Pennames: realgirl_imaginarylife/gimmenothing (twilighted)
A/N: Thank you once again to all of my amazing and dedicated reviewers, and to all the ladies at Project Team Beta, especially Batgirl8968 and Tiffanyanne3, the outstanding new permanent betas on this story (I considered misspelling the word "outstanding" right there as a joke, but couldn't decide if it was actually funny?).
And to my husband, the greatest supporter of this little adventure. Happy 5th anniversary, bebe.
Characters - Not mine, but everything else is. Cheers!
Song for this chap is I Wanna be Adored by the Stone Roses
4 - Give Me To It
The Blue Mango was a nearly perfect venue. It was small, the ceilings low, and while it was certainly not built for live music, the energy inside was always ripe and tangible, and their famed Thursday night Open Mic was always well-supported. Edward had only recently worked it into his routine, but already was dreading the day that repeat attendance would force him to take a lengthy or permanent hiatus from the space.
The eclectic East Village bar-slash-appetizer-heavy restaurant-slash-performance space was at ground level, but was built into the side of a neighboring parking garage, which gave it the cozy feeling of a basement bar without feeling dreary or damp. The concrete block walls had been painted with colorful murals by hundreds of local artists over the years.
Who could even begin to count the layers of grief and joy, hope and love that covered those walls?
Edward lowered his eyelids and breathed in long and slow, letting his senses absorb the smells and sounds around him.
Grilled flatbread, garlic, sweat. The scrape of a fork across a plate, the garbled song of dozens of voices all talking at once, one of the evening's performers tuning her guitar in the corner across the room.
He knew this moment would be brief, and the deeper he let it in, the longer it would stay with him. And the more it would surely block out the seemingly constant stream of wonderings about the girl at the office.
Thinking of her as "The Girl" was wrong. Not only was she a grown woman, but her name was Isabella. Isabella Swan. He'd taken a stealthy cruise by her cubicle yesterday afternoon while she was out and risked half a glance upward at her nameplate. He wasn't snooping, he'd merely wanted to know her name. That's all. Just her name.
The fact that he'd never before sought out the name of a coworker was not lost on him.
Another deep breath.
Pull yourself together, Chap. This is your moment. This is what you want and wait for every second you're doing something else. This is precious and you need it. Do not waste it, he chastised himself silently, desperately redirecting his energy and summoning the discipline that had been his constant anchor until very recently.
The night's emcee was a young poet named Laurent, who performed a bit of spoken word between acts. His thick black dreadlocks framed his soulful face as he performed, making slow, ghost-like movements across the small stage while he spoke. His words were dark and puzzling, but his delivery was soothing silk. After a slow bow to the audience with his hands pressed together in prayer pose, he stepped aside, gesturing for the evening's next artist.
Edward made a slight adjustment to his guitar strap, found a focal point on the floor eighteen inches in front of his feet, and stepped slowly towards the stage.
Every nerve in his body tensed, breathed a great sigh of relief, and then buzzed brightly to carry him along.
Showtime.
"I'm feeling like I need to go home, you guys," Bella spoke as clearly as she could, attempting a volume one notch above the ruthless giggling of her cohorts.
Mike Newton was wasted. And when he was wasted, he was touchy. And when he was touchy, he was relentless. He made a suave dive to get an arm around her shoulders, and Bella swiftly ducked out of his reach for the third time in fifteen minutes. She immediately began a survey of the unfamiliar area for the nearest subway staircase. She didn't make a habit of travelling in the city alone at night, especially after a few drinks (cop's daughter and all...), but Mike's revolting wanderlust hands were forcing her to at least contemplate it.
The giggles, of course, had other ideas.
"We can't stop now, Bella, the night has just begun! I feel alive!" he practically howled, throwing his hands in the air, less to Bella and more to the starless high-rise-lined sky.
