Gif #: 28
Title: Edge of Desire
Word Count: 11,943
Pairing: Edward/Bella
Rating: M
Summary: Edward Cullen abandoned everything to become a musician. Four years later, he's returned to Forks, uncovering the love he never knew his best friend harbored. But fame comes with a price. As they move toward the edge of desire, they struggle to repair the damage, but will it be enough? A story of friendship, love, and learning to trust when the only way to go is up.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.
The title and respective lyrics are property of John Mayer.
-:-
Edge of Desire
June 2008
Calloused fingers gently relaxed into the chords' shapes: G, D, A, C, and back again. I wasn't even sure he realized he was doing it. His right hand stayed at his side, afraid that if it brushed against the strings, his parents would wake. Anything past midnight was a curfew violation. But he ached to, wanting to hear the beautiful melody that he'd been piecing together for weeks now. I always loved watching him as he wrote new compositions or created new music. Sometimes he would sit for hours, pencil in hand, looking at the instruments, then his sheet, just thinking. Other times, his hand couldn't scribble across the page fast enough, finishing lyrics within half an hour or less. That was my favorite. There was such raw, unaltered passion, all of his thoughts laying before him without second-guessing or doubting himself. He could change it later, he knew. But watching him become caught up in the moment, cheeks glowing and eyes bright, was something of which I never tired.
I'd been best friends with Edward Cullen my entire life. He was the peanut butter to my jelly, the mac to my cheese, the one who filled the empty silences with laughter and music. I couldn't remember a time without him at my side, and I didn't want to.
Forks first learned that Edward had unparalleled talent when he played for the sixth grade talent show, creating his own rendition of R.E.M's Losing my Religion. His smooth-as-honey voice melted the heart of every girl in the audience; it was hard to dispute. He was talented. He was confident. He was the person who could twist every harsh rejection he received and make them a challenge. He wanted to prove people wrong. He wanted to leave Forks as a legend, reminding everyone who ever doubted him that they had misjudged him.
I didn't mind following in his shadow. I was just the writer, the girl who sat with a notebook in her spare time and wove stories that no one would ever read. I wasn't brave like Edward. I couldn't send my work out to literary agents and publications without working myself into a panic. I was content with keeping my novels and short stories to myself while he fearlessly sent out his home-recorded demo to every producer in the business. With each rejection or lack of response, he grew stronger. With that, I fell more and more in love with him.
He just didn't know it, exactly.
He'd started to perform at coffeehouses in Port Angeles, gigs on Fridays at a nightclub in Seattle, and as many school-related functions as he could. It wasn't enough, but he wasn't going to give up. His biggest dream was moving to Los Angeles and become someone who could sell out fifty thousand seat stadiums, someone who could inspire people with his music. He wanted it all, and if he tried hard enough, he would get it. But I would never tell him that I secretly hoped he would stay in Seattle, playing those small gigs and coffeehouses; it was comfortable, familiar. Change meant him leaving, and I didn't know how to cope with that.
I was startled as he placed the guitar down, rousing me from my sleepy haze. I closed my eyes again, snuggling underneath the blanket against his side. I heard the gentle rhythm of his breathing, the familiar way his hands tapped against his chest as if he couldn't stop moving, not even for a minute. His incessant drumming was something I'd become used to; a constant in the chaos. I laughed quietly, and he turned toward me, his smile glowing in the moonlight.
"What's funny?"
"Nothing," I whispered. His eyes were startlingly green, interested, and words were lost. "Just thinking."
He didn't push any further. The blanket pulled warmly around us, and I listened to the bitter wind blowing through the woods until my eyes drooped heavily and I was pulled to sleep. I awoke at three o'clock in the morning, his arms wrapped tightly around me, his lips brushing against my temple. I sighed. It hurt, not having him know how I felt, but I was a coward. I always would be.
-:-
We were set to graduate the first week of June, and Forks was nervously antsy with preparations. Our class was the biggest, with almost two hundred students, and I couldn't find words to explain how happy I was to finish high school. It was a new beginning, a time where everything in the past would wash away and I could start over with whatever I wanted. But it also scared me. With a new beginning, things would be ending. Good things. Everything I'd ever known was rapidly spiraling toward a dead end, and I was helpless to stop it.
Edward and I didn't talk about the future. I wanted to tell him how I felt, but we'd never defined what we had, and talking about it meant having that conversation that revealed everything. We'd kissed. We spent every day together. We went out on what some would call dates, but we never acknowledged it as such. We'd just had fun together, but stupidly, right up until when it had to end. I wasn't his girlfriend, really; his friend, yes, but they were in very different categories. I held everything bottled up within me, wanting so badly to tell someone about it, anyone, but I couldn't. Aside from him, the only person I trusted enough was Alice, his younger sister, and if she knew, she'd tell everyone in the Pacific Northwest within hours.
I would be going to the University of Washington, Seattle, in the fall. Edward was still undecided. I couldn't imagine time without him, but that didn't matter. He would move to Seattle, at least, and go from there. That was my only saving grace.
Friday afternoon, I'd gotten home from school and was getting my graduation cap and gown ready for the following weekend. I laid everything in front of me, frowning at the creases in the fabric, still not believing that after next week, I wouldn't be a high school student anymore. I hadn't heard from Edward all day; he'd driven to Tacoma for an audition earlier that morning, and I checked my phone every few minutes for an updated text. Whenever I saw nothing, my heart felt heavy, and I tried to remind myself that there was no point in becoming frustrated over it. If he wanted to tell me how it had gone, he would.
At six o'clock, right as I was starting dinner, I heard wheels spitting gravel in the driveway. Charlie was on a police retreat in Vancouver and wouldn't be home until Sunday night and Renee was out, so I knew it could only be one person. Excitedly, I opened the front door and looked outside, just in time to see Edward's silhouette cut through the shadows and hurry up the porch stairs. His arms wrapped around me, spinning around happily, his laughter echoing down the empty street.
"Good news?"
His smile was wider than I'd ever seen it, but there was something hollow in his eyes, something that frightened me. "Come on," he said, "let's go inside. I have something exciting to tell you."
-:-
He went into the liquor cabinet and brought out a bottle of champagne, something my parents never drank but kept around for sentiment. He popped the cork and poured two glasses, and as I took the stem gently, I knew it was something big. Edward was rarely so enthused over anything. As we each took a sip, the alcohol simmering warmly beneath our skin, he looked at me. "I did it, Bella."
My brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" Something about his tone made me nervous.
He shifted in his seat, his right hand tapping against the arm of the couch. "I did it. They liked me. God, finally, someone liked me."
"Edward, you're not making any sense. What did you do?" I took another sip, deeper than the first, wanting the effects to work faster. Something told me I was going to need it.
