A/N: Vixen's Shadow: I love you. All of the yous. Thank you for consistently reviewing, I really appreciate your input. To other people, please review. I cannot correct what I am doing wrong if I don't know what that is.
Also, it'll probably be a week before the next chapter is up in this story. Sorry, I have a lot of work to do, now.
They had been together about eight months, when Bell had to go to a wedding. Neither she, nor her sister, had anything to wear. Their mother could only be in one place at once, so she could only help one of them shop, and they also had to bring Mickey along. Naturally, Bell dragged Wilbur along. He didn't quite understand why, as he knew nothing about dresses and surely would hate the experience. He would have asked Tallulah to come along, or even make the dress, but she was off at fashion week in Spain. Stupid Spain. Actually, he was pretty sure Bell took him mostly for the purpose of torturing him. Oh well. He brought a few good books.
"Bur, how do I look?" He looked up from the screen of his e-book reader, "Be honest, does this dress make me look fat?" Bell was not fat (despite what the nickname might imply). She wasn't really skinny, either. She had curves, a fact that Wilbur very much appreciated. But she was nowhere near fat. She was wearing a pastel yellow sleeveless V-neck dress with an embroidered flower pattern toward the bottom. She looked okay, but it wasn't really her color.
Knowing that he could get away with just about anything at this point, Wilbur responded, "No, your fat makes you look fat." Her jaw dropped and the other women around were all staring at him. Oops, too far. He was formulating creative ways to apologize when Bell started cracking up. Then she doubled over, she was laughing so hard. Phew.
"That's a new one." She walked over to him and gave him a peck on the lips. "You know, that was pretty risky."
"I know. But where's the fun if I always play it safe? I mean if I always told you how amazing you are, you'd get used to it, and it wouldn't mean anything anymore."
"Point. Really, how do I look?"
"You look fine." She made a disappointed hum-like noise. "What's wrong?"
"I wasn't going for fine. I was going for stunningly gorgeous."
"Well then you might want to consider putting on some makeup." She slapped him lightly across the face. He pretended to be hurt and brought a hand to his cheek. This was not unusual for them.
"I guess it's time for the next one." She disappeared behind the curtain of the dressing room. Wilbur got back to his book. She reemerged in what was probably the ugliest piece of clothing he'd ever seen. It looked awful on her. It was a hot pink mermaid-skirt dress olive green chiffon ruched at the bust. It was gathered around the waist in such a way that it actually did make her look fat, a little. He had no clue what he was supposed to say here. Then she started laughing again. He was sure, now, that she brought him along just to torture him.
"Can you believe they're trying to get money for this? It was bad on the rack, but it's somehow worse when it's on!" Wilbur failed to see what was obviously so hilarious. "Fine. You don't get it because they do this to guys." Uh-oh. Had he incurred droning and bitter feminist rant by remaining silent a moment ago? "I guess we only make it worse by either buying into or perpetuating it by impressing it on each other. Seriously, though, I don't get it. Maybe someday it'll be different," she ended her speech. Crisis averted. Though Wilbur made a note to respond with indignation, however feigned it would have to be, next time.
"I'll go try on the next one. I think it's the last one for this store." Wilbur wasn't sure if that was good or bad. It meant they had made progress, but it also meant that there was at least one more store-full of this coming up. She disappeared again.
Ah, back to the book. He was at a very interesting spot. Albert had challenged the Count to a duel, but Mercedes had just convinced him not to kill her son. A duel had to end in death, no? But there was a lot of book left, and it was called The Count of Monte Cristo so he couldn't die, right? Was he going to shoot the son of the woman he loved after promising not to? Apparently, Wilbur would have to wait a little longer to find out as Bell appeared.
Wilbur looked up. His jaw dropped. She had achieved her goal. She was wearing a light blue double spaghetti strap, flowing A-line dress with an empire bodice. It went just below her knees and did a great job of accentuating her legs. She looked doubtful, though. "Well?"
"I think you may upstage the bride." Of course he only thought this because she was his girlfriend. She did look good in the dress, but others wouldn't see the same thing he did.
She smiled. "Fine by me. My stupid cousin used to be a total bitch to poor Mickey. And now she thinks she hot stuff because she's getting married to some rich guy. Last time I spoke to her, she treated me like I was a dog."
"Well, some people don't know how to talk to little kids…" Wilbur tried to offer. He could imagine Bell being very rude at the wedding to spite this girl. Also, the visual was a little distracting from the words.
"It was two months ago, and I was doing her a favor. But was she thankful? No."
"Why are you even going, if you hate her so much?"
"Because I love my grandparents and I don't get to see them very often. Also, the best man is a riot." She added under her breath, "and he's adorable."
"I heard that." Wilbur didn't feel threatened, though. He knew Bell liked him enough not to do things with other guys. He was a catch, after all. Also, the best man was probably way to old to try anything with Bell.
"Anyway, the fact that I don't like her means that I have more incentive to go." Huh? "You know, so I can show her that I can be the better person and still be happy for her despite all she's done, even though I won't actually be happy. If I don't go, she wins." Wilbur wasn't even going to try to comprehend that.
