WARNING:
So, just a heads up but there is a flashback at the end of this chapter that may trigger some people. It begins as a nice, fluffy slashy scene, and it ends up involving rape, perpetrated by James, although the rape is not thoroughly described – it cuts off right before it is committed. Although this is not a new topic in this story, I felt the need to leave a warning, considering that writing it really upset me and what was said in it really resonated with me, as well.
If you think that the flashback might trigger you, please contact me so that I can provide you with a copy of this chapter that would be okay for you to read. If you read it and it does trigger you, please feel free to contact me to talk about it – I may just be another soul on the Internet, but I care about you guys.
Chapter Ten:
Peanut Tea and 20 Questions
I half expected the shrill sound of the doorbell to follow his knocks at any minute and I snapped myself out of my panicked daze, mentally shoving Bree aside. Hastily, I pulled on a pair of pants that was lying on the floor and a long sleeved shirt over my camisole. I felt like I had to keep Edward from seeing my ugly body, despite the fact that I knew he had seen at least some of the scars already. I somehow managed to dash down the stairs without tripping along the way.
When the door swung open, his breathtaking grin greeted me; his eyes danced as they fixed on my panting form. "I'm sorry," I apologized, running a hand through my hair. "I'm running late, I just need a couple more minutes –"
He waved his hand, cutting off my rambling. "Don't worry, you have plenty of time," he said, tucking his hands into his pockets.
The cold air crept over my bare feet, reminding me of the fridge conditions outside. "Oh, uh, come in," I gestured, moving over so that he could step through the threshold. As he passed me, almost close enough to brush his shoulder against mine, a strong smell of lilacs and honey wafted to me in his wake. I shivered, although this time not because of the cold, flashes of the club coming to me, along with the accompanying embarrassment at my insobriety and the… pleasure I had felt when he touched me that night.
I shook the thoughts from my mind, knowing that if he were to touch me again like that – his cold hands gripping my waist tightly, his smooth lips against mine – I would probably start crying and screaming. Clearly my throat awkwardly, I closed the door behind him.
"Well, I'll just go get ready," I muttered, looking down to my tiny, pale feet. They were scarred like the rest of my damaged body; I had stepped in broken glass so much growing up that I was surprised that I didn't still have glass embedded in the skin.
I glanced up at him, only to see his eyes trained on my feet as well. In the back of my mind, I knew that he must have seen them after he picked me up from the club, so it shouldn't have bothered me, but I was completely drug free now and seeing his eyes inspecting me like that made me feel suddenly self-conscious.
I positively fled up the stairs, away from his prying eyes, and slammed my bedroom door shut, leaning against the wood and exhaling heavily. I could almost feel his presence downstairs, and it was testing the limits of my tenuous control. I felt like at any minute, I would slip, letting the anxiety that was bubbling beneath my skin boil over.
I shed the shirt in favor of another thick sweater that would help me fend off the artic temperatures outside. I hoped that it would warm up a little soon, enough so that the snow could melt off.
My hair was hopeless, once again, and I left it alone to flop over to one side of my head. I slipped on a pair of socks as I hopped down the stairs, praying all the way down that I wouldn't fall on my ass in front of Edward.
I reached the base of the stairs without incident and my eyes darted around in search of him. I found him closer to the end of the hall, peering at framed pictures on a cabinet.
I shouldn't have let him into the house, but it seemed like the courteous thing to do at the time.
He turned as I plodded into the kitchen, glancing at the clock to reassure myself that we did indeed have time to make it to school, as I grabbed an apple from the crisper drawer in the fridge. I sat down at the kitchen table, Edward's eyes on me the whole time. I shifted awkwardly, taking a bite from the apple and trying to avoid his stare.
I continued to feel his gaze on me as I threw away the core and scrubbed at my sticky hands. Edward's gaze flickered back down to my feet as I approached, thankfully covered now. He raised an eyebrow as I passed him in the hall, as if to criticize my light meal, but, fortunately, he said nothing.
My sling was still limiting my motions, a reminder to me of Edward's impossible abilities, which had saved my life. I struggled with my boots, sitting on the third stair and wiggling my left foot to try to slip it on without unlacing it all the way. I bit my lip, frustration making my ears feel hot.
So focused on my predicament, I hadn't noticed Edward gliding toward me, his near silent footsteps not alerting me to his proximity. His pale hands filled my vision and grasped the boot, carefully, unlacing it and slipping it onto my foot as if he was afraid of breaking me.
It was the second time that he had tried to help me with my shoes, and I flushed, uncertain of how to react in this awkward situation. My eyes darted up to his face, which was held level with mine as he crouched at the foot of the stairs. His topaz eyes followed his work on my boot as his thin fingers tugged at the black laces of the motorcycle boot until they were tight around my calf. He tied it quickly, and I suddenly felt like a kid again, relying on a grown up to tie her shoes for her.
Only, I wasn't so young anymore, so innocent. I shook my head at the thought, wishing that I could have the innocence associated with youth once again.
He slipped on my other shoe, repeating the process with the same delicate motions, squeezing the back of my leather-clad ankle when he was finished. The act was tender, one of the first caring deeds I had experienced in a very long time. I felt awkward, not sure what to do with myself now that his eyes connected with mine, the raw emotion in them making me uncomfortable.
He stood swiftly, pulling me up easily by my hand. My breath hitched, both at his touch and at the care that his fingers took in gripping mine. I wasn't sure if I should start panicking at his touch or clutch his hand tighter in mine.
"Ready?" he asked, drawing my attention from our clasped hands back to his face.
"Uh, yeah," I muttered, untangling our hands so that I could pick up my school bag from its place at the bottom of the stairs and grabbed my coat as Edward showed me out the door.
He opened the car door for me once again, and I wondered when he would stop doing that. The act was so old-fashioned, out of place, but everything about Edward screamed that he wasn't like the average guy here.
As he started the car, I saw his hand twitch toward the radio reflexively, but was pleased when he didn't turn it on. I didn't want to insult his taste in music by asking for him to change it, but I really couldn't handle hearing the piano, it reminded me too much of the horrors of my childhood.
It was silent for a moment, before I spoke. "I still have questions."
"I know." My line of thought didn't surprise him, and his expression told me that he had expected me to bring it up sooner or later.
"I want answers," I insisted, starting to sound like a broken record.
"I know," he repeated, and my irritation with him rose abruptly.
"What the hell is up with you?" I asked, not caring about how insensitive I sounded, especially since he had asked me a very similar question the first day I had met him. "You are so fucking…god, I don't even know – shifty," I spat, my frustration with his uncooperativeness getting the better of me.
"Shifty," he repeated, cocking an eyebrow.
"Yes," I hissed, stretching out my legs. My thoughts turned back to Bree's insistence that he, and the rest of his family, weren't human. I didn't completely believe her, but it was hard to deny the evidence. "You act like you are so complicated, but then you do all this sweet crap like picking me up, and kissing me, and putting on my fucking shoes for me. My shoes, Edward, my freaking shoes."
"I don't really see where you are going with this," he told me, shaking his head.
"I'm getting there," I huffed. "I swear to god, every time I look away from you, your eyes are fucking changing color – oh, don't shake your head like that, I'm not fucking stupid," I snapped.
"Clearly not," he grumbled, but I chose to ignore him.
"And you are all secretive and crap, but then you want to get to know me – well, that's a two-way street, you jerk." My irritation was really getting the better of me. "And then there is that whole thing with the van – don't even get me started on that – and how you found me at that club. It's all so fucking weird."
"And my… peculiarities bother you?" he commented, his voice annoyingly light. I knew it was all an act.
"No, not really," I admitted, forcing my voice to remain calm. "It's more that you are being so unforthcoming about… everything."
