The Project

Chapter Seven

Carlisle's POV


The instant we arrived, I had nestled myself into my usual spot. Under the window on the scratchy love seat so I could have enough light to read whatever book I happened to be reading at the time. I found that I was quite interested in this one. So much so that I didn't even notice Bella had walked in until she drew attention to herself.

I felt myself brighten when I saw her, and I set my book on the end table by the arm of the chair. I flickered my eyes to my dad and announced, "This is Bella Swan."

Bella smiled, too, and came to sit beside me. Just having someone here made me feel a little more relaxed. Mom was getting worse, the doctors told us last week. Dad has been extra testy ever since. I just didn't like being alone with him anymore.

Dad smiled, trying to be friendly despite the pain I knew he was feeling. "So, you're Bella. It's very nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too, sir." she answered him instantly. She communicated with him better than I did. Though, that didn't really surprise me.

"It was very kind of you to befriend Carlisle, Bella. He wasn't looking forward to school; I was worried about what he would say after his first day." Dad answered, and then he frowned. I felt my heart clench when I saw him frown.

The two of us had gotten into many heated, occasionally violent, arguments over my lack of a social life. When I was little, mom just said I was shy. Then she got sick, and I got mean, which scared off all of the other kids. The friendly ones, at least.

When we moved to Forks over the summer, I met Emmett. It proved my father's point that I was able to make friends if I tried to. He was simply ecstatic to learn that I had found a second friend once the year started.

"Carlisle is a very nice person. It's easy to be friends with him." Bella answered, turning her head to smile at me. I just looked down nervously. It was basic instinct after this long.

"I have to get going, actually." Dad announced, and I mentally cheered. "Bella, I would love for you to come over to the house sometime."

"Sure." She answered simply.

If anyone thought I was actually inviting her over so she could watch me cautiously slink around my house all day, they were sadly confused.

"Carlisle." I jumped slightly when my dad's sharp voice addressed me. "Do try to be on time for dinner tonight."

"Yes, sir," I answered mechanically, avoiding his eyes. It was probably an empty agreement. When was I last on time for anything that involved the two of us doing something together? A month ago, at least. It was easy to lose track of the hour in this place.

As soon as we were alone, I smiled at my friend, happy she was here. Being alone sucked. "So Bella, thanks for coming today."

Her big, brown eyes shined with concern, and she asked me in a soft voice, "Carlisle, are you afraid of your dad?"

Flinch.

Well, not at all the conversation I was expecting to have! I hated this question. A lot.

"Why do you ask?" I managed to ask her through my reluctance, knowing that ignoring her would probably give off the wrong impression.

She frowned at me. "Because of that. You were totally retreated when he was in the room, and now you're hesitant to talk about him."

"I am not afraid of my dad." I answered instantly, crossing my arms in a small spurt of aggression. It was sort of true, too.

Could I sit in the same room with him and have a relaxed conversation, able to think about him as just another person? Yes. Did I grow wary when he raised his voice or lingered too close to me for too long? Yes. I suppose you'd have to answer that question based on which half of the spectrum you were looking at.

Bella scooted closer to me and pressured. "Carlisle, does he hurt you?"

Damn my hard-wired upbringing and the phrase, Thou shalt not lie. It made my life so difficult sometimes that I genuinely cared about trying to be a good person.

I sighed, looking away from her and her too-worried eyes. "Can we not talk about this, please?"

"Carlisle," she demanded, and I felt my body jolt with fear at her impatient, firm tone. "Answer me now!"

I shied away from her, my brain censors forcing me to bend to her will. It wasn't even possible for me not to do what I was told anymore. "He hits me sometimes, but he's never mean about it. He mostly yells, anyway. I never get bruises or anything. I try not to do anything to set him off."

She frowned, and I almost panicked. She didn't believe me. That was not good. The last thing I needed was her dad poking himself into my life and making things more stressful then usual.

I felt a little defiant, too. I felt some deeply buried instinct churn inside of my heart, willing me to protect my father. He was a good person. I'd known kids who constantly came to school with bruises and black eyes. Those "I ran into a door" types that were afraid of their own shadow. I was not one of those kids!

I widened my eyes, trying to look as confident as I felt. "Really, it's only sometimes. He's always stressed out from trying to juggle work and visiting mom. He always feels really bad after he does it. He's not a bad person."

Did bad people hug you and say they were sorry? Did bad people devote their lives to helping other people? Did they cry at night because sometime soon they would be widowed?

Not any of the ones I had encountered.

After a few tense seconds, she looked away and asked, "So, does she wake up?"

I felt my body melt into the chair. I was glad she trusted my confidence. That was what made her such a great friend; she was willing to look beyond her own eyes. I needed a person like that.

My own eyes trailed onto my mom. "She's in a drug induced sleep right now. She hurts, so they don't like it when she's awake all the time."

"Why do they do that?" she asked innocently.

My heart started to ache with pains I had long tried to ease. "Because it's all they can do now."

So many doctors had tried so very many things. Pills. Patches. Treatments. Simple bed rest. This and that, and everything in between.

Pointless. All of it. She still hurt, and she was still clinging to life.

That was why I stayed here all the time. I wanted to be around... when it happened. I didn't want my dad to have to find me and tell me. I just wanted to know when she was going, and hoped it would be peaceful.

It shouldn't be too long now. She had thirty days at most, was what they told us.

At least she would be asleep.

Bella wrapped me in her arms, squeezing tightly. It was her silent way of letting me know she was here for me, if I needed her. I closed my eyes and let myself relax against her, setting my head against her shoulder.