"I went to the audition, just like any other day, you know? I wasn't expecting anything special - it was for some gig at a wedding reception, or something. But there was a producer from Columbia Records there. His daughter was the one getting married. He heard me play and came up to me after, saying that he thought I had promise and he wanted to talk more with me. So we had lunch."
"Lunch?" Lunch in that industry was never good. It meant business.
Unless you're Edward, who clearly thought it was the best thing he'd ever experienced. He nodded excitedly. "Lunch," he repeated. "He listened to my demo, we talked about what I was aiming for, and Bella…God, Bella, he wants me to go down to Hollywood to show my music to others. He wants to offer me a record deal if it goes well."
I didn't know what to say. I knew what the correct response was. I should've been happy. Ecstatic, over-the-moon happy. But I couldn't even move. I focused on my breathing until I felt lightheaded, taking another sip of champagne. The bubbles made me nauseous, and I placed the glass down. I couldn't look over at him.
"Bella?" His hands rested against my knees. "Are you okay?"
I hated how concerned he sounded. I hated that even though I was a horrible friend, he still turned the attention around on me. "Fine," I mumbled, finally braving a glance at him. "Is…is that what you want?"
He looked surprised. "Of course. I've wanted this for years, and it's finally here. I just…I can't believe it."
I couldn't either. "That's great," I whispered, my voice breaking. "That's really great." I didn't sound convincing, not even to myself, but Edward didn't even seem to notice. He was on his phone, calling everyone in his family who would answer, sharing the good news. I could hear their squeals of delight through the receiver, making the guilty pit in my stomach grow even more.
Edward couldn't leave. He just couldn't. While we hadn't had a plan, and he didn't know what he was going to do after graduation, we had an idea. A dream - albeit mine was very different than his. I pictured him playing gigs in Seattle, joining that scene as I attended classes. We'd get an apartment somewhere for dirt-cheap, being the poor students that we were, and eventually, things would unravel from there.
This is exactly what he wants, and it killed me more than anything.
I felt selfish, not wanting the best for him. Absolutely, gut-wrenchingly selfish. But the thought of him being away from me for however long when I hadn't even told him how strongly I felt was horrible. He was still my best friend, first and foremost, and California was a long ways away.
As we sat later that evening, curled beneath the afghan like we did most nights, I felt numbed by the alcohol and the fear. Edward finally looked over, lost in his own world filled with recording studios, sold out concert halls, expensive instruments, and real believers. His voice was quiet as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Want to know a fact about you?"
This was his game, the same one he'd been playing since we first became friends. We used to alternate, sharing little details about ourselves until they became so personal we couldn't believe we were actually sharing them with another person; now, we noticed things about the other person, so little that no one else would ever realize them. He undoubtedly knew more about me than anyone, possibly even myself.
"Depends on what it is."
"You're not happy," he answered, blunt honesty shining through. He was cheating. "Why?"
I didn't know what to say. I couldn't tell him the truth, unless I wanted to end up with the status of worst possible friend ever. I shrugged, playing with the blanket's fringe. "I don't know. I guess…I don't know. It's nothing."
"Bella…"
I sighed. "I'm scared you'll forget about me."
My voice was quiet, broken, and Edward never responded. His arms tightened around me, focusing on the sound of our tandem breathing. Finally, his lips pressed against my cheek, and I smiled sadly.
"Want to know another fact about you?" he whispered, not waiting for a reply. "You smile whenever I kiss you."
I laughed quietly, leaning into his embrace. I couldn't imagine not feeling it anymore, no matter what we were labeled as. "That's because I like it."
We never spoke about it beyond that. Either we didn't want to, in fear of what would come of it, or we didn't know how. I never was sure. The days passed, graduation came and went, and before I knew it, Edward was packing up his belongings and booking his one-way ticket to Los Angeles International Airport. I rode along with him in silence on the day he was set to leave; his family had stayed back at the house, having said their goodbyes, knowing how difficult it would be. I gave them credit; I hadn't known how hard it would truly be until we arrived at Forks' only train station, the one way to travel to the airport in Seattle.
He unloaded his luggage and slammed the trunk, handing me the keys. "Be careful," he said with a laugh, though it fell flat. "She's my baby."
I took them carefully, looking at the familiar key chains that Edward had been collecting since he was sixteen. He'd saved up for this car for years, a brand new S60 Volvo that he took care of as if it actually was his own child. He never let anyone drive it until today, and while I use to badger him relentlessly to let me take a spin every once in a while, the feeling of finally being able to do so was more crushing than anything.
Drizzle misted down onto Forks, and a cold wind blew through the valley, unusual for summer. I wrapped my arms around myself as I watched Edward go toward to the booth and purchase a one-way ticket to Seattle. My heart pounded erratically, and I looked out across the train tracks. Weeds had overgrown, old farmhouses abandoned, and the platform was eerily silent. At half past one, the train eased into the station, its light cutting through the dense fog and whistle echoing loudly. Edward and I watched as it slowed to a stop, him with wonder, me with dread. I clutched his hand tightly as they began calling for passengers. It was happening too quickly.
"I'll miss you." I looked away shyly. This hadn't ever been part of our agreement, part of our unlabeled relationship. It was inherent, always there, but when I needed stability the most, I felt like I was grasping at smoke.
He tilted my chin up, his eyes blazing with something I couldn't recognize. Fear, maybe. Excitement toward the unknown. "You know I won't forget about you," he replied. "Remember that."
I nodded, though I didn't know if I believed him. "Call me when you get to L.A, okay? Watch out for all the crazies. I've heard there's a lot there." My voice was ready to crack, tears threatening to spill over, but if there was one thing Edward hated, it was crying. I wasn't going to be sad. He'd promised me he wouldn't forget, right?
I didn't know if that was enough.
They announced the final boarding call for his train, and his arms wrapped around me tightly. My cheek pressed against his chest, cold breaths coming out in frosted pants against the rain. His lips pressed against mine tenderly, then once more, his right hand running through my hair.
"It'll only be a little while," he reminded me, picking up his suitcase. "I'll visit in a month or two. Who knows, maybe nothing will come out of this and I'll already have moved back by then."
But we both knew that wouldn't happen.
He boarded the train, taking a seat by the window. His face pressed against the glass, not looking away until the smoke began to billow from the engine and the wheels began to turn. As I watched the train pull away from the station, tears streamed down my cheeks, hot and exhausting. I held onto the kiss for as long as I could, remembering the way his lips lingered on mine, but eventually, the feeling faded.
Life would go on. People would change. They would forget. Resentment would build.
I could only hope Edward wouldn't.
