Thick and fast. The chapters, I mean. I'm not talking about myself.
PRIMARY ONE
YELLOW
I'm conflicted now and I spend quite a bit of time thinking about it. On the one hand, I don't like Edward taking the Lord Cullen approach of throwing money around to show how fucking magnanimous the wealthy can be, giving-alms-to-the-poor-before-they-expire-and-make-a-mess-on-the-pavement sort of approach. On the other hand, I did something for him that was within my means - I invited him out with a bunch of normal people for a normal night of fun. He did something for me that was within his means - he bought me a pair of shoes from fucking Europe and had them flown over, as the label on the box and the postage would appear to indicate. He thought he was getting me something I'd like, and it was a neat spin on making the punishment fit the crime. So after my bout of overthinking I decide that the shoes are perfect and I wear them every day. I'm complained at by all my friends but I don't care because I have great shoes.
I thanked him in an appropriate manner.
"Thank you for the shoes. You shouldn't have," I said off-handedly, while inwardly high-fiving him. I could almost have given him a hug.
"You're welcome," he answered, and then it wasn't back to total ignoring, which was what used to happen, but nods of acknowledgement as we passed each other on the way to classes. We have a couple of classes together as it happens and he's as quiet as ever. Occasionally teachers refer to him and it's to say we should all take a leaf out of Edward Cullen's book because apparently he is such a high achiever. Good for him.
A week or so later he slips a note to me in biology, formally asking me to go out for dinner with him. What a fucking psycho - teenagers don't ask other teenagers out for dinner! They say do you want to come over and play, my mother will pick you up and drop you home later! Of course he only has this sort of poise because his parents own Switzerland.
I feel like I owe him because of the shoes.
"Okay," I write back, which isn't 'yes', it's just 'well, I'll go along with it.'
He came to pick me up on Friday just after Dad had given me a can of pepper spray.
"Condiment," I said, waving it under Edward's nose before shoving it into my pocket. Poor guy.
We drove towards Port Angeles - yes I know I said I wouldn't get in his fucking car which is a volvo smelling of affluence, but it's just this once, for the shoes. I was wearing them.
"Do you like Vietnamese?" he asked nervously, after fifteen minutes of not saying anything.
I didn't know any Vietnamese. "They seem nice, generally," I answered carefully.
"I mean the food," he said. Oh crap.
"Um, spring rolls?" I said. My experience of international cuisine was pretty much pizza.
He took me to this place and ordered for me and they brought a plate with lettuce, herbs, skinny, glassy noodles and chopped peanuts, and another plate with circular white stuff he said was ricepaper. They also brought a metal bowl on a stand, with raw chicken in the bowl and a little saucer underneath with meths or something in it, which they lit at the table. I stared in fascination at the blue flames.
This wasn't the sort of place I had imagined Edward the Magnificent would frequent. It wasn't particularly opulent, and the people in here were ordinary. People like me. The decor was mostly red, with pictures of Vietnamese notables all over the walls, the carpet was dark red with big black spots and table cloths were all cream with paper napkins folded into cranes. It wasn't at all richy - not down-market, just not richy.
"Do you like it here?" I asked him.
"Yes. The food's great, and I enjoy the ambience," he answered, pronouncing it "Om-bee-onss".
"Am. Be. Inss. You're not in Paris now, Cullen," I corrected him. Fucker.
And then I demonstrated my own considerable fuckery, which I generally endeavor to keep hidden. The chicken cooking apparatus had a lid on and I didn't want to burn my fingers, so I got hold of the napkin nearest to me and used it to take the lid off the pot. Paper napkins can be wilful things, and the parts that stick out from your fingers aren't as obedient as the parts you have a firm hold on. This particular one had corners with a moth's fascination for flames and I don't even know how or why, but it attempted suicide.
I watched for a stunned, slow half second then dropped it with a squeal and it fell on the floor. Bright yellow it was, just like a canary. I was incinerating a canary. I put my foot out to stamp on it, and remembered I was wearing my new shoes. Bad. All this took a fraction - I stared back up at Edward whose hand had already reached vainly to take the thing from me and he saw in an instant that I didn't want to burn my tiger shoes. God knows what his stupid shoes had cost, but he stamped out the canary with no hesitation.
People around us were watching with mild interest, as though it was nothing new. Once we'd picked up the dead bird's remains there was a new black circle on the floor, and I realised what all the other black circles were.
Edward was trying to be soothing. "It's okay, we've damaged the carpet but I'll arrange to have it replaced - are you all right? I'll go and talk to the management," and he started to get up.
"God, Edward will you just chill?" I hissed. "Have a look around for Chrissakes! There's burn holes all over the floor! They serve dishes with naked flames, look what happens! They don't want new carpet! If you offer to recarpet the place it you'll make them feel bad. Just eat dinner! No-one seems to care!"
He stared at me. He had eyelashes like a girl.
"Is the chicken ready?" I asked, a bit quieter. I'd dropped the lid along with the paper napkin and it had been cleared away as well. We could see into the little pot. The food looked ready.
"You just nearly set fire to the building and your only concern is your dinner?" Edward asked.
"Yes Cullen, danger makes me hungry. Let's eat."
I was so hopeless at putting the rolls together he had to make them for me, and he relaxed enough to smirk a little at my clumsiness so then I had to find a reason to smirk back at him and I snorted at how surprised he was that it had only taken me a matter of seconds to have an accident which could have been catastrophic.
"Lucky you put your foot down," I said, and we both ended up laughing.
When he took me home he stopped the car outside my house and turned the interior light on while I fished in my pocket for my key.
"Thank you Edward. I've had a great evening. Seeya," I said, reaching for the door.
"Bella," he said. "You're not like this at school. You're more reticent there. I didn't know you were so... aw - "
"Awful? Yeah, thanks," I said, door open.
"No," he said, and with the light on I could see him quite well. He looked like he'd thought twice about what he'd been going to say. A blush began at the edges of his cheeks and spread across them. Aw - what? Awesome? Save me, the Cullen boy had a crush.
"Gotta go, Edward. You know my dad's got a gun," I said. "He'll come out shooting if a boy has me parked up in a car outside for any longer than two and a half minutes. And there's no reason to sit here for half an hour, anyway. This wasn't a date."
I hesitated for a split second before I got out and I chanced a look at him again. Face frozen, he was staring at nothing through the windscreen, and I suddenly realized it was a date to him. He'd asked me out, I'd said yes, he'd taken me out, and I was a bitch because I already knew he was very vulnerable and I knew he'd never taken anybody from school out before, and I knew he'd entrusted me with a secret he'd never told anyone.
Bella Bitchface Swan, that's me. He'd given me the power to hurt him, and I'd used it. Stomped on him like a fucking paper bird on fire.
What was fucking wrong with me?
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