A few people reminded me I've not updated anything in a while, so I thought I would dig this out – I actually finished it ages ago, but never got around to posting. Sorry.
Real life has become hectic, many ups and downs, but I hope you like this story.
Big thanks to Nmydreamz.
I own only the plot.
I may be paranoid, but I swear he keeps looking my way. Staring at me with penetrating eyes, making me feel uncomfortable. My sense of unease is consuming me, every cell in my body wishing his gaze would move to someone else and leave me in peace. There is an odd sensation rushing through me though, a part of me telling myself I've met him someplace, but that's impossible. No matter how hard I try, I can't remember how I might know him; where I could have seen him before.
He's attractive, though. His face is one you wouldn't forget if you happened upon it in passing, beauty unquestionable even if looked upon for mere seconds. So how do I know him?
Did we meet yesterday? Had I glanced upon him in the crowded coffee shop long enough for his image to stay with me, however hazy the memory? I was having an off day then, everything felt fuzzy in my head the moment I woke that morning; light, like clouds had set up home inside me, giving a sense of weightlessness. My own thoughts and messed up memory are things I shouldn't trust when my head is that way, something I need to stop doing, but there is a strangeness about his unsure smile I can't seem to chase away. It isn't new to me, but if only I knew where I'd seen him before.
Knowing I shouldn't be stealing glances doesn't stop me admiring the way his mouth curls up, causing dimples to appear in his cheeks and making me want to run my fingers over the lips of this stranger. Fuck.
My eyes want to betray me, to look upon him as often as they dare. He's younger than me, that much is apparent even from these stolen moments. His face is a little angelic, coloured in a russet tone that would stand out in a crowded room. This unnamed person has eyes as dark as pebbles on a beach, though there is a warmth wanting to draw me in. Like mine, his hair is short, yet ink black compared to the brown of my own. Even from my seated position I can tell he's a little shorter than I, his body slimmer than my own broadness and, for a fleeting second, I imagine him naked; but my depiction seems real somehow.
How can this be possible?
I should look away, focus my attention elsewhere and not glance upon this stranger any longer. I'm bewitched though, captivated by a man I shouldn't know, can't know, yet he's here inside my head; smiling at me with an odd familiarity.
As hard as it seems to be, I go back to reading my copy of Moby Dick at my favourite desk in the empty library; at the back and away from the service desk. A place where other visitors normally avoid, for unknown reasons. With a hand rested on the back of my neck, I force my head to remain down - fighting with my own intrigue.
Focus, dammit, I scold myself, scanning the seemingly endless words on the page, trying to remember where I'd got up to.
Yawning, I rub my eyes and try to plough further through the classic I promised myself I'd finish today, regardless how each paragraph seems to suck a little more of the life from my soul. It seems like I've read this somewhere before, or seen the movie, because the parts I manage to take in aren't completely new to me. Each and every one as boring as the last, but new, they are not.
Momentarily forgetting myself, I steal another glance towards the young guy, blushing and snapping my gaze away when our eyes collide and he smiles at me. Swallowing an unexpected groan of want, I drag my attention back to the book and read over the last section I'd seconds ago suffered through, torturing my sanity further with the literature.
Out of nowhere pain rushes through my head and I rub my temple, resting my forehead in my palm, after allowing the heavy novel to fall to the table in front of me with a thud. These headaches aren't unfamiliar to me, usually coming when I've concentrated on something too long, or if I'm stressed and everything is becoming too much to cope with. It's a numb ache, so unlike the ones that have me buckling over and screaming through the pain, bringing bile up into my throat no matter if I'd eaten that day, or not. This is a flicker of those I normally have. It doesn't bring with it the darkness and flashes of pictures that make no sense. Strange images, ones filled with screams of unrecognisable voices. Those are like dreams that stay with me, like they're someone else's memories housed within my own mind.
Most people would go to another doctor for a second opinion on what's going on inside my skull, but I'm from a family of some of the best doctors around so there's no need; not really. Who can we trust if not the word of our own blood?
"You have migraines, Emmett. Something you get from your mother's side, but everything is okay, nothing to worry about." My father's voice enters my head the second the ache ceases long enough for me to focus, and I once again open my eyes.
Dr Carlisle Cullen is a respected brain surgeon, and my sister, Alice, is hot on his trail to take over the title he currently holds within his field. I, however, take after my mother, Esme. Whereas my father and sister excel with intelligence, my mother and I prefer arts and reading. Not to mention this incessant pain we have to contend with.
Jumping at the sound of something colliding with the table, I look at a small blister of tablets in front of me. I don't look up to their owner though, the faded blue jeans I can just make out fill me with dread; alerting me to the fact the stranger is a few inches from me.
"Thought you could use these, looks like you're in pain," he says, in a deep, sultry voice. Still, I keep my eyes on the table.
Be someone, anyone other than him. Please don't be the stranger, I think, still looking at the pills and knowing, without question, my inner prayers are going unanswered.
Swallowing, I try my best to find my own voice.
"Thanks, but I don't take medication from people I don't know. Not with the times we live in, at the moment," I grumble, thinking about all the stories you see in the news about people accepting another's kindness, only to wake in a bath of ice minus a kidney. Not how I want to ring in a new day, thank you very much.
The owner of the voice laughs, finally pulling my attention to his face; my fears confirmed. The stranger!
Why the fuck did it have to be him, why?
"Check the packet, go ahead," he encourages, moving the packet towards me with his long, slim fingers. "You will notice it's a popular brand, and not a single pill pocket has being tampered with."
He sounds proud of himself and, although I am fingering the packet with a nervous touch, I seem unable to break the connection our eyes have made, now they have returned to his. I should reject his offer, smile politely and thank him for his kindness, yet my head is aching again. The need to neck back a couple of the painkillers is compelling, knowing, like an idiot, I'd forgot to bring some with me. Does this mean I should risk a chance and take his offering, give in so I can have the mercy of the pain relief?
This time he chuckles while speaking, his words becoming an addiction to my beating heart, skipping at the sound.
