A/N: News flash! Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight - not me!
Chapter 7
BPOV
I spent the rest of the weekend stewing in my anger over how things had turned out and simultaneously cranking out my paper for school. What the fuck was I thinking? I needed to stop having these random hook-ups. I mean, really - had any of them ended well? Not really, considering I'd never even seen most of those guys again. It occurred to me that even if I didn't think I could do any better than a one-night-stand, I at least DESERVED better than a one-night-stand. Nearly having sex with that dickhead Felix had made me realize how truly unhappy I was with my sex life. I knew things had to change, but how? I didn't have the answer to that question yet.
Angela kept apologizing to me, but I wasn't ready to forgive her yet. I hadn't told her what had happened, but I think she managed to figure out things had not gone well. Eventually she wised up and realized that I just needed some space.
On Monday, I went to class and turned in my kick ass paper on the Shakespearean villains, Claudius and Iago. Two assholes that I probably would have had sex with the night before if they had bought me a drink.
I had to work at the library that evening from 2:00 - 8:00. Instead of reshelving, Nancy made me "walk the shelves" which basically means that you wander aimlessly up and down the aisles looking for any books that were misplaced or shelved upside down, etc. I HATED walking the shelves. Not only is it completely boring, but it makes my neck and back hurt like hell by the end of my shift.
I checked my watch after what felt like forever and realized that I was due for my break. I stopped into Nancy's office to let her know that I was going to go to the library's cafe in case she needed me for anything.
Once I got there, I grabbed my usual: cinnamon cream cheese muffin and a bottle of iced tea/lemonade. I paid for my items and looked for a place to sit.
Holy cow. Are you kidding me?
There he was, sitting and drinking coffee (?) His back was turned to me, but I could recognize those blonde locks from a mile away. I hesitated. Would it be inappropriate for me to go up to him and say 'Hello'? He had come up to me while I was in line at the ATM after all. I figured it couldn't hurt to just say, 'Hi', could it?
I started walking toward him when a girl sitting at a table suddenly shoved her chair out to stand up. I walked right smack into the chair and started to stumble. I grabbed the table to try and steady myself, but in the process, the iced tea/lemonade fell from my hands, the glass bottle shattering as soon as it hit the floor.
I managed to set the muffin down on the table before I buried my face in my hands.
This cannot be happening to me.
I could feel everyone's eyes burning into me, just waiting for me to start crying or something, I was sure of it. But all I could do was stand frozen in place.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry!" cried the girl whose chair I had run into. "I didn't see you coming!"
"What?"
"That was totally my fault, I'm such an idiot!" she insisted. "Let me go find someone to clean this up. Again, I'm really sorry."
"Oh, okay. Umm, thanks" I said, snapping out of my trance. That's when I saw HIM approaching.
Oh God.
Before he could say anything, I blurted out, "No, I did not do that on purpose!" I couldn't even look at him, I was so embarrassed.
But he gently took my chin in his fingers, tilting it up until my eyes met his. They were as gorgeous as ever and filled with genuine concern.
"Hey, are you okay?" He asked me softly.
"That depends. Is my face still red?"
I felt his thumb sweep lightly over my cheek as he let go of my chin. "Not very. This kind of stuff happens all the time; it's nothing to get upset over."
I swallowed hard and nearly lost my train of thought. "Yeah, but it happens all the time to ME. I'm a walking disaster."
"Maybe you should sit down then." He gestured toward his table. "Would you like to join me?"
I swear my heart stopped beating.
"Ummm, sure, I guess so." He held out a chair for me and pushed it in as I sat down; such a gentlemanly thing to do. "Thanks," I said.
"So are you working today?"
"Yeah. I'm on my break right now. I've got about 20 minutes left before I have to go back." I eyed the things spread out on the table when a piece of fruit caught my eye. "Oh my God, that has got to be the tiniest orange I have ever seen! How cute!" I exclaimed.
He looked at me incredulously. "It not an orange - it's a clementine."
"A what?"
"Haven't you ever heard of a clementine before?"
I shook my head. "Uhhhh, no? Is that horrible of me or something?"
"No, I'm just surprised, that's all. They're just little tangerines, so they're really easy to peel." He began to peel the skin off the clementine. I was amazed at how cleanly it came off of the fruit, not like an orange which would take me forever to scrape off all of the pith. "And they're seedless too, which is nice," he continued. "Would you like to try one?"
"That's okay - I've got my muffin here."
"Oh come on - just one bite." He held a section of the clementine up to my mouth. How the hell could I refuse that? I playfully rolled my eyes and parted my lips. Slowly, almost painfully slowly, he pushed it inside my mouth. I closed my lips, managing to just catch the tip of his finger has he released the fruit. He looked into my eyes expectantly as I chewed. I had to admit, it was delicious. It was wonderful the way it burst onto my tongue and flooded my mouth with its juicy sweetness.
"Mmmmm. Oh my God, that's amazing." I murmured.
"I know," he replied. "They may not be big, but they manage to cram a lot of wonderful things into a small space."
"Well, you've made a believer out of me - that was delectable." I sighed contentedly.
"Tell me Bella, what is it you're studying here?"
"I'm an English major. Please don't ask me what I plan to do with that."
