A/N: Well, this chapter is a bit, um, intense. More so than usual. But you knew it was coming, right?
Also, just to clarify, there was no lemonade to be had in Chapter 9.5, if you know what I mean. If you don't know what I mean, no one is getting it on right now except, well, married people. That wasn't a fade to black. I'M NOT SM GOD SHE SUCKS FOR DOING THAT. If people do the nasty, you'll know it.
Number Seven is not explicitly named in this chapter, but it's there.
Thank you all for reading and reviewing. When I get fewer reviews than the previous chapter I get this feeling I've messed up, but maybe that's just my insecurities talking. In any case, please review and let me know how much you hate/like/feel ambivalent about this story. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.
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FORGIVEN
Chapter 10
BPOV
It didn't surprise me when Edward and Jasper decided to do the fraternity thing, but it didn't thrill me either. I wasn't the sorority girl type, whatever that meant. But when rush week rolled around and the peer pressure began to build, I suddenly found myself trying to impress a gaggle of prospective "sisters." It had everything to do with Edward and Jasper, the only people in this godforsaken state I trusted. They wanted me to join the Greek scene, so I did.
Pi Beta Phi had their first "social event" just after midterms. It was a crisp, clear night in October, typical weather for the eastern slope of the Rockies. I showed up in jeans and a t-shirt (without any makeup whatsoever), which drew a few disparaging glances from the other girls. I knew that in a few hours, after a night of boozing and hazing and other degrading activities, they wouldn't care what I was wearing or even who I was.
No one seemed to notice my lousy mood as they ushered twenty of us inside the massive house and launched into a whole mess of pointless questions. I kept thinking of Edward and Jasper across the street, doing whatever crazy things frat boys do. I didn't like the image, to be honest. I kept picturing strippers and keg stands and wall-to-wall porn.
"It's Bella, right?" someone asked me, her soft little voice carrying over the din of the room. She took the seat beside me, a breathless smile on her face.
"Um, yeah," I said. "Are you, um, rushing or whatever?"
She nodded. "This sorority seems like one of the nicer ones."
"Nicer ones?"
"Well, I hear that some of the sororities are known for, well, sluttiness."
I felt my eyebrows shoot up. Did Edward know about this?
Who was I kidding? Of course he did. I groaned, this time loud enough for a few people to hear.
"Don't worry," she said. "I don't think the girls here are like that."
"Mmhm," I mumbled, feeling worse by the second. After the rushing thing ended, all the sororities and frats would converge at some kind of party on the other side of campus. I didn't want to show up there and see some "slut" molesting my boyfriend.
"I'm Alice, by the way," she said. I looked over at her and managed a small, tentative smile. Her hands were tiny but her grip was strong, and when she shook my hand, I felt a little better.
***
Copious amounts of alcohol followed the inane questions, which continued long into the night. To distract myself from the misery of it all, I drowned myself in rum and cokes and idle conversation. Alice, much to my surprise (and relief), stuck by me all night. We were polar opposites in almost every way, but for the first time since I'd started college, I felt like I finally remembered why every girl needs girlfriends.
My vision was muddied and my brain had clouded over by the time we stumbled outside into the night. I didn't even remember the walk to the party; every passing minute seemed to recede into some kind of void. I started to wonder how much of this I'd remember tomorrow. Probably not a whole lot.
I followed Alice through the crowd, searching for more booze. That seemed to be the theme of the night, which made sense given all the social lubrication going on. I had never been drunk before; except for one mistaken sip in high school, I'd never even consumed alcohol. This was new to me, and more than a little bit unsettling.
I stumbled over my feet as I walked, apologizing to Alice and random strangers as I made my way to the back porch. Someone handed me a beer—a guy, a girl, I couldn't really say. I tried scanning the crowd for Edward or Jasper, but my vision wouldn't focus and my mind wouldn't clear.