-:-
December 2012
Mail could either make or break someone's day. This was universally true. I liked to start with universally true facts; they were a constant. They helped me work through the panic.
Maybe someone had received a letter from a long-lost friend or relative, something they could open with excitement and cherish, realizing the person was thinking of them. Maybe it was a collection of photographs from a recent vacation, freshly printed. Or maybe it was a stack of bills that cluttered the dining room table, a jury summons, a parking ticket. Maybe it was a pink slip, stating you'd lost your job. Maybe it was an eviction notice, along with your furniture scattered around the lawn.
I would've taken any of those things over what I received.
I'd just finished my shift at Forks' only cafe and was ready for a weekend off with nothing to do but read, write, and try to unwind from my horrible job before I had to go back for the early morning shift on Monday. I walked home, taking the route across town and through one stretch of woods, the trees tall and dark. The sun had begun to set, giving way to a blackened, swollen cloud cover, the thunder rumbling as I stepped up to the front gate. Charlie had been at various doctor's appointments throughout the day and was undoubtedly resting; I could tell by the FedEx package on the porch that he hadn't stepped outside in several hours. I opened the mailbox flap, pulling out the thin stack of envelopes, and reached for the magazine at the bottom. It was my guilty pleasure; I never believed a word in them, but when you lived in a place like Forks, you became desperate for some kind of gossip. It was even better when it didn't involve people you actually knew.
But when I looked down at the glossy cover, reading the various headlines and story titles, my heart skipped a beat. This happened every so often, but whenever it did, it didn't get any easier. Edward's stupid face looked up at me, airbrushed and perfect, that same crooked smile that I used to know and love charming every woman in the country.
I knew I shouldn't have subscribed to the damn magazine.
I wavered between tossing it out, like any rational person would, and reading up on his life, like I usually did. It was pathetic. I chose the latter, hiding it under the stack of bills as if I was ashamed to even be in its presence. Maybe I was. I opened and shut the door quickly; I usually reveled in the silence after a busy day at work, but now it felt eerie, out of place. Lonely, as if serving as a stark reminder of everything that had changed.
I carefully sat down on the couch, resting the tabloid on my lap. I would regret reading the article. I knew I would. But there was something masochistic that called to me, making me want to read about his success and his fame and the way he completely disregarded everything in his life pre-Hollywood. I opened right to the centerfold where a photograph of him had been printed, showing him at his sold-out concert in Madison Square Garden. From that angle, you could see everything: the flashing lights, the screaming fans, that same stupid smile on his face as he looked out onto everything he had achieved. Everything he'd ever wanted.
I closed my eyes, my heart aching.
I could still feel the way his fingers brushed against my cheekbone, the way they tangled in my hair as his lips pressed against mine on those rare occasions. I could smell the cologne he wore, unchanged after all those years, and I could feel the rough calluses on his palms. I pictured the way we sat on my porch steps late at night, his arm around me, my head resting in his lap.
"I'm scared you'll forget about me."
The words had been heavy, searing, lodged in my throat like syrup. I hadn't wanted to say it. His flight had been only days away, the biggest move he'd ever make in his life. I was scared. Terrified beyond belief.
But he'd brushed the hair away from my eyes, squeezed my hand, and whispered, "You know I won't."
I shook the thought away. The memory was worn at the edges, like a favorite childhood blanket, but there was something about it that stayed with me, refusing to let go. It was one of the last things I remember about him. Forgetting would be almost as bad as him doing the same.
The article covered two pages, with a collection of photographs wedged within the small print. I skimmed the interview, reading the discussion about his new album being released next month and what his plans were now that the hard work was finished. It was the same thing I'd read a thousand times; his answers didn't vary often. But it was that particular response that caught my eye.
"With the downtime, I'd like to spend some time with my family," Cullen stated over lunch at The Polo Lounge in Beverly Hills. "It's been too long since I've been able to relax, watch football games, hang out with my siblings. I miss the small town feel."
I read over the words twice, just to make sure I hadn't missed anything crucial, like the word vacation, or relocation. But there was nothing. Just references to the unnamed small town in which he'd grown up, and how he couldn't wait to spend the holidays there.
He was coming back to Forks.
My Forks.
Before I could stop myself, I threw the magazine across the room. It hit the wall angrily, the picture of his stupid face crumpled, but I didn't feel more than a little better. It didn't stop my heart from racing, or the blood from pounding in my head. I wanted to scream.
He was coming back to Forks.
I hated him for it. For everything.
Once he'd left for Los Angeles, everything changed in an instant. Some people tell stories about a grace period, after which things gradually faded away into nothing. I didn't even get that much. The minute he stepped foot on Hollywood soil, he was a different person. More arrogant, more up-front. Changed. I called him every day to see how things were going, and became well acquainted with his voicemail. This is Edward, it would say. I'm out chasing my dreams. Leave a message and I'll try to get back to you.
Not once did I receive a phone call. Not once did I get a text, or an email, nor a letter via carrier pigeon. I didn't care how it arrived. I just wanted him to keep his promise. But he never once took a minute to talk to the people who had stood behind him through the late-night rants and discouragement, who had been his support system since the beginning. Not even his best friend, the person who had held his hand through everything, the person he promised he wouldn't forget.
It was bullshit.
After Renee abandoned Charlie and me - moving to Florida to "discover herself," which turned into a new Major League Baseball playing fiancé, a new house, and a complete disregard for her former life - I knew I couldn't leave Dad. He buried himself in his work at the police station, but he wasn't the same. He was quieter, dimmer, and me leaving would've killed him, especially once the cancer came back. I put my writing dreams on hold, took up waitressing, and watched deliriously as Edward Cullen continued to rise to fame.
I did hate him. More than anything.
A bottle of red wine was gone in a few hours, making my thoughts hazy and my memory nostalgic. I turned on the Mat Kearney album that Edward and I used to sit and listen to for hours, tapping along to the beat like he would. I sat atop the windowsill overlooking the Cullen's yard, remembering the days when Edward and I would whisper back and forth through makeshift tin-can telephones. As we got older, on those nights when Charlie had overnight shifts, he would sneak up the lattice and stay with me until the sun rose. We would never do anything more than talk until we were too tired to respond, my head resting against his shoulder, listening to his fingers drum against his chest. It was always soothing. Now, the thought made me feel empty, incomplete, as if I was looking in on a memory that didn't belong to me.
I fell asleep with the blanket tucked across my legs, my cheek pressed against the windowpane. Saturday was spent dreading Sunday, watching as the drizzle fell across the forest, and Sunday was spent with my stomach in knots. By the time the following week came, the time Edward was due to arrive, I was a mess. Forks was still as close-knit, people still gossiped: he'd been the talk of the town since the article was published, and his train, in-bound from Seattle, arrived that afternoon. I couldn't pretend I wasn't looking out the cafe windows every time a car drove by, and by the time noon came and went, I knew three things: Edward wasn't here, I shouldn't care if he was, and I hated myself that I did.
