Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer.
A/N: I thank everyone who'd put this story in their alerts and favourites. I'm very appreciative of the reviews as well!
"You make me feel a little older
Like a full-grown woman might.
But when you're gone I grow colder
Come to me again in the cold, cold night
In the cold, cold night"
- In the Cold, Cold Night, White Stripes
CHAPTER 4 – In the Cold, Cold Night
The day was just too exhausting. Between Edward's pushing and prodding, and Charlie's Siberian winter behavior, the only thing I could think about doing was run to my bedroom. Hide and sleep for days.
But as tired as I were, I spent minutes staring at my ceiling. Wishing for things I couldn't have; wishing that my circumstances were different—pretty much wishing for the impossible.
Edward had asked if my mother were still alive, would I still be here? And I used to think that if that were the case, I'd borrow Atlas' strength just to hold on to her. My family situation would've been different. Happy…probably. Complete. Charlie, in his infinite wisdom, taught me to not desire for things I don't have because it's a complete waste of time; that I should be satisfied with my status quo or else I'd never find happiness. But is it as cut and dry as that?
My eyes drifted off to sleep thinking about I used to think I was happy…until Edward plowed onto that tree.
~ooOOoo~
I woke up an hour later to the tune of Jake snoring beside me. My head was a still swirl of storm; doubts about my personage and uncertainties about the future. Edward's brutal questions and observations about my life or the lack thereof, wreak havoc to my otherwise contented existence. Life had always been steady for my father and me. We existed in our own worlds, secretly wanting for more. But then maybe I was just stupid enough to think that my father was happy too.
I buried my face on Jake's brown fur, seeking warmth and comfort. Good, old Jake. Always reliable.
I wondered if Edward had finally settled in the tiny guest room and if the quiet of our rural life was getting to him. I wouldn't be surprised if the poor guy upped and left us completely. Who would want to be saddled with a couple of small town weirdoes like us?
I got up and patted my hair down, which from the looks of it, had certainly taken a turn for the worse. It curled and moved like the auburn strands were alive. The shirt I wore was still grass-stained, dirt-stained and bloodstained. I looked no better than a wild child raised by a pack of wolves. No wonder Charlie looked at me with open disgust when he walked in to the kitchen.
When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I made my way to my old dresser and dug out some decent looking clothes that will not make me look like it's been years since I've seen civilization. I settled for a pair of denim cut offs and a faded black shirt.
I walked further in to the living room to find Charlie with a cup of tea and a day old newspaper spread out before him. His reading glasses were perched upon his nose, his forehead wrinkled in concentration.
I came into the room slowly and silently.
"What do you think of Edward?" as if he sensed my presence immediately, he asked without looking up.
Something in my head veered towards telling him that we should send him packing. That he made me uncomfortable in ways that my young eager heart couldn't handle. That I should tell Charlie he saw too much, knew too much, and that if I'm not careful, Edward could show me what it's like to have my heart broken.
"He told me he escaped from prison and that he kills young girls," I told him, cautiously waiting for his reaction. "I think we should call the police."
"None sense," he said in his doll-drum voice. "If we call the police, we'd be in the papers. There's nothing worst than being in the public eye for the wrong reasons."
I looked down on my hands. I've never heard Charlie crack a joke in my entire life. Edward worked his magical charms on him as well.
"It was a joke, child." He continued, his eyes crinkled slightly in amusement.
But I couldn't bring myself to laugh.
"You should check on him," he suggested. "If he's suffered a concussion, it's not advisable for him to sleep. He should've driven himself in the hospital."
It was just the kind of thing he would say. If he couldn't even pretend to care about his only daughter, then he certainly wouldn't lift a finger to help a stranger.
Edward was pretty lucky that Charlie had let him stay.
I shook my head, not at all surprised at his comment, and drifted back to the bedrooms.
I opened the door as quietly as I could and found Edward sprawled on the bed; his forearm over his eyes, his body relaxed in sleep.
I was momentarily amazed by his sheer size. He didn't belong in that small bed. But even if his legs dangled on the edge, he looked so peaceful I'd rather leave him be.
My eyes, finally, gaining freedom to feast on him, started from the tips of those unruly locks down to his feet. He was masculine everywhere. Disturbingly attractive and—I cringed as those green eyes peeked under his arms.
