Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter! Everyone is so worried about Carlisle finding out and how he will react. You know it's coming... just enjoy this calm before the storm ;-)
I love my Beta's: Jennrosee and blahblahblah!
Disclaimer: S. Meyer rocked my world with her stories.
EPOV
It's been two days - two grueling, frustrating, long-ass days – since that night on the balcony, and I haven't seen Bella since. The only sign that she even comes home at night are the rumpled sheets I find on her side of the bed every morning. I love that she sleeps in my room; I just wish I would wake up when she crawls into bed with me.
When I roll over early Saturday morning and once again find my bed empty, I groan aloud in frustration. I glance at the clock. There's no school today, no reason for her to be up before 7:38 on a weekend. I sit up and lean forward, rest my elbows on my knees, and hold my head in my hands. For a brief second, before my half-asleep brain finally catches up with reality, I start to wonder what I did wrong this time, and why she's avoiding me.
You conceited moron. The video shoot is today.
Reaching over, I grab my phone from the nightstand, scroll through the list of contacts, and pull up Bella's number to send her a text.
Good luck today.
My finger hovers over the send button for a second.
I miss you, I add and send the message.
Resting the phone on my bare chest, I flop back down on my pillow and sleep for another two hours.
When I wake up again, I don't even need to check my phone to know she hasn't responded. The buzzing of an incoming message would have woken me up before now. I try not to let it bother me, reminding myself that she's just busy, that this is a big deal for her, that it's just one more day, that –
That I'm not this lame-ass, co-dependent guy. Ugh! What is this girl doing to me?
I resolve to accomplish something – anything – today. I refuse to spend another day pacing around the house, which seems to be my favorite pastime when Bella isn't around. I get dressed and head to the bookstore.
After browsing the new releases for a few minutes, I select one to try out. The distraction works. I become absorbed in the grisly murder of a millionaire's son, and the twisted lives of the three top forensic investigators who join together to solve the crime. I'm halfway through chapter three when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Food. Now. ~ Jazz
I sigh. It's not the text I'm hoping for, but I try not to let the frustration register.
Feed yourself. ~ E
I stuff my phone back in my pocket, but before I can return my attention to my book, it buzzes again.
I see your car at the bookstore, ass bag. Meet us at the café across the street. ~ Jazz
Us? Oh, right, Alice. I contemplate for a second if I should go, or just blow them off.
Be there in ten. ~ E
I make my way to the register, tossing my new book and the latest issue of American Dance Magazine on the counter. The latter earns me a knowing look from Tyler, but he rings up my purchases without making a comment. Smart boy.
After stashing the bag containing my book and Bella's magazine in my car, I walk the short distance to the café. Jazz's stark blond hair is easy to spot from where he and Alice are sitting at one of the outdoor tables. I walk up behind him and shove the back of his head.
"Hey, Alice," I say with a nod in her direction. I take the seat across from her. "Long time no see."
"Hey yourself," she sings in her tiny, childlike voice. "Jazz noticed your car at the bookstore, and I thought it would be nice if we all got together for lunch."
"Thanks for the invite. I'm surprised you actually got him out of bed before noon on a Saturday."
"Screw you, man," Jazz protests with a laugh, playfully shoving my shoulder. "So where the hell have you been? I've barely seen you in weeks."
"You saw me yesterday at school, idiot."
The waitress appears at my side, and we give her our food and drink order before she quickly retreats to the kitchen.
"You know what I mean. How's the warden treating you?"
I glance at Alice. Judging by the expression on her face, it's clear she's aware of my project to make peace with Carlisle. Jazz notices my fleeting look.
"Alice knows, well, everything," he admits. "I hope that's alright. We don't keep secrets from each other."
They exchange a sickly sweet glance, and I bite my lip to keep from groaning out loud. Who am I to judge? If Bella was here now, we'd probably be making fucking goo-goo eyes at each other too. At the same time, I thank God that she's not here. How would I explain this conversation?
Oh, you two don't keep secrets from each other, but Bella and I do. Right, baby? Oh, you didn't know?
Yeah, that would go over like a lead balloon.
"Carlisle's been fine. We almost got into it the other day, but it was nothing major." I scoff internally as I recall the night he basically told me to stay away from my reason for existing.
Jazz stares at me incredulously. "Listen to you, Carlisle's been fine?"
"What?" I protest. "I've barely seen him since he started working nights at the hospital."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that." Jazz chuckles. "I wouldn't be surprised if Esme convinced him to switch to the night shift just to keep you and Carlisle apart while she's gone."
"I hadn't thought of that. You might be right." Shit, he probably is right.
"Is it really that bad?" Alice asks with a look of genuine concern. I wonder what kind of impression Jazz must have given her of Carlisle. To say there is no love lost between the two of them is the understatement of the century.
"Yeah it is," Jazz blurts out before I can respond. "Edward and Carlisle's fights are epic."
"No, they're not. And no, Alice, it's not that bad. Carlisle and I just… disagree on a lot of things, and we tend to disagree, well, loudly."
"OK, who are you and what have you done with my best friend?" Jazz's face twists in an expression of mock horror. "Seriously, did you two finally hug it out or something?"
"No, he still thinks I'm an asshole." I glace at Alice. "Sorry." She brushes off my offensive language with a wave of her hand before I continue. "He doesn't trust me, and I don't think he ever will."
