Disclaimer: Characters belong to Stephanie Meyers. Aside from a few obvious parallels to the Twilight universe, this plot belongs to me.
'The anchors lose their grip. And now a billow, greater than the first, rushes upon us, fraught with perils grave, while the ship plunges deep into the wave.' — Alcaeus, translator unknown
Chapter 11
Edward couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. Was he really propositioning Bella?
A wager? Really?
He kept expecting for her to tell him to drop dead and walk away.
But she didn't.
Bella was, however, staring at Edward, dumfounded. "Are you serious?"
Edward nodded. God help him.
"What do you mean 'corrupted'?" she asked. "I'm not having sex with you."
Something inside of Edward twisted at the tone of disgust in her voice. But he rushed to explain, embarrassed that she would even think that was what he meant. Wasn't that exactly what he meant? "I don't mean that. I'm not talking about sex. Just—just give me a chance to make you see what you're missing."
"Why would I agree to something like that?"
"Consider it research. For your dissertation." Edward was waiting for her to tell him to go to hell.
Instead she asked, "Why would you do this?"
He couldn't help it. The words just came tumbling out of his mouth. "It would…please me to see you corrupted."
Edward held his breath, watching as an emotion he couldn't identify flashed over Bella's face, and she closed her eyes.
He felt something inside of him snap, a chill running down his spine. I've gone too far, he thought, and he began to panic. Bella was going walk out of this bar and that was going to be it.
No.
Edward tried to remind himself that he was alone regardless of what Bella did. He was always alone.
Still—
At last, Bella opened her eyes and looked at him again, a steely resolve flashing in the depths of her eyes. "If I'm vulnerable to corruption, then so are you."
Relieved that she hadn't told him to fuck off, Edward couldn't help the snort of derision. "I can't become a virgin again."
She tsked. "You've abandoned yourself to luxury and vice."
"I'm not hurting anyone."
"But you are—or at least, you could hurt someone—the true hedonist is utterly untrustworthy. He's so addicted to his desires that he'd do anything to satisfy them."
What the fuck was she talking about?
Edward had certainly led Bella to believe that he was a hedonist, maybe, but an addict? She couldn't possibly know what she was saying. How dare she?
But she had always been able to see through him, hadn't she?
Bella sniffed primly. "You can be seduced away from that."
Masking his annoyance, Edward adopted a haughty tone in turn. "How do you propose to seduce me away from seduction?"
"It's as good as done." Bella tapped a finger against her chin. "That is, if you can read. You can read, can't you?"
"I can read."
"Excellent. Your corruption will involve reading."
Edward smirked. "I think you do too much reading. Your corruption will involve experience."
Panic briefly flashed over Bella's face before she schooled her features and moved on to the next order of business. "The results of the corruption—which of us has succeeded—will have to be mutually determined. That's the only thing that makes sense."
Edward had his own, private ideas, about that. But he hadn't quite admitted to himself the full scope of his plans, Tanya's taunting words still lingering in the back of his mind. So he opted to employ legalistic language that obscured more than it clarified, "The nature of your corruption will be such that you'll be incapable of denying it once it happens. I win when you agree that you've been corrupted."
"And vice versa."
It was so ridiculous—Bella's confidence in her ability to "corrupt" him—it was so laughable that Edward forgot his annoyance over the accusation that he was hurting himself, or others, with his devotion to so-called hedonism. He smiled. "What are we competing for?" He knew the prize that he wanted of course. Or rather, part of him knew. But he refused to consciously admit it.
Bella smiled too, a vicious, competitive kind of smile. The kind of smile she used to use on him when they were younger, when she was mocking him. But for some reason, the smile didn't rile Edward the way it used to. It was more interesting than annoying.
She said, "Why, merely the pleasure of corrupting another, of course."
That was good enough for Edward. For now. "I accept your terms."
CI – CI – CI – CI – CI – CI
Edward was depressed.
This wasn't an entirely unusual sensation for Edward, but it was unwelcome, especially since he'd woken for his shift in a strangely chipper mood. For the life of him, he couldn't put his finger on just what had him in such high spirits as he went through his routine of showering and dressing. It wasn't until he got to work that he recalled his proposal to Bella. While that promised to provide an interesting diversion, Edward didn't believe that it could really be responsible for his good mood. It was just a game. And it was just Bella.
Unfortunately, his high spirits were not to last. Edward lost two patients during his shift.
Losing patients was something that a doctor simply had to become used to. It wasn't pleasant, but it was inevitable. While a good doctor never stopped caring, a good doctor also never let himself become carried away by grief.
It behooved physicians to develop a routine for dealing with such disappointments. In the past, a day like this would have sent Edward straight to Breaking Dawn. Several rounds of sex and he would have been back to normal.
But he wasn't going to go to Breaking Dawn. And even though it was the middle of the day (Edward's shift having started the previous evening), Edward didn't want to avail himself of his other usual means of relieving stress, running. He was too tired to head out on the rainy streets.
So, for lack of anything better to do, Edward pulled opened his laptop. And even though he knew it was probably a mistake, he started shopping for presents.
CI – CI – CI – CI – CI – CI
Bella was out of sorts.
She was confused.
Discombobulated.
Wary.
And, certainly most disconcertingly of all, perhaps even a little excited.
She wanted to put that last feeling down to the simple hope that she might actually find the money to pay for her father's new treatment, after she'd abandoned all hope.
But Bella knew that wasn't the only reason for the sudden anticipation—or, good God, it couldn't be desire, could it?—the feeling baiting her now.
Anxiety. That was it.
At least, that was what she told herself.
A dark secret part of her wondered if Edward was right about there being something wrong with her, something that could be "fixed." She wondered what that might mean for her.
