Bella
I sit on the plane home. Alone.
I push the tears down over and over again. All kinds of tears.
I can feel the exhaustion in every inch of my being. But it's overshadowed by something else. Something happy.
When I close my eyes I can see their little faces. One of them. All of them. Big brown eyes. The kind you can drown in. Little chocolate arms reaching straight up towards the ceiling when I walk by. White metal cribs and brightly colored sheets.
Every day left me with something I wanted to tell Edward. Something that I would put away, store for that conversation that I told him we would have. Every day, I thought about that phone call. Every day.
I know that I've left pieces of myself behind. Good pieces. But I also left parts of me that I don't want back. The part that aches for things that I tell myself I can never have and sabotages anything good that lands in my lap. The part that is a coward.
The part that doesn't love anything.
The air on the plane turns stale as we sit on the tarmac at JFK. The other passengers are antsy, crowding the aisle. I look from face to face and they are all filled with the same expression. It takes me a minute to place it. And then it seems embarrassingly obvious. Anticipation to be home. I'm nearly certain that my face doesn't know how to be like theirs.
I sit in my seat.
I look at my shoes. I'm the same person who got on a plane and left home a month ago. I know this. I'm sure of it. But I'm not the same at all. I'm sure of this too.
Being back here, I can feel it creeping in. That urgency to keep everything static.
To be the girl who belongs to no one.
I don't want to get off this plane. I'm afraid of stepping foot in my apartment and going back to my life. I told myself that this trip was for them. For those little strangers. But I needed them as much as they needed me. Maybe more.
I sit in my seat by the window until the plane is empty and quiet. My mind starting to come up with excuses for why I shouldn't call him. Why I won't call him. How I can't possibly explain it to him.
"Can I help you with something, Miss?" I stare at her plastered smile.
"No."
Carry-on over my shoulder, I walk down the empty aisle. I pick up speed as I walk through the corridor. When I reach the gate I break into a sprint. Heart pounding. I run past the people saying goodbye, past the people reuniting with their loved ones. I navigate this maze of an airport straight to the ticket counter. By the time I reach the front of the line, I'm no longer panting, but the urgency is still there.
"I need a ticket to Los Angeles. Today." The attendant looks me up and down as I throw my credit card on the counter.
I make a phone call for an address. The sound of Carlisle's voice gives my courage.
Five hours later I'm on a plane. Six hours later I'm in a car. One hour later I'm at a house.
I look at the scribbled address again and again, just to make sure I'm at the right house. I'm stalling. I know this.
I watch the rain splatter on my windshield, turning the outside world into a distorted mess of colors. It's like looking through a demented kaleidoscope. I keep my eyes fixed on his front door, afraid he's going to walk out of it at any moment, or worse. I can't bear the thought of someone else walking into that house. Someone who isn't me.
I concentrate on my breathing. I can do this. I've already lost him. I lost him because there was too much that went unsaid. We're already broken.
There is nothing else left.
I walk from the rental car, the rain soaking through my clothes and into my bones in seconds.
I stand on his doormat, sopping wet, praying that he's home. My finger hovers over the doorbell, as the rain continues to come down in sheets. I knock instead. A real knock.
Minutes pass. The kind of minutes that feel like days. And it is only now that I remember my luggage, abandoned in New York.
The door swings open and he's rubbing the sleep from his eyes. In the middle of the afternoon. He looks older than he did a month ago.
He's staring at me like I'm not real.
Every coherent thought is suddenly gone from my mind. "Hi."
Wide eyes, from my shoes up to my face. "Hi."
And suddenly, everything I wanted to tell him about my trip is no longer relevant.
"I was nine."
"What?"
"I was nine years old."
He shakes his head. "Bella, I don't…"
"We were living in California at the time. I told my mom that I hated her because she wouldn't buy me some stupid binder with a cat on it. I don't even like cats!"