"So you're giving up then, on your whole crusade?"
I lean back in my chair and run my hand through my hair. "No, not really. Like I said, I haven't seen him much since Esme left. And I guess I haven't given him any reason to seek me out."
"What about your probation?"
"What about it? I still have to report every month for the next year and a half. And I know Carlisle gets the results of my tests. Nothing's changed in that department."
I'm grateful the waitress picks that moment to deliver our food, and the conversation diverts away from me for awhile. We talk about our first few days of school and the bat-shit crazy new principal who's on the warpath to suspend students over trivial shit like their uniform shirts being un-tucked. Then Alice tells us about the latest happenings at the music store. I didn't know her uncle actually owns the place, and Alice is planning to get a degree in Business Management to take over the store when he retires. Alice shifts the conversation again, asking about Esme's book tour and wanting to know all about the other novels she's written.
"When is she coming home?" Jazz asks around a mouthful of food.
His question catches me off guard, and it takes me a second to realize the she to which he's referring isn't the one in the forethought of my mind.
"Esme will be back either Sunday or Monday night. I don't remember."
"Damn, not enough time to throw together a party," he grumbles, and Alice gives him a stern look. "Kidding," he amends, standing up and pushing his chair back from the table. "I gotta hit the head. I'll be right back."
As soon as we're alone, Alice folds her arms on the table and leans toward me. "So," she begins, staring intently at me, "I'm dying to know. Who is she?"
I almost choke on a sip of Coke when she poses her question. I clear my throat and try to feign innocence. "What? Who is who?"
"Oh, come on, Edward," she says, rolling her eyes. "Don't play dumb with me. First of all, you hardly hang out with Jasper anymore. You two were inseparable a few weeks ago. Second, your little campaign to get your dad back has obviously taken a backseat to something more important. And third, Kate told me how you tore out of the club like your pants were on fire. That was a first, you know. Guys don't just walk away from Kate. That blonde, Barbie doll act she's got going on is like kryptonite to most guys."
"I'm not most guys," I allow, picking the easiest of her three accusations.
"Oh, please, don't give me that. And besides, you haven't been able to wipe that 'cat that ate the canary' smirk off your face since I asked you who she is. And you've checked your messages about five times since you first sat down."
I glance down at the table, surprised. I didn't realize I'd been idly fidgeting with the phone in my hands.
"It's that dancer, isn't it? The one living at your house? Jasper told me about her and the night you and he downed way too many Jack and Cokes. Well, he told me what he could remember, but from what he said it sounds like you have a little thing for her," Alice says, wagging her eyebrows playfully.
I simply grin at Alice, my expression telling her everything she needs to know without me having to say a word.
"I knew it," she mutters under her breath.
"Knew what?" Jazz blurts out, returning to his seat.
"That Edward is a closet gangsta rap fan," Alice boasts. I smile at her gratefully, and she winks in return.
"You sellout! Come on, babe, we're leaving." Jazz pretends to pull Alice from her chair.
"Actually, I do need to get going," I announce, retrieving my wallet from my back pocket. I pull out a bill, tossing it on the table, and hold up my hand to stop Jazz from speaking. "And before you start, no I don't have a hot date, or a gyno appointment, or have to get to the mall for the huge sale on man-panties."
Jazz looks like he just had the wind knocked out of his sails, but before he can respond, Alice beats him to the punch. "That's OK. Jazz is anxious to get to the matinee of You Will Be Loved before all the aisle seats are taken. You know how he hates to share an armrest with a stranger when he's having a good cry."
"That's funny because it's true," I say with a laugh, receiving a swift punch in the arm from Jazz.
We say our goodbyes and go our separate ways; Jazz and Alice head to the movie, while I make my way home. It's well after three, and I'm certain Bella can't be gone too much longer.
The rest of the afternoon drags on leisurely, like all good Saturday afternoon's should, except my restless, anxious mind won't allow me to enjoy it. The sun begins to dip behind the trees and gradually slips below the horizon. The evening hours tick away at an agonizing pace, and by eight o'clock, I resign to eating dinner alone.
I settle on the living room couch with my reheated meal and mindlessly flip through the channels on the TV. Tonight, I'm determined to stay awake until she gets home, no matter how late. I watch one movie and then another. I'm half way through an infomercial on the most badass food dehydrator ever invented, when headlight beams sweep across the room. I switch off the TV and lug myself off the couch just as the front door opens.
Jacob staggers in, carrying Bella in his arms, her motionless body hunched against his chest. She's still decked out in her dark leather dominatrix costume. The only addition is a red and black flannel shirt, likely Jacobs, judging by the size, covering her arms. Her legs and feet are completely bare and flop against Jacob's arm as he carries her across the room. I'm instantly thrown into a state of panic by her lifeless appearance.
"Jesus! What happened?" I hiss at him.
Jacob brushes past me, laying Bella's limp body on the couch. "She passed out in the car. They had her dancing nonstop for fourteen hours straight. It was insane. I've never seen anything like it. She was a rock star though, never complained."
He steps back from the couch and lets out a ragged breath. I finally peel my eyes off Bella to look at him. He looks dog-tired too, like he's about to drop any second.
"Jacob, go home, you look exhausted. I got this. Just tell me what to do."