"Okay, so if I tell you my name will you take the damn pills?" he chortles, sitting in the vacant seat opposite me, without invitation and continuing to chat, not bothering to wait for my reply. "My name's Seth. Seth Clearwater. And you are?"
Remaining silent, I rub my temple again and wish for the blessing of the pain relief to force back the savage ache. With each passing second I can feel it getting worse, and it's the main reason I find myself popping out two pills into my palm.
The scent of his aftershave drifts towards me, one I seem to recall, yet its name's escapes me. Something about it brings back memories of cinnamon and honey, filling my head with Autumn leaves falling from trees in a shower of nature's gold.
"Emmett . . . Cullen." I stumble over my words, swallowing the pills with a mouthful of water from the bottle I brought with me.
The stranger who calls himself Seth grins, relaxing back into the chair and folding his arms across his chest. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?"
Smart arse!
"Thanks." It's all I manage to respond with, picking up my book and hoping he will take the hint and go away; leave me with the classic.
No such luck.
Instead, I can feel his eyes back upon me, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I rub the area, willing for the painkillers to kick in soon, and for the stranger to go back to watching me from across the room so I can enjoy my day again. He doesn't move an inch though. He takes a book from his bag and pretends to read it. I'm not an idiot, I know he isn't looking at the page long enough to read a single bit.
Taking extra care to keep my eyes down, I let out a groan I hope he won't hear. This book is as boring as I'd heard, failing to be the distraction I need as I sit within this unwanted company. I'm a self-confessed bookworm, and Moby Dick is one of the classics I have always wanted to tick off my to-read list, but there's no way I'm going to get it done in his presence. As much as I wish I could, I can't seem to keep from stealing glances when I hope he isn't looking.
I can't put my finger on it, but there's something about this Seth Clearwater, like he is an echo inside my memory. It feels like I should know him, and my mind won't let the idea go, torturing me with question upon question I wish I had the nerve to ask. They hang on the tip of my tongue, and it takes all I have to keep them lodged in my throat.
Closing the novel a little too abruptly, I offer him a small smile as I get to my feet and collect my things.
"Thanks for the painkillers, but I forgot I have an appointment across town," I lie, speeding across to the service counter and ignoring his goodbyes.
The library is busier than it was a few moments ago, and I'm having to queue for ten minutes before I'm greeted by a new girl, who tells me she is all too happy to help me check the novel out. There is a look of pity in her eyes when she sees my choice of reading, but doesn't offer any opinion. Luckily for me, I don't need to hear about the mistake I know I'm making. Even the thought of getting to the end seems a challenge in itself.
Glancing behind the counter, I try to make eye contact with Maria, who seems lost, annoyed with the library's computer; stress painted on her face. Ever since I was ten I've come here to be served by the kind, old woman who always has a smile for her boy, as she likes to call me. Not today I guess, with the look of woe in her eyes.
"I think your card is a little out of date, Mr Cullen," the girl around my age says, a bemused smile on her face. "Maybe you gave me the wrong one?"
Taking my library card from her, I look at the date printed upon it. It says it, there in black and white: expires in September. Laughing, I look at the girls name tag before speaking.
"It's only June, Jessica. I have a few months to go yet." I offer her my best smile, my head not throbbing as much as it once was.
At least he had good painkillers, I muse, trying to keep from looking back towards where I'd left Seth.
Jessica takes the card from me to look at it again for a few seconds, chewing her lip as she hands it back. "It says 2012, Mr Cullen. It's 2013, remember?"
The girl doesn't look stupid, but here she is getting the year wrong? She is blonde though, so rather than cause a scene I force a smile on my lips, so as not to embarrass her.
"Last time I checked it was 2012, the year hasn't passed away yet, honey. You trying to wish my life away?" I tease, nodding to Maria who is now walking towards me looking a little panicked. "Hey, Maria. I think your new employee needs to check her calendar."
The old woman looks at me with worried eyes, before stealing a glance to the person beside me. Following her gaze, I notice Seth stands beside me.
Great, can't he take a bloody hint?
With arms wrapped around my body, I edge from him and hope to have this mess sorted fast, so I can get away.
"It's okay, Jessica. I will deal with Emmett. Could you go check the returns box please, sweetie?" Maria asks the young girl, who looks between the librarian and myself, confusion evident on her face.
Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she storms into the small office at the back of the counter.
"Is everything okay?" Seth asks, his question directed at Maria.
What the fuck does this have to do with him? I want to say, yet the words refuse to fall from my lips.
With Jessica now busying herself in the back room, Maria relaxes a little and completes signing the book out for me.
"Everything is fine, honey. Jessica is new and I haven't had chance to go over everything with her just yet, won't happen again," she replies, looking past me and to the stranger.
Does she know him? It's clear her words arent aimed my way, her reassurance for the guy next to me.
Wait a second . . . what won't happen again? My mind flips back to the incident a few seconds ago. Surely everyone should know what bloody year we're living in! Overwhelmed with frustration, I take my book and card from Maria and try to keep the coldness from my voice.
"How can someone get a year wrong, Maria? Look, says right here it's 2013," I say, showing her the screen of my iPhone which says today's date is June 20th 2013, not 14. "She just made a mistake, it happens."
Shrugging my shoulders, I offer the librarian a smile, which lasts for a few seconds until I feel Seth's hand settle on mine, as I rest it on the counter. A shudder runs through me, but I seem unable to regain any control of myself and don't pull away like I should. Instead, I'm welcoming his touch, delighting in the sparks it sends across the surface of my skin. It's only when I trail my eyes up his body to meet with his that I snap back to reality, and pull my hand into my body like I'm nursing an injury.
Grabbing my book and card I storm out of the library, refusing to look back at the eyes I can feel on me. The voices are lost in my need to get away, my ears refusing to listen to their words as I break free into the street outside.
I thought it was a little brisk this morning when I left the house, the weather so unlike it should be for June, but the coldness now in the air around me is bitter and cuts through the layers of clothing after a few, short steps. Hugging my arms around my body, I look about me and into the windows of a few shops already displaying costumes for Halloween.