He turned to me, studying my determined posture. "I can answer some of your questions," he conceded, "but I want you to answer some of my own."
I watched him suspiciously. "Like what?"
"Well, sometimes I feel as if there are two of you, and one of them that just… isn't you," he explained, and I clenched my fists. He didn't know how close he was to being right. "The whole thing with 'Bree,' for example."
I gritted my teeth. "What thing?"
He could tell he had hit a sore spot, but he persisted anyway. "You know what I'm talking about. At the club, and then at the diner."
I bit my lip, not ready to divulge my darkest secret. He would surely go running and screaming from me if he ever found out, and I wasn't ready to let him go, although my instincts were shrieking at me to chase him away.
"Pass," I muttered, wringing my hands in my lap.
"What?" he asked, his voice sharp.
"You heard me. If we are going to play this little game of 20 Questions, then I get to pass." I was hoping that he would just take my condition without argument, so I wouldn't have to answer.
"Fine, although that means I get to pass, too," he conceded, and I had to accept that, as much as it aggravated me, it was only fair.
God, when had I ever been concerned about fairness?
"What were you doing at that club?" He asked, taking me off guard.
"What were you doing there?" I retorted, glaring at him to cover my uneasiness.
He hesitated, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Sensing that I wasn't going to answer until he did, he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair – something that I was beginning to recognize as a sign of when he was nervous or frustrated. "I… shit, this is going to sound creepy…"
"No creepier than anything else you've done," I protested.
He shook his head. "I… followed you… there. Well, sort of."
"Does this have to do with your… peculiarities?" I asked, using his term because I couldn't think of a better word to describe his complete oddness. The more I thought about him, the more I had to concede that I wasn't the only weirdo here, although he definitely was able to hide his strangeness better than I could.
"Yes," he admitted after a moment of thought. At my expressionless face, he added, "Aren't you freaked out about that?"
I shrugged. "The way I see it, I would have been royally fucked later on if you hadn't shown up when you did, so I can't really say anything against it."
He looked a little relieved that I wasn't screaming and calling him a stalker. "Good."
I was already geared up for another question. "What does 'sort of' mean?"
He tisked, a startling sound coming from him. It was the sound an annoyed parent or an angry nun would make, not an amused teenager. Weird, I reminded myself. "You've already asked me two questions, now it's my turn."
I exhaled heavily and leaned back against the set, still watching him. "Technically, you asked me a question, so I only have one outstanding one," I informed him smoothly; referring to his anxious questioning of my emotional state after revealing that he had followed me.
He raised his eyebrows, incredulous. "I think we both know that doesn't count."
"It does as far as I'm concerned," I told him, deciding to be difficult.
He grumbled, but acquiesced; his eyes were curious. "Fine. What were you doing at that club?" he repeated.
I hesitated, but he had been honest with me so far – at least as far as I could tell. But, really, who would lie using stalking as their excuse? "I snuck out."
"That's not an answer," he warned.
"That's the only answer you're going to get," I told him, because I honestly didn't know what I was really doing there, either. Bree had wanted a good time, and I was an unwilling passenger along for the ride.
"You are so stubborn," he muttered. I felt a little surge of pride at his annoyance. Served him right, for all the bullshit he had been spinning the last few days.
I wanted to skip right to the hard questions, but I knew that I had to warm him up, first. "You said 'sort of' following me. What does that mean?"
"Pass."
"Oh, come on," I whined, grumpy. "You can at least give me a non-answer, like the one I gave you."
He grumbled in response.
"Let me rephrase: Is it something to do with your 'peculiarities'?" I suspected his answer, but I wanted a confirmation.
Finally, "Yes." He looked less than pleased to admit it, but did nonetheless. I was impressed by his devotion to telling me the truth, when he could have just lied to me. I would have known if he did, but all the same, he wouldn't have known that. I was just glad that he wasn't doing his best to avoid me.
"My turn," he said, turning the wheel. We were getting close to the school. "Bella," he trailed off, and his tone alerted me to the fact that he was about to ask me something that I wouldn't like. "Why did you…" his eyes fell to my jean-clad thighs, which he had seen bare just a few days ago, and I knew what he wanted to say, but hoped that he didn't have the guts to finish the question. "Why did you hurt yourself?"
I sucked in a breath of air, but it did nothing to calm my nerves. I was jittery, everything screaming in me not to answer. I could clearly remember his face from that night when he had carried me to his car and saw the cuts on my legs – the pure, unadulterated sadness that had pervaded his eyes.
"I promise I won't judge you," Edward said, his soft voice bringing my attention back to him.
For some reason, I believed him. "I was…" I couldn't find the words to describe the tumultuous emotions that pulsed through my body the last time I had brought the razor to my skin. "It's hard to explain."
"Will you try?" He was so fucking hopeful, his eyes pleading with me to explain so that he could understand my motivations.
"I'll try," I promised, feeling like I had no other choice if I wanted to know how he had saved me. "I get… upset, sometimes," I tried to explain, my voice tight. It sounded like a lame excuse, and it in no way fully encompassed how I felt every time I wanted to draw the blade across my skin. "It makes me feel better. I know its stupid and I shouldn't do it, but… I feel like I don't have control over my emotions or my body sometimes –" because I don't, I thought to myself, "– and when I do that, I feel…" I trailed off, hoping he could understand.
Edward nodded, although the frown on his face told me he didn't agree with my actions. "In control." His voice was thick with pain, but it wasn't solely pain over what I did to myself, although I could also hear that in it. His pain was his own – he understood my need for control because he felt it, too.
"Yeah," I murmured, my cheeks flaming in embarrassment.
"Is that why you never eat?"
I started, surprised that he had noticed. No one ever did, although my habits were probably difficult to miss because of my increasingly boney frame. "I do too eat," I countered.
His answering scoff said it all – he knew I ate, but he had noticed that it was never much.
"I'm not hungry," I told him automatically. He looked skeptical.
"No, really," I insisted. "I mean, sometimes I don't want to eat," I confessed, feeling shame at the admission. "I feel like if I eat anything, I'm just going to be sick." It was partially true – food had always been a touchy subject with me, and I had gone to bed without food so many times as a form of punishment that every time I looked at it, I had to fight the negative emotions that the experience brought to the surface.
His intense stare urged me to say more, but I refused. I had answered his question, and honestly – or, well, as honestly as I could.
The mixture of shame, fear, and worry distracted me for a moment as I fought to order my thoughts. "That's two," I murmured as we pulled into the parking lot. I glanced at the digital clock on the dash; we still have fifteen minutes before class began.
Edward hummed – a beautiful sound – to indicate that I should continue.
"Why did you save me from the van?"
My question caught him off guard, and his head jerked up to look at me. "What kind of question is that?" he exclaimed, astonished. "Why wouldn't I save you?"
"Because, it seems like doing so has only caused you more problems," I explained. "You have to deal with my unending questions."
"I would rather answer your questions than go to your funeral," he said darkly. "Even if it means putting me in an awkward position… although, it would have been worse if I didn't do anything…. But, I suppose I knew that I would have to answer them eventually when I decided to get to know you," he divulged. His expression was unreadable.
"Worse?" I inquired, confused.
"Is that all you pulled away from what I just told you?" He looked exasperated.
"No, but it prompts some interesting thoughts." I rubbed my hands against my thighs, more for something to do with them than anything else. I watched my peers milling into the school. I saw the hulking figure of Emmett, as well as Rosalie, among them, creating a radius of people about five feet around them as they walked to the buildings. I wondered where the rest of his family was. "What would have happened if you did nothing?"
He was silent, and I turned my head to see that his hands were clenched around the steering wheel, his jaw tight and his eyes hard and very dark. "It wouldn't have been good, for anyone," he ground out through gritted teeth, his eyes clouded as if by the memory of that morning.
