Chapter 8: Between the Bars
I disclaim.
Tam is one of my favourite people in the world. She helps me fight the curse of the adverbs, puts up with me freaking out over every chapter, and encourages me in both my writing, and life in general. It's also her birthday - so Happy Birthday, love. No one deserves a really special day more than you.
Also, Chicago does have a Jazz Festival roughly around this time of year – I just pushed it back two weeks. I hope they don't mind ;)
Between the Bars, Elliot Smith*
Drink up with me now
And forget all about the pressure of days
Do what I say and I'll make you okay and drive them away
The images stuck in your head …
…
Drink up baby, look at the stars
I'll kiss you again between the bars
Where I'm seeing you there with your hands in the air
Waiting to finally be caught
Drink up one more time and I'll make you mine
Keep you apart, deep in my heart
Separate from the rest, where I like you the best
And keep the things you forgot
*The Civil Wars and Bobby Long do phenomenal covers, too.
Sept – Oct 2009.
"Edward?"
"Hnrrmmmffff."
"I made you coffee."
"Umff."
Bella's giggle rings through my bedroom, and I groan and roll over, pulling my pillow over my head to muffle her unwelcome noisiness. I do love to hear her laugh, just not at whatever fucking hour of the morning it is.
"Come on, handsome, it's nearly eleven."
So maybe it's a little later than I thought – still too fucking early for a Saturday, though. Plus, the weather's getting colder and I'm really quite snug beneath my covers. From under my pillow, I hear the dull sound of coffee mugs being placed on my nightstand and feel my mattress dip under Bella's weight. The rich aroma of coffee seeps its way into my hiding place, rousing me a little more.
I grin against the sheet as the bed bounces with Bella's movements. In a few seconds she's going to try to pull my pillow off my head. I fist it tighter, chuckling when I feel her futile tugging begin. I let go of it abruptly, twisting and sitting up, grabbing hold of her while she's distracted by her pillow-victory, and dragging her back down with me. While she squeals in surprise, I place my head on her chest, snuggling into her warmth.
"Shush," I tell her. "You're too noisy to be a good pillow."
Bella giggles, and her fingers move into my hair, raking through it, scratching at my scalp. I hum in contentment, basking in her gentle touch, her sweet scent and her soft skin.
"Edward?"
"Mmmm."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Are you doing okay, baby?"
"Huh?"
"It's just –" Bella's fingers pause in their stroking. "You've been sleeping a lot more, and you seem really run down since you started work. I'm just, uh, you know, a little worried for you."
I move my head so that I can look up at Bella. My pillow is shoved under her neck so she can look down at me, and she gifts me with a shy smile when our eyes meet. She's dressed to go sailing, I realize. I'm a little disappointed to see her dressed in a polo shirt and the little shorts that show off her strong, tanned legs. It means she's probably going to leave soon, off to spend the day with her other lover, the wind and the waves.
"Are you quite comfortable?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow at me.
I blink at her, confused by her question and her change in tone. I'm not uncomfortable, with my chin resting between Bella's soft breasts – Oh. Oh. I'm basically using her tits as a pillow.
"Uh, I'm, shit, I'm sorry, Bel –"
Her trilling laugh cuts off my apologies.
"It's fine, Edward."
"Good," I mumble, turning my head to snuggle back into her chest. My proximity to her breasts – and my awareness of them – has my body responding, and I shift my hips against the mattress in discomfort.
Since my birthday, the line between our friendship and our fake-relationship has become a little blurry. There's this strange magnetism that exists between us that I can't really explain. We touch a lot more – sharing frequent hugs and caresses. Twice, while watching movies with Bella curled on my lap, we've gotten completely carried away – making out on the couch like horny teenagers until Garrett unexpectedly arriving home interrupted us. She's become one of my best friends, but it's getting very hard to convince myself that I'm not feeling something deeper – something beyond friendship, something beyond simply feeling attracted to her.
I bite back a groan as Bella's fingers tug a little at my hair, trying to focus instead on answering her question.
