Word Prompt - cleanse

Not beta'd.

All characters and Twilight-y things belong to SM.

Edward seemed tired.

Not just looked tired, evident by his drooping eyes and slouch, but…seemed it. Like it was a state of being and not just a passing feeling. I eyed him as he finished his food, wondering what he'd do next. I wondered also how this was going to work. I kept being hit with the reality of him as live person, of sharing this space with someone I didn't know at all.

It made me nervous, and not in a good way.

"Do you want more coffee?" I asked, standing to clear my plate.

"No." He shook his head, following me to the sink. "Thanks. I think I'm going to go lie down."

"Are you okay?" I asked, like a broken record.

"I don't know," he said, closing his eyes for a second. Before I could say anything else, he walked away, disappearing into the living room.

I didn't know what his deal was, physically or emotionally. A small voice inside insisted there was more to his story than a broken down car and a dead phone. Did he live nearby? If so, shouldn't he know better than to venture out in weather like this? Especially so unprepared?

After cleaning the small mess we'd made in the kitchen, I went to the living room. Something in me cared about him, like he needed nurturing or something. Jacob had always been so self sufficient and proud. He'd never wanted me to do anything for him, and he'd never wanted me to do anything for myself, either. He'd probably thought that had made me feel cherished when really all it did was make me feel bored. Useless.

Edward was already dozing on the couch, curled up beneath one of the blankets. I ventured closer, squinting at him, realizing I'd never opened the curtains. I didn't want to wake him, but the lack of light was hurting my eyes and making things seem more depressing than they were. Quietly, I drew the drapes open, blinking in the white brightness.

Returning to Edward's side, I was dismayed to find that his cheeks were flushed. I touched his face, his forehead. He was hot; too hot.

What was it with him? Too cold and now too hot? Were fevers a common after effect of hypothermia? I had my hand on my phone, ready to call Rose, when Edward opened his eyes.

I stepped back, self conscious about my proximity. "You have a fever."

"I know."

"I have Motrin, if you'll take it."

"I will."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He was silent, eyes slowly closing before opening again.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what you need," I said quietly, walking away.

Once again Rose called as I was making tea. I intended to make Edward drink it this time.

"How's our patient?" she asked.

"He had a shower and breakfast, but now he has a fever."

"Damn." She sighed dramatically, sending static over the line. "This is a tough one, you know? I still kind of feel like you should just call the ambulance to come and get him, take this off your hands. On the other hand, though, it's most likely not that severe. He might have a cold or something from exposure. It would suck to have them risk the roads in this weather for something he'll just get over himself."

These things had crossed my mind, as well. I tried to evaluate the situation practically, tried to ignore the wanting inside, the craving for companionship. If I was being real, I didn't want to be alone here, even if it meant keeping some sick guy prisoner.

I snorted at the trajectory of my thoughts, prompting Rose to laugh a bit. "What?"

"I don't know. I mean, yeah. I feel the same. I don't know what to do. I'm making him tea. Again."

"You're sweet."

"I try." The kettle boiled, and I turned it off, leaving the tea to steep. "I'm giving him a couple of Motrin, too. If that doesn't work, then..."

"Then give him a tepid bath. A little on the cool side."

"He can probably give himself a bath."

"That's what I meant," she said, laughing again. "Silly. Hey, I gotta go - I think Alice locked herself outside again."

Shaking my head, I let her go.

Back in the living room, Edward was on his side, tracing a finger listlessly along the carpet below.

"Here," I said, holding out two pills and the mug of tea.

"Thank you." He sat up, accepting both.

Not wanting to stand there staring, I left him to it. There wasn't much to do here, besides watching TV and reading. Every day I told myself I should use the quiet time to do exercise or meditate or something and everyday I found myself on the couch, zoning out to old movies. Now even that was out, seeing as Edward had claimed the couch.

Sighing, I headed upstairs. It was a good time to read, after all.

And maybe exercise.

Two hours later, after answering emails, stalking people on Facebook, and scouring Pinterest for the best hair treatments and facial cleanses I'd never do, I slapped my laptop closed and stood. It was probably time to check on Edward; I hadn't heard a peep from him in awhile.

But first, I had to pee. I walked into the bathroom, already unbuttoning my jeans, and stopped cold.

Edward stood at the sink, pink razor in hand, shaving. I probably should've been miffed he'd stolen one of my razors...a new one, I hoped...but all I saw was that smooth, newly uncovered jawline and his bright green eyes, staring back at me in the mirror.

"Hope you don't mind," he rasped, holding up the razor. "Found a pack beneath the sink."

"It's fine," I breathed, yanking my t-shirt down over my open pants. My eyes fell to his back...and the reflection his chest...the muscles and pale skin. Angles and curves. Scratches. Bruises. I sucked in a sharp breath. "What the hell happened to you?"

I watched his reflection as as his gaze flickered impassively from his face to his chest. "Fight."

"Who won?" I asked, slightly horrified.

"Do you really have to ask?"

My eyes shot back to his. He smiled a little, smirked actually, returning to his task. It was the first hint of anything other than sickness and sadness I'd seen from him and it was beautiful. My heart squeezed, no doubt confused by the flutters and nerves I was feeling. I supposed I'd suspected as much. I'd known that once he shaved and started feeling better he'd be...hot.

And not because of a fever.

Clearing my throat, I turned to go. "How're you feeling? Did the fever break?"

"Yeah. I'm okay. Tired, but...better."

"That's good." I stole another peek as I slipped back into the hall.

"Bella?"

I popped back in. "Yeah?"

"Did you need something in here? I can get out of your way -"

"No," I lied, which was dumb. "I'm okay -"

But he was already in the narrow hallway with me, wiping traces of shaving cream from his face. Trailing his fingers over his chin, he wiped his hands on his sweatpants...that were riding a little low now, giving me an obscene view of abs and V-lines.

"You should wear a shirt," I mumbled. "You should let me wash your clothes."

"Well, which one is it?" he asked.

I glanced up, expecting to see the smirk, but he was serious as a heart attack. Easing away, I gestured for him to follow me to Uncle Phil's room. There, I tossed him a clean sweatshirt and a pair of flannel pants. Edward was taller and thinner than my Uncle, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

I kept these thoughts to myself, though.

"Just leave these on the floor," I said, pointing to his pants. He probably thought I was a closet freak, obsessed with the removal of his clothes.

"Yes, ma'am."

With that he started to pull his pants off. I took that as my cue to leave. Either he was messing with me, or he was a weirdo.

Maybe both.

thank you, so so so so so much for reading. I love hearing from you, seeing what the thoughts and theories are.

i love you guys.

xoxo