The end of this chapter makes me so ridiculously happy. I'm sure you'll understand why when you read it and you also may just forgive me for the long wait for this chapter. =D Just two announcements to make before I set you loose. The first is that I am very pleased to say that Walking Out of the Still Life is nominated for Best Shock Value in the Avant Garde Awards! YAY! You can vote for it at theavantgardeawards(.)com (Be sure to remove the parenthesis). The second announcement is to remind everybody that I'm also up for several awards in the Sunflower Awards including Best Edward for Walking Out of the Still Life, Best All Human Story for Walking Out of the Still Life, Best Lemon Pie Story for Colliding with Fate, Best One Shot for Need, and the coveted MASTER OF LEMONS award. If you vote for me at thesunflowerawards(.)blogspot(.)com (Remove parenthesis) I will love you long time. =D Once again, I own nothing Twilight, but Dirty Edward gives me very happy thoughts. Enjoy and please review!
Chapter 7
A Fiery Thought
"A thought often makes us hotter than a fire."~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
BPOV
If someone had told me exactly what I was going to be returning to in Forks, I never would have believed them. When I made the decision to come home, it was under the notion that I was going to be working with my dad and spending time with Jake. Now, I have regrettably discovered that isn't the case. Dad is retiring, every time I call Jacob to see if he wants to hang out he tries to push Jessica on me, and starting tomorrow, Tuesday, I begin my training with Edward. The only good thing that has come out of all this is that if I beat out Edward for the position of chief, I'll have authority over him. That oddly thrills me, and at the same time scares the shit out of me.
I can see it already, me sitting behind my father's desk, Edward on the other side, a fake mask of calm on his face as I grin triumphantly at him. My stomach does a little flip and cringe at the image. Prior to Friday, I would have figured that anyone considering me chief material was insane, but now, I don't know, perhaps those people are right in wanting me. I'm good at what I do, I'm smart, and after all, Rose voted for me. Although, she could have done that to piss off Edward, I'm not sure. Whatever the reason, Chief is a real possibility for me now. For the past 22 years, I've been under the control of others- parents, teachers, and bosses. My curiosity is peeked at the thought of me being in charge of something greater than myself.
Before the meeting, Dad had planted the idea of chief in my head and despite the fact that it had more power over me than I thought; I managed to react to his retirement very badly. In fact, I pushed a bunch of papers off his desk, and he probably spent a lot of time sifting through them and reorganizing them. I feel bad about that. Unfortunately, I can't go back and change the past.
No, can't change the past, only the future and I'm uncertain of the future as it is. Some people have a general idea of what they want- a family, a nice house, a great job. I've never really considered any of that. I've always just lived in the here and now, never contemplating that things will change, but they are changing even at this very moment as I'm moving my boxes into the Marks' old place.
"Where do you want your books, Bella?" Mom asks, pushing three large boxes through the front door on a dolly.
I didn't ask her to help me move, but that didn't stop her from tagging along with me anyway. My mom has a habit of hovering. I take the dolly from her and roll my eyes. She really shouldn't be moving these boxes- they're heavy. I wheel the dolly across the hardwood floors of the living room and slide them off against a wall with a bit of maneuvering. Normally, I'd put my books in my bedroom so they would be close when I feel the urge to grab one right before bed. The bookcase won't fit this time though, not with my queen size bed, long wooden dresser, and nightstand. My new house is quaint, okay, small- 800 square feet to be precise. Yet Mr. and Mrs. Marks lived here for nearly 3 decades, even raising two boys in the tiny second bedroom that could pass for a large walk-in closet so I'm sure I'll manage. They moved out only two weeks ago, wanting to live closer to their grand kids in Minnesota. When Dad heard the house was up for sale he called me first thing. Mom told me that Mrs. Marks actually cried when she handed over the key. I'm glad I wasn't there for that, when people cry it makes me feel incredibly awkward.
"Well, here's the last box," Mom announces, placing down a box marked 'DVDs' on my comfy, green sofa.
She turns to me and I see the tears coming from a mile away or more accurately, a few feet away. She wraps her arms around me, sobbing softly and my body goes stiff. I pat her back a little while I internally groan, hoping she'll stop soon. Thankfully, she does.