"Sorry…I didn't mean to wake you—actually, yes, I—I meant to wake you up. Uhm my father thought it's not a good idea to let you sleep for long." I stammered.
He removed his hand and those eyes lasered into mine.
"Did you sleep well?" I asked when I finally could control myself.
"Exceptionally well," he stretched and lifted himself off the bed. "I thought I'd dreamt you," he added. "An angel with long dark hair and eyes so searing."
Pink and embarrassed, I put a hand to the mess that was my hair. "I've wanted to get it cut for a long time but, without means of getting to town…"
"Don't you dare," he said sharply.
Surprised by his ferocity, and maddened by his dictatorship predilection, I threw him an annoyed look.
"It would make it much easier. Cooler, too. It's such chore washing all this." I snapped.
He stood up and looked down into my face, not at all bothered by my reaction. "It's like a red flame in the sunlight," he said softly. His fingers moved into the full, tangled drapery of auburn hair and let it fall through like trapped sands through his fingers. "The texture is almost …otherworldly," he muttered as he stared at it in awe. "Silky like your skin…"
I wasn't sure how to react other than let nature take its course. The redness that has been permanently infused under my skin since meeting Edward had intensified, a feat that I deemed impossible. Nobody has ever said such things to me before. I was taken aback and was not at all sure if I liked it. It made me feel self-conscious, so much so that I moved back away from him and detached his hand.
"Uhm…Charlie could probably go another round of chess with you, if you'd like."
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.
I left the room, completely aware of him following me after a pause.
Charlie's face lit up as we came in the living room, genuinely pleased.
"There you are, Edward," he said as he put the newspaper down. "You're looking better already."
"I'm feeling better," he said as he sat down.
I took my own seat by the window and stared outside the dark night.
They picked up where they left off, talking about art and current events but nothing about Edward's personal life. It was as if they avoided it. But I was hungry. I wanted to know everything about him. He said he wasn't married. But does he have a family? A lover? Anyone waiting for him anxiously back home? I listened vaguely to their conversation and was amused that Edward could hold up his end when faced with a philosophical Charlie.
It was only moments later, when the living room grew quiet that I realized Charlie once again left me to my own defenses. Famous for his vanishing act and sequestering himself to his studio, he eventually ran out of steam. In all honesty, I had no clue what he did in there besides paint. Sometimes, I wont see him for days.
Edward sat still on the couch and found entertainment by way of watching me.
"Does he always leave you alone in the evenings?"
I've grown tired of his dead on assumptions and to lie was futile. "What do you think?"
He nodded; a thoughtful expression crossed his face.
"What do you do?" he put the newspapers on the table into some order; his forehead wrinkled as if the newspaper was a puzzle to be solved.
"I read on cold nights and walked on warm nights like this."
His brow lifted. "Walked? In the dark?" he asked incredulously.
I nodded.
His eyes narrowed sharply. "You're not scared of anything, aren't you?"
I shrugged. I'm scared of a lot of things. Spiders, clowns, geckos.
Not being enough for Charlie.
Charlie, dying.
Me, being completely alone in the world.
But instead, I simply answered, "It's only when it's dark enough that I can see the stars."
"You're surreal." He chuckled bitterly; his hands fisted on his hair, as if tormented by his findings. "I've never met anyone so fucking naïve!"
I was hot and cold at the same time. My face was enflamed but everything inside me slowly froze. I couldn't control the shakes that overtook my body.
He made me furious; made me see things that were not there before and crave for something nameless and mysterious; something easily at the grasp of my hand but slippery just the same.
A peep came out of my mouth, similar to that of a pained animal. I blinked, once—twice and backed off of him as his hand reached out.
"Bella—" he started. His face was a mask of pain. Unreal. Apologetic.
I fled the room, skirting around his orbit. He was like the sun, he took up the centre of my universe. How? What kind of a sick god would send him to torment me like this?
He caught me by the hallway. His hands grabbed at me. Hot. Much too hot. I trashed quietly in an attempt to free myself, thankful that the tears hadn't fallen. This man, this stranger. He shouldn't be here. Invading our lives, tearing down walls to judge us. Jeering at us for the way we live, for my ignorance of the world. What does he know? I don't want a tormentor, I want a savior!
