Chapter 10: Motives
Easy life with my parents had to come to a close sometime. I, after all, had a job and school and friends…no wait, scratch that last one I had very good acquaintances. People who knew vague details about my life—and if need be I would claim them as friends.
I hated to think of them that way. But I was convinced that I wasn't worth having as a friend. I truly wasn't. You can't count on someone who could barely keep it together on the outside.
That was how I felt when I entered Mario's, on that chilly, late winter day. I felt like my very core was splitting and cracking. I was forming my own Grand Canyon in the inner landscapes of my mind.
"You look frazzled," Edward intoned.
It was strangely comforting to hear his voice after nearly a month of my dearth of working.
I shrugged. Frazzled was an understatement.
He put his hand on my shoulder, and I cringed away. His eyes softened, "Oh, right, sorry. Personal space."
I nodded.
"But, seriously though, you alright?"
I looked up at him under the fringe of my bangs; he looked serious enough. Aside from the few words he randomly spoke—this was the longest speech he'd made since the tree-incident back in October.
I nodded again, and dodged past him to get to my apron; he took one long stride to get ahead of me.
"I missed you," he said, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth.
He missed me? I barely spoke to him—and yet, he recognized my absence? Ok. Creepy.
I nodded cordially, willing my heart to start back up again—no need to go into ventricle fibrillation because of something nonsensical a coworker said.
I went into the bustle of the dining hall and went about taking orders, a fake smile placating my plain features. It wasn't as hard to fake it when I was around people whom I didn't know. Back in the kitchen under the watchful eye of Mario, or the quick, accurate glances of Edward I knew they'd see through the façade.
It was difficult—to hide my hurting eyes when they were around. Especially Edward, he saw far too much in my eyes. They were like mud puddles reflecting back a grisly scene of denial and self-mutilation that I knew was ripping my soul apart as I tried to decide whether or not it was worth it to trust that God would show me the way.
I walked home, unaware of the footfalls behind me.
"Isabella?" His liquid voice asked.
"Yes?" I asked, barely able to muster a whisper.
"Something's wrong." It was not a question. Not at all. It never was going to be a question; because he knew the answer. He knew every part of the answer the very moment I turned around and looked into his eyes.
He nodded.
"How can you do that?" I asked my voice strained in my throat.
"Do what?" He asked a quizzical look on his face.
"Look right at me and see through everything?" It sounded corny and pathetic—and I wished I'd never met him in the first place.
"I can just see sadness behind your eyes," he said his words very carefully, as if he were afraid of speaking at all. He smiled slightly; his white teeth sparkling in the dim cast of the setting sun.
I wanted to punch him.
I turned before the heat could boil in my chest and started to march down the street.
"Why are you angry?" He asked—his voice several feet behind me.
"I'm not angry," I said; but, my voice obviously gave me away.
"I'm sorry if I did something," his voice was repentant.
"It's not just you," I justified, hating how hurt he sounded.
His silence sounded skeptical.
"Ok, fine, maybe it is kind of you; but, regardless I have a nice little stack of problems of my own—you're just kind of counteracting them."
"Counteracting? That's like lessening them…" His voice trailed off; I refused to turn around—but I knew that mirthful tone; he wanted to laugh.
"Ok, so counteracting wasn't a good word. How about affixing to my problems?"
He sounded like he was choking back laughter when he answered me, "Sure, so I'm a trouble-maker am I?"
"If the shoe fits," I shrugged, and then added slyly, "which is a good change for you—wearing shoes."
"I have shoes," he said piteously, I turned to look at his face; but, he was still smiling. He lifted one disgusting sneaker, "Look, I do to have shoes!"
"If you could call those shoes," I said airily.
"They have soles, and laces; they count," he said pursing his lips.
"Fine," I said, and turned to walk away. "If you're going to justify that you have shoes now; you might as well go to a Laundromat and wash your clothes, or patch them up or something—you look homeless."
"If you've forgotten, I kind of am."
I was, yet again, taken aback.
He said it so easily. No on is supposed to be so chipper about being homeless. They were the people who were supposed to sleep on park benches and pity themselves. They were the ones that teenybopper youth groups raised money for or made blankets for or cooked nasty soup for or something.
"You have a job," I said acidly, "you could afford rent, at least."
"Oh, I'm not really homeless, in a sense of the word; I live out of my motel room."
"You live out of a motel room?" The very word motel made me think of some dinky, roadside building whose owner spoke English as a second language.