When the haze finally did wear off—at least enough for me to form a coherent thought—I found myself sitting in someone's bedroom with two other girls and three guys. They were handing me fizzy orange drinks, which looked appetizing but reeked of vodka. I didn't recognize the girls, nor the guys.
It was then that I started to panic.
I stood up, wobbling as I rose to my feet. "Hey honey, where you going?" one of the guys asked, his voice thick with cheap whiskey.
"Um, home," I said. "I'm tired."
"I'll walk you," he said.
I shook my head. "It's okay," I said, but my words sounded all garbled.
"I insist." He stood up, grabbing hold of my arm as I stepped back. The other people in the room were clearly wasted, and therefore not interested in my futile attempts to leave. When I took another step back, his grip tightened so much I could feel the blood vessels bursting beneath my skin.
"Please," I mumbled.
"Please what?" he snarled.
"Please get the fuck away from my girlfriend," Edward raged, barreling into the room like a crazy person. He swung the door open so hard it nearly flung itself off the hinges. As my head cleared and Edward's beautiful, familiar face came into focus, I took the opportunity to knee the guy in the nuts. I'd probably just done him a favor since Edward had that look in his eyes that said, 'yes, you are going to die.'
I placed my hands on Edward's chest, pushing him gently backwards. His eyes were a dark, searing shade of green, and it was the most animalistic I had ever seen him. His anger crackled in the room, his energy so palpable it made time stand still.
"Edward," I said, my voice hushed, almost pleading. I didn't want him terrorizing everyone in the room, although I had no doubt that he would, if given the chance. So I pushed a little harder, and it was only after he looked into my eyes did his expression seem to soften.
"This is so fucking unacceptable, Bella. That piece of shit almost—"
"I know," I said, pushing him out the door. We stood there at the top of the stairs, Edward heaving with rage and disgust and something else.
Something like fear.
"I was almost too late," he said, his eyes darting from me to the door. He ran his hands through his thick bronze hair, rearranging its chaos. His gaze finally settled on me again, and the fear I saw there was raw and real.
"He was probably harmless," I said, shaking it off. "Just had too much to drink—"
"Bella," he railed, cutting me off. "Do you know what I would have done if he had actually hurt you? If I'd come in ten minutes later? If I'd seen him, if anything ever happened to you—"
"I'm the one who messed up, Edward! I drank too much and didn't know anyone here and it's my own fault..."
"It doesn't matter," he sighed, his voice falling to a near-whisper. "I just couldn't... go on without you." He took another deep breath. "I'm so afraid..."
"Afraid of what?"
He exhaled, the last of his rage slipping from his shoulders. "Of losing you. Of failing you somehow."
A lump rose in my throat. "You won't," I whispered.
"I never thought I'd be afraid of anything until I met you. You know that? It messes with my psyche or something."
I stood on my toes and kissed him softly, sweetly, because there were times like these when words were nothing more than empty promises. He understood that, always had, and when he kissed me back, I felt it, too.
"I'll never leave you, Edward. You're stuck with me."
His smile was shy, almost sheepish, because for all that Edward had done to protect and encourage and support me, there were times when he needed me, too. "Good," he said, pulling me into him. "That's all I ever wanted."
***
I woke up in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by familiar arms. It didn't startle me like I thought it would; it seemed natural, almost overdue, that I should be waking up next to the person who brought me back to life again.
I leaned into him, a little smile making its way to my face as I studied his strong, distinctive features. I had always loved Jasper's smile, which echoed his quiet, but witty disposition. Nothing ever rattled him. His resolve was subtle, but unshakable. He took things as they came, and let go of the excess.
I kissed him softly so as not to wake him, and slid out of bed with as much grace as I could muster. My feet padded across the floor, down the steps and into the large, lavish kitchen. It took me no time to find the ingredients I needed; those kinds of things never changed. Everything was in its proper place, just as I remembered it.
An hour must have passed before Jasper wandered into the kitchen. He smiled mid-yawn when he saw me, up to my elbows in the most elaborate breakfast ever attempted.
"Can you come over every morning?" he smirked.
