Disclaimer: Ms. Meyer owns all.
author's note: Our Tree will alternate between the year 2000 (which for all practical purposes is present day) and years past. This story is AU. You will see many characters from the Twi-universe, but the focus is the relationship btwn Edward and Bella.
Thanks to my beta klarsen18, who should get paid for all the awesomeness that she is!!! Thanks to ManiacMotherland for rec'ing this story to all her friends AND on A Different Forest. And thanks to those of you reading this...
Chpt. 10 takes place in 1990, E and B's first year of high school. (Where I grew up, high school was 10th-12th).
Chapter Ten- Unlikely Fairy Tale (1990)
Starting high school is terrifying enough, but darkening the doors when you feel you have a huge "X" written on your forehead that marks you as different, needy and special, makes it utterly horrifying.
And it was with much horror that I embarked on my first day at Harrison High.
There was so much going on inside me after losing my mom and enduring that summer of darkness. I feared if a classmate even looked at me wrong way, I might just explode into tears right in front of the entire student body. I was sure I would make a splash, the entirely wrong kind of splash, on my first official day in high school. Thereby ruining my chances of ever being normal ever again.
As it turned out though, there were a few watchful eyes that day, namely Edward, Alice and a few of my friends. There might have even been pitiful glances here and there, but nothing broke the emotional damn holding me in place. Not once did I have to fight back tears. I never found myself ducking into a restroom to get my wits about me. I never entertained the option of putting in a half day, as Edward's mom had so delicately suggested.
Making it through that first day was pivotal for me because I realized I could manage in a world outside of my home and my neighborhood. I found that I could blend into the woodwork and I wasn't poor Bella whose mom died. I was just one of many faces in a sea of sophomores at Harrison High. This realization delighted me and for the first time ever I was ecstatic to be average.
After that triumphant first day, I launched into what could have been known as the year of overcompensation. My primary goal in life, which I strove for with a vengeance, was to show anyone and everyone that I was not, and would never be some kind of sympathy case.
I worked hard in my classes. I kept my nose clean. I did exactly what my teachers asked of me, and I kept a low profile socially. For all practical purposes, I was a model student.
This prompted my sophomore counselor, at a mid year parent meeting, to say to my dad, "Bella is a top student and all around good girl who has almost miraculously overcome a major life crisis with no signs of trauma or duress. She is quite the survivor and I'm sure this is a testament to your parenting, Mr. Swan."
As I watched my dad soak in her words with a look of pride on his face, I wanted to wretch. His hand played no part in how I was or wasn't coping. Sure, he put a roof over my head and provided the necessary creature comforts of life. For these things I was grateful because there was a time that I questioned whether or not he'd be able to provide for us. However, our relationship held no intimacy and barely any familiarity. In many ways, he and I sitting there together as a united front was nothing but a farce. A farce I would ultimately choose to project, all toward the end of not appearing needy.
Strangely, even though the girl I was at school was really some amped up version of myself, I quite enjoyed being her. I was actually happy during those hours, far away from the reality that being home wouldn't allow me to escape. I loved being around kids who were simple and lead uncomplicated lives, relatively speaking.
It was a game of sorts for me to pretend to be one of them, simple and uncomplicated. The game only lasted a good seven hours, and the jig was up after school when I stepped through the front door of my home into the maddening silence.
It would hit me like a wave almost daily, that my mother was gone. I wouldn't be walking into her warm smile, incessant questions and listening ear.
That's when the real me came out. The Bella who was barely making it. The Bella who still cried many tears -though strictly sequestered to my bedroom at night- and never seemed to run out of them. The Bella who was sick and tired of being sick and tired. The Bella who leaned on a certain crazy haired, green-eyed boy like never before.
Edward was the only one who knew the real story. Alice was around as much as always and supported me in her own way. I knew she loved me and was doing her best, but I think my hard-pressed reality was out of her scope. Much like my school days, she provided a distraction for me. In some ways, her role might have been as valuable to me as Edward's.
What he gave to me, was what I needed most, simply a safe and soft place to land. He knew when I was in a bad way just by the look on my face. He understood what I was feeling without having to ask. He knew when to make me talk, as well as when to let me just be. His intuition came from knowing me so well and so long, and also from his own experience with grief. Granted, his dad wasn't dead, but Edward was intimately acquainted with profound loss and all that went with that.
We got along impeccably that year for the most part. Our only and main point of contention was his many girlfriends. He attracted them like a moth to the light, and he was just about as discriminate. He was only getting his footing in the whole dating scene, and no one relationship lasted more than a week or two - but it still bothered me. I wanted him all to myself and I wasn't in the mood to share him. My attachment to him at that time wasn't about how crazy I was over him. It was about me needing him and depending on him more than I ever had before.
