Author's Note:
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Thank you for rec'ing the SHIT out of this!
Thanks to my amazing Beta, xLavenderMoonx (Susie)
To the wild world of strokes...
Covering my bases on sensitive issues:
WARNING: PORTIONS OF THIS CHAPTER AND/OR STORY CONTAIN INSTANCES OF FLASHBACKS THAT CONTAIN THE SUGGESTED THEME OF NEAR SEXUAL ASSAULT. THIS IS INAPPROPRIATE FOR PEOPLE WHO ARE YOUNGER THAN 16, OR WHO MAY BE TRIGGERED BY SUCH REFERENCES. YOU READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
CARICATURE
3
-(*)-
You need to understand
There's nothing strange about this
You need to know your friends, you need to know that
I'll be waving my hand watching you drown
Watching you scream quiet or loud
And maybe you should sleep
And maybe you just need a friend
As clumsy as you've been
There's no one laughing
You will be safe in here
-(*)-
*B_E_L_L_A*
His wrist guided mine as the light green paint absorbed into the canvas, the strokes a light, thin line. His touch was soft as he finally lifted my hand from the opus and lightly took the brush from my hands, setting it on the easel.
"Now, I think you should work with oil paints, Bella," Edward said, reaching behind the easel to grab a jar of black oil paint. "It's thicker than what you're used to, so you only need a little."
He placed the jar of paint on the ledge of the easel, picked up the clean brush from one of the many holders that attached to the side of the easel, dipped the tip into the paint, and handed it to me.
"Do the same thing as the watercolors, only you're going to drag the tip across the surface instead of dabbing it," he said, taking my wrist again and pulling it back to the surface of the painting.
Each time he touched my wrist, I mentally cringed, but didn't give him any indication that his contact was making me a little uncomfortable. A part of me suspected that he'd seen the change in me, the depression I silently held inside myself, in my attitude, because he seemed to be less aware of me than he'd been last night. He was more professional-like in the way he guided my hand to the canvas, and even in the way he spoke to me. It was different; less intimate.
"The color is deeper," I said aloud, quickly comparing the two different paints.
He laughed slightly, then let go of my wrist, and let me direct the brush by myself. He stood back a few steps and crossed his arms, watching carefully as I dipped the paint back into the jar and repeated my earlier movements.
"Did you know they moved the art show from the art center to your father's gallery opening? I'm sure you heard already, though. A big change, but I guess we could use the room," Edward said. "Killing two birds with one stone, Charlie is."
"Really? I didn't know that until you just told me. The Art Center doesn't hold as many people anymore in its lobby, so that really isn't too big a shock."
"I concur," Edward replied. I could hear the smile in his voice.
"Am I doing it okay?" I asked, turning around to get his answer.
When I turned, my hip hit the ledge of the easel, causing the black oily paint to spill from its jar as it fell from the ledge and cascaded a few feet from me. The paint splattered and leaked all over my shirt, jeans, and my white sneakers, leaving me looking a mess, and effectively near to tears.
He hurried forward as I bent down to pick the jar up, tears starting to sting the back of my eyes. He reached out and grasped my wrist, his eyes meeting mine.
"Bella, are you alright?" he asked with concern, picking up the paint jar and setting it beside him on the floor.
My eyes left his to travel down my clothing, ruined by the black that covered them. I brought my eyes level with his once more and could feel the tears start to fall from the corners of my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, standing up. "I'm so sorry."
"Sorry for what? You spilled paint, it was an accident. Look at you," he said, reaching out to touch my knee, where the black paint was the thickest. "You're all covered in it."
I looked at him and then down to where his hand rested on my knee. The slight tremor in my body was felt as his fingertips curved into the paint, causing black to seep around the tips of his fingers.
"Please don't do that," I murmured, meeting his eyes and then squeezing mine tightly shut.
"Do what?" he asked, confused.
"Please don't touch me like that," I said, mentally counting to ten in my mind. He was very close to the place Mike had been when he tried to calm me that night.
I could feel his hand lift off my knee as my breathing tried to regulate back to normal. I could feel myself losing control, hyperventilating and tears falling from my face. The tears were more of embarrassment than from the contact Edward made.
"Sorry," he muttered.