He stares at Bella, seemingly to decide if leaving her in my care is the right thing to do. "Alright," he concedes, "obviously first thing you need to do is get her out of that ridiculous costume."
"Right," I agree.
"You need to watch for muscle cramps, especially in her legs. Here -" He reaches in his pocket and produces a small pill bottle with the word Aleve blazoned in yellow across the front. "This is a pain reliever and muscle relaxer. Give her three before she goes to bed and three more when she wakes up. I know the label says two, but she can have three. If you can, get her to soak in some Epsom salts tonight. That will help too. She should have some, all dancers do."
I nod as he continues to dole out his instructions. Jacob turns and begins to drag his tired body toward the door, and I follow after him.
"She did really great today. I wish you could have seen her, but she said that would have made her too nervous, ya know, having you there."
"Yeah, I guess I can understand that."
"The producers were very impressed. This could open up some high profile jobs for her in the future. Oh! I almost forgot. Here -" He reaches in his other pocket and produces a small, folded envelope and hands it to me.
"What's this?"
"Her paycheck. She made two grand today," he says with a proud smile as he opens the front door. "Alright, I'm outta here. I'll call and check on her tomorrow. She should really stay off her feet and rest."
"OK." My head begins to swirl with the idea of an entire day at home with Bella.
"Oh, and Edward." Jacob pauses before closing the door behind him. "Most important, never tell a woman she looks tired." He winks at me and closes the door
I return to the couch and look down at my beautiful Bella, sleeping peacefully on the white cushions. I almost don't want to wake her, but I know she needs to get out of that preposterous outfit and take those pills. I lift her in my arms and carry her upstairs to her room, placing her gently on her bed. She doesn't utter a sound. She's out cold.
I leave her sleeping on her bed while I go in search of the Epsom salts Jacob described. They're easy to find; a large bag of lavender scented bath salts sits on her shelf in the bathroom. I start filling the tub with warm water, along with a heaping scoop of the salts, and return to Bella's room.
Sitting next to her on the bed, I begin gently stroking her hair away from her forehead. "Bella? Love? Can you wake up?"
"Mmm," she smiles drowsily, never opening her eyes.
"Come on, sweetheart, wake up. We need to get you out of this costume. Can you sit up?"
Her smile quickly fades into a grimace and she groans. Reluctantly, she rolls on her side and forces herself upright with her hands. She still doesn't open her eyes as I help her peel Jacob's shirt from her shoulders. She turns around so her back is to me and sweeps her hair over one shoulder, indicating I need to unlace the back of the corset.
As my fingers go to work loosening the ties, I notice the large tribal tattoo in the center of her lower back.
"Nice tramp stamp. That new?" I tease.
"Shut it, it's a stick on. It's supposed to be sexy."
"Yes it is," I muse.
Finally, she's free from her leather prison, and the corset falls away easily, exposing the creamy skin of her back. The tight fabric leaves a web of red indentations behind on her skin, and I gently rub her back with my fingertips, trying to soothe away the lines.
"Mmm," she purrs, "that feels good."
I fight to keep myself in check. Bella looks so gloriously tempting, having stripped down to nothing but a pair of skimpy leather shorts that barely cover her ass.
I continue my path across her back, before leaning in and kissing her bare shoulder once. Lifting the plaid shirt from where I dropped it on the bed, I hold it open and help her pull it back on. Bella holds the shirt closed across her chest with one fist and turns to face me as I stand and offer her my hand.
"Are we going somewhere?" she asks concerned.
I jerk my head in the direction of the bathroom. "I drew you a bath. Jacob suggested you soak your legs."
Bella smiles and moves to get up. As she stands, her legs give out under the weight, and she stumbles forward into my open arms.
"Whoa, my legs feel like Jell-O."
"Don't worry, I gotcha." For the second time tonight, I lift her up and carry her out of the room.
The bathroom is steamy and warm, and the smell of lavender assaults the air. Gently, I place Bella on her feet beside the bathtub. I don't let go until I'm sure she can stand on her own.
"Get in," I command. "I'll be right back… if that's OK?" The salts have turned the bathwater a milky white, cloudy enough to blur everything below the surface. Not like I haven't seen it all before.
Bella nods, and I leave her to finish getting undressed. I head to the kitchen, retrieving a bottle of water and the pills Jacob left. I return to the bathroom and tap lightly on the door.
"Come in," she says quietly.
Pushing the door open slightly, I slide my body through the crack, and close it gently behind me. Bella is submerged up to her shoulders in the murky water. Her hair is piled in a knot on the top of her head, and she's leaning against the back of the tub, her eyes closed. If her hands had not been skimming back and forth just below the surface, I would have thought she'd fallen asleep again.
"Here, take these." I hand her the three blue pills and the bottle of water. She doesn't protest, or even ask what they are, before swallowing them down and returning to her laid back position, closing her eyes again.
I retrieve her bottles of shampoo and conditioner from the shower before sitting down on the ledge of the bathtub closest to Bella's face. I go to work untangling the bun at the top of her head, and I notice her hair is stiff and sticky, not the soft, velvety waves I love to run my fingers through.
"What did they do to your hair?"
"Ugh, I think the stylist had a personal vendetta against my curly hair. I was in hair and makeup for two hours this morning. She must have used an entire can of hairspray. If the ozone is gone tomorrow, it's all her fault. Oh, and they dyed the bottom three inches this obnoxious, bright pink color."