I could never understand why he might even be interested in other girls. I thought that even if he and I weren't romantic, what we shared was enough. It filled me up to the brim, and I errantly believed the same should be true for him.
After I got a job in the summer following my sophomore year, my horizons broadened. I began to grasp for myself Edward's curiosity in the opposite sex. I finally understood why a platonic friendship hadn't been enough for him.
Twilight Coffee House was the coolest place I'd ever spent time in. It was the first coffee shop to hit our town, well before Starbucks came on the scene. The owner roasted and brewed his own beans and it was all very innovative at the time.
During the school year, I'd studied in Twilight's eclectic surroundings quite a bit. There was a relaxed vibe with its worn couches, antique mismatched tables and chairs, distressed wood and exposed brick. When a summer job offer there literally landed in my lap, I just about wet my pants in excitement. I needed money and I needed a job and only in my wildest imagination could I have dreamed of getting to work somewhere so tragically hip.
The people who called themselves regulars at Twilight were intellectual and edgy, in a good way. Most came from the college in our city, while some were students at Parker High, otherwise known as the gifted and talented school across town. It was not unusual to see someone reading a leather bound novel written by an obscure author I hadn't heard of. Often these coffehouse folks would be writing their thoughts or mindlessly sketching something in a moleskin journal. They intrigued me in the way they carried themselves and went about the simplest of things. In essence, these people were so many things I wasn't, but somehow I got to be in their audience five days a week, simply because I donned an apron that read Twilight Coffee.
One particular regular piqued my interest in a different way than the rest. He was a Senior at Parker High and he frequented the shop every day. His drink of choice was a double shot of espresso, which he drank sans sweetener or creamer. His wardrobe was all black and shades of grey, and he wore beat up combat boots even in the sweltering heat of summer. On his right thumb he wore a thick sterling silver ring, and a tiny diamond stud earring sat in his left earlobe. He constantly tucked his blonde chin length hair behind his ear, only to have it immediately flop across his forehead. He was of average height and build, yet there was nothing average about James Decker, at least not to me.
I found him interesting and so different from all the guys I was used to. He had a brooding quality about him that intimidated me; making him seem dangerous. Yet, there was something about his brand of peril that was stunningly attractive. My silent observation of him became a cherished routine of my summer days. He made for yet another needed distraction; a break from my harsh reality.
One day about a month after I'd started working at Twilight, the observation became interaction. I was wiping down the bar when I sensed someone standing near; possibly even watching me.
"Excuse me?" The masculine voice was smooth as silk.
I turned to find James, as expected, behind me holding an empty demitasse cup. Without thinking, I took it from him. "Refill?"
"Please."
I made my way around the bar to fetch him another espresso. I wasn't nervous because I'd spoken with him in that capacity, barista to patron, many times before.
"So, you go to Harrison, right?" he asked me as I scooped out the right amount of grinds.
"Yeah. I'm going to be a junior there," I answered over my shoulder, working the espresso machine.
"Do you know Conner Fielding?"
"I think so," I replied, wiping my hands on my hunter green apron. "Journalism guy with Flock of Seagulls hair?"
He smirked. "That's the one. He's my cousin."
"Seems nice enough." I finished his espresso and slid it across the bar to him. "I'll put it on your tab."
To my surprise he pulled out a bar stool and sat down on it, rather than in his customary spot on the blue-green sofa in the corner.
"I'm James. James Decker." He reached his hand out. Stunned, I shook it, slightly reeling from his touch. "And you're Bella. Though I must admit I don't know you're last name?"
"Swan. My last name is S-Swan," I stammered, turning a thousand shades of red. His slate blue eyes were intent on me. He had a way of looking at me as if I was a piece of abstract art that he was attempting to interpret. It was simultaneously disconcerting and thrilling.
"You like working here?"
"I do." Apparently in his presence I was a simpleton, capable of only one or two word answers.
His gaze was serious and intense, as if we were discussing our views on God, or something significant like that. "What's your favorite drink?"
"Mocha," I spat out, proving my simpleton theory. I could feel the heat rising in my face in embarrassment and self-loathing.
"A mocha girl, huh?" The corners of his lips twitched in amusement, as he held that same look of concentration and study in regards to my face. My heart raced in the wake of his unwavering gaze. A lock of gold hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes, temporarily giving me reprieve from them.
