*Comes out of hiding* Sorry, sorry, sorry! I really do mean that! I wish I could express how busy I've been this week. It's just one of those hectic times where you don't have a minute to sit down, and when/if you do, you tend take it as an opportunity to sleep. Luckily, things are back to normal on Wednesday so expect another chapter this weekend. I managed to write this one through a combination of sporadic 15 mins of freedom here and there. I hope you enjoy it.
Oh and of course, a disclaimer: *Insert failed attempt at a funny disclaimer here.* Is that lacking? ;-).
And as aaaalways, thank you for reading, reviewing, subscribing and everything. I love writing for such avid, enthusiastic readers.
Finally, any text between a set of [ insertwordhere ] means that the sentence is being spoken in Danish.
Enjoy!
History was very much in order here. Although I'd never mentioned it to Emmett, Sofia, nor Edward, my mother's side of the family was Danish. And when I say Danish, I didn't mean Americans who, five generations ago, were Danish. I mean, my mother and her family were pulled right from the boats and easels of Skagen, a small coastal village in the north of the peninsula, and into the outside world without as much as a word of English. I never felt the need to broadcast my heritage to anyone, mostly because I didn't think anyone would care, but also because I didn't want to be asked, "So do you speak Danish?"
Sigh. Yes. Yes, I could speak Danish. Whoop-Di-Doo. Party on. But if anyone expected me to speak a line of it, then they were sorely mistaken. I guess I'd grown a little bitter towards the accent my mother had given me whilst growing up. Although English was my first language, it took years before I could speak it confidently and nonchalantly. Being the sponge-headed child I was, I picked up on a few of my mother's Danish pronunciations of English words and ended up mispronouncing them as she did. When kids of the schoolyard pointed at me and said, "you sound funny!" I quickly made every effort to pull the soapy Danish sound from my voice. Of course, it always slipped through a little; even today, I'd pronounce an English word with a Danish accent, or vice versa. Bilingualism was the bane of my existence.
My great grandmother, Marie Kroyer, married into the Skajen painters, a colony of artists who painted en plein air in Northern Denmark. I never really asked much about her, other than when I was shown the occasional painting of hers that had been archived in the family vaults. I was told that she was somewhat promiscuous, but the thought of my great-grand mother having relations of that nature, was a rather gross thought for me, so I tended to clear my mind of it. After her, came Vibeke Kroyer, my grandmother, who died when I was very young. I was told that she held me once, and that I got my eyes from her. But when I saw a photo and realized that she was somewhat cock-eyed, well, let's just say that it made me very, very self conscious for a few months.
And then, well, next up was Clara Jensen, my mother. My mother and I had a very strange relationship. Put it this way, I didn't even know her age. She refused to tell me, and whenever I'd ask, she'd respond with, "age means nothing, Jasper!" She was also very, very clingy. And I don't mean in the cute motherly way where she'd give me some cookies while I was out the door, I mean something more like, "Here's some new jeans, shirts and ties," and before I knew it, I'd be outfitted in her chosen attire before even the slightest objection could be made. I wasn't sure if she was aware of it or not, but I often thought that her esoteric ways derived from the various lives she'd lived. She wanted to be as Marie, and paint her legacy in the form of landscapes and alfresco, rather than having children as we mere mortals did. For what it was worth, she told me that she had also managed a hippy-inspired hotel called "The Stoned Fish" at which she left to pursue a career of acting in Paris, London and Milan. Somewhere along the line, she met my father and from there, as they say, was history.
Even though my parents now resided in southern Florida, my mother still took much pride in her Danish nationality. I guessed that being away from home had brought that out in her. She was very much a straight-stood, occult woman who spent most of her time fancying ideals and dreams while raising a son of utilitarian and pragmatic tendencies. Yes, we were polar opposites, in every sense. So much so, that I had to move to Seattle, the furthest possible city from southern Florida, just to break free of her. But don't get me wrong; I loved my mother, very much so, but I could only admit that in light of our distance. We were an explosive combination; two conflicting sides of a magnet. I often wondered if I was adopted.
And now Edward stood opposite me, with the flag of my heritage entangled around his fingers, the white cross curling through his palm. As he fondled it and thought about what action to take, I could only draw confusion from why the flag had been placed outside my door in the first place. What was Aro trying to say? That he knew more about me than I thought? That my mother was in danger? That my parents were also responsible for Edward's debt? The mystery crippled me, and I looked blankly up at my confidant.
"We need to go to Florida," I said, my eyes glued to the flag.
Edward cocked an eyebrow. "Florida?" he asked. "Why would we go there?"
"My parents live there. I need to know they're okay and safe."
Edward stepped towards me and squeezed my shoulder ruefully. "This is my fault Jasper."
"No, this is Aro's fault," I responded harshly, grinding my teeth. "And if he thinks I won't call his bluff and fly to Florida myself, then he's wrong there."
"Why not just call them?"
"Because," I sighed. "I can't trust that they're not being watched. I'm with you on this Edward, but I need to know that my family is okay. Come with me?"
