Chapter 9 Three Little Kittens

A/N: These characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

This delayed update comes to you with an apology. I fully intended to have this posted by Jan 1, but shockingly took the day off (insert gasp here) to read my first book since putting down the Twilight Saga, after four times straight through. I had fun with it, and although I don't wish to tear devoted fans from Twilight or fan fiction I can't help but share this enjoyment. Check out Kristin Cashore's Graceling. Sure, I found myself seeing Katsa as Bella and Po as our Edward, but it was a great initial foray back into the world of literature.

But seriously now … on to what we know and what could never, ever be replaced!

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RPOV – Monday, Late Afternoon

The memory of Emmett, thick and firm, against my palm was seared into my memory. You'd think, being a woman - thus being capable of thoughts beyond the sexual and having had quite a few hours pass since experiencing such a sensation - that the recollection might have waned, and perhaps it would have … if he hadn't been jumping around in front of me for the last ninety minutes. Wearing a scrap of spandex. In water. Tight ass, desperately defined 'V', packs and packs of abs, and his pecks – god. I was soaking through my satin.

Wheeeee.

The high-pitched sound of the coach's whistle rang out to signal the end of practice. The guys all jumped out of the pool and grabbed their towels, except for Emmett who chose to walk my way.

I'm not normally one to sit and watch a sports practice; I liked people to think I have better things to do with my time. But Alice just happened to mention she was planning on making an appearance, and after the public display of affection I witnessed between her and Emmett before class I found myself curious. I pondered their relationship, and considered the possibility that he also fondled her ass in the courtyard. Humph. I did not like that.

He reached our bleacher quickly, all smiles and hotness. My heart skipped a beat. I couldn't pin point when it started beating again.

"Hello, ladies." As he greeted he reached a hand out to Alice, who reciprocated by reaching back. Swinging their interlocked hands upwards, he placed a kiss on her overturned knuckles, swung once and freed them.

"I'm glad you came." He grinned widely. "Nothing better than a friend supporting old Edward on his first day back."

"He looks like he could use it – still. Ever find out his deal?" We joined Alice's train of sight and looked Edward's way. He doesn't look that in need of support to me. Brooding and constipated seemed a normal look for Mr. Popular. Obviously, I was out of the loop.

"I'll let you ask him the questions. I'm all about avoiding the drama, remember?" They laughed together.

Neither Alice nor I had divulged our motives for coming today. I had hardly the audacity to open the can of worms that was a friendship with Alice when we met up at last night's party, let alone start hashing out intentions and personal thoughts.

But I'd decided, after being a bitch to her about the whole Jasper/Bella thing, – she absolutely has something for him though, I know I saw it – the least I could do was try. Make an effort to figure out this friend thing that was so sensitive for me. And seemingly impossible, I added as I batted down the jealously their obvious display of familiarity inspired.

Alice, of course, had no idea of my physical interactions with Emmett, beyond speaking with him at Edward's homecoming bash. She'd witnessed that first hand – actually, my ability to be normal with her encouraged me to seek him out. Obviously, I'm not upset with her. I was trying not to be upset with her.

"And Rosalie," Emmett finally turned his attention on me, "I am surprised to see you here. Did you enjoy practice?" Emmett's voice dropped a little at the end as he brought his drying, chiseled body closer.

"I found it entertaining." I met his gaze aggressively, but let a smile spread over my lips, eventually turning my head towards Alice. "It appeared to be quite the workout. Don't you agree, Alice?"

She smiled. "Oh, yes." Throughout practice, we hadn't discussed much more than the guys and their exercise; making comparisons, speculating over stamina, tossing out size related predictions. Their suits begged for the attention. As did Emmett, standing before us in all his hunky, near naked glory.

I took a step forward, placed my hand on his chest and purred, "Are you tired?"

"No, I'm good." He looked back and forth between Alice and me, jovial but slightly confused. He's just too much fun to play with.

"So I was correct." I sent Ali a devilish grin of victory and she inched her eyebrows high into her forehead as she chuckled.

Emmett looked like he wanted to ask for an elaboration but Jasper walked up, abruptly stopping in front of Alice.

"Alice," He's so shy with her - what a pussy. "Do you know where Bella went?"

First shock, then pain touched Alice's features until her face settled on pleasant surprise and a friendly smile. "She left in a hurry, mentioning not feeling up for dinner, and said she'd see you tomorrow."

Jasper's looked at me for the first time and narrowed his eyes, saying nothing as he quickly shifted his focus to Emmett and then back on Alice.