"Bella, what are you doing?" He doesn't run his hands through his hair. They are plastered to his sides like wet paper. All the while, I can feel my heart in my chest, gaining momentum.
"It wasn't a car accident."
"What?"
"I said it wasn't a car accident!"
His eyes widen and I start to look away but I can't do this halfway. I have to let him see it all or it's not enough. It will never be enough unless I let him have everything. I hold his eyes.
"Bella?" The way my name falls out of his mouth catches me off guard and I almost forget why I'm here. "Bella, I'm not going to…"
"You don't get to decide, Edward!"
"Bella!" The gruffness in his voice startles me.
"What?" I look up at him like a scolded child.
"I'm not going to let you stand out here in the pouring rain and… do this!" He steps aside and motions for me to come in.
Oh.
I peak wearily into his house. If I go inside, this will all be real. As he watches me standing there, frozen on his doorstep, his expression shifts. I've seen that look. It says, 'that's what I thought.' He expects me to run away. I don't blame him.
I step tentatively over the threshold, into the life I said I didn't want.
I stand there, teeth chattering, appraising his living room. The walls are bare, the furniture simple and sparse. I'm startled by the fact that this could be anyone's home. There are no traces of Edward anywhere. If he wasn't standing here before me, I'd think I was in the wrong house.
And then I realize what I'm doing. I'm not looking for Edward in this house. I'm looking for traces of me. And there aren't any.
He turns around and walks abruptly from the room. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to follow him. So I stay put, standing in my puddle of rainwater.
He returns almost immediately, holding a pile of clothes. "You're going to make yourself sick, Bella." He holds the stack out to me.
"I'll be fine."
"Bella, your lips are turning blue." He looks at me sternly and I feel like a child again. I take the clothes from him, my fingers awkwardly avoiding his hands. I follow him to the bathroom.
"Take a hot shower." I don't argue.
I stand under the spray of the water, letting it bite my skin, until I've thawed out. I wash away days' worth of travel. I wash my hair with his shampoo, a brand I don't recognize. Being here, in this place that holds no trace of my Edward, I feel foolish and desperate and stupid. Fucking stupid.
…
It's the middle of the night and my mind refuses to sleep. I try to lay still. I try not to wake him, but that never seems to matter.
Raspy voice. "Bella, you awake?"
"Yeah."
"You alright?"
I wrap myself around him, legs intertwined, ear to his heart. "Edward, do you ever wonder about your birth parents?"
"No."
"Never?"
"Never."
I don't believe him and he can hear it in my voice.
He places a soft kiss in my hair.
"Bella, I know who raised me. I know who my parents are. That's all that matters."
I want to ask him if he ever feels the desperate urge to seek them out. If he ever feels like there is a gaping hole in his chest and knowing might be the one thing that fills it up, makes him whole again.
I ask a different question instead.
"Why did you take that picture?"
"Take what picture?"
"The picture of my mother."
His body goes absolutely still.
"Because it's your mother and my mother."
"What?"
"In the picture. Your mother and my mother."
But how could it?
Mind swimming. "They were friends?"
"Best friends."
"She never told me anything about a best friend… about her life before me. Your mom… she told you about Renee?"
He nods into me.
"Bella, I just want to be with you. I just want to be with you and for the next couple days not have to live with the ghosts of our mothers. Can we just have that?"
I didn't mean to upset him.
Head tucked under his chin. Eyes closed. "Yeah. We can have that."
I tell myself to let it go. To leave it alone. To go to sleep.
For once, my mind listens.
I wake in the morning to the sound of water running, the empty place beside me in bed still warm. And I hate waking up alone.
I miss him already even though we still have a couple of days together.
I slide out of bed, mind still foggy with sleep, before I lose my courage. Into the bathroom. Door locked behind me.
I strip down, clothes on the floor. Mirrors fogged up and damp air.
I slide the shower door open and he jumps. Alarmed. Confused. Surprised. Wanting.
