Thanks to writeontime, ciaobella27, and contreplongee. I love you guys.
I don't own Twilight.
"Don't…"
He doesn't listen, probably because he thinks I'm trying to be difficult or annoying, but that's not it at all. I'm texting someone, and it's more important than his hand on my leg. His hand is a distraction as it moves closer to where I want it the most, and when "no" isn't enough, I'm forced to push it away. He sighs and gives up, closing his eyes and yawning.
"Are you texting your friend again?" Jasper asks.
"Yes."
"You'd rather text your friend than spend time with me?"
"I am spending time with you. My mother is downstairs. I don't want to start something that we'll eventually have to stop." It's a half-truth. Not a complete lie. Now shut up.
"Well, then there's really no point in sitting in this dark room. Let's go downstairs and watch a movie."
"Dinner's almost ready, anyway," I tell him.
He stands up and offers his hand to help me off my bed. He's leaving in the morning, and I'm going to miss him. I keep his hand in mine as we walk out of my room, and I lean in and whisper, "We'll do that later. A lot. Maybe in the old truck." He laughs and kisses me. My heart aches a little. Just one more day, and I'd probably be in love with him again. If I'd stayed in New York, I'd be a mess, trying to keep him, losing my mind over where his mind is at all times.
This is good. He leaves; I stay. I absolutely cannot fall for him again. And it's not like I'd actually be falling in love. I'd just want him so badly, and I'd remember everything good between us, and I wouldn't be able to walk away. I did that one time, and things in my life got out of control. I can't go through all of that again. He's my best friend, the best lover, but time and experience have proven repeatedly that he's not worth it… we're not worth it.
He knows what I'm thinking, because I tell him. Last night, on the couch, he said so many pretty words that I almost melted into him and agreed to go back. This morning, in the kitchen, Dad asked me if I was jogging at the school, and it was so easy to remember the other person I think about sometimes, that I wondered if I could leave with Jasper and give up the chance to run with him this weekend. I want to run with a stranger more than I want to run away with my friend.
Dinner is followed by dessert, which never happens in this house, but I guess Jasper is special now, and Mom wants to keep him happy and well-fed. She starts washing the dishes as I watch Jasper have a second slice of pie and a third scoop of vanilla ice cream. He never eats this much, but he's on vacation and he loves pie, and he swears he'll start working out again the minute he's back in New York.
"You work out with your friend Saturday morning, and I'll go to the gym with Russ. Deal?" he asks.
"Deal."
"Who are you working out with, Bella?" Mom wants to know. I'm tempted to lie and say I'm actually just running by myself, but she'll probably think that I'm hanging out with Jacob again.
"Edward."
"Edward Cullen?"
"Yes."
"I didn't know you two were… back in touch," she says, as she continues to wash the dishes. I wish I could see her face. Jasper grins, and so I'm glad she can't see his.
"We ran into each other a few times."
"Oh. You didn't mention that."
I steal Jasper's spoon. The ice cream is even more delicious when I use it to ignore my mother.
"Have you been spending a lot of time with Edward?" she asks.
"Not at all. We exchanged numbers when we ran into each other, and he suggested that we get together this weekend."
"That's very nice of him."
"I think he just likes your daughter, Mrs. Swan," Jasper interjects.
"Well, obviously." I laugh, Jasper laughs, but Mom is silent. Nice, Mom. Clearly you don't think that he does.
"I'm glad you're meeting new people and making some friends. Edward is a sweet—"
"Don't worry, I'm not going to corrupt sweet Edward."
"Too late for that," Jasper whispers. I kick him under the table and steal more ice cream.
Mom puts away the last dish and wipes her hands on the red apron I bought her for her birthday a few years ago. I knew she'd love it, and even if she doesn't, it's the only one she wears. Avoiding eye contact, she takes it off and hangs it on the back of the door. Then she's gone.
"You had to mention my 'friend', didn't you?"
"What? I didn't know it was a secret."
"I hadn't really thought about it," I admit. "Obviously she doesn't want me hanging out with him. He's perfect, good, the best. I'm undeserving of his pity… forget about his friendship, or—"
"There you go again, making things up in your head. She was just surprised."
"She probably doesn't want me to ruin his reputation. They talk about him like he's some kind of god. Um, he's just a kid with really great manners, and—"
"Are you going to sleep with him again?" Jasper interrupts.
I raise an eyebrow and he shrugs.
"If you're interested in him, I think you should go for it."
"Yes." I smile. "You would tell me to go for it the day after you told me you're in love with me."
"I'll always be in love with you. You drive me crazy. But if you want to be with someone else…"
"You can't be in love with someone and be okay with them being with someone else."
"You're telling me I don't love you?" he asks me, like he has a thousand times before, starting an argument we've had on at least half a dozen different occasions.
"You love me. I love you. You were going to kill yourself over another girl nine months ago. I can't stop thinking about this guy. Let's just forget about us right now."
"Forgotten."