I slowly opened my eyes and saw that Edward had stood up and walked to the sink. He placed the jar in it and reached over to grab a red cotton rag from the counter. He did not meet my eyes as he bent down to sop up the paint that was slowly cascading around the tile. I stood so that he could clean up what had seeped under my knees. I dripped black drops of paint all over the place as I stepped out of his way.
"I think I should go," I said, looking down at my clothes and sighing. "I think I did enough for tonight."
"Whoa," he said, getting to his feet and standing in front of me. "You can't be walking home like that. You look like shit. Literally, you look like a big fucking black turd splat on you."
"I have nothing on me, just my bag, and there isn't anything in there as far as clothing," I replied. "I'll be fine, Edward."
"You're not leaving my studio looking like that, Bella. I think Alice keeps some extra clothing in the back somewhere. You're about her size," he said, his eyes raking over my body. "Stay here."
I watched as he disappeared through the door. I walked to the sink and turned the tap on, shoving my dirty hands under the water and scrubbing as the sobs started to come again. How could I be so clumsy? And then to react the way I did when he touched my knee was an even more depressing situation all on its own. The way he answered me was filled with hurt and confusion. The worst part was I had no explanation to give him for my actions. I knew he would take it as I didn't want him in that way, but the fact was that wasn't true. For the first time in four years, I wanted to be close to a man. To feel his touch on me as I cried, and not cringe from him, or make him feel like a piece of shit, like I knew I had made Edward feel a moment ago. I didn't even know if Edward felt the same way toward me. Judging by tonight, I would guess that he didn't. At least, he didn't act the same as he had yesterday. What caused the change?
I heard him come back into the room behind me, so I composed myself as I turned the tap off and reached for a towel to dry my hands off. I turned to him, and he shoved some clothes at me.
"Alice won't miss them, she has enough shit in her closet, anyway," he said. "Uh, there is no bathroom down there that has much room, but there is one in my apartment you're welcome to use."
I looked at the pile of clothing in my hands; a pair of skinny jeans, and a gray cropped shirt. I swung my eyes back to Edward and nodded. He motioned for me to follow him. We walked out of the light of the studio, and into the dark hallway. The panic in my body was starting to erupt under my skin, suffocating me in the pain of that night, and the shadows that watched as Mike touched me; violated my trust. I automatically reached my right hand out and grabbed onto Edwards forearm. He stopped and turned to look at me.
"I…I can't see in the dark," I covered.
He turned and began walking toward the small, lit room off the end of the hall. I let go of his arm as he stopped in front of a door that led up to the second floor, flicked it open and moved aside.
"After you," he said, gesturing with his hand for me to go first.
I hesitated, and then turned to look at him. I bit my lip, and turned my eyes to the floor.
"What is it now, Isabella?" he asked impatiently, reaching out to tug my lip from my teeth. "And what did I tell you about that?"
My eyes swung to the darkness in the rooms beyond and then slipped back to his face, to his eyes. There was irritation in them, and coldness, now.
"It's dark," I murmured. "Could you turn the lights on?"
"Bella-"
"Come with me then," I blurted out. "Please."
He looked slightly mollified as he shrugged and started up the flight of stairs that led to his apartment. I reached up and held onto his shirt as he climbed the stairs. He flicked on the light switch on the wall, and the room in front of us lit up brightly in the fluorescence. The room was big, bright, and filled with Edward's sketching and portraits. My eyes scanned the artwork on the walls, while my hand slipped from his shirt.
"Let me go turn the other lights on," he said, leaving me in the room by myself.
I didn't feel quite as uncomfortable being alone with him. After all, our lessons were done after hours, alone. When he touched my knee, however, I lost all sense of who was touching me so intimately, who was kneeling in front of me trying to comfort me. To me, it was four years ago all over again.
I took the time to look at the sketches he had framed in wooden, black frames. Some were pictures of people that I did not recognize, but by the features of the face and the golden tone in their eyes, I guessed that they were of his parents. His mother was perfectly portrayed in the realism. Her light brown hair framed her face and made her eyes stand out. The portrait of his father was also life-like, but there was a stern sense of disapproval in his expression.
As I walked along the wall and gazed at the paintings, the one at the very end, the lone painting without a frame, stuck out to me. I had seen it before. The naked portrait of Angie Weber stood hanging on his wall, in a spot next to his parents. I examined her face closer and felt as if I had seen her before, but I couldn't quite place her.
"There. All the lights you need are on," Edward said, reappearing in the room. "Ignore the shower curtain…it was a present from Emmett, and well...you can't expect him to be intelligent enough for taste," he said.
