STILL WATERS
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CHAPTER 4
MONDAY, MAY 24
"Mountain therapy," night 4
Either my body is acclimating to all this hiking or my lavender bubble bath is a miracle, but I no longer feel more than the comfortable burn that lets you know you've awakened muscles that have gone far too long without exercise. And that would include my heart.
I'm falling for him.
He's spent every second we're together protecting me from harm, as if HE's not the most dangerous thing to ever happen to me.
I should hold out. It's only three more days, three more dream-filled nights, and then I'll never see him again. It's only going to get worse, harder to leave him if we let things get out of hand—assuming he wants me the way I want him.
Friendship, I'd told him. Yeah, that works.
I can do this. Starting tomorrow. No alarms, no private hikes, no watching mountain man chop down trees…sigh. I'll meditate or something. I'll find the damn treadmill. It'll be better this way.
It won't hurt so much when I have to leave his world and get back to mine.
.
.
.
Sleeping in—even till 7:30—would have been lovely, but it seemed I was now incapable of staying asleep past six. At the first hint of morning, my senses were fully aroused—or maybe that arousal was left over from my Edward-inspired dreams.
I could have caught the Early Risers Yoga class on the side lawn, but my motivation seemed to have taken the first bus down the mountain. As strong and invigorated as I felt last night, I was weak and unmotivated this morning. I had a hangover from something I didn't do. Someone I didn't do.
You're doing the right thing.
Then why did a nagging, "You're wasting precious time you could be spending with him," have its nasty way with me? I waffled back and forth between the two until I exhausted myself.
Waffles. Now, there was an idea.
I could picture exactly where Edward was right now. I could see the place we stopped for lunch, where he rolled me over on the cloth and touched me, but not really. Where he lifted the hem of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his nose. I could picture him hacking away at the low-lying limbs and tossing away annihilated branches. I could see him scoping out a rock-stoop and eating his perfect turkey sandwich and closing his eyes while he tipped his face to feel the sun on his cheeks.
It won't be so difficult when I'm away from these damn mountains. The need will dissolve somehow, like the fake sugar I swirled around my coffee cup at breakfast. Oh yes, I sat down to eat an actual meal with actual food in actual public. Life goes on . . . let's do this. Wasn't that why I came here in the first place? Not to get sidetracked by a man—no matter how sweet and goodness-filled he was. I just made him sound like a damn Oreo. He was some goddamn gorgeous Oreo.
Sigh . . . maybe meditation.
.
.
.
Meditation was a joke. What was I concentrating on? What else? Edward. How was that productive? I left the session more restless than when I'd gone in.
The treadmill was a bit more help, especially when I worked into a light jog. My stamina was still fairly pathetic for someone my age in excellent health, and I had to tone down the incline and speed of the pre-programmed course. The treadmill judged me, but at least I was trying.
I got a sandwich to go from the deli counter in the coffee shop—turkey and Swiss—and took it back to my room. I cracked open the chick lit and plunked down in my Adirondack chair on the patio. This could be pleasant. I brought the sandwich to my lips—same turkey, same cheese, same honey mustard as yesterday—but as Edward had warned, it lacked that secret sauce, the Edwardness. Sorry, guy, you've gone from being a cookie to a special sauce.
I set the sub-par sandwich down beside my chair and pretended to focus on the words on the page until my eyes finally gave up the fight. I woke up three hours later to the bleating of the hotel phone.
Disoriented and sunburned, I stumbled inside and picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Hi, Isabella. It's me . . . Mike. Remember me?"
"Uh-huh."
"I haven't seen you around the last couple of days, but I wondered if you wanted to grab dinner with me tonight?"
Nope, nope, nope. "Mike, I'm not really feel—"
"Before you say no . . ." he started, laughing nervously into the phone. "Look, I know I can come on kind of strong at first. I try too hard. That's kind of my . . . thing. Anyway, I just wanted to have a nice meal with a nice person, and I promise I won't, well, I'll try not to scare you away this time."
