"Freedom" chapter 2 – Brothers in Arms
Twilight doesn't belong to me. My characters are mine, but their names and all recognizable features belong to Stephenie Meyer.
AN: Thank you so much (!) to each and everyone who reviewed my original one-shot, which now got promoted to be the first chapter of a longer story :) It took me long ass time but here is the second one. I hope you like it. I'm really-really nervous, too.
Emmett Masen
"My brother is... my brother is..." I was mumbling, more to myself than to Rosalie, who was watching me with a rather amused expression.
"Gay" she offered after I stopped mid-sentence for the fifth or sixth time. "That's the word you're looking for, darlin'. G-A-Y. You've heard it before."
I scoffed at her, frustrated.
"It's not fucking funny, Rose!"
"But it is. You're funny, Em. You're so shocked, if I didn't know better I would think you've just found out your brother is, I don't know, a vampire or something. He's just gay. No big deal."
"You're totally wrong. It isa hell of a big deal."
She narrowed her eyes at me, smile washed off her face.
"Oh, is it? You didn't seem to have a problem with my brother being gay. Or has something changed in that matter?" she asked coldly and now I was almost amused. She's cuter than ever when she is in her insult my brother and you'd better watch your balls –Protective Rose mode. I can totally relate to how she feels about Jasper – after all, I have a twin as well – but still, it's funny to watch her reacting like that.
At the moment, however, I wasn't in the mood for amusement... I had some serious shit on my mind.
I sighed.
"That's not it, babe" I said, thinking about the day she'd told me Jasper was gay. My mind has actually a habit of wandering back to that day, like, often... I'm pretty sure I'll remember it for the rest of my life.
For a very different reason.
o()()()o
During those first weeks of our relationship, Rose and I were very busy getting to know each other –thoroughly – in every aspect. OK, in almost every aspect. She is the most amazing girl I've ever met. She has a razor-sharp sense of humor, she listenes to great music, she is smart as hell... she even knows everything about cars and engines, for fuck's sake! ... and God she is gorgeous. It was taking more self-control I'd ever thought I had to keep my hands off certain parts of her perfect body. But I had to, right? I mean, it would be a fucking disrespect if I touched her like I really wanted to.
I quickly developed a habit of wearing loose jeans and big jumpers . It was kinda necessary to both endure and hide the fact that my dick was almost permanently ready for action whenever Rosalie was within a few meters radius – which was most of the time.
That memorable day, practicing self-control was particularly difficult. We were alone in Rosalie's house–strictly speaking, in her bedroom. Her family was out of town and they weren't expected back until late evening. Impossibly, Rose managed to look even more stunning than usually. She was sitting next to me on the sofa, talking... about something... and I was struggling to understand what she was saying because her skirt was riding dangerously high on her thighs - and somehow that fact made her words sound like a foreign language I couldn't make out a word of. I gasped, trying – really trying – to take my eyes off the shadow covering the space between the just so slightly parted legs.
It seemed like my gaze was just glued there and un-gluing was unfeasible.
I attempted to cover my gasp with a cough but the Aymara – or Sanskrit –or Hungarian - or whatever strange language she was using – speech stopped abruptly. Her hand was under my chin then, lifting it up, helping my gaze to finally unglue itself from her thighs and travel higher... only to land on her cleavage. Now that didn't help one bit with my struggle for comprehension.
"Emmett?" she started again and I was glad I finally recognized a word. My name, if I remembered correctly. "Emmett... (foreign language... this cleavage is just fucking taunting me)... listening... (foreign language again... I can see a tiny bit of black lace... bra?... sticking from under her shirt. If I could dug my fingers underneath for just one second...)...me?"
There was an edge to her voice, I could hear it even though I still couldn't make sense of the sentence. With an almost herculean effort, I finally managed to take my eyes off her cleavage to meet her own.
Is she pissed off with me? She probably should...
Oh, fuck my life.