An even darker part, a vicious, self-destructive part of her wanted what Edward seemed to be offering, not because she wanted to be "fixed" but, rather, because she suspected—knew—that she wouldn't be "fixed" by what was coming. On the contrary, she'd be thoroughly and irrevocably damaged, so much so, that there would be no point in trying to hold the pieces together. She could just let go. And she was tired of holding the pieces together.
The thought of letting go, unravelling, scared her. Because she wasn't her mother.
But all of that was too much to deal with. So instead Bella turned her thoughts to the irony of her situation.
It was ironic, wasn't it, that just when she had decided to call the whole deal with Tanya off, it was suddenly looking as if she might be able to go through with it after all?
Her success was all the more surprising in that she'd ignored all of Tanya's advice. Some fairy godmother Tanya was.
Still, Bella couldn't bring herself to throw herself headlong into the wave, as it were, and just go with it. She was wary to find out what Edward had in store for her.
She'd already warned him that she wouldn't have sex with him. Some instinct had forced the words out of her mouth, even as she tried to hold them back.
She told herself that she was just being coy by pretending to be out of reach. But that was a lie, because she didn't want him to win, not really.
She told herself that it was just a game.
A game she was supposed to let Edward win, but still.
She wouldn't make it easy for him.
That son of a bitch.
That motherfucker.
Quite literally.
Tanya left Bella a voicemail saying that she had seen Edward, and from their conversation Tanya thought that things were coming along swimmingly. Swimmingly.
Bella tried not to dwell on what that meant. Clearly, Tanya and Edward had spoken about her, but Bella didn't want to know what they said. She didn't think that she'd be able to carry on the ruse with Edward if she knew what he'd told Tanya.
So Bella played dumb, refusing to let herself think about the situation she'd gotten herself into, and going through her days in something of a haze.
Out of sorts.
Confused.
And so on.
But still, she was trying.
So it was particularly frustrating to see her students putting so little effort into their work.
Thirty minutes into her Wednesday afternoon section, Bella found herself staring down at nineteen young people, who were all staring back at her with glazed eyes, unblinking. There was absolute silence.
She tried prompting them: "So what do you think this poem says about Roman feelings towards the people they've colonized?"
Not even fucking crickets.
She tried reading a line of the poem: 'Come now,' says she, 'come, go fiercely, let madness hunt him.'"
Dead quiet.
She tried again: "Shall I be taken away from my country, what I possess, my friends, parents?"
Nothing.
"Why is Catullus so upset?" she asked in a pleading voice.
Bella would have killed for some fucking crickets.
She sighed. "Is it the castration that's shut you all up? Or are you just bored?"
"It's the castration," Peter, one of her more helpful students clarified.
"Yeah, it's the castration," another student added.
"Definitely the castration," a third agreed.
"This poem's about castration?" a horrified voice asked.
Relieved that it was the threat of emasculation, and not her, that was the problem, Bella nevertheless wondered (and not for the first time) if she'd be better off flipping burgers for a living.
And, because her day wasn't already crappy enough, after class, James (he of the creepy eyes) asked in his usual, weird monotone if she was still holding office hours that week.
"I don't have any plans to cancel," she told him. "And if I do end up having to change them, I'll send a group email."
Alas, that didn't seem enough for James, because he kept standing there, looking at her as the other students filed out of the classroom.
"So, I'll see you," she said, and left.
Bella continued going through the motions for the rest of the day. And that evening, Bella returned home to find her roommate waiting for her, a rare occurrence as they weren't often in the apartment at the same time.
"You got a package," her roommate wheezed, cigarette in hand.
"Oh, thanks," Bella replied, grateful for the heads up.
"I had to sign for it," her roommate continued, sounding agitated.
"Ok." Bella wasn't sure why her roommate seemed so out of sorts. "The delivery man didn't wake you up did he?"
"Yeah, but whatever." Her roommate worked nights.
"Sorry." And Bella was sympathetic. But come on.
"It's no big deal. I figure, they gotta wake me up, it must be important. I was going to open it for you—you know, in case it was important—but then you got home."
What the fuck?
"Ok. Well. Thanks." Bella grabbed the small package off of the coffee table and hurried back to her bedroom.
Safely ensconced in her room, Bella inspected the package. She didn't recognize the handwriting on the label or the return address. The sender hadn't included his or her name, but it was a Seattle address.
Wondering if it was a belated birthday present—but who could have sent it?—Bella started to open it.
Inside of the outer box, Bella was surprised to find a smaller package, wrapped again in brown paper, and a piece of paper with a phone number and the words "Call me before opening."
Seriously, what the fuck?
Who would send Bella something like this? Not her fairy godmother.
Maybe this was some joke of Jacob's or Angela's. But Bella didn't really know them that well.
Alice or Emmett?
Unlikely.
Masen.
Yep. Clearly, Edward was already playing the game.
Suddenly nervous, Bella went to the kitchen and fixed dinner: canned beans on white bread with cheese with a lot of black pepper, wholly unappetizing but cheap.
"So what was in the box?" her roommate asked as Bella fiddled with the microwave.
"I haven't opened it yet," Bella said, annoyed by the question.
Her roommate huffed, but didn't say anything else.
Bella went back to her room and ate, her irritation over her roommate a pleasant distraction from the task before her. But all too soon, Bella finished eating and was staring at her phone.
Working up her courage, she dialed the number.
What if she was wrong about who'd sent the package?
What if she was right?
"Hello?" a familiar male voice answered.
Despite herself, Bella felt a rush of relief. "Uh, it's me," Bella said. "Bella."
"I was almost sure you wouldn't call," Edward said.
"I didn't know it was you. Why didn't you write your name?"
"I wasn't sure if that would make you more or less likely to follow through."
He had a point.
"So have you opened it yet?" he asked.
"The note said I shouldn't."
"I'm impressed. I half-expected you to take it apart with tweezers and dust for fingerprints before calling. Aren't you dying to know what's inside?"