"She left in a hurry?" Emmett found his way into the conversation, looking a little alarmed as he directed his words towards Jasper. "You don't think she heard me. I mean, we were pretty far away."

Jasper looked so pissed off and desperate to get away but also somehow unable to move from his spot on the concrete.

"I have no idea, Emmett."

Jasper was all out glaring at me now and Emmett's face was scrunched up in such worry. Alice seemed to be taking the whole thing in silently as her gaze penetrated Emmett, successfully avoiding me, and taking second long breaks to glance at Jasper.

This round robin of meaningful looks was getting boring fast. "What is everyone's problem? Bella went back to the suite early, god Jasper; she doesn't need a babysitter. Seriously, you two need to cool it with the lovin'."

Jasper hit critical mass. "That's enough, Rosalie." His words thundered and his body shook, causing me to realize he was significantly more butt hurt than I'd ever seen him.

"Enough what? Just go, Jasper, find your girlfrie-" But he cut me off – he cut ME off.

"Shut the fuck up. Just shut-the-fuck-up, Rosalie. You are pathetic." He enunciated every world and turned his back, heading in the direction of the locker room.

I couldn't really process what had just happened seeing as my brother had apparently left the building and some jackass had just addressed me in a horrendously foul manner. No one spoke to me that way. Ever.

I was more than confused at how outrageously Jasper had just acted and looked to Emmett for clarity, seeing as Alice had lost her sense of speech in all of this.

"I think Jasper is pissed at you Rosalie." I'm familiar with the what, clearly, it's the why I'm confused over.

"It appears so." I shrugged my shoulder in a "who knows why" gesture.

Emmett took a heavy, uncertain pause and let out a gust of breath.

"Maybe you shouldn't lie about him." His words caused me to blanch because I had no idea what he was talking about and so I looked at Alice, whose eyes had grown round as saucers and were blinking in staccato.

Alice finally spoke, almost to herself. "Lie?" She rocked back and forth, heel to toe, waiting for something as she contemplated a mental difficulty. Suddenly, she snapped her head up and brought her hands to Emmett's arm. "It was a lie." So much hope filled her voice she was almost singing. And it wasn't a question she formed, but a strong statement.

He affirmed her and when his gaze finally included me I found disappointment there. Disappointment in me. He's frowning at me. What did I do? What lie did I tell? I was really beginning to feel a mix of anger and panic fall over me as I watched the two important people in front of me being so affected by my apparent actions. They were forming a team before my eyes and not even willing to give me a clue as to what the cause was. So I just stood there, on the outskirts, clueless, racking my brain for the key that would open me up to the problem.

But Alice turned abruptly in my direction before I could continue thinking through a possible answer and the only way to accurately describe her expression was pained.

"You aren't really a bitch, Rosalie. But you sure are an expert at pretending." She was only able to whisper. And with that, she slipped an arm around Emmett's waist and they walked away, Emmett's disappointment turning into displeasure as he sent me a parting nod.

I was standing in confusion and disbelief at what had just transpired here. It seemed whatever had everyone crazy should have been brutally obvious to me, being that my brother had just verbally accosted me and my one budding friend was walking away relying on the guy, someone I'd actually allowed myself to pine over, for support.

And then I was alone.

Alone was an absolutely familiar world for me. I'd lived there peacefully for years and been content enough – sad, but content. I'd chosen that as home to prevent the unavoidable reality of abandonment.

Yet, here I stood, having hardly dipped a toe into the waters of meaningful interaction and, already, I cared too much. Those hurting faces, which were now turned away from me as they retreated from my perplexity, and apparently poisonous presence, made me hurt. I'd caused them pain. Their hearts were aching because of me.

I longed for the proverbial, callused heart I'd spent years hardening. Pain was less there.

But one significant word echoed in my searching memory … hearts.

Oh.

Well, shit.

I had shared my venomous insecurities that day with Alice, in front of my doorway, in an effort to protect myself from the pain of watching those I loved choose others over me.

And I'd lost anyway.

I'd cultivated this outcome in my panic and selfishness. And instincts.

I really wished I wasn't instinctively a bitch. But I was. And in that, Alice had been wrong.

But I had been wrong more.

As a result of my carelessness, I'd underestimated Alice's feelings as well as the influence of my own words. But now the caring was welling up inside my once cold, still heart, and I realized it was all geared towards her, that dynamic fountain of life.

I'd lost Jasper years ago and Emmett wasn't yet mine - not that he'd ever take the time to see the true me now – but Alice, I could read her. And I had never been considered intuitive. But, the verve frequency she vibrated at registered with me unlike anyone else. Even Renee. I still didn't understand it, but I couldn't willingly forfeit it either. Even for myself.

