An Introduction to Swirl and Daisy: The Non-Romantic Romance
Betas: xsecretxkeeperx, acciodanrad9
Pre-Readers: squalloogal, Zors
Chapter 14: The First Time They Broke Up
. . .
February 7, 2003
Love, life, meaning… over.
. . .
My guilt abundacized (was that a word?) as I held Edward's hand during the midnight showing of The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. Just under a month ago I had sat in this very theater and ogled Harry Potter.
Was it cheating to simply look at another man? Admiring a few pictures of Daniel Radcliffe (or Dan, as he liked to be called) didn't hurt anyone, right? And learning a little about him was harmless too. Knowledge was power, after all. Like, knowing his middle name was Jacob could come in handy someday... And his birthday was July 23, 1989. And he was 5'3" inches tall. And he had two Border Terriers named Binka and Nugget and his favorite colors were blue and yellow… and his favorite soda was Diet Coke. It was all very essential.
Edward drew my attention back to the movie by gripping my hand tighter. Ah, yes, Arwen was on screen now. I took a sip of Diet Coke (my new favorite soda). What did Edward see in her? The countless sketches in Edward's notebook of my face with pointy ears and Arwen's body had soured me to the character. Perhaps it wasn't healthy that tonight I had indulged his little fantasy by donning the Arwen-replica dress he'd given me for my birthday (which, I was beginning to realize, was more a present for himself).
When I'd first tried it on, the neckline of the dress revealed some newfound cleavage. I had boobs; who knew? Mrs. Cullen had made a few alterations for my modesty's sake, and then did my hair in elegant waves, with half of it pulled back into an Elven twist. Spending that time with Mrs. Cullen had made me miss my mother, but when Edward saw me in my Arwen costume I knew that moving to Forks had been the best decision of my life.
He looked incredibly handsome, standing at the bottom of the stairs with my Evenstar around his neck. It felt like there was no one else in the room when I looked at him. His eyes revealed his every emotion at my appearance. He didn't say anything, just sweetly lifted a hand to my face and brushed it against my cheek. "Thank you," he'd mouthed to his mother.
Mostly, I was overjoyed that I could make him happy this way. But that little two-percent nagged in the back of my mind, saying I shouldn't have to dress up as another woman to inspire such a reaction.
That resentfulness increased tenfold as, on-screen, Aragorn declared he was leaving Arwen. As stupid as it sounded, I equated Arwen and Aragorn's relationship to my own relationship with Edward. My heart felt as though it would beat right out of my chest when he reached out his hand to return her Evenstar.
"You have a chance for another life," Aragorn said in Elven.
"Why are you saying this?" she asked, heartbroken.
"I am a mortal, you are Elf-kind. It was a dream, Arwen. Nothing more."
Edward leaned over, my Evenstar dangling freely from his neck, and placed a feather-light kiss on my cheek. "It's all right. I promise they end up together, like they are meant to be," he whispered.
Their love had been infallible and perfect, but Aragorn had left Arwen over something as stupid as mortality. What would Edward do if we were in the same situation? I shook the thought away and tried to focus back on the movie, but the question remained – was Edward capable of leaving me?
And who the hell was this Eowyn bitch?
. . .
With the perplexing exception of Lord of the Rings, Edward always had a way of making something I disliked magical. I had never understood the appeal of snow. It was wet and cold. Sure, it was drier than rain – until it melted in your socks. But, looking out my window on Christmas morning, an uncontrollable smile played across my lips at the two freshly built snowmen on my front lawn.
My beautiful boyfriend, unaware of my attention, was putting on their finishing touches – pointy ears for the Arwen snowman and a rugged twig-beard to make Aragorn look manlier. My favorite part was the way Aragorn's stick-fingers tangled with Arwen's; they were holding hands. Edward tripped on an extra stick he had lying on the ground (what I assumed was going to be Aragorn's sword) and face-planted into the snow.
I couldn't suppress my giggle and opened the window to reveal myself, not caring how frigid the air was. "What do you get if you cross a snowman and a shark?"
Edward looked up and smiled brightly at me, his newly wet hair glistening in the morning light. "It depends on how bad the joke is. And I happen to know that it's a really bad joke."
"Oh, yeah? And how would you know that?"
There was a glint of humor in his eyes. "Because it's my joke."
"No it isn't! Charlie told me it last Christmas break when I slipped on a piece of ice and hurt my wrist. He thought it'd make me laugh."