"Talk about early!" I mutter, annoyed by the fact I know Christmas lights will be draped around trees before long, businesses wanting to cash in as best they can on any given holiday.
Getting on my bike, I put the book into my backpack and cycle across Leeds city centre, towards my town flat. My face is screaming in a numbing pain from the cold wind, making me ride fast to seek comfort in my home and away from strangers, who seem to have forgotten personal boundaries. My sofa, a hot drink, and my book - it's all I want.
Within minutes I'm parking my bike in the hall and throwing my bag to the floor, collapsing onto my sofa and closing my eyes. Already the heat of my flat is blanketing me, and my body relaxes into the welcoming warmth. The few seconds I'd planned to rest my eyes turns into the pull of a dream, my breath relaxing as I succumb to it.
I'm walking through a park, holding the hand of someone whose face I can't make out due to the blinding light of the sun behind him. Of course I know it's a man, I'm not the kind of guy who wants the love of a woman. No, the fingers entwined within mine are strong and masculine, yet soft enough to feel the love coming from him. For me.
If only I could see his face, make out even the eyes of the guy who has my heart fluttering.
The day seems familiar, like I've walked these steps so many times with the man beside me; whispering sweet nothings into my ear like he is now. There is still no face though, but I allow myself to fall prey to his alluring words.
I know his voice, I've heard it before - but where?
"Have I told you I love you today, Emmett?" he asks, gracing my cheek with a tender kiss.
I wouldn't be able to stop myself from smiling even if I wanted to. Having his mouth anywhere near me makes me feel weak at the knee, and I struggle not to fall to the bed of grass beneath our feet.
"Not enough," I tell him, words leaving my lips of their own accord.
This may be my dream, or a wishful memory, but it's like I'm looking in upon us rather than experiencing it hands on. I have no control over my actions, like a puppet controlled by its master, yet the strings go unseen. It doesn't matter though, because everything seems perfect.
The stranger guides me towards his body, my chest colliding with his like loving waves of the ocean meeting with rocks on the shore. Still I'm unable to see his face, so I just listen to his words.
"I love you more every day, Emmett Cullen. I have since we met, and will when I draw my last breath," he tells me, kissing my neck, causing a little groan to leave me.
The thought of him breathing his last makes my heart ache, and I want to hold onto him and never let go, yet I'm unable to move an inch on my own.
My own words of love want to leave me, too. Although I have no idea who he is, I want to declare the emotions rushing through me. If only I could become the driver in this dream again, and not the passenger, to enjoy the beauty outside the window.
He pulls me closer to him, and I can feel his erection pressing against my own. A gasp escapes me when he ghosts his hand over my cock, chuckling as he nibbles my earlobe.
Fuck.
"Seems we are both very happy today, Mr Cullen," he muses, peppering my neck with more of his kisses.
"I want you to have me, here and now. Please." I catch myself begging, my own fingers dragging their nails down his shirt covered back.
He chuckles as he kisses my cheek and, no matter how much I try, I can't seem to turn my head towards him to see who has me so excited. All I can do is drink in his scent as he moves his hand into my pants, to stroke my aching dick.
Shit.
I need to see him or, at the very least, return the favour, yet I seem at the mercy of his passionate stroke. He leads me on a journey I fear will result in my orgasm.
"We could get arrested for this, you know," he laughs, working my cock harder.
I have no idea what park we're in, not to mention if we have any kind of shielding from unwanted eyes. All I know is I'm about to cover his hand in my cum; shower him in liquid diamonds. Seeming to sense I'm close to my release, the faceless guy drops to his knees and, within seconds, my dick is in his warm mouth. He sucks my erection, groaning for me to fill him with my seed.
Looking into the blinding sun I know it won't be long, that very soon I will release my load into his hungry mouth, but before I get a chance, golden leaves fall around me; covering me in darkness.
Waking with a start, I grasp the arm of my sofa as I fill my jeans with cum, my eyes wide in shock as I succumb to the orgasm. Shit! Unable to move, I hold onto the lust running through me, trying to remember the dream that had me covering myself like a teenager with jizz dripping down my leg. It's been fucking years since I've had a wet dream, not to mention during the middle of the bloody day. With my head resting against the back of my sofa I close my eyes again, in hopes of remembering something, but nothing comes to mind.
Getting a hold of myself, I stand up and walk towards my bathroom, abandoning my soiled clothing into my laundry basket and turning on the shower. It seems a shame to step under the warm jets and wash away my arousal, already missing whatever it was that had me waking to one of the best fucking climax's I've had in a long time. I can't even remember the last guy who had me cuming the way I did in my dream.
Once out of the shower I walk naked across my flat and towards my windows, looking out into the darkness of night, which I didn't even realise had fallen.
How long was I asleep?
Looking down into the normally busy street, I notice a handful of people going about their evening; most heading for home with bags full of purchases, looking tired and eager to get out of the cold.
My attention is caught by a shadow in a shop doorway, the silhouette of a man stepping back into the cover of darkness. Resting my hand on the glass, I try to see through the blackness below in hopes of making out the figure again. Nothing. Try as I might, I can't see anything in the doorway any longer, and am about to laugh off my own stupidity when the figure abandons his cover, and jumps into the road.
He doesn't move, but stands like an idiot in the middle of the normally busy street with his gaze to the floor. There's enough light from the glare of the street lamp to tell me he's wearing a hood, and I'm so focused on watching the almost statuesque figure that when he snaps his attention towards my window, a scream falls from me.
Backing away from my window, I collide with my desk and curse the pain rushing through my thigh. Rubbing the spot, I force myself to return to the place I was standing so I can see if the creep is still there, doing something to warrent me calling the police.
I'm over-thinking things, I have to be. He wasn't looking at me, it was a coincidence.
My throat runs dry from fear when I see the empty space below, the man no longer standing and staring my way. I should be relieved, but my head is screaming where the hell is he?
With dread trying to consume me, I pick up my cordless phone and hit one for the speed dial to call my father, my feet already making for the door to check it's locked. You may need a swipe key to get into the main building, but people who take risks are always the first to snuff it in movies. Yes, I may be over reacting, but after meeting the stranger in the library and now the shadowy figure of the man on my street, I don't feel comfortable.