I rolled my eyes. "You'd get tired of my cooking."
"I highly doubt that." He stole a glance in my direction before sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing his eyes as the weak sunlight streamed in through the windows. It was just after eight—early for Jasper, apparently.
"Work today?" I asked.
"Unfortunately," he grumbled. "God I hate the nine to five."
"How's work going?"
"It's okay," he said. "I don't mind hospitals the way most people do."
I sat down and sipped my coffee. I always woke up at six, made breakfast, drank hot, bitter coffee and did the crossword. Today was a little different, but somehow much the same. The ease of our routine surprised me.
"How's the French toast?" I asked.
"Do you seriously have to ask?"
"It's been a while since I made it for you."
"Yeah," he said, his lips curling up in a smile. "And that's a tragedy."
I stood up to get him more coffee, but he grasped my wrist, keeping me in my seat. "Let me do something, Bella."
"You can eat," I said.
He sighed, relenting. "I'll have to make this up to you."
Haven't you already? I thought. In a thousand different ways?
I walked over to the counter, my eye catching an empty bottle by the coffee pot. I wouldn't have noticed it if it weren't for his name on the front. But even before I could process the thought, he seemed to read my mind.
"I, uh, saw Dr. Cullen a while ago, when I was having those insurance problems," he explained.
"For pain medication?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "Just some refills."
"Then who is Dr. Demetrius?"
His eyes snapped to mine. A hint of tension seemed to ripple through his features, drowning the smile on his face. "Just a colleague of his," he said.
"Where?"
"Port Angeles."
"Why'd you see him?"
He took a long sip of coffee and set it down. "It doesn't really matter, Bella."
"Well, I'm worried."
And I was worried, very worried, but not about the mysterious doctor in Port Angeles. I was worried about the fact that Jasper, who couldn't tell a lie if his life depended on it, seemed to be hiding something.
"Don't be," he said, wincing as he stood up. He walked over to me, his steps slow and deliberate, his eyes trained on the little bottle in my hands.
"Jasper—"
"It's really nothing, Bella," he said—or rather, pleaded. I could see it in his warm blue eyes, the attempt at deceit that withered into nothing more than sheer desperation.
I stood up a little straighter, clenching the bottle in my hands. "It is something. Don't lie to me. You've never, ever lied to me."
"I'm not lying!" he said, as he sidestepped me and leaned his head against the window.
"Then what is this for?"
He sighed, waving haphazardly at the bottle. "It's Vicodin. It's just a painkiller."
"You're still taking Vicodin? Isn't that stuff really strong?"
"I guess," he muttered.
"Does your back still hurt that much?"
He stepped away from the glass, shuffling toward me like a man on his way to his execution. I put the bottle back on the counter, and there it remained, like a reluctant audience.
"Don't worry about me, Bella."
"Why can't I worry about you? Don't you worry about me?"
"All the time," he said, his voice quiet, resigned.
"Then what are you afraid of?"
He reached for the bottle, swirling its contents in his strong, trembling hands. He shook his head, his eyes trained on something in the distance, something I couldn't see or understand.
***
Jasper was, and always had been, an independent person. He did things on his own time, in his own way. In the sixth grade, he'd gone two weeks with a broken right wrist, taking tests and doing homework in agony.
His idea of suffering, like everything else, reflected that independence. If he needed help, he went as long as he possibly could without it until he simply couldn't function anymore. And I could tell, more by his silence than anything else, that he hadn't yet reached that point.
I didn't know much about Jasper's physical condition, nor did I have any right to ask. Even if I went straight to Carlisle, I knew he wouldn't tell me anything. He couldn't, thanks to federal regulations about patient confidentiality. But if I went to him as a friend looking for advice, or even just some peace of mind, maybe he could offer me that.
Jasper didn't say anything on his way to work that morning. He just let the subject drop after we'd finished breakfast and gone our separate ways. The status of our friendship/relationship was a whole other issue that remained buried, and I couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with that little orange bottle.