"Why?" His eyes connected with mine and what I saw in them would have scared me senseless if I wasn't so sure that he wouldn't actually hurt me.
He looked hungry, and it wasn't the typical hungering look for sex that I sometimes saw on the faces of the men in the clubs Bree frequented, nor was it the sadistic hunger that burned in James' eyes when he wanted to hurt me for his own pleasure. No, the look in Edward's eyes made me feel like he wanted to genuinely eat me.
I suddenly realized that I was pressed back against the car door, my legs drawn halfway onto the leather seat, my breath caught in my throat. Edward was leaning toward me, restrained by his seatbelt, his face drawn and his eyes so black that I couldn't discern the pupils. The purple bruises under his eyes were more prominent; the overall effect creating someone that I knew was Edward, but didn't look like him.
One of his hands was still on the wheel, the other pressed against the center console for leverage, the only thing separating us. My heart thudded loudly in my ears and my lips parted, letting out a small puff of air as his frighteningly beautiful face inched closer.
I blinked, and suddenly he was back in his seat, his hands pressed flat against his legs as he leaned away from me. "I'm sorry," he rasped, guilt laced through his voice and apparent on his face. I didn't know what he was apologizing for.
"I don't understand," I whispered, not moving from my position against the door. I tried to force my legs to straighten, but the muscles were tense, locked into place.
The driver side door opened, but he didn't get out, just inhaling the fresh air that filtered through it. I shivered, drawing my coat around me. Edward closed his eyes, his expression calming, and when he turned back to me, his eyes seemed lighter, smoky.
"Is that… what would have happened?" I asked, referring the bizarre behavior he had just displayed.
"Yes," he whispered, shame tainting his velvet voice. I wanted to grab his hand to reassure him, but I wasn't sure if either of us could handle it. It was clear to me that there was something very off about Edward Cullen, and a good portion of what was wrong had to do with me, somehow. "Except, this time I was able to control myself."
I wondered what him not being able to control himself would look like, but knew better than to ask.
I glanced at the clock; we only had a little more than five minutes to get to class. He followed my gaze. "We better get moving," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and standing in one swift movement. I forced my legs to straighten, fumbling with my own seatbelt for a moment before it released. I heard his door shut, and he was opening mine before I even had my bag in hand.
"I'll walk you to class," he told me, leaving no room for argument, gripping my elbow as I stood from the car. His touch sent my heart rate skyrocketing, but I managed to keep my shit together until he released me to shut the car door. I waited for him at the front of the car, and together we walked toward my first period class, although I wasn't sure how he knew where to go.
While the accident had gotten me out of participating in gym for another few days, it didn't mean that I wasn't still subjected to having to sit through it. It was such a huge waste of my time, watching my classmates play volleyball while I sat, bored out of my mind, on the bleachers.
I might as well have been staring at the ceiling, counting the dots on the drywall. The boredom wore at me, eroding the little patience that I had left in my body. For the first time in a while, I felt the urge to slip out and have a smoke – my first in several months. I didn't particularly like smoking – one could only suck on a cancer stick for so long before beginning to feel guilty about it – but the act was soothing, and it would definitely help calm my fried nerves after the shit storm of a week that I'd had.
I stood, backpack in hand, casting one last glance around the gym at the busy students before I turned to walk out. I had made it about halfway across the gym before anyone noticed that I was no longer sitting on the bleachers, and I sighed heavily as I heard my name called.
I turned, surprised to find the gym teacher so close to me. In all the commotion, I hadn't heard him jogging to catch up with me. "Where do you think you're going, Miss Swan?"
I resisted rolling my eyes, as it was quite obvious that I was intending to leave this little purgatory. "This is an utter waste of my time," I began, narrowing my eyes at the teacher. He was young, average looking with dark hair and eyes. I wondered what on Earth had possessed him to work with a bunch of sweaty, hormonal teenagers for a living. Then again, maybe he hadn't had much choice in the matter. "I'm going to go do something that actually requires brain power."
He didn't seem to like that. "Miss Swan, you are supposed to be in my class right now. You may be injured, but that doesn't mean that you get to just do whatever you want."
I didn't bother to hide my irritation. "So, I get to stare at the wall instead? No, thanks." I turned, for once not caring that several of my peers were now watching me with curiosity. I was positive that I was the first student to actually try to walk out on a class.
I heard the teacher huff angrily behind me and I smiled, feeling a little vindicated for the exceedingly dull hours that he had put me through lately. I had already taken a few steps before I heard him begin to follow, and I was about to tell him to lay off when I felt a hot, large hand wrap around my wrist to pull me back.
That was all it took for my carefully constructed demeanor to crumble. I suddenly felt like I was falling, my stomach lurching as the floor fell out from beneath me like I was on a rollercoaster. My vision narrowed and my ears filled with a loud whooshing.
Come here, baby.
I felt like I couldn't breath, that hot, sweaty hand clutched around my wrist the only thing that I could feel. I felt myself tipping over the precipice, my vision swirling.
Don't fucking move, Bella.
Hot hands on my body, holding me down, touching me. Revulsion roiled through my body.
I needed to get away from here, away from the hand on my arm, away from the prying eyes. My chest tightened, my stomach rioting against me, threatening to be sick.
As quickly as the hand had landed on me, it released me, and I bolted. I slammed into the gym door, not caring as my shoulder smarted from the bruising impact, and sprinted to the nearest bathroom, not concerned if anyone saw me.
You've been a bad girl, Bella. I don't want to, but I have to punish you now.
The hard slaps across my face, the fingers digging into my sides as I cried, the teeth sinking into my skin.
I rushed into the bathroom, slamming the stall door closed just as I began to retch. Nothing came up, my apple from breakfast having been gobbled up by my greedy stomach long ago, and somehow it left me feeling sicker than when I had first come in.
My ears were still filled with sound, like the crashing of waves or the rushing of a strong wind. Spots littered my vision, dark and vibrant all at the same time. I blinked harshly against them, my stomach constricting painfully.
I could still feel the rough hands on me, ghost-like in quality, but they felt real all the same. I rubbed my hands along my ribs in an attempt to dispel the sensation, biting my lip so hard that I suddenly tasted the metallic tang of blood on my tongue.
I squeezed my eyes closed against the renewed wave of nausea that churned through me at the taste.
I leaned back against the door, taking shallow breaths in an attempt to calm my stomach, shaking violently. Breathing deeply, I forced my chest to rise and fall as I struggled to push away the sound of James' voice and the feel of his hot hands all over my body.
I froze in fear as I heard the bathroom door open. The stall next to mine banged, the lock sliding into place and the sound of rustling fabric and the hiss of a zipper reached me in the near silence.
I felt my stomach clenching again, but resist the instinct to bend over the toilet, knowing there is nothing inside it to come up and not wanting to alert the girl next to me to my presence.
"Ah, fuck," I heard her mutter angrily, and there was more rustling as she searched through her bag. "Fuck."
I hold my breath, praying that she will leave soon so that I no longer have to pretend like I am not in the next stall, about to be sick.
"Hey," she called, and I think that there is something familiar about her voice, possibly one of Jessica's friends. "Hey, is there anyone there? I see your shoes."
I bit my lip, cursing.
"Hey, do you have a tampon? I'm fresh out," she persisted, and I knew the game was up.
"No," I breathed, closing my eyes.
"Seriously, help a girl out," she whined. "Come on, I just need one. Everyone carries at least one."
Not you, Bree whispered, sounding gleeful. My stomach flipped, a fresh wave of nausea threatening to overtake me, and I closed my eyes, trying to quell my burgeoning anger.
I had to restrain myself from growling. "I said I don't have any," I snapped at her, turning around and yanking the stall door open.
"Shesh, sorry I asked," I heard her mumble as I darted out the bathroom door.
