - "
"I get the picture," he interrupts.
"That was only the beginning." I look down at my hands and begin fiddling with
my bandaged fingers as I continue. "I partied all the time. I started drinking
every weekend, I slept with a different girl almost every night, and I picked
up a nice little coke addiction to complete the package," I say critically. "It
went on for a while, and I had no intention of stopping. And then, one night, I
got so fucked up that I slammed my car into a guardrail on Interstate 5."
Jacob glances toward my car automatically. "No, not that one," I explain. "It
was a Volvo. Same color as my BMW, but smaller. I totaled it, of course. Kinda
wish Carlisle would have gotten me another one instead of bringing home that
thing," I jerk my head toward my car, "but he was all about airbags, and safety
ratings, and re-enforced steel framing after the accident, so I guess…," I let
my words trail off.
"What?" Jacob asks.
I huff. "Well, I never really thought about it before." I jerk my head toward
my car again. "Carlisle knew how much I liked my Volvo. When he came home with
that thing, I just thought he was doing it to aggravate me or something."
"So he got you that car because he wanted to keep you safe," Jacob clarifies.
"Yeah, I guess so. I just didn't see it that way back then."
Silently, I begin to consider what else I may have misinterpreted over the last
few months – years even. No doubt there were other times my anger prevented me
from seeing the true motives behind Carlisle's words or his actions.
"Just be thankful you didn't end up with a Hummer… or a tank," Jacob says. We
both chuckle quietly.
"Yeah, I guess you're right. But I did like that Volvo. It saved my life. They
think I was going close to ninety when I hit the barrier."
"Shit," Jacob mumbles. "How are you not dead?"
I shake my head. "No idea. I had been on a two day bender, so I don't remember
much. I woke up in the hospital a few days after the accident completely busted
up. I broke my arm, a couple of ribs; Emmett said my entire body was purple
from all the cuts and bruises."
"So what happened?"
"Well, I added a felony to my record - possession of a controlled substance.
Carlisle and his team of lawyers managed to keep me out of jail, but I'm still
serving two years' probation. I have to report every month for drug screenings,
and if I screw up again, I'm royally fucked."
Jacob looks away, staring at the ground as he processes what I've said.
"Jacob, you had to know something of my past. Did you ever say anything about
it to Bella?"
"All I knew was that you had a reputation. I didn't know the details. I warned
her once, when I first saw you two together, that she should be careful, but
that was it. She doesn't know any of this." Jacob lets out a small chuckle.
"She was so in love with you, I could have said you had two heads and she
wouldn't have cared."
His use of the past tense stings. She was…
"OK, so you've got a sordid past," he says, shrugging his shoulders casually.
"What does that have to do with Bella?"
"After the accident, when I was charged, Esme was still in negotiations for her
book. That was part of the incentive to keep me out of jail. They had to ensure
her publishers never learned about my felony. They wouldn't have allowed her
book to be published if they thought her son could be the source of some
scandal. They had to protect her public image and all that."
I twist my body toward Jacob, hoping he can read the sincerity in my expression
as my words come out in a rush. "I didn't know about any of this. Carlisle only
told me a few weeks ago. Had I known it could happen to Bella, I would have
stayed away. I would never have put her though this."
"Had you known what could happen to Bella?" Jacob asks, confused.
"That it would be the same for her, that if she were to tie herself to me, my
reputation could destroy her career."
Jacob's eyebrows knit together. "How?"
"What do you mean how?" I fume, annoyed by his questions. "Don't you get it? My
bad decisions almost destroyed my mother's career, and if Bella and I are
together, I will do the same to hers."
He shakes his head. "No. I mean yeah, I get that part. But that doesn't really
apply anymore."
"You don't think she's going to be able to recover from this?" I ask unnerved.
"You don't think she'll be able to continue dancing?"
Jacob shakes his head even harder than before. "No, no. That's not what I'm
saying. For one thing, it's not really like that anymore. I mean, maybe it is
in some of the major dance companies. I guess if she was being considered for
some of the most coveted positions, then yeah, you might cause some problems.
But, I mean, since she's accepted the apprenticeship, that's not really the
case. Victoria wouldn't take that away."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Bella's job. The apprenticeship," he says with a shrug as if the information
is old news.
I shake my head. "She turned it down."
"No she didn't."
"Yes she -" I hold my hands up to stop the back and forth before it gets any
more ridiculous. "The day before she left for Florida she turned down a job.
From what Carlisle said, it was a very prestigious offer, some kind of lead
choreography position or something."
"Oh, yeah," Jacob says as the pieces fall into place. "Yeah, she turned down
that job." He makes a face as if the idea of her having made any other decision
is revolting. Once he composes himself, he notices my confused expression.
"It was a lead choreography position… with the upcoming Britney Spears world
tour. It would have been horrible for her. She would have spent eight months
living out of hotels, dancing the same hip-hop routines night after night. Sure
the money was good, freaking awesome, and she could totally do the job, but
that's not the kind of dancing either of us want to do. And if she had taken
it, she would have been classified as a hip-hop choreographer for the rest of
her life."
Jacob stares at me, puzzled. "She's been getting about four or five offers like
that a month. They've been pouring in ever since she did that video. Britney
was the biggest, of course, but still."
"But I saw her when she was on the phone. I had no idea who she was talking to,
but she seemed upset."
"Well, yeah. She was probably starting to think that's all that was out there
for her. I know I would start to feel that way."
"How did I not know about any of this? She never told me she was getting job
offers."
"Probably because Victoria handled most of them. Britney's people were pushier
than the others; they wouldn't deal with Victoria and wanted to speak to Bella
directly. But Victoria handled the rest. Think of it this way, you don't tell
Bella every time a telemarketer calls and tries to sell you something. It's
like that - same thing." He shrugs.
"Ah, I don't think that's quite the same thing, Jacob."
"OK, yeah, maybe that's a bad analogy, but you see what I mean. It wasn't a big
deal. She probably didn't give it a second thought."
"Then what job are you talking about?" I ask.
"Three weeks ago, Victoria offered her a position with the Academy."
I stare at him for a moment, completely stunned. Jacob must interpret my
silence as confusion.
"The Washington Academy of Performing Arts, where we're in school." he
clarifies, looking at me like I'm dense.
"I know that," I say defensively. "What – what position?"
"The Academy has been putting together an undergrad degree program. They start
offering courses next fall. Victoria is heading it up. They offered Bella a
full-ride - a four year scholarship to get her Bachelors in Fine Arts and an
instructor position with the Academy when she graduates. She's going to be
Victoria's apprentice and actually help define some of the undergrad
curriculum. Then, when Victoria retires in a few years, Bella will take over as
her successor. The job also guarantees her a principle position with Washington
Center of Performing Arts. She's going be one of their lead soloists."
"She accepted?"
"Hell yeah she did!" he booms. "She'd be insane to turn it down."
"Wow," I breathe. I stare straight ahead, feeling overwhelmed with pride for
what she's accomplished. I'm sure I'm grinning like an idiot, but I don't care.
All her hard work, all her years of sacrifice, is finally being rewarded. She
earned this. She deserves this. "That's just… wow. I can't believe she didn't…"
I can feel the smile fade from my face, and I don't need to finish the thought.
I know why she didn't tell me. I wasn't around.
As reality seeps back in, my mind begins to swim, and I can't focus on one
thought long enough to process it before another shoves it out of the way.
Bella isn't leaving Seattle.
There is no reason why we can't be together.
My reputation isn't going to ruin her future.
There is no reason for us to be apart anymore.
She is going to have the life she always wanted.
We could have a life together.
"So you broke up with her for her own good," Jacob clarifies, interrupting my
reeling thoughts.
I nod, silently cursing him for reminding me. We won't have a life together
because we aren't together. Bella hates me. I've destroyed everything – every
chance of getting her back.
"And you lied and told her you met someone else," he continues, unknowingly
assaulting me with his words.
I nod again.
"Why didn't you just tell her the truth?"
"You know Bella as well as I do, Jacob. If I had told her the truth, told her
what my reputation could do to her career, what do you think she would have
done?"
Jacob considers my question for a moment. "Yeah, I see your point. The girl is
a martyr."
"So I had to convince her she didn't want to be with me."
"Well, mission accomplished," he says spitefully.
I try not to groan out loud.
"So what about the whole make-nice-with-the-girl-next-door bit? That's all crap
too?"
I cringe. "Yes and no."
"No!"
"After the accident, I went on this crusade to prove to my parents that I had
changed, and that I was sorry for all I'd done to them. But no matter what I
did, Carlisle wouldn't let go of his resentment toward me. When I met Bella, I
thought if Carlisle saw me with someone like her then maybe he'd see me
differently. It was a stupid plan, and I quickly realized it would never work,
but when I ended it with her, I twisted the story around to make it seem like
it was the foundation for our whole relationship. I thought it was a good idea
at the time. I thought it would be an easy way to make her hate me, since it
wasn't far from the truth, because – because I couldn't tell her I didn't want
to be with her anymore. I couldn't tell her I didn't love her. I couldn't do
that. I'll never be able to do that."
"So how did the new girlfriend get thrown in there?"
"Bella didn't believe me. At least, that's what she said at the time. She
wasn't going to let me go. I could see that. So I panicked and blurted out the
first thing that popped into my head. It was never my intention to do that, to
lie like that. I didn't want to do that — it felt like it would kill me to do
it — but when I saw the look on her face, I knew she believed it. It was all I
had to go on, so I ran with it."
Jacob doesn't say anything for several minutes. He continues to stare straight
ahead, likely processing everything I've told him. "So, for the most part, it
was all bullshit?" he finally asks.
"Yes, Jacob."
"This is seriously fucked up," he mumbles, still staring off into the distance.
"I know."
Jacob blinks, and his posture seems to relax a little as he twists his body
toward me. "I'm not saying what you did was right. Your logic was completely
fucked up, but given the information you had at the time… I guess - well, I
guess I can see why you thought you needed to do it."
I roll my eyes. "Thanks, I think."
We are both silent again, and I can feel Jacob's eyes on me. No doubt he can
see that I'm trying to work up the courage to ask him something – to ask him
the question that has been burning in my mind since the moment I broke her
heart.
"Jacob, do you think she will ever forgive me?" I ask, glancing at him
cautiously.
He shrugs. "I don't know, maybe, maybe not." Jacob seems to consider my
question again. "I don't see how you'll ever regain her trust. You do realize
you've been lying to her since the beginning?"
Hopelessness washes over me, and I look away as my throat tightens in response.
"You still love her," he says softly.
My head whips back to glare at him. After everything I just told him, how could
he question that? "Of course I do," I defend. "She's everything to me. Nothing
will change that."
Jacob sighs. "All you can do is talk to her. You have to tell her all of this;
she deserves to know the truth regardless. But, honestly, I really don't think
she's in the right frame of mind to hear it right now."
"No, I completely agree. The first priority is for her to get well. That's why
I haven't said anything -"
"Yes, you have," he interrupts. "You just don't realize you're doing it. That's
why she called me tonight. That's why she's so upset. Not because she couldn't
eat today, because of you. You're messing with her head, sending her mixed
signals. She thinks you have a girlfriend, that you don't love her, but then
you go and tell her 'you can't live in a world where she doesn't exist,' and
that you are going to be there to help her though all this. It doesn't add up
in her mind."
"I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to protect her, to not hurt her anymore. I
thought it was too risky to tell her the truth right now when she's already
dealing with so much. I thought it could upset her more, make this whole mess
worse."
"I get it, and you're probably right to some extent, but it can't go on like
this much longer. Not if you truly want to help her. She's terrified that if
she lets her guard down, if she lets you back in, she won't be able to survive
it."
I hold my head in my hands, pressing the heel of my palm firmly against my eyes
to hide the agony I'm sure is radiating from my expression.
Jacob's strong hand squeezes my shoulder. "She does still love you."
Shocked, I turn to face him. "How do you know?"
Jacob smiles sympathetically at me. "She says it in her sleep."
The front door opens, and light from inside the house sweeps over us like the
blinding beam from a lighthouse. We both turn to see Carlisle standing in the
doorway, his silhouette outlined in the glow. He steps out onto the porch,
thankfully pulling the door closed behind him. As he takes in the scene before
him - the two of us seated together, Jacob's hand on my shoulder, comforting me
- it's clear in his expression that whatever he was expecting to find out here,
this isn't it.
Carlisle stumbles over his words. "Um… Bella is asking for you, Jacob. She
wants to know if you'll stay with her tonight."
Jacob nods, and then looks back to me. He smiles sadly, pats my shoulder twice,
and then pushes off me to stand up. I listen as his footsteps retreat into the
house, and the door closes gently behind him. For a brief second, I assume I'm
alone. Then, from the corner of my eye, I see Carlisle take the seat Jacob just
occupied.
"The IV is setup and everything looks good so far," he reports.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you."
"Oh, no, that's all right. Actually, it gave me and Bella an opportunity to
talk." Carlisle nervously twists his hands in front of him. "She told me what
you did for her today."
"She's probably pretty annoyed with me."
"No… well, maybe a little." Carlisle chuckles. "She said you wouldn't put up
with any of her… crap."
I try to smile, but it fades quickly.
"She told me you were always coming to her rescue, so she wasn't surprised when
you… how did she put it… materialized last night."
Bewildered, I turn my head and stare at him. "She said I was always coming to
her rescue?" I repeat, clearly confused.
"She said you took care of her, that you were always there when she needed you
the most."
I look away again, shaking my head. After everything I've done to her, how
could she possibly think that way?
"Some knight in shining armor I turned out to be," I mumble under my breath.
Carlisle's tone becomes serious, "Edward, when she speaks of you, it's like
she's talking about someone who died. Not someone who merely… left her."
I feel that too familiar lump begin to tighten in my throat again. "That's
because I am dead to her."
"I think that's a bit melodramatic, even for you, Edward," he scolds.
"Not really. You just don't know the whole story."
"Care to enlighten me?"
I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. I'm not sure how much I want to tell
him. It's repulsive to me to think how many people will know the truth now -
everyone but the one person who needs to hear it the most. But my masochistic
nature wins out, and for the second time tonight, I reveal how I walked away
from my only reason for existing.
I tell Carlisle the entire story, every facet of the lies I constructed to push
Bella away and why I felt the need to do it like that. But Carlisle doesn't
know her the way Jacob and I do, so I'm forced to go back even further. When I
begin to explain how selfless she is, when I start talking about the amazing
person I've come to know and the impact she's had on my life, I can't force
myself to stop.
I tell Carlisle everything, pouring my heart and soul out to him. I expose
every thought, every emotion, every moment of my time with Bella. It all flows
from me without restraint.
The words catch in my throat as I reach the end of my story. I struggle as I
recall my time at Jasper's and how it felt being apart from her. Then, in
graphic detail, I explain everything I saw, everything I said, and everything I
felt last night when I discovered what had happened to Bella while I was gone.
When I begin to retell the events of this morning - how I almost walked out on
her again - the tightness in my throat makes it almost impossible to speak.
I explain, as best I can, the moment that everything changed for me. How I
realized that even when I was trying to be good and repent for my mistakes,
when I thought I had turned my life around, that I had never let go of my anger
and resentment. I describe how that realization came to me so clearly, and how
I made the decision to let it go – to not to be that monster anymore.
My story shifts focus again, back to Bella. I explain how she broke down this
morning, again and again, and that she seemed resigned to let her depression
have her. I describe the desolate look in her eyes and how I feared telling her
the truth now would only make it worse.
"So Bella still has no knowledge of your prior substance abuse or your
probation?" Carlisle asks, disbelief seeping into his expression and his tone.
I shake my head.
Carlisle places a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of me. Over the
course of our two-hour conversation – well, monologue as I did all the talking
– the temperature had dropped outside, forcing us to retreat to the kitchen. I
wrap my fingers around the mug to warm them, the heat barely seeping though the
bandages on my right hand. Carlisle takes the seat next to me at the head of
the table, placing his own cup in front of him.
"I had no idea. I thought – well, I thought you had told her about your past
and that had ended your relationship."
"No, not even close. Like I said, I started to tell her the truth today, but I
thought it was too risky when she's already dealing with so much. I thought it
would make this whole mess worse if I upset her more."
"I can see why you might think that, but I don't necessarily agree. I don't
believe either of you will truly begin to heal until this is resolved. You need
to talk to her, tell her the truth."
"I can't talk to her about this now. Even Jake thinks that she's not ready to
hear it."
Carlisle sighs and shakes his head. "I don't agree, but you know her better
than I do, so I'll leave the final decision up to you. I think this has gone on
long enough, and once you see how much better she feels tomorrow, I hope you'll
reconsider."
I nod, and Carlisle takes a sip of his drink. We are both silent for several
minutes, and I'm sure Carlisle is processing everything I just unloaded on him.
"I wish," he says softly. "I mean, had I known… I just…"
I glance up at Carlisle. I have never seen him at a loss for words before. For
a moment he won't meet my gaze, staring down at his cup as he visibly tries to
collect his thoughts. Finally, he lifts his eyes to meet mine, and from the
emotion I see in them, I know what he's going to say before he opens his mouth.
"I'm so sorry, Son. I had no idea," he shakes his head, "no idea how hard you
were struggling after the accident. I wish you could have talked to me, but I
had already shut you out, hadn't I? I'm so sorry. I should have been there for
you." Carlisle looks down at his cup again. "I owe that girl more than I'll
ever know," he mumbles to himself.
My eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What?" Surely I didn't hear him
correctly.
Carlisle eyes snap to mine again. "Don't you see? You practically said so
yourself. Bella was the one to make you whole again."
I look down at the table. I'm sure his words were meant to be comforting, but
they only serve to twist the knife deeper into my chest. I would never be whole
again.
Carlisle pushes his cup aside and leans toward me, his hand resting gently on
my arm. "Edward, when you were a young boy, you always acted like - like you
felt as if you were a guest in our home, that being with us was only temporary.
As you got older, you distanced yourself even further. And then Bella came to
live with us. At the time, I didn't understand what brought about the change in
you, but I did see it. Looking back now, it was so obvious."
"Listening to you talk about her tonight, seeing how hard you're fighting for
her, how deeply you feel for her, I see it so clearly now. She was the part of
you that has been missing all these years. She showed you that, though no one
can replace your parents, you can love again. Esme and I, we tried to show you
that all these years, that we love you, Edward. You are our son, just as if you
had been born to us. Nothing will ever change that. But it didn't matter how
much we tried, it wasn't until those missing pieces of your heart were returned
to you that you could start to heal. That girl upstairs, she gave me my son
back. She has made you whole again. She has made this family complete."
I pull my arm from under Carlisle's grasp and cover my eyes with the heel of my
hands. I try to hold back the flood of emotions his words bring on, but it's
too much. Everything I repressed throughout this exhaustive day comes crashing
down on me. And when my chest heaves with the first deep sob, I let go.
I don't hear Carlisle stand up from his seat, and I barely register as he pulls
me up from mine. When his arms wrap around me, I crumple against his chest and
allow my father to console me. For the next several minutes, I lean against
him, unable to pull myself together as I cry harder than I ever have in my
entire life.
"I'm so sorry, Edward. I've failed you in every way imaginable. Just when you
started to turn your life around, I ripped your salvation from you. I hope you
understand that, at the time, I was acting in what I thought was Bella's best
interest. When I discovered you were together, I honestly believed it was
another one of your rebellious antics to incite another war between us. Even
when you told me that was untrue, I didn't believe you. I just saw you dragging
that poor girl into our mess, and I refused to allow that to happen. It's no
excuse, but you must see that your behavior up into that point had not led me
to see it any differently. I had been completely blinded by my anger over your
disobedience in the past that I couldn't see beyond it. I couldn't see how much
you've changed, how good Bella was for you. I didn't see it… until it was too
late. I was wrong, so very wrong."
I let out a shaky breath. "I am - so sorry for all the stupid things I've done.
For everything. I never meant to - I never wanted to hurt anyone. I had no idea
I was - that I would - I'm so sorry."
Carlisle grips my shoulders and pushes me back, forcing me to look at him. Even
as he shakes his head, I can see the shimmer of unshed tears in his eyes.
"That's all behind us now."
"But I was so stupid - so stubborn. All you wanted to do was help me, and I
fought you every step of the way. I'm – I'm so sorry."
"I forgave you, Edward, a long time ago. That's all over now."
"But you and Esme – you didn't deserve this. I've put you through hell. How –
how can you just let it go?"
"Because you are our son," he says firmly. "We love you. I love you. Don't ever
forget that. Nothing will ever change that."
"I – I love you too."
Carlisle's lips curve into a sad smile, and he pulls me to him again. For the
first time, I return his embrace, and I allow his words to absolve me of the
guilt and shame that have been pressing down on me for far too long.
Several minutes pass as I stand wrapped in the comfort of my father's arms. The
unexpected sound of a key turning in the lock breaks the silence. Carlisle
stiffens slightly as the front door opens, and I don't need to lift my head to
know who has joined us.
"It's all right," Carlisle says, but not to me.
I listen to the unmistakable sound of bags being dropped on the wood floor and
the click of Esme's heels as she crosses the living room. When she reaches us,
I feel her small hand brush lightly across my back.
"It's OK. Everything's all right," Carlisle repeats.
I lift my head then, turning to look at Esme. The worried expression on her
face intensifies as she stares at my tear-streaked cheeks. She glances quickly
between Carlisle and me, her eyes asking a thousand silent questions as she
studies us. I disentangle myself from my father and throw my arms around her.
"Oh," she gasps, clearly startled by my sudden embrace.
"Thank you," I mumble, my words muffled against her shoulder. "Thank you for
loving me."
"Oh, sweetheart," Esme chokes. "We do. We love you… so much."
A strong hand touches my head and then squeezes my shoulder. I lift my face
just as Carlisle gently kisses the top of Esme's head, his other arm wrapped
securely around her waist.
"Please don't cry," I beg as the tears stream down her face.
Esme laughs through her tears, reaching up to stroke away the moisture from my
cheeks. She glances back and forth between me and Carlisle for a moment, still
holding my face in her hands. "And to think," she says teasingly, "I've spent
the last five hours on a plane planning out how to murder you both in your
sleep, only to walk in the door and find… this."
We all chuckle.
~o0o~
BPOV
I'm thankful Jake agreed to stay with me last night. He probably sensed I
didn't want to be alone, even before I asked him to.
The IV doesn't bother me at all. I had one when I got my tonsils out, so I know
what to expect. What I don't expect is how much better I feel this morning. I
wake up with a burst of energy, feeling as if I could spend hours in the studio
or throw on my sneakers and go for a run. When I mention these ideas to
Carlisle, I get a stern look in response. He pulls the needle from my hand,
covering the spot where it pierced my skin with a small bandage, and restricts
me to my bed for the rest of the day.
"Let's see how today goes," he says. "Then we can discuss how much exercise you
should be getting right now when we meet with Dr. Weber tomorrow morning."
There's a faint knock, and we all turn to see Edward standing in the doorway.
He's wearing a dark grey sweatshirt. One hand is buried in the front pocket,
and the other holds a shot glass.
"Thank you, Son," Carlisle says as he takes the glass from him and turns back
toward me.
He holds the glass out to me, the look on his face silently asking if I'm ready
to try again. I take the glass, noticing for the first time that it's not the
same muted pink color as the day before.
"What is this?" I ask, studying the thick, white liquid.
"Angel Food," Edward says, still lurking just inside the door. "I thought you
might like something different today."
He's right. Although the smoothie yesterday did taste good, just the thought of
having to gulp down any more of that fruity flavor makes the bile rise in my
throat.
"Ah," Carlisle breathes, glancing back to Edward. "I was wondering where you
disappeared to this morning. That was a good idea."
Edward simply shrugs and glances sheepishly at the ground.
I swallow the small drink quickly. The light, vanilla flavor is a welcome
change. "Thanks," I say softly, licking my lips to savor the taste. Edward's
eyes snap up. "It's really good. That was very… considerate."
For a split second, a hopeful expression sweeps across Edward's face before he
glances at his father. I follow his gaze to see Carlisle smiling back at his
son.
Damn it! How does he do that! Once again, he's got me playing right into his
scam, and he doesn't even seem to be trying.
Carlisle returns his focus to me. "Now, Bella, I'm certain today will be better
than yesterday, but I don't want you to feel discouraged if it takes us a few
tries."
I nod, and for some reason Carlisle looks to Edward again as if he's seeking
his understanding as well. Edward just glances at the floor, shoving his free
hand into the pocket of his sweatshirt.
"Don't hesitate if you need anything," Carlisle says, walking to the door.
"We'll just be downstairs." He pauses and grips Edward's shoulder, forcing him
to look up. They stare at each other for a second before Edward nods solemnly
and follows after Carlisle as he leaves the room.
I guess this means the babysitting duties are now relinquished to Jake, who
seems all too comfortable snuggled under my covers, watching some lame reality
show on Edward's laptop. I wish he would have paid closer attention to the odd
exchange that just took place. Then I wouldn't be wondering if I read too much
into it.
Stupid Bella. Of course I read more into it. Edward probably couldn't stomach
another day with me anyway. He probably spent most of last night wishing he
could pour bleach into his brain to wash out the images of my digestive
pyrotechnics. And surely his girlfriend isn't too thrilled he spent his entire
Saturday stuck at home with…
"Whatever you are thinking about you need to stop."
I raise my head from where it's nestled comfortably on Jake's chest to look at
him. "How did you know?"
He smirks. "I know you."
I lay my head back down and refocus on the screen, forcing my mind to
concentrate on the program and nothing else. "What is this show about again?" I
ask after a few minutes.
"Crab fishermen on the Bering Sea. It's the most dangerous job on earth."
Sure enough, just as Jake utters the words, a huge wave washes over the bow of
the ship, sweeping the entire crew off their feet. The dialog is completely
obscured with a long 'beeeeep' as the Captain hurls an endless, profanity-laced
order for his crew to secure the equipment as it slides across the deck.
"The most dangerous job on earth, huh?" I repeat. "Evidently they've never
tried dancing in six inch hooker heals."
Jacob laughs, causing my head to bounce on his chest. "You're a terrible
pillow," I scold as I try to move away from him, but the arm wrapped around my
back just holds me tighter.
"Jake! Let me go!" I try harder to wiggle out from his grasp, but he only
laughs at my weak attempt to free myself. I reach behind his head and grab hold
of my pillow, yanking it out from under him. His head falls back in the same
instant, and I swiftly whack his face with my weapon.
"Oh, now you've done it, Swan!" In one quick movement, Jake places Edward's
laptop on the floor, and then flips me on my back. He straddles my legs,
pinning me underneath him as he ruthlessly tickles my sides.
"No! Jake, stop!" I squeal between fits of laughter.
He doesn't stop, digging his fingers deeper into my ribs. "Say you're sorry,"
he demands.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I'm laughing so hard now I can barely press out the
words.
"Tell me how handsome I am."
I giggle uncontrollably. "You could be a model!"
He merely slows his assault but doesn't stop. "Say I'm the greatest dancer
alive."
I pretend to consider his command for a moment. "Eh, I wouldn't go that far," I
tease. This brings on a whole new round of attacks.
Jake doesn't let up his childish tickling, and I continue to hit the side of
his face, his chest, his body, anywhere I can reach with my pillow.
Someone clears their throat and we both freeze, staring at each other with wide
eyes as if we've just been caught doing something terribly mischievous. I turn
my head in the direction of the sound to see Edward leaning against the door
frame, holding another shot glass in his hand. The right side of his mouth is
turned up in that glorious crooked grin that made my heart melt all those weeks
ago.
"I could come back if you two want to be alone," he teases.
"Nah," Jake says as he rolls off of me. "I'm done with this one. I think she's
learned her lesson."
Once I'm free from his grasp, I sit up and try to tame my hair back from my
face. I'm sure it's a tangled mess after Jake's vicious attack.
Edward shoves off the door and walks over to me, keeping one hand in his pocket
as he hands the shot glass to me. I stare at him, confused. "But… it's not time
yet."
"Bella, it's been over an hour."
I glance at the clock. He's right. "But that means… I didn't get sick."
Edward smiles proudly. "No, you didn't."
I look back and forth from him to Jake a few times, both of them grinning down
at me as they stand beside my bed. As the realization finally sinks in, I'm
sure my idiotic grin matches theirs.
I take the glass from Edward and drink the slimly liquid quickly, handing the
empty glass back to him. He can't seem to wipe the smirk from his face or tear
his eyes away from mine.
"Jacob, Es – ah, my mom, has breakfast ready downstairs if you're hungry,"
Edward says.
"Esme?" I repeat. She isn't due back from New York until the day after
tomorrow.
"She caught the red-eye after her meeting last night. She got home about one
this morning."
"I hope she didn't change her plans because of me," I confess. After everything
Carlisle has already done for me, I already feel like enough of a burden on
this family without tacking on a cancelled business trip.
Edward shrugs. "I think they got everything done ahead of schedule."
"You'll be ok if I go?" Jake asks.
"I can stay with her," Edward offers, still staring intently at me. "If that's
OK with you?"
I nod, automatically, before actually thinking about what I'm agreeing to.
Edward glances at Jake then, breaking the hypnotic spell that his stare has
created. I wait for Jake - my voice of sanity and reason - to object, but
instead it seems as if some silent conversation passes between them.
"All right, I'll be back," Jake announces.
My mouth falls open. Jake is actually going to leave me alone – with him!
Jake takes the empty glass from Edward and pats him on the shoulder as he heads
for the door. "Watch your back, man. She packs a mean pillow."
What the hell is going on? Something had to have happened last night when they
had their little man-to-man chat. Jake wouldn't give me any details when he
returned to my room, only saying it was a 'guy thing.' They must have drawn
some kind of truce or something, because Jake went from wanting to rip Edward's
head off to being… friendly.
Edward lifts his laptop from the floor as he sits down on the edge of my bed,
one hand still tucked into the pocket of his sweatshirt. "Deadliest Catch, huh?
You hate reality TV. I'm surprised you're not giving Jake hell for watching
this."
I flinch. Jake? Edward has never called him that. This is getting beyond weird.
I narrow my eyes at him.
Edward closes his laptop and sets it on the bed next to him. He glances up,
taking in my hostile expression. "What?"
"You and Jake seem to be getting along. What did you talk about last night?"
For a brief second, a hint of sadness flashes through Edward's eyes that I
don't understand. He composes himself quickly, drawing the smirk back to his
lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes as it did before. "We came to
an…understanding."
"About?" I press.
He shrugs. "We agreed that we should try to get along, that it would be best
for you."
I'm not buying it. There's more to it than that, I can tell. I open my mouth to
dispute him, but Edward cuts me off.
"It was nice to hear you laugh again," he whispers, diverting his eyes to the
bed. He says it so softly I almost don't hear him.
But I do hear him. I hear it, and I feel it. I feel that tiny shard of hope,
like a splinter that cuts just deep enough to hurt, but not bleed. In that
fraction of a second, I feel the most dangerous emotion of all - hope. Hope
that he really does care about me. Hope that he misses me. Hope that, somehow,
my Edward is still in there and that he still loves me. I feel it tearing at
the wound he has left in my heart. It's too much.
"Edward, stop." I scramble out of the bed.
"Bella. Bella, wait." He reaches out and grabs my wrist, just as he did two
nights ago.
I violently pull out of his grasp. "Let go of me!" I scream. There's no way I'm
going to allow him to stop me this time. I have to get away from him, or I'm
going to go insane.
Edward draws back his hand, holding them both up in surrender. I notice his
right hand, the hand he's been hiding in his pocket all morning – hiding from
me – is wrapped tightly in thick, white gauze. My eyes flash back to his face.
His expression is anxious, and I'm not sure if it's from the intensity of my
outburst or his unintentional revelation of his injured hand.
He stands and begins moving around the bed, forcing me to back away from his
advance. I suddenly feel like I'm being hunted, like he's the predator and I'm
the prey. The imagery sends a wave of fear through me, along with the sensation
to run.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"
I hold my hands up, indicating for him to stop talking. I don't understand
what's happening to me, why I feel like this. After everything we went through
yesterday, why do I suddenly feel the overwhelming need to protect myself from
him? I take a deep breath and try to relax. "Edward, just… go away."
"Bella, I can't - "
"I don't need babysitting, Edward. I think I proved that yesterday. Please,
just… leave me alone."
"But, Bella there's something I need to tell -"
"Edward, I can't do this! I can't be around you. I need you to - I need you to
leave me alone. You're scaring me. You're - you're hurting me."
Edward goes completely still. Immediately, I recognize the expression that
washes over his face. It's the same one as the night of our first fight, when
he knelt before me in the dance studio. It's the same heartbreak and pain. I
don't understand it. Why would my words cause him to feel that way again?
Edward closes his eyes and hangs his head. "I'm sorry," he mutters.
"Just… don't." I march around him and out the door, leaving him standing in the
center of my room.
===============================================================================
***** Chapter 19 *****
BPOV
I race across the hall to the bathroom, making sure to lock the door after I
slam it shut. I walk straight to the counter, grab hold of it tightly, and
force myself to take several deep breaths in an effort to calm down.
"Where's Bella?" Jake's muffled voice calls out.
"In there," Edward answers. His voice is clear, in comparison, as if he's
standing just on the other side of the door.
"She sick?" Jake asks.
"No, I don't think so."
"Did you - "
"No. I didn't get to..."
Their voices are obscured by the sound of their footsteps and the creak of the
wood floors. I can only make out broken fragments of their hushed conversation.
The small parts I do overhear make no sense to me, so I tune them out and
concentrate on trying to slow my racing pulse. I still feel out of control,
like adrenaline is exploding out of every cell in my body.
"No, Jacob. Promise me," Edward snarls, louder than before.
I dismiss his harsh tone, too focused on the crazed feeling that is surging
through my body. I lift one hand from the counter, watching my fingers as they
tremble violently. I shake my hand, forcefully ball it into a fist, and try to
make it stop, but that does no good. As I study my quivering hand again, my
vision blurs. Bright, white spots float across my eyes and obstruct my view.
Something is wrong, terribly wrong.
"Ed - Edward," I call out, panic seeping into my voice.
"Bella?" Edward's voice is clearer now, and the handle on the bathroom door
shakes as he tries to open it. "Bella, what's wrong?"
"I need –" I shake my head, stopping myself from saying what I really need. "I
need Carlisle."
"I'll get him," I hear Jake announce. The sound of his thunderous footsteps
diminishes as he retreats down the hallway.
"Bella, what's wrong?" Edward's tone is alarmed, just as mine was a second ago.
He continues to rattle the doorknob, relentlessly trying to force the door
open. "Bella? Bella, open the door."
I stumble to the door, but I'm so dizzy I have to brace myself against the wall
before I can flip the latch. The second the lock disengages, Edward heaves the
door open. He catches my elbow right as I slump against the wall and slowly
lowers me to the ground. I twist around and sit with my back against the wall,
pulling my knees up and propping my elbows against them. I press my hands into
my eyes, silently begging God to either let me pass out or stop the room from
spinning.
