I don't know what's wrong with me, writing all this when I should be studying. Now I'm not going to be able to sleep till wednesday when finals are over (yes, lebells1, they are end of the semester exams and they are rough!).
Anyway. This one is pretty angsty. And long. Long and angsty.
It gets better. I promise.
Thank you for your reviews and reading. I love you.
And thanks to Stratan for making sure I don't sound like an idiot. Well, a complete idiot.
Neither Twilight nor Friday Night Lights belong to me. If they did I probably wouldn't be stressin' about school right now.
Enough of my whining.
Friday
I don't remember how I get to the hospital, or more specifically how, I come to be standing in this brightly lit hallway.
It's near Jasper. I think. It's near where they took Jasper, so here I stand.
My hands can't stop shaking, and I'm crying. It's like my body understands but my mind hasn't quite caught up.
I must look ridiculous, standing by myself in this hallway. I'm still clutching my pompoms.
My chest wracks with uncontrollable sobs as I once again remember that moment. He just couldn't get up. I've never prayed so hard in my life as Rosalie wrapped her arms around my shoulders, her tears silent while mine were hysterical.
They took him away in an ambulance, and he still didn't move.
Edward looked at me from across the field, appearing just as sick as me as nausea rolled in my stomach. The look on his face told me that it's bad. Really bad.
I think the Whitlock's took me to the hospital. They still don't know we broke up. No one does, really. It doesn't seem so important in this moment.
A saw sounds from somewhere down the hall. I can't imagine what they could possibly be sawing off, and then I remember he was in his football helmet. He has a head injury. A spine injury. I'm not sure of the details, but not long after, they take him into surgery.
I slide down the wall, sitting in a heap.
Jasper could die. Jasper could lose everything. Not knowing sounds better, but somehow it isn't. I don't know if I've ever been this scared in my whole life.
In the moment, you think there is nothing worse then the waiting.
"Bella." I turn to see Alice Masen, crouched down next to me, hand on my shoulder.
"Hi," I squeak out through my tears.
Even Alice Masen – outsider, football hater – has tears in her eyes. Even she knows the gravity of what's happened.
"Is…is Edward here?" I ask quietly.
"I don't know," she murmurs. "The waiting room is full. Everyone came over after the game. I'm sure he's down there."
I nod, wishing Edward was here even though what felt so right only hours ago feels horribly, terribly wrong now.
Alice wraps her arms around me and I collapse into her chest. It's good, to share my pain with someone, even if it's this strange girl that I don't know too well.
After a while, I realize that we won't hear any news of his recovery in this abandoned hallway. Alice walks me down to the waiting room, moving immediately to sit with her dad who's still wearing his whistle around his neck.
It seems the entire town of Dillon is here, waiting like me. Girls I recognize from school but don't actually know cry. Parents do, too. I wonder if they understand that this is a tragedy for Jasper or if all they can think about is how this will effect the season.
It makes me angry. They don't even know Jazz.
This pain feels proprietary, even though I've got no more rights over the quarterback than the rest of Dillon. But at least my fear is genuinely for Jazz.
Edward's is too. It's obvious from the way he sits, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his fingers in his hair, that he's hurting. He rocks back in forth as if he's going to lose it at any moment. I want to go to him, take his hand, give and receive comfort.
But I don't. That all feels wrong now that Jasper might not walk.
The tears start anew and I pray again, holding on to the hope, the determination that he's going to live out all those big dreams.
People only start to go home after the Mrs. Whitlock comes in to announce that Jazz is out of surgery. It went well, he's sleeping, and they won't really know the extent of the damage until he wakes up and that probably won't be for hours.
Edward gets up and leaves the moment the update is over. He doesn't even look at me but Mrs. W does. I hug her, but let myself be pulled away by my own parents before she can ask me if I'm gonna stay.
Part of me wants to be here for Jazz and his parents, but I can't. It just doesn't feel right.
Nothing feels right anymore.
Including the prospect of Edward sneaking in my window. When I get home, I actually lock it for the first time in years. But then I unlock it and then relock it again.
It doesn't matter. Edward doesn't show. I know because I don't sleep all night.
Saturday
I bring Jasper flowers.
It seems silly given how he is and how many flowers he's given me over the years, but it seems like the thing to do. It makes me feel like I can do something. Everything is still so surreal, and I can't be there for him in the way he wants me to be, so I bring him flowers.
Feeling like a complete moron, I walk down the white hall to his recovery room. His mom called this morning. He's awake.
"Hi, Bella." Coach Masen is just leaving his room as I approach it.
"Hi," I manage. Coach's expression is so forlorn that it makes me not want to go into the room. It would be so much easier to just not go in, to pretend everything is all right.
"He's up," Coach continues.
I just nod, biting my lip and glancing towards the door.
"How are you?" he continues.
"How are any of us?" I say, frustrated with myself that I start crying again. I promised myself I wouldn't do this, that I would be strong and positive for Jazz, but it's so damn hard.
We may not be together anymore, but I still care about him. A lot.
Coach pats my shoulder before he walks away, understanding that I'm on the verge of completely losing it and can't really handle any more talking.
It takes me at least twenty seconds of mental preparation before I can get my feet to move in to Jasper's room.
The first thing I notice is the flowers. They cover every available surface – including the floor space – making the room appear more florist than hospital. The measly bouquet I clutch nervously in my hands seems even more stupid now, and I think about hiding them somewhere.
But then I see Jazz, and it's painfully clear we're in a hospital.
He sits stiffly up in bed with his eyes closed, giant back and neck brace keeping him propped in what appears to be an uncomfortable position. Monitors beep quietly at his side, IVs are connected to his arm, and one of those oxygen things is in his nose.
