Chapter 19: Bones
A/N: BelieveItOrNot, IReen H, Dreaminginnorweigen, moirae and Dragonfly366 - wonderful ladies are wonderful.
MissWinkles - I love you like peanut butter M&Ms.
Tam - I love you like I love scruffy British boys with guitars. You make my words better, and inspire me with your own.
Bones, Ben Howard
Oh go, far from this small town bar we know
Yeah go, frolic in the lights that brought you here
So very long
And hold, hold your lips so tightly
That the shadows may go
Cause I know, I know, I know, I know
You can never be alone
Cause it's just the bones you're made of
And you laugh like you've never been lonely
That's alright honey
That's alright with me
Oh you laugh like there's hope in the story
That's alright honey
That's alright with me
Oh you laugh like I'll be there to hold you always
Always here
I'm always here, always here
Feb 2011.
"Great job, Edward." Marcus claps me on the shoulder as he makes his way out of the conference room.
"Thanks," I mutter as his Armani-clad back disappears out the door.
"You'll be getting promoted in no time at all," Siobhan says, her breath hot and humid against my neck. I flinch. She smells all wrong – her perfume sickly sweet and cloying – and it makes my stomach churn.
Stepping away from her, I shrug. "We'll see."
"That's ... quite impressive," she tells me, her dark eyes raking up and down my body. "Almost unheard of, for someone so young to be promoted so quickly."
Shifting uncomfortably, I take another step sideways, putting more space between us as I continue to gather my papers and flash drives. Anxiety starts to thunder in my chest. I want to loosen my tie, needing to breathe a little easier, but frankly, I'm scared she'll take it as an invitation or something. I'm careful to avoid looking at her, hoping she'll take the hint.
"So, tell me, Eddie – do you have any plans tonight?"
"Yeah, I do actually." The smile that turns my lips up is uncontainable.
Bella and I have spoken almost every night for the past two weeks, and I can't wait to get home and chat with her some more. We rarely touch on deeper issues, but somehow we manage to fill hours and hours trading stories. It's … freeing, really, just talking for the sake of sharing our lives and hearing each other's voice.
"Ah, a date, I presume from that smirk." Siobhan's voice drops a little, pulling me out of my thoughts of Bella. To be honest, that breathy, would-be-seductress tone she's adopted is freaking me the fuck out.
"Uh, yeah. Kinda." I rake my hands through my hair.
"So this girl. Are things … serious, with her?"
"Uh," I hesitate. It's not exactly any of her business, but her interest has become a little too obvious of late. Looking up at her, I meet her eyes. They're the wrong shade of brown. "Yeah, it is."
"Such a shame," she shakes her head dramatically.
I plaster a smile on my face, feeling a little sick inside. "I love her, Siobhan. She's everything." It's the truth, but it feels cheapened somehow, using those precious words to ward off another woman's advances.
Her face falls, and for just a moment, I see through her carefully applied make-up, her perfectly styled hair, and her expensive suits – she's lonely. This high-flying, professional woman – as competent, intelligent, and attractive as she is – is not immune to the same heart-clenching, lung-crushing loneliness that I have come to know so intimately. Since I started with the firm, I've always respected Siobhan; I've admired her, looked up to her, and learned a hell of a lot from her. Yes, I've been a little freaked out by her recent overt flirtatiousness – but right now, all I can feel for her is compassion.
Awkwardly, I shoulder my laptop bag and grab the handle of my briefcase. "Hey, I, uh, I'll see you tomorrow, Siobhan."
"Sure. Bye, Edward."
As I lean against the elevator wall, plummeting toward the parking garage, I let my eyes close. I'm just so fucking tired.
I pounce on my phone as soon as City and Colour start pouring from the tiny speaker.
"Hey Bella."
She giggles. "It still freaks me out when you do that."
"I know it's you – what's the point of answering any other way?"
"I know – it's just funny. You're supposed to say 'Hello,' and let me say 'Oh, hey! It's Bella.' You're stealing my opening line."
"Do you want to hang up? You can call back and I'll answer correctly, I promise."
I chuckle as the line goes dead.
I'm grinning like a fool when my cell immediately starts ringing again. I wait through four bars of Little Hell before hitting "accept."
"Hello?"
"Hi Edward! It's Bella."
"Oh, hey Bella. How are you?"