I knew Dr. Cullen worked at the clinic downtown, but I didn't want to risk seeing Jasper there. So I called the Cullen household that afternoon, relieved to hear Esme's voice on the other end. Carlisle had always intimidated me, in that paternal doctor kind of way.
"Hello?" came her warm, familiar voice.
"Hi Esme, it's Bella. How are you?"
"Bella! I feel like I haven't talked to you in ages."
I smiled to myself. I'd just spoken to her a couple days ago, but she always said the same thing. "I know," I said. "We should talk more often."
"Well, you know you're welcome to come by any time."
"Actually…I was wondering if I could come by maybe this weekend. I had a question I wanted to ask Carlisle."
"Oh, of course! We'll both be home this weekend. How about Sunday for dinner? Charlie is of course welcome to come."
"I think he'll be down in La Push on Sunday, but I'll relay the message. I can definitely come, though."
"Sounds wonderful," she said. "See you then."
***
A giant spread of Esme's culinary delights greeted me on Sunday evening. I had spoken to Jasper a few times since Thursday, but he was visiting family in Seattle for the weekend. And so it was just me and the Cullens sitting around their dining room table, an incomplete picture in just about every way.
In a lot of ways, eating with the Cullens was more natural and less awkward than dining at home. We talked about everything, including the past. Including Edward. But when Jasper came up in conversation, I quickly changed the subject. It wasn't quite guilt that twisted my stomach; it was something else, something new and unexpected. I should have known that Carlisle would notice it, not only because he knew me as well as anyone, but because he spent his life reading people.
So it was Carlisle—and not me, since I was clearly spineless—who pulled me aside while Esme checked on dessert. I tried to meet his kind, sky blue eyes, but found myself faltering every time I looked up. Carlisle, though, had the patience of a pre-school teacher.
"You're worried about him," he said. "I can see that, Bella."
I glanced up at him with a quiet, despairing sigh. "Did you see him a couple months ago? About the insurance?"
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the kitchen. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't really get into it."
"Oh," I mumbled. "The doctor-patient thing?"
He managed a small smile. "That's the one."
"Is he okay, though?"
"Why are you asking me, Bella? Did something happen?"
I put my hands on the table, folding them over the crisp white tablecloth. Esme had always had impeccable taste, but her house still felt cozy and lived-in. For some reason, though, the familiarity of who she was and what she valued didn't comfort me tonight.
"I found a bottle of pills with another doctor's name on it."
One eyebrow went up. "Hmm," he mused. "Well, I referred him to another orthopedist in Seattle."
"This wasn't Seattle. This was a guy named Demetrius in Port Angeles."
His brow creased just the slightest bit, crinkling the smooth lines of his face. "I don't know him," he said.
"It was for Vicodin…that's serious, right? I mean, his back must be in really bad shape—"
"Bella," he said, interrupting my senseless rambling. "As Jasper's doctor, I really can't say much in regards to his treatment, but this worries me."
"Me, too," I muttered. "I mean the pain is one thing, but don't people get addicted to those kinds of drugs?"
He nodded, his gaze finding mine with the same calm, unshakable resolve that reminded me of Edward. "I'll talk to him," he said.
***
I didn't see Jasper until that Friday, and the moment I saw him, I knew something had changed. Something major. Something that had hardened his soft blue eyes and his easy smile, and in those few seconds of recognition, I questioned if it was him at all.
He was standing outside the schoolhouse, soaked to the bone and shivering violently. I pulled my coat over my head and took a deep, stuttering breath, bracing myself for whatever altercation he had in mind. I had intervened. I had done something, and now he was here to chase me away.
I took a few steps, my white tennis shoes sinking in the mud. The children had all gone home, whisked away by the school bus on a Friday afternoon. It was just the two of us now; two former kindergarteners whose lives had somehow stayed on the same path into adulthood. I wondered now, for the second time in my life, if the time had come for our paths to diverge.