"They did?" I ask, examining the chocolate brown strand in my hand.
"Yeah, but when I started dancing, the director didn't like how my hair was so shellacked in place. He wanted me to be able to whip it around and stuff so he made the stylist wash it all out and start over. Thank God the director axed the pink the second time around."
I finish untangling her hair, letting the rigid curls spill down into the water. Bending over, I roll up my jeans until the fabric is gathered well above each of my knees. "Can you sit forward?"
Bella does as I ask, though I can tell she doesn't have the energy to do much more. It pains me to see her so worn down, and I wonder if this is all worth it.
I scoot around the ledge of the tub and position myself directly behind her. Slowly, I immerse my legs in the warm water on either side of her body, my feet resting on the tub floor next to her hips.
I begin washing her hair, working the shampoo into her curls slowly with my fingers. Bella sighs contentedly, leaning into my hands like a cat being scratched behind the ear. After a thorough head massage, I rinse out the suds, pouring cupfuls of clean water over her long hair. I repeat the process again with the conditioner, combing the slimy stuff through her strands with my fingers, per her instructions.
When I finish, I return the bottles to the shower and grab a clean towel from the cabinet. I hold it open for Bella to step into. "I won't look," I promise, squeezing my eyes shut.
The sound of moving water fills the room, and I feel her pull the towel from my hands.
"Thank you," she whispers, then plants a soft kiss on my cheek. I open my eyes again and can't help but chuckle darkly.
"What?" Bella looks offended.
"Nothing. Just having déjà vu."
Bella looks down at her body, wrapped in a towel, before the realization hits. "Oh!" She giggles, remembering that first night when I startled her coming out of this very bathroom, dressed exactly the same way.
I lean forward and kiss her lips gently. "Coldest. Shower. Ever," I whisper against her mouth.
She giggles again, and I wrap my arms around her. "Come on, let's get you to bed. Do you think you can walk?"
She nods, but I keep my arm around her waist, just in case her legs fail her again. We make our way back to her room, and Bella disappears into her closet. She emerges a moment later, dressed in her night clothes. I pull back the covers, and she slips into her bed, her eyes already heavy with sleep.
Tugging the blankets up around her, I tuck her in. I even kiss her forehead gently, as if she were a child. "Goodnight, beautiful."
"You're not staying with me?" she whines.
"Yes, I will. I'm going to lock up the house and get a shower. Will you be alright without me for a little while?"
"I guess I'll manage," she teases, drifting off as she speaks. "But don't be gone too long. I don't sleep well when you're not with me."
Interesting. I'd have to remember to ask about that later. "Alright, I'll hurry. Go to sleep, I'll see you in the morning."
"Uh huh," is all she responds. She's already gone.
~o0o~
The following Monday, Esme returns from her book tour. By Wednesday, Carlisle is back on day shift at the hospital. And two weeks later, Bella's music video airs on MTV. Within record time, it skyrockets to one million views on YouTube.
Life finally begins to calm down for her shortly thereafter, and we fall into a comfortable routine. She goes to school during day, rehearses with Jacob in the afternoons, and spends her nights with me.
The night of the video shoot was the last time Bella slept in her own room. We didn't really discuss it; we just naturally gravitated to my bed every night. After about two weeks, I stop thinking of it in terms of my room. It's our room now.
One afternoon, while Bella and Jacob are rehearsing next door, I decide it really is time to make the room more ours. I empty out the top drawer of my dresser, making room for Bella to keep some of her things inside. Staring at the vacant drawer, I contemplate the best way to ask her to move in with me. Well, as much as two high-school kids can move in together. It's the thought that counts, right?
Inspiration hits.
I sneak down the hall and steal all of Bella's sleep clothes, which mostly consist of an assortment of old t-shirts and mismatched lounge pants. Folding them neatly, I arrange everything in the drawer. Naturally, I place my favorite tank tops and skimpy shorts on top of the stacks. I don't say anything to Bella, biting my lip through dinner to hide the smirk that threatens to clue her in that I'm up to something.
That night, I lie on our bed, listening intently to the sound of the shower running across the hall. Finally, the water cuts off, the bathroom door opens, and Bella's soft footsteps pad toward her bedroom. This is the typical pattern of our evenings. Once she's dressed, she usually tip-toes back to our room and crawls into bed. But tonight, I'm interested to see what she does when she can't find her clothes.
As the sound of her footsteps draws closer to our room, I pretend to be engrossed in my novel. From the corner of my eye, I see her slip inside the room and lean against the door, wearing nothing but a towel.
"Edward?" Her amused voice sounds as if she's about to scold a disobedient child. "Where are my pajamas?"
I keep my eyes on my book and my expression indifferent. "Top drawer."
She moves across the room, and when I'm sure her back is to me, I sneak a peek over the top of my novel. Bella opens the drawer and runs her fingers over her clothes inside. She sighs aloud, and from the sound of it, I can't tell if she's happy or annoyed by my bold move.
I continue to watch her, trying to discern her reaction from the back of her head. She raises her arms slightly, and the towel twisted around her body suddenly loosens and crumples to the floor. She doesn't move at first, standing in front of the dresser, completely naked, with her wet hair hanging like a curtain above her bare ass.