When I finally stopped fighting, I found myself surrounded by his scent, his warmth, and his essence. His arms were like bands of steel around my shoulders and around my waist. Protecting, soothing, and suffocating. His breaths came in pants close to my ears, warm like the Chinook winds.
"I'm sorry…so sorry…" he mumbled against my hair. He twisted my body to face him and was shocked to see the honest contrition in those eyes. Minutes, hours, days may have gone by. I couldn't remember. The only thing I was aware of was how close we were, how good he felt, and how much I want to hurt him. And the most shocking of all, I wanted him to kiss me. Make me forget that when he leaves us, life will never be the same again. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, like he too, felt my hunger. I've never had anyone stared at me like he did. His face was painted in a kaleidoscope of intensity. Beautiful sorrow. Beautiful pain. Benevolence and desire.
Desire. That's what I was hungry for. It's the feeling of being wanted and I see it on his face when he looked at me; that I was wanted regardless of my faults. The strange thing was, his wanting fueled my own.
I took his hands off my arms, he didn't fight it.
His chest puffed up as he held his breath and blew it out in slow, almost painful gusts.
"Look, I'm sorry—I just…I don't know how to handle you."
"No one asked you to, Edward." He winced the second I uttered his name. As if I had no right to. "Why do you keep pushing me?" I whimpered.
He sighed. "I don't know."
I frowned, something akin to disappointment pricked at my chest.
What was I expecting? That he would say: because someone has to, Bella. Because your life here in this bubble has no meaning; because years from now, no one would even know you existed; because you deserved so much more.
"But you're right," he looked skyward with his eyes closed in prayers. "Listen, since I'm here why don't I accompany you to your walk?"
"I'll be fine on my own, Edward. There's nothing and no one for miles here. I'm safe." And I'd rather not have your eyes watch me all the time. "I'm just going for a swim at the back anyway."
"Swim?" his eyes brightened, sparkling in a way a child's eyes does as he opens his present. "As in a swimming pool?"
"As in a tiny, pool of fresh water from a falls." I said proudly. I'd hoped that he'd be discouraged, but when did I ever get anything I wished for? How would this night be any different?
"Wouldn't it be cold?"
"I think so," I said, and turned my back on him. I opened the hallway linen closet and picked out a towel.
"What? No bathing suit?" he asked as he followed me out the door.
"Nope," I said simply.
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" he smirked.
The night air had certainly cooled significantly. It made me re-think the foolishness of this night outing. But I didn't want to hear the silence of the cottage; or the restlessness I'd feel as soon as my back hit the bed. Especially when I know Edward was just a few feet away.
"I usually don't wear anything when I swim, but I guess I'd have to since you're here." I admitted absent-mindedly.
He swiveled his head fast, his eyes fixed on mine without blinking. "You what?"
I clamped my hand over my mouth as I realized what I just said. Blushing to the roots of my hair, I stammered. "I—I mean, well…Charlie never does to and like I said, no one ever comes here. We don't see another living soul from one week to the next."
"Except Sam?" he posed disapprovingly. "Wait, how do you know your father never wear clothes when he goes for a swim?"
I soon realized that things were getting from bad to worst. But I couldn't stop my mouth for some reason, a proverbial leaking faucet.
"Well, Sam wouldn't come down to the falls, and if he did, I'd hear him a mile off." I grinned. "Loud and clear."
"Why? Because he's breathing heavily?" he asked, his brows raised.
I chuckled. "Tow truck." I said. "Sam never walks if he can ride."
"Smart boy."
"As for Charlie, well…I don't know for sure. I just assumed."
He ignored me and walked further ahead as if he couldn't get away fast enough. I don't blame him. The thought of my father swimming naked was horrifying to say the least.
"A swim might not be a good idea on a night like this," he said. He seemed so far away.
"Why?" I asked, as I stepped over a clump of long grasses. "Is it because your old bones couldn't handle it?" I said mockingly. I was tired of the tension between us. For the first time in a long time, there's a man I could talk to about from world outside Forks. As much as I hated that he saw through me like a clear stream of water, I enjoyed what little light moments we've had.
He stopped dead on his tracks and spun his head like he was a man possessed by the devil.