"Bella, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
Eyes travel down. He stands motionless as I step over the tub and into the shower.
And I should be self-conscious. Embarrassed. Standing here naked in front of him with nothing to hide behind.
But the way he looks at me.
Like I'm the only thing he's ever wanted.
Like I'm beautiful.
Like I'm alive.
Like he's mine.
I can see with my own eyes that he wants me. The way his body wants me.
But he doesn't move. Until I'm inches from him and then he's on me. Pushing me up against the wall. Hands everywhere. Lips everywhere. Tongue everywhere.
The heat of the water and the chill of the tile.
"Bella, I love you so much." Words lighting my skin on fire.
Feet slipping on wet porcelain. The water too hot to breathe.
Carrying me out of the shower. Carrying me to the bed, water still running. Wet bodies on sheets. Hovering over me. Hands raking up my body. Steam filtering into the bedroom.
I'm already melting.
His lips run along my jaw. My hands desperate in his hair.
I pull his mouth to mine, demanding. Tongues wanting. Frenzied.
He rolls us on to our sides, hands wandering. He cups my breasts in both hands. Those hands. Like I might die if he stops touching me.
I can feel him against me and it seems impossible that he could be aching the way I am.
His hand on my hip. I no longer have control of my own body. Trying to get closer.
His hand lower. My mouth gaping.
His hand between my thighs. Too gentle. Not enough. Hips acting on their own accord.
Fingers inside of me.
Drowning.
Fingers and thumb moving.
Faster.
Until I'm falling apart at the seems.
His mouth swallowing my scream.
Like a whole city burning to the ground.
Fingers sliding out of me. Empty.
My body like jelly.
Trying to find the words.
"Edward, I want you."
His whole body stills. Eyes searching.
"I thought we were waiting."
"I don't want to."
Head nodding.
"Bella…"
"Edward, please."
And then he's hovering over me.
Eyes dark.
Arms rigid.
"Please."
Slight pressure.
Not enough.
Fingers digging into his back side. Pushing him forward.
Sliding into me.
This is happening.
Slowly. Too slowly.
And then one fluid motion.
Bodies connected.
Hips against hips. Not moving. My whole life in this moment.
"You okay?"
Breathless. I can only nod.
Slowly rocking.
Lips slow and gentle.
Hips faster.
"Bella…"
Forehead to forehead. Wet skin to wet skin.
His hips matching my heartbeats.
Shallow groans. His or mine.
This is what it feels like to be alive.
"Bella…"
I can only answer by matching his rhythm.
Eyes holding mine. Never letting go.
Filling me up on e last time. And then motionless.
Collapse. The full weight of his body.
Slow kisses.
"Bella…"
No words.
The sting as he slides out of me.
Pulling me closer with his arms.
Tucking me into him.
Breathing slowly evening itself out.
Lips to my forehead.
Whispered words I can't hear.
All wrapped up in each other.
Sleep pulling me under.
Seconds, minutes, hours. The sound of his voice bringing me back. "Bella, move to LA with me."
What?
Whispers against my skin. "Come to LA with me."
"Edward, we've talked about this."
"I know. But I don't understand."
"Edward, we have the rest of our lives."
"You think about that?"
"Think about what?"
"Spending the rest of your life with me?"
I kiss the words away.
…
A knock. "Are you okay in there?"
I look down at my shriveled fingertips before turning off the water. "I'll be right out."
I dress quickly, pulling on Edward's sweats, rolling the waistband over several times, pulling the drawstring tight. I hold up the shirt. Forks High School class of '99. The mirror is fogged up and I'm glad because I don't want to see the fear in my reflection.
I open the bathroom door to find him leaning against the wall waiting for me, and for the second time today I momentarily forget why I'm here.
He's quiet as I follow him down the hall.
We sit on his couch and I'm no longer brave.
"When did you get home?"
"Right now."
He only stares, face completely blank, for minutes.