I wiped my hands on my apron and cleared the empty coffee cups and sticky plates, taking them to the back to be washed. The rain was pouring harder, creating puddles in the road's divots and washing out the town, buildings and trees reduced to nothing but blurs across the street. I hummed along to John Prine playing on the radio above, took an extra afternoon shift, and kept myself busy with the dinner rush, still frustrated that I couldn't get his arrival off my mind.
I locked up the cafe at nine o'clock, holding the umbrella above my head as I began the walk home. My feet sloshed in the rain, the sound comforting and familiar as I turned onto our street. I'd almost convinced myself that the tabloids - and the rest of Forks - had been wrong, and that Edward wasn't even coming. He was probably at his expensive Malibu home, laughing at the thought of spending any time with the backward, rural folks from his hometown. But that train of thought halted abruptly as I looked down the street where it was typically quiet, lonely, and serene. Where nothing was ever out of place. Where nothing ever changed.
I could hear his voice now.
The porch bulbs at the Cullen's house flooded the street with light, and through the open windows, I could hear that distinct laugh. It was too difficult to forget. I couldn't imagine how happy his family was to finally have him back, and I didn't want to. I didn't want to think of the way he always said I fit so seamlessly into their home, a part of their family. How one day, I could be another piece to the puzzle, something I hadn't ever felt in my own family. He would never know how I coveted the thought. How much it hurt when it had been taken away.
I hurried up the steps and locked the front door, refusing to look back. My breathing was heavy, my stomach was knotted, and I was surprised to feel the tears welling in my eyes.
"Bella? Is that you?"
The same greeting every day. "Hi, Dad." I put my umbrella away and hung my coat on the hook before walking into the kitchen where Charlie sat, finishing the last few bites of his dinner. "How are you?"
He'd looked better lately, more healthy. His face rounded out, and his eyes had that spark that I hadn't seen in years. "Pushing forward," he said with a weak smile, struggling to stand and clear his plate. "How was work?"
He knew. I could tell. "Slow, as usual. Glad to be home."
"Forks isn't as slow as it normally is today."
I tactfully looked away before my glossy eyes could appear again. "How so?"
I caught his eye as I reached for the water pitcher on the table; his gaze was filled with pain, with longing. I knew he'd never forgiven Edward completely.
He leaned in to hug me. "You don't need to act strong, Bells. It's okay."
My lower lip trembled and I nodded, leaning into the embrace before pulling away. "You should rest," I said, my voice shaking. "It's getting late."
He nodded, placing a kiss on my forehead before retiring to his bedroom. One thing I appreciated about Charlie: he didn't hover.
One memory was all it took to destroy the carefully constructed walls a person spent so many years trying to maintain. His departure instilled things in me that I wouldn't have acquired if he hadn't left: I became stronger, more guarded. Jaded, some said, but everything came with a price. I had been young and stupid when we were together, if you could even call it that; I should've known better. I should've stopped myself before I got hurt. I shouldn't have let myself dream so much.
I took the stairs slowly, as if I was afraid of what I would find when I reached the top. My bedroom was quiet, empty, just as it always was, but something felt foreign. I kept the lights off, watching the shadows dance against the walls, and with my thoughts numb, I walked to the window. His room, across the yard from mine, was dark, just as I'd expected. I pictured the way we used to write notes back and forth to each other, pinning them against the glass for the other to see. It was our special code.
I drew the curtains before I could start thinking too much and climbed into my pajamas after turning off the light. It was early, but I didn't want my mind to start wandering to the green-eyed boy who had stolen my heart and my dreams who was only a few hundred feet away.
-:-
It was naive to think I would be able to ignore Edward while he was visiting. Forks' population was growing, but I couldn't forget that it was still a small town, and people would talk. The next morning, his picture graced the front page of the Forks Forum, accompanied by a long story detailing his "highly successful career" and quoting how happy everyone was to have him home. I tossed it away without reading the entire thing. The air was crisp, my breath frosting as I stepped out onto the porch and laced my tennis shoes. I loved to run early in the morning before the town arose for the day; I'd acquired that habit, stupidly, from Edward.
I focused on my breathing as my feet hit the pavement. I took the same route as I always did, going down toward the beachfront, across town, and through the forest before winding my way back home. Music played loudly through my ear buds, and after several uncountable miles, I slowed my pace and came to a stop on the edge of town. I leaned against one of the Evergreens, content with the way that getting out of the house and spending a few minutes within my normal routine could calm me. Out there, in the middle of the forest, having Edward home didn't seem so bad. Trivial, really. I could continue on with my daily life, and one day, he would leave again. He couldn't pull himself away from Hollywood for too long.
I took a swig of water, listening as the birds chirped ahead with the arrival of the unbroken cloud cover. It was peaceful, quiet, until I heard the familiar pattering of footsteps behind me. As I turned to look at the path from which I'd just come, I saw copper colored hair that I recognized all too well, and my heart began to crash erratically. I looked away, but he'd already seen me.
"Bella!"
I cringed. I hadn't been called that, except by my father, since he'd left. I didn't know what to say, and in true Edward form, he didn't give me time to respond with anything. As he came to a stop, his arms wrapped around me tightly, his skin sticky with sweat. I remained limp, unsure of what to do. As the drizzle turned to rain, the hair matted to my face, and I felt wholly unattractive as I stood beside his glorified, Hollywood-esque form. He looked down at me, eyes shining; I could hardly recognize him. This wasn't my Edward.
"I can't believe I ran into you," he said, brushing his own hair away from his face. "How are you? It's been a long time."
I wanted to hit him, scream at him, remind him that it was his own fault. "It has," I murmured, the only suitable response I could conjure. Even the silence between us was different, tense, more stifled; before, we could remain silent for hours, understanding what each person wanted to say without words. Now, it felt like it passed after strenuous hours, and I didn't know what to say.
"You're still in Forks, then?"
I looked around at the wooded landscape, the foggy inlets, the broken-down homes. "I don't know anything else," I answered flatly. "But you…"
I didn't have to finish. He looked down at the muddy path, suddenly very interested in his own footfalls. "I thought it would be nice to come back for a little while."
I shrugged, turning away. "It was nice to see you," I tried to say, but his hand reached out and touched my shoulder.
"Would you like to go out sometime? Maybe get coffee, or something?"
I hated the nonchalant way he suggested it, as if we could simply catch up over a latte in an hour. There was too much damage, too much time that had passed. I shook my head, even though it killed me. "I don't know if that's a good idea."
