Summary: It has been five years since Bella Swan has last seen her college professor, Edward Cullen. Years of unrequited love has left her inside a bitter and helpless shell. When she bumps into him at a mutual friend's gathering, Bella is not prepared to face the feelings she thought she had left behind. ExB. AH.
We Are For Each Other
By BlackBerry88
**
It has been five years since she has last seen him. And he looks exactly the same. She realises this as she is trying to navigate her way through the small crowd. Tonight her friends have gathered for the opening of Dwayne's art exhibition. He is a friend she met through work years ago, but she is bewildered.
What the heck was he doing here?
To her left friends chatter loudly over a stunning piece. To her right, her friend Amanda is drunkenly trying to grope mutual friend Drew. Dazedly, she knows she should probably warn Amanda, But she cannot take her eyes off him. It is the same messy bronze hair. Those same broad shoulders. And as he raises that champagne flute to his lips, with a tingle in her belly, she is reminded of those lips. Oh, those lips.
Is it warm in here? It feels warm.
She is scurrying for the entrance of the building, when an old lecturer spots her. He greets her with enthusiasm, drawing her in for a hug that lasts slightly too long. She smells alcohol on his breath, and cringes inwardly as his hands attempt to hold on to her bare shoulders. She smiles, laughs, and deftly manoeuvres away from his embrace, this time making a beeline for the front door.
Not for the first time tonight, she questions her own presence here. She hasn't ventured into a social setting in months.
She watches him from the window. The glows of the harsh fluorescent lights have no effect on his beauty. His back is to her, but she notes his impeccable dress sense. He is always perfectly put together. It is perhaps what attracted her to him. Crisp shirt, perfectly creased pants. She swallows hard and closes her eyes.
She thinks about leaving. Dwayne would kill her.
She hears the door open and close, but she is too tired to open her eyes. Let them think whatever they want. For a moment she craves a cigarette. She should have gotten over him a long time ago. She should have been living her life.
"Isabella?"
Her eyes fly open. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Shit.
It's him. And he is perfect. His apple green eyes send warm shivers down her spine, and she feels her body tremble.
Traitor body.
She doesn't think to correct him when he calls her Isabella. She's always loved the way her name rolls off his tongue.
"Edward! What are you doing here?" Her voice is controlled, much to her surprise. She plasters on a smile and moves towards him, attempting a casual demeanour.
"I'm here for the opening!" He sounds surprised. He moves closer, and she isn't prepared when he rests a hand on her waist and presses a warm kiss to her cheek in greeting. His palm burns through the thin fabric of her knit dress. Her skin tingles where his stubble meets her cheek.
Oh.
She barely has time to recover when he steps back to survey her. "So how do you know Dwayne? This is crazy, us meeting here like this"
She feels the blood creeping up her cheeks. He is closer than ever, and she can smell him now. He smells warm, masculine, and spicy. Cinnamon and coffee. Honey and peppermint. She wants to bury her face in his neck and inhale deeply, she wants to remember this. Remember what ever part she can have.
He is looking at her now. Waiting for her to reply. Oh.
She smiles. Act normal, she tells herself. It is a constant reminder these days.
"Dwayne and I worked together. We just have a few mutual friends," she gestures with her hand towards the inside of the building. A sharp giggle and a sudden movement causes her to see Amanda and Drew leaving together out of the corner of her eye. She's ignoring her responsibility to her friend, but a quick glance towards the stunning man in front of her causes those thoughts to fly from her mind
"What about you? I didn't peg this to be your scene". She wonders if she's out of line in saying this, but the small warehouses is filled with artists, alternative musicians and on the whole, complete weirdos.
He laughs, and she works to commit the sound to memory. He shakes his head.
"Dwayne is actually an old student of mine. He emailed me a couple of years ago. He was looking to open a gallery, and he asked for some assistance. Wanted to know if I could help out with networking, that sort of thing". He eases back and leans against the brick wall, mirroring her position.
"Oh," She replies. Well the little shit. She couldn't remember how many times she had turned up to Dwayne's apartment, drunk, in tears, madly raving about perfect Professor Cullen. Dwayne had some serious explaining to do.
"Looks like everything worked out perfectly," She smiles at him. He has always been generous with his time and knowledge. She doesn't know why he is so kind. He always has been.
"Dwayne is a very talented artist. It is a wonder that he wasn't scouted sooner," He nods towards the eccentric ball of energy that is Dwayne back inside the main building. He is as always, surrounded by people. Whether they are afraid or entranced, she can never tell.
"Dwayne mentioned you're still at Little Brown. I'm impressed. A copy editor at your age is something to be proud of," He is facing her now and she can feel the heat radiating from him on her arm. She has also failed to notice up until this point the icy Autumn wind, that is sweeping through the dark alleyway. She shivers from the bitter cold, and the promise of a cruel and unforgiving winter that is left behind.