He let out a huge sigh, and so did I. Maybe Mike would take my mind off you-know-who for a little bit. It was just dinner, down the hall, and I hadn't eaten anything since the Belgian waffles twelve hours ago . . . and that one bite of turkey sandwich. I didn't come here to stay holed up alone in this room. I could do this.
"Sure, Mike. I can be dressed in fifteen?"
.
.
.
Mike was only mildly annoying through the appetizer course, and by the time our entrees arrived, I'd downed at least my half of the bottle of pinot grigio, so the tuning out was working much better. Funny how certain coping devices work better when drunk.
My wine glass was full again, and then it was empty. Full again, then empty. I begged off dessert, barely able to hold my head up with the combined effects of sun, alcohol, and the effort of repelling Mike's droning.
When I stood up from the table, the ground shifted just enough that Mike's helpful arm was appreciated, and when he insisted on walking me down the hall to my room, I didn't fight him off. Either he was very good at holding me up or I was more coordinated than I thought. I managed to put one foot in front of the other and exit the dining room without falling on my face. Go, me.
Mike tightened his grip with an arm around my waist. I floated more than walked. Left, right, concentrate, Bella! Bed wasn't far off, blessed sleep . . . I'd have to skip my journaling tonight, but I'd catch up first thing in the morning.
"Bella?"
Oh. Shit. That damn voice. I'd done such a good job avoiding it and him all day.
"Bella!"
I whipped my head around a bit too fast. The room slanted. "Oh, hey, Edward. What are you doing here?"
It was confusing. Why was Edward standing in the hallway at this time of night, all cleaned up in a yummy pair of dark jeans and a pale blue T-shirt? He wasn't trying to fade into the background for some reason I couldn't quite grasp. And he was standing in the doorway to the library.
"I was just . . . are you okay?" He moved closer. Shit.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just got a bit too much sun today. You remember Mike, right?"
"Of course. Hey, Mike." Edward was shaking Mike's hand, standing too close to us. "Wow, you did get a lot of sun. Jas didn't let you do that to yourself, did he? I'll read him the riot act!"
"Nuh, nuh, nuh, no. It was all my fault. I fell asleep reading. It's a reading-related injury."
That sounded funny in my head but Edward wasn't smiling.
"Hey, Mike, how about if I walk Bella back to her room?" Edward took my other elbow. Strong, hard, stubborn. Clean. I wondered if he'd read in the shower tonight.
"That's okay, man. I've got this handled," Mike said.
Handled. I started to giggle. I felt like taffy being pulled in two different directions.
"Um, I can probably walk to my room all by myself. It's only like . . . down that hall a mile."
My knees buckled. Edward tugged me into his side and lifted my arm around his shoulders. I thought I heard him swear under his breath, but that didn't match with my Edward. He stopped short and stepped in front of me, angling both our bodies around to face Mike.
Uh oh. Edward had his scary mountain man face on. I felt kind of bad for Mike.
"I'll take care of her. Thank you very much, Mike. Good night." Angry, protective, dangerous.
I wanted to warn Mike about what he was supposed to do if he met up with a bear in the woods. I pictured Mike, flattened to the ground, legs splayed, hands clasped at his neck. I giggled; that shit was funny.
Mike stared at Edward. Edward glared back at him. Mike looked at me. "Are you gonna be okay if I leave, Isabella?"
Edward rolled his eyes. "Her name is Bella, and she is gonna be just fine."
Now it was Mike's turn to go all angry bear. "I'm asking the lady. Isab—Bella, do you feel safe with this guy?"
That was a joke, right? I'd never felt safer with anyone—or more in trouble. "It's okay, Mike. Edward would never, ever hurt me. Right, Edward?"
Edward broke his stare-down with Mike and turned his beautiful, tense, bright green eyes on me. They softened instantly. "Of course I wouldn't."
I tried to smile at Mike, but he had turned rabid. Tiny spit bubbles gathered at the corners of the meanest sneer I'd ever seen.
"I sure hope you enjoyed working here, pal. She's all yours." He dropped my arm and stormed off.