"Bella, I still want to hear it. If you still want to tell it." And that's all it takes.
Deep breath. "It was October 17th. Sometimes I close my eyes and all I can see is that date. Like it's burned into my soul. We were driving when the earthquake hit."
"What?" His face looks inexplicably devastated.
"We were driving on the lower deck of the old Cypress Structure."
His forehead knits together and it's a relief to still be able to read his face.
"It was a raised multi-lane freeway in Oakland that led to the Bay Bridge." He nods and I feel too far away from him.
"Bella why didn't you ever tell me?"
"I'm telling you now."
He shakes his head.
I say it again. "I'm telling you now."
"Okay."
"It collapsed entirely. The whole thing just came down like a house of cards. My mother, she… she was killed instantly, her head completely smashed. I only survived because I was small. The car was flattened, trapped between huge slabs of concrete. The rescue effort was extensive. Retrieving the survivors, and the bodies, was… challenging." My voice starts to quiver and betray me.
"Bella…"
"Forty two people died there that day. Forty two people died, and I didn't."
"Bella…"
"I was in the car for two days, covered in broken glass, in and out of consciousness. They said I was in a coma when they found me, but I remember it. I remember everything."
Do. Not. Cry.
"I remember the air being too thick to breathe and I remember the screaming and the sounds of metal against concrete. I remember the smell of the blood. But most of all I remember the silence. When the jackhammers would stop. That's when I thought I was going to die there."
He reaches his hand out and I hold my breath. His fingers hesitate and I don't blame them. I try to remember holding his hand. I try to remember his hands on my face. I try to remember his lips on my skin. I close my eyes and just breathe.
And when I open them, his fingers are dancing over my hand like he's playing the piano. A song I don't know.
Our eyes meet and he closes the gap, tracing the side of my hand.
Ever so lightly.
Afraid.
And yet it feels like the most intimate moment that we've ever shared, his hand tracing mine. It's enough.
"You know what she said when I told her I hated her? She told me she loved me. That was the last thing she said to me before everything went black."
His eyes finally understand.
I tell him all of it. How Charlie didn't know anything about me until that earthquake. How I didn't know anything about him. How he hadn't heard from my mother since she sent divorce papers. How he sat by my bedside until I woke up. How I opened my eyes to a stranger. How I lost everything I knew and gained everything I didn't know I wanted in that one instant.
We sit facing each other, cross-legged on the couch and I'm reminded of our first encounter in the barn, except everything is backwards. It feels like a lifetime ago.
His eyes are tired. Dark circles that I never noticed before. "Bella, why are you here?"
It's a simple question but not the one I'm expecting. I want to tell him that I don't know, but that would be a lie and I've already given him enough of those for one lifetime.
"Because I made a mistake." He searches my eyes and he's afraid to believe me.
"Did you mean it?" He could be asking about so many things.
And apparently he can still read me too.
"What you said, after Alice's wedding."
I've made a habit of saying things I don't mean. It's a fair question. But it stings.
"I meant it. I should have said yes."
He picks at the seem of the couch cushion and I've lost his eyes. "Then why didn't you?"
It's the question I've asked my self again and again. My entire life, I've protected only one person. There was no noble, misplaced notion that I was protecting him. No. I have always only protected myself.
"I was afraid. Afraid of losing you."
"That doesn't make any sense, Bella."
"I know."
We don't talk about that day. We don't talk about the ones leading up to it.
He stares at nothing for a long time and I would do anything to know what he's thinking. I trace the angles of his jaw with my eyes. Angles that show no sign of the boy he once was, only the man he has become.
My voice is barely a whisper. "What about you, did you mean it? You said you regretted it."
He doesn't answer right away. He opens his mouth only to close it again. A deep breath. "Yes." Every bit of hope that I was holding on to is instantly shredded.
"Bella, I was afraid too."
"Of what?"
"Losing you."