At least my headache has gone.
"Hi son, everything okay?" My father's voice answers after only a couple of rings, a sigh of relieve finally leaves me.
My family reside in London most of the time, it's where he and Alice work now, but I never could leave Leeds. Something about the city kept me here when everyone else moved away. One thing I'm now starting to regret.
"You're going to think I'm stupid, but I think there is someone outside my flat," I say, checking the lock again and grabbing my robe to wrap around my body. Even if he can't see me, it still feels strange knowing I'm naked and talking to the man who raised me.
He chuckles for a few moments before replying. "Emmett, son, I think you watch far too many horror movies. Lock the door and if you still feel unsure, or you see something, then call the police. I'm certain everything is ok though."
"But there was someone outside, a guy. I think he followed me from the library today." I blurt out, my eyes fixed on the door.
I can't keep hold of my rationality, to realise how stupid I might sound, as I speak to my father.
"Emmett, calm down." His words are stern, yet have a calming manner about them and I relax a little. "You're just seeing shadows, nothing more. Nobody can get inside your apartment block without being granted access, and I don't think the other residents would be that stupid."
Mistakes happen though, people slip up!
"Yea, me neither," I lie, walking to the window again so I can look back out into the darkness and scour the shadows for signs of the silhouette. Nothing.
My father's right. I don't pay ridiculous amounts of money to live in the building I do, without security. The doors are alarmed and manned twenty-four seven by nearby security. Nothing is going to happen, my eyes are playing tricks, because the once occupied doorway is now empty. The street is vacant.
Then again, isn't the person who says everything is going to be okay, the first one to have their throat slit?
"You okay, Emmett? Other than seeing crazy people everywhere?"
For the next thirty minutes I reassure my father I'm fine, even relax a little and laugh at my own stupidity. With the call ended, I fix myself some food and settle in with my book and some background music. I'm not one for tv or movies, I prefer to go on journeys written for my enjoyment by talented authors.
By the time I've finished Moby Dick and thrown it to the floor for being as crap as I'd heard, it's already three a.m. and I need to think about the comfort of my bed.
When I wake the next morning, my head is a hum of lingering pain. Not enough to leave me cold and sweating on the floor, but it's there all the same. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I grab some prescribed painkillers for my migraines as I get dressed, thinking about what to do today other than sitting on the sofa and reading something new.
Working as a freelance proofreader for authors means I control my own hours and, as I'm waiting for new work to come in, it means my days are pretty much my own. Being a part of the family I am means I don't really need my own money, not when my father has more than he knows what to do with. My need for independence makes me do what I do. Being reliant on my parents hard-earned cash was never something I wanted, but sometimes asking for help is better than struggling to pay bills.
Opening the fridge, I type into my shopping list app on my iPhone the food I'm running short of; fresh items like cheeses and milk to see me through the week. A quick look in the cupboards for any other things I might require, and I'm grabbing my coat and heading out the door; thoughts of the stranger shrouded in shadows at the back of my mind.
My flat is one of ten in the building, three large apartments on each floor with one at ground level; mine is situated on the top. Ever since I moved in four years ago the one next to me has always been empty, number eight forever vacant compared to the others, yet as I pass the blood-red door I can hear muffled sounds coming from within. Someone inside is on the phone, and I can make out a few words of a heated argument of a one-sided conversation.
"No, I wasn't seen . . . I'm not that stupid," the male voice yells, albeit muffled due to the thick door. Even though I know I should move, I don't; listening a few moments longer. "How much more of this can any of us take?"
A loud crashing sound makes me jump, stepping back from the door and looking up and down the vacant corridor. I'm creeping back to the door though, my intrigue with my new neighbor growing. This time I press my ear to the cold wood in hopes of hearing more.
"Followed, yes, but what else can I do? I feel useless." The voice is thick with tears, and has shame washing over me for eavesdropping.
Making for the exit to the stairwell, I head for the busy street outside in haste rather than waiting for the lift. The last thing I need is to meet my new neighbour when his eyes are all puffy. Somehow, I don't think he would want to risk that being a lasting impression.
Considering summer should be upon us, it's cold again. Everyone seems to be wearing thicker clothing and I'm glad I grabbed my coat. The sun may be in the sky, but the thick clouds above are shielding her welcomed rays. Walking across the bridge over the central canal, I head to Bella's, the nearby delhi, so I can stock up on the fresh cheeses she has on today. It's Saturday and I missed most of the day, so I hope her stock hasn't been plenished. Hers is one of the most popular delicatessens in town.
"Hi Emmett," she chimes, carrying a tray of freshly baked bread when I open the door.
Isabella Swan took over the delhi when her father passed away, and her baking skills are very much sought after in Leeds. Resting the tray on a table, she moves a stack of daily newspapers off the counter; smiling at me.
"Not had a chance to put todays out yet." She tells me, grabbing the pot of coffee and filling a mug she then hands to me.
"Thanks," I say, sipping the warm drink. "Please tell me I haven't missed the cheeses."
Bella laughs, walking towards the larger fridge and pointing to the inside.
"Fully stocked as always, honey. Plus, I always keep a few aside for my favorite customer in case he comes in," she winks, blush colouring her pale skin.
Bella confessed to having a crush on me a few years ago while drunk at a mutual friends party, but she knows she doesn't have the right equipment to steal my heart. Doesn't stop her flirting and making me blush profusely.
"Your a star. Can I get some Brie, Feta and a massive piece of Wensleydale and Cranberries?"
Laughing, she collects the cheese and takes them to the preparation counter to make them ready for me.
"Ever worry about a heart attack? You eat so much cheese, more than anyone I know."
Shrugging my shoulders, I take the now packaged cheeses with the printed Bella's label and handwritten date on it. Normally I ignore the labels, knowing the cheese will be long gone before it goes bad, but the written date has me raising an eyebrow.
"You know, you're the second person to get the year wrong, Bells," I chuckle, holding up one of the cheeses and smiling. "It's not 2013 until next year."