Bella could hear his excitement. His tone eased some of her fears even as it encouraged others. "The fact that you're so gleeful about the contents makes me think that I don't want to know what's inside." She wasn't sure that she liked this new, excited Edward. She didn't know how to handle him. She wanted to go back to the old, surly, low-key Edward. She knew what to do with him, alright. Antagonize, antagonize, antagonize. But she wasn't supposed to be doing that anymore, was she? But she didn't want to betray too much of herself either.
"Open it!"
"Now? While I'm on the phone with you?" Bella thought Edward's behavior was a little ridiculous.
"Yes!"
She huffed. "Hold on." Putting the phone on speaker, she set it down and started tearing at the brown paper.
"Have you opened it yet?" Edward asked.
"I'm opening it now," Bella told him. "Stop being so—"
She froze. That son of a bitch.
"Masen!" she hissed.
"What?" he chuckled.
"You know what. Why did you give this to me?" Bella was staring down at a vibrator.
"To use, obviously."
"I can't use this!" The words just tumbled out of her mouth, and she felt instantly foolish. How did he do that to her? Piss her off to the point that she said stupid things?
"Do you not know how? I can show you," Edward offered in a deceptively sweet tone.
"I don't want your help!"
"Well then you better figure it out on your own. Are you so easily corrupted that you're afraid of a mere device?"
"No!" What a prick.
"Well then use it." Edward said it so calmly, like it was a logical, necessary step.
Bella didn't like the idea that he was telling her what to do. "Why should I?"
"That's the point isn't it? To see if you are susceptible to my corruption."
Bella hung up without another word.
Probably laughing his ass off right now, she thought. (And she was right.)
Bella shoved the item into a drawer.
Who the fuck was he to think that he had the right to send her something like that? And why did he just assume that she didn't already own one?
She didn't, in fact, own one already, but that was beside the point.
It occurred to Bella that if she died, someone would find the vibrator sitting there, in her drawer. Bella wouldn't have judged someone else for owning such an item—it was none of her business—but when it came to what other people would think of Bella…
Bella knew that other people were far more judgmental than her.
Besides, the possession of such an object suggested a lack of personal accountability, didn't it? Implying as it did that a person was so incapable of satisfying basic needs that she had need for such a thing.
That this was in and of itself a highly judgmental opinion did not sway Bella from it.
She hated her so-called gift.
She hated Edward.
The next day, Edward began what was to become a habit of texting her several times a day.
She was sitting in Dr. Volturri's office the first time it happened.
"Is that your phone Ms. Swan?"
"My phone?" Bella had inadvertently turned up the volume of her ringtone prior to the meeting, and since the phone was in Bella's bag, the noise was muffled, and she'd been hoping that Dr. Volturri hadn't noticed the annoying chime that signaled the receipt of a text, especially since Dr. Volturri was in the middle of a rant. "Umm, yes. I'm sorry."
"Please turn it off."
"I am," Bella said, bending over to fix it. "I'm sorry."
"It's quite disrespectful."
"I know. I'm sorry." But Bella's third apology didn't appear to be any more effective than her first two.
Dr. Volturri had been in the midst of explaining, yet again, the expectations for a dissertation candidate, never going so far as to say that Bella's work didn't meet said expectations, but the implications were clear enough.
Bella waited patiently for the lecture to wrap up to press for some clarifications. "So, I was hoping, what specifically— If you don't mind, if you might give me some specifics about what you don't like in my latest draft. Areas of potential improvement." Because, for the life of her, Bella had no idea what Dr. Volturri didn't like. To be honest, Dr. Volturri's comments had been so vague that Bella wasn't even sure that she'd read the draft.
"My dear, you can't expect me to do your work for you."
After a beat, Bella tried again. "Was there, I mean if there was any part of the draft that you thought was satisfactory, it would help me move in the right direction."
"Your citation style seemed to be in order."
"So I correctly formatted the footnotes?"
Dr. Volturri nodded.
And what the fuck could Bella say to that?
Walking out of Dr. Volturri's office, Bella decided to direct her frustration over the meeting where it (clearly) belonged: To the jerk who'd texted her in the middle of Dr. Volturri's rant.
Never mind that it was Bella's fault for forgetting to turn the phone to vibrate. She couldn't help feeling that Edward should share some of the blame, especially when she finally looked at his text and read: Oh how they burn for intercourse, what cries declare their throbbing lust, how wet their legs with streaming juices!
It would be something of an understatement to say that Bella was taken aback to find these words on her phone.
Edward had obviously picked up a translation for the volume of Latin poetry he'd purchased at the used bookshop.
That Edward's persistence was, in and of itself, annoying only added to Bella's pique.
(It was further fueled, by a secret, unacknowledged anger that she was perhaps slightly interested, intrigued even, to find that he was going to this effort for her.)
Standing in the hallway outside Dr. Volturri's office, Bella typed out a quick reply: What r u doing?
Even though she knew exactly what he was doing. Fucking with her, that was what he was doing.
Edward responded a moment later: Getting u hot & bothered?
Bella chose to ignore that. Asshole.
She was at the library when she got his next text: All night I had a mischievous girl whose wickedness no man can exhaust. Worn out by a million positions, I asked for more: before my request and before the first word, she gave me everything.
The smartass in Bella made her reply: That's edited u know.
But Edward knew: ;) who knew u rd such filth?
To which Bella hastily replied: There's very little u know about me.
After a while he texted again: But what things I'm learning.
It took Bella a minute to reply. She had to pull a book out of her bag to check the wording: Cynthia prima suis miserum me cepit ocellis, contactum nullis ante cupidinibus tum mihi constantis deiecit lumina fastus et caput impositis pressit Amor.
She was hoping it would shut Edward up for a while, and indeed it did.
The translation? "Cynthia was the first to capture with her eyes my pitiable self: Till then I was free from desire's contagion. Love then forced me to lower my gaze of steady hauteur and trampled my head with his foot."