"That's most likely true," he conceded. "What Chief Swan did not tell you was that I had told him the same joke a few weeks prior when John Marsden got a citation for throwing snowballs at the police cruiser."
"Huh." A sudden wave of agitation came over me as I realized how out of the loop I was when it came to the Edward and my father.
Probably knowing where my mind had wondered, Edward said, "You owe me a kiss."
"Hardly. I appreciate the effort, but really, Arwen is a bit too stocky in the hips for me to be impressed," I said, shaking off the bitterness with sarcasm.
He raised his arm above his head, and I bit my lip at the sight of mistletoe. It was impossible to stay upset when he did cute things like this. The police department debacle didn't matter, nor the fact I was only wearing pajamas, as I ran down the stairs and out the front door (only stopping to throw on my snow boots because, really, I wasn't that stupid). I flew into Edward's waiting arms and all but tackled him, planting a deep, passionate kiss on his lips. He slipped his cold hands underneath the hem of my shirt and began to trace the small of my back. I shuddered, not from the cold, but by the feelings this small movement stirred in the pit of my stomach.
Edward tried to pull back, but I couldn't allow that. I leaned forward with him, still trying to keep our lips together. The movement was too sudden, though, and I felt my feet fly out from underneath me as he fell backwards into the snow. Edward subsequently crashed into and destroyed the Aragorn snowman in an effort to keep me from landing in the snow. I landed on top off him with a manly grunt.
I groaned a little, climbing off him. "I'm so sorry."
"Wait a second," Edward said. I halted my movements. He swept a piece of wild hair behind my shoulder to see my face better. His eyes swam with affection and I almost had to look away from the intensity I saw there. Tell me you love me. Tell me you love me. Please, just tell me you love me. I chanted in my head over and over. He opened his mouth. I was finally going to hear the words. "Amin mela lle."
I stared at him for one prolonged moment before huffing and rolling off him. I'd had enough of this. He knew I didn't speak Elven. Goodness knows, I'd tried over the last year; even taken a trip to Forks Public Library to see if they carried an Elven-English dictionary. Of course no such thing existed and Edward refused to translate for me. For all I knew he could be saying I had morning breath (he probably wasn't).
He hadn't moved from the ground. I swept some snow off my pajama bottoms, then glanced down at him. He was looking at me oddly – as if I had actually hurt his feelings by being annoyed. "What?" I crossed my arms defensively. He just shook his head and rearranged his features into a small, tight smile. "Come on. Let's go get warm," I said, putting my minor irritation aside and grabbing his cold hand.
We passed Charlie at the stairs on the way up to my room. He didn't look surprised to find Edward in his house at seven AM Christmas morning. He said, "Leave the door open," and continued to the kitchen. At least there were a few perks to Charlie and Edward's bizarre relationship.
Edward hadn't been in my bedroom for a while. Mostly we hung out at his house since there was better equipment to work on MyT-Spot there. Lack of parental prying was also a benefit. He peeled off his jacket and set it on the rocking chair in the corner. I didn't miss his smile at the dozens of pictures of us on display. Pictures were framed on my dresser, pinned up on a corkboard, and taped to my vanity mirror.
"Wow. I'm flattered," he teased.
I liked to look at my boyfriend – who could blame me? "I'm going to run to the bathroom and change into some dry clothes," I said, grabbing a pair of jeans and my I Love Orc-Meat t-shirt from the dresser. "Don't touch anything," I added, worried he might discover my diary (he wouldn't look under my mattress – right?).
"Is it all right if I check movie times? I thought we might catch a showing of The Two Towers tomorrow," he asked, walking over to the decrepit looking computer.
Thankfully my back was turned to him so he couldn't see the look of annoyance on my face. One of these days I was going to put my foot down. No way was I sitting through The Two Towers seventeen times in theater like I had for Fellowship. "Sure," I said, letting it go and hastily walking to the bathroom. This was Christmas and since I didn't volunteer at the homeless shelter, going to see LotR with Edward was the closest thing to holiday charity I would get.
Having not bothered to so much as run a brush through my hair before jumping Edward outside, I was absolutely horrified at what I found in the bathroom mirror. I was more convinced that, "Amin mela lle," meant, "Brush your teeth," now than ever before. I quickly did my morning rituals, not wanting to leave Edward alone in my bedroom for too long but also hoping to remind him that I wasn't completely hideous. After I was done, I took one last look in the mirror, and decided that he'd have to deal with a lot worse if we ever got married and that he should get used to it now.