I could see him watching me from the corner of my eye, so I turned to him and pointed to the painting.
"You hung it in your apartment?" I raised my eyebrow at him.
"Yeah, I guess I did," he shrugged, his eyes slipping to the painting I still pointed at.
"I thought you were going to enter this in that art show," I replied. "What changed your mind?"
"Well," he started, walking over to me and placing his chin in his hand, "I can't do it."
I turned sharply to look at him.
"Why? But all the best artists do it every year, Edward," I said indignantly.
"I don't mean it that way, Isabella," he whispered.
He turned to me, and in that brief moment, I saw the truth in his face; in his onyx eyes.
"Oh," I replied, my voice low and raspy.
"I don't want to go alone, and I don't think it's wise for you to accompany me as I requested before," he explained. "I think that these lessons are a mistake, and making it worse by expecting you come with me to an art show is just increasing the awkwardness."
"A mistake, huh?" I asked, picking the word out from his explanation.
He didn't reply, instead he looked down at me with an apology in his eyes. Rejection washed through me as my thoughts last night came back to me. He really didn't feel that way toward me.
"I think you should go change, you're dripping paint on the floor," he said, looking down at the black splotches that were still falling from my clothing.
"You're right, this was a mistake," I said, shoving the clothes back into his hands. "I should go."
I made to go around him, but he turned and caught my hand in his, letting the clothing fall next to him on the floor. My gaze moved to his fingers that were wrapped tightly around my own fingers, intertwined, and then I looked back to his eyes, which had gone the color of the paint dripping from my body.
"It's only a mistake because I want to touch you, and that would be a very bad thing, Isabella." His eyes were brighter, now. "I have to push aside these…feelings for you, and I can't do that when I have to see your face," he said, leaning in close to me. "Not to mention you always dismiss me when I have physical contact with you. And that is very, very frustrating."
I remained silent as I looked from his bright eyes to the clothing on the floor. He let my wrist go, and I bent down to retrieve the clothes.
"Like you said, contact would be a very, very bad thing," I replied, passing him and disappearing to the bathroom down the hall.
I quickly shut the bathroom door and turned to lock it. I leaned up against the door, threw the clothes onto the closed toilet lid, and closed my eyes. So he did have feelings for me. But he had called it a mistake; something that he wanted, but couldn't have. But why? Besides my inability to let him touch me intimately, he could do as he pleased. I had wanted him to kiss me yesterday, yet he was the one that had refrained.
I stepped away from the bathroom door and opened my eyes.
I reached down to kick off my paint-splattered shoes and then undid my jeans, pulling them down past my narrow hips and onto the floor, kicking them off lightly to the side. I slid my shirt off and cast that aside, as well. I reached over to the clothing and grabbed the shirt, which was on top of the pile, and put it on. The jeans were next, and I groaned at how tight they felt against my body.
"There's no room for my ass to jiggle," I muttered to myself, feeling the material with my fingertips.
I grabbed my shoes off the floor, noticing that most of the paint had dried quickly since my shoes were made of canvas material. I opened the door, fully intent on leaving, with or without his permission. I would have, too, if his body was not blocking the bathroom doorway, his hands on either side of the doorjamb.
"Edward…what-?"
"The good thing about bad things is they make you want them even more," he replied, moving his hand from the door jam and tipping my face up to look into his eyes. "And you, Isabella, are something I desperately, completely want."
His lips crashed down on mine as my hands, despite all my reservations and uneasiness, dropped the shoes onto the floor behind him and slid around his neck. I pulled myself to him in hungry pressure.
"Edward," I managed to grind out between our pressed lips.
I saw his other hand out of the corner of my eye come off the door jam and latch onto my waist, pressing me even further into his body, so that I could feel his hardness against my belly.
"Edward," I said louder while trying to catch my breath and disengage my lips.
He continued to kiss me with authority, as I lowered my hands from his neck to push on his chest.
"EDWARD, GET OFF ME!" I roared at him, reaching down to drag his hand off my waist.
He abruptly pulled away from me, looking at me with a mix of horror and confusion. He brought his hand up to wipe his wet lips, as I started to weep.
"Please don't," I begged him through the sobs as he opened his mouth to speak. "Please don't touch me."
