A/N: Chapter 10 as promised.
Thanks to Kimmie45 for getting this back to me lickety-split. She's gorge.
I figured explanations for bogan-speak would probably be better before the chapter. So, please read the following first:
*Opal card – a public transport card you scan to use. Pay-as-you-go has been done away with.
*Do the Harry – one of our Prime Minister's, Harold (Harry) Holt, went swimming back in the 60s and disappeared. It spawned the term "Do the Harry" aka to disappear.
Happy reading.
Vertigo
Chapter 10
Bella.
He arrives twenty minutes early. I'm half way through doing my hair when Oppa starts kicking off announcing his arrival.
After shooing my mental case dog away, I open the door and pause for a moment hoping my expression isn't as vacant as I suspect it is.
Christ! Could this guy get any better looking? It seems like some kind of injustice when you take into account the amount of daggy-looking blokes in the world.
I always thought Year 12 Edward had a really nice hair colour, like dark Manuka honey, and his eyes that were sometimes blue and sometimes green depending on the cloud cover. I knew he was handsome, but there were several handsome boys at the time. They kind of all blended together.
But not even I can deny his level of sex appeal now. I'm sure it has to be some kind of cruel joke.
"Hey," I say, masking my intimidation with a smile and rising on my toes to meet his greeting.
"Hey, Bella," he replies in his whiskey-smooth voice, before his lips connect gently to my cheek.
He smells just as bloody alluring.
One thing you can't fault about rich guys is that they love their cologne, and Edward appears to be no exception. If I had to guess, he's wearing Aramis.
"You smell nice and woody," I note lightly, grabbing the sleeve of his collared shirt to pull him inside the house.
He looks suddenly aghast. "I-I'm sorry?"
I stare back at him for a few seconds wondering what's got him in such a tizz when I realise.
"Your cologne, darling," I tease him, and he cracks a smile and relaxes somewhat.
"Oh, yeah..." he mumbles, and I'm beginning to suspect this guy is multi-faceted. Intense eyes and awkwardness only scratching the surface.
Oppa starts barking, his head poking around from the kitchen, because while he's obviously scared of Edward, I know he secretly wants to impress him with his guard dog abilities. Like most small dogs he thinks he's a Pitbull.
"Oppa! Stop it!" I stomp my foot, and he skulks off out of view. "Don't mind him. He's a total wuss."
"Oppa..." Edward echoes, his head tilting as he obviously wonders about my dog's name.
"It's Korean for 'big brother'," I clarify. "Christ, I know," I respond to his raised brow. "It wasn't well thought out. I'm always explaining it. Think it's too late to change it?"
He breaks into a grin, pushing it through his nose as if he was going to laugh but stopped himself at the last minute. "Why'd you give him a Korean name?" he enquires.
"I did Korean in high school, remember?"
"Erm...no..." He looks like he's reluctant to admit it.
"Of course you don't." I wave my hand, feeling like an idiot for expecting him to before pulling him further into the house. He's going tense again. "Give me a few more minutes, okay?"
"No worries," he replies, his voice lowering before he shoves both fists into the front pockets of his pants.
My hands are shaking, which is bloody ridiculous. I never had this reaction to him when I was a kid. I guess ten years without my father has left me vulnerable to the opposite sex. It was easier to remain detached when I could so easily draw comparisons of them with my old man. One trait with my father was enough to turn me off, and Edward had several.
At least, I though he did.
When I reemerge again from the bathroom, my hair-do only moderately satisfactory, Edward's standing in the same spot I left him—in the hall—quite obviously sussing out the place.
"Do you like my house?" I ask him, taking him off guard as he practically jumps in his skin.
"Yeah, it's great," he mumbles as heat floods up his neck.
"It's pretty small, but enough for me and Oppa."
"I like it." He feels the need to assure me before adding, "My house is too big."
Well, that doesn't surprise me.
"Surely not, darling," I tease him again, stepping into the kitchen to grab my keys and inhaler before turning back to him; he didn't follow me. "Ready to go?"
"Sure."
I follow him out the front door, locking it behind me. His midnight blue Audi is sitting in the carport next to my now Vinnie-looking Nissan. He pulls his car keys from his pocket when I reach out, grab his hand, and pull him to a stop.
He tenses for the second time before looking back at me.
"Let me just state the ground rules first, okay?"
"...Ground rules...?" he repeats blankly, and he looks suddenly dubious.
"Yes, ground rules. The first, no sympathy, and what I mean by that is, please don't feel the need to tip-toe around me. It's completely fine to mention parents and brothers. Believe me, I won't fall apart, and nothing bums out an evening more than one-hundred-and-forty-five awkward breaks in conversation."