"Yeah, Bella, come on! You hardly ever come out with the Crazy Cave Creature Clan!" piped up the childlike voice of Jessica Stanley (cubicle twenty-seven), as she slyly took a spot between Mike and Bella as they all walked down the dirty sidewalk, placing her hand on his lower back. She made tiny circles there with her thumb. Bella was thankful for the human partition she created.
Jessica was the unofficial social coordinator of the CCCC, which apparently shape-shifted from Call Center to Creature Clan after quitting time. Jess had stopped by Bella's desk to invite her on the outing after her eventual return to work from her self-proclaimed "sick time" (sick with utter frustration over one strange copper-haired coworker, at least). She'd had a nice chat with the Chief. It was funny how he could say almost nothing at all, and still make her feel better just for knowing that he had been so happy she'd been thinking of him.
Bella had agreed to this unfortunate night out for one reason and one reason only: boredom. Oh, and guilt. And maybe as a bit of a distraction. Okay, so perhaps there were a few reasons. But the point remained, it wasn't because she really wanted to be aimlessly strolling the city streets with Mike and Jessica and their entourage tonight. She'd much rather be at home doodling pictures of Spec in the hydrochloric acid dunk tank at the kitty carnival.
In reality, the night hadn't been bad, fun even, but Bella just wasn't in the mood.
She felt too broody, too introspective, too...fixated to be good company, and she knew it. She had hoped a few drinks would make the whole cube-neighbor fiasco flee her mind, but instead, being half-drunk had done nothing but make the perplexed wondering intensify to a point where she at one point even entertained the idea that perhaps Edward was some sort of plant that Charlie had hired to push her over the edge and force her to move back to Washington.
But no, that was silly. It was, right? They had had only one brief, weird interaction with one another. How that had transformed itself into the emotional tidal wave it had was outside her understanding.
"So...what's next, Clanners?" Jessica hooked arms with Gianna, our building's receptionist, who often joined on the CCCC's after-hours adventures, and Lauren (cubicle fifty-nine), an angry-eyed blonde who Bella didn't know well, and they skipped merrily down the sidewalk. Bella trailed behind while her mumbled protests "I just want to go home," were lost amongst the many sounds of the city. She resigned, letting the slow, warped vision of intoxication guide her along instead of Jessica's Creature call.
Jessica was a good person, truly, and an honest friend to Bella, albeit sometimes a bit annoying. She was bright, cheery and optimistic - all things that Bella strove for and failed at on a daily basis. She was a former high school classmate of Bella's roommate, Rosalie - the girl made of steel and legs - and was partially responsible for her job at Vitamin Direct.
Bella had impulsively left her last job at a popular chain smoothie bar (okay, fine, it was Jamba Juice, but you didn't hear it from me) moments following an incident involving a runaway fruit display, an orange to the back of the head, and an accidental spilling of an entire Power-sized Pomegranate Paradise waterfalling down the clean white shirt of a particularly cute regular. Afterwards, Rose had tired of Bella's languishing around the house, doing nothing productive aside from drawing cartoon pictures of Dot languishing around the house, and she had held her sketchbook hostage in her work safe until she asked Jessica if there were any positions available at the world's premiere source for discount vitamins and supplements.
And, of course, there were.
At first, Bella had resented Rose for her forceful violation of her life, but for a real pushy bitch, she sure did have a knack of knowing exactly what people needed. Working at the Call Center wasn't always easy, but it had moments of being weird (which she loved), funny, and even sometimes rewarding, and it was just the right thing for Bella, despite her many arguments against it at the time. She supposed that was how Rose had become a social worker, but she sure did pity the poor, likely terrified souls who were assigned to her.
Bella suddenly wished that her roomie was there with her. Rosalie would act as the perfect buffer; she would shoot out the perfect comeback, and she would execute the perfect exit strategy. But it was Thursday, which meant she was out with her boyfriend, Emmett, kicking ass somewhere together in their snooker league.