Bella sent it as a lark. She didn't consciously consider the implications of the game she was engaging in. Her old rivalry with Edward was to blame, or so she told herself, even though it was entirely different, wasn't it?
It took Edward a few minutes to get all of the Latin into Google Translate.
And it wasn't until the next day that he sent off his next text: The same Cynthia who with bare nipples wrestled in a little bed blest by delights?
Bella struggled with how to respond to that one. It was her own fault—she'd walked right into this.
Her response, when she sent it, sounded weak even to her: Metaphor.
Edward's response was swift: BAHAHAHAHA.
The next day, Bella was in the middle of leading discussion when her phone vibrated on the podium next to her notes. Regretting her reliance on a phone rather than a watch to keep track of the time (there was no clock in the room), she saw Edward's name flash across the screen as a second text came through.
And then a third. And a fourth. And then a fifth.
Becoming increasingly flushed with the receipt of each text—even though she didn't stop to read them—Bella fumbled a few times in her talk. Not that her students minded, the sixteen young men and the lone young female in the classroom suddenly finding themselves much more interested in the system of Roman taxation than they ever would have expected. Or rather, it was their TA's obvious embarrassment over whatever was happening on her phone that was so amusing, providing a charming accompaniment to an otherwise dull lesson on economics. (Not that it was Bella's fault that the lesson was dull. The class of individuals who can be riveted by weights and measures are a rarified breed indeed.)
Bella somehow managed to recover, and she finished the discussion, doing her best to enliven a far from fascinating topic.
Packing up, she waited until the last of the students had departed the class before going outside, the rush of cool air on her flushed cheeks a relief as Bella took out her phone and read the series of texts:
How sweet it is to hear her voice quaver as she tells me the joy she feels, and to hear her imploring me to slacken my speed so as to prolong her bliss.
What do u think that ones' about?
It COULDN'T be re: sex could it?!
I'm sure it's just another metaphor…
A metaphor re: premature ejaculation.
Despite the chill in the air, Bella felt her cheeks flushing anew. She was tempted—oh, how she was tempted!—she wanted to beat Edward at his own game.
So she typed out a text and sent it before she could second-guess herself: Beware! Take heed lest, cramming on too much sail, you speed too swiftly for your mistress.
As Bella waited for Edward's reply, it suddenly occurred to her that she had gone too far. She didn't want to encourage him, did she?
Did she?
Bella decided to turn off her phone. She told herself that it was only because she didn't want to use up the battery. Besides, she was due for her shift in the library, and there were clocks scattered between the stacks to help her keep track of the time.
When she finally turned her phone back on after her shift, Edward's text was waiting: Nor should you suffer her to outstrip you. Speed on together towards the promised haven. The height of bliss is reached when, unable any longer to withstand the wave of pleasure, lover and mistress at one and the same moment are overcome.
Ovid's tips on synchronized orgasms.
Bella wondered whether it was reasonable for lovers to have expectations like that.
She'd always thought that Plato's allegory of a single soul split in half—male and female—was pretty enough: Lovers were just two halves of the same soul, rejoined.
But Bella she doubted that many couples were true partnerships.
They certainly weren't equal partnerships. At the best, she figured, most couples probably took turns at dominance and submission.
Edward's first text the following day was a question: Did u know Peloponnesian War cut off supply of leather for dildos? And here u r, wasting a perfectly good vibrator…
Bella did in fact know about the leather (and dildo) shortage.
She also knew that she shouldn't do it, but she still wanted to get the better of him. She texted back: Some of us don't need artificial stimulation.
It was a mistake. And Edward was onto her like a hound on a scent, demanding confirmation: So u do self-serve?!
Bella's reply was petulant and contradictory: Didn't say that.
Edward wasn't taking that. What gets u in mood?
Feeling as if she'd lost control of the situation, Bella put her phone away. She was due for discussion, anyway.
Walking into class, she thought about asking one of the students to keep track of the time so that she could turn off her phone. But she didn't want to do that—it was hard enough moving quickly enough to cover all of the topics before the class time was up. So she just made herself ignore the way her phone kept vibrating as the texts came, one after the other.
She did better this time, not once stumbling as she went through her plodding explanation of tax farming, her students bored out of their minds and completely unaware that anything was out of sorts, utterly ignorant of the pornographic stream of sentences pouring into their TA's phone.
After class, Bella inconspicuously hid herself in a little alcove at the end of the hallway before pulling out her phone to read the texts, wary lest anyone observing her face somehow know the filthy things she was reading.
Go ahead and read those depraved pornographics of Musaeus, the ones that are filthier than the Sybaritic sex manuals.
His fingers stray deeper into her brush until her loins boil to a climax amid her screams.
She throws off the heavy covers so the lover hid in a closet may see but must wait in silence, impatient by the delay, and masturbate.
Suddenly, Bella wished then that she had not chosen such a secluded place to read the texts, the darkness like a curtain shielding her from the eyes of anyone who might judge, granting Bella tacit permission to—
To what?
Shoving her phone back into her purse, Bella hurried up to the TA's office on the top floor.
She was resolved to ignore the rest of Edward's texts.
And she succeeded, too, neither reading nor replying to a single one of Edward's messages for an entire day.
It drove Edward absolutely crazy.
When Edward's call finally came through, Bella debated about whether to answer it. But it would be childish to continue ignoring him.
"I'm not alone," she warned him. She was, in fact, sitting at her desk, but the only other person present was Jacob, and he wasn't easily offended. "So watch what you say."
Edward didn't mince words. "Why haven't you been texting me back?"
"I've been busy."
Edward didn't sound convinced, but he didn't dwell on the issue. "Have dinner with me Saturday?"
"I have to work on my prospectus."
"Just dinner. It's only a few hours."
When Bella didn't reply immediately, Edward added, "I'll stop texting you."
"Promise?"