My friends eyes seem to fill with worry for a short second, before she laughs it away and blames her PMS for messing up her mental calendar.
"Thanks for pointing that out, Em. I best go over my stock and check the others, so I don't risk a complaint."
"Don't worry about it. Can I get a loaf as well, in date please?" I tease, handing her some notes and wait for my change. "Mind if I sit for a bit and finish my drink?"
"Like you have to ask, just let me clear the papers away," she says, already flying around the large delhi and collecting wads of papers and magazines.
"I don't mind reading old papers, Bella. I missed the news yesterday. Mind if I read one?" I ask, only to have her slap my hand away when I reach for a copy of The Sun. "Hey!"
She looks at me over her now overloaded arms. "Nothing good ever comes from reading papers, Emmett Cullen. Besides, you read way too much already, have a day off."
"Need any help?" I offer, still rubbing my hand while taking up a seat at a small table."
She shakes her head and tells me to enjoy my drink, offering to bring me some cheesecake, which I accept. I'm not about to start pleading with her to take my offer, not given what happened the last time.
The delhi has a seating area for diners who want to come in and grab a bite to eat, as well as fresh produce. That is, of course, if there is room. Normally lunch periods are so crammed you can get a sandwich to take away, but the chance of a seat is slim to none.
After two mouthfuls of the delicious mocha flavoured cheesecake, I'm about to take advantage of the fact the place is quiet and chat to my friend, when the bell chiming above the door alerts me to a customer. Looking at the entrance I swallow a groan, fighting back an urge to leap across the space and grab him by the throat.
What the fuck is he doing here? This is no coincidence, no way!
Seth strolls towards the counter with a smile on his face, greeting Bella like the pair are familiar and not strangers who've just met.
"Hey, Bells. How's business?" he asks, using a name I thought she allowed only close friends to use. She doesn't seemed pissed at him in the slightest. In fact, she appears pleased to see the guy I'm convinced is stalking me.
Was he the guy I saw in the shadows, looking up at me like a sinister assailant? Was he wearing a hooded jacket yesterday, the same as the man on the street wore? If I could just remember or, at the very least, know why this person I cannot know doesn't seem as new as he should be, and how those around me seem more than happy to greet him like an old friend.
"Hi, Seth. Things are good, you okay?"
Her eyes flicker in my direction for a second, before returning to the stranger. I don't miss the small shake of her head she offers him, nor the look of disappointment on his face. He turns towards me with his own coffee, a genuine smile spread across his lips.
"You again? We keep bumping into one another, don't we?"
"Do we?" I grumble, glaring at Bella, who is refusing to make eye contact. Instead, she is wiping down the already clean counter like her life depends on it.
Seth walks towards me, looking at the vacant seat. "Do you mind if I join you?"
A part of me wants to welcome him, relish in his company, but I force the strange sensation away and put my mental guards up.
"Would it make any difference to you if I said yes?" I snap, causing his smile to falter for a moment as he takes a seat.
With his hands now settled around his mug, he runs his fingers along the rim, watching me.
"This probably looks bad, but I'm not stalking you, Emmett." He tries to reassure me, his voice laced with a truth I want to ignore.
Why the hell did I have to give him my name? Hearing him say it has a tingling sensation running down my spine.
I can't feel this way and I won't fall for tricks from a stranger. I like my organs and I plan on leaving this earth with the same amount I entered it with.
"This city isn't as big as some might think, and I wanted to say hi to Isabella," he informs me, giving me a butter wouldn't melt look.
While watching him I seem to have to keep balling my right hand into a fist, it's fighting to reach out and hold his; to feel the smoothness of his skin against my own. I marvel at how pale mine is, in comparison to his, and how hot we'd look lying naked together. What the fuck is wrong with me?
"How do you know Bella?" I ask, choosing to sit on my wayward hand.
Seth sits back in his seat, his eyes never leaving mine. Part of me wants to become lost within them, delight at the way the light sparkles off his black depths like precious gems. Thankfully his voice snaps me from wandering thoughts.
"Bells and I go way back, when I used to live here," he says, sipping his coffee.
I've never heard her mention him before, never recalled a moment when she spoke about anyone other than her boyfriend, Edward Masen. Isabella has two topics of conversation, always has - food, and her love for her moody man.
"She's never spoke about you, not once."
"I don't tell you all my secrets, Emmett Cullen." Bella teases, filling our mugs with fresh coffee.
Pushing my half eaten cheesecake from me, I glare at her.
"You never shut up normally, you don't have secrets," I snap, but my bitterness is directed at Seth; not her. The resulting effect is a flicker of hurt in her eyes, filling me with regret.
Bella pats me on the head like a child, ruffling my hair a little.
"There, there, Emmett. A girl has to keep a few things to herself. Seth and his boyfriend are very good customers of mine. Well, they were until he moved away."
At this she slaps the russet skinned guy, causing him to laugh.
"So you have a boyfriend, huh?" I ask, feeling a bubble of disappointment within me.
Seth smiles, running fingers through his short, dark hair.
"Had . . . past tense," he tells me, a sad look on his face.
Part of me wants to reach out and ghost my hand over his cheek, reassure him that things will be ok. Why should I care though, what the fuck does any of it have to do with me? All that should matter is how I seem to be bumping into this guy I can't help feeling I know, or have met before. Then there is the fucked up matter of the man in the shadows, who could quite possibly be this dick head.
"Where is he now?" The words fall from me and it's a few moments before I even realise it's I who actually said them.
Seth is smiling again though, not phased by my questioning.
Is he hanging on my every word?
"He isn't far, but things change. Not always for the better."
In other words, mind your own fucking business, Emmett!
When he laughs it sounds melodic, like I'm hearing a favorite song I've somehow forgotten along the way and it's only now I'm hearing it again.
"Don't look so worried, Emmett. We're not estranged, just grown apart due to forces beyond our control. It happens."
Bella is back busying herself at the counter, offering us small glances from time to time as I sit across from a stranger, who is chatting to me like an old friend. Seth tells me he is the same age as me, twenty five, and has come back to Leeds to find himself again. It's so easy to like him, but am I about to become road kill? I can feel myself about to step into the glare of his headlights.