Capitalizing on the break, I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I bravely forced myself to be conversational, and possibly even normal. "I like mochas, but just between you and me, I didn't even like coffee prior to getting hired." I smiled shyly, forcing myself to look him in the eyes.
His mouth curved into a smile. "Your secret is safe with me. So, Bella Swan, coffee barista who just barely likes coffee," he leaned in toward me, resting his elbows on the bar just inches from me, "what makes a girl like you tick?"
"I'm sorry?" Apparently I wasn't well versed in the language of flirt.
"What do you like to do? What are you passionate about?"
"That's a good question," I answered him timidly, as I thought to myself, "I'm mostly passionate about a guy named Edward, and what do I like to do? Stay out of my house and away from my depressed father as much as possible."
"A good question that you don't readily have an answer for I'm guessing," he said teasingly. He spoke with the ease and maturity of a thirty year old, while I stuttered and blushed like the schoolgirl I was. On the bright side, at least I was forming sentences.
"I do have an answer, but it's not interesting really," I replied, biting my lip.
"Try me," he murmured; thereby giving the word "sexy" a definition in the Bella Swan mental dictionary.
"I like school. I read a lot. Mostly Jane Austin and such. I like to study. It's what I'm good at. As far as my passion goes, I haven't really found it yet." I looked down at the bar, noticing my hands were trembling a bit. Subtly, yet speedily I removed them from his line of sight.
"I like your answer. Refreshingly honest, though I must say I'm surprised by part of it."
"Let me guess," I ventured. "You're surprised I like to study because only airheaded bow-heads go to Harrison High?" There was a long-standing rivalry between our high schools. They thought we were trendy jocks and airheads. We thought they were bookish freaks and geeks.
"That wasn't where I was going. Never been much on stereotypes." He eyed the big white bow holding up my ponytail as he spoke. "I was actually surprised about you not having a passion."
I looked at him inquisitively.
"I've noticed you around here, Bella. You seem so sure of yourself. So deliberate in everything you do. I would've pegged you to know exactly what you like," his eyes locked on mine, causing a pleasurable tumult to course through me, "and exactly what you want."
And that's the moment I fell hard for James Decker - the real James Decker - and not just the mysterious guy from afar. He saw me as a confident, secure and together kind of girl, and I liked it. Actually I relished it. We didn't go to school together. We shared no bona fide connections outside of Twilight Coffee. He would never have to know my real story. It was feasible for me to be the girl he thoughtI was, and he'd never have to be the wiser.
"So how about you?" I eyed him thoughtfully, in a strange newfound confidence. "What makes you tick?"
And so began a new exhilarating friendship. James and I talked off and on throughout the rest of my shift that day. The shifts thereafter, he parked himself at the main bar and we talked as much as we could while I worked. He sat and read his thick involved novels, wearing black horn rimmed glasses. As engrossed as he was in his reading, I could tell he was acutely aware of my presence and whereabouts within the shop. He'd slip in a smooth, seemingly nonchalant question here or there. I'd give my answer, hoping to seem nonchalant while frantically scouring my brain for the perfect rebuttal. I'd catch him watching me as I served other customers, and he'd unapologetically watch me more; sending my autonomic nervous system into a frenzy. He'd gaze at me, brooding and smoldering, as I'd coyly smile his way. It was innocent flirtation in its finest form; my first real taste of its deliciousness.
James made my summer interesting. Because of him, my work shifts flew by in a blink, and he'd leave me longing for more. Of him. Of the way I felt around him. In fact, in an attempt to recapture those feelings during my time at home, I went to the library and checked out books by Kierkegaard, Asimov and Tolstoy. In my spare time, I trudged though the novels he liked to read, struggling through them for the sake of expanding my mind. Or impressing James.
I was hunkered down under Our Tree reading, albeit very slowly, The Cossacks. It was admittedly not my cup of tea and rather boring, but every time I thought about putting it down, James would come to mind. Thoughts of his glib intellectual banter, and my lack there of, was all I needed to press on in my intellectual pursuit.
"Tolstoy. Seriously?" Edward's voice interrupted my concentration. "Whatever happened to those books that you love about the twins in California?"
"Sweet Valley High?"
"Yeah, those." He plopped down beside me, thumping my book.
"That was sixth grade, Edward."
"But The Cossacks? Come on, Bella. What's up with that?"
"I'm just broadening my scope a little. Looking into some different things."
"These different things wouldn't have anything to do with an elitist freak from Parker High, would they?" he said knowingly.
"His name is James and he might have introduced me to few new authors."