He looks smaller somehow, and the whole thing just breaks my heart.
I bite my lip with more pressure than necessary to hold back my sob, but I think Jazz hears me anyway because he opens his eyes. He focuses on me immediately, standing there amongst the unnecessarily huge wreaths and get well soon bouquets.
"Hey, babe," he whispers, giving me a sad little smile. His lips move but the rest of him is eerily still. My stomach drops as I think the worst but I plaster a big bright smile on my face, trying to project the best. I will have hope, I will be positive for Jasper.
"Hi." My voice is raspy and not quite as strong as I want it to be.
"Come 'ere." I shuffle towards him, feeling so scared and guilty and unsure because somehow seeing him like this makes what I've done with his best friend that much worse.
God, he's so vulnerable.
Again, he gives me a tight smile, moving his eyes towards the bed at his side several times before I get that he wants me to sit next to him. I think one tear escapes when I realize he uses his eyes because he can't move anything else.
Putting my stupid flowers in a vase with some other stupid flowers, I sit next to him.
"Don't cry," he murmurs, voice slurring slightly. From the look of the monitors and tubes, they have him on all sorts of drugs.
Good. I don't want him to feel any pain.
"I'm not," I reply, blinking rapidly and giving him another bright smile.
"Liar."
I feel the pain his all too true description sharply in my chest, and it gets harder than I ever thought possible to keep it together.
My eyes take in every little detail of his whole situation – the brace, the tubes, the way his face has seemed to age years since yesterday. I feel older too.
"I know," he says with a grimace. "It's bad."
There is so much pain in those four words that I grab his hand in a poor attempt to provide a little comfort.
"I can feel that," he tells me as I feel his fingers curve slightly in my hand. "They go on about that, like it's something."
Somehow, his defeat makes me that more determined to have hope, to be positive.
"It is something," I insist, pleased that the strength formerly absent from my voice is there. "Jazz, you gotta stay positive. You don't know anything for sure and they got that specialist flyin' up from Huston. Everything will be okay."
He just closes his eyes and sighs. I can almost picture him shaking his head, if only he could move. I tell myself it's the brace, that's the only thing preventing his mobility.
Somewhere in the back of my head, I recognized that I'm lying to us both, but I refuse to acknowledge even the possibility that Jazz won't get better.
He has to get better.
He will get better.
"Thank you," he says, opening his eyes again.
"What for?" I ask, totally confused and thrown by this statement.
"For… for bein' here," he says, sounding so emotional that my heart breaks a little.
I sniff, once again tryin' to hold back my tears as I shake my head at him.
"Please don't to that," he croaks out, sounding like he is about to cry too. "I don't want you to do that."
It takes me a few deep breaths, but I finally manage to stop the tears. I think I'll do almost anything he says to make this easier.
"No crying," I reply. "I promise."
"Have you seen Ed?" he asks.
Again, that guilt is so intense its almost dizzying.
"No," I murmur, absently pulling his thin blanket up a little higher even as I still hold his mostly limp hand. "I called him earlier, but no answer."
"How worried should I be?" he asks, his eyes fluttering closed. Mrs. Whitlock told me to expect his sleepiness, so it doesn't worry me.
"Aw, you know Edward," I say, glad he doesn't see my grimace. "He deals in his own way. I'll track him down. Don't you worry about anything."
"Yeah, tell him I want to see him. He needs to give me the play by play of the three minutes I missed," he slurs. I shake my head, amazed that he's talkin' football at a time like this.
"Okay," I say.
"Come and see me tomorrow?" he asks quietly, almost asleep now. "I know this don't change nothin' but… please, babe, just stop by."
"Okay."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
I think about Jazz's words as I walk to my car. He's only half right. His accident won't change him and me back to what we were, but it seems to have changed everything for Edward and me.
Sunday
Edward doesn't take me to church.
Instead, I go with my parents back to that place I swore I would never again go. The whole service is very Jazz centered, hopeful and inspiring. It helps me strengthen my resolve to get Jazz through this. He will get better and play college ball and then be the number on draft pick for the pros.
He has to. He just…has to.
After church, I visit Jazz. He only mumbles at me for a few minutes before falling back asleep, and in that short time he manages to ask for Edward. Twice.
So, being as I will do everything in my power to get Jazz better and seeing Edward will make him better, I go to find the best friend.
He isn't at home or at the bar or the strip club (thank God). Emmett and Rose haven't seen him since the waiting room and don't know if he even came home the last couple nights. Now really worried, I wrack my brain, tryin' to think of places he might go to grieve.
I try his own personal golf course next, feeling so unbelievably relieved when I see his truck at the bottom of the hill. After parking next to him, I take in the state of the vehicle. The blankets and assorted junk food wrappers indicate that he's been here for a while, maybe even since he left the hospital at three o'clock in the morning the other night.
It is only when I reach the top of the hill and see him, golf club in hand, that I realize that I have no idea what to say.
I notice all the beer cans and the way he sways, and suddenly, I'm irrationally angry. Everything is so unfair – what happened to Jazz, what it's doing to Edward and me – and it makes me so angry. I can't be angry around Jasper but I can now.
"You haven't been to see him," I snap, my tone accusatory and harsh. Edward tenses at my words but doesn't turn around until after he smacks the empty beer can into the field below.
His eyes are dark and empty, and do nothing to alleviate my anger.
"Why haven't you been to see him?" I demand, stomping on over to him and getting in his face. "What the hell kind of best friend are you? He's asking to see you."
Edward snorts, shakes his head, and steps around me, moving to grab another beer from the nearby cooler.
"Not a very good one," he replies, sounding just as angry as I am. "If you and I count for anything."
His words hurt and I just get angrier.