"I'm okay," I tell her right boob. I sigh before I elaborate. "I, uh, I don't cope so well with change. It takes a lot out of me, having to establish new routines, meet new people, all that shit."
Bella sighs, the movement of her chest under my head causing me to smile a little, and hug her a little tighter. I'm touched by her concern, by her noticing how much I've struggled in the last month – since I started on as a Junior Financial Analyst at one of the bigger firms in the city. The work itself isn't difficult for me – it's having to establish relationships with my colleagues, knowing how to present myself, that's caused me a lot of stress.
"Will you be okay?" she asks, uncertainty coloring her tone. "Is there anything I can do to help you out?"
My head jerks up, my eyes locking with Bella's. Her slight frown, the crease between her eyes – it reminds me of her expression as she scanned the horizon, keeping her eye on the weather, the first time she took me sailing. It was the day after my birthday, and we'd received word there could be a late afternoon storm, so Bella had been concerned we would get caught in it. She explained to me later, when we were home, warm and dry, that it was me she was apprehensive for – she'd sailed through her share of squalls and storms in San Francisco, but she didn't want my first experience on the water to be one of fear and panic. Once again, I find myself touched by her unexpected worry for me.
"Bella –" My voice comes out hoarse, shaky. I clear my throat and try again. "Sweetheart, you have helped me out. How many nights this month have you cooked dinner for us? How many mornings have you gotten up earlier than you needed to, just to cook breakfast and make coffee for me? Fuck, you even ironed all my shirts for me last weekend –"
Bella giggles. "You know that's just because I like getting to perve on you in a suit."
I chuckle, shaking my head at the silly girl in my bed. Last Wednesday I finished late and had no time to change into more casual clothes before heading to the brewery. When I tried to apologize, Bella simply broke into red-cheeked giggles, before she drunkenly admitted to finding it "incredibly sexy". It took an enormous amount of willpower to turn down her invitation to take our "practicing" a step further that night.
"You're ridiculous. You know that, don't you?"
Bella shrugs and smiles, her hand moving from my hair to her own, tucking her sun-streaked tresses behind her ears. As much as I miss her, with her spending most of her Saturdays sailing, I can't deny how good it's been for her. She seems lighter, stronger, happier. I got a glimpse of it when she took me with her: seeing her controlling the yacht, monitoring the weather and our course, trimming the sails, explaining to me what she was doing at each point – it was a revelation.
I grab her hand and put it back on my head, patting it and moving my head from side to side. Bella clicks her tongue at me, but acquiesces to my demands, her fingers resuming their gentle raking across my scalp.
"Coffee's going to go cold," she says after a few more minutes, her fingers moving to tug at my ears.
"Don't care," I mumble, snuggling into her chest with an exaggerated sigh of contentment.
Bella's tugs become more insistent, and I start to whine. "Ouch. You're hurting me, Bella."
"Well, get your face out of my boobs and sit up, then. I made coffee for you. Come on, get up and drink it."
Reluctantly, I drag myself away from her warmth and sit up against my headboard, offering her an exaggerated pout. Bella rolls her eyes at me, making to get up out of my bed. I pull her back, seating her across my lap. I reach around her to grab the mugs of coffee, handing her one and bringing the other to my lips.
"I have to go soon," Bella tells me, not meeting my eyes as she takes another sip of her coffee.
I wrap my free arm around her waist, shaking my head. "No. Stay with me."
"Edward –"
"Belllllaaaaa."
Bella places her coffee back on the nightstand, shifting in my lap to look into my face. Pushing my hair off my face, she studies me for a moment, her golden brown eyes unreadable.
"You still look so tired," she says. "Why don't you watch a movie or something, just take it easy today, and then have a nap later this afternoon? I'll probably be home before you wake up."
I nod my agreement, trying to rein in my disappointment. As much as I really want to spend time with Bella today, I'm not going to pressure her to change her plans for me. I take another sip of coffee, sighing my pleasure at the fragrant aromas swirling around me. Closing my eyes, I tip my head back against the wall. I really am fucking exhausted today, despite sleeping for close to twelve hours.
