Fireflies in the Meadow
Chapter Seven
She's a fire, a flame, glowing in the night. A fire, a flame, she destroys with her light.
Firefly.
Edward scratched out the words as soon as he wrote them. His pencil dug into the paper, breaking the lead from the tip. He stared down at the useless pencil in his hand, bending it between his fingers until it snapped in half. Mrs. Cope droned in the background, somewhere past the pounding in his head. Edward couldn't pay his teacher any attention. Not today. Not after waking up alone.
The bell rang and everyone stood, snickering at the plump teacher scowling at them from the front of the room. Kids skirted past her, the scowl on her face already a forgotten memory. Plans were busily being made: Friday night bonfires, drinking games, random parties. Edward gave the teacher a brief, sympathetic smile before joining his classmates in the corridor.
Isabella flew out of a classroom, her Rosalie-like hair whipping behind her. Brown roots were already beginning to show, something probably unnoticed by most, but not by him. He noticed everything about Isabella, from the bounce in her step, to the wide, honest smile she tossed Angie as she passed by.
"You okay?" Edward asked Angie as soon as Isabella was out of earshot.
Nervousness crept up inside of him, followed by guilt. He recognized that what happened the previous night with Isabella was a mistaken urge of a teenage boy, an itch that begged to be scratched. Now, standing in the hallway taking in the sweet girl in front of him, he wished he could take it all back.
Angie cleared her throat and shook her head. "I'm fine, but Isabella … Edward, I know this sounds strange, but she scares me. I keep thinking she's gonna do something to me. Especially since that night at the pool hall. You said she was threatening me with what she did to your truck, but if that's true why is she being so friendly? She's spoken to me like three times today. Isabella has never spoken to me before today."
Angie closed her locker and reached for Edward's hands. He took them easily in his, squeezing them reassuringly, telling himself that he'd protect her from the wrath of Isabella. Memories of last night clouded his mind.
What if Isabella tells Angie about last night?
Edward brushed the thought aside.
Angie probably wouldn't believe Isabella anyway.
Angie's cell phone chimed with a text at the same time Edward's cell rang. They dropped hands, exchanging apologetic smiles and pulling out their phones. Edward bristled at Isabella's name flashing on the screen. He glanced up, wondering if Angie noticed the candid photo or Isabella's name on his cell, but she was too absorbed in whatever was on her on cell. Her eyebrows were bunched together, smoothing out as her eyes widened. Edward turned away, giving her privacy by distancing himself. His thumb hovered over the reject button and he closed his eyes, sighing and answering the phone.
"What do you want?"
Wind whipping in the background and soft rock music filled his ear. Someone whispered. Someone giggled. The rush of skin over the speaker and then …
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Cold fear washed over him. "Sorry for what? What did you do, Isabella?"
"I did it for us. She's no good for you, baby. She's no good."
Edward brought the phone from his ear and stared down at it, his thumb ending the call with one firm touch. He turned around, his heart galloping inside his chest, dreading the inevitable.
Angie stood where he'd left her, in front of the lockers. There were no tears trailing down her face, no signs of teenage heartbreak. Instead, she held her head high and raised one eyebrow, passing him her phone.
He took it from her hands, noticing the paused video on the phone. Confused, he hit the play button, the phone shaking in his hand as the video began to play.
Angry cries and the hard, wet slap of two bodies fucking filled the silence between them. The video was blurry, but he could make out the shape of his own body and Isabella's face as her head fell back on the edge of the bed in ecstasy, her eyes staring directly into the webcam on his computer.
"Angie, let me explain."
Angie smiled, a dry, bitter smile, and took her cell back, pocketing it in her jeans. "How do you do that, exactly? How do you explain the video that Isabella sent me? Tell me, what excuse can you come up with that justifies fucking her?"
Edward took a deep breath, only one explanation coming to mind.
"I'm in love with her."
~fireflies~
He waited for her that night, but she never showed. He waited for the flicker of her flashlight, for the brightness of her smile. However, he went to bed alone. The following week was much the same: waiting for her flame, only witnessing her glow at school. Edward watched her from afar, but kept his distance while on school grounds. The thought of Angie seeing them together sickened him with shame. Luckily, Isabella never sought him out.
She flitted from class to class for a few days like a butterfly, full of grace and flying high. But by the end of the week she was sluggish, irritable. Her hair went limp and unwashed, sometimes wearing the same clothes for two days at a time. Rosalie, her counter partner, didn't show up to school at all. Emmett hadn't seen her and Edward wondered if her absence was the reason for Isabella's poor disposition.
"Where's Rosalie been lately?" Edward asked his brother later that night.
Emmett shrugged. "Here and there. Why?"
There was an edge to his voice. Edward treaded carefully, not wanting to start any shit he'd later regret. The two were heading out to a party after all, and Em had started drinking as soon as school let out for the day. Alcohol transformed his brother into someone else, someone mean, someone who didn't mind slamming his brother's head against a wall or beating the hell out of someone for looking at him wrong. Alcohol brought out all the hurt from inside Em.
"Haven't seen her around much." Edward shrugged as well and tossed his guitar case in the cab of his truck. He was playing at the party that night, the party to celebrate what he hoped was a win for the Forks football team.
Once the brothers were inside the truck Emmett cranked up the radio. They drove eight miles to the party, neither of them speaking, finding the party in full swing once they arrived. Turned out the football team didn't win, but that meant little to nothing to the kids of Forks. Kids were already staggering on Mike Newton's beer can-littered lawn. Couples made out against cars and trucks. Paul Lahote walked up the driveway with his hand firmly planted on Jessica Stanley's ass.
"No fighting tonight," Em said, nodding at Lahote, "unless you wanna fight me."
No humor shone in Emmett's eyes. Emmett finished the rest of his beer and tossed it on the floorboard. He climbed out of the truck, following Paul up the drive and nodding his head at some passersby. Edward balled his fists together, slamming one into the dashboard of his truck until the dashboard cracked.
He drinks until he's mean. He drinks until he hates the one person who's always there for him: me.
Edward climbed out of his truck and moved the seat, reaching for the guitar case, but froze as he noticed Isabella's car zig zag up the road. The car veered off the road, pulling onto the edge of the lawn next to a pecan tree. Grass and dirt were upturned under the tires. Rose stumbled from the vehicle, laughing and staggering across the yard.
"Where's Isabella?" Edward asked, leaving his truck door open, forgotten. "Why are you driving her car?"
Rosalie cupped his face, running her thumb over his bottom lip. "Isabella is indisposed at the moment. But I'm here. Warm, willing, waiting." She stood on her toes, reaching for a kiss. Edward pushed her away with such force she lost her footing, crashing into a kid walking up the drive.
"Asshole," she said, glaring. "You fucking asshole. Wait until I tell Emmett."
She continued to sputter and spout off threats. Edward skulked away toward Isabella's car. Pale skin was visible behind the tinted glass. The door squeaked and protested, but Edward gave it a hard yank and it opened wide. Isabella nearly topped out of the car, but he caught her. He always caught her just before she fell.
"Isabella," he whispered. "Isabella, wake up."
He brushed her hair from her forehead, noting how cold her skin felt. Her lips were an odd color, tinged blue and parted, yet no breath was passing. Edward stilled, watching for a rise and fall of her chest, looking for her warm glow.
There was none.
Thoughts?