"Bella, what's wrong? What's going on?" I can feel Edward's hands grip my arms,
and I concentrate on the sensation of being anchored in place, on the feeling
of being secure - safe.
What the hell is happening to me? One minute I'm terrified of him and the next
he's my lifeline - the one I instinctively call out to when I'm about to lose
it.
"Talk to me, please," he begs.
"Bella?" Carlisle calls from the hallway.
"In here." Edward releases his hold on me, and I sense him move away so
Carlisle can take his place.
"Bella, what's going on, sweetheart?" he asks.
"I – I don't know. I don't feel right."
Carlisle's fingers wrap around my arm, and he presses them gently into my wrist
to monitor my pulse.
"Carlisle," Edward says softly, "she's shaking."
"Bella, it's all right, sweetheart. Take a deep breath. You're OK."
I do as I'm told, but it doesn't make me feel any better. I continue to hold my
head in my hands, terrified that if I move an inch the awful spinning will get
worse.
A hand touches the top of my head and brushes down my hair to my shoulders. It
repeats the motion, over and over, the movement slowly lulling me into a sense
of composure. I take another deep breath, every soothing stroke through my hair
making me feel more and more serene.
"Shh," Edward whispers in my ear. "It's OK. You're OK."
"Good," Carlisle says, his fingers still monitoring my pulse. "That's better.
Just try to relax, Bella."
I nod, minutely, and take a few more deep breaths, concentrating on the slow
caresses against my head.
"Good. Now, Bella, can you tell me what brought this on?"
The hand combing through my hair freezes and disappears a second later.
"I – I don't know," I admit honestly. "I was fine, but when I stood up, my
heart started racing, and my hands started shaking, and then I got so dizzy -"
"Ah," Carlisle says knowingly. "Blurred vision?"
"Yes."
"And am I safe to assume you're having unwarranted feelings of anxiety?
Edginess? Agitation?"
I nod, still holding my hands over my eyes.
"Carlisle, what's going on?" Edward demands.
"Her blood sugar is elevated. The PN solution can do that. I can check it if
you'd like, Bella, but I'm fairly certain that is the cause of all this."
I shake my head. "No, no blood." I spent the entire day yesterday puking my
guts up; I do not need to do anything that will force me to repeat that
exercise.
"OK," Carlisle consents.
"But -" Edward begins to argue, but he quickly falls silent.
"Bella, do you think you can stand up?" Carlisle asks.
I lower my hands from my face, blinking a few times to clear my vision before
glancing around the room. Carlisle is kneeling directly in front of me, Edward
to my right and Jake on my left. Carlisle is the only one with a calm
expression; the other two look completely freaked out. Carlisle follows my
gaze, glancing at each of the men beside me.
"Why don't we give her some room guys? She's OK," he says.
Jake shuffles backward and then stands up, but Edward doesn't move an inch from
his spot. Carlisle glances at him again, but doesn't say anything.
Instead, he asks me, "Can you walk?"
I do a quick assessment of myself. I still feel pretty jittery, and my hands
are still trembling, but the dizziness seems to be over. I shift my feet under
my body, and Carlisle holds out both his hands. I allow him to slowly pull me
up from the floor. Edward jumps to his feet, his hands slightly extended, as if
he's ready to catch me should I start to fall on my face.
"I'd like for you to walk around for a while," Carlisle instructs. "It will
help bring down your blood sugar levels."
"How 'bout it, Bells?" Jake asks, wrapping one arm around my back. "You up for
a little stroll?"
"OK," I agree hesitantly. I'm still not completely confident I won't pass out,
but the idea of getting away from the room that has been my prison for the past
twenty-four hours is appealing, and some fresh air would probably help calm my
frazzled nerves. "Can we go outside?"
Jake cringes. "It's freaking cold out there. Wouldn't you rather stay in?"
"Oh. Yeah, I guess you're right," I concede. "We should stay in."
"Bella," Edward says, and I turn my attention to him. "Have you ever seen
snow?"
My foggy brain takes a second or two to process why he's asking me such a
random question, thinking that it must have snowed last night. Sure, I'd seen
snow on TV, and in pictures and movies, but never in real life. When I shake my
head, Edward's mouth turns up in a crooked smile.
"Well, I guess that settles it," Carlisle announces. "But only for a few
minutes – I don't want you to get cold. In fact, I'll get you one of Esme's ski
jackets."
"I can get it," Edward offers.
"Thanks, but you better let me. Your mother is taking a nap. She's not used to
staying up so late." Carlisle disappears out the door.
Jake sighs. "Come on, Bells. Let's get you layered up."
Five minutes later, I'm decked out in two pairs of thick socks, leggings
underneath my jeans, a sweater, a scarf, a hat, and a fur-lined ski jacket. If
I didn't feel like fainting before, I do now. The added layers of clothing,
combined with the heat inside the house, is stifling. But as Jake opens the
front door, and the first blast of arctic air hits my face, I'm grateful for
the added insulation.
I step onto the front porch and marvel at the blanket of snow covering the
yard, the trees, the cars - everything. It makes me think of marshmallow crème,
caking every surface it touches in brilliant white fluff. It's probably three
or four inches deep, less in some spots where random patches of tall grass peak
through, but the scene is still magical. I take a deep breath. The air seems
crisper, lighter somehow.
Jake brushes past me, stomping down the porch stairs and walking to his car.
With one hand, he sweeps the powder off the windshield, dumping it
unceremoniously on the ground. He's clearly unimpressed, but I continue to
stare at my surroundings as if I've just landed on an alien planet.
Slowly, I step down off the porch, my boots crunching the snow beneath my feet.
I bend down and scoop up and handful, watching as it sifts through my gloved
fingers and flutters to the ground. I yank off my glove and scrape my fingers
through the pile of snow that has collected on the railing. It's not as icy as
I would have thought, more like dust, soft and gentle, like touching a cold
feather.
As I scoop up another handful, the sun breaks free from the clouds, and the
entire yard transforms into thousands of glittering silver fragments.
"What do you think?" Edward asks quietly. I realize he's standing right behind
me. I don't turn around, but I can feel his eyes on me, studying my reaction.
Mesmerized, I continue to stare at the flakes as they sparkle in my hand. "It's
– it's like diamonds. It's beautiful."
"Bella."
I turn toward the sound of Carlisle's voice. He's standing on the front porch,
his arms wrapped tightly around his body to keep warm. He holds one hand up,
scissoring two fingers in a walking motion to indicate I need to keep moving.
"Come on, Bells," Jake calls. He jogs over to me and wraps one arm around my
shoulders, pulling me gently away from the house – away from Edward. I take a
few steps forward before glancing over my shoulder at him. He stares intently
at Jake, and then looks away before I can discern the expression on his face.
"Not too far," Carlisle warns.
"Don't worry, Doc. We're just going to the end of the street and back. Not even
half a block."
When we reach the end of the driveway, Jake drops his arm from my shoulder and
takes my gloved hand in his. We walk in silence, aside from the crunch of the
snow, for a few minutes while I continue to marvel at my surroundings.
"You tell me if you get tired, OK?"
"Jake, I think I can manage a walk to the stop sign and back."
"Bella," he says in a warning tone.
I sigh. "Yes, Jake, I'll tell you."
"You wanna talk about what happened just now?"
"What do you mean?"
"One minute you're fine, and the next thing I know you're having a full blown
panic attack. What did he say to you?"
"Nothing really. I mean all he said was it was nice to hear me laughing again,
and I completely lashed out at him. It was uncalled for. I kinda feel bad about
it now – now that I understand what was making me feel so out of control."
"Don't feel bad about that. The guy deserves a good lashing… or two or three."
"Oh, you think so?" I ask sarcastically. "Cause it looks like you guys are
pretty chummy."
Jake shrugs and releases my hand, shoving both of his into his jacket pockets.
I glance over at him, and the sheepish expression on his face gives him away.
"All right, out with it."
"Huh? Oh, it's nothing."
"Jake, you're keeping something from me, and I know it."
He sighs and stops walking, raising his eyes to meet mine. He studies me for a
moment, obviously vacillating between telling me what's on his mind, and
keeping it to himself. Apparently the latter wins out, and Jake shakes his
head. "I promised I'd let him explain it."
"Him! You promised him?" I repeat incredulously. "I'm your best friend, Jake,
not him. Remember?"
"I'm sorry, Bells, but it's not my place. I promise you'd rather hear it from
him anyway."
"I seriously doubt that," I huff.
"Look, I know how hard this must be for you, but just…" Jake pauses, shaking
his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he mumbles to himself. He takes
another deep breath and looks me in the eyes again. "You should hear him out;
hear what he has to say."
I throw my hands in the air in frustration. "If he has something to say to me,
then why didn't he just tell me yesterday, huh? He practically held me captive
all day."
"He's afraid of upsetting you."
"Well, it's a little late for that," I utter contemptuously.
"Bells," Jake sighs and stares at his feet again. "The guy's not perfect. He's
worried about you, we all are. It's no secret what brought all this on." Jake
sneaks a cautious glance at me, and I feel the indignation fade from my
attitude. Shamefully, I bite my lip. "He wants to talk to you about that, but
he's afraid if he upsets you again it will make… this," he pulls one hand from
his pocket and waves at my body, "worse for you."
"Jake, that's ridiculous. I'm fine."
He shakes his head. "No, Bells, you're not fine," he says softly. He stares at
me, and his obvious distress breaks my heart. "You're not fine," he repeats
somberly.
"Oh, Jake." I walk to him and wrap my arms around his waist. "It's OK. I'm
going to be OK." He holds me tightly to his chest, stroking his hand over my
head and down my hair. His hand feels odd – wrong – not the same as it did in
the bathroom. With a start, I realize it wasn't Jake's hand that soothed me
before.
"You promise?" he asks.
I nod against his chest. "Yes, Jake, I promise."
He squeezes me tighter and then releases me. He takes my hand again and pulls
me back in the direction we had just come. We walk silently for a while, and I
consider what Jake said. Edward wants to talk to me about how he ended things,
but why? What else could he possibly have to say? Did he want to apologize?
Then what? Did he think we could just… be friends?
Ever since he reappeared two days ago, he seems to be determined to be around.
He barely left my side yesterday, and he likely would have done the same today
had I not run out on him. Had I just assumed he would be out of my life
forever? That I would never see him again? I guess, in order to protect the
tiny shred of sanity I had left, my brain just wrote off the monumental detail
that we live in the same house.
Of course, being around me would be easier for him than being around him would
be for me. He isn't the one that was left behind. He has someone else. Did he
think I was over him already? Will I ever be over him? Will this pain ever go
away?
No. No, this pain will never go away. I don't want it to. The pain is my only
reminder that it was real. That what we had together was real. I don't care
what he said that night – it was real to me.
"So, are you going to school tomorrow?" Jake asks, interrupting my thoughts. He
already knows the answer. This is his not-so-subtle way of distracting me from
what I'm thinking. He knows me too well.
"You know I have a doctor's appointment in the morning, and Victoria said I
can't go back to studio class until I gain at least three pounds."
"What about rehearsals for the Christmas performance?"
I shrug, casually. "Same deal. I have to maintain a rate of three pounds a week
until I've gained it all back. If I keep up that rate I'm good, but if I lose
any, I'm back on the sidelines again. So that means I have to put on six pounds
before the performance or the understudy will be stuck with you. Poor girl." I
pretend to shudder, but apparently Jake isn't in the mood for my lame jokes.
"Is that a lot? Three pounds a week I mean?"
"Carlisle told me that I should gain pretty fast at first because my metabolism
is likely shot to hell. I should be back in rehearsals by next week. I'll make
the performance. I'm not worried; we could do that routine in our sleep." I
nudge his shoulder playfully, trying to lighten the mood.
"Yeah, we could," Jake agrees.
"But if you want to come over after school this week, we can work on it here."
Jake scowls at me. "Let's see what the Doc thinks first."
We turn the corner and step back onto the Cullen's driveway. Jake chuckles
quietly to himself, and I look up and follow his gaze. Edward is still outside,
pacing back and forth across the front porch, talking on his phone. He's
awkwardly holding it to his ear with his bandaged hand.
"Jake, what did Edward do to his hand?"
He shakes his head. "No clue."
I climb the stairs, refusing to meet Edward's gaze as we pass him. Once inside,
I immediately start to strip off the layers of heavy winter clothes. Carlisle
approaches me, and helps me out of Esme's jacket.
"How do you feel now?" he asks.
"Better. Thank you."
The front door opens again, and Edward steps into the house, his phone call
obviously over.
"The tremors?" Carlisle asks.
I tug the gloves off one at a time and hold out my hands, allowing Carlisle to
examine them. They're still trembling slightly, but nowhere near as badly as
they were thirty minutes ago.
"Hm, could be the cold. I would like to wait a little longer before you try to
eat – ah, drink anymore."
I nod. Making my way to the couch, I sit down and begin unlacing my boots.
"Edward, I thought you'd left," Carlisle scolds. "What are you still doing
here?"
"I just…"
"Go. Get out of here. You shouldn't keep her waiting."
My breath catches in my throat, and my fingers slip from the laces. Her.
It takes every ounce of my willpower to keep from looking up. Edward sighs, and
then the front door opens and closes again.
"I'm going to take a shower," I announce to no one in particular.
~o0o~
Finally, for the first time in two days, I'm alone. I strip out of my clothes
and step into the shower. Resting my forehead against the cold tiles, I allow
the spray to batter the back of my head and run down the sides of my face,
pulling my hair along in the flow. It hangs down each side of my face like a
heavy curtain, shielding me from the world outside. Now, there is nothing to
distract me from the thoughts racing through my brain.
I never really thought about her before. Not in the context of being a real,
physical person. I begin to wonder what she looks like. Is she taller than me?
Is she smart or pretty? Or maybe blonde and stupid is more his type. Maybe she
dotes on him, puts him first in everything she does, rather than obsess about
fulfilling some lifelong ambition.
I take in a jagged breath at the next thought to cross my mind. Maybe she makes
him happy.
I sink down to my knees. The water is starting to cool but it barely registers,
cascading over my face and mixing with my tears.
Does she love him as much as I do?
I cover my mouth to stifle the sob that threatens to escape.
Does he… love her?
I curl myself into a ball on the cold, tile floor of the shower, and let the
desolation of my thoughts have me. When the water runs cold, I reach up and
turn off the faucet, but I don't move from my spot.
I know I can't stay like this for long. Jake is probably already anxious about
me being out of sight. The last thing I need is for him to break down the door
and find me in the middle of this emotional breakdown.
I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. As I wipe the fog from the
mirror, I take a long, hard look at myself.
There's no way to deny it - I look like shit.
My eyes are red and swollen - again. There's no way I am going to be able to
hide them from Jake. He'll know in an instant what is really going on behind
this locked door.
I look past my eyes at my ashen face, my boney shoulders, my lanky arms. I look
pale and fragile, I look… sick. I hang my head in defeat. Of course, she is
prettier than me.It never made any sense, Edward wanting to be with me. He is
devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. He can have any girl he wants; why on earth
would he want to be with someone like me?
"Enough!" I say out loud, shaking my head to snap myself out of this.
I grab the hair dryer and spend the next ten minutes blowing my hair dry. The
warm air helps restore my body temperature from the cold shower. By the time
I'm finished, my cried-out eyes have almost returned to normal.
~o0o~
Over the next two days, I progress from a single shot glass of smoothie to a
tumbler size cup, then a water glass, then a full twelve-ounce cup. If I could
have my way, I'd never drink this shit again.
On Wednesday, I make my first attempt at solid foods – a few crackers and dry
toast. On Thursday, when we would normally gorge ourselves on pizza and Must
See TV, Esme prepares a full spread of breakfast-for-dinner, "brinner" as Emmy
calls it. The mass amount of food is laid out across the kitchen bar like an
all-you-can-eat buffet. There are waffles and pancakes, bacon and eggs, fruit
and, of course, a variety of breads, rolls, biscuits and toast – the latter
obviously meant for me. Everyone piles their plates high with food and settles
around the flat screen. I'm the last to join the family in the living room.
When I take my seat, I notice Carlisle smiling at me. He shoots a meaningful
glance at my plate which contains not only toast with butter, but a small
helping of eggs and fruit.
Edward is there, of course, seated in the armchair directly across from me. He
keeps his head down and his eyes focused on his plate. He's been maintaining
his distance since I lashed out at him last weekend. My outburst must have
given him the impression that I need some space. He does speak to me on
occasion, asking how I'm doing or if I need anything, but he never progresses
beyond short, polite conversation. When he does speak, he doesn't look me in
the eye. I can tell he's also making a conscious effort to never touch me, even
by accident. And when we are the only two people at home, he doesn't come out
of his room at all. His behavior makes me feel guilty for the way I acted that
day, but even now - four days later - I still haven't worked up the nerve to
apologize for it.
But I can't think about that right now. Tonight, while everyone is fixated on
the TV and the latest drama unfolding on Grey's Anatomy, I have a more pressing
obstacle to overcome. For the last ten minutes, I've been staring at the yellow
scrambled eggs on my plate, pushing them around with my fork, trying to find
the strength to taste them. I feel that strange pull, like someone is watching
me, and I look up to meet his dazzling green eyes.
I hold his gaze for a moment, and he doesn't look away. Even from this
distance, I can see the sympathy in his eyes. He doesn't even try to hide it.
His words echo in my mind. "We're going to get through this."
I look down at my plate again and spear a small bite of eggs, bring it to my
mouth and eat it. I look back at him again, and he rewards me with small smile,
though it doesn't reach his eyes. He only stays for a few minutes after that.
From the corner of my eye, I watch as he stands, takes his empty plate to the
kitchen sink, and disappears upstairs.
By Friday, I have already gained three and a half pounds. Carlisle assures me
that if I keep sucking down the high calorie smoothies along with any healthy
foods I feel like eating, I will make my goal weight for the Christmas
performance in no time.
Since I'm making good progress, Victoria clears me to return to school on
Monday, and Dr. Weber gives me the OK to rehearse with Jake at home in the
meantime. Our duet for the performance isn't as strenuous as the music video
routine – it's classical ballet after all - but it still feels
counterproductive to burn off the calories I'm trying so hard to keep.
Unfortunately, my first rehearsal with Jake doesn't last long, but not because
of me. Sam's parents are hosting a Christmas party tonight, and Jake is anxious
to go home and "primp." He invites me to come along, but I decline. I'm not
really feeling up to social gatherings just yet, and Jake understands.
So here I am, alone again on a Friday night… with nothing but my dance shoes to
keep me company. I continue to practice my part of the duet as best I can
without Jake. My role requires flexibility above anything else. There are a lot
of splits, standing leg lifts and backbends. Some are performed on my own, and
some while Jake holds me above his head. So I stretch and stretch and stretch
until I feel like a rubber band. I run through the choreography one last time
before deciding to call it a night.
I flick off the lights in the studio, and head to the kitchen for a snack. I'm
not surprised to find Emmett sitting at the bar, reading a sports magazine and
eating - again.
"Hey, Emmy. Where is everybody?" I ask as I enter the kitchen.
Emmett doesn't look up from his magazine. "Carlisle and Esme are at the
hospital's Christmas Gala, Edward is in his room, and Rose is babysitting her
niece. She said I can't come over because last time her niece only wanted to
play with me and not – hey! Look at you!"
I whirl around to stare at Emmett, startled by his outburst. I glance down at
my simple black leotard. Did I spill something on myself? Nothing looks out of
place.
I look up at Emmett again to see him smiling at me. "What?"
"You look like a ballerina."
I realize then what has him so animated. He's right; I look like the
stereotypical ballet student in my leotard, shear dance skirt, and pink tights.
I haven't bothered to remove my Pointe shoes before coming downstairs, and even
my hair is slicked back into a cliché bun at the base of my head. I smile at
Emmett's sweet expression, like he's seeing his kid sister all grown up for the
first time.
"Emmy Bear, I am a ballerina."
"I didn't know you did that kind of ballet," he points to my feet, "like
ballet, ballet."
I giggle. "It's not my preferred style of dance, but I do dance Pointe. I'm
taking an advanced class at school this semester. Hence the outfit," I run my
hand down my torso, "and the awesome part in the Christmas Performance."
"Do it," he demands. He jumps up and walks around the bar, his eyes never
leaving my feet.
"Do what?"
He gestures to my shoes. "Stand on your toes."
"Emmy," I whine, rolling my eyes.
"Awe, come on, Bells. Do it for me, please?"
I pretend to be annoyed for a moment before I releve up on my toes and take a
balance in second position. Emmett claps his hands like an excited child.
"Cool. Does it hurt?" he asks.
"Not anymore. It did when I first started learning. It feels almost natural
now."
"What other tricks can you do?"
I chuckle. "Um, anything, I guess."
"Do a fancy turn."
I walk around to the open part of the living room and take a position on the
floor. I spot the windows on the far wall and perform a series of fouetté
turns. Before he can ask for more, I give him an attitude en pointe, a full
arabesque penche, and a bourree en couru for good measure. This grants me a
standing ovation.
"That's so awesome. What the heck do you need Jake for?"
"I know, right?" I tease sarcastically. "Come here, I'll show you."
Emmett hesitates, staring at me as if I just asked him to don a tutu and dance
Swan Lake. "Come on, Emmy, I won't bite." He walks over to me slowly, clearly
still skeptical.
"OK, put your hands on my waist here." I guide his hands to rest just above my
hips. "Now, don't hold on to me, just help me balance."
He nods, but his face is twisted with worry. He stares, transfixed, at his
hands on my hips.
"Emmy, up here."
"Huh?" he looks up and meets my gaze.
"Look me in the eyes, not at your hands."
"OK."
"And you're not going to break me, relax."
"OK, OK." He lets out a deep breath. "I'm ready."
I smirk at him, then releve up again, taking a balance in fifth. I raise my
right leg in passé, and balance on my left. "See? Nothing to it, huh?"
"Yeah, OK. This isn't so bad," he admits.
"All right, now I'm going to shift my weight, and you keep me upright, OK?"
Emmett face is stern with concentration. "OK."
I slowly shift my weight so I fall left, then right, then back, then front.
Emmett feels my movements and compensates with his hands, never letting me feel
out of balance.
"That was perfect," I say sincerely.
"Yeah?"
"You're a natural. Wanna try something more advanced?"
"Yeah!"
I chuckle at his eagerness. I drop off my pointe and turn my so my back is to
him, replacing his hands on my waist. "All right, I'm going to do a turn. You
have to balance me so that my body can spin, but not so much that you restrict
the movement. Get it?"
Emmett shifts his weight, and I glance over my shoulder just has he spreads his
legs apart, taking a wide stance. I fight the urge to remind him this is
ballet, not football practice. "Yeah, let's do this," he huffs.
I repeat a simple fouetté turn, more slowly than I normally would, and allow
Emmett to guide my body with his hands.
"I did it!" he exclaims.
"Nothing to it. Other than that, it's a lot of hand holding and just being a
support." I take his hands and proceed to developpe front, back, and side while
using him for balance.
A deep voice calls out from across the room. "Should I notify Jacob that he's
been replaced?"
I drop my leg and turn toward Edward's voice. He's seated halfway up the
staircase, watching our little show.
"Screw you, man. This is harder than it looks."
I turn my back to Edward and face Emmett, placing my hands on his burly
shoulders. "Thank you, Emmy. You were lovely." I lift up on my toes again and
plant a kiss on his cheek.
Before I can lower my heels to the ground, Emmett swoops down, wraps his arms
around my thighs, and throws my body up and over his shoulder. "Whatever! I was
damn good," he shouts.
"Emmy! Put me down." I have full access to his backside, and I begin whacking
it with my hands as hard as I can.
"Do you feel something?" he teases. "It's like a fly keeps tapping my butt." He
carries me, bent over his shoulder, through the living room and to the kitchen.
"Very funny, Emmy. Put me down."
Gently, Emmett sets me down directly in front of the refrigerator. He opens the
door and retrieves my Styrofoam cup of Hulk-I'm-so-sick-of-this-shit-Berry
Smoothie and hands it to me with a smirk. "Shoo fly, don't bother me."
I take my cup with both hands, and Emmett returns to his perch at the bar.
Walking over to the drawer, I steal a glance toward the stairwell only to find
it empty; Edward likely retreated back to his room. Once I find a straw, I
decide to take my snack to my room as well.
"Night, Emmy," I call as I brush past him.
"Night, Bells. Oh, hey, you know we're all coming to your show next Friday,
right?"
I stop and turn to face him. "No, I didn't. You guys don't have to do that." I
feel my face growing warm at the idea of the entire family being in the
audience.
"Psh, don't be silly, Bells. We all want to. I've never seen you dance before.
Are you gonna be doing more of that?" Emmett waves his hand toward my feet,
indicating my classical ballet shoes.
"Yup. It's the Nutcracker. The Academy does it every year as their big
fundraiser." I chuckle. "It's almost a requirement that every dance school
performs the Nutcracker this time of year."
"Oh, I guess so. Rose made me go with her and her parents two years ago. Hey,
are you the main chick?"
"If you mean Clara, no, that role is usually reserved for a younger dancer. I
played Clara when I was fourteen. Jake and I are the Arabians this year."
"Yeah, that doesn't mean anything to me, sorry. Rose will probably understand."
"Rose is coming too?"
"Yeah, I said everyone was going. Me and Rose, Carlisle and Esme, and Edward."
"I'm surprised Edward's not bringing his girlfriend." The words slip out of my
mouth before I can stop them.
Emmett's eyebrows knit together. "What girlfriend?"
"Oh, um…" I wave my hand casually, trying to brush it off as if I don't care.
"You know, that girl he has been dating the last few weeks. She goes to school
with you guys."
"Bells, what are you - " He freezes, and his eyes grow wide. "Is that what he
told you?" his voice boisterous with apparent shock.
I nod, confused by his reaction. "Her name is Jessica... something."
Emmett chokes. "Jessica Stanley?"
I nod again, and Emmett explodes, practically falling from his stool in a fit
of laughter. I don't understand what is so funny.
Emmett continues to laugh hysterically. "What an idiot! How in the hell did he
think he'd pull that whopper off. What a chicken-shit. Jessica Stanley?" He
erupts into another fit of laughter at her name.
"Who – who is she?" I ask hesitantly.
"Jessica Stanley is the co-captain of the cheerleading squad. She is the most
stuck up, self-righteous bitch I have ever met in my life. Besides the fact
she's practically engaged to Mike Newton and has been dating him since junior
high, Edward can't stand her. I don't think he's spoken one word to her in his
life. There is no way he's dating her. He seriously told you he was dating
Jessica Stanley? What a prick!"
"Yeah… yes… but… he said…" My mind is racing so fast I can barely compreh end
what Emmett is saying.
"Think about it, Bells. He never leaves the house except to go to school. I
don't know any girl that would put up with that. It's not even a good lie."
A lie?
"But… why would he…"
It takes my brain only two seconds to put all the pieces together, and another
two seconds for my body to react. I'm racing up the stairs to his bedroom in a
blind rage before I even make the conscience decision to do so.
"Bella! Where are you going?" Emmett calls out from behind me.
I slam into Edwards door, shoving it open so forcefully it crashes into the
wall behind it. He's lying across his bed, one hand behind his head, the other
propping up a book on his chest as he reads. He jumps at my abrupt entrance and
sits up quickly.
"Bella, what -"
"You coward!" I scream, my open hand connecting with the side of his face in
the same instant. A resounding smack echoes through the room. His eyes widen at
my sudden attack, and he instinctively covers his face with his hand.
I recoil my arm, balling my hand into a fist, and as he tries to stand up I
connect with his ribs, the blow carrying all the force I can muster. He topples
back onto the bed, rolling onto his side and hiding his face under his hands. I
practically climb on top of him, continuing to punch and hit him as hard as I
can. Over and over and over again, I strike at his arm, his shoulder, his
chest, his head, anywhere my fists can find purchase.
"You – you asshole!" I scream. He doesn't even try to defend himself from my
assault. He doesn't try to stop my hands as they continue to batter him. "You
lied to me!"
Strong hands wrap around my waist and pull me back. I struggle against Emmett's
grasp, but it's useless. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the fuck, Bells?" He lifts me
off of Edward and pulls me backwards toward the door. I continue to fight
against him to no avail. He encircles one arm around my waist, pinning my body
to his chest, and uses his other arm to restrain both my hands.
"Stop, stop, shh, stop," he chants in my ear. Slowly, I resign and stop
fighting against his hold.
"Emmett, let her go."
I look to Edward. He's sitting up again on the edge of his bed. He wipes his
mouth with the back of his hand, and I can see the blood on his lip. My God,
did I do that?
"Emmett, I said let her go," he repeats sternly.
Cautiously, Emmett releases his grip on me, and when I make no move to attack
again, he takes a small step back.
I can't believe I just did that – attacked him like that. Shocked, I cover my
mouth with my hand, instantly feeling the moisture on my cheeks from the tears
that must have fallen in my rage. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that when I
open them again this whole scene will just be part of a horrific nightmare.
Because the reality of it is too much to bear. He lied to me. He ripped
everything from me. For what? For nothing?
I can hear him moving - feel his presence standing before me. I don't open my
eyes, but I know he's there. I take a step back, bumping into Emmett again. I'm
thankful when his burly hands encircle my forearms to hold me steady, because
I'm not sure I trust my legs to support the weight crushing down on me.
"Dude," Emmett murmurs. "Are you -"
When Emmett falls silent, I drop my hand from my face and open my eyes again.
Edward is standing a few inches in front of me, one arm wrapped around his
torso, his hand gripping the side of his chest - the side where I delivered my
furious strikes. Surely, I hadn't hurt him that badly.
"Bella," he says cautiously.
I draw in a ragged breath, my eyes still fixed on his chest. "You - you lied to
me. There was never anyone else, was there?"
"No, there wasn't."
My eyes flash to his as I realize this is it – this is what he didn't want to
tell me – because he didn't want to upset me, because he didn't want to set me
back. He didn't leave me because he found someone better, someone smarter or
prettier, someone that he loved more. He simply didn't want - me. Well, he was
right to keep it from me, because now I realize I've still been clinging to
hope - hope that he will come back to me, hope that somehow my Edward is still
here. And it's that hope that has been keeping me going for the last four
weeks. It's that hope that has been feeding me, keeping me alive. But now – now
that I know the truth – the truth that there is no hope, there is no reason to
go on pretending that maybe… one day… because he doesn't…
It hits me then, the realization slamming into me like a wrecking ball, that
even though he doesn't want me, I will never want anything but him, no matter
how long I live. The agony I thought I felt before is nothing compared to the
wave of pain this knowledge brings. I would rather die than live the rest of my
life feeling this way.
"If you didn't love me anymore, you should have just told me."
His mouth falls open at my accusation, but he doesn't speak.
That's all the confirmation I need. I turn, shoving Emmett out of my way, and
run out of his room. When I reach my bedroom, I slam my door and lock it behind
me.
EPOV
The initial shock of her words keeps me from chasing after her. Like an idiot,
I stand and stare, my mouth gaping open, as she runs out of my room. Just like
Jake, she jumped to the conclusion that I concocted this story simply because I
didn't want to be with her - that I didn't love her.
I take a step to follow after her, but the searing pain in my side causes me to
wince. I bend forward, squeezing my eyes shut and holding my chest tighter.
"Dude, are you all right?" Emmett grips my shoulder and helps me stand straight
again.
I try to take a deep breath to alleviate some of the ache but end up coughing
instead. "Yeah - I'm OK."
"But she was hitting your side? Like, hard. You think she - "
No doubt Emmett noticed Bella's fists connecting right where my broken ribs
have just healed. "No, I don't think she broke anything again… bruised maybe."
"Should I call Dad?"
"No."
I move around him and stumble as fast as I can down the hallway to Bella's
room.
"Bella!" I call out as I reach her door. I try the handle, but it's locked - of
course. I resort to pounding on the door. "Bella, please, open the door."
Nothing.
I beat harder. "Bella, I'm not going to go away until you let me explain."
Still no answer.
This is exactly what I feared. Watching her face just now, that same ominously
resigned expression from the week before had washed over her again. But this
was so much worse. This had broken her.
This is why I wanted to wait until she was better. I started to tell her the
truth last weekend, but when she nearly collapsed in the bathroom that morning,
I got scared. I was terrified of pushing her over the edge, terrified of
hindering the little progress she had made. So I've been keeping my distance. I
wanted so badly to be there for her, but Jacob was right. I was sending her
mixed signals. I needed to be more guarded around her until we could talk –
really talk.
But, damn it, I'm not going to let it happen this way. I'm not going to let her
go on for one more second believing I don't love her. That I never loved her.
I slam my body against the door in a feeble attempt to break the lock. The pain
ricochets through my chest, but I didn't care.
"Bella," I call out again. "Don't do this." I hit the door again with my body.
Emmett grabs my arm. "Whoa, stop or you will break something." He pulls me away
from the door only to take my place. With one swift heave of his body, the
latch shatters in the frame and door swings open. I shove past him into her
room.
Clothes are strewn all over the bed, spilling out of an open suitcase. Bella
emerges from her closet, her arms filled with more clothes that she haphazardly
tosses on the bed. Somehow, in her frenzy, she has changed out of her dance
attire into a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater.
I run to her, grab her shoulders, and force her to stop her frantic pacing.
"Bella, Bella, stop. What are you doing?"
She squeezes her eyes shut as tears continue to stream down her cheeks. "I
can't - I can't stay here anymore."
"No, Bella. Don't do that. Just… wait, please. Hear me out." I beg.
She twists her body to free herself from my grasp. Once her arms are loose, she
forcefully pushes against my chest, shoving me backward. The pressure on my
torso sends another wave of pain through me. I instinctively encircle my chest
with my arms and bend forward trying, without success, to relieve some of the
burning in my lungs.
"Whoa! Whoa! Hey, none of that." Emmett is by my side again, steadying me with
his hand on my arm. Once again he helps me to stand straight, and then guides
me to sit on the edge of Bella's bed. "I'm calling Dad. You are not all right."
"No, Emmett," I pant, "I'm OK. Just - give me a second."
"What's wrong with him?" Bella asks from behind me, concern lacing her words.
"Christ, Bella, what do you think is wrong with him!" Emmett scolds. "You
punched him right where his broken ribs are."
"Emmett," I groan. "She didn't know."
"You can barely catch your breath. I'm either calling Dad or an ambulance, your
choice." Emmett moves to the door, pausing to wait for my decision. I try to
argue again that I'm fine, but he stubbornly shakes his head. Conceding, I
instruct him to call Carlisle, and he disappears, leaving Bella and I alone in
her room.
Slowly, cautiously, Bella walks around me to sit on the bed. She watches my
arms, examining how I'm clutching my chest as if I'm trying to hold myself
together. I try to relax my posture and arrange my expression to hide any
evidence of the pain.
"I'm - I'm so sorry." She covers her mouth with her hand as fresh tears trickle
down her cheeks. These are the same angry tears as before. Now her eyes are
flooded with regret and alarm.
