Author's note: a little music, anyone? Peggy Lee: Fever; Etta James: I'd Rather Go Blind; Barbra Streisand: Sleeping Bee; Billie Holiday: I Didn't Know What Time It Was; Carly Simon: I Get Along Without You; Judy Garland: The Man That Got Away; Carol King: Natural Woman. (Missmelly, Babs? Really? First of all, if all you know is Evergreen, don't judge until you've listened; second, I love me some drag queens, so this is for them.)
Chapter 20
Alice wanted Jazz to take her dancing. Perhaps to gird his loins, he suggested we go grab some pub food and have a drink. Or a few. As long as I could skip the dancing, I was in. It was the weekend, and I couldn't wrestle the alligator "Waiting" had become any longer. It was biting me in the butt. Even with the competition deadline staring me in the face, I'd decided I'd rather compose something new than continue to beat myself up with that melody, that reminder of her.
Anticipating the cool autumn evening, I pulled on my sweater that Charles Swan had returned to me, the one he said he'd found in Olympic Park, with her history texts and her broken phone. I wasn't sure if what I wanted was to be close to one of the last things she'd touched or if I wanted to reclaim what was mine, but it comforted me to wear it.
Jasper called Alice to tell her the plan, and we walked over to the College Inn, our local pub that had decent food, better than average "college bar" talk, and a full bar. The bartenders cut off service of their Long Island teas after two, because they were so strong. I was ready for one.
It was pretty crowded already and a game of darts was in full swing. Jazz found a table while I went to put in our order. As I was carrying our drinks back, I saw a commotion moving steadily from the door toward Jasper. People were bending over, then throwing their heads back in laughter, high-fiving and back-slapping. It could only be Alice.
Just as I set down the glasses, my sister burst through the crowd at shoulder height, her eyes alight and her hair even more on end than usual. She had on a tiny plaid skirt and a black and purple polka-dotted sweater. She plopped down in a chair, snatched up Jasper's Guinness, chugged down fully half of it, and let out a gassy burp that had people around us laughing all over again.
"Jesus, Alley Cat, do you know the whole school?" I asked, amazed.
She coolly took in the press of people, squinting her big dark eyes under her perfectly arched brows. "Yup," she said, popping the "P" before grabbing Jasper's shirt in her wee fist and yanking him down for a sloppy kiss. His eyes almost rolled up in his head, and someone yelled, "Get a room!"
Her eyes still on Jasper, she hollered back: "You don't really mean that!" Then to no one in particular: "Sorry I'm late I couldn't decide if I wanted to wear dancing shoes or sneakers and then change but I knew you wouldn't have the car and I hate having a bag at the club the door searches take fucking forever and that one guy on the door the one with all the tribal tats I just know he's not looking for bombs he wants my MAC lipglaze and he looks like he's made of herpes and oh my god did I tell you Mom wants me to make her dress for the big birthday bash?"
I swear by all that is holy, she never took a breath, so I just inserted into the spew, "What birthday bash?"
"The big five-oh is your RAM choking or what you know she's expecting something spectacular did anyone get me sweet potato fries?"
I groaned and leaned my head on my hand, "She's having a party?" Not only would I have to go, I'd have to perform. And write something just for her. Which was all fine, but where was the time coming from? I heaved a big sigh, and rammed my hand through my hair.
Alice shot a critical eye over my head and made a moue with her fuchsia mouth, "I'm thinking leave the front alone and short on the sides and back," and I groaned again, "No haircut, Alice."
Jasper chuckled, "Dude, remember that time your dad had the barbeque for the new chief of staff at the hospital and Alice gave Em that Julius Caesar cut? Oh my fucking god, I thought Carlisle was gonna kill him in front of everybody!" I grimaced at the memory of Emmett bounding down the stairs in a bed sheet wrapped around him as a toga, with gold spray-painted flip flops—which I did not know came that big—and one of Esme's fancy Christmas wreaths on his head like laurel leaves. The contrast between the ensuing hilarity and Dad's anger made me shudder to this day. It took both Jasper and me and all our budding high school strength to haul Emmett upstairs and get him changed. He still broke his desk chair, cursing Dad, civilization, and Alice's "motherfucking retarded" haircut.