I felt sick, and I found a corner to sit in out of sight of passing students as I wrapped my arms around my chest and started crying, for no reason. At least, that was what I told myself.
My bag dug uncomfortably into my side, and I slid it off my shoulder onto the pavement next to me. I rooted around for the pack of cigarettes, not caring if I got caught, and fumbled with the crushed box for a moment before my trembling fingers were able to grasp a thin stick.
I held it to my lips, letting it hang from them as I searched for a lighter. It took a minute, but I found the lighter in a side pocket. I flicked my thumb against the wheel once, twice, three times before a flame sprung to life, and I sheltered it from the wind as I inhaled, shivering in the cold. Dropping the lighter back into my bag, I tilted my head back against the wall and took a few more puffs to calm my racing heart.
It didn't help, and I bit my lip as I held the cig between my pointer and middle fingers, resting on my knee. I only debated picking up my phone and calling for a short moment, my cigarette back on my lips while I snatched up my cell and rooted through my wallet awkwardly for the card.
Call anytime.
It rung twice, and then I heard his smooth voice on the other end of the line. "Hello?"
"Carlisle." My voice came out rougher than I intended, and it was enough to set him on alert.
"Bella? Is everything okay?"
I laughed, although it sounded more like a sob. I held the phone using my shoulder while I inhaled the nicotine, the cigarette held loosely in my fingers as I pulled it away. I watched the dark smoke swirl away from me, caught by the wind.
I could see my breath when I answered him. "No."
"Where are you?" He sounded concerned. I focused on the way his voice pitched higher at the end of the question, his soft British accent helping to ground me.
"School." I sucked in another tainted breath.
"Do you want me to come get you?"
Already, I was feeling better, and I didn't want to inconvenience him. Dealing with my crazy ass over the phone was enough. "No, no," I closed my eyes, feeling the back of my head hit the wall. "I just… I got freaked out. I didn't know what else to do."
"I'm glad you called me, Bella," he assured, and I felt slightly better about interrupting whatever he was doing. "Do you think you'll do anything that you might regret?"
I eyed my cigarette, regretting that my resolve to quit was so easily broken, but I knew that was not what he meant. "No, I'm… feeling more in control now. I just needed some fresh air – and someone to talk to, I think." I felt the prickling of tears at the corners of my eyes, and I bit my lip to distract myself from the hole clawing at my chest.
"What happened?"
I rehashed the whole thing, how the smallest touch from my gym teacher had set me off and I had to leave before I fell apart. Then, how I was trying to get a grip on myself when that stupid girl had come in with her assumptions and questions. I didn't have to explain more than that, knowing that Carlisle would understand the bathroom thing; he had seen my medical history.
When I finished, I stubbed out the cigarette on the ground next to my shoe and picked up the phone in my now free hand. "I'm sorry for bothering you," I said, sighing. "I shouldn't have called about something so trivial."
"Bella, I'm here for you to call whenever you need – no matter how 'trivial' you may think it is. What happened really unnerved you, so it is important to me."
I blinked back tears. "Thank you, Carlisle."
"Would you like to come in today after school to talk more about it?"
I shook my head before I realized that he couldn't see me. "I don't think so. I think I can wait until Monday."
"If you're sure," he offered me another chance to accept his invitation.
"Yeah, I'm sure. Those breathing exercises really helped, and I really do think I just needed a moment to myself and some reassurance." I think I was trying to convince myself more than I was trying to convince him.
"Okay. Don't hesitate to call me again if you need anything. Otherwise, I'll see you in a few days."
I got off the phone with him, realizing that the class period was nearly over now. I pushed myself up, slinging my bag over my shoulder and wiping quickly under my eyes, pleased when my fingers came back unstained. I walked slowly toward the cafeteria, going more out of a desire for warmth than for food.
I sat down at my table in the cafeteria before the bell rang, giving me plenty of time to settle myself and pretend that the whole gym fiasco had never happened. I felt my cheeks pink just at the thought of the wild rumors that were probably circulating through the small school, not even an hour after I had walked out on the class.
I glanced down at my hands; the chipped nail polish on my short nails capturing my attention. I rubbed at one of the nails with my thumb, picking up the loose edges of the paint.
"May I sit with you?"
My head jerked up, my eyes meeting a friendly topaz pair. I bit my lip, wincing slightly as my teeth came into contact with the broken skin. I nodded slowly, training my gaze back onto my hands and watching him from the corner of my eye.
Edward sat down smoothly in a chair two seats over from mine. I was grateful for the distance, although it was dictated by my backpack, which I had placed in the seat between us. I didn't think that I could handle him trying to touch me after the incident in the gym, no matter how calming it might be to my anxious body.
He felt his eyes on me, waiting for me to do something. The silence grew between us, making me tense. Out of habit, I nibbled at my lip, rubbing my hands. My upper teeth grazed over the scab forming on my lower lip from when I bit through it earlier, igniting a spark of pain. Reluctantly, I released my lip, knowing that if I kept worrying it that it would start bleeding again.
I didn't want to taste the rusty salt flavor of my blood, and my eyes slid to Edward, who was staring at my teeth and lips with an unfathomable expression on his face. I didn't want to take the chance of bleeding around him – I still didn't fully understand what about me had tempted him so much when we were pinned under my truck and when we were alone in his car this morning. I knew that he wasn't normal – I was even starting to believe that he was weirder than me, if that was even possible – and I was beginning to suspect that Bree's claims about his humanity may hold some credibility.
Until I knew, though, I was going to be careful around him.
His eyes flickered up to mine, chagrin spreading along his face as he realized that I had caught him watching at me. "What happened to your lip?"
"I bit it," I admitted, catching myself as I tried to bite it again. I settled for tugging at a lock of hair tickling my neck.
He nodded thoughtfully, not pressing me for more information. No doubt, he knew about my awkward disappearance from gym – I could hear people at the table next to mine whispering about it – but he pretended like nothing strange had happened. I appreciated that, although the question about why he wouldn't mention it burned in the back of my mind.
"Bella?"
"Hm?" I wasn't looking at him, I was watching the table where he normally sat at, but his family wasn't there yet. I wondered where they could be – even though they generally looked bored out of their minds at the prospect of sitting through lunch, they were always there.
"You smell like… smoke."
My eyes met his, although my face remained turned away. "I'm not surprised," I told him lowly. "I did just smoke a cigarette not too long ago."
He looked disgruntled. It was slightly funny, considering how composed and calm he usually was. "You know that smoking is bad for your health, right?"
I blinked slowly, adjusting my position in my chair until my body was facing him and my leg was folded up under me. "Yeah. Modern medicine has ruined any care-free attitude that I could ever have towards smoking," I said, voice level. At any rate, I figured that if I didn't do it myself, the abuse and constant stress I suffered through would end my life far sooner than any of the adverse consequences of smoking would. That didn't stop me from feeling bad about doing it, though.
I pushed away the guilt that began to make an unwelcomed reappearance despite my reasoning. "I quit."
Edward's eyebrow cocked at my statement, calling me out.
"Yeah, I know," I mumbled, my eyes wandering along the ceiling. "It's a lot harder than people make it out to be." Especially when it seemed like one of the only things that could keep me focused on the present, rather than the past.
"Aren't you underage?" His voice was curious, not accusatory, asking how I could have gotten my hands on the smokes. Before I could answer, he cut me off. "Why am I even asking? You got into a club and got yourself served alcohol – that right there tells me all I need to know."
I shrugged, shaking my head as I followed the cracks in the paint on the wall nearest me with my eyes. "Don't judge my methods – I know for a fact that you must have had a fake ID to get into that club, too."
He made a face and murmured something sarcastically to himself that I didn't quite catch, although it sounded an awful lot like, "Yeah, because I'm underage."
