New idea. Plot that just wont die. Review if you please!

Park Bench Portrait

Chapter Ten: Polaroid

Bella shuffled slightly as she kicked the bracken by her feet. I could see the longing for some sort of understanding blemishing her usual smile. My past was unspeakably different compared to my fostered siblings and my lack of willingness to tell anyone about my past meant that people received misguided perceptions of my personality and behavior.

I almost chuckled when my eyes averted back towards Bella, she looked as though she was listing the numerous horrifying possibilities that any sane person would have conjured upon hearing the rumors: A murderer, A Manic Depressant, A Bipolar chauvinist- always the same undermining perceptions that were way off of their mark. What could I do to prove them wrong though? Break down?

By now, my silence had left Bella to accumulate sordid ideas and I had to act quickly to quell any further abominable thoughts. Ignoring the cold, I pulled my unnecessarily expensive Ralph Lauren jacket from my shoulders- a present from Esme- and placed it onto the damp bracken in front of my feet.

"Edward, you can't be serious- Its freezing!" Bella's concerned voice reminded me. Her free hand flitted outwards and attempted to lift the jacket, I moved it further aside and she glanced at me as though I were crazy. That was the reaction I had been waiting for. She had been entirely too courageous during our time alone.

"If you get to take yours off then allow me-" she fumbled with the zipper on her jacket and attempted to rid herself of its constraint. I would not allow it.

"Don't you dare," I warned her, grabbing her hands away from herself.

"No, don't you dare," she countered, nudging my hand away and returning to her previous endeavor. She was stubborn.

"I was merely trying to make a point, Bella- you never allowed me to start," I explained with a slight huff. Only Alice matched Bella's stubbornness, although I knew how to get around Alice's persistence. Bella was completely different; I still needed to learn Bella. She finally relented and pulled her knees towards her chest, eying my abandoned jacket furtively. Her annoyed expression simply conveyed the message : Get on with it.

"Although you've never voiced it, I'm sure that when we first met, you thought I was an arrogant and over-privileged, upper-class moron who had never known a minute's want." I saw her blush and look away ashamedly. I wasn't hurt, it was a common perception and I couldn't blame her for the mistake. People judged and they were entitled to their own opinion- whether it be right or wrong.

"I never had this as a child," I motioned towards the jacket and its label, "I was never as privileged as I am today," I told her gently.

"I lived with my biological parents in a run-down apartment on Chicago's near west side," I watched as she fingered her jacket with a silent musing and I continued, still hesitant and unsure of whether I was doing the right thing in telling Bella about my past, "My father worked three jobs so that we could afford the rent and food as well as my piano lessons; he had an adamant idea that I was going to be some kind of prodigy- I hadn't the heart to tell him that I preferred to draw and paint."

I remembered my father lecturing me on the importance of a highly- paid job and stability, though much of his lecture was lost on my five year old self.

"You'll make this family proud one day, son. You'll swipe those musicians off of their feet and teach them the real values of 'rising to fame'. Who needs Beethoven when we have our own Edward junior, eh?" I recited the one quote my father managed to drum into my head to Bella and she allowed a laugh to escape . The memories of my father were vague, still somewhat suppressed in the back of my mind.

"He sounds like a great man," Bella spoke through a small smile. I shrugged.

"From what I can remember, I suppose he was." The memories were distant, I'd hardly shared enough time with my biological parents- five years was too short to get to know them properly. My heart clenched painfully whenever something would remind me of them; my mother's comforting smell of white musk or the stale scent of cigar smoke that would linger on my father's jacket.

"I remember my mother more though, she wasn't as absent as my father. She worked from home as a hairdresser, through my hair usually evaded the tri-monthly cut," I chuckled, attempting to swipe a hand through my hair, halting when Bella's hand beat me to it. Her fingers swept a pathway that ghosted my mother's previous displays of affection. I'd never let anyone touch my hair since my mother. Bella was the first and the only.

Her touch was gentle.

A caress reminiscent of the times when I was only a child.

"We had a little quirk that we shared, silly really, but it always made me smile, even when my father would lock himself in his room after a night of drinking," I sighed. Bella's hand had retreated a short while ago and I lifted mine to repeat the quirk that my mother had created.