"It's OK. You didn't know." I cringe again at the ache in my chest. Bella
reaches out, but quickly retracts her hands as if she doesn't know where – or
if – it's safe to touch me.
"How - how did you break your ribs?" she asks cautiously, wiping her damp
cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater.
"I was in a car accident a few months ago. I hit a guardrail on Interstate 5. I
was unconscious for two days. I broke my right arm and two ribs." I gesture to
where my hand is still clutched to my side.
Bella's wide eyes flash back to mine. "My God. Why didn't you tell me?"
I take a deep, painful breath and turn my body slightly to face her. "Because,
when it happened, I was high," I confess.
Bella's mouth falls open, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to. I
can see it in her eyes, the shock and disappointment I had been trying so hard
to avoid all those months ago. I realize I need to get this out, tell her
everything while I have her attention. I don't know how much longer she is
going to allow me to talk before she throws my worthless ass out of her room
and goes back to packing her bags.
My words come out in a rush. "Bella, before you came here I was a complete
mess. I was completely out of control. The accident was the culmination of
years and years of terrible acts on my part. You can't imagine the hell I've
put my family through. Carlisle managed to keep me out of jail, but I have a
criminal record, and I'm still serving two years probation. I have to report
every month for drug screenings. I've been clean ever since the accident, I
swear."
"Carlisle… the accident," she mumbles to herself. Bella looks away, apparently
processing something she remembers. "Emmett told me once that you and Carlisle
haven't been on good terms since the accident. I didn't know what he was
talking about, and he wouldn't tell me."
"That's true. What little was left of our relationship completely deteriorated
after that night. He completely gave up on me; he wanted nothing more to do
with me. It was like he was biding his time until I graduated and moved out so
he wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. It was worse than any punishment he
could have inflicted."
"I noticed that, when I first arrived, he would always speak so harshly to you,
like – like he didn't trust you."
"He didn't. He had no grounds to trust me anymore. But since the accident, I
had been trying, really trying, to stay out of trouble. I was doing everything
I could to prove myself to him, to regain some of his faith in me."
Bella looks away, a fresh wave of pain sweeping over her face. There is no
doubt in my mind what memory is plaguing her thoughts.
"No matter how good I was, he couldn't let it go. He was still so angry with me
for everything I had done. It's true that when I met you, I thought if Carlisle
saw me with someone like you then maybe he'd see me differently. It was a
stupid, childish idea, I know, but I was desperate to – to win back his
approval."
Bella nods, still refusing to look at me.
"But, Bella, that plan, to make myself worthy of my father simply by
associating myself with you, that only lasted about five seconds."
Her head snaps up, her eyes wide with surprise.
"When I told you our entire relationship was only an act to win Carlisle over,
that was completely untrue. You were right; you saw right through me that
night. You knew it was all a lie, and when you said you didn't believe me I – I
got angry. Leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done, and it was like
you were trying to make it harder for me, like you couldn't see how difficult
it was for me. I got so angry that you wouldn't just accept it and walk away."
Bella huffs and stares at me, a mixture of contempt and disbelief in her eyes.
"Wh – why?" she chokes, a frantic pitch to her voice. "Why did you do it?"
"The day you left for Florida, Carlisle saw me kiss you goodbye in the
driveway. He confronted me the second I walked into the house. He thought I was
using you to get back at him, another one of my rebellious antics, but I
assured him it wasn't. I told him that I was in love with you, and that you
loved me too. But he convinced me that I had to end it with you before I
destroyed your future."
She shakes her head, her face distorted, as if my words aren't making any
sense. "What? What are you saying?" Her voice is now even more frenzied than
before. "He convinced you to do this?"
"Carlisle told me that, after my accident, Esme had some trouble getting her
book published, because of me. He had to ensure her publishers never learned of
my offenses. He said they wouldn't have allowed her book to be published if
they knew her son had the capacity to cause some type of scandal. He thought if
you were with me, it would be even worse for you. Please, don't be angry with
him; he really thought he was acting in your best interest."
"By tearing us apart!" she yells.
"Bella, he's right. You are better off without me."
"Oh, yes. Just look at me," she motions toward her fragile body with her hand,
"clearly I'm much better off."
"I'm serious. You deserve so much better than me. All I have done is deceive
you, even before I knew what my reputation could do to your future. I should
have told you the truth a long time ago, but I was afraid. I didn't tell you
about the accident or my probation at first because - because I knew I wasn't
good enough for you. After all I had done, I didn't deserve someone like you.
Carlisle was right to tell me to stay away."
Several minutes pass without another word being spoken. I'd give anything to
know what she's thinking, but fight against the urge to ask her. I want to give
her time to think, to process what I've told her, and – honestly – time to calm
down. When she finally looks at me again, I get the sense her frantic mind-set
has subsided.
"So that whole week I was gone… you knew you were going to break up with me?"
she asks hesitantly.
I let out a deep breath, the pain in my chest slightly diminished from what it
was before, and nod slowly. "I was a complete wreck the entire time you were
gone. Jasper found me sulking in my bedroom after a few days." I smirk at the
memory. "He took one look at me and thought I had started using again. That was
the night when he took me out, and I got drunk and called you."
I feel my face fall, and I lift my eyes to study Bella's expression. "I told
you Jazz took me out because I was upset about the fight with Carlisle, but
that wasn't true. I was upset because I knew I was going to lose you."
Bella's eyes flood with tears, and I raise my hand to her face. I brush her
hair back over her shoulder, exposing her neck. The shimmer of the silver chain
tucked under her sweater catches my eye. Trailing my finger under the necklace,
I gently unearth the tiny starfish pendant from its hiding place. I toy with
the silver charm for a moment, smiling as I remember the morning I placed it
around her neck. After everything we've been through, after everything I've
done to her, she's never taken it off. I swallow hard around the lump in my
throat.
"You have no idea how hard I tried to come up with a way for us to be together,
but in every scenario you got hurt. The option Carlisle presented me with, that
I remove myself from your life, appeared to be the only answer. It killed me to
think that my being with you was going to hurt you. I was not going to ruin
your life because of my mistakes. So I – I came up with the idea to push you
away. I twisted the truth and told you our whole relationship was meaningless.
But when you didn't believe me, I panicked and blurted out the first thing that
popped into my head. It was never my intention to do that - to lie and tell you
I had found someone else - but when I saw the look on your face, I knew you
believed it. I thought it would be easier for you if you hated me, because –
because I couldn't even imagine trying to convince you that I didn't want to be
with you anymore - that I didn't love you anymore - I couldn't do it. Maybe
that was selfish of me, and I'm sorry, but it would have destroyed me to say
those words to you because - because it's not true."
"It's not?" she repeats softly.
"Of course it's not true." Taking her hand in both of mine, I place her open
palm on my chest, holding it firmly over my heart. I'd held her hand like this
every night she slept curled into my side, whenever I tried to show her how
much I cared for her, whenever I wanted her to believe the sincerity of my
words. Every time I held her to me like this, I was telling her I loved her,
even when I couldn't say the words out loud. I don't know if Bella ever fully
understood the gesture, but I prayed that she did, now more than ever.
"Bella, you are the only one who has ever touched my heart. It will always be
yours. I was thinking of you, seeing your face in my mind, every second we were
apart. When I told you I couldn't live in a world where you don't exist, it was
the truth. Without you, it was like my heart was gone — like I was hollow—like
I'd left everything that was inside me with you. I was nothing without you."
I press her hand more firmly into my chest, fighting against the tightness in
my throat and the tears pricking my eyes. "I love you," I say definitely. "I
have always loved you, and I will always love you."
Bella closes her eyes and her tears spill over, running down her cheeks. I lean
down and gently press my lips against hers once. "I love you, Isabella," I
whisper and kiss her again. As my lips move on hers, she gathers my shirt
tightly in her hand and pulls me to her, finally kissing me back - but only
once.
Then the hand that had just pulled me closer pushes me away.
"No," she whispers through her tears. She lets go of my shirt and turns away,
covering her eyes with her hand as she cries.
I stare at her, completely stunned. "Bella, I - "
"Edward!" Esme's panicked voice rings out from downstairs. "Edward?"
Carlisle is next to call out. "Edward? Where are you, Son?"
"He's upstairs, in Bella's room," Emmett directs. I hear the thunderstorm of
footsteps ascending the stairs. Whatever Emmett told them must have painted a
frightful picture to incite such alarm in my parents.
I never take my eyes off Bella as my entire family descends upon us. Carlisle
enters first, dressed in his sleek, black tuxedo. Esme is right on his heels,
the train of her blue evening gown sweeping across the floor. They all speak at
once, one voice on top of the other. I can't decipher who is talking or even
process what they are saying.
"Edward, are you all right?"
"What happened?"
"He could barely stand up straight."
"Can you raise your arms?"
"Does it hurt to breath, Son?"
None of them seem to notice the beautiful girl going to pieces next to me.
Bella stands and moves out of the way so Carlisle can examine me. I can't tear
my eyes from her as she continues to walk backwards toward the door. I try to
call out to her, but my words are drowned out by the riotous voices in the
room.
"Should I get some ice?"
"Lay down on your back."
"Bella, wait. Please."
"Should I get some pain medication?"
"Take off your shirt."
She reaches the door and leans over, quietly lifting her car keys from the
desk. She glances back at me one last time.
"Does it hurt when I do this?"
"Do you think he needs an x-ray?"
"I'm sorry. I – I can't."
"Can you take a deep breath?"
I blink, and she's gone.
***** Chapter 20 *****
EPOV
Everyone finally calms down once Carlisle determines my ribs are intact –
possibly bruised, but not broken. It's then that they notice Bella disappeared
during the commotion.
"I told her the truth," I mutter.
Three pairs of anxious hands shoot out to assist me when I start to push myself
up from the bed. I take my father's hand and allow him to pull me to my feet.
With one arm still wrapped around my aching chest, I stagger to the door.
"Everything's going to be - "
"Please don't," I interrupt, cutting my mother off before her encouraging words
can break me. My voice is harsher than I intend. Ashamed, I keep my back turned
on my family and hang my head. "I'm sorry. I appreciate what you're trying to
do, but I – I just want to be alone right now." I don't give them a chance to
respond, and I stumble to my room in a daze.
Gently, I lower myself onto my bed and lie flat on my back, staring blindly at
the ceiling. Some amount of time passes before there's a soft knock on my door.
"Edward," Carlisle says gently through the door. "I put some pain medication in
your bathroom if you feel like you need it."
He thinks I'm in pain?
This isn't pain. I should know. I experienced more than my share of it when I
woke up in the hospital, bruised and broken. But this - this is so much worse.
This is something beyond pain. It's more intense than any hurt I've ever known.
I feel like my body might start to convulse from it at any moment. No, this
isn't pain, this is – this is… I don't even know. There are no words.
I don't hear Carlisle move away from the door, and I don't leave my bed to
investigate the pills he left behind, or turn off the lights, or even try to
sleep. I wish I could resign myself to being numb, just fucking numb, but every
fiber of by being is in turmoil.
For several minutes – or hours possibly– I try to wrap my mind around what
happened tonight. I always feared she would leave me when she learned the
truth, but actually living through it - seeing my worst nightmare become
reality – is something I couldn't have prepared myself for.
What the hell do I do now?
How do I live without my reason for existing?
Was this how she felt when I left her?
I squeeze my eyes shut against the searing agony that rips through me at that
thought. If she felt one ounce of the anguish that is crushing down on me right
now, then I deserve to spend the rest of my life living in this nightmare.
As I continue to stare at the ceiling, I keep my arm firmly wrapped around my
chest. My hand clenches and unclenches my shirt, as if to distract me from my
desperation and make me focus on something tangible. But even the insignificant
throbbing in my side isn't enough to divert my attention from this torture. I
allow it to twist and pierce at my heart, so much so that it seems to distort
my vision. The light slowly fades from brilliant white…
To a soft yellow…
A dull gray.
Was the light fading, or was my room filling with smoke?
I lift my arm from my chest, watching the hazy cloud roll and sway around my
moving hand. Wistful, cartoon-like spirals loop and curl between my open
fingers.
Cold.
Fog.
Waving my hand forcefully, I clear the thickening air to reveal the lights of
the city, twinkling like diamonds in the distance. They reach so high I can't
tell where the buildings end and the black, cloudless sky begins.
"What do you think?" my voice echoes. The sound vibrates from all around me,
yet I don't feel my lips moving.
She lifts her face. Her warm brown eyes, the only hint of color against the
black, search mine. She smiles, happy and content, and then her eyes glance
down to her open palm. A thousand silver starfish filter through her open
fingers, tinkling like wind chimes as they bounce and scatter across the
balcony floor.
Mesmerized, I watch as she tilts her hand. The metal charms pour like liquid,
only to collect in a solid mass around our feet. When only one remains, a
blinding point of light in the center of her palm, she offers it to me.
My eyes snap up, ready to protest that she should keep it, only to see Carlisle
wrap his arm around Esme's shoulders and kiss her head gently. They both look
to me, their eyes shining with unconditional love.
From the distance, a soft whisper, "My Edward."
My eyes fly open as I gasp. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the bright
sunlight that now floods my room. Once I can see, I cautiously push myself to
sit up, testing for any soreness in my ribs. When I find none, I look at the
clock on my nightstand.
Shit, it's after one.
Footsteps echo in the hallway from the direction of her room. Their heaviness
tells me they aren't hers, but I still lug myself out of bed to investigate.
As my feet drag down the hall, I rub my eyes with the heel of my hands, trying
to clear the odd dream from my mind. When I reach her room, I push my hands
deep in my pockets as I lean against the open door, watching Jacob gently fold
a t-shirt and place it in her suitcase.
"Is she staying with you?"
He doesn't turn around as he lifts another article of clothing from the chaos
strewn across the bed. "No. She did come over last night, but when she found
out I knew about all this, she left."
"Do you know where she went?"
"She spent the night at Rosalie's."
That makes me feel a little better. At least there's still a connection – me to
Emmett, Emmett to Rose, Rose to Bella.
"I've been over there all morning," Jake adds.
"Is she OK?"
He hesitates, taking a deep breath before glancing over his shoulder to look at
me. "No," he says sadly.
"Has she…" I don't know how to form the question. It seems like a strange thing
to be asking. Thankfully, Jacob seems to be on the same page.
"No. She hasn't eaten anything all day."
Jacob adds another shirt to a stack of folded clothes on the bed, and then
places the pile into the suitcase. He pauses, takes another deep breath, and
turns to face me.
"She's going home," he announces.
"Home?" I repeat, narrowing my eyes at him. Thisis her home.
"Phoenix. She's leaving right after the performance Friday night. It sounds
like she's staying with Rosalie for the rest of this week, and then she's going
home for Christmas break."
Jacob walks to her dresser, opens another drawer, and scoops out it's entire
contents in one armload.
He's taking way more than she'll need for a two-week visit.
My eyes dart around the room. The pictures on top of her dresser are gone, her
desk is clear of the usual clutter of papers and books, even the bulletin board
contains several vacant spots - postcards from her mother, photos, ticket stubs
- all gone.
My posture becomes rigid. "Is she coming back here?" I ask, panic making the
words rush out.
"I honestly don't know. I think she just needs some time." Jacob places the
last of her clothes in the suitcase, slides the zipper effortlessly around the
rim, and then lifts the bag from the bed. He surveys the room, making sure
there isn't anything he missed. "I guess that's it."
He walks to the door, pausing only to raise the handle on an identical suitcase
I hadn't noticed. I move out of his way as he maneuvers the two bags through
the door and down the dark hallway.
Jake stops at the top of the stairs and turns around to face me. "I'm sorry
about how all this turned out. I really thought when she found out you still
loved her that she would be thrilled. That's all she ever wanted." He sighs
heavily and looks down at the floor. "Just give her some time. She'll come
back. I know she will." He lifts the two suitcases and carefully descends the
stairs.
Once again, I'm alone. Only now, there's nothing left. No sign of her life
here. She has taken everything – like she never existed in this place – leaving
no reason for her to return.
~o0o~
The next day, I force myself to go to school. The student body is buzzing with
excitement over the upcoming Christmas holiday. There's only three days of
classes scheduled this week, and all three are early dismissal. This proves to
be a blessing and a curse. I'm grateful that I don't have to endure countless
hours with my overly energized classmates. Unfortunately, during the
afternoons, there is nothing to distract me from my desolate thoughts.
Wednesday afternoon, when the final bell rings, I'm not surprised to find Jazz
in the school parking lot, perched on the hood of my car.
"Alice's school gets out early today too. I'm headed over there to pick her up,
then we're gonna go eat. Wanna come?"
In the distance, thunder rumbles from the heavy, low-hanging clouds.
"Thanks, but I think I'm going to head home before this hits. Tell her I said
'hey'."
"Yeah, OK." Jazz hops down from the hood. "You sure you don't wanna come? Might
do you some good to get out, take your mind off things."
I shake my head, fighting back the emptiness I've been successfully repressing
all morning, and blatantly change the subject. "Is your dad still coming on
Friday?"
"Yeah. Oh, I never thanked you for helping me get the living room finished last
week. I finally got around to re-hanging all the pictures last night. Mom's
pretty ecstatic about how it looks now that it's done. "
"Sorry I left you hanging there for a few days."
"It's OK. You had a lot going on."
I wish he would stop reminding me. "Yeah, so I'm gonna take off."
"You sure you won't come to lunch? I know Alice would love to see you."
During the three weeks I lived at Jazz's house, I'd inevitably spent time with
Alice. It was unavoidable since she was practically glued to Jazz's hip. We
formed an easy friendship. I often compared it to the relationship Emmett has
with Bella – a kind of brother, sister connection. I appreciated that she never
pushed me to talk about Bella or what was going on at home, though I'm sure
Jazz had filled her in.
"Thanks, but I'm gonna go home and crash. I – I didn't sleep too good last
night."
"All right," he says reluctantly, taking a few steps back. The wind whips up,
scattering dead leaves across the concrete. Jazz has to shout over the
scratching sound and another ominous rumble of thunder. "I'll let you off for
today, but I'm calling you tomorrow. No excuses!"
I nod and duck into my car as he makes a run for his Jeep.
The drive home only takes a few minutes since there's barely any traffic this
time of day. With both my parents at work, and Emmett inevitably at the gym, I
have the entire house to myself. I scrounge around the kitchen for something to
eat, but nothing appeals to me. Just as I'm about to give up and retreat to my
room, the front door swings open.
"Ah, just the one I was looking for," Carlisle proclaims as he walks in,
shaking his rain-drenched hair. He fiddles with his keys, trying to free them
from the lock with one hand. In his other he clutches a large, brown, paper bag
to his chest. He isn't dressed in the usual slacks and tie he normally wears to
work. His casual wool sweater and light khaki pants are typically reserved for
weekends.
"I brought us lunch," he announces triumphantly, holding up the bag and
awkwardly kicking the door closed with his foot.
"Phew, I'm glad you're not out in that. It's really starting to come down." As
he walks past me, the savory aroma drifts from the bag, causing my mouth to
water.
Carlisle drops the bag on the kitchen table and turns to point a finger at me.
His expression is serious, except for the sarcastic smirk he can't seem to
hide. "Yes, it's fried. Don't tell your mother."
I can't help but chuckle at his lighthearted, childish demeanor. This is a side
of my father I don't really know - but I'm starting to.
Over the last week and a half, my relationship with Carlisle has changed
dramatically. The night Esme returned from New York and discovered us in the
middle of our reunion, we stayed up until four in the morning talking about
everything that happened over the last few years. There were more declarations
of guilt and more uncovered regrets. More apologies and more tears – from all
of us. The night was full of heavy conversation, heavy confessions, and heavy
emotions.
We talked about my disobedience in the past, the accident, and my probation. My
parents had a lot of questions about the drugs I took, and I answered them
honestly. This lead to an open discussion about the rules I'm expected to
follow and why. We even worked together to establish a set of punishments
should I break them. By the end of the night, I had a clear understanding of
what was expected of me.
Naturally, we discussed the factors contributing to my defiant behavior, and
Carlisle candidly expressed concerns that witnessing my parents death weighs
more heavily on me than I realize. He urged - more like encouraged - me to
return to counseling. I didn't agree right away, only promising that I would
think about it.
When the conversation turned to my biological parents, Carlisle confessed he
had salvaged quite a few artifacts from their home: pictures, letters, my
mother's jewelry, and other such keepsakes. I thanked him for that, but I
wasn't ready to see any of it - even after all these years. When that
realization hit, it only supported Carlisle's assessment that maybe I had been
repressing my feelings about my parents more than I knew.
By the end of the night, I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I felt
lighter and weighed down all at the same time. It was a lot to absorb and a lot
to process.
Over the next week, Carlisle and I spent more time together. It was like he was
trying to get to know me all over again. I didn't mind – I was doing the same
to him.
Our conversations focused mostly on Bella and how she was progressing. I could
see she was getting stronger every day, but I still had endless questions about
her treatment and the long term plans for her recovery. Carlisle invited me to
use the medical reference materials in his office, helping me sort through old
textbooks and scientific journals, but that only fueled my need for more
information. When my questions went above Carlisle's knowledge and resources on
the subject, he arranged for us to meet with Dr. Weber.
I wasn't allowed to ask specific questions in relation to Bella's health or
treatment plan, but Dr. Weber was able to give me a general idea of how he
manages patients with similar conditions. I wanted to know why this happens. I
wanted to know what I could do to help her – or what I shouldn't do. But,
overall, I think I was seeking confirmation that she would be OK. I still
hadn't gotten a definitive answer on that yet.
Dr. Weber did provide me with some small measure of comfort. "Look," he said,
after I criticized myself for the thousandth time about missing obvious warning
signs. "You can second guess every decision that has lead to this point, but
the fact remains that this was going to catch up with her sooner or later. From
what little I know about her life before she moved here, it seems to me that
Bella was basically on her own. Just imagine if this triggered when she didn't
have a support structure in place? If she didn't have access to the kind of
treatment your father can provide here? If she wasn't surrounded by friends,
like you, that obviously care for her? Where do you think she would be?"
"Can you grab us some forks?" Carlisle asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"You like kung pao chicken right? I was trying to remember what you ordered
last time we got takeout from this place. If not, I have shrimp chow mein and
sweet and sour pork."
"Kung pao is great." I clamber around the kitchen for plates and utensils, then
grab two cans of soda from the fridge before joining him at the table. He
spreads the open containers out between us and scoops a serving from each onto
his plate. I help myself to some of everything as well, and we eat in silence
for a few minutes.
"So," he begins, taking a sip of his soda. "I've been over at the Hales' again
all morning."
I nod solemnly. "How is she?"
"Better. She's been spending quite a bit of time with Mrs. Hale the last few
days."
Rose's mom?
Carlisle notices my confused expression. "Mrs. Hale, Lillian, battled with
bulimia when she was in college. She has never spoken openly about her
condition, so please keep that information to yourself."
"Yeah. Of course," I mumble around a mouth full of fried rice.
"When Bella showed up at their house Friday night, Lillian took one look at her
and knew instantly what was going on."
He cuts me off before I can correct him. "Not that Bella is bulimic," he amends
in a placating tone, "just that Lillian understands what she's going through."
I nod and allow him to continue.
"Rosalie didn't know about her mother's battle with the disease either, so the
three of them have been spending a lot of time together, talking about it.
That's why Rosalie hasn't been in school the last two days."
"Oh." I hadn't noticed.
"They took Bella to some spa yesterday. Your mother went too. They called it…,"
Carlisle thinks for a second, waving his fork in the air, "a 'Mother-Daughter
Date'. It sounds like they had a good time. She cut her hair. It looks nice."
He shovels another bite of noodles into his mouth.
"Bella did?" I ask surprised.
Carlisle nods.
"Like… short?"
He shakes his head as he chews. "No. Not really. It's still long, but you can
tell. And she did something different to the front." Carlisle makes a gesture
with his hands, the movement resembling steps or chopping or something. I have
no idea what he's trying to show me. "It looks good. I don't know what it is
about women and getting their hair done, but they were all in much better
spirits today."
I stare at my plate. I should be glad to hear Bella's having a good day, but it
only serves as a reminder of how unhappy she was when she left.
Carlisle sighs, obviously taking in my sulky expression, and his lighthearted
tone dissipates. "I know how hard these last few days have been for you. I know
you're worried about her. That's why I'm telling you all this. I want to make
sure you know she's OK, and this time away has been good for her. She has the
opportunity to talk to someone who has lived through it, and Lillian knows the
appropriate foods she should be eating as she progresses through these first
few weeks. They are taking very good care of her over there." He reaches over
and pats my arm reassuringly.
Over there?I don't want her to be over there. I want her here. Home - where she
belongs - with me.
I sigh. Could I be more selfish?
"So she's eating OK?" I ask, trying to focus on something more important than
my longing to simply be near her again.
"Yes, of course. She's gained about nine pounds total. She looks much
healthier, though I did call Charlie and prepare him. She is quite altered from
the last time he saw her."
I poke at the remaining bits of food on my plate, refusing to look up. "She's
still going to Phoenix," I mumble, unable to hide my disappointment. I'd been
blindly holding onto the hope that she would change her mind.
"Yes," he confirms. "She's leaving Friday night after the performance. Your
mother and I are driving her to the airport."
"And when she comes back, does she – where is she going to live? Do you think
she'll come back to stay with us?"
Carlisle sets his fork down gently on his plate, then folds his arms and leans
on the table. His cautious expression makes me nervous. "Bella has only
purchased a one-way ticket."
My mouth falls open as the air is sucked out of my lungs. "Wh - what? No. Jake
said she's only going for Christmas break. She has school. She has that
apprenticeship."
"Yes, but remember she has all the requirements to graduate already. Her
undergrad curriculum doesn't start until the fall. She doesn't haveto return
for the spring semester. She can if she wants to, but she can also choose to
take a medical leave of absence and stay in Phoenix until next August."
A sudden coldness twists in my chest as I continue to stare at my father in
shock. As much as I didn't want to admit it to myself, I knew it was unlikely
she would return to live with us. I never dreamed she wouldn't return at all.
"That's why I went to visit her this morning," he continues. "She needed a copy
of her chart from Dr. Weber's office. He also sent her a list of specialists he
recommends in the Phoenix area, and he extended the refills on her
prescriptions. We're covering all our bases to ensure, if she decides to stay
in Arizona, she has all the tools she needs to continue her recovery. You don't
need to worry about that."
Carlisle reaches toward my arm again, but I jerk it away before he can touch
me. He retracts his hand and takes a deep breath. He pushes his empty plate to
the side and intertwines his fingers in front of him.
"In addition to the particulars of her medical care, there were some… things I
thought she should know before she makes that decision."
Carlisle takes another deep breath and stares at his hands as he speaks. "Bella
and I had a long talk. I know you already explained to her how I confronted you
about your relationship, but I wanted to make sure she clearly understood the
circumstances surrounding what happened. I told her about my rash assumption
that you were only with her to infuriate me, and that Irefused to allow it to
continue. I needed to make sure she understood that, at the time, I thought I
was protecting her – not only her career, but protecting her heart as well. Of
course, I couldn't have been more wrong, on all accounts, and I told her as
much. And I made sure she knew how sorry I was for all of it."
I remember how angry Bella was when I told her Carlisle had initiated the end
of our relationship.
"What - what did she say?" I ask nervously, wondering if she went off on him
like she did me.
"Well, she was a little reserved at first, but she listened to everything I had
to say. I hope you don't mind, but we talked a lot about us," he gestures in
the space between us, "about the falling out of our relationship. I told her
practically everything I told you - how she made you whole again - and I
thanked her for that, and for giving my son back to me."
Carlisle looks up, determination evident in his eyes. "I also wanted to make
sure she understands what she means to you. She needs to know what you've done
for her, how you've been fighting for her - with her - every step of the way.
She needs to know she's not alone in this, that she's not the only one with a
broken heart."
He reaches for my arm again, and this time I allow him to wrap his fingers
around my wrist.
"She asked that I give you this."
Carlisle releases his grip on my arm as he leans back in his chair, shoving his
hand deep into his pocket. He produces a small, blue square, a note, folded and
refolded so many times the creases now expose the raw fibers of the paper. No,
not paper - cardstock. I realize what I'm holding before I reveal the
inscription.
The symbol of the starfish.
The starfish is thought to represent safe travel over troubled waters and is
also seen as an emblem of salvation during trying times.
A sense of calm washes over me, and for the first time in weeks, I feel the
tiniest glimmer of hope.
~o0o~
No one mentions Bella to me again until Friday, the day of her Christmas
performance. Emmett corners me in the kitchen, his arm folded tightly across
his burly chest, clearly annoyed when he discovers I don't plan on attending.
"Because I'm not sure she would want me there," I confess.
"She won't know if you're there or not. It's going to be packed. You don't have
to go backstage or even see her afterward, but you should still come. It would
give you a chance to see her again before she leaves."
I lie and say I'll think about it simply to get him to drop the subject, but
the seed is already planted. He's right; it could be my last chance – my only
chance – to see her.
When the velvet curtains open for the second act, I'm grateful I changed my
mind.
Hiding in the shadows, my back pressed against the far wall of the theater, I'm
swept up in the dreamy music and the colorful fantasy-land that has come to
life on stage. When Bella finally makes her way onto the stage, I relish every
graceful movement, every flowing step, every moment my eyes can drink her in.
The sheer passion in her performance almost overwhelms me. She is absolutely
breathtaking. There aren't any words to describe her beauty on that stage. She
effortlessly captures the hearts of everyone in the audience.
As soon as she leaves the stage, I slip out the door and make my way toward the
backstage entrance. Two young girls, decked out in heavy makeup and elaborate
costumes, loiter outside the door. I approach them and flash my kindest, most
dazzling smile before asking if they know Isabella Swan.
"Bella? Yeah. Of course," the tall girl answers eagerly.
I hand her a small bouquet of red primroses wrapped in brown paper and tied
with twine. "Would you mind bringing these to her backstage?"
She takes the flowers from me, lifting them to her face and inhaling their
light, innocent scent. "Sure. No problem. Should I say who they're from?"
I consider that for a moment, and then shake my head. She smiles and disappears
behind the door.
I ask her friend to thank her for the errand and leave the theater before she
can return.
~o0o~
By Christmas day the house is bursting with people. Aunt Tanya, Esme's younger
sister, and Uncle Felix arrive the day before with their five-year-old
daughter. I try to hide my bitterness when they take up residence in Bella's
room, or what wasBella's room. It's a childish reaction, but I didn't want
anyone but Bella to use it.
More visitors trickle in through the day, expanding our family of seven to
eight, and then ten. Rose is here, naturally, and Jasper and Alice stop by to
wish everyone a happy holiday. When the doorbell chimes again, we all glance
around quizzically, trying to figure out who could possibly be missing.
Everyone we know is already here.
Almost everyone.
Emmett pulls the door open wide, and everyone cheerfully greets Jacob and Sam
as they walk in.
"We brought the fruit cake!" Jacob announces in a mocking tone. He holds up an
object that resembles a brick more than actual food. Everyone groans in unison,
then erupts in laughter.
Almost everyone.
It's a good day, a happy day. The house teems with joy and laughter and all the
trappings of a holiday surrounded by family and friends. I try to smile and
absorb the cheerful emotions from those around me, but they fail to even
scratch the surface. Inside, my heart is aching for the only person I truly
want to see. As the night wears on, the facade becomes harder and harder to
uphold. Finally, after the last guest says their goodbyes, I retreat to the
shelter of my room.
I throw on my jacket and walk onto the balcony. The crisp, cold air is filled
with the smell of smoke from the fires burning inside the houses around me. I
brush the decaying leaves from what was once our chair and slump down onto the
icy cushions. It feels like a hundred years – another lifetime – since Bella
and I last occupied this exact spot.
For a brief moment, I allow myself to remember the times we spent out here. The
scenes flash through my mind like a montage in a movie: the first time I saw
her dance from the balcony windows, when she broke down and cried after I had
been avoiding her, the night I rocked her to sleep in my arms, the candles…
I close my eyes, feeling the absence of her more in this moment than ever
before. I take several deep breaths, letting the cold air burn my lungs and
distract me from my inconsolable thoughts. It doesn't work, and I lug myself
off the chair and walk to the railing.
I stare at the lights of the city as they twinkle against the jet-black
backdrop. The full moon, bright in the night sky, refuses to hide behind the
thin clouds. Though its cliché, I draw some reassurance that it's the same moon
Bella would see if she were looking up at this exact moment.
"Merry Christmas, Bella," I whisper to the darkness.
I lean against the balcony railing until the cold air seeps through my jacket,
and I start to shiver.
The warmth of my room brings little comfort. What used to be a safe haven is
now only an empty space - a harsh reminder that she isn't here.
Dropping my jacket on the floor, I collapse on my bed. I'm not tired, yet I
roll on my back and throw my arm over my eyes, praying that sleep will find me
anyway. It seems to be the only way I can find relief – escape – from the
nightmare of this reality.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, startling me out of my sulking. I fish it out
and stare the caller ID as it continues to buzz in my hand. I don't recognize
the number, but something convinces me to answer it anyway.
"Hello?"
I'm greeted with nothing but silence from the other end.
"Hello?" I repeat, my annoyance seeping into my tone.
Again there is no response. I lift the phone from my ear, checking that the
call is connected. Seriously, kids still do these lame pranks?
Then it hits me. Slowly, I return the phone to my ear.
"Bella?"
I sit up quickly, raking my free hand through my hair.
"Bella?"
I know it's her. It has to be.
"Bella, please - please talk to me."
I know she's there, listening, but with every passing second it becomes clear
that she isn't going to answer.
"I miss you," I whisper into the silence. "God, I miss you so much." I wait,
taking note of any possible sound, but hear nothing.
"It just – it gets harder every day. I – I don't know how to do this. I don't
know how to be without you."
Another long moment of silence passes. I can't even hear her breathing.
"Please," I whisper, covering my eyes with my hand, forcing back my anguish
before I completely lose it.
Several long minutes pass, and her silence continues to torture me. I sit up
again, rubbing my burning eyes with the back of my hand as I clear my throat.
"Aunt Tanya is here… and my Uncle Felix," I blurt out, desperate for any
distraction. "You know, Esme's sister from Port Angeles. They drove in
yesterday, and they'll probably go home in the morning. I'm sorry you won't get
to meet them."
I relax minutely. This is… good. Talking to her like this… like she's here…
like we used to…
"They have a little girl. Her name is Jane, and she just turned five last
month. She's pretty cute. Last time I saw her she was still a little baby, but
now… well, she's like this little person now. I swear she doesn't sit still.
She's got Emmett totally trained. He's pretty good with kids, ya know? Santa
brought her a tea set, and she setup this elaborate party with all her dolls
and Emmett. She even got him to wear this huge pink hat and some of Esme's
pearls."
I smile to myself as the image of Emmett dressed in drag floats through my
mind. What I wouldn't give to hear her quiet laughter put an end to this
silence, but there's nothing.