Edward's brought his hands to his sides and exhaled deeply. "I can't," he pressed out, raking his fingers through his hair. "Every cent I've got goes into that bastard's pocket."
I pulled out my phone and dialed a number that hadn't crossed my phone in decades. When I began to speak, Edward's mouth almost hit the floor.
"Hi, could I book two flights to Miami, Florida, please? The next available flight, yes, thank you."
When I hung up, Edward was gawking at me. "I never even said yes!" he exclaimed, arms in the air.
"We could use a holiday. Go get dressed."
"But?"
"Now."
I nudged Edward towards my bedroom, and then to my wardrobe where he'd find something to wear. I packed enough clothes for the both of us, my passport, wallet, phone and then zipped up the bag and slung it over my shoulder. I wasn't really thinking about how I'd look when I arrived, with my parents' well-being dominating all else in my mind, but I knew my mother would smile and naively eject one of her passive insults at me, where she'd ask, "Did you ever use that wrinkle cream I gave you last year?" or "Did you know that too much work makes your face rounder? You look like you're working very hard." Either way, I was prepared to endure any comment regarding my appearance if it meant my parents were safe and beyond the reaches of Aro's men. It was possible that he did a search on my surname online, as my mother went through a phase of documenting her and my father's entire family tree on the internet. But regardless, I didn't want to risk unwelcome eyes peering through the windows of my family-home every night.
Edward waddled awkwardly out of my bedroom door, looking distressed and noticeably uncomfortable. He was wearing one of my V-neck T-shirts, covered by a rustic blue zip-up which was tied by the strings across his collarbones. I would have complimented how well he sported my mostly unworn clothes, but when my eyes dropped to assess his, or, err, my jeans, I blinked twice and burst out laughing. They fit him perfectly in terms of length and width, and the fabric crumbled stylishly in all the right places. But as for his bulge, well, I feared that customs would think he were smuggling something in his package. Yep, that bad.
"It's gonna blow!" I declared, dramatically covering my head with my arms and falling to a crouch.
Edward huffed and waddled past me, his hands clenched into tight fists either side of him. "This was the loosest," he grumbled, pulling the denim away from his crotch for a moment. "How the hell do you wear these?"
"Either you're packing a rocket or else my jeans just have tight crotches." I pointed at his bulge and laughed. "I'm hoping for option one though."
"Glad you find this so funny," he grunted. "But at this rate there won't be any rocket. Not after it explodes, anyway."
"Explodes?" I gasped with a wink. "Edward, you dirty little -"
"No! Not that kind of explode," he amended frantically, waving his hands. "Hey wait! You're the dirty one!"
I winked again and slid past him, but stopped just at his ear. "I hope nothing hard comes your way on the flight," I whispered, before disappearing into my bathroom with a cackle, while Edward stood still in my hallway. I continued to snicker, with my toothbrush in my mouth, until I heard him tip-toe into my bedroom, shut the door, and lock it. After I'd washed my face, eyes and hands, I ambled out of the bathroom and knocked lightly on my bedroom egress.
"Edward? Are you okay?" I asked, my brows knitted.
I heard a shuffle and a gasp. "Ugh, yeah. Just fine. I thought you were taking a shower?"
"I never even said the word shower," I responded slowly, and suspiciously. "What're you doing in there?"
There was a pause. "Just seeing if the jeans I arrived in are okay to wear,"
I nodded and began to walk towards the kitchen until my feet trampled into a pile of clothes in the center of the hall. In it, was Edward's shirt, coat and jeans. Now completely suspicious, I marched back to the door. "Edward," I called, "your jeans are out here."
I heard 'shit' grunted beneath a breath. "Ugh, oh yeah. Right you are! Thanks for telling me."
"Open the door."
"Not yet."
"What do you mean not yet?" My eyes creased and I fiddled with the knob. "Open up!"
"Fine. But on one condition," my trustee ventured, his voice wavering. I pushed against the door, but when it failed to pop open, I acquiesced and groaned. "Fine," I sighed, tilting my head back. "What do you want?"
"Take out your phone and read something. Loud," he requested, while I tilted my head. My mind at a loss, my brows knitted. "Or you could just come out here and read it yourself?" When no reply came, I huffed and pulled out my phone. "What do you want me to read?" I asked.
"Anything," he responded, his voice quieter. "I don't care."
"Ugh, okay." I loaded a webpage and clicked on the first article that Google gave me. I was elated when I discovered that the heading was, "New machine to assist surgeons in appendectomies," and I began reading it aloud. ".. built and designed by student Achira Sato, who hails from Osaka, Japan, the new machine will be able to detect the exact location of the appendix, and can extract it with the help of.."
"Something else," Edward demanded abruptly, not even giving me a reason why.
I grunted. "What're you doing in there? Open the door!"
"Read something else!"
"Jesus!" I angrily swiped to a different article and, after complaining under my breath, began to read. "Octopuses are very hostile creatures when provoked. Many sailors have tried to get up close to them, but when they begin to poke at the animal's soft exterior, the octopus's long, various, arms will stiffen and become very hard."
