Chapter 1
~Ten Years Later~
~Late March~
Bella Swan knew damn well she was annoying the guy sitting next to her. She had to stop herself from apologizing. Fuck him anyway. If a little leg-shaking bothered him, that was his problem. He'd showed up with a group of assholes taking advantage of the fact the poetry group's readings were open to anyone. If anything, he owed her an apology. His persistent flirting had thrown her off her game, hence the rapid tattoo her foot was beating against the floor.
"Hey."
Bella opened her eyes to find Professor Whitlock, the English professor who ran the group, squatting in front of her. "I saw your name on the reading list. You ready?"
She wanted to say yes, but she was already shaking her head.
He offered her a reassuring smile. "Looks like you've dressed the part. There are three people in front of you, so you have time to decide, but I think you got this. No pressure."
The professor moved on then, leaving Bella to war with the voices in her head.
She started when a voice whispered low in her ear, "You're a poet and I didn't know it, huh?"
Bella looked over her shoulder and leveled him with a glare. "Did your mother never teach you about personal space, buddy? Back off."
Before he could launch into the typical 'I was just being nice' defense, Bella got up and moved across the room just before the first poet stepped up on the platform that served as a stage.
From her new seat, Bella was distracted by a whispered conversation behind her. She tried not to listen, but that never worked once her interest was piqued.
"I'm sorry, Edward. I thought Alice told you."
"Well, she didn't, and if you'd pay attention to your phone, I could have been home half an hour ago."
Bella turned just enough in her seat to look over her shoulder. The man Professor Whitlock was talking to had to be another professor. He had the look. She could see him easily in front of a class glaring daggers at the class clown. For some reason, the idea made her smile.
He was handsome, the unknown professor. Like Professor Henry Jones Jr., handsome. Like maybe she would major in 'whatever subject he taught' handsome. It was as good a plan as any. She had no idea what the hell she was doing with her life.
Bella shook those thoughts away and turned around again. She pressed a hand to her cheek, feeling the warmth there. Where the heck had that come from?
Behind her, Professor Whitlock laughed. "Come on. Anything I'm keeping you from will still be there tomorrow. Why don't you stay a minute? They're doing slam poetry tonight. Listen to this guy. If you'd shut up long enough to hear what he's doing, I think you'd like this."
"I don't know."
"Then at least stay until Alice gets here. It's been a month since we've seen you."
"I get busy."
"Hey, life happens, man. I get it. But you're here now, and it'd make Alice happy."
The stranger professor sighed. "Yeah, all right."
With no more distractions, Bella turned her attention back to the performance on the stage. Anxiety buzzed at the back of her mind, but she concentrated on the performer. She focused on the passion of their words and the way, for a brief moment, she felt something that wasn't hers. Anguish or joy she could put it down at the end of the poem.
Three performers passed too quickly, and then the professor was introducing her.
"Bella's up next. This is her first time reading, so be nice."
"Woo, a virgin! That's hot."
Bella's step faltered. She didn't have to look to know it was the guy from earlier whom she'd moved to get away from. A few of his friends cackled and cheered at that, and Bella had to concentrate to keep her feet moving forward.
When she got to the mic, she looked up, and that was her first mistake. The first thing she saw were the leering faces of the stupid frat boys who'd invaded this place of art to look for an easy piece of ass. She saw the way their eyes devoured her, and their grins told her exactly what they wanted.
The room spun. Her body braced to run.
But then she spotted the stranger professor at the back of the room. It was a small room and well lit. She could see his eyes clearly. They were calm, green eyes, sad somehow. They were eyes that weren't ripping her clothes off where she stood. He tilted his head in silent encouragement, and Bella could breathe again.
She adjusted the mic.
The fantastic thing about slam poetry was the power. It was absolute proof that words alone could move people. When a poem was on point, the energy of it filled the room. The crowd was so rocked with emotion; it came out in hoots, hollers, and sporadic applause.
That was what pushed Bella to get up in front of the room even though she was naturally shy, among other things. But in a life where she was often afraid of her own shadow, she wanted a taste of that power. She wanted control of this room and every person in it for five minutes. She wanted the strength of her words, her emotions laid bare, to resonate in their heads and send shivers down their spines.
She got what she wanted.
Her voice rang strong and clear in the room as she began to put words to unspeakable horror. Bella quickly discovered the symbiotic relationship between a performer and her audience. She could feel the emotion, could feel the strength of their reaction, and when they shouted, "Yeah!", gasped, or groaned, her words gained volume and speed. Words flowed out of her in a torrent, and she found herself stamping with the beat of it.