"I'm doing good. How are you?"
"Oh, you know. Pretty good, even though I'm being bossed around by my girl."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, she's a bit of a brat, but I like her like that."
"Listen to you, rhyming away. You're a poet, baby."
"Oh, yeah. I'm a regular Lord Tennyson."
"Do you even know any of his works, Edward?"
"But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
'I am half-sick of shadows,' said
The Lady of Shalott."
Bella is silent for too long. I glance at the screen, making sure the connection is still good.
"Bella? Are you there, sweetheart?"
"Uh."
"Bella?"
"Are … are you reciting that from memory?"
I suppress the laughter bubbling in my throat. "Why so surprised?"
"Do you know more than that stanza?"
"A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot."
I grimace as I try to flip the page as silently as I can.
"A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott."
Suspicion laces her tone when she speaks again. "That's just lovely. Any other poems you've committed to memory, baby?
Grinning to myself I flip through the heavy book, selecting a page at random. "Just bits and pieces, you know?" I wonder if she can hear the barely contained laughter in my voice.
"Well, come on then – what else have you got?"
"How about some Coleridge? The Rime of the Ancient Mariner?"
"Hit me."
"It is an ancient Mariner
And he stoppeth one of three.
'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?'–"
Before I can really get going, Bella interrupts. "You know, I do like the Romantics, Edward. Do you know any Blake? What about The Tyger?"
"Uh –" I laugh silently as I flip to the index page. "Sure, sure, just let me think."
"Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forest of the night … come on – this one's very well known."
"Um …"
Bella giggles. "Page fifty-something, baby."
"Oh!" I'm flipping through the front of the heavy book before I fully comprehend what she's said. "What?"
"Exactly when did you acquire my Norton Anthology, Edward?"
"I've no idea what you're talking about." The injured tone I adopt is at odds with the goofy grin stretching my lips.
I chuckle again as Bella is suffused by a fit of giggles. Fuck, that sound – how it warms me from the inside out!
She's still overcome by mirth as she tries to tell me off for my deception. "I can't believe you … well, I totally believed you … But … you … you cheat!"
"Sorry, love." I'm not – not in the slightest. I'd do it again to hear her laugh so freely.
"No, you're not," she tells me. I can hear the smile in her voice, and suddenly, I'm desperate to see it. I am half-sick of shadows, said the Lady of Shallot. I want to see her eyes sparkling, her lips curling. I want to see her smile at me.
"Bella?"
"Mmm?"
The words tumble out in a rush: "I want to see you."
Her pause makes me nervous, and I babble to fill the silence. "It's just … hearing you laugh – my heart's going crazy, and, um, I want to see it. I miss seeing you like that: free and happy. I want to see you smiling."
"Are you sure?" she whispers.
"Absolutely." Is she hesitating? Why? "Unless, you know, you don't want to see me?" I'm not sure my heart could stand that.
"No! Yes! Wait. Fuck. Yes, Edward, I want to see you. Of course I do. But only if you think you're ready. I told you – whatever it takes. And I meant it. I miss you like crazy, baby. Every minute of every day. But I can be patient – for as long as you need me to."
"I'm certain, love. Will you see me?"
"Are you asking me out on a date, Edward?" I appreciate her sudden levity.
"Why, yes, I am. What do you think? Have I swept you off your feet sufficiently with my poetic declarations?"
"Oh, yes. I'm positively swooning."
"Is, uh, is tomorrow night okay?"
"Yeah. That would be lovely."
"I'll pick you up at seven, alright?"
"Sounds perfect, baby."
"And Bella –"
"Mmm?"
"Wear red heels."
"Uh." I smirk as I hear her breathing falter. "Um, sure, yeah, of course … So, why do you have my book?"
My smile fades, and I sigh, melancholy creeping back in. Bella speaks before I can answer, her tone softening, "I have two of your shirts."
"You do?"
"Yeah. Uh, I took one of them with me when I left. Just in case … well, I don't even know – I wasn't really thinking clearly. It was probably my subconscious trying to tell me something …" She sighs, and continues. "And then, you'd left one at Garrett's – it was right down the bottom of the hamper. And, yeah … it hadn't been washed."
"Gross."
I can almost hear her cheeks color. "No, I liked it. It still smelled like you, like your aftershave."