Finally, she turns her head to look at me over her shoulder, but before she catches me spying, I quickly focus my attention to the blur of black print on the pages in my hand. I hear her rustling around for a moment before the dresser drawer slides closed.
The mattress dips under her weight as she climbs onto the bed near my feet. But instead of moving onto her designated side, I feel her crawling up my body; her hands and knees pressing into the mattress on either side of my legs. I don't move, griping my book tightly in front of my face to conceal my amusement.
Bella reaches my waist, and she carefully lifts the bottom of my t-shirt, raising it up to expose my stomach. Her lips press against my skin, and she begins to kiss her way higher up my torso. I clear my throat noisily.
"I'm sorry," she grumbles against my chest. "Am I disturbing you?"
"Nope," I lie.
Her fingers appear above the spine of my book and, one by one, they dramatically wrap around the top. Roughly, she rips the book from my hands and tosses it to the floor. Her face is inches from mine, and I try to glare at her, but her mischievous expression melts my determination, and I grin in spite of myself.
"What do you want, woman?" I demand, attempting to scowl at her. Apparently, my tough act fails miserably, and Bella buries her head in my chest and laughs.
"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" With catlike reflexes, I swiftly flip us over and pin Bella under my body. Not wanting to crush her under my weight, I push up on my arms and hover above her. My new position grants me a much better view. Jesus, she's still completely naked.
I shamelessly rake my eyes down her body and back up to her face, cocking one eyebrow at her. "Forget something?"
She shrugs and suddenly becomes very interested in examining her fingernails. "At first, when my clothes went missing from my room, I thought it was your not-so-subtle way of telling me you preferred me to sleep… well… "
"In that case, I'm going to remove all the clothes from your room. Then you can stay like this all the time. I'll be right back." I act as if I'm about to crawl off the bed and do just that when Bella grabs a fistful of my shirt.
"You're not going anywhere, mister. Come back here." Bella pulls on my shirt and lifts her head to kiss me.
It takes me a second to reign in the smile on my lips before I can properly kiss her back. But as soon as I do, the atmosphere changes from teasing and playful to heated and eager. I feel her tongue skim along my bottom lip, and I return the gesture, gently touching my tongue with hers. Our kissing becomes more fervent, more intense as the minutes pass. Somewhere during the frenzy, I manage to lose my shirt, but I can't tear myself away from kissing her long enough to undress any further. Sensing my reluctance, Bella trails her fingers down my chest and skillfully undoes my jeans. With one quick movement she slides her hand inside my boxers and grips my cock tightly in her fist, pumping me with her hand.
"Jesus," I hiss against her mouth, breaking our kiss for the first time.
After a few blissful strokes, Bella releases me and slides her hands down my hips, pushing my boxers and jeans off at the same time. I kick and squirm until I'm free of the denim shackles that bind my ankles, and eventually reposition myself above her again. I assault her neck with my lips and tongue as I press my hips against her, purposefully running my cock along her crease. I feel Bella flinch when my tip brushes against her clit.
I pull back again and position myself at her entrance, but before I can push inside of her, Bella's hand grips my cock again, preventing me from moving any further. I raise my head and look at her, questioning with my eyes why – for the love of God - she's stopping us. Bella's returning smile is a combination of timid and mischievous.
Bella shifts her hips slightly under me, and she scoots her body a few inches lower on the bed. With a gentle tug of her hand, she guides my cock away from her opening, steering me higher up her slit. Gradually, she begins to move her hand, pumping me while simultaneously brushing my tip against her clit, over and over and over. I watch her eyes roll back and flutter closed as she presses her head firmly against the pillow and moans.
Jesus, she's using me to get herself off.
I bury my head in her neck and concentrate on holding myself up. "Fuck that feels good," I groan.
Bella continues to work us both, pumping and rubbing us closer and closer to the edge of insanity. The room is filled with the sounds of breathless moans and quiet cries of pleasure. I can tell she won't be able to hang on much longer as she fights to hold her hips still as her pace increases.
Suddenly, she releases my cock and grabs my ass tightly with both hands, pulling my hips down. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what she wants, and I quickly thrust inside of her. Her orgasm breaks through with the first push, and I cover her mouth with mine, swallowing her screams. Bella's skillful hand job has made my cock so sensitive that within three pumps, I explode inside her, muffling my own grunts with her lips.
My exhausted arms give out, and I crumple down on top of her, completely breathless. I roll over and lay on my back, one weak arm flung across my eyes. After a few minutes of heavy panting, Bella snuggles into my side, laying her head on my chest as her fingers begin coyly running through the little patches of hair. I wrap my free arm around her back, my eyes still covered under the crux of my elbow.
"You OK?" she whispers shyly.
"Oh yeah," I answer in my most cocky voice. "I'm great."
Bella giggles and I squeeze her gently.
"My hands are shaking." I lift my arm off my eyes, and Bella holds up her trembling hand. Concerned, I twist my head to look at her. "Don't worry, it's a good kind of shaking," she says with a smirk. I take her shaky hand and place it on my chest, covering it with mine until the tremors stop.
We lay tangled in each other for a long time before I reach up and switch off the lamp on the nightstand. We only let go of each other long enough to slip under the sheets, immediately resuming our position once we're covered.
"Thank you," Bella says softly in the darkness.
"For what?"
"The drawer, silly."
I chuckle. "I completely forgot about that."