He didn't say a word as I approached, nor did he look away. He looked haggard, defeated. But his eyes shone with the raw, unmistakable burn of self-preservation.
"Jasper—"
"I told you it was nothing," he said, his voice dripping with anger, betrayal, and the faintest trace of hurt.
"I was worried."
"Worried about what?" he demanded.
"About you!"
He shoved his hands in his pockets, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "That's a waste of energy, Bella."
"If it's nothing, then why are you mad?"
His eyes snapped up, his expression hardening. I swallowed the lump in my throat, regretting the implication but knowing in some other way I had said the right thing.
"I'm not mad," he said, his voice flat, hollow. But it shook with anger, and it unnerved me because I had never in my life seen Jasper so enraged. In fact, I'd never seen him lose his temper, for as long as I'd known him.
I took a step forward, and he stepped back. "Yes you are."
"Don't do this," he said, his voice tinged with warning. "Just let it alone, Bella."
"I can't."
"You have to."
I shook my head, my voice quivering. I didn't want him to hear how weak I was, so I kept my mouth shut and dared him to question me.
"You think Carlisle can fix this?" he asked. "You think he can just chat with me in his office and turn my whole life around? It doesn't work that way, Bella. You, of all people, should know that."
I looked down at the ground, cursing the thickness in my throat and the tears in my eyes. How could I say anything to that? How could I argue with him about fixing people, when I was so clearly damaged?
"You're better than this, Jasper. You're better than—"
"Than what? A drug addict? Because that's all I am. I know Edward was better than this. I know he was stronger, always was, always would have been. Would have been. I'm such a fucking waste, Bella. Such a waste of his life, Alice's life, and your life. I took theirs and ruined yours—"
"Just stop!" I screamed, pushing him back with two small fists. He didn't move, didn't even react to my weak sobs as I stumbled past him. It took him a few seconds to catch up to me, to grasp me by the wrist and turn me around.
"Bella, I didn't mean—"
"I was trying to help you," I railed, my voice so thick with tears and energy it was barely mine at all. "You think I'm the only one who deserves that privilege? You're really fucking selfish if you think that." I shook him off, my legs carrying me in shaky strides as I ran down the road toward home.
But since I was hopelessly uncoordinated, I tripped and fell and landed in a shallow pool of syrupy, brown mud. Jasper again reached out to help me up, and again I shook him off with a quick jerk of my elbow.
"Leave me alone," I seethed, as I picked myself up.
"Bella—"
I turned around to face him, my arms at my sides, my pants and shirt and wrists covered in mud. But he didn't notice any of those things; he looked into my eyes and nowhere else, as if he could apologize without words because to us, between us, words meant nothing anymore.
"I can't live like this anymore," he said. "I just…I just can't."
"Live like what?"
"I don't take it for the pain…it's not about that. The pain is a justifiable punishment for what I've done."
"It was an accident, Jasper," I said, the word catching in my throat. I winced at the sound of it, the memory of that night racing through my mind.
"Maybe," he muttered. "But I was driving, and I was the one who reached across the seat—"
"I don't care."
His eyes drifted downward, his voice low in his throat. "Then you're too forgiving."
"And this is your punishment, then? Accepting your fate as some kind of addict? That's really weak, you know that?"
"I know," he said, but the words were barely audible above the howl of the rain. "I know it's weak. It's the only way I can get through the days, is if there's this haze…"
"So I'm just a haze?"
He drew his eyes up to mine, a silent plea resting on his lips. "No," he breathed. "You're the only thing in my life that's real anymore."
"You need more than that," I said. "You are so much more than that, Jasper."
He shook his head and stepped back, releasing my arms. "What if I'm not?"
"You know I would do anything for you, if I could." I crossed my arms over my chest, choking on rain as I breathed it in. "But I can't answer that for you. I can't make fear just go away."
He didn't argue, didn't say another word. And even though it took everything I had to take that first step, and then another, and then to walk down that road in a rare demonstration of self-reliance, I didn't look back.
I only looked forward.
***
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