A/N: SM owns Twilight. This story is mine. I lived it, I keep it.

ASC 8

Rembrandt

The days were speeding by too fast. I realized I had less and less time to finish and photograph a body of work for the scholarship. Although I liked the paintings I had done, I needed more. Better and more. I began to feel panicked about how much time I would have with Edward. Although I reminded myself Edward was returning and I had loads of sketches, I wanted to be around him, to breathe in the same air as he did when I worked, to feel that irresistible draw to him.

Monday night I flopped down beside Jasper as he lounged on the sofa reading a book. Alice was sitting at the dining table, working on her laptop with her ear buds in.

"He's seeing someone in Santa Barbara, isn't he?" I asked. I didn't even bother to use Edward's name. Jasper would know who I was talking about.

"Yep," Jasper said, not even looking up from his book.

"That's who called your apartment looking for Edward on Saturday?"

"Yep."

I sighed. "Why didn't you just tell me, Jasper? Why all this 'he's leaving town' crap?"

Jasper closed his book. "He is leaving town, Bella. I don't know why he's stayed as long as he has."

"The modeling..."

"Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively. I could tell he wasn't impressed.

"Why do you care, Jasper? Why all the cloak and dagger secretive shit?"

"You don't know anything about him, Bella. What he's doing is just ... wrong."

"Wrong? Is he a murderer or rapist or something?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Then what the fuck? He seems like a nice guy to me. I'm a big girl. Can't I choose my own friends?" Jasper glared at me, his brows knit with anger, and then he looked away, staring at the wall intently.

"So he's just a friend to you? You aren't ..." he asked with a significant look at me. I shook my head. I hadn't done anything to be ashamed of, girlfriend or no. Edward hadn't made a move on me. We'd been perfectly platonic.

"No, we're just friends, Jasper."

"Then what difference does it make to you if he's involved with someone, Bella?" he asked. I gaped like a fish for a moment before I closed my mouth with a snap.

"No difference at all." I stomped off to my room and didn't talk to Jasper again.

No difference at all. Nothing had changed since Saturday afternoon, but like one of those pictures that could be an old lady in a kerchief or a young woman with a feather, my perception of the situation had changed. I fantasized about things I would say to Edward when I saw him again.

In one fantasy, I confronted him and cursed him while he told me about his mystery love.

In another I told him I wanted him and he grabbed me up in his arms and said it had all been a misunderstanding, and he wanted me. Then he kissed me. Understandably, I preferred the second fantasy.

But I'm a cowardly bitch, and I knew I wouldn't do either one. I would be a friend to him and take what I could. I'm not the kind of girl who makes a move on someone else's boyfriend. That crap is low.

Mostly I just wished he would call from wherever he was. He didn't. I wasn't going to call him. I would not show my desperation so plainly.

In the Tuesday afternoon class, Seth and I dissected Jessica's scene at the studio. He had heard Jessica wouldn't be back. She'd dropped out, but he didn't know why.

"Probably drugs or insanity," I muttered. Seth laughed.

"Why do all the funny things happen to you, Bella?"

"Just lucky."

I actually was lucky. Jess was gone. No more snide comments or dirty looks. Plus, I'd been trying to figure out a polite way to ask her about hanging the sheet without her either going crazy on me again or acting like a snotty bitch. Now that she was gone I was able to easily convince Garrett, the painting department's grad assistant, to help me run a heavy gauge wire across from my wall to hers, where I could put up a curtain. He said it could stay up as long as no one complained, but I assured him I'd only use it when I had a model sitting for me.

Wednesday I was in the shop while I waited to hear from Edward. I was cutting one by two's and attaching them to mdf boards cut to the size I wanted for painting. I'd sand and gesso them, and then once the paintings were done they'd be ready for hanging No framing required. It would cut down on both my labor and the time spent fooling with them.

I was doing something that required my complete attention, concentrating on not cutting off any fingers, but thoughts of Edward still pushed into my mind. Friend, just be a friend.

I finished at the chop saw and pushed the goggles back on top of my head, stacking the cut boards, when a pair of hands reached around me to pick up the pile. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Fuck!" I shouted, springing away. Edward smirked at me and leaned past to scoop up the boards. I felt exposed, as if he had been listening in on my thoughts. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were going to call?"

He shrugged. "I thought I'd surprise you. Why does the painting department have a wood shop?"