"I'm only three streets away so you best visit me, young lady," she says, pulling away. "Or I'll show up here unannounced, barge in, and if you're in the middle of riding cowgirl style on some hot beefcake so be it. I'm your mother and I won't go ages without seeing you again."
"Mom!" I cry out in disgust, recalling the time my mother walked in on Quil and I in that exact predicament. That's why we started going to First Beach instead of him showing up at my house.
I can feel the heat flooding my cheeks, my face burning with embarrassment. It's rare when something can make me blush. It only happens when I'm truly and utterly embarrassed, like on Friday when Emmett almost caught me staring at Edward. He wouldn't have understood it if I had been forced to explain why I was looking at him like that. I don't even know why I was looking at him like that. It has to be because I've gone so long without sex. Once I have sex again, I won't think he's so damn hot anymore.
"Oh, we all do it, Bella. Why, just last night your father and I-"
"La, la, la, la! I'm not listening!" I sing, instinctually plugging my ears and cutting her off. A few second pass, her lips stop moving, and she smiles- reminiscing. Gross, gross, gross! I pull my fingers out of my ears and shoo her to the door. "I'll visit, Mom, I promise, and I'll call first, maybe a few times just to make sure."
I see it in my head without wanting to- my parents naked, in bed. My whole body shudders. Ew!
"You better, your father sometimes likes to show up on his lunch breaks and-" I push her lovingly out the door as I growl and she laughs. "Love you, sweetheart."
"Love you too, devil woman. Now leave so I can find some brain bleach."
She laughs all the way to her car and we wave at each other as she drives away. I still can't get the image of her and my dad out of my head as I shut the door behind me. It makes me wish she'd just kept crying.
Eventually, I'm able to forget about my parents' sex life, and I manage to spend the rest of my day unpacking with nothing on my mind except what goes where. Before the sun even sets, I'm completely situated and I take a quick walk through. I stand at the front door, admiring the green couch and end table to my left. They're placed against the wall, the table right next to the door and the couch resting between the two windows that face the front of the house. Along the wall just opposite of the couch is the entertainment center with the television and DVDs, and in the far corner, is my bookshelf, crammed full of books. Surprisingly, it all fits nicely, even more so because the walls are a pale green so they match my furniture.
I walk down the short pathway from the front door, underneath an archway and into the pastel blue kitchen where the two-person table I have rests beneath a window with a view into the back yard. To my left is a narrow space lined with light oak cabinets on both sides. In the middle of the right side is a stainless steel sink. My new white fridge and stove, the ones Dad installed yesterday while whispering a string of curses, are placed at opposite sides on the far end, and centered on the blank wall that rests between them is a window. Since this is the last house on the street, the only thing that's visible through it is a forest of trees.
I back track through the archway and turn into a hallway, painted the same light green as the living room. There are two doors on either side of the hall. On the right, is the linen closet and second bedroom, which I'll never use. I stashed some extra boxes in the closet in there. The only rooms I truly care about are on the left- a bathroom and my bedroom. After a long day of lifting, opening, organizing, and cleaning, I just want to take a shower and go to bed.
As I step into my room, I strip out of my clothes and toss them on my bed, that's jammed into the right hand corner of the room. I put it there so that I could have my dresser on the left wall and have a couple feet of open space to walk around in. It works out because now the bed isn't blocking the one window in the room on the right wall. My nightstand sits beneath the window instead. I check the time on the clock that's there. It's barely 8 o'clock and I'm ready to sleep. Wow, I'm a loser. Screw it; I don't care. Sweaty and tired, I hurry to the bathroom and start the shower.
It takes forever for the water to heat up, a good 10 minutes, but when I step into the shower it doesn't matter. I breathe a deep sigh. The water feels amazing on my sore muscles and I savor it. Taking my time, I wash my body, and while lathering the shampoo in my hair, I start to feel like myself again, the energy returning to me. Well, that is until the water stops working. One moment, I'm lathering my hair, the next the water is out, and I'm standing in a dry shower. What the fuck do I do?
Wrapping myself in a towel, I rush to the sink and turn the faucet…nope, no water.
