(Nine)

There was a time I didn't have seconds to spare. Now, my calendar is almost empty. Days are spent welding words together without caring how they look. Nights are wasted staring at the ceiling.

Apart from Thursdays—it's the only day worth registering.

Bella doesn't bother with formalities the next time she sees me. She climbs on the bus and sits at my side. "Hey. How're things?"

Her sudden presence is too much to fit neatly beside me. I can't take her all in, so I suggest getting off at the next stop, even though it's drizzling.

She's laughing a lot tonight and skips over puddles as if she has wings. She's a different woman to the one from the bridge. I wonder whether I'll ever meet her again, or if she hides her other sides as well I as do.

Another sleepless night drags my feet, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't ask questions when we sit on a wall outside a derelict building, sheltered under an overhanging roof. She waits while I light up a smoke, her eyebrows drawn together. It's then I can tell she wants ask me everything.

She starts with the easiest. "So you come here every week?"

"I should, yeah." Cars drive past and throw water across the sidewalks, making them shine under the street lamps.

"You don't always?" She's fishing. I like the feel of the hook as it catches, tugging little bits of information out of me.

"I try, but I don't always make it. Emmett busts my balls if I don't, so it depends if I want to take that risk."

"Was that the guy giving us a look that night? The tall one?" She raises her hand, guessing his height as far as she can reach.

It pulls a smile from me. "Yeah, that's him."

"He didn't like you talking to me." She's more astute than I thought.

"Nah, it's not you." I don't know where I'd begin to explain Em's concerns. I pull in a chest full of smoke; my lungs are tight, and it makes me cough. I should give up. But should never got me anywhere.

She's watching me again, working me over in her mind, trying to piece me together. I have too many missing parts for that.

She holds a hand out and catches a small stream of water rushing through a tear in the canopy above our heads. It fills her palm and overflows to the floor. We're not going to be walking anywhere soon. "What's his problem?"

"Em's my sponsor." I shrug, flicking the butt onto the slick asphalt where it fizzes out. "He likes to look out for me."

"Does he think I'm bad for you?" Her smile flickers in her eyes, flirty and teasing, and I'm reminded how capable she is of ruining me.

"Something like that," I say.

Her laugh is dirty; it catches against my ribs, chases my pulse. It makes me want her so badly.

I change the subject before I do something I'll regret. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Her eyes are bright even in this dreary night. I should tell her looking at me like that, like I'm shiny and new, is a bad idea. Should … as I said.

"Why are you here?"

She's puzzled. I'm not sure what I want from her, either, only that it gives me an excuse to watch her for a minute longer while she thinks.

A couple walk by arm in arm, their faces hidden under an umbrella as they talk about whatever it is happy couples do. I wouldn't know. My relationships are on a scale of bad to worse. My fault. Always.

She chooses to offer me a snapshot. It's black-and-white and blurry, but I take it. "The restaurant is my second job. I work on the other side of the city during the day, switch sides at night … and you're the first person to look at me like that for a long time."

Her answer turns me inside out for a split second, until I remind myself she doesn't know anything about me. "Like what?"

She doesn't respond, she just looks—right at me. The rain and traffic is background noise, and I understand what she means. The need for her. The want. I just have to try to remember the difference.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, drawing my attention from her lips. Em's number lights up, the time displayed at the top of the screen.

"Shit, I'm late." I see her disappointment bursting out of our bubble, though she hides it well. I need to get out of here before I do something stupid. "We're gonna get soaked." I squint into the downpour.

She laughs again and pulls her hood up. "Nothing wrong with a little rain." She takes my hand and tugs. "Come on."

I should let go, but as she drags me down the street, squealing and laughing under the thunder of the rain, I know I won't be able to shake her off easily.


The group is already seated when I get there. Marcus is in his place at the front, but I don't apologize for interrupting. I take my seat next to Em, whose eyes are almost falling out of their sockets with irritated curiosity. I mouth an apology to him—he deserves it, at least. Maybe it'll cut down the inquisition I'll get later.

I should listen to the people talking; it's important to them, and who am I to disrespect that? But it's hard to concentrate when I'm full of Bella. She's hammering through my veins like she belongs there. I wonder what kept me alive before her? Stupid question to ask in my present location.

I'm trying to quantify how bad she could really be when I realize all eyes are turned to me. Marcus can't hide his impatience as he repeats himself. "Edward, I wondered if you'd like to talk today?"

Fuck. If I'd been concentrating I could've thought up an excuse, but I'm all out of time. "Sure," I say as I stand. Em claps me on the back, jarring my bones.

I hate public speaking. I deal in silent words people can collect and reflect on in their own time. I hate the way this crowd looks at me, as if I'm about say something that will change their lives or make them feel better about themselves. I hold on to the lectern, to give myself something focus on. "Hey, I'm Edward, and I'm an alcoholic."