"So is he still stalking you?" A smirk played across Edward's lips.
"He doesn't stalk me. I work at the coffee shop he frequents. We're friends. Case closed."
"From what I hear he stalks you. Kind of creepy if you ask me."
"I didn't ask," I snapped, feeling my blood begin to boil.
Ignoring my testiness, Edward stretched his long arms in the air and opened his mouth in a wide yawn. "Talked to John Morris last night."
I thought about the condolences card John had sent me after mom died and how much it had touched me. A fleeting pang of sadness came over me. "Oh yeah? Where'd you see him? I miss that guy."
"I didn't see him. I called him."
"Okay?"
"He goes to Parker."
"I know that." My impatience was growing. "That's why I miss him."
"Let's just say John helped me do a little reconnaissance work." Edward was decidedly cryptic, and he appeared to be enjoying it.
"Meaning?"
"Needed to find out a little more about your stalker. Didn't get a good vibe when I met him."
"That's ridiculous. You talked to the guy one time for like five minutes." Then as the realization dawned on me that Edward had been snooping into my business like some overbearing big brother, I became aggravated. "What made you think I needed you to check up on him anyway? I never asked for your help. For your information, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."
"Well you'll be glad I did," he went on, completely ignoring my proclamation of independence. "According to John, you won't meet a bigger player."
"Hello pot, I'm the kettle and you're black," I replied pointedly.
He rolled his eyes, miffed. "I date around a lot. James is a player. Uses and abuses. All I know is I'd steer clear of the guy."
"We're just friends, so whether or not he's a player," I mocked Edward's intonation exactly, "makes no difference to me."
"Bells, don't be naïve. He's into you and he's just waiting for the right moment to pounce. I just want you to be ready."
"Whatever, Edward," I huffed, burying my nose in my book to mock read.
He jumped to his feet agilely while glancing at his watch. "Well, I gotta go mow. Mrs. Thompson's waiting. Catch ya later?"
"Mrs. Thompson?" I looked up from my book. "She's the one who likes to sit on her porch and sip iced tea while she watches you mow, right?"
"That's the one." He grinned crookedly, his face reddening slightly. "I'm feeling generous today. Maybe I'll mow shirtless." He winked at me and with that he was off.
Suddenly endeared by him, I watched him jog toward his house, thinking how difficult it was to stay irritated at the guy. The fact that I couldn't stay irritated, only irritated me more! With a sigh, I returned my attention to the blur of words on the pages in my hand.
I went to my shift at Twilight later that night, mentally prepared to casually discuss The Cossacks with James. I was fairly certain he'd be there for at least part of my shift. At least I hoped he'd be. Working wasn't nearly as fun without his palpable presence filling the coffee shop.
Unfortunately, he wasn't there when I clocked in, and my night was stale and ordinary. But with only thirty minutes left until close, he sauntered in, looking dangerously handsome. There was a certain glint in his eyes that I couldn't name at the time. He made his way over to me where I was sweeping the floor.
"Hey, Bella Swan." His voice was languid.
"Hey yourself."
He raised his hand up to the collar of my shirt and smoothed it down. The proximity of his hand made my heart race within me.
"So, I'm on my way to this party. I was thinking you might wanna go too?" He never once took his eyes off mine.
Resolving to remain calm and collected I exhaled purposefully. "When is this party?"
"It started at ten, and I'm headed there now." He smiled a lopsided grin. "You in? Because I'd love it if you were in."
"Why not? How about I meet you there after my shift?" I replied without thinking, hoping to come off way more relaxed than I could or would ever be.
James was officially taking our relationship outside of the confines of Twilight. Leaving our little caffeinated bubble of flirtation made me nervous, but it seemed like a natural progression I was ready to explore. I had no car or any kind of firm plan on how to get to this party, but somehow details didn't matter under the inspection of those slate blue eyes.
"Perfect," he practically purred. "It's out at that abandoned warehouse on I-27 and Millhouse. You know the one?"
I nodded, fighting the urge to ask if we might get in trouble for partying in an abandoned warehouse. Cool, confident Bella, who knows what she wants, wouldn't worry about such things. So I swallowed down my reservations.
He leaned in, his warm breath caressing my neck below my ear. "Don't be long."
"I won't," I muttered, unsteadily. I'd never been so close to a guy before, unless wrestling with Edward as kids counted. It didn't.
He gave me a lazy grin and left the shop through the back entrance, leaving me dizzy in the wake of our little encounter. I finished my closing duties in record time and convinced my coworker, Marti, who usually drove me home after work, to give me a ride to the party. I primped my look the best I could on the ride there, helpless to rid myself of the smell of java. I figured there were worse things to reek of. Besides, James loved coffee; the stronger the better.