She will quite seriously considering how to kill Dwayne. Strangulation? Asphyxiation?
She is nervous in his presence. He intimidates her, and she hates the fact that he brings out her insecurities. That same need to prove herself. Suddenly she's that same nervous, self doubting, over emotional girl.
And she hates it.
"I started there about 2 years ago." She looks up, into his eyes, "You've trained me well for editing, Professor Cullen," she jokes.
He laughs again and she is thrilled. She silently congratulates herself on seeing his face light up, his eyes warming.
"I should hope so," He smiles and gazes back through the window into the warehouse.
Heart sinking, she wonders if he brought someone else tonight. She had caught him talking with an overly affectionate blonde. She scans his fingers for signs of a ring and relaxes (much to her disgust) when she finds nothing.
He turns back towards her and his face is slightly more serious. "What are you doing out here anyway? There's a party inside. And it's bloody freezing"
She laughs, a little hysterically. Yes the cold is seeping through her skin now. Looking down she catches goose bumps as they dance on her arms. Her voice is slightly shaky when she answers.
"I just needed a bit of air. It was a bit stuffy inside"
He seems to be trying to determine what she means. Well, let him wonder. She's not sure what she means either.
"Would you like to head back inside? It's probably a bit more bearable," He smiles, and his eyes are beckoning, and she wants so badly to follow him inside, she would have followed him anywhere. She is even tempted to splash some enthusiasm across her face, and endeavour to enjoy herself.
In this moment she feels exhausted. Drained from this evening, drained from memories of the past. She is not the same girl she was back then. She hasn't been for years.
She doesn't have it in her to pretend anymore.
"Actually, I'm just about to head home. Can't seem to stay up as much as I used to," she jokes, but it is the truth. Does he seem disappointed? She can't tell.
Wishful thinking.
"Oh, are you waiting for a cab?" he questions, moving closer to her again.
She shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest as a wind sweeps harsh through the street, stirring leaves and paper that settle gently at her feet, along with her hopes.
"No, I was just going to walk, I'm just a few blocks away."
He is confused. "In this weather? At one o'clock in the morning?"
She swiftly brushes him off. "I'll be fine. I do it all the time"
He is incredulous. "A young woman, in this city, at this time of night? You must be insane."
She laughs a short laugh at that. Oh, how right you are, Professor Cullen.
"I'll walk with you," he offers, and he is removing his jacket as she watches. It looks expensive, she can't help but notice. His taste has always been of quality.
She opens her mouth to object, but snaps it shut when he moves closer and wraps his jacket around her shivering frame. He pulls the lapels together and she can't help staring at his mouth, the working of his smooth throat. The promise of warmth spreads through her chest, and she hugs the jacket closer on her own accord.
"Thank you," she says simply. He nods and shoves his hands into his pockets and begins walking. She stumbles a little as she hurries to follow him, cursing herself for wearing heels. She hadn't planned to walk; Amanda and she had shared a cab.
They are silent, and she hurries to fill the void with conversation. Her time with him is always limited, and even now, she doesn't want to waste it.
"What did you think of the exhibition?"
He is eager to answer, and before long they are exchanging opinions and jokes, insights and emotions. She shares anecdotes from college, work, and in exchange he tells her about his current students, his life. She greedily stores away every word, every smile, every gesture. She tells him stories of the class that they shared, and he is surprised to learn personal backgrounds of the students he didn't get to know. He laughs when she tells him that the class joker ended up becoming an English Teacher in a local highschool. He is surprised when best friends Lisa and Joel started dating and his face softens when she informs him that they were married last year. He asks her if she's dating anyone and for a second, she is startled.
Make someone up and gauge his reaction? Or be honest, and potentially make herself look like a bigger fool?
She decides to go with the latter and he doesn't pursue the subject any further. She could blame it on her exhaustion, or slight delirium from being in his presence, but she blurts out, "Are you married yet?"
He glances up at her and laughs. His laugh is soft, and remorseful. It swirls around them, making her heart heavier than it was. He shakes his head, "No," he replies, catching her eye and then looking straight ahead towards the city skyline.
She wants so badly to ask why. What's happened? Did you date someone? Did she not see how perfect you are? She wants to know. The questions hang between them like pieces of lead, heavy and dense. She looks up and realises with a start that they are almost at her apartment complex. She hugs herself a little tighter in his jacket, before she eventually has to let it go. He is still silent, too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice that she hasn't replied to him yet.
She stops in front of her building and he pauses with a surprised glance towards the reception area.
