You guys rock.
Writeontime edits my stuff, and she's really, really wonderful.
Ciaobella27 reads my stuff and tells me if I'm being stupid, and I like her feet…hair, whatever.
I'm so drunk.
I don't own Twilight. If I did, I would have made Kristen Stewart audition in a tiny room with me all day, just because I wrote the damn thing and I could. Sigh.
"What?" I ask him, when he's been staring at me for a little too long.
"I'm just waiting for you to tell me it's time for me to leave."
I pretend to look at my watch, and shake my head. "Nope, not time yet."
"Ah, so you will eventually make me leave."
I shrug. "Do you think it's time for me to ask you to leave?"
Edward stretches his arms above his head and doesn't say anything. He sits back and rubs his belly, groaning as I nudge the box containing the last slice of pizza towards him.
"Or," I continue, "is it time for you to bring it up because it makes you feel better knowing that you brought it up and didn't just stay here all night again?"
"Or… just shut up and come here," he says.
But I can't go there—'there' being his lap, which he's patting with one of the hands I've been watching all day. God, I want to go there. And I know he wants me to go there. I knew when he held me by the waist as I was trying to pay the delivery guy, pulling me to him and whispering in my ear that he's got it, he can pay, I've been the best host and I should let him get the pizza. I knew when his thumb was on the corner of my mouth, where a glob of sauce had been sitting, causing him to laugh at me while I told him a story. I knew when I was pouring us wine and he stood behind me, too close for it to be a friendly thing. Too close to help me forget every dream I've had, every moment I've spent with him. I really wanted to turn around quickly, touch his face with my mouth… slowly, so slowly, because I can't just go for his lips. I think I'd die. I'd need to ease into it. Maybe first a cheek, then the nose, then the jaw, the chin. I could never go for the mouth first. And if I did, I'd never be able to stop. I'd give him six years' worth of kisses. I'd give him everything I've felt, every word I've wanted to say. I'd give him all of me, and I'd let him do anything. I'd be number two to his number one girl. I'd be his quick fuck. I'd be the love of his existence. Anything he asked.
So fucking scary.
I don't want to ignore his request, but I don't want my head back in his lap. I certainly don't want to sit there right now, because my lips might find his neck again… just like they did earlier. It was easy to pretend I didn't mean to do it that first time, and to continue pretending, like I didn't feel how much he liked what I did. But if I were to do it again… I mean, he's not stupid. And he wants it, but I know he'll hate me if we end up kissing necks and feeling parts of each other and turning this couch into the place where every single one of my dreams comes true.
So, instead, I put my feet up on the couch, and bring them to his lap.
"It's past midnight," he says.
"Yeah."
"I should get going if I want to get back to Rose's."
"Yeah."
"You have pretty feet."
"I know."
"I'm tired."
"So stay."
He stays. He sleeps on the couch. No one sleeps in my bed.
XxXxX
I wake up alone. For a second—not even a second, really—I think he's gone, he left, but then I hear the sound of the shower, and I know it's him, because Jane never came home last night. I wonder where she is. I tried calling her a few times because I was worried, but she never picked up. She finally responded to a text I had sent telling me she'd be back today. Maybe she's getting lucky.
You know who isn't getting lucky? Bella Swan.
Bella Swan slept on the couch with Edward Cullen last night, and nothing happened. Nothing happened. Except his body was warm, and soft, and very, very hard. Except his breath was on her skin and kept her up for hours. Hours of Edward Cullen behind her, on the couch, barely touching, but touching enough for her to lose her mind. She could have shifted a little, maybe turned around and slept with her head on his chest. She could have, but she didn't.
Fuck. Why didn't I just touch him? I've never been that aware of anyone, or anything before last night. Every breath he took, every tiny movement he made… It was like I'd been there before, experienced it a lifetime ago… but I couldn't place it. It wasn't even nice—it was difficult. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't move, I couldn't turn around and rub up against him until I came alive again. I felt like that's exactly what I needed—to rub up against him until I managed to crawl into him, under his skin, feel warm and whole forever… Is that even possible? I think it can be. I think we can be. I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how to face him this morning.
I must have drifted off at some point last night, because at around four, I woke up to find my hand between my legs. And I was squeezing my legs, trying to feel something, achieve something. I was panting, and sweaty, and God, he was right there behind me, still asleep. I've ached before, so many times. I've ached in good ways, in bad ways. I've felt the ache in my chest; sometimes it was sweet, and sometimes it was so, so sad. But last night, my entire body ached. For him, for us, to be eighteen again, to be free of… everything, to be attached to something forever. And I had a choice right then—get up and go to my room and leave him on the couch, or stay with him until he struggled out of my grip and ran for his life.