When she came to the natural end of the stanza, the room was dead silent. It wasn't an awkward silence, but that kind of quiet that fell in the wake of devastation. The silence of a soul rendered mute by grief.
Bella caught her breath and wiped at the tears that had fallen, finishing the last stanza of her poem in a quiet but strong voice.
"I want to believe in white knights
The way I believe in Santa
Once upon a time, it was a nice idea
But knowing he doesn't exist doesn't hurt.
Seeing other kids who still believe
Doesn't make me wish for the bliss of ignorance
I am the Fox Mulder of my own heart
I want to believe
But I can't"
Bella swallowed around the lump in her throat and stepped back from the mic as the room burst into applause. Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest it was jostling her stomach, so even though she was giddy with adrenaline, she also wanted to throw up. Bella darted for the back door.
Outside, the cold air of Flagstaff, AZ in March felt good on her super-heated skin. Bella made it a short distance away from the building before she sunk down on a convenient stone, trembling too hard to stand. She was crying. Not for any good reason. It was just an overflow of emotion, a reaction to the power she'd held in her hands. A power that had cost her something. How easily it could have been too much, but the fact the audience had understood, had been with her... that had healed something in her. Or at least soothed it.
Whatever this emotion was, she was high off it. Drunkenly high.
"There you are."
Bella stiffened and sat bolt upright at the sound of the voice. It was the jock, and judging by the way he plopped down beside her, he still hadn't gotten the memo. He put a hand on her shoulder and didn't remove it when she cringed.
"Hey, don't cry." He reached up to wipe her cheek, but this time, Bella stood up. He held his hands up and out. "Hey, princess. Calm down, would you? I'm only trying to be nice."
Her heart was hammering a mile a minute, faster than it had been when she stepped off stage. She'd broken out in a cold sweat too, leaving her feeling clammy and lightheaded. "Buddy, I'm not buying what you're selling. Fuck off, would you?"
He huffed, and the irritated look on his face set off an edge of panic in Bella. She had to bite her tongue to keep from apologizing.
"Well, pardon the fuck out of me," the frat boy said, standing. "I saw you run out here. I thought something was wrong, and you're here crying. I wanted to help, and you've been treating me like I'm some asshole all night."
Bella bit the inside of her cheek. Her body was pulling her in too many directions, making it too difficult to think. The part of her that was still riding high wanted to kick his ass just because she could. She could, too. He wouldn't be expecting a little thing like her to be able to do it, but she'd learned how.
But then there was that ever infuriating part that wanted to beg him not to be angry. That ingrained part of her that wanted only to please him so he'd be happy with her again. Why had she been so mean to him? He was right. He was only trying to be nice. And so what if he'd been flirting with her earlier. People flirted. It was hardly cause for such drama.
"I was late to meet my boyfriend." Assholes like this never respected a woman's wishes, but they would back off if another man had prior claim.
The frat boy huffed and looked around, his arms held out wide. "Uh huh. Then where is he? You said you were late. Is that why you're crying? Because he left already?" He dropped his hands back to his sides and took a step toward her, his grin coming back. "Well, I'm here baby. Fuck him."
"Hello, sweetheart. I'm sorry, I'm late."
Bella and the frat boy both turned. Bella's eyes went wide when she saw the stranger professor approaching them. His smile was warm, and he ignored the boy completely, extending a hand toward her. "Are you ready to go?"
It took her two long seconds to understand what was going on. He must have overheard her argument with the frat boy, and he was giving her an out. Bella argued with herself for an additional second-there was no reason to believe this guy was any better than the frat boy-but she put her hand in his anyway. "Yeah, babe. I'm ready." She threw a brief sneer at the boy for added effect and let the stranger professor lead her away.
The stranger professor kept his hold loose and made no attempt to touch her otherwise. "Are you okay?"
She realized her hand was still trembling and blew out a sharp breath. "Fine. Thank you for that."
They'd made it safely around the corner of the building. The stranger professor peered over his shoulder to see if the boy had followed. Assured the coast was clear, he let go of Bella and put both his hands in the pockets of his coat.
Bella wrapped her arms around her shoulders, shivering with the excess of emotion and the biting cold. She felt stupid and appreciative all at once. And pissed. For five minutes on stage she'd been a complete badass, and that stupid prick started picking away at that almost immediately.
"You're freezing," the stranger professor said, already beginning to shrug out of his coat.
Bella held a hand out. "I'll be fine." Cold she could handle, though he was right. She was freezing. Maybe it was petty, but he'd been enough of a hero for one night.