Oh. Her little confession makes me realize just how much she's changed. She's putting herself on the line, taking the first step. It emboldens me.
"I just wanted something of you with me – with the book, I mean. I took it when I moved out. It's just been sitting on my shelf. But, yeah, I started reading it – well, bits and pieces of it – maybe a week ago."
"Found anything you like?" I'm grateful for her nonchalance, for not pressing the issue.
"Yeah. I mean, this book's a bit fucking weird, and like, enormous – I haven't like, been reading cover to cover. And there are all these extracts and letters and prefaces and shit. But I do like Tennyson … and uh, Lawrence and Eliot. Oh, and I really liked Les Murray."
"Garrett will be happy to hear that." She snickers, "Well, he would be if he knew who Les Murray was."
"I liked the 'Axe-fall, echo and silence' thing. I could maybe, see it – no, hear it or something. The axe I mean."
"Right? That's awesome."
"Yeah. So, uh, who are your favorites in this huge fucking tome?"
"Um, let's see. I get that one mixed up with Volume One. But, oh, well, you know I like John Keats –
I cut her off in surprise. "I do?"
"Uh, yeah … I made you watch the movie about him, remember?"
"You did?" I don't remember watching a movie about a poet. "What was it called?"
"Bright Star."
My mind searches – it does sound familiar. "Is that, like, kinda colorful? Like flowers and meadows and shit?"
"Huh? Oh, yes! It really is."
"I remember. I didn't really watch much of it …" I hesitate. Oh, what the hell – she knows. "I spent most of the time watching you, and then I think I fell asleep."
"Oh." I wish I could see her expression right now. There's a smile in her voice when she continues. "I also like Blake and Shelley. Wordsworth. Umm … Auden and Yeats, and Seamus Heaney. Oscar Wilde. And there's not much of his stuff in there, but I do quite like Salman Rushdie."
It's well after midnight by the time we hang up. Exhausted, my mood is swinging wildly between delight and sorrow. I'm elated at how well we're getting along, the ease with which we converse, and just how fucking good it feels to laugh together. And yet, I can't help but regret all the wasted time, the months apart, the heartache. Lying in the dark, I blink back the tears stinging my eyes – refusing to surrender to their threat, their pricking and choking.
No.
Not again.
Not now.
As soon as Bella opens the door to her apartment, I realize my error.
Those fucking shoes. They'll be the death of me.
My gaze trails from her lips, painted a deep red that I just want to kiss off her, to her toes, which are hidden inside a pair of super shiny, super sexy, red heels.
Her toes tap a few times as I stare at them, and Bella's giggle causes my eyes to snap back to her face. Her eyebrows lift as I meet her gaze, and I feel my cheeks heat – my face probably matches her shoes.
"Uh, hi."
"Hey yourself." She winks at me, and I shake my head, feeling a little foolish.
"You, um, you look beautiful, Bella."
Understatement of the week. She's got these cute white stockings on under her sunshine yellow dress. It's sweet and sexy and just fucking adorable all at once.
She ducks her head, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"Thank you," she murmurs. "You look pretty amazing yourself."
I shrug, looking at my hands. Which are still holding the little posy of purple flowers I picked up this afternoon.
"Oh." I thrust them at her awkwardly. "These are for you."
"Thank you. Um, come in, while I put them in some water."
I follow her into her little apartment, my eyes darting around the space, observing the personal touches she's added since we viewed it a few weeks ago. Most obvious are the books – one wall of the living room is completely lined with bookcases. But there is also the ancient-looking blanket that's folded over the armchair, the huge black and white photograph of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the pin-board that's completely plastered with vibrantly colored photographs.
I catch sight of my own face in among the mess of color and I step closer, frowning as I take in the image. I can't tell whose living room it was taken in, but Bella and I curled up in an armchair – she's sitting across my lap – and we are grinning at each other, quite goofily, to be honest. We look … lost in our own world, lost in each other's gaze, lost in what is obviously some private joke.
"Katie took it." Bella's voice startles me, and I look down into her eyes, surprised to find her so close. "I can't even remember whose place it was in."
"Me either," I admit. "It's a great photo."
"Yeah, it is."
"I, um – your place looks great."
"Thanks. I've never really had my own place before, so it's been kind of nice to decorate it, make it feel like home."