I need to just sit on my hands immediately before they do what they feel like doing without my permission. And they feel like ripping Rose's clothes off as fast as physically possible. They also feel like squeezing my crotch to relieve some of the tension her gaze has just doubled there.
If there's one thing I know, the way she's looking at me is a 100% pure lust.
I make a move to actually sit on my hands but instead, completely against my so called free will, they land on Rose's tits.
I freeze.
Is she... will she...
She fucking moans.
I groan and my lips crush to hers. Completely ignoring the red 'danger' sign flashing in the conscious part of my brain.
She tangles her fingers in my hair and climbs my lap, grinding deliberately against my hard on.
Oh for all the fucks in the fucking world.
I clutch at her hips, stilling her movements, and it's excruciatingly painful to do so.
"Rose" I gasp, clinging desperately to the last, shredded bits of my self-control. "I... stop, coz I... won't be able... to stop."
The large grin on her face is wicked.
"Shut up" she whispers against my lips before shoving her tongue down my throat.
And I do. There's only so long you can fight against your raging hormones.
So I stop struggling with them, stop thinking whatsoever, instead returning Rose's kisses with fervor and moving my hands down her hips onto those fuck-hot thighs and then up... and further up... exploring and charting the completely new but oh-so-welcoming territory.
Some time later we are lying on that sofa, completely spent, disheveled and partially naked, Rosalie's head on my chest and my arms around her. She hasn't said a word since she came on my fingers screaming my name - but she's quietly humming some happy melody, letting me hope she's not regretting what we did.
Am I?
Hell no, I can't find a tiniest bit of regret in me even though... I guess I should, right?
According to all I've been taught during my upbringing, we've done something very wrong.
Sin.
She has done something wrong.
A girl who allows a guy to be sexual with her before they are married shows the lack of self-respect.
I have done something even worse.
A guy who starts a sexual relationship with a girl before marrying her, proves his lack of respect and love for her.
Whoa, whoa, wait. Now that is a fucking bullshit of the year. If there's one thing I'm sure about, it's the fact I have a shitload of respect for Rose for absolutely everything she is. And I'm totally, head over heels – OK, over dick, too – in love with her.
So... let's back up for a moment and sort the facts. It's not like I haven't already learned to question some of the Catholic teachings which I had grown to accept before. When I was fourteen, my body became one big, pimply and sweaty battlefield of hormones... and I had to become close friends with my right hand in order not to get crazy. I went through a hell of guilt about it, trying desperately to restrain myself, then failing, then going to confession about it and trying again... using tons of water for cold showers and running miles and miles a day, then feeling I was about to explode anyway, walking around with a throbbing erection that wouldn't go the fuck down, being a complete bitch and taking my sexual frustration out on everyone in the vicinity... then finally giving up again and jacking off like a horny, half-crazy from hormones teenage boy I was... then crying with guilt and anger and frustration for my weakness.
After almost three months of that I rebelled.
During my private evening prayer – I'd done them every night since I was eight – I knelt down and spoke to God.
Look, I'm really sorry for jer- masturbating. I've been told it annoys You, even though I don't really understand why. It's not like I'm hurting anybody by doing it, right? And see, it's when I don't do it that I end up hurting everybody around because of all that tension I can't let out and can't deal with. So I figured in the end it's better if I just do it when I have to. So, yeah, sorry again, but it's probably gonna be, like, every night or so. If you think it's really that bad, then please give me the strength to stop, because God – well, You know, I don't have it.
God didn't (I know coz I experimentally went on a wanking abstinence a couple of times and it was always as bad as before).
So after a couple of weeks I decided the Church must had gone overboard with the jerking-off ban and I just stopped worrying about it.
Now I was lying in my girlfriend's room with her beautiful, almost nude self in my arms, contemplating whether the Church could be wrong about more things.
What could be so wrong about pleasuring each other when you were in love, married or not?