He studied her, looking like he was going to argue, but then he nodded. "Okay."
"Can I get you a coffee?" she asked and wondered what the hell she was doing. It made an odd sort of sense in her mind. She didn't want to go back to the poetry meeting yet, not with the frat boys milling around, and she kind of wanted to prove to this guy she wasn't helpless. "I am cold, but it doesn't make sense to make you cold too."
He hesitated, and some combination of adrenaline and stupidity had Bella's mouth moving again before she could stop it. "Just a thank you. I don't think there are any rules against a professor accepting a coffee from a student. It's not like I'm your student."
His brows furrowed in confusion. "Oh." He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, making a mess of it. "I'm not a professor. I'm actually a student here. Technically."
She shivered again, and he frowned. "Yeah. Okay," he said. "Coffee's fine. Why not," he said. He gestured in front of them. "Lead on." He cleared his throat; his shoulders hunched as he followed her. "I'm Edward Cullen, by the way."
"Bella Swan."
~0~
Here was the thing about college: for as much higher education was going on, there was even more in the way of social interaction. Bella had tried to keep herself above all that, but it was impossible. Hookups and harmless flirting were just as rampant as serious dating and burgeoning relationships.
It had only bothered Bella because there were a host of boys, and a few girls thrown in for good measure, flirting with her whenever she was out and about on the campus. Most of them weren't as unnerving as the frat boy had been, but Bella wasn't interested.
There were two problems with Edward Cullen. The first was he was definitely not like the other kids she was surrounded by. Despite the fact they kept to light conversation-nothing remotely personal-Bella was intrigued by him. Maybe it was the sadness in him.
It had occurred to Bella more than once that tortured souls were drawn to each other. He was definitely a tortured soul. It was something she simply knew. There was something about Edward that left her wanting.
And that was the second problem.
She did want.
It took her most of the hour they spent at the coffee shop to figure out why she was antsy and her face was over-warm; why she grinned like an idiot at the smallest funny thing he said; why she couldn't stop staring at the curl of hair that fell onto his forehead, or the shape of his nose, or the way his lips were full and-
She was pleased by his attention, attracted by his...everything, and she didn't know what to do about it. It was ridiculous to think she should do something about it or that she could. Was there a social rulebook she hadn't received, and oh my god, was she honestly thinking of flirting with him?
"You've gone quiet on me," Edward said, ducking his head to catch her eyes.
He'd offered to walk her back to her dorm, and she'd taken that offer. It was better than calling campus police for an escort, anyway. "Just thinking about midterms," she lied.
He hummed, and then he laughed.
"What?" she asked.
"I was just wondering how you walked in those," he said, nodding toward her platform boots.
"They're so stupid, right?" She stopped to hold her foot out straight and rotated it around. "They're heavy, too." She shrugged as they kept walking. "It took a lot of practice."
"I see. So you think they're stupid, but you're wearing them, and you had to take valuable time out of your life to learn how to walk." His voice wasn't mocking, but gently teasing, and when she glanced at him, his little smile made her smirk.
Bella wrapped her arms around her shoulders, looking down at the ground as they walked on. "I was a really clumsy kid. Like, stitches every few months clumsy. You know how there are just some things you tell yourself, I'm never going to be a person who can do that thing. It's just not a talent I have."
"I always wanted to be one of those guys who could pull off a fedora."
She cocked her head, giving him a look. "Indiana Jones. That's the end of the list of guys who can pull off a fedora." Remembering her earlier thought about Professor Henry Jones Jr., Bella looked away again before she could blush. "So at some point, I just decided to be the person who could wear crap like this." She gestured at herself.
"Why?"
"Because it was one of the only things in my life I could control."
She hadn't been able to put together the shattered shards of her life back then, but she could learn how to walk on platform shoes. It sounded pathetic even in her head, but there it was.
"I think I get that," Edward said, his voice soft.
Struck by this, Bella looked at him again only to find his expression pinched and far off. It was the kind of expression that made her want to hug him, and that did nothing to soothe the urge she'd had all night. She'd wanted to touch him in a million different ways. What she wanted now was to pull him to her and kiss the sadness off his lips.
She cleared her throat. "This is me," she said, tapping on her door. The whiteboard had a message from her roommate saying she'd be out late and not to worry.
"Um." Edward rubbed the back of his neck and took a step toward her, looking somewhat bashful. "There's no way this is going to come out as anything but awkward, so I apologize for that. I know the last thing you need is another guy creeping you out."
Bella crossed her arms, wary, but curious about where the hell this could possibly be going.