I heard no complaints from Edward, and I apprehensively continued.
"When in attack-mode, the octopus will wrap it's pulsing lengths around its victim and will began to suck on him. The intense pressure will make the victim light headed, and his entire body will begin to shake."
I heard Edward mumble 'yeah,' under his breath and, although confused, I continued.
".. the octopus does not have any teeth in the standard sense, so while this sounds like a mitigator of the threat that these animals pose, the reverse is actually the case. The fact these beasts are almost always toothless, means that their suction power is not blocked by any physical obstacles. They simply suck, and suck and suck until the victim cannot breathe any longer."
"Shit yeah," Edward groaned.
"Huh?" My eyes flicked from the article and my thumb halted over the screen.
"Nothing," he panted, "keep going."
I shrugged and took a breath. "Where was I? Oh yeah. The average octopus has a very sticky exterior. When exposed to air for long periods of time, clear, salty fluids will emit from its skin to keep it moist. However, when it can no longer do this, the skin will tighten and pull back. The glands on the animal's arms will be exposed and will remain very, very sensitive." I took another breath and pressed out slowly. ".. If the octopus is placed into fresh water, the glands will ooze and spit the same salty fluid out around it, to attempt to salinize the water. However if it is placed into a -"
"Fuck, Jasper," I heard Edward groan, and I indignantly flicked the article away. "Fuck Jasper?" I called out angrily. "I'm the one reading stupid animal stories to you for no reason! You know what? Fuck Edward!"
"Fuck Edward?"
"Yeah! Fuck Edward!"
I heard a groan. "Oh fuck."
"Oh fuck what?" I asked
"Yeah, Jasper," he panted
"Yeah Jasper?"
"Yeah, Jasper!"
"Yeah what Jasper?" I raised my voice
"Fuck! Jasper!"
"Huh? Hey! Fuck Edward!"
"Fuck Edward?"
"Fuck Edward!"
"You wanna fuck Edward?"
"What?"
"You wanna fuck Edward?" he shouted back
"What? Yes! I mean, no! I mean, not yet!"
"I'm gonna come!"
"You what?"
"I'm gonna come!"
"Edward! You mean you're jer-?"
"Fuuuuuck!" he squealed loudly, groaning for seven long seconds as I stood, open mouthed at the other side of my door. I didn't dare say a word as I only then realized what he'd been up to, and all I could do was slide my phone into my pocket and turn around, my expression as if it had been struck by a gale-force wind. This time, I waddled into my living room and sat down slowly, where I then stared at the wall for a moment and blinked far too many times. After I heard the clack of the lock echo down the hall, Edward stepped, light-footed, into the kitchen and cleared his throat.
I turned my head and looked at him for a moment as he shuffled uncomfortably and knocked his heel against the floor. "Ugh, sorry 'bout that," he peeped, not daring to look up from where his shoe was flicking the floor. I stood up, cleared my throat, and rolled my tongue between my lips and pressed downwards.
"Octopuses? Really Edward?" I lifted up my phone and showed him the article. He rouged and gasped in the form of a hiss, as if he'd just watched a cheetah demolish a wildebeest - excuse the animal references - before he took a long, agonizing breath. "I had to, so that something hard wouldn't come my way while on the plane, where I couldn't do anything about it."
I was interested in other matters.
"Octopuses?" I drawled out.
"That wasn't what I was jerking off to," he defended, his mouth wide. "It was your voice."
"My voice?" I gasped, thinking back to when I'd once heard my voice on a video and hated the sound of it. "You got off on.. my voice?"
"No, Jasper. I've got a secret octopus fetish." He stopped and his face flicked upwards. "Shit, you'll probably believe that. C'mon, what else would I be jerking off to?"
I shrugged. "I didn't know you were jerking off at all."
Edward's hand slapped his face and his head moved from side to side. "You're a strange creature, Jasper Whitlock. I can say that much."
I smiled and licked my lips. "Says Octoboy!" I chortled. "I'll never let you live this down."
"Don't you have some Spanish to be speaking?" he threw back, eyeing me mischievously. "Or do you need your brakes oiled?"
"That'll get old," I dismissed devilishly, "you just wait." I turned to pack a few last things into my bag before I was called back by Edward and quickly pulled into an embrace that consisted of tight arms, close chests, and teeth gently raking my earlobe. "I hate you," he whispered, smiling and running his tongue against my lobe. I exhaled shakily and managed to grin.
"Hate you too," I groaned, before moving in for a kiss.
The flight to Miami, and the journey to the airport, was a complete disaster. Being the time-paranoid and perfection seeking surgeon that I was, I insisted that we arrive four hours in advance, much to Edward's chagrin. Stepping outside the door of my apartment proved difficult for both of us, but we pressed on stoically and got to my car without being outwardly confronted by Aro or one of his groupies. But what went up had to come down, right? Edward's mind was so preoccupied with getting me to the car safely that he left my front door open, and subsequently allowed Ptero to fly out of my humble abode with Bierce Fitch in close pursuit.