I paused for a moment, saving his odd remark for further thought at another time, before adding, "Although, if you must know, I didn't buy the pack myself – I stole it from my mother before I came here. It's just been sitting in my bag until now."
"You stole it?"
His voice was incredulous, but I couldn't understand why he would be surprised by it. "And? I don't see your point. I don't feel bad about it."
The look on my face must have persuaded him from asking more questions about it. My eyes darted back to the Cullens' lunch table, but they still weren't there. "Where's your family?" I blurted out, still watching their empty table. "I thought I saw Emmett and Rosalie this morning."
"They cut out early." I was dying to hear why, but the way he said it told me that I wouldn't get an answer if I asked.
"Why didn't you leave with them?" I inquired instead, thinking it was a safe question. It was.
"I thought I would hang around for a bit," Edward began, trailing off and smiling at me.
"O-kay," I drawled.
"You should eat something."
"What?" The abrupt change in topic sent me reeling.
"You should eat something," he repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.
"I heard you," I snapped. "And I don't see you eating anything."
His insistent attitude towards my health and all things related to it was starting to wear on me, and I told him so. "Why don't you concern yourself with your own habits?"
It was rude, I had to admit. It had been awhile since I was down-right bitchy, and I almost felt bad about it. Almost.
Instead of being irritated, Edward laughed. The musical sound directed more than a few curious stares our way, but they looked away quickly when I glared back. Bewildered, I glanced back at him, my eyes catching on his mouth as he spoke. His teeth were bright white, whiter than his pale skin, even. I watched as his lips contorted over them.
"Point taken."
I grumbled in response to his gleaming smile. His easy-going attitude – well, generally easy-going – was mildly irksome at times, although I supposed that I was morose and angry enough for the both of us. I thought back to this morning and our game of 20 Questions. I decided that now would be a good a time as any to continue it, especially since Edward seemed so… happy.
"What's your favorite color?" It was a childish question, but that didn't stop me from wanting to know. It always fascinated me how people could have such differing opinions on it.
"Brown," he answered without hesitation. It was an odd color to like – I had always thought brown was somewhat dull, honestly. He seemed to pick up on the fact that I was continuing our earlier activities. "What is yours?"
I had to think for a moment. "I don't think I have one," I finally said. "I think it all depends on context – I fucking hate green, but sometimes it looks nice."
His mouth twitched up into a smile. "That is an… interesting outlook." I could tell my answer puzzled him. "What about now?"
"What about now?"
He chuckled. "You said it all depends on circumstances – what about now? What do you like now?"
It was a loaded question; the look in his eyes told me that he was asking about more than just my favorite color. I shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose…" I trailed off, watching him. I felt brave all of a sudden. "Right now – I think I like gold." His eyes crinkled at the edges, the golden depths capturing my attention once again as his eyebrow raised.
I interrupted him before he could say anything about my preferences. "What's your favorite type of music?"
"Classical – although I fancy myself as someone who has eclectic tastes." His smooth voice almost distracted me from the saddening fact that he liked classical – much of which was piano. The thought that I would never be able to share the experience of listening to it with him as surprisingly depressing; James had forever ruined piano music for me.
"What about you?"
He jolted me out of my increasingly dark thoughts, and I realized that I had been staring down at my hands. "Rock – but I'm relatively flexible about what I will listen to," I added. "Where did you live before coming to Forks?"
His answer was almost robotic. "Alaska."
I shivered at the thought of the snowy place. "It's fucking cold there."
"Yes," he grinned. "And I already know that you're from Arizona – it's fucking hot there."
"I suppose that makes Forks a good middle ground, then," I surmised. "Just right, or some shit like that."
He laughed again. "Are you comparing Forks to the porridge in Goldie Locks?"
"So what if I am?" I challenged. "I always had a soft spot for fucked up children's stories – which, mind you, is basically all of them."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Edward tapped his fingers absentmindedly on the tabletop. "Everything about you is just… one surprise after the next. You never say what I think you will."
"Does that bother you?" Now it was my turn to be curious.
"No, it's refreshing, actually." He leaned against the table. "I always know what everyone else is going to say or do. You keep me guessing."
I didn't know how to respond, so I just looked down at my hands again, chipping at the polish on my nails. I liked that this time around our questions steered clear of the heavy topics that had dominated our previous conversations. I didn't want to think about my cutting or eating habits, or what caused them.
"What's your favorite book?"
I groaned. "That's like asking what limb I'd like to chop off first."
"None of them, I hope," he joked, his eyes laughing.
"No, I like all of my extremities, thanks." I closed my eyes, thinking. "I guess I like anything by Anne Rice – you know, the vampire chick," I explained out of habit. Most people my age had no idea who she was – I mean, she did write a lot of her books before I was born.
Edward frowned. "I know who she is."
I took his expression as disapproval over my choice in books. "Hey, I like a lot of books, but she has a very unique style of writing – makes you think about things. What did you expect me to say, Pride and Prejudice?" I snorted at the thought. Romance wasn't something I was highly interested in – not after all of the crap I had been through. The thought of opening myself up to someone, trusting them, was terrifying, and I related better to the misunderstood and wronged characters that Rice wrote about more.
It didn't escape me, though, that what I had with Edward – I didn't know what to call it – involved a whole hell of a lot more trust than I had ever bestowed on anyone, save Carlisle. I was willingly letting Edward get to know me, and I had no illusions as to what he really wanted – he wanted more than friendship from me, the kisses and touches that we had shared evidence of it. I just worried that I wouldn't be able to reciprocate.
"I didn't expect you to say Pride and Prejudice," he rolled his eyes. "I'm just surprised that you are into Rice – isn't she a bit before your time?"
"The fact that you know who she is tells me that you're familiar with her works – isn't she a bit before your time, as well?"
He laughed, but I wasn't sure what he found so funny. It was silent between us for a moment. "Why did you come to Forks?"
The question was another one that shocked me because it was so different from the previous track of our conversation, and it was one no one had bothered to ask me yet. Sure people commented about my arrival, obsessed over me even, when I first showed up, but they never asked why, at seventeen, I had come to live with my dad. It was almost a relief, because the truth was something I was unwilling to share with them.
I eyed Edward, my expression serious. "The truth?"
He nodded. "That is preferable."
I sighed, slouching back into my chair. My hand remained on the table, the cold edge digging into the soft skin of my wrist. "I was forced to come here."
"Oh, I'm… sorry, I guess."
I shook my head, chuckling mirthlessly. "Don't be. I hated being here at first, but it's nice to be away from my mother and that house…. It was like a fresh start, sort of."
He didn't say anything, but I decided to tell him a little more. We were getting to know each other, right? How could I expect him to tell me anything about himself and his 'peculiarities' if I didn't put forward some information about myself?
"Renee – my mother – well, she didn't want to deal with me anymore, so she sent me off to live with Charlie. I don't really blame her for not wanting to put up with my… issues, except that most of my problems are because of her – directly or indirectly, take your pick. Honestly, I was so pissed, but being away from her has been really nice. And, Charlie… well, he's the only real parent I've ever had."
I bit my lip, ignoring the sharp pain, wondering if I had said too much. Once I had started, I couldn't stop rambling about it.
Edward ran his hand through his hair, his face grim. "A parent shouldn't just abandon you like that, though – no matter what. I mean, Bella, I don't know that much about you, but it seems to me like you could have used a lot of support growing up, and you didn't get it."
I was surprised by his insight, although he could infer from what he had seen of my body so far – my scars, my boney frame – and the state that he had seen me in a few weeks ago as I ran from the hospital after trying to off myself that I needed help.
