Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters. I am just playing around with them.
Snatches of conversation can be heard between the stomping of feet and rustling debris. We're all in a hurry to get out, to speak to people, to talk to the police… and since we're underground our phones don't work.
His hand burns in mine, strong and warm. In this moment, it's the only real thing in my life.
The air, stagnant and weighted, presses down to smother me while my lungs pump it into my body. Our legs bring us closer to a lighted area, growing more and more distinct in the distance.
Within minutes, the Kendall station platform, with its gray floors and photographic art in black and white comes into focus, and I see police officers waiting, as the first members of our group reach the fluorescent light and begin to haul themselves up and out of the tracks.
In the increasing light, I look back to see other frightened faces emerge out of the darkness behind me. Two rumpled businessmen pick up speed when they see the platform, but one teenage boy offers to carry bags for a mother struggling under the weight of her confused and squirming daughter.
He releases my hand, and I glance up at him. His face is open and questioning. I scan my memory but don't recall hearing him address me.
"Sorry, what?" I stammer.
"Are you ok?" he asks. "You seem fine." He's almost examining me, looking me over … looking for blood perhaps.
My ears still ring faintly. "Y-y-yeah." I respond with difficulty, suddenly noticing my shaking hands and rapidly numbing arms. I rub them swiftly, up and down with my hands, heading towards the platform.
I need to get away.
I don't feel well.
I can't breathe.
My throat is thick.
I find myself at the edge of the platform, and it's as high as my shoulders. Suddenly, one of the police officers is in front of me, offering his hand, and I feel warm, steady hands around my waist, as well. Before I can deny the help, the officer is pulling me, and my mystery guy is lifting and pushing me to higher ground. I go straight for the stairs and sit down near the wall, digging my water bottle out of my backpack and taking long pulls, swallowing them quickly, feeling the cold liquid move down my throat, the passage still wide enough to tell me I can get air through it too. I focus on the cool water, the rhythm of lifting the bottle, taking the fluid into my mouth, swallowing it, breathing out, breathing in, taking another sip. I'm off to the side, seemingly isolated in the T station, but the police are near and plenty of witnesses, as well.
I tell myself nothing is wrong.
I'm going to be fine.
It's just a little panic.
Minutes, or maybe hours later, I see him approaching in my peripheral vision. He's cautious, taking his time, giving me space. I look over and smile at him, tucking some lose hair behind my ear, and capping my water bottle.
"Hi …" I sigh and smile, still somewhat shaky. "I'm having a little anxiety. I'm so sorry …" and I stop before I start to babble.
He laughs a little. "Oh no, you have nothing to apologize for. I'm jittery too. Adrenaline rush …"
He smiles and seems to wait for me to speak. When I don't, he meets my gaze directly… "I don't know about you, but I could really go for a beer."
I think my brain is starting to catch up with my body, and suddenly beer sounds like the answer to all my problems. "Oh God, me too," I say, hastily packing my bottle into my bag and zipping it up. "Where? I don't know this area."
~~trl~~
We walk through a hotel near the T station and come out on the backside. He points out a large bar at the end of the block. A sign hangs from above the door emblazoned with the name Meadhall. We move through the door, into the warm light and towards the bar. We never question getting a table. He pulls a seat out for me and takes the one next to it while the bartender slides some menus our way. One glance behind the bar tells me this place is full of delicious craft beer, on tap.
I decide to break the awkward silence by introducing myself. "I'm Bella." He's caught by surprise, and huffs a smile at my direction, rolling his eyes. "Of course you are, and I'm Edward." We laugh. "I can't believe I didn't know your name … " he continues. "I guess I feel like I know you."
He's direct, and I have to dig deep for the confidence to match him.
"Yeah. I see you most days on the train though. Going home?" I ask just as the bartender comes back. I indicate that I'd like a pumpkin ale from a brewery in Western Mass while he gets a local IPA, responding to my question "Yeah, I live in Central." Oh, that explains it.
"Ah. I go there to dance." I say, nudging my bag on the floor. I tug at my tank top and yoga pants, noticing how cool it is inside.
"At the Dance Complex?"
I smile. "Yes, how do you know it?" I slide off the barstool and stoop for my layer as our drinks arrive.
He takes a pull of his. "I have a friend that plays bongos there on Saturdays. I've thought about joining him. I don't know much about it though, but you can't help hearing the music most days."