He pushes away his plate and walks out the door, his hands in his pockets, looking for his cigarettes and lighter. I shouldn't have brought her up; he hates that. Whether or not I choose to believe that he truly loathes her because of the things she did, there is one thing I know—he sacrificed his relationship with Alice for… me? Our friendship? I don't know, but she begged him to stay, and there's no doubt that they broke up because she betrayed me. He wouldn't have cared if she had done that to someone else. I want to feel bad, and lately I do, when he looks sad, or when he talks sad. It's been so long since I found out about Alice's betrayal that I don't hate her in the same way that I did early on. I never want to see her face again, and I'll never speak another word to Jasper if he goes back to her, but if I hadn't gone back to him, seeking a friendship, desperate for a confidante, they could have lasted.
It's completely possible for me to sit here and regret the choices I've made, but that's just more time wasted. My choice to call my ex-boyfriend when I need him isn't something I'll ever regret. I'm not a monster, but I certainly won't feel bad for how his relationship with Alice turned out. He doesn't blame me—if he did, why would he want to be around me, and why would he still want to help me?—so I'm not going to blame myself.
Jasper walks back into the kitchen and stands in front of me.
"This guy, whatever his deal is, sounds too good to be true. I'm not saying he doesn't like you, or that he doesn't want to be your friend, but be careful. I want to say that he sounds like a decent person, and that he won't screw you over, but we know better than to trust strangers again. You trust too easily. We're the same person, so I know how it feels. You want to give all of yourself to everyone you meet. Be careful."
"I really don't think he's going to screw me over. He's just being nice," I tell him. His words weren't cruel, but my chin trembles slightly, and I have to look away.
"Bella, don't cry. I'm not saying there's no possibility that his intentions are good."
"I don't care about that right now… I'm just… I miss you, and when you leave—"
Jasper places his hands on my shoulders, gently shaking me, and I stop talking.
"You ignore me when he texts. You've never ignored me, not even when you had to leave to meet the President. This kid has more of your attention than the Prez and I ever had, combined."
"So? It's nothing," I insist. "I don't even know him. He just feels sorry for me."
"No one feels sorry for you. Believe me, that's not why he wants to hang out with you."
"So he just wants to have sex."
"Has he been hitting on you?"
"Not at all… I don't—"
"Don't open up to him. Don't trust him. If he wants sex, and you want it too, do it—just make sure he hasn't set up any cameras. Have fun, Bella. You need to loosen up and have fun."
I laugh and brush away the half-tear that has made its way down my cheek.
"You're pushing me into the arms of another man," I sigh. "Again."
"I never—"
"I'm kidding! I know you didn't push last time…"
"I didn't exactly pull you away, either."
"Nothing would have stopped me," I tell him.
"I know. Alice knew, too."
"Promise me that you're not still in love with her." The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them. I've asked him about Alice before, and I'll probably ask again. It doesn't matter, but I want these assurances. To know that my fuck-up doesn't continue to hurt my friend.
"I'm not in love with her."
"Do you miss her?"
"I don't."
"If none of this had ever happened, would you be with her right now?"
"Probably," he admits, "but people like that… they show who they really are sooner or later."
"Sometimes I think maybe she wasn't lying. Maybe she really felt that this was something the country needed to know. Maybe it wasn't about me. She wanted to bring him down, and—"
"And she succeeded. And then she was on every talk show, and on the cover of how many books? Three? She almost had that job at NBC if Dad hadn't put a stop to it. The only reason she's stayed out of the limelight is because the last time she called, back in March, I told her that I wanted nothing to do with a fame whore like her. She promised to stop, and she has. Sooner or later she's going to realize that I don't care what she does, we're done… and then we'll probably see more of her, but until then…"
"I don't even care anymore. I feel so far removed from all of that. Maybe that's why I've been ignoring Peter's calls," I tell him. "He actually left a few messages this morning. Something about an interview, since the one year 'anniversary' is coming up. That's the last thing I need."
"So you'd write a book, but you wouldn't sit down for an interview?"
"I would write an honest book. Interviews are different. I would never sit down and be subjected to an interview conducted by any members of the media in this country. They're ignorant, judgmental, the questions they'd ask—"
"What about someone who's none of those things?" Jasper suggests. "You've always loved Bill and Rachel, Jon…"
"That's different… and even them… they'd probably realize how big something like this could be for them, and compile a list of questions Barbara Walters would ask."
"Or not. You never know how these things are going to go, and if you decide to speak to the media, you need people around to handle you, maybe even train you. I know Mom has some friends she could suggest. Just promise me that you'd never trust Peter or anyone else, and you'd come to me."
"Obviously."
"Call Peter back. I'm not saying that you should be giving any interviews, but you should always know what's going on around you. If people are interested in talking to you, find out who they are. Maybe it's someone you want to be talking to."
"Good point."
"Let's go watch a movie," he says. He holds out his hand, like he did earlier, and we walk to the living room together. We cuddle on the couch, and he kisses me a few times before my parents join us, but we never do the things I promised we'd do when we were in my room. He leaves in the morning, and it's not awkward, or strange, being together but not being together in any other way than just friends. He reminds me to call Peter, and then he reminds me about our plans, and when I nod he whispers and tells me that if I want, I can bring anyone I want. And for what seems like a very short second, I allow myself to picture someone with messy hair and a little boy smile walking on the beach beside me.