I wondered if he had figured out why I was there; he must have had some idea. At any rate, he couldn't believe that I had been sick with the flu, like everyone else in this town. I wasn't positive that I even wanted to know what he thought. If there was one thing that I knew about people, it was that you had to ease them into your weirdness.
Was that what Edward was doing? Easing me into the knowledge of whatever the fuck was up with him?
I momentarily forgot about him, so deep in thought that I didn't realize he was speaking again.
"– whatever you need."
I blinked stupidly. "Sorry, what?"
Edward took a quick breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say to me yet again. "I said that I hoped you know that I am here for you, no matter what, for whatever you need." He was starting to sound a lot like Carlisle, although without the calming therapist voice.
"Why?" I supposed that it wasn't a stretch to think that Edward might be just as compassionate as his father.
"Why?" he repeated, confused. "I care about you – we're… well, we're friends, aren't we?"
I guess we were friends, even if our relationship was unconventional, what with the secrets, the life-saving actions, and the somewhat romantic undertones that formed it. "Yeah, I guess we are."
Edward smiled again, as if my confirmation was all he needed to hear to make him happy again. The late bell sounded, ending our conversation. I hadn't realized how quickly lunch had passed while talking to him; it seemed to drag on forever most days.
The mixed sounds of chairs scrapping against the linoleum floor and people walking out of the room filled my ears. I grabbed my bag and slung it onto my shoulder as I pushed myself up from the plastic chair. Edward came to stand next to me as we moseyed toward the exit.
"Wanna ditch?"
I stared at him, shocked. Edward seemed so… studious; he was the last person I'd expect to cut class. "What?"
"Come on, let's leave. I know you've already ditched one class today, why not round it off?"
He did have a point, one that proved to me that he had heard about what happened today in gym. "How can I refuse such a convincing offer?" I muttered, sarcasm thick in my voice. "Where do you suggest we go?"
He was thoughtful for a moment, slowing so that the distance between us and the crowd of students rushing for the door grew. "Where would you like to go?"
Thirty minutes later, we were standing in the slushy snow in downtown Forks. The constant drizzle clung to Edward's unruly hair, making it appear darker than usual. I shivered slightly, having forgotten my coat in my locker when we snuck out into the parking lot.
"You're cold," he remarked, seeming surprised, once again, by the fact that I could feel things like any other human being.
"Just a little, it's fine though," I answered, rubbing the hand not confined to my sling against my thigh for friction.
Before I knew it, his jacket was around my shoulders while I protested, "Now you'll be cold, here take it back." I tried to shrug it off, but he just lifted it back onto my body.
"I'm fine, please, take it," he insisted, eyes pleading.
I sighed and grudgingly accepted it. It smelled like him, all lilacs and honey and sunshine, and it was oddly cold, as if his body heat hadn't soaked into it. I chalked it up to being another one of his peculiarities.
I led him down the block towards a small shop on the corner, feeling thankful for the warmth that Edward's jacket helped provide me with, it's heavy leather reassuring and comfortable.
"Well, this is it," I proclaimed, holding my hand out to gesture at the store.
"A café?" Edward seemed confused, given that I had just refused to eat lunch not too long ago.
"Not just any café," I corrected. "It's Ethiopian." I pointed up at the neon sign above the door, which marked it as Lucy's Ethiopian Café.
Edward chuckled. "That's quite a name."
"Yep," I said, popping the p. "Gotta love someone who's an anthro buff – to the point of naming a café after a three to four million year old hominid."
Edward opened the door for me, leading the way into the small, dimly lit café. It was brightly painted with reds and oranges, dark furniture helping to offset the brightness of the walls. We sat down in a long hallway just past the main room, Edward observing the artwork and sculptures hung on the walls.
I smiled slightly, looking over at the counter where, in addition to their menu, a list of some common Ethiopian words were written in marker. "They have a new word up, today," I commented, trying to read it. "'Summer.' Well, that's wishful thinking at it's finest."
Edward turned to follow my gaze. "That's cool. I didn't even know this place existed."
I shrugged. "I don't think that it's very popular – the food is really unique, good, but different from what most people are used to. You eat it with your hands, using bitter pancake-type bread. It's been empty every time I've come in."
"You've been here before?" Edward's eyebrows were raised.
"Of course, how else would I have known to come here?"
Edward looked as if he was blushing, although his skin remained as pale as ever. "Fair enough."
A tall, dark-skinned man walked out from behind the counter carrying menus. "Hello." His accent was thick, and I remembered him from the last time I'd been here, roughly a month ago. "Welcome to Lucy's Ethiopian Café. Can I get you something to drink?"
I didn't take the menu he tried to hand to me. "I'd just like some peanut tea, thanks." I look over at Edward.
"Uh, a glass of water is fine," he answered after a moment.
I cocked an eyebrow. "And you complain about me not eating?"
Edward pretended like didn't hear my comment. "Peanut tea?"
"It's delightful," I defended. "Like drinking peanut butter in tea form, except better."
He grimaced. "I don't know about that one."
"You don't know what you're missing." I fiddled with the napkin, waiting for the owner to bring back our drinks. I knew that after the day I had, a little indulgence in the form of rich, creamy tea would help me relax. "I don't even like peanut butter that much."
"Then why are you going to drink a tea that tastes like it?" I expected his expression to be accusatory, but instead it was just filled with curiosity.
"Because, it's amazing. It's hot, and creamy, and not overwhelming. Perfect for a stressful day," I counted off on my fingers.
"And your day was stressful?"
I gave him a look that clearly indicated that I thought he was an alien. "Did you not hear all the gossip today?"
Edward's mouth twitched. "What happened?"
I narrowed my eyes, convinced that he knew exactly what had happened, but he was pretending to have no idea. "You already know that I ditched gym – it was horrific."
"The class, or the process of trying to ditch it?"
"Both," I groaned, trying not to think about it too much, and he laughed in response.
"So, what made today so awful? I hope it wasn't something I did."
I leaned back in my seat, focusing on the art hanging behind Edward's head. "Pass."
Edward's face scrunched up. It was kind of adorable. "We're playing that game, again?"
I smirked at him, repeating myself to make my point. "Pass."
"You are so infuriating sometimes," he muttered, but his eyes were smiling.
"If I'm so infuriating, why do you hang around?" I teased, but I really did want to know the answer.
He seemed to sense that the question wasn't entirely rhetorical. He grinned crookedly. "Pass."
"Aw, come on," I grumbled.
"Don't like it when others play your own game?" I looked into his eyes, beautifully golden and wide.
"No," I answered petulantly.
I saw the owner come around the bar with my tea and Edward's water and straightened up in my chair. "Thanks," I murmured as I took the cup and saucer from him, trying not to spill it.
I sipped slowly as I turned to Edward, who was playing with the wrapper on his straw. "Wanna try?" I proffered the cup, licking my upper lip. The sweet, mild taste of the tea clung to my lip and tongue, just right.
Edward's eyes were trained on my mouth and I blushed, embarrassed. "Uh, no, that's fine," he stuttered – he fucking stuttered. He was usually so collected, always knowing what to say, it was… amusing.
"Your loss," I murmured as I took another sip of the tea and watched Edward squirm in his seat. Okay, maybe it wasn't actually squirming, but he looked beyond uncomfortable, tapping the straw in his hand on the table and looking confused as all could be. "You know, the straw is supposed to go in the water."
He nodded curtly, finally peeling the paper off the straw in a very odd manner before sticking it into the cup. The ice jingled against the glass as he stirred it, but he didn't take a sip.
"You're very odd," I told him coolly, sitting back in my chair.
"So I'm told," he muttered, watching his fingers roll the plastic straw between them. "But you're one to talk. That's like the pot calling the kettle black."
I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, really." He rolled his eyes, abandoning the straw. "You are very odd."
"What makes you say that?"