"Oh, we're here?" He asks, his hand lightly brushing through his hair. She is entranced by the motion. She has dreamed of running her fingers through his silken strands and she is clenching his jacket in an effort to control herself.
She nods. "This is me," gesturing up to the charming exterior of her European designed building.
His smile is so warm as he is watching her. She can feel it liquifying her insides into a little pool at the bottom of her stomach. "I guess this is it then. It has certainly been a pleasure to catch up with you."
She blurts it out before common sense tells her to stop. "Would you like to come in? For a cup of tea? I should thank you for protecting me from the cold," she explains, gesturing meaningfully towards his jacket. "And other things," she adds hastily.
He laughs, and she is so proud of herself for making him laugh so many times in one night. His eyes light up, and his face transforms when he laughs and he surveys her for a moment.
"Sure. Yes. I mean," He stumbles on his words. "Yes, I'd love to"
She is thrilled, and turns to lead the way into her building. As he follows, new fear and trepidation sets in. No, she's not too sure about what she's doing. She settles it on the four glasses of champagne that she's consumed tonight. They are silent in the elevator, and she fumbles through her purse for her keys, eager to embrace the warmth of the apartment.
She opens the door and flicks on the lights, illuminating her modest, yet comfortable flat. She loves her home. It is her safe haven.
"You live by yourself?" he questions, as he moves in behind her, shutting the door in an effort to keep the cold out.
She nods, setting her purse down, and with some reluctance, removes his jacket.
"Thank you for the jacket, really," she smiles at him and feels her heart pound as he begins to gravitate towards the bookshelf in her living room.
"It's okay," he calls out, "I'm glad it was of some use"
She is surprised by the lack of awkwardness between them, it is almost as if he belongs in her part of the world. She cleans away discarded manuscripts that clutter her counter in an attempt to tidy, and then moves to put some water in the kettle.
"You have quite the Jane Austen collection in here," his voice carries over the whistle of the kettle.
She yawns involuntarily and hurries to cover it up as he walks back towards her kitchen. She is absolutely exhausted from tonight, and really, she has no idea what the hell she is doing inviting her former English professor (whom she has been in love with her entire life) into her house at two o'clock in the morning. He seems to be watching her again. She blushes, nervous, and replies to his earlier statement.
"What can I say? Jane Austen was a brilliant woman. I learn something new every time I open one of her books," she says softly, not pretending to hide her fatigue.
"You look absolutely worn out, Isabella" he notes, retrieving the milk from her fridge and helps himself to sugar from the counter.
"It's been a long week," she agrees, and she is struck by the concern that is on his face. She doesn't explain that it has been a long month. A long year. From somewhere within her, a small yearning of hope begins to fight its way to the surface. She shrugs it off and replaces her smile, carrying their cups into the living room. She relaxes against the sofa, admiring the way his body fits easily into her furniture. She leans down and slips off her heels, massaging her feet softly, before tucking her legs under her body.
He is watching her as she does this, but does not say a word. Instead, he asks about family pictures that are littered throughout the walls of her apartment. She tells him family stories, anecdotes about holidays, her relationship with her eccentric mother. He listens, laughs in the right places, and they continue to talk for hours, conversation eventually turning to books.
It is not until four o'clock that she realises she is desperately fighting to stay awake. Their tea cups lay forgotten on her coffee table, light brown stains circling the rims, where their lips had once been. She turns to him with heavy eyes, her head laid back against the couch and sees that his eyes are closed and he has a soft smile on his face.
"I should go, "he murmurs, and turns his head towards her, bringing their noses almost in contact.
She sighs, and closes her eyes, and it may be just her fatigue talking but she protests.
"Don't go," she whispers, her words tumbling softly from her mouth. They are plain and honest, and she regrets them. She is disappointed in herself.
He is facing her, looking at her. She can feel his eyes on her.
"Why not?" he whispers back, and he shifts closer in an effort to better hear her reply.
She laughs and replies without opening her eyes. Oh, what the hell. She's already dug herself the grave. Might as well lie in it.
"Because I don't want you to"
He is silent and very softly, she feels his fingers trace a strand of hair that has fallen across her cheek. He gently tucks the hair behind her ear, his knuckles tracing her cheekbone, grazing her earlobe.
No, no, no, she wants to scream. Don't do this to me. I won't be able to survive if you walk away from me.
She's protected herself from this. This is exactly what she feared.
She exhales softly and opens her eyes to him. His eyes are bright, even in the moonlight streaming in through the open window. His face is a mixture of concern, determination, and most of all, peace.
"Ask me to stay," he says hoarsely, dropping his hand to the couch between them. "And I'll stay"
She is only too happy to oblige. "Stay," she murmurs, her fingers feeling for his palm, and then grasping it within her own hands. "Please. Stay"
His hand is warm and firm, and he rubs her palm against hers. She revels in the feeling of his skin, before wondering if she is having an out of body experience. It could very well explain her word vomit.