We smile at each other for a beat too long – then Bella giggles and I roll my eyes.
"Are you ready to go, sweetheart?"
"I'll just get a jacket." Bella disappears into her bedroom, reappearing swiftly with a charcoal-colored coat. I help her slide into it, offering her my arm as she pulls the front door closed behind us.
The little jazz lounge is humming when we step into its dimly lit haze a few hours later. It's all reds and golds and low light – the kind of place you expect to see flapper girls and dudes in fedoras. Bella's eyes are wide as she looks around, her hips moving with the bass-line that's thrumming heavy in the air.
"Would you like to dance, love? Or would you like a drink?"
"A drink, perhaps. I think I need to let my dinner settle first," she groans, rubbing her belly.
I shake my head at her theatrics. "What would you like?"
"Umm … Ooh! A martini, please."
"Sure. Why don't you go and sit down –" I motion toward the sumptuous-looking chairs gathered in little clusters over to our right, "– while I get it."
Bella presses a soft kiss to my cheek. "Thank you."
I think I'm doing that dumbstruck-dude thing as I make my way to the bar – my fingers on my cheek, the skin still burning with the feel of her lips.
Once I've secured her martini and my scotch, I make my way toward the couches, looking for my girl. I frown as I spot her – with a tall dude perched on the arm of her chair.
"Here you are, Bella." I hand her the glass, trying to rein in the urge to glower at the stranger that's leaning too fucking close to her.
"Thank you, baby." My jealousy melts away under her brilliant smile.
The guy takes one look at Bella's face and mumbles something to her that I don't catch, before disappearing back into the crowd of bodies swaying on the dance floor.
"What did he say?" I ask her.
She smiles shyly. "He just apologized."
She's leaving something out. "For?"
"Um." She looks me in the eye, her gaze serious. "He said he hoped a girl would smile at him like that one day."
"Oh." I bring the tumbler of amber liquid to my lips, but I'm certain it's not the alcohol that's warming my insides.
Bella sips her martini, a faraway expression on her pretty face as she twirls a lock of her dark hair around the index finger of her free hand.
"Will you tell me what you're thinking?" I ask her.
Her dark eyes shine in the half-darkness as she gives me her attention. "I'm not really thinking about anything. I'm just … being."
The smile forming on my lips becomes a grimace as the wail of a saxophone screeches through the room. There's just been a change of players, and this dude – well, he sucks.
Bella's eyes widen before she collapses into a fit of giggles. "Careless Whisper, seriously?"
I groan, my head in my hands. My plans for a romantic evening, of slow dancing, Bella's warm body pressed to mine, have just been destroyed by a man wearing vinyl pants and the ugliest mullet I've ever seen.
"Do you want to get out of here?" I offer, struggling to conceal my disappointment.
"Are you kidding?" she shrieks. "Let's dance."
She drains her martini, and leaps to her feet, tapping her toes as I swallow the rest of my scotch. I'm laughing as she drags me toward the dark wood paneling of the dance floor. My hands move to her waist and her arms slide around my neck, and suddenly, despite the absurdity of the soundtrack, this moment is perfect. We're smiling, laughing, holding each other close, and that is all that matters.
Bella looks up at me, and all I want to do is press my lips to hers, to tell her how much I love her, how much I'll always love her.
"Don't," she says, shaking her head at me.
"Uh?"
"Don't kiss me while this song is playing. I can't … no, you cannot kiss me while that dude is on stage. Look at him. No." She shakes her head, her lips twitching. "That dude cannot be part of our second first kiss."
"Third."
"Huh?"
"It'll be our third first kiss. 'Cause, I, uh, I kissed you that day, when we were looking at apartments."
"That doesn't matter, Edward. It will be our last first kiss."
My voice gets stuck in my throat as her words sink into my skin, her warm breath caressing my neck.
Fuck.
When sax-man finally climbs off the stage, I exhale in relief, even as tension and nerves begin to build in my belly.
An old guy saunters onto the stage, his gravelly voice barking out instructions as he waves his trumpet at the skinny dude lugging an upright bass, and the wizened-looking gentleman settling himself at the piano.
I pull Bella into my chest as he takes up a plaintive tune, the trumpet pleading and crying. We move slowly, swaying, our bodies making contact at every point possible.
I drop my lips to her ear – I can't wait a moment longer. "Is Blue in Green acceptable, love?"