So, I'd figure out this friendships thing if it meant having Alice in my life. I could go on wishing, somehow, the guy I'd been in love with since sophomore Bio Lab would take another look and find something worthwhile in me. But, I should probably start small.

Time to reign in your insufferable bitch tendencies, Rosalie, I thought as I strode from the P.E.T. to confront what awaited me at the suite.

Apparently, this would be the day the Queen rescinded her thrown.

And that really wasn't starting small.

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APOV – Monday, Early Evening

I held the frame in my hand, absorbing its contents.

It wasn't a nondescript drawing. Every contour held definitions that had been executed with uniquely weighted strokes. Each line had taken extreme care, or at least I assumed they did, seeing as I couldn't quite remember the in-betweens of drawing this figure, this man. My only memories were of beginning with his legs and finishing with his left hand. This was the only human rendering I'd ever drawn. Never one before, none would follow. This was all. He was it.

I remember running back to my room, that first day of sophomore year, and tearing through my pristinely saved drawings. I'd only ever bothered to look at the collection occasionally, whenever I felt the urge to walk down memory lane or evaluate my artistic advances. The difference with this man drawing was that there was nothing to compare it too. How do you go about critiquing progressing style technique of a man compared to fashion sketches or architectural designs? You couldn't. And I didn't. But every time I'd pull out that sheet of questioned inspiration, since putting it to paper in the fifth grade, I'd study it relentlessly, memorizing each eye and hair strand and muscular bend. I knew this man. I'd made him up and I never knew why. Until I pulled out that lose leaf sheet for the last time, on that particular day, and held it up, confirming what I'd already been witness to.

I'd seen his legs first, splayed out from his desk, but my eyes continued their ascension until I reached his face. They were one in the same. My drawn man and this man, only I'd known the paper form for five years, and the living, breathing version was Fremont's new student.

How did I draw Jasper Hale so many years before meeting him? Well, not meeting him … seeing him.

The shock of contributing to yourself in a life altering way is profound, never realizing you've done it, and then suddenly being punched in the heart when it shocks you awake. Shocked to say the least. Edward had to save me that day. Although it wasn't our first, I came alive in a new way when I broke the surface, my mental clarity surprising me greatly - but I didn't have to question my settled mind.

It was obvious that Jasper was to mean something significant in my life. I drew him, how he looked his first day at Fremont, not five years previous. So, there was a timetable to this physical premonition, and I needed a course of action. Only, instead of speaking to him I began watching him and looking at my newly framed drawing more frequently. I wanted so desperately to really know him, but too much felt at stake to force it. I have never been a subtle person. Without meaning to, the course of action morphed into a waiting game.

And until Saturday, in Rose's hallway, we'd never spoken. But, by the end of sophomore year, I had already fallen in love with Jasper Hale; so quietly kind, introverted and self-assured. I was the worst kind of obsessed stalker. Well, not the worst. I didn't have a closeted shrine, just the one drawing, and I didn't become dangerous. Really, he held all the power.

Everything I'd believed for so long crashed down around me at Rosalie's simple lie. But the lie wasn't truth. Emmett had confirmed that much for me. "Straight from Jasper's mouth," he'd said.

I knew I'd failed Jasper for believing it, which meant I really didn't know him that well. I'd been naïve. And now I was second-guessing myself. And Jasper. And my drawing. And the faith in the future that drawing seemed to promise.

But there were no promises. Life was what you made it. Even through all the destiny mumbo jumbo that I was doubting, though, I didn't stop needing to be with Jasper. And I was done settling. My course of action would need to change.

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BPOV

Monday was gone, Tuesday was upon me. Actually, Tuesday afternoon to be precise.

I laid face up on my bed, just as I'd done for the duration of my waking hours last night and continued after jolting awake this morning, staring wholeheartedly at the ceiling. Now it was my free period, and having avoided the Refectory at all costs, I was now psyching myself up for French.

I'd ignored everyone so far because it seemed the best way to get my brain back. What a horrible time for a brain to go missing, in the proximal presence of bronze hair and awakened passion. Awesome! Dripping sarcasm couldn't even persuade a smile.

Blah.

I couldn't face Jasper, no matter his confusingly dyer attempts to coerce me from my room last night or walk me to class this morning. He'd be so disappointed and concerned if he knew where my heart – come back rational thought, come back – was leading me. Rosalie was never someone I'd seek out or was sought after by. So, that one was a piece. And, well, those are the people in my life in one second or less.