The tears streak immediately.
"Bella…"
I sniffle through them, "What?"
"Please don't cry." He takes my hand in his and there is nothing but that hand.
"Then tell me something good."
Silence.
Because it's not his job, it's mine.
"Edward…" My voice is ugly, coming out through strangled sobs.
"I… I love you. I've always loved you."
He looks as if I've stabbed him. And this is what it's like to say it and not hear it back.
"Bella…" This is what it's like.
"I don't need you to say it back. I just need you to hear it." His words spoken so long ago are now my words, but it doesn't make them any less true.
My hand in his, we sit in silence until the sun is gone and we are left in a dark room. He tells me about medical school, his residency, how he bought this house. How he met a girl. How he wanted to love her.
I hate her.
With every word, every explanation, I feel him slipping farther and farther away. I don't know how that's even possible. There was supposed to be no further to fall. I can feel my defenses going up, my walls slowly taking shape.
He keeps glancing at the clock on the wall and it's making me nervous.
"You have somewhere you need to be?"
"My shift starts in an hour."
Oh. "I can go."
He shakes his head. "Bella, a plan is all I've ever had…."
I jerk my hand away. "Well, I'm sorry if I'm not part of your fucking life plan anymore!"
"Bella, you don't…." I jump up from the couch, adrenaline pumping through my veins.
"No! You listen, Edward!"
And suddenly he's standing too. He grabs my wrist, startling the fight out of me. I slowly look up until our eyes meet. Fire.
"Damn it, Bella, you are my plan! You will always be my fucking plan!"
It takes a minute for the words to register, for the part of me gearing for an argument to stand down.
I will always be his fucking plan.
I say the words over and over again in my mind.
His hand still grips my wrist, almost to the point of pain. He looks down at it, as if he's read my mind, and releases me. There is an apology in his eyes where there shouldn't be.
"What do you want, Bella?" His words are desperate. I want one thing and so many things.
"I want all of it." He shakes his head in disbelief.
"Edward, I want you."
"That's not enough."
"You're wrong."
"Bella…"
"I… I want blueberry pancakes for dinner."
He closes his eyes. Bottom lip between his teeth.
"I'm not wrong. I want that feeling that I have only ever had when your hands are on me. I want to come home to a house that belongs to us. I want every last bit of it."
He grabs both of my arms with such force that I jump. I hope his hands leave their mark. At least then I'll have something to prove that this is real.
My face is hot and prickly from the tears. Eyes open. "I tried not to love you, Bella. I tried." He gives me a tiny shake. If it was anyone else I'd be afraid.
In my face. "I tried not to love you."
He hides his face in my hair. "I tried not to love you."
I try to remember what it was like to kiss him. Eyes closed. I try to remember. Forehead to forehead. I don't need the memory. I can feel his hot breath as he says it. "I tried not to love you." His lips hover there, unmoving.
And then he's kissing me. Lips against lips. Like hot lava. Every ounce of pain and anxiety and fear leaves my body.
And I'm kissing him back, kissing him like I've come back from the grave. His hands release me. Not all the way. Those hands. They slide up my arms, across my collar bone, up to my chin. Either side of my face. Those hands.
More tears. The kind that can't believe it. I kiss his scratchy face.
"Bella?" I kiss the words away.
"What?" More kisses.
"Can I kiss you?" I smile into him.
"I think you're already doing that."
"I guess I am." Matching stupid grins. My hands find their way to his hair and he groans. And that's all it takes for me to be climbing his body. He gives me a lift. Hands slide down lower, holding me against him.
We're giggling in the middle of his living room, his hands on my ass, my legs wrapped around his waist. Like a couple of teenagers.
"Bella, is this real?"
"Yeah, Edward, it's real."
"We still have a lot to talk about." Kisses.
"I thought that's what we were doing."
I tug on his hair until he moans into my mouth, inviting my tongue in, and it's never felt like this. Like the whole world could come crashing down and it wouldn't matter.