Marti dropped me at the party, almost literally, barely even putting the car in park to let me out. Her Ford Probe peeled out and eased back on the road, leaving me standing in a cloud of dust. Coughing, I knew I was going to that party, and there was no turning back.
The warehouse sat in the middle of nowhere just outside of town. Scores of cars flanked it, haphazardly parked in every which direction. I could hear the steady thumping of music coming from the dilapidated structure. I stood before it, thinking for only for a moment what a bad idea it was for me to be there. It was the most un-Bella of things I could do: to meet a risky boy in a derelict warehouse, full of people I didn't know, where alcohol and God only knows what else, was likely liberally flowing. I threw caution to the wind desiring nothing more than to be un-Bella. I wanted to be the girl James had conjured up; poised and sure.
Ignoring the chaos in my gut, I swiped on one last coat of lip-gloss and resolutely headed into the party. My own words to Edward from earlier that day echoing in my head with each step, "I am quite capable of taking care of myself."
The inside of the warehouse was dark and dingy, only lit by camping lanterns positioned randomly around the place. Even so, the night sky outside illuminated by moonlight alone, was brighter. I stepped through the door, immediately finding a red disposable cup thrust into my hand by some girl I didn't know.
"Thank you," I yelled, my voice completely inaudible to her over the blaring music. Peeking inside of it, I inhaled, wrinkling my nose at the pungent tang of some kind of alcoholic mixture. I didn't intend to drink it, but I held the cup casually, thankful for a prop.
I meandered through the masses of kids, bumping shoulders with someone every two seconds. Many of them looked quite a bit older than me. Whether that was because they seemed so at ease drinking and smoking, or because they were physically more mature, I couldn't quite decipher. One group of them were sitting on the ground passing around what I was sure to be a joint. I'd only seen one on T.V., but it looked exactly as I would have imagined. Each person took a long drag off of it, closing their eyes and almost wincing. Then they'd soak it in, passing it on to their neighbor. It gave off a thick sweet sage-like smell that I never forgot.
Several couples were making out against the warehouse walls, and I even saw one girl's boob. Most of the people there were huddled in groups, nursing their red plastic cups, with a Marlboro dangling from their lips as they talked; looking nonchalant and so much like the James I'd come to know.
One thing I knew for certain, it was not my scene. As a girl with a very innocent bent as far as the ways of the world were concerned, that party left me wide eyed and mystified; a regular Alice in Heathenland.
I shouldn't have gone there alone. I shouldn't have stepped foot in the place. And I probably should have altogether feared it more. Yet, taking it in as an observer and not a participant made it less daunting for me, even if deceptively so.
Sure, I'd been to parties before, but this was a party, and ready or not, I was in the middle of it. I was in the thick of probably seventy-five people, most of who favored dark toned clothes in a poorly lit room. This made finding James all the more difficult.
When I'd nearly covered the perimeter of the place, regretting my decision to go there, I felt two hands come from behind me grasping me firmly on either side of my waist. I whirled around and found myself face to face with James. He couldn't have been three inches from me.
"Hey, coffee girl." Musty smoke and alcohol assaulted my nose. "You made it."
"I made it." I smiled, glad that because of his nearness I didn't have to yell.
He grabbed my red cup from me, took a sloppy gulp out of it, and placed it back in my hand. Then he reached down and found my other hand. He brought it up to his mouth and brushed my palm with his bottom lip, sending a thousand chills down my spine. "So, you wanna go outside? I could use a breather."
"Sure." We walked hand in hand to the back entrance. I kept pushing back thoughts that un-Bella wouldn't entertain, such as he's sure moving quick tonight. Barely said three words and he's already sucking on my hand.
I willed my thoughts away with a squeeze of his hand. He responded by leaning over to me and nuzzling my ear as we walked together.
When we finally made it outside, heedlessly bumping into at least twelve people on our quest toward the door, the music once again became a distant thumping. The fresh air tasted delightful. The stark contrast caused me to realize how smoky the interior had been. I hoped we wouldn't have to go back in there, my inner Bella telling me that it couldn't be good for my lungs.
James grabbed me by the waist again, this time from the front. Then he hoisted me up onto the hood of a nearby black Beretta.
"Do you know whose car this is?" I squeaked out, taken aback.
He had touched me more that night, than in our entire four-week friendship. I knew I should have been completely thrilled by it, but a big part of me was unsettled by his touching. Or more precisely, his touching without permission.