I knew there was something massively wrong before I even entered the room. The energy had completely shifted around Edward. He sat rigid in my desk chair, staring at the computer screen with heated eyes. At the sound of my footsteps he looked up. Even though I had no idea what had happened to make him look at me like this, I felt a guilty pang in my chest.
"So I, uh, guess there aren't any good movie times?" I asked.
His face took on a calculated look. He stood and glanced from me to my computer, indicating that he wanted me to look at the screen. I paused, not sure I wanted to know what it was that could make Edward this angry. I took a deep breath and walked to the screen. It took less than a second for me to realize which webpage he had found, and my heart sank to the pit of my stomach.
Mugglenet. com. The biggest Harry Potter fansite in the world was opened on my computer. And Edward had seen it. I was so busted.
"I, uh, I-I can explain that." My cheeks grew red as I searched for any possible explanation. He looked at me in that this-better-be-good kind of way. "I was actually researching some possible designs for MyT-Spot," I said. Edward wasn't going to like that response very much, but it was better than telling him the truth.
Edward quirked an eyebrow just enough to tell me that he didn't believe me. He bent over the keyboard, pressed a few keys, and then stood back up expectantly.
The-Leaky-Cauldron. org. "Cross-referencing. Thorough research," I said.
Jaw clenched, he once more bent down to type on the keyboard, this time stepping back and walking to the other side of the room.
DanRadcliffe. com. I am so fucked (mental wrist-slap).
"So tell me, Isabella." I cringed at the use of my entire name. "When were you planning on informing me that you were going to single-handedly change my entire product line and start selling Harry Potter t-shirts on my website?"
Anger flared up inside me. "Your website? Are you kidding me? Yeah, maybe it was your idea, but it's also my website now. I work as hard on it as you do."
Edward kept his hard expression but must have realized he was in lethal territory because he changed tactics. "Do you make a habit of putting the website of random actors on your favorites list, or is this something you only recently developed?" He didn't give me the chance to answer. "I mean, I'd really like to know if you've been looking at other men during the entire course of our relationship or if you've simply gotten bored with me in the last few months."
My mouth popped open. "You can't be serious."
"Do you find him attractive?" he asked in an emotionless voice.
"No," I lied automatically.
His eyes blazed, before he turned away and began playing with the tassel from one of my window curtains. "So you're telling me that if I were dead, you wouldn't consider him remotely good-looking."
My throat constricted. A deep chill settled in my bones. "If you died, I wouldn't exist anymore. I can't even think about that." I felt suffocated staring at the back of his head.
"Fine. Pretend that we'd never met. You never came to Forks."
It felt as if the air had been knocked out of me. Pretend as if we had never met? My life began when we met. "What is your—"
"I won't be mad." He turned to look at me. His fingers relentlessly fidgeted with my curtains. It was his eyes that bothered me the most. He actually believed he wouldn't be upset if I told him I found another guy attractive, or maybe he didn't think I'd ever say yes. "Honestly, Bella. I won't be mad."
I was growing more and more agitated with this conversation. Why should I have to hide this from him? He was open about his whole Arwen fetish with me. And he said he wouldn't be mad. Sure, Edward was a serial liar, but he couldn't hold this against me. It was his own fault if he didn't like my answer.
"All right. I don't find Daniel Radcliffe to be completely unfortunate looking."
With Edward's back to me I couldn't see the look on his face, but the silence was so deep that the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I had just made the biggest mistake of my life.
I should have lied.
Damnit.
. . .
We never did go see The Two Towers on December 26th. As far as I could tell, I might never have to watch another LotR movie again. I'd expected Edward to be pissed when he found out about Harry Potter, but not that he'd avoid me for days after. He answered my calls but barely spoke. He didn't come to see me or invite me over. I was trying to be patient and let him work through whatever he was feeling, but it was beginning to wear on my nerves.
I missed him to the point of psychological delusions. One time I looked out my window and saw him lurking in the forest across the street, but when I did a double-take he was gone. A good fifteen minute self-berating followed for being so ridiculously pitiful as to imagine my boyfriend stalking me. Or maybe I was desperate for any sign that he missed me as much as I missed him.
But if space is what he needed to get over this, then I would give that to him. Which is why I found myself sitting with my father on our living room couch, picking at pizza and watching the countdown to the ball dropping in Times Square on New Year's Eve. Charlie had tried to make it special, buying silly cone hats and sparkling silver noisemakers to celebrate the occasion.
