Chapter 10
My siblings just starred at me.
After all this, you're gonna just sit there? Rose thought as she starred at me through narrowed eyes. Chicken shit!
I glared at her, but the truth of the matter was that I was being a chicken shit.
Damn it.
"So…uh…what's the plan, there, Romeo?" Emmett asked with a smirk and pointed with a celery stalk at Bella walking out of the cafeteria door.
Rubbing my palms over my face, I replied, "I haven't the foggiest clue."
Jerking his thumb at me, he turned to Jasper he said, "Real Casanova, that one."
"Give him a break, Em. What do you want him to do? Profess his undying love over meatball surprise?" Jasper gestured to the disgusting pile of god-knows-what on the sytrofoam tray in front of him. "Real romantic." He rolled his eyes.
The bell for fourth period saved me from any more of my family's torture. I made my way to Biology, the only class I had with Bella, already prepared for what I would find there. The only empty seat in the classroom was beside Bella at her lab table.
Searching the students' minds as I went, I looked to see where Bella had gone. I made it all the way to the seat in Mr. Banner's classroom before I saw her, through others' eyes, making her way towards the classroom door.
Head down, hair covering her face like curtains blocking the morning sun, she came in the classroom and made her way to what was now our table without seeing me.
She dropped her backpack beside the stool and placed her notebook on the table. Her head turned slightly in my direction as she sat and I could tell the instant she caught sight of my hand as it lay on the table. Her head snapped up, eyes locking on mine.
I'd never wished to hear her thoughts more than I did in that moment.
Taking a chance, I said, "Hello, Bella."
Her mouth opened and closed several times like a fish gasping for air, her eyes wide as they could go.
She sat on the stool beside me first for thirty, then sixty, then ninety seconds without change so I tried again. "How are you?"
Without responding she grabbed her bag and notebook and ran from the room.
I froze, looking at the doorway, stupefied.
Now what?
I shook my head, grabbed my notebook and walked past Mr. Banner's desk toward the door, mumbling about using the bathroom just before the tardy bell rang.
Unfortunately, I had to maintain a human speed as I followed her scent. Out the door…down the hall…out the exit…into open air . . . .
I stopped and sniffed, fighting against the breeze blowing the wrong direction. I turned my head toward the scent that was as familiar to me as my own and saw her disappear into her truck. It thundered to life.
I watched as she jerked the gearshift to reverse and backed out of her parking place. Then, tires squealing and engine screaming in protest, she screeched out of the parking lot.
I threw my own stuff into my car and left the keys in the seat for my family. Disappearing into the trees, I ran quickly toward where I knew she would go. Home.
I sat in the tree outside her window, camouflaged by the greenery, and listened to her tearing her room apart and muttering to herself again. "I'm insane-completely nuts. It's just not possible. Where are my drawings?"
She flew around the room and dumped the objects she searched for on her bed as she found them. First, all of her journals, then a large folder of childhood drawings fell to the bed.
She pulled a decorated shoebox from the top shelf of her closet and placed it on the bed as well. I was mystified. I'd seen the box before on the shelf, but had never paid any attention to it, not knowing what significance it would have in this moment.
The suspense was building inside me.
Finally, she ripped a large drawer from her desk and dumped its contents onto the floor before lifting up the colored drawer liner paper in the bottom. Underneath was her drawing of me that she'd made so long ago.
The drawer itself landed on her desk with a clatter as she fell to her knees in the midst of the mess. Her back was turned to me, and I watched the rise and fall of her shoulders as her breath heaved from her exertion.
It seemed as though eons passed as I waited for her next move.
The paper crumpled on the edges as she gripped it in her hand. She turned in her spot and floundered around as she crawled and fell and tripped to her bed. I was reminded of a drowning person reaching for any solid ground to put beneath them.
The items she had flung there greeted her. She sat at the foot of the bed and grabbed the little pink journal, the one I had given her first. Frantically, she thumbed through the pages. I had no idea what she was looking for. Evidence of our existence was my best guess.
When she reached the last page, she threw the book across the room where it landed on the floor, its usefulness outlived. She took the next one, and then the next one repeating the same ritual until nearly all laid in a heap on the floor.
When she'd, apparently, failed to find what she sought, she growled in frustration and reached for the box, the drawing still clutched in her hand. I held my breath as she opened the box, anxious to see what secrets it contained.