I had already pulled out of my drive way and was driving down the main-road when, in my right mirror, I saw a blue and yellow parrot chasing my car, and a cat sprinting and leaping beneath, trying to claim the bird for her dinner. I immediately looked at Edward, who looked at me, and gently advised me to stop the car and do something about my crazy animals. I floundered around the highway, dodging traffic as I swiped and snatched my bird and cat in either arm and marched back to my car, sending apologetic nods and smiles to the indignant drivers we'd held up.
It was a given that the animals would be brought back home, but when Edward told me that we had to pick up his passport at his house, despite the bumper-to-bumper traffic we were lodged in the middle of, I sighed with exasperation and lethargically made two phone calls. The first, was to the doorman of my complex; I asked him if he could kindly close and lock my door with the master key. The second, was to the airline, to let them know that I was bringing two animals with me. I was lucky that they allowed birds in the cabin, because otherwise Ptero would never have forgiven me. Edward assured me that he had a birdcage and a kennel for each of my family members, and without asking how or why, I nodded and got on my way.
When we got to Edward's, we barely had to time to explain to Carlisle and Esme where we were going. In fact, Edward didn't even have time to change out of my penis-choking jeans as he shambled into his office and resurrected a passport from beneath a pile of paperwork. Our explanation to Edward's parents as to where we were going consisted of, "Passport. Florida. Birdcage," as we burst out of the house in a similar manner to how we'd entered it, with Carlisle and Esme gawking and gaping at us with open mouths.
During the entire journey, Ptero sang from "99 bottles of beer," all the way to "7 bottles of beer," before his mind imploded into a chasm of squawks and chirps when a rather slick crow flew by. Edward had apparently snapped, and turned around to castigate the bird. I knew his attempts would be fruitless as Ptero usually found enjoyment in giving lip to those who reprimanded him. Patience had been my defense mechanism with Ptero. Edward would learn soon enough.
When we got onto the plane, Ptero was caged and hung on a small hook above Edward's seat, while Bierce Fitch was banished to the belly of the plane. Many people on the plane shot deathly glares at Edward as Ptero decided to start "99 bottles of beer" from the very beginning. I guessed that Edward was ready to break an animal cruelty law for every bottle of beer that was hit down and passed around, while I turned away and chuckled silently to myself.
Just as things were settling down after the pilot announced that we were landing, Ptero decided that the peace was a mortal enemy, and so shouted, "Bomb! Bomb!" When the air-hostess began glaring at Edward with a face that would turn skin to stone, I decided that I had to make a last resort decision and shut my bird up in a mannerly, yet rapid, fashion. I turned on my phone, as well as the flash on my camera, and took a picture of the bird's face. He dizzily fell onto the cage floor and stared at the bars for the remainder of the flight. Edward asked me why I hadn't done that sooner, to which my response was, "loyalties."
The staff and other people on the plane were delighted to see Edward and I get off. One man even said, "don't forget your parrot," while another said, "I hope bird flu returns." I took it in my stride.
We disembarked and rushed through baggage reclaim and all the other airport-related steps one had to go through to come out the other end. Soon enough, we were standing at the front egress of the airport, with the humid, tropical air suddenly pelting us with a heavy wetness. Edward said that he needed to breathe twice for every-time he'd breathe normally back in Seattle, because of the apparent muskiness of south Florida. I for one was used to it, and clicked right back in to my immunity to thick conditions. We pressed on.
We flagged down a taxi and plopped ourselves inside with a sigh. Edward vouched to never let the parrot be his responsibility again and thus took Bierce Fitch's cage on his lap while I made pointless small-talk with the driver. When we arrived, I had to stop Edward from pressing the buzzer on my parents' gates and explain a few things to him.
"I should warn you," I started, grabbing his wrist before he could give away our presence. "My mom is a little.. unique. Well, maybe not quite unique. Crazy is probably better. If she insults you, she doesn't mean to offend you. It's the only way she knows."
Edward pulled his wrist from my grasp. "Jasper," he drawled out, "don't cha think I've seen weird? C'mon, this is me you're talking to. I live, breathe and sleep it." He spoke to me with such resolve, which made me acquiesce, although rather apprehensively, but I still didn't allow him to press the buzzer. "Thank you for coming with me," I said, sliding my hand up his arm and pulling him into a hug. "You didn't have to do this."
Edward's hands clutched the knobs of my shoulders and pushed me from his chest and held me out in a firm distance. His mouth was dropped below his bottom teeth. "Are you crazy?" he asked, staring at my eyes. "I should be thanking you. It's my fault you're even here and you haven't even wanted to punch me yet." He smiled and kissed my cheek. "Thank you."
I still didn't let Edward click the buzzer until I'd felt the redness wane from my face. He nudged me, called me a wuss, and then finally gave our presence away. My mother's voice on the speaker was undeniable and I told her that it was me at the gate. She was elated, needless to say, and told us to meet her at the door. When we got there, she stood in front of my father and ran out onto the path, arms open, and emitting many screams and squeaks. "I bet she scared Aro away," I whispered to Edward before we were both choked by two arms that lassoed around us.