As lame as it was, the glorious image of Charlie in a shiny blue cone hat with a purple feather rim and a sparkly pink ball topper would stay close to my heart for the rest of my life. "You and Edward seemed a little tense the other day," he said – his twentieth attempt to start a conversation.
"Yep," was the answer I gave him – my twentieth attempt to prevent just that from happening. It was always better when he didn't try to understand my female emotions on a deeper level. I took a bite of pizza and we both pretended to be interested in Dick Clark's commentary on the celebrated event.
"Why?"
That was a surprise. Charlie being observant was one thing, but being inquisitive about my romantic life was another. "What do you mean?" I asked, sure that I had misunderstood him.
Charlie kept his eyes trained on the TV. "I was just wondering if you and him were having any problems."
My first instinct was to scoff indignantly and tell him to mind his own business. But then, Charlie was a man. An old man, granted, but he might still remember what it was like to be young. Maybe he could give me some perspective on how to handle Edward. "I'm not sure. Maybe. It's confusing."
"So, it's complicated? These things often are," Charlie said.
"Well, yeah. You see, I really like Harry Potter and Edward hates it." Woah. When I said it out loud it sounded farcically absurd.
"That's it?" His disbelief reflected the farcical absurdity of it all.
"I guess there's the fact that I kind of find the actor in Harry Potter really hot," I said, after a moment of contemplation.
Charlie nodded and turned back to the TV. "So he's jealous. I can understand that."
My mind briefly flashed back to a moment I'd witnessed when I was a child of my father seeing my mom and Phil together after the divorce. "So, what should I do?"
"You have to talk about it."
"Oh." His answer was so simple… and not good at all. Talking had gotten me into this mess.
"But sometimes talking isn't enough. It's important to communicate with each other. Words mean nothing if he doesn't understand what you're saying," Charlie said.
That was a shockingly wise thing he had said. "But what if he won't listen? He's hardly talking to me right now."
Charlie gave me an expression of determination I had never seen on his face before, and as he spoke, I felt as if there was a wisdom behind his words that he could have only obtained through personal experience. "Then you have to make him, Bella. If you really like this boy, you will make him understand your feelings for him."
I broke eye contact with Charlie to look down at my hands. It was too intense for me, realizing that my father wished he had been able to make my mother understand his feelings for her. I grew suddenly angry at her for leaving him. And in turn, I felt anger toward Edward for pulling away from me. I wouldn't let this happen – I was going to demand to know what his problem was and we would work it out. Now.
"Okay, let's go," I said, standing up from the couch.
"Go where? It's eleven-fifteen at night, Bells. I don't think any place is open for people under the age of twenty-one."
"I don't want to go partying; I need a ride to the Cullens'. I need to talk to Edward now, before it gets any worse."
Charlie debated whether to let me follow his advice now or make me wait until a decent hour of the morning. "Are you sure they'll be awake?" he asked after twenty-three seconds.
I love my father. "Yes, I'm positive," I said, practically squealing over him agreeing to something so uncharacteristic. I was beginning to like this whole father/daughter bonding thing.
"All right. Let's do it," he said, standing up.
Twelve minutes later I was ringing the doorbell to the Cullen's residence. I barely said a quick, "I need to talk to Edward," before zooming past Dr. Cullen (only stopping to inconspicuously check out how he looked in his pajama pants and a MyT-Spot LotR t-shirt) and up the stairs. I knocked on Edward's bedroom door, more determined than ever to demand what his problem was. However, when the door opened to Edward's room he didn't look like he had a problem.
Edward immediately pulled me into his arms. "Bella, you're here. I missed you," he said into my hair.
I pulled back from his embrace, and tilted my head to the side. My expression reflected the stem of suspicion I felt at his enthused expression. His mood swings were giving me whiplash and for a brief moment, I contemplated the prospect that Edward was actually able to experience PMS. Was that possible for men? I shook the thought away and refocused on the purpose of my visit. "Yes, well, I think it's important that we talk."
He nodded, his smile faltering a little, and stepped aside to let me into his room. At the sound of the door closing, I began the speech I'd composed during the car ride over. "I'm not sure what's going on but I think it's important to talk. Not just talk, but communicate." Edward was looking at me intently, hanging on my every word. But there was more than that in his expression. Something expectant, as if he were biding his time, waiting for something to happen. Though slightly fazed by the oddity, I continued. "So, I would like to say that it's important to appreciate and respect our different interests. In fact, we should appreciate that we're—"
I froze as something above Edward's shoulder caught my attention. My eyes narrowed. Edward Anthony Cullen would die a long, torturous death for what he had done. The new addition to his room was an outrage – a horror constructed with the sole purpose to get back at me. And I was pissed.