He leaned back in his seat. "You never say or do what I expect you to. You're secretive, persistent, and sometimes crass, although that last part I suspect is part of you trying to hide how you really feel. You know about small Ethiopian cafés and you drink peanut tea even though you don't like it peanut butter. You know what it's like to get hurt, repeatedly, and don't even bat an eye at something that would cause a great deal of concern in other people. You look like you want to either run screaming or attack someone whenever you're touched, sometimes even both at the same time."
"I don't do that with you," I mumbled so low that I thought he couldn't hear me.
"I know you don't, but my touch makes you uncomfortable."
"I'm sorry."
"I didn't say that to make you feel bad or to get an apology."
"I know." I sipped my tea, unnerved by his perception for the second time that day. It shouldn't have surprised me that he had noticed these things, he had noticed so many others, but it was still odd to have them laid out so blatantly before me.
"What's the one thing you couldn't live without?"
"What?"
He was changing the topic again, trying to make me feel better. "What couldn't you live without?"
And, just like that, we were volleying questions back and forth to help us ignore the secrets that we were keeping from each other.
The house was freezing when Edward dropped me off, and I kept my socks on as I went to turn on the heat – a dangerous gamble considering the hardwood floors and my propensity for clumsiness. I heard it roar to life, sighing heavily as I went up the stairs to my bedroom to start my English homework.
I had a paper due in a few weeks that I wasn't overly concerned about, but I wanted to stay on top of it nonetheless, maybe even finish it early so that I didn't have to panic the night before it was due. As I was reading, flagging important passages with sticky notes, I began to slowly strip, starting with my scarf before moving onto my socks and sweater as my room heated up rapidly. Before long, I was in my tank top and underwear, wondering what the hell was up with the thermostat.
I padded down the hall, book in hand, and peered at the temperature, which was set to just over sixty-five. I frowned, wondering on what planet sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit equaled the infernal heat that was being pumped into the house through the air ducts.
I shut it off, going back into my room and cracking my window slightly to get some fresh air into the room. By the time Charlie got home, I was back in my sweater with a pair of embarrassingly fuzzy socks on my feet to combat the increasingly chilly room.
"Bella?" he called, his voice floating up the stairs to me.
"Up here," I answered, putting down the now colorfully annotated book and standing up from my desk chair. My stiff joints popped as I stretched, making me wince.
"Why is it so cold in here?" I could hear him in the kitchen as I hopped down the stairs, holding the railing tightly so that I didn't slip in my socks.
"There's something wrong with the heater," I told him as I stumbled toward the fridge to find something to make for Charlie. I was a little hungry myself, for once. "It was beyond icy when I got home. I turned on the heat, but then it got insanely hot. It says its on sixty-five, but there is no way that's accurate." My head was inside the fridge, peering behind a jar of something to see if there was pasta sauce.
"That's weird," Charlie muttered from somewhere behind me. "It was working just fine yesterday."
"Tell me about it," I responded, distracted. I pulled out a container of tomato basil, shutting the fridge and placing it on the counter. "Spaghetti sound good?"
Charlie mumbled his assent, and I set to boiling water for the pasta. We ate quickly, Charlie not being one for small talk. He said he'd call tomorrow about getting the heater fixed, and once we were done eating he helped me wash the dishes before he retreated to the living room with a beer in hand.
The rest of the night passed quickly as I caught up on more homework, awkwardly curled up in my desk chair. We turned the heat on again about an hour before we both called it a night, having run out of blankets to pile on top of ourselves. Once again, it began to feel like the Sahara Desert had moved into my room, so I stripped down to my tank and underwear, not concerned about Charlie seeing me. He never came into my room without knocking anyway.
My emotional turmoil during the day had left me exhausted, so about ten minutes after Charlie shut his bedroom door, I snuck into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. I splashed cool water onto my face, reveling in the sensation on my overheated skin. I changed into a thin, cotton brassier and a fresh set of underwear, not willing to commit myself to the torture of putting on clothes in this heat just yet.
I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind me turning off the heater, because it was just getting ridiculous at this point. Hell, I would probably get sick from the rapid temperature changes.
I cracked my window again, sighing as the cool air flowed over my bare thighs. It would get chilly quickly, but for now I felt like I was dying of heat stroke, so I would deal with the frostbite later.
Standing next to the window, my lamp reflecting off the glass and making it impossible to see outside, the feeling of being watched came over me again, sufficiently creeping me out. I didn't think anyone had a clear view of my room because of the tree outside my window, but standing half-naked in front of the glass wasn't too smart, either.
I switched off the light quickly, trying to shake the feeling of being watched as I climbed onto my bed, folding the blankets down so that only the top sheet covered me and sticking my legs out for good measure. It wasn't long before I was drifting off, the softness of my mattress feeling wonderful against my cramped back after the hours I had spent in my hard desk chair.
Soft hands, touching.
Plush lips pushed against mine carefully, slowly, my first real kiss.
It felt… odd, unexpected. I didn't know if I liked it or not.
Our narrow, adolescent bodies matched, barely into puberty. Hot breaths panted against my exposed skin, feeling more uncomfortable than anything else. I closed my eyes, trying to find some way for the experience to be enjoyable, like I had been promised.
It definitely wasn't what I had expected when we came home to do our homework. I hadn't wanted to go to my house, but it was closer and James wasn't home, while my friend's alcoholic parents were. It made sense, and I knew that we'd be done with our work by the time James and Renee came home from work, but the anxiety still ate at me.
"Relax," she whispered, inching closer, our crossed legs touching at the knees. "No one is here, except us." It was like she could read my mind. Her hands held mine in my lap and she leaned forward to kiss me again.
Her touch was tolerable because it was so different, gentle and warm and soft, so unlike James'. Our notebooks sat forgotten on the bed next to us and I broke away to stare down at my jean-clad legs. "I've just – I haven't really done this before," I stuttered, feeling my cheeks flame.
She squeezed my fingers tenderly. "That's okay. We're just trying something new, right?"
Her brown eyes were excited, eager. I nodded slowly. One of her hands untangled itself from my own, touching my long hair and sweeping it behind my ear. She leaned in to kiss me again and I let her, her small hand lingering on my cheek as she did so.
Her tongue probed my own, it's taste foreign but sweet. It wasn't rushed or needy, and I appreciated that she took her time with me, not forcing me into something that I wasn't ready for. She knew that I didn't like it when people touched me, that despite being thirteen years old, I had never even been kissed. She'd had a lot of boyfriends – all the boys had been chasing her since she was nine and had her first kiss under the slide on the playground – and it intimidated me.
She pushed me onto my back, my head resting on my pillow as she gazed down at me. "Is this okay?"
I nodded, not really sure what to do with myself. "Um, yeah."
Her hand slid under my shirt, flat on my stomach. Her body laid partially on top of mine, her leg between mine as she held herself up on an elbow. I grabbed her wrist as it started to slide up to my ribs. "Ness, stop," I whispered, my stomach clenching.
"Not okay?" I shook my head, biting my lip. "Would it make you more comfortable if I went first?" She sat up, her leg moving from between mine to straddle me on the bed. Her red hair spilled in messy waves down her back, brushing the edges of her breasts as she pulled her sweater off.
She was the only person I had ever met with red hair, brown and blond tones the predominate colors in Phoenix. It was bright, fiery, bold, just like she was. Her white tank showed much of her pale, freckled skin, which was covered in mottled bruises.
Like me, she was trying to desperately escape what happened at home, too. The angry, red lines on her arms drew my eyes as she reached up to pull back her hair, letting it fall over one shoulder. She took my hand in hers and brought it to her chest.
I squeaked in surprise, but she smiled down at me, holding it there. "See? We're the same. Nothing to be worried about." I couldn't help thinking to myself that we weren't the same. She was beautiful, while I was ugly by comparison.