"I'm just looking for a friend," he says, pulling at the strings of my heart.
I may not want it to happen but, like a spell is being cast upon me, I become victim to his hex for the next hour. Now I fight against myself to reach out and take his hand in mine; guide his lips to my own, just once so I can see how they feel dancing together. Will they be as perfect as something inside tells me they will be, or am I lost in the wildness of my fantasies? His last statement seemed to do me in, to spark inside almost like a burning, or a rumbling of something once lost.
No.
I can't do this, fall for, or even trust a handsome stranger. Even if Bella says she knows him, I can't believe he has chanced upon me each time. His angelic demeanor could be a ruse to lead me into my own undoing, to reveal himself as the silent attacker hidden in shadows. This is what I cannot allow, yet I can't move from the feeling I know him - somehow or somewhere, we've happened upon one another.
"We've met before, haven't we?" I ask, noticing how he seems to shift uncomfortably on his seat before leaning towards me.
Both of us jump at the sound of Bella dropping a cup, her shocked eyes poised in our direction.
"Other than the library, no," Seth says, his gaze never leaving mine, yet I feel like he sounds unsure of himself. "Unless you know something I don't."
His eyes seem to try and penetrate into my soul, looking for something I'm hiding. He's so close I can feel his warm breath breezing past me, causing my cock to twitch. As much as I don't want to admit it, I desire to wear only his breath; feel his kisses on my body as he leaves fingerprint all over me, inside and out. I want to have his hand printed on my heart.
Feeling heat rising to my cheeks, I push away lustful thoughts while excusing myself.
"I need the bathroom," I declare, rushing towards the toilette Bella has for diners and lock myself inside.
With my head pressed against the door, I close my eyes and try to take in some calming breaths.
Get a grip, Emmett. Get a fucking grip, I tell myself over and over, now walking towards the sink to spray my face with cold water.
Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I gaze into my own blue eyes as strange voices enter my head. Sounds of laughter, bringing forth memories of pain. A fight? Have I read a novel recently with a brawl that's managed to stay with me long enough to enter my head now? I read so many books, there would be no real way of knowing. Yet it feels so familiar, enough to have me scanning my reflection and imagining it covered in bandages; ones there to hide cuts and abrasions.
Throwing more water in my face, I hold onto the sides of the sink and try to shake away these peculiar imaginings. When I look back at my reflection, I notice something different about my hairline, like there is a dent in the once perfect line. Have I started to lose my hair?
Patting down my fringe, I push the thoughts to the back of my mind and leave the bathroom, only to be greeted by the worried faces of both Bella and Seth.
"Everything okay?" he asks, concern laced in his voice.
"Fine," I unintentionally snap, grabbing my bags and coat. "I need to go, I don't feel well. It was nice meeting you, Seth."
I don't wait for a reply, instead I run from the delhi and head back towards my apartment; stumbling from the amount of times I look over my shoulder to check I'm not being followed. It's not that I'm sick or anything, but as hard as I try I can't seem to turn off the voices now screaming in my head; memories that can't be my own. I've never been in a fight, not once, yet in my mind I am a victim of a beating that feels too real not to be.
What book was it I read that has stayed with me?
Once I am back in my apartment, I shove the cheese and bread into the fridge, not caring to take them out of the bags, and head towards my bookshelf. The main wall in my living room is a floor to ceiling bookcase, filled to the brim with novels, old and new. Which was it though, what story did I read that would be coming back to me the way it is now? Ever since I was a child I have organised my books not by author or title, but by which ones I have finished, and those still on my to-read list. Not forgetting the small amount I need to return to the library, that one is currently empty though; unless you count Moby Dick.
Ignoring the bottom two shelves devoted to my not yet read collection, I look through the vast amount of titles, for anything that could be battle or beating focused. I don't have a photographic memory, but I remember the storyline of every book I've read on my case and nothing comes to mind; not a single one. I'm a sucker for fantasy and romance, not real life and beatings. When I read I want to go to happy places, avoiding books I know will have my crying. So, which could it be?
Defeated, I sit in front of the bookcase with my knees pulled into my chest. The voices are now a distant hum, but I can remember them like they are still here, even feel the pain of every punch, kick and slap.
What the fuck is happening? Nothing makes sense.
I don't watch movies, don't see plays or listen to the radio, yet somewhere along the way I have happened upon this experience. I just can't think how or when. Have my father or sister told me about someone they operated on, a victim of a beating? That could be the answer, but it doesn't feel completely right; parts are missing.
Knowing I have a habit of over-thinking and stressing, which can bring on one of my more painful headaches, I drag my reluctant body towards my kitchen and make a mug of strong, black tea. As soon as the rich flavours entice my taste buds, the built up tension is already easing, every cell in my body calming a little. The unexpected break in my sanity has me heading for my bed, the need to close my eyes and rest my head, overpowering. More so, I want to hide under my duvet for as long as I can.
It feels like I don't get more than a few seconds of rest and, when I wake, it's into darkness with me screaming a name I never expected.
Seth's.
I don't dare leave my flat the following morning, nor have I left it for two days. Instead, I sit at my window and look down on the street below. Against my will my head is consumed with the face of my stranger, and I can't decide whether I should fear him, or seek him out and run into his arms. Nothing makes sense. It hasn't since the moment in the library, but now I can't seem to think about anyone but him.
"What the fuck!"
Tears have finally won out and fallen down my face, even one or two sobs have left my lips. All because I can't seem to forget I might know him, and now the screams are back inside my head, trying to torture me. All other sounds around me have faded out, leaving me with deafening laughter and screams, which have me breaking out in a cold sweat.
This isn't what I need, not when my head is pounding again and no amount of painkillers are helping. No wonder people accidentally overdose, because it's only been an hour and I'm ready to take more, even though I have already taken the recommended dosage. I just wish I could find some relief and go back to the peace of my life. When the headaches come they have a nasty habit of lasting for days, and part of me hopes it won't be the case this time. Just once I wish I didn't have to fall to the mercy of my own pain.