Right in the middle of the wall next to his door, Edward f-word Cullen had mounted a new shelf, one that was filled with all the Audrey Hepburn movies he had previously kept hidden underneath his bed. And there were other things on the shelf – a coffee mug with her face on it, a large published book with pictures of her, and… was that an Audrey Hepburn Barbie doll?
The subtle smirk that rested on Edward's lips confirmed what I suspected: that he had done this intentionally and I was reacting exactly the way he desired. I wanted so much to ignore the atrocity mounted on his wall – to not give Edward the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to me. But my mouth had always seemed disconnected from my brain. "What the hell is that?"
He turned around to peek at the monstrosity, as if he had no idea what I was talking about – as if he hadn't put it up there to purposefully drive me crazy. "Oh that? I thought it was time to do some redecorating."
My mouth opened and closed a few times. "Redecorating," I repeated blandly, trying to keep the extreme emotion I was feeling in check. The boy standing in front of me, the one whose eyes were dancing with the high of successful revenge, held no resemblance to the perfect, sweet boy I had fallen in love with over the past year. I didn't know who this boy was – he wasn't my Edward, my Swirl.
He opened his mouth and hesitated, seeming to contemplate whether he would say what he wanted. His gaze hardened. "I guess that you could say that if you were dead I wouldn't find Audrey Hepburn to be unfortunate looking."
My face stung where Edward's imaginary hand had slapped it. Sadness, hurt, disappointment, heartbreak. But mostly I felt anger. A rage so volatile flooded my body that I felt my cheeks redden deeply and my heart pound furiously. "Oh, yeah? Well, it might help if she wasn't dead either." I turned on my heel and took a step toward the door.
He grabbed my wrist to stop me from leaving. I turned back to yell for him let me go, but when I did he had changed again. He was my Edward now, his eyes pleading instead of vengeful and his face contorted in remorse. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that," he said urgently.
I averted my eyes and bit my tongue to keep myself from giving him my verbal forgiveness. There was something about the sincerely pitiful expression that he always got on his face when he had done something wrong that made me feel obligated to release him from his guilt. "I can't continue to do this," I muttered to myself.
"Bella, please." The two words were simple but the emotion behind his plea was raw. I knew exactly what he was asking me; I knew he couldn't be parted with me any more than I could be parted with him. We stood there, both immersed in our thoughts until startled by the sound of Edward's watch. He released my wrist to silence the alarm.
"It's midnight," he said. Midnight. A new year. A new start.
We looked at each other, not in anger, but rather how we used to when we first met. For a brief moment I was transported to a Yearbook class at Forks Middle School where a girl had met a boy. To a time when everything was simple and that girl knew that she had just found the boy she was going to spend the rest of her life with.
We stared at each other for a few moments, I'm sure my own eyes reflected the same bewilderment as his. I would say that I fell in love with him in those brief seconds. But adults were adamant that young people couldn't fall in love – I didn't know if I believed them.
A small smile flitted across my lips as I recalled that particular thought. Adults were so stupid. The love I had felt then was the purest I could remember – so new and fresh, without any trials or teenage angst to complicate it. I had fallen in love. I remembered Edward as the shy boy who hardly ever spoke, choosing instead to communicate with me through instant messages and subtle glances. He had changed so much since then, opened up to me in ways he had never done with anyone else.
Edward gripped my hand and I knew that boy was still there. We would find a way to make this work.
And at this new determination, a hunger came over me that I had never felt so strongly – a hunger to have his lips on mine and to taste what I was now fighting to preserve. The kiss began much the same as usual but then something changed. Suddenly his lips became more urgent, his free hand twisting in my hair and holding my face securely to his.
There was nothing to think about – only his lips and my body's reaction to them. As usual, my heart thudded wildly. Then something unknown tightened in the pit of my stomach. When our lips finally unlatched, we didn't pull away; his forehead rested on mine.
My eyes closed to savor the feeling of his quick breaths softly brushing my cheeks, almost as if we were one – as if his breaths were mine. I drank it in. This is what I was fighting for.
I only had one request. "Just… can you please just take down the Barbie doll?"
He pulled away, a small frown creasing his face. "That is not a Barbie. It's a rare collector's item."
"Oh, please. The movies I can deal with, but my boyfriend cannot have more dolls than I do. It goes against nature."