When she lifted out a bottle cap I was perplexed, confused by a dried flower, bewildered by a folded piece of paper, baffled by a small sandwich bag looking to containing what looked like a swatch of fabric. But when she removed a tattered and worn book, I understood.
These were her treasures- the evidence of our time together. As she spread the items on the quilt before her, the memories associated with each flooded me.
She held up the bottle cap and tried to spin it on the back of one of the journals still left on her bed. The cap was from a lemonade bottle Renee sent with her to the treehouse instead of her usual juice box. I remembered when she pulled it from her bag. She struggled and struggled trying to twist the cap from the bottle, proclaiming that she wanted to do it herself. I smiled at her stubbornness. Finally, nearly in tears, she thrust it at me and asked with a pout, "Help me, please?"
As she drank the lemonade, I delighted her by setting the cap to spin on the floorboards. She laughed in glee as I spun it faster and faster. I never knew that she had kept it.
She picked it up again, looked at it closely, then placed it in the box as gently as if it were made of glass.
Next, she lifted the folded piece of paper and opened it. Smoothing out its wrinkles on the bed first, she picked it up again to look at. It was from one of our many coloring sessions at night when she should have been sleeping. I was overindulgent, never able to deny her anything. When she'd asked me to color with her I acquiesced and drew a small likeness of her in a princess dress and fairy wings, inscribing "Little Angel" above it.
Her fingers brushed over the small drawing in the corner, ignoring her larger childish scribbles below it.
Next she examined the dried flower, a small yellow flower that she'd presented to me one day while we were playing just inside the tree line behind her house. She picked it and told me it was for me, but I'd placed it in her hair and declared her perfectly attired for the tea party she was creating on a nearby log.
The sandwich bag was next. Delicately, she opened the bag only the smallest amount and stuck her nose into the opening. She inhaled deeply, then quickly sealed the bag again. She turned the bag over and traced the embroidered "E" on the corner. There were drops of her blood on the handkerchief where I'd held it to her scraped and bleeding palm. I was stunned that I'd been so careless – leaving behind such solid evidence of my existence. Renee or Charlie could have easily found it.
At the time, I'd been doused with guilt at letting her fall to keep myself from exposure. I couldn't race to save her, because the neighbors' curtains were open. Crying, she'd run immediately into the trees where she knew I was always waiting for her.
I'd comforted her and wrapped her hand in my handkerchief. I rocked her gently while the tears ebbed and told her over and over again how sorry I was, until, finally, she was comforting me with her small arms around my neck and a kiss to the cheek.
I had been too distracted with my self-loathing to realize she'd pocketed the handkerchief in favor of hugging me. It never occurred to me later that it was missing. I'd not seen it in her room or in Renee's memories, so she must have hidden it away secretly before her mother could find it.
She placed it back in the box like a priceless jewel. When she lifted the book and opened it, I couldn't take anymore. I crept out on the branch closest to her window to watch her mouth move as she read it to herself.
My own lips recited from memory the words of "The Giving Tree" in chorus with hers. She wiped away tears from her alabaster cheek as she read.
Softly she read aloud the words that shattered my self-control. "Come boy, sit down and be happy."
And, with those words, I could resist no longer. Noiselessly, I lifted the window and sat on the ledge, listening to the harmony of her breaths and heartbeat, punctuated occasionally with a soft sigh.
"Bella," I called as gently as I could, trying unsuccessfully not to scare her.
She stifled a scream into her hand and jumped back almost falling off the bed. I caught her and the book that fell from her hands, clutching both to my chest.
She gasped softly at the contact as she looked up into my eyes. My own breathing stopped mid-breath, caught in my throat at her beauty.
"Bella." Her name fell from my lips like a prayer, a supplication to God in thanksgiving for all the word encompassed.
Her mouth parted with words she couldn't seem to find. Her eyes were wide. I tried to keep my face as calm as I possibly could, not wanting to frighten her.
Eventually, she said, "It is you."
It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway.
"Your voice . . . I wasn't sure when I saw you . . . .I didn't really remember . . ." she said, looking sheepishly at the drawing still clutched in her hand. "It's really quite terrible."
Her gaze returned to me, as she continued, "But your voice. I'd know that sound anywhere, no matter how much time had passed." She paused, biting her lip and wrinkling her brow. "How could I remember that one detail so clearly when everything else has become so foggy?"
Her eyes pleaded with me for answers. I wanted to stand there holding her for all eternity, but I knew that she would need physical space as I answered her questions, knowing there were more to come.