Jasper and I ate, while Alice mostly ignored food—Jazz finished her fries and her drink—and regaled us with the tale of her sordid day in design studio. To hear her tell it, "my couture advisor is a flaming queen with the most extraordinary color sense who can do simply anything with fabric but he has it in for women in general except for The Bearded Lady and she can't design for shit but I think he just wants to shave her back," and I decided right then was the time to leave.
I opened my wallet to pay Jazz for fronting my dinner and saw I was low on cash.
"Jazz, okay if I pay you later?"
"Sure," he waved a hand my general direction; he was rapt watching Alice. I was sure it was less her words than the constant movement of her lips, eyes, and hands that had him mesmerized, but who can predict love? That thought made me think of Bella and that thought had me feeling sour as I pushed through the people and out the door.
I breathed in the cool evening, glad to be out of the noise, and turned away from the bar to hit the cash machine before heading back to the house. It was a slightly longer walk, and I needed the air to clear my head so I could work when I got home.
For a nice night—which in Seattle meant no hard rain—the streets weren't busy, and I enjoyed stretching my legs in a fast walk. I stopped in the light of the ATM and pulled out my wallet to extract my card when a rough voice rumbled right behind me, "Give us five hundred dollars and we won't pound your pretty face in the pavement."
I looked around in shock. Some older guys stood in a ring close behind me. Where the fuck had they come from? They looked a little drunk, but they were all stocky, and there were three of them. Thinking I could outrun them if I got past, I said loudly and forcefully, "I don't have five hundred dollars," as I stepped right up to one of them. I was counting on the automatic response people had to preserve their personal space, and when he'd move aside, I'd bolt away. But instead, he clutched my arm, while the end one shouted, "Gimme your wallet!" I leaned forward to make a break, yelling, "Get away from me," hoping someone would hear. I felt the pocket of my jeans rip as one of them grabbed for me, and I stumbled through them, sure I was going down, when right in front of me, an engine roared, brakes shrieked, and a cherry red truck leapt the curb.
The door flew open and a voice roared, "GET IN!"
In my surprise and fear, I only saw it was someone I knew, and I vaulted in, slamming the door as the truck lurched off the sidewalk and squealed down University Way, narrowly missing a car claiming a primo parking space.
My heart was slamming against my ribs and I felt like someone had turned off the oxygen. I was sweating and shaking, and then it hit me: I was in Bella's truck. With Bella.
For a second, the cumulative shocks were too much for me and I was frozen with dread; if ever I had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire, this was it.
I was so nervous, I was sure my heart would leap out of my chest; I'd be hard-pressed to pick being here in Bella's truck just inches from her versus being out there with those drunks trying to mug me. Hugging the door, I forced myself to look at her.
And there it was: she was even more beautiful than I'd remembered. As the streetlights flashed across the windshield, her skin shone like it was lit from within. Her hair curled softly across her shoulders and spilled over her breasts. Her impossibly full lips were moist and plump. Her lashes framed her dark—yes, dark—eyes. Her hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly were still graceful and god help me I wanted to feel them on my skin. Her floral scent wafted through the truck's cab, and I flared my nostrils to catch it.
"Your seatbelt," she said in her low melodic voice. It made me shiver, but from fear or desire, I wasn't sure. I clicked the belt together, locking myself in place.
I couldn't keep my eyes off her, and it wasn't entirely due to panic. I had spent weeks denying how much I had enjoyed our time together—up until that last bit—and as hard as it was to admit, I had constantly watched for her, on campus, in class—I'd even spent time at the front windows of the house, looking out in case she was there.
"Bella," my voice cracked from tension, "how did you find m… were you spying on me?" I was afraid she'd say yes, yet I somehow hoped she had been following me.
She kept her eyes on the road when she answered, "I've been watching you, yes."
"Why?!" I blurted, shocked and happy. She'd been watching me. I didn't know whether to feel flattered or stalked.
Her cool hand took mine, and I couldn't help it, I jumped. She tried to withdraw her hand, but I gripped it tight. Touching her helped ground me, even as it unnerved me. She looked straight into my eyes. "Edward, I can't let any harm come to you. You matter to me too much."
Bella steered the truck to the curb and let it idle while she turned to me.
"So you were following me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I can't let anything happen to you."
"Why?"
"Because I think about you constantly."
"Why?"
"Because I'm addicted to you."
"Why?"
"God, Edward. Your hair. The way you make me feel. Your mouth. The way your mouth makes me feel. Your taste."