"I won't do anything you don't want me to," he told me, backing away from me. "Bella, I won't touch you." He put his hands up shoulder high in surrender.
I reached down to pick up my shoes from the floor, tears still falling, and pushed past him. I headed toward the door leading down to his studio and to the exit.
"Please, Bella!" he called after me, "Let me take you home! I promise not to touch you. Fuck, I won't utter a word, if you don't want me to!"
I didn't stop to answer him. Instead, I flew down the stairs, ran through the studio, and into the night's cool air, barefoot. As I ran down the block, the wind whipped across my tight clothing. I could hear Edward from his studio doors calling to me.
"Bella! Wait! What did I do?"
You did nothing, Edward. Nobody wants damaged goods….
The patter of my bare feet as I ran was the only noise I could hear against the world, now. The sounds of cars, traffic, and people on the street were all drowned out. It was like a silent movie as I fled. His hand had touched my waist, a boundary that I held onto, and that boundary was broken so quickly that there'd been no time to differentiate who was doing it. In that small instant, there was no difference between Mike and Edward. The flash of memory had been a pair of hands greedily on my waist, and that was enough.
No…I am damaged.
I am…blemished.
I am…broken.
I am… a half-finished painting put on display.
Edward wanted to finish me, but the ghosts and echoes of four years had broken me down.
And pulled me inside out…
*E_D_W_A_R_D*
-(*)-
You need to understand
There's nothing fake about this
You need to let me in, I'm watching you, and
I'll be waving my hand watching you drown
Watching you scream, no one's around
And maybe you should sleep
And maybe you just need a friend
As clumsy as you've been
There's no one laughing
You will be safe in here
You will be safe in
-(*)-
Emmett rolled around on the couch in laughter for the third time.
"It isn't that funny, Em, you retard," I spat at him, looking away from the ridiculousness of his reaction.
"Oh, man," Emmett replied, trying to stop his giggles long enough to speak, "it really is. The chick up and took off after you kissed her? Dude, your breath must have been rank," he said, his laughing starting anew.
"Remind me again why you're here?" I retorted, rolling my eyes.
We were sitting in the studio the next morning, a small break in between Tanya's portrait unveiling and the old lady and her cat that was due up in ten minutes. I sat on the stool generally reserved for my subjects, my hands curving under the stool.
"Hey,' he stopped laughing and sat up straight on the couch, "you're the one who left her clothes on your bathroom floor! I go to take a long, relieving piss, and I look down and see girl pants and I get all excited, thinking you must have taken them off of her. You disappoint me, bro."
"Again, with your magical-thinking cock, Emmett," I said bitterly. "It wasn't my breath that made her run."
"Then what did? Did you say something fucked up to her or something?"
"I have no fucking idea. I just kissed her, and she freaked the fuck out on me. Not to mention she made me go turn on all the lights in the apartment before she went any further than the living room," I sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of my nose.
"The chick sounds like a virgin to me," Emmett shrugged, looking at me with a smirk. "Cherry goes pop."
"Fuck off," I retorted. "She's not…" I trailed off, thinking over the possibility that she just might be, in fact, a virgin.
This could easily explain her reluctance with the contact I made with her, and the fact she wanted all the lights on. Perhaps, Emmett wasn't as stupid as I had always thought.
"You think?" I asked, leaning forward on the stool.
"Man, either that, or the girl is fucking nuts. Seeing as she seemed mentally stable on the dance floor, I'd say her cherry pie is still intact and ready to bake," he replied while getting up and stretching.
"You aren't as stupid as I once thought," I complimented, smiling widely while bending over to nail my fist into his nuts.
"Fuck you. That was a cheap shot! Don't you have an old woman's puss to draw or something?" he squeaked out, doubled over holding his crotch. "I'm out of here. That's not my kind of thing."
I groaned as I watched Emmett walk out of the room. I could hear the old lady in the reception area, her cat meowing as she spoke.
Could that be the reason for last night? I thought to myself, getting off the stool, and bringing the easel forward. Was Bella Swan really still a virgin? She was very attractive, obviously. Perhaps she was one of those 'promise ring' type people; the kind who wait for marriage before having sexual relationships.
Please, God…don't let that be it. I prayed silently
Maybe she was just so busy, that she had no time for men? Maybe she wasn't even interested in men?
"Oh, my God! Please don't be into flannel and Birkenstock*, either…" I said aloud, as the thought floated through my mind.