"And your phone," I ask as we square off. With hands on my hips, I scowl at him while he just sways, swigs, and scowls back. "This terrible thing happened and you just disappeared! Who does that?"
"No service out here," he says dismissively.
I just let out a frustrated growl, burying my face in my hands and sobbing with my whole body. And suddenly Edward's arms are around me and I'm crying into his neck, my hands fisting into his soft plaid shirt. He cradles my head, kisses my temple, and rocks me back and forth.
"I don't know what this means for us," I admit softly. It's something that's been haunting me since Friday. Our plans to tell Jazz are so obviously off, I don't even think about it. But somehow I just know that Edward and I can't be until Jazz makes a full recovery. He just has to.
Edward wraps his hands around my shoulders, gently but firmly pushing me away from him. I take a step back, having a hard time looking him in the eye because I feel like such a coward.
"What the fuck does that even mean?" he demands, crushing his beer can in his grip at his side.
I just shake my head because his question is forcing me to think of the worst possible scenario. What I'm not willing to say is that Jasper may be hurt worse than he's ever been before, and if he doesn't get better, we can't hurt him more by being together.
"So he gets hurt and you go rushing back to him?" he demands when I don't answer, yelling now. "Is that what you mean, Bella?"
I shake my head rapidly because I could never get back together with Jazz, knowing what I know about how it feels to be with Edward.
"That's not it, but he needs us, Edward. We can't be together and help him get better at the same time," I say, struggling to articulate what I'm feeling, but its difficult seeing as I don't really know what it is I am feeling. "It just won't work. Maybe when he's back on the football field—"
"Back on the football field?" he yells, yanking on his hair. "What kind of fantasy world are you livin' in? Did you even see that hit? Fuck football. He's never gonna fucking walk again!'
"How can you say that?" I scream back, crying now. Edward is threatening my hope. I have to stay positive. Jazz has to get better. "How can you even think that?"
"Because it's the truth!" Edward yells back, getting in my face. "Just like what you feel for me, that's the truth too. And you can't just run away from it!"
"I'm not the one who's running," I argue. By this point we are in a full blown screaming match. I don't think I've yelled at anyone the way I yell at Edward. We Swans don't yell or fight, we stay silent and avoid. "You haven't been to see him once! That sure looks like running to me."
His face twists into a grimace as he turns away, goin' back to his beloved cooler.
"Oh that's just great," I continue, not done yet. Now that I'm fightin' I seem to be throwing myself totally in to it. "Just drink your worries away as usual."
He turns, smirking at me as he very deliberately pops and chugs a can, leaving me seething. I pick up a discarded, empty can by my feet and hurl it at him. It misses by a mile and he has the gall to laugh at me, sharp and bitter.
I have an almost overwhelming urge to just collapse in a heap and let myself cry, but I don't. This Edward does not make me feel safe in my vulnerability. Right now, nothing is as it should be. Edward included. This knowledge has all of the anger leaving me.
"Please," I beg. I don't mind begging if it's for Jazz. "Just go see him okay?"
He shrugs his shoulders, and I leave without saying anything else.
Monday
"Are you sure you want me to keep visiting you everyday like this?" I ask, gathering my courage. I don't want Jazz to get the wrong idea about him and me. There is no future with the two of us together, but that doesn't mean I won't support him in his time of need.
Whether that means me actually being here or staying far, far away.
"Of course," he says, looking at me like I'm crazy.
He isn't making this conversation easy on me, but even before he got hurt it wouldn't have been easy. I study the football propped up on a tee on the table beside his bed. It looks like the whole team signed, even Edward. I recognize his messy scrawl from here.
"Jasper," I say with a sigh as he reaches to take my hand. I search my brain for the gentlest way to say what I need to say. "I know everything is scary and complicated right now, and I want to be there for you, but I'm not sure how, really. I don't know what's best. Maybe it would be easier on you if I didn't show up at all. I know you've got lots on your mind and your love life is probably the last thing on your thinking about, but I don't want to give you the wrong idea."
I feel so stupid, but I can't keep comin' in here, ignoring the fact that he didn't really accept our break up as real before the accident.
"Bella, please don't worry about all that," he says with a heavy sigh. "It's for the best. Really, I get it."
"Okay," I say, not understanding this drastic change in attitude. "So you still want me here? Even though we're not together?"
"If you don't mind?" he says, sounding so unsure.
"Don't be ridiculous, Jazz."
"It's just, I don't want to be a burden to you. That's why I'm kinda glad, in a weird way, that you ended it before… I won't burden you now, and you won't feel the pressure to stay with me just cuz I'm crippled. You're too good to dump your useless, crippled boyfriend."
I stare at him in shock, horrified by his mindset.
"You are not a burden, Jazz," I scold, cradling his face between my hands and scowling down at him. For the first time I really see the fear in his eyes. He's been so shockingly brave in the last few days, but he has to be scared. I want to do anything for him to make this easier. "Don't ever let me here you talkin' like that again. You are not useless. You are Jasper Whitlock. You will overcome this. I don't believe for one second you're crippled either, so don't you say that word again."
We pray together before I go home. My words remind us to be thankful, but really, I've never prayed for anything like I pray for Jazz.
I pray for Edward, too, but I don't say any of that out loud.
"Hey, Bella?" Jazz says as I leave. "Can you tell Cullen I'd really like to see him? Ask him to stop by if he isn't too damn busy."
Guess I'm not the only one with Edward on the brain.
Tuesday
Edward skips most of his classes, so I don't get the chance to badger him in to going with me to the hospital. I don't get why he won't go see his best friend.
Regardless, it would have been nice to have a little support in what I hear when I get to the hospital.
Paralyzed from the waist down.