Slowly, making certain that she was steady on her feet, I let her go and stepped back from her, placing the book in her hands again. Her brow furrowed deeply, and her bottom lip jutted out.
Dropping the book on the bed, her hand flicked out and caught the hem of my shirt before I was a foot away from her. I stopped and let her hold me captive.
I swallowed hard, gulping down the fear that was overtaking me and answered, "Because you hear it every night. You've heard my voice every night of your life for seventeen years."
She shook her head in disbelief. "How?" she asked simply.
"I sing to you…or talk." I tried to stifle an impertinent grin. "Sometimes I listen when you talk back."
"What do I say?" she asked, shocked.
A frown creased my face as I answered, "You tell me that you miss me…that you are sad that I left you. And every night I reassure you that I'm still here, that I never really left."
Her hand dropped from my shirt, and she turned to the window and began pacing the room.
"But how? How is this possible?" She held up the drawing that resembled me only slightly. "You're the same, EXACTLY the same."
She paused staring at me, and I endeavored to keep my expression as open as possible.
"How old are you?" she demanded. I was surprised by her question, but she looked at me as if she was expecting an answer.
For the tiniest sliver of milliseconds, I debated lying to her, but, then, wasn't that the point of my being here – to come out of hiding, all of me, into the light? So, I said, "Seventeen."
Her eyes narrowed for a moment. "How long have you been seventeen?"
Her mind was as sharp as a knife, reminding me of Renee. "A while," I confessed.
She stood looking at me, emotions flashing across her face almost faster than I could see them, until, suddenly, she flew at me, her hands balled into tiny fists. She banged them on my chest until I was forced to subdue her gently, lest she break her hands on my marble flesh. I cradled her to me protectively until she pushed against me. I released her at once, and she backed several paces away.
"You…You left me," she accused, her face a mask of pain.
"I didn't, not really. Your whole life, I've never been away from you for a single day." I took a tentative step toward her, waiting to see if she would let me in…into her world, into her life, even just into her space.
"I've watched you your whole life, Bella. Haven't I always read what you wrote to me in your journal? Was there a single morning that I didn't move it?"
I gave her time to absorb my words, really wanting her to think and answer the questions I knew she had.
Slowly, she shook her head side to side so slightly that it would have been imperceptible to a human.
"Do you remember when you fell out of the tree next to your tree house when you were nine? You remember how you fell, but then landed on the ground so softly that it was as if you merely rolled over in your bed?"
Her eyes opened wide, guessing at my next words, I was certain.
"I caught you, Bella. Your eyes were tightly shut against the impact, but I caught you and laid you on the ground before you could hurt yourself. I was there for you then. I've been there for you always. I never left."
"But…" she started.
"What about Mike? Your first kiss? Who do you think knocked on that door and interrupted his assault on you?"
She gasped and pointed at me. "That was you? But you…he…and you…"
"I couldn't let him hurt you, Bella. I would have revealed myself if the situation had escalated beyond a stupid boy's floundering attempts at seduction. But the second you said 'no' he was going no further, because I never would have let him. I was there for you then.
"I've been there for every moment. I've watched over you and protected you . . . and, in my own way, I've done all I could do to care for you. Even just a month ago, after your last journal entry," I explained, picking up the latest one from the pile beside me and opened it to the offending page. I held it out to her. "When you cried yourself to sleep, finally giving up on me after all these years, I brushed away the tears as you slept. I hummed your lullaby until your breathing evened and you sank into a restful sleep."
I took a small step in her direction, putting me on the edge of her personal space, so I spoke more softly. "That's why you remember my voice. In seventeen years, you've never spent a single night alone. I have always been here with you, Bella. I always will be…until you order me away."
Tears glistened, slowly filling her eyes, before they finally spilled out between her lashes and rolled down her cheeks.
I took another cautious step forward, until I was just inches from her. Timidly, I lifted my hand and brushed the tears from under one eye. Her gaze never left my face.
We stood there before each other for lifetimes, ages, centuries, just taking in one another: Bella, seeing her supposed delusion made flesh and I, all my hopes and fears, standing here embodied in this one beautiful, young woman.
I reveled in being able just to look in her open eyes.
What a marvel she is!
Dropping the picture to the floor forgotten, her hands came up, and she laid her palms on my cheeks. "It really is you," she said. Her fingers brushed up the sides of my face, across my forehead, meeting in the middle. They slid down over my eyebrows and the lids of my now closed eyes.