His face fell, although I knew he wasn't as upset as he seemed. He couldn't be. "Are you sure? C'mon, Bells, I want to hear about what you've been up to. A coffee won't hurt anything."
"You'd already know if you'd bothered to keep your promise."
The words stung, and my point came across clearly.
They broke his facade, too. "Just one outing, Bella. It couldn't make things worse."
I didn't see how that was true. I turned away, replacing my earbuds and turning up the volume on my music. His words were drowned out, and I gave him a slight wave before continuing down my regular path. I didn't want to think about Edward. I didn't want to see him while he was here. And he was making both extremely difficult by seeking me out.
It only became worse from there. When I returned home, I jumped into the shower, dressed in my traditional Forks' Cafe uniform, and sipped on a glass of orange juice as I looked through the morning paper. Those were things I did every day. Hearing Edward outside, talking to my father on the porch, was not.
I hated the way I felt whenever I heard his voice. It should've been bitterness, hurt, discomfort. Instead, I became nervous, straightening my pleated skirt and checking my hair in the reflection of the window before I could catch myself. I finally went outside, knowing I would have to face him sometime if I was going to make it to my shift on time, and I hated myself for my reaction. I coughed, kissing Charlie on the cheek as I murmured a hasty, 'good morning.'
"Edward and I were just talking about his visit." His voice was tense, but there was something understanding within it, something that made him happy. I hadn't heard that in a long time, from him. Edward was the son he'd never had but always wanted, and to lose him right after losing Renee was almost too much. "He'll be here for two weeks."
"How nice." I slung the strap of my bag over my shoulder. "I'm heading to work. I'll check in with you later."
"We were also talking about how nice it would be if you'd agree to go out with me."
I turned back, facing Edward. "We talked about this already," I replied curtly.
"Just lunch, Bella. Don't be difficult."
I rolled my eyes, propping the umbrella open as the clouds began to open up to the shower. "No."
The constant denying hurt me. He wouldn't believe it if I told him that, but it did. I wanted so badly to sit there and catch up over coffee, like old friends from high school should, but too much had changed between us. It wasn't just a nostalgic friendship that had worn over time; it was something he'd chosen to sever. That told me more than enough about his mindset and what he wanted.
Work passed slowly. I cleared used mugs, made countless cups of coffee, wiped down the sticky counters, and avoided looking out onto the town sidewalks, just in case Edward had decided to grace everyone else with his presence, too. My shift was almost over, nearing nine o'clock, when the bells rang overhead, announcing the arrival of a new customer. I sighed. I prepared my notepad as I exited the kitchen and went to the only occupied table, but almost turned around when I saw him sitting there, looking through the scarce menu.
"What are you doing here?" Sometimes it felt like nothing had changed, but then I remembered I wasn't just kidding with him. "I told you, I'm not going out with you."
"And I told you, I'm not giving up." He smiled, but there was hurt behind it; he hadn't seen rejection in a long time. "Give me one good reason why you won't go out with me."
"I'm too busy."
"After work, then?"
"I'll be tired."
"On a weekend?"
"I have other things I'd rather be doing."
"God, Swan. Way to cut me where it hurts."
I shrugged, unable to look at him. I felt horrible. "Can I get you anything?" My voice sounded thick.
"Coffee, if you don't mind." The bravado had faltered slightly, and for a moment, I thought the old Edward was sitting before me. But that stupid smirk returned, one I never saw until he became a headlining act, and I quickly left before I was able to truly feel anything.
I poured the coffee slowly after brewing a fresh pot, although I didn't know why. I added creamer and one sugar, just how I knew he always drank it, and was careful not to spill as I walked back to his table. He was drumming against the edge of the table, writing down some sort of rhythm on a piece of sheet music. I set the mug down, watching for a moment as he worked intently, his hands never ceasing to move.
"You haven't stopped doing that," I commented after a moment, gesturing toward his dancing fingers.
"Habit," he replied with a soft smile. He nodded toward the cup. "Thanks."
I waited for him to ask again, but he remained quiet. I stepped away from the table as another customer came in, and I felt stupid for dwelling on it. I'd told him no. So why did I care?
He left without saying goodbye, and I cleared the remaining tables until it was time to lock up. The walk home seemed longer than usual, giving me time to think as I looked up at the milky moon, illuminating my path. The stars were sprinkled across the dark sky, and I thought back to the times when Edward and I would lie in our meadow and watch the constellations. He would name each formation, and would always smile slyly when I asked if he actually knew what he was saying. But I believed him. I'd believe anything he told me then.
The house was dark when I got home; Charlie was already asleep. I walked quietly up the stairs, changing into my pajamas and moving to close the curtains when I saw something unusual. I peered across the lawn to the Cullen's house, Edward's bedroom window facing mine, and I almost smiled when I saw the sign taped to the glass.
This method never failed. Dinner tomorrow?
He was waiting, and his face lit up once he saw me. I was quick to hide my smile, reaching for a sharpie and piece of paper that I kept by the window, just like I always did for conversations like this. I ignored the pit in my stomach.
Why?
He scribbled his answer quickly.
I miss you
No matter how mad I was at him, I wasn't strong enough to resist those dangerous words. They were what I'd wanted to hear, and once I did, I longed for him so badly. I couldn't help myself. Maybe he did just want to talk. I was wary, but it could've been possible. Maybe things would be better now.
Maybe they wouldn't, but I wouldn't know until I tried.
I sighed, waiting for a moment as I wrote my response.
Meet here at 7
His growing smile was the last thing I saw as I closed the curtains and sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what I'd gotten myself into.
-:-
Edward wouldn't tell me where he was taking me to dinner - I refused to let him call it a date. It wasn't a date. It was dinner between two former friends who hadn't spoken in quite some time, and I was still hesitant about calling it that, too. The more I thought about it and the complications - not to mention heartache - it could cause, I wanted to call and cancel. But I also wanted to see if my Edward was still there, and I couldn't do that by avoiding him.
He arrived promptly at seven, and conversation was slim during the drive. I didn't know what was on or off limits yet, and clearly neither did he; it was only when I realized where we were that I commented, surprised.
"Port Angeles? What are we doing here?"
He winked as he parked the car in an open space along the street. "You'll remember soon."
As we walked along the sidewalk, looking at the different storefronts, we finally stopped in front of a quaint restaurant decorated in white lights and a green awning holding the words Bella Italia. I glanced at Edward, trying not to convey my surprise at him remembering, but he noticed too quickly.