He noticed the incredulous look on my face and let a stray chortle escape his thin, pressed lips, "It's not so bad."
"Not so bad?" I echoed, "It sounds disgusting."
"It's cleaner than your apartment," he said.
"I highly doubt it. Our apartment has stayed clean for a while; thank you very much."
"You actually washed the dishes?" He raised his eyebrows, the ivory skin of his forehead wrinkled.
"Yes," I snapped, "I was feeling rather gung-ho about it a couple of weeks ago; so, we don't have rather large ominous stacks of dirty dishes on our counter anymore!"
He laughed, "Good. I was kind of worried that you'd get sick from such unsanitary living conditions."
"Yeah well, it's clean now, so you can rest at ease. The mold isn't going to murder us in our sleep," I raised my arms slightly then slapped my hands against my upper thighs and shrugged.
"That's good."
I nodded; this conversation wasn't going anywhere I realized after a moment of silence. I turned to walk away; and, unfortunately, Edward followed.
"Listen, Mario's getting a little antsy about you're appearance," I said trying to get my point across without sounding callus. "So, if you have the time, you might want to invest in a less refugee-looking wardrobe."
"I like this shirt," he said a little offended.
"Fine, then you might at the very least wash it—unless you have some qualms about washing the magic out of it or something else nonsensical."
"I don't have a problem with washing it," he said.
"You can use our washing machine," I offered before I had time to think about the repercussions.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Bella!
Yes, let's put space between Edward and I; but, that's going to be very hard if he's in my house washing his clothes! Stupid.
"You don't have to do that."
Good, he was refusing.
"I'll wash it for you if you want me to."
Bad, I was accepting.
"No, you don't have to."
"I said I would, so I will."
He smiled genuinely, "Thank you, Isabella."
"Quit with the name, please?" I begged, "I really do prefer Bella."
"If that's what you prefer," he shrugged.
I nodded, "It is."
Now that we got that clear, I felt a little relieved. I hadn't noticed that it stung when he called me Isabella. It was like licking a battery; it electrocuted.
He followed me to my front door where he stood—apparently having an argument with himself about whether or not to come in.
I sighed; I'd already made my bed now I had to lie in it, "Want to come in?"
He smiled, obviously pleased, and nodded.
I heard voices wafting from the kitchen. From the sound of things Alice and Jasper were home; and, Jasper was trying to help her with her homework.
"I won't burden you for any more than I already have," Edward said quietly, "I'll just put my shirt in to wash and leave."
"I said I'd wash it for you," I sighed.
His eyes brightened a little, it made his smile seem happier. I'd never noticed it looked hallow unless his eyes sparkled as well, "Thank you, Bella."
There it was again.
He hadn't even said my full name and it still felt like someone had touched me with a live wire.
He unbuttoned the red, flannel shirt and handed it to me.
He was thin. Too thin. The undershirt he wore was black and worn. I could see the staunch outline of his ribs under his pectorals. His collar bones protruded too far out of his shoulders. I had to bite my lips to keep from gasping.
He knew it.
He looked down a little, ashamed.
"Don't worry about me," he breathed; and, with one last glance into my eyes he went out the door.
I threw the red shirt somewhere and ghosted into the kitchen, praying that lightning would strike me and give me amnesia so I would forget about Edward.
I doubted that would happen. But, still I had to work something out so that I wouldn't get that heart wrenching feeling when I saw how unhealthy he looked. Perhaps my heart was overreacting because my head finally thought of him as my one true friend? He and I were similar—I thought he was keeping secrets. I really had no secrets; but, I felt secretive because there really wasn't much to me; and, that made me remarkable.
"Hola," Ali said, looking up from her biology book.
Jasper sat next to her and waved. "Oh, you look…um…upset?"
I glanced at my face in the chrome of the toaster, my eyebrows were drown, and my pathetically, thin lips were turned down in a frown.
I twitched my nose, and shrugged, "I'm fine."
I lied. Again.
I grabbed a piece of bread and went into my room, turning on my computer to type the final draft of my history paper.
Edward, Edward, Edward, the very beat of my fingers against the keyboard started to sound like a staccato of his name.
I groaned, and finally climbed into my bed; glad that I dreamed about rain instead of Edward.
I made it my own personal goal to ignore Edward as much as possible; but, if I needed to talk to him I was going to be friendly. No need to seem like a monster; he'd been nice to me I could repay kindness with kindness.