My own barely-there breasts were nothing compared to hers, as she was a full year older than me, and she had already had her first period over two years ago, while I was still waiting for mine. When you're a young girl, the worse thing that could happen to you was not getting your period when all of your other friends already had it, even if I really only had one friend.
She bent down again, kissing my lips lightly as her hands slipped back under my shirt, my own hand pressed between us against her boob. Her lips moved to my neck, one hand moving to lift my hair away.
I had known Nessie for years, ever since we met when I was in second grade. I was new to the school and painfully shy, and she sat next to me at lunch. It was like we just knew that the other understood what was going on in our homes, our broken souls attracting each other. It had never occurred to me that we could do this thing together; we had always been strictly friends. Maybe we still were. We were just trying something new, after all.
She sat up again to pull her top off, her small white bra and jeans the only things left. I shifted nervously under her, once again wondering where this was going. Pulling me up to her, she kissed me once before she shimmied my shirt up, and this time I let her.
I felt less self-conscious about my battered skin when I looked at hers. The angry lines on my arms matched her own, and it was nice to know that there was someone who also understood that the only way to feel normal, to feel in control, was to bring the blade to my flesh.
I had only just finished healing from when James had cut into my flesh after finding out what I was doing to myself, so the thin, pink lines peppering my body were still very much visible. Nessie knew what had happened – how could she not? I told her almost everything – and she rubbed my upper arms, pushing me down again and kissing my skin lightly.
"Do you like that?"
I mumbled my response, not exactly disliking it. She kissed me for a long time, her long hair tickling my exposed skin as her hands traveled along my sides, up and down, occasionally brushing over the cotton of my black bra.
One of her hands reached between us, trailing over my overheated stomach and down to the button of my pants. I felt panic spike in me until it moved away, following the waist of my jeans and tugging playfully on one of the belt loops as she smiled against my lips.
"Is this okay?" Her constant questioning was the only thing keeping me from bolting, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. I was growing increasingly uncomfortable, not wanting to tell her to stop, but not sure if I could handle her touching me more intimately than this. I was scared because of my inexperience, worried that James would come home early and find us, anxious because I wanted to have some sort of connection with another person, but I had no idea what I was doing.
Nessie's brown eyes bore into mine, watching me carefully. I sighed, trying to regain control of my raging emotions. Her thumb rubbed against my hip soothingly.
I nodded and she kissed me again, keeping her hand on my hip, occasionally toying with the hem of my jeans, slipping the tip of a finger under it and running it along my skin, or pulling on my belt loop. Then, ever so slowly, her hand trailed down, over my jeans, and slipped between my legs.
I jumped, fear pulsing through me, and slid out from under her, my back hitting the headboard painfully. "What are you doing?" I peeped, my voice high. Her hand had fallen away from my body and I clenched my thighs together tightly.
"What do you think I was doing, silly?" she questioned, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I was going to touch you… if that's alright? I promise, it feels good, even over clothes," she rambled, crawling forward slightly so that she could sit back on my thighs.
I shook my head. "No," I choked out, the familiar prickling of tears starting to rise in my eyes. I blinked, willing them to go away. "I can't," I whispered.
I felt her hands on my face. "What's wrong, Bella?"
I shook my head, refusing to answer. I had never told her, or anyone, about what James did to me down there. I couldn't even admit the word to myself, so how could she expect me to say it aloud? I shuddered, feeling her pull me to her chest in a hug, my cheek pressed against her squishy breasts.
"I'm sorry, I won't do it again, I promise," she told me, her red hair dampening as my tears leaked onto her soft waves. She kissed my hair, rubbing my back. I nodded against her.
"Hey," she whispered when I pulled away. "You okay?"
I gazed up into her warm brown eyes, nodding because I didn't trust my voice. "I think so," I croaked, finally.
She smiled, bending her head down to kiss me softly once again. "We don't have to talk about it," she murmured against my lips, pressing her mouth to mine once again. I was grateful for her willingness to just let it go.
I heard my bedroom door open, and my eyes flickered to it at the same instant that she broke away from me. I was sure the horror I was feeling was portrayed clearly on my face.
"What is going on here?" James' stern voice caused my heart to work double time as I pushed Nessie away from me. My eyes pleaded with her to leave, and I think that some of the fear that I felt flooding me seeped into her.
She climbed off my bed quickly, keeping her head down as she hastily put her shirt and sweater back on, scooping her books off the bed and casting me a wary glance as I urged her out of my bedroom with my eyes. I hurriedly pulled my discarded shirt back on as I heard the front door downstairs shut.
I didn't blame her for leaving me alone, she had her own hell to deal with, I didn't need to drag her into mine.
James still stood by the door as I cowered on the other side of my bed, hoping that the barrier would be enough to keep him away from me. "I'm-I'm sorry," I stuttered lowly, clasping my hands together. I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for, but I knew that's what he wanted to hear.
"Would you care to explain to me what you were just doing?" his voice was dangerous, and I didn't dare look him in the eye, instead focusing on the fraying threads of my comforter.
"We were just doing homework –" I began, but he cut me off.
"That didn't look like homework." His voice was a growl.
"I swear, we were, but then we got distracted –"
In an instant, James had crossed the room, grabbing me by my hair and yanking me towards him. I cried out, my face turned upward so that I had to look at him. "Who else have you done that with?" he questioned angrily. "Boys?"
"No, I swear," I sobbed, grabbing his wrist with my hand as he shook me by my hair. "No one, it was the first time and we didn't even do anything –"
"That didn't look like you weren't doing anything." James pushed me away from him and I landed hard on the floor, unable to keep my balance. "How long has it been going on, huh? How long have you been going behind my back to see her, you little bitch?"
"I wasn't – I haven't," I choked, scurrying away from him as he took a threatening step toward me. "We're just friends! Today was the first time, it won't happen again, I promise!"
He wrenched me up from the floor, backhanding me. My face burned from the contact, my eyes watering. "Damn right, it won't happen again," he snarled, face inches away from mine. My eyes were wide, my pulse pounding in my ears.
He tossed me onto the bed and I landed on my back as I twisted around, trying to scramble over it to escape his fury. He grabbed my ankles, yanking me back and pinning me with his knees as he straddled my struggling body. He pushed my face into the soft blankets, his large fingers partially blocking my vision.
The sound of his belt buckle clinking made me sob harder, one of my hands flailing behind me as I tried to push him off me, my other trapped under my body. I screamed as he yanked down my pants, moving to pin me with his chest and pushing roughly against me.
"I'll show you it's like to be with a real man."
I startled awake, panting frantically as my chest constricted. My heart was beating loudly, practically ready to jump right out of my chest, as I sat up halfway, the sheets sliding down to pool on my bare stomach. I shivered against the cold air, my eyes flicking around in the dark, reassuring me that I was no longer in Arizona and that he could never hurt me again.
I saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye and I blinked hard, my head whipping around as my eyes continued to adjust.
A shadowy figure stood in the corner by the cracked window, accounting for the chilly air. I inhaled sharply, gasping as my eyes met the bright, nearly glowing, orbs.
"Edward."
Oh, looks like someone's been caught. Gotta wonder what was up with the whole bathroom mishap, too ;) Please leave me some of your thoughts!
Further, I just feel the need to say again that it's been awhile since I've written a flashback, and this particularly resonates with me. It was particularly painful to write, because I know that there are many LGBT+ women (and men) out there who experience this type of scenario everyday, and it just isn't right.
So, don't mind me as I curl up with some tea and a pint of Ben & Jerry's.
On a slightly cheerier side note, Lucy's Ethiopian Café, is a real place! Although, it's in Boston, not Forks. If you're ever in Beantown, try to stop by! They really are well-known for their Peanut Tea :)
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