A/N: Eddie's POV of Chapter Three

Chapter Three

I hated crowds. People pressed in on me from all sides, crushing.

Oh, Gosh. I can't breathe… I'm suffocating… Blackness…

I broke free of the tightly compressed mob with a choking gasp. I drew in a deep, ragged breath, the frigid cold tainting my lungs. I shuddered before having someone knock into me from behind, making my teeth clank together. I muttered a slew of pathetic apologies on my way into History, wincing every time someone wheeled around to glare at me.

Honey.

My words fell immediately from my throat

Someone pushed past me and I quickly shuffled away from the doorway, swallowing around the knot in my throat. I glanced back up at the man's back before drawing myself up and striding hesitantly toward him. I cleared my throat, fighting the urge to clamp my eyes shut.

"Excuse me," I started off steady, sure before I faltered. "But, uh-"

Color was starting to come to my face but I blanched as he turned around to smile at me. His eyes were even richer and piercing than I remembered, and his hair was longer, just so that it would stay in the bun he had it in on the nape of his neck. He had beautiful straight teeth; his newly exposed jaw was sharp, drool worthy…

His plump lips moved, his eyes never straying from mine, they remained inviting, so I sort of slipped into my seat, determined not to screw this up. He was still looking at me, so I tried to start up a conversation.

"Um…" I began, and then promptly shut my mouth. I chewed on my lower lip, keeping my eyes trained on my pencil.

Hand.

It was a handsome hand-

I thanked whatever God there was that ceased my ludicrous thoughts as Honey Man smiled widely.

"Jasper Whitlock." I inwardly moaned at his name… the lazy, appropriately honey like first name, and then the sudden, sharp last name. Like the unbridled buck of hips- I shook away the sporadic thought.

"Edward." I breathed, flinching at the huskiness dripping from my voice. Jasper's eyes flashed dangerously, but I felt no fear, only all consuming lust. I nodded fervently before returning my eyes to the front, my hands twitching in their unwanted places in my pockets.

I couldn't concentrate at all though, his smell had reached me about half way through the lecture when he shifted, removing his leather jacket in a natural movement, his shoulder then imperceptibly closer to mine. I swallowed, eyes widened, just staring at that shoulder. My eyes made quick work of the rest of his newly revealed skin. Broad shoulders against navy stitching, forearms dusted with blonde. The edge of a tattoo peeked out, entwining his arm. His waist dipped in, narrow and sporting loose fitting, faded, well worn jeans. Abdominal muscles barely showcased and-

Sweet Mother of God.

Puckered in the cool atmosphere, his nipples strained, revealing to me the outline of two metal bars.

He. Has. Nipple rings.

I jerked my head back around, halting my ogling when he glanced at me. I looked at my lap and almost groaned.

For the first time since my accident, I was raging hard. I wanted to cry. Out of amazement or embarrassment, I don't know.

I practically ran out the door when the bell finally rang, putting an end to the twisted, ironic purgatory I had been sitting through.

Sometimes when I was little my mother would take me and Alice to the nearby art museum. She would leave us in a small, abandoned corner in the landscape wing while she went to the forbidden renaissance wing. Alice would toddle around on short legs while I sat Indian style, staring up at the paintings. I can't remember the exact shade blue of that room, but it had always enveloped me. There were no display cases; the only light was from a wheezing, stuttering fluorescent. There were five paintings, all of the ocean. One was of the waves in mid- crash on the rocks, reminding me of my dad, powerful and quick to anger. The second one was of a picture perfect beach, bright and pure. Definitely Alice's painting. Then my mom was represented in the third; a moonlit, shadow licked ocean, fingers lapping eagerly at the pristine sand. The next was how I saw myself, the ocean was iron gray, a smooth surface, but in the very corner a looming cloud pulsed with dark veins like a sick, frantically beating heart. An omen of what would be the next scene if there was one.

The last one was my favorite, though no one I had ever met matched it. Nothing but the water was visible; the sky barely peeked at the very top. The painting was solely of the water, the waves barely arching up to meet the sky in a flurry of spray, frozen on the canvas. A piece of seaweed or two floated care free, cradled and rocked by the waves.

5 years after my accident, I had come back to Chicago; to the museum. To the sea room as I called it. All that was left were the holes the nails had made, and the outline of where five pictures had been pinned for so many years.

I asked the owner of the landscaping wing where the ocean paintings were.