He laughed. "Okay, I won't. But tell me, what do you like about being an English major?"
No one had ever asked me that before. I wasn't quite sure how to answer. "I guess I just like reading a lot. Poetry. Shakespeare. Chaucer. And especially the classics like Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Anna Karenina blah blah blah. I re-read the things I like a lot; they don't really get old for me. I was open major during my first year here, and the only classes I really liked were my rhetoric and literature classes, so...."
"So you became an English major."
"Right. It just seemed like a good fit for me. But seriously, I really have no idea what I'll do with my degree though."
"You could always teach."
I winced. "Me teaching a bunch of snot-nosed kids? I don't think so."
"Do you want to write?"
"Not really."
"Edit?"
Hmmmm, now that wasn't a bad idea. "Maybe. But I've got time to figure it out. I do plan to go to grad school after I graduate from here."
"Ahhh, I see. So tell me, what poets do you like?"
"Ummm, mostly the older poets like Elizabeth Barrett Browning, William Blake, John Donne, Emily Dickinson, etc. I like the way they speak as opposed to someone like Charles Bukowski. Not that he's bad per se, he's just not my cup of tea." I was rambling now.
"Bella, you know that I am a music professor, right?"
I nodded. "Mmmmhmmmm."
"I am actually working on a book about the music and poetry of Claude Debussy. Have you ever heard of him?"
"I think so. Clair de lune, right?"
He smiled at me. "That's right. Not only was he a composer, he also wrote poetry. And he set that poetry to music. I've been doing research here at the library on other poets of the same era that I'd like to include in the book. I was wondering if you might like to help me.
"Help you?" How could I possibly help this man with his book? I didn't know squat about music, let alone Debussy.
"Yes, it would be a big help if you could gather the books that I need and skim through them for me. I'd like it if you could flag or photocopy the sections or chapters that are relevant to my research." He gestured to a pile of photocopied pages. "It's very time consuming for me."
"I think I could do that." I hoped the eagerness wasn't too apparent in my voice.
"That would be a great help to me. But please, if this interferes with your studies or your job, I'll understand if you can't do it. You're a student first, not my research assistant." He said with all seriousness.
"I think I can handle it," I replied, just as serious. But I knew it would have to become a terrible burden before I would give up the chance to see Dr. Cullen on a regular basis. "Just out of curiosity, what kind of poetry did Debussy write?" I asked.
He smiled at me. "I'll admit, his poetry is a little out there." He reached into one of his folders and pulled out some sheets of paper. He flipped through them and then handed one of the sheets to me. He hesitated. "This one is one of my favorites, but I'm not sure how you'll feel about it."
"Well, let me take a gander then." I grinned back at him and leaned back in my chair.
"Of flowers...
"In the boredom, so desolately green, of the hothouse of grief,
the flowers entwine round my heart with their evil stems.
Ah! when will they return around my head,
those dear hands that would tenderly disentwine them?
"The tall violet Irises wickedly violated
your eyes while seeming to reflect them,
they who were the water of the dream into which plunged
my dreams, so sweetly enveloped in their color;
and the lilies, white fountains of scented pistils,
have lost their white gracefulness
and are now no more than poor invalids without sunshine!
"Sunshine! friend of evil flowers, killer of dreams!
Killer of illusions that are the consecrated bread of wretched souls!
"Come! Come! Saving hands!
Break the windows of deceit
break the windows of wickedness,
my soul is dying of too much sun! Illusions!
"Never again shall flourish the happiness of my eyes,
and my hands are tired of praying,
my eyes are tired of weeping!
Unto eternity this senseless noise of the black petals
of boredom falling drop by drop upon my head
in the green of the hothouse of grief!"
I took a moment to re-read the poem one more time. I could feel his eyes burring on me the entire time. I wasn't sure what reaction he was hoping to get from me, so I became suddenly nervous that I would say the wrong thing.
"Wow. Um, wow," was all I could muster.
"If you don't like it, that's okay." He assured me. "I'd honestly like to hear what you think."
"Well, actually, it's really interesting. He has a love/hate relationship with the flowers, doesn't he? The associations he makes are closer to surrealism than symbolism in my opinion. It leaves a lot of open questions. "I glanced at my watch. "I'd like to sit and ponder them some more, but unfortunately, I have to get back to work now," I sighed.
Dr. Cullen looked at me sharply, "Bella, I...I don't know what to say."
"I'm way off, aren't I?" I frowned.
"No, in fact, quite the opposite. For having no background of Debussy, that was extremely insightful. I'm actually very impressed. Tell me, would you be available to meet me, say, Wednesday night to go over some things? Or do you have to work that night?"
I had to think for a moment because my head was still spinning from hearing him say that he was impressed with me. "I get off at 6:00 on Wednesday. So I could meet you any time after that."
"Sounds like a plan. Shall we meet right here again, since it's pretty convenient for the both of us?"
"Works for me," I smiled. "I better get going now, but I'll see you on Wednesday, Dr. Cullen."
"I'm looking forward to it, Bella. Have a nice night."
******
The rest of the evening I didn't "walk the shelves", I danced them.
A/N: The poem "Of flowers" belongs to Claude Debussy.