"So we can build stretcher bars and crap." He had my pile of one by twos, so I picked up the mdf boards I had cut earlier on the table saw and led the way back to my space. Now that Edward was here, I'd sand and gesso tomorrow morning, or after he left tonight. I wasn't going to waste time when I had so little of it with him.

"How long do I have you for?" I asked. It was already past four in the afternoon.

"As long as you want me," Edward replied, setting the boards down beside my easel. I knew he only meant for the modeling session, nothing more. If only ... "What happened to Curly Girl's stuff?" he asked. I looked to where he was pointing. Jessica's space had been completely cleared out.

"She had some kind of fucking breakdown and dropped out. I don't know." I noticed his eyes were incredibly dark, his pupils dilated. I had to turn away before I became locked into his gaze. I went to the curtain I had rigged and drew it shut across both spaces. "Look. Privacy."

Edward nodded quietly, and before I could do anything he was stripping out of his jacket and shirt. He sat in the armchair and pulled off his boots. I just stood there like an idiot for a few moments, watching him expose more creamy white skin to me. He almost seemed in a hurry, not even paying me any attention. It was so different than just two weeks ago in class, when he'd hesitated. Of course, this time he left his pants on. I shook myself out of my wide-eyed reverie and began squeezing paint on my palette.

Soon I had everything ready and I turned back to him. I wanted to touch him, move his limbs as I had on Saturday, but I couldn't bear to touch him now. I'd surely do something I shouldn't. "Put your hands down on the outside of the chair. No, limp, that's it," I directed. "Scoot down. Now put your head back. All the way back." He was like a rag doll, thrown down into the chair, but it was the limpness of exhaustion, as if from sensual exertion. Although the pose was lifeless, Edward seemed tense somehow, charged, as if he might spring to his feet any second.

"Are you comfortable?" I asked.

"Yes, though I may need to move my head once in awhile."

"I'll give you breaks." I stared at him, limp and graceful, spread out before me like a sacrifice. It was a vulnerable pose, as if anticipating a blow or a kiss. I wanted to lean in and press my lips to the hollow of his throat as I watched it move when he swallowed. I licked my lips. "How did modeling go last night?" I asked, trying to find some topic to cover up my blatant gawking. I began mixing a cool dark brown for the background and painting the negative space around Edward.

"It was fine," he responded.

"Is it getting easier to be nude in front of strangers?"

Edward laughed, and I shivered at the sound. He had the sexiest laugh. "Yeah, actually, it is getting easier. What you said last week really helped. And I'm learning stuff all the time." I loved the sound of Edward's voice, slow and steady, thoughtful and deep. His voice was as cool and easy and as masculine as everything else about him.

"Yeah? I've never modeled. What are you learning?"

"Things like bringing my own robe instead of wearing the school one, that was the first trick. Also, not to bother with underwear, since it leaves marks and is just one more thing to keep track of." Edward was going commando? That was a visual I didn't really need... but he was still talking so I forced my thoughts back to the conversation. "I'm getting better at covering up the tattoo by myself, although not all the teachers care about it."

"Yeah, I think you're the only model we've had in Berty's class with ink. We did have a girl with tattoos in Varner's class last year." I began to relax with the flow of conversation.

"Yeah, Varner doesn't seem to care as long as I'm not one big mass of ink." Edward said. I was surprised by his relative chattiness. He seemed lighthearted, too, as he had at Rocky Horror. Almost cheerful. From this angle he couldn't see me. Perhaps it was easier for him to be more open with me out of sight. I decided to take advantage of his chattiness. Since we were on the subject, and I'd been wanting to know, I pushed forward with a question I'd had for awhile.

"It's a beautiful tat, Edward. What does it mean?"

"Oh, that. Emmett designed it for me. I really like the short stories of Jorge Luis Borges. He created a labyrinth of words. You think you're going in one direction and then you find yourself going down a blind alley, and you're not where you thought you were..." Edward seemed to be lost in thought.

That seemed as ambiguous as any of the things he had said Saturday night. I rinsed my brush and moved on to mixing a medium cool flesh tone for the under-painting.

"That sounds like my life, going the wrong way, having to backtrack... " I was silent as I painted the cool undertones. Under his arms, under his jaw, the ripples of his chest and sleek abdomen.

I let him know he could move his neck and after a quiet moment of rolling his head from side to side, Edward returned to his pose. I resumed my painting.