"Come on…no, no, no," I groan to myself and walk quickly into the kitchen to try that sink. Nothing comes out when I turn the handle and I turn it back to the off position just as soap drips into my eyes. "Son of a bitch!"
Using my hands, I rub my eyes to try to get them to stop burning; it's not working. It's not working at all. The stinging pain is intense and before I know it, I'm racing out the front door, blindly feeling my way through the grass to the Wilkinsons' place next door. After stubbing my toe on the porch twice, I'm able to maneuver myself up the steps as I feel the tears beginning to run down my face. Thank god, the Wilkinsons' are an elderly couple who don't bother with Forks gossip. They won't go blabbering about me crying to anyone. I have a reputation to uphold. I don't cry in public. I rarely even cry when I'm alone. It's not something I do. With uncertainty in my movements, I lift my hand and knock on the door, hard and frantic.
"Mr. Wilkinson!" I call out through my sniffles. I feel like my retinas are being charred to a crisp. "Mrs. Wilkinson!"
I hear the sound of a door opening and the pain makes it impossible for me to think. I rush pass a warm body into the house that I have only been in once before. That was when I was ten and Mrs. Wilkinson offered me a glass of juice. I feel my way to the kitchen in the back right side of the house while I mumble apologies through my tears.
"I'm so sorry about this. I was in the shower and my water went out, and god, my eyes are burning…UGH!"
I feel more tears cascading down my cheeks. I hate this, this feeling of vulnerability and shame. My cheeks flame to the same intensity of my eyes. I locate the faucet and when the rush of water tells me it's working, I place my head under it, rubbing and scrubbing feverishly as snot, tears, and soap pour down the drain. I rinse out my hair and so slow that it's excruciating, my eyes burn less and less until I'm able to open them. Everything is blurry and it hurts, but I can see. I blink my lids, opening and closing them until the room around me focuses and a figure steps into the kitchen that is neither Mr. Wilkinson nor Mrs. Wilkinson. Fuck my life.
He tosses a towel in my direction and I wipe off my face, noticing the kitchen, the corny wallpaper with roosters is gone, replaced by a soft cream-colored paint, and the tacky laminate floor is now a gorgeous brown tile. How long the Wilkinson's haven't lived here I have no clue…but it's been a while, that's obvious. My heart hammers in my chest as I grip tightly to the towel around my naked body. However, it appears I have nothing to worry about; Edward's eyes are firmly planted on my face, looking curiously at me, almost as if he's never seen someone cry. I can tell he feels sorry for me, his gaze says that. It also says he doesn't want to be mean to me, he's trying to be nice, and all it does is make me mad.
I rub nervously at my face with shame and anger. The way he's staring at me…he's not allowed to pity me, not after all these years of cruelty, not just because I happen to have shed tears. The fact that I didn't cry before doesn't mean the things he's said to me in the past haven't hurt. I want to say something, anything to get that expression off his face. It turns out I don't have to though.
"Goodness, Bella, are you alright?"
I hear the voice, and my eyes move to a separate entrance into the kitchen, one that leads to a hallway, standing there is Maria Valderez. We had English together in high school. Her soft, flowing, black curls are messy and wild and her clothes appear to be thrown on. Looking over at Edward, I notice he is just as unkempt…I feel weird, sick actually. I can't help noticing how curvy she is, how tan her Latino skin appears, the perfection in her full pink lips, or her perky tits. I used to think she was an okay girl in high school; she was certainly nicer than her sisters were, and she kept to herself as I did. I remember in senior year when I heard Lucy, her sister who was a junior at the time, telling Lauren about a threesome she had with Edward and her other sister, Nettie, a sophomore. Those girls were trouble, but Maria wasn't, she was someone I might have considered hanging out with, had I found out what she was like sooner. I'm glad I didn't now, because I really want to kick her.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply with a smile through clenched teeth, turning my attention to Edward again. He looks embarrassed and ashamed. Good. At least he's not feeling sorry for me anymore, that makes it easy to not feel bad about what I'm going to say. I look at Maria. "Just surprised to see you here, I would think that sleeping with a man who slept with both your sisters at the same time would be a little awkward for you, but you know to each their own."