"Who's the lesbian?" I heard from behind me.
I turned to see the old lady and her tabby cat standing in the doorway, Alice behind them, looking thoroughly embarrassed.
"Nobody, Mrs. Whitlock," I said, as Alice shoved the old woman into the room and gave me a what-the-fuck look, then turning and leaving me to my work. "Have a seat."
I set to work sketching the old lady and her cat, Cupcake. That cat was one fucking evil cupcake, as it clawed and scratched at my stool, meowing as I posed it on Mrs. Whitlock's lap. That pussy was hard to tame. I was halfway finished outlining Mrs. Whitlock's back hump when the old lady spoke.
"You going to answer that, boy?" she said, petting the squirming, meowing cat in her arms.
"Answer what?" I asked, confused.
"The ringing phone. Boy, I am nearly eighty and almost deaf, and I can hear that," she snapped.
"Old bat," I muttered, hearing the slight ringing now that the cat stopped meowing.
"What?"
"I bet," I lied, looking down at the floor near the easel and seeing a silver bag. I could see the splotches of black on the surface, and realized that Bella must have left her bag behind in my studio. I reached my hand into the bag and plucked her small, ringing cell phone from it, flipping it open.
New Text!
I hit "OK", and the phone stopped ringing and brought up the message.
Bells, where R U? trd 2 call U all day…Rose
I exited that message and went into her menu, then to her missed calls. There were seven total calls from Rose, all concerned about Bella's whereabouts. I suddenly flashed back to last night, and how she had left the studio alone, without shoes on her feet. Worry started to build in my chest about whether or not she had gotten home fine.
I turned to Mrs. Whitlock and her evil cupcake, and told her that the session was over.
"Is it finished?" she questioned. "Cupcake will love it!" she said, squeezing the cat tightly in a hug.
"That cat doesn't love anything," I told her. "Look, we will continue next week, okay? Go to Alice and she will schedule you in," I explained.
I bent down and threw the cell phone back into the bag, picked it up and left the studio. I walked past Alice, through the glass doors and into the cool, rainy Washington air. I built a worried pace as I walked down the street, toward Bella's apartment.
"Nice purse," someone shouted. I didn't even turn around to flip them off. Instead, I continued to walk past Jake's and down the block. This Rose was obviously worried about her, and it seemed that it was highly unusual for Bella to ignore her calls. Maybe I would get the chance to smooth things over with her, or even just to see if she was alright, and give her the bag back.
I stopped in front of De Caso, and looked up at the window I thought was attached to her apartment. The blinds were pulled down over the window. I turned and walked into the alley leading to her apartment door. I approached her door and knocked loudly, once. Nobody answered, so I rang the small bell that was mounted on the wall beside the door. When nobody answered, I reached my hand back into her bag and extracted her cell phone again; I flipped it open and dialed Bella's home number, which I knew by heart now.
I waited for her to answer, but her answering machine came on, so I hung up and pressed redial. Again, she didn't answer. I hung up the second time and was going to redial again, when a figure in the all glass door nearly scared the shit out of me.
"Bella?" I asked, clutching my chest.
Bella stood in the doorway, her arms folded, and her expression was full of tiredness, and sadness. Her eyes were red, as though she had been crying, and her face was puffy and pale. She still wore the same clothing she had on as she had run from my studio, only they were now splattered with paint, too, and she looked as if she needed sleep badly.
"Bella?" I repeated when she made no movement. "You left your bag at the studio." I held it up for her to see.
She leaned her hand onto the knob and turned it, opening it to face me without the glass impeding us. She reached her hand out for the purse. I looked down at the purse, then to her face.
"You'll get it when you let me talk to you," I said, placing her purse behind me, stepping forward. "I will just stand right inside, and I won't touch you unless you tell me to," I promised.
She hesitated, but said nothing as she let me pass to stand inside the doorway. She kept the door opened, and eventually, her eyes found mine. They looked troubled.
"I want to apologize for last night. I don't know what happened, but whatever it is, I completely apologize," I said, looking at her with intensity. "If you don't want to be around me anymore, I will understand."
Her eyes held mine for a second, and then she whispered, "No."
"No?"
"It was my fault. You took me by surprise. You can't just grab me like that," she said, looking down at the floor. "You probably think I'm a nut job because of what happened."