I feel Bella wriggling around in my lap and I groan in protest, opening my eyes to see why she's squirming all over the place.
"What are you doing?"
"Texting Rose," she says, her eyes on the screen of her cell phone. I presume the wiggling was her extracting the damn thing from her pocket.
"Why?"
"I'm telling her I won't be joining them today." Rose is the skipper of the yacht she usually crews on each week. I met her once when I picked Bella up from the yacht club – she's an easy-going young woman, and I liked her immediately, mostly because she's so good to Bella.
"No, Bella. Don't cancel on my account, please. I'm just being a baby."
"It's fine. Really. She's cool. Look –" Bella waves her cell phone under my nose.
From Rosalie Hale:
Not a problem, sailor. See you in two weeks.
"Bella –"
Bella throws her phone on to my nightstand, before taking my nearly empty coffee cup from my hand. Before I register what's happening, her mouth is against mine, her lips warm and coffee-flavored. Her little fingers wander across my bare chest, before they slide around my neck and into my hair. My hands move to her hips, gripping her tightly as she deepens the kiss, her hot tongue seeking out my own.
An embarrassingly deep groan escapes from my throat when Bella pulls away from me, her chest heaving.
"Edward?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not drunk."
I chuckle darkly. "And you're not under the influence of anything else?"
Bella shakes her head, her breath still coming in shallow pants. "Completely sober."
"And, you're sure you want this?" She has to be certain. I have to hear her say it.
"Yes. Fuck. I want this."
With a moan, I capture Bella's mouth again, sucking hard on her bottom lip, before our tongues resume their frantic exploration. With her hands on my shoulders, and without breaking our kiss, Bella shifts herself so she straddles my lap. My hands find the soft skin of her waist, my fingers dipping under her shirt and tracing from her spine to her sides and back again. I tug at the hem of her top, indicating what I want, but leaving the decision to Bella.
She pulls back from me, her dark eyes clouded with lust and want. Holding my gaze, she begins to pull her shirt up, exposing the creamy silk of her torso. My fingers flex, itching to touch, to caress. When our eye contact is broken as she sheds her shirt, my eyes drop to her chest. I notice a dark smudge, black ink that mars the white skin of her side, but I'm quickly distracted by her breasts, hiding behind her skimpy bikini top. Groaning, I push my face into her cleavage, running my tongue between her breasts, and delighting in the salty-sweet taste of her skin.
Bella pulls my face back to hers with a few impatient tugs at my hair. Her lips move to my jaw, kissing and nipping from my chin to my ear and back, causing me to shudder. My hands explore the soft skin of her back, toying with the ties of her swim suit. Bella pauses, pulling back to look me in the eye. Smirking, she reaches behind herself, and I watch, captivated, as her bikini top slides to the floor.
My hands move of their own accord to cup her breasts, before my fingertips begin sweeping across them with the lightest of touches. I watch, fascinated, as her dark pink nipples harden and pucker. Plucking them between my fingers, it is my turn to smirk as Bella moans and throws her head back. I rub the pads of my thumbs across them, before I begin to pinch and twist, monitoring Bella's reactions as I experiment with speed and pressure. When her moans become mewls I replace my left hand with my mouth, flicking my tongue, sucking, and nibbling until Bella pushes me away frantically.
"Stop, stop, please. Fuck, you're, oh fuck, driving me crazy."
The remainder of our clothing is hastily shed between frenzied kisses and clumsy movements as we maneuver ourselves around my bed. It's only when I find myself hovering over Bella, my weight supported on one arm as I frantically search the drawer of my nightstand for a condom, that some semblance of rationality returns to me. Retrieving the foil package, I hand it to Bella, searching her face for any hint of hesitation.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." Her voice is half moan, half whisper.
My fingertips dance across her flesh, dipping between her legs, stroking and teasing until she is writhing and mewling. Her climax washes over her as I watch, stunned at the sight of her – her back arched, open-mouthed as she surrenders to ecstasy. I trail soft kisses across her breasts and stomach, then trace the line of her collarbone, her neck, her jaw with my lips, while I wait for her breathing to slow and her eyes to flutter open.