"So I guess this means you don't mind that I'm in your room all the time."
I pull back and look at her. Although the room is only dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the windows, I can still make out the anxious expression on her face. "You're kidding, right? Bella, I want you with me all the time. I've been thinking of this as our room for weeks now. I would move all your stuff in here if I thought my parents wouldn't notice."
I feel Bella relax in my arms. "We've only been together four weeks, Edward. Don't you think it's a little early to be moving in together?" I can tell by her tone that she's teasing me, but her words have an edge of truth to them. What if I am moving too fast?
I roll us over and lie on my side, propping myself up on my elbow so I can see her face more clearly. "Is this too much?" I ask nervously. "If you think we're moving too fast we can -"
"No, no," she says emphatically. "I want to be with you all the time too. I just… I don't know. I'm usually not this clingy, obnoxious kind of girlfriend, but it's just - different with you. I don't like to be away from you. God, that does sound clingy, doesn't it? Ugh, I'm sorry, I don't mean to. I guess I -"
I kiss her, preventing her from rambling on any further. "I feel the same way," I confess when I finally pull away. I roll back onto my back, pulling Bella along, and she snuggles into my side.
"So, girlfriend huh?" I taunt only to receive a quick kick in the shin.
"Goodnight, Edward," Bella says firmly.
"Goodnight, my beautiful girlfriend."
~o0o~
As the weeks roll by, Bella and I manage to keep our relationship hidden from everyone. Only Jacob and Alice know the truth, and they don't seem interested in sharing that knowledge with anyone. Bella is careful to treat me just as she does Emmett or Jacob when my parents are around. And they seem to be around a lot lately.
At first I'm furious, thinking this is Carlisle's new way of checking up on me. He's always present, watching me like a convict in a half-way house, waiting with bated breath to catch me in my next act of disobedience. It's like having a fucking crazed stalker for a father.
It's not until one night, when he openly comments, sincerely, on how healthy I look now that I'm eating regular meals again that I realize it isn't him that's hanging around more – it's me.
A few weeks ago, I started joining the family every night for dinner, which was completely out of character for me. Before Bella moved in, I usually stayed in my room, picking through the leftovers in the middle of the night. It just made it easier on everyone not having to deal with the tension that rolls off Carlisle in waves when he's around me.
But now, I just want to be with Bella every possible moment; even if that means having to endure Emmett's play-by-play recap of his game winning touchdown, Esme's latest drama in cutthroat world of bestselling authors, and Carlisle's less-than-welcoming stares.
Of course, if I want to spend any time with Bella on Thursday nights, I have to endure Grey's Anatomy with her and Emmett. It doesn't take long for the two of them to get everyone hooked on the damn show, and Thursdays morph into some kind of cheesy family night at the Cullen house. We order pizza and pile around the flat screen in the living room, soaking up the so-called drama at Seattle Grace Hospital. Only Carlisle openly chastises the show, the medical aspect failing to live up to the reality of working in a hospital.
"Oh, come on!" he yells at the TV, throwing his arms in the air in frustration. "She's holding the X-ray upside down! Geez." He could get so worked up over the details that we'd end up missing most of the show, laughing our asses off at his outbursts.
On the nights when we aren't eating pizza, Esme and Bella take the responsibility of feeding "the boys," as they like to refer to Carlisle, Emmett, and I, quite seriously. Some evenings, they spend hours together in the kitchen, perfecting recipes and trying new techniques. They even joke about writing a cookbook together. It surprises me that Bella never confides in Esme about our relationship; Esme seems to be the closest female friend Bella has.
Of course, it would have been awkward for her to talk about me when I'm usually only a few feet away. I strategically position myself on the couch, pretending to be engrossed in a book or the nightly news, while the two of them make dinner. Every now and then, I catch Bella looking at me, or vice versa, and she rewards me with a smile or a wink before focusing back on her task. Luckily, Esme doesn't notice our covert exchanges, which would easily blow our cover.
In between school and eavesdropping on girl bonding time before dinner, I have a good four hours to kill every afternoon before Bella gets home. Some days I hang with Jazz. We chill at his house or head to the music store to see Alice. But on the afternoons when I'm not playing third wheel to Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock, I mindless pace around the house like a pathetic, lost puppy.
One random Tuesday, I wander into Bella's dance studio upstairs. At first, I'm not sure what I'm doing in here or, come to think of it, even recall the steps I took to get here. But when I look up, I'm standing next to my piano - my mother's piano.
It's been sitting here, shoved in the back corner of the room, covered in a white sheet, completely untouched since the week before Bella moved in. OK, so it has been untouched for a lot longer than that.
I stare at the immense white canopy, letting my eyes follow the sheet as it drapes down from the lid and pools on the floor. For a solid ten minutes, maybe more, I stand next to the mammoth instrument without moving, without touching it, before I turn on my heel and abruptly leave the room.
On Wednesday, I do it again.
On Thursday, I finally roll back the sheet, lift the lid, and uncover the keys. Pulling out the bench, I sit and stare at the black and white ivory without touching a single key.
"Nine years," I whisper to myself. It's been nine years since I've touched a single key.
On Friday, I break through the barrier and play one scale – C Major. I'm not surprised when the notes ring out crisp and clear and in perfect tune. I shake my head and smile. Esme.