Rose stopped humming and turned her face to look at me with such a sweet expression I couldn't help the ridiculous grin spreading across my face. In a split second, I decided to Scarlett O'Hara the Catholic sex ethics issue and think about it another day.
It soon turned out I'd have some more things to think about.
We lied on her bed for hours, talking about all kinds of things, from serious to silly and back. At some point, Rose was telling me about how her parents had decided to move out of Austin.
"The shit I'd been through with Royce was actually one of their biggest arguments in favor of moving" she said, referring to the monster who was her ex-boyfriend, and who almost...
Stop right here, Em. Stop thinking about it right fucking now, or the next thing you know you'll be flying down to Texas to rip this son-of-a-motherfucker's throat off. As much as he deserves it, that really isn't the best idea.
"...besides, Jazz had been through a pretty nasty break-up... all in all, my folks thought it'd be healthy for both of us to change the surroundings."
"As in, some bitch broke his heart?" I asked, mostly to just occupy my mind with something that wasn't the Royce monster. It worked. I remembered how Ursula had made a complete wrack of me a year before and felt sympathy for Jasper at the thought he'd gone through something like that as well.
"A fucking bitch all right. His name was Peter" Rose said, her expression turning into a scowl.
I blinked. Twice.
Oh.
"Jasper's gay" she said lightly, but her gaze became a little weary.
Yeah, thanks for clarifying...
So...
I would be lying if I said I wasn't surprised... OK, that's bullshit, actually. I was floored.
I liked Jasper very much. The beginning of our acquaintance had been... strange, so to speak. Our first conversation, just before my first date with Rose, seemed more like an interrogation and for about a week after that, I had an impression he was watching my every move around her, which was a little fucking creepy (Not that I can blame him. If it wasn't for him, Rose could have been raped by the Royce motherfucker... OK, I really, really shouldn't be thinking about it).
Eventually Jazz must have decided I wasn't the worst thing that could happen to his sister, and we'd gotten along great ever since.
But he never mentioned...
"He never said anything to me?" I said and it sounded more like a question.
Rosalie shrugged. "Maybe it never came up."
"So is he..." I asked the first thing that came to my mind "will he be all right with you outing him to me?"
"I'm not outing him. He is out. " she said matter-of-factly.
"So how come I've never heard about it?"
"I don't know, have you talked to him about any personal things?"
Thinking about it... no, I haven't. Sports, cars, travelling, homework, funny things Rose did or said when they were kids, random everyday-shit... never personal stuff, really.
"Well... no, but..."
"Well, it's not like it's the first thing he says when he introduces himself" She smirked. "Hi, I'm Jasper Hale and I'm gay. Nice to meet you. What's your name?"
I snickered.
"Right."
"He's never kept it secret though. Should it come up in a conversation, he'd tell you. But I guess he..." she stopped mid-sentence as if she'd just thought better of something she was about to say.
"What?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
o()()()o
"So would you mind telling me, what it is, Em?" Rose's voice shakes me out of my reverie.
Isn't it obvious?
Quite honestly, I'm surprised she hasn't got it yet. She always seems to know what I think like she's seeing directly into my head. It's almost scary sometimes. And the weirdest thing is that it works the other way, too... See, I'm generally not a very intuitive person. It's my brother who always appears to know what everybody's thinking just by their body language or whatever... a know-all, mind-reading fucker. I am more of an I won't guess what you're thinking unless you actually tell me type of guy.
But with Rose... we just get each other without needing many words. Usually.
"He's my brother, not yours. He wasn't brought up like Jasper and you, with your liberal parents and lesbian aunties and... he'll have so much shit to deal with, you know? Being a gay Catholic... according to the Church you can't have a same-sex relationship because it's sinful! It may be fucked up... but that's what we've been taught. Now he'll have all this guilt to cope with... he'll... I just... oh, shit..."
I get incoherent but I also finally see a flash of understanding in her eyes.