I wanted to slap a hand on my forehead, afraid that I'd done and offended him again.
I approached him cautiously as I worried my lower lip between my teeth and stopped in front of him.
Initially, I was relieved to find the small smile that played upon his lips.
"Watch what you say, little girl. Or you might just find out the true advantage or disadvantage of my being older." I sensed the teasing inflection in his voice, but his eyes contradicted his jovial tone. There was something dark and ominous about it; foreboding in a sense that brought tingles running up my spine.
I'd only known him for hours.
Edward, for reasons I couldn't understand, had begun to try and make me aware of him. Not for intimidation, but in a way that a man would stake a claim on a woman. But his motive escaped me; after all, I'm but a girl of no consequence. Cloudy past, dreary present and an absent future. Maybe it was just masculine pride that made him wish to arouse my consciousness of him—purely out of curiosity.
He turned his back on me again as he marched and followed the sounds of falling water.
I caught up to him right by my bedrock.
He stood with his hands on his lean hips whilst he watched the waterfall.
Darkness swallowed up the hills on the far side of the valley but a sliver of moon provided some lighting.
"Your father won't object to this?" he asked.
"Why should he?" My cool tone was rhetorical. I walked away through the long, rustling grass, the spears reached waist-high in places. The rough stems brushed against my legs, like tiny bloodless paper cuts.
The pool of water was a cool glimmer of silver between the rocks and the green banks, the water choked with weed. Without looking at Edward, I stripped off my shirt and pulled off my shorts, which left me with nothing on save for my undergarments. I don't know what gave me the courage to do just that. But it made me feel free. At least under the water, on my own, no one would look at me with judgment in their eyes.
I dove under the freezing water.
It was invigorating. Cold, yes. But it helped cool the fire that smoldered steadily inside me since meeting Edward.
I floated just beneath the surface; minutes may have gone by. I wasn't sure. I could see Edward by the banks, pacing as he looked down at me. Stalking was more like it. His eyes were like green laser that penetrated the water and eventually pierced through my frigid flesh.
I sank even deeper, almost to the murky bottom. I stayed there for a couple of more minutes, lost in the muffled sound of the world above me. The coldness of the water did not affect me at all. I was used to coldness, physically and emotionally.
When my chest grew painfully heavy, I broke through the surface and splashed as I fought to stabilize myself.
I was suddenly pulled out of the water and onto the grass; his grip painfully strong on my arms.
"God," he muttered, "Bella…" he knelt over me and through lowered lashes I watched his face. He was panicked. "I was about to—just—God!" His body shook as beads of sweat as well as water dripped on his brow. He pulled me against his chest and heard the violent tattoo of his heart in my ears.
I couldn't help it.
I opened my eyes and laughed. Did he think I was drowning?
There was a long silence. He didn't laugh with me.
"I can hold my breath for ages, Edward." I said blithely, my laughter slowly sputtered as I realized he was truly worried.
"You scared the fuck out of me," he said between his teeth, still furious.
With my laughter completely gone, I felt remorseful when I saw the whiteness of his face and the harsh flare of his nostrils that indicated the trouble I was in.
"I'm sorry, Edward," my hands fisted on his shirt and coddled closer to him still, as if the distance between us was far too much…or perhaps to test my docile feminine whiles.
"Sorry!" his chest rumbled as he yelled in my ears. He pushed off and we were suddenly lying down on the grass with him on top of me. My hands were trapped between our chests, imprisoning me with his steely body. His breaths came in spurts as if every draw hurt his lungs.
He stared down on my repentant face with eyes that glowed with fire.
I was about to apologize again when he bent his head and his lips closed over mine.
The tingles that I felt whenever he touched me were nothing compared to the volt of electricity running through my skin. It started at the bottom of my spine and slowly zapped through my blood stream slowly. I've never been kissed before. The experience was too strange, too blissful to comprehend. My eyes were opened and wide, startled like a deer. I didn't know what to do, how to reciprocate. But he felt good, his lips were masculine yet soft. He tasted sweet like fully ripened lime soaked in vanilla. Was that even possible?