"Nah." He grinned, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it up.
He nestled into me, forcing me to spread my legs so he could wedge himself between them. There was barely any distance between our bodies. "So, Bella Swan, whatcha wanna do?"
His eyes were sultry and intense. I was pretty sure, even in my inexperienced naiveté, what he wanted to do.
I shrugged my shoulders, shaking my head as he offered me a drag off of his cigarette. He leaned in toward me, whispering with hot stale breath in my ear, "If you don't have any ideas, I could give you a few." Then he flicked my ear lobe with his tongue.
I pulled away, finding his eyes. "I read some Tolstoy."
"And she's smart to boot." This time he ran his hand up my thigh; dangerously close to no-man's land.
I grabbed his hand and pushed it away. "I got about half way through The Cossacks."
"You'll finish it," he murmured, running his nose across my jaw line. "You seem like a girl who finishes what she starts." Funny how something that would've fascinated him and launched him into a ten-minute literary monologue at Twilight, just bounced off of him that night.
He took one last drag off his cigarette, then flicked it to the ground, not bothering to stomp it out. Of course, I worried he'd start a brush fire in the nearby field. He moved his hand to my back, running it up and down the length of my spine. Then he fished one hand up under the bottom hem of my shirt.
I immediately grabbed his hand and changed its trajectory. This, however, didn't thwart him for long. His hand found its way up my shirt again in no time at all. This time I clutched his hand forcefully and held it at his wrist. Digging into his skin with my fingernails, I hissed, "Get your filthy hands off of me!"
"Whoa." He stepped back, holding his hands out innocently. "What's with you?"
"What's with me? What's with me?" I crammed un-Bella back into my pocket, in the moment considering her highly overrated. Seething with anger, I jumped down from the car. "What makes you think you can just touch me wherever you want to? Where did you get the idea it was okay to fondle me, without asking me if it was okay? And why, why, would you blow that nasty smoke into my face?"
He took a step or two away from me, backing up slowly as if I was a caged animal. "Take it easy. No harm, no foul. I just thought we were into each other. I mean the way you lead me on every day at the coffee—"
"Don't you even go there," I interrupted him mid-sentence. "You know I didn't lead you on. I served you your pretentious little coffee, listened to you ramble on about your all important and totally boring novels, and we flirted here and there. So don't you even act like I had anything to do with," I waved my hand between us, "this."
"Fine, whatever you say." His looked at me like I was insane, and his tone was condescending. I knew it and I wanted to knock him off his high horse, but something inside me told me it wasn't worth it. Instead I strapped my purse across my chest, put one foot in front of the other, and began walking in the darkness in the middle of the night to nowhere in particular.
Behind me, I heard him mumble a few choice words under his breath and I think he kicked the ground.
Just as I assumed, James didn't come running after me in contrition. He headed right back into the party, likely to find another girl who would be a more willing participant. I was sure he wouldn't give me another thought, ever again, because he hadn't gotten what he wanted from me, and I'd made it clear he wouldn't.
I decided to head east, remembering there was a truck stop in the vicinity of the warehouse. Just how close or how far this truck stop was, I didn't know for sure. But I had no other choice but to hoof it. Otherwise I was stuck with James at a party I didn't belong at in the first place.
Hot tears stung my eyes as I trudged down the dark road. I was angry at James for thinking I was that kind of girl. I was livid he would try to use me like that. I was frustrated at myself for buying his act at the coffee shop, and thinking we shared some kind of deep cerebral connection. Truth was, all along he probably just hoped to conquer the frigid little barista. I'm sure he saw me as quite the challenge, an innocent little bowhead from Harrison High. I felt the fool - the naïve, stupid little fool. My entire body ached in that identity.
It took me an hour to reach the truck stop. My feet were throbbing and I could barely keep my eyes alert and focused. I located a phone booth knowing exactly whom I had to call. Phoning my dad wasn't an option. I had no desire to, and even if I had it was highly unlikely that he would even hear the phone ringing in his nightly Jack and coke-induced stupor.
Alice wasn't a viable choice either. She was on a family vacation in colonial Williamsburg. Or in her words, on a quest to find a hot Revolutionary War re-enactor. Since I didn't have enough cash to pay a cab, I was left with one viable option. Edward.
I dialed his number slowly, prolonging the inevitable, while praying he'd answer the phone before his mother did. After two rings, I heard the sound of the receiver being picked up and then fumbled around.
"Hello." Hearing Edward's groggy voice filled me with relief.
"Hey."