"Oh." She says. "That... Aren't you exaggerating a little though? You are not exactly following the Catholic ethics and I don't see you suffering from guilt all the time" she smirks as her eyes flicker towards the box of condoms that's still lying on her bedside table after we opened it earlier that night.
I don't smile back.
"He's not me either, Rose. I take things easy but he's always over-thinking every shit seven fucking ways through. He's just too serious about everything."
"He seemed happy with Jazz though"
"Yeah..." that is true. If I'm honest, I haven't seen my little bro looking so happy for... well, long time.
"Yeah" I repeat. "He did. But will he tomorrow? I don't know. It's such a big thing, and it's Edward. I already told you he's over-thinking every freaking thing... and he'll have our family to deal with, too. Jesus... that will be tough."
I realized I was walking back and forth in the small space of her bedroom, feeling trapped somehow.
"Your parents love you both to pieces, I know that. It's not like they're gonna go all medieval on him if he comes out, right?"
"I don't know. I don't know. Shit. Mom is surely gonna give him a hard time. It's not like she'll kick him out, of course. But she will freak out... and it's surely not going to help with the guilt situation"
"Well maybe you're over-thinking things too much now. Just relax a little, OK? No point in worrying in advance. Yeah?"
o()()()o
Edward was wearing a shit-eating grin when we left the Hale house after saying goodbye to our... sweethearts... (Jesus. Was that really... real?) at three something in the morning. He really did seem happy and relaxed. I'd watched him as he spoke quietly to Jasper just before we parted, all hand-holding and shit, and it was kinda weird and kinda nice. He gave me a dirty look when he caught me staring but seemed too giddy to actually get pissed off.
He stumbled on his way to the car and I noticed that his jeans were ridiculously long for him.
"What the fuck is it you're wearing, dude? You wanna get yourself killed by falling over your own pants?" I asked as I set the engine on and immediately felt stupid, realizing I must have sounded like a vulgar version of an over-protective granny. Shit, I muttered to myself. I so needed to get a grip.
I glanced apologetically at him, expecting to hear a snarky response any second, but instead I found out he was looking rather embarrassed, too.
"It's, er, Jasper's jeans" he said uncomfortably.
And because my brain was really low on free RAM with all the brotherly-emotional shit going on in it, I managed to ask "why the hell would you wear his jeans?" about half a second before the obvious answer occurred to me and I burst into laughter.
"I'm not telling you details, you perv!" he said, laughing along.
Now that made me flinch a little.
"I'm not interested in those details, you perv" I quipped – and the hurt I immediately saw on his face made me want to bite my tongue off.
Way to be supportive, Emmett. That was just such a great fucking thing to say to him now. You'd better just shut up for a while because everything you say comes out idiotic at the very best.
"Shit, Edward, I did not mean it like that" I rushed, deciding I couldn't actually stop talking before I fixed the situation.
"What did you mean then, huh?" he snapped.
"Well... you're my brother! I don't want to think about... ugh. You know. Would you like me to tell you things Idid with Rose a few hours ago?"
That worked. He laughed, all hurt and tension dissipated from his features.
"Ew" he said. "You've got a point."
We arrived home just then and hopped out of the jeep. Just as he was fumbling for his keys to open the door to the house, I followed a sudden impulse and hugged him tightly to my chest. He patted my back, clearly surprised a little by my unusual display of affection.
"I love you, remember?" I mumbled, letting go off him and feeling completely idiotic for my – yet another – emotional reaction this night. Once again I expected to hear something sarcastic in response.
"Love you too" he said instead, smiling.
o()()()o
It was almost noon when I finally woke up. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, fighting with my usual morning grogginess. And then I was instantly fully awake when I remembered the previous night.
Edward. Edward and Jasper. Edward with Jasper. How will it go? Will he find happiness in a relationship of the type he was taught to consider profoundly wrong? What will our parents say? Will he even tell them? When will he tell them? What about all the other problems associated with being gay? What if he wants to have kids? What if some assholes attack him? OK that he can probably deal with... but what if there'll be too many of them? How can I help him with all this situation?