"You need to sleep Bella, I've kept you up for too long," he says, using his other hand to brush some more hair from my face. Her heart contracts. Vaguely, she registers the use of her name and hears the personal caress behind it.
Before she can form a coherent reply, she feels his weight shift on the couch, and suddenly he has scooped her up in his arms, his hands moving her body to mould against his. Her breath catches with the sudden motion, but before she can protest, her face comes into contact with his neck.
"Oh," she gasps softly, her head swimming with the intensity of his scent. She leans in closer, burrowing closer to his chest, and nuzzles his neck, too tired to realise what she is doing.
He exhales sharply, and she distantly feels his hand clenching her bare leg.
"Bedroom, Bella?" he asks, already making his way down the darkened hallway.
She is too tired to make a joke laced with sexual innuendo and barely whispers her reply.
"Down the hall, second door on the left". She leans in closer to his neck, not noticing her lips brush against his skin. She wonders how much of this she'll remember in the morning.
She feels herself being dropped into a cold mattress and her eyes fly open with the loss of heat and contact. The abrupt motion is enough to alert her somewhat. He is leaning over her, one arm resting on her bed. She cannot look at his gaze. It is too intense for her muddled brain to figure out so she skims her fingers along his bare forearm and reminds him of their earlier conversation.
"You promised you'd stay," she tries to tug him down onto the bed, fingers twisting in his crisp, oxford shirt.
He is surprised, and falls onto her body, awkwardly landing on top of her. He laughs uncomfortably, and she tries not to notice that she can feel every line of his muscles through her thin dress. Her bare legs are tangled with his, and when she tries to move, she is flattened further by his warm weight.
They both laugh breathlessly, and he moves away from her face, his body resting on his forearms on either side of her. She turns her head to catch his eye, and he falls back, slightly on his side, leaving their legs tangled.
"I'll stay, Bella," He promises, and she wonders if she's imagining the gentle ghost of his touch on her face, in her hair.
She smiles, and he leans over and brushes back the hair stuck to her lip. The feeling sends a shock through her, and she turns to face him, willing her eyes to stay open.
"Never leave," she commands, before she leans over and presses her mouth against his.
His hands are warm as they grasp her waist, bleeding through the fabric of her dress, but it is his mouth that unravels her. He is soft, and warm, and sweet. His moves in sync with her, and she has little time to react as he rolls over her and pins her body down with his. He pulls away, breathless, watching for signs for protest, but she smiles, a little shakily, before she wiggles underneath him and pulls his head back down.
His mouth is furious against hers, and oh, oh, she is melting. Her veins are on fire, and her heart is furiously dissolving within her like wax. His tongue brushes against hers and she lets out an audible moan before mentally slapping herself. His fingers are creeping along her thigh, and she is stretching her legs to allow his body to fit between hers. He pulls away, gasping for air and presses his forehead against hers.
"I don't know how to control myself around you," he whispers, his fingers brushing over her slightly swollen lips.
She smiles at him, bring her hand up to press against his heart, noticing the pounding is in identical rhythm to hers. His top buttons are undone and she pushes her hand inside to press against his perfect flesh. He sucks in a breath of air as her fingers travel over his collarbone, past the mole on his neck to lazily scratch at the base of his neck. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall onto her chest as she scrapes her nails against his scalp. He lets out a contented noise from the back of his throat, and she smiles in satisfaction, happy to bring him some sort of pleasure.
She ignores the voice that is warning her. She ignores the memories of the pillows that comforted her when she cried over him.
She doesn't want to listen anymore. She is beginning to think that this moment is worth every single tear she cried. She would do it all over again for him, if only for a moment.
They lay there like that, hearts calming, breath slowing, before he looks up at her and possibly notices she is almost asleep.
"Shit, Bella, I'm so sorry," He whispers, rolling away from her and when she whines in protest, he moves her body into the contours of his chest, running a hand through her tangled locks, brushing whispers down her back. She sighs and slides an arm around him, anchoring her to him, leaning closer towards his neck.
He pulls her comforter around them, and she is happily sinking into peaceful oblivion as he keeps running his hands over her, framing her body and relaxing her. She is too tired to deconstruct the meanings of tonight's events to him and she is almost unconscious before she reminds him of one more thing.
"I want you here in the morning," she mumbles, and does not hear his reply, because she has already fallen into an exhausted sleep.
**
A/N: Thank you for reading! This Part One of Three, to be continued soon. Please excuse errors, this is my first piece of fiction and I don't have a beta. Leave me a review, any feedback at all would be so greatly appreciated!
BlackBerry88