French now loomed over me and I found myself desperately clinging to yesterday's resolution – it wasn't New Years but what the hell – No more thoughts, No more dreams, No more fantasies.

I wonder how many people have actually attempted controlling their dreams and succeeded?

I had found that one-third of the resolution impossible. Such dreams I never knew my mind was possible of creating. This morning, once I'd reclaimed consciousness, I could not remember anything specific, not one thing. But I was, of course, naked, sweaty and hopelessly turned on. And it was all for him, because one thought in his general direction, in that aroused state, elicited erratic breathing and an immediate need for alleviating friction.

Up and out, get your ass up and out.

It was frenchin' time, er, time for French, and I was going to meet this head on. God, no more inane jokes, you're making everything worse. My thoughts fought with my deteriorating mind as I licked my lips, deep in thought of kissing, of his lips molding to mine, of his tongue brushing my lips, finding its way inside my mouth. I am going insane. Any impulse control I once possessed was vanishing.

No matter how disobedient my brain seemed to be at the moment, my thoughts, and fundamentally my fantasies as well, had been giving me less trouble than my dreams. Perhaps it was because I was an active participant in what I allowed my mental attention to dwell on. With the distraction of my bedroom ceiling now gone, however, questions were infiltrating the space up there quite rapidly.

Could he see the want in my eyes yesterday? What did he think if he did? Was I imagining him returning that want? Does he desire to know me, kiss me, hold me? Would he even be willing to satiate this ever growing thirst for him and possibly want more? If I told him of my dreams would he use me? Would it be a game to his overly experienced self? Is he really as naughty as Jasper's warning indicated? Is it such a bad thing if he is? Oh no Bella, don't slip into your bad boy faze now.

But Edward could never be a phase. He seemed a little like breathing at the moment no matter how hard I fought it. Like if I truly allowed myself to get started on him I'd never grow tired, never become bored, my eyes would quite possibly cease noticing the male populous all together. But slowly, my mind was attempting to protect me from myself.

He'll break you. Because you care too much, too soon without any reason or guarantee.

And he would break me. My resolve was beginning to pay attention to that reality again. I've gone over this a hundred times. It's always the same circle.

But, in truth, it didn't matter what I wanted to say to him or how I wished to take his yummy body and make it completely mine, I wouldn't. I couldn't. Just a passing ship.

I can handle this.

But why does he look so intently and have such a profound impact on all of my faculties if he is meant to be nothing to me?

He must be a red herring. Repeat it again and again, perhaps then you'll listen to yourself.

I was standing just outside the classroom door now, the session having already begun, with my eyes fixed on his empty chair. My heart sank and swam with relief at precisely the same moment. Such a reaction left me immobile, and then, without warning, I was ablaze.

Warm fingers cupped my inner elbow and soft lips brushed the hair near my ear.

"Bella," he breathed, low and delicious and raspy, "hello." Mmmm. Shit.

He, him, Edward. A chill sped down my spine.

I turned my head to find his eyes – this can be my one cheat for today – but he didn't make spatial allowances for my face. I had to tip up to find his eyes and my eyelashes brushed his chin and cheek on the way. His free hand flew to the door frame before us and his eyes fell closed as a low groan escaped his chest. He dipped even closer then and found my eyes, his heavy breaths washing over my face. I inhaled his sent greedily and swayed on my feet, eyes hooding to match his. Edward let the hand that was already caressing my arm lift and steadied me by the small of my back, pressing me softly against him. My eyes clenched shut. Oh my god. No. Just a passing ship.

"Hello, Edward." The words were breathless and low. I allowed myself to return to his eyes and then forced my body to move, to walk from him and find my seat.

I said I could handle Edward, not a groaning, stroking, hungry Edward. Fuck.

I refused to look at him, although I felt the direction of his gaze and saw the outline of his person angled toward me in my peripherals. My cheeks reflected the burn I was experiencing everywhere. I want you. I love that you're looking at me. Wait, no. Don't wear down my resolve by focusing on me. Please don't look; I don't even know why you are. I can't handle this. By the end of the lesson, one I'd been absolutely oblivious to, I was subtly shaking. The double bell brought me bolting to my feet and out the door. I didn't stop running until I reached the suite. Damn him and his ardent, orgasmic charm.