He smiles again, it's charming this time and maybe a little seeped in pity, but I let it go. "Okay. What's the second?"
"Second, what?"
"The second rule." He looks uncomfortable again.
"Oh." I suddenly realise. "No, that's all."
Cue uncomfortable smile. Christ...
He opens the door for me, then slides into the driver's side looking like he's 007. He turns giving me an odd look, but deciding I don't want to analyse it, I only smile at him. He blushes, which is really bloody ridiculously adorable, before starting the engine and reversing out.
By the direction he's driving, he's not headed over the bridge, but for Neutral Bay wharf.
"You don't mind catching the ferry, do you?" he asks.
"Of course I don't." I know how shit it is to find parking in the city. "Whereabouts is your house?" I ask.
"Erm...Kurraba Road." Without removing his hand from the steering wheel, he points in some random direction looking suddenly embarrassed.
"Does it have harbour views, darling?"
It brings the smile back to his face letting me know how to put him at ease when he turns broody, which I suspect is going to be often.
"Partial." Is his reply.
"Well, it's better than mine. On a good day, you can just see the bridge through the trees. I'm coming to your house for New Year's."
His smile broadens, and he turns his head to set his intense gaze on mine. "Sure."
He parks his car along the street that leads to the wharf, we exit and head down.
Neutral Bay is ridiculously quaint; its architecture steeped in history. Most of the houses are federation-style, with gables and bay windows, and divided from the roads by containment walls and bridges built by convicts.
Edward would fit in well.
We pass a strip of shops; a café, general store, and post office, before heading onto the wharf. Edward is quiet, his hands shoved in his pockets again, and looking like he's already regretting his decision to ask me out.
I'd like to say he's just a reflective person, but I can't honestly say anymore. Unless of course he's just matured, but that can't be right. Guys from his social standing tend to become more obnoxious with age.
I begin to contemplate what manner of trauma has led to this shift in personality in him. He was a lot more relaxed in high school, after all.
Mother issues is usually the best bet. Being raised by nannies tends to turn well-functioning human beings into total neurotics at some point. Though, he's not completely neurotic. Maybe just a tad.
When we reach the barrier gates, I pull my Opal card from my purse and pass through. Edward is right behind me.
There's several people waiting for the ferry. Most of them teenagers, and there's a group of girls who quiet evidently know Edward.
They start to giggle before one, braver than the rest, calls Edward to her attention. "Hi, Mr. Cullen."
She turns beet red, her lashes practically fluttering, while I'm forced to pull out all stops to keep the snort beneath my breath.
"Hi," Edward murmurs, looking suddenly sheepish and uncomfortable.
"Uh-oh, you're in serious trouble, Mr. Cullen," I lean closer to him and murmur in his ear.
Despite the slight smile that edges at his lips, he flushes and promptly tenses. Clearing his throat softly, he sits himself down at the bench. I sit next to him wondering whether he has Mysophobia.
Five minutes later, the ferry arrives taking us across the harbour to Circular Quay.
"Feel like Italian?" Edward asks after we pass the peak-hour crowds onto George Street. And now that the teenage girls are out of sight, he's considerably more at ease.
"Sure," I say simply.
He's made reservations at Fratelli Fresh on Bridge Street. It's a basement restaurant with an open kitchen.
Edward orders beef Ravioli, and I order Alfredo fettuccine.
I take the opportunity to attempt to crack him, knowing he can't run out on me mid-dinner.
"So, what's the story, darling?" I only half tease him.
"I'm sorry?" he enquires, a fork full of ravioli paused mid-air.
"Why are you so uptight?"
"Oh," he blushes as if he knows exactly what I'm getting at. "Shit...sorry..."
"God...why?"
"I'm..." He glances away from me as if looking for the fire escape. "I'm just...not good with this type of thing..."
"This type of thing?" I repeat, twirling the pasta around my fork. "You mean eating dinner with girls you knew in high school."
"Eating dinner with girls in general," he clarifies, and there's a sharp element of frustration in his tone. He drops his fork to his plate and expels a heavy breath. "Shit...I'm sorry."
"Has anyone ever told you you apologise way too much?"
He gazes at me for a few seconds before he breaks into another one of those reluctant smiles of his, like he's in a state of permanent frustration. "I know..."
"Seriously, you don't have to be sorry around me." I attempt to put him at ease.
His smile turns inward this time, and he's ridiculously adorable when he's turning into a basket case of insecurity. I mean, he's so good at it I should be cynical, but I'm not.