"You called her fat, in public no less, and survived?"
"She laughed. What can I say? I'm just that good." Cornelius raised an eyebrow at his son. "Actually, now that I think about it, maybe that's how we stayed together so long."
"Because you called her fat?" Cornelius did not follow Wilbur's logic.
Wilbur rolled his eyes. "Victoria broke up with you because you said something that hurt her, right?"
"Yeah."
"Bell and I said that sort of stuff to each other all the time," he said as though it made perfect sense.
"I'm still missing something."
"We laughed at it. We said all the mean things you aren't supposed to say, but they were jokes and we knew neither really believed it, or it wouldn't have been funny. Also, it was pretty even. I think I heard enough, 'Is this room big enough for your ego?' jokes to last me a lifetime."
"And you accidentally left all those out of your stories."
"They weren't relevant."
"So how did you break up, anyway?"
"Oh, right. That."
Wilbur and Bell had just "graduated" from middle school, a few days earlier. They were hanging out in his room, with the door slightly ajar, as per Franny's rule. She had just told Wilbur she was going to be moving about an hour away (by car, fifteen minutes by airplane or class one spaceship) in a few weeks. She sat on his bed while he sat in his chair, feet resting on his desk.
"I hate it!" she said as she punched the mattress, lightly, "I don't want to go. Stupid Mickey and his stupid disease."
"I still don't get it. If the specialist is only an hour away, why do you actually have to move? Why don't they just take him the hour there and back?"
"Because you can't do that in an emergency. When every minute counts, an extra sixty could easily be deadly."
"But how often does that even happen? Seems a little extreme."
"Well, four years ago, he had three such emergencies in the entire year, about average for him. You know how many he's had in the last school year, alone. He's had eleven in the last full year. He's getting sicker. I mean, I'm glad they could wait at least until Ally and I finished middle school. You and I would probably be going to different high schools anyway. But I still don't want to leave."
"We can still visit each other and stuff. I mean, an hour isn't that long. I can probably get Uncle Art to drive me there, anyway. It's not too far."
"Yeah, I guess. But what about my other friends? I know not all of their parents are going to waste two hours in transit on top of the time we will be visiting."
"It sucks, I know." He walked over to where she sat on the bed and took her hands in his. "How about we don't waste our last three weeks together worrying about how much the future might suck? There are so many other things we could be doing that are so much more fun."
She raised her head to look him in the eye and raised an eyebrow, but she knew what he meant. Ten minutes later they were wearing hooded jumpsuits and were deeply entrenched in a green jello and spaghetti fight with Gaston and Laszlo. Green was the best jello for such fights, or so Laszlo swore. Of course, about ten minutes after the fight ended they were back in his room making out on his bed.
"So she moved. You're right. that wasn't your fault. But weren't together for a whole year, just a school year- you lied. By the way, please spare me any physical details in the future." Cornelius shuttered. No one wants to think of their children doing that sort of thing. He also made a mental note not to mention any of that stuff in any of his stories in the future.
"One, chill out. Two, we didn't break up when she moved. Her parents drove her over every couple weeks, and you, Mom and Art had no problem transporting me to her place a couple times a week during the summer, and most weekends during the following school year. It only took you guys fifteen minutes, anyway. Plus, all phones have visual displays now, anyway, so we could still talk and see each other all the time."
"Okay, so what was the actual problem?"
"I'm getting to that." He was stalling, actually. "I'm just warning you, it's kinda sad."
"Well, yeah. All break-ups are sad. Just get to it." Cornelius was getting impatient. This stupid story was taking forever. He looked at the clock and realized he should have been asleep an hour ago. Oh well.
Wilbur's phone rang. "Hi, Bell," he answered cheerfully. She hadn't called in a couple days, nor had she returned his calls, but this happened to both of them sometimes when either was busy. It was early November and school was in full swing, so they both had plenty to do. He was very excited to hear from her.
"Hi, Wilbur." Uh-oh. She called him 'Wilbur'. Something was wrong. Not to mention she didn't look or sound very happy. "Um," she paused, then started crying. Crap. She took a breath and started speaking again. "Mickey died," she blurted out, seemingly without emotion. What? When did this happen? How? He wasn't that sick, was he? What was Wilbur supposed to do here?
"Oh God. I'm so sorry, Bell." Was he supposed to call her that? She used his full name, but she hated her name. Maybe he should have called her 'Clara' or something.
"Thanks."
"Are you doing alright?" What was he saying? Of she wasn't alright. Her brother just died!
"I think I'm holding up okay right now. It hasn't really sunken in, yet. They just declared him less than an hour ago."
"Oh. Is there anything I can do? I can be over there in fifteen minutes."
"No. Right now, I just want to be with my family."
"Okay. Well, if you think of anything, just call me, okay?"
"Mm-hmm."
Wilbur was upset, of course, but more than that, he was dumbfounded. How did this happen? Wilbur had just talked to him last week, and he didn't seem that sick. "Um, I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but," he paused, then proceeded cautiously, "how did it happen?"