The thoughts were circulating through my head, chasing one another with such speed I was barely able to register them and in just few seconds I started feeling dizzy. I needed to get a grip. I needed to clear my head before my brain would short-circuit.
I browsed through my mp3 player, knowing there was just about one thing that could help me in a moment like this. A minute later I attached the loudspeakers to the player and set the volume to high. "Roots" just had to be played loud, otherwise there was little fucking point to it. Sunday noon meant my parents were in church and Edward – if he was still sleeping – wouldn't mind being woken up by Sepultura.
I hit 'play' and the famous drums and base and ethnic instruments and Cavalera's growling voice filled my room as I lied back on the bed, closing my eyes. My mind finally relaxed, focusing on the incredibly complex sounds that in my opinion could only be rivaled by classical music. It may seem a screwed-up comparison to many, but heavy metal and classics were the two types of music I listened to most of the time. Plus some jazz, occasionally.
Jazz.
Edward.
Oh, shit.
My mind immediately got back on it's previous track but at least the music helped me keep it under control this time and think somewhat clearly rather than letting my thoughts run in dizzying circles.
So, Rose thought I should chill out a little and stop worrying so much. That was easier said than done, though. I did have a tendency to get a little overprotective about my little brother. OK, technically he wasn't my little brother - he was actually some minutes older than me (Mom had a caesarian and they took him out first). I have always been the big and bulky one, while he was much leaner and a little shorter, but this wasn't why I was kinda used to thinking about him as the younger one. It was because there used to be time when I'd actually had to play the big brother role for him.
o()()()o
The whole shit started at the end of our eighth grade, when we were still living in Chicago. He got a
flu in the middle of the spring and in the worst possible moment, too. The baseball team we were both in was going to play some epic game - hell if I remember who it was with by now - and we were both dying to take part. The competition to get to the main team for the match was fierce and one of the rules the Coach made sure we understood was: miss one practice, and you're out. So despite the fever and pain in the joints, Edward was determined to go. Our parents, of course, had different view of things and ordered him to stay in bed. Edward was frustrated and mad to no end, and so was I. Didn't they realize how important that game was? Were they going to let a stupid flu ruin my brother's baseball career?
You know, thirteen year-olds can be stupider than hamsters sometimes.
That damned afternoon our parents were at work and we were home with our sitter. We concocted a brilliant plan to sneak Edward out of the house and to training. He feigned sleep so that Miss Cope would leave him alone in his room – and once that happened he packed his gear, climbed out the window and run straight to our practice pitch which was just across the road. In the
meantime, I made her help me look for my trainers that "had to be somewhere in the basement, but I could not find them anywhere." After about half an hour, when I was positive my brother would be out of sight, my shoes made a miraculous re-appearance and I ran to join the team. Our timing was perfect – the practice was just beginning.
Edward made it half-way through the game before passing out.
The ambulance was called, and our parents, and he was taken straight to ER. As we learned much later, he had a fever so high the doctors there were shocked he was still alive.
The next couple of weeks were a nightmare. I had never before been separated from my brother for longer than a day or two. Now he was in hospital and I wasn't allowed to even see him. Mom and Dad kept telling me he would be fine but I could see desperation in their eyes and I knew something was very wrong. Three days after this damned practice I overheard their conversation – Dad was explaining to Mom that the strong viral infection and high fever, combined with the exertion of the game, caused a severe breakdown of Edward's immune system which led to blood poisoning. They were fighting for his life.
I heard my Mom's sobs and a moment later I realized I was shaking and sobbing myself.
Fever and infection... combined with the exertion of the game...
Fighting for his life.
Stupid kid as I was, I understood what it meant. My brother could die. Like, really freaking die. And it was my fault because I helped him to get to this fucking training.