She groaned, a primal sound that simultaneously had my cock shrinking and throbbing—how was that even possible? Who was this woman? I stared at her, slack-jawed. She looked at me like she was going to devour me and before I could move, she crashed into me, smashing her mouth on mine, her lips moving greedily. I couldn't help myself—my whole body responded like she was air and I was suffocating, before my confusion rushed back and I pushed her away.
Well, I tried to push her, but she felt like granite. She moved herself backwards as I pressed my hands flat against her shoulders, her mouth still clinging to mine until I pulled back from the kiss, knocking my head on the window. There was an instant look of concern in her eyes, and finally, she sat back in her seat, allowing me to draw in a ragged breath.
"Wait!" I held up a hand in between us. I said again, "Wait."
She nodded. "You have more questions," she said, looking sad.
"Yeah," I drew out the word, not knowing how to begin. "Why did you run away that morning?"
"I scared you. And that scared me." She was admitting that?
"What were you doing, Bella? I mean, you were licking my… my sheets!"
"Yes," she agreed.
"Why?!"
"I believe I've already said—I'm addicted to you," she told me, as if that explained everything.
"But what does that mean?" I could hear the whine in my voice and I hated it, but was powerless to prevent it.
She quickly reached toward me, and I thudded back against the door; her hand froze in mid-air, then she slowly lowered it without touching me. She looked pained.
I didn't know if I could ever be comfortable with her again, but deep down, I wanted her. Was I addicted, too? I forced myself to form words, "I need to understand, Bella."
She bit her bottom lip, her eyes flicking all over my face before settling on my lips. She spoke to them like they would understand her better than the rest of me. I hated that she was right. "Edward," she breathed. "Being with you—being naked with you—is incredible. I've never known anything like it. I love the way your skin feels, its heat, the way your muscles move under my hands. Your hair is so soft, the color so rich—it's like I can feel the color of your hair. Your mouth is so…" she gasped faintly and I wriggled in my seat at the sound, "… and you smell so…" she made a tiny moan, "…and the noises you make when you…" her eyes rolled up as her head fell back and I thought I might take her right here in her truck parked next to… I glanced around… the Fetherston Gallery… "…and your mouth makes me…" when her head came up and her eyes met mine and they were A1 steak sauce brown root beer brown nutmeg brown and I was suddenly furious from the emotional whiplash she was giving me.
"And is part of this addiction that your eyes TURN RED?" I snapped at her.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head on the back of the seat. Very quietly, she said, "You saw that."
"Saw it? It freaked me out!" I was panting from agitation. I hoped I didn't pass out, because I needed to hear an explanation before she… ate me or something.
She stared out the windshield. The silence stretched between us like a straining cable on a logging truck on a mountain road and she was still, so still, that creepy stillness I'd noticed before, but never let myself see.
When I spoke, my voice cracked from the tension, "So. Your dad came to see me."
Her eyes focused, then widened. "Charles? Came to see you? How did he find…" Her eyes narrowed as she took in what I was wearing. "Oh, he's good," she muttered to herself. "What did he want?"
"He was worried about you. You hadn't been home. He thought I might know where you'd gone."
"Ah. Well. I'm sorry he bothered you."
"He didn't bother me, Bella. We were both concerned. You know, he's striking. I can see where your beauty comes from." She ducked her head like she might be blushing, but in the dark interior, I couldn't tell.
Bella sighed, like something heavy was weighing on her. "I didn't get my beauty—as you call it—from Charles; he isn't my biological father."
"You're adopted?"
"I've lived with Charles and his wife Renee for quite a while."
"Since you were little."
"Well… um, no. Actually, Charles took me in after my accident."
"How old were you?"
She looked at me for a long moment; I couldn't read her face at all, when she said, "Twenty."
I'm certain my own face showed my confusion. All of this was feeling unreal. Again. I shook my head, "Bella… I don't… what are you saying? You've lived with Charles for a while—since you were twenty? You're twenty now." I ran my hands through my hair. I looked at her, begging her with my eyes to explain. To make this all go away.
"Edward, I know you have no reason to trust me, but would you come with me somewhere? I need to show you something."
"No more red eyes?" I tried to smile, but it felt like my lower lip quivered like I was going to cry.
Her eyes on my lips again, she shook her head, one sharp shake, and there was no help for it I said yes.
She put the truck back in gear and we merged into the Saturday evening traffic.