"She'd swipe her thumbs gently across my face," I whispered, brushing my thumbs over the plains of Bella's cheeks, "then when everything was silent, she'd tweak my nose and run off giggling." I tapped Bella's nose causing her to jump and I laughed at the expression that crossed her face.

I raised my hands in defense.

"Got me every time," I confessed.

My answer sent her giggling and it helped to lift the tension that I'd begun to feel a little while ago. I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't have another episode but by cracking a joke here and there, I wasn't focusing entirely on the negatives of my past.

There was a short silence where I debated internally. The mirth didn't seem so funny as it had moments ago- I was merely seconds away from revealing my story and the unease was beginning to mount.

"What happened?" Bella's voice asked timidly, as though she was forbidden from asking. I couldn't deny her answers to her curiosity. Up until now, I had painted the perfect picture of a struggling family who had relied on their hard labor and a close-knit relationship to see themselves through their rough patch.

I dug the heels of my shoes into the bracken and pinched the bridge of my nose before beginning.

"My father started to fall ill over the winter, right around the time that people were being made redundant. He had one job at the local music store and the Christmas season meant that the shopkeeper couldn't afford more employees than necessary, my father was ill and therefore he had no further use. My father took it badly and worsened when the factory he worked for closed down, leaving him almost jobless. He still had the pittance that he managed to scrape from working as a handy man," my voice began to quieten as I remembered the day that my father's 'cold' took a turn for the worst.

It started with blocked sinuses and a migraine, slowly evolving into a fever and a violent cough. Looking back, I could still remember the vivid image of my father collapsing in front of our tiny Christmas tree that bore a hope in the bleakness of our situation.

I felt Bella stir next to me and she stretched out her limbs as I paused momentarily. She'd found it comfortable enough to stay quite during my overly long explanation and I silently thanked her for it. Relaying the story was so much easier without constant interruptions and it allowed me to carry on without having to stop constantly. Our hands were still twined together and emanated a heat that caused them to clam up, not that Bella, or I for that matter- minded.

The weather had calmed from its previous storm and now the temperature was only set on cooling as the night progressed. My thoughts briefly wondered about Carlisle and the rest of the family that I had left back home, I could see Esme pacing and shook my head at the thought. Admittedly, the cold was becoming unbearable and I felt a chill ignite the goosebumps along the paleness of my forearm. I'd have put my jacket back on but I felt uneasy wearing it whilst I talked about the poorer side of my life- almost as if its expensiveness would taint the veracity of the story I was trying to tell.

I'd been procrastinating and delaying the inevitable ending to my explanation and Bella could sense it. I felt the light squeeze she interrupted my thoughts with.

"No take backs," she reminded me quietly.

I nodded.

"No take backs."

One last time, she squeezed my hand again and I puffed a deep breath of air in front of my view of the town of Forks.

I told her about my father's illness and how his 'cold' escalated to pneumonia. I told her about our inability to afford health care insurance and my father who was adamant that he would not be paying a dime for his 'cold' or even taking charity. He refused to let anyone make him seem as though he was unable to provide- he was just too proud. I even told her about my mother's dedication towards my father and looking after him every minute of the day as I was locked in my room to avoid the infectious virus. My voice relayed the events that lead towards my fostering, telling her about the exile I had from my parents as my father's condition worsened.

"I became really lonely whilst my mother looked after my father. I would draw in my room with Crayola Crayons, scribbling on our ragged newspapers and junk mail that was constantly posted through our door. I copied my father's circles that he had covered the employment section with and would feel proud for doing so," my voice was barely audible now.

Bella looked as though she didn't want to know anymore, the words to tell me to "stop" were on the tip of her tongue yet she never uttered a word. My memories were mostly vivid from the actual incident, whereas Carlisle was able to fill me in on the minor details that a five year old was unable to comprehend. At the time, I simply thought that parents were indestructible, infallible superheroes who were destined to live for , stark reality soon hit and the childish dreams were lost the day I found my parents, cold and unmoving.

"I'd been locked in my bedroom for awhile, I was hungry and in need of some attention. My mother rarely left her bedroom and refused to let me see my father. I practiced my music on our cheap piano we had by the kitchen and I soon noticed that the sounds from my parents room had stopped," I felt the frustrating tears well behind my lids as I scrunched them shut and Bella's hand moved to grab my arm.