Edward tightened his grip. "C'mon, Bella. Let's get you to your room."
"Oh, shit. I think I just got you in trouble."
"Don't worry about him. What room are you in?"
I floated again, my feet barely touching the floor. "I'm not sure."
"Okay, hold on, let me get your key. Here it is, number twelve. You're right down here . . . hang on while I . . ."
The door opened. There was my bed.
"I am sooooo tired." My bed was so soft. I sat down to rest, just for a second. I needed to brush my teeth and change out of my dress and Edward went into the bathroom to get me a glass of water and said he'd be right back.
.
.
.
The blankets were so heavy, so, so hot. My body felt like fire, but I was shivering all over. My sheets were soaked. And I felt so, so sick.
Where the hell was I? School? Not school. School was over. No more papers.
Mountains. Edward. Mike. Wine. Ugh, so much wine! Oh shit!
I kicked off the sheets and dashed for the toilet. Dizzy . . . so, so dizzy.
"I've got you." Strong arms wrapped around me, guided me, bent me over the toilet. Edward. Gathered my hair out of my eyes, off my neck.
A blast of hot vomit rushed up my stomach and burst out of my mouth. Ugh, last night's cod in big, bitter, undigested chunks. So gross. I closed my eyes. More spinning.
I barely had time to breathe before the next batch pumped up and out of me, and another and another. I prayed for mercy; I prayed for death. Every last drop inside my stomach spilled into the bowl. I was so cold, shivering, soaked in a cold sweat all over my body. My dress. Shit, I was still wearing my stupid sundress.
"Here." Tissues pressed into my hand. A cool washcloth draped across the nape of my neck. Soothing words. "Feel any better?"
"A little." I couldn't look at him. This was mortifying.
"Think you could sip a little water? You're really dehydrated."
He pressed the glass into my hand. I tried.
"How's your head?"
"Not good. Hurts behind my eyes."
"Here, Bella. Take this. I promise it'll help." He opened his hand and presented two round orange pills. "It's Advil."
I gave up on the ostrich act. He'd already seen everything . . . and more. "I trust you." I even managed a tiny smile for him. "Besides, it's too late to Rufee me."
He chuckled as I took the pills off his hand. "It's not really my style, anyway."
I choked down enough water to swallow the pills, and he took the glass away. I flopped down onto my ass and leaned my forehead on the cool porcelain. It was easier than looking at him.
"This isn't exactly my style either. I'm kind of mortified."
"It happens. Too much sun, not enough water, and an asshole getting you wasted so he could take advantage of you. I'm just glad I happened to be standing there. No telling what Mike might've done."
I smiled. "I wasn't that drunk."
"Could've fooled me." I couldn't tell if he was angry, disappointed, or just sad.
"I think I might've gotten you in big trouble. Do you think he might really get you fired?"
"For taking care of you? No. But even if I did get fired, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. There was no way I was leaving you with him. I was prepared to get physical."
My gaze traveled across the tile floor to where he was leaning back on his hands, watching me with grave concern.
"You know, you can be awfully scary, mountain man."
His face lost its tension. "That's funny. I'm terrified of you."
"Me? What'd I do?"
He shook his head. "You know what? It's the middle of the night, and you're still drunk, and we are not having this conversation right now. Can I help you get back to bed?"
"I thought you weren't that kinda guy."
"Here," he said, lifting me gently and helping me to the sink. "Why don't you freshen up? Are you okay if I let go?"
Well, there was the whole conundrum, wasn't it? But as he'd said, now was not the time to solve it. "Sure. Can you grab me a T-shirt from the second drawer? This dress is really disgusting."
As I reached for my toothbrush, I happened to catch his blush in the mirror. "What?" I asked.
"Um, you wouldn't happen to have any sleep pants in there, would you?"
"Nope. I usually don't wear anything at all to bed."
"Right." He ran his fingers through his hair as he turned to go. Poor Edward.
A few minutes later, he returned with my Harvard T-shirt. "It was the longest one I could find."