I stayed. And now he's in the shower. He'll come back out and leave soon, and for the second time in our lives, I'll be the girl he left behind in Washington. I want to say I don't care, but I do. At the same time, I don't care, at all, because he's here. I want to be anything of his, but this? God, I really, really don't just want to be the girl he always leaves behind.
I hear silence in the bathroom, then a "fuck" and a loud noise. He flings open the door and smiles big when he sees me looking over at him from the couch. I wave and his smile grows bigger. His dirty clothes that he's been wearing for days are in his hands. I jump up and run to my room. There are t-shirts that will fit him here, I think. But I can't give him shirts other men have worn, so I go to Jane's room and look for some of Jasper's stuff that he left here the last time he visited. Things didn't go too well during that visit, and he left without taking whatever was in the laundry that morning. So Edward can wear Jasper's t-shirt and basketball shorts.
"Are you sure?" he asks when I hand the clothes to him. "Won't the owner of these garments get upset if he—"
"Jasper doesn't care. He hasn't been back to claim them, so you're good. See? They smell nice and fresh, like you."
"Thanks, Bella."
Before he can say goodbye, or anything else, I run into the bathroom and jump in the shower. I've been wearing shorts, and I need to shave. My hair is disgusting, all greasy and shiny in the worst way possible. I brush my teeth, wash my face, make sure I smell like delicious things people want to eat, and ten minutes later, I join Edward on the couch. He's carefully following some boring banter between two pundits. He reaches out for me and pulls me to him, until my head is resting on his shoulder. He looks down at me and laughs. I'm not sure what's so funny. I'm wearing an old tank you can totally see through, and shorts so short they probably belonged to Jane in their earlier days. I'm not wearing anything I wouldn't wear after a shower on any other day. Edward just happens to be here, and he thinks there's something funny on my face, or my chest, or somewhere.
"What?"
"You look really young," he tells me.
"Um, okay. Creepy."
"No, like, right now, you look like the old Bella."
"I thought you said I looked young."
"You know what I mean." He smiles and leans back, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He stands up and walks over to the kitchen. I lie down with my head on the armrest, waiting for him to return. He does, with two granola bars, one of which he throws at me.
"Rude," I remark.
"What was that?"
"Rude," I repeat, in a higher voice.
And he's tickling me, and it's so nice. And I'm kicking him, not hard, but just enough to get a rise out of him and make him pin me down and tickle hard. And I'm screeching, and he's laughing, and he grabs my thigh and pushes it back, and his mouth… his mouth is on the back of my knee. Soft, soft. Wet. Is this how I was supposed to feel his tongue so many years later? Teasing the back of my knee, the most sensitive place ever, killing me, and it's only been a second, but I'm quiet again, and I'm willing to give up anything and everything just to feel that one more time.
"Shit."
Yes, well… shit.
"I'm so sorry," he says, letting me go. Except he hasn't really let me go. He's lying on top of me, sort of hovering, but more like covering my body with his body. And my knees hate being under him like this, so I move my legs until they're wrapped around Edward, and a sweet, low sound from him makes me smile against his shoulder.
"You're really soft, Bella."
I nod.
"So soft," he says.
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
He's breathing on my shoulder. His breath is warm, and different from anyone else's. And it's here, on me, just like I've dreamt for years. And it's here, up and down from my ear to my shoulder and back, and maybe his lips are there too, but I can't be sure. Maybe there are lips, maybe it's just breath, and it doesn't matter because it's the best.
"You're softer than you were then," he tells me. "Your cheeks, and your shoulders… you're so… Shit, Bella."
Is he saying I'm fatter than I used to be? That I've softened? It doesn't matter, because his words are so good, and they make me feel like nothing bad can ever happen to me again. They make me hope, and they make me want to dream dreams of us again.
"I can't."
"Too late," I point out.
He says nothing for a while, but holds me tight and squeezes hard, like I would hug my dad after a particularly bad fall, or my mom when I'd find her crying in the kitchen.
"I have to stop," he says, and his lips finally, definitely touch my skin, and there's a gentle trembling where his chin meets my shoulder.
"But… but what if I have to know that you want me?" I ask, not sure where these words are coming from, because they sound strange and needy, and make me feel a little sick.
"What if I have to have this?" I continue.
He moves against me, like other men have before him, and also like he did before any other man, and silently tells me he does want me. He doesn't get it.
"I'm not talking about a natural physical reaction to being close like this… I meant… really want me." My voice breaks on the last few words, and I don't want to cry again.
He squeezes again, sitting up and bringing me with him. He holds me tighter. He opens his eyes and brings his mouth so close to mine. I whisper "tighter" and his forehead meets mine, and his arms are so tight around me, I could break.