He laughed. "No more pornographic texts, at least."
"Fine."
"Don't sound too excited," Edward joked. "I'll pick you up at your place."
He told her when to expect him, then hung up, before she could back out.
In the days that followed, Bella continued to work on her prospectus. She went to her graduate seminar (on the Late Antique City), ran discussion, held office hours, shelved books in the library, and resurrected yet another dataset that an asshat coworker at the data entry center accidently deleted.
It occurred to Bella that since things were going so well with Edward right now—they were going swimmingly, in fact, if Tanya was to be believed—she could consider cutting back on her workload.
But Bella didn't want to count on everything working out. She didn't want to count on Edward.
Or rather, Bella didn't really want to go through with her plan. She wanted it to fall through.
And she couldn't help feeling guilty about that, because her father needed the money.
So, to alleviate her guilt, Bella was trying to pick up extra work. Every dime she could put towards her father's treatment was worth it.
Unfortunately, she couldn't get any more hours at the data entry center unless she went full time, and she couldn't go full time unless she quit school.
So she'd found work proofreading undergraduate term papers. As a result, she only got three hours of sleep that Thursday thanks to an assignment on the Industrial Revolution that seemed to leave a few students scrambling.
The following day, Friday, Bella hosted her first tutoring session. She'd found five sets of parents convinced that a knowledge of Latin was a vital and necessary addition to the lives of eleven and twelve year olds who'd rather be playing video games.
Of course, there's nothing wrong with kids learning Latin. It'll even help them learn the grammar that English teachers no longer bother with.
The problem with kids learning Latin is that they're kids learning Latin: They're only doing it because mommy and daddy want them to. And they're resentful as hell. The scapegoat for their animosity? The dumb-fuck tutor who's just doing this to make a couple of extra bucks.
Needless to say, it was a somewhat trying experience for Bella.
Saturday, she found herself walking two pit bulls, a German Shepherd, and three weimaraners. All at the same time.
For money, naturally. Bella liked dogs, but not enough to do something like that for free.
Fortunately, the animals all lived in the same apartment complex, and knew each other well, otherwise it would have been a recipe for disaster.
As it was, it was probably still a recipe for disaster, but Bella had always had a way with dogs and they seemed to like her in return.
Now, a single pit bull or German Shepherd can be more than a handful all on its own, but together, they can be a nightmare. Yet not these fellows, apparently. Bella paused at the edge of a particularly busy intersection to pat one of the pit bulls on the head.
Alas, Bella had counted her blessings too soon. Just as she reached the grass on the edge of campus, the German Shepherd began barking furiously and nearly ripped her shoulder out of the socket as he tugged at the leash.
It took Bella a moment to bring the pack to heel as she pulled the dogs away from the sidewalk.
Wondering what could have possibly set off the German Shepherd, Bella saw James on the sidewalk, watching her.
As the German Shepherd began a new round of barking and the pit bulls started growling softly, Bella wondered if she had bitten off more than she could chew by taking all of these dogs out at once.
James was clearly trying to say something, but ignoring him, Bella wrapped the leashes around her wrists, then bent over to look each of them in the eye as she shushed them.
When they'd settled a little, Bella spared James a glance, thoroughly aggravated but trying not to show it.
"What did you say?" she asked, having to raise her voice as the German Shepherd started barking again.
"The last quiz wasn't as easy as you said it'd be," James said.
Are you fucking kidding me? Bella thought. He couldn't be serious.
"What?" she asked. The German Shepherd finally stopped barking, but only because it had joined the pitbulls in growling, and the weimaraners were circling anxiously.
"The quiz. It wasn't as easy as you said."
Was this really happening? Bella grabbed the German Shepherd's collar and yanked him back.
"I can talk to you during my office hours, James."
Now Bella appreciated the fact that humans have a right to walk down the street without the danger of being mauled by rabid dogs. But she also assumed that any rational human being would understand that it didn't make sense to meddle with a pack of clearly hostile animals.
Bella gave up on James acting like any rational human. Turning, she told the dogs in no uncertain terms to 'come' and began hauling them across the grass. They obeyed, but they made it quite plain that they disagreed with this course of action by a lot of backward glances and soft growls (or yips, on the weimaraners).
It goes without saying that Bella probably made a mistake in assuming that she could handle that many dogs—and that mixture of dogs—her first time out. But the owners had insisted that the dogs be walked together.
And, in the dogs' defense, had they truly wished to tear off James' head, Bella couldn't have possibly stopped them. They were good dogs, though. They hadn't reacted to anyone else that way. They had drooled all over the joggers. They had virtually cooed over the tattooed sign spinner. And they had licked the giggling kids.
In fact, as soon as James was out of sight, they went back to their happy, tongue-lolling selves.
Bella returned the dogs to their owners without further incident and agreed to take them out again the following day.
In her opinion, dogs were good judges of character. And there was just something wrong with that James kid.
A few hours later, she was rushing back to her place. It was already after six, but she'd fallen asleep at her study carrel in the library.
Bella reached her apartment to find Edward already inside, sitting on her sofa, discussing what sounded like macaroni and cheese with her roommate.
"Sorry I'm late," Bella said as she came through the door.
"No problem," her roommate cackled, "just keeping sexy here entertained for you."
Noting a somewhat panicked expression pass over Edward's face at her roommate's words, Bella grabbed his arm and pulled him into her bedroom, not even noticing the way that she was manhandling him.
"I'm sorry," she said again, pushing him down so that he was sitting on her bed. "It'll just take me a minute to get ready."
"It's ok," Edward said, looking around with surprise.
He hadn't anticipated meeting Bella's roommate, or discussing the finer points of boxed macaroni and cheese (ketchup or no?). And he certainly hadn't anticipated finding himself in Bella's bedroom, sitting on her bed. But he was trying to play it cool.
"Just stay here until I get back," Bella instructed him, an outfit in her hands as she left, closing the door behind her.