Emmett and Rose had been snookering (among other things) for almost three years, and Bella had been receiving and consequently ignoring Rosalie's recent hints that they had thought about moving in together. Losing her home with Rosalie would be a major blow to Bella's security, financially yes, but especially otherwise. Rose wasn't just a roommate, she was a friend, an ally, and a protector.
Simply said, Rose was maternal, which was something entirely new to Bella's world. And while she'd never in a million years say it out loud, she liked having that energy around her every day.
Mike had stopped to chat with a street vendor for a moment, and before Bella even realized what was happening, she watched him drop a fiver and beeline in her direction with a single red rose held out in front of him like a zombie with brains in sight as he ambled towards her. Bella's eyes went wide, but she made no move to either accept or deter the gift.
"Stay out with us, Bella," he muttered, and then stumbled on a particularly uneven crack in the sidewalk and fell forward. Bella took a step back, unwilling to serve as his landing strip, and right on cue, as usual, Jessica stepped in. God bless Jessica. She stopped his fall with two firm hands under his arms and set him back upright. Then she snatched the flower out of his hands with a smile, snapped the stem about four inches down, and slid the bud behind her ear.
"Bella's not going anywhere, Mikey boy. We haven't even eaten anything yet!" She hiccuped. "See? I really should eat something."
She grabbed Bella's hand and pulled her, half-stumbling, down the street for another block, suddenly stopping short in front of blue arched doorway. Above was a glowing sign that blinked again and again, TAPAS inside.
"Tapas. Yes. What we need to make our night complete is tapas. Of course. Follow me, my beautiful Cave Creatures."
Bella sighed and held the door open as a train of coworkers passed her by. Jessica, Eric (twenty-three), Mike, Marcus (six), Gianna, Angela (fifty) all marched past her as the sweet sound of a strumming guitar escaped from the small room, out into the night.
Last, the eternal caboose, she went in.
There were only so many words that could even begin to describe it. Being there, elevated above them, with beautiful pieces of crafted exotic wood shielding him from everything that was real and scary. Giving them everything that he had to give anybody. And then running away for cover like a big fucking baby the moment he was forced to place the power back into their hands.
His fingers touched his guitar fret delicately, resulting in the tiniest sound. Beautiful.
Finally, he allowed his eyes to close as he let his heart and soul and hands take over the job ahead, beginning at first with delicate plinks and plunks that resembled the sound of an old music box on its final wind, and then building slowly, gaining force and complexity, until he eventually opened his mouth and began to sing.
Full of life, trapped in ice
I've come to seal my doom
Full of life, a false device
Safe inside its womb
Give me to it gently
Give me to it wholly
Give me to it in a way where I will never want to stay
But give me to it now
Give me to it 'cause it needs me
Give me to it don't mislead me
Give me to it far away the one that I will not betray
Now watch me disavow
Full of life, trapped in ice
My wrongs are now part of you. Adieu.
He began crafting the outro, winding back down slowly again to the music box plink, but he failed to find the song's end before he stopped short. Something was different. Whistling, clapping, jeering. It was too loud, too strange, and too obvious.
Something was wrong.
"Woooo Hoooo, CCCC representin'!" a loud and remarkably obnoxious voice called out from a large circular booth in the back of the room. Instinctively, his head shot up, glaring towards the source of the raid.
He squinted out across the room, seeing a row of vaguely familiar faces along the back wall, and then he saw her. Staring back at him with her mouth slightly agape, with a strange saturation of shock, wonder, intention, and pure awe swirling around like a whirlpool in her big brown eyes.
It was her. The Girl. Isabella.
For several seconds, he stared back at her, before reality grabbed hold of him with the realization of what was happening. SHE was here. They were all here. They had all seen it. They had seen him. All of him.
Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.
Unconsciously, his mouth spit out the only haggard, whispered word it could muster.
"No."