"I'll hold you the tightest," he says.
Pretty boys shouldn't be allowed to use pretty words, or convey pretty emotions. It's just not fair, because if I end up with a random guy, say Tom, Dick, or whoever, fifty years from now, what I'll remember is Edward Cullen, holding me like he'll die if he lets me go, almost kissing me and saying things that make my heart soar to heights from which I can never bring it back. So poor, poor men of my future. You now have two Edwards to compete with, and lose against.
And the thought of other men makes me want to cry, so I close my eyes and say a prayer, like I have a million times before today. Please, please let me have him, please let him love me, please let me be with him, please, please, please.
XxXxX
We sit like this for a while, we talk and hands don't touch, but our bodies are stuck to each other in delicious ways. I don't know if Edward hears Jane come in, but I don't. I'm too busy telling stories against his neck, whispering "tighter" when it's not tight enough.
I know Jane is here when she says my name in her loudest voice. I jump up, and turn to her, asking what she wants from me.
"Can we talk? In my room?" she asks.
"Sure. I'll be right back," I tell Edward.
I follow Jane into her room and watch her take off her jacket and fling it towards the bed. It misses the bed and falls on the floor, so I pick it up. She grabs it from me and throws herself onto the bed, covering her face with her hands.
"Jane, I have a guest out there, so if—"
"What the… what the eff are you doing, Bella? Has he left since… Bella, he has a girlfriend."
"Is this what you wanted to talk about? Nothing even happened, we—"
"Nothing happened? You were… Bella, he has a girlfriend."
"Say it one more time, Jane, I'm not sure I understand. What was that? What does he have?"
"Why are you so stupid?" Jane asks, sitting up and turning to look me straight in the eye. "He's just… you're being so stupid right now. You know he's going to go back in a few days, and you'll be a mess, and I'll be picking up—"
"Picking up what? The pieces of my broken heart?"
"Yes, those. Just like I did the last time he left. And this time, Bella, it'll be worse, because he's going back to his girlfriend."
"Oh, God."
"Yeah, exactly. Oh God. I just… I don't want you to be stupid. I don't want you to make a mistake. You're better than this," Jane tells me.
"Better than what? What? Look at me," I say, pointing to myself. "I… this is what I…"
"Look at you? I'm looking, and Bella, you're gorgeous, and smart, and maybe a little lazy, but you have a bigger heart than anyone else I know. You're compassionate, and kind, and funny, and you're going to be so good at whatever you do. You're perfect, but you let him walk in here and use you like, like you're worth nothing more than—"
"You're a liar. You pity me, you've been feeling sorry for me for years. Now I'm 'perfect'? Really? And he's not using me, he hasn't even…"
"But he will, if you give him that power, Bella, he will."
I shake my head and take a few breaths to calm down. "Jane, please mind your own business. And please keep your voice down, he's in our living room, and this is really embarrassing."
"I'm sorry," she says in an almost-whisper. "I'll keep it down, but please think about what I'm telling you, okay? This is wrong."
"I know, but…"
"Bella, do you know what we talked about the other day, when you were in the shower?" Jane asks me. "He wanted to know what I was working on, and I told him about my projects, including the jewelry designs, and Edward started to tell me about Chelsea, and how she wants to settle down, get married, since they've been together for so long. He was talking about how ridiculous it is, seeing that he'd have to ask his dad for money to buy a ring. This is serious. You're breaking up a couple, Bella. Don't be like her… She ruined my family, and—"
"Don't fucking compare me to your stepmother. Don't you dare do that. Your dad was married to your mother for twenty years, he had two kids, and he couldn't keep his dick in his pants. How dare you compare this situation to what happened with your dad? And stop blaming her, you know she didn't even know he was married when they got together. You're still so bitter, Jane."
She stands up and walks over to me, until our faces are just a few inches apart. Her eyes are too blue. Her cheeks are too pink. That vein on her neck is menacing, scary. It looks so strange there, so strange to see on my calm, quiet best friend.
"Wow. Thanks. Thank you. I brought you in here to help you, and you're calling me bitter, and talking about my family. So fucking selfish. You've always been so selfish."
"I'm selfish? I'm… you tried to keep me from dating how many men over the years? You convinced me to stay with you in Washington instead of moving to LA, and if I hadn't broken up with Felix, you would have stopped me from leaving Seattle with him. You don't want me to go to New York, and you keep trying to make me feel stupid when I bring it up by saying I'm going because Edward is there, when you know that's not true. I'm not happy here, and every time I've tried to do anything for myself, you.,. you…"
"Don't blame your inability to do anything on your own on me," Jane shouts.
"Keep your voice down, please."