He sighed. "I guess that's a fair point." And with that, we reached our understanding.
. . .
School resumed a week later, and with it returned the misery of Musical Theater and the promise of auditions for the casting of Cinderella.
Alice f-word Brandon seemed more determined than ever to win the lead role. At first, I figured she just wanted to be the center of attention as always. However, I soon discovered that Mr. Harding's seventh period Wood Shop class would be building all the sets for the production. It so happened that a certain Jasper Whitlock was in that class. The stakes were higher because of it, and Alice would be fighting tooth and nail for the chance to show off for Jasper, and in turn, win his affection (which I assumed was her plan). I would have been more than happy to step aside and let her have the damn role if it didn't mean she'd be dancing with, touching, and kissing my boyfriend.
In order to prepare for our auditions and the play, Mrs. McCrae made us watch Roger and Hammerstein's Cinderella. It wasn't as horrible as I had originally thought, and as I watched Cinderella float down the giant staircase to the prince, I imagined the look on Edward's face if I were wearing a beautiful ballroom dress and walking towards him. The prince sang to her:
"Ten minutes ago I saw you
I looked up when you walked through the door.
My head started reeling,
You gave me the feeling
The room had no ceiling or floor."
Edward leaned over in the darkness of the unlit classroom and whispered in my ear, "That's how I felt when I first met you."
I recalled our first meeting again, as I so often did these days. "Me too."
"You asked me if I was gay," he stated dryly.
"Complains the boy who keeps an Audrey Hepburn Barbie doll under his bed."
Edward's face tightened. "I repeat, it is not a Barbie. It is a—"
"Rare collector's item," I finished for him with a wide grin. This playful banter had become the easiest way to cope with what I now affectionately referred to as "Edward's Slutty Shrine of Horror." Deep down, I was still slightly hurt and severely jealous that he had something of another woman up in his room. But at least she was dead. And it was much better than Arwen.
Without outright saying it, I was showing him that if he could be respectful of my interest in Harry Potter, then I could respect his other… hobbies.
Angela was very encouraging of this tactic, repeatedly telling me that she was proud of me for being an individual. "Relationships aren't about being the same. They're about having different interests and being able to complement each other at the same time," she said one day while sitting at my kitchen table. "As a matter of fact, you should take this further. Try to get him involved in your interests."
"Uh, I'm not sure about that," I said, chopping up an onion to put in the taco salad I was preparing for dinner.
Angela crinkled her nose as she watched me. "Ew. Who puts onions in taco salad?"
"I do and it's delicious."
"Nope. Onions are good in a lot of things, like potato salad, but are a big no-no in taco salad."
"Relationships aren't about being the same," I mocked in a horribly high-pitched imitation of Angela's voice.
"Touché," she said. "And because I love you I will try your wretched taco salad. You should make Edward do the same."
"Fine, I'll bring him some for lunch tomorrow," I said, avoiding the entire point of her sentence.
"You know what I mean. Think about it."
I did think about it. As a matter of fact, I thought about it very hard for the next few weeks. I hadn't brought up anything Harry Potter related to Edward since our argument on Christmas Day, choosing instead to indulge my new obsession with Angela. Her choice of poison was Draco Malfoy.
It was the beginning of February when I decided it was time to ease Edward into my love for Harry Potter. I started slowly by putting a small HP poster in my locker before school. I was all nerves during our first passing period, knowing that Edward would see it for the first time.
He was chatting happily about something that I wasn't paying attention to (because of the nerves) and abruptly stopped when I opened the locker door. Not wanting to know whether he looked pissed or hurt, I gave him a chance to rearrange his features into a passive expression. He hardly spoke to me for the rest of the day, but I convinced myself he needed time before he could give me the same courtesy of respecting my interest as I provided him.
Edward seemed to recover without permanent damage, so on the sixth of February, three days later, I decided to take "Project Team HP" to the next level. I could have planned it better because instead of being a nervous wreck over the Cinderella audition that was later today, I was a nervous wreck over asking Edward if he wanted to watch Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone with me after school tomorrow.
I was going to do it during lunch since I'd have Angela there for moral support. She kept nodding at me encouragingly whenever I got close to the topic and finally resorted to kicking me in the shin when we only had three minutes before lunch was over.
"So, Edward," I said, trying to sound composed.
"Hmm?" He took a bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I'd never understand how anyone could layer creamy peanut butter on a sandwich like Edward did. It was horrible. In my opinion, crunchy was the only way to go.