Seattle Starbucks was more likely to limit itself to one corner shop than there was a possibility I'd attend water polo practice today. I found my ceiling again, eyes wide and dressed in full uniform. I could bother with the changing and the comfort, but I had my first bi-weekly creative writing seminar tonight after dinner where uniforms were mandatory. The seminar would be part colloquium, part independent study and was quickly becoming the bright spot in my heavy, wooden, rickety roller coaster day. The kind that is ever unpredictable, shaking your insides up, heaving you over hills you weren't prepared for and leaving you exhausted from clinging to the safety bar for dear life. P.S…. where the hell is my damn safety bar?

Torture. Tribulation. Toe curling, emotional torment. My eyes were focusing, then diluting and finally blurring.

It was dark outside when I went to reengage my eyes, cluing me in that I'd fallen asleep. I wasn't sweaty, but my cheeks were wet.

First making sure no one was here to interrupt my solitude, I made my way to the bathroom. My shoeless feet were cold and my head ached. Looking in the mirror was distressing. I ran a brush through my hair and splashed water on my face, applying mascara to brighten up my red, puffy eyes. Deep cleansing breath.

I'd missed dinner so I grabbed peanuts and a water bottle from my room. Satchel slung, brand new writing tablet secure within, I smacked my fresh balm coated lips together and made quick time to the Creative Arts Tower. I will keep moving; I will be fine.

I had about five texts from Jasper that I was avoiding. I'll check them later, when I actually have something to contribute that won't just piss him off. I shoved my phone deep down, next to my logic.

All of Fremont's performing and creative arts courses were housed in this one tower. It had a wide, brick stair step entrance that guided you into a lobby with a staircase on either side. My daily English class wasn't held here, but being that this was a creativity intensive course it must have merited such inclusion. I found my way to the fourth floor, soft music filtered through the hallway, and never once passed anyone. The class sizes were exceptionally small at Fremont, being that annually you had to basically pay an entire teachers salary to attend. But I'd yet to come across a session with only ten pupils. I didn't recognize one face from any of my other classes and quickly deduced I was the only underclassmen. The teacher insisted we call her Carmen and proceeded with an informal seminar structure. We would be discussing multiple fiction and non-fiction prose, comparing and contrasting effective voice communication and detail execution.

My mind wandered to the music I could still just make out and reveled in its sorrow. It had a phenomenally calming effect, which I figured would inspire a sweet melancholy in my response to tonight's prompt.

Carmen released us to find a secluded location to begin our composition. I was in the hall and following the music before I could stop myself.

I knew I was going in the right direction even though the music was getting softer and softer; the reverberations felt closer with each step. By the time I had made it to the first floor, and determined the music was coming from the concert hall on the other side of the lobby, the piano had quieted.

The grand stage was empty. Slowly I strode down one of the many aisles, fingers grazing over rows and rows of lavish, theater seats. I didn't make any noise as I rounded on the stairs that led me onstage.

I missed the melody, but didn't see a piano anywhere. I must have been mistaken.

There was little light shining down from above but the tall stage made for an eerie writing setting – I was convinced. So, down I went Indian style then transitioned instead to my back with my head propped up on my bag.

I attempted to recapture the somber cadence of finger to key, white and black, culminating over one another to proclaim such emotion. What did the music feel like? Where did it take me? My pencil tapped on the pad as I contemplated. It brought me to him. To how denying him makes me feel. And although he hadn't asked of me something I refused to give I was unwilling to seek out or listen for a question in the first place.

"Dammit, Bella." I whispered into the abyss of my solitude. At the rate I was going, this would be my permanent state … alone.

"No." I stated. Alone.

"No." It came a little louder now, echoing in the massive room. Forever?

"No!" Motivated by this sob, I'd hoped up and began pacing, wracked with unbearable indecision. I had a choice to make based on a question. Can I trust him? He'd never even asked me to.

"No, no, no, no, no, no…" There wasn't anything particular to say no to, but then there was also everything.

My cheeks were wet again, and my melody began softly but absolutely, as if the piano were beside me.

I whipped my head around, feeling lost in a dream so unlike anything my mind had been capable of processing as of late. Writing forgotten, I eyed the farthest stage curtain and stepped through to the opposite side. One small light, high in the rafters, shone dimly over a glossy black piano and the back of a man, bent in submission, shaping the black and white into gray.

He had bronze hair.

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A/N: This stretched me. I don't know if that is how it will be received, but it did. These women are complicated and exceptionally multifaceted. I hoped to show something familiar as well as bring out something new. I have more time to get it right, but I liked this start. I am enjoying this so much and couldn't be more thankful for your readership! Please, take a second and let me know if you're connecting with, and enjoying, the character direction. Thanks again! RAE