Her dark eyes watch me as she tears open the little package, and I groan as she covers me, stroking me firmly. I pause, opening my mouth to speak, but Bella places a finger to my lips.
"Don't ask me again."
I nod, and push my hips forward, slowly joining our bodies. Bella gasps and I groan, overwhelmed by sensation. We move clumsily, trying to match each other's rhythm. Bella giggles and I chuckle, before ducking down to kiss her deeply. It's a little awkward, and a little embarrassing, but it's us, together, and it's perfect.
Bella gently encourages me to speed my movements, her hand on my hip guiding me. I can tell she's nowhere near close when my own release overtakes me and I cry out her name as sensation and bliss swallow me.
"I'm sorry," I mutter against Bella's shoulder when the waves of pleasure finally ebb.
"Don't be silly."
"It's, uh, it's been a long time, I, uh, fuck."
"Hey, look at me." Bella's fingers find my ear, and she tugs at it persistently until I comply. "It's okay. Don't fucking apologize, alright?"
"Bella –"
"Are we going to keep score? Is that what you'd like to do?" Bella arches an eyebrow at me. "Because I'm pretty sure I owe you."
I roll away from her, cleaning myself up quickly. I consider her words, my mind reeling as the implications of what we've just done slowly seep into my brain.
"Are, uh, are we doing this?"
"I think we just did." Bella giggles, her eyes dancing, as I crawl back under the covers.
"I mean, uh, what, um, what are we, Bella? What are we doing here?"
Bella's expression sobers and she squirms around a little, pushing and tugging at me until we lie side by side, our faces mere inches apart. Her fingers move to push the hair out of my eyes, and a small smile curves her lips briefly.
"We are what we are." Bella hesitates, her eyes full of questions. "Edward, I'm closer to you than anyone else – you're my best friend. I trust you, and I like spending time with you. Does having sex have to change that?"
"So, you, uh, you want to be like … friends with benefits?"
Bella scrunches up her nose at me – it's fucking cute.
"I hate that expression. Do we have to call it something? Can't we just do what we want – what feels good? We're good friends, who care for each other, and occasionally that care extends to, uh, meeting more physical needs."
I roll onto my back, breaking our eye contact. I need a clear head. What Bella is suggesting sounds, well, it sounds fucking perfect. Bella's amazing, she's one of my closest friends, and she wants to periodically have sex with me. It seems … ideal: all of the benefits of a relationship, without any of the scariness, any of the risks. As I mentally turn the idea around in my head, trying to examine it from all angles, there is something tugging at the periphery of my consciousness.
I wonder briefly if this game we're playing is too dangerous. I think of the warning Jasper offered me at Emmett's party, his concern for my heart. I dismiss the notion easily – I can't get hurt if I don't give my heart away, and Bella doesn't want my heart – or anyone else's. Neither of us wants a relationship, neither of us wants to put our hearts on the line – so maybe this really is the perfect solution. And what if … jealousy creeps in to my mind, it's whispered suggestions like poison … What if I deny her? Who's to say she won't go looking elsewhere? I'm sure there are many men who would jump at the chance to share this gorgeous woman's bed. At least I can trust myself to have her best interests at heart. I make myself that promise: if we're going to do this, then Bella comes first.
Bella leans over me, the little crease between her eyes returning as she studies my expression. "Tell me what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking this sounds too simple and perfect to work. I'm thinking I like this idea more than I should. Mostly, I'm thinking we need to make sure we're on the same page."
"Like, set some ground rules?"
"Yeah … so, do you, uh, do you have any conditions?"
Bella looks at me, her eyes thoughtful. "I guess, as soon as one of us wants out, then, that's it. Game over."
I offer my own suggestion more cautiously. "We, uh, we don't sleep with anyone else while this arrangement stands."