Closing Edward in her bedroom.
Really, Bella was just trying to keep Edward safe from her roommate. But she should have known that he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to snoop.
Fortunately, he didn't have time to get far. She returned to find him flipping through a book.
"Ready?" Bella asked, eyeing the book in question.
"Yep," Edward answered distractedly.
Bella grabbed her purse and her gift for Edward. Yes, she had a gift for him—tit-for-tat. And she started for the door, only for Edward to let out a startled exclamation.
Alarmed by the noise, Bella spun around to look at him.
"What the hell is this?" he asked. "How long have you been collecting porn?"
Bella glanced down at the book and saw a series of lascivious frescoes from Pompeii on one page, and some sculptures on the other. "It's art," she told him.
"Christ Swan, if this is your art, not even Larry Flint would print your porn."
Bella rolled her eyes. He was blowing this completely out of proportion.
"You can't honestly expect me to believe that this book isn't porn," Edward argued.
"It holds a great deal of antiquarian interest," Bella informed him primly.
"'Antiquarian' my ass. What do grad students do? Sit up at night debating the historical significance of various sexual positions?"
"Maybe." Bella was in fact aware of such debates, but she chose to keep this knowledge to herself for the time being.
"You need to get laid."
"That's neither here nor there."
"Tell the truth. You get off looking at pictures like this."
"If that's true, I would think you'd be happy for me."
Edward laughed, returning the book to Bella's shelf. "Touche, Swan. Touche."
Bella peeked out of her room and was happy to see that her roommate was nowhere in sight. Grabbing Edward's arm, she tiptoed/ran to the front door and slipped out with Edward in tow.
"What's that?" Edward asked, noticing the parcel that Bella was carrying as he led her to his car.
"Your present." She had reused the brown paper from the vibrator to wrap her "gift."
"You got me a present?" Edward sounded ridiculously pleased by the prospect as he opened her door for her.
"You got me something, too. I'm just repaying the favor."
"I don't want you to have to spend money on me," Edward said.
Bella was surprised at his words, but she told herself that it didn't mean anything. They both knew what it was like to have nothing. He was just acknowledging reality. "I didn't, I promise." Bella had gotten the book, a duplicate of one she already owned, for free, thanks to a class she'd TAed for.
"You look tired," Edward said, once he'd started the car and pulled into traffic. He didn't mean to insult her, but she looked exhausted.
Bella was sensitive to comments about how she looked that evening. Not really knowing what Edward had in mind, she'd gone for office casual, with slacks and a blouse, and just a dusting of concealer and a light lipstick.
She decided to ignore the slight, if there was one. "I work a lot."
"You're a TA?"
"I do other things, too." Bella didn't want Edward to think that school was too much for her. He'd obviously made it through med school. She didn't want him to think that she couldn't hack it.
"Your dissertation?"
"And other jobs."
"Other jobs?"
Bella wondered if she should have kept her mouth shut about work. As it was, Angela and Jacob were always giving her crap for working at the library and the data entry center on top of her grad seminar and TAing. They thought that she was going to collapse from exhaustion. And they didn't even know about the new work she'd picked up.
"I don't want to talk about that," Bella said. "Sorry, I just want to relax now."
"I get that." He changed the subject. "So your roommate—"
"I'm sorry," Bella cut him off.
"You keep saying that."
"I didn't mean to leave you alone with her."
"She smokes." Edward's tone made it clear what he thought of that. And it wasn't good.
Bella inhaled sharply. "I know—I'm surprised that you haven't smelled it on my clothes by now."
Edward made a noise of disgust. "You don't smoke, do you?"
"No."
"Good." There was a note of finality to Edward's voice.
Bella was surprised that he was so opinionated on the subject. The truth was that Edward hated smokers. It reminded him too much of his birth mother.
"Why don't you just move?" he asked, as he pulled into a parking lot.
"I have the worst luck. You wouldn't believe the roommates I've had. At least this one doesn't steal my shit." Bella recalled her roommate's reaction to the package arriving in the mail. "That I know of."
Turning off the car, Edward turned to Bella. "Wait for me to open your door, please."
"Why?" Bella felt wary.
"Because your corruption involves letting people do things for you. Being hedonistic, remember. And because I want you to."
Bella narrowed her eyes. "Fine. But only because we made a deal. I won't like it," she warned.
Chuckling, Edward exited the car and ran around to her side. "Is it just me?" he asked, as he proffered a hand, which she pointedly ignored. "Do you let other people get the door for you?"
"If you don't do things for yourself, you forget how. And then you're helpless."
Edward wasn't sure about that, but he chose not to debate the issue, leading her inside a restaurant.
Bella felt a brief pang of anxiety when she saw the small dance floor and noted the soft music. But she tried to ignore it as the hostess seated them.
They went through the ritual of inspecting the menus and ordering, then Bella handed Edward the gift.
Edward held the parcel up to his ear.
"It's not a bomb," Bella said.
"Hmph." Edward tested the package's corners, bending the edge. "It's a book."
"I told you. Your corruption will involve reading."
"You gave me a Bible," Edward deadpanned.
"It is not a Bible. Open it."
Edward quickly pulled off the wrapping and then paused, clearly perplexed. "Seneca?"
"Seneca the Younger."
"Am I supposed to know who that is?"
"He tutored Nero," Bella said.
"Awesome," he deadpanned.
"Don't try to sound too excited."
"I gave you a vibrator and you gave me a book."
"Shh!" Bella glanced around, and was relieved to see that no one appeared to have overheard Edward's comment. "If you want to throw in the towel now and admit that I'm the winner, that's fine with me. Don't read it."
"I'm not throwing in the towel."
"Alright then."
"Have you used the vibrator yet?" Edward asked. He obviously didn't care if they were overheard.
Bella glared at him and dropped her voice. "I've been busy."
"No one's that busy."