We sat at the same booth in which we'd had our first date, ordering the same mushroom ravioli and talking as awkwardly as if we were actually on a first date. I thought back to the time when we'd first come here: it was before our junior homecoming dance, and we'd decided to go together, for simplicity's sake. I didn't want to be the only one without a date, and Edward was too shy to ask someone, something I didn't mind in the least. We came to this restaurant, and before we knew it, hours had passed and we'd missed half the dance. That always seemed to happen with Edward. Endless amounts of time could disappear, and it felt like a few moments.
"How's Hollywood?" I finally asked, tired of the quiet after thinking about what had been; what could have been. "Was it as different as you thought it would be?"
"It's fine. Definitely different." He took another bite of ravioli, his tone clipped. "The same as it's always been, I guess. Things are busy, but it's worth the chaos."
"Why did you decide to come back to Forks?"
He shrugged. "I was tired of living that lifestyle, I guess. It's nice, and I love everything that comes along with it, but…sometimes you need a break. I missed my family, and I missed Forks, too."
I listened to what he was saying, but it was as if it wouldn't register. "You never visited before, though."
"I…I didn't have time, I guess."
I didn't know how to respond to that. "You hurt a lot of people, Edward. They missed you." I didn't want to include myself in that population, but in the way I said it, it was unavoidable. "Was it really so special out there?"
"I don't know how to explain it. It was…everything I wanted. I achieved everything I've ever dreamed about. But it still came with a price."
"Was it worth it?"
The way he looked at me made my cheeks heat. "I don't know."
I looked down, satisfied. It wasn't perfect, but there was promise; that was something I hadn't felt in a long, long time.
"You didn't call," I murmured.
For the first time, I felt genuine sincerity as I looked at him. "I'm sorry, Bella," he whispered. "I just…I was scared, I guess. There was so much happening, and in the beginning, I failed. I was just a kid trying to make my way into the business along with thousands of other people who knew more and had more talent. I didn't want to have to tell you that I couldn't do it."
I couldn't respond, but sat for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. I didn't know what to think, but as I looked down at the half-eaten dessert and the anxious look on his face, I decided I didn't want to think anymore. It wasn't worth the heartache for one night.
"Do you remember those nights when we used to sneak out and drive here?" I finally asked. "How we'd go to the beach and wonder how long it would take to swim somewhere else, somewhere exciting?"
He nodded, laughing quietly. "Our goal was Tokyo. We would probably be there about now, if we'd given it a shot. I had faith in us."
I found myself laughing along with him before I could stop myself; it felt good. "Me too."
After we left the restaurant, we walked along the boardwalk, looking into the harbor at the different fishing boats and listening to the waves gently lap against the docks. There was silence between us, more comfortable than before, and I felt his hand gently brush against mine. I looked down, watching as his fingers reached forward until they gently interlaced with mine, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him smile when I didn't pull away. He squeezed my hand, and after a moment, I squeezed back.
It felt right.
-:-
Edward was here for a total of two weeks, and the more time I spent with him, the more I felt like it wasn't enough. The thought of a deadline looming in the future made me nervous, but there was something calming in the way Edward told me that I wouldn't regret agreeing to see him.
Christmas came and went; Charlie and I had Christmas Eve dinner at the Cullen's, despite the many reservations on my part, being served a healthy helping of turkey, mashed potatoes, homemade rolls, and homemade chocolate soufflés. We stayed up late, like we used to when we were kids, watching the snowfall out the window. It had become more comfortable, being around him, but I still wasn't sure how to act. I felt his breath against the back of my neck, and I wanted so badly to lean back against him like we used to.
"Want to know a fact about yourself?" he whispered, interrupting my thoughts. I nodded. "When you think about something really hard, you don't listen to a word I say."
I laughed quietly. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"I asked what you were thinking about."
I looked back out the window at the flawless landscape. "Just…everything, I guess. How much things have changed, how sometimes I wish they were the same as they used to be. Nothing that matters, really."
"It does," he answered, and paused for a moment. "I'm sorry, Bella. For everything."
I didn't have the energy to fight him. I wanted to say everything on my mind and tell him exactly how it felt, but this reminded me of the old Edward, the one I could trust with anything, the one who cared. Hollywood was slowly being drained from him, and in that moment, on the cusp of Christmas, it felt like magic. I didn't want to ruin it. Carefully I leaned forward, closing the distance between us, my hands trembling nervously.
His arms wrapped around me as I lay back against his chest, and his lips began to slowly press up and down the side of my neck. I wanted to push away, but I couldn't. Not even if I'd wanted to. Instinctively, my hands reached up into his hair as I tilted my head toward him, catching his lips in a soft kiss. I hadn't thought about it, but the more I thought, the crazier it made me. I closed my eyes, trying to quiet my mind, and his hand cupped my cheek before moving to the hem of my shirt.
As he slowly lifted it over my head, his lips pressed against mine once more. I'd never been in this position before, and I didn't know how to react. His fingers gently brushed against my breasts before reaching behind me, and he looked for a signal. Slowly, I nodded, trembling as the hooks came undone and the bra fell to the floor.
He held himself over me, back arched, as he looked down. The moonlight filtered through the partially open window, and I could feel the blood rushing to my head as he appraised me with such tenderness that I almost couldn't look at him. He lowered his head, lips placing a row of kisses along my neck and collarbone. I gasped as he moved toward my nipples, watching them pebble at the touch. His fingers deftly unzipped my skirt, and it fell to the floor along with his shirt after I'd pulled it over his head. My hands ran across each rippled muscle of his exposed chest and arms, and he bent down as he removed my underwear, slowly, as if making sure I was still okay. I wasn't sure if I was. I could barely breathe.
He kissed the inside of my thighs, stopping just before he reached where I ached for him the most. I ran my fingers along the hem of his boxers before sitting up to my knees, trying not to think of the way his eyes roamed over my body as I helped pull them down. As we bared ourselves to each other, his hand moved to the back of my neck, the other resting against my hip, and he pressed his lips to mine. As it grew more passionate, revealing everything I'd ever wanted, everything I'd been missing, and he placed me back against the pillows. I arched into him, wanting to feel him against every inch of skin, and as I felt him hard against my leg, I let out a quiet moan.
After a moment's pause, he entered me, filling me completely. My gasps grew louder, and I closed my eyes, trying to focus on everything that was happening. I didn't know if I'd ever experience something so wonderful again, and his arm wrapped around my back, holding me to him.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, kissing the tender spot below my ear. "Never forget that."
There was something raw about the way we connected, something real. It was the piece that had been missing, though I knew that I would hate myself if it meant I'd allowed myself to be trapped within his false promises again. But as I looked at his face, beads of sweat trailing down his temples and his eyes vibrant with life, there was nothing false about him.