We were quiet a little while. I mixed in some gel medium with the lighter flesh tones to extend the working time so I could draw through it for a sgraffito effect. I avoided the question I really wanted to ask him and went for something safe.

"Emmett said you finished college in under four years. Did you just graduate?" I asked.

"Yeah, in December," he replied.

"Where did you go?"

"UC Berkeley." That would explain Edward visiting San Francisco. Cal, as UC Berkeley is familiarly known, is just across the bay.

"Nice. What was your major?"

"I majored in English Lit," Edward said, and I barked out a laugh before I could stop myself.

"Why is that funny?" he asked.

"Sorry. I figured you for a music or film major: something cool."

"You don't think English is cool?"

"I just don't think of English majors riding motorcycles and getting tattoos and nude modeling. I think of them with wire-rimmed glasses and tweed jackets spending late nights in the library. Being English is cool, studying English is nerdy."

"You and Emmett share that view. I think English is cool, but I did spend a lot of late nights in the library. Besides, how is the library different than being here?"

"We have loud music," I pointed out. "Are you saying art majors aren't inherently cool?"

"Oh sure, flakey artists are so cool," he remarked dryly.

"I am not a flake, Edward," I said, glaring around the edge of the painting at him. He didn't lift his head, so the glare was wasted.

"Sorry, present company excepted. Actually, Emmett and Jasper aren't too flakey, either. I can't answer for the rest. You three are really the only ones I know."

"There you go. You only know three and we're not flakey, but you're willing to buy into the stereotype, huh?"

"Sorry," he said.

"Knock, knock," came a voice from the other side of the curtain, and Seth poked his head in. His eyes widened a bit as he took in Edward shirtless in my chair, then he looked at me.

"Seth! Don't you know you're supposed to wait to be admitted? What if my model was nude or I was changing or something?"

Seth eyed Edward and then me. "Nothing I haven't seen before," he said with a roguish wink.

"Seth, that's rude! Are you just here to heckle me?"

"Sorry, Bells, I just wanted to know if you want to grab some dinner with me," he said.

"Sorry, Seth, I'm busy," I gestured lamely to Edward. "What about after Berty's class tomorrow?"

"It's a date, hot stuff," he said cheekily and popped out as abruptly as he'd arrived, pulling the curtain shut. I turned back to Edward and found him glaring at the curtain where Seth had just disappeared. He rolled his neck and it cracked loudly. I waited for him to relax into his position before I resumed painting and my inquiry.

"So you finished college ahead of schedule. What are you doing on Emmett and Jasper's couch, job hunting?" I asked, again opting for a safe subject.

"I have a job," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. I painted the long column of Edward's exposed neck with flowing strokes.

"Modeling? I meant long-term. What does one do with a degree in English Lit?"

Edward chuckled. "I feel like I'm being interrogated. Vee haf vays of making you talk!" he said with a terrible German accent.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just curious. If it bothers you ..." I stopped and he lifted his head to smile at me.

"No, it's okay. Really." I returned to painting him, and he ruminated on my earlier question.

"What one does with a degree in English Lit...Well, I could go back to school to get a doctorate and become a professor. Or I could get a teaching credential and teach Hamlet to high school kids. Or I could work as an editor or a grant writer or a librarian. All kinds of things."

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to do what every English major wants to do. I want to write the Great American Novel." I could hear the capitalizations in the way Edward said the words.

"I thought Mark Twain wrote the great American novel," I muttered.

"Innocents Abroad? One of the finest travel documents ever," Edward said.

"Innocence, a broad, what? I meant Huckleberry Finn." Edward laughed. The sound made another shiver run through me.

"Another great story of the American journey." He paused for a moment and seemed to consider his words before he spoke next. "I want to write about the world, but I really haven't been in the world much. I don't know that I have anything to say. I guess I just want to take a look around, see what's out there."

"Why don't you just write about your life?" I asked. In a way I just painted my life. Pain, loss, blood, redemption. It was all I had.

"Nothing's ever really happened to me."

"Everyone has something, Edward."

The sound of his exhale was a sad sigh. "Not me. Not really."

"Edward, everyone has family, life, love ..." I stopped. Self-consciousness swept over me, and I couldn't go on. I didn't really want to hear...

He didn't answer. I concentrated minutely on the light as it reflected off his creamy chest.