That's what the specialist from Houston tells us. The fracture to his spinal cord is at the C7-T1 junction – whatever that even means. Apparently Jasper is lucky to have the use of his hands.
I don't feel comfortable staying in the room for this conversation, but all three Whitlocks insist they want me here.
"Lucky?" Mr. Whitlock yells. "Lucky? You know you're talkin' about the number one high school football player in Texas?"
Jasper quiets his dad, insisting that the doctor tell him the truth, shoot straight about his legs.
The doctor says Jazz won't walk again.
"You…" he says, hesitating. "Nothing is impossible, but I don't see how you could play football again."
The Whitlocks and I flinch away as if his words as if they cause us physical pain. Jasper remains amazingly calm, even as it looks like Mr. Whitlock is going to get attack the specialist.
"Dad, please stop." At Jasper's words, Mr. Whitlock storms out of the room.
Jasper still remains calm as he asks questions – about his oh so useful hands with fingers he seems to have no control over at the moment. After physical therapy, he should be able to open and close his hands, to touch and to grab, to sit up on his own. He'll be able to lift and move his arms. To feed himself and awkwardly type on a computer and to run his fingers through his hair, maybe button his own shirt.
It all seems so simple. It seems so little to be hopeful for.
When I go home, I cry in my bed for at least two hours until I'm all dried up. Everything seems so foreign in this world where Jasper can't even walk, let alone play football.
And somehow, though I can't define it and logically it makes no sense, I feel responsible. Like I did this somehow. Like all the negative energy I pumped into the world with the lying and the cheating has culminated in this, further hurting Jasper. He really is the victim here, no matter how discontent I was with him. I made mistakes, and he just keeps paying the price over and over again.
And this is the ultimate.
How can I be happy when he has lost everything?
There has to still be hope though. Miracles happen.
I take to Google, manically searching for said miracles before I have to be back to school for all my extracurriculars. I've missed some classes but teachers in Dillon don't seem to mind.
Football practice is cancelled and so is cheerleading. Coach Masen told the team about Jasper's prognosis and let them go home, knowing that nothing could get done when everyone is so heart broken for their leader. The sadness hangs thick around the field, and again, I hope they are thinking of Jazz and not their own stupid football season.
I watch as the whole team files out, heads hanging, shoulders drooped.
Edward isn't among them and I get worried. Well, more worried. So I take out my phone and call him. There is no answer. I call him several times throughout the night – both before and after I actually go over to his house in an attempt to locate him. He isn't there either.
Picturing him drunk and in a ditch somewhere, I text him this time.
Please, just let me know you're among the living.
I amung thee livein.
His response does little to sooth my sorrows, but somehow I manage to fall into a light sleep.
Wednesday
The last thing I want to do after school is to go to cheerleading practice, but I suppose life goes on. There is another home game this week, and from the looks of it, the whole damn football team is having a hard time coping with everything that's happened.
Poor little Ben Cheney. As I go through the mechanical movements with the rest of the girls, bright smile plastered on my face, I watch as he struggles to fill Jasper's very large shoes.
But I'm really more focused on Edward.
The way he plays scares me. He is rough, reckless. Like he doesn't care about anything anymore. Every time he gets hit or makes a tackle, my whole body tenses with fear. It's amazing I'm able to fake it through the same old routines.
I mean really, the chances of Edward getting hurt like Jasper did are not great, but still. Football is a dangerous sport and everything seems scarier now. They all seem bigger, like they hit harder. It's difficult to watch Edward out there, but I do because not knowing is worse. We cheer away on the sidelines, practicing lifts and handstands and stupid chants that really aren't that clever or motivational.
And as practice goes on, the more worried I get.
They are too far away for me to really hear what they are saying, Mike Newton and Edward are very obviously screaming at each other on the field. Edward shoves Mike, and Mike shoves Edward back. And then Edward tackles Mike. There is punching as the rest of the team gathers around, yelling as the coaches pull them apart.
Coach Masen takes Edward aside, talking rapidly. I scowl, frustrated that I can't hear what's going on, but a second later he takes off his helmet and stalks right off the field.
Everyone stares because even the stupidest, sluttiest rally girl knows that you don't walk out on practice.
Ever.
"Mom thinks I'm crazy, but I gotta see the game," Jazz says quietly. They started doing physical therapy with him earlier today and he's worn out. He tried to show me how he could pick up a pencil on the nightstand, but couldn't get it right. I smiled and was encouraging, but really I struggled not to cry.
"It's going to be so strange," I murmur because it's difficult to imagine the Panthers without Jazz. "You're so missed."
I rub the sleep out of my eyes. Tonight Jazz and I watched a movie on my laptop, both of us falling asleep about ten minutes in. He woke me up a few minutes ago, and I should get home but I'm not really a big fan of that place these days, so I linger by Jazz.
"I guess," he mutters, scowling slightly. "I just… it's like I let everyone down."
"Jasper!" I yell, horrified. I lift my head from where it was resting on his bed to gape at him properly. "Why do you say stuff like that?"
It's moments like this when I realize that Jazz is a lot worse off than he lets on. Usually he does a pretty good job staying positive, chipper, and Jazz-like, but he lost everything in just one moment. He must be so angry, but I don't want him blaming himself or anything.
"Because it's how I feel," he says, eyes flickering shut. "Poor fucking Ben Cheney. He barely even made any throws in practice before. I mean, who needs a backup plan when you've got fucking Jasper Whitlock, football phenomenon! What a fucking joke. I don't even know how to be anything else but a fucking football star! I mean, who builds their whole identity around a goddamn sport? Really, who the fuck does something that stupid?"