I debated lifting her chin, so I could see her lovely brown eyes, but decided against having any contact with her right now. Instead, I took her purse and dangled it between us. She reached out and took it, then leveled her gaze with mine.
"There are three things wrong with your theories, Bella. One, you are not Emmett, so you are not a nut job. Second, I will never touch you unless you tell me to, and I won't let last night happen again. And, three, it wasn't your fault, Bella. If you're attracted to me, and I am to you, that's nobody's fault, okay?" I said, watching as she bit her lip.
"Oh, come on. That's not fair. I can't touch you, and you go and bite that fucking lip. Sexy? Fuck yeah, it is, but it's a bad habit."
She cracked a slight smile and looked away, letting her lip free.
It was silent for a few beats.
"I want you to come with me Friday, Bella. I tried to stay away from you, and it didn't work out. But, if you don't want to go with me, I'll take the rejection," I said as she shifted from foot to foot. "No touching, if that's what you want."
"Can we try something?" she asked timidly, setting her purse on the floor.
"Yeah, okay," I answered, watching her face change expression. "What?"
"I want to guide your hands," she said, stepping closer. "Let me let you touch me."
"Uh…yeah," I said, a bit confused at what she meant.
She slowly, and purposely, reached for my right hand, closing her eyes tightly. She slowly guided my hand to her waist, her breathing speeding up, and her eyes scrunching shut.
"Bella…" I protested.
"Shhhh," she whispered.
She brought my hand to her waist and lightly let my fingers curve around the skin there. Her breath caught in her throat as she slowly opened her eyes.
"I'm going to let my hand go," she explained. "Don't move any closer to me until I say so."
I stood stock still, my hand resting on her waist. My eyes drifted to her face, which was pale and clouded with anxiety. She took a deep breath, and then closed her eyes again.
"Move your hand further down, near my hip," she commanded.
I looked at her closed eyes but did as she asked, tracing my fingers and palm downward, toward the curve of her hip. I was certainly enjoying the feel of her warm body under my fingers, but apparently, she didn't feel the same. Her eyes shot open and her hand, for the second time in one day, pried my hand loose from her body as she backed away some.
"Sorry," she muttered. "I just can't. I tried."
"You tried," I agreed. "Work in progress, Bella. Lots of girls go through this the first time. It's natural," I told her.
Did girls really have anxiety when they were virgins? Was there some kind of problem with her that she feared losing her virginity? I had no idea. But what I did know was that I would wait for however long it took for her to get over this, to let me touch her the way I wanted. Fuck the petty contact we had, I wanted to feel her warm body against mine. And in order for that to happen, we had to make progress on this no-touching-intimately shit.
She looked really fucking confused at my last statement, but nodded her head anyway.
"I still would like it, Bella, if you could come with me to the art show Friday," I told her. "Compensation for the lessons?"
"Lessons? I thought you said they were a mistake?" she replied.
"I also said that it was only a mistake because I want to touch you so badly, and I still do," I told her, moving a few steps closer. "How about it?"
She smiled slightly, letting her white teeth show. She shrugged. "Yeah. Okay."
"Good. By then you may be celebrating, as well. It could be a dual celebration," I told her. "Finals will be over, and you won't have to stress about it anymore. That is why you look like shit, right? I mean, besides last night?"
She said nothing, but nodded half-halfheartedly. "Are you going to enter that picture, still?"
The question caught me off guard, but I answered her nonetheless.
"No, I've got one I've been working on. Angie will be happy that painting isn't getting out," I said darkly, remembering her hands reaching into my boxers, looking up at me from under her long lashes. I shuddered. "Me, too," I added.
"So, lessons tonight, then?"
"Tonight. Thanks for bringing my bag back," she said. "I left in such a hurry…"
"You're welcome, Bella. But the bag was the second reason I came. The first was to check on you. Rose was really worried about you. Your phone was ringing," I said, adding the last part as she raised her eyebrows.
"Oh, Rose! God, she must be frantic by now! She usually stops by, but she must be in traffic or still at work," she explained, an expression of pain flickering across her face.
I said nothing, but glanced down at my watch. I had another appointment in ten minutes, and I had to get moving to get back on time. Bella seemed to notice this.
"You should go. Thanks again for coming all the way here to return the bag...and your…welfare visit?" she laughed as I looked up from my watch to her. "I'm sorry about last night, too. I wish I could explain…"
"Bella, its fine, I understand." My face was a flicker of torn proprieties as I walked to the door, her behind me.