"Oh, I haven't heard it. Definitely not in either of the classes I take. Do you play drums too? I've seen you with a guitar."
He nods, "Yep, drums, guitar, and piano. A few other instruments, but I don't know them nearly as well."
I blush.
"Right, Clare De Lune." I busy myself with my delicious pumpkin beer. I am so happy fall is on its way to Boston.
"Yeah," he replies, gazing at me. He doesn't look concerned. Maybe he doesn't remember the exchange on the train. With everything in me, I hope not. "What else do you do?" he continues. "Are you in school, maybe dance or other performance art? Are you a musician?"
"No, not for dance, I mean, yes for school, but I'm a business major. The dancing is just for fun. I'm at Northeastern." I explain, and as an afterthought, "I am definitely not a musician." I chuckle slightly. This conversation is feeling less forced and I'm starting to relax.
"Oh that's cool, my girlfriend goes there. She's in her last year for Studio Art. " He tells me, nodding.
My heart sinks.
My heart drops from my chest into my stomach. I am so very disappointed.
"She's studying abroad this semester, so I haven't been on that side of town lately, but I know my way around that area. Do you live in Mission Hill?" he continues, oblivious to my heartache. Tonight has been one shock after another.
I've never seen him with anyone, and I know nothing about him. I never really thought I had a shot in hell, but this hurts. Between the fight on the train and the near miss this evening, the escape through the tunnel on foot, his steady hand holding mine, and now this easy conversation and good beer, my mind is officially overloaded. I struggle to remember what he just asked. Mission … Mission Hill?
"Oh. No. I live really close to school… but I do have some friends out that way …" I am dejected.
Desolate.
"Hey," he says, leaning forward a little, "how are you feeling?"
His eyes search mine, and when they meet, he gives me a small smile. His beer is almost gone. I glance down and see that I'm on the last bit in my pint glass too.
"I'm relaxed now, overloaded, I don't know… I feel lost. Confused. Do I need to speak to the police?" It all comes back to me. I know he spoke with them.
"No. No, don't worry about that. I talked to one of the officers back at the T stop. He took my name and number, and gave me his card. He said they probably have everything on the security cameras but he'll give me a call if he needs an eyewitness account."
I stare straight at him. "Eyewitness … did you see it?"
"Yeah. I was right next to you, watching the argument. I saw the gun and pulled the emergency stop lever. You were in shock." He's so calm, explaining this to me.
"Right, that makes sense …" I say, as the scene sinks in. "Thank you so much, for your help, for everything." My beer is gone, and I look down into my glass. He places his hand on mine, and I look up into his warm green eyes, questioningly.
"You're welcome Bella." He's holding my hand, and I feel … found.
Centered.
I know I can't be his friend, and I can't see him again.
Pulling back, I smile and move to get off my stool. "Thank you for the beer and the ear. I know we didn't talk about much, but it's really helped me calm down after everything, you know, to take a step back, away from the stress of the night."
I dig out my wallet and pull out a ten. He puts his hand on mine again. "I want to get this." He insists on paying for my beer, so I let him. Hefting my bag over my shoulder, I reply. "Ok. Well, goodnight. See you around."
I'm awkward.
I'm brokenhearted.
I just want to go home. I just want this night to be over.
"Bella, wait!" he's walking after me, stuffing his wallet back in his pocket. "Are you taking the train home?"
"Cab." I reply. "There's a cab stand by the T entrance."
"Ok." He looks like he wants to say more. Then … "I'll walk you to the cab stand. I'm walking home." He searches my face again. I don't know what he's looking for.
I smile and push open the door. I see the line of cabs as soon as we exit the hotel lobby. A sudden gust of wind blows my hair across my face. "Thanks again Edward. I'll see you around." I kind of bounce a little and move to leave, but he's suddenly got me in a hug, his arms tight around me. My face is buried in his shoulder, and he smells like safety, warmth, and home. With this realization, I go rigid in his arms.
"I'll see you on the train" he says.
I turn and head for the first cab, crawling in and telling the driver where to take me. As we pull away, I notice Edward still standing on the sidewalk where I left him. He lifts his hand in a wave.
He'll see me on the train.
I'll see him on the train.
If I ever take the train again…
A/N: This story has been beta'd by the marvelous and lovely SunflowerFran. I adore her, and appreciate all her encouragement and help! Thank you readers, so SO much for reading and for your reviews! I read and value every single one of them. Of course, you don't need to review. I just love the response. xox - ss