"Don't talk like that," I say, not knowing what to do or how to deal with this angry version of Jasper. "Miracles happen. You could still get back on track. Like—"
I try to tell him about some of my miraculous research, but he cuts me off.
"I can't handle your fucking positive attitude right now!" he screams. I jump back in my seat, startled by this sudden outburst. "When are you gonna join the rest of us here in reality, Bella? When are you gonna get it through your head that I'm never gonna walk again."
It's basically what Edward said the other night. Still, I don't want to accept it.
"I'm just—"
Again, he doesn't even let me get out my apology before he starts yelling again. I think he probably would scream at anyone who happened to be here right in this moment, but it still hurts. I feel so damn guilty and just want to help him.
I can't even seem to figure out the best way to do that.
"Every night," he says, his voice low and mean, "I dream I can walk, and every morning I have to accept it all over again. My life as we knew it? Over! Football? Over! Us? We are so clearly over, just… get out."
"Jazz," I plead, trying to figure out how to apologize and how to help him.
"Get the hell out!"
His tone and expression is nothing like I've ever seen from him, and I know he's really serious. It seems in this moment that the best I can do is get out. There is really nothing I can do but turn around and walk out the door.
It's raining when I get out of the hospital, and the sharp drops on my face, kinda snap me out of my shock. Finally Jasper's words soak in to my brain, and I start shaking.
All I want to do is make this just a little bit easier on him, and I can't even manage to do that. I can't fix anything.
I won't come back until he tells me too.
It's pretty late went Jazz kicks me out. The rain stops as I head home.
There is no one on the road this late and I feel like the only person in the world. I like the smell of rain, so I roll down the window, trying to enjoy the breeze in my hair. Driving with the windows down makes me think of Edward.
I was really just trying to help. The last thing I wanted to do was upset Jasper like that.
I can't help Jazz. I can't help Edward. I can't help myself.
Someone's walking on the side of the road. As I get closer, I recognize the lopping gait, that typically confident strut that has become defeated in recent days. I'm more familiar with those broad shoulders and tapered waist than I am with my own clumsy body.
It seems like divine intervention when I realize that Edward is walking down the road right as I'm driving down it in the middle of the night. Even being this close to him is making me feel better, even though we may or may not have broken up a couple days ago.
I can't tell. That's never a good sign.
"Need a ride?" I call out as I pull up beside him.
He glances briefly over at me, scowl firmly in place. I don't understand why he keeps walking.
"Edward? What are you doing?"
"I'm walkin'!" he snaps, sounding angry. I really don't like how everyone is yelling at me tonight. It's getting old, being the punching bag. "What the fuck does it look like?"
It's amazing how quickly I go from relived to see him to enraged with just one sentence from him. Somehow I decide everything is all his fault. I pull in front of him, slamming on my breaks and putting my car in park before storming out to confront him.
Jasper yelled irrationally at me. I'm going to yell irrationally at Edward. Edward will probably not yell at anyone. He'll just drink himself silly like he always does.
Suddenly, all I can see are his flaws. His alcoholic tendencies and his propensity to under achieve. The way he hides how smart he is and doesn't let anyone to see him vulnerable. How he's fucked half the school.
How he isn't helping me navigate this at all.
"Edward!" I yell when he just continues to walk away from me.
"Isn't it passed your bedtime, Bella?" he yells back without even looking at me.
"What the hell does that even mean?" I call. "What, all of the sudden you're too cool to be seen with me? Is that it?"
I'm really not even sure where we're going with this. Stupid crap pours out of my mouth when I'm angry.
"I bet you're on your way home from the hospital," he says, turning towards me. Finally I catch up to him, getting right up in his face so he can't ignore me any more. "Another late night with Jazz? That's just fucking great."
Of course I was at the hospital. He should have been there with me.
"What, are you drunk again?" I accuse.
"Soon enough, Bella," he replies patronizingly. "Soon enough."
He tries to walk around me, but I push him back as hard as I can – not very hard – with my hands on his chest.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I demand, giving him another stove. "You can walk! You can walk to the damn fridge to get another beer if you want, and your best friend can't!"
It's around this point that I vaguely realizing that I'm crying but now I've started I just can't seem to stop. Somehow I convince myself that if Edward would just help me, if he would just show up then this wouldn't be so hard. Edward is making this impossible situation even harder and it enrages me.
"How do you not get it?" I continue with another shove, forcing Edward to bump into my car. "He's your best friend! It makes me sick how you won't go see him. Why won't you go see him? He's asking for you all the time! Why won't you help me?"
I'm hysterical at this point and Edward doesn't do anything but look down at me with furrowed brow and clenched jaw.
And somehow, I've firmly accept reality.
"He's never gonna walk again," I sob.
It's the first time I've really admitted this terrible truth to myself, and I shatter – for Jasper mostly but for me and Edward a little bit too. I half-heartedly try to smack at Edward chest again, but he stills my hands.
Edward doesn't say anything. He just holds me, first as a protective measure to keep me from hitting him and then because it feels right when he holds me. We haven't really done this. We haven't shared our grief or comforted each other. And right now I'm so angry and hurt and confused, it doesn't seem like comfort so much as an all-consuming need to feel anything different than this.
Edward can make me forget, even if it's just for a minute.
As shameful as it is to admit, I'm the one that kisses him.
It's explosive and frantic. I'm out of control just like I was when he broke up with me this summer, except the energy between us is even scarier. Even wilder.
We are all tongue and teeth as his arms tighten around my waist and I attempt to climb up his body as he leans up against the trunk of my car. He touches me and kisses me as if I'm more life sustaining than air. For a few glorious moments, I feel like the world isn't crashing down around us.
The blaring car horn is the very rudest of awakenings.