"I'm sorry, lad." The man had said gruffly. "Shipp'd 'im off teh that old museum up in Briarswood." At my crestfallen face he sighed, then glanced around before leaning in. "C'mere. The old man who owns the place, I've heard is in a little bit 'o debt. I'm sure he wouldn't mind teh get a few paintin's off a his hands, now?" He winked merrily and I grinned for the first time in months. I hunted all five of those paintings down, all the way to Colorado where one was stashed away in a storage unit.

I squinted at the painting in front of me before exhaling. I turned away, hands deep in my pockets, very self conscious of the few eyes that watched me. I pushed my glasses up, wrinkling my nose at another dull, lifeless painting. I shuffled on, skipping several, before stopping. Hundreds, thousands of yellows poured together, bending, hiding, revealing, and twisting to form a set of hands clasped together, the first reaching down for the other. I stood there, people brushing by me, chattering on, but I paid them no notice.

"Do you like it?" A deep voice asked close to me. My mind raced.

"No, just- no…." I blubbered, tasting my tears as they burned their way down my cheeks. He laughed, like the cruel song of a bell. He laid bite marks along my back before growling into my ear, his breath hot and foul. I sobbed. He put himself inside me, making me whimper, trying not to make him mad.

"Do you like it? I know you do, Eddie boy…" He asked. I screamed, thrashing around in his lethal grip.

"Come now, Eddie… Here, I'll sing you another song." He cooed. This brought on another round of kicking, louder, hoarser shouts. "Please! Oh, God, please!"

"Three blind mice, Three blind mice," He began, running a knife down my shoulder, the blade barely sinking in. "See how they run, see how they run," He started then on my chest, leaving a few bloody lines. "They ran after the farmer's wife," He crooned, withdrawing the knife before jabbing it into my shoulder. I felt my eyes roll back in my head, eyelids fluttering, muscles tensing around the foreign object that ran down my whole side, "who cut off their tails with a kitchen knife…" Release came for him, making him stop moving in me. He slumped, heavy on me again. "Have you ever seen such a thing in your life, as three blind mice…."

"Hey," a beautiful voice laughed, "it's Jasper." An arm was wrapped protectively around me and I relaxed. I turned to look at him, his eyes peering into mine. I almost gasped. I smiled softly.

"Yes." I said slowly. Jasper looked at me questioningly and I smiled even bigger. "Yes, I like it. Do you know the artist?" I asked. He smirked, crossing his arms, which was… distracting, and leaned forward.

"Yes," He joked, "you're lookin' at him."

I gaped. "You?" I breathed, and he bit his lip unconsciously before nodding. I almost squealed. "Jazz, this is wonderful! Gosh, the intensity of it just rears back at you! You're amazing!" I gushed before clamping my mouth shut. I felt my cheeks begin to redden, most likely transforming me into a skinny, sickly looking tomato.

"That blush…" Jasper muttered, staring at me intensely, making me shift around and get hotter.

"So. Jazz, huh?" He asked, arching an eyebrow at me. My face fell.

"Yeah," I murmured, more embarrassed than ever. God, Edward. You're so- DUMB! "I won't do it again."

"Nah," he drawled, grinning at me. "I like it."

We walked on; every now and then he would stop and turn his face away from me to point out a painting or sculpture, allowing me to drink in his features with him unaware. His head snapped back to mine, making me look down, my face coloring at an alarming rate. Shoot. Well, this has been fun, Edward, but what are you going to do now that he knows you are a little queer? A surprisingly dark voice inside me leered.

Warm, calloused fingers brought my chin back up. My eyes widened. He stared at me for a few moments before looking away. He was silent for a second before we fell back into an easy, light conversation again, my chin tingling.

Too soon we were by the entrance. I turned to him, spurred on by a quick decision. I quirked my mouth up in what I hoped was a smirk before diving into his front pocket with my hand. My hand did not find his phone however…

I looked up at him, panic clouding his face. Jasper, warm and hard beneath my touch was… hard. I stuttered out an apology. He just nodded before we exchanged numbers hurriedly, too mortified to speak. And with one last look into his sea room eyes, I dashed out into the steadily falling rain, the door swinging behind me. Maybe I had found my fifth painting.

A/N: Oh, God. FINALLY! Finally it's complete! I don't know why but this took forever to write! I had exams, then more exams, bleh, bleh, bleh. Anyway, PLEASE review! It makes me aware of how wonderful Fanfiction viewers truly are! 3

~PH