He must've sensed my trepidation, "Open your mouth," he said. I didn't move, my lips remain pursed and I avoided looking into his eyes. "Open your mouth, Bella," he commanded. The words were uttered in slow but forceful degree. His face descended again, his lips took mine with more vigor than the last as he tried to pry them open.
Then I started to panic. My palms slid up his shoulders as he devoured my lips. I pushed him with all my might, terrified for the first time that I really did not know who this angry person was; what he was capable of.
"Let me go," I begged and pushed him harder still.
He released me in an instant; his body flew back as if he was a tightly coiled elastic. He lay beside me on the grass, his breaths came as heavy as mine. We were like two soloists, singing the same tune. My body shivered uncontrollably but I refused to let it show.
"You'll catch a chill," he commented detachedly. "We better head back to the cottage."
"I'm sorry I scared you," my voice hitched lightly and tried to cover my nakedness with my arms around my body. I could almost hear the wild beating of his heart as if the panic still possessed him.
He turned his body towards mine, "Is that all you're going to say?" he asked angrily. He looked dangerous, as if he wanted to do something violent. Chills wracked my body and it wasn't from the damp coldness but from the way he looked at me.
Then his expression smoothed out and gave me an odd smile.
"That's all right, Bella," he said coolly. "Children play these silly games from time to time."
I was chilled to the bone—from inadequacy. What does he want from me? I don't know the first thing about kissing back or how I should react to his advances. Was that why he was furious? Or was it still about his fear that I'd drowned?
He stood up and moved down to the bank where I'd left my clothes.
Slowly, I lifted my sodden body off the grass and anxiously waited for his return. I shook violently; my fingers and toes numb. I all but snatched my clothes from his hand, and ran to hide.
It hurt—this feeling of never being good enough. Demoralizing in a way that no matter who walks into my life, I couldn't be the person they wanted. Except maybe for Sam. I shook my head lightly as if to vanish the thought.
With trembling fingers and shuddering breaths, I took off my saturated undergarments and quickly changed into my shirt and shorts. I came out from behind the whispering tall blades of grass with my wet clothes bundled in the towel.
Edward stared up to the sky, his face impassive.
The moon came out in the warm dark sky and the reflection trailed across the face of the water like sparkling diamonds. I stood beside him and waited for him to speak.
The silence became too much for me to bear. "A lovely night," I commented lamely. "Isn't it beautiful, Edward?" I continued as I looked up to the fully risen moon. "Impossible to imagine that man has ever been up there—human beings are so greedy experience something impossible as landing on the moon, disturbing its dusts…but no matter how beautiful it is, it can never be as bright as the sun—or as warm."
"Beautiful," he said softly. His eyes moved over my face as if he was thinking of something else.
"It's such a temptation," he said huskily. "That exquisite thing, what man could resist being the first to possess it?" His eyes drank me in for much longer than I'd hoped and then quickly looked back up to the sky.
I had the strange feeling that he wasn't talking about the moon.
"You can't possess the moon," I croaked under the intensity of those green eyes. "Look at it, it rejects us all."
"Yet man has taken it," he said, unblinking. The moonlight shimmered on his face, making him look out of the ordinary. Surreal.
"They went and left," I lamented. "Got what they wanted and left. It didn't matter that how beautiful it was or what it could offer—passing ships, passing whims. They just wanted to satisfy their curiosity. In the end, the moon remains alone…cold." For some odd reason, stupid tears spurted from my eyes.
We definitely weren't talking about the moon anymore.
Edward moved closer. "You're human, Isabella. Don't despise your existence simply because Charlie couldn't stand his own pain. He's letting his own grief eat at his insides. Don't let him warp the goodness in you into something ugly." His hand tucked a strand of wet hair behind my ears. I shivered at the contact. My chest constricted even more.
I looked up at him with watery gaze as his hand cupped my right cheek. "Do I sound warped? I just think that men should leave something as beautiful and remote as the moon. Why should they try to possess it any more than they want to climb the Everest simply because it's there? They don't value the value of it. They should just leave it alone." I ranted, out of breath as I finished.
His hand dropped to his side; his face warred with emotions.
"You're right," he said as he turned away. "Just because the temptation is there doesn't mean I should act on it."
When did the moon become a metaphor of me? But I've come to the conclusion that the moon and I have something in common.
No matter what we do, we could never be good enough.