Another kick in the shin from Angela and I blurted out, "WouldyouliketowatchHarryPotterwithmetomorrow?"
Edward stopped chewing immediately, then swallowed thickly. He picked up his Coke and took a long swig from it. I don't know how, but he'd picked out the keywords in my jumbled sentence. I exchanged a nervous look with Angela as he finally put the Coke down. He pursed his lips, deeply contemplating my request. After what felt like a long time, he gave a short nod of his head, muttered a, "sure," stood up, dumped his trash, and walked out of the cafeteria.
I sat there stunned for a few moments.
"Well, it could have gone worse," Angela said.
"How?"
"He could have said no." As if that fact alone was supposed to comfort me.
I entered the Musical Theater class in trepidation that afternoon, timidly taking my seat next to Edward. My mind should have been on the audition I would be doing in just a few minutes, but I couldn't stop thinking about what was going to happen tomorrow.
Who knew? Maybe Edward would end up liking Harry Potter.
. . .
Yeah, right. Edward didn't make it through two minutes of The Sorcerer's Stone without commenting on how Dumbledore was clearly a less polished knock off of Gandalf. It only went downhill from there. He'd comment on stupid things; apparently HP copied LotR in that the trolls were too similar, the forests too alike, and Fred and George Weasley acted too much like Merry and Pippin.
He wasn't even trying to try and it was bugging the hell out of me. At one point, he had the nerve to reach over and grasp my hand. I yanked it back and crossed my arms, sitting stiffly like that for the duration of the movie (in which he managed to find at least fifteen more miniscule similarities between HP and LotR).
After it was over, he sat there arrogantly tapping his fingers on the arm of the couch, as if he'd been proven right about all of his preconceived assumptions.
I finally snapped. "Just say it."
He gave me a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry. I honestly don't get it."
"You didn't even try to get it. You were too busy pointing out everything you thought was wrong with the movie."
"That is not true." Yes, it was. "I don't understand what you see in this Harry Potter guy. He's a scrawny kid who gets lucky a lot."
"Dan is not scrawny!"
Edward's head jerked back. "Oh, so you're on a first name basis with Mr. Radcliffe now. How sweet."
At that point, I was ready to smack the you-know-what out of him. He was being such a jerk! I tried for him. Why couldn't he try for me? I threw a pillow at him, slammed the movie room door behind me, and stomped up the stairs to his bedroom to work on MyT-Spot stuff.
But when I opened the door…
Her.
It was her on his wall.
Life-sized. Framed. Right over his bed.
The one woman I could never compete with. The one woman I could never live up to. Arwen fucking Undómiel.
My heart cracked in two, as a tear slid down my cheek. I approached the poster, the knowledge weighing in on me that this stupid fictional bitch was closer to Edward's bed than I had ever been. The asshole in question walked into the room a few moments later.
I wiped the tear from my cheek and whipped around to face him. "You know what I don't understand? You're stupid obsession with Lord of the Rings. I mean, really, they're poorly written books with un-fascinating story lines and boring characters."
His hand flew to his chest, appalled. "Lord of the Rings happens to be the best piece of literature ever written. Tolkien is a genius. Not only did he create amazing characters, but he gave them all different languages, lineages, histo—"
"It's called not being able to edit yourself. Seriously, what kind of nerd," I spat the word, "finds all that crap interesting? I practically fell asleep when he was going into every inch of detail about the stupid forest. 'There were trees and the trees had leaves and bark and they sang and spoke to each other and all was merry.'"
"Oh, so you're calling me a nerd because I find that interesting?"
"Maybe I am." I was not backing down from this one.
His face hardened. "Well I'd rather be a nerd, than an ignorant reader who can't recognize good literature when it's right in front of them."
"So you're calling me ignorant?"
"Maybe I am," he repeated.
I hastily dug into my backpack and pulled out the copy of The Fellowship of the Ring I'd been carrying around for ages. "You're saying that I'm the one who is ignorant, and yet I at least tried to read that piece of rubbish to understand why you loved it so much." I chucked the book so it landed at his feet. "I went and saw that damn movie seventeen times in theaters. Just to humor you, I did it. For goodness sakes, those movies are tiresome, boring and dull. I tried, unlike you who forms moronic opinions about something because it's competition with the thing you like. I would say that you are the ignorant person."
"And how do you think that makes me feel?" Edward asked. "To hear that you don't like Lord of the Rings now? You are always going on about what I liar I am, and yet you've been lying since our first date!"