"Jane got so many toys this morning. It looked like a wrapping paper bomb had
gone off in the living room. Esme gave her one of those, ah... those fancy
skirts that you ballet dancers wear … um, they're big and fluffy… shoot, what
are they called…"
"A tutu," she says softly.
I freeze at the sound of her voice but compose myself quickly. "Um, right –
right a tutu. It was bright pink, and she wore it over her Christmas dress all
day. I hope you don't mind, but we brought her upstairs and let her take a test
drive in your studio."
I pause, hoping she will tell me it's OK that Jane danced in her studio, but
once again I'm met with deafening silence.
"She's so tiny she can only reach the bottom rung of the bar. I don't think she
cared though. All she wanted to do was dance around in front of the mirror. We
put on some music, and I don't think she stopped dancing for an hour. Mom
showed her a picture of you, the one on the cover of that dance magazine from
last year. She told her that a real ballerina lives here with us. Jane wanted
to meet you, of course, but we told her you had gone to visit your dad for
Christmas. We promised to bring her to a performance when you come back."
I'm despicable. I'm trying to guilt my girlfriend to come back to me by
dangling a starry-eyed five year old in front of her.
I rub my face roughly with my hand as I try not to groan out loud.
"Jacob came by today. He brought Sam. I'd never met him. He seems like a nice
guy. They ended up staying for dinner. Jazz and Alice stopped by too, and Rose
was here, of course. They all wanted to know how you were doing and when you're
coming home."
I hesitate again, praying she will give me something – anything – any
indication she is coming back at all.
Nothing.
I sigh. "OK. OK. I get it. I'm sorry." I run my fingers through my hair in
frustration. I don't know what else to say. I don't know what she wants, why
she isn't speaking. Is she waiting for me to apologize again? Does she want me
to beg her to come home?
"Merry Christmas, Edward."
Everything goes perfectly still, and for a brief second I wonder if I didn't
just imagine hearing her out of my desperation. I take a deep breath, and an
infectious smile spreads across my lips.
"Merry Christmas, Bella."
Abruptly, the line goes dead.
She's gone - again.
~o0o~
The next morning, Emmett and I help load all of Jane's Christmas gifts into my
aunt's minivan. There are hugs and handshakes all around, and we watch as they
slowly back out of the driveway and disappear down the street.
Carlisle wraps his arm around Esme, and Emmett and I follow behind them, making
our way back into the house. As we approach the front porch, Emmett grabs my
arm and holds me back, indicating he wants to talk to me alone. He launches
into me the second the front door closes.
"You talked to her, didn't you?"
I flinch, startled by his accurate statement. "What – how did you know?"
"Well, for starters, you haven't been able to wipe that damn smirk off your
face all morning."
I feel myself smile again.
"See!" Emmett points a husky finger at my face. "That right there."
"Stop it, man, you're making me blush," I tease, playfully slapping his hand
away.
"So what did she say? How's she doing? When is she coming back?"
"I don't know," I admit.
Emmett frowns and tilts his head to the side. "Wait, I thought you said you
talked to her?"
"Kind of."
"Kind of? Either you talked to her or you didn't. Which is it?"
I rub the back of my neck with one hand. "I talked. She listened."
"Oh." Emmett contemplates my statement for a moment.
"Look, she called last night, and at first I thought it was a prank because
there was no one there. But then I just got this feeling that it was her and -
and I just started rambling."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing important. I told her about yesterday, about Christmas, and Jane and
all her presents. I told her how much everyone misses her. How much I miss
her…" I trail off.
"And she just didn't say anything?"
I shrug. "Right before she hung up she wished me a Merry Christmas."
Emmett's face brakes into a wide grin. "Well, that's something." He nudges me
with his elbow.
"Yeah, I guess."
"Think she'll call you again?"
"I hope so."
God, I hope so.
~o0o~
It's well after ten - eleven in Phoenix - and I'm nervously pacing around my
room, tapping my phone against my leg.
Why is it so fucking hot in here?
I reach behind my head and grip my sweater from between my shoulder blades,
yanking it off in one swift motion. My jeans are the next to go, joining the
pile of discarded clothes at the foot of my bed. I dig through my dresser
drawer until I find a pair of thin, blue scrub pants – hospital contraband,
complements of Dr. Carlisle Cullen – and tug them on. Just as I'm pulling the
drawstring tight around my hips, a muffled buzzing sound starts up.
I bolt to my bed, tossing my sweater and jeans to the floor as I frantically
dig for my phone.
Fuck! Where is it?
It buzzes next to me, and I pounce, uncovering it from a fold in the blanket. I
check the caller ID – it's the same unknown number as last night. The call
barely has time to connect before the phone is at my ear.
"Bella?"
And just like the night before, I get no response. My frantic mood is quickly
replaced with unease and doubt. I lower myself to sit on the floor next to the
bed, crossing my legs and holding my head in one hand.
"Please, Bella. Don't do this. Talk to me."
Nothing.
I thread my hand through my hair. "Bella, I can't keep - "
"Tell me more about Jane," she says softly.
"What?"
"Tell me more about Jane," she repeats.
"Why?"
"Please?"
I let out a breath and rack my brain for anything I can think of. "Ah, well,
she's got this curly, blonde hair that bounces when she walks. But she never
walks, she runs everywhere she goes. I've never seen more energy. And she was
so excited about Christmas. I wish you could have seen her face light up when
she realized Santa had come and left her all those presents."
I wait, hoping she will speak, but after a moment of silence, I realize she
isn't going to. I still don't understand what she wants, what she's doing with
these cryptic phone calls.
Maybe my evil plan of dangling an adorable five year in front of her worked
after all.
"On Christmas Eve, Jane, Aunt Tanya and Esme baked cookies to leave out for
Santa. Jane caught Emmett sneaking cookies off the tray and she put him in
time-out. She said it was because he didn't ask his mom if he could eat one
first. He did it too. He stood in the corner for a full five minutes before
Jane told him he could get up. He said he was trying to set a good example."
I chuckle as I remember the sight of Emmett with his nose pressed against the
wall.
Her delicate voice breaks through my memory. "Edward?"
"Yeah?" I respond cautiously.
"Thank you for the flowers."
My entire body relaxes. I lean back, resting my head against the side of the
mattress and close my eyes, savoring the moment. "You're welcome. You were
beautiful."
We are both quiet this time, but something about this silence feels
monumentally different.
"Do you know what they symbolize," I ask. "A red primrose, I mean?"
"Yes." She hesitates just long enough for me to wonder if she's going to
elaborate. "Jake told me they symbolize everlasting love."
"That's right." I'm dying to know what she's thinking, but I don't want to push
her.
"Edward, I…"
I hold my breath and steel myself for what she is about to say. If it's so hard
for her get out, it can't be good.
"I miss you," she whispers.
If I hadn't been sitting down, I'm sure my legs would have given out. I close
my eyes, struggling to find the right words, as relief floods over me.
"I miss you, too. So much."
"Good night, Edward."
"Good night, Bella."
===============================================================================
***** Chapter 21 *****
BPOV
As quickly and quietly as possible, I dart around the heavy, velvet curtains
that pool on the stage floor. Leah, Emily, Claire, and Lizzie all offer
whispered praise as Jake and I rush to exit the stage and move out of their
way. The music begins again, a happy, tinkling melody, and all four girls
simultaneously plaster dazzling smiles on their overly made-up faces.
"Break a leg," Jake whispers, slapping Lizzie's butt as she charges onto the
stage.
With both of his hands firmly attached to my hips, I lead Jake through a maze
of thick cables, scurrying around stressed-out crew members as they bark orders
into their headphones and sugar-plum fairies finishing their warm-up. Jake is
too busy bantering and joking with our classmates to pay attention to where
he's going, so I hold his hands securely to my sides and guide him back to our
dressing room.
"Yeah, we nailed that," he boasts. He plops down on the ratty couch against the
far wall, and tosses his legs across the cushions.
I take a seat at the dressing table, grabbing a handful of tissues to blot the
sweat from my forehead. The bright, blinding lights framing the mirror
accentuate every flaw the beads leave behind on my caked-on face. I grab my
cosmetic bag and dig for my pressed-power, hoping it can salvage the damage to
my stage makeup.
"You think they'd notice if we skipped the finale?" he asks.
I chuckle. "Ah, yeah. I think they'd notice a solid four eight-counts with no
one on stage."
Jake wines like a child. "But I'm hungry. I wanna ditch this place and go eat."
"Here." I reach into my gym bag and pull out a meal-replacement protein bar,
tossing it to him. He catches it effortlessly, but then his cheeks flush a
bright red.
"Shit. I'm sorry, Bells. Here." He leans forward, stretching out his arm to
hand the package back to me.
I roll my eyes. "Jake, don't be ridiculous. Eat it."
"No, it's yours. You eat it." He nudges the bar toward me again.
I turn my back to him, focusing on my reflection in the mirror. "Don't be like
this," I mumble.
"Like what?"
"Like this." I gesture toward his outstretched hand in the reflection. "Like
you have to watch what you say or do around me. Three weeks ago, you would have
taken that protein bar and eaten it without a second thought. You probably
would have asked why I only brought you one." Jake chuckles and drops his hand.
"I'm still me. And if you really want to help me, then I need you to still be
you, OK?"
He nods and looks down at the bar in his hand, flipping it over and over. After
a few seconds he tears the wrapper open and shoves half of it in his mouth.
"You only brought one?" he asks sarcastically.
I smirk and narrow my eyes at him. "Yeah, for you." I reach into my bag again
and produce another bar. "This one is mine." I rip the package open and take a
bite.
Jake walks to me and kisses the top of my head. "Sorry," he murmurs into my
hair.
"Deeeelivery," Carmen sings from the hallway. She twirls through the open door,
a small bouquet of flowers obscuring her face. "I have a delivery for Madame
Isabella Swan," she says, her words twisted up in the worst French accent I've
ever heard.
She dances over to me, folds herself forward in an elaborate bow, and presents
the bouquet with a flourish.
"Thanks, Carmen." I take the flowers from her, searching the brown paper
wrapping for a card. "Where did these come from?" I ask when I can't find one.
"Some super hottie at the backdoor."
My eyes snap to Jake's, and he smiles. "Well someone's been doing his
homework."
"Yeah, he's serious eye-candy. Way to go, Bella." Carmen turns and pirouettes
out the door.
Jake takes the flowers from me, lifting them to his face and inhaling. "I gotta
give it to him. That boy is clever," he says with an amused tone.
"Cause he sent me flowers?" I deadpan.
Jake points the blooms at my face. "Primroses. Red ones." He stares at me for a
second, like I'm missing some glaringly obvious fact, before rolling his eyes.
"I thought you girls were born knowing this stuff. Like it's ingrained in your
DNA with the ability to remember birthdays and shop for accessories."
I scowl at him.
Jake lifts the bouquet to his face and inhales again. Gently, he traces the
petals on the largest bloom as he explains. "Essentially, primroses symbolize
love and devotion, but red primroses symbolize eternal and everlasting love."
My eyes snap to the crimson bouquet as Jake places it gently in my hands. "How
– how do you know that?"
"I gave some to Sam for an anniversary once," he says wistfully. "I spent hours
looking up flower symbolism online, trying to find the exact sentiment I wanted
to convey."
My eyes remain locked on the flowers in my lap.
The exact sentiment he wanted to convey.
Everlasting love.
Jake kneels down in front of me, placing his hands on my knees. "He loves you,
Bells. He really does. Yeah, he screwed up, big time, but he did it because he
loves you. He was only doing what he thought was right. He told me once that
you're everything to him, and when I saw him the morning after you left, I knew
it was true. He was so broken that it was almost hard to look at him. He would
do anything for you, and you know that. Even if that means letting you go. I'm
not saying things will work out easily, but neither of you have to keep hurting
like this. You could be happy again. Talk to him."
The speaker mounted to the far wall crackles. "Curtain call. Five minutes. Act
two to the stage."
Jake stiffens. "But not right now. Now we have to fix your mascara."
I wipe the wetness from under my eyes with one hand, still clutching the
bouquet firmly to my chest with the other.
~o0o~
As soon as my plane touches down in Phoenix, I send Charlie a short text. He's
meeting me in baggage claim, so I want to let him know I'm on my way, but that
I need to make a quick stop in the ladies room first. I don't need to use the
facilities; I need a minute to collect myself before seeing him.
I drop my book sack next to my feet and scowl at my reflection in the mirror.
This is a bad idea; a very, very bad idea.
Even after gaining back half the weight I lost, I still look sickly thin. Mrs.
Lillian is right, the new hair cut does make my face appear fuller, but
'detective dad' isn't going to be conned by some long layers and wispy bangs.
He's going to take one look at me and flip out. I can kiss any plans of
returning to Seattle goodbye.
Stupid Bella. What are you doing here? What are you thinking?
Thinking, I remind myself. That's what I'm doing here.
I need time to think.
This is the right thing to do.
Get some space.
Take some time.
Really think.
Yes, this is good.
This is what I need to do.
I roll my eyes in the mirror. Who am I trying to fool? I should have gone home
with Carlisle and Esme after the performance tonight. I should have never run
away from him in the first place. But at the time, I just felt so horribly
fragile, like one more word from him would shatter my sanity. I felt completely
overwhelmed. I didn't know how to deal with flood of emotions that surged
through me: hope, anger, bliss, rage, shock, relief, devotion, fear, happiness,
resentment, loss, joy – love. It was too much.
So, I ran.
I'd spent the better part of the past week trying to rationalize those
feelings. He said he loved me, but yet he still felt the need to push me away.
He loved me, but he lied. He loved me, but he didn't have enough faith in me –
in us – to work together and face whatever obstacles his reputation would
cause. He loved me, but he made that choice without me.
I thought what we had was solid, so why didn't he trust me enough to share the
truth? Did he think I wouldn't understand? That it would change the way I feel
about him? That I wouldn't be willing to give him a chance despite everything
he'd done?
He loved me, but – but…
As I argued every point over and over again in my mind, I kept coming back to
that… truth. No matter how hard I tried to discredit that essential fact, I
couldn't. He left me, he lied to me, he pushed me away because he loved me,
because he was trying to protect me.
He loved me.
Jake was right. Edward would do anything for me, even if that meant sacrificing
his own happiness and letting me go. I knew without a doubt that was true
because – because I would have done the same for him. If I had been forced to
choose between Edward and sacrificing my dreams of becoming a dancer, I would
have picked him. He must have known that. He knew I would always choose him, no
matter what the cost.
Edward loves me.
How could I be so blind? I had been so stubbornly sure that he didn't want me.
I had convinced myself there was nothing genuine about his words or his
actions. But looking back over these last weeks, replaying every conversation,
every gesture, but seeing it with new eyes this time, I couldn't silence the
truth anymore. It was there in every word he said, in every touch, in every
look.
He loves me. He has always loved me. He will always love me.
And I will always love him.
So what am I doing here? In an airport bathroom a thousand miles away, no less.
Why am I still running from him? Why haven't I gone back? What is stopping me?
What am I so afraid of?
Am I trying to punish him? I don't think so. I may be stubborn, but I'm not
vindictive.
Did I doubt the sincerity of his confession? No. Everything he told me last
week was the truth.
Could I trust him again?
My eyes snap up to the reflection in the mirror.
Ah, is that it?
Do I feel like I can't trust him anymore? Is that what is holding me back? Is
my faith in him damaged beyond repair? No, no I don't think so.
Is it that I'm afraid of trusting him with my heart again - my shattered,
grieving, broken heart? Am I scared to let him back in? To let him try to heal
that part of me? Sure, I trusted him with my body, allowed him to help mend my
physical wounds, but would any amount of investment on his part put my heart
back in working order? Could his love do that?
Out of everything I'd been through in the last month, the one thing I learned
above everything else was how love gave someone the power to break you. I knew
it in the center of my bones, knew it from the crown of my head to the soles of
my feet, knew it deep in my empty stomach. I believed it with every fiber of my
being. Until –
Until the day Carlisle showed me how love gave someone the power to heal you
too.
Could I trust Edward with that task? What if he failed me again? What if I
failed him? What would happen to us then? How many ways could our hearts be
mangled and still be expected to keep beating?
The bathroom door swings open forcefully, and a burly woman pushing a bright
yellow janitorial cart staggers into the room.
"Buenas noches," she says robotically without even looking up.
"Buenas noches," I repeat as I scoop up my book sack. I slide my body around
the cart that is now blocking most of the exit and slip out the door quickly.
The last thing I need is for her to alert security about the crazy woman in the
bathroom having a silent conversation with herself in the mirror.
The baggage claim corridor is more crowded than I expect for this time of night
- or morning, technically. Travelers gather around the conveyors, scouring a
river of identical black bags. With a quick stop at the electronic arrival
board, I note my flight is assigned to carousel seven. I scan the crowd as I
approach, recognizing several passengers from my flight, but no Charlie. I walk
slowly around the raised carousel, weaving through the gathering of people
making small talk or scolding their kids for not staying put.
Finally, I spot him.
People always tell me I favor my father more than my mother, but seeing him
now, for the first time in five months, I can really pick out the similarities.
Our hair is the same color, and my nose is almost an exact copy of his. Even
his stressed expression seems familiar.
Of course, there is one physical attribute – one I've never seen before – that
I hope I never emulate.
Seriously, dad?
He rises up on his toes, shoving his hands in his pockets at the same time, as
he searches the crowd for me. Slowly, I walk to him, biting my lip as I try not
to laugh out loud.
He spots me a second later, and when his eyes widen and his mouth falls open
slightly, I'm reminded that I look different to him too. All the amusement I
felt a moment ago fades away. He snaps his mouth shut and swallows forcefully,
clearly fighting to rein in his alarm over my altered appearance.
Keeping his hands buried in his pockets, he takes a few steps forward. "Hey,
kiddo," he says solemnly.
I lower my eyes to the floor. "Hey, Dad."
I fiddle with the hem of my sweater, just to give my hands something to do,
while my eyes remain trained on the ground. I can feel him examining me, and I
assume he plans on saving the 'I knew something like this would happen' lecture
for when we're alone.
"Your hair's longer."
My eyes snap up as I automatically touch the tendril dangling over my shoulder.
"Actually, I cut it since the last time I saw you."
"Oh. I guess it grew out again."
A piercing buzzer sounds over the carousel, and I jump. "Could you help me, um
- " I jerk my thumb toward the luggage conveyor.
We shuffle along with the crowd, moving closer as the conveyor comes to life.
Charlie bumps my shoulder, and I look up to see him smiling sheepishly at me.
"It's good to see ya. I missed ya." His expression puts me at ease again.
"I missed you too, Dad."
His smile widens, emphasizing his new… accessory. "So, Dad, are you going to
introduce me to your new friend?"
His eyebrows draw together, deepening the wrinkles along his forehead. I touch
my upper lip, running my thumb and finger across the space between my mouth and
nose.
"Oh." He strokes his mustache proudly. "Yeah, just trying something new. Makes
me look tough, right?"
"Yeah, Dad," I chuckle. "Very Smokey and the Bandit."
"Well, Sue likes it," he defends with a shrug. "This you?"
He points to the conveyor that I haven't been paying attention to. Sure enough,
both of my mother's hot-pink suitcases are barreling toward us.
"Yeah, that's me."
He lifts the bags from the carousel and sets them on the floor. We each take
one, dragging them through the crowd and out the automatic doors.
"You brought the cruiser?" I scold when I spot the marked red and white car
parked in the fire lane.
"What did you expect? You know it lets me park anywhere I want."
We hoist my luggage into the trunk and weave our way out of the congested
airport traffic. "Geez," Charlie grumbles. "You'd think it was the middle of
the day."
Being up at this hour of the morning must be a shock to his system. Charlie is
more of an in-bed-by-ten type.
"Holiday travel, I guess."
Once we make it to the freeway, Charlie relaxes into his seat. "So, how've you
been, kid? I'm not gonna lie, I've been pretty worried these last few weeks,
but putting eyes on you makes me feel better."
"I'm OK – better," I amend.
"Yeah, you don't look that bad."
"Gee, thanks," I spit sarcastically.
"No. I ah, I mean… geez, sorry, Bells. I didn't mean it like that. It's just…
well the Doc had me kinda freaked out there for awhile."
"It's OK, Dad. I know what you meant."
Charlie lets out a deep breath. "Look, kid, I know people have been talking to
you about this 'til they're blue in the face, so I'm gonna spare you the
lecture. That doesn't mean I don't care. I'm here if you wanna talk about it,
or anything else. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" He
glances at me quickly before focusing on the road again.
"Yeah, I know."
He nods. "So I'm not going to harass you about it, at least, I'm gonna try not
to. But I will be keeping my eye on you. The Doc told me how much you should be
eating and stuff like that, but I'm no expert on this. I'm trusting you to tell
me if there's something you need, OK?"
"OK. I will. You don't have to worry, Dad. I'm fine."
He glances at me again. "Sorry, kid, but I've heard that before. The Doc said
you're doing good so far, but if you want to go back to Seattle then you're
gonna have to show me that I can trust you to take care of yourself.
Understand?"
I stare down at my lap, fiddling with the hem of my sweater again. I feel like
I'm twelve years old, being scolded for riding my bike in the street - again.
"Yes, sir," I mumble in a small voice.
Charlie sighs and shifts his weight in his seat. He leans toward the window as
he switches hands on the steering wheel. I can tell he's on the verge of that
lecture he just promised not to give, and he's fighting to suppress what he
really wants to say. I wonder if Carlisle also told him to cut me some slack.
"Look, it's been really hard for me… and your mother, to know you've been… sick
when you're so far away. It was hard to step back and let someone else take
over. But it sounds like the Doc is taking good care of you."
"He is. Carlisle's been…" As I search for the right words, my mind flashes back
to our last conversation.
On Wednesday morning, when I stumble from the guest room of the Hale's home,
rubbing my sleepy eyes on the way to the bathroom, a familiar voice catches my
attention. Carlisle is sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and
chatting with Mrs. Hale. This is the second time this week I've found him in
this exact spot. He's starting to become a regular fixture in the Hale's home.
Kind of like me.
"Good morning, Bella," he says cheerfully when I emerge from the hallway.
"Morning." I glance around the room, my half-asleep brain looking for someone.
I don't know why. That someone has never set foot in this house.
"Rose is still asleep," Mrs. Hale informs me. I nod, pretending like she's
answered my silent question.
"I was hoping to visit with you this morning," Carlisle says.
I cover my mouth to stifle a yawn as I nod again. "I'm just going to…" I
gesture toward the hallway with one hand while tugging on my pajama top with
the other.
"Sure, take your time."
I drag my body back to the guest room. Once I change out of my pajamas, brush
my hair and teeth, and make myself generally presentable, I return to the
kitchen.
Carlisle hasn't moved from his seat, but now a crumb-filled plate sits in front
of him, likely the remnants of Mrs. Hale's amazing coffee cake.
"Here you go dear." Mrs. Hale sets a plate down at the seat next to him; my
standard breakfast of eggs, toast with peanut butter, fruit, and yogurt. I
thank her and begin to eat while she and Carlisle resume their conversation.
Apparently, Mrs. Hale has volunteered to help with the latest hospital
fundraiser. Carlisle rambles off the names of several people who have expressed
interest in helping with the event as she frantically scribbles them into a
spiral bound notebook.
For the most part I tune them out and concentrate on my breakfast. When I've
had my fill, I scrape the uneaten bits and pieces into the trash, rinse my
plate, and load it into the dishwasher.
"Thank you for this," Mrs. Hale says, holding up her notebook. "If you'll
excuse me, I think I'm going to go make some phone calls right now and get the
ball rolling."
They both chuckle at her lame joke.
"Sorry, that was bad, but I just couldn't help myself." She disappears down the
hall, leaving me and Carlisle alone.
He stands up and walks into the living room, gesturing for me to follow. I take
a seat on the deep, leather couch, folding my feet under my body and pulling a
heavy blanket across my lap. Carlisle sits in the matching recliner next to me,
leaning forward with his hands clasped between his knees.
"How are you?" he asks.
"Good, thank you."
"Still cold?"
"Yes," I admit. He explained before that my constant chill would ease as I put
on more weight.
"Esme says you had a nice time yesterday at the spa. I like your hair cut."
I run my finger through my hair. "Oh, thanks. Yeah, it was fun."
Carlisle nods and rubs his hands together nervously. He obviously isn't here to
discuss the details of my spa day. He glances at the coffee table and I follow
his gaze. An old, beat up shoebox sits on top of a large, brown envelope. He
reaches for the stack, sliding the envelope out from under the box and hands it
to me.
"Here are the copies of your records from Dr. Webber's office. He also sent you
a list of specialists he recommends in the Phoenix area and refills for your
medications."
I nod and lift the flap on the envelope, peeking at the papers inside. I had
discussed the possibility of remaining in Phoenix with Carlisle on Monday, and
he said he would get everything I needed from Dr. Webber's office.
"Thanks." I close the envelope and return it to the coffee table. Carlisle
shifts in his seat, his eyes cast down to the floor. It's clear he has
something else to discuss with me, but he doesn't know how to start. I decide
to help him out.
"What's that?" I ask, jerking my chin toward the old shoebox on the table. A
small smile plays on his lips, and he leans forward again, lifting the box into
his lap. His runs his hand lovingly across the top. Clearly, he treasures
whatever is inside.
"I wanted to share these with you." He hands the box to me, and I take it
carefully, studying the worn out cardboard. I idly wonder how many times this
box has been opened.
Gently, I lift the lid and set it on the couch next to me. Pictures, a hundred
or more, fill the box from one end to the other. The photo on top immediately
grabs my attention, and I snatch it from the stack.
"Oh, my gosh!" I cover my mouth as I start to giggle.
The little boy in the photo grins back at me with a blinding smile. Wearing
nothing but a pair of dirty blue jeans and a superhero cape, he flexes his
arms, trying to elicit bulging muscles that aren't really there.
I scoot over so Carlisle can sit next to me on the couch. "I think he was five,
maybe six," he says, taking the photo from me to study the image.
As soon as he moves the picture from my line of sight, another smiling face
stares up at me from the box. It's the same shirtless Edward, but instead of
blue jeans he's wearing swim trunks. He stands next to a pile of sand - his
version of a castle, I assume - while a vibrant, blue ocean sparkles in the
background. He's older in this photo, but not by much, and a proud smile lights
up his entire face.
I pass the picture to Carlisle and reach for the next one. This time, I'm not
able to contain my laughter. Carlisle glances over to see what has me in such
hysterics before joining in with his own loud guffaws.
Perched on Santa's knee is a very pissed-off little Edward. With his arms
folded tightly across his chest, he glowers at the camera. Behind him, Santa
and a short, stocky woman dressed as Mrs. Claus, have their heads thrown back
and their eyes squeezed shut, obviously unable to contain their amusement.
"What happened here?" I ask though my giggles.
"I – I don't know," Carlisle presses out, fighting to compose himself.
How could he not know? These are photos of -
His words from before repeat in my mind, "I think he was five, maybe six,"and
it all clicks into place. I realize then what I'm looking at. These photos were
taken before Edward was adopted by the Cullens. Pictures of another life. These
are photos taken by proud parents – his parents – documenting the milestones
and priceless moments of their child's life. The significance of what Carlisle
is sharing me sinks in, and my laughter fades away.
I pass the picture to Carlisle, studying his face as he smiles at it. "Did you
ever ask him?"
Carlisle shakes his head, his eyes still fixed on the picture in his hand.
"Edward didn't know these photos existed until a few days ago. When we first
brought him home, the child psychologist told us not to force these things on
him if he didn't want to see them. It was like he couldn't handle any reminders
of his parents except - except his mother's piano. That was all he wanted, all
he could bear."
Carlisle reaches into the box and flips the stack, pulling out the photo tucked
into the very back. He hands me a portrait of a happy family and points to each
person as he names them. "Edward Senior. Elizabeth. And Edward Anthony Masen."
Elizabeth is undoubtedly beautiful. Her face is a soft oval shape, with high
cheekbones and porcelain skin. Her emerald green eyes, the same shade as
Edward's, glimmer with love and happiness. Edward's father, perched just behind
her, is a handsome man. He clearly passed on his amaretto hair to his son,
along with his dazzling smile. The child seated between them is a blend of the
best parts of his mother and father. Especially the huge smile that lights up
his entire face.
I can't help but smile back at the happy little boy in the photo, and I trace
my finger over his beaming grin.
"I know this smile," I murmur. "He still makes this face when he's really
happy."
Carlisle reaches into the box again, pulling out the photo filed just before
this portrait. As he holds it next to the picture in my hand, my breath catches
in my throat.
It's the photo of Edward and me from the sculpture garden. Our arms are wrapped
tightly around each other as we smile happily at the camera. Edward's smile
matches that of the little boy in the portrait in my hand, and I have to fight
back the lump in my throat and the tears that fill my eyes.
"I saw this when I was in your room Friday night. It's been so long since I've
seen him like this, I almost didn't recognize him."
My heart aches as I stare at Edward's blissful expression. It's been a long
time since I've seen him like this too.
"I thought I had lost him," he says somberly, pulling the photo back to examine
Edward's happy face. "Then, one night, I almost did."
"What happened?"
Carlisle stares at the picture of his son, searching it like the answer to my
question is written in the image. For the next hour, he doesn't move his eyes
from the photo as he described a side of Edward I can't even imagine. The
disobedient, rebellious, defiant son he speaks of is not the person I know at
all. It's hard for me to envision Edward doing or saying the things he
describes.
As the story progresses, and Carlisle talks about how their relationship
continued to disintegrate, his pained expression breaks my heart. In that
moment I realize that, while I've been missing Edward for weeks, Carlisle has
been missing him for years.
"But even when all that was going on," he says, "even when I thought our
relationship was irreconcilable, I knew his compassion, his goodness, and that
this," Carlisle nods at the picture, "this bright happiness that shines out of
him was still there. He just needed someone to remind him of it, to remind him
of who he was – who he is."
Carlisle looks at me then. "You did that," he says confidently. He hands the
photo to me, and I stare at the image again, seeing it with new eyes.
"Esme and I, we tried to show him how much we loved him, but his heart was too
mangled to accept it, too mangled to accept us - until he met you. You made him
whole again. You gave him a purpose in this life. You brought my son back to
me, and I will never be able to express how truly grateful I am to you for
that."
I can't look at him. I can't move my eyes away from the picture in my hand. I
don't know what to say. His confession has left me utterly speechless. All I
can do is nod as a flood of tears blurs my vision.
"I never knew how much he was struggling after the accident, how much guilt and
remorse he was carrying with him. I can't imagine where he would be today if
you hadn't come into his life."
I wipe my damp cheeks with my sleeve. "I – I didn't do anything," I choke.
Carlisle shakes his head. "You've done more for my family than you'll ever
know."
He twists in his seat, tucking one leg under the other while throwing his arm
across the back of the sofa as he turns his body to face me. "Bella, I know
Edward explained to you the circumstances of why I demanded he end the
relationship. I hope now that you understand our… history that you can see how
I thought I was acting in your best interest."
I lower my eyes and fold my arms into my lap, trying to fight back the
bitterness that boils in my stomach.
"I am so deeply sorry for that, and I hope, one day, I will be able to earn
your forgiveness."
I hesitate before nodding slowly.
"I didn't understand the true nature of your relationship. Even when he told me
he loved you, I didn't give his words any merit. It wasn't until we – well,
that morning when he discovered you were sick that I started to see what you
mean to him. And I've seen it every day since. Once my eyes were opened, it was
so easy to see how deeply he is tied to you. It's in the way he talks about
you, in the way he fights for you."
My eyes snap to Carlisle's face; I'm sure my expression reflects my confusion.
"I don't think you realize what an integral part he's played in your recovery
these last few weeks."
I know Edward helped me thought that first day, but when Carlisle begins to
describe the conversation they had earlier that very morning, the missing
pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place.
It was Edward who convinced his father that it would be better for me to stay
in Seattle than be sent off to the treatment center in Arizona. And that first
day, when Edward wouldn't let me out of his sight, he was scouring the internet
for information on my condition, texting back and forth with his father about
my progress. Then, when the torment of watching me suffer all day overwhelmed
him, he punched his car and almost broke his hand. And when I lashed out at
him, told him I couldn't be around him anymore, Edward hadn't given up trying
to find ways to help me. He spent that time reading every available textbook in
Carlisle's study about my condition. By the time Carlisle describes Edward's
meeting with Dr. Weber, my mouth is hanging open.
"Bella, I know you're going to have to make a choice, and I want you to make
the right choice for you. If you feel you need to stay in Phoenix, if you need
time away from all of this, then you should do that. Don't let what I've told
you today influence your decision. I'm not here to try to convince you to come
home or to absolve myself or Edward for what we've done. I know you're hurt and
confused, but I needed to make sure you knew why – why this happened, and that
you're not alone in this fight. He is fighting this battle right along with
you, and he will support any decision you make, as long as you choose what is
best for you."
Charlie's hand shakes my shoulder. "Bells, did you fall asleep on me?"
I snap back to reality. "Huh?"
"I asked if the Doc was taking good care of you, and you zoned out on me."
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. "Oh, sorry. Yeah, he's been great. I
couldn't have done this without… him."
"That's good to hear."
I lean my head against the cold window, staring at the dark city that flies
past, and try to let go of the sting of that memory.
"That boy of his give you those?"
I twist my head to look at Charlie, and he nods toward the book sack tucked
between my feet. My bouquet of primroses sticks out the top. I couldn't bring
myself to leave them behind.
"Edward," I clarify. "And yes, he did, after the performance tonight."
"Yeah, I figured," Charlie huffs. "Well, that's one topic we will be discussing
if you go back."
~o0o~
Unsurprisingly, I sleep later than usual the next morning. I need the rest,
obviously. It's been a long few days with the added rehearsals, the
performance, and the late flight last night. When I finally roll my stiff body
out of bed, it's well after eleven in the morning.
"Well, look who's finally decided to grace us with her presence," Sue teases
when I enter the kitchen.
She pushes her chair back from the table, the wooden legs making a familiar
scuffing sound against the tile floor, and crosses the room. She wraps her arms
around me in a tight hug. "It's so good to see you, sweetheart."
"It's good to see you too," I mumble, my words muffled by her shoulder.
Charlie started dating Sue about two years ago. She's just as tall as I am, and
almost the same build, but no one would ever mistake me for her daughter. Her
tawny skin and jet-black hair are an extreme contrast to my features. Even
though we haven't spent that much time together, we get along pretty well. She
always treats me more like a grownup than Charlie does, and I think that's
because her own children are much older than me. Overall, she makes Charlie
happy, and that's all that really matters.
Sue releases me from her embrace and steps over to the coffee pot. She pours a
steaming cup of coffee into my favorite yellow mug and hands it to me. "Still
take it with milk?" she asks.
"Sure."
I slide into the empty chair at the table while she fetches the carton from the
refrigerator. While I busy myself with adding sugar and milk to my coffee, Sue
grabs a basket of muffins, biscuits and rolls from the counter and sets it
between us. The assortment of baked goods looks like a spread from the pages of
a Martha Stewart magazine. No doubt she's been keeping Charlie well feed while
I've been away.