I've brought this on though, allowed myself to become consumed in a momentary feeling that I might know a guy I just met. Giving in to a fear of shadows, like a child suffering with night terrors, this new pain is a reminder I should have let go. It's too little, too late.
It's raining outside, thunder and lightning screaming through the clouds, but even walking through it would be better than suffering at something out of my control. I'd gladly stand naked beneath it, relish within its blessing, rather than have my head pulsing with memories that can't be my own, torturing me.
Jumping at the sound of a knock at my door I drag myself to my feet and walk towards the entrance of my flat, assuming my neighbour, Jacob, needs to borrow something again. He always seems to run out of one thing or another, but I don't mind. Part of me wants the company, someone to distract me from these mental tortures.
Out of habit I don't check my peep hole because only residents can freely walk through the building, but I was forgetting my fear of the stranger, which had begun just a few days ago. It isn't until my face meets with Seth's that all the fear comes flooding back, and I try to slam the door shut.
The young guy is stronger than he looks, or maybe my pain has weakened me, but he manages to force himself inside. Backing into the wall, I glide down it until my feet meet with the floor; holding onto my head and staring up at him in disbelief.
"You're not . . . get out!" I demand, wiping my eyes of tears and wishing I could find that adrenalin people say is brought on through fear; anything to give me the strength to stand and push him from my flat.
I should be stronger than him, not the weak victim I am now.
Seth kneels before me, but my eyes struggle to make out his face, which switches in and out of focus.
"I knew this would happen. The painkillers have stopped working, haven't they?"
I try to kick out, but he avoids my feet with ease.
"Emmett, look at me," he demands.
"How do you know what painkillers I take?" I ask, hating his hands upon me as he helps me to my feet and leads me toward my sofa.
"Get out before I call the police!" I hiss, settling back into the welcomed softness of my sofa.
"Calm down, Emmett. I'm here to help," he tells me, his voice soft; gentle, even.
"I don't even know you," I tell him, holding onto my brow and wishing the pain would ease. No such luck, it's blinding.
"I keep telling Carlisle we need to increase your dosage."
I try to make him out as he takes the words out of my head, somehow knowing what I had thought so many times over the past few days. How does he know my father, least of all his name?
"I know more than you think, Emmett." He answers a question I hadn't realised I'd asked. "I will answer any others you have, but you need to take this first, baby."
Why the fuck is he calling me baby, let alone asking me to take the blue pill? Does he really think I'm that stupid?
He chuckles when I knock the pill from his hand, but gets it from the floor and takes out his mobile; dialing a number and putting the call on speaker.
Her voice sounds like the scream of a banshee to me, tears pooling in my eyes.
"Are you with him, Seth?" A female voice says, and it takes me a few seconds to realise who it is.
"A . . . Alice?" I murmur, trying to focus on the mobile, which is a blur of movement in Seth's hand.
"Hey, little brother. Have you taken the pill yet?"
Seth speaks before I get a chance, his hand now in mine, which doesn't feel wrong even if I had the energy to force him away.
"Not yet, he's refusing as expected."
If it wasn't for the blinding pain I would ask what the fuck was going on, but my sister interrupts any attempts.
"Emmett, I'm about an hour away. Take the damn pill, it will help. Trust Seth. I'll be there soon."
I'm shaking my head as Seth puts the pill to my lips, still crying as I allow it to fall down my throat as he goes back to holding my hand, the call now ended.
"It's okay, baby. Everything will be okay."
I can't take my eyes off him, watching as his own tears fall down his face as I feel the vice-like grip the pain had on my head easing. With the light no longer blinding me, I move my face into his hand as it caresses my cheek. It's the last thing I remember before passing out in his arms. That, and his words of I love you.
When I wake I'm unaware of the amount of time that has lapsed. My focus is on the soft voices of my sister and the stranger, who seems to be discussing me like I'm not there. I've somehow found my way to my bed. Did the small guy really manage to lift me and lead me towards my bedroom, like I weigh nothing?
"He's getting worse, Alice. Is there nothing we can do?"
"We're trying to find the right medication, Seth. The pain we can sort, but his memory may always slip, you know that," Alice says, pain laced in her tone.
Opening my eyes, I watch as the two converse, my head no longer hurting like it was.
"Would someone like to tell me what you're going on about, and why you are acting like you know him?" I spit, regretting sitting up so fast because the action has me feeling sick.
It isn't my sister who is at my side within seconds and taking my hand in hers, but Seth. I don't pull away though, instead I watch the worry in his eyes and enjoy feeling his hand in mine.
"How you feeling, baby?" he asks, his eyes red from tears.
"Is the pill working, Emmett? It should have taken all the pain away," Alice says, but I can't seem to pull my gaze away from Seth's.
"I don't understand how I know him, how I can feel this comfortable to be touched by a stranger," I say, no longer caring about my head since it isn't splitting.
It isn't the first time my family has given me stronger medication and it won't be the last. All that matters is seeking answers to questions I have swimming around in my mind. Seth looks to Alice for a moment, before allowing my eyes to meet with his again.
"Tell him, he will remember eventually anyway," he tells her, without breaking the connection our eyes have made.
"Seth, it isn't that easy. You know that," Alice replies, acting again like I'm not in the room.
"Tell me what it is. What are you hiding from me?" I demand, getting to my feet and looking down at my sister, who I tower over.
Seth's hand settling at the base of my back doesn't go unnoticed, but it's a touch I seem to welcome. His other hand is still in mine, his thumb caressing it gently.
"You had an accident," Seth tells me, guiding my body to face his.
"Seth, no!"
Ignoring my sisters pleas, he caresses my cheek and tentatively bridges the gap between us.
"What accident? I don't remember any accident."
He smiles, tears pooling in his dark eyes.
"Don't you? Isn't there something inside which doesn't feel right, like how you thought you knew me the moment we met in the library yet I was a stranger to you?"
The screams come back to me, imageless sounds filling my head for a second.
"I remember screams, lots of screams." I say, lowing my body back to the bed.
Seth kneels before me while my sister sits at my side.
"You shouldn't remember anything, none of it," she says, but my eyes remain on Seth.