"I told you, I work a lot."
Edward wanted to call bullshit, but since Bella didn't want to talk about work, Edward opted to ask how her tattoo was healing.
"It's fine."
"Let me see it," Edward said.
"No!"
"Why not?"
"It's on my hip for a reason. I don't want people seeing it."
"Why get it if you can't see it?"
"I can see it plenty of the time."
"I'm a doctor. I just want to make sure it's healing properly." Which was bullshit. Edward was sure that the tattoo was doing just fine. But he'd developed a fascination with the trident on Bella's hip. He still hadn't figured out why she'd decided to get a trident, of all things.
"You won't leave me alone until I show you, will you?"
"Look, she can be taught."
Bella rolled her eyes. Since they were sitting in the corner, she was able to pull down the top edge of her dress slacks so that Edward could briefly see the tattoo without anyone noticing.
"What on earth are you wearing?" Edward asked, his forehead wrinkling.
"What do you mean?" Bella glanced down nervously. The slacks had only cost her four dollars at a thrift shop, but they weren't bad.
"That—that white thing."
"Underwear?" What the hell was he talking about?
"Did you steal them from my grandmother?"
"Excuse me, it does its job. Don't be rude."
Abruptly changing the subject, Edward threw his napkin on the table. "Do you want to dance?" he asked, starting to rise.
"No," Bella shook her head vigorously.
"Why not?" he lowered himself back into his chair.
Edward had specifically chosen this restaurant with the intention of dancing.
"I don't dance," Bella replied.
"You danced for me already—at Alice's first happy hour."
"I wasn't myself that night."
"Who you were then?" Edward asked, jokingly.
"Someone other than myself."
"What are you afraid of?" Edward asked. "That you'll enjoy it?" He couldn't help taunting her.
"I'd probably fall on my face," Bella argued.
"I wouldn't let you."
"No," she said again.
"Why not?" He began to feel annoyed. All week, he had been worried that he was pushing her too hard, with the vibrator and the texts, but she'd met him, sally for sally. Now, she seemed afraid of him. That wasn't the Bella he knew. More importantly, it reminded him of the Bella he saw that night in Port Angeles.
"Come on," he said, pushing his memories away. "We made a deal."
"I think it would please you to see me incapacitated in some way," Bella told him truthfully. She felt like he'd had the better of her, all evening, and she was racing to keep up.
Instead of replying, Edward stood up and held out a hand. Rather than draw attention to their table by continuing to argue, Bella stood and headed for the dance floor, ignoring his hand.
But once they were out on the dance floor, Bella couldn't avoid Edward any longer.
She'd expected a jolt of—
Of something. Anything.
Instead, she felt nothing.
Oh, she was still nervous as hell, dancing—dancing—with someone who'd once been her sworn enemy. Holding his hand and stumbling awkwardly as she tried to keep time with the music.
Fortunately, the other couples out on the floor appeared to be too preoccupied with each other to give Bella too much attention.
But the intellectual effort required to keep up with Edward's footwork, kept Bella too distracted, for the most part, to think about anything else.
"Whatever you're trying to do," Bella warned Edward, "it's not working." She kept her eyes steadily on Edward's left shoulder.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Whatever this is, it's not working."
"Dancing?" he tried a fancy twirl, and Bella tripped over her feet but managed to stay upright, her grip on his shoulder tightening.
Bella had already grabbed his arm twice that night—dragging him into her room and then hurrying him out of her apartment—but he'd been wearing a jacket. Now she could feel the subtle definition of muscles under his dress shirt.
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Edward swung her in a slow, wide arc this time, his hands resting lightly on her hips.
"Make me feel stupid, because I can't dance."
Edward immediately slowed, the fancy footwork (fancy, at least, in Bella's eyes) coming to an end. "I'm not trying to do that."
"Well whatever else it is that you're trying to do, it won't work either."
"What else am I trying to do?" Edward asked, knowing damn well that she knew the answer.
"Tear down my defenses. It doesn't matter though."
"Why not?"
"There are no breaks in my walls and I'm built on solid concrete. There won't be any tunnels or traitors to unlock the gates."
"If you're so solidly built," Edward pointed out, "it won't do you harm to lose control."
Just then Bella accidentally stepped on Edward's foot.
Edward toned the footwork down even more, settling on a simple step-step-sway maneuver. He only knew how to dance because of Alice. She loved Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies, and she'd forced both of her brothers to practice with her. He'd put up with it merely to satisfy his parents.
Of course, dancing served a social function, fulfilling obscure demands regarding civil engagement. But in Edward's opinion, dancing was best used for the purposes of seduction. The synchronized movement of intertwined limbs, the implied coordination of stimulated muscles, and the (temporary) denial of desire, it was an exercise in delayed gratification. Of course, dancing was rarely used to that end, but it was Edward's belief that it was the original function of such displays. It was a practice run, of a sort, meant to demonstrate a potential mate's suitability.
Not that Edward was trying to impress Bella, per se. He was simply trying to push her into trying something new.
That she wasn't comfortable dancing was clear. Remembering how Bella had given him a lap dance, it was something of a surprise to find Bella suddenly so awkward. The difference between that Bella and the one currently in his arms was striking.
She was thinking too much, he could tell. That was her problem. She was always thinking. She needed to experience.
Staring at her feet, Bella was shaking her head. "Why should I lose control?" she asked, replying to his comment after a moment's silence. "I think that what you really want isn't just for me to lose control but for me to let you control me."
Edward had to give it to Bella, she wasn't an idiot. "Maybe you're right."
"You say that I think too much," she continued, speaking his thoughts out loud as she met his gaze. "That I'm too much in control. As if I can just turn it off."
"You can."
Bella shook her head. "But I'm a whole person. Mind and heart and body. I can't just turn one part off. Saying I can is just some bullshit Cartesian mind/body dualism."