"Edward, why are you really here, in L.A, taking your clothes off for art students?"

He sighed. "The long story or the short story?"

"Go for the long story, we're not going anywhere."

He was quiet, and when the moment stretched out and I was about to repeat the request, he started speaking. He spoke slowly, as if he was thinking about what he was telling me, like he was worried about how it would come across.

"I was just going to visit for a weekend on my way through L.A. when Emmett and Jasper and I got hammered one night. We were playing poker and I was winning. Emmett was out, and Jasper was nearly flat and suggested a wager, all in. A month of life modeling. I lost."

"A month? Is your month almost up?"

"Almost. One more week. I don't think Emmett and Jasper thought I'd last. They probably expected me to fold after the first session. Then I might have had to do something worse..."

His words began to run together as he spoke. All I could hear was one line. One more week. The air seemed thin suddenly, and I gasped.

"So you'll only be modeling for me another week?" Maybe he heard the panic in my voice, but Edward raised his head and squinted at me.

"No, Bella, that's something else. I made a deal with you. As long as you need me, I'll be here." He looked at me a moment longer, and then leaned his head back with a sigh.

I took some slow breaths to calm myself. With a final deep cleansing breath I picked up an old chopstick to draw through the wet paint in a sgraffito technique, exposing the darker paint beneath, sketching his collarbone and throat.

"After L.A., then where will you go?" I asked. It was a struggle to keep my voice even.

"I don't know," he answered. "We're going on a road trip, me and the Triumph. I want to see America. Maybe I'll head up to Canada for awhile, maybe down to Mexico, like Kerouac did."

"Wow, a road trip. Like Easy Rider? Or the Motorcycle Diaries without the Marxism?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Are you going with anyone?" I asked and felt so transparent for the obvious probing, but Edward didn't seem to notice.

"No, just me. Why?"

"I just wondered. It's such a big bike, and you could easily carry a rider."

"It's a cruiser, Bella. It's meant for the road. They're all big like that."

"If you're going to ride something that big you might as well drive a car. It's not much smaller than Alice's Beetle."

"It's more fun than a Beetle," Edward defended his ride.

"Yeah, but if you hit an owl on your motorcycle," I laughed, "You're wearing the owl. That isn't a problem with the Beetle." Edward laughed, too.

"I like the feeling of the air rushing past me, the engine under me. It's better than being in a car."

I just nodded, remembering the few times I had ridden on the back of Mike's motorcycle, my arms around his chest, and my legs around his hips. The memory made me tremble with erotic delight. Riding on his motorcycle had been the best thing about Mike.

"That will be quite a trip," I muttered, trying to push away the thought of Edward on a motorcycle, my legs wrapped around his.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. "I hope so. It would be great to find something to write about, my raison d'etre."

Nothing here, then. No reason for him to stick around Los Angeles. I said nothing, just letting the distant noises from the corners of the 300 studio form a background to our silent thoughts. As I worked I could see the melancholy I felt working its way out in the paint. The colors were cooler, and the limpness of the pose was my own submission to fate.

"How long will you be gone?"

"As long as it takes to find what I need," he murmured.

I painted in silence and he didn't offer anything more until I was done.

XXX

Sgraffito -- a technique where a wet layer of paint, clay, or plaster is drawn through with a tool, exposing a different color underneath. Translated from the Italian, "to scratch"

Stretcher Bar -- the wooden frame around which canvas is stretched for painting. Many painters build their own stretcher bars, though pre-made pieces can be purchased and assembled.

MDF -- Medium Density Fiberboard. MDF is also known simply as fiberboard. Being smoother and more compact than particleboard, it makes a good base for painting and isn't prone to the warping of regular board wood. It can also be cut to nearly any shape without the peeling or cracking of plywood. MDF comes in sheets of varying thicknesses.

One by Two -- in lumber, boards are measured by depth and width, in inches. Bella is using wooden boards one inch high and two inches wide, cut to varying lengths, as a backing frame to the mdf pieces she will be painting on, to give the appearance of a deep canvas and to hide the hanging hardware.

XXX

Thank you to everyone keeping up with this story and all the encouragement. Thank you to MrsDazzled and Irritable Grizzzly for reminding me to define the art terms.

If you have questions, comments, would like to chat about ASC, come visit the thread on the Twilighted forum. The link is on my profile.