His heart raced like hummingbird wings as his world was falling apart quickly, brick by terrible brick, all around him. He frantically stood and leaped from the stage, snatching his coat and guitar case from their perch on a corner chair, and jogged haphazardly through the maze of bodies straight for the side door, without another look towards his cheering squad. The shiny glass rectangle seemed to almost never get closer as he rudely forced himself through the busy restaurant. After what seemed like an eternity, his eager hands met the steel of the handle and he threw the door open.
And then he ran.
He had never run with such desperation in his life, unable to even see clearly before him because his glasses were still nestled in his coat pocket. He ran with his guitar still strapped on his torso, bouncing wildly on his back, the hard case banging awkwardly against his thigh with every step forward. He thought he heard the faraway echo of someone calling his name. Edward.
The very idea of it only made him run faster.
The night's chill air slapped him repeatedly in the face like an angry mother punishing her child. And he knew he deserved it.
They all piled into the crescent-shaped booth in the back of the cute little restaurant. It was packed, but the crowd was mostly silent. She removed her coat and adjusted it behind her back, attempting to get comfortable on the overpopulated bench. She glanced behind her and admired for a moment a large mural of swirling colors, greens and grays and browns, mostly amorphous, but with hinted shapes of wolf heads throughout. For some reason, it reminded her of Forks.
She heard and felt the intensity of the music, which had an almost bewitching quality to it, and responded to the subconscious need to look up and see who this person was who owned this room and the people inside it.
She looked up. And then she froze. And gawked.
It was him. The object of her constant obsessing for the last two days. The odd source of an anxiety so strong, she hadn't felt the likes of it since her disastrous tenth birthday party. There he was, in all his amazing, God-like glory.
Tiny Nancy Drew spun around in victorious circles inside her. The mystery was not solved, but a very, very big clue had just been unearthed. Option D suddenly became entirely possible.
She was too astounded to smile, but she wanted to. This was Edward; this was the real Edward. Not the strange, elusive misfit act he put on every day at Vitamin Direct.
A voice to her left broke her moment. "Hey, you know who he kinda reminds me of?" Jessica pondered.
Edward.
She continued, "Whatshisface, from work...what's his name?"
Edward.
"The weird guy with the glasses? Edmund?" Eric offered. "No, that can't be him," he trailed off, suddenly seeming faraway and unsure.
"That's him." Bella broke her silence as her own dry, cracked voice surprised her ears, but could not take her eyes off the magnificence before her. "His name is Edward...that's him."
They all sat quietly for a moment, transfixed. The song was beginning to wind down, Edward's eyes were closed, and he hunched over himself on his chair so far she couldn't see his face anymore. Bella began to excitedly picture how she would quietly corner him after his set, and wondered what she could say that might disarm him and make this fated encounter the end of the awkwardness between them.
A loud hoot disrupted her thoughts as Mike leapt upward with his fists elevated.
"Wooo hoooo, CCCC representin'!" he bellowed.
Edward's head shot up towards the sound so suddenly his wild hair whiplashed. His frantic eyes scanned the area, locking eventually onto Bella's, and his face routed from mild worry to sheer panic in the course of a half-second. She took an audible, sharp intake of breath, and again, much like the incident at work, they stared, neither able nor willing to look away. But while Bella's expression exhibited surprised admiration, Edward's was nothing short of pure terror.
She watched as his sad mouth made the shape of a perfect circle. A whispered "No" that never reached her ears.
Yes.
He rose and leapt from the stage, clearly agitated. He grabbed his things from a nearby chair and practically ran towards the most direct route outside.
He was plotting an escape! That strange, sneaky, amazing little bastard!
In that moment, Bella cursed a thousand times the fact that she'd agreed to sit on the inside.
"Move. Move. God, will you just move!" she pleaded as she pushed against Taylor's legs with all her strength. Her coworkers shared a perplexed look at her expense across the table, and when she realized that Edward was only mere feet from freedom, she gave up on their cooperation altogether and ducked underneath to escape the cell, crawling out from under the booth and sprinting for the front door, knowing she would be able to catch him before he disappeared altogether.