His thrusts became more frequent, his arms tensing as he bit his lip and came. I followed soon after, and for several moments, we remained listless, tangled in each other's embraces, listening to the sound of our breathing. He collapsed beside me, his lips placing a searing kiss on my forehead.
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart."
-:-
The week passed too quickly, and before long, it was the last day of December. Instead of beautiful, delicate snowflakes that drifted down and gently blanketed the town, it was pouring rain, frosty and numbing, and the sky was lit with streaks of lightning. I sighed. My chin rested against my arm as I looked out the window, watching as the storm blew across Puget Sound. Edward was supposed to come over for lunch, and I'd already made his favorite. The table was set, the candles were flickering, and we had the house to ourselves. Finally, things felt like they were falling into place, just like they should've four years ago. I didn't want anything to ruin it. I'd finally started to trust him; it still wasn't perfect, but compared to the countless days that passed without a word from him, I wouldn't give it up for anything.
I heard the door's hinges creak as they opened and closed, slamming into the frame by the strong wind. I smiled and untucked my legs from beneath me, looking into the foyer. "Edward?"
He entered the room, his cinnamon hair dripping into his eyes, his skin white, nearly translucent. Something in my stomach dropped nervously, and I looked at him in surprise. "What's wrong?"
He wiped the water away from his face; his clothes dripped along the carpet, landing with small plinks. He remained standing, his gaze empty, his shoulders squared as if in defense. "I think we need to talk."
I hated those words. I always had, especially with Edward. Our relationship had survived on not talking, particularly the sort where we had to define whatever we were doing, or when we needed to talk about how we felt. That wasn't who we were. We were fine with going along with whatever happened and sorting out the difficult parts later. But as I thought back to Edward leaving the first time and how lost I'd been when he didn't say a word after, I nodded. "All right."
He took a step toward the window, removing his jacket and placing it on the hook near the door. I offered him coffee, but he declined, shivering in his thin t-shirt. He took a shaky breathing before beginning. "I'm leaving."
I felt as if I'd been hit. "Leaving? Where?" It was a stupid question. I'd known the answer the moment he stepped foot in Forks again. But the shock didn't fade.
"Home, Bella. You can't expect me to stay here forever. My manager called today; I have to play a charity concert in Santa Monica tomorrow, and have an interview on The Today Show the day after. Life goes on."
I stood up, the blanket tumbling to my feet. "This is your home, Edward. Forks. Not whatever you've made down in California. You can't say that those people were there for you when you thought you couldn't make it, or when you wanted to give up. You can't honestly tell me they aren't just riding on your success, and if you ever gave it up, they'd still be there."
His face looked anguished. "It's everything I know," he whispered. "I need to be there. You know how hard I've worked to make it this far."
"You want to be there. There's a difference."
"You're honestly asking me to give up everything I've worked my entire life for? To what, stay in Forks?"
"To stay with me!" My voice was rising now, echoing through the empty house. I felt stupid shouting at him over something that wasn't going to change, but the words kept tumbling forth. "Was that your plan all along? That you were going to attempt to fix things, only to shatter them worse than before?"
"I never meant to." He looked away, and I could tell by the way his jaw tensed that he was growing angry. "But once I saw you, I knew I couldn't just pretend that none of it had ever mattered."
"You did that for four years, Edward. What made this trip any different?"
He was rendered silent. The line may have been approaching, but at that point, I didn't care. I wanted him to know how badly he'd hurt me when he left. I wanted him to know exactly how I felt, what I'd bottled up for years without a word. I wanted him to understand.
"We were so proud of you when you left. So happy that you were finally getting the big break you deserved and were able to chase your dreams. But when you left, you changed. We knew things would be different; I didn't expect anything less. But not once did you call. Not once did you say you were thankful for the support, or grateful for what Forks had given to you. Not once did you bother to even remember your former life; a lesser life, in your eyes." I paused, taking a deep breath. Tears were beginning to fall. "People who break promises don't usually disappoint me, because I know it's going to happen. It's human nature. But with you…I can't tell you how it felt."
"Bella…"
"I'm not finished." My chest felt constricted, as if someone was pressing down on my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. My thoughts were jumbled, and I didn't know what to say next. "I was so crazy about you, Edward. Everyone knew it but you. I always wanted the actual relationship, but what we had still worked. I could imagine it turning into something so special, something legitimate, but…you didn't want that. When you left and never spoke to me again, with the promise of never forgetting, I felt humiliated. Do you know what that's like? Do you know how it feels to feel so rejected, so stupid, because you actually anticipated someone to keep their word?"
He didn't respond.
"It broke my heart. I don't care if we weren't dating for long, or if you didn't consider it dating at all. We were still friends. You're closer to me than anyone in the world, and I felt so embarrassed that I wasn't good enough for you."
He thought for a moment before he spoke. "There wasn't anything I could do about it," he replied gravely. "I got caught up in what they wanted from me, and I couldn't stop that. Quitting would mean giving up my career when it had only just begun."
"I wasn't asking you to quit. I was asking you to compromise."
"There is no compromise, damn it!" His fist hit the coffee table. "Not there. Not with those people. You either give everything you have to make it work, or you lose. You can't change that."
I took a step back. "Hollywood has changed you," I answered quietly. "And I hate it. I hate what the fame has done to you and how much of it has gone to your head. I hate that it made you forget where you came from, who was there for you, how you got to be there. I hate that you don't recognize it now."
"If you hate that, then you hate me, because that's who I am. I'm a part of that lifestyle now, Bella, and you can't just ignore that or ask me to forget it."
"What makes them better than me?" I shouted. I'd never screamed at Edward before, and it left a sour taste in my mouth, the words stinging. "Why would you do anything to please them, but you wouldn't bother to make sure I was ever okay. Do you want to know what happened after you left? Renee left us, too. It killed Charlie. His cancer came back, and it's not going away. I was forced to give up everything I've ever dreamed of, everything I ever wanted, because I had to stay here to take care of everything. Not all of us could go off to California and have a happy, surreal life."
"That wasn't what you wanted, anyway."
"How the fuck would you know what I want? You never once asked me! You love to listen to yourself talk, Edward, but when it comes to anyone else, you don't hear a word. I could've rambled on about everything I ever wanted to accomplish, and the only thing you would hear is silence. You didn't ask about what I wanted. You didn't care what I cared about. You wanted the support, but couldn't give it."
"You think I don't care?" He had the audacity to sound hurt. "You know that isn't true. You have to know it."
"I don't know a damn thing about you anymore. I loved you, Edward. I can't tell you how much. And you threw it back in my face for glamour, fame, and praise that came from strangers. If that's what you want, fine. I don't care anymore." I took a step back, trying to catch up with what I'd just said. I couldn't believe that I'd told him everything I'd been feeling since we were eighteen; I couldn't believe I still felt so strongly about everything after all that time, but it was still as searing as ever, the pain as real as if it had begun yesterday.