XxXxX
He calls me just as I'm about to turn off my phone and close my eyes. I'd rather not answer, because there's no reason to call someone just hours before you're supposed to meet them. He wants to cancel, so he should just leave a message. But Edward doesn't leave a message. He calls again.
"Bella?"
"Hey, it's pretty late. What's up?"
"I know. I'm sorry. Can you talk right now?" he asks.
"Sure."
"This is pretty embarrassing, but when I went camping last week, I managed to sprain my ankle and… pull a groin muscle—"
"Oh, and you just realized this tonight?"
"No," he says quickly, "but I thought a week would be plenty of time to recover. I guess I'm in worse shape than I thought."
He's a good liar. I could almost swear that he's not lying, but a last-minute injury? Come on, Edward, give me some credit. I'd love to say this to him and hang up, and then throw my phone against the wall, but I act like an adult instead. That's never fun.
"That's fine. I hope you feel better."
"Thanks, so, I thought maybe we could do something else, since I was looking forward to…"
I sit up and start paying attention. "Yeah, me too."
"Okay. Good."
I can hear him breathing on the other end, and I can hear myself breathing here. I need to say something, but if I stay silent for long enough…
"You should come over."
"What?"
"For breakfast," he says. "My family is away on vacation—"
"And you want me to come over because you don't want to go out."
"There aren't too many options in Forks."
"No, I know that," I tell him. "You'd run into at least a dozen people you know."
"Exactly, and I make a better breakfast than any of the diners and restaurants in town."
"Yes, and we'd eat it in the privacy of your own home. You know, with your family gone and everything."
"Bella—"
"Don't suggest things and make up reasons for not hanging out in public because you think I won't notice, or because it's more polite not to discuss my situation. I have no desire to be seen at the diner with you on a busy Saturday morning, and I'd love to come over for breakfast, but not if you're going to be like that."
"I didn't mean it that way," Edward says.
"You don't seem stupid, or naïve—"
"And I'm not. I apologize for failing to see how my invitation would come across. Last I checked, I told you to spend every morning of the summer on school property, with me. That's where I work, it's a place where I'm respected…"
"Listen, I'm sorry, but we barely know each other, and you're telling me to come over when your family is out of town—"
"So you don't want to come over."
"I do!"
"Then just come over," he tells me.
I shouldn't do it. People don't go over to someone's house for breakfast when the last time they were there they had random sex with them, and subsequently dealt with a sex scandal involving the President of the United States. But… I want to go. And I have at least a dozen reasons why I shouldn't go, but I don't want to burden him with any of that.
"W-what will you make for me?" Did I just have trouble saying 'what'?
"An omelet."
"Oh."
"With cheese and lots of vegetables."
"Okay…"
"You sound disappointed."
"Kind of," I confess. "Omelets are great, but I love carbs. So maybe I'd like some pancakes?"
"I assumed you were being health conscious, working out every—"
"Um, I can have pancakes. And I only run because I like where I run."
"I like where you run, too."
"Well, that's good to know, since you spend all of your time there."
"I used to not like it so much," he says.
"No?"
"It was boring."
"And it's not anymore?"
"It's still pretty boring, especially over the summer, but I have a few things I use to distract myself with."
"Such as?"
"Well, there were two days last week when I ran into someone I knew. That was pretty exciting," he tells me.
"Oh, was that person awesome?"
"I'm not sure, actually. I need more time to decide."
"Rude. Forget about breakfast."
"Come on, I need to determine your level of awesomeness."
"You've had plenty of chances," I tell him. I try to suppress the giggles that really want to escape from me.
"Fine, then I need a few more for you to find out that I'm awesome."
"That's true. Okay. Breakfast. Pancakes. Or omelets, actually. I like tea."
"No coffee?"
"Hmmm, coffee or tea… surprise me. Do you make good Bellinis?" I ask him.
"I've never made a Bellini in my life."
"Mimosas?"
"I've got beer."
"At ten in the morning?"
Edward laughs. "Is that when I should be expecting you?"
"I don't know. What time are you picking me up?"
"Ten."
"Okay."
"I'll be at your door at ten."
"You'll be in your car at ten," I correct him. "I'll run out and jump in."
"Hiding me from your parents?"
"I have a reputation to uphold. Also, they can't start approving of the company I keep just yet. I need to keep them miserable for just a little longer."
He laughs, and I take a second to catch my breath. There's so much to think about. I want to dissect each sentence, every word, every single reply, and question, and how his voice went lower, or maybe even higher a few times, and his different laughs, and… and… I'll have time to do all of that once I hang up. Except I doubt my ability to think about these things and keep my thoughts happy and pleasant. I know that once I hang up, Jasper's warning will fill my head, and all the words I said and heard tonight will be lost forever. So I talk, and he's eager to continue the conversation, which is good. Maybe by the time we hang up, I'll be too tired to think, and I'll close my eyes, and I'll open them in the morning, and there won't be any time for anything but getting ready for pancakes with Edward.
Are reviews better than pancakes with Edward? I don't know, so review and help me figure this out.
You guys are great, and I love hearing from you, always.
xo