"[[I had no idea you were coming,]]" she blurted out. Edward shot a look at me, and mouthed, 'what did she say?' before her attention was stolen by him and she, of course, had to comment. Most likely inappropriately.
"[[And who is this?]]" she asked. "[[Jasper's new friend?]]"
Edward looked at me again and I sighed. "Yeah, he's my friend. His name's Edward." I then turned to him. "Edward, this is my mom, Clara." Edward extended his hands to her and my mother shook it for a moment until her attention was stolen by something else and she slid her hand away. Edward seemed very disorientated, to say the least.
"[[It's perfect that you came today. I just finished a new painting and you just have to see it.]]" She stole a glance at Edward, "Come Evan, you too."
"Did she just call me Evan?" Edward asked into my ear.
I shrugged and kept my false smile across my face. "Just go with the flow," I said through my teeth.
We were escorted, or rather dragged, into the house and through many re-painted rooms until we stopped in a supposed art room, which hadn't existed during my childhood. My mother pointed to a landscape painting upon an easel and her face lit up.
"[[Isn't it wonderful? It looks exactly like Skagen. Have I brought you to Skajen, Jasper?]]"
"Three times."
"[[Oh yes,]]" she blurted. "[[I remember now. But you were so young. You couldn't possibly remember. Well, it doesn't matter anyway - this looks exactly like it. Isn't it lovely?"
"I was twenty two," I sighed. "But yeah, it's pretty accurate." I was unamused by my mother's forgetfulness. How she even crossed a road without getting killed was beyond me. Hmph, how she'd given birth to a surgeon for a son was even more so beyond me.
"[[Always so rigid,]]" she moaned. "[[Live Jasper! Try new things! Don't lock yourself in your office and work all day! It gives you wrinkles.]]"
My eyes traced to Edward, and I changed languages. "[[I am living and trying new things. But I didn't expect you to know that. I don't even work in an office, it's called an OR. And let's leave the medical facts to me.]]"
My mother ignored me and moved the conversation to art once again and decided to incorporate Edward into the conversation. "[[Evan, do you draw or write?]]" she asked.
"Excuse me, mrs?" he asked politely, while I squeed at his charm.
"[[Do you draw or write?]]" she asked again.
I sighed and translated. "She asked if you draw or write," I said, worn. Edward smiled and nodded slightly.
"I don't draw," he said, lifting his hands. "I tried to draw my Dad's motorbike once, but that ended up in the shredder. I do write though."
"[[you write?]]" she asked, somewhat intrigued. "[[Novels? Vignettes? Plays?]]"
I repeated her exact words in English, although I didn't understand why; she spoke perfect English. My mother enjoyed playing these kinds of games with people. She said it brought out their 'character.'
"Poetry," said Edward matter-of-factly, as my eyes shot over to him. He nodded at me and I tilted my head. I couldn't tell if he was just bullshitting to paint himself in a better light, or whether he really did write poetry. I doubted it, though, as Edward could barely say what he felt at all, which was sort of the entire basis of poetry writing.
"[[Read it to me,]]" my mother pressed out, as if she'd been drained by the sun. She moved to an artsy settee and placed herself down upon it, with a hand draped over her forehead. I growled at her theatrical mannerisms.
"Excuse me?" Edward asked.
"She asked you to read some of your poetry to her," I challenged.
"Ah right," he responded. "I have one, it's ugh, called "A Concept." I can't promise it's any good though."
My mother sighed and smiled slightly. "[[Entertain me.]]"
Edward nodded and I leaned back, not quite sure what he was going to come out with. Just when I thought he was going to utter an excuse as to why he couldn't conjure up anything to say, unexpected yet musical words poured from his tongue.
"You play out my dreams, my hopes,
my ideal world,
as if it is all perfect.
As if I can reach out and take it
and live this wondrous ideal,
the reason
I wake up every morning.
Yet when I taste it and step forward,
it melts away
Like cotton candy in the mouth,
technically there, but literally not.
The future deceives me;
I tell myself that it will bring my abstract aspirations,
some day
and I wait.
I always wait. And yet, they never come.
I live for waiting.
I live for ideals.
I live for the concept of something whose true form is blocked by something greater than myself, but yet,
is myself.
Does the true form exist?
Or is it just a concept?"
My mother sat up from her position and watched Edward carefully for a moment, her pupils narrow. She opened her mouth to say something, stopped, looked down and opened her mouth again.
"What are you saying in it?" she asked, finally in English while Edward tugged on his collar. He licked his lips, looking at the floor, and thought for a moment. "A lot of things, I guess," he said, "Different things that run through my head."
"Like?" My mother was taking no prisoners.
"Mom, maybe you should let him keep that to himself," I suggested, intervening momentarily only to have two blue eyes shoot towards me and send a deathly glare in my direction.
"No secrets in our house, remember Jasper? We made that rule together."