Fast and desperate. My mind telling me to slow down, to cherish this moment.
We're both left panting. And it's not memories of what once was, because this is better. This is more. I kiss the little wrinkles that he has now at the corners of his eyes.
"I love you, Bella." Breathless.
"Stop bothering me. I'm busy." He chuckles. I kiss along his jaw, relishing in the sound of that laugh.
"Edward?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you." Hummingbird heart beats. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
He pulls away slightly, and I try to hold him closer. My whole life is spinning. He wants my eyes. Even in the dark I can see everything he wants to say to me. But some things have to be said out loud.
"Bella, I'm afraid." I'm afraid too.
"Afraid of what?" Afraid of me?
"What if you only love the memory? What if I'm not the guy you remember?"
"You are."
"I don't think I am."
"Then I want to know you."
"It will break me if you shut me out again."
"I know."
A nod. "I trust you." The words are heavy. But my mind doesn't have to worry and analyze and do what it does because he's kissing me again. Lost and found.
There is a ridiculously obnoxious beeping noise.
"I have to go to work."
And our little bubble is popped, just like that. He has a whole life here and it's not something I can learn about in one conversation. It's not something I'm a part of yet. But I want it.
"Bella, don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it's goodbye."
"No more goodbyes, Edward." He plants a lingering kiss on my forehead. The corner of my eye. My cheek. The tip of my nose. My lips.
"Don't go. If I asked you to stay here while I'm at work, would you?" He looks at the ground.
I force his face towards me with my hands. "Edward, I drove here straight from the airport. I didn't really plan past my little speech on your front porch."
His smile. "Then stay. Sleep. I'll be back in the morning." The fear in his eyes matches the fear in his voice.
"As long as you stop looking at me like that."
He shakes the look away. "You'll be here when I get back?"
"Where else am I going to go?"
More kisses. I love yous. I don't know which ones I like the sound of more, his or mine.
"You're going to be late." Kisses.
"I don't care." Kisses.
"Yes, you do."
I try to slide down his body. To stand on my own two feet. But he holds me tighter.
He carries me to his room. He lays me down gently on the bed, not because I'm fragile, but because he loves me. He fucking loves me. I pull him closer, fisting his shirt in my hands. Every touch is not nearly enough. I want the weight of his body. I want his hands everywhere. I want his bare skin. I want him inside of me.
"Bella, don't leave." Kisses and words all tangled up together.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I said, okay." He smiles into me.
"Edward?"
"Yeah?"
"I never understood. I never understood how you could love me." He looks wounded.
"I never understood why you wouldn't let me love you."
"I was … I'm still…" He kisses my face.
"I never saw you that way."
"Then how did you see me?"
"I guess I always saw the Bella that wasn't there yet."
I let the words sink in.
"I'll see you in the morning." He kisses one eye. Then the other.
The stranger who answered the front door hours ago has vanished entirely. I watch my Edward walk from the room and I finally feel like I might be the Bella that he always saw. The one who isn't too afraid to take a chance. The one who isn't afraid to be happy.
I lie in his bed smiling, so giddy I could scream.
I sink into the blankets, the last twenty-four hours, the last month, the last ten years, my whole fucking life catching up with me.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, my mind is filled with thoughts of what will be instead of what could have been.
I and love and you.
A/N:
Okay?
Still lots of questions. We'll get there! Thank you for trusting me with this story.
The Loma Prieta earthquake hit the San Francisco Bay Area on October 19, 1989 at 5:04 p.m. It killed more than 60 people, injured thousands and left thousands upon thousands homeless. By including the earthquake as part of this story, my intention was not to make light of such tragedies. While the characters are obviously not real and were not the victims of that day, the circumstances are very real. Many people lost loved ones in the Cypress Structure collapse. As anyone who has lived through a major earthquake can tell you, it is something that you carry around with you forever.