Work was slow the next day. Edward finished the dishes and had nothing to do; I only had one table occupied; so Mario made us an Italian sundae and told us to go out into the dining room and eat and be merry.
It felt weird sitting across from Edward; I kept my eyes down, studying the checked pattern of the green-and-white, plastic tablecloth. I grabbed my spoon and dug into the warm dough balls and ice cream.
"So," Edward began, I glanced up at him then back down at the sundae.
"So," I countered, sucking on my spoon.
"How's life?" He asked, nodding and eating a chocolate-covered dough ball.
"It's ok," I said, and glanced at him, "what about you?"
"My life's pretty good right now, actually."
"Oh?" I asked I looked up at his dancing, green eyes.
"Yeah, I haven't really stayed in one place for a while. It feels good."
I nodded.
"So, why did you decided to just wander around for the rest of your life?"
He looked at me with a guarded expression. Like he was debating whether or not to tell me the entire story; half of it would have been fine with me. I just wanted to get a glimpse into his life, to see the motives behind the actions.
"I just didn't want to stay in one place…After my parents' death; I was left with a fairly good inheritance. But, I didn't want to just waste it in one place. I took college courses as soon as I could and got a degree; but, it just didn't ever seem worth it. I didn't have what I wanted. I didn't know what I wanted."
"And you've found what you want here?" I asked, running my spoon around the dish to catch the last bits of ice cream.
"I guess I have. Like I said, it's refreshing to feel like I belong."
"Well then, I'm glad you feel like belong."
He smiled, "You're still curious."
"I am." I was past lying to Edward. He knew when I was lying to him.
"What do you want to know about?"
What did I want to know about? Somehow I couldn't remember; because something standoffish in his eyes told me that I shouldn't press. His smile was wide open; but, his eyes told me very distinctly that I really shouldn't press the matter further.
I shook my head, "Nothing."
His smile faded a little around the edges; his face was questioning, but his eyes were thankful.
Maybe this was how he read me so easily. He could see through my eyes the say way I was seeing through his.
"I don't want to really ask questions right now," I said.
He nodded, and didn't say anything else about his life. I didn't need to hear it. It made me sick to my stomach to think about it. To think about his motives. His reasons for wanting to be constantly and consistently alone.
There had to have been a bigger, back story there. But, I wasn't inclined to ask for it; and, he wasn't really inclined to tell. I knew that. I knew that if I were in his position I wouldn't want to be pressed for answers.
I didn't need to know anything about him.
Because every single bit of information got me further and further into his confidence and I wasn't sure that was what I wanted.
I suddenly remembered my high school prayers for a friend. Perhaps they were being answered…better late than never, right?
And, then I realized that what I thought I'd been quelling was a desire for friendship. I wanted to get to know him.
But, the true question was, was I worthy enough to be his friend?
Was that something I could do? I didn't understand why someone as interesting as Edward was supposed to be my friend. It didn't entirely make sense. But, what in life does? Nothing, actually, nothing at all.
DON'T HATE ME!! Yeah, I know, I didn't update on Monday--but here's my valid reason: 9 INCHES OF SNOW. I'm dead serious. It's March, and I got 9 freakin' inches of snow. Of course, with all this snow came (dun, dun, dun) POWER OUTAGES. My power went out Sunday night and has yet to come back on (according to our power company were to be living like pioneers until supposedly Friday). My dad got the generator going so we have heat and one TV seat that runs, but no laptops, no Internet, no nothing. The only reason that I'm updating now is because I had to come to school today (despite not having power at my house) and thank GOD they have wireless Internet here, and I can update. So, I'm very sorry but as of right now this week's updating schedule will be totally screwed up. I don't know when I'll be able to update next, so right now I'm just doing one chapter of Seven Brides and one of The Great Bird Migration. I'm sorry if that's going to annoy you people--it annoys me too, but hopefully soon my power will come back on and everything will be back to normal.
Next chapter will be the springboard into all things DRAMA! :D
Next time on TGBM:
"So what's up with you and that new kid?" Mario asked. I hated how he waited for Jasper to be in earshot.
I sighed and bit my tongue, "What do you mean?" I asked.
"You know what I mean," he said a hint of curiosity under his slight Brooklyn accent; I didn't miss how Jasper moved infinitesimally closer.
"Maybe I don't," I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms across my chest.
Jasper groaned, "Of course you do, stop messing with us!"