"Bells?" His voice was rough and slurred. "What time is it?"
"Around 1:30."
"You okay?" he murmured through a yawn.
I paused, silently questioning if I was really was okay. "I think so. I sort of need a ride."
"You still at work?"
"I'm at Handy Truck Stop on I-27 and Rhine."
"What? Why?"
"Could you just come get me?" I replied hurriedly. "I'll explain later."
"Yeah. Okay. Be there in a minute."
I hung up the phone and headed inside the truck stop to wait for Edward. Using the two dollars in my wallet, I paid for can Coke and a dried out danish. Mindlessly nibbling and sipping, I eyed several burly looking truckers sitting near me. For the first time that night, I felt an appropriate amount of fear.
A very lingering fifteen minutes rolled by before Edward pulled up in his mom's white Buick Century, which we had nicknamed Casper. The moment I spotted him, I jumped up, exited the truck stop and scurried toward him.
"Hey," I said, as I hastily jumped into the car. I shut the door and locked it, relief washing over me as I felt truly safe for the first time that evening.
"Thanks," I replied apologetically, noting Edward's haphazard just-woken-up-in the middle of the night look. His Texas Rangers ball cap was turned backward on his head, and he had on his glasses, which he hated and never wore in public. His bright orange Grace Trail t-shirt and maroon athletic shorts were wrinkled and clashed horribly. He was driving barefoot which I found to be slightly weird.
Who was I to talk? I was the one hanging out with truckers at two in the morning.
"So you gonna explain how you ended up at a truck stop outside of town? Last I heard you were working a shift at Twilight." He put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking space.
Ignoring his question, I asked him the one burning in me, "What did your mom say about you taking her car and coming to get me at this time of night? Or is it morning?"
"It's technically morning. And she doesn't know I'm here."
"You snuck out?" I asked him, incredulous.
"Not really. I left her a note on the kitchen counter telling her I had to go get you after a late shift at the coffee shop. If you didn't know it," he looked over at me pointedly, with eyebrows raised, "y'all had a band play tonight so the shop stayed open extra late for the show."
Lowering my eyes, I cringed. "You lied to your mom for me?"
"Maybe a little. But chances are she won't have to know I did. I'm thinking she'll never know I left the house in the first place."
Our eyes met and I smiled contritely. "I won't put you in that position again. I promise."
"Why don't you tell me why you put me in that position tonight?" His expectant gaze shifted from the road to my face and back to the road.
"I went to a party at the old auto parts warehouse on Millhouse. Just south of town."
"Okay?"
"Then I decided I didn't want to be at the party anymore, so I walked to the truck stop."
His mouth dropped agape. "You walked down the highway in the middle of the night by yourself?"
"I guess so."
He gripped the steering wheel tensely. "How did you get to the party in the first place?"
"Marti dropped me off after work."
"And she just left you there?"
"Uh-huh. I was meeting someone there who I was pretty sure would give me a ride home."
"So, why didn't they?" He eyed me suspiciously.
"We had an argument." I stared out my window, unwilling to take in his quizzical face.
"So you went to a party by yourself, which is totally not something you would do, by the way, had an argument and hoofed it several miles to a truck stop?"
"Pretty much," I answered him casually, as if the order of events was typical for me.
He rolled his neck and licked his lips. "Bella, cut the crap. I got out of bed, stole my mom's car and came to get you without asking any questions." He leveled me with his emerald eyes. "Just tell me what happened already."
I bit my lip and lowered my gaze. "You were right about James, okay? He is a player, a complete jerk of a player. So just spare me the I told you so. I promise you that whatever you might have to say to me about it, I've already said to myself, plus a lot more." My eyes welled with tears. I kept my head down, hoping Edward wouldn't notice them.
"What did he do to you?" he hissed through his teeth, apparently unconcerned with making me eat crow. His jaw was clinched, making the angle of it ever more defined.
"He just got a little," I hesitated, "a little handsy."
"Exactly how handsy?" The knuckles of his hand that gripped the wheel were blanched.
"It was nothing. I handled it."
"Did he hurt you?"
"I'm fine. No harm, no foul." As the very words James had used left my lips, I inwardly winced.
"My ass," Edward seethed, his face flushed in anger. "What did he do to you?"
"I told you I handled it. He didn't do anything. I left before he could."
"I am telling you right now, I can't be held responsible for what I do to that guy if I ever run into him." He punctuated his proclamation by hitting the steering wheel with his hand.
"Please just calm down."
"He took advantage of you, Bella!"
"It's no big deal. I told him to stop and he did. End of story."