She forgot to anticipate the small step leading up to the entryway.
Her boot caught the six-inch lip full on, and of course she fell, flying forward with enough force to send a cannonball straight into the belly of an enemy pirate ship. Her chest and palms hit the floor with hard equal impact, and a whoosh of air escaped her lungs. A few seconds passed before her body was reminded of the urgency of the moment.
She scrambled back onto her feet and bolted outside, somehow managing to appreciate the delicate dingaling of the front door bell on her way out, but at the same time forgetting all about the cold air and no coat, and the Completely Confused Cave Creatures inside.
He was gone.
She called for him. She had no idea which direction he'd disappeared to, so she just offered up his name to the hazy darkness, feeling it being promptly swallowed up by manholes and exhaust pipes. She called out his name with the hope that he would hear it and realize that it was okay, that a good person wanted to see him, to know him, to tell him that he was remarkable, and that his music worth sharing.
And that she wanted to hear more.
She stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, and then took the first dejected step towards home. Rose would make her tea and she would sleep, dreaming strange dreams of spinning wolves, scared green eyes, and a knowing that some unknown wrong of his past was now her own to bear.
Every step she took also brought her also closer to tomorrow. When she would confront him (for real this time), with kindness, whether he liked it or not.
Bella fidgeted with the beading on her shoulder bag while waiting for the elevator to retrieve and deliver her to her single most anticipated day at Vitamin Direct. The light (and sobriety) of day had a way of rendering all of her earlier promises to herself about confronting him really...scary. And foolish. And perhaps unnecessary.
She didn't need to bother him about it, really. She should just let him be, let him have his little extracurricular activity outside of work. They all had them. Jane Volturi was a part of the Central Park Model Yacht Club. Mike Newton was in an online poker league. Eric Yorkie kept rooftop pigeons. She, of course, had Dot.
And apparently, Edward Masen had open mic. And for whatever reason, did not want anyone else to know about it. Or anything about him at all, in fact. She'd learned more about him in a two-minute period the previous night than she had in four months sitting beside him every day.
Each time she began to surrender the idea of trying to talk to him, the tiny detective would nag and fight.
Ding
The elevator. Her stomach churned.
As she stood inside the tiny moving box filled with strangers, watching the small lit circles gain in number as they rose upward, unconsciously bobbing her head to the MIDI version of "Never Gonna Give You Up", she compromised with her many selves to feel it out, first see how he acted and then react accordingly. Yes.
Ding. Her stomach churned.
She made her way through the reception area and down the first line of cubicles, deciding to head straight to her own office and go about her day as she normally would. Her coat was hanging on the back of her chair; Jessica must've come in early and dropped it off. She couldn't yet worry about what Jess and the others were thinking about her bizarre hurried departure last night.
First things first.
Her fingers stretched up and over the edge of the cubicle wall she shared with Edward. Slowly, she raised herself onto her tiptoes and peered over the edge, hoping just to get a quick peek without him noticing her.
He wasn't there.
Correction, nothing was there. No papers, no clips, no post-its, no pens, nothing. His computer, phone and headset were neatly positioned on the desk, but that was all.
Her head was spinning. She wandered out to the company common area, where a group of her coworkers were gathered in a loose circle, talking and laughing.
"Hey...you guys." She cleared her parched throat and shook her head a bit. "Has anyone seen Edward?" She was feeling slightly panicked, and was worried she might sound like a lunatic.
Lauren smirked and giggled under her breath as she turned away and pretended to fuss with the coffee maker.
Peter, wearing his signature skinny black and white diagonal striped tie, took a long sip from his company coffee cup and raised one eyebrow as he shot her an ironic smile. "Edward quit."
A/N
I cannot believe it! I am the proud owner of my very own cliffie! There won't be a ton of them in this story, so soak it in and enjoy it!
xoxo