"Oh, right, that really compares to not telling me about working with my father for over a year," I shot back. "And I did it for you! How do you think it makes me feel that I have to dress up in a shitty Arwen dress in order for you to think I'm attractive?"
"What do you mean? I think you are beautiful no matter what you're wearing."
"Really?" I asked with raised eyebrows. I uncrossed my arms and walked over to his computer desk. Opening the drawer, I found his sketchbook and flipped the cover so he could see the pages. "Let's see. Hmmm… here's Bella as Arwen, and another, and another. Ah, and here's a wonderful rendition of my profile with superb detailing on my pointy ears." I continued to flip pages. "An entire book of you wishing I was someone else, but no, you like me just as I am."
He didn't seem to have a defense ready and that enraged me even more. "You aren't even going to try and argue it, are you?"
"What do you want me to say?" He shrugged. "Sure I have my… fantasies, but who doesn't? As I've told you repeatedly, I think you are beautiful. You're making a bigger deal out of this than you need to."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, well how would you feel if I asked you to dress up like Harry Potter? Maybe that's a fantasy of mine." The image of Edward in an HP costume, complete with wand and broomstick was kind of hilarious.
He looked at me in horror. "You wouldn't."
"Maybe I would."
"No, you wouldn't."
"Yes, I would."
"No, you wouldn't," he said adamantly.
"Well, at this rate I'm not really thinking you're going to get that opportunity."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"I'm just thinking that maybe I don't want to be with someone who wouldn't dress up for me and has horrible taste in books." The heat of the moment caught up with me then, but the words were already out and Edward was already responding.
"Fine. Maybe I don't want to be with someone who thinks that a commercially-driven book series is better than a masterpiece."
My nose flared. "Fine. Maybe I don't want to be with someone who rereads a tedious, stupid book series four times a year and is afraid to expand to anything else that isn't on the English reading list, and then decides to dress up as a hobbit for the midnight showing."
"You know that was my mom's decision," he said in a dramatic whisper.
"Who cares, Frodo?"
"Take that back."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No," I said, happy that the fight seemed to be going my way now. "And maybe, I don't want to be with someone who can't accept that I am an individual. That I have opinions of my own and interests that don't match up with his. And maybe I don't want to be with someone who spouts out Elvish all the time without the decency of trying to translate." And is incapable of saying I love you, I added in my mind.
"Fine!" he shouted back. "Maybe I don't want to be with someone who doesn't take the time to try and figure out what I'm saying to her."
"Fine. Maybe I don't want to be with someone who doesn't take the time to try and understand my interests."
"Fine. Maybe I don't want to be with someone who lies about her interests for over a year."
"Fine. Maybe I don't want to be with someone who has a secret relationship with my father for over a year."
"Fine," he said with finality.
"Fine," I yelled so I could have the last word. With that, I slammed the computer desk drawer shut, grabbed my backpack and walked to the door, shoving his wretched sketchbook in his arms as I passed him. I stopped in the doorway. "By the way, Liv Tyler looks fat in that poster." And I was gone.
. . .
My grand exit was slightly ruined by the fact that I had to ask Dr. Cullen for a ride home. Now that I was a single woman, however, I felt as if I could ogle him without guilt, so I took advantage of that from the passenger seat. Admittedly, most of this was to spite Edward and not actually about admiring his father's profile, but I still tried to enjoy it.
It didn't work. Now when I looked at him all I saw were bits of Edward.
As soon as I arrived home, I ran up into my bedroom and started tearing down every photo of Edward from my walls, my dresser, and my vanity mirror. Grabbing a box full of matches on the way, I flew down to the kitchen and threw the photos into the empty sink. I struck a match and held the flame above the pictures.
It wasn't until I caught a glimpse of Edward and I dancing that it hit me what had happened. We had broken up. A tear spilled down my cheek. And after the first I felt a second. And then a third.
The match extinguished itself, and I slid down the cabinets to the kitchen floor. I sobbed then. I sobbed for hours. I sobbed until Charlie came home to find me a disheveled mess on the floor, the unburnt pictures of Edward and I still in the kitchen sink.
He didn't say anything, just lifted me up from the floor and carried me to my bed. He placed me down carefully and kissed my forehead, mumbling something I couldn't bring myself to understand. I laid there for an infinite amount of time. It all seemed meaningless now. Charlie brought me a bowl of soup and a bottle of water that I ignored. When I felt the darkness of night fall over the room, I finally sat up.
I grabbed my diary and wrote the only thing I felt.
February 7, 2003
Love, life, meaning… over.