"When I was five!" I growled. I turned to Edward and nodded. "How about I show you to your room? You've had that bag on since we left Seattle. Come on."
I heard my mother huff somewhere in the peripherals while I spoke to Edward, but it didn't fully register with me, as Ptero's bird cage, as well as Edward's poetry had done strange things to me indeed. My left hand was numb from the former, and my brain was ringing from the latter. Damn! I hated my mother's analogies: "People are like onions, Jasper, never forget that!" She was right about that one, for once, and I had to somewhat concede to it. Clara Jensen 1 - Jasper Whitlock 1,587.
When we got to Edward's room, which would become "our" room beyond my parents' heed, I lowered the cage to the floor as Edward did the same with Bierce Fitch's kennel. He started unbuttoning his jacket and ruffling his hair with a stretch, while I watched him attentively.
"This is a really nice place. You must've had an awesome childhood."
"Cut the crap Edward," I said sternly, stepping forward. "You wrote a poem?"
He looked at the ground. "Yeah, it was a long time ago though. I was lucky I even remembered it."
"You wrote a poem," I reiterated, to myself more so than to him.
"Yes, I did. Does that, err, bother you?"
"No," I pressed out, my eyebrow arched. "The opposite. I just, I had no idea." I tilted my head as self-dialogue took the reins of my mind. "What was it about anyway?"
Edward shrugged and pursed his lips together. "Eh, don't wanna talk about it. Maybe some other time."
"Don't want to talk about it, or can't bring yourself to talk about it?"
"We're not here to interrogate me, alright? Don't you want to ask your Mom about the flag? That's why we're here, isn't it?"
"I suppose it is."
"Jasper!"
"What?"
"Stop talking all coded and mysterious. Are you coming downstairs?"
"After you," I said, heralding Edward to the hall as he huffed deeply.
I would find out what it meant. If it was the last thing I did.
"Oh Edward, you have such soft skin."
"Edward, your hair is so thick and wavy."
"Why can't you be more like Edward, Jasper?"
"Aha, oh Edward. You're so funny. You must have a woman in your life?"
"Oh my, Edward, you wear your clothes so well!"
I really wanted to vomit. After my mother had heard Edward's mysterious poem, she was swooning all over him like a six year old in a nursery home. She shoved her chair right into his at the dinner table, and she sat with her chin in her palms as she watched him eat. I continually kicked her from under the table and found that I was acting exactly as Edward had been the night I'd gone to his house for the first time. After the millionth compliment shot at Edward, I nudged my mother's knee from beneath the table and she shot a frustrated look my way. I'd completely forgotten that my mother was the "I will say what's on my mind and you will listen and you will like it" type. Her face crumpled, and she huffed, "Jasper, honey, could you please stop kicking me under the table? I'm starting to bruise."
Oh, oh! Now she addressed me in English. Now she was ready to speak in a language that we could all understand. My mother was a paragon at mind games and she knew exactly how to make me chase my tail like a senile terrier. I growled under my breath and wiped my hands down my face with a heavy, yet quick inhalation. When my eyes opened, my mother and Edward's eyes were on me, and my father's were still on the newspaper.
"Something wrong, Jasper?" my mother asked, as I glared at her icily.
"Oh nothing," I hummed, "everything is just great. Carry on with whatever you're talking about."
My mother shrugged and turned her back to me and engaged Edward in her own, private conversation. My fingers shivered against the cutlery and even my father noticed. He patted my shoulder and said, "it's alright son, just take a breath." Even though I took his advice, my mother still took it upon herself to turn around and question me as if I had just interrupted her conversation again.
"What now?" she asked. I could smell that she was up to something. I looked at Edward for assurance whether I was imagining things or not, but when he remained naive to my mother's games, as well as to the suggestive look I shot him, I exhaled deeply.
"Really?" I asked, looking at my mother. "You don't think it's strange that I arrive here out of the blue, with a friend you've never met, when I live on the other side of the country?"
She blinked at me and her mouth turned into a circle. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked.
"You don't want to ask me why I'm here? Why I arrived unannounced?" My mother tilted her head and my father slowly lowered his newspaper to the table.
"Now that you mention it.." he started, before my mother shushed him and spoke in his place. "Why do you always need a reason to visit your mother? You've never changed Jasper. You always need a plan, an action, something to do! Why not just go with the wind? See where it takes you?"
"Because Mom," I addressed, unbuttoning the first button of my shirt. " If I didn't have a plan, or an action, then I wouldn't be able to do anything about the flag that ended up on my door this morning!"
Edward licked his lips and peered downwards while my parents scrutinized me.
"Flag?" they asked in unison, looking from each other and back to me. "What flag?"
I sighed. "Has anyone.. strange been at the house recently? Has anyone who you've never seen before arrived and asked you questions about Denmark?"
My mother blinked blankly and looked to my father. "No. Not that I remember," she drew out. "Why? What's going on?"
Edward's face begged me not to answer her question with the entire truth, and so I ignored it; but for however-long my dodging game would last with her was really beyond me.