"These are beautiful." I select a huge blueberry muffin from the basket and
immediately tear off the paper wrapper in one swift move.
"You know your father only keeps TV dinners in the house. I had to make sure my
girl had something decent to eat."
"Hey," Charlie calls from the living room, "I bought some fruit."
"Because I made him," Sue whispers. I chuckle around a mouth full of muffin.
"So, Bella, I came by this morning to see if you wanted to do some shopping
with me since your dad has to go down to the station. I know it's the day
before Christmas, but I only have a few things to get. If you're feeling brave
and want to tag along, I'd love some company."
"Sure, I'll go. I need to pick up a few things myself."
Charlie staggers into the kitchen, his eyes focused on securing his gun holster
to his hip. "Well, I've got to head out, but I'll be home early. You girls be
careful out there. People are too busy thinking about what to buy Grandma
instead of focusing on the rules of the road."
"Yes, Chief," Sue teases.
Charlie walks over to her and kisses her quickly on the cheek. He turns to me
next, holding out his hand as if he's offering me a handshake. I place my hand
in his automatically, trying to understand his strange gesture by studying his
face. He leans down and kisses the top of my head. "Watch out for that one. She
can shop like nobody's business."
"I heard that," Sue mumbles.
Charlie releases my hand, and I feel the crinkled bills he snuck into my palm.
"Dad," I protest, but he dismisses my objection with a wave of his hand and
walks out the door.
I finish my breakfast, dress quickly, and hop into Sue's pickup truck. Within a
few minutes, we're fighting through the crowded mall traffic, trying to find a
place to park.
"Every year I tell myself I'm going to finish my shopping before Thanksgiving,"
Sue reprimands herself.
"Hey, at least you've started. I haven't bought a single thing."
"Well, don't you worry. I happen to know your father has his eye on this new
tackle box over at Dick's Sporting Goods."
I whip my head to the side and stare at Sue. "Seriously, another one?"
She laughs. "He says the same thing about my shoes."
"All right," I concede. "Tackle box it is, I guess."
We park the truck and go off in search of the coveted box. Once I've made my
purchase, we head to the new bookstore next door.
While Sue scours the shelves of cookbooks, looking for a specific chef for her
mother, I mindlessly wander over to an isle filled with stationary, elaborate
calligraphy sets, and expensive fountain pens. My fingers idly trace the spine
of a beautiful, leather-bound journal, and I pull it from the shelf. When I
flip through the silky pages, I notice the book isn't filled with lines for
writing, but empty stanza for music.
"That's beautiful," Sue comments over my shoulder.
"I wonder if Edward would like this," I murmur, thumbing through the empty
pages again.
"Does he compose?"
My mind flashes to the morning when I found the crinkled sheets of music in his
trashcan. I didn't know what it was, if it was something Edward had written
himself or one of Jasper's songs they had worked on together, but something
told me that whatever it was, it shouldn't be thrown away. So I tried to
salvage it as best I could, flattening the wrinkled pages and stacking them
neatly on his desk.
"I've never heard him play. I know he has a guitar, and I think he used to play
the piano, but he gets together with his friend and they write stuff
sometimes."
"Well, I think that would make a great gift. You should get it for him."
My shoulders slump as I set the book back on the shelf. "I don't know when I'm
going to see him, so what's the point."
"The point is that you thought about him." Sue pulls the book from the shelf
and holds it out toward me. "And you can give it to him when you go back next
week."
"But I haven't decided when I'm going back yet."
"Bella," she scolds. "Do you honestly think you're going to spend the next
semester here in Phoenix, piddling away at the old dance studio?"
I shake my head slowly.
"Then what's the real issue?"
"It's just – it's…" I let out a deep, aggravated breath. "I don't know. I don't
know what I'm doing. I don't know how to start over. I don't know how to go
back after walking out on him like that."
Sue nods toward an empty seating area in the corner, and I follow her. I sink
down into the plush chair across from her.
"Bella, I realize I don't know the whole story, but it's obvious that you've
been hurt. I know it's hard to trust someone after they've broken your faith.
There's no magic machine; you don't put in a quarter and a fresh can of trust
drops out. It has to grow over time. It can be scary to take that first step,
but once you do, you can work together to rebuild what you had, if that's what
you want."
I cast my eyes down to my lap, suddenly feeling very small in this oversized
chair. "That's all I've wanted," I whisper. "More than anything."
Sue places the journal in my lap. "Then take that first step. I have a feeling,
once you do, you won't be walking that path alone."
~o0o~
Christmas day is considerably calmer than the fiasco of thanksgiving with my
mother. Charlie and I have a quiet breakfast together, exchanging gifts right
there at the table. Sue was right; he's thrilled with the new fishing gear we
picked out. I suggest he go try it out, but he decides to spend the morning
lounging in his recliner in front of the TV.
Sue joins us around lunchtime, and I help her prepare a gourmet meal. When
lunch is over, I retreat to my bedroom, curling up in the middle of my bed and
flicking on the TV. The opening credits of "It's a Wonderful Life" flash across
the screen, but just as the movie gets started my eyelids grow heavy. I roll to
my slide and close my eyes, listing to the dialog and picturing the actors in
my mind.
When I wake up several hours later, the house is dark and quiet. I find a note
from Charlie on the kitchen table. He and Sue went to visit her mother and
should be back in a few hours. That reminds me that I haven't called my mother
since I left Seattle, so I plop down on the couch and dial her number. When she
doesn't answer, I leave a brief message letting her know I'm doing well and
wishing her and Phil a Merry Christmas.
Next, I decide to give Jake a call to see how his holiday is going. Once again,
I'm greeted with a recording, so I recite almost the same message I left for my
mother, sending my best to him and Sam for a happy holiday.
I curl up on the couch, pulling the orange afghan over my legs and stare at the
white lights on the Christmas tree as they twinkle in the dimly lit room. The
house is eerily quiet, and with nothing to occupy my mind, my thoughts
automatically turn to Edward. I wonder what he's doing right now. I wonder, if
things had turned out differently, what we would be doing right now. Would I be
in Seattle, celebrating the holidays with my new family? Or would I still come
home? Maybe I would have drug Edward with me this time.
I glance around the living room, trying to picture him in the space, but the
existing memories in this room overpower my imagination. I close my eyes,
shutting out the visual and try to imagine him with me instead. It works better
than I could have hoped, and suddenly I'm curled up in my hallucinatory
Edward's lap. I shift in my seat, nuzzling further into the couch cushions that
I imagine as his chest. He wraps his arm around me tighter, stroking my hair
and kissing my head.
"Merry Christmas, Bella," he whispers.
His voice is so clear that my eyes snap open. I must be going insane, because I
fully expect to find him standing in the room. The moment I realize I'm alone,
a huge sob rocks my chest.
I can't do this anymore! I need him!
I snatch the phone from the table, mashing the numbers on the keypad. I have no
idea if I'm even dialing the right number, my blurry, tear-filled eyes and my
shaking hands make it impossible to tell.
"Hello?"
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Or maybe something did, and I just
can't hear it over the pounding of my heart.
"Hello?" he repeats, clearly annoyed that no one is answering him. I wait for
the click, anticipating he will hang up any second now.
"Bella?"
My hand flies up, covering my mouth as more tears pour down my cheeks.
"Bella?" he asks again. His voice is even more hopeful than before.
"Bella, please - please talk to me."
Slowly, I lower my hand, fighting to pull myself together.
"I miss you," he whispers. "God, I miss you so much."
My eyes fill with more tears at his desperate tone. I miss you too. So much it
hurts.
"It just – it gets harder every day. I – I don't know how to do this. I don't
know how to be without you."
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the tears to spill over. Why is this so hard?
Why am I'm doing this to him? I'm hurting him. Say something!
"Please," he begs.
The anguish in his voice is more than I can bear. I tilt the phone away from my
face, covering the receiver with my hand so he can't hear me as I begin to sob
again. After several long minutes, he clears his throat, and I wonder if he
hasn't been able to hold back his own tears.
"Aunt Tanya is here… and my Uncle Felix," he blurts out. "You know, Esme's
sister from Port Angeles. They drove in yesterday, and they'll probably go home
in the morning. I'm sorry you won't get to meet them."
I shake my head slightly, feeling my eyes narrow in confusion. What is he
doing?
"They have a little girl. Her name is Jane, and she just turned five last
month. She's pretty cute. Last time I saw her she was still a little baby, but
now… well, she's like this little person now. I swear she doesn't sit still.
She's got Emmett totally trained. He's pretty good with kids, ya know? Santa
brought her a tea set, and she setup this elaborate party with all her dolls
and Emmett. She even got him to wear this huge pink hat and some of Esme's
pearls."
The image of big, burly Emmett dressed for high tea and scrunched into a
child's table makes me smile. I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand as I
slide down to lie on my side. Pulling the blanket up over my shoulder, I
snuggle into the couch cushions and allow his voice to soothe me.
"Jane got so many toys this morning. It looked like a wrapping paper bomb had
gone off in the living room. Esme gave her one of those, ah... those fancy
skirts that you ballet dancers wear … um, they're big and fluffy… shoot, what
are they called…"
"A tutu," I mutter.
"Um, right – right a tutu. It was bright pink, and she wore it over her
Christmas dress all day. I hope you don't mind, but we brought her upstairs and
let her take a test drive in your studio."
I smile again, picturing a little girl dancing excitedly in front of the
mirror. In my mind, the child I envision has chocolate-brown, ringlet curls and
emerald-green eyes. She spins around and around, her tinkling laughter filing
the room.
"She's so tiny she can only reach the bottom rung of the bar. I don't think she
cared though. All she wanted to do was dance in front of the mirror. We put on
some music, and I don't think she stopped dancing for an hour. Mom showed her a
picture of you, the one on the cover of that dance magazine from last year. She
told her that a real ballerina lives here with us. Jane wanted to meet you, of
course, but we told her you had gone to visit your dad for Christmas. We
promised to bring her to a performance when you come back."
A lighthearted feeling washes over me. He hasn't given up. He said when–not if
– when.
"Jacob came by today. He brought Sam. I'd never met him. He seems like a nice
guy. They ended up staying for dinner. Jazz and Alice stopped by too, and Rose
was here, of course. They all wanted to know how you were doing and when you're
coming home."
I bite my lip, fighting back the smile that threatens to break through. He
thinks he's so clever, trying every way he can to coerce me to give him the
answer he wants.
He sighs. "OK. OK. I get it. I'm sorry."
My amusement fades. I can tell he's getting upset, and that's not what I want.
This is exactly what I needed tonight. Just to hear his voice. Just to pretend,
if only for a moment, that everything is how it used to be. I wish I could
share that with him, give him some tiny measure of reassurance, to let him know
that everything's going to be OK, but I can't right now. I just pulled myself
together and I don't think I'm ready for a heavy conversation. Not tonight.
"Merry Christmas, Edward."
"Merry Christmas, Bella," he says. I can hear the smile in his voice.
I hang up before he can mistake the sound of my happy tears for something else.
***** Chapter 22 *****
EPOV
Bella continues to call me for the next three nights. Our conversations are
brief, spanning ten to fifteen minutes tops, with me doing most - if not all -
of the talking. I thought things would start to improve after the night she
told me she missed me, but that hasn't been the case. I try not to get
irritated that we aren't making any progress, but every times she hangs up,
leaving me uncertain as to where we stand, my anxiety doubles.
Tonight is no different. After I ramble through the mundane details of my day
without a single word being spoken from her end of the line, I reach my
breaking point.
"Bella, what are we doing?"
When she doesn't answer, I drop the phone to my side and run my hand roughly
over my face. I need to reign in my frustration before I say something I'll
regret.
Slowly, I raise the phone back to my ear.
"We can't keep going like this you know. We can't just ignore it and hope it
will go away. That's how we got in trouble the last time, by living in our own
little world and avoiding the stuff we didn't want to deal with. It doesn't
work that way."
The resounding silence makes my blood boil.
"Damn it, Bella! I can't do this by myself. Talk to me."
A hitching breath is all I hear.
I slump down on the edge of my bed, holding my head in one hand, as all the
irritation evaporates from my body. I'm such an asshole.
"I'm sorry," I murmur. For several minutes, I simply listen as she cries softly
into the phone. "Please, love. Please don't cry. You know it kills me."
She takes a deep, ragged breath, obviously trying to pull herself together. I
continue to hold my head in my hand and stare at my feet as every sound from
her stabs my heart.
"I'm sorry," I repeat. "I didn't mean to lose it. It's just… I feel so lost
without you. I don't know what to do."
"Edward, I'm -" Her voice breaks, rough from crying. "I'm scared."
I remember Jacob's warning all those nights ago. "She's terrified that if she
lets her guard down, if she lets you back in, she won't be able to survive it."
I rub my eyes roughly with my hand, hating myself more in this moment than ever
before.
"I will never forgive myself," I mutter, talking more to myself than her. "I'll
never forgive myself for what I've done, for making you doubt my feelings. I
promise - I swear - I will never hurt you like that again."
"How – how could you – how could you do that to me? You promised – you promised
to never lie to me, and you did. You just threw me away. You – you made that
decision without me. You didn't even give me a chance."
She can hardly catch her breath between her frenzied sobs. Overwhelmed by her
sudden accusations, I lower myself off the edge of the bed and practically
crumple onto the floor.
"I – I trusted you. I gave you my heart, my whole heart, and - and you stood
there, you looked me in the eye, and you threw it away."
A blistering flame sears my heart and crawls through my veins, burning me
alive. I ball my free hand into a fist and press it firmly into my chest,
praying the torture will stop. I'd hurt her, destroyed her, more deeply than I
even imagined. How could I possibly expect her to forgive me?
"No," I whisper. My voice is so soft I don't think she hears it. "No, it wasn't
like that."
There's no way she can hear me over her sobs and tattered breaths. All I can do
is clutch the phone, my only connection to her, and listen as she completely
breaks down. I feel so helpless, so weak. She's so far away. I can't do
anything to comfort her except softly chant, "Bella, I'm sorry. Bella, I love
you," over and over as she cries.
Please don't hang up. Please don't hang up. Please don't let this be the last
conversation we have.
"Bella, I love you," I repeat, just in case this is my last chance to tell her.
After several agonizing minutes, her sobs finally turn to soft whimpers. "I'm –
I'm sorry," she stutters.
"Please don't. Don't apologize to me."
"But – but I know it's not true. I don't know why I just said that. I know it's
not true. I'm sorry."
"No, it is true. I did all those things. I lied to you. I destroyed what we
had. It's – it's foolish of me to think I can ever regain your trust, to think
you'd ever be able to forgive me. But, Bella, I'd do anything – anything – for
that chance. I would spend every day, for the rest of my life, begging for your
forgiveness if you'll let me."
"No, Edward. I don't want that. I just want to put this whole mess behind us."
Leaning back against the side of my bed, I run my hand through my hair. I don't
know what to say. How can we possibly move past all the pain I caused? How do
we start over?
She takes another deep breath, sounding more composed than before. I hear
shuffling sounds, like she's moving around or changing positions, so I wait,
trying to decipher what she's doing from the noises. "Did you think your past
would change the way I feel about you?" she asks suddenly. "Is that why you
never told me?"
I consider how to answer that for a moment. Anything I say will only confirm
her accusation that I didn't give her that chance, that I didn't have faith in
her.
"Yes," I answer sheepishly. "I guess – I guess I didn't think you would
understand or that you would be willing to give me a chance when you found out.
It's just – everyone else in my life hated me for what I had done, so I just
assumed… I'm sorry I doubted you, that I didn't have that faith in you, but I
was just so afraid of losing you. I was being selfish. I was trying to keep you
with me as long as I could. It's no excuse, I know. I should have been honest
with you. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I was so afraid something
like this would happen."
"What would happen?"
"You'd leave. I mean, you'd leave me. And you were right too. You deserve so
much better than me, Bella. You deserve - "
"That's not why I left, Edward," she scolds.
"It's not?"
"No. I didn't leave because of what you said, I mean, not what you said about
your past. That had nothing to do with it. I just - I needed some time to put
all the pieces together. I was hurt and confused and – and completely
overwhelmed, and I'm sorry for running away like that. I just – I needed time.
That's all."
"I can wait, Bella. Whatever you need. Time, space, I – I just want you to be
happy." I take a deep breath, hoping she can hear the conviction in my words.
"That's all I want, Bella. I want you to be happy. Even if that means… that we
can't be together. You can have whatever part of me you want, or none at all,
if that's better. I would understand, and I promise I won't stand in your way
if you want to leave me."
"I'm not leaving you, Edward." Although her words are laced with annoyance, the
pure relief that rips through me blocks everything else out.
The huff that leaves my lungs is filled with disbelief. "Why?" I ask. The
question almost sounds like a laugh.
Bella chuckles. "Because I love you. Your past doesn't matter to me. It doesn't
change anything. I love you for you, not for what you've done, or even for what
you'll become. I love you, Edward."
I lean back against the side of my bed and cover my eyes with my hand. It feels
as if my whole body is limp, weightless, as if my happiness has swallowed me
whole. I recognize this feeling. It's exactly the same as the first time she
said those words to me.
I laugh quietly, teasingly. "Say it again," I whisper, unable to help myself.
Bella giggles. She remembers.
"I love you. I'm yours. For as long as you'll have me. You are the most
important thing to me - the most important thing to me ever."
"You remember."
"Of course I do. I will never forget that moment, Edward. It was one of the
best of my life."
"God, Bella. You're everything to me. Everything. I love you."
"I know you do. I saw it. It was there the whole time, in the way you looked at
me, in the way you took care of me. I was stubborn, and I tried to deny it, but
I did see it. And - and that was the hardest part, the tiny glimmers of the way
it used to be. Through everything, I guess I was holding on to the hope that
you were as irreversibly altered as I was, and that's what hurt the most. I was
afraid if I let myself hope, and it came to nothing, well… that would've killed
me. But it wouldn't go away, no matter how hard I tried to suppress it. I
guess, deep down, my subconscious knew that I will always belong to you, and
you will always be mine."
"Come home," I blurt out. "Come back. I need you. I can't be without you."
She sighs, and all the hope and confidence that had been building inside me
vanishes. Not ten minutes ago I told her I'd wait, that she should take all the
time she needs, and now I'm begging her to come back.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – I don't want to pressure you."
"No, no, it's not that. It's, well… I'm working on it."
"What can I do?"
Bella giggles. "You can figure out how to reign in my father's unrealistic
expectations."
"Oh, is that all," I tease. "Psh, piece of cake. I'm getting to be a pro at
parental expectations."
I expect her to laugh again at my mocking tone, but there's nothing but a long
moment of silence.
"Edward," she says cautiously, "how did they die?"
Wow.That was not what I was expecting at all. I comb my fingers through my hair
and let out a deep breath.
"If you don't want to talk about it -"
"No, it's OK. Um, it was a car accident. Drunk driver." I pull my knees up to
my chest and wrap my free arm around my legs. "It was a few weeks after my
eighth birthday. We were - we had gone out to dinner to celebrate."
"You – you were there?" she asks guardedly. "In the car?"
"Yes. I was the only one who…" I hesitate and tug at my hair again. "I – I saw
everything."
With a deep breath, I let my mind wander back to that night. "My dad, he – he
never moved. He looked like he was asleep against the steering wheel, except
his face was..." I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.
"My mom… she was awake, at first. I mean, she had her face turned toward me,
but she didn't open her eyes at all. I don't know if she couldn't, or if she
didn't want to see, but she - she reached for me. At first, I didn't want her
to touch me. Her arm was covered in blood, and it – it scared me. I backed away
from her hand, and she didn't turn around. When she couldn't reach me she
started to – to panic, I guess. She didn't call my name, she didn't say
anything at all, but she started gasping and frantically searching the backseat
with her hand. She didn't relax until I grabbed it and squeezed. She – she even
smiled a little, and then she started to hum. It was so quiet. There wasn't
another sound, apart from my mother's voice."
Even now, ten years later, I can remember the sound of her voice with perfect
clarity. And, in spite of the horrific memory that floats through my mind, the
gentle hum puts me at ease.
"She stayed with me as long as she could. I think she stayed until she heard
the sirens in the distance, because the louder they got, the softer her song
became until – until she stopped humming all together. And she didn't let go of
my hand until they were cutting the roof of the car open to get to us."
Silence lingers between us. I'm sure Bella doesn't know what to say. What do
you say to someone who just told you the story of their parents' gruesome
death?
"I'm – I don't know what to say. I'm sorry feels so…"
"I know. People would always tell me they were sorry. What does that even mean?
I never knew what to say to that. I mean, I was only eight, but I kept thinking
'why are they apologizing to me? It's not like it was their fault.'"
"So, you said you were out celebrating that night," she prompts after another
long pause.
"Oh, um… yeah, we went out to dinner because I got a really good grade on a
math test. I really sucked at math, and my dad had been tutoring me all week
for this particular test. When I passed, I got to pick any restaurant I wanted.
Of course, we ended up at the Forks Coffee Shop." I laugh at the memory. "I
don't even know why they bothered to ask. Where else would we go?"
"Forks?"
"Yeah, that's where I'm from. It's a little town about three hours from here.
It was a great place to grow up. There were these woods surrounding my house,
and I would spend hours playing out there. My mom would get so pissed because I
would come home caked in mud all the time."
I start to laugh. "This one time, I got so dirty that I knew I was going to be
in huge trouble. I think I was wearing my church clothes or something. Anyway,
when I was walking back to the house, I saw these flowers. They were right by
the backdoor, and I didn't think anything of it. I mean, I was like six or
seven so what did I know. Anyway, I decided to pick them and give them to my
mom as a peace offering I guess."
"Oh, no, Edward. You didn't?"
"Yup, I pulled up all the daffodils she planted the weekend before."
We both laugh. "What – what did she say?" Bella asks through her giggles. like
My laughter slowly fades away. "She said they were the most beautiful flowers
she's ever seen. I'm sure she wasn't too thrilled that I had destroyed her
flowerbeds, but she never said anything about it. She just kissed my head and
put them in a vase on the kitchen table."
"She sounds like a wonderful mother," Bella says after a quiet moment.
"She was. I – I don't think I ever told her that."
"I'm sure she knew you loved her."
"I know. I just wish…"
"What?" she asks after my words trail off.
"I wish – I wish I would have said goodbye."
We are both silent for a long time as my mind begins churning with more
memories from that past life.
"You know, as much as I try not to think of them, I try even harder not to
forget. I worry that it's all slipping away. That someday I won't be able to
remember what she looked like, or my father's booming voice, or the way our
house smelled. Like, I don't want to think of them, but I'm scared I won't
remember them if I don't."
"Your – your eyes are the exact shade as your mothers," she whispers. "And you
have your father's hair and his smile." She chokes on the last word, and I can
tell by her raspy voice that she's starting to cry. "And he loved to fish. And
she knitted you a hat before you were born. It was blue and white with this
little pom-pom thing on top. And your dad coached your kindergarten baseball
team."
"How…"
"Carlisle." She sniffs. "He has this old shoebox full of pictures. Actually, I
- I have them right now."
"He mentioned he had some pictures that belonged to my parents, but I…"
"I know. It's OK. All I know is what I pieced together from those photos, but…
if you want… you could tell me more about them, and maybe I can help you – help
you remember them."
I have to fight against the tightness in my throat before I can speak.
"I love you, Bella."
"I love you, too."
~o0o~
The next morning, my phone buzzes and interrupts one of the best dreams of my
life. I might have gotten pissed if the subject of my fantasy wasn't the one
calling and waking me up. However, I am a little surprised to see the caller ID
display 'Bella's cell' instead of 'Bella's house', where she usually calls
from.
"Hey." My voice is rough, and I clear my throat.
"Oh, gosh. I'm sorry. I woke you up. I completely forgot about the time
difference. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."
"No way. I'd much rather have the real thing."
"What?"
"Oh, uh, never mind. What's up? You OK?" The fact that she's not calling me at
her usual time has me a little nervous.
"Me? Oh, yeah. I'm – I'm great." She doesn't sound great.
I twist my head to the side and glance at the clock. It's not even eight in
Phoenix. I sit up quickly. "Bella? What's going on? You sound upset."
"No. I'm OK. It's just… I'm – I'm spending the day at my old studio with some
of my old friends."
"Well, that should be fun, right?"
"Yeah, but…" her words trial off, and I can easily picture her nervously
wringing her hands and staring at her lap.
"What is it, love?"
"I – I don't look the same," she confesses in a small voice.
"Oh..."
Dr. Weber told me that stuff like this might come up as Bella worked through
her recovery. He and Carlisle wanted me to be somewhat equipped to deal with it
should it happen. I know, above all, I need to be honest. Spouting off that I
think she's beautiful, no matter what, isn't going to help anyone.
"Well," I begin cautiously, "you've been taking care of yourself since you've
been home, right?"
Bella sighs, sounding slightly frustrated. She knows what I'm after. "I've
gained another three pounds."
I do the math quickly in my head. Seventeen total. Five more to go and she's
back to where she started. Five pounds is not that noticeable, but I know
better than to say that.
"That's great. OK, so… what are you wearing?"
"Edward!" she scolds as she laughs.
I laugh too. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Um… well… what does that matter anyway?"
"Wow. You don't want to tell me. I'm intrigued."
"It's not important."
"Hmm…." I tap my finger against my chin although she can't see. "What could
Bella be wearing that she wouldn't want me to know about? Must be something
terribly risqué."
Bella laughs again. God, how I missed that sound.
I lie back against my pillow and close my eyes. "Mmm… just gimme a second. I'm
letting my imagination run away with me, you know, since you won't tell me.
Let's see… it's warm there, so I'm thinking… that pink tank-top with the hearts
all over it and those little matching shorts."
"Those are underwear, Edward, and I've never worn them. Not even in front of
you."
"And why is that? Seems like such a waste. They're perfectly good clothes. I
guess it's a good thing you're wearing them today, finally getting some use out
of them."
This is not how Dr. Weber told me to treat this situation - at all - but I've
gone so long without her lighthearted laughter that I can't help myself.
Regardless, I must be doing some good because her anxiety seems to be vanishing
with every giggle.
"Fine," she concedes, intending to sound annoyed, but failing completely. "I'm
wearing black yoga pants, a black tank-top, and…"
"And," I prompt.
"And… the black and grey plaid shirt I wore to Florida."
I grin like an idiot. "You little thief! That's right. You still have my shirt.
I want it back."
"Oh yeah?" she teases. "Come and get it."
"Don't test me, woman. I'm not above calling the law on you. I happen to have
the Chief's number on speed dial. You're gonna be in serious trouble, missy."
Bella laughs again and then lets out a deep breath. "Thank you, Edward," she
says softly.
"You'll be fine. They're your friends, right? They love you."
"And I love you."
"I love you, too. Have fun, and call me when you leave."
"OK, I will."
We say goodbye and hang-up. I run my hand through my hair as I collect my
thoughts. After last night's heavy conversation, it's comforting to know how
easy it is to fall back into our old routine, almost as if that connection has
never been broken. But it had been broken, and we still have to figure out
where we go from here.
My mind reels. Starting over. Moving forward. What happens next?
With a shaking hand, I raise my phone again and dial.
"Hello?" A gentle female voice answers.
"Hello. This is Edward Cullen. May I speak to Chief Swan?"
~o0o~
BPOV
Edward is right. I have nothing to worry about.
My friends compliment my new hair, congratulate me on the apprenticeship, and
tease me – lovingly – about wearing my boyfriend's shirt. No one seems to
notice that I look different. Maybe I'd been away long enough that they didn't
remember what I looked like before.
We talk more than we dance, gossiping about our teachers and classmates that
have gone on to other things. When we finally make it onto the dance floor, we
run through some old routines, competing with each other to see who can
remember the oldest numbers. For us, it's the equivalent of flipping through
old yearbooks, our way of retelling the memories from years past.
Feeling energized from the fun morning, I dial Edward's number the second I
walk out of the studio door. Unfortunately, I have to cut our conversations
short. He's eating lunch with Carlisle and Esme, so I simply let him know I had
a great time and that I'll fill him in on all the details later.
When I arrive at Charlie's house a few minutes later, I'm surprised to see not
only Sue's truck parked in the driveway, but the cruiser as well.
"Hey, guys!" I shout as I open the front door. "I'm back."
"In here, kiddo," Charlie calls from the kitchen.
I drop my bag at the foot of the stairs as I bound through the kitchen door.
"Guess who was there to-"
I freeze, taking in the sight before me. Charlie and Sue sit next to each other
at the table, both staring at me with somber expressions on their faces. I
glance around the room quickly, noticing the simmering pot on the stove. A
delightful aroma of spices, tangy tomatoes and earthy basil wafts through the
air. It fills the room, along with the scent of freshly baked bread. It would
have been a nice lunch to come home to, if the two adults in the room weren't
staring daggers at me.
The whole scene reeks of an intervention, and I'm pretty sure I know what the
topic is. "I'm innocent, Sheriff. I swear," I blurt out, trying to lighten the
tension.
Sue finally breaks a smile. "Sit down, sweetheart. Your father just wants to
talk." She pushes her chair back from the table and walks to the stove. I
glance back and forth between her and Charlie, who hasn't taken his eyes off me
since I walked through the door.
Life with Charlie has been tense the last few days, ever since I mentioned my
plans to return to Seattle after the New Year.
He told me no.
That was it. No discussion, no compromise, no input from me, just flat out no.
The argument that ensued wasn't pretty.
I had tried to plead my case, pointing out that I had proven I could take care
of myself, his only stipulation during the ride home from the airport, but it
did no good. Charlie wasn't impressed with my bland, low-fat diet and
'dependence' on calorie-rich smoothies. I defended that my body couldn't
tolerate much beyond my current regimen. That only fueled his argument that I
clearly wasn't pushing myself hard enough. To some degree he might have been
right, but I wasn't going to tell him that. Instead, in a moment of panic-
induced immaturity, I blurted out that I was eighteen, and he couldn't stop me
from leaving. Then I stomped off to my room and slammed the door.
Very grown-up there, Bella. Way to drive the point home.
Sue begins to ladle the soup into bright yellow bowls. "Can I help you with
that?" I ask, desperate to postpone the inevitable. I hate fighting with
Charlie. Most of the time, I lose.
Sue hands me a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches and nods toward the table.
"Have a seat. I can handle this."
Slowly, I walk to the table and set the plate down in the center, taking the
empty seat across from Charlie. I keep my eyes down, focusing on a crack in the
wooden table in front of me. Except for the sound of Sue dishing up soup, the
room has grown completely silent. She sets a bowl of steaming tomato bisque
down, blocking my view of the fascinating wood-grain pattern, before placing a
second bowl in front of Charlie.
"I'll see you guys later," she announces softly. My eyes snap up as she gives
Charlie's shoulder a squeeze.
"You're not staying?" I ask, alarmed.
She smiles at me, clearly reading the please don't leave me to face this alone
expression on my face, and pats my arm gently. "I've got a few errands to run.
I'll see you guys tonight."
And just like that, Sue throws me to the wolves – well, wolf.
"We need to talk, Bells," Charlie begins. He lifts the platter of sandwiches
and holds it out to me. I take one off the top and set it on the plate next to
my bowl of soup. He does the same and waits for me to begin eating before he
speaks.
"I want to talk about Seattle."
"Do you really want to talk, or are you just going to tell me I can't go?"
"I wanna talk. I have a… proposition for you."
The only proposal I'm interested in is the one that includes a one-way ticket
back to Washington State, but I keep that to myself. "I'm listening."
"I think you should stay home until – until March, at least."
I gasp, loudly, and Charlie holds his hands up. "Bells, three months is more
than a reasonable request, considering. Just hear me out."
There is no way in hell I'm staying here for three month, but I shut my gaping
mouth and allow him to continue. Hearing him out would be the adult thing to
do.
"You're doing really great with your recovery, and I owe you an apology about
what I said the other night about your diet. I didn't know how all that worked.
But, I just think you need more time. I think you need to focus on getting well
and not be distracted by - by other things. I think it would be good for you to
get some… distance."
Distracted? Other things? Distance?
"Wait, is this about Edward?" I blurt out.
Charlie looks down as he stirs his soup.
"It is, isn't it? You don't want me around Edward."
"Bella," Charlie says firmly, pointing his spoon at me, "that boy is nothing
but trouble. He put that family through hell and -"
"And he's not that person anymore. He's changed. He lived through something so
– so horrible that I can't even imagine. And, yeah, he made some bad decisions;
he was stupid and reckless, but that's not the Edward that I know. He's
different now. He's gentle and sweet and kind. And he takes care of me. And –
and you don't even know him."
"Believe me, I know enough."
"It was a long time ago," I argue. "He's changed."
"That boy was arrested for possession of cocaine four months before you moved
in. Had I known that, I never would have allowed you to live -" Charlie stops
abruptly, his eyes growing wide. "Bella, has that boy ever tried to pressure
you into taking drugs?"
"Have you completely lost your mind!" I shout.
"Don't you raise your voice to me, young lady. I'm still the authority in this
house, and I expect an answer – an honest answer."
My hands ball into fists, my nails biting into my palms. "No, sir," I spit
through clenched teeth. "Edward would never do that."
Charlie stares at me for a moment, probably using all of his detective skills
to decipher if I'm lying. I don't move a muscle, glaring back at him with
narrowed eyes.
After a tense staring match, Charlie pushes his chair back from the table and
stands up, carrying his empty plate and bowl to the sink. He turns around and
leans against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes trained
on the floor.
"Look, Bells, I know you think you're all grown-up now, but you're only
eighteen. A very mature eighteen, I'll give you that. And as a teenager you've
given me very little trouble compared to... well… I'm trying to say you're a
good kid. I realize I can't protect you from everything. I realize I have to
let you make your own decisions, and your own mistakes -"
"Edward is not a mistake!"
Charlie scowls at me, and I fight the urge to cower under the weight of his
glare. There is no way I'm backing down on this point.
"I understand that this boy -"
"Edward," I scold.
Another glare. I'm undeniably pushing my luck. Any minute now, Charlie is going
to realize he can simply banish me to my room for the next three months.
Problem solved.
"That Edward is… important to you, but I think you need a little distance. This
behavior," he casts a meaningful glance at my delicate frame, "it's just not
normal."
"This wasn't his fault," I argue. "It was just a…," I try to remember the word
Dr. Weber used, "a trigger. I was completely in denial about what I was doing
to myself, and if anything, he kept me healthy for longer. And you can't even
imagine the things he's been doing to help me get better."
"I have some idea," Charlie mumbles, sounding slightly displeased.
"And you don't know him the way I do. All that stuff he did in the past, it's
over. He's not like that anymore. He's not like that at all. He's changed."
"People like that don't change overnight, Bella."
"It didn't happen overnight. It was gradual. There were small signs, small
changes, things that I didn't fully appreciate until I knew what he had been
through. People can change; they can grow and they can learn, and Edward has.