"Do you have Mysophobia?" I decide to just come out and ask.
He gazes at me in confusion for a moment. "I...I don't know what that is."
"Germ-phobe."
He releases his breath, and I wonder what he thought I meant. Maybe it's best not to ask.
"No."
"You don't like to be touched?" I probe further, and I'm clearly making him uncomfortable. This is probably not the best course for conversation on the first date. "Christ...never mind."
"I'm...not exactly comfortable with it," he finally admits. His eyes are steeled to his meal, and I feel like a right bitch.
"Bloody hell...I'm sorry, Edward."
He glances up and sort of shrugs, and his smile this time is really bloody pulling on my heart strings. "Don't worry about it."
Almost on impulse, I reach out, completely forgetting myself, and grab his hand. The poor man jerks in his seat, and I withdraw hastily.
"Christ, what's wrong with me!"
He laughs shortly and really uncomfortably. "That time you just surprised me."
"It's just...Edward, I'm a...grabber"—that did not come out like I hoped—"I don't even realise I'm doing it half the time."
"It's fine..." He's not looking at me, and I want to reach out and cup my hand to his face, but I obviously can't. "Maybe it can be another ground rule."
"Don't touch you?"
He laughs, as if he wants to relax but he's so wound up he can't. "You can touch me, just...warn me before you do."
"Have you always been like this?" I ask delicately. Bloody hell, I want to hug him, and he needs a whole lot of something else too, but that's obviously out of the question.
"Erm...no. I mean, it's always made me uncomfortable, but it only got worse as I got older. A lot worse..." he murmurs the last line practically to himself.
I open my mouth, but shut it again, because I'm lost for words, and that's not something that usually happens to me. I'm suddenly flooding with shame, that I had this poor man pegged as something he clearly isn't. Because if he can barely stand to be touched, then he wasn't lying about Jessica Stanley's rumours being bullshit.
Christ...
"I'm sorry, Edward," I speak up in a timid voice, and I can't bring myself to meet his eyes.
"Why?" He sounds generally curious.
"I believed what was being said about you."
He smirks, as if it pisses him off and amuses him at the same time. "It was ten years ago, Bella."
"Still...it was really shit of me."
He releases a weary-sounding breath. "It's okay, really..."
But it isn't, and the rest of dinner is so awkward it's genuinely uncomfortable. I feel like a right cow, and Edward looks like he wants to do the Harry. I can't blame him. I'd want to chuck the towel in too.
After dinner, we head to Hoyts Cinema with the awkward tension between us becoming suffocating.
"Hey, listen," he breaks the silence, his voice surprisingly even. "It's not as bad as it sounds, Bella. I'm not defective. I've had normal relationships before," he attempts to explain, and there's a pleading in his eyes as if he really wants me to believe him.
I nod; I have no words. I really want to touch him, and it's an impulse I have to force myself to restrain.
"Shit...this is awkward..." he mutters to himself.
I take a breath and hum softly in agreement, because it bloody is.
"Bella..." He comes to a stop a block from the cinema and turns to me. I glance up at him. "We can call it a night now, if you want?" He looks defeated, and Christ, do I ever want to hug him.
"Do you want to?"
He scoffs again; he does that a lot when he's frustrated I note. "No..."
"Then, what makes you think I do?"
He smiles, his shoulders relaxing a bit, before he offers his hand. "Want to hold my hand?"
I smile with him, secretly relieved as well, and take his hand in mine. It's clammy as all hell, but I overlook it. "You are ridiculously adorable."
"You are ridiculously blunt," he reciprocates, his tone turning rustically smooth again. I take it as a good sign he's beginning to lighten up.
Memories have a habit of hitting you at really impractical times. For example, it's right smack bang in the middle of Bohemian Rhapsody when I suddenly recall Edward telling me he had a narcissistic mother when I was sixteen. At the time, he was trying to put me at ease over my domineering father, and I'd pretty much disregarded it, until now. Because right now, it all fits together—why he's so nervous around women. Even me, and I don't even consider myself a woman half the time.
Edward is not the playboy I mistook him for. He was just a handsome boy with his own demons who'd unfortunately caught the attention of the school's slut franchise.
A handsome boy who'd professed to like me, and I still don't get that one.
A/N: Let me know how you liked Bella's head. Not as many "darlings". The more she gets to know Edward, the less she'll feel the need to drive that point home.
Happy Thanksgiving to all my Spankee Doodle lovelings across the pond *gobble gobble*
MWAH xoxo