--------------------

I was glad for the distraction when Bella decided to spend the next day with me.

I had asked her why her arm was bandaged, and we got to story swapping. I talked about London, and she talked about Phoenix. Simple things like what we liked to do.

I maintained a garden with my mother or read my father's books. She would listen to music in her room or try to convince her own mother not to do something too silly. We both had teachers that we hated and for quite drastically different reasons.

That was just because American teachers could not hit you. British nuns could. I didn't care how nice of a person I considered myself, that meant instant-dislike for any normal person.

I was tempted to ask why she left her mom for Forks, but I didn't think it would have been very appropriate of me to pry like that.

"You're not a very outgoing person, are you?" Bella asked casually.

I smiled sadly to myself. I should have figured she'd have been reading between the lines. It was apparently something she was good at.

I answered wryly, amused at my dry humor, "Catholic boys are mean." She could probably never guess that I, myself, had been categorized as the mean sort of person once upon a time. I tried quite hard to avoid that life style again. Hurting other people only made me feel worse in the long run.

"So, you didn't like any of them?" She asked.

Oh, I had liked some. The ones that were smart enough to leave me alone.

The ones that didn't tease me for preferring to read rather than play sports, because I was terrible at sports.

The ones that didn't provoke me into hitting them- in turn getting me into trouble with both the school and my dad- just because they thought it would be funny to mess with the quiet kid.

The ones who understood that I spent a good two hours a day "playing with daisies" because I wanted to spend time with my ailing mother, not because I was a sissy.

I loved those kids.

"They didn't like me." I answered finally. I felt a surge of bitterness and added, "I'm not good at anything. Why would they?"

Bella argued. "People can't be good at nothing."

I shrugged, not really caring about what the simple truth happened to be. "I can."

I glanced at her, to see that she was smiling. She looked a little timid. "You're good at charming the girls."

Charming... girls? I blinked in surprise. Really?

"I'm what?" I asked, startled by this declaration.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Honestly! You are blind, I'll give you that one."

I couldn't help myself from chuckling with her. She elaborated, "You were hiding from the girls in the school on the first day of school, remember? It's not because the female population of Forks is friendly."

Could have fooled me. Then again, she did make a point. Back in London, rumor had it American girls were almost as vicious as German ones. (As if that was possible.) I had yet to meet one I did not like.

I sat up and grinned. "What's charming about me, Bella?"

If she had noticed it, that means she had thought about it. Things just worked that way. It was impossible to make an observation without deducing why you did it.

My suspicion was confirmed when she blushed. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's that. The way you act so innocently out of the loop."

I smirked, crossing the room and perching on the arm of her chair. I leaned closer to her, giving us about a half of a foot distance. "Be serious!"

Perhaps I should have made a female friend a long time ago. Who better a source to all things girls?

"Maybe it's your hair, which looks like it's glowing when the sun hits it." She started her list. I found myself subconsciously trying to think of that mental image. It was not hard; it happened to dad as well.

"Maybe it's the way your pretty eyes practically smolder when you concentrate on something." She added a second later.

So she paid close enough attention to me to know if my eyes smolder when I was concentrated? I smiled and asked, more teasing now than serious, "Anything else, Bella?"

She tossed out, "It could be how nice you are, not every girl likes the bad boys."

Lie. They all did. That was one thing I did learn while I lived in London. Even if they didn't realize it, and even if they preferred the good-kid types, some deep part of every woman lusted after danger. It was like a natural instinct or something.

I could be blind sometimes, but I wasn't always.

"However," she continued, "I'm willing to bet money that it's that sexy accent."

And then there was silence.

That sexy accent, huh? That was what it was? The ladies of Forks were attracted to the foreign way I spoke? I suppose that was good on my part, then, because it would be rather difficult to speak any other way.

Her face stained a dark scarlet, but I just smiled wider. "Do you know why Eric and Tyler are always staring at you?"

Oh, they stared all right. Some days, at lunch, I felt myself scorch with unwarranted jealousy because of it. Bella was not mine to feel territorial over, but I did anyway. Could I help it?

Bella shrugged. I teased, "Well, it could be your adorable shyness or your obliviousness to boys."

I tried to be bold as I reached towards her, the back of my hand gently brushing her hot right cheek. If she weren't adorably shy, she wouldn't have been embarrassed by that comment.

I smiled gently. "But I would be willing to bet it's just you, because everything about you is wonderful."

She smiled back. She was, really and truly, a wonderful person. She was observant and friendly. She was nice, and gentle, and supportive. She worried about her friends, and she cared about them.

Before I had time to think, I leaned forward and timidly brushed my mouth against hers. I felt myself do something it rarely did when her lips applied more pressure to the connection; blaze with confidence.

I didn't want her to feel overwhelmed or trapped, so I set my hands very lightly on her shoulders and opened my mouth a little, shoving it against hers.

In turn, her own lips parted and after a long few seconds, the little lip-dance had ended.

I felt my own face flush, and I looked at my lap, feeling more than just slightly embarrassed by my forward behavior.

Embarrassed, but not at all sorry. My body was jolting with little tingles of life, and judging by the smile so was Bella's. It was interesting to learn that such a simple gesture could make a person feel so alive, and so happy.

It was my first kiss, and one I would never forget.


Teaser for c8: "What if I want to cause trouble, how are you going to stop me?" I challenged him. The glare-off we were having almost made the air crackle.

All reviewers who say more than "update soon" or "great chapter" will get an extended teaser!