It's not fair for you to judge him for his mistakes. You – you should focus on
how he's rectified them, how he's realized his faults, and the effort he's put
into making it right again – for himself and his family. And I'm not trying to
be disrespectful, I'm not, but you're wrong about him."
Charlie stares at me as if I have just grown another head. After one of the
longest and most uncomfortable moments of my life, he finally looks away,
pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a frustrated breath. "Bella,
the right choice isn't always real obvious. Sometimes the right thing for one
person is the wrong thing for someone else. I just want to make sure you're
making the right choice for you, and that's why I think you should spend some
time away from him."
"I can't. I - I love him. And he loves me."
Charlie rubs the back of his neck and stares down at the floor. "Yeah, I have
some idea about that too," he grumbles. My eyebrows knit together in confusion.
"Look, Bells…" his words trail off and his mouth twists to the side. He's
looking for an angle to argue from, but what can he say? Technically, his hands
are tied. I'm eighteen, and he can't force me to stay.
OK, maybe he can. I still depend on him for things like food, clothes, and
shelter. That, and the fact I'm not bold enough to completely defy his wishes.
Charlie knows that, but in this instance, I don't think he's going to use those
things against me.
"I'm gonna to be honest. I'm worried, Bella. I'm worried what this boy might do
to you."
"He's never done anything to me."
Charlie shoots me a knowing look.
"All he's done is love me and try to protect me, and when I need him the most,
he's always there for me. If you could just see that, see how he takes care of
me, you would see there's nothing to worry about."
Charlie considers that for a moment. "Sounds like your mind's made up."
"I'm one hundred percent sure about Edward."
Charlie huffs and a small smile plays on his lips. "You know," he says with a
shake of his head, "you're exactly like me. Once you make up your mind, there
is no reasoning with you."
I press me teeth together in a sheepish smile, cowering a little as I ask, "So,
does that mean I can go back to Seattle? Like, next week?"
Charlie stares at me, and I guess he's making the decision right now whether or
not to let me growup, make my own decisions - and my own mistakes - just like
he said he was trying to do.
"I'm not saying yes."
My shoulders slump and I slouch down in my chair.
"I'm not saying no either," he amends quickly. "I'm saying… I need to make some
phone calls."
And with another tug on the back of his neck, Charlie walks out of the kitchen,
leaving me, not hopeful, but less discouraged than the last time we talked.
~o0o~
Over the next two days, negations with Charlie stall completely. I'm dying to
ask if he's made up his mind, but I know nagging him about it is the worst
thing I can do. So, instead, I focus my attention on Edward.
Thank goodness our wireless plans include unlimited long distance because we
spend countless hours on our cell phones. For the most part, we talk about
trivial things, but sometimes our conversations wander into heavier topics.
I can tell he's worried about my progress. He hasn't come out and said it
exactly, but it's there in the cautious questions he asks. I tell him it
doesn't bother me, he can ask me anything he wants, but still I try to offer up
as much information as I can before he has to request it. Edward hasn't seen me
in almost three weeks, and I remember how Charlie said putting eyes on me made
him feel better. Maybe it's the same for Edward.
The night before last, after my morning at the studio and my conversation with
Charlie, I come clean about the three pounds I told Edward I gained. While it's
true that I've put on three pounds, thanks to Sue's amazing cooking, those
pounds only offset the three I lost the week before. I try to reassure Edward
that Dr. Weber said it was OK, expected even, and it wasn't because of anything
I did deliberately. My weight gain is just slowing down as my metabolism
improves. Combine that with all the additional preparation for the Christmas
performance, and a loss was inevitable.
Edward took the news rather well. He seemed more interested in talking about
the new foods I've added to my diet rather than the numbers on the scale.
I don't bring up his parents again, and neither does he. Honestly, that's
probably for the best. I think those conversations are better had in person.
Talking about it over the phone made me feel like walking through a minefield -
wearing a blindfold. I need to see his eyes; I need to see that I'm not pushing
further than he's ready to go. I need to know when to stop. As much as I want
to help him, I know I'm not equipped to deal with some of the demons he's
facing. I need to be able to judge when I can encourage him to accept help from
someone who can, and I can't do that through a cell phone a thousand miles
away.
Needless to say, I'm anxious to get back to him, to get home. I'm ready to
start again, to put the past behind us and see what comes next.
And what comes next is our first date.
It's New Year's Eve, 11:35 p.m. to be exact. When I spoke to Edward early this
morning, we made plans to watch the ball drop in Times Square together. Well,
not technically together. We'd be on the phone while watching the same channel
on TV, but it's the best we can do under the circumstances.
I thought Edward would have called before now, but when the grandfather clock
in the hallway chimes 11:45 p.m., I still haven't heard from him. It dawns on
me, yet again, that we're in different time zones. It's only 10:45 p.m. in
Seattle, and we never discussed exactly which countdown to midnight we would be
celebrating.
I try calling him again, but the phone doesn't even ring, sending my call
straight to voicemail. Why would he turn his phone off?
I try not to get aggravated, but I can't help it. I'm stuck home, alone, on New
Year's Eve, and I'm missing him terribly.
Another ten minutes goes by and no Edward. The crowd in Times Square is already
starting to pair off and kiss their loved ones as the clock ticks down the last
minute. I'm watching the repeat broadcast. The real ball dropped two hours ago
on the east coast. I'd already seen the little girl perched on her daddy's
shoulders. Her funny glasses are covered in glitter and designed to look like
the numbers of the new year. I'd already seen the firefighters with arms
wrapped around each other singing 'Auld Lang Syne.' I brace myself for what's
coming next. The camera cuts to a soldier, outfitted in his dress uniform, as
he drops down on one knee to ask the love of his life to be his forever.
I groan. I can't take anymore, and I hit the button on the remote. The entire
living room plunges into darkness, along with my mood. I flop down on my back,
listening to the muffled sound of fireworks exploding in the distance.
After another ten minutes, the revelry outside slowly fades away. When all is
quiet, I give up and decide to just go to bed.
Just as I sit up, my phone buzzes on the coffee table. Finally!
"Hey."
"Hey yourself."
He sounds different somehow, happy. I try not to let that aggravate me even
more.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he offers.
"I tried to call you."
"I know. My phone was off. What are you doing?"
"Lying on the couch, alone, in the dark," I respond harshly, fighting to hold
on to my frustration.
He chuckles. "That's so sad. Where's your dad?"
"He and Sue went out. He won't be back for a few hours."
"You didn't want to go with them?"
"Charlie said I wasn't invited. Besides, I couldn't handle a bunch of old folks
doing the Electric Slide tonight."
"So sulking alone in the dark is more appealing to you?"
"Well I did have a date, but he stood me up."
He chuckles again. "What a jerk."
I can't help but smile. "I know, right?" Damn it. Why can't I stay mad at him?
"So, I guess I missed the ball drop, huh?"
"Yeah you did. I just turned it off. I couldn't watch it anyway."
"Why not?"
"I dunno. I guess having to watch all those people kissing, I just couldn't
take anymore. I had to turn it off."
"You don't like to watch people kissing?"
"No, that's not it. It's just… it's not fair. I want to be kissing you, but I
can't. It just makes me miss you even worse than I already do."
Edward is quiet for a moment. "I have an idea that might make you feel better,
but…"
"But what?" I prompt.
"Bella, if I asked you to do something, would you trust me?"
This sounds interesting. "I'm listening."
I can hear him moving around as he speaks. "OK, you're – you're going to have
to go outside."
That was not what I was expecting. "OK," I agree cautiously, but it comes out
more as a question.
I stand up and walk to the front door, taking a careful step out onto the
porch. The Arizona winters are warm. Jeans and a sweatshirt is usually all I
need to be comfortable, so I don't bother with my jacket. I close the door
behind me and look around the dimly lit yard. It's severely quiet, and a street
lamp in the distance casts an eerie, yellow glow across the empty road.
It feels strange to be outside at this hour, not to mention standing alone in
the shadows of the porch. I wrap one arm protectively around my stomach and
hold the phone tighter to my ear. "OK, I'm here. What now?"
"Bella, do you to trust me?" he asks, his voice gravely serious.
I have a feeling this question runs deeper than whatever he's going to ask me
to do next. "Yes, Edward. I trust you. Always."
"Then close your eyes."
I squeeze my eyes shut. "OK, they're closed. This is weird."
"Don't open them, no matter what, until I tell you to. OK?"
"OK."
"No matter what," he instructs again.
"OK."
It's an odd sensation, standing here with my eyes closed. My other senses seem
to kick into overdrive now that my ability to see is gone. I can hear the
rustling of fallen leaves blow across the yard. I feel the breeze whip through
my hair. I smell the rotten, sulfur sent of fireworks that lingers in the air.
I hear more rustling and – and the creak of the porch step.
Everything goes completely still. My heart begins to pound in my chest, and I
fight against the driving urge to open my eyes.
There's a presence, like I'm not alone. I try to reach out with my mind, to
place the exact direction the feeling is coming from. The porch creaks again,
but this time the sound is much closer.
I stop breathing.
Someone touches my forehead, gently brushing my hair back and tucking it behind
me ear.
Slowly, the phone is removed from my ear.
I draw in a ragged breath as two familiar hands press against my cheeks,
lifting my face up.
His lips, warm and gentle, brush against mine softly as he kisses me. Tenderly,
delicately, reverently, he kisses me again and again.
Too soon, he pulls away, but his hands stay pressed to my face. His thumbs
gently stroke my cheeks, brushing away the tears that I didn't realize were
falling.
"You can open your eyes now, love," he whispers.
I squeeze them shut tighter. "I can't. I'm either dreaming or I'm dead. If I
open them, you'll be gone."
He laughs that glorious laugh. "You're not asleep, and you're not dead. I'm
here, and I love you."
Carefully, I open my eyes. He is here - really here. Edward. My Edward.
In that moment my body takes over, and I launch myself at him. I throw my arms
around his neck and my legs around his waist, clinging to him like my life
depends on it. He tries to laugh at my enthusiastic greeting, but I silence his
mouth by covering it with mine again.
***** Chapter 23 *****
BPOV
Edward stumbles forward, somewhat clumsily, until my back hits the door with a
soft thump. He presses his body against mine, pinning me between him and the
door. My arms are still wrapped around his neck, my legs wound tightly around
his waist, my mouth permanently attached to his. I try to untangle my legs to
stand on my own, but Edward just shakes his head, without breaking the kiss,
and hoists me up again.
"This can't be real," I mumble against his lips. Edward kisses me harder, his
answer to my statement.
"I… I must have… fallen asleep on… the couch." He isn't going to let me talk.
Every time I try he simply stops my mouth with his.
"This is… all just a… a dream." I can feel him smile against my lips.
Suddenly, there's a sharp pain on the bottom of my thigh. I pull back abruptly
and stare at Edward's guilty face. He bites his bottom lip, trying to hide his
smile.
"You pinched me!" I playfully slap his shoulder.
He shrugs. "I wanted to prove you were awake."
He leans in to kiss me again, but I plant my hand firmly against his chest to
stop him. "What are you doing here?"
Edward smiles and gently kisses my nose. Then he moves to my cheek, placing
soft, slow kisses on my flushed skin as he works his way across my face. When
he reaches my ear, he presses another gentle kiss against my neck before
whispering, "I came for my shirt you little thief."
I pull away from him, playfully slapping his shoulder again as his bubbling
laughter fills the silence. This time, when I uncross my ankles from behind his
back, Edward allows me to untangle myself from his grasp. I slide down as he
sets me gently on my feet, but he doesn't let go. His hands remain tightly
wrapped around my waist, and he lightly rocks me from side to side.
For a moment I simply study his face. He looks so happy – happier than I've
ever seen him. Even in the dim light, his emerald green eyes sparkle and dance.
He's trying so hard to suppress an enormous smile, biting his bottom lip as he
bounces on his toes. He can't seem to keep still. Eventually, his excitement
wins out. With a happy growl, he sweeps me up into his arms and spins me
around. My feet fly out behind me as he whirls across the porch.
He sets me down again and places both hands on my face, forcing me to look him
in the eyes. "Never again," he says seriously. "We can never be apart that long
again. I was losing my mind."
I wrap my fingers around his wrists, holding him to me. "I'm sorry. I -"
But I can't finish my sentence, not with Edward kissing me again.
"Don't apologize. Please don't," he begs as he presses his forehead against
mine. I nod, and Edward folds me into his arms, holding me tightly against his
chest. I've never felt so safe and so cherished in all my life.
"Hi," I mumble into his shirt. His chest rumbles with a soft laugh.
"Hi."
"Are you ever going to tell me what you're doing here?"
Edward loosens his hold on me and glances over my head to the door. "Are you
ever going to invite me in?" he mocks.
I slide my hand down his arm and intertwine our fingers. When I try to pull him
toward the house, Edward drags me in the opposite direction. I trail behind him
as he quickly descends the short porch steps. In one swift move, he scoops up a
duffle bag and tosses it over his shoulder before turning back to the door.
"A bit presumptuous there, Mr. Cullen," I tease with a nod to his bag.
"I'm not presumptuous," he says as I open the door. "I was invited."
Edward doesn't notice as I freeze in the doorway.
Invited?
He brushes past me and walks slowly into the living room.
He said invited.
His bag hits the ground with a soft thud as he looks around, studying the
space. A picture on the wall catches his attention, and he walks over to have a
closer look. Of course, the room is still dark since I haven't turned on any
lights, but my brain has been focused on one thing, one word, for the last
thirty seconds, and I can't seem to think about anything else. Luckily, Edward
still has his wits about him. He switches on the floor lamp to get a better
look at the picture that has his interest.
Invited!
"I'm not paying to heat the entire neighborhood, Bells."
I jump, my mind snapping back to reality at the sound of my father's voice. I
whirl around, my back slamming against the open door, and my hand flying up to
restart my heart.
"Sorry, kiddo. Didn't mean to startle you."
Having inadvertently stepped aside, Charlie and Sue walk through the door. The
smell of beer and fried foods seeps from their clothes as they pass.
Awesome. This is just what I need. Charlie's buzzed, and my boyfriend, who my
father wants me to get some distance from, is standing in my living room in the
middle of the night.
"Hello, Chief Swan," Edward says, walking to my father with his hand
outstretched. "It's nice to finally meet you. In person, I mean."
Wait. What?
"Edward." Charlie shakes his hand quickly then turns and wraps his arm around
Sue's waist. "This is Sue," he says, pushing her slightly forward.
"Hello, Edward." Sue takes his hand and pulls him to her, gently kissing Edward
on the cheek.
"It's nice to finally meet you too."
"How was your flight? Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?"
Edward reflexively places his hand on his flat stomach. "No, thank you. I'm
saving room for those blueberry pancakes you promised me."
Ok. That's it."What the hell is going on!" I snap.
Three pairs of eyes all focus on me.
"Bells, for crying out loud, shut the door," Charlie scolds.
I do as I'm told, closing the front door with a little more force than
necessary, before stomping across the room to join the strange reunion.
Charlie looks at Edward again. "I just got here," he says with a shrug.
I cross my arms over my chest. "You invited him?" I ask, my eyes flashing back
and forth between Charlie and Sue.
"I thought you'd be happy, kiddo. I can throw him out if you'd like." He looks
at Edward again and winks.
"I was – I mean, I am. I'm… confused."
"Well, I'm beat," Charlie says, stretching his arms up above his head as he
yawns. "We can talk about it in the morning."
"What? No," I argue.
"Edward, the guest room is upstairs. Bella can show you." Charlie yawns again
and turns toward the hallway.
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"But - "
Edward grabs my hand, and I look to him. His eyes are focused on Charlie's
retreating form, but he shakes his head slightly. I shut my mouth.
"Doors open," Charlie commands over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir."
"Night, kids," Sue calls.
"Good night," Edward says with a smirk. With his eyes still fixed on the
hallway, he leans down and whispers, "I didn't know she lived with you guys."
"She doesn't. She just stays over sometimes."
Edward looks at me then and playfully wags his eyebrows.
"Gross, Edward." I try to swat at him, but he dances out of my reach with a
laugh. He walks back to his duffle bag, scoops it up, and tosses it over his
shoulder. He turns and holds his free hand out to me.
I huff and fold my arms across my chest.
Edward smirks and closes the distance between us. I try to hold on to my
annoyance, but with every step he takes it gets harder and harder to hide my
smile. He lifts my chin with his finger and kisses me sweetly.
"Let's go upstairs, then we can talk," he says, taking my hand again. This time
I allow him to pull me to the stairs.
There are only three rooms on the second floor: mine, a bathroom, and the guest
room. When we reach the landing, Edward glances from one open door to the next,
quickly figuring out which room is which. He tosses his bag into the guest room
and, without releasing my hand, pulls me to my room. He doesn't let go until he
crosses the threshold.
Just like downstairs, Edward walks though the space, taking in his
surroundings. I lean against the doorframe, watching him wander through my
bedroom.
My bedroom.
Edward is here. In my bedroom. I start to reevaluate if this could really be
real, or if it's actually possible to feel a pinch in a dream.
"Who's this?" Edward asks, snapping me from my thoughts. He's standing in front
of my dresser, holding up a silver frame. I don't have to look closely to know
which picture he's referring to.
"Ben, my boyfriend from the tenth grade," I answer, just a tad smug. Edward
scowls at the photo, probably focusing on Ben's arms wrapped around my waist as
we pose under an arch of blue balloons.
"That was from the homecoming dance," I clarify.
"Humph." Instead of placing the frame back on my dresser, Edward opens the top
drawer and drops the photo inside. I giggle as he mutters something about prom
under his breath.
He abandons his inspection of my pictures and turns to my music collection
instead. The small assortment of CDs lining my shelves is a monument to
nineties hip-hop and obscure techno bands.
Edward shakes his head. "I don't know you at all, Bella Swan."
"Most of it's for dance. I think the last real CD I bought was Nirvana." He
plucks the exact CD from my shelf, holding up the naked baby swimming toward a
dollar bill.
"Yug," he groans when his eye catches the case behind it. "Genie in a Bottle?
Really?"
I move my hips slowly, pressing my palms together in front of my chest. All my
belly dance is missing is the jingle of the coins that dangle from the waist of
my costume.
Where is that skirt? Hmm… that could be fun.
Edward quirks an eyebrow at me, probably imagining something similar. Instead
of returning the CD to the shelf, he tosses it onto my bed. "That's coming home
with us," he announces and turns his attention back to my collection.
I lean against the doorframe again, watching him flip from one CD to the next.
It hits me then. Home. Us.Edward is here. He's really here.No more phone calls.
No more texts. He's come all this way for me. Me. Is there anything he won't do
for me?
I walk up behind him and snake my arms around his waist. He places one hand
over mine, still flipping through my CDs with the other.
"I love you," I say softly, kissing the center of his back.
I have to loosen my arms to allow him to turn around, but I don't let go.
Edward lifts his hands to stroke my face. "Do you have any idea how important
you are to me? Any concept of how much I love you?"
"No one has ever loved anyone as much as you love me," I confess. I've never
been more completely and absolutely sure of anything in my life.
His answering smile lights up his entire face. "I think that's a fair
assessment."
"And no one has ever loved anyone as much as I love you."
He leans down to kiss me. "I would agree with that too."
I lay my cheek against his chest as he wraps his arms tighter around my back.
He's so tall that I fit perfectly under his chin, and he rests his head on top
of mine. I can't help but smile, thinking that we are to pieces of one part,
designed to seamlessly fit together. Unfortunately, my smile morphs into a huge
yawn, and even pressing my face into Edward's shirt does little to muffle it.
He laughs. "Come on. Let's put you to bed."
I pull back to look at his face. "But you said we could talk."
"Get changed. I'll be back to tuck you in." With a gentle kiss on my forehead,
Edward turns and leaves the room, closing the door gently behind him.
I quickly change into my pajamas and head to the bathroom, but Edward is
already there. The jeans and sweater he'd been wearing are gone, replaced by an
old t-shirt and his favorite grey sweatpants. His toothbrush sticks out from
the corner of his mouth as he riffles through his toiletry bag, obviously
looking for his toothpaste. Once he finds it he looks up, catching me watching
him in the mirror. Edward smirks around his toothbrush and takes a small step
to the side, making room for me to join him at the sink.
My bathroom is considerably smaller than the one we share at his house. This
room is long and narrow, whereas Edward's is a perfect square. In fact, my
bathroom could probably fit inside his – twice. The small bath mat in the
center of the floor barely fits between the tub and the vanity. While Edward
has a separate bathtub and walk-in shower, my bathtub takes up the entire back
wall and doubles as a shower. I have to keep the curtain tucked inside the tub
at all times; otherwise I'd trip over it. On the opposite wall, the toilet, a
single sink vanity, and a modest size storage cabinet uses up the remaining
space. Needless to say, it's a tight squeeze with two people in here.
Seemingly without thinking, Edward plucks my toothbrush from the cup on the
counter and squeezes a blob of his toothpaste across the bristles. He hands the
toothbrush to me, not noticing that his small gesture has left an amused grin
on my face. His attention is focused on his own toothbrush as he applies the
toothpaste, replaces the cap on the tube, dampens the brush with water and
raises it to his lips. It's then he notices me watching him.
"What?"
My smile grows wider. "Nothing."
I shove the brush into my mouth and begin to clean my teeth. Edward does the
same, and when his mouth is filled with white foam, he leans down as if he's
going to kiss my cheek with his frothy lips. I squeal and dart away from him.
"Shh," he scolds, rinsing his mouth under the faucet. "You're going to wake the
neighborhood."
I roll my eyes. "Charlie and Sue sleep with the TV on. And it would take an
atomic bomb to wake my dad, especially after a few beers."
"Well, in that case."
Before I can process his words, Edward lifts me up and sets me on top of the
counter. He presses his body between my open legs and kisses me. His lips are
cold from the water and he tastes like peppermint. Not a bad combination, at
all. I try not to moan as I pull him closer and attempt to deepen the kiss, but
I'm not successful - at either.
"Behave yourself, Isabella," Edward scolds as he pulls away.
"You started it."
"I know," he says with a sigh. "I was just messing around. Believe me, I want
to. But not like this, and definitely not in your father's house."
"Oh, but your father's house is OK?" I ask in a mocking tone.
"My father doesn't carry a loaded weapon."
I chuckle as Edward brushes my hair back from my forehead and tucks it behind
my ear. I watch his face as his eyes follow the movements of his hand. Even
with him standing so close, he seems to be a million miles away.
"What are you thinking about?"
He smiles, and his eyes focus back on mine. "I was just remembering that night
in the kitchen when you asked me to kiss you."
I look down, feeling my face grow warm. Edward brushes his thumb over my cheek.
"I love it when you blush," he whispers before kissing the spot he just
touched. "Come on. It's late."
He helps me down from the counter and takes my hand, leading me back to my
room. He pauses at the door, allowing me to walk through first. I pull the
blankets back from my bed and sit with my back against the headboard. Edward
pulls the covers up over my legs and then sits on the edge of my bed, tucking
one leg underneath his body.
"I know I told you we'd talk, but it's almost two in the morning so I'm just
going to give you the highlights. I promise to fill in all the details in the
morning, OK?"
I nod.
"Bella, I called your father two days ago."
"You called him?"
Edward nods. "Remember when you said you needed help reigning in his
unrealistic expectations?"
"Yeah, but I was being sarcastic. I didn't mean for you to - "
"I know," he chuckles. "I didn't say anything about that; it just got me
thinking. I figured he was hesitant about you coming home… I mean, back to
Seattle - "
"Home," I state firmly.
Edward grins. "Home," he amends. "He wouldn't let you come home because… well,
because of me. I just thought I'd gone about this all wrong the first time, and
I wanted to make it right – do it right, this time. Does that make sense?"
I nod, and I think my mouth has fallen open slightly.
"I thought it was important to introduce myself, to let him know my…
intentions, I guess."
Yup, my mouth is definitely hanging open now.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it, but at first… well, it wasn't going very
well. In fact, he hung up in my face, and I thought - "
"He hung up on you!"
Edward grabs my hand. "Yes, love, that's why I didn't want to tell you. I
didn't want you to be upset with your dad because of me. But then, I dunno,
something changed his mind because he called me back. He apologized for hanging
up. He even said he admired my courage to call in the first place."
I visibly relax as Edward continues.
"So, long story short - "
I start to shake my head, but Edward just stares disapprovingly at me.
"I promise, every detail, but not tonight. You can barely keep your eyes open
as it is." He reaches up to stroke my cheek, and my eyes naturally flutter
closed at his touch. Cheater.
"Basically, there were several phone calls that day and the next, but not just
me and Charlie. Your dad called Carlisle too. They talked way more than Charlie
and I did. Then, this morning, Carlisle walked into my room, handed me a plane
ticket, and kicked me out."
"And now you're here," I mumble incoherently around a yawn.
Edward nods and stands up, lifting the covers up slightly so I can slide
underneath them. "And now you're going to sleep."
I snuggle into my bed and close my eyes as Edward tucks the blanket in around
my shoulders. He leans down and kisses my forehead. "Good night, love. I'll see
you in the morning."
"Good night," I murmur, drifting off as I speak.
"Good night, sir."
My eyes fly open as my head jerks toward the door. Charlie is leaning against
the outside of the door with his arms folded across his chest. He watches
Edward as he passes by, following him with his eyes until he disappears into
the guest room across the hall. When Charlie turns back to me, I feel like my
heart is going to pound out of my chest.
A million thoughts fly through my mind at the same time. My life is over. But
we were just talking. I'm so grounded. But nothing happened. I'm eighteen; he
can't tell me what to do. He's going to have Edward arrested. Oh, God, how long
has he been standing there? What did he see? What did he hear? My life is so
over.
Charlie chuckles and shakes his head. Apparently my impending anxiety attack is
clearly evident - and humorous - to him.
"Night, Bells," he says with a smirk as he flips off the light and shuts my
door.
Oh, sure, like I can sleep now.
~o0o~
The next morning, I awake to the scent of coffee and… something sweet. Maple?
Even though the smell is enticing, I'm still reluctant to drag my tired body
from the comfort of my bed. I'm glad Edward made me go to sleep when he did,
otherwise –
Edward!
I bolt upright as my sluggish mind catches up to reality.
Edward is here.
I toss back the covers and tip-toe quickly across the hall, not caring that my
hair probably resembles a bird's nest and my face is likely marked with creases
from my pillow. After sleeping in his room for almost four months, it's nothing
he hasn't seen before anyway.
The door to the guest room is open, and the bed is made. The only sign that he
even slept in this room is his duffle bag sitting open on the floor. Where is
he?
As if to answer my question, a chorus of laughter bubbles up from the kitchen.
I dart back to my room to grab my sweatshirt, tugging it over my head as I make
my way down the stairs. I spot Edward as soon as I cross the threshold to the
kitchen. He'd be hard to miss, towering over Sue as they stand side-by-side at
the counter.
Sue scoops a cup of batter from a large mixing bowl and pours it on the hot
skillet. Edward seems fixated on the counter in front of him. When Sue moves to
dip another helping of batter from her bowl, I get a quick glimpse of his hands
as he slices a banana. My eyes scan the room, meeting Charlie's. He sips his
coffee slowly, obviously watching me watch Edward from his perch at the kitchen
table.
"Morning," he mouths silently. I simply smile and focus back on watching Edward
and Sue.
"So he's older?" Sue asks.
"Yes, ma'am, but only by six months. They adopted him about two months before
me."
"Oh, so you were both adopted at the same age then."
"That's right. He never knew who his dad was and, from what I understand, his
mom was… well, she was pretty awful. I think Social Services had to get
involved, and I'm pretty sure she's still in jail because of what she did to
him."
I didn't know that. I had no idea my cheerful, always happy, always smiling
Emmy Bear came from such a troubled past.
"That's terrible." Sue rips the words right out of my mouth.
Edward turns to the trash can, tossing two handfuls of orange peels inside, and
then resumes working on what I assume will be a fruit salad. "Emmett didn't
think so. He walked away from that mess and never looked back. He even changed
his name so she could never find him."
"His real name isn't Emmett?" I blurt out.
Edward and Sue look up and smile at me. Sue turns her attention back to the
skillet, but Edward holds my gaze for a moment.
"Nope," he says with a shake of his head. "It was Robert. Robert Mc – McCarney
or McCarthy. Something like that. I don't remember."
I shove off the doorframe and walk over to stand next to Edward. I examine the
colorful bowl of chopped fruit for a second before stealing a wedge of orange
and popping it in my mouth. "So where did the name Emmett come from?" I ask
with my mouth full.
He laughs. "Dr. Emmett Brown."
"Who's he?" I ask, casually taking another piece of fruit from the bowl as I
lean against the counter.
"Doc Brown. Back to the Future."
My eyes grow wide. "You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."
Edward chuckles again and focuses on slicing a bright, green apple. "He was
obsessed with that movie."
"And your parents just let him pick that name?"
"Sure, why not."
I snag a cube of apple before Edward has a chance to scoop it into the bowl. He
sets the knife down on the counter.
"Woman, I'm trying to cook here," he scolds. Edward raises his hands as if he's
going to grab my face, but I dart out of his grasp when I realize his hands are
covered in sticky fruit juice.
Sue giggles at our childish display, and then asks me to fetch a platter for
the pancakes.
"So, why did you change your name?" I ask, holding the plate as Sue lifts the
hot cakes from the skillet.
Edward shrugs. "It just made stuff easier, not having to explain why I had a
different last name than the rest of my family. I didn't really change my name,
just added Cullen at the end."
"So your name is Edward Anthony Masen Cullen?"
He looks up, and the surprise in his eyes slowly fades as he realizes Carlisle
must have told me.
"You two have met, right?" Charlie asks sarcastically.
"Dad!" I scold. I could shoot him for choosing this moment to tease us. Of
course, he doesn't realize the significance of Edward opening up about his
past. Even these small, seemingly insignificant facts are monumental to me.
Edward chuckles at my annoyed expression. "Nah, it's OK. It's just… Bella and I
haven't really talked about my adoption much." He walks to the sink and washes
his hands.
Sue places the last of the pancakes on the plate and motions for me to take
them to the table. Edward is close behind, setting the bowl of fruit in the
center and taking the seat next to me. For the next several minutes the
conversation turns to more trivial things: the weather, the latest headlines,
and a brief discussion of who should be in this year's Super Bowl. I suspect
Emmett may have given Edward some pointers on that last topic.
Charlie sets his fork down across his empty plate and leans back in his chair.
"Ladies, if you'll excuse us, I'd like to speak to Edward for a moment."
I glance at Edward quickly. I'm sure my expression is one of terror, but Edward
appears completely relaxed and composed. He nods to Charlie before turning to
me, appearing unbothered that my father is likely about to interrogate him.
They silently place their dirty dishes in the sink, and all I can do is watch
helplessly as Edward follows Charlie into the backyard.
"Is he mad?" I ask Sue as soon as the door closes.
She sips her coffee, keeping her eyes trained on the window. "Is who mad?"
"Charlie. Is he mad that Edward was in my room last night? We were just
talking."
She chuckles. "No, of course he's not mad. I think his exact words were
something along the lines of," she drops her voice to mimic Charlie's, "'that
boy's got it bad.'" We both giggle at her imitation.
"So were you surprised when he showed up last night?" she asks.
"Ah, yeah," I answer in a mocking tone. "At first I was pissed because he
wouldn't answer my calls. I thought he was out with his friends and forgot all
about me."
"I don't think that's possible. From the little interaction I've seen between
you two, I'm inclined to agree with your father. That boy loves you."
"I know," I say softly. I look down at my plate, pushing some uneaten bites of
fruit around with my fork.
"Want to help me get this mess cleaned up?"
"Sure."
We gather the remaining dishes and pile them into the sink. I fill the basin
with soapy water and begin to wash while Sue wipes down the table and counters.
Just as I'm placing the first plate onto the drying rack something catches my
eye, and I look up. The window over the sink provides an obstructed view of the
yard, and I can clearly see Charlie and Edward sitting at the old, rusty patio
table. Both have their arms folded across the table and are leaning toward each
other, deep in conversation. Charlie is speaking - well, it looks more like
lecturing - as Edward nods and keeps his eyes cast down on the table.
My first instinct is to run outside and defend Edward. There's no telling what
my father is accusing him of. Instead, I hold my ground, watching and waiting
for the inevitable moment when Edward decides I'm so not worth all this and
walks away.
"Don't overflow the sink," Sue scolds, snapping me from my internal panic
attack.
I quickly shut off the faucet and glance at Sue with what I'm sure is a guilty
smile. She just chuckles and returns to sweeping the floor. I resume my
stakeout.
When I look out the window again, Edward is forcefully shaking his head and
gesturing animatedly. Maybe he doesn't need my help after all.
For the next hour, I watch the action unfold from my perch at the sink. It's
like watching one of those Spanish soap operas where you can't understand
what's being said, but you can't ignore the obvious drama.
Sue sneaks up behind me and peeks over my shoulder.
"What do you think they're talking about?" I ask.
Once again, Sue drops her voice into the best impression of Charlie I've ever
heard. "I'm telling you, son, Ardent makes a better casting reel than Evercast.
I mean, there's just no comparison." She times her words perfectly to match
Charlie's mouth, even mincing his gestures. I have to grip the counter for
support as I laugh hysterically.
"No, sir," Sue continues, trying to copy Edward's voice, "the Browning spinning
reel is the only reel I will ever use."
"Browning!" I shout, taking over the role of Charlie. "How dare you insult me
with such talk. No boy that uses Browning will ever date my daughter."
Sue opens her mouth to respond, but her eyes dart to the window. "Oh, shoot!
Here he comes. Act natural."
I whip around and frantically start scrubbing a dish I'd already cleaned. Sue
pretends to dry a plate from the rack. The backdoor opens and Charlie walks in
and closes it behind him. I glance out the window to see Edward still seated at
the table, holding his head in his hands. My stomach begins to twist nervously,
and I look to Sue. She just shrugs and glances in the direction Charlie
disappeared.
A moment later he returns with a large, brown envelope tucked under his arm. He
walks to the fridge and pulls out two sodas before leaving through the backdoor
again. I watch from my post as he approaches the table. Instead of sitting
across from Edward, like before, Charlie takes a seat on the bench next to him.
He opens the envelope and pulls out a large file folder, opening it and placing
the papers in front of Edward.
"What is that?" I ask with a shaky voice.
"I'm not sure, sweetie."
I can't tear my eyes away from the scene outside. One by one, Charlie and
Edward review every paper inside that file. Every now and then, it looks like
Edward stops him to ask a question. Then Charlie flips back a few pages and
points to something, likely showing Edward the answer. Of course, I can't be
sure of anything. They could be discussing the latest research in fishing lures
for all I know.
I'm so distracted by the sight before me that when the backdoor opens again, I
jump. Sue walks toward them with a large bowl of pretzels and two more sodas.
She places the snack down on the table, likely stealing a glance at the papers
spread across it. Sue is a genius.
Charlie and Edward look up, offer a quick 'thank you," and return to their
work. Sue walks casually back to the house, and though I know she can't see me,
she looks up and winks at the window. I can barely hold in my excitement as she
gently closes the door behind her.