"Edward, you can stop. I think I understand no-"

"The radio said it was Christmas day…I always woke my parents on Christmas day, Bella. Always."

My eyes stung, my head pounded and I could feel the strain that usually encompassed my body, followed by the images of them. It hurt. Everywhere hurt. My mind wandered back to the memory, my five year old feet following the familiar path to my parents bedroom, slamming the door open excitedly and clambering onto the small bed that my parents shared.

"Edward don't. Stop, I understand!" Bella's voice began to intensify and she raised herself onto her knees as she grabbed my face into her hands. The fear was there. She'd heard enough.

"They were cold Bella, they were so cold." The words just kept pouring along with the now evident tears that ran down my cheeks in a torrent of agony. I was right there- reliving the moment, my tiny child-like hands grasping onto the bed sheets and shaking them in an attempt to wake my slumbering parents.

"Dad wasn't snoring and Mom wasn't waking when I tickled her. I sang Christmas carols and I even went back to my room to draw them a Christmas card."

I felt tears that weren't my own soaking into the fabric on my shoulder and I pulled Bella tightly against my chest as she grabbed the back of my head in a comforting embrace.

"The fucking landlord found me two days later when he barged in, raging about 'overdue rent'," my tone was acidic and Bella pulled herself back so that she could lift my head so that we were face to face. Fingertips brushed the tears from my face like an eraser removing the lines of a pencil that were just not meant to be there. My face was a canvas of pain and yet she was still able to smooth out the ridges and restore it to its previous blankness.

"Though Superman, Batman and even Spiderman still lived on- I refused to believe in superheroes anymore. My true heroes had died that day and they were never coming back. Superheroes are not infallible," I whispered quietly, pain still evident in the roughness of my voice.

Once again our limbs were entangled and we held ourselves together in a connection that we refused to move from. Her hair sheathed my face from the coolness of the evening and she reached an arm outward so that she could grab my jacket, placing it around my shoulders and then returning to our hug.

"I live with the murderer of my parents and it gets passed around every day, stolen and forged. Money is nothing but a murderer," I spat. My statement contradicted my whole life since I'd been fostered by Carlisle and Esme- I had fancy cars and expensive clothing- but without money I would have ended up the same way as my parents and that would have killed them had they been alive. I used the money only as a way of living the life that my father wanted me to live. I never granted him the dream that he had always treasured- I never became that prodigy. Just a freak.

"I'm so sorry," Bella whispered into my neck as we gently swayed forwards and back. It wasn't her fault, it wasn't anyone's fault. My lips parted and my words were soundless for a moment, before I was able to dismiss her apology.

"Don't be."

Her arms bracketed my body, looping around my shoulders in a protective hold. She'd helped me to chase away the intense flashbacks- the ones that crippled conscious thought. For that, I was thankful.

"You know, Carlisle was a doctor in Chicago at the time," I croaked into her hair, still numb from the memory of my parents.

"Really?" she asked with a tone that tried to sidetrack me from my distress.

"Yeah, he examined me- found my pockets full of Crayola Crayons." I tried to conjure the memories that would bring about happiness, something- anything that would make her laugh in the depressing situation that I had thrown her into- that I had thrown myself into.

I felt her shake against my chest as she let out a soft giggle.

I'd succeeded.

"Is that when he thought about adopting you?" she asked, her breath tickling the skin on my neck. I hummed a sound of agreement and she stroked my back, trying to warm what the cool temperature had left freezing.

"I wouldn't talk to anyone, I wouldn't let them touch me and I refused to co-operate with anyone. One day, Carlisle brought in a wrapped present and wished me a Merry Christmas. The celebration had passed but the thought was still what counted. He gave me a sketching pad."

Despite my unhappiness, I smiled inwardly; that was they day that Carlisle and I developed a relationship that deepened past the patient-doctor formality. We were kindred spirits and he became a representative father in the wake of my father's death.

"That was sweet of him," Bella smiled into my shoulder. I nodded and my hand found its way into her hair, twiddling the loose strands between my fingers. Again, the sweet smell of freesias assaulted my senses and created the lulling aromatic effect that calmed my nerves.