The look on her face tells me all I need to know. I figured that her sisters wouldn't tell her and I was right. Score one for Bella Swan. I stomp out of the room, staring at the floor. I don't quite make it to the door before I hear Maria's screaming and the sound of a loud crash. I hope that whatever she broke was expensive.
When I get home, I change into nightclothes and crawl into bed. I'm exhausted, but I end up lying in bed awake. I can't stop thinking about Edward and Maria. How could a girl like Maria, a girl so much like me, ever fall for his crap? She's smart, so much smarter than that. At some point, my eyes finally close and I drift to sleep, only to find my thoughts extending into my dreams.
I'm in my bed, but I have a strange feeling that it's not my bed, that it's Edward's bed. It smells like him that smoky, honey scent that's oddly familiar. Plus, not only does it smell like him, he's in the bed with me. He's positioned over me and we're naked, his body is shifting over mine and I'm sticky with sweat and incredibly pleased. Leaning forward, he peppers my neck with sloppy kisses and sucks my earlobe into his mouth. As I drag my fingers across his back, my skin tingling, he fills me repeatedly, and I feel drugged, high on him. He releases my earlobe and clutches my sides with his hands, whispering into my ear.
"You want me to fuck you...you want to feel this, me buried inside of you, don't you, Maria?"
The happy high turns to a drugged rage as I scrape his back in anger, but it still feels so good. I can't help it. He feels so good, even though I hate him, even if I want to punch him. I don't want him to stop.
"Don't stop, Edward, don't stop!" I scream, gripping his waist tighter with my legs as he thrusts back and forth.
"Just like that, Jessica," he groans. "God, I love how your pussy grips my cock."
I want to tell him to get the fuck off me, that I hate him, but I don't. I simply scream out for more.
"Fuck me harder, Edward...ugh, I want more, more...fuck, Edward!"
My insides coil and curl as he reaches between us and rubs my clit in tight circles, thrusting more deeply into me.
"You want me to make you cum, Lucy, I know you do. You want to cover my fucking cock with it and lick it off like the slut you are."
"Yes, yes...EDWARD!" I squeal, my hands clinging to his shoulders blades, my heels digging into the swell of his back. "Please! Oh, please!"
He leans back enough that he can look me in the face and grins, his eyes sparkling like emeralds in the moonlight. I feel him squeeze my hip and with my eyes firmly on his he pinches my clit and growls.
"Cum for me, Nettie."
"YES!" I cry out his name and it's instantaneous, powerful. I literally shake with the force of my release, clamping down around him.
The moment my grip on him loosens he pulls out and in a blur the scene shifts so that his fingers are curled into my hair and my mouth is wrapped around his cock. I suck him in, humming in approval as he tugs at the strands on my head, guiding me along.
"That's a good fucking slut, make me cum...god, damn it...yes, UGH!"
My tongue twirls around the tip of him every time he pulls me up and he hits the back of my throat, making me nearly choke when he presses me down.
"Perfect, your mouth is so fucking perfect around my cock...I'm so close. Don't stop!"
I cup his balls in my hand, rolling them, toying with them as he begins to swell on my tongue.
"Shit...I'm gonna-, holy shit...BELLA!" He screams as I swallow the warm shots of cum that pour into my mouth.
I wake up with a sudden inhalation of air, my body covered in sweat, my hand beneath the cotton of my shorts, and moving feverishly. I'm too turned on to care about the fact that I was apparently masturbating in my sleep, I just want to cum. I twirl my fingers around my clit, soaked from the image in my dream and as I relive that last moment when Edward screamed out my name, my body quakes, a rush of warmth flooding my hand and thighs. I cum hard, the hardest I've ever cum in my life- at the thought of Edward.
Mm...it was just a dream, Bella. A very naughty, wonderful dream. Hey, Bella, I would not say no to some Hate sex...just saying! =D Well, everyone feeling slightly less frustrated now? Good! Ready to leave a review and tell me how amazing it was? Of course you are! If not, you kind of have to do it anyway. You see, I have this condition, it's called needareviewitis and if you don't review, I'll die. I know, sad isn't it? Even worse, if you don't leave a review you could make yourself susceptible to stickupyourassitis, which is a terrible disease that makes people complete douche nozzles. LOL