"What is it? What are they doing?"
Sue walks straight to me with a knowing smile on her lips. She wraps her arms
around me and hugs me tightly. "Edward's not the only man who loves you."
What does that have to do with what's going on outside?She releases me and
walks out of the kitchen before my brain catches up and I have the chance to
stop her.
Another fifteen minutes passes. Then fifteen becomes thirty. Thirty turns into
an hour. By the time they close the file folder I've been on my feet at the
window for almost two hours. They stand up together and slowly walk toward the
house, still in deep conversation.
I realize I'm about to be caught spying, so I turn and dash up the stairs to my
room. Kicking off my shoes as fast as humanly possible, I pounce on my bed and
grab the book on my nightstand. I open it to the middle and pretend to be
engrossed in the words on the page. Of course, my panting breath and racing
heart is going to give me away, so I take several deep breaths in an effort to
calm down.
The backdoor opens and closes. I can hear more talking, but their voices are
too muffled to understand what they're saying. Finally, I make out the sound of
footsteps ascending the stairs, and I quickly pretend to be interested in the
open book in my hands.
Edward walks slowly into my room and tosses the folder at the foot of my bed.
He crawls over my legs and collapses face first onto the pillow next to me.
"Bella?" he mumbles, his voice muffled by the pillow.
"Yeah?"
"Do you really expect me to believe you've been up here reading this whole
time?"
I toss my book on the floor and twist to the side to face him. "What happened?
What did he say?"
Edward holds up a hand, signaling for me to give him a minute. Cautiously, I
place my hand on his back and begin rubbing wide circles over his shoulder
blades.
"Mmm. That feels good."
I lift up his shirt and begin scratching up and down his back.
"I take it back. Thatfeels good." His words are still muffled by the pillow
he's trying to suffocate himself with.
"Was it that bad?"
Edward finally turns his head to the side. I scoot down in the bed to lie next
to him so I can see his face.
"No. I guess not," he admits. He reaches up and brushes my hair back from my
forehead. "At first, he wanted to know about stupid stuff: what I like to do,
school and the classes I'm taking this year, my friends, junk like that. I
think he just wanted to get to know me, I guess. Of course he asked about my
past too, why I did the stupid things I did, and how I planned to stay out of
trouble in the future."
Edward continues to play with my hair, following the movement of his hand with
his eyes.
"What did you say?"
"I told him everything he wanted to know. I was honest about my mistakes. And
as far as how I planned to stay on the straight and narrow," Edward finally
looks me in the eye, resting his hand on my cheek. "I told him I had something
in my life too important to screw up by acting like an idiot."
I smile and push myself forward to kiss him.
"What else?" I ask as I settle back onto my pillow.
"Well, he wanted to know my plans were for the future, and what my intentions
are with his daughter," he says, a slight mocking edge to his tone. "Of course,
I'd already told him on the phone that I love you and would do anything to make
you happy."
"I can't believe you said that to my father."
"Why not? It's the truth."
"You know, you never did give me the details of those phone conversations you
promised me."
Edward shrugs. "It was pretty much just like today. Questions about me, about
our relationship, stuff like that."
"You do realize you did it again, right?"
His eyebrows knit together. "Did what?"
"Kept something from me for my own good. Last night you said you didn't tell me
about the phone calls because you didn't want me to get upset. You can't do
that, Edward. You can't keep things from me just because you're afraid I'm
going to get upset."
Edward sits up quickly and shakes his head. "No, I was just... I mean… I didn't
mean to keep it from you. I just thought -"
"You thought you were protecting me."
He hesitates, then nods slowly.
"By deciding what's best for me."
Edward bites his bottom lip and drops his eyes to his lap. He looks like a
child being scolded for stealing cookies from the cookie jar before dinner.
Slowly, he nods again but doesn't look up. "You're right. I'm sorry. I should
have told you."
I scoot closer to him, but Edward ignores me, pulling on the frayed hem of his
jeans instead. Tugging his hand out of the way, I crawl into his lap and
snuggle against his chest.
"I'm not mad that you didn't tell me. I don't expect you to tell me every
little detail of every moment in your life. It's just, last night when you said
you kept it from me because you didn't want me to get upset, well… I guess
those wounds are still fresh."
Edward finally wraps his arms around me. "I'm such an idiot. You'd think I'd
learned my lesson by now. I'm sorry."
"It's OK. I mean, I don't really care about the phone calls specifically. It's
just… we're learning to trust each other again, and I brought it up because I
want to make sure you understand how important this is to me. I know you want
to protect me, and I love that about you, but if we're going to be partners in
this, then you have to include me."
Edward leans over and slides the file folder in front of us. He flips it open
to the first page.
Criminal History Report
I sit up quickly, almost knocking Edward over with the abrupt movement, and
snatch the file.
"He ran a background check on you!" My blood boils as I glance over the page. I
don't want to read it, but the words seem to jump out at me. Arrest.
Conviction. Verdict. Offense. Sentence.
"I can't believe he did this," I seethe. "He had no right. It's none of his
business."
Edward chuckles behind me. "I'm glad he did it."
I twist in his lap to look at him. Clearly, I didn't hear that right.
Edward smirks and takes the file from my hands. He flips through a couple of
pages, passing up a sheet covered in fingerprints and a mug shot of him with a
black eye. He finally stops and places the open folder back into my hands.
Procedural Guidelines for Expungement of Criminal Records for the State of
Washington
I can't tear my eyes away from the paper in my hands. Crawling out of his lap,
I sit in front of him on the bed. I cross my legs, mirroring Edward's posture,
and balance the file between our touching knees.
"Your dad thinks I can have the entire conviction erased from my record. I
mean, there's no guarantee. He said stuff I did as a minor will be easy to get
dismissed. Then Carlisle's lawyer can file a petition for the rest. I might
have to go in front of the judge again, but he says that since I've met all the
conditions of my probation so far, and I've stayed out of trouble since it
happened I might have a good shot."
A shaky, slow smile builds across my lips as his words sink in. "What made
him…" I shake the file slightly.
"He wanted to know my plans for the future. I think it was his unsubtle way of
asking how I plan to take care of you."
I roll my eyes and shake my head, but Edward's serious expression makes me
pause.
"I am going to take care of you, Bella," he says confidently. "For as long as
you'll let me."
All I can do is nod. I may have forgotten how to breathe.
"You're dad asked if I planned to go to college. I told him I want to but that
I was afraid with my record I'd have a hard time getting into a good school."
"What do you want to study?" I blurt out reflexively.
He shrugs. "I really like my A. P. Biology class, maybe something like that."
He looks down, suddenly interested in the frayed hem of his jeans again. "I
mean, I hear they have a really great program."
"You said 'they'. Do you already have a school in mind?" Suddenly, I'm nervous
about his answer. What if he wants to go away? Is that why he brought this up?
Is that why he won't look at me? What if he wants to go to some Ivy League
school on the east coast? What am I supposed to do without him?
Edward frowns and stares at me like I've lost my mind. "The University of
Washington. Where else would I go?"
"I don't know. Harvard? Yale? Dartmouth?"
"Dartmouth?" he repeats angrily. "Why on Earth would I go completely across the
country?"
"OK, fine, bad examples. But you could go anywhere you want: UCLA, Vanderbilt,
the University of -"
"Bella, I'm not going anywhere. I want to be where you are. I'm not leaving."
"But -"
"No buts. I'm staying in Seattle. You'll be at the Academy, and I'll be at U-
Dub. We can get an apartment in between the two."
I bite my lip to hide the smile threatening to break out across my face. "Are
you asking me to move in with you?"
Edward nods, but his confidence seems to be slipping. "I mean, if you want to."
This is why he brought this up. He wants to talk about our future. He's
including me, showing me what he envisions for us. And for us to make these
decisions together.
"We can get a place with two bedrooms, if you… I mean, if you don't want to…"
God, he's so adorable.I toss the papers in my hands aside and crawl back into
his lap. "Two bedrooms might be better," I admit slowly.
Edward sighs, and I can feel his posture slump a little.
"That way," I continue, "I can rehearse at home instead of staying at the
school all night."
His grip tightens as he rolls onto his back, pulling me with him. "So evil," he
growls happily. "Why do you torture me like that?" He tickles my ribs for a
second, but surrenders when I beg him to stop. I curl up next to him, and he
takes my hand, placing it on his chest like he always does.
"Edward?"
"Hmm?"
"Can we get an apartment with a balcony?"
Faster than humanly possible, Edward is hovering over me, kissing me eagerly.
"Your wish, my command."
***** Chapter 24 *****
BPOV
After spending all morning with Charlie, Edward jumps at my suggestion that we
get out of the house for a while. Seeing as its New Years Day and not many
places are open, I decide to take him to the Desert Botanical Gardens at Papago
Park. It's one of my favorite places in Phoenix, and with this being Edward's
first time in the southwest, it's a great place for him to see some of the
unique desert plants and scenery without having to go into the desert itself.
As we crisscross our way through town, I make a point to drive past my old
school, my old dance studio, and a few other places he's heard me talk about.
Edward teases me that I'm copying him. At first, I have no idea what he's
talking about. Then he reminds me of the night we drove around Seattle, sipping
chocolate milkshakes, and doing the exact same thing.
"Well, you showed me your home town. I'm showing you mine."
"Seattle isn't my home town," he mumbles, staring out the window at the flat,
dry landscape.
"Will you take me there sometime? To Forks?"
Edward glances at me, and the look on his face makes me instantly regret
bringing it up. He tries to smile, but I can see the sadness in his eyes. He's
probably had enough stress today dealing with Charlie and his interrogation.
I'm sure the last thing he wants to do right now is think about his parents.
He turns back to the window. "Sure. I'll take you."
I keep my mouth shut for the rest of the drive. Every few minutes I steal a
glance at Edward, but he remains turned toward the window, making it impossible
for me to read his mood.
When we arrive at the garden, Edward doesn't move to get out of the car, even
after I park at the back of the lot and turn off the engine. I know something
is bothering him. I twist in my seat to face him, but he doesn't look at me,
staring down at his hands in his lap instead.
"My parents want me to see a shrink," he admits softly.
I open my mouth but quickly snap it shut. My parents forced me to see a
nutritional therapist about my eating habits a few years ago. All it did was
make me resentful and push me further away from seeing the truth. But this
situation is completely different. His parents aren't forcing him to go;
they're letting him make this decision on his own, and I wonder if things would
have turned out differently for me if my parents had taken the same approach.
"I don't know," he continues. "It didn't do a whole lot of good the last time.
Of course," he smirks, "that's probably because I only went once. The guy told
me I needed to sort through the emotions of my trauma to control my teenage
rebellion." He twists the words with a mocking tone as he rolls his eyes. "I
mean, come on. I was fifteen. They shouldn't have been surprised when I told
that douchebag where he could stick my rebellion."
Edward glances at me sheepishly, and then looks back at his lap again. He's
quiet again, and every few minutes he opens his mouth as if he's going to say
something, but nothing comes out. Finally, he huffs and twists his body to face
me, but he keeps his eyes downcast.
"My dad thinks I've been repressing my feelings about my parents' death. When
he told me about those pictures, the ones you saw, it completely freaked me out
because - because I didn't want to see them. I still don't. I don't think I
could…" He shakes his head.
I reach over and take his hand, weaving our fingers together, and Edward seems
to relax a little.
"It's one thing to talk about them, my parents I mean. Like the other night
with you." He looks up, and I can clearly see the torment swimming in his eyes.
"When I told you about them over the phone, it was like… abstract or something.
I could almost detach myself from the story, ya know? Like it wasn't really me.
But having to see it, see them, hold something real, something that was theirs,
that's just..." He trails off again. "That's not normal, right? It's been ten
years. Shouldn't it be easier by now? Shouldn't I be over it already?"
"I don't know," I admit gingerly. "I don't think so. I can't imagine ever
getting over something like that, but maybe – maybe it doesn't have to hurt so
much."
Edward nods. "So, you think I should go too," he says flatly.
I consider my words carefully. "Honestly, I don't think it's a bad idea. I
mean, you can always talk to me. I love that you shared those memories with me
the other night, and I hope you'll tell me more about your parents, but there
are people out there specially trained to help you sort through the hard stuff.
Dr. Weber has helped me, and I know my issues are completely different from
what you're going through, but I would think the mechanics are basically the
same. But, regardless, you shouldn't go because me, or Carlisle, or Esme, or
anyone else thinks you should. You have to want to go for you."
He leans back against his seat and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Dad says the
same thing. I have to make the decision."
I nod, unable to keep the smirk off my lips.
Edward narrows his eyes at me. "What?"
"I've never heard you call Carlisle your 'dad' before."
"I said that?"
"Yup. Twice."
"Huh."
Edward stares down at our intertwined hands, mindlessly twisting and turning
our wrists from side to side. "Could we not talk about this anymore today? For
the rest of the day could we try to forget everything besides just you and me?
I've – I've missed you. I've missed just being with you."
I lean across the console and kiss his cheek. "Come on."
We exit the car and make our way across the lot to the park entrance. As we
walk through the gate, I explain that this area is called the Ottosen Entry
Garden, and from here we have the option to hike the Desert Discovery Trail or,
my favorite, the Desert Wildflower Trail.
Edward cocks his head to the side. "Look at the size of that thing," he says,
completely ignoring my question as to which path he wants to take.
I follow his gaze. "What? That cactus?"
"Yeah. What is that, like fifteen feet?"
I giggle. "Edward, I know you've never been to Arizona, but come on, you've
seen a cactus before right?"
He turns to smirk at me. "Says the girl who's never seen snow."
"Touché"
He looks at the cactus again and then back to me. "Can I touch it?" he asks in
a sneaky voice.
I glance around to make sure there aren't any park rangers in sight before
gesturing toward the giant, green pillar. "Be my guest. Just don't touch the
spines."
"I know that," he says, rolling his eyes.
He steps off the path and into the landscaping, cautiously making his way
toward the mammoth cactus.
"Watch for rattle snakes," I call out.
Edward freezes, one leg suspended mid-step. He twists his head to glare back at
me. "Are you freaking serious?"
"Not really." My words are obscured by my giggles. "I mean, there might be a
snake in there, but I've never seen one."
"You're gonna pay for that, Swan."
I roll my eyes at him and walk over to a black, iron bench beside the path.
From my seat, I watch as Edward steps carefully over the plants and shrubs to
get a closer look at the cactus. Once he's standing beside it, he puts his
hands on his hips and looks up.
"Yeah, that's got to be fifteen feet at least," he says loudly.
With one hand, Edward reaches out and strokes the waxy skin. After a moment he
steps back and folds his arms across his chest, looking up to the top of the
cactus again. I can't figure out why he's so enthralled with the height of the
stupid thing. The trees back in Washington are probably ten times taller.
He looks down at his feet and then bends over, picking something up off the
ground before walking back toward me. As he sits next to me on the bench, I get
a quick glimpse of the purple cactus flower in his hand before he tucks it
behind my ear.
"That might be illegal you know."
Edward shrugs. "It's OK. I'm down with the Sheriff."
"Oh, you think so?" I ask with a teasing edge to my words.
"OK, maybe not."
I shake my head. "Nah, he likes you."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Well, you know my old boyfriend, Ben? The one from the picture?"
"Yeah," he says anxiously.
"He still walks with a limp."
Edward growls and wraps his arm around my neck, pinning my head against his
chest as he ruffles my hair. "You're a terrible liar. You know that right? No
one believes you."
I giggle and squirm, trying to free myself from his grasp. As soon as I sit up,
Edward pulls me close again, snuggling me into his side. He kisses the top of
my head and then rests his cheek against the same spot.
We stay curled up on our bench for a while, quietly watching people walk by. An
elderly couple smiles at us and offers wishes for a happy new year as they
pass.
"You know I have to go home tomorrow," he says after a moment.
I sag against him and sigh heavily. It's not like I didn't know this was
coming. I know he can't stay here forever.
"When does school start?" I ask.
"Monday. What about you?"
"Yeah. They start again Monday too."
"You say that like there's no hope of you being there."
"I want to be there." I pull out of his embrace and twist my body to face him.
"I want to go back right now, but when I first mentioned it to my dad, he said
no. He didn't want me to go back at all. Then he tried to offer me a…
compromise. I don't know. Maybe ultimatum is a better word." I take a deep
breath. "He wants me to stay in Phoenix for the next three months."
I can't stand the disappointment that flashes across Edwards's face, so I look
down at my lap. The movement causes the flower to fall from my hair, and I pick
it up and idly begin toying with the bloom.
"Why three months?"
"Well, I assume it's because the Academy runs on a quarter system. I'd only
miss one quarter of the semester. And…"
"And what?" he prompts when my words trail off.
"And…" I huff and rush through my explanation. "The treatment hospital here has
a three-month program. Carlisle and Dr. Weber both told me about it. No doubt
they told Charlie too."
I sneak a quick glance at Edward, but he's not looking at me. He lets out a
deep breath and rubs the back of his neck roughly. Sheepishly, I turn my
attention back to my flower and stroke the soft petals. One of the petals
breaks off and flutters to the ground.
He loves me.
I pluck off the next one.
He loves me not.
"Would you have to… like, live there? At the hospital?"
"I don't know. Some people do. I had a friend that had to stay, but she was
really sick."
Another petal becomes a victim of my game. He loves me.
"Bella," he says cautiously. As I look up, Edward frowns at me. "You were
really sick."
He loves me not.
He takes a deep breath and slowly reaches forward to take my hand. "You still
are, love."
"No. I'm not. Not anymore," I argue.
"You know this isn't something that just goes away in a few weeks. This is
something we will have to live with for a while."
I jerk my hand from his. "We?"
Edward narrows his eyes at me. "Yes we. Of course we," he says, almost angrily.
"It's always going to be we. Every day of forever."
I shake my head and pluck another petal from the bloom. He loves me.
"You can't know that, Edward. We're still in high school. You can't know how
you'll feel about me in a year, in five years."
He loves me not.
He grabs the flower from my hand and tosses it on the bench behind him. "Are
you serious? Where the hell is this coming from?"
"It's just… you were talking about your future, and making huge decisions based
on me and my plans, and talking about living together, and - "
"If you don't want to live together, if it's too fast - "
"No. It's not that. It's just… you don't have to stay with me because you think
I'll – I'll do something stupid again."
Edward's mouth falls open and he stares at me in a daze. "You – you think I'm
with you... you think I'm here because – because I feel guilty?"
I bite my lip and look away. I hadn't thought about it that way.
"I - I don't understand where this is coming from. Just this morning you seemed
happy about the idea of us planning a future - our future."
"I was. I mean, I am. But when you said my… disorder is something you'd have to
put up with for a while… well, you don't have to be stuck with that. You didn't
sign up for this."
"Bella." He lets out an exaggerated sigh, and I glance up to see him squeeze
his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose. "First of all, I didn't say
'put up with;' I said 'live with.' There is a difference. And second," he opens
his eyes and glares at me, "have you completely lost your mind?"
I flinch at his angry tone.
Edward twists forward, propping his elbows on his knees and holding his head in
his hands. Something grabs his attention, and he reaches over and tosses the
remains of my flower angrily to the ground at my feet.
"How – how can you still doubt my feelings for you? After all the times I've
told you I love you. After everything we've been through."
I know I should say something. I know my words have hurt him. I didn't mean
them the way he took them, but - but I want him to calm down first. Frankly, I
need a moment to calm down too. The idea that he thinks I'm still sick isn't
sitting too well with me at the moment. I know it's true, but hearing him say
it - it's like he's siding with Charlie. Like he thinks I should stay behind
for the next three months. As if it's just that easy for him to walk away…
again.
Slowly, I lean down and pick up the flower from the dirt. One by one, I
gradually pluck the remaining petals from the stem. From the corner of my eye I
see Edward twist his head in his hands to watch me. Even from my peripheral
vision I can see the wounded expression on his face.
When the last petal remains, I pull it from the stem, slowly twisting it back
and forth between my fingers.
"What's the verdict?" he asks somberly.
I look up, wishing I could take back everything I'd just said. Wishing I could
take away the pain in his eyes. "He loves me," I whisper.
"Do you honestly think I'm acting out of guilt?"
Slowly, I shake my head.
"Then why did you say that?"
"I didn't mean it that way. It's just… you told me once that you refused to
ruin my life because of your mistakes. I feel the same way. You shouldn't have
to live with my disorder. You're right. I am still sick. I'll probably be this
way for a long time. Hell, I may be this way forever. I'm – I'm damaged, and
you deserve better than that."
Edward turns his body toward me, grabbing both my hands in his. "No. You're not
damaged. And yes, you might struggle with this for the rest of your life, but
I'm going to be there to help you. I want to be there. And… and I need you to
be there for me too. I told you, I'm selfish. I need you to help me through
whatever this crap is I'm dealing with my parents – all of my parents. I can't
do this without you."
"But you shouldn't have to settle - "
He chuckles, menacingly. "This is not settling. This is so far from settling.
Bella," he lets out a deep breath, "before I met you, I had no intention of –
of doing anything with my life. But now…" He smiles and looks down sheepishly.
"You - you make me want to be a better person. You make me want to fix my
flaws, and be someone that you can love and - and be proud of. You are the most
important thing to me. I meant it back then, and I mean it now. I want you in
my life. I need you in my life. When I picture my future, there's no doubt in
my mind that you're a part of it – a very big part. I know how hard you've
worked and sacrificed for your dreams. I never had any dreams, any ambitions,
until I met you. Now I dream about being with you – forever. I want to take
care of you. I want to be worthy of you. I want - " He chuckles. "I want us to
live together. I want us to get married and – and have kids. And I want to
fight about stupid crap like where to order take-out from, and whose turn it is
to drive the kids to soccer practice at the butt-crack of dawn. I want - "
"Oh, it's definitely your turn," I mumble, interrupting his rambling.
Edward freezes, and as my words sink in, a slow smile creeps across his lips.
"But I drove him last weekend."
"Him? Oh, no. I don' think so. She can - " But I can't finish my sentence, not
with Edward kissing me.
"I love you, Bella," he whispers as he presses his forehead against mine. "I
know I can't predict the future. I can hope, and dream, and plan for what I
want to happen, but nothing in this life is certain. I know that. But no matter
what happens to us – today, tomorrow, fifty years from now – you should never
doubt my feelings for you. I love you. I love you with my whole heart, with
everything that I am. I love you more than anything in the world, more than my
own life."
"I love you, too. And I want all those things. I want them with you. I'm sorry
I said those things before, but when you suggested I stay… like it would be so
easy for us to… for you to… leave me behind."
Realization dawns on his face as he grasps what brought all this on. His arms
are around me instantly, pulling me close. "No, Bella. I'm not leaving you. I
will never leave you again. I won't. I can't.You're stuck with me until – until
you're so sick of me you beg me to go away. Maybe even after that."
I chuckle once.
"But, love, if you need to stay, then…" I can feel him shake his head. "I
wouldn't be leaving you behind. You can't think of it that way."
Edward releases me as I push myself away. "I don't want to stay."
"I know you don't want to, but - "
"No. I mean, I don't think I need to."
He narrows his eyes at me, examining my face for a moment. "Why?" he
challenges.
"What do you mean why?"
"Tell me why. What are you reasons? Why don't you need to stay?"
I scowl at him, folding my arms tightly across my chest.
"Don't get mad." He reaches over and untangles my arms, taking my hand in his.
"I'm not saying I disagree with you. I just want to know why you feel that
way."
"Because – because I've seen the brochures on that place. I know what that
would cost my dad. He can't afford it."
Edward is shaking his head before I even finish. "Nope. Not good enough. Money
is not a valid reason."
Maybe for him it's not. Edward has never had to want for anything. But in my
world, growing up on a shoestring budget, you learn pretty quickly how money is
always a factor – even in major, life-altering decisions. "Ah, yes it is. And I
swear, Edward, if you offer to -"
"It won't be a valid reason to Charlie," he interrupts, completely ignoring my
accusation. "You think he's going to let that stop him from getting his
daughter the help she needs?"
"No. He'll do something stupid like cash out his retirement, or take a second
mortgage on the house, or both. What I'm saying is I don't think I need all
that." I wave my hand in a circle. "I like Dr. Weber. I like the treatment plan
we have. I trust him, and – and I trust Carlisle too. I think going back to
Seattle would be better for me. I think I'd do better if I finished what I
started, instead of starting over here with new doctors, and new treatments,
and – and people I don't know."
Edward nods, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a mischievous grin. "So
it's not just about wanting to be with me," he says a tag smug.
I nudge him playfully. "You're just a nice perk."
~o0o~
We never make it to the hiking trails. In fact, we never make it off the bench.
For the rest of the afternoon, I remain curled into Edward's side with his arm
wrapped securely around my shoulder. He gently stokes my arm, or kisses my
head, or mindlessly run his fingers through my hair as I relish every minute of
just being close to him.
We talk a little more about the possibility of me having to stay in Phoenix. Of
course, Charlie would have the final say on that subject, regardless of how I –
no, we feel. If he decides that I should stay for three months, I know I won't
be able to defy him. Edward agrees, even pointing out that, if that's what
Charlie decides, we should trust that he's trying to do what he thinks is best
for me.
The sun begins to set, casting fiery pink and orange hues into the sky.
Reluctantly, I sit up, stretching and twisting my body, which has grown stiff
from sitting so long.
"We have to go. The park closes at dark."
I stand up slowly and step away from the bench, but Edward grabs my hand. He
scoots forward, pulling me to stand between his legs and stares up at me with
an unreadable expression on his face. I run my hands through his hair then down
the sides of his face, stroking his cheeks with my thumbs. It's easy to see he
wants to say something, so I simply wait while he works up the courage.
"I'm sorry," he says softly.
I narrow my eyes at him, not understanding what he's apologizing for, and why
he looks so… tormented. "For what?"
"For – for everything. For leaving you. For hurting you. For -"
I cover his mouth with my hand. "Edward, stop. You have to let that go. You
have to put it behind you. You have to stop apologizing."
He wraps his fingers around my wrist, pulling my hand from his mouth. "But I
haven't. Not really. You – you left before I got the chance."
He's right. I never did give him the chance that night, and I guess it never
came up during our phone calls.
"Please," he begs. "Just – just let me."
The haunting torture in his expression makes me pause. I don't want to go back
there. I don't want to be reminded of all the ways he hurt me. But I can see
how badly he needs this. Hesitantly, I nod.
He takes both of my hands and pulls me closer, twisting them around so the back
of my hands press against his chest. Even in this reverse position, I can still
feel his heart pounding below the surface.
"Do you remember when I told you that, out of all the terrible things I've done
in my life, that I would never regret anything as much as what I'd done to
you?"
I nod slowly.
"I would give anything – anything – to go back to that night outside my house,
to stop myself from making the biggest mistake of my life. There were so many
times that night that I thought – I thought I couldn't go through with it. My
heart was screaming at me to stop, but in my head… I had convinced myself that
I had to do it."
He swallows hard, and I watch his eyes. He looks as if he could break apart at
any moment. I pull my hands from his and place them on either side of his face
as I rest my forehead against his and close my eyes.
"You called me a monster, and that's exactly what I was before I met you. I was
angry and resentful, and I took it out on everyone who loved me. But you saw
through that. You saw the real me. You said once that I was locked away,
trapped inside myself. That was truer than you could possibly understand. But,
Bella, I swear that monster is gone. I will never be him again. I am so sorry
for hurting you, for destroying what we had."
His voice is so strangled that I have no doubt, if I were to look, his eyes
would be filled with tears. I can't take anymore, so I press my lips to his. I
only meant to kiss him to stop him from saying anything else, but slowly the
atmosphere between us seems to shift. Edward's arms wrap around my back,
pulling me closer to him. It's as if he's anchoring himself to me, holding on
as if I could slip away at any moment. I push him back against the bench and
straddle his lap as my hands tangle into his hair. Our kisses quickly spiral
out of control, and soon we are pawing at each other, desperately trying to get
closer, to make up for what we've lost.
"We… can't…" Edward pants against my lips.
"Please," I beg, kissing him again. "We – I need you. I need to be with you.
Tomorrow you're… and it could be…" I can't bring myself to say it. It hurts too
much to think of being apart from him again.
Edward understands me perfectly, kissing me deeply for a moment before pushing
me away so he can stand up. He takes my hand and begins to walk toward the
giant cactus he had been admiring earlier – away from the park entrance. I'm
about to question his sense of direction when I notice a building materialize
around the corner – a greenhouse. He must have seen it earlier.
Edward slowly pushes the door open and we creep inside. The walls are made of
some kind of fogged material, making it impossible to see out - or in - but the
roof is clear glass. The sun disappeared below the horizon a while ago, and the
sky above is slowly fading to a dark blue, allowing a few stars to peek
through. The long pathway up the center of the greenhouse is lined with wooden
tables on either side, every inch covered with lush green plants and tropical
ferns. Edward walks cautiously toward the back of the building, still clutching
my hand in his. Finally, the rows of tables end, leaving a wide open space
along the back wall. It looks like some plants have been removed, leaving
behind large, round water stains along one side of a white tarp that covers the
ground.
Edward turns to face me, pulling me close as he brushes the back of his fingers
across my cheek. "Is this OK?"
I tilt my head back to look up at the stars, and Edward follows my gaze. "This
is better than OK. It's like we're at home again, on the balcony, in our
chair."
"When you were gone," he begins, stroking my cheek again. "I sat out there for
an hour one night, thinking about all the times we spent together. I thought it
would make me feel better, but…" Edward closes his eyes and shakes his head.
"Everything reminded me of you – reminded me that you were gone. I don't know
how I'm going to - " He stops abruptly.
"It's OK. You can say it," I whisper.
He doesn't move, except for his eyes which are shifting back and forth,
searching mine.
"You can say it," I repeat. "I want you to. I want to know you feel the same
way."
He lets out a deep breath. "I – I don't know how I'm going to walk away from
you tomorrow. It hurts just to imagine it. How am I supposed to go home without
you? Back to our room? Knowing it could be months before I see you again,
before I can hold you in my arms… touch you… kiss you." As if to emphasis his
point, Edward leans down and kisses me gently. "I'm sorry. I know that's
selfish, and I shouldn't think like that, but I can't help it. I want you with
me."
"I'm here now. We're together now. We can worry about tomorrow later. Just –
just be here, with me, now."
He cradles my cheek in his hand, pulling my face to his and kissing me softly.
I skim my hands up his arms and remove his hands from my face. Twisting my
fingers in his, I take a step back, pulling him with me as I sit down on the
white tarp. Edward follows closely, pushing me onto my back as he hovers over
me, kissing me gently.
He kisses my lips, my cheek, my temple, and my eyes, tenderly and softly, every
touch filled with love and adoration. Time seems to slow down, and the world
outside disappears. Nothing else matters beyond this moment, beyond the way
Edward is holding me, touching me, telling me he loves me - with his words and
his actions.
~o0o~
Several hours later, we finally make it back to my house, smiling and holding
hands as we walk through the front door. Charlie is standing in the living
room, holding the phone against his ear as he paces in front of the fireplace.
"Yeah, yeah. I guess that would be alright. Look, they just walked in. You
still wanna talk to him?"
I glance at Edward, but he doesn't appear concerned.
"Edward," Charlie calls out. "Your father would like to talk to you." He holds
out the receiver and Edward drops my hand, walking over to take the phone from
Charlie.
"Where ya been, Bells?" Charlie asks as he walks toward the kitchen and I
follow.
"Papago Park." Reflexively, I check the digital clock on the microwave, making
sure we didn't miss curfew, but it's only 9:30.
"Huh. I thought they shut that place down at dark."
Shoot.
"Oh, yeah – yeah, they do. We've been just driving around. You know, showing
Edward the city. Like my old studio, stuff like that." God, I hope my face
isn't as red as it feels. Maybe the fact that I'm not totally lying, just
rearranging the details a bit, keeps me from sounding completely guilty.
"Did you guys eat? Sue brought over dinner. There's tons left in the fridge."
"No, we didn't. Thanks."
I busy myself with warming our dinner as Edward talks to his father in the
other room. Charlie takes his usual seat at the table, talking about how he and
Sue think Rebecca, Sue's oldest daughter, is going to elope with her surfer
boyfriend right after her upcoming graduation from the University of Hawaii.
"Something smells good," Edward comments as he walks into the kitchen.
"Perfect timing. It's almost ready." Just as I say the words, the microwave
beeps. I open the door and, without thinking, reach inside to grab the
casserole dish.
"Oh! Shit! Shit! Ouch!" I yell as the scalding plate burns my fingers. I wave
my hand, frantically trying to cool it.
"Come here." Edward grabs my wrist and leads me quickly to the sink, submerging
my hand under cold water. "You OK?" he asks after a moment.
"Yes," I lie through clenched teeth.
He pulls my hand from under the faucet, examining my fingers. "It'll feel
better when it quits hurting," he says, trying – and failing – to keep a
serious expression on his face.
I smack his shoulder with my good hand. "Not. Funny. It hurt."
"Awe, I'm sorry." He dries my hand gently with a dishtowel before kissing each
of my scorched fingers, one by one. "Go sit down. I'll finish this."
I do as I'm told, slumping down in the seat across from Charlie as I scrutinize
my blistered fingertips. Charlie mumbles something under his breath, and Edward
chuckles behind me.
"What?"
Charlie looks away sheepishly, refusing to answer. I twist in my chair to face
Edward as he slices through the steaming casserole with a knife. "What did he
say?"
Edward glances at Charlie quickly and then back to me. "He told me that you
were a clumsy kid, and I didn't believe him. He just said 'I told you so.'"
I turn back to face Charlie, pretending to glare angrily at him. "Thanks a lot,
Dad. I was trying to keep that a secret."
"Well, the boy has a right to know what he's getting himself into," Charlie
defends.
Edward walks to the table, setting a plate down in front of me and another for
himself. "Just try a little. Then if you want something else I can…"
I stare at him, confused. Edward nods to the plate in front of me and, for the
first time, I examine the food Sue brought over. It smells wonderful: the
spices and melting cheeses, the large chucks of ground beef, everything layered
between several levels of pasta and globs of red sauce. Eating the block of
lasagna on my plate would mean consuming more fat and calories in one sitting
than I had since I started treatment. Not to mention I would be reintroducing
meat into my diet for the first time. Any one of those factors could make sick.
"Just try. You don't have to eat it all. In fact, you probably shouldn't, but
you should at least try a little."
"But – but what if…"
"What? You get sick?" Edward shrugs. "Nothing we haven't been through before."
He begins cutting into his own slice of lasagna while I poke at mine with my
fork. After a moment, I slowly pick up my knife and cut off a small bite.
Another minute passes before I decide to spear it with my fork.
"Talk to me," Edward insists.
I glance at him and notice his plate is more than half empty. I didn't realize
how long I've been vacillating over this one bite.
"What do you see?" he asks, nodding toward my fork. I twirl it slowly between
my fingers, examining the scrap of pasta and cheese impaled on the end.