"Fuck, Bella," I said, turning around to stare into her wide, deep, brown eyes. "Can I ask you for a favor?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Can I touch your chin?"
"Yes."
I lifted my hand under her chin and tilted her head. My head tilted slightly to hers, where I stopped inches short of her lips.
"Can I kiss you? I promise not to touch you anywhere else." My voice was husky and brimming with desire.
"Mm-hm," she murmured, closing her eyes with my face near hers.
I slowly pressed my lips into her soft, warm flesh, lightly parting them and shaping them to my own. I felt her hand come up and press against the side of my neck, her tiny frame pressing slightly against me, the purse in her hand hitting my leg with timed thumps as she murmured against my lips. As promised, my hand to her chin was the only contact I made with her.
I pulled my lips reluctantly from hers and smiled. Her eyes were still shut and her breathing, again, was very fast. The smile fell from my face in panicked confusion.
"Bella?"
"Shhh," she replied. "I'm trying to absorb the taste," she said, opening one eye and smiling.
"Good. 'Cause if you're hyperventilating and you pass out, you are shit out of luck with your no-touching policy," I joked, relieved that she enjoyed it. "Glad my spit made you happy. Goodbye, for now, Isabella."
"Goodbye, Edward. See you soon," she replied, opening both eyes and licking her lips. "Soon."
I walked out of the alley a little happier, and less worried, than when I'd walked in. She had enjoyed the kiss, and I enjoyed-no, I fucking loved—kissing her. She was warm, and her little body pressed up against mine gave me afternoon wood. I would have to go whack one out before my next appointment to avoid it standing at attention during the painting of another Mrs. Whitlock, who would point and laugh at the crotch of my pants sticking out the size of lady liberty while I tried to draw the age spots on their skin.
I walked back to the studio, smiling the whole way. I bounced into the glass doors, where Alice met me.
"Where have you been?" Alice demanded.
"Why? I still have," I checked my watch, "three minutes until my next work-in."
"There is a call on line one, Edward. I really think you should go answer it," she said, rolling her eyes and walking out of sight into the back area.
I walked over to the reception desk, picked up the phone, and immediately wished I hadn't.
"Mike? Mike Newton? Yeah, I remember you," I answered, but I don't like you.
I listened to him on the other end for what seemed like forever, tapping my fingers on the desk. Eventually, I had to cut in.
"So what are you asking here, Mike? I have clients," I said. "Sometime before my hair gets gray. A job? I don't know, Mike…" I said, wanting to say no, but knowing that times were hard nowadays for people. "Alright, fine. Come in tomorrow and we will figure something out," I told him, finally getting him off the line.
Toilet boy. He will be wiping shit off the toilet seats.
I hated Mike, even back when he was in art school with me. He was a creepy guy then, and he once worked for Bella's father running around to the different galleries and getting it ready for the events by doing place settings and getting the podiums ready. Everyone deserves a chance, I supposed.
"What did he want?" Alice asked, coming back into the room with two coffees. "He was insistent. I told him to piss off, but he said he'd hold," she said, handing me a coffee cup.
"A job," I told her.
She nearly spit out the coffee she was sipping. "Is he serious? You said no, right?"
"I told him to come in tomorrow, and I'd figure something out. Thanks for the coffee, this should make him start his job fairly soon. Make sure there's no toilet paper in the bathroom, Alice. We are going to make him work, yes we are!" I said, making Alice laugh as I walked into my studio.
"What the hell are you laughing at?" The person on the stool spat bitterly. "How was she? How does she taste?"
"Fuck!"
My coffee dropped to the floor, and the smirk on her face was front, line and center as I scanned the person on the stool.
"What did I tell you, Angie?" I said angrily. "Not at my business!"
"The flavor of the week is my business!" she said, pulling out her cell phone and flipping it open. She shoved it in my face.
On her phone, was a picture of me kissing Bella Swan this afternoon, Bella's hand on my neck.
*Birkenstock- Slip-on shoes that resemble slippers, often referred to as 'hush-puppies'. They are very well known for being worn by homosexual females. Ellen Degeneres is famous for wearing them.
Recommendation:
xLavenderMoonx's amazing story about secrets, lies and a mysterious Edward Cullen, who just happens to own a remote island...oh, the wicked fun her Edward is... ;)
http:/www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/6380184/1/End_Island