"Come with me."
I faltered. "W-What?"
"Come with me." There were no signs of joking on his face, nothing that conveyed that he was anything less than serious. "Move to L.A. It doesn't have to be over."
"You know I can't do that." I looked around the house, the place I'd grown up in. There were pictures on the wall from when I was a little girl, art projects I'd done, my graduation certificate from high school. Everything was here, wrapped up in a neat bow. Charlie was here. "This is my home."
He sighed, looking gently at me. I couldn't understand the expression he wore. "I love you, Bella. I always have. I…I don't want to be without you again."
I looked down at the worn carpet, thinking to all the times I'd heard something similar. Back to the time when he'd promised he would be home soon. I couldn't be a puppet again. I was stupid to fall into that trick when I knew better. "I…I just don't believe you anymore."
The words were sharp against the silent backdrop, and while his mouth opened to respond, he couldn't speak. Finally, he looked away, his fists clenching at his side.
"My train to Seattle leaves at five o'clock," he murmured. "If you want to say goodbye, I'd want to see you. If not…" He let the sentence trail off, and the meaning was clear: we would undoubtedly never see each other again. The door opened and shut as it had before, and I watched as he crossed the dewy lawn and disappeared into his own home.
It felt as if my head was pounding, and my chest ached as I thought over what I had admitted to him and what he had responded with. He claimed he loved me. He claimed he never wanted any of this to happen. But I didn't know what to listen to anymore; I was tired of being hurt.
I fell back against the couch, my legs tucked against my torso, and began to cry.
-:-
It was four thirty. I was watching the clock above the mantle carefully; I didn't want to, but I felt drawn to it, masochistically wanting to feel the time pass as the departure of his train came closer. I didn't want to go see him. I wanted him to understand exactly how it felt when he'd abandoned me, but I couldn't stop thinking about what he'd said. He'd told me he loved me; did he mean it? Or did he mean it in the sense that I would always matter to him, no matter what? I wasn't even sure I could believe that much.
I needed fresh air. I walked out onto the porch, inhaling deeply, trying to rid all thoughts of him from my mind. The crisp breeze helped, and I took my time walking down the walkway, unlatching the gate, and opening the mailbox. There were the usual bills and a letter from my grandmother in Phoenix, the absence of a tabloid blissfully noticed, but something at the bottom felt different. It was crumpled, like it had been hastily placed in with the rest of the mail, and I smoothed it out. The droplets smudged the fresh ink, but it was still legible.
Edge of Desire
By Edward Cullen
3/28/2009
They were lyrics. Lines upon lines of beautiful, raw prose; I could always tell when his music felt forced, obligatory, but this had poured straight from his heart. I looked at the date - it had been written three years prior, during his time in Los Angeles when he was recording albums and becoming someone. As I read through the verses, I could picture him writing them, hunched over his Moleskin notebook with his pencil tip ground into the paper, pressing too hard when he became frustrated, when the words wouldn't come.
2009. During the time when I thought he'd forgotten about me; during the time when I believed he was gone forever. There was a note scrawled at the bottom in his recognizable handwriting, just a few simple words: For you. Everything was always for you.
As read the words more times than I could count, imprinting them into my memory, I came across the realization, startlingly clear. He hadn't broken his promise.
He hadn't forgotten.
I hurried to find my car keys and sweater, throwing things into a bag without thinking twice. Anything I thought I would need; I knew nothing about Los Angeles. I cursed as the engine took its time in waking, but was finally able to back out of the driveway. I wound my way through Forks' residential streets, cutting down Main and across the storefronts before I turned onto the streets edging the town. I could hear the train whistle blowing as it came around the bend, arriving into the station. I parked the truck as quickly as I could, running through the chilling rain until I arrived onto the right platform. I purchased the ticket and turned back, but as I looked through the dense fog, panic set in, widespread and daunting. Had I missed him?
The platform was empty. As the conductor called for all passengers leaving to Seattle, I wondered if he'd left on an earlier train. Maybe he'd decided not to go all together. It was ten minutes to five, and the few waiting underneath the awning had already boarded. I felt the tears stream down my cheeks, the rain running down the length of my spine, soaking me to the bone. I shivered violently, shifting the bag from one hand to the other. The conductor called once more, his voice reverberating throughout the station, but there was no one else.
He looked at me expectantly. "Miss? It's time to get on board. May I help you with your bag?"
I shook my head, teeth chattering. "N-No, not yet. Just one more m-minute, please."
He nodded, looking at his watch. "We'll leave promptly at five o'clock."
I couldn't respond. I could only look at the train, wondering what it would've represented if Edward were here. A new beginning, a new life, a new relationship with him, one that wasn't cracked and frayed. I thought of the lyrics again, wondering if he'd only sent it sooner, if things would be different.
But it was useless to think of that now. My eyes felt swollen and red as I turned away from the train, my heart hurting more than I'd ever felt before. I fished my keys out of my bag and crumpled up the ticket, ready to walk toward the lot again, when I heard something, faint but there.
"Bella?"
I turned to face the station, and my face fell in shock as I saw Edward standing underneath a black umbrella, his own bag at his side. He looked more beautiful than I remembered, eyes shining brilliantly, filled with confusion.
"I…I thought you'd left without me," I admitted quietly.
He took a step toward me. "You know I couldn't do that."
I unfolded the lyrics from my pocket, shielding them from the rain. "I can't believe you wrote this," I said quietly. "For me."
"It was always you, Bella," he repeated softly. "I never thought of anyone else. I hope you'll at least believe me on that."
For a moment, I could only look at him, memorizing the contours of his face and the way his expressions changed from hopeful to defeated as I didn't move. I ached for him and the way he felt against me. As I thought over what he said, I began to understand one thing, standing prominent against all others.
I did believe him.
Before I could stop myself, I dropped the bag onto the pavement and threw myself into his arms. They wrapped tightly around me, the umbrella falling, and his fingers tangled in my damp hair. I reached up, my hand cupping his cheek, and I smiled.
"I love you too," I whispered, his lips ghosting against mine, consequences be damned. "I always have."
He smiled crookedly, his fingers tilting my chin up before he leaned in for a tender kiss, whispering the words back so sweetly, so softly, I thought I'd misheard him. As the train whistle blew once more, announcing the final call, he looked at me and smiled.
Finally, we had our beginning.
Author's Note: Many thanks to the organizers and judges of this fabulous contest, as well as Jada for her beyond impressive (and difficult to choose from) collection of gifs! I also have to thank my ever-wonderful beta team for all the hard work they do.
Thank you all for reading!