"Decartes? I think therefore I am?" Edward guessed."What's wrong with him?"
"Feminists hate mind/body dualism."
"I didn't know that." Edward had never really thought about it.
"It's because of two thousand years of men saying that we're irrational. Like we don't have brains."
"Oh, I know you have a brain."
"And I can't just turn it off," Bella said, ignoring the bait. "I know you probably don't believe in love, but if you don't want to be with some intellectually—because you love them or because you want to reproduce with them because they have the best genes or whatever—are you supposed to just turn your brain off? How? Men have said for millennia that women are the ones ruled by our bodies, but really, it's men."
Edward wasn't sure about that.
Oh, he was sure that men were ruled by his bodies. But he wasn't sure about love.
It wasn't that he didn't believe in love, per se. Carlisle and Esme certainly seemed passionate enough about each other.
But Carlisle claimed that he'd once loved Edward's mother (before the drugs and everything else). Edward was pretty sure that was just some crap Carlisle was peddling to make himself feel better about his son's conception. But either way it kind of undercut the whole mystique around love, because if you can love a fucked up person like Victoria, then what's love really worth?
And to be honest, Carlisle's relationship Esme sometimes seemed too nauseatingly perfect to seem plausible.
In any case, if there really was such a thing as love, Edward was fairly certain that it wasn't meant for him.
Not that that had anything to do with Bella.
Edward cleared his throat. "Those pictures in that book I was looking at tonight, at your place—"
"In the art book," Bella reminded him.
"In that porn catalog," Edward corrected. "You don't think that the people in the pictures were attractive?"
Not sure where Edward was headed, Bella tried to gauge his expression. "Define 'attractive.'"
"Some of the drawings were pretty crude. But the sculptures were very lifelike. The models looked like athletes. They weren't exactly ugly."
Bella nodded. "Perfection of form. Or, really, mathematical symmetry. It was a very Greek thing."
"How do you know that the people in the sculptures are attractive? Is it your brain telling you that? Based on instinctual reactions to mathematical proportions or something? Or is it something else?"
Bella wondered where he was going with this.
"Can't you just be attracted to physical beauty?" Edward asked. "Have a visceral, physical reaction to physical beauty? Isn't that enough to inspire desire?"
Suddenly, Edward's argument made sense to Bella. "And that's it?" she scoffed. "A pretty face is all it takes?"
Edward hitched a shoulder.
"What do all of the ugly people do then?" Bella asked.
"Well, that's not your problem."
"Bullshit."
"So you have to be attracted to someone intellectually and physically, the whole shebang? You don't have sex until you're in love?"
"It doesn't work that way either. How do you know if you're in love with someone until you have sex with them?"
Surprised by her response, Edward pressed his lips together, suspecting that he was being set up.
"Could you love someone who was terrible in bed?" Bella asked.
Edward was sure that he was being set up, but he ventured a response. "It would be difficult."
"Then you can't really know that you love a person until you have sex with them. And you can't have sex with them until you love them. It's a contradiction in terms."
Edward studied Bella's face. She looked entirely sincere.
"So let me get this straight," he said. "You can't have sex with someone, because you don't know if you love them, and you can't know whether or not you love them until you have sex with them?"
She nodded.
"So you just don't have sex at all?" he confirmed.
She nodded again.
He shook his head. "Deny it all you want, but I know you're just dying to try some of the positions in those frescoes."
AN: Sorry for the delay. RL. Will reply to reviews ASAP.
Please note that I have nothing against smokers, per se. That's Edward's hang-up, not mine.
For the sculptures in the art book, Google Praxiteles and for the frescoes, see the Wikipedia article on Erotic art in Pompeii.
All night I had a mischievous girl whose wickedness no man can exhaust. Worn out by a million positions, I asked for more [anal sex]: before my request and before the first word, she gave me everything. – Martial9.67 translated by Tom Garner on liberlatinus dot wordpress dot com
"Oh how they burn for intercourse, what cries declare their throbbing lust, how wet their legs with streaming juices!" Juvenal on wives translated by Hubert Creekmore
Cynthia prima suis miserum me cepit ocellis, contactum nullis ante cupidinibus tum mihi constantis deiecit lumina fastus et caput impositis pressit Amor. Cynthia was the first to capture with her eyes my pitiable self: Till then I was free from desire's contagion. Love then forced me to lower my gaze of steady hauteur and trampled my head with his foot. Propertius 1.1 translated by W. G. Shepherd
O You little bed made blest by my delights! How much we told each other by lamplight, how great our strife when the light was removed! For now with bare nipples she wrestled me, And now procrastinated, tunic closed. Propertius 2.15 translated by W. G. Shepherd
How sweet it is to hear her voice quaver as she tells me the joy she feels, and to hear her imploring me to slacken my speed so as to prolong her bliss. How I love to see her, drunk with delight, gazing with swooning eyes upon me, or, languishing with love. Ovid Art of Love translated by J. Lewis May
Learn, by skillful dallying, to reach the goal by gentle, pleasant stages…Then will follow gentle moanings mingled with murmurings of love, soft groans and sighs and whispered words that sting and lash desire! But now beware! Take heed lest, cramming on too much sail, you speed too swiftly for your mistress. Nor should you suffer her to outstrip you. Speed on together towards the promised haven. The height of bliss is reached when, unable any longer to withstand the wave of pleasure, lover and mistress at one and the same moment are overcome. Ovid Art of Love translated by J. Lewis May
Go ahead and read those depraved pornographics of Musaeus, the ones that are filthier than the Sybaritic sex manuals. Martial 12.95 translated by Joseph Salemi
His fingers stray deeper into her brush until her loins boil to a climax amid her screams.
Juvenal 413 translated by Hubert Creekmore
She throws off the heavy covers so the lover hid in a closet may see but must wait in silence, impatient by the delay, and masturbate. Juvenal 231 translated by Hubert Creekmore