In the days that follow, I slowly work myself up to actually playing a few old favorites: Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, avoiding anything - sentimental - like the plague. I have to admit, after being retired for nine years, I'm not as rusty as I would have expected. I miss a few notes here and there, but thanks to Mrs. Cope and my "natural ear," as she called it, I quickly correct my mistakes.
As I slowly work my way back into playing, the melody I hummed the night I rocked Bella to sleep on the balcony continues to haunt me. Finally, after a few days, I begin to put the notes to paper.
Now my afternoons are spent working on my new composition. As soon as I arrive home from school, I race upstairs to the studio, working frantically to recreate the tune. I remember the melody perfectly, and easily structure a chorus to flow between the stanzas. Everything is coming together except the damn ending, and it's frustrating the hell out of me. I try several variations but nothing is right. Day after day I make little or no progress, throwing away ten to fifteen crumpled sheets of music, disgusted with the notes written on them.
Today is no different. After sitting for three hours and not writing a single note, I slam the lid down and curse aloud in frustration.
"It will come together. You'll see."
I jump and turn toward Esme's voice. She's standing in the open doorway, her arms folded across her chest, watching my little temper tantrum.
"I didn't know anyone was home. How long have you been here?" I usually have the house to myself in the afternoons, and I've been careful to hide any evidence that I'm playing again, especially from Bella. I'm not exactly sure why I don't want her to know. Maybe it's because I want to surprise her one day with her song.
Maybe, if I was honest with myself, I'd admit it's because it invites too many questions.
"My afternoon meeting was cancelled," Esme says, pushing off from the doorframe and walking into the room. "Your song is beautiful, Edward. I didn't know you had started composing again."
"It's nothing. Just something stuck in my head." Even as I try to downplay the situation, I can tell Esme isn't going to let it go that easily. She knows me too well. The fact I'm even playing again is significant in itself. Even I can see that.
"Does it have a name?" she asks, attempting to sound casual.
"Not yet," I lie, "It's - a lullaby, I suppose."
Esme moves to sit next to me on the piano bench. "Would you play it for me again, please?"
I pause for a moment then lift the cover and begin playing again from the beginning. The harmony flows, just as it has a hundred times before, but as I reach the end, the uncharted territory, I let the song take on a life of its own. The notes become slower and lower, turning somber and solemn. I play the last note and then bow my head over the keys.
Esme wraps her arm around my shoulder. "It's going to be fine, Edward," she says in her most reassuring voice. "This is going to work out for the best. Love doesn't always come in convenient packages."
My head whips up and I stare at her, the shock of her words evident across my face. "How did you… did she -" I stumble.
"I'm not blind, Edward." Esme chuckles. "I see the way you look at each other, the way you light up when she enters a room, the way she smiles every time I mention your name." Esme nudges my shoulder playfully. "When we're cooking, she picks the tomatoes off your salad when she thinks I'm not looking."
I laugh quietly. "I hate tomatoes."
"And you," Esme continues, "you are… gosh, you are a completely different person, Edward. Can you not see that? You've changed so much in just the short time you've known her." Esme gives my arm a tight squeeze. "She's good for you. You know that?"
I smile, but the happiness drains from my expression when I consider my next question. "Does Carlisle know?" I ask hesitantly.
"I think, at one time, he was suspicious that something was going on. But no, he doesn't know. Sometimes it takes a woman to truly recognize a man in love." She smiles kindly at me.
"Carlisle told me to stay away from her. He doesn't even want us to be friends. I can understand his reasoning though, I'm not – not good enough for her. She deserves so much more. I have nothing to offer her." I can hear the defeat in my voice as I speak the words aloud for the first time.
"Edward, that's not true."
I roll my eyes. Spoken like a true mother.
"But it is," I argue. "Just look at her. She has goals and ambitions and she's working toward them every day. She has a plan – a future she's worked and sacrificed her whole life for. And when her year here is finished and she leaves, what are we supposed to do then, huh? Am I supposed to ask her to stay? To give up on her dreams for me? I have no future. Not one that can fit with hers."
"Why do you say you have no future? You could go to college, study medicine, architecture, music. You are so smart. You can do anything you set your mind to."
I chuckle darkly. "I have so many disciplinary marks on my records I'll be lucky if I graduate. And let's not forget my criminal record. No creditable school would touch me. Carlisle is right. I threw my future away a long time ago."
"Edward -" she starts again, but clearly the expression on my face tells her she's not going to sway me. Esme sighs and switches tactics. "Have you talked about any of this with Bella? Discussed what her plans actually are after this year?"
"No. I wanted to, but it felt like it was too early to be talking about that stuff. Then, the more I thought about it, I guess – I guess I just don't want my concerns about my future – our future - to affect her decisions."
Esme looks confused. "What do you mean?"
I twist my body toward hers. "When Bella was filming that music video, she offered to quit because she thought it made me unhappy. She was going to walk away from a huge opportunity for me. It would kill me if she passed up on her dreams because of me. I'm not going to ruin her future – her life because of my bad decisions."
"I see." We are both quiet for several minutes before Esme speaks again. "Does Bella know about the accident?"
I look away as I shake my head.
"Then I take it she doesn't know about your prior substance abuse or your probation."
It isn't a question, but I shake my head again.
"Oh, Edward," Esme's tone is disappointed. "You have to tell her. You can't keep something like that from her. She has a right to know."