"Hello, Edward," the room cheerily answers by habit.

The pressure of a nervous laugh builds in my windpipe. I swallow it back down.

I have a whole pack of experiences I could choose from, a variety of hands, but I always stick to the bottom of the deck. No one's ever seen my trump cards. I keep those close to my chest, next to the empty chambers of my heart where my valves pump borrowed time. I don't know what I'm saving them for. Maybe they'll come in handy one day, when I need to barter my way out of hell. The fleeting thought brings a stab of reality with it. It sobers my thoughts enough to speak. I pick Maggie out of the crowd; she gives me an imperceptible nod of her head, a quirk of a smile. I slide a low number from my pack.

"I caught up with some friends last month. An old friend I hadn't seen for years. One who's used to seeing me beer in hand, out in a bar, buying the next round, and the one after." That gets a few grunts, a common trait. "He was introducing me to his new wife. They'd cooked dinner, and the wine was already poured." I pause and get the respective nods of a few heads who can already tell where my story is going.

"I was going to lie to him … to accept the drink." I shrug and drop my eyes to the lectern, acting out the role of a good confession. "I would have, too, but then he asked me about my parents, so I had to tell them the truth."

No one knows what I mean by that, but I'm not going to explain. They don't need the details to see the trigger. Em's helped lift my finger off it more times than I can count. I flash him a look, and he repeats Maggie's gesture of encouragement.

The pause gives Marcus the gap to butt in. "And how did that make you feel, Edward?"

He says my name like it's a curse, punctuates it with a crocodile smile. It makes me want to break his jaw. I breathe through my nose and hear a few people shift in their chairs. I'm not the only one who dislikes him. He acts as if his experience makes him the Dalai Lama. It doesn't, it just makes him a dick.

I don't know why I do it, but I think of Bella. The way she teased me in the rain, the sound of her laugh. It relaxes my knuckles, releases the pressure of my fingers against the wood.

"It made me feel like shit," I say, and the group laughs, half of them with relief at the release of tension in the room. "But then I was glad they knew. He's always been pretty laid back, so they didn't make a fuss. They didn't hide all the alcohol and do three Hail Marys, they just listened. So, I guess what I'm saying is, it's good to talk." I hate myself sometimes.

I sit back down through a trickle of thank yous and well dones. I know what I say should be true, but it doesn't mean I believe it or it works. My secrets are shackles, and part of me thinks I should feel their weight even if they drag me under. It's the least I deserve.

Em seeks me out at the end as I knew he would. "Running late tonight, E. Something keeping you?"

I offer him my Marlboros—he's not pretending he doesn't smoke anymore. The rain has let up, but it's clouded the windows along the street. I can't even see flashes of red that could be her. "Nah, the bus was running late."

"Hmm," is his reply. He leans back against the wall, crosses his legs at the ankle. "You did good tonight."

"I hate doing that."

"I know, but it's important."

"That's what you keep telling me." I rake my hands through my hair and tear my eyes away from the restaurant.

"You'll get there, E. It takes time." He blows rings and pops them with his finger like he's sixteen years old.

"You spoke to Rose recently?" I ask while he's distracted, trying to lessen the sting of her name. It doesn't work. His face falls and then twists into a scowl.

He kicks a bottle top, sending it skittering across the ground. "No ... she's seeing someone else."

"Shit, man, I'm sorry." The news makes my stomach drop, so his must have plummeted into a black hole.

"Yeah, well. What can I do?"

"Kill him," I joke.

He laughs and shakes his head. "Don't give me any more bad ideas."

"More?"

"You don't wanna know." He stands and pulls his phone out of his jeans, the screen lighting up his face.

But I do want to know in case I have to alibi him for some stupid shit, so when he pats his stomach and asks if I want to grab a bite, I agree.

The bad idea I had to hang around for Bella has to wait to take shape. For now, at least.


AN: Thank you for reading and reviewing. You're diamond.

Kim, Choc and Cat sort me out on a daily (sometimes hourly) basis!

A couple of brilliant stories I'm reading (links in my profile):

The Fall by Miss Winkles - She's got a bulletproof heart but he's got a hollow point smile. He's a gathering storm. A spark in the darkness. A bruised heart just waiting to happen. At rock bottom, Bella Swan has nowhere to fall but everything to lose.

Come Undone by Gemmah - I know everything about Isabella Marie Swan - the girl is an open book - but what she knows about me could be scrawled on a flyleaf, large and untidy, and still have blank space below it. I flip back and forth between happiness at her lack of awareness guilt that she's so much in the dark. She never pushes, never questions. I guess I know she's afraid to ask.

See you next week.

Sparrow xx