"Someone left a Danish flag on my doorstep. It's weird because I haven't told anyone about you."
"[Thanks,]" my mother muttered, and I jumped to amend.
"Not in that way, Mom. I just never got around to telling anyone."
"So why and who would leave a flag of Denmark on your door?" Her brows knitted and she swirled the liquid in her glass.
"My question exactly," I said. "I thought I'd come down to ask you if you knew anything about it."
My father peered at my from over his glasses. "Strange," he mumbled. "It's strange that you'd come all the way here only to ask us something you could have over the phone. Why else are you here?"
Edward shot me a look and I smiled unsurely. My eyes glanced out the window to confirm that we weren't being watched and I took a breath. "Because Edward and I wanted a holiday," I said, cooling down as I saw Edward breath out.
"Oh," he popped, pressing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Well in that case, welcome home."
I nodded and turned back to my mom, careful not to put too much emphasis on the flag situation lest they became suspicious again. "So did anyone come around asking you questions? Anyone who looked, I dunno, pale?"
My mother hummed and looked upwards as if to catch a thought. Her face lit up and her finger shot into the air. Hey presto, it seemed as if she'd remembered something.
"A man from the census came around and asked us to fill out some forms. He just wanted the basics - you know, how many people in the house, nationality of the people in the house, finances, income, outcome, tax.. the usuals."
My eyes locked with Edward's and it was a mutual understanding. The census wasn't for another two years.
"Oh well I guess one of my neighbors or patients saw the family tree you put up online a few years ago. Hey, you know what? What did the census guy look like?" I asked, while Edward face-palmed himself. I knew I was shit at lying. Luckily, my mother didn't seem to notice, and she continued on, content that she was the center of attention.
"Oh I couldn't remember, sweetie. Tall, brown eyes, shaggy hair.. like most of the beach addicts in this state." She stopped and smiled. "Except, he did have a flower pinned to his shirt. A lovely little thing. Hmm, it was pink and purple.. beautiful!"
"Was it a petunia?" Edward asked ominously, not meeting my worried glare.
"Yes! That was exactly it!" my mother celebrated, her hands in the air. "See Jasper? Edward knows the names of flowers, so why can't you? I've always wanted Jasper to have taste in flowers but he never developed one. Instead he liked needles, blood and organs! Disgusting stuff!"
The ambience at the table fell cold as neither me, nor Edward nor my father spoke. Only my mother's chattering could be heard in the faint peripherals of my mind, as well as the occasional screech of cutlery against the plate. When dinner was apparently over, my mother piled all the plates into one stack and left for the sink, leaving only the males at the table. My dad packed it in and rolled up the paper and ambled upstairs, finally giving Edward and I the moment we needed.
"They were here," I cursed, crunching my fingers into my palms. "Why is my mom so stupid?"
"She didn't know," he drew out. "She said that she mentioned finances? Fuck. They tricked her. They know everything about you."
"So what does this mean?" I asked, tearing the corner of my napkin.
Edward paused. "That the bastards know a lot about you. They wouldn't have hassled you if you were from a poor family." He waved his hand across the room and shrugged. "And that's not the case."
I cursed and brought my hands to my face. "Should I tell them? I mean, what if they're in danger?"
"They're not," Edward assured, although his face was sullen and heavy from concerns that manifested in his muscles and tendons. "They only wanted to get some background on you." He stopped and sighed. "I'm sorry. I know you're sick of hearing it, but I am. I never wanted th-"
"I get it," I said. "You never wanted this, I know. You need to stop apologizing. What's happened has happened. We just have to deal with it." I didn't know where this overly-pragmatic side of me was coming from, but I shivered as I ventured into the possibility that I was, perhaps, hiding behind a defense mechanism. It was easier to deal with this whole mess by thinking of it as a complex, firmly rooted cancer that was in need of careful incisions and knifings to fully remove it. Surgeons were puzzle-fixers, and this was a puzzle. I could fix this; there was nothing to worry about. Yet, Edward was melting with worries, as he remained quiet and obstinate in his silence and sat stiffly against the back of the chair.
I got up and moved behind him, checking to make sure that my mother was still busy about the kitchen. Edward turned to look at where I was going, but when my hands met his shoulders, he cooled and exhaled. My fingers circled the muscles of his upper arms and lowered myself down and brought my mouth to his ear. "I'm not afraid of them," I whispered, kissing the side of his head. "I trust you when you say that my parents aren't in trouble." I wrapped my arms around his chest and placed my chin into the niche I had craved for so long. "Are you tired?" I asked.
"You have no idea," he replied.
I smiled and turned around towards the kitchen and announced our ascension to my mother, who quickly came pouring into the dining room, soap on her hands and face and hugged us good night. She insisted that Edward get my bedroom, since it had a bigger bed and that I retire in the spare room. I rolled my eyes and walked up with him, knowing full well that my mother's request was futile as Edward and I were destined for the same place anyway.