"He adopted me sometime later. He had access to private therapists and he understood the issues that my adoption would bring to any normal family. Esme was lovely and she reminded me of my mother, though I was quite horrible to her for the first few weeks of moving into their house, she was trying too hard to fill the void that my mother left behind…I later realized that it was me. I just wasn't used to the move or to people who were trying to help."

Again, Bella's fingers ghosted my hair, my cheek and I calmed.

She traced the pathway through my hair and unconsciously tamed the unstable being that I was all too familiar with.

As I held Bella in my arms, I mentally thanked whoever had sent this wonderful being to me. She listened and never contemplated the thought of running away from me like any sane person would.

"Why did you give up with your art?" Her question still voiced itself in her soft melodic tone and I shrugged resignedly.

"There was an incident in Kindergarten during 'Art Week'."

"What happened?"

"I decided to try out my sketchbook that Carlisle bought- though we soon found out that it brought on these 'episodes'. The teachers were apparently frantic and they were trying to pull the picture I'd drawn from my hands whilst I cried and screamed. Eventually Carlisle was called."

She winced.

"He felt that it was best that I lay off the drawings and I turned my attention to the piano in honor of my father. Therapists claimed that it was some sort of a psychological trauma and the art I created seemed to bring my worst memories to the forefront of my mind; I didn't see paints or crayons until I moved out…and painted you," I continued with my ministrations and tapped a soundless beat onto her back as she pulled the jacket tighter around my body.

"Do you think you'll ever be able to draw what you want to again?"

"Who says I don't want to draw you?"

"You don't get bored of it?" she asked warily.

"Not really."

At least my answer was honest.

She pulled herself upwards in my lap and raised her brows in an unconvinced fashion.

"I don't know why you'd want to- I have no substance at all. I have the same matching brown hair, brown eyes and I'm boringly plain," she listed on her fingers with a cute look of confusion.

She was so blind that she couldn't even see herself clearly. My laugh only incited her to swat my shoulder.

The moonlight bathed her skin and the lucid glow of her smile really outshone the entire mass of people that I had met in my lifetime.

To me…she was different.

So I showed her.

I scraped my hand around in the deep pocket of my jacket and pulled out the Polaroid that I treasured dearly.

I allowed her to take it from my hands and she scanned it with a hungry curiosity.

"Who are they?" she asked quietly, already guessing who they were but asking for definite confirmation.

"My parents," I smiled weakly.

She was silent for a while as her eyes caressed the image of my deceased parents.

"Your mother was beautiful," she whispered peacefully.

"She was," I reminisced fondly. "Almost as beautiful as you."

She shook hear head and handed me the Polaroid back.

"That's an insult to Elizabeth, Edward. Take it back," she demanded.

"No take backs, remember?" I smiled, playing on our previous declaration.

She sighed and crossed her arms, "Fine. No take backs."

I hesitated and held the Polaroid in my hands for a little while longer, tracing the image of my parents with a forefinger.

"I've had enough time to mourn," I sighed dejectedly, though with a newfound realization.

"Do you want me to take you back home?" It was getting cold and I was sure that she had work tomorrow. In fact- I was certain of it.

"Can't we just…sit here?" she pleaded, though it was unnecessary. I would do anything for the one person outside of my family who actually listened to me and not the rumors.

"If that's what you want."

"It is."

"Then who am I to stop us?" I nudged her gently and kissed the crown of her head.

Although we still had issues to discuss and problems that needed to be addressed, we pushed the worrying thoughts behind us because we were content for the moment.

We were Edward and Bella.

I was falling in love.

And for once, I was happy.

Ok, there are issues still to be addressed and 'unanswered questions' that will be answered later. I think I should now be known as 'Cliff-hanger Bitch' seriously- the amount of people I must have 'killed' last chapter was astounding. But look, no cliff-hanger this time- I'm getting better I promise.

Now, I have to take a moment to thank each and every one of you for your response- for me- it was phenomenal.

I had planned on getting this chapter out earlier but I got sidetracked…by the movie! It came out in England on the 19th so I had to see it and I enjoyed it thoroughly. I wish everyone a happy and or merry Christmas for those who celebrate and I hope you have a wonderful holiday. New chapter sometime after Christmas! Neica x