Well thank God, he didn't die after all. But it was weeks before he started feeling better and another weeks before he was released home.
And he looked like shit.
Before, he had been athletic and fit. Now, he resembled a skeleton covered with grayish skin and he could barely walk for ten minutes before getting too exhausted.
He wasn't in much better condition when the summer ended and we started high school.
New school. New kids. A bunch of 14 year-old, testosterone-loaded boys establishing pecking orders and pack hierarchies. My brother was absolutely fucked. He became a favorite kicking toy for a number of baby-macho assholes and I had to work my socks off for months to try keeping the motherfuckers off him. I gathered loads of practice-based knowledge about punches and kicks during those months. But I couldn't be around him 100% of the time.
We should have probably talked to Mom and Dad... and they would have probably found some better school to transfer us to... but we were both too fucking proud for that so none of the adults ever found out.
He gradually got better though, gaining back some weight and strength he'd lost. In January, he started jogging and in March, he took up Thai boxing classes – once a week at the beginning but after a couple of weeks he was training every second day. Another few weeks, and he wasn't as happily approached by the bullies as he'd used to be. By the time we started our sophomore year, nobody was fucking with him anymore.
I could stop my protective hovering over him, and I did, but... old habits die hard, I guess.
o()()()o
There was a knock at my door.
"Em?" I heard Edward's voice breaking through the music.
"Come in" I yelled and he showed up in the doorway. He was still wearing pajamas.
"Did I wake you up?" I asked. "Actually, would be 'bout fucking time."
He shook his head.
"Nope, I woke up long ago, I just couldn't be arsed getting dressed. But I heard what you're playing and you know, every time I listen to them I think of Esme."
I nodded empathically, remembering.
Apparently, Esme was the biggest fan of Sepultura ever. She took Edward and me for their concert when we were fifteen and we both got hooked. That thought, as always, made me laugh. Teenage boys learning to listen to death metal from their auntie... that sure was a rarity. Only Esme and the word 'auntie' combined sounded like an oxymoron anyway. At fifty-something, the woman had dreads down to her waist, run marathons... and listened to metal.
"How is she?" I asked. "How are all of them, actually? It's not like you have fucking said anything since you came back."
"Yeah... sorry, I've been a kind of a wailing little bitch, haven't I?" he said guiltily, running his fingers through his haystack of hair. He leaned his back against the wall – he'd already plopped on my bed without asking .
"They're all good I guess... Well, Carlisle's working twice too much – one of the surgeons from his ward went on maternity leave and the guy who was supposed to cover for her got sick, so uncle C. ends up doing most of her shifts now. But he seems to be doing fine and it isn't supposed to last long anyway. Esme's great, I met some of her students – they didn't know I was related to her in any way - and I swear she's like a fucking God to them" he laughed, shaking his head. "It was almost ridiculous to listen to them all crooning about her. But I can hardly blame them. She's the best."
"Alice was in the jungle doing fieldwork all the time I was there, so I didn't get to see her, unfortunately. Cynthia's thinking about going back to the States for college when she finishes high school."
We spent the next hour like that, Edward telling me about his time in Brazil and me telling him some local stories from the time he'd been gone. It was a huge relief to be able to talk to him normally again – we used to spend weekend mornings like that often before but recently he'd been a wailing bitch indeed and would shut me out every time I tried to really talk to him. It had been a pain in my brotherly ass, seeing him like that and not being able to do anything about it.
Apparently, Jazz was a good thing for him, I decided.
I told him so and snickered when he blushed like a girl.
"Yeah, about that" he said, still blushing and avoiding my eyes. "Thanks for last night, Em. I mean, this whole shit happened so quickly and I didn't really think about the best way to clue you in, so... if you freaked out and went all awkward on me afterwards, I would have probably also freaked out eventually."
Well... I did freak out a little last night, yeah? But he really didn't need to know about it.
AN: I'm just like Emmett – I won't know what you're thinking unless you actually tell me... review, please?