I breathed deeply, drinking in the scent of her hands, pencil lead, hand lotion and unmistakably Bella. The overwhelming bouquet of her blood sung great overtures to me as the first finger of each hand passed over my nostrils on their way to my lips. I held still, as only a vampire could, as she traced my slightly parted lips.
"You're more beautiful than I remember," she whispered.
When one finger dipped to touch the tip of my teeth my hand flew to gently, but quickly, stop her.
"No, Bella. That's too dangerous," I warned.
Her eyes met mine. "I remember." When I didn't release her wrist, she spoke again. "I'm not afraid."
I let my hand fall slowly back to my side. Her fingertips continued their journey down my chin, then up the sides of my jaw and into my hair.
She smiled, and I couldn't help but return it. "I never had the right crayon to capture the color of your hair."
She laughed lightly, and I joined her. "I remember."
"It's really you, isn't it?" she asked timidly.
"Yes, Bella. It's me."
Her arms went around my neck, and she laid her cheek against my chest. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "Yes, it is." The sentence wasn't spoken to me.
I lifted my arms to hug her gently.
"I've missed you so much, Angel." I felt her tears seep through my t-shirt.
"Don't call me that, sweetheart. I don't deserve it." She moved her chin to rest on my chest and looked up at me with wide questioning eyes. "It killed me to hurt you like that, but I had to- for your own good. I had to protect you. You'd never have a normal life with me and the family around."
She released me and stepped back, moving to sit on her bed.
"The others. That's them: Rose and Emmy, Jasper and Alice? Where are Papa Carlisle and Mama Esme?"
"Yes, that's them. Carlisle is a doctor at the hospital here now, and Esme stays at home. We can go and see them any time you'd like.
She bit her lip. "Do they remember me? It's been a long time."
Sitting again on the window ledge, I laughed at her comment though she'd have no idea why. "For you maybe, but yes, they most definitely remember you, and they very much want to see you again."
Nodding, she sat silently for a long time looking at me. I met her gaze and devoured the sight of her like a starving man.
When she finally spoke, she asked a question that I wasn't sure I had an answer for. "Why me? I mean, none of my friends have real life imaginary friends…at least, I'm pretty sure they don't. Why me?" Her eyes held so many questions.
I leaned against the window frame beside me and considered my words. "I'm not sure. I suppose any of us could ask that same question." I was silent for a little longer while she just watched me. "There is so much that I can tell you now, but I think it might be better if we take this slowly, alright?"
She nodded and looked past me into the trees. "That's probably a good idea. I have so many questions- I don't know where to start."
"You can ask me anything you want to, Bella. I'll answer as much as I can." She didn't at first, and I was able to just sit and watch her, resting my arm on my knee.
I leaned my head back and watched the sunlight filter through the branches outside. The sun fell for a moment on the skin of my hand, and I compared it to the pale peaches and cream of her face. Diamonds and silk. Marble and glass. So different.
She blushed under my gaze. "I don't really know you at all, do I?" she asked.
I thought about her question. "No, I guess not."
"You know everything about me though, huh?" She blushed deeper at that thought.
"I know a lot about you, but I'd like to get to know you," I answered.
"What am I to you?" Her honest, trusting eyes gazed at me unassumingly.
You are my life, I thought, but said truthfully, "I'd like to be your friend."
Her answering smile was soft and sweet. "I'd like that, I think."
After a time I said, "You're very quiet," wishing again that I could hear her thoughts. "Can you tell me what you're thinking?"
She looked at me nervously and took her bottom lip between her teeth again. "Honestly? I'm freaking out just a little."
I chuckled, "I'm not surprised, but what about, specifically?" I wanted to address what troubled her.
"Actually, the fact that I'm not really freaked out about this."
"You're not?" Her answer surprised me.
Shaking her head, she said, "Is it strange that I feel nothing but relief that my childhood imaginary friends are real?"
"I guess some might say so. 'But there is more in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in most men's philosophy.'"
"You know Shakespeare?" She smiled.
I was surprised. "Do you?" She smiled brighter. "See, there's something I didn't know about you. Knowing that you read a lot doesn't tell me that you've committed the words to memory. 'O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!'"
She laughed. "'And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.'"
"I think I will," I answered.
"So will I," she answered, blushing the most beautiful shade of pink.