"Thanks." I tried to smile, but my stomach had started churning again, and I was on borrowed time.
Concern furrowed his brow again. "I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone. I'm afraid you're not quite . . . finished."
"Thank you."
He nodded, surprised or maybe just relieved I hadn't fought him on staying. "Take your time. I'll just be out there . . ." Blush.
I returned to the bedroom to find his large frame slumped down in the little side chair by the window, his long legs stretched way out in front of him. His gaze was fixed outside, allowing what remained of my dignity and modesty as I crawled back under the sheets.
"That looks pretty uncomfortable," I said. "Are you gonna stay like that all night?"
"It's fine."
"Did you sleep at all?"
"A little. You slept for about twenty minutes before you got sick."
"Let's try for a little more this time."
"Deal."
.
.
.
The next few hours were a terrible blur of nightmares and nausea and retching. By 3 a.m., I was down to the dry heaves. My stomach muscles were cramped and sore on top of the queasiness. I was completely exhausted, and, from the looks of him so was Edward. I was fairly certain this level of customer care wouldn't be found in the employee manual.
As I dragged myself back into bed for what I fervently hoped would be my last time tonight, I tried to convince Edward it was okay to leave me, but mountain man wouldn't budge. And I guess if I were honest with myself, I'd admit I wasn't trying all that hard to make him go.
"Look, I know I'm not exactly a ray of sunshine—"
He regarded me with a smile so kind, I nearly wept. "I think you're doing great."
"Come on, Edward. This room smells like the bathroom at Fenway Park . . . after the seventh inning stretch . . . when the Yankees are in town! Ugh, I just threw up in my mouth again."
Edward chuckled softly. "I think I did, too."
"What I'm trying to say is, I'd certainly understand if you didn't want to get too close to me, but if you're going to be stubborn about staying, maybe you should lie down on the bed and try to get a little sleep before you have to get up and operate heavy machinery. I stink, but at least I'm not contagious."
His gaze shifted from me to the chair that had tortured him all night, and he surrendered. "Yeah, okay."
He kicked off his boots and lay down on top of the covers with all his clothes on. He folded his arms over his chest like a corpse. Within seconds, he was asleep.
Despite how shitty I still felt, his devotion tugged at my heartstrings in a way I couldn't ignore, no matter how hard I tried.
"G'night, mountain man," I whispered in the dark.
"Hmm," he hummed back between gentle, rhythmic snores. As if his body were answering mine even on a subconscious level. As if maybe he couldn't help his response any more than I could.
A/N: I hope nobody was eating while reading that scene! Especially not cod, or the New England version- SCROD. Anyway, enough about Bella's chunk-blowing. NOW what's gonna happen to Mountain Man? Is Motormouth Mike gonna get him fired? How do you think Bella's plan of staying away from Edward is going so far? Heh. And by the way, what was Edward doing, standing there all fresh and blue in the hallway, huh?
Hey, thanks for the sweet notes about The Cliffs from some of my diehards! *gushes warm fuzzies from chest cavity* It's been fun seeing many new faces on Facebook too! Thanks for joining in the craziness. If you're game for something REALLY nuts, you might want to head over the ThreeHotPotatoes account here and check out our latest election-themed story, Rightfully Qualified. For those of you who are blissfully unaware of the trainwreck known as 3hp, it's my 3-way collab with Shell Taylor (shellshock81) and Kate Best (kitkat cullen). What we do is decide on a theme up front, then take turns writing 100-word drabble chapters without any further conversation about plot, and pass along the 'hot potato' story to the next writer. It's most fun (for us) when we twist up the story and give the next potato a rough cliffie to deal with, and my two potato partners are notorious for doing just that. (I'm the angel in the group.) Warning: the stories are crackfic of the worst variety. Enter at your own risk. ;)
MUCH LOVE to all of you for your Mountain Man love and kind words about this Bella, too. For my fellow Jews out there, L'shana Tova Tikatevu! MWAH! XXX ~BOH