We fell into my room - almost tripping over Bierce Fitch and Ptero - and landed onto the bed. Edward squeezed my face between the claw of his fingers and looked at me in the eyes. He smiled in a way that depicted relief and guilt in a warring nature, and brought his lips to mine and claimed them. He kissed my jaw and then nipped at the flesh of my throat as he descended lower and to my chest. His fingers nimbly dismantled the buttons of my shirt and his hands swerved up my body as he undulated against me and bit forcefully against my lips.
"Edward," I intoned, my chest rising high. "We're not - I don't want - Oh, man."
He snaked my nipple between his top and bottom teeth and ground it roughly against the prickly surface of his tongue. My body turned to needles as his hips waved against mine and I could feel the tightness of his crotch beneath my compacted jeans up against me. I pressed out a wobbly breath and tapped my cheek with my palm to remind myself of the standards I'd set.
"Not ready," I mumbled, as his tongue swiveled around my pecs. "You, I, we can't."
"We can't?" he asked, almost mirthfully. "You mean I can't do this?"
He brought his hand to the bulge of my jeans and left it there limply, not curling his fingers. My irises cave-wide, I looked at the events down south before elevating my eyes to his. I bit my lips.
"Well, no, yes, no, not now, not yet - mwuugh."
He squeezed against my crotch and began sucking gently on my earlobe. "That's what you're telling me, right?" he mocked. "You're saying that I can't do this?" He began petting my crotch with the bulges of his palms and I had to hold my breath to inhibit a groan that would pique my mother's irrevocable curiosity. The friction of my jeans, underwear and his hands sliding over me like a black wave of pleasure was enough to shatter the smoothness of my skin and cause me to break out in goosebumps. I didn't even notice Edward opening the button of my jeans. I suddenly felt the lack of one of the heavier layers of fabric over my cock and when I looked down, I saw that that was because Edward had slipped his hand beneath my jeans, but over my underwear. I gasped loudly; I could feel the heat of his hand permeate through my crotch, and I could feel it jerk and throb beneath his now-stagnant hand.
"Edward," I panted. "Please, no. I don't want to regre-"
"Regret what?" he teased somberly, barely moving his hand. "Regret this?" Then, he moved it, and I swear I almost came right there and then. As I had done when going at it solo, I reached for a pillow and placed it over my mouth and breathed through it.
Holy shit! Edward was giving me a handjob; Edward was giving me a handjob. Even the basic idea of that was enough to push me over the edge. But when I opened my eyes and saw that it was my Edward with his hands down my pants, it just didn't feel right. As his head was turned away from me, scrutinizing the source of the pleasure he was sending through my body, I realized that in that moment, he could have been anyone.
There was nothing special about this. Nothing personal. Nothing sentimental. If I wanted a handjob for the sake of it, then I could've done it myself. What he was doing to me was no better than what I had done to Emmett; except only now, I knew that Edward was doing this for me in light of what we'd uncovered about Aro, the fake census and my parents. This was nothing but an apology expressed through actions and sex.
"Edward, stop," I said soberly, wrapping my hand around his wrist. "Please."
"Fuck, it must feel good."
"Yeah, it does," I replied dismissively, "but I want you to stop."
Then, his hand did, indeed, stop and his face moved slowly to meet mine. "Why?" he asked, confusedly. "Am I doing something wrong?"
"No, no!" I said, raising a hand to his face. "You could just look at me a certain way and it'd feel good," I joked, sighing when Edward's distorted expression failed to wane. "Then why are we stopping?" he asked.
I took a deep breath. "Because this.. this isn't right."
Edward tilted his head and I cursed myself.
"Sorry," I amended. "I mean, I don't want to just get each other off like we're having a fling. I know you hate mushy words and stuff but, Ed, you're starting to mean a lot to me. And before you pull that awkward face," I stopped and waved my hands in front of my body light heartedly, "just - just know that I'm not a good liar, and that I mean everything I say. I don't lead a secret life of a poet like you do. My parents say that with me, what you see is what you get. And frankly, this is me, and I have to stay true to that."
Edward nodded. "It's hard. I, ugh, think about you a lot."
I smiled and leaned forward to kiss him gently. "I think about you a lot too."
"So when?" he asked, "when will you - we - be ready, to.. you know?"
"We'll know," I replied with a half smile. "We'll both feel it." I lowered myself back onto my back, now smiling wholly, and I brought my hands to cushion the back of my head. I watched the ceiling for a moment as I heard my mother finally retire to bed and listened as the house emptied itself of all sound. There was nothing but quietness, a still and stagnant quietness that soothed me in a way that wiped away my peripheral fears and daily concerns. Just then, Edward spoke.
"Jasper?" he asked, looking at my shyly.
"Yeah?"
He paused. "I'm ready when you are."
On a final note: The Skagen painters really did exist, and so did Marie and Vibeke Kroyer. As for Edward's poem, I wanted to give you an insight into how he thinks, since we're all familiar with Jasper's crazy mind. That was a first shot at poetry writing.. I hope it was good enough :-). Thank you all again!