Bella looks up at me, and I see the same longing that's speeding my heartbeat reflected back at me.
She doesn't speak. Instead, she curls her fingers into my hair and pulls my face down to meet hers. We hesitate, lips millimeters apart – I can taste her breath, fragrant and warm from the liquor, and sweet, because it's Bella.
"Wait." Her whisper may well have been a scream – so fast and heavy does my heart plummet. My eyes close as my body stiffens, anticipating her blow.
And yet, I feel soft hands on my face – warm and gentle.
"Open you eyes, baby."
It's an effort – even in the shadowy lounge, I feel exposed and stripped bare.
"It's okay, baby." she says, her voice low but forceful. She frowns as she gazes up at me, sadness lining her face. "You don't trust me –"
"Bella, I –"
"It's okay. I did this, I know. And I told you – whatever it takes."
My forehead drops to hers, leaning against her as our bodies continue to rock gently to the trumpet's melancholy cries. I wish I could make her understand just how deeply I long for her – that my thoughts could somehow diffuse across the space between my mind and hers.
But maybe she's right. Maybe it is too soon.
I straighten until I can look into her eyes. I hold her gaze for a moment, willing her to see how hard I'm trying to let go. I press my lips to her cheek in silent apology.
"It's okay, baby," she whispers, again.
My head drops to her shoulder, and her hands dance across my back as we continue to sway, surrounded by lovers, smiling and laughing.
When the set ends, Bella doesn't mention the darkened, salty-wet patch on the shoulder of her dress. Instead, she takes my hand and twines our fingers together, lifting up on her toes to kiss my cheek.
"Thank you."
I turn down Bella's invitation to come inside when I arrive back at her flat. My insides are a mess – despair and hope all mixed up together until I can't distinguish one from the other.
I walk her to the entrance of her building, dropping a kiss into her hair as she embraces me tightly.
"I'll call you?" she asks, her lip between her teeth as she waits for my answer.
I nod, offering her a small smile as my thumb sweeps across her cheekbone. "Yeah."
My shoulders slump as she disappears into the brightly lit building, and I turn on my heel, my fists shoved in my pockets as I head back to my car. I frown up at the coal-dark sky as snowflakes begin to land on my face, tiny pinpricks of cold on my burning cheeks.
I don't even know how to begin sorting through how I feel about the evening. Is Bella right? Do I still not trust her?
You haven't told her about the downward spiral that is pulling at you, dragging you inexorably into its bone-deep weariness.
She left me because of my illness. She'll be gone in a flash if she knows it's flexing its muscles, re-exerting its control over me.
She left you because you hid it from her. And you're doing it again.
That wasn't intentional.
But this is. You're choosing to keep her in the dark. Omitting. Lying.
"Fuck!" I slam my hands against the steering wheel.
I'm shaking as I fumble with the key, finally turning the ignition. I switch on my headlights, but before I can even disengage the handbrake, my heart is in my mouth as the hood collides with something heavy.
"Shit!" My eyes dart around wildly. The car's still fucking parked, how did I hit something? What's happening? I close my eyes, hoping for clarity when I reopen them.
What I do see will be burned into my dreams forever more.
Bella stands in front of my car – her hands still resting where she thumped them down to garner my attention. Her dark hair is whipping across her pale face, snowflakes eddying and swirling around her. Her cheeks are flushed, and her red lips parted slightly as she gasps for breath.
And she's not wearing a coat.
I'm out of the car as soon as my mind registers that she's standing in the snow in only her pretty yellow dress. Dragging my own jacket off my shoulders, I stumble toward her.
"Bella? What are you – Sweetheart, it's freezing – what? Are you okay?"
I think I click the lock on my car keys as I attempt to bundle her back towards her building. But, really, it doesn't matter. I need to get Bella someplace warm.
"Wait."
"Bella – we have to get you inside."
"No. Wait. Please wait." Her desperate entreaty stops me in my tracks, and I motion for her to continue, though I'm eyeing her rapidly bluing lips with concern.
"Tonight. When I said 'Wait.' Before you –"
I sigh. "My depression's getting worse," I say, and at the same time, she says, "I love you."
…
…
Her hand is tugging on my shirtsleeve. "Let's go inside, baby."
I love hearing from you guys.
Shell x