"I know! I know!" I clamber off the piano bench and begin nervously pacing back and forth, my hands tugging at my hair in frustration. "God, I've wanted to tell her. I just – I can't. I can't make myself do it. If she knows what I've done, what I'm capable of, she'll – she'll hate me. She will never trust me."
"I'm sure she will understand those things happened before you met, but she should –"
"No, it's not just that crap in the past. I mean, that's part of it, but then I – I…" My brain screams at me to just shut the fuck up, to take this one secret with me to the grave. No good could come out of me telling anyone, especially Bella.
"Edward," Esme warns, sounding just like Carlisle. "What did you do?"
"I – I used her."
"Used her… how?"
I take a deep breath. "When she first moved in, I saw what a kind, compassionate, amazing person she was and I thought – I thought if we became friends, if someone like her thought that someone like me was worthy of their friendship, then Carlisle would see that I – that I had changed. That I wasn't a lost cause. That I wasn't the worst decision he ever made."
"Oh, sweetheart." Esme stands up from the piano bench and walks to me, wrapping her arms around me tightly. "Your father loves you. I love you. That has never changed. Yes, he was angry with your behavior, but he never stopped loving you. And when we almost lost you…" Esme's words catch in her throat, and she lifts her face to look at me, tears shinning in her eyes, "that horrible night your father was inconsolable. If you had…" Her tears finally spill over and roll down her cheeks. "He wouldn't have survived that. I was so afraid that we'd be burying you both."
I pull her to me again. "I'm so sorry. For everything. God, I'm sorry."
"I know, sweetheart, I know," she says, hugging me tighter. After a moment, Esme pulls away, wiping her cheeks with the tips of her fingers.
"Edward, you have to understand, your father is not perfect. He makes mistakes just like everyone else. For a long time he felt that he had failed you and he blamed himself for the accident."
"That's ridiculous. None of that was his fault."
"But he's a doctor. He knows all the warning signs of someone in crisis. They were there, he saw them, we both did, but he felt that he didn't do enough. You have to understand, your father is still working through some of that guilt. The two of you need to talk, but as much as I hate to say it, he might need more time before he's ready."
I nod sadly. I still don't know what I need to do to restore his faith in me.
"But you have to tell Bella. You have to tell her everything, and that's not going to be easy. But she deserves to know the truth. If you want to build a future with her, then you need to be honest with her from the beginning, or it will never work."
"I know. You're right."
"And, Edward, I think you are underestimating yourself. I think you have a great future ahead of you, and Bella can be part of that if you want her to. It's only the fall semester. There is still plenty of time to decide what your next move will be. In the meantime, I think you should talk to her, tell her what you are feeling, and find out what her plans are. Then you can work together to create a future that both of you can be happy with."
"But what about Carlisle? How is this going to work? He doesn't want Bella and me to be together. He practically forbade me from even being friends with her."
"Bella is so good for you, I can see that. I can see how you've changed since she's become part of your life. Carlisle will come around, you'll see. He just needs time." Esme sighs and her brow furrows in concentration. "For now, let's keep your relationship discrete, just as you have been, until you and Bella have had a chance to discuss what your plans are, OK?"
"Alright," I concede. "So, you're not angry we've been hiding this from you all this time?"
"Exactly how long has this been going on?"
"Well, I guess, almost two months or so." I confess.
"Two months!" Esme exclaims before laughing to herself. "Well, you two sure know how to keep a low profile."
"I'm sorry we've been lying to you."
"Edward, it's OK. I mean, it's not OK for you to deceive me, but I do understand why you felt you needed to do so."
I give her a reassuring smile and Esme hugs me gently, just as the front door opens and shuts downstairs.
Bella is home.
Esme pulls away, a smug expression on her face, and nods toward the door. "Go."
She doesn't have to tell me twice. I'm out the door and down the stairs in a flash. I grab Bella up in my arms, swinging her around in a circle like a scene from one of those awful chick-flicks she loves.
"Edward, what's gotten into you?" She giggles as I set her down on her feet again. I don't release her, keeping my arms wrapped tightly around her body, holding her against my chest.
"He's been waiting for you all afternoon," Esme chimes as she descends the top of the stairs. Bella stiffens in my arms, obviously fearful of being caught by my mother in our embrace.
"It's ok. She knows," I whisper.
Bella pulls back, a look of astonishment on her face. "You told her?"
"She figured it out. Apparently you can't keep your eyes off me," I tease. Bella playfully slaps me in the arm.
"Actually, it was you, Mr. Cullen, that gave it all away," Esme corrects. "You can't seem to keep your eyes off her."
I shrug. "It's true." And I kiss Bella gently on her head. "So, can I help you guys make dinner?" I offer, excited I don't have to be banished to the living room anymore.
Bella and Esme glance at each other, a worried expression on both their faces. "You can set the table," Bella suggests.
Author's Note:
Go read picklewinkle's amazing review of Turning Pointe on The Fictionators! (link on my profile too!) http:/www[dot]fictionators[dot]com/rec/turning-pointe-by-viridian6/
I've entered a story in the Season of Our Discontent Anonymous Angst Contest I can't tell you which story it is (hense the "anonymous") but there are some great reads over there! check it out. http:/www[dot]fanfiction[dot]net/u/3142288/Season_of_Our_Discontent
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