His full lips were tightly drawn together in a thin tight line. "It is too a big deal. It's bad enough that he tried to…" His voice trailed off. "But then he just lets you walk by yourself on the highway. I mean, Bella, do you get all the things that could've happened to you?" He turned to face me and his eyes were panicked.
"But nothing happened. I'm fine." I reminded him calmly.
Shaking his head in disgust, he turned his eyes back toward the road, his countenance a hardened mask of worry and concern. "I have half a mind to go find the jerk right now. After I got through with him, I promise you he'd never bother you again." The muscles in his jaw shifted as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.
"He's not worth it, Edward. Besides I'm pretty sure he and I are over. Not that we were ever really a thing anyway."
"And that's a good thing."
"I know it is. But I feel like such a fool anyway," I whispered. "To think a guy like that would be interested in me. For me."
"Bella, you are not the fool."
"But don't you get it? I am. If not for thinking he really liked me, then for ignoring my gut. Deep down, I knew you were right about him. I just wanted him to be something he wasn't and I wanted to be someone I'm not. The way he treated me at the coffeehouse…it was as if the Bella who has no mother, who has this crappy life, didn't exist. I got to be someone different for awhile and I liked it."
Using the backside of my hands, I feverishly wiped a fresh wave of tears off my cheeks. Edward reached into the console between our seats and handed me a tissue. I used it to wipe under my eyes and then loudly blow my nose. Then I settled into my seat, leaning my head back and resting my burning eyes.
"If it's okay with you, I'd rather not talk about it anymore."
"That's fine. I'm just sorry that it happened to you, Bells," he whispered, softly squeezing my shoulder with his hand. "Things like that shouldn't happen to someone like you."
I wasn't sure what he meant, but I lacked the strength to question him about it.
We drove the rest of the way home wordless, letting the music from the radio provide our soundtrack. Since we were in Edward's mother's car, the dial was set to easy listening. The Muzak version of You've Got A Friend filled the space around us, making me roll my eyes in its cheesy timeliness.
He pulled the car into his drive ten minutes later. Before I let myself out, I had one more thing to say that couldn't wait. "Edward?"
"Yeah?" He glanced over at me with tired, red eyes, looking every bit as weary as I felt.
"I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"For lots of things, including dragging you out of bed to come pick up the pieces of my mess once again. But mostly, I'm sorry for saying you were a player like James." His eyes met mine, and the unspoken, undeniable connection we shared pulsed between us. "Because even on your very worst day, you're nothing like him."
His eyes softened, briefly looking more alive than the hour allowed them to be. His lips drew up into a kind smile. I returned it, meek and thankful.
He opened his mouth to say something more, but clamped it down as if he thought better of it. "Night, Bells."
"Good night, Edward."
***
I went back to work the following Monday, anxiously wondering if I'd have to see James again. He showed up in the middle of my shift, wearing sunglasses indoors like some kind of celebrity. Twilight was not that big of a coffee house, but we managed to aptly avoid one another. He got his espresso from the other barista and snuck off to the corner to read his novel and brood. It was an uncomfortable day, but I lived to tell, which lead me to believe the shifts after it would only get better in that regard.
As he got up to leave later that afternoon, he briefly removed his shades. I happened to be looking at just the right time to catch a glimpse of a big shiner around his right eye. My eyes widened at the sight of it, and an unavoidable grin overcame my face. I turned away quickly so he couldn't see me, as a mental picture of Edward's bruised and slightly split knuckle flashed through my mind.
Edward had brushed it off when I'd inquired about the injury, vaguely attributing it to a mowing accident. Connecting the dots, I realized my best friend had defended my honor. Not because I needed him to, but simply because he saw fit to do so, and that, I could live with. I smugly gloried in the absolute vindication and chivalry of it all.
I decided the ending of my story with James Decker was actually quite like a fairy tale, though it didn't play out exactly in storybook form. In my personal version, the bad guy was an arrogant intellectual from the high school across town, who was really just an idiot when it all was said and done. The white knight was actually the boy next door. He had a steed, but its name was Casper and it was actually an American made car. He'd gallantly protected my integrity, not through a joust or a sword fight, but rather in a fist to the face. Certainly, the details of it all weren't frivolous or extravagant, but to me they were the stuff of fairy tales all the same.
I worked at a coffee shop for 2 years, but I never met someone like James Decker there. Instead, I met my husband of 11 years! He had me at, "Can I have a hot chocolate?" :) Oh, and my apologies if you have this on alert and you received 3 of them. Weird, right??? Hopefully that won't happen again.