"It's just that when something I've read or watched resonates with me, I've never had the opportunity to thank the person. They're usually long dead, and I don't see the point of fan mail." He looked up at her with a small smile and earnestness mingling with melancholy in his eyes.
"The piece you did tonight…" He shook his head, his mouth moving soundlessly as though searching for words he couldn't find. "I can't begin to understand what you went through to be able to create that. Whatever it was, I'm sorry." He swallowed hard. "And thank you. It couldn't have been easy to put that out there. So thank you."
Bella blinked, looking at him, and she was so angry.
Not at him. No. She was pissed as hell that she'd had the ability to create that. Because it also meant she was couldn't have what so many people around her found so easily. She didn't connect with people. She'd been on edge all night because she wanted to flirt. She wanted a kiss. She wanted…
Much more than a kiss.
He was standing so close to her, and she thought maybe, if she was someone else…
No. Fuck that. Fuck that.
She pushed up on her tiptoes, taking his face between her hands, and she kissed him.
Edward's gasp vibrated against her mouth and for a second, he froze. She almost pulled back, almost apologized, but then his hands were cupped around her elbows, pulling her closer. Then she was the one who froze.
No. She held on to her anger, her want and how this felt good. She searched for that high she'd felt earlier, when she got off the stage.
He understood. He saw her. Her words had given her power over him, and more than that, she was in control here.
She was too. He was following where she led. She took a step backward, and he followed. She reached behind her, fumbling at the doorknob, and he followed her inside, still matching her kiss for kiss.
They didn't speak, and they didn't stop. Not until he was sitting on her little dorm bed and she was straddling him.
Their pants were loud in the silence of the room. With her hand on his chest, Bella could feel how fast his heartbeat was. He was scared too, and there was some comfort there. She liked that he wasn't in control of this.
His hands brushed along her side, his eyes searching, and she knew without him saying that he was trying to figure out if this was really about to happen.
Was it? And was she doing the right thing by him? She was using him, in a way, and part of her knew that. She was doing this because she wanted to and because she could and because she needed to know if she was capable. Could she still have something like this? A wild, passionate, spontaneous night with a near-complete stranger?
Could she have this after everything that she'd lost?
Bella stroked her fingers through Edward's hair. It was as soft as she'd imagined, unencumbered by product. He shuddered with pleasure at her strokes, and she lowered her head to his, kissing him again.
She let her hands fall down to his cheeks, his neck, his chest. His hands were up under her shirt, and again she stiffened for a moment before she relaxed into his touch. His hands were deft, undoing the clasp of her bra. She reached between them to unbutton his pants.
This didn't feel bad.
As long as Bella concentrated on that-on the feel of good touch, the natural warmth of being desired-she was fine. More than fine. So much more than fine. Edward's hands were gentle. He didn't try to take control from her. He didn't grasp or grab or squeeze too hard. He didn't take what she didn't offer. She was the one to lift her hips and guide herself down on him, but he was the one who held her tight, his hand firm on her back, when they rocked together, his back against the wall and her head on his shoulder.
It wasn't so intimate. They were both mostly dressed, and neither of them spoke save for his occasional, breathless, "Oh, God." But it was strangely not awkward. It felt as though they were having a conversation. An invigorating, interesting conversation with their bodies instead of words.
"Bella," Edward said raggedly, and she raised her head. It took her a minute to realize he was close to his release.
She leaned in to nip at his lips. "It's okay," she said, reaching between them, circling him where he was sliding in and out of her. God, that was amazing. He was thick and hot beneath her hand. "I'm okay."
It was the truth. There was no way she was going to orgasm, but that hardly mattered to her. He couldn't possibly understand what he was doing for her was so much better than the best orgasm.
He groaned, burying his head against her neck, his teeth digging into her flesh just slightly. She stroked the hairs at his neck, feeling powerful and beautiful as he pulsed inside her.
She was proud. Two years she'd been afraid of this. Maybe she would never have to be afraid again.
Edward lifted his head, kissing a line along her neck and up until he reached her lips. He kissed her long and languidly, laying back on the bed and bringing her with him.
They fell asleep like that-Bella draped over him, satisfied beyond measure.
A/N: Many thanks to songster and myheroin.
So that's Bella…
I'm going to be working the polls (ehehehe) all day tomorrow, so let me know what you're thinking, good or bad. It'll be a good distraction. HEARTS! And GO VOTE!
Oh. My favorite Slam poem is Neil Hilborn & Ollie Renee Schminkey - "One Color". What's yours?