We jump apart, and I turn my face away from the road in the hope that no one recognized us. The silence is painfully tense as we stand there and attempt to collect ourselves. I could touch him. He's right here standing and breathing less then a foot away from me, but I don't reach out.
Maybe it doesn't make sense that this terrible thing that happened to Jasper is having such a profound effect on Edward and me, but it does. It's changed everything somehow.
"Let me take you home," I murmur. I wish I could articulate how I feel right now, but I can't. There's not much hope for Edward on that front. The boy doesn't do emotional conversations without some intense tooth pulling, and I just don't have it in me right now.
"I'll walk," he mutters, turning away.
I reach out and grab his elbow, needing to be able to do this one thing for him. To be able to do one right thing for anyone.
I'm powerless to really change anything. I've got not control, but I can take Edward home.
"Let me take you home," I repeat. "Please."
He nods and doesn't say anything the entire way, but at least he isn't walking down the highway at 3 o'clock in the morning.
Thursday
A phone call from a nurse wakes me up before my alarm even goes off. She says Jasper wants to see me. To apologize. I assure her I'll come by during my lunch break, even if I won't be able to stay long.
When I get there, Jazz looks so guilty and sad. He genuinely feels like an asshole and apologizes over and over for yelling at me. He says he knows that I'm only trying to help and begs me to keep coming to see him.
I apologize too, promising to be back later and to be more realistic about this whole situation.
He's able to lift his arms to give me a feeble hug and it makes me smile.
If only I was able to fix things with Edward this easily.
I see him at practice again, much to my relief. I've heard rumors about a late night practice in the rain. A nice ass whopping where the team ran up and down a muddy hill for hours in the middle of the night.
Edward must have been walking home from that. Why, I'm not sure.
Despite Jasper's anger and Edward's coldness the night before, I still want to help. Jazz can't walk and recovery is gonna be hard. If I can't make it better being there then Edward can. Jasper needs his best friend, and seeing Edward's behavior over the last couple of days is any indication, Edward needs his best friend too. So I muster my courage and march right up to him as he trudges to the lock rooms when practice finally ends.
"Hey, Edward," I say, falling in to step at his side. He lets out a big sigh and his shoulders droop. Again, its difficult but I refuse to be offended, choosing instead to ignore everything that happened last night. "Can I have a minute?"
He grumbles under his breath but turns to face me as he takes off his helmet. Even under these ridiculous circumstances, I find him obscenely attractive. His hair is all messy and there are little beads of sweat his forehead. A few strands of hair cling to the moisture, and I want to push it back of his forehead. His eyebrow is a little bloodied, probably from his fight yesterday with the star running back, but I didn't notice it last night.
I guess it was too dark. His helmet probably made it worse today.
It's the look on his face that ends my little fantasy. Just a week ago I could have touched him however I want – not in public – but now he is looking down at me with such resentment.
Okay, now it really does hurt. I know our last conversation was painful, that I hurt him, but does it really warrant that look?
"What do you want, Swan?"
The tone, most unfortunately, matches the look.
He refuses to meet my eye, and I touch the back of his hand, pleased when he looks up. His expression softens, but somehow this is just as heartbreaking. He's hurting, just as much as I am.
"You're bleeding," I murmur, ghosting my thumb over his minor little injury. He winces slightly, but closes his eyes and leans into my touch. We let out matching sighs of relief. Eventually the touch becomes inappropriately long, so I drop my hand, taking a step and looking around to make sure no one noticed anything.
That sure was different than yesterday.
Edward lets out a shaky breath. I impatiently wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. This was quite the little moment, but now its over. I take a step away and try to collect myself.
"I missed you," I tell him, my voice cracking. Our altercation the night before doesn't even feel like it was us.
He nods, indicating he missed me too.
"I'm sorry about the last time we talked and flipping out last night."
He nods again, telling me he's also sorry. Edward isn't a big talker, but that's okay. His facial expressions and gestures are enough.
"I'm worried about you," I confess.
His eyes narrow at that.
I really want to hug him and kiss him but I may or may not have broken up and there are a whole bunch of our peers wandering around who think I'm still dating his paralyzed former star quarterback best friend.
Good God, I'm exhausted.
"Are you okay?" he finally asks, resting his hand on my shoulder. That's good, friendly to the casual observer contact. Nothing more than a friend comforting another friend.
"No," I say a snort and a grimace. "But who is?"
"Come over," he says, sounding just a little desperate. "Right now."
"I can't," I whine, really wishing I could. "Visiting hours end at seven and—"
"Never fuckin' mind," he grumbles, abruptly shoving away from me and stomping off towards the locker rooms again. I blink at him for a moment, totally bemused by what just caused this abrupt mood swing,
"What is your problem?" I hiss, basically running to keep up with his long, angry stride. "What just happened?"
"Jasper's fucking hurt, that's what fucking happened," he replies, not even looking at me.
This is now the third time we've had this exact same fight in the last couple of days, but that doesn't stop me.
"I'm well aware of that seeing as I visit him everyday, unlike you!" I yell at him causing his pace to increase.
When we get to the locker rooms I grab on his elbow with all my meager strength. He lets out a big frustrated sigh, looks to the heavens like he wants to be anywhere but here with me, and places his hands down on his hips as he scowls down at me.
"Please, just talk to me," I plead, sounding as miserable as I feel. I put my hand against his chest.
For a moment his expression falls and he lifts his hand like he wants to cover mine, but then he scowls again.
"Why don't you just go fucking talk to Jasper?" he snaps before stalking off into the locker room.
"You know, if you wait too long, he's gonna start taking it personal, Edward!" I yell after him. He doesn't even turn his head before pushing disappearing from my view.