"You're the one who's shouting."
"I'm not shouting!"
"You're so shouting," Jane insists. "Listen, go out there, do what you have to do, but tell him he needs to leave."
"No."
"No?"
"No, I can't do that. Jane, you can't expect me to do that," I whisper. "I've loved him for so long, you have no idea how that feels, no idea how it feels to need someone like I need him. Just please understand and let this go for now. I'm not going to sleep with him, and he leaves tomorrow night. Just…"
"I have no idea? Dude…" She shakes her head and her face is so red and she looks like she's about to burst.
"Tell him to get out, and right now I don't care if you go with him," she tells me.
"What?"
"I want no part in this."
"I pay rent here—"
"Do you? How much of the rent? You're not going to continue this in my apartment. You are—"
I want to feel bad for upsetting her and talking about her family, but she started the whole thing. I want to feel grateful because she helped me when I was down, and broke, and sad, and lonely, but I'm so over it. I can't keep thanking people and forgiving people when they hurt me just because they were nice to me at some point. And today, she crossed a line. And I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here at all. I want him, even if it's for twenty-four hours, or twenty-four minutes. I want him, and she's not driving him away. I want him, and after he's gone, I'll figure things out on my own, without her help.
"Fuck you. I'm leaving. You asked for this. You did this." I think it's time to stop, but the words just keep pouring out, and I can't stop them this time. "Enjoy being alone, because you have no other friends. You never have. You're sad, bitter, and oh my God, so jealous."
I ignore her tears, and the words she throws my way, and I slam the door in her face. Edward jumps off the couch and comes to me, but he hesitates before hugging me and asking me what happened. I think I'm crying, but my face is completely dry, like my eyes. I'm shaking, and Edward holds my hands and kisses my knuckles and my palms. I turn and walk to my bedroom. I look for a bag. I put a bunch of clothes in it. He finds another bag, and helps me. We fill two bags with clothes, and a third with my random stuff. He sees the picture of us taken during my eighteenth birthday "party," and stares at it before looking over at me. I nod, and he removes it from the frame. He can have it… it makes me so happy that he wants it. We leave the apartment, and I give him my keys. He says he'll get the rest of my stuff if I decide to leave for good. We find a cab and end up at Rosalie's.
XxXxX
"Bella?"
I giggle. "Who else?" He called me—I didn't call him.
"You sound happy," he tells me.
"I'm doing pretty well. Yeah…"
"Is Rose being nice to you?"
"So nice… Edward, thank you so much."
"Stop that," he says. "I'm glad you're doing better."
"I am."
"Good. How are your classes? Good?"
"Yeah, and oh! I think I found a place I can afford. It's tiny, but it's perfect."
"Yeah? That's great."
It's not "great" like when other people say it's "great"—he really means it's great. I can tell. And it's great. So great. Like, really great. This is all great. He's great. His voice on the phone is better than great.
"Yeah, I really like it," I tell him. "My parents are going to help me move my stuff, and they're taking my furniture back to Forks. I don't want to pay for storage, you know? And um, I have to tell you about Royce's uncle, he—"
"Shit, Bel, I really need to go," he interrupts me.
"Oh, yeah. Cool. I'll talk to you later."
"Yeah, and Gchat?"
"Yeah, sounds good."
"Bye."
And he hangs up. I'm sad, but happy. Thrilled, but empty. I jump up immediately, not sure what to do now. That's what I look forward to all day… Edward's calls. They last for hours sometimes. Minutes, when he's at home. They consist of jokes and stories, promises and yawns, good mornings and breathless questions, answers. They're everything, and nothing. They're everything, but not enough. I move around my room—Rosalie's spare room or tiny office space or whatever, and I decide to go out for a while. I can't sit still anymore. I can't just "be" anymore. Every moment is full of things. Moving, studying, working, talking to Edward, talking to Rose, talking to Royce, talking to Royce's uncle's firm's clients on the phone, not talking to Jane, planning trips to New York and the Seychelles, because that's where Edward and I want to go one day, to disappear and hide from the world. So, so much is happening. So much is new. I don't know if I'm happier. He's in New York, with Chelsea. I'm here, just doing normal things, things I never wanted to do, but have to do because people do these normal things. He says I'm his best friend. It makes me giddy. It makes me smile. It makes me all warm, and it makes me blush. It's everything, but it's nothing. It's everything, but it's not enough.
Okay, people. Another chapter down. You're so sick and tired of this already. This was a tough one to write—I'm always Team Jane, and this time… yeah. Anyway, I have a special Edward thing you guys might want to see. Okay, it's not special, but it's Edward, and he had a lot to say. So lemme know what you think, and I'll see you guys again next week?
Thanks so much for reading.