She is quick to nod, and while her lips quirk with a small smile, her dark eyes betray her. "If you meet someone you want to be with for real, then, just, uh, just tell me and we stay friends, but we no longer have sex."
"That goes both ways."
Bella shrugs, and I ache a little at the ease with which she dismisses my words. The hurt and betrayal she has suffered have destroyed any confidence she has in meeting someone she can trust with her heart.
"You can say 'no' at any point," I add, my cheeks heating. "You know … if you're, uh, like, not in the mood, or whatever."
"That goes both ways." She smirks, her finger tracing my cheekbone. Moving her lips to my ear, she lowers her voice. "Don't be shy, baby, it's just me."
I'm startled out of a deep sleep by the vibrating of my cell phone against the nightstand. I fumble around for a minute, confused, before I remember I'm in Bella's bed, and the nightstand is farther away from the bed than I'm used to. Stretching, I pick up the fucking thing and hit the answer button.
"Hello?" My voice is still thick with sleep.
"Edward? What the fuck, man? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." I'm fucking confused. "What's up, Jazz?"
"Are you serious, dude? You didn't show up last night – you didn't even send a text to say you were bailing! Now, it's three o'clock in the fucking afternoon and it sounds like you just woke up. Are you sick?"
"What? No." Shaking my head, I try to sort out what the hell he's talking about. "What was last night?"
"We went out for drinks for Jess' birthday."
"Oh. Shit."
"Oh shit is right. Where were you?"
"It's, uh, it's Bella's birthday today, so, we, uh, we went out last night," I mumble. I glance across at the girl in question. She's still very deeply asleep, her naked body swathed in the deep red of her comforter. Her dark hair spills across the pillow, tendrils creeping across her face. I smile softly, the way her dark tresses wrap around her face and neck puts me in mind of the way the wind caused it to dance, whipping it across her eyes as she stood at the helm of the yacht.
Jazz's sigh and low curse drags my attention back to the subject of our conversation. "Shit, Edward. You should really have called someone. That's not like you. You're not the guy who bails on his friends for a girl."
He's disappointed, and he's right, and it hurts.
"I know. Shit. I'm sorry, Jazz, really. We, uh, well, it was kind of spur of the moment. I remembered the Jazz Festival was on, so, uh, we went out for dinner, and then we went and listened to a few bands play." And then we came home and had sex. Twice. And again this morning. Twice. Hence the fact we were both still asleep well into the afternoon.
"Well, I hope she had fun." There's no sarcasm in his tone. My friend is quick to forgive. He also has a soft spot for Bella; the first time he met her he noted that the pain she carried almost had it's own presence, a spectre that followed her around. Subsequently, I know he can't begrudge me for trying to bring her some happiness on her birthday. And, while he knows about the arrangement Bella and I made last weekend, and doesn't necessarily approve of it, he does respect the fact that decisions we make are our own.
"She did." I can't help but smile as my mind is assaulted with images from last night: Bella giggling her way through dinner; Bella dancing, her arms in the air, her cheeks pink, her smile huge; Bella, her head thrown back, crying out in ecstasy.
"Alright man, I'll let you get back to her. I was just checkin' you were okay. Are we still on for tomorrow night?"
"Of course, man. Garrett said he's in as well."
"Cool –"
"Hey, Jazz? Why don't you come for dinner this week?"
"Yeah, sure, why not? Just let me know what day."
"I'll check with Bella and I'll text you."
"Sweet. Later bro."
I set my cell phone back on the nightstand, rolling back toward the beautiful girl asleep beside me. I carefully stroke her hair away from her face, smiling slightly as she sighs in her sleep. She stirs a little, tossing an arm over her eyes. The movement reveals the tattoo on her side – it's not big, maybe the size of her palm, a delicate design etched over her ribcage, about halfway between her armpit and waist. Tentatively, I run a finger over the intricately embellished J, noting the two dates that are incorporated in the design: September 25, 2005; October 18, 2005. I snatch my hand away as though burned, my heart clenching painfully as my mind makes sense of the dates: Jacob's death, the loss of their baby.