Friday
Despite the somewhat miraculous victory last week, the Panthers can't seem to pull it together. They lose to a team that apparently should have been an easy win. It was real sloppy. Edward even got kicked out for fighting and then screaming at the ref in the 4th quarter.
It was just terrible. Everything is such a mess.
"Can we please get obscenely, obscenely drunk now?" Rosalie asks as we sit in the bed of her truck, watching all the dejected Panthers fans shuffle out of the bleachers and on home.
"I've got to find Edward," I murmur, keeping my eyes on the door where the team will emerge after their post-game butt whooping.
"Still haven't talked to him?" she asks, looking at me in concern.
"Not really."
"So you guys are broken up?" she asks, giving me that stare she does when she thinks I've lost my mind.
"I dunno. I guess," I reply petulantly.
"And he still hasn't seen Jazz?" Rose manages to plummet my mood further and further with each question.
"No. And I just can't figure out why!" I groan out in frustration, really losing it now. "Before, he was so wrapped up in protecting Jazz. He's so loyal, you know, minus the affair with his best friend's girlfriend thing."
Rosalie snorts.
"Okay, so that doesn't sound good, but Edward really does care about Jazz. It doesn't make any sense to me that he won't go to the hospital. Jasper asks for Edward every day, and I don't know what else to do."
Rosalie wraps her arms around me, and I lay my head on her shoulder. I take deep breaths, relaxing slightly with the comfort she provides. We sit there as the dejected Panthers make their way into the parking lot, swinging our legs and not saying anything.
It gets to the point where Rose's truck and Edward's are the only two left in the parking lot. Even Coach is gone.
"This is ridiculous," I say, sliding out of the back and planting my feet on the ground. "I'm gonna go look for him."
"Bella, I'm your ride," Rose points out.
"Edward's here," I reply, gesturing towards his truck.
"Bella," Rose says, placing her hands on my shoulders and staring me right in the eye. "There is a very good chance that he's not here. That he left with some rally girl."
I wince because it is a possibility. I like to think things have changed since last year when he would end up in the bed of every random football floozies around. I like to think I've changed him.
"He wouldn't do that." I wish I sounded more sure. I wish I was more sure.
"Okay," she says, hugging me once more. "Call me if you need anything. I mean it, Bella. I'll be at the Cullen's."
"Okay."
The sports complex is kinda creepy this late at night. It is dark and deserted and just… creepy. It's like I can feel the fear and turmoil that has been the norm lately.
It doesn't take me long to find Edward. He is in one of the projection rooms. I find him because of the light flickering in the hallway. I linger in the doorway, taking in everything about him. His slouched posture just radiates defeat. His t-shirt is pulled tight across his lovely back. His hair is wet from the shower.
He stares up at the screen, the lighting playing across his face and highlighting just how beautiful and sad he is.
But then I look at the image on the screen.
It's game tape from two weeks ago. Edward is watching Jasper get hurt over and over again. I look on in horror as Jasper keeps his head down when he makes the tackle, the way his body spins in the air, and then the unnatural angling of his body when he lands hard.
Edward watches it three times before I can't take it anymore.
"Edward," I whisper, my words disturbing the quiet. He sits up a little straighter and brings his hands to his face but doesn't turn around. "Why are you watching this?"
He just shakes his head.
I am so tired of him ignoring me, of me feeling like needing him is wrong, that I just give in and rush across the room, sitting down in his lap and wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. I'm pleased and somewhat surprised when he immediately wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me as close as I could possibly be. We just hold each other for a good long while, ignoring the game tape that continues to play right on through Jasper being taken away by ambulance and the Panthers managing to come from behind and win in the last three minutes.
I move to cradle Edward's head, lightly kissing his banged up eyebrow. Edward holds me tight, his fingers splayed on my ribcage. His whole body seems to encompass mine, and I am reminded how much bigger he is than me. Edward burrows his face into my neck, his lips resting against my skin.
The screen is just blue when the silence is finally broken.
"It's my fault." His voice is so small and so broken it doesn't even sound like Edward is talking at all. This statement confuses me, and I pull away to study his face. His cheeks are a little damp, and I fail to stifle my sharp intake of breath. He looks away, face flushing, obviously embarrassed to be caught with a few tears in his eyes.
He's a manly sort of man, my Edward. Somehow his tears both make me feel like he is really letting me in while making the whole state of things seems that much bleaker.
Things have got to be bad if Edward Cullen is letting me see his tears.
"What did you just say?" I ask, my low tone matching his. I force his face back towards mine with my hands cradling his jaw. I use my thumbs to dry the little moisture I find there.
He grabs the remote, rewinding the tape back to where Jazz gets hurt.
"I don't want to see this again," I protest. "It makes me sick."
"Look," Edward says, pausing the game and ignoring me. He's got it to the exact moment Jazz flies through the air to tackle the Westerby player. I wince as I can clearly see the power in the hit and the way Jazz seems to go for the other guy headfirst.
"I don't want to look," I say, closing my eyes and laying my head against Edward's shoulder. All of a sudden it doesn't even seem like he knows I'm here anymore.
"There's me," he says. I open my eyes to look for him on the screen. The only way I can tell who is who is by their numbers. I locate the thirty-three. He's suspended up there in mid-sprint, obviously trying his best to get to Jasper. "I just let it happen."
My attention is now back on Edward as I struggle to understand just what he's saying.
"Edward, you're nowhere near him," I say. Although I've had some dark thoughts in the last week blaming myself for the accident in some sort of bizarre, abstract, cosmic sort of way, Edward really thinks it was physically, truly, and actually his fault. He really believes he let Jasper get hurt.
"That's the fucking point, Bella," he replies, sounding weary. "I was nowhere near him. How could I have been nowhere near him? I fucked up and look what happened."