"I see - I see more fat and calories than I've eaten in months. I see meat. I
see something that, if I put it in my mouth, is going to make me sick." I sigh
and slump down a little in my chair. How could one tiny bite of food make me
feel so powerless and defeated?
"OK. Take it one thing at a time. Start with the meat. That's a new food group
to your meal plan, right? And I'm pretty sure this is lean ground beef.
Otherwise it would be way greasier. So that means you're looking at a good
source of protein and iron. And who knows, maybe you start with this and work
your way into other meats. Like this could be your gateway-meat to ham or
sausage or," Edward gasps, "bacon." He twists his mouth in an expression of
mock horror, jerking his eyes toward Charlie. "Shh, don't tell the cop."
I giggle and glance at Charlie who's watching our exchange with an amused but
curious expression.
"And yes, it's got fat and calories, but that's because it's got every major
food group conveniently packaged in one meal. Well, except for fruit, but you
had fruit this morning. But look, you've got starches, veggies, meat, dairy;
you're totally covered."
"Until I throw it up," I grumble.
"OK. So it mightmake you sick. That wouldn't be the end of the world. We just
try again, just like we did the last time."
I turn my attention back to my plate, nudging the small bite a few times with
my fork.
Edward twists in his seat, turning his body to face me. "I'm not trying to make
light of the situation. I know this is a big step, and if you don't feel ready,
that's OK. It's not pass or fail. It's not as black and white as you may think.
We can find another way. I'll make you a turkey sandwich, and we can still
celebrate your victory over meat."
I throw my head back and laugh. "You are so ridiculous. Celebrate my victory
over meat? Where do you come up with this stuff?"
The corner of Edward's mouth curls up into my favorite crooked smile as he
shrugs one shoulder. "Why not? When I was little, my parents rewarded me for
doing something positive or accomplishing some goal. Like letting me pick where
to go for dinner after I passed a math test. You should have some kind of
reward system. I mean, you had a goal before, right? To get your scholarship
reinstated. Well, you did that. So now we need to come up with another goal,
like…" Edward's eyes look up and away as he thinks.
"Like," I cut in. "Like… eating something from every food group at least… four
times a week."
"Yeah. That's good. OK." Edward looks around the kitchen excitedly. "We should
write this down."
Charlie pushes his chair back from the table and walks over to the drawer we
normally keep crammed with paper, pens, stamps, and all manner of junk that
usually collects on the counter. He returns with a sheet of paper and a pen,
handing them both to Edward before sitting down again.
"Thanks. OK. So…" Edward begins to draw out a grid, labeling the days of the
week across the top and the major food groups down the left side. Next, he
places checkmarks in the corresponding squares, noting the food groups I
consumed during breakfast and lunch.
"There," he announces. "So, how 'bout it? Wanna add another check tonight?"
I cross my arms in front of my chest, trying to appear defiant and stubborn,
even though his enthusiasm has already won me over. "What's my reward?"
"Oh. Right." Edward looks down at his chart, tapping the pen against the paper
as he thinks. After a few seconds, his head snaps up and an eager smile lights
up his face. "A date," he announces proudly.
"A date?"
"Yup. You meet your goal by next weekend, and I'll take you to the movies. Then
next week, if you do it again, we'll do something else."
I try not to let my excitement show. "Do I get to pick the movie?"
Edward hisses and scrunches up his face. "Gee, I dunno. Face Punch is coming
out this week. You're really going to have to impress me." He taps his chart
again.
I pretend to mull it over, staring down at my plate. Over the course of this
whole conversation, my anxiety over actually eating the lasagna has
significantly diminished. And while Edward's reward system is silly and
childish, I can't help but feel a bit motivated about actually trying to eat.
"What do you think? We have a deal?" he asks.
I scrape the bite from my fork as I stand up and carry my plate toward the
sink. I can feel both of them staring at me as I set my plate inside the
microwave to reheat my now-cold pasta. No one says a word as I return to the
table and stab the infamous bite that started this whole mess with my fork.
Once again, I examine it for a long moment before bringing the fork to my lips.
I try not to look at Edward or Charlie as I chew the unbelievably delicious
pasta, but from the corner of my eye I can see them exchange a look.
I ignore them and concentrate on my dinner. I'd forgotten how amazing lasagna
tastes: the layers of soft, buttery pasta, the delicious combination of
perfectly seasoned tomatoes mixed with just the right amount of meat and melted
cheeses. By the third bite, I'm surprised to realize I'm actually enjoying this
– enjoying food.
I glance at Edward to see if he's watching my little epiphany, but he and
Charlie are engrossed in another conversation.
"Tomorrow afternoon," he says, answering my father's question. "There's a - a
voucher for a second ticket," he admits cautiously. "That's what my dad was
calling about. We were hoping Bella could come back with me, but the voucher is
good for a year. She can use it anytime she wants."
My eyes dart frantically back and forth between Edward and my father, watching
their exchange.
"That's very generous," Charlie mumbles.
Edward looks at me then. "I'll take good care of her. I promise."
I know he meant it as a pledge to Charlie, but as I search his eyes, I can
clearly see that his vow is intended for me.
"I'm gonna hold you to that," Charlie says.
My eyes snap to his. "So does that mean I - I can go? I can go with him?" I ask
excitedly.
Charlie looks at me and then at Edward. After the longest moment of my life, he
nods once.
I gasp and turn to Edward. Just as I'm about to throw my arm around his neck,
Charlie declares, "But there are going to be some conditions."
My excitement fades. Of course there are.Anxiously, I twist in my chair to face
my father – and his demands.
"You're going to continue to see that Dr. Weber. The Doc says he's been doing
nutritional counseling with you, and you're going to continue those sessions,
at least once a month, until you graduate. After that… well, I hope you'll
continue to go, but it will be your choice."
"I can do that."
Charlie sighs. "Now, the Cullens have invited you to stay with them again. To
be honest, I wasn't too keen on the idea at first." He glances at Edward
quickly and then back to me. "But the Doc is right. It would be best for you to
be under his supervision at this point in your recovery. And it makes your old
man feel better knowing you're not up there by yourself."
"So… what's the condition?" I ask cautiously.
"Well." Charlie rubs his hand roughly over his face. "Let's just say you two
are going to be better supervised now that we all know about your… ah... this."
He gestures to us with a wave of his hand. "We discussed moving your bedroom
downstairs, but Esme wouldn't hear of it."
Edward chuckles. "The downstairs bedroom is in the basement. Esme would rather
build Bella her own cottage in the backyard with her bare hands before she
would stick her down there."
"Yeah, I got that impression."
"I'll move downstairs. Emmett can have my room."
"But Emmett loves his room," I argue. "That's not really fair to him."
"He'd do it for you. And it's only for a few months. He'll probably be gone all
summer to one of those football recruitment camps, and then he'll be at
whatever Big Twelve Conference school snatches him up in the fall."
"I heard Oklahoma is interested in him," Charlie announces excitedly. "That's
pretty impressive considering they hold the most titles out of the entire
conference."
"I didn't know that," Edward admits. "But I did overhear him and his girlfriend
talking about Baylor, and Emmett seemed -"
"Can we please not discuss football right now?" I blurt out. "I'm trying to
negotiate the terms of my parole."
They both chuckle. "You're right, love. I'm sorry."
"So counseling and chaperones. What else?"
"And… you're coming home this summer."
I gasp.
"Just for a visit… a week," Charlie amends quickly, holding his hands up.
"Can -"
"Yes, Edward can come too," he says, rolling his eyes.
I visibly relax. "OK. Anything else?"
"And… I want updates. You have a phone and email. I expect you to use them more
often." Charlie looks at Edward. "And that goes for you too. I want to know
what happens with the petition, and what the lawyer says. You call me if they
give you the run-around, and I'll have my guys in legal make some calls."
"I will," Edward promises.
Charlie looks at me again. "Don't look so shocked, kiddo. Your old man can
change, too."
It all comes back to me - the argument Charlie and I had about Edward. How I
accused him of judging Edward for his mistakes without knowing him, without
considering the changes he made to rectify his past. I told Charlie that people
can change; they can grow and they can learn, and that's what Edward has done.
I didn't realize he listened – that he took my words to heart.
"You told me I was being unfair," he continues, "and maybe you were right… to
some degree. But when it comes to my daughter, I'm going to be biased. And I'm
not going to apologize for that."
"Thank you," I say softly. "Thank you for listening to me. And for giving
Edward a chance."
"I always listen to you, Bells. You know…" He lets out a deep breath. "Parents
don't like to admit it when their children are capable of running their own
lives. It's a hard thing – letting go of that control. I'd love to blame it on
my inner-cop, but it's really just me. I just want what's best for you, and in
this situation, I think you're right. Being in Seattle, being with… people who
- " His eyes dart to Edward. "Who love you, and can take care of you, and can
help you get well, that's better for you than forcing you to be somewhere you
don't want to be."
I push my chair back and stand up, walking over to my father. I sit in his lap
and wrap my arms around his neck as I bury my face against his shoulder. "Of
course I want to be with you, Dad. You love me and take care of me too. You
were the first, and you set the bar pretty high." I feel him chuckle as he hugs
me tighter. "I love you, Dad," I whisper.
"I love you too, kiddo. Always have, always will."
I don't let go, and neither does Charlie.
"Just take care of her," he says softly over my shoulder.
"I will. I promise."
I can feel Charlie nod. "All right," he says after a moment. He loosens his
hold on me, and I sit back. "Go on. I know you've got to pack and get ready for
your flight."
"But what about…" I look back at the dishes scattered across the table.
"I'll clean up dinner."
I raise an eyebrow at him.
"There's no law that says I can't clean in my own house," he defends.
"You would know, Sheriff."
"Go on now. Get."
It takes twice as long to pack for my return trip, even with Edward's 'help.'
Half of my clothes he deems inadequate for the harsh Pacific Northwest winter.
I have to remind him – more than once – that this is Arizona, and wool sweaters
and down jackets aren't that easy to come by.
When he isn't scrutinizing my wardrobe, Edward busies himself with making
arrangement for our trip home. He calls Carlisle first, instructing him to
redeem the extra travel voucher for my ticket and asking him to call the
airline and make sure our seats are together. As soon as they finish discussing
business, Esme jumps on the line, wanting to hear all about how surprised I was
when he showed up and all the details of his trip. He has to remind her that
we'll both be home tomorrow and promises to share the entire story over dinner
tomorrow night.
Next, he asks to speak to Emmett, and after he answers all his questions about
how I'm doing and what Arizona is like, Edward humbly asks his brother about
switching bedrooms. Emmett doesn't hesitate to agree, but Edward still explains
how it would make all the parents a little more comfortable. I can hear
Emmett's booming voice through the phone as he teases Edward about never
getting laid again now that their parents are on to us.
Edward hangs up the phone and slumps down on my bed, throwing his arm over his
eyes. "I think I've talked more today than in the last six months combined," he
groans.
It had been an emotionally draining day, especially for him: having to deal
with Charlie this morning, then our… disagreement in the park, and his
heartfelt apology. Then, to top it all off, dinner tonight was another
rollercoaster of emotions.
Edward rolls over on his stomach and wraps his arms around my pillow. "Why
didn't you tell your dad we were talking about getting an apartment together in
the fall?" he asks with his eyes closed.
I shrug, even though he can't see it. "One step at a time. Up until a few weeks
ago he didn't know you were even part of my life. Let's let him get used to the
idea first before we drop that bomb."
"OK," he mumbles around a huge yawn. "Don't forget your phone charger."
Lifting the coiled cord from my suitcase, I shake it sarcastically toward him,
but his eyes remained closed and he can't see my mocking gesture. I turn my
attention back to sorting through my jeans, trying to decide which pairs to
bring and which to leave behind. I'm not at all surprised to look up a few
minutes later to see Edward has fallen asleep.
I continue my work, adding a few more pairs of socks, pants, shoes, and the new
leotards Charlie gave me for Christmas to my suitcases. Just as I'm about to
sort through my underwear, Charlie's heavy footsteps ascend the stairs.
"You left this stuff in the dryer. Thought you might need it." He hands me a
laundry basket filled with clothes.
"Thanks," I say softly, taking it from him.
Charlie leans against the doorframe and folds his arms across his chest. "He
out?"
I glance over my shoulder at Edward, watching his back rise and fall with his
soft breathing. "Yeah. It's been a long day I guess."
Charlie stares at him for a moment with a strange expression on his face. He
opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it again.
"Don't worry. I'll sleep across the hall."
"No, that's – that's not what I was going to say." He continues to study Edward
for a moment. I set the laundry basket down next to my suitcase and begin
folding the shirt on top. "That boy would take a bullet for you," he says
solemnly.
"That's a pretty hefty compliment… coming from a cop," I tease.
Charlie chuckles under his breath. "What I'm trying to say is…" He sighs. "He's
a decent guy, Bells. I'll try to remember that."
My head whips around to stare at my father.
"No promises, though," he amends with a smirk. He shoves off the doorframe and
turns his back to me. "Night, kiddo," he calls over his shoulder as he
disappears.
I look back at Edward, watching his peaceful face as he sleeps. A small part of
me wishes he could have heard what Charlie said, but I know my dad would have
never admitted that in front of him. I suppose the fact that Charlie is
allowing me to return to Seattle and continue living with the Cullens speaks
for itself.
Around one in the morning I place the last of my clothes into the suitcase and
zip it shut. Edward hasn't moved an inch since he fell asleep almost two hours
ago. I sit down on the edge of my bed, surveying my room one more time. Even
though I know this won't be my last time here, I'm starting to realize this
isn't my home anymore. I should probably feel sad about leaving, but I'm not. I
can't help but look forward to the future, look forward to the life I've
chosen, look forward to going home.
Home.
It amazes me that, in such a short period of time, Seattle has become my home.
I glance over to the beautiful man, the love of my life, sleeping next to me.
No. Not Seattle. Edward is my home.
~o0o~
Once again, I'm the last one to join everyone in the kitchen for breakfast. Sue
is here again, and after we eat our fill of the wonderful meal she prepared, we
linger around the table talking. After a few hours, Edward and I excuse
ourselves to get ready for the airport. When I emerge from my room wearing his
black and grey plaid shirt – the one he claims he came all this way to collect
– Edward laughs loudly.
"Hey, Chief!" He yells. "I need to report a theft."
"Boy, if you tell me she stole your heart, I'm gonna arrest you myself,"
Charlie calls from downstairs.
"Nah, just my shirt."
Charlie pokes his head out the kitchen door, watching us as we descend the
stairs. Edward carries both of my hot-pink suitcases while I lug his much
lighter duffle bag over my shoulder. Charlie appraises my outfit for a second.
"Oh. In that case, let me get my badge."
We load our luggage into the back of the cruiser and say our goodbyes to Sue in
the driveway. Edward scoffs, with an amused expression, about having to ride in
the back, behind the fiberglass divider. He claims that I'm the criminal and
tugs at my – his shirt as proof.
"No way," Charlie says. "I'm gonna enjoy every minute of this." He even grabs
Edward by the head and pushes him into the backseat, just like they do on TV.
All the way to the airport, he continues to steal glances at Edward in his
rearview mirror, his grin widening every time.
We pull up outside the terminal and unload the bags at the curb.
"You kids got it from here?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Edward." Charlie holds his hand out and Edward shakes it. "It was nice to
finally meet you… officially."
"Thank you, Sir. For everything."
"Yeah, don't mention it," he says with a shrug. "And, uh…" He glances at me as
he rubs the back of his neck. "You can call me Charlie. All this sir stuff is a
bit too formal for my taste."
Edward smiles. "Thank you, Charlie."
He raises the handles on both my suitcases. "I'll meet you inside," he says,
offering me a moment alone to say goodbye to my dad. "You can handle my bag?"
"Yeah, I got it. I'll be right there."
With a nod and another small smile at Charlie, Edward drags my luggage through
the automatic doors.
"Well, kiddo, I guess I'll see you this summer."
"Yeah," I mutter, keeping my eyes on the ground.
"I'm glad you decided to come home for Christmas. I know it wasn't… well, it
wasn't just cause you missed your old man, but I'll take it."
"Dad," I scold.
Charlie takes a step forward and wraps me in his arms. "What I mean is, I'm
glad you did because – because you were right. You said if I could just see how
much that boy cares for you, how he takes care of you, I'd know there's nothing
to worry about. You were right, and I do feel… better."
He releases his hold on me and steps back, clearing his throat. "All right. Go
on now. You don't want to miss your flight."
I rise up on my toes and kiss his cheek. "Love you, Dad."
"Love you too, kid. You take care of yourself, hear?"
I nod and turn toward the automatic doors, glancing over my shoulder one last
time. Charlie waves, sheepishly, as I step into the terminal and the doors
close behind me.
I take a deep breath and then scan the crowd for Edward. He's easy enough to
spot, standing between both of my hot-pink suitcases. His head is down,
watching his fingers fly across the keypad of his phone. He looks up as I
approach.
"Ready?"
"Yeah. I'm ready."
Edward leans down and kisses me gently once. "Let's go home," he whispers.
I can't help but smile as I fight the urge to correct him. I'm already home,
right here, by his side.
~ End ~
***** Epilogue *****
EPOV
The automatic doors slide open as I approach, and I pass from muggy, hot air
into the cool air-conditioned lobby. I try to ignore the way my shoes squeak
against the shiny marble floor as I walk quickly toward the bank of elevators
along the far wall.
"Hey. I'm here." I pant into my phone.
"Fourth floor. Suite four-twenty. Don't worry. There are like… two people ahead
of me."
"I'm sorry I'm late, but you know how Dr. Gerandy can just go on and on and - "
"You're not late. You're right on time. Besides, your dad is here keeping me
company."
I freeze, my finger hovering in midair, about to press the button to summon the
elevator.
"Dad? Why? Is everything…"
"I think he bribed the nurses into giving him my appointment schedule," she
says, a slight giggle to her words.
I can hear my father's muffled voice in the background. "You'd be amazed at
what a cookie tray will get you in a place like this."
I let out a huge breath and press the button.
"I'll see you in a minute," she says.
"All right. Hey, Bella?"
"Yeah?"
"Love you."
She chuckles. "I love you, too. Now hurry up."
You would think, in a facility this size, with all the money pouring in from
inflated medical expenses and charitable donations that they could afford
faster elevators. I tap my phone anxiously against my leg, my eyes darting back
and forth between the door to the stairwell and the digital display counting
down the floors as the elevator descends. Finally, the bell dings and the doors
slide open. I barely wait for the passengers to disembark before I push my way
inside and smash the button for the fourth floor.
OK, so I may have smashed it three or four times, but everyone knows that's how
you make these tin boxes move faster.
Leaning against the back wall, I take a few deep breaths in an effort to calm
myself down. I know if I rush into that waiting room, all hyped up like I am
now, I wouldn't be helping anyone. I know she needs me to be calm, to think
positive, but I've been finding that extremely difficult lately.
Especially since the last time we went through something like this.
~o0o~
The day my acceptance letter came from the University of Washington, Bella and
I started apartment hunting. It took us three days to find the perfect place: a
modest two-bedroom, located between both schools – with a balcony.
In the beginning, we split the rent and utilities equally – her idea, not mine
– until it became a huge pain in the ass. I hated having to write each other
checks, divvying up each and every bill, figuring who was going to purchase
what groceries each month. It was like we weren't living together. It was like
we were roommates, no different if I had moved in with Jazz. Not that living
with Jazz was ever an option since he enlisted the day after graduation.
Finally, after a long, heated argument, we agreed to get a joint checking
account. Bella was reluctant at first. She didn't like spending my money –
especially since it was my inheritance - but when she saw how much easier it
made everything, including our relationship, she came around.
One month after we moved in together, Emmett and Rosalie left for Oklahoma.
Emmett got a full football scholarship, and Rose was all too happy to trade in
her high school pompoms to cheer on the Sooners.
Of course, no one became a bigger cheerleader for my brother than me. I never
missed a game, even if all I could do was watch from the comfort of our
apartment in Seattle, buried beneath a mountain of textbooks. But when Oklahoma
landed in the championship our senior year, Carlisle flew us all to Texas to be
there for the big game. It was the first trip we'd taken as a family in over a
decade, and I knew it wouldn't be the last.
Unfortunately, Bella had racked up her fair share of frequent flyer miles in
the year before that – ever since Renee was diagnosed. By the time they had
found the lump, the cancer had already spread to her bones and liver.
Four months later, she was gone.
Bella was able to be there with Renee those last three weeks. She was able to
say all the things I wish I could've said to my parents. She and Renee had time
to say goodbye. But that didn't make the loss any easier for Bella, and I hated
myself for not being there with her. I was stuck back in Seattle, preparing for
my MCAT exam. I had packed my bag and was leaving straight from my test for the
airport when she called with the news – I was too late.
That's when things got worse.
Over the years, Bella had been doing great with her recovery. Naturally, she
had days when she struggled, but we got through them – together. But when I
walked into Renee and Phil's house that evening, I took one look at my Bella
and I knew. I couldn't blame her. Her life was spinning out of control, and the
only thing she could control was what she ate – or didn't eat, in this case.
It seemed to take Bella longer to recover than the last time we went through
this in high school. We ended up spending a couple of nights at my parents'
house while Carlisle repeated a similar IV treatment and renourishment
processes we had done before. Fortunately, I had a better understanding of
refeeding syndrome and the warning signs to look for, so I was more help this
time around. Regardless, it took her three months to reach a normal, healthy
weight again.
She always struggled when there were major, life-altering changes happening
around us. Like when Jake and Sam moved to Chicago, or when Charlie and Sue got
married, or when – three years after we were married – we lost the baby.
That was the worst of it. Bella blamed herself, blamed all the damage she had
done to her body by not taking care of herself. Even when all the doctors
around us assured her it wasn't her fault, that this happened to normal,
healthy women all the time, Bella couldn't accept it. She cried for days, and
as much as I hate to admit it, I wasn't able to help her this time.
I was grieving too.
I was so thankful to see Jake appear at our doorstep a few days later. He took
care of us both, making sure Bella at least supplemented what she wasn't eating
with meal replacement shakes. And while my years of therapy and working through
the trauma of my parents' death did provide me with some tools to deal with
this, I still didn't handle it well. And when I finally pulled myself together,
my grief was only compounded when I realized how much my wife needed me, and
that I had failed her – again.
In the middle of the night, I crawled into our bed and pulled her to me. I'd
been sleeping – or not sleeping, honestly – on the couch for the better part of
a week. As soon as my arms were around her, Bella burst into tears. I tried to
tell her I was sorry, but she wouldn't let me. Once again, she had forgiven me
before I'd even asked her to. I truly didn't deserve her.
Things got better, albeit slowly, after that night. Thanks to Jake, Bella
didn't lose as much weight this time around, but it was still another long
battle to get from there to where we are today.
Today.I smirk to myself.
Today is going to be another life-altering change - probably the biggest we've
had to face yet.
And I was running late.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open slowly. I rush down the corridor,
scanning the suite numbers on the doors as I pass.
Four-eighteen, four-nineteen, four-twenty!
I search the waiting room, easily spotting my father's stark blond hair where
he and Bella sit along the back row. Neither of them looks up as I approach,
laughing and talking excitedly about something.
"Here he is," my father announces. "Dr. Gerandy corner you after rounds again
this morning?"
I groan. "Yes. That man doesn't know when to shut the - "
"Mrs. Cullen?" a nurse calls out across the waiting room.
"We're up," Bella says, holding out her hands so I can help her to her feet.
Carlisle doesn't move from his seat. I glance at Bella quickly and she nods.
"Dad, you wanna come?"
"Oh, no, no. This is something that…" He waves his hand toward the nurse. "Go
ahead. I'll see you guys at dinner tonight."
Bella leans down and kisses his cheek. "Thanks for the pep talk, Dad."
"You'll be fine. Go on now."
I take her hand in mine, and we follow the nurse down a long hallway. She
ushers us into a small exam room. The lights are dimmed and the exam table
takes up the majority of the space.
"Mrs. Cullen, have a seat right here." She pats the edge of the table, the
protective paper crinkling as she slaps it. I help Bella step up the tiny stool
and sit as instructed before I take my designated seat next to the exam table.
"Just a few questions before we get started," she says, mashing the keys on the
computer. A large monitor mounted to the wall flickers to life, and within
another second a breakdown of Bella's personal information fills the screen:
full name, address, date of birth, social security number, height, weight,
everything is on display.
"Could you please verify everything in our system is correct?"
We both scan the display. Nothing looks out of place to me.
"That's everything," Bella says.
"Great. All right." The nurse mashes a few more keys. "First day of your last
menstrual period?"
"June twentieth."
The nurse enters the date into her system. "All right. So you're about twenty-
one, twenty-two weeks."
Bella nods as the nurse types away.
"Is this your first ultrasound with this pregnancy?"
"No. I had one around eight weeks to check for a heartbeat."
"And is this your first pregnancy?"
I'd been dreading this question even though I knew it was coming. I'd prepared
Bella that this would come up again – a lot – this time around, and each time
she seems to handle it better than I do.
"No. I had a miscarriage two years ago."
The nurse enters that information into her system. The most horrific moment of
our lives whittled down to nothing more than a few notes in a chart.
"How far along were you?"
Bella swallows hard. "Seventeen weeks."
The nurse pauses and looks over at us. "I'm so sorry," she says softly.
"Thank you," Bella replies robotically.
The nurse smiles sadly and turns her attention back to the computer. "Did they
perform a D and C?"
"Yes."
"Any complications from the procedure?"
"No."
As the nurse enters this information into her system, Bella looks over at me. I
try to smile, but I'm sure she can see right through me.
"Go ahead and lie back," the nurse instructs. I jump to my feet and try to help
make Bella comfortable, but there isn't much I can really do. "I'm going to
raise your shirt and drape this towel over you to protect your clothes." The
nurse does exactly what she says, repeating the same technique with Bella's
pants.
When the nurse turns away to prepare her instruments, I lean down and kiss
Bella's round belly, placing my hands on either side of my face. "Cooperate
please," I instruct her stomach. A second later I feel a tiny nudge under my
left hand. This isn't the first time I've felt our baby kick, but it's still
just as amazing. My eyes flash to Bella's and she giggles.
"Somebody talking back already?" the nurse asks sarcastically.
"Any recommendation on good discipline techniques?" I ask with a laugh.
"I'll make you a list," she says. "Has the baby been very active?"
"Yeah, I guess," Bella says. "It really gets worked up when daddy is playing
the piano."
"Ah, so we have a music critic on our hands."
"Or another ballerina." I wink at Bella.
The nurse approaches the table with a bottle of conductive gel, shaking it a
little. "This shouldn't be too cold." She squirts the gel across Bella's belly
and reaches for the ultrasound probe.
"Watch the monitor behind my head," she instructs as she touches the wand to
Bella's skin. A flurry of black and white static fills the screen before a
shape begins to form.
"What am I looking at?" Bella asks.
"That," the nurse says, slowly adjusting a few knobs on her equipment, "is your
baby's belly." She moves the wand slightly. "And that," she says, pointing to
the fluttering white oval in the center of the screen, "is your baby's heart."
She holds the wand in place, taking some measurements before flipping a switch
on the machine and filling the room with the whooshing sounds of the heartbeat.
Bella grips my hand tighter, and until this moment, I didn't realize she was
holding it.
"I'm getting around 148 beats per minute."
"Is that good?" Bella asks.
"It's perfect," I answer.
"All right," the nurse announces again, "let's move on to the fun stuff." She
circles the wand, spreading the conductive gel higher across Bella's stomach.
"There's an arm. And a hand right there. And…," she circles the wand a little
higher, and a crystal clear image of our baby's profile fills the screen.
"There's your baby's face. The nose, obviously, and the mouth right here."
Bella lifts her other hand and covers her eyes, and I tear my eyes from the
monitor to look at her. That's when I notice the tears streaming down her
cheeks. I lean down and kiss her forehead as a huge sob shakes her chest.
"Would you like to stop for a moment?" the nurse asks.
"No, no," Bella says emphatically. "I'm OK. It's just…" She takes a deep breath
and wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand.
"I know," the nurse says. "I bawled like a baby when I was on that table, both
times."
Bella looks at the monitor again, and after a long moment, a timid smile
spreads across her face. Then she starts to giggle. She has to cover her mouth
with her hand as her chuckles turn into laughter.
"We're having a baby," she says, staring at me in awe.
I can't help but laugh with her. "Yes, we are." I stare at her, confused.
"I mean, I guess I was just… I didn't want to get too attached to the idea in
case…"
My amused smile fades as her words sink in. She's been holding back from
accepting this, keeping herself from becoming emotionally involved in case the
unimaginable happened again.
I suddenly felt guilty for all the joy I'd experienced over the past five
months. I could barely contain my excitement when Bella told me the news. I
thought I would burst when she wanted us to wait until after the first
trimester to tell our parents. I guess I'd been so distracted with the little
things - watching Bella's belly grow, feeling our baby kick for the first time
– that I didn't notice that she was distancing herself from this.
And now – now it's all crashing down on her in this moment. She looks
terrified.
I brush her hair back from her forehead and kiss her again. "Love, everything
is fine. Everything is going to be fine. We're going to be a family, all three
of us."
"Would you like to know the sex?" the nurse asks.
I stare at my beautiful wife for a moment, silently asking her what she wants.
Slowly, she smiles and nods her head, her eyes never leaving mine.
The nurse shifts in her seat and adjusts the wand lower on Bella's belly.
"Let's see if we can get this little one to cooperate like daddy asked."
"Is that what you meant?" Bella asks.
I shrug, sheepishly, and focus on the monitor on the wall.
"See that, right there?" the nurse asks, pointing to a spot on the screen.
"I don't see anything," Bella says.
"Exactly," I mumble and turn to look at my wife. "It's a girl."
"Really?" she says, a hopefully edge to her voice. She glances at the nurse,
and I see her nod her confirmation from the corner of my eye.
"Do you guys have any girl's names picked out?"
"Carlie," Bella blurts out.
"Carlie?" I repeat. "Where did that come from?"
"Just now, in the waiting room, your dad was telling me stories about our
parents when they were all in college together. My mom was such a scatter-
brain, even back then, and sometimes she'd get confused and call your dad or my
dad 'Carlie' back when they were roommates."
I must be staring at her with a confused expression because she goes on to
explain. "You know, Carlisle and Charlie? Car-lee," she emphasizes.
"No, I get it."
"You don't like it. That's fine. It just popped into my head and - "
"No!" I call out, a bit too loud for the small space. I clear my throat and
start again. "No, I love it. It's - it's perfect actually."
Bella smiles timidly. "Really?"
"Yes. I do. I like it a lot. And I think it would be a great way to honor them
both, especially after everything they've done for us. It's perfect."
Bella turns to look back at the monitor. "Carlie," she whispers, as if she's
trying it out.
"Well, hello there, Carlie," the nurse says. "Be a good girl and hold still so
I can get some good pictures for your mom and dad."
~o0o~
After the ultrasound, Bella and I drive straight to my parents' house. They
invited us for dinner, knowing we had this appointment today, and are chomping
at the bit for all the details. As soon as we give the full report, Bella
disappears upstairs to grab a quick nap before dinner. She still claims that
she sleeps better in my old bed than anywhere else, even on the top-of-the-line
memory foam mattress I purchased after the first night she claimed she couldn't
get comfortable because of her growing belly.
Grabbing a magnet, I secure the picture of Carlie's profile to the front of my
parents' refrigerator. I have to slide a few old photos to the side to ensure
my daughter's first picture has the most predominate spot. Taking a step back,
my eyes scan the rest of the collage: Emmett, Rosalie, Bella and me at prom, me
and Emmett looking like total dorks in our caps and gowns, several shots of
Bella in her many performance costumes over the years, Bella and I at the
Seattle sculpture garden, me and Carlisle grinning like idiots at my med school
graduation.
Over the years, the front of my parents' refrigerator has become a scrapbook of
our family's special moments. I love to look back over our happy memories, but
I can't help to feel a little guilty that we weren't able to start this
collection earlier. It's fitting that the majority of the pictures are of
Bella. If she'd never come into my life, I'm not sure how much of this
compilation would exist today.
"Did you reach Charlie?" Carlisle asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I can't seem to take my eyes away from my daughter's picture. "Yeah. I called
him right after Bella went upstairs."
Carlisle walks up behind me, patting my shoulder. "And what does he think about
having a granddaughter?"
"Oh, I didn't tell him that part, or her name. I thought Bella would want to be
there for that. I just told him that everything went fine, that Bella is
resting now, and that we'd call him together tonight. I did send him that
picture," I nod toward the fridge, "with my phone."
"Emily does get the best shots."
"Emily?"
"Nurse Emily, your ultrasound tech today. She gets the clearest pictures of
anyone in that department."
"Ah, so you did mess with Bella's appointment."
Carlisle shrugs sheepishly. "Only the best for my daughter... and my
granddaughter."
We are both quite for a long moment, staring at the new black and white photo
in the center of the fridge. Carlisle's hand is still on my shoulder, and he
squeezes it gently.
"I'm really touched… by the name, I mean. Thank you."
"Bella suggested it. But I think it's perfect," I turn my head to the side to
look at my father, "after everything you and Charlie have done for us. She
wouldn't be possible if it weren't for you."
He squeezes my shoulder again and turns back to look at the fridge. "A girl,"
he repeats in amazement. "What do you do with a girl?" he chuckles.
"You feed it."
We both turn to see a very sleepy Bella standing in the doorway. "Carlie's
hungry. Is dinner almost ready?"
I walk over to her, placing both hands on her belly and kiss her forehead.
"Yes. The steaks just came off the grill, and the table is already set. I was
just about to come wake my girls up."
"Great. I'm starving," she mumbles around a yawn.
"Let me go get Esme," Carlisle announces as he walks past us toward his office.
"She's probably still on the phone with your brother or Rose giving them the
news."
I don't take my eyes off my wife, running my fingers through her thick, tangled
hair. "I hope she has your hair," I mumble when Carlisle is out of earshot.
"I hope she has your eyes," she counters.
"I hope she loves to dance."
Bella rolls her eyes. "I hope she loves to play music."
"I hope she's nothing like me when she's a teenager."
"Oh, I'm not doing that," she says determinately. "I signed up to have a baby,
not a teenager."
I laugh. "I hope she has your sense of humor."
Bella wraps her arms around my waist and leans against my chest as I continue
to stroke her hair. "I hope we're good parents," she whispers.
"I think we'll be all right. We've got some good examples to follow."
I pull back slightly and Bella releases her hold on my waist. Taking her hand,
I lead her to the table. My parents join us a moment later, and everyone begins
chattering excitedly about the events of the day.
I lean back in my chair, simply watching my family. We'd sure come a long way
over the last ten or so years. We'd survived so many storms, and though some
left us tattered and bruised, we always emerged, standing solidly on the other
side. I'm sure there will be more trials to come in our future, but that
knowledge doesn't worry me. My family has a strong foundation, and more
importantly, whatever life decides to throw at us, we will face it – together.
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