"You were a stranger, but I thought I'd seen you somewhere before. Then the voices came. I don't understand."
He takes my hand in his again, tears streaming down his face as his lip trembles.
"It all happened so fast, my love," he says through a sob.
"What did?"
He looks to Alice for a second, swallowing and wiping his eyes clean before speaking.
"You were mugged, Emmett. The bastards left you for dead, but you fought through it. You came back to me . . . a little broken." He whimpers at the last part, now sitting on the floor and staring up at me.
No matter how hard I try I can't seem to remember any of this, all I get are remnants of screams running through me and flashes of pain; the fight which has tortured me these past few days.
"I don't remember, it's not true," I say, finally pulling my hands from him. "You're lying!"
It's Alice who speaks next, moving so she is seated next to the stranger, both of them looking up at me like worried children in trouble.
"Seth isn't lying, Emmett. You have to believe him, all he has done is love you."
Her words sent a shudder through me. How can a stranger be in love with me?
"I have no idea who he is, Alice. None of this is familiar," I plead, wishing for the strength to take his hand again, but fearing the result of my actions - that my heart will pound within my chest from the simple exchange.
"You will," she says, getting to her feet and going towards her bag. When she returns it's with a memory stick for my computer. "It's all on there, Emmett. Everything."
Alice takes Seth by the hand and leads him against his will from the room, his worried eyes on me until the moment the door is closed and he can see me no longer. Holding the piece of plastic in my hand, I walk towards my desk and grab my laptop, turn it on and nervously insert the stick into one of the USB slots.
Instantly, the screen of my computer is filled with images and files, all numerically marked 'Emmett's Accident.' With timid fingers I open the first file to see newspaper reports, dated June 19th 2012, all with my bruised and battered face plastered upon them, detailing every sickening fact about the gang of four men who beat me within an inch of my life; all for my fucking mobile!
There are thirty files in total, and by the time I get to fifteen I already know more than I wish I had. Doctors reports, more news clippings, all explaining the loss of memory incurred by the attack. When I get to the last file though, I notice it's not only a video, unlike the others, but is also titled 'Seth and Emmett.' With my lip trembling I click the play button and jump when a song I shouldn't know plays from the speakers and feels so familiar. Images of myself and Seth, posing like lovers, fading from one to another until I see his black eyes staring at me.
"Emmett, if you're watching this then your family finally listened to the only non doctor amongst us," he laughs, grinning at me through the screen before his face breaks for a second and the tears fall. "We've been in love for seven years, but you don't know that, not all the time anyway. After your attack you seemed to go through periods of forgetting the past year, but also forgetting me completely."
He's sobbing now, my tears falling with his, as he tries to control his voice.
"It isn't all bad, we get some time together when you love me like you have everyday since we met, but then the dark days come and I'm just the stranger you run from.
It's hard, baby, so fucking hard, but the good outweighs the bad and I get you back. I get to have the old Emmett who remembers everything, who remembers he loves me . . . "
When the video ends I know he is still a stranger, yet I'm exiting the room and running towards his arms, pausing for a mere second before pulling him into my chest. The three of us hold onto one another, crying like children.
I may not remember the attack yet, but the screams in my head make sense now, as does the familiarity of the stranger. I feel at home in his arms; everything seems right.
I'm just a little broken from time to time, yet I feel like I can be complete - with him.
Seth tells me this is the fastest my memory has come back, and it's like a veil has been lifted from my eyes. This make sense now. I remember the accident, all of it, the pain, the screams in the night for my lover to come to me. Most of all though, I remember him.
It's been a month since my memory lapsed, the headaches a distant memory with the new pill, but they won't stop the breaks. That's just something I have to deal with. All I was worried about on those short days is explained. How I was getting away with using an expired library card, because the old librarian agreed to go along with the charade if I ever came in when my memory broke. The newspapers Bella hid from me, with the correct date. My mobile was always set with the wrong day, just in case I lapsed and there was nobody around. Even flat number eight was explained, the spare apartment my parents bought us so Seth could sleep there when he became the stranger.
Every night he leaves me when I fall asleep, goes to the loneliness of next door in case I wake and fear the man beside me. All this he does for me because he tells me he loves me, and he does. Without a doubt I know that - when my head is working.
"Tell me again," I ask over breakfast, happy I haven't woken with no recollection of him. "How many times have you tried to make me fall in love with you again?"
He walks naked towards me, his body covered in my fingerprints as mine is his. Leaning in, he kisses my cheek.
"Twenty seven times, each time you call me a stranger - even tell me to fuck off."
He's laughing, but I feel bad and wrap my arms around his body, not wanting to let go.
"I'm so sorry, Seth," I plead, groaning when he nibbles my ear.
"It's okay, baby. This time you started to remember, I could see it in your eyes. I'm coming back to you."
I hope so, the thought of forgetting him caused an ache inside far worse than the migraines I've had over the years. Even the blinding pain, ones which wipe away my memory. Words escape me though, as he kisses my neck, his hands around my throbbing cock, which he pulls gently, leading me towards the bedroom laughing, his own fully erect.
"You may forget me from time to time, but when you do remember, you know how to apologise. Show me how sorry you are," he chuckles, kicking the door closed.
It hurts to breathe. My palms are sweaty as my chest rises and falls, fear keeping me pinned against the wall. He doesn't see me, notice me hiding in the shadows while he moves around my home freely. I want - no, need - to get out of here, run into the night away from the russet-skinned stranger and call the police.
I'm unable to move though, fixed in place as I watch him creep across the floor towards the spot where I hide.
"Where you hiding?" he calls, and I move my hands over my mouth to stop the whimper leaving my lips.
He knows I'm here. He's coming to get me and add to the pain screaming in my head.
Seeing his silhouette getting nearer, I palm the wall behind me and look for something, anything to give me the time I need to get away. Nothing!
Tears fall from my eyes and I'm about to leap out and make for the door when I feel it, something heavy on the nearby table. Taking hold of the large candle holder, I grip it tightly and raise it above my head.
One, sharp thud should be enough to free me from the stranger.