His voice breaks as he finishes, but he stays stoic.
"Edward, this wasn't your fault. This wasn't any ones fault. Sometimes tragedy happens and there is no apparent why to us humans. It's not for us to know God's divine plan," I tell him, struggling to believe my own words. Jasper's accident has rattled my faith, but I have to be strong for Jazz and Edward too, it seems.
"Do you really, truly buy that?" he demands, sounding angry now.
"Yes," I reply. "But it's not always easy."
"I was not there to protect him," Edward continues, gesturing violently towards the screen. I tighten my grip around his neck to keep myself from being upended from his lap. "I wasn't there and he got hurt. Not only did I steal his girl, I stole his dreams too. I destroyed the life of my best friend. Fuck, Bella, how can you even stand to look at me?"
Finally I understand why Edward hasn't been to see his best friend. He hates himself right now. The guilt must be so crushing. I feel the same, to some extent, but this is all so much worse for Edward.
I give him a chaste kiss because I can't help myself.
"Look at me," I murmur. He keeps his eyes downcast, even though our faces are mere inches apart. "Please, baby, look at me." The endearment was a slip up, being as I still don't know how we can possibly be together after this, but it succeeds in getting him to look at me. His seems so lost. It reminds me of when we were young and Edward would sneak into my bedroom when his parents were too drunk to remember to feed him or left for weeks at a time or forgot to pay the electric and his house got up to 102 even at night. "This is not your fault. There is absolutely nothing you could have done or any way you could have known this was going to happen."
He just stares at me for a long moment as I pray for him to believe me.
"I could have never touched you," he murmurs, sounding like each word brings him that much more physical pain. "I could have never loved you."
As much as the thought of such a thing hurts, I really do understand where he's coming from.
"I don't think that is up to us, either," I tell him. Even as they come into my head, I recognize these as absolute truth. "I think us loving each other is somehow part of the divine plan, too."
There is no other way to explain this pull I feel towards Edward. It is an attraction so totally out of my control that it scares me sometimes. Everything is so complicated by my feelings for Edward combined with the certainty that there is no way for us to be together right now.
"How can you say that when four days ago you were basically breaking things off with me?" he asks, groaning in frustration.
"I don't really know," I confess. "I do love you, so much. But I still don't think we can be together right now."
"Right now?"
"I can't be there for him and lie at the same time. I can't tell him and hurt him worse while he is already so hurt. It's just such a mess," I say, hugging him again because the thought of being away from him is so hard.
"I'm insanely jealous about how much time you are spending with him," Edward mumbles when I finally pull away. He looks down, not meeting my eye out of apparent shame. "How fucked up is that? You are there to help him, and it's my fault he's hurt, but still I hate the idea of you anywhere near him. And I think I hate him a little bit too, or at least resent him. And then I just hate myself more for resenting a guys who just about lost everything he ever wanted because of me."
At least I'm not the only one with a whole lot of conflicting thoughts and feelings rushing through me right now.
I'm still not used to Edward sharing so much personal stuff like this. It's a little amazing, this peek inside his head. He works so hard to come off as unattached and unconcerned, but I've always known there is a lot going on up there.
Even if its not always pleasant or logical.
"There is probably nothing I can say to make you understand how ridiculous that is, but I wouldn't be spending so much time with him if his other best friend was there helping me out," I reply, removing his hands from his hair and holding them in my lap. He lets out a groan
"I just don't know how I can face him. It was hard enough when all I'd done was take away you. Now he can't even play football because of me."
"You didn't ruin his life," I say. And I'll keep saying it over and over again until Edward believes me. "He's still here. He's still the same Jasper. And you don't have to be jealous of me spending time with him. There is no chance of us getting back together. I promise that I've made it perfectly clear that I'm there as his friend. That's it, Edward."
"Okay. Good. I guess. Fuck, this is so hard," he says, letting out a groan and resting his forehead against mine.
I nod in agreement, noticing how he stares at my lips before he reaches up to trace my jaw with his thumb. My breathing immediately picks up and it feels like forever sense he's touched me.
"You are so incredibly, painfully beautiful, Isabella," he murmurs. I can feel his breath on my lower lip. My eyes flutter closed because he's so close it hurts my eyes to look at him.
"So are you." I smile slightly when I hear him scoff in response.
He kisses me – gently, earnestly – and it's just as magical as it always is. I feel it everywhere, all across the surface of my skin and way down deep in my bones. But my heart and soul, I feel it so much there it borders on pain because I know we can't be together. Not for real. Not right now.
It's difficult to really internalize that reality when he's kissing me breathless, snaking one hand underneath the top of my cheerleader uniform at my lower back while he squeezes my thigh with the other. I want him higher up, right between my legs, even though I shouldn't.
He pulls away, once again resting his forehead against mine. We both try to calm our breathing, and he places his hand right over my heart, making it hard for me to calm down.
"What're we supposed to do now?" he asks
"I know it's hard. I know it's almost unbearable, but we can't be together right now. We can't do it in secret. Our consciences can't take it. And we can't hurt Jazz by doing it for real in public," I say, breaking my own heart with my stupid, logical words.
"But we love each other," he says, pointing out the most illogical argument of all and the only one that really seems to matter.
"I know. I know we do, baby," I reply, getting all teary eyed now. "That's not gonna change. Can you wait awhile? For me?"
"I can't think of anything more worth the wait," he says.
"Promise?"
"I promise," he murmurs. "Don't see why I'd start lyin' to you now."
We sit there together for a good long while, both trying and failing to absorb every bit of each other in this little time we have left. I cry so hard when Edward drops me off at home, I almost can't see the stairs to make it to bed.
I hope he takes care of my heart. I've left it with him.