Bella sighs again, and rolls toward me, obscuring the ink from my view. I shake my head in agitation, trying to dislodge the thoughts of Bella's suffering from my brain. It's her birthday, and though we've slept away so much of it, I want her to enjoy what remains. It's my goal today to make her smile and laugh until her cheeks ache.
I watch Bella spend September 25 in a daze, struggling to keep herself together. She barely offers me a word, and seems completely oblivious to Garrett's presence in the house. I suspect his family may have alerted him to the anniversary of Jacob's death, because he actually sleeps at home for close to a week. It pains me to consider the fact that this time last year, I had noticed Bella fading before my eyes and yet had no concept of what she was truly going through – the awful memories that this time of year stirs up for her.
Unable to bear the thought of her spending October 18 by herself, I take the day off work. Garrett has long since returned to sleeping at Katie's, which causes me to wonder exactly how much of the story Bella has shared with her family. Do they know about Jacob's betrayal? About Leah? About the baby? Or has she borne that all alone? It makes my chest ache to even contemplate the possibility of her having kept her silence.
Bella stumbles into the kitchen while I'm brewing coffee. My presence, and my obviously casual clothing, seems to confuse her.
"Are you sick?" she asks, her voice hoarse. There are deep purple circles under her eyes, which are already lined with red. I hate knowing she has already been crying – and that I was not there to hold her.
I shake my head, handing her a mug of coffee. "I took the day off."
"Why? Are you okay?"
"No. I, uh, I thought … Well, I thought maybe you'd need some company, today."
Bella gapes at me, her eyes wide. "How do you – No, Garrett … I don't – Mom doesn't even … But … How?" She shakes her head, her eyes squeezing shut.
"Your tattoo."
Bella's face crumples and she slumps into a chair, her head falling into her hands. I catch the movement of her shoulders as she sobs, and I move immediately to kneel at her side.
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, did I do the wrong thing? Do you need some time to yourself? I'm sorry, I … I didn't want you to be alone today."
She raises her head from the table, and the pain I see etched across her face is utterly crushing – I feel tears begin to sting the corners of my eyes as she allows me to witness the depths of her anguish. Her face is streaked with tears, the remains of yesterday's make-up smudging her porcelain cheeks.
It takes her several attempts to whisper a broken "Thank you." Unable to bear the distance between us any longer, I pull her out of the chair and into my lap. We sit on the floor of the kitchen for an interminable space of time, Bella weeping and grieving, my hands stroking her hair, her back, my voice whispering any words of comfort I can seize upon. We cling to each other until her tears cease to flow, until she falls silent, exhausted by her grief.
When I feel her wriggling, I look down into her face, which is breathtakingly beautiful – in spite of her splotchy skin, dried tears and dark smudges. My fingers move to wipe away the black streaks, but I think I only make matters worse, spreading the residual make-up across her cheeks.
"Shit, sorry."
"For what?" Bella's voice is raspy and strained.
"I, uh, I smudged your make-up stuff everywhere."
Bella smiles, rolling her eyes at me. The playful gesture makes my heart thump wildly in my chest, and seeing her lips curve upward causes mine to mimic the movement.
"I'm a mess as it is. I don't think you could've done too much damage."
"You're perfect," I tell her honestly.
Bella clambers off my lap, pulling at me until I get to my feet. She grabs my hand and pulls me after her. Inside the bathroom, she takes a look at her reflection and snorts in amusement. "Oh yeah, check me out. That's perfection, alright."
I shake my head at her as I turn start the water in the basin running. I pick her up and set her on the counter, moving to stand between her knees. When the water begins to run warm, I reach for a washcloth and wet it thoroughly. Cupping her jaw with one hand, I begin to wipe away the make-up, tears and grime that sully her cheeks.
When her cheeks are pink and clean, and all the dark smudges around her eyes have been washed away, I set the cloth down. I press a kiss to each of her cheeks, then brush my lips carefully against her mouth.
"You're perfect."
Thanks for reading, my lovelies. Reviews make me smile.