She looked a little relieved, actually. Maybe she wanted to talk about it. "He had a really bad seizure and just didn't wake up. He's been in a coma for two-and-a-half days. His heart stopped twice, so my parents signed a DNR, and it stopped again, eventually. That's it. It feels weird because it's almost like we decided when it happened." She started tearing up and her voice cracked a few times, but she was able to finish.
"That really sucks. I'm really sorry. I'm gonna miss him." He didn't have many phrases ready, for this situation. Being sorry seemed the only natural thing to say. He had never experienced the death of someone close, before.
She just nodded. She had finally lost her voice.
The next few weeks were very hard on the both of them. She didn't invite him, or come over very, often, anymore. Nor did she talk on the phone as much. Even when they were together, she didn't talk much. She just wasn't into much of anything, anymore. Her energy was gone. She was depressed. Diversion. That's what she needed, according to Wilbur. He tried and tried to cheer her up. He hated seeing her like this. Sometimes, she smiled, laughed, or agreed to do something fun, but he failed more often than he succeeded.
She just wasn't the same person he knew and loved. They started arguing more. She didn't have a sense of humor about herself anymore, and she didn't make fun of him, either. When something hurtful was said, it wasn't laughed about, it stung. Wilbur avoided using that tactic on purpose, but he chose the wrong words, sometimes. He hoped he could get her back, someday. The fact that he couldn't just fix it and be over with it really frustrated him.
One afternoon, she came over to his house. After a couple of hours of hanging out not doing much of anything she asked him, "Bur, can I talk to you?" She looked kind of nervous.
"Yeah. Of course." He knew what was coming. He hated it, but he couldn't think of anything else to do.
"I'm really sorry. I know I've been a total wet blanket for the past month or so."
"It's okay. I understand. You don't have to feel bad about it."
"I know, but I do. I just," she paused and closed her eyes, "I can't do this anymore." She reopened them, "I'm sorry. I just feel like I'm pretending when I'm with you. We need to stop seeing each other." She was breaking up with him. He couldn't blame her. She wasn't happy and it seemed she just didn't have the energy for him anymore. They could still be friends, right?
Wilbur wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. "It's okay. I understand." It really wasn't okay. He understood, but it wasn't fair. Her brother dies, so he loses his girlfriend. He had never felt like more of a failure in his life. Boyfriends were supposed to make this sort of thing easier, right? But it was obvious that being in a relationship was just making her life harder.
He stood up, and hugged her. That's okay, right? She hugged back and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm really sorry about this. You are a really great guy. You don't deserve this. You've been so wonderful to me," she paused and tears started running down her face. She had more to say but Wilbur took the opportunity provided him to talk.
"It's alright. Really. I get it. You don't have to keep explaining. You do know I'm gonna keep bothering you, right? You're still my friend."
She nodded, and hugged him again. Her phone rang. It was her father. "I should probably go now. Bye."
He walked her out to her dad's car and they hugged one last time. "Bye." They took off into the sky and quickly disappeared behind a cloud. He walked back to his room and threw himself angrily onto his bed. This was going to suck.
"Oh. You're right. That was sad."
"Yeah. But it could have been worse. I mean, it could have been her that died."
Cornelius was surprised by his friend's morbidity. "Yeah, I guess," he answered slowly, "I don't quite get it, though. You didn't have to break up just because her brother died."
"It wasn't just that. Her whole life revolved around him. Suddenly that was gone. On top all the depression stuff, which amounted to a lot, she kind of went through an identity crisis. Plus, we were 400 miles apart."
"Oh. That sucks. Are you guys still friends, at least?"
"Sort of. We still talk on the phone sometimes. She's not depressed anymore, but she's still a different person. We get along okay, I guess. It's even stranger now that her parents are divorced."
"Oh. I see." Cornelius felt very down. Hearing about such misfortune, just when he was gaining so much in his life, made him feel weird. Wilbur had told him the truth, earlier. The world would never be perfect. But he didn't like it. He decided he would just have to do as much as he could to change it and not worry about the rest. "It's getting late, and you have school tomorrow, don't you?"
"Yeah."
"Alright then, bedtime." Wilbur hated it when young Cornelius pulled a 'dad' thing like he had just done. "You're supposed to ask that girl out, tomorrow, right? You need your rest."
"I came here for advice. I'm not leaving till I get it."
"Don't have any. Sorry. Bye." Cornelius started pushing Wilbur to the door. Really, he was tired. True, he didn't have school the next day, but he should get to sleep before the sun rose, anyway.
"Alright, but we're not done here. I want to hear all your failed romance stories," Wilbur said as though it was all very entertaining. Cornelius did not look amused. "To learn from them," he added casually, "What did you think I meant?"
"Fine. Six months from now, in both of our times. Same time, same place." Cornelius secretly hoped Wilbur would forget about it. At least he didn't have to think about it for a while.
"Gotcha. See ya, then." Cornelius pushed him out the door, closed it and